#honestly why are landscapes so hard to draw can someone tell me please | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

crushzone · 3 years

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Hi Nin! I know this might be weird of me to ask because you are an artist yourself, but I am rather new here and was wondering if you have any other artists you'd recommend? If not that is ok!

Hi there, not weird at all! I LOVE supporting fellow artists, I find their wonderful talent and dedication incredibly inspiring, seeing their beautiful works on my feed constantly reminds me to take a step back from my exhaustion and to simply remember why I love to draw to begin with: because it’s fun.

I’m usually really picky about artists I follow and their style, but when I find the ones that I enjoy, I go ALL OUT with my support. So without further ado, the following artists listed are those I am not only in love with, but those who I genuinely look up to.

So make sure you stop by their page to show them some love and appreciation for their hard work (because hard work extends beyond the individual pieces they’ve made, it’s also for the countless hours they’ve spent on practicing and perfecting their craft, constantly challenging themselves to learn new techniques). 💛

👇🏼👇🏼 Nin’s Artist Recommendation👇🏼👇🏼

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@aku-jumbi - HQ!!, Various, You all had seen me share a BUNCH of their works on my blog, but it’s just because their art is so SOOOOOOOOO good. Your style leans toward photorealism, while still maintaining its painting-like quality, so if you had ever wondered how your favorite characters may look like irl, they’ve got you!!! Watching your speed painting is so fascinating, idk how you do it, but you’re always killing it every time (Like our process is so different, so it was really interesting to see how you approach your works you know?). This piece of Kei Tsukishima and Oikawa Tooru are two of my favorite works you’ve done!

@achieve-the-sun - HQ!!, Various, Let me start off by saying that I love Morghy’s art so much, that they are the first and only person I had ever commissioned from so far. They drew Keishin and I sooo adorably, it brings me so much joy to look at it on the daily. Your style reminds me of freshly baked cookies, or the warmth of bakeries, I can’t help but feel a sense of coziness whenever I look at your adorable artworks. This piece you did of Kageyama and Hinata was what had drawn me to you. Everything from your color choices, fluid gestures, and expressions are such a delight to look at!

@chaotickatts - HQ!! I am so in love with Katts, you all. I had never seen anyone draw like this, her style is really unique. I can go on forever about why I love your art, but one of the biggest things that drew me to your style is the way you draw bodies. I like the variation and realistic details you include, for instance, I absolutely adore the way you gave Sakusa more moles on his body, and the way you drew dad bod Osamu. Idk, I think there’s so many different types of body shapes and details out there, and it brings me joy to see you being so inclusive of them in your art.

@namusw - Hunter x Hunter. Was drawn to their Hunter x Hunter works and I don’t even watch/read that manga. Honestly, just check them out, I love everything about their works, they are also a killer at both traditional and digital styles. This piece of Hisoka, Illumi, and Chrollo was the one that made me fall in love.

@cranbearly - HQ!! I really adore the way they draw expressions and their coloring style (inspired me to attempt some flat coloring). This piece of Oikawa and Iwa made me follow them instantly. Expressions are so difficult to nail, and you’ve done such an amazing job conveying every emotion the characters are feeling, I’ve learned so much just from looking at your works, so thank you for blessing us with your craft.

@a-zebra-was-here - HQ!! Their art has a very carefree type of vibe and their coloring style brings me so much joy. I’ve really enjoyed your drawings of the Miyas’, this piece of the twin was what got me, and this other piece, the first image of young Miyas’ was so SO well done, I am in love with the way you colored that. 😻

@erionmakuo - Various, dude....I want to cry, I don’t even know what to say, EVERY SINGLE PIECE of your artworks just BLOWS ME AWAY. The way you color your art is just so ethereal, the color schemes you had chosen, the way you mix the color of your lighting, textures, and everything in general, I can go on about this all day but just hop on to their blog and you will know exactly what I mean. I don’t have a particular piece that drew me in because I was blessed by all your works at once.

@uranarino - HQ!!, Your artworks bring me so much joy. If I have to describe your style like an experience in life, I would say it reminds me of how it’s like to fall in love with someone for the first time, if that makes sense. That sudden overwhelming feeling you get when you’re doing the most mundane things with someone you care about, only for time to stop as you realize how in love you are with them? Yea, your art captures that really well. These two pieces of Kuroo returning home with his groceries and of him taking a day nap with his cats was what had drawn me to you.

@queenoftheantz - HQ!!, Various, Their style is really unique, it kind of reminds me of an adventurous graphic novel or something you would see on Cartoon Network (idk, I thought of Chowder, but please, I really mean it as a compliment, I just really love the fun cartoon style you have.) They also do some animations! I really love this piece of Kyotani you did, the landscape and colors look SOO GOOD!!

@noodlemanjpg - HQ!!, Various, love LOVE your style and the way you draw expressions. I also really love how you color, your works “appear” effortless, but I know a lot of knowledge and precision is put into crafting it. This piece of Kuroo x Yaku being all cozy at the couch was what had drawn me to your blog, it makes me smile every time I look at it. Kuroo’s smitten expression is just...ahsdl;adjs I can’t help but smile with him.

@diabolism666 - HQ!!, c’mon, you can’t be in the HQ!! fandom without at least seeing one of their artworks. In fact, I had seen your art even before I’ve gotten into this show, and it was love at first sight, lemme tell ya. EVERY. SINGLE. THING. you had drawn are so good, it doesn’t even matter if it’s a more simplistic drawing or elaborate one, I am just always staring at it in awe. Thank you for being so incredibly active about it too, idk how, but you’ve produced so many amazing drawings and we’re just incredibly grateful for it. You draw some of best Tendou, Reon and Toshi out there. Your works have so much range, I really feel like you can draw ANYTHING hahaha.

@viria - Various, Viria *sobs* your works are so good. The way you draw faces and affection just gives me butterflies. I don’t even watch Fullmetal Alchemist, but this piece you did of Edward and Winry made me fall so deeply in love with your works. Your style has a certain softness to it, even when it is of an angry character, and I love it.

@nipuni - Various, another artist that I am incredibly nervous to tag because your works are just out of the world. You also seem so so nice and is always incredibly helpful whenever anyone sends you an ask. Just...I have the biggest crush on you and your works. EVERYTHING you had drawn is so stunning, and I mean it. The details, pose, composition, and coloring, it is just so perfect, I could pull up particular artworks, but I was really blessed by it all at once. If you are into fantasy-esque realistic looking portraits, check her out, she exudes so much knowledge and talent.

@hinamihere - HQ!!, Your artworks are soo stinkin adorable. Your color choices, expressions and the way you draw hair is just so cute, your art always bring the biggest smile to my face. This piece you did of Akaashi and Bokuto was what drew me to you, when I saw it, I “awhhh”ed so loudly, my hubby had to ask me what’s up, and when I showed it to him, he had the same reaction, even if he’d never seen Haikyuu!!

@oxxuri - BNHA, so SO good, the way you color, light, and draw is so beautiful. Every single detail, down to every lashes and strands of hair is so beautiful. You draw some of the most attractive faces I had ever seen, these drawings of Aizawa and Midoriya brings me so SOOOO much joy, and I don’t even know anything about BNHA.

@amezure - HQ!!, their comic strips always make my day, I was giving their blog a peep so I can pull up specific examples and my statement is instantly confirmed when I stumbled across their newest comic art of Kuroo and Bokuto and started laughing HAHA. 😂 Your self study sheets are incredibly informative and I find myself referencing them often, it’s so nice to see my favorite artists continue to polish their craft through endless amounts of studying, practice, and analysis. It serves as a constant reminder for myself to do the same. I love the way you draw people (check out this piece of Bokuto x Akaashi), but I ESPECIALLY love the way you draw animals. (Specifically anything that has to do with lil owl Bo and Akaashi 🥺)

@obobro - Avatar the Last Airbender, HQ!!, I am absolutely in love with the way you color and draw portraits. Your drawing and detailing has so much range; you have a series of hand drawings, and that alone already displays so SO much range. I was really drawn in by this drawing of Tsukki, Zuka + Azula, and of Sokka + Katara, you can really tell they were related and I love it so much. Your art has so much life to it, it’s truly fascinating.

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I have a couple more artists to recommend, so if you’d like a part 2 to this, please lmk.

But yes, I genuinely stand by my recommendations, these guys are so SO good at what they do and I am currently sweating because the thought of tagging all my artist crushes in one post is actually kinda scary lol.

Hope this helps! ✌️

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juniperwindsong · 4 years

Text

In Love & War (1/3)

Look. I could apologise for interrupting my WIP with an entirely too long, three-part Felix x Talbott x Reader Insert love triangle set post-Hogwarts (somewhere in HP Book 5) and featuring some minor adult situations (all Tumblr appropriate), but I’d be lying to all of us. I’m not sorry. This is literally the most fun I’ve had all quarantine.

Part 1: Dépaysement

The sound of curtains being drawn wakes you. Light pierces the back of your eyelids and you squeeze them tight. Your dream was uneasy, but you aren't ready to leave it just yet. You were looking for someone, someone calling your name. The face dissolves in the last dregs of ebbing sleep. You're sure you know it from somewhere...the name is just on the tip of your tongue...

"Good morning," murmurs a husky voice near your ear. Soft lips, curved in a smile, tickle your jawline, making you shiver. For a moment, the voice occupies the same space in reality as the face from the dream, a place for things familiar, but momentarily forgotten.

You open your eyes. The eyes that stare back are a deep brown, almost black. The sharp, pale face behind them is so close the snub nose nearly touches yours. Your mind searches for identity through a drowsy haze. A name swims to the surface.

"Felix?" you ask tentatively, voice hoarse with sleep.

The brown eyes ignite in pleasure at hearing their name. The man - Felix, your mind reminds you - brushes hair away from your face. He leans closer, eyes on your lips, but you tilt your head away before he can reach you. You're not sure why. It's an instinct, not a decision.

Felix freezes for a moment. Then he smirks, ever so slightly. It's a delicious expression on him, and you shiver again.

"Why so shy this morning?" he asks, stroking your cheek with the back of his fingers. Your eyes flutter shut at the sweet sensation.

Why does your head feel so strange? You try to recall where you are and why you're here...but the memories float just out of reach. When you re-open your eyes, Felix is watching you closely. There’s something like worry in his face.

"I don’t know," you answer honestly. "My head feels...strange. I'm...not sure who I am this morning."

It sounds like madness when said aloud. You tug your mouth into a grin, hoping to pass your odd remark off as a joke. You’re relieved when Felix’s smirk widens.

"Champagne clearly does not agree with you."

Felix leans forward again, and this time you stay put. You let his lips meet yours in a lazy, warm kiss that he deepens into something breathtaking. It does nothing to help your befuddled brain, but your body is certainly awake now. It, at least, seems to know exactly where it is. And what it wants. Felix drags his lips from yours to trail open kisses up your jaw toward your ear.

“You're Y/N Rosier," he murmurs between kisses. "You’re my wife. You're in our home. And you're safe.”

At these words, memories stir to life. You remember those same rich brown eyes standing in front of an altar, laying out in warm sand near lapping waves. Your wedding, your honeymoon in France. How could you have forgotten? The memories are there in your head, as real as print in a book, and yet they have a dream-like quality to them. Perhaps you are still dreaming, you think, as Felix’s fingers run through your hair. Or perhaps you simply drank too much last night.

"Are you alright?” There’s definite concern in Felix's voice now.

“Of course,” you assure him. You reach up to tuck stray hair back into place where it's fallen across his forehead. “Sometimes I just wake up with you and it feels like the very first time.”

Felix’s shoulders relax, and a genuine smile graces his sharp features. His eyes glow with an almost childlike joy. A pleasant lurch in your stomach reminds you you’ve seen this face before. It’s the face you always want to inspire in him. The face you love.

"Well, I suppose that's appropriate for our first morning here." Felix sits up, glancing around the sunlit room. "I do miss France but I must say, it's nice to finally wake up in our own home." He slips from the bed and disappears behind a nearby door.

You push yourself up as well, taking in the enormous four poster bed, the walls covered in austere tapestries, the wide windows overlooking a gloomy English landscape.

"Our own home," you echo. Nothing has ever looked less like home to you.

Felix's voice carries from the adjoining room. "I know it wasn't exactly your first choice, but I still think it's the best place for us right now. It's closer to the Ministry, and its wards are ancient, very safe. And my mother is perfectly comfortable at the French estate. I know it's larger than what you're used to, but-"

You let Felix's voice drift in one ear and out the other. You swing your legs over the side of the bed and test your feet against the ground. Your limbs don’t seem to be afflicted with the same wobbling uncertainty as your mind. They support you just fine as you slide to a floor as icy cold as it looks. The entire room is chilly you realise now you’ve left the warmth of the bed.

You glance around for clothes. The floor is bare except for heavy rugs, and the chaise lounge by the empty fireplace does not look as if it's ever tolerated any such indignity as clothes being tossed across it. You notice a dress form standing nearby, an emerald dressing gown hanging neatly upon it. You pull it on and note how perfectly it fits. It must be yours, though the colour and material strike no familiar chords.

Behind the dress form is another door, slightly ajar. When you push it open, you find a small chamber filled with a stunning assortment of robes; every-day robes in every conceivable colour and style, expensive dress-robes, even a small section of well-made muggle clothes. You can tell just by looking each item is tailored to your specifications. You wrack your muddled brain for memories of picking them out or purchasing them, but nothing comes to mind.

"Y/N?"

Felix’s voice is nearby once more, and you step back into the bedroom. Felix is waiting for you, dressed in immaculate black. You stare at him blankly, trying to remember what he was saying before you became distracted.

"Look,” Felix sighs, coming to stand next to you and taking your shoulders. “If you truly detest it here, we can find something else soon. I just-"

"No." You shake your head. "No, you're right. I'm sure I'll get used to it. It's just...new."

You glance back at the dressing room.

"Where did I buy all those robes, do you remember?” you ask as casually as possible. “I can’t quite recall."

Felix raises his eyebrows. He places the back of one hand against your forehead.

"Remind me to make a note of last night's vintage. It was clearly far too powerful for you."

You roll your eyes and swat his arm playfully. Felix catches your hand and brings it to his lips. He kisses your fingers slowly, lips lingering exquisitely over each knuckle, as if he'd rather do nothing else all morning. Another heady rush of sensation thrills you. Standing becomes as hard as thinking. You sway slightly, but Felix wraps an arm around your waist to draw you against him.

"Are you sure you'll be alright for the day? Perhaps I should stay... I could send an owl to-"

"Of course I'll be alright," you assure him quickly. "Where are you going?"

"To meet the Dark Lord, of course. Then the office.”

"What?"

“You know I'd much rather be here, but I really ought not to leave it any longer. I haven’t sent an owl since we first arrived in France and I’m sure the department’s in shambles without me. ”

“No, I mean... what do you mean about the Dark Lord?”

For the first time this morning, it isn't confusion driving your question, but alarm. This is a name you have no trouble remembering. Events of the last year rise to the fore front of your mind. The return of the Dark Lord after the Tri-wizard tournament; the Ministry's refusal to acknowledge his return; Professor Dumbledore summoning you and others to a secret meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

"Our honeymoon is over and I swore I'd report in for instruction as soon as I was back in the country, which technically should have been last night, but..."

"Felix... the Dark Lord...you can't seriously... you're not joining him?"

Felix sighs, dropping your hand and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"Y/N, please don't start this again. I know your concerns, but we've discussed this. He's coming to power, whether we like it or not, and this is the only way to ensure your safety.”

“But...” You struggle to form a coherent argument around the fog in your brain. You can’t remember having such an important discussion before. How could Felix have talked you into supporting something like this?

“What about the Order of the Phoenix? Why can’t we join them? Why haven’t we joined them?” you ask, wondering how this has never come up. You remember that meeting in Dumbledore's office...was it months ago? Or longer? The Weasley's had been there...you can see Bill's face clearly. Other faces lurk in the background of your memory, hidden in shadow.

“Y/N, we’ve already been through this,” Felix says in mounting frustration. “They won’t permit me to join. My father was a Death Eater. They don’t trust me. And even if they were to make an exception, we would be more of a target for the Dark Lord then. He would never forgive a betrayal like that. The Death Eaters aren't a club you can just quit. My father was one, and that means I'm expected to be as well. If I refused, he would stop at nothing to find me, or find you first to punish me. I thought you understood.”

Felix looks so pained, you stumble over your own further protests. You raise a hand to his face, stroking your thumb over his sharp cheek. Felix leans into your palm. His eyes are shut tightly against some inner battle you cannot see.

“Felix. I just...don’t want you to get hurt.

Felix takes a shuddering breath and meets your eyes again, his expression grim.

“I don’t want you to be hurt. And as long as we’re on the winning side, we won’t be. I know you don’t like it, and it isn't what I would prefer, but it's not up to us. All we can do is stay safe until this war is over.” He leans down to kiss you, a gentle apology of a kiss. “I’m sorry it’s like this. But things will clear up soon. Once the Dark Lord has the Ministry, he'll have other things on his mind. We can go back to France, or anywhere you like. I promise."

The sound of a clock chiming somewhere in the house makes Felix look up.

“I have to go. I’ll get away as soon as I can.” He catches your chin in his hand, tilting it up to face him. His eyes burn with something that turns your bones to water. "I love you," he says. It's more than a platitude or a reminder. It’s almost an oath.

"I...love you too," you say. You must. Why else would you be here?

Once Felix is gone, you sit back on the bed, clutching your head in your hands. You rap your knuckles against your skull, trying to knock whatever's come loose back into place. What's wrong with you? Why is your memory all bits and pieces? Drink, you suppose, combined with a whirlwind few months. Maybe this happens to everyone just arrived from their honeymoon. Perhaps a solid course of action will help put you back together.

The Rosier manor doesn't seem like the sort of house made for walking about in one’s bare feet, so you return to the dressing room and inspect your options. You choose the simplest robes you can find. They feel strange on you, in spite of the perfect fit. After washing and dressing, you stare at yourself in the full length mirror. It's you, and yet somehow, your own reflection looks unfamiliar. Well, you suppose, in many ways you are a new person. You're Mrs Rosier now. That thought inspires confidence in you. You stand up straighter and take a steadying breath. This is your home, and your first order of business should be to explore it.

You spend the morning wandering the manor. You start to count the rooms, but lose track somewhere on the third floor. There's bedrooms and bathrooms, libraries and studies, and some rooms with no discernible purpose at all. You inspect the conservatory and the solarium, and briefly consider tackling the expansive grounds before your growling stomach urges you to find the kitchen. You discover it in a ground floor dining room, hidden behind a door almost indistinguishable from the surrounding wall.

The kitchen is a bright, spacious room, full of high windows that allow more sunlight to drift in than in the rest of the house. The familiar sounds of pots and pans scrubbing themselves at a sink and a pot bubbling over the fire go a long way to cheering your uneasy spirit.

"Madam is wanting something?"

You look down to find a small, elderly house-elf dressed in an assortment of elaborately tied linen dinner napkins.

"Oh! Yes, please. Breakfast would be lovely. Or lunch. I'm not sure of the time."

'"Miam-Miam is making a luncheon for Madam, certainly. What is Madam wishing to eat?"

"Oh, anything's fine. And, um, you can just call me Y/N. Madam sounds....a bit formal."

The house-elf purses her tiny lips in obvious disapproval.

"Is Madam wishing to be served in the breakfast room or the upstairs dining room?" she asks stiffly, managing to stress the word Madam just enough for you to notice.

"Actually, could I just eat here, please?"

You ask the question politely enough but don't bother to wait for a reply before seating yourself in a chair at the wooden butcher's table. The house-elf’s mouth works soundlessly. You can see her desire to maintain the house's strict traditions going to war with her need to defer to her masters.

"I won't tell anyone, I promise," you say to the elf.

Miam-Miam's face is pinched and unhappy, but in the end, she returns to the pot over the fire, murmuring under her breath in French.You feel a little guilty for putting the elf in this position, but something about the kitchen feels more inviting than any other part of the house, and you don’t want to leave it just yet. You wonder why this room is uninfected by the dream-like quality that’s pervaded the rest of your morning. Perhaps kitchens in general are just comforting, you think. You lay your forehead against the table and revel in its wonderful solidness.

"Madam is feeling ill?"

Miam-Miam is back. The narrow squint of her large round eyes is more suspicious than concerned.

"I'm alright. Just can't seem to find my head this morning."

The house-elf wrinkles her tomato-like nose. "Miam-Miam is not understanding. Is Madam having headache? Miam-Miam would be making a potion for headache, but Miam-Miam is not having the ingredients. If Madam is permitting Miam-Miam to visit Diagon Alley-"

You lift your head, inspired.

"That's a wonderful idea! I think I'll pop down to Diagon Alley for a bit."

You expect some push back from the old-fashioned elf at the idea of Madam doing the servant's shopping, but you're surprised when her eyes widen in horror.

"No, Madam must not! The Master will not be liking it! Miam-Miam is going. Madam must stay in the house where it is safe."

"What's unsafe about Diagon Alley?"

Miam-Miam is unable to offer any specific dangers, only continues to shake her head and repeat: "Master will not be liking it."

"Master will be fine," you say firmly. The decision made, you stand and glance toward the fireplace. Sure enough, there's a small glass jar on the mantle containing the household floo powder. You walk to the fire and use your wand to lift the hot, heavy pot out of the way. Miam-Miam hovers just behind you, protesting all the while.

"Please, Madam, please. Master is not liking you to go!"

You ignore the elf, and toss floo powder onto the fire. As you step into the flames, you turn to reassure the poor house-elf, now wringing her dinner napkin dress in distress.

"Don't worry, Miam-Miam. I'll be back in a bit. Diagon Alley!"

Wandering the streets you've known all your life does wonders for your sense of self. As you glance into stalls and shop windows, memories hail you like familiar friends: meeting Rowan for the first time; buying your first wand, and then your second; lurking in Flourish and Blotts whenever you could to search for messages from your brother. You even remember where to find the sneaky little niffler that lurks outside the bank. You used to drop him galleons whenever you passed just to see him creep out and snatch them when he thought no one was watching.

You lean against the brick wall beside the niffler's hideaway and close your eyes. You breathe in the familiar air and let your mind put all the memories together in the right order, like puzzle pieces, until they begin to form a complete picture. You came here often with friends when you were at school, and even after. Scattered images of laughing and eating with people fit comfortably in your head, though the faces are still dim and shadowy. There’s Rowan for sure, you can picture her clearly, but who else? Felix? That seems right. You can picture Felix's face smiling at you outside Flourish and Blotts...you see him take your hand across a café table - where you met him again for the first time after graduating Hogwarts!

You open your eyes, searching for the café to inspire the rest of the memory, when you catch sight of someone watching you from a doorway.

At first, all you can see are his eyes. Behind the eyes, you're dimly aware of a face with a long, sharp nose, and dark skin with strangely layered hair. But it's the eyes that command your attention. They’re a hazel that's nearly yellow, flecked with gold, as piercing as a blade but with an ocean of depth beneath.

You realise you're staring, and you blush. You look away, feigning interest in a stall of bats. It's a minute before you feel brave enough to look at the doorway again.

The man is still there. And there can be no mistaking it this time: he's staring at you as well with those intense yellow-gold eyes, his mouth very slightly open. He must see you looking back at him, but he doesn't turn away. Doesn't move at all. He stands, alert and tense, like a bird of prey that's sighted a mouse. You suddenly remember Miam-Miam's warnings about Diagon Alley being unsafe.

But you're Mrs Felix Rosier, you remind yourself proudly. And before that you were the Hogwarts Cursebreaker. You pull yourself up to full height and step into the street, walking confidently toward the strange eyes and the man behind them.

"Can I help you?" you ask as soon as you're within hearing distance.

The man continues to stare. He blinks once, his head cocked very slightly to the side. Then he says your name. It’s quiet, but his voice carries across to you easily, stopping you in your tracks. You know that voice...You can't place it, but you're so sure. It's just on the tip of your tongue...

"Who -" you begin to ask, when someone else calls your name from behind. This one you recognise instantly. You turn to see Felix almost sprinting down the street toward you. He grabs your arms and pulls you against him, staring wildly about as if expecting a barrage of curses from every direction.

"What are you doing here? Are you alright?" he asks in a low, fierce voice.

"What? I'm fine."

You turn back to look at the place where the man had been, but he's gone. You glance hurriedly around at the milling crowds of people, in the windows of nearby shops, down the alley's side streets. But those yellow-gold eyes are nowhere to be seen.

"What is it?" asks Felix sharply.

"There was someone there just a moment ago. He was watching me."

"He?" Felix repeats, his voice heavy with panic. "Who? Who was it?"

"I don't know. I thought I recongised him, but...I'm not sure."

"Did he speak to you?" Felix's grip on your arm tightens until you're forced to yank it away.

"No! Felix, what's wrong?"

Felix's eyes sweep the street once more. He runs a hand across his hair distractedly, smoothing it flat and trying to regain some of his usual calm.

"Nothing," he says. His voice is entirely unconvincing. "Come, let's get you home."

Part of you wants to argue. You feel so much more comfortable here. You're not quite ready to go back to the manor and all it's strange surreality. But Felix's obvious alarm worries you, and you don't want to fight him when he's in this state.

The two of you apparate together back to the Rosier property. Felix doesn't speak the entire walk to the manor house. You shoot occasional sideways glances at him, but he doesn't seem to notice. His eyes are agitated and far away. Once you’re safely inside, Felix stops in the front hall and faces you.

"Why?" he asks simply.

"Why what?"

"Why did you leave? I came back and found you gone, do you have any idea how worried I was?"

His voice is loud and strained, just short of yelling. Your own temper flares within you.

"I'm sorry," you say, crossing your arms. "I didn't know a requirement of marriage was staying inside the house all day waiting for my husband."

"It's a requirement of keeping you safe," Felix snaps back.

"What am I in danger of?" you cry in exasperation. "You know I've survived dragons and curses and assassins, right? What in Merlin's name is lurking in Diagon Alley that's so much worse than all of that?”

Instead of rising to a fight, Felix's anger fizzles out. His whole demeanor seems to crumple under your biting words, and he looks down at the floor in something like defeat. Guilt builds like bile in the back of your throat. It hurts you to see Felix so despondent. You close the distance between you and reach up to fix his wilting hair. There's no sarcasm in your apology this time.

"I’m sorry. I wasn't trying to worry you. I just don't understand what you're so worried about."

Felix's reply is to pull you closer, clutching you to his chest with desperate arms. You can feel his heart beating frantically. You take deep, slow breaths, hoping to infuse him with your own calm. When you look up, his eyes are swimming with some fragile emotion you don't understand.

"Y/N, our world is impossibly dangerous right now. I know you've fought more than your share of battles, but this is different. Anyone... everyone you know...even your friends, could be out to hurt you now. Because of me." He strokes the shell of your ear with his thumb. "I'm so sorry. You’re married to a man with enemies. And there's no way for us to know who to trust. Please, for my sake, just stay here where it's safe."

"For how long?”

“I don't know," Felix sighs. "The Dark Lord does not confide his plans in anyone, but I doubt it will take long. And once he's in power, things will be different."

This isn’t a answer to inspire much comfort in you, and you turn away. Your head is bursting with questions and fragments of memories, none of which make sense. Why would you ever have agreed to this? It doesn’t sound like you at all. Trapped inside this enormous house, unable to do anything useful, and somehow on the side of Death Eaters?

You look back at Felix, an argument on your tongue. But before you can say anything, Felix’s lips find yours. It's a needy, starving kiss, as though it were years since your last instead of only this morning. His hands slide down your back, frame your waist, caress your hips, easing your body forward until you're flush against his. You can't help it. You melt against him, stroking the muscle of his chest through his robes. For the first time that day, you feel truly and perfectly alive.

And you think, this must be why.

Life in the Rosier manor takes some adjustment, but after a few days you settle into a routine. You breakfast late and spend a leisurely morning reading and relaxing on the upstairs terrace. Then there’s lunch, and a long walk about the grounds. The estate is massive, and you take your time exploring every inch of it. The elaborate hedge maze is a particular favourite. You spend three days attempting to map it before you realise it changes on its own at random intervals, making it impossible to solve.

But by far the best part of your married life is your new husband.

Felix escapes his ministry job to be with you as often as he can. Many mornings, he leaves for work late, having chosen a blissful lie-in with you instead. He sneaks home to lunch with you almost every day, and he's back at half-six each evening like clockwork. While home, he's never absent from your side.

Felix takes pride in showing you the Rosier Manor’s many secret passages and hidden rooms. He instructs you in French, when you mention off-hand a desire to learn. And after discovering it was always a childhood wish of his, you teach him to play the old, dusty piano in the music room. Your evenings are filled with music and dance, and your nights are always long and sleepless. Even quiet afternoons spent reading in the library, you often catch Felix watching you subtly over the top of his book, as though worried you might disappear.

It's moments like these in which you understand your decision to stay here, to marry a man in service to the most feared dark wizard in modern history. The thought that your husband is a Death Eater still churns your stomach, and you spend much of your alone time formulating careful arguments and plans of escape. But these always end with a wretched Felix, close to tears, terrified that flight will mean your death. No matter what you say, you're unable to convince him otherwise.

Occasionally, you try plotting out the sequence of events that led to your marriage, but your memories continue to be elusive. You remember a good many dinners and outings with Felix. You think they took place before your French honeymoon, but it's hard to place them in time exactly. You wonder whether you ought to mention this to Felix. In the end, you decide against it. Madness is a reputation you’ve fought for so many years, and the stigma of it still haunts you. Felix is the last person you want to look at you with that mixture of pity and wariness you've seen from so many others.

There's one memory, however, that refuses to fade: those yellow-gold eyes from Diagon Alley. For some reason, your dreams are constantly haunted by the image of this man and his simple utterance of your name. His eyes stir something to life inside you, a deep, slumbering something you don't understand or cannot remember. It isn't exactly a pleasant feeling, and when you wake from these dreams you snuggle closer to Felix, letting his warm, solid arms anchor you to reality. But you cannot keep from wondering who the man behind the yellow eyes is. You're sure you've seen him somewhere, though where continues to elude you.

You're mulling this very question over in the garden one day when a noise from behind makes you jump. Animals are rare on the grounds, and Felix is never one to creep up behind you unawares. You draw your wand instinctively, turning to face the sound. You nearly drop it when you watch those same piercing eyes and the dark-skinned man who owns them step out from behind a willowy tree.

For a moment, neither of you move. You know you ought to feel fear. This is obviously the danger Felix has warned you about. No one who's a friend sneaks onto one’s property unannounced. But even as you point your wand at the man’s face, you find yourself lost in his yellow-gold eyes. There's something almost frantic in them, like a person trapped behind glass screaming words you cannot hear.

You lower your wand without thinking. In spite of Felix's warnings, you can’t bring yourself to feel afraid. Your mind may be confused, but every other part of you is convinced this man means you no harm.

"Who are you?" you ask. "What do you want?"

The man doesn't answer. He only stares. The intensity of his eyes is difficult to look at directly and you drop your gaze to his bony neck instead.

"Are you here to kill me?"

That shakes the man from his silence. The yellow-gold eyes widen a little before he answers, "Is that what he told you?"

"Who?" you ask in confusion. "My husband?"

The man's whole face twists momentarily in an expression of disgust. His features straighten quickly, inscrutable once more, except for the eyes which seem to be pleading with you for something.

"You don't know me." It's a statement, not a question. But the more he talks, the more you're sure this can’t be true.

"Should I?"

"Yes."

There's a pause in which you wrack your brain desperately for a memory you’re sure is hidden somewhere, but you cannot find it. You're forced to shake your head apologetically. “I'm sorry. I don't."

The man shuffles his feet as if uncomfortable with this answer. “We were...at school together,” he says.

Armed with this bit of information, you cast your mind back to your school years. You search for those eyes in classes, Quidditch matches, cursed vaults. They’re nowhere to be found. But perhaps that’s not so unusual.

"School was so long ago,” you say, “and so much has happened since then. I don't know how much you know about me, but school wasn't exactly the happiest time of my life. I guess I've tried to put all those memories behind me.”

The man says nothing. He blinks those molten eyes and stares. His fingers twitch as if itching to wrap around something. You tighten your hold on your wand again, but he makes no other move. He seems to be trapped in indecision. And despite being an intruder in your home, there's some instinct urging you to soothe the man’s obvious distress.

What's your name?" you ask gently.

A look of deepest pain crosses the man’s face, as if he's bleeding from a wound you cannot see. It makes your heart ache for some reason.

"Talbott Winger," he answers.

There's a strange upset in your perception. The garden around you seems to shimmer as if it were really a backdrop you could rip away to reveal a more substantial world behind it. You can no longer feel the ground underneath your feet. You wonder if you're falling or floating. Your head swims with nausea. From far away, you hear someone call your name. You wonder where they are, where you are, and how you can get to them.

Then you feel hands on your face. They anchor your mind to your body once more. You're aware of your back lying against hard ground, and a throbbing pain in the side of your head. You realise your eyes are closed. You open them.

Brown eyes stare back at you in fear, and you feel a quick pang of disappointment. For some reason, you expected them to be yellow-gold. But it's Felix. He lifts you gently until you're sitting upright. You're still in the garden, only the sky is darkening. You stare about you for the man - Talbott, your brain now promptly supplies - but see no one else.

“Y/N!"

You only realise Felix has been speaking when he calls your name again. His voice is trembling.

"What's wrong?" you ask.

"What’s wrong? That's what I'm asking you! How long have you been out here? What happened?"

"I was...walking and... I don't know. My head hurt and I... I fell, I guess."

For some reason, you think it's best not to mention Talbott Winger yet. You know how worried Felix will be, and there’s no reason to upset him until you discover what Talbott wants. You think - or perhaps, you hope - you’ll see those yellow-gold eyes again soon.

For several days, you’re disappointed. You now spend all your mornings and most of the afternoons out on the grounds. You return regularly to the tree in the garden where you saw him last. But Talbott Winger does not re-appear. Sometimes you worry the encounter was a dream, your grip on reality being so tenuous these days. Only, somehow, apart from Felix, those yellow-gold eyes are the closest thing you have to a solid, reliable memory.

You're forced to wait a full week before you see them again. You’re in the kitchen one evening instructing Felix in the art of rolling an even pie crust. You’ve finally bullied Miam-Miam into relinquishing the dinner preparations just this once, and Felix, exceptionally amused, has agreed to be your sous-chef.

“You’re sure I’m doing this properly?” he asks with a wry grin.

The sight of your typically decorous husband, shirt sleeves tucked up to his elbows and flour dusting the tip of his nose, makes your heart soar. You live for these sweet moments; where the world contains only the two of you, with no thoughts to spare for the war raging outside. You smile, and lean across the table towards Felix. There’s just enough time for your lips to meet in the promise of a kiss when the sound of the front door bell reverberates through the house.

Miam-Miam rises hastily from her little stool by the fire, but Felix stops her before she can reach the kitchen door.

“No. Let me.” He wipes his hands quickly on a dish towel and strides past the sullenly-still elf. You follow him to the door, but Felix shakes his head.

“Wait here,” he commands. Catching sight of your raised eyebrows, he adds, “Please. Let me see who it is.” Felix doesn’t wait for you to agree. He slips out the door and pulls it shut tightly behind him. You listen to his footsteps walking away. You count to ten, then follow anyway.

Miam-Miam’s echoing protests make it difficult to hear the conversation floating down the hall from the front door. You think you can make out two distinct voices. You walk through the dining room and approach the front hall as quietly as possible. Scattered words in Felix's most imperious tone reach your ear.

"It's over...safe now...nothing you can do."

You hesitate, uncertain whether to risk the hall where very little furniture exists to hide behind. Then the other voice speaks, loud enough to be clearly heard, "...don't care about her safety..." and your heart leaps in your chest as you recognise it.

"Don't you dare!" Felix snarls. You've never heard him so furious before. You hesitate briefly, but your desire to see the visitor, to be sure it's who you think, is overpowering. Cautiously, you tiptoe into the hallway. The other voice is a low, venomous hiss now. You have to strain your ears to catch the words.

"...away with this. I won't let you."

"Is that a threat?" Felix asks.

"It's a promise."

Felix starts to push the heavy front door closed and you throw caution to the wind. You run the last few steps forward just in time to see yellow-gold eyes on fire with fury, before the door slams shut on them.

Felix spins around quickly, startled by your sudden approach.

"Who was that?" you ask before he can get a word out. You fully expect Felix to be frustrated, even angry with you for refusing to stay safely in the kitchen. Instead, he blushes brick red. He runs a quick hand across his hair, as though you've caught him doing something shameful.

“No one.”

You cross your arms, arch one eyebrow and say, "Felix," with all the skepticism such a ridiculous answer deserves. Felix has the decency to look abashed, but still refuses to speak. He looks so lost you can't help but sigh and come to his rescue. You take his hand and squeeze it in support.

“Felix," you repeat more gently. "Tell me what’s going on. Who is that man? What does he want?”

Felix presses your hand to his face, drawing strength from your touch. He keeps his eyes closed as he answers, “Just...someone from the ministry. An auror. He doesn’t...like me. But he shouldn’t have followed me home." Felix exhales forcefully, then opens his eyes. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." He twines his fingers between yours and tries to lead you back down the hallway. "Whatever happened to dinner?" he asks, in a voice laden with false cheer.

You're not remotely convinced that's all there is to it, and you're determined not to let the issue go. But you decide to wait until Felix is in better spirits before you demand answers. You return to the kitchen. Felix makes an attempt to recapture the light-hearted mood from before the unwelcome visitor. But his smile is more like a grimace. And more than once you catch him staring into space, lost in troubled thoughts he refuses to share.

That night you take particular care with Felix. You trail delicate kisses down his jawline, tracing his throat, his jutting collarbone. Your every movement is slow and measured as you follow the thin path of dark hair leading you from his chest to his abdomen. You assure him of your love using your lips and your tongue and the heat of your mouth. When you're finished, you crawl back up his body and rest against his still heaving chest, waiting for his heart rate to settle.

"Y/N," he pants.

"Felix."

"You know I love you?"

You smile against his skin. "So I've heard."

Felix rolls to his side so you slide off his chest and into his arms. He cups your cheek. It's hard to make out his eyes in the dark, but his voice is pleading.

"I know how hard all of this is for you. But you know it's because I want you to be safe. Because I love you. Our world is such a mess right now, and the thought of you caught up in it...running for your life, or hurt, or..." He swallows the next word. "I can't bear it."

You stroke the back of his hand where it holds your face. His touch is light, as if he thinks you might crack under his fingers. Felix is always so careful with you. It touches the part of you burdened by years of fighting battles for others with so little help or thought for your well-being. But you're not as delicate as he thinks.

"I understand," you assure him. "But you know, if you want me to trust you, you have to trust me. I'm not exactly incapable. I know it's a been a while, but I did manage to survive seven years worth of curses and monsters and Merula Snyde."

Felix rests his forehead against yours with a quiet chuckle.

"I know."

"So trust me."

"I do."

You take a deep breath and steel yourself to ask your burning question.

"Then...who is Talbott Winger?"

"What?"

Felix jerks away startled. Even in the darkness, you can see heat rising in his cheeks.

"That man who keeps coming by here. I know that's his name. Who is he?"

"Keeps coming by..." Felix repeats. He pushes himself up, and you follow, concerned at his change in demeanor. "Has he been here before? What did he say to you? Did he try to-to-"

You cut off his increasingly hysterical questions with a hand to his shoulder. "It's alright. I was fine. He just - he was here last week, out on the grounds. He wouldn't say what he wanted. He mentioned that we went to school together, but I don't remember him at all. Though I feel as though I should."

Felix's relief is palpable. His shoulders collapse in a slow, heavy exhalation. He pushes hair back from his forehead.

"There's no reason for you to. You can't be expected to remember everyone you went to school with. You had so many friends, and he was never exactly popular."

"So, you remember him?" you ask. Your own heart is now pounding with excitement; you're not sure why.

"Yes," Felix admits. "He was one of those that never trusted Slytherins. He had quite a grudge against anyone with the remotest Death Eater affiliation. It's only become worse now he's an auror. He's sure I know something about the Dark Lord's return, he follows me constantly. I wouldn't put it past him to try to force information from you."

"But I don't know anything -"

"I know that. But he doesn't. He's not your friend, Y/N, no matter what he says. That's why it's so important for you to stay here."

You bristle at the implication. "Do you need me to repeat my CV? I think I can handle one auror on my own just fine."

For some reason this inspires a smile in Felix.

"I don't doubt it."

He falls back against the pillow, pulling you down with him into a kiss, long and comforting. You can feel Felix relax beneath your lips. You come up for air and he murmurs, "Promise me, if you see him again, you'll stun first and ask questions later."

You hesitate for a moment, hovering over Felix's parted, eager mouth. You can't argue with his words, but you can't discount your instinct about Talbott either: that he wants something from you, and it isn't to hurt you. You know Felix won't understand this, so you make the only promise you know you can keep.

"I promise....I'll be careful."

You know your promise will be put to the test, but you still aren't prepared for Talbott to appear again only the following morning. You're sipping coffee on the terrace when a shadow blocks the sunlight briefly. You jump up in shock, coffee shaking in your hand, as an eagle lands hard on the railing. And when the bird abruptly transforms into the yellow-eyes and dark skin of Talbott Winger, you nearly drop the cup altogether.

"Y/N," says Talbott. His voice is strained and urgent, but you're too preoccupied to consider why.

"You're...a bird?" you ask with wide eyes. You're certainly surprised, but your mind doesn't seem about to collapse in on itself the way it had when he told you his name.

"An animagus," Talbott explains. His eyes dart nervously. "Look, I haven't much time. We need to talk, but we can’t do it here. Can you get away if you need to?"

"Excuse me?" You pull your dressing gown about you, trying to muster up a bit of dignity. "I don't think you're in a position to-"

"Can you get away?" Talbott repeats, talking over you. "Or does he have you trapped here?"

"I'm not trapped," you answer heatedly. "I'm here because it's safe. It's...dangerous right now." You echo Felix's words, trying to ignore how childish they sound.

"Then meet me here." Talbott thrusts a scrap of parchment forward, keeping as much distance between you as he can. You have to stretch out your arm to reach it. "Make sure you're not followed."

You gape at him. His nervous tension is so different from the still, silent Talbott you've been carrying about in your memory. It's almost harder to adjust to than the idea of him as a bird. You know you should be asking more questions, demanding answers, or simply stunning this blatant intruder. But the same strange feeling of familiarity that stopped your hand before prevents you taking any such action. You merely stare, waiting for your slow-working brain to catch up and explain to you why you're so sure about Talbott Winger.

You expect him to fly off again at any second, but Talbott shuffles his feet awkwardly as if he'd rather not leave.

"Y/N, are you...safe?"

"Of course," you reply automatically.

'I mean, he hasn't - he isn't -"

But before Talbott can articulate his question, you hear a door slam open from inside the bedroom and Felix's voice calling for you. You jump violently for the second time that morning, coffee sloshing over the side of your cup. You can only think of one reason why Felix would be back so quickly, and you turn to tell Talbott to go. But he's nowhere to be seen. You hear a loud beating of wings from overhead, and look up to see the enormous eagle climbing steadily higher. He's already a dark spot on the horizon when Felix bursts onto the terrace, out of breath, sweat undoing his severely slicked hair. It's such an unusual state for Felix you don't have to pretend to be concerned.

"What's wrong?" you ask quickly.

"There was a breach," he pants. "In the border wards. Someone got in."

"I didn't notice anything..." You swing your head about as if searching for potential intruders. You're careful to avoid eye contact with Felix, afraid it might give you away.

'Are you sure?" Felix stumbles across the terrace to you. He inspects you up and down as if searching for injuries.

"Of course," you find yourself saying for the second time in as many minutes. A quick trickle of guilt runs down the back of your throat. You know you ought to tell Felix of Talbott's attempt to lure you from the safety of your home. Instead, you close your hand about the scrap of parchment. You wrap your arms around Felix to hide your clenched palm. He holds you against him, head resting briefly on your shoulder while his breathing returns to normal.

"I have to get back," he says finally. "Will you stay in the house? Please? Just for today. I'll set up new barrier spells tonight, but for today just...please," he begs you. "I won't be able to focus otherwise."

Quickly, you think through your options. Merely keeping something from your husband is one thing, but you're reluctant to break any promise outright. So you choose your words carefully.

"I suppose I could agree to that," you say, with an exasperated eye roll and a dramatic sigh. "Just for today."

It works. Felix smiles in relief, and pulls you into a kiss full of unspoken gratitude. It’s as fiery and spine tingling as his kisses always are. But, knowing what you’re planning on doing as soon as he’s gone, you feel too guilty to fully appreciate it.

Part 2 | Fanfiction Masterpost

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luzysabel · 4 years

Text

|| One Piece x Fem! Reader || Past || Part 1 ||

Memory

Okey, so I started to write a fanfic in wattpad and I want to publish here too. If you want you can read the fanfic here, the fanfic is in Spanish (my first lenguaje) but Google can translate the page to your language if you are using it.

Warnings: Mentions of dead, diseases and anxiety

● ● ●

I like look at the sky. It brings me peace, it makes me happy. Even if it makes me feel nostalgia, even if it makes my heart ache.

It's on nights like this, when the sky is totally clear and minutely adorned by the brightest spheres of light, when I appreciate that I'm not an astronomer. Because that's how I cannot see how different this sky is from mine and I can find comfort in the similarities that I want to believe there are. Allowing me to feel as if I were back home again. Even if I can't help but feel sad afterwards. Even though I know that no matter how much the two skies resemble each other, they will never be the same.

I like to admire the landscape. It brings me peace, it makes me happy.

The island I live on is very beautiful. Wonderful, rather. Makes want to draw it, take a picture, never look away, and everyone who has seen this place will agree with me. I never tire of exploring and strolling through it, it's a delight. It looks like a landscape taken from a book. A fantastic sight, almost unreal. Or at least in my world I have never seen such a place. It is not as if I had lived a long time, 15 years, and my family was not much traveller either. So it's not such a crazy thing. But it also doesn't look like any image I've seen on the Internet. However, I don't want to comment on something I don't know.

Another thing I like is that everyone here sings. Well, not all, but the vast majority yes. It's very rare to see someone who is not good at singing or without any talent related to art. It is the paradise of every artist. Here you find people singing, dancing or performing almost everywhere. Even I sang once (I was forced to do so) with other village children on a holiday. It was nice, I enjoyed it a lot.

I also like how peaceful this place is. The pirates don't attack us and nothing serious happens here, as far as I know. It is a very good place to live. Honestly, it doesn't bother me, I'm a rather calm person and not very adventurous (not to say I have none of that) so I could not be happier. This is all I need, after that the last thing I want is to live a busy life. What's I need is tranquility, a stable place to live. That which I always dreamed of in my previous life.

I'm very afraid of forget. It terrifs me. Every time I think about it my breath is cut off, I feel like crying. It is as if a bucket of frozen water were thrown at me. I feel cold, I don't stop trembling, my skin becomes pale, suddenly I feel bad, I feel sick. I don't like it, I hate it.

A few years ago (shortly after I turned three) I started a diary. There I write everything I remember about my past life. I write a lot, I'm very good at remembering, but lately I have started to forget. It's not something that happened suddenly, in fact, it has happened to me for quite some time. Little by little I've been forgetting more and more things, but it wasn't until not long ago that I started to realize it. It was almost like a stab to the heart. Suddenly I started to breathe through my mouth, the air that entered through my nose was no longer enough. My chest started to hurt, my palms became sweaty and I clung to my own clothes, I didn't stop trembling.

Although the worst time I had was when I tried to draw my mom and grandma.

It was on mother's day, we had just finished a surprise party we had for Adela, my mother of this world. We had spent a lot of time organizing it, we tried hard to make it special. But, I couldn't help but be sad and leave. I tried my best to hide my feelings and pretend I was doing well, I was doing so well...

I just wanted to make a draw of my mom and grandmother... I couldn't see them, I felt very lonely without my family, I couldn't say goodbye the last time I saw them, I couldn't tell them how much I loved them and I didn't want to think that those moment would be the last time I would see them. However, it was. Now I'm here, locked in this huge and dangerous unknown world, where I can die at virtually any time and in any form, yeeeeei. Please notice the sarcasm.

It happened in the night, everyone was sleeping, I couldn't sleep. I kept remembering my family, how we celebrated mother's day, the sad memories didn't leave me alone, I couldn't with it anymore. I cried. I Tried to calm down myself and not to make any noise, in vain, I don't stop of crying, instead, it get worse. I didn't remember my family's faces, everything was blurry, I couldn't see anything clearly. Luckily I sleep alone, so no one could see me. In a desperate attempt to remember, I tried to draw them, to put on paper two of the most important people in my life. I don't know why I thought it was a good idea, it just made it even worse.

While I was crying Adela came. She was worried, she asked me what happened, which was what made me cry. I couldn't answer, I couldn't say words, I was unable to speak. Adela approached me with care, she seemed afraid to scare me. She asked if she could hug me, I said yes, so she gently wrapped her arms around me, while caressing my head with one hand. It wasn't until that moment that I realized how touch starved I was. It's not that I'm not affectionate or something, no, not at all. It's just that is uncomfortable for me to be like that with them. Not that I don't love them, no. On the contrary, I love them very much and they have a special place in my heart, but my memories are a barrier that prevents me from seeing them for who they are, my family.

I don't want them to replace my family, I'm afraid they will, I'm afraid I'll forget them, it feels like a betrayal. It makes me feel guilty, it makes me feel bad.

She held me against her chest while she whispered comforting words to me. She asked me if it was a nightmare, I nodded. It was impossible for me to tell the truth, I doubt she would believe me. I also don't know how they would react. This is a secret I'm going to take to the grave.

She sang a lullaby to calm me down, I listen this song since I practically arrived to this world, it's a very beautiful song, definitely one of my favorites. She offered to sleep with her, in her room (along with my father and my little brothers of this world, obviously) I was too sad to sleep alone that night and I thought I would surely have nightmares, so I agreed. I slept well that night.

I miss been called by my name. I find it strange that they don't. It's uncomfortable, I don't like it. I feel like I'm someone else, like it's not me, it makes me feel false.

My name, now, is a nickname, although it was not my intention that it would be. What happened was this: all my stuff has my name somewhere. I did this for fear of forgetting it, initially everyone was a little bit surprised of me doing this and asked me why, so I lied to them saying it was a nickname given to me by a child I played with a time ago. It was from then on that everyone started calling me by my name and little by little they stopped using the one they put me here.

I really appreciate everything they do for me, they always makes me feel comfortable and happy. They have also endured me since I came into this world, they even helped me with my (I think) phobia of getting sick. After having died of an illness during a pandemic, I am afraid of illness and whenever this is mentioned I feel horrible. Especially when I pass it. It's as if I relive that illness, as if everything happened again. I hate it.

I can't deal with doctors either, I can't even be near to a hospital. So I try to take care of myself as much as I can so I don't get sick again. The few times I did it I felt horribly bad, I thought I was going to die, I almost had an anxiety attack when I noticed the symptoms. But fortunately they were able to calm me down before it all got worse, I am really grateful for that.

Adela and Ulysses are the best parents of the world, they have educated their children very well and they are all very united. They remind me a little of my family. I'm happy I was born here. Sometimes I feel I don't deserve them, but I don't want to think about it. I just enjoy the few moments of peace I have, and I couldn't be happier about it.

I like to be here. I feel well, I'm happy.

#one piece imagines #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfiction #one piece fanfic #one piece imagine #x reader #reader insert #one piece reader insert

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hythlodaes · 4 years

Note

34 "It's just you and me." for revan/alek? 💕

thank you, loes

34. “It’s just you and me.”

Alderaan is colder than Revan thought it would be.

It’s the only thought she allows herself to think as she watches the stars slowly spin around the axis of the sky. These half-aware lights sit above the mountains, which rise flat black against the night—jagged lines dotted with houses that are grand, even from a distance.

She’d thought that the hills of Dantooine were something to marvel at, but this is something else entirely.

It’s the first time Revan’s left home. She’s nineteen, and she’s never been away from Dantooine before. She’s nineteen, and she’s never felt further away from who she is. This past year has taken something from her that she cannot name. She lost more than just her master all those months ago, when she stood in the Council Chamber and change happened to her instead of because of her.

And maybe that’s the hardest thing for her to understand. In her youth, in her innocence, her sense of security has never been challenged. Everything was the same for so long, and then it wasn’t. The one person she could trust was the very person who made her a victim, but Revan’s heart has broken and mended and bears its scar, and now she’s homesick.

She’s tired of it, but she is. She’s tired of wanting to go home, because home doesn’t feel like it used to and that’s something that’s never going to get better.

But the night air is cold on Alderaan, and Revan sits on the balcony of the lodging that’s been provided for her, Master Zhar, and Malak. Their diplomatic mission has been too busy to fully enjoy their surroundings, but these nights make up for it in their own way.

Even in the dark, Alderaan is something to behold.

“It’s late,” she hears Malak say. His voice has an edge of sleep to it, and when she glances over her shoulder, she sees his tall figure in the doorway. As tall as the mountains, he is. Tall and smiling, he draws closer to join her on the couch, where Revan automatically tosses half of her blanket onto his lap.

“Didn’t feel like sleeping,” she says back, hiding the grin that seems to find her lips more and more around him. If Master Kae broke her heart, well…Malak’s the one who tries to piece it back together, and it works more than she’d ever admit.

“What, playing politics all day doesn’t tire you out?”

“I’m never tired,” she admits, but it sounds like a joke so she goes with it.

It works. “You’re so full of it.”

Her gaze lands on the dimples that show up with his pressed smile, and something in her warms enough that she has to shift her position, facing the view rather than him. “Why are you awake?”

“Zhar snores,” he answers simply, and Revan snorts a small laugh as he continues, “I sensed you out here, so I figured you might want some company.”

“A bold assumption.”

“Please, you love having me around.”

“You’re quite inescapable, I’d say,” she says, but she smiles as she looks over at him again, at his soft smile in the starlight. “Let’s play a game.”

“Kriff, here we go,” he says. “Which one?”

“Truth or truth?”

He laughs, and his chin always tilts up a little when he does so. Strong jaw, smooth skin, he looks blue in this light. “I don’t know if there’s anything left for us to ask about each other.”

“I don’t care about you, I want to know if Zhar really snores.”

“He does. Sounds a lot like that swoop bike you’re convinced will race.”

“Just give me time, you’ll see,” she says, only slightly resentful that he doesn’t believe in her skill as a mechanic. “Come on, your turn.”

He sighs, long and slow, and he moves his gaze over to the mountains. She follows it, letting her eyes roam across the trees that catch the light on their needles—taller than anything on Dantooine. The night feels wholly alive with the two of them like this, witnessing it like this. Malak tucks himself in a little, curling his legs up onto the sofa, and one of his knees touches the outside edge of her thigh. He curls his hands under the blanket and pulls it up to his chin.

Finally, he settles on, “Why are you really out here?”

“To distract myself,” she answers, more honestly than she expected. Their eyes meet, and she sees the cautious curiosity in his gaze. She presses her lips together. “I’ve been thinking about Kae.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says, finding she can’t elaborate. It’s an opening, but one she won’t take. Malak understands more than most only because he’s been told more than most, but it’s still not enough for him to understand. She shifts her position again, ending up with her elbow resting on his knee, and refocuses her mind on the game. “Do you think we’ll miss this someday?”

“Miss what, exactly?”

“This,” she says. “I don’t know. Both of us with Zhar, going on missions. Living on Dantooine. It’s going to change soon, you know.”

Malak makes a small noise as he considers it. “I guess. Right? This isn’t the past yet, so it’s hard to tell.”

Her brows furrow a little at the center. “Isn’t it enough to know that you enjoy something about your life, and that someday it’ll be different?”

“Yes?” he says, but he sounds unsure. Maybe she isn’t explaining this right. “Is this your way of saying you’ll miss me when I’m on Coruscant?”

She exhales a laugh, because right. He got accepted for his advanced training program there. As soon as they’re knighted, he’ll be leaving her, and they both know that the Council will put as much distance as possible between them.

“What if it is?” she asks.

His smile stills before it slowly falls, and something infinitely more serious comes over him. “Really?”

“Well, who else will I annoy all the time?” It comes out weakly but it lightens things between them, and Malak smiles as he shakes his head. “No one better than you, Mal.”

“I’m truly blessed,” he says. “Whose turn is it?”

“Yours, I believe.”

He hums as he thinks about it, and Revan takes the time to watch the way the starlight ghosts over his tattoos, making them look silver instead of their usual blue gray. She shifts her gaze as soon as he looks up and asks, “What’s your favorite thing about Alderaan?”

“The landscape,” she answers automatically. “What a lame question.”

“I didn’t know boring questions were against the rules.”

“They are now.”

He snorts. “Fine. Ask me something exciting, then.”

Revan allows herself a moment to think. There’s one question that comes to mind, that’s been on her mind for some time now, and it’s like—now or never, right? Her voice only falters for a half second as she asks. “Have you ever kissed anyone?”

She watches his brow dip for a moment before the corners of his lips raise, and he glances over at her and tilts his head. “Of course I have.”

Of course I have.

“What?” The word tumbles out of her mouth too quickly. “Who have you kissed?”

“It’s not your turn.”

“Malak.”

“People? I don’t know, it was years ago. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?”

He frowns. “Is it?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” she admits, and feels a sharp shock of embarrassment flood through her. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, realizing she’s essentially given him permission to make fun of her for the rest of their lives.

Only—that’s not what happens.

He merely shrugs. “That’s okay, it’s not like you have to.”

“Well I do now,” she says. “I can’t live in a galaxy where you’ve kissed someone and I haven’t.”

This time he laughs. “And how do you plan on fixing that?”

“With you,” she says, proud of herself that her voice doesn’t shake around the words. “Would you?”

It’s almost comical, the way his eyes widen and his lips part. A half second of silence passes before he chokes out, “What?”

“It doesn’t have to be a big deal,” she continues, her heart picking up as her mouth runs away from her. “You could just kiss me, get it over with.”

“What—that doesn’t—” he looks away. “Won’t that make things weird?”

“Only if we let it.”

If it’s possible, his brows raise even higher. “And what does that mean?”

“I trust you,” she says, which isn’t much of an explanation at all, really. “It’ll only be weird if one of us is weird about it.”

“Okay,” he agrees, and though he shakes his head to himself, she watches him glance down at her lips and swears her heart’s going to beat out of her chest. When he looks back up at her eyes, there’s something hesitant, but it turns into a slow smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”

“Fully aware,” she says, but she sits up and faces him more fully. His eyes are all over her as she moves, and she can feel her hands start to shake as he mirrors her.

“This is a lot of responsibility, you know,” he says.

“Think you can handle it?” she asks as she leans in a little. Her lips fall into a grin that betrays her nerves.

“What if someone finds out?” he asks in return.

She takes a breath. “It’s just you and me, Mal.”

And that’s enough, isn’t it? No one else has to know.

He reaches forward to cup her jaw, and the smile falls off of her lips entirely. She looks into those blue eyes, at the proximity of those blue eyes, and realizes what, exactly, she has asked for.

“Malak,” she breathes, his name just a whisper between them. One heartbeat. Silence. A single moment that stretches on for far longer than it has any right to. Revan’s eyes stay on Malak’s and he looks so nervous that she has to wonder if he’s feeling what she’s feeling.

Because the truth is, somewhere deep down, something she’s not yet ready to confront, wants this to mean something.

He touches the corner of her mouth, right over the scar that sneaks across her lips, and his brows come together as he says, “I gave you this.”

“And I kept it,” she replies. Both of their voices are infinitely softer than they were before, and there are things she knows she’s not allowed to say, no—she can’t say them at all.

He tips his head forward and Revan automatically closes her eyes as she feels his lips touch hers. At first, all she can focus on is the strangeness of the feeling, so unlike what she’d expected, but then his thumb brushes against her jaw and she relaxes into it, letting herself feel it for what it is, and oh.

That’s just it….oh.

She’s breathing hard as he pulls back, and it takes her longer than it should to open her eyes again. When she does, it’s to Malak watching her carefully, like she might be angry, but all she can do is look at him.

All she can do is look at him, but all she wants is to lean in again, to kiss him again until her racing heart begins to make sense.

“Okay?” he asks, and her eyes drop to his lips, lips that had just touched her own moments ago, and she nods.

“Okay,” she says, but both of them just keep watching each other. Malak lifts his gaze and stays on hers, and she can tell he’s thinking too hard so she reaches for his hand, tangling their fingers together on the blanket.

They’re still close, is the thing, and it’s an endless moment later that Malak leans in again. She’s ready for it this time, meeting his lips and squeezing his hand tight. She doesn’t think she can breathe but she doesn’t want to. She just wants him—more than she’d ever admit. They can’t acknowledge this ever again but right now they have it, and that’s what matters.

It’s just overwhelming to kiss him like this, and feel like it’s something he wants too.

But they part again, and this time he leans back to put some distance between them. “Just when I think I understand you, Rev.”

She swallows. “You know me better than anyone.”

“A terrifying concept.”

Their hands separate in some kind of mutual understanding, and Revan reaches back for the blanket instead, pulling it up to her chin, resisting the urge to press her lips together. When she looks back over at Malak, he’s still clearly wary. He crosses his arms over his chest, and the distance between them feels far now that they’ve been close.

But it can’t last. Revan takes a breath, and lets herself grin. “Right. I think it’s your turn, then.”

Malak laughs, and just like that, it’s over.

Just like that, it never happened.

#revalek #my writing #i missed them sm :(#thank you again!!#etoilebinaire #revan/malak #kotor #kotor fic

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steve0discusses · 4 years

Text

Yugioh S4 Ep10 pt 1: Yugioh Predicted the California Drought

Ah, my break is officially over, and it’s a new year, and so far, this year kind of sucks so lets get distracted and watch some TV. IF ONLY we could solve the world’s issues with a bunch of lost children from Japan carrying magical paper cards, amiright?

Anyway, Seto reflects on these cards that he came alllll the way to California to learn about, only to learn about them, and then decide “Yeah I didn’t really want to know that, Yugi.”

I just want to remind everyone that last episode I said “and now Kaiba has joined the party” and it lasted like less than one conversation with Yugi before Seto was like “oh hell no” and just walked out in that purple ball gown, trailing behind him like a complete diva.

Yugi needs to curse his friends to like him more often, is what I’m saying.

(read more under the cut)

So, staring at the fallout of their rekindled friendship with Kaiba that lasted less than a minute, Joey makes an observation.

And then Yugi just wonders “the hell is this plot supposed to go if a Kaiba isn’t here to abduct my family/tell me what to do/get abducted themselves?”

So they decide to reach out to the only other person on this show with a degree than Seto Kaiba.

(And TBH, Seto probably just decided to buy a new degree in graphic design from Devry so he wouldn’t have to finish public school and spend another millisecond in the same room as Joey Wheeler.)

And I have to give Yugi credit for finally deciding to visit the only adult he knows in America. Way to finally find an adult, Yugi. Took 4 season’s but you’ve finally done it. Gonna go visit Arthur Hawkins and dance awkwardly around this Rebecca situation that I guess Tea is fine with now. She used to be jealous, but I think Tea genuinely enjoys spending time with Rebecca now. The jealousy kind of disappeared once the plot picked up.

And Kaiba just takes off in the most wasteful plane ever invented, off to destroy precious fossil fuels on some other side of the planet.

Kind of weird that Tea would rather fly in that asshole dragon plane than Duke Devlin’s sweet retro car, but youknow...I’ve mentioned before that Tea is secretly just a Kaiba-lite without the cards. Of course she’d prefer an asshole dragon jet.

And Yugi would be able to fit in the suit-case compartment of the dragon jet. Just put the suitcase on Mokuba’s lap, and then stuff Yugi into that little slot, he’d be fine.

And honestly Kaiba made the correct choice, because what these guys had to go through is absolutely ridiculous. First off, Duke is like “Oh, this is really close to here” (remember they are in the Financial District of SF) and he just turns directly off of 101 and blows through some bird sanctuary somewhere.

Like y’all, everywhere that doesn’t have a house or a cow field on it in the Bay Area is a protected bird sanctuary, weird fact about the Bay Area, and Duke killed so many birds this episode. The South Bay is SO DEVELOPED.

Course, that is again assuming that the art staff knew that they were drawing the Bay Area, which they SUPER DID NOT.

Now this rock structure, I’m sure, is there to mimic the next shot with the giant ass building--it helps make pleasing screen transitions. But...at what cost?

AT WHAT COST?

Just....

Like I am starting to think the landscapers only knew how to draw one type of mountain and that was it. Square mesas only. They were just unprepared for hills. And like...we only have wild grass that is green like this for like...2 months of the year. That’s it. That’s what my Winter looks like, it’s when the grass is alive.

How did this happen?

Anyway, Mai is alive, and really upset about it. Will she at all reflect on her behavior, and realize that if the main mini-bosses are telling you to knock it the hell off, then maybe there is something wrong with you? Like these are two people who I assume harvested a ton of souls off screen like actual serial killers and they’re like “Girl. You’re like being hella mean right now and need to tone it down.”

I mean, if Mai gets better, than that basically gives Joey absolutely nothing to do in this season so, gotta keep Mai completely bonkers. There she goes. On a motorcycle.

And if you thought Yugioh was done throwing recreational and vintage vehicles in your face, well don’t worry, they even got the OG vintage vehicle, check this one out:

A freakin horse.

And I have to tell you...horses are hard to draw and animate and Yugioh doesn’t do a great job and it is wonderful. I love seeing this horse kind of awkwardly stumble around. It’s very good stuff. Like clearly these artists do not love horses as much as they love one of these:

Of course, get allllll the vehicles in this episode, Yugioh, bring back Marik on his yacht, I dare you.

And then...this very bizarre set of things happen in succession. I’ll just show you.

NICE.

WOW.

That entire house just exploded.

Not just a part of it--but the entire freakin house.

They were there for like less than 30 seconds, and just demolished that entire house like it was Independence Day the movie.

And like that whole house situation was pretty bonkers anyway, not sure why they need a planetarium when they research undersea structures, but youknow what? Arthur Hawkins would.

And don’t you dare do the math and think about how much a house with a planetarium and a horse stable in it would cost in Silicon Valley. It’s way too depressing, trust me.

And yes, that probably exists. Lots of horse people in Los Altos, and it makes me wonder if maybe they based Rebecca’s home on Stanford University? Maybe? I feel like these animators think Stanford is in San Fransisco. That one seems likely to me.

Also, kudos to the horse that it got blasted 50 ft away by an explosion and not only is the horse completely OK, but so is all of her groceries. That is one power horse, right here. I mean the groceries are still covered in so much horse ass smell, but youknow, Rebecca’s 12 so it’s not the horse’s or Rebecca’s fault that she has no idea how groceries work. We should just be glad that she bought vegetables when she went to the store and not just 8 cartons of pop tarts.

So, hours pass, no police show up, and Yugi and co walk into this bleak situation.

Fortunately, the massive explosion did not explode the truck-led RV outside.

A truck that...could’ve been used to go and get the damn groceries, may I add. If Arthur Hawkins used the TRUCK and done his own job without sending his granddaughter into a modern town on a horse, then he would have been at the grocery store and his house would never have exploded. This one is on Arthur, honestly. Then again, he seems like he kinda has the parenting skills of Yugi’s family, who just kinda...delivered him to San Fransisco un-aided and was like “have fun storming the castle”

This ship is kind of hilarious in action, not gonna lie. Yugi’s here with a grandpa who came back from the dead and is like “They don’t really need your grandpa, so he’s probably fine” and it’s like wtf. That’s terrible advice, Yugi.

Anyway, they apparently needed the Oricalchos necklace that Yugi handed off to Arthur back in like the first episode. So Yugi didn’t exactly mean for this to happen, but yet again, because Yugi and Pharaoh can’t be bothered to keep track of their own magical items themselves, someone else goes off with them and gets super screwed. Again. At least Arthur isn’t totally evil (although he still might and go rogue like Marik, and we all know that would be a very funny hairstyle if it happened)

So Rebecca happens to have this necklace just on your person (WTF, ARTHUR THAT’S YOUR GRANDDAUGHTER) and she gives it back to Yugi, where it should have stayed in the first place since he’s haunted by powerful ghost powers and is the only one here that can handle all these haunted Mordor rings. (just remembered he left Bakura’s ring in Japan. I’m sure that’s not going to be a problem later.)

So, that’s all for Part One. As you can see, I’m a little behind schedule, but youknow, I got lazy over the break, and then I drew Joey Wheeler a bunch when I planned to be typing, and it was overall a really great use of my time. No regrets.

And if you just got here this is a link to read the Yugioh recaps from the start. One of these days I’ll put the link into seasons but that does mean I have to retag stuff.

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hearts-hunger · 5 years

Text

“D’you need a pencil, love?”

Part Seven || Masterlist

Summary: Making good on his promise to show you the sights, Roger takes you to Tate Gallery, too busy romancing you to pay attention to the paintings. Later, you go by Roger’s and Freddie’s flat so Roger can get ready for the show, and Roger asks if you’d like to do his makeup.

Pairings: College!Roger x Reader

Genre: Fluff, just a lot of blushing and giggling mainly

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: None!

A/N: After 900000 years of silence, this series has been resurrected! God bless Ben Hardy and his ability to make me pine over him so hard that it makes me dust off a series I’d long since given up on. I’m so thankful for your encouragement and patience, and how a lot of you have kept hope alive that this series would come back one day. It means so much! I don’t know when the next part will be, but this is at least a start! ♡

“Which one do you want to look at first?”

You tucked your hand under Roger’s arm and looked at the pamphlet he was holding, taking a moment to read all the names of the different galleries listed. Roger had suggested taking you to the Tate Gallery for the first stop on your touristy trip through London, and you couldn't have been more pleased; you’d been wanting to go ever since you arrived in London, and you were much happier to be going with Roger than to be going alone.

“Well, we could just start...” You tapped the room on the map that had a number 1 on it, labeled 16th and 17th Century Painting. “There. At the first one.”

He gave you a cheeky grin. “Oh, aren’t you clever?”

You giggled. “Why, which one do you want to go to first?”

He looked over the map. “Hm, we could try Romantic Painting,” he said. “Sounds right for us.”

You blushed and buried your face against the sleeve of his jacket, drawing a laugh from him.

“You’re very cute, sweetheart,” he said. “Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Shut up,” you said, nudging him lightly. He chuckled and kissed your forehead.

“We’ll start with the first one, like you said. That’s the better idea. We’ll get to Romantic Paintings eventually, and maybe by then you won’t be so shy and I can kiss you in front of all these posh art connoisseurs.”

You lifted your head and met his eyes, unable to help a smile at the thought of him kissing you. “Who says we aren’t posh art connoisseurs?”

“Quite right,” he agreed, gently steering you to the side of the walkway as a group of students came in. “Let’s go make wild critiques of art that nobody in their right mind would agree with.”

You laughed. “Okay. Lead on, Mr. Taylor.”

You kept yourself tucked close to him as he led you into the gallery proper, letting you take as long as you wanted to take in the beautiful high-ceilinged rotunda before finding 16th and 17th Century painting. The gallery was warm and quiet, the sound of shoes hardwood floors and people’s quiet comments creating a soothing atmosphere as you and Roger looked at the many paintings that graced the walls.

“So, you’re studying history,” Roger said, his voice low and gentle as he looked from one of the paintings to you, a cheeky smile on his face. “What happened in the 16th and 17th Centuries?”

You gave a soft laugh. “Lots. Shakespeare, Galileo, Sir Francis Drake, Milton, Newton... lots.”

“That’s five more than I would have been able to name.”

“You could probably guess someone off the top of your head and they would have been doing something in the 16th or 17th Centuries.”

Roger grinned. “Okay, um, how about da Vinci?”

“Yep, 16th Century.” You smiled. “See? I told you?”

He laced his fingers with yours as you moved to the next painting, a portrait of a pale young woman in Tudor-style clothes.

“I wish I knew more about art and history,” Roger said, studying the painting. He glanced over at you. “Sorry I’m a bit useless when it comes to this sort of thing.”

You stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “If I wanted an art expert, I would have come with Freddie.”

“You actually should come with Freddie sometime,” Roger said seriously. “He’ll spend the whole day here, and he actually knows things about art, like you said.”

You laughed. “Maybe I will, sometime.” You liked that idea, and you could imagine yourself whiling away the hours talking about art with Freddie. “But for now I’m having the grandest time with you, even if you don’t know anything about art.”

Roger smiled and you didn’t miss the endearing pink across his cheeks. “The grandest time, eh? Well, I’m glad. You deserve the grandest of everything, love.” He looked back at the painting, looking over it a little less self-consciously now he knew you were having a good time with him even if he couldn’t place the style or history of it at all. “I do like her style, though. Very flashy.”

You giggled. “I think Brian would love it if you suggested you wear Tudor-style outfits for your show.”

“That’d go over well with our audience at the pub, don’t you think?” he said with a chuckle. “Honestly, Brian could probably be persuaded. Freddie’s probably tried. It’s just Tim who’s always so resistant to anything out of the ordinary.”

You looked up at him, trying to make out how he felt by watching his expression. He noticed and gave you a kind smile.

“I’ve been told my face is rather hard to read sometimes,” he said. “But you can ask me if you want to know what I’m thinking.”

You blushed. “I don’t want to pry.”

“You’re not,” he said. “I promise, love, I’d tell you if I didn’t want to talk about something. But you can always ask. I’m pretty much an open book anyways.”

You bit your lip and thought of how to word it as you walked to the next painting, a landscape with a river and a little village in the background.

“Are you and Tim friends?” you asked.

Roger shrugged. “I mean, we’re mates, I guess. You can’t really play music with someone all the time and not be at least drinking buddies.”

“But...?”

“We’re not close,” Roger said. “Brian and Tim have known each other since secondary school, and they were playing long before I came along.”

You considered that. “You’re close with Brian, though, right? Or am I... misreading that?”

Roger smiled. “No, you’re not misreading that. Brian and I are - well, I don’t want to sound too sappy, but it’s like we’ve known each other forever. And Freddie’s the same. We just... I dunno. Fit.”

You smiled and gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. “You can be as sappy as you want with me, I won’t tell anybody.”

Roger chuckled. “I appreciate that. I’ve got to keep up this cool exterior somehow. Can’t have the two of them thinking I’m too fond of them. It’d go straight to their heads.”

You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. You had the feeling that whatever Roger said, Freddie and Brian knew how much Roger loved them, and that they felt the same in return. You didn’t want to make a snap judgement against Tim - after all, you’d known him for less than a week - but somehow he didn’t seem to click with the three of them like that, nor did he seem to want to.

“But, yeah, things with Tim are a little... frayed,” Roger supplied. “He keeps picking fights and talking about joining a different band.”

“Does he really?” you asked, a little surprised. “But you’re... you’re doing an album. Would he really up and quit like that?”

Roger shrugged. “I dunno. Tim’s always been one for a lot of bluster but it honestly wouldn’t surprise me if he did quit Smile. He’s always going on about these other bands that play the same circuit we do, like Humpy Bong - God, he’s really got a hard-on for them - ” He cut himself off, a fierce blush coloring his cheeks.

“Sorry, I -” He cleared his throat. “That was a bit vulgar of me.”

You laughed, not to be unkind, but because his embarrassment was very endearing. “It’s ok, Roger,” you said. “I’m not offended.”

“Yeah, but...” He gave you a bashful smile. “I’m really trying very hard to be a perfect gentleman, you know.”

You smiled and gave him a chaste kiss. “I know. And you’re doing a wonderful job, honey. Even if you do say things like ‘hard-on’.”

His blush deepened and he put a hand to his face to try and hide it.

You gave a soft laugh and took his hand in yours, pulling it away from his face. “What?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled, though he was fighting a beaming smile. “Just... that’s the first time you’ve called me some kind of nickname.”

You realized it was, and you smiled up at him. “Did you like it?”

“Not at all,” he said dryly. He smiled when you laughed. “Of course I did, silly thing, why do you think I’m an absolute mess? And it’s very American of you, too. ‘Honey’ isn’t a very common term of endearment here. It’s cute.”

You grinned. “Well, lucky for you, you’ve got an American girlfriend to call you honey all the time.”

He put an arm around your waist and drew you close. “Quite right, I have.” He kissed you gently, the tenderness of it making you a little weak in the knees. You didn’t even think of how it would look to the other gallery-goers around you to see Roger kissing you like that in front of God and everybody, but you didn’t mind. You actually kind of liked it, and you gave him a breathless smile when you came up for air.

“Was that ok?” he asked. “Not, I mean - well, was it an ok kiss, first, but was it ok that I just kissed you like that in front of the whole gallery?”

You put your fingers to his lips and he kissed them gently.

“Yes, it’s ok,” you said, endeared to his concern. “And possibly the best kiss we’ve had so far.”

He grinned. “Well, fancy that. I think we’re getting better with practice, don’t you?”

“Without a doubt,” you said confidently. His expression showed a bit of pride at that, and you couldn’t help a smile. You tucked your arm around his waist under his jacket, enjoying the feeling of his warmth and steadiness as you continued around the gallery, moving from 16th and 17th Century Painting into different galleries up to the turn of the century. Roger made up little stories and scenarios for each painting you saw, some funny and lighthearted and others showing a distinct passion Roger had for issues of social justice and politics.

He made good on his promise to sweep you off your feet when you got to the Romantics, too. Though he listened interestedly when you explained Romanticism as a philosophy, he made up elaborate romantic scenarios for the paintings and said so many sweet things to you that you wore a permanent blushing smile all the way through.

You noticed as you walked through the gallery on Surrealism that Roger kept discreetly checking his watch; you hadn’t thought it was late enough for you to head to the Foxtail for the set, but you guessed you could be misjudging what time it was.

“Is it almost time to go?” you asked.

He looked a little bashful. “Well, not technically - we don’t have to be at the pub until seven.”

“But you’re ready to go?” you guessed.

“I was hoping to swing by my flat to change, if that’s alright,” he said apologetically. “But I don’t want to rush you. I really can just go in this, I’ll be fine.”

You smiled. “It’s ok, honey, I don’t mind. We couldn’t have done the whole thing in one day, anyway, so we can go so you can get ready for the show.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive,” you said, kissing his cheek.

He beamed at you. “Thank you. I can drop you by your flat if you want to get freshened up, or you can just hang out at mine and Freddie’s until we leave for the show, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you said.

“Well, I'd love that too,” he said sweetly. “Come on, then.”

You followed him through the winding rooms and hallways until you got back to the main entrance, thanking him as he held the door open for you. The fall air was crisp and cool compared to the warmth of the gallery, and you tucked yourself close to Roger as you started the walk back to his flat. Brian had taken the van from De Lane so you and Roger wouldn’t have to worry about it, and he'd meet you at the pub with all the equipment and Roger’s kit later.

You chatted as you walked, asking each other questions and continuing to get to know each other. Roger lit up when you asked him questions about music, what he imagined for Smile and how he hoped to be able to contribute songs someday like Brian and Tim did. He admitted he had a few songs he was working on, though he didn’t think they were very good. You made him promise to show you sometime, and he just blushed and said he’d love to.

It was getting dark by the time you got to his apartment building, the cozy glow from inside the flats shining through the curtained windows onto the street below. Roger let you up to the third floor, stopping at the door sporting a tarnished brass 305. He didn’t bother to check if it was unlocked, and you assumed that meant Freddie was already home.

“Fred,” Roger called as he ushered you inside. “I’m back, and I’ve brought Y/N.”

You stood just inside the door, feeling a little bit shy, unsure where you should go as Roger hung his jacket and set his wallet on the kitchen counter. The flat was small but homey, the kitchen and living room separated by a small island; there was a hallway off to your left you guessed led to the bedrooms. A Jimi Hendrix record was playing, and the light of the lamp on the side table by the couch was warm and soft.

Freddie emerged from the hallway as Roger took your coat from you and hung it up, a beaming smile on his face.

“Y/N, darling!” he said happily. “Welcome to our home. It’s lovely to see you.”

You smiled. “Thanks for having me over,” you said. “Roger invited me to hang out for a bit while he got changed for the show.”

“You’re perfectly welcome anytime you’d like to come over, my dear,” Freddie said. “Our home is your home. Can I get you a cup of tea or anything?”

Even though you felt perfectly comfortable with Freddie and Roger, it always made you a bit anxious to go to someone’s house for the first time; you hated the idea of being an inconvenience and were always a little shy accepting hospitality. Roger must have sensed your hesitance, because he put his hand on the small of your back and gave you a gentle smile.

“We’ll both have one, please, if you’ve got any on,” Roger said to Freddie, saving you having to ask for yourself. You gave him a grateful smile and felt yourself fairly glow with affection as he returned it with one of his own.

“I’m no barbarian, Roger, darling,” Freddie said with a wave of his hand. “Of course I’ve got some on.”

He busied himself with making tea as Roger gently steered you into the living room, taking your hand in his as you reached up out of habit to tuck your hair behind your ear.

“Don’t have to be nervous,” he reminded you, kissing your knuckles gently. You blushed and leaned your head against his chest to hide your face.

He chuckled and kissed your hair. “‘S ok, sweetheart. It’s just us. And I won’t be but a minute getting changed.”

“Okay.” You gave a soft laugh. “Sorry I’m being... weird. I don’t know.”

He smiled. “You’re alright, love. You’re welcome to explore, if you want, but it’s up to you. Loo’s the first door on the left down the hall, Freddie’s the door after, and I’m the door on the right.”

“Go get dressed,” you told him, giving him a light nudge towards his bedroom. “I’ll spend some quality time with Freddie.”

“Ooh, I love quality time,” Freddie said, affectionately teasing. He brought two mugs of tea over, handing one to you and one to Roger.

“Alright, then, I’ll leave you to it,” Roger said. He have you a quick kiss before heading to his room, leaving you and Freddie in the living room. You cradled your tea in your hands, sipping at it slowly.

“Did I make it alright, darling?” Freddie asked.

You smiled. “Yeah, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“Nonsense, dear, you’re very welcome,” he said sweetly. “I’m just going to tidy the kitchen so I won’t have to do it after the show, you can stay in here or come sit at the bar or whatever you like.”

He crossed to the kitchen and started to wash the few dishes in the sink; you looked around the living room and found a large collection of records on one of the shelves of the bookcase.

“Hey Freddie?” you asked.

“Hm?”

“Can I look at these records?”

He smiled. “Of course you can, darling. You can turn Jimi off and play a different record, if you find one you like.”

You thumbed through Freddie’s and Roger’s record collection, discovering that they had excellent and slightly eclectic tastes in music. The records ranged from the Beatles and the Rolling Stones to opera and classical music. Each record looked well-loved, and you were endeared to the idea that Freddie and Roger’s home was one that always had music playing.

“Bloody hell,” you heard Freddie say. “Is that the time?”

You looked over and saw him frowning at the clock on the wall.

“I’m going to get dressed, darling,” he told you, drying his hands on a kitchen towel. “Oh, also, if you’d like, there’s Jammy Dodgers up in the cabinet above the sink.” He gave you a mischievous smile. “Just don’t tell Rog, he’ll eat them all if he knows where I’ve hidden them.”

You giggled. “Ok. Thanks.”

Freddie headed back to his bedroom and nearly crashed into Roger, who was coming out of his room with an eyeliner pencil and an eyeshadow palette in hand.

“Well hello, Rog,” Freddie said. “Where’s the fire?”

“Can you do my makeup?” he asked.

Freddie bit his lip. “I’ve still got to get dressed, darling.” He brightened. “Have Y/N do it for you. Hers is lovely, so she knows how to do it, and that’ll give me time to get dressed.”

Roger looked over to you. “Would you - I mean, only if you want, but - ”

You smiled. “Sure, I can do your makeup for you.”

Have gave you a relieved smile. “Thanks.” He came over and flopped down on the couch, offering you the eyeliner pencil and palette. “You’re wonderful, anyone ever tell you that?”

“You’re the only one that matters to me,” you said, making him grin.

“Is sitting here ok?” he asked. “I can do whatever you need me to do.”

You were a little distracted by how pretty he looked in the soft warm light, looking up at you. “Um, yeah,” you said. You set your tea down on the coffee table. “I’ll just, um - ”

You bit your lip. “Can I sit on your lap?”

His eyes widened. “Oh, uh, yeah, if you want,” he managed. You fought a smile at how adorably nervous he was and how obvious it was that he was trying to hide his excitement at the thought. He patted his thigh. “All yours.”

You briefly debated straddling him before deciding that both of you might implode, and decided on sitting sideways in his lap. His hands immediately went to steady you, resting on the small of your back and over your thigh. You could feel his warmth through the flouncy fabric of your skirt and felt heat rise to your cheeks.

“Hi,” you said, a little breathless with how close you were. You could feel his breath on your skin, his scent of laundry detergent and cologne and cigarette smoke a heady mix.

He smiled, showing laugh lines by his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. “Hi.” He cocked his head as he looked at you. “You’re so beautiful.”

You blushed. “Roger,” you mumbled, suddenly shy.

He chuckled. “It’s true. And you’re very pretty when you blush.” He tweaked your cheek gently as if to prove his point, and you felt a little dizzy with how enamored you were with him.

You shook your head slightly to clear it. “Um, so, eyeliner.”

He grinned. “Eyeliner,” he agreed. “And a little bit of eyeshadow, if you wouldn’t mind.”

You opened the palette and let it rest in your lap, looking over the few tones of gold and rose it held. You had the feeling that if you looked through Freddie’s makeup you would find more flashy and outrageous colors, which suited him, but you knew without seeing them on him that these colors would look good on Roger.

“What color were you thinking?” you asked.

He shrugged and gave you a smile. “Whichever one you think is best,” he said. “Freddie usually does my makeup because I’m not very good at it, and he just does whatever the hell he wants. It turns out well every time but I don’t have any say.”

You gave a soft laugh. “Well, I think the gold would look good with your outfit,” you said. He’d changed into snug, dark jeans and a loose-fitting black button down, conveniently forgetting to button the top three; you’d been trying to keep from outright ogling him since he came out of his bedroom. As if he wasn’t enticing enough, he wore a plain gold necklace that rested right at the base of his throat and a longer one with a gold charm in the shape of a bird.

You couldn’t help yourself; you gently touched the little gold bird on his chest and felt your fingers brush over his warm skin.

“Pretty,” you said softly. You were a little lost for words, so close to him and so drawn to him.

His smile was gentle. “Thank you.”

You looked up at him. “Close your eyes.”

He did as you said, a smile lingering on his face, his fingers against your back tracing little patterns over your sweater. You studied his face in concentration as you did his eyeshadow for him, using the gold like you’d said you would. It caught the light and shimmered a bit over those long, beautiful lashes that laid gently on his cheeks.

You took a steadying breath when you finished his eyeshadow, relieved you hadn’t messed it up. “I’m starting your eyeliner now, ok?”

He smiled. “Fine by me, love.”

You put your fingers to his jaw, tipping his face up slightly so you could see better. You felt his pulse beating steady and fast; your begged your hands to stop trembling.

“Hey,” he said gently. He opened his eyes and looked at you, putting your hand over his on his cheek. “You ok?”

“Y-yeah,” you managed.

He looked worried. “You’re a little shaky, love. You sure you’re alright?”

You bit your lip. “Um... you - you make me nervous,” you admitted, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Not in a bad way, just - you’re very pretty, and I kind of can’t believe I’m sitting on your lap and doing your makeup, and I want to kiss you so bad I can’t think straight.”

His smile was beautiful as wonder and affection replaced the worry in his expression, looking up at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Your breath caught in your chest.

“Okay,” he said gently. He gave a soft laugh. “I’m sorry I make you nervous, love, I don’t mean to. But you should know that all of that going on in there - ” He tapped softly on your chest, right where your heart was beating fair to burst. “That’s all going on for me, too.”

You twisted the cap of the eyeliner pencil around and around. “Really?”

“Absolutely,” he said, meaning it. “God, sweetheart, I forget how to breathe when I’m with you. I feel like my heart’s gonna give out any second with you so close to me.”

You blushed and couldn’t help a smile. “Hopefully not. I need a drummer with a heart to take me to his show tonight.”

He chuckled. “You’ve already got this drummer and his heart, love.” He kissed you then, slow and tender, drawing you out and stilling the shaking in your hands. You were a little dazed when you parted and gave him a soft smile.

“You’ve got my heart too, you know,” you said softly. You laughed. “You’ve also got some of my lipgloss on you. Hold still.”

You ran your thumb over his bottom lip, cleaning off the rosy sheen of your lipgloss.

“I should do your eyeliner before Freddie freaks out at me,” you said.

Roger smiled. “He wouldn’t. He’d fuss at me, but not at you.” He closed his eyes again, and you rested your hand on his cheek to steady it as you drew in the dark color over his eyeshadow. It didn’t look half bad, you thought, but that was more a credit to Roger’s lovely features than any skill of your own. When you were finished, you took a moment to study Roger’s face while he waited patiently for further instruction, memorizing the curve of his cheek and the very light freckles over his nose and the way the corner of his mouth started to tip up in a slow smile.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased lightly.

You blushed and kissed the tip of his nose; he rewarded you with the cutest laugh you’d ever heard.

“What was that for?” he asked, looking up at you with those incredible blue eyes, his face lit up with his smile.

“Just because,” you said, feeling a little cheeky.

He grinned. “Well then - ” He gave you a quick kiss. “That’s just because, too.”

You smiled as you stood from his lap, setting aside for the moment the thought that you’d like to do it again sometime very soon, offering your hand.

“Come on,” you said. “Let’s go take a look and you can tell me how terrible I did.”

He laughed as he took your hand, walking with you to the bathroom. “I’m sure it’s perfect.” He stood beside you and admired your handiwork in the mirror, batting his lashes and giving you a smirk.

“I think it looks dashing,” he said. “Very well done, sweetheart.”

You could see the way your cheeks pinked at his tone and that expression on his face. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t botch it. Gold looks very pretty on you.”

He smiled. “Thank you.”

You were going to try and say something quite charming about him looking pretty no matter what color he wore when Freddie came in, his hands fluttering in a bit of a panic.

“Roger, darling, you haven’t seen my - ooh, that gold looks lovely on you!” He put a hand to Roger’s cheek and looked at Roger’s makeup more closely. “God, your lashes are long, aren’t they? I’ll be jealous forever, dear. But that gold really does look quite stunning on you.”

Roger smiled. “Thanks.”

“Lovely job, darling,” Freddie told you with a smile. “However did you get him to sit still for you?”

“I have my methods,” you teased. You and Roger shared a glance and both couldn’t help your bashful smiles.

Freddie gave a delighted laugh. “Of course you do, darling. Well, in any case, I’m glad your methods were useful. Rog looks good enough to eat.”

“Quite a compliment, coming from you,” you said sweetly. Freddie was indeed dressed to kill, as he always was, in tight black pants, a shiny white shirt, and an outrageously flowered blazer. His studded silver belt matched the cuff bracelet on his wrist.

Freddie winked. “Got to make an impression, darling.” He looked over the counter, searching for something. “Though neither of you have seen my necklace, have you?”

“Which one?” Roger asked. “The dog-collar one?”

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Yes, Rog, though it’s not a dog-collar.”

Roger grinned as he rummaged around in the first drawer. “I beg to differ.” He found the necklace in question, a rigid silver loop with a little black jewel dancing from it.

“Dog-collar,” Roger confirmed as Freddie put it on. Freddie just gave an exasperated laugh and straightened it until he was satisfied it rested perfectly around his neck.

“Well then,” Freddie said briskly. “Are we all ready?”

Roger looked over to you in question and you nodded. “I’m ready.”

“Can I actually - ” Freddie started, reaching a hand out to you. “Can I do something really quickly to your hair, darling? I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

You smiled. “Sure,” you said, knowing Freddie’s efforts to style you would be an improvement on your look. You hadn’t done anything with your hair besides put it in a loose bun, and you were happy to let Freddie make you a bit more fashionable.

He grinned. “Lovely! I don’t want to do much, I’ve just got - ” He stepped around Roger, who graciously made room, and took the ponytail holder out to let your bun down. “I’ve got a lovely hairpin I think would go with that sweater.”

He fished around in the same drawer Roger had found his necklace in until he pulled out a slender hairpin with delicate blue flowers on the end. Freddie gently tousled your hair until it fell over your shoulders, loosely pinning your curls back from your face. The flowers caught the light and sparkled in your hair, giving you a touch of glamour, and you wondered at how Freddie was able to work such magic with so little.

“Oh, darling, that looks simply dazzling with your hair color,” Freddie said. “Do you like it?”

You beamed. “Yes, I love it,” you said. You turned your head to admire the pin better in the mirror. “It’s so pretty. Where did you get it?”

“We get all sorts of odds and ends at Kensington, dear,” he said. “I always keep a variety here, because you never know what an outfit might need, or if you might have a lovely guest who looks marvelous wearing little trinkets in their hair.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Freddie. It’s beautiful.”

He waved you off and gave a smile that was a little bashful. “No need, my dear. You brought out the beauty of the thing, not the other way ‘round. What do you think, Rog? Doesn’t it look lovely?”

Roger took you in, from the sparkly blue flowers in your hair to the heel of your shiny black shoes. You felt like a bashful schoolgirl under his gaze and thrilled at his smile.

“Beautiful,” he said, and for a second, that was the only thing in the world that mattered to you. He brushed his knuckles over your cheek and gently tugged at your curls. “Quite lovely indeed.”

You grinned. “Well, now we’re all dolled up, shall we go watch you play some rock ‘n roll?”

Roger offered you his arm in a gallant gesture, making you giggle. “Indeed we shall, my lady.”

Freddie followed the two of you out of the flat, locking it up behind you, and gave you and Roger a fond smile as the two of you walked hand in hand towards the Foxtail for Smile’s show.

forever taglist: @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl @hazah@dashlilymark@punkgeekchic @harrisunn @stephydearestxo@luckytrashgooprebel @someone-get-a-medic @chlobo6 @devin-marie

series taglist: @onceuponadetectivedemigod @somekindofroger @gingahpower @roger-taylor-owns-my-wigg @crushthewiredlove @marvel-lously @strawberryfields-forever @mrcleanisthicc @destiel-stucky4ever-loki-queen @helena-with-an-a

it’s been a while, so if you want to be added or dropped (i won’t be offended) from the series taglist, let me know!

#akjdjhbdjdhbdj are you guys as excited as i am?????#god i really thought i'd never write for this series again #and i was sad but resigned to my fate #ben hardy works in mysterious ways #let me know what you think!!!#dynapl series #maddie writes stuff!#roger taylor x reader fluff #ben!roger x reader #smile era!roger x reader #college!roger x reader #roger taylor fanfiction #queen fanfiction #smile era roger #ben!roger #d'you need a pencil love?

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pug-bitch · 4 years

Text

That’s not why I’m staying (3)

I like a protective brother

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene right at the beginning. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: about 4,600

Notes: This picks up pretty much where we left off, after the gang’s night out, starting with Amara’s POV.

*****

Amara throws her purse on the bed, and takes a very deep breath. ‘What an awesome night,’ she whispers.

Drake smiles at her and sits on the comforter. ‘You must be exhausted,’ he says.

She smiles and runs a hand through his hair, straddling him. ‘Not at all,’ she whispers. His smile becomes more mischievous as she starts unbuttoning his shirt. She adds, ‘I’m pretty fucking awake.’

Their lips crash together and their bodies cling to one another, not even giving each other the time to undress. She sits on his lap, facing him, his growing erection pressed against her. Drake’s hands roam up on her back, under her light yellow top, until they find her bra. He expertly unhooks it with one hand, which draws a low, unexpected groan from Amara. He pulls her top over her head and throws her bra across the room as swiftly as humanly possible, and she catches herself thinking, what did I do to deserve this sexy man?

She gets up and quickly takes of the rest of her clothes, as Drake takes off his pants too. Amara takes back her position, straddling him. He moans. ‘Fuck, babe, you’re so sexy.’ He kisses her neck and nips at her earlobe. She kisses him again, deeper and deeper, and grinds him until he’s about to burst out of his boxers. With one hand, she frees his throbbing cock from its fabric prison, and Drake groans in her ear. ‘I want you so fucking badly,’ he whispers.

His cock teases her entrance, although she can tell he’s dying to be inside her. She feels herself getting wetter and wetter, she can barely control herself as Drake’s mouth lands on each of her nipples and kisses them, licks them. She moans louder and bucks her hips, ready and eager for more. ‘Fuck me,’ she whispers.

Drake obliges, slowly and deeply. When the tip of his cock enters her, she lets out a low groan, and tugs on his hair a little harder. She wants to take him all in, she wants them to be as close as possible, always.

As they move together, she breaks their kiss for a second, just the time to say to him, ‘I love you.’

Breathlessly, he responds, ‘I love you too.’

*****

Drake pours himself another cup of coffee, before joining Maxwell on the patio. ‘Hey Max,’ he says.

Maxwell looks up from his book and smiles brightly. ‘Hey Drake. What are you up to?’

‘Not much, I’m waiting for Michael and Amara to be done with their call, and then I’m taking Mike on a tour of Ramsford. You?’

Maxwell pats his stomach. ‘Trying to relax and get over the magnificent lunch you made us. I can barely move.’ He gestures towards Hana, who’s doing laps in the pool. ‘Look at this one. She gleefully ignores the ‘wait 30 minutes after lunch before you swim’ rule.’

Drake chuckles. ‘Glad you enjoyed lunch. How is life?’

Maxwell laughs. ‘What do you mean, ‘how is life?’ We’ve been spending so much time together, you know exactly how my life has been. Amazing, surrounded by my friends, old and new. Plus, I got a new goat.’

‘Ah, right, the magnificent B-Coops.’

Maxwell smiles a bit brighter. ‘The most beautiful man in the world.’

Drake shakes his head. ‘You guys are nuts. But that’s not what I meant. You’ve been spending a lot of time and energy helping Michael and Amara mend their relationship, and helping Mike adjust. You’re a good friend, Max. I thought I’d ask how you’re doing, you know.’ He runs his hand through his hair. ‘You take care of others. I wanted to make sure you were ok.’

Maxwell sits up and closes his book. ‘Drake Reginald Walker—‘

‘Not my middle name,’ Drake interrupts.

Maxwell waves him off. ‘Your middle name will be the name I give you, my friend. Drake Reginald Walker, are you —gasp!— worried about my well-being?’

Drake laughs at Max’s theatrics. ‘Yeah, maybe, if you insist on putting it this way. You’ve been incredible with Amara. And with Michael. I wanna make sure someone’s taking care of you, too.’

Drake detects a hint of a blush on Max’s face, but doesn’t pry. Maxwell pauses and responds, ‘Thank you, friend, this means a lot. Well yeah, I’m having a good time, enjoying everyone’s company.’

‘You just came out to court. It would probably be normal if you had some, I don’t know, insecurities or whatever,’ Drake continues.

Maxwell looks in the distance before responding. ‘I really appreciate you checking in with me. You’re right, I need to take a minute once in a while to make sure I’m doing ok. So far, so good. I’m surrounded with so many amazing people, I know I’ll be ok.’

Drake smiles. ‘Do you want to join me and Mike on our tour? It’s your duchy, after all.’

Maxwell shakes his head. ‘No, no. Please enjoy your bonding moment with your future brother-in-law. I’ve spent a lot of time with him, and I can tell the two of you will get along great. He’s just like you, no-bullshit, straight-to-the point and all of that. You’ll have a great time.’

Drake smiles mischievously. ‘Been enjoying his company, Maxxie?’

Max snorts. ‘I don’t know what this is supposed to mean, but let me answer that honestly. Yes. He’s a great guy, and he deserves to have people around him, helping him grieve and take back his life.’

Drake throws his hands up in defeat. ‘True. Can’t argue with that.’ He looks to the house. ‘Oh, here they come.’

Drake’s heart tugs when he sees Amara. As usual. She’s coming out of the house, laughing with Michael. She is wearing denim shorts and a white T-shirt, simple as can be, but on her, everything is fucking enchanting. God, he loves her.

‘Hey babes,’ Amara yells out to Drake, Max, and Hana, who waves from the pool. ‘How is it going?’

Drake holds out his hands, and Amara goes right to him to sit on his lap. Drake knows they must look cheesy and cutesy from the outside, but he doesn’t give a fuck. ‘How was the call with your family?’

Amara kisses his forehead. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t believe how chatty Callie is, right Michael? The girl cannot be stopped, I love it.’

Michael chuckles. ‘Yeah, she was so excited to see me AND Auntie Amara together, she proceeded to show off every single one of her stuffed animals, and to introduce them, first and last names included. Took a while.’

They chat about the Suarezes for a while, Amara telling stories about her dad and technology.

Michael looks at Drake and asks, ‘You wanna go? I can’t wait to see more beautiful landscapes.’

Drake nods and kisses Amara deeply. ‘See you later, babe. Max, be good, and don’t buy another actor from the Hangover franchise. I can’t handle a cow named Ed Helms.’

Max gasps. ‘OMG. That is a genius idea, Drake, thank you.’ He mutters to Amara. ‘OR we could buy an angora rabbit and name him Zach Galifianakis. What do you think?’

Amara nods. ‘Yes. But think about poor Justin Bartha. Abandoned on the roof, then no one thinks of naming an animal after him.’

Drake chuckles and gets up. ‘Alright. Let’s go, Mike. I’m very scared of what we’re gonna find when we get back.’

*****

‘See that building over there?’ Drake points as he slows down. ‘This is the oldest restaurant in Ramsford. Been there since the 15th century.’

‘Wow, that is impressive!’ Michael replies. ‘This old town is so gorgeous.’

Drake smiles. ‘Alright, ready to go off roading? We can drive from here to the beach, scenic route only.’

‘Sounds great!’ Michael pauses and takes in the scenery. ‘So, Drake...I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to ask you what your intentions are with Amara.’

Drake chuckles. ‘Go for it. I think I can handle it. Besides, I like a protective brother, I’m one myself.’ He stops himself and remembers that he only has to wait a couple more weeks until he sees his little sister.

‘Ok, here we go,’ Michael says as he pretends to hold an imaginary microphone. ‘Drake Walker, what are your intentions with my sister, Amara Elena Suarez?’ He passes the non-mike to Drake.

‘Well, Mr. Hansen-Suarez, I love your sister, and I firmly intend to keep loving her as long as she’ll let me.’

Michael smiles. ‘Good answer. Besides, I don’t think this sort of menacing older brother thing suits me. It was more Sergio’s speed.’ He chuckles. ‘No one would be threatened by me, I guess.’

‘Hey hey, don’t sell yourself short, Mike. I saw you last night, that douche got hit pretty hard in the face, so I would definitely be threatened by you.’

Michael laughs wholeheartedly. ‘Thanks, man. Well, there’s also the fact that I’m not actually concerned about your intentions. I don’t think my husband would have been either. I mean, it’s pretty obvious that you love her, I could tell right off the bat.’

Drake blushes. ‘Yeah, it caught me by surprise, but...I was all in, right away. I knew that it was a bad idea, well...I thought it was a bad idea. My best friend was —is— really into Amara, and at first I thought I’d stay away. But I couldn’t.’

‘Sash guy?’ Michael asks.

Drake chuckles. ‘Heh. Yeah, that’s the one. Sash guy, aka Liam.’

‘No, no,’ Michael says, ‘I mean was that sash guy on the side of the road? Like, right now?’

Drake frowns and brings the Jeep to a stop. He looks in his rearview mirror and sure enough, Liam is on the side of the road, jogging by himself. ‘What the fuck? He’s not supposed to be in Ramsford without security.’

Michael nods. ‘Should we…?’

‘Yeah. If you don’t mind, I think we should.’

Michael nods again, more emphatically. ‘Of course. And um, I know he doesn’t know. Don’t worry.’

Drake smiles and pats Michael’s back as he backs up his car until he reaches Liam.

‘Hey Li,’ he shouts out the window.

Liam, startled, takes out his earbuds and finally smiles. ‘Hey Drake, you scared me!’

‘That’s what happens when you run around without security, man. Hop in, we were about to go grab coffee somewhere.’

Liam hesitates for a moment and nods. Drake presses the button to open the doors and he gets in the back seat.

*****

Ran into sash guy. Going to coffee with him now. Whaaaaat

Amara looks at her phone quizzically. Michael and Drake had been gone for a little while, during which she, Hana and Max had been puttering around in the pool and eating fruit. The life. When she stopped to think about it, she couldn’t really believe that this was the program for the day. Lounging, eating pineapple in a mansion with a beautiful view. Nice change from her Brooklyn dwellings and her shitty shifts.

‘I think Michael and Drake ran into Liam. Weird, huh?’

Maxwell shrugs. ‘Don’t worry. He was probably getting some air before having to go home to his ball and chain. Literally.’

Hana nods. ‘I know he was pretty shitty to a bunch of us in the recent past, but I do feel bad for the guy. First his dad is dying, then he’s stuck in this sham of an engagement with the most horrible person ever. I hope he can get out of it.’

Amara pauses. ‘I think his father is the one who really pushed him to choose her. I think those two events —his dad’s illness getting worse, and his engagement— are tied together. He wants to please the King, make him feel like he is leaving the country in good hands.’

Maxwell nods and pops a new piece of pineapple into his mouth. ‘I agree, Little Blossom. I worry about him, too, but at this point, there’s nothing more we can do before the Engagement Tour. Then, all of us can investigate and maybe catch Madeleine in a scheme, or something of the sort. I mean, we have a detective in our midst.’

‘Yes,’ Hana says emphatically, ‘we have a brilliant detective here, and, well, it’s too bad that our lawyer will be back in the States by the time we hop on that train on Friday…’ she makes eye contact with Amara in a smooth, sneaky way.

‘Right,’ Amara jumps on the occasion, ‘I’m gonna miss Michael. I can’t believe he’s already leaving in a couple of days.’

Maxwell looks at the bottom of his water glass, without a word. Hana looks at Amara again, this time seeming a bit more impatient. ‘Well,’ she continues, ‘maybe he could come back soon, right Amara? With Callie? We have all grown to like him a lot, and I’m sure you miss him so much.’

As much as she’s enjoying the theatrics, Amara feels the need to tone it down. This is getting a bit too orchestrated, even by Maxwell’s standards. ‘Definitely,’ she says. ‘I don’t know what the future holds, but if I stay in Cordonia —that’s assuming I stop being viewed as a whore by the whole community of course— I would love for my family to visit.’

Maxwell finally lifts up his eyes. They meet Hana’s. ‘Sweetie, you’re amazing at everything, but I think we just found your weak spot. It’s acting.’ He turns to Amara. ‘And you, please don’t say that people consider you a whore. Have you read the tabloids? No? Because I have. And sure, there’s some that publish the infamous Tariq picture, but most of them say it was photoshopped, and that you were too big a threat to the monarchy. The press still loves you. Many newspapers are speaking up against slut shaming, and in fact, I hope that Liam does hire a PR guy or gal for you, as he promised, because we can totally fucking spin this. Even if we don’t find stupid Tariq. Hell, if Liam doesn’t hire someone, I will. I can pull some strings.’

‘Wow, Max,’ Amara says, blown away by the monologue. ‘That was hot. Look!’ She holds out her arm. ‘I got chills!’

Max chuckles, ‘Oh, shut up. I love you, but shut up.’

‘No no, I’m serious. That was badass, and it actually made me feel better. I told myself I didn’t care what Cordonia thought about the Tariq shit, so I didn’t look online at all, but just knowing this is making me feel better. Thank you.’

He smiles. ‘You’re welcome. Bertrand and I were talking about it, and we think that maybe it’s time for you to talk to the press. They’ve been calling the duchy, but we respected your wishes not to talk about it. Maybe before we leave for Rome, we could pick a journalist and tell your side of the story?’

Amara smiles. ‘I’ll think about it.’

Hana, still silent up until now, takes advantage of a quiet moment to turn to Maxwell and ask, ‘What do you mean I can’t act?’

He bursts out laughing. ‘Oh honey. Maybe you can, on a stage, but in real life you are not smooth. ‘Oh I wish Michael stayed longer!’ ‘Oh we all love him, don’t we?’ Give me a break, I know what you’re all thinking.’

Hana pouts. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, Maxxie. I’m sorry.’

‘No no, I’m not upset!’ He rubs her shoulder and smiles. ‘I’m not. I just—‘ he pauses and sighs. ‘I like being around him. A lot. Alright, you happy now?’

Amara smiles brightly. ‘Well, yeah, we definitely are.’

Hana’s smile is so wide that Amara is concerned she may dislocate her jaw. ‘I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything, Maxxie, but you gotta admit that you two would be so cute together!’

Maxwell rolls his eyes. ‘Fine, we’d be fucking adorable. We all know that.’ His face grows a tad somber. ‘But babe, and forgive me, Amara, for saying this and potentially ruining the day, but Michael is still grieving. In just a few days, I’ve grown fond of him, and if this were a regular situation, yeah, of course, I’d ask him out. But this is a very irregular situation. It’s delicate. I don’t want him to think that I’m going too fast, and I certainly don’t want to hurt his feelings in any way if he’s not ready to even go on a date with someone other than Sergio. I respect him —and you, Little Blossom, and your family and your pain— way too much to step into this unwelcomed.’

Amara realizes she’d been holding her breath. Hana holds out her hand for Max to take. He complies, and gives her a sweet kiss. Amara fights back tears. No, she won’t cry. Not now, not when she wants to show Maxwell that no, he’s not stepping into a bed of thorns. She takes a deep breath. ‘Shit, Max. Do you have any idea how much I want Michael to be happy? And do you have any idea how much I love you? How good a guy I think you are? If anyone is gonna be respectful and mindful of Michael’s history, I know it’s you.’ Welp, a tear escapes. She tried to hold it back, but oh well. She wipes it away. ‘That’s all,’ she chuckles. ‘I won’t overstep any more than that. You guys figure it out. And for the record, he may leave on Thursday, but he’s not dropping off the face of the Earth.’

Maxwell nods. ‘Understood.’ He takes Amara’s hand. ‘There,’ he says, ‘now I’m in a Hana/Amara sandwich. I love you guys.’

*****

‘Thanks, Drake,’ Liam says as he grabs the coffee his friend is handing him. ‘Sorry we couldn’t go in public.’

Michael waves him off. ‘This is a lot better, actually. Who wouldn’t want to have coffee on the beach?’

Liam smiles. ‘Thank you, Michael. I didn’t mean to crash your afternoon.’

Drake sits down in between the two men. ‘Don’t be stupid. Did you guys get a chance to chat while I was picking up the coffee?’

Liam nods. ‘Yes, we did. I apologized to Michael again for the ruckus at court. This is not a normal time, that’s for sure.’ He takes a sip and stares at the ocean.

Drake sighs. ‘Li, are you ok? You didn’t answer my texts.’

‘Sorry about that, too.’ He lets out a sad chuckle. ‘I’ve been shit at everything. That’s why I went for this run. I bet Bastien is looking for me everywhere as we speak, but I needed out.’

‘Liam, I know you barely know Michael,’ Drake continues, ‘but you can speak in front of him, right, Mike? He won’t care.’

Michael nods. ‘Of course. You’re going through a lot. You need to let it out.’

Liam smiles. ‘Well, I made my bed.’

Drake snorts. ‘Come on, Li. You deserve better. You didn’t ask for all this shit. We’ll find a way to get you out of this shitty engagement, I promise. If we can get some dirt on her, she’s done.’

‘You know why i ran away? I have a press conference with her tonight. The engagement conference. We’re supposed to gush over each other and talk about our hopes and dreams. Dreams of a future heir. Disclose the names of our wedding party. All wedding and marriage stuff. Nothing I want. I needed some air.’ He takes another sip, stares into the distance.

Drake puts his hand on his friend’s back. ‘Li, I’m sorry. We’ll get you out.’

Liam nods. Is he going to be able to tell him? It might be worth it to just say it out loud, even with a stranger here. ‘Drake, I don’t know if I can do this.’

Drake sighs. ‘I know it’s hard right now, especially since you’re alone at the palace with her and your dad and brother, but as soon as we’re all on the tour, I promise. It will get more manageable.’

Liam avoids Drake’s eyes. Maybe he can tell him. ‘I don’t feel good about this, Drake. I know it’s not comparable at all, I know this, but—‘ he interrupts himself. Should he say it in front of her brother-in-law? Fuck it. ‘I can’t stop thinking about what Amara went through. Tariq trying to assault her. She must have felt so fucking violated, and thankfully you were there. I can’t stop thinking about it these days. Partly because I feel responsible for her being in the spotlight, and partly because—‘ he pauses again. Can he say it without sounding like an asshole? What he’s going through is by his own volition, kind of, it has nothing to do with assault, and yet… He takes a breath. ‘Partly because I feel completely shitty about having to sleep with Madeleine.’

Drake tightens his grip on his back. Liam feels Drake’s eyes migrating to Michael’s. The two men share a stare. Is it a concerned stare? Is it one of disdain? Like oh, that spoiled mansplainy Liam, thinking his plight is the same as that of an assaulted woman? He hopes not.

Drake finally speaks. ‘Liam, I’m sorry to hear that. Please don’t be concerned about Amara, I know it was hard for her, but um, her friends and family are around her. As for you, well, I feel terrible about this. I’m so sorry that you had to go to those lengths. Please don’t let her take advantage of the situation again. You have the right to say no.’

Liam chuckles. It comes out a lot sadder than he intended. ‘I know. I just didn’t feel like dealing with the consequences of saying no. And for the record, I know that my situation isn’t the same as Amara’s. I know that. It just makes me feel even worse, because it’s already fucking terrible to force oneself to have sex with someone you don’t want. I can’t even imagine what it must be like to—well, to say the least, this whole situation is making me reconsider a lot of fucking things.’

Michael gets up from the sand, slowly and discreetly. He whispers, ‘I’m going to let you guys talk for a bit. I’m sorry, Liam, and I agree with Drake, I don’t know you, but you deserve better. Please take care.’

He walks away towards the other end of the beach, cell phone in hand, taking pictures.

Liam shakes his head. ‘See? I’m even making him run away.’

Drake chuckles. ‘No, that’s not it. He wanted to give us privacy. And probably to take pics for his daughter.’

Liam nods. ‘He seems like a good guy. He lost his fucking husband, and here I am complaining about not really wanting to fuck a Countess.’

‘Liam, there’s no competition in suffering. I wish I knew what to say or do to help—‘

‘You can’t help, not for now anyways,’ Liam interrupts. ‘But it does feel good to talk about it.’

*****

‘Hey guys!’ Drake yells out as he lets himself into the house. ‘We’re home, and we brought wine!’

‘Welcome back,’ Maxwell says cheerfully. ‘It’s just me and the girls, Liv went to her date with Rashad, and Bertrand has a dinner meeting at Castelsarreillan. How was the tour?’

Michael’s face lights up. ‘Oh, it was amazing, Max, your duchy is so beautiful. I loved the beach most of all.’

‘I’m so glad,’ Maxwell beams. ‘Come on in, guys, let’s get comfy.’

They walk into the living room, where Hana is reading a book, and Amara is on her iPad doing research. Drake sees on her screen that she’s still looking into Savannah’s location in Paris. His heart sinks. How did he luck out so much with this woman, who’s always in his corner?

‘Hey ladies,’ Drake says enthusiastically. ‘Mike and I have a proposition for you all.’

Amara raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh, do tell!’

Michael smiles brightly and looks at Drake. ‘You do the honors, you’re in charge!’

Drake nods excitedly. ‘Since Mike has never seen Portavira, we thought that we could all go to my cabin tomorrow morning and stay tomorrow night? He only has 3 nights left in this country, let’s make them count!’

Hana gasps. ‘OMG this is a great idea! I love your cabin so much.’

‘I’m SO in,’ Amara says as she closes her iPad into its keyboard. ‘I miss the tranquility of the cabin, let’s do it!’

Maxwell claps his hands in excitement. ‘Yass Kweens, let’s go bright and early tomorrow!’

‘And let’s pop this wine,’ Michael whispers to Drake. ‘We got it in an old wine store, it was so cute! I had to get two bottles for us.’

‘Aw, thanks Michael, you didn’t have to do that,’ Maxwell says as he claps a hand on his arm in gratitude. ‘Well, everyone get comfy around the table, and I’m gonna go get us some snacks.’

‘Oh, I’ll help,’ Michael follows suit.

Once the two disappear into the kitchen, Amara and Hana look at each other and put a hand to their chests. Drake smiles. ‘Alright ladies, could you be any more obvious?’ He plops down on the couch next to Amara and nuzzles in her hair. ‘Hey babe. Missed you.’

Amara kisses his nose and cups his face in her hand. ‘Me too. How was it?’

‘Good. It was fun to hang with Mike. But um, I think he told you, we bumped into Liam. He’s going through some serious shit.’

Amara makes a pained face. ‘Oh crap. How is he holding up?’

Drake shrugs. ‘Not great. I think it was good for him to talk, though.’

She nods. ‘Good. I’m glad.’

Hana sighs. ‘We were just talking about him today, right Amara? We all feel terrible about his situation, and maybe it will all get sorted out during the Tour, at least let’s hope so.’ She pauses and Drake and Amara nod in agreement. She turns her head to the kitchen and whispers, ‘What do you think they’re talking about in there?’

*****

‘Another martini?’

‘Are you trying to get me drunk?’ Liv asks sharply.

Rashad laughs earnestly. ‘No. You can drink me under the table.’

‘You got that right.’

He chuckles. ‘I hope you like boeuf bourguignon. I got takeout from this French restaurant. I know you like red wine so I figured you��d like that.’

Olivia forces herself not to smile. ‘Oh so, no cooking?’

Rashad gestures to the apartment around him. ‘This is an Airbnb. I don’t know where the pans are.’ He takes a sip of his martini. ‘Or how to cook.’

Liv can’t help but smile, ever so slightly. Rashad travels a lot around Cordonia for work, and stays at Airbnbs and hotels most of the time, since he rarely stays in his own duchy. No wonder the man lives off takeout. No servants in his life, and certainly no cooking.

Olivia likes that. The life of a loner. Depending on no one. Kinda hot.

‘I like boeuf bourguignon. You win this round.’

His face lights up. ‘Good. Not that I was nervous or anything. You know me. Cool as fuck.’

She gives him a half smile as she sips on her second martini. ‘Is the bourguignon ready now?’ She asks.

‘Not yet,’ he answers. ‘Needs to be in the oven for a while.’ He takes a sip as well. ‘Why, you hungry now?’

She gets up from her chair. ‘Nope,’ she says, as she straddles him and kisses him deeply.

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @andy-loves-corgis , @jovialyouthmusic , @mariahschoices , @drakesensworld , @thequeenofcronuts , @notoriouscs , @drakewalkerisreal , @nikkis1983 , @simsvetements , @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love @drakelover78 , @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @texaskitten30 @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @thisperfectmemory @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @mrsmairstanley @addictedtodrakefanfic @msjpuddleduck @kimmiedoo5 @furryperfectionlover

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

#that's not why i'm staying #dramara #drake x amara #drake walker x amara suarez #amara suarez #drake walker #the royal romance fanfic #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #trr drake #drake x mc #drake walker trr

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thiswasinevitableid · 5 years

Note

I would love for you to do the sharing favours professionally from the rivalry/ friends to enemies to lovers for the prompt fill for indruck? (I'm on mobile so can't copy the whole prompt) 😁

“ we’ve been begrudgingly sharing favours back and forth to help each other out professionally but this time i need you to do something more personal and you know you wouldn’t have gotten that account without my help last month or that promotion so you owe me.”

Content note: There’s a brief description of Indrid’s ex being verbally shitty to him.

“No, nuh uh, aboslutely no fuckin way.” Duck maneuvers the last butterfly bush into its display row, stands up to find Indrid glaring at him.

“Why not?”

“Indrid, we see plenty of each other at work. I’m not gettin roped into some evenin shindig with you just because you asked.”

He heads inside, the skinny, pale-haired man on his heels.

“Duck, please, I help you out all the time.”

“Yeah, with work. And it’s only now and then.” He settles behind the counter, checking off the deliveries that have already happened. Indrid stays on the other side of it.

“Oh, really?” he arches a dark eyebrow (of course the guy dyes his hair), “what about the time I made sure city hall chose us for the five year landscaping contract even when you were the one who was supposed to be working on winning them over?”

“That how we’re playin?” Duck leans on his elbows, staring Indrid down, “because I seem to recall it was me who helped convince Mama that havin a little florists space so you could do your arrangements was a swell idea.”

Indrid opens his mouth to retort when the phone rings.

Duck grabs it, “Mama’s Nursery and Landscapin, Duck speakin. Oh, howdy Winthrop. Yep, expectin the last orders this week, then we’ll get started on that zen garden. Uh huh. I see. We’ll see what we can do. You have a nice day now.”

He clicks the phone off, “I hate the rich bastard, but he wants us to do the landscapin on their summer home, which’ll be a nice chunk of change.”

“See! There’s another one you owe me. You have such a hard time being in the room with him, the only reason we got the hospital garden job is because I turned on the charm.”

“Is that what you call it when you get that weird smile on your face?”

Indrid groans in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. When his hand drops away he looks...defeated.

He and Duck may bicker, may compete from time to time, but Indrid’s a good guy. Hell, Duck will even admit (begrudgingly) that he often enjoys how much the two of them work together.

Duck sighs, forces his brain to switch from arguing mode to problem solving mode, “Indrid, what’s all this about?”

“I told you, I have an art showing.”

“Right, but why do you need me to go. Why do you need anyone, ain’t your job at those to make small talk and hope people say nice things about your drawins?”

Indrid swallows, picks at the front of his work apron, “He’s going to be there.” He says meekly.

“He-oh fuck, you mean The Shithead?”

Indrid nods.

“He tryin to pull some stunt to make you take him back?”

Indrid laughs bitterly, “no, he’s been all over his social media bragging about how he’s going to turn up with a hot date to my show, “show me what I gave up” and all that. Dani saw it and warned me so he couldn’t take me by surprise. I have so few friends in town, and everyone but you has work or something else that night. I thought it would be nice to have someone I knew with me.”

Duck thinks about Indrid’s ex. The guy’d come into the shop plenty of times, often making a big show of putting a possessive arm around Indrid (who never seemed to enjoy the gesture). At least, that’s what he always did when Duck was around. Worse, whenever Indrid was describing a new landscaping design, or working on an arrangement, the ex would pick at it, say how it was bad or lacking, that it would never work and no one would like it. And Duck would watch the glimmer dim in Indrids’ eyes, watch him go quiet (find him more than once sniffling and wiping his eyes furiously in an outbuilding once the guy left).

He looks back at the other man, who is staring at his scuffed converse.

“Where am I meetin you and what time should I get there?”

--------------------------------------

Duck gives a tight smile to the group of hip twentysomethings crowding the door of the building as he squeezes through. It’s some art space/ coffee house/ bar that isn’t quite his scene, although he likes that it’s warm and lively as opposed to the fluorescent lights and weird silence he was expecting.

He doesn’t spot Indrid right away, and so takes a moment to look at the drawings on the wall. They’re Indrid’s alright, he can recognize the ways they overlap with the sketches he does for arrangements or the plans he draws up for gardens. And they’re incredible, black and white with pops of color, a few abstract or dreamlike but many seeming more like still lifes.

One in particular catches his eye and he stares at for a good two minutes, trying to figure out why it looks so familiar.

“Ahem.”

He turns, and has to forcibly stop his jaw from dropping.

Indrid is in dark slacks and some sort flowy black shall-jacket thing over a bright red shirt. His hair is tousled on purpose, rather than from getting it caught on plants.

Has he always looked this good?

“Thanks for coming.” He says awkwardly, extending one of the two glasses he’s holding to Duck.

“This all looks amazin.” Duck says, taking the drink with a smile. Indrid relaxes at that.

“Oh, I’m, uh, glad you like it.”

“What’s this one of?” Duck points to the drawing he’d been staring at.

“It’s of a really lovely, big cork oak up on one of the eastwoods trails. I like to go there on weekends and sketch.”

“Hold up, that the trail that ends at the little lake?”

“Yes.”

“No fuckin way! I hike that nearly every weekend. Amazed I’ve never seen you.”

“I’m usually off the trail a little ways.” He grins sheepishly when Duck looks aghast at this confession, “I know that’s not allowed but I’m able to get such different perspectives on the things I draw.”

“If, uh, if you wanted to, maybe we could go up together some time. Could leave you to do your drawin while I hiked and then, dunno, maybe get lunch of somethin?”

Indrid looks a little surprised at the suggestion, but recovers quickly, “That sounds quite nice, actually.”

Duck stays by Indrid as he makes the rounds, asking him about the different drawings and enjoying the way he animatedly describes the process and idea behind each.

The Shithead arrives about forty-five minutes in. Duck spots him first, complete with a date on his arm. The date is tall, slender, with pale hair, looking like Indrid if he were a model rather than just a regular guy. Or, Duck thinks as he watches the ex preen, as if someone took Indrid and erased all the things that made him so interesting to look at.

“Ex just got here.” He murmurs, and Indrid stiffens beside him. Duck, seized with a sudden need to protect him from that jerk, places an arm reassuringly on his lower back. Indrid glances at him, face unreadable, but relaxes into the touch. For the next fifteen minutes, whenever The Shithead makes a loud, derisive comment, Duck will squeeze Indrids hand or brush his fingers down his back and Indrid will shake off the words.

There are several people wanting to buy drawings and so Indrid excuses himself to go thank them.

“Knew you’d be the one to pick up the scraps.” Says a familiar, unpleasant voice.

Duck turns, levels The Shithead with his most disinterested gaze.

“Nice to see you too. And I ain’t got the slightest clue what you’re referrin to.”

“He was always talking about you. ‘Oh, Duck knows so much about native plants,’ ‘oh, Duck has such good ideas.’” He says it in a mocking, high pitched imitation of Indrids lilt and Duck wonders if he can get away with physically throwing him out of the building.

“Anyway, it doesn’t surprise me that when I traded up, he went crawling to you. Honestly, you can do much better.”

“Beg pardon?” Duck growls.

“Let me see, how to put this in terms you understand? Why waste your time on a weed when you could have a prizewinning rose?”

“Because,” Duck says through gritted teeth, “sometimes people call things weeds just cause they don’t behave exactly how they want ‘em too, or because they don’t see the value in ‘em.” He steps closer to the ex, not noticing that he’s stopped whispering, “You fucked up. You were shitty and Indrid had the good sense to dump you and now you’re doin some petty shit to try and hurt him. He’s amazin at what he does, he works hard, he’s funny, and he’s so handsome I wanna look at him every damn day. You didn’t see the value in him. That’s your loss. Now fuck. Off.”

The Shithead is about to say something when a hand grabs his shoulder. His date is behind him, looking pissed.

“Hold on, you asked me out to try and hurt your ex?”

“Uhhh, babe, no, I can explain.”

Duck smirks, turns to check on Indrid just in time to see him slip out a side door.

“Goddammit.” He mutters, quickly following him.

The door opens into an alley, and Indrid is standing with his back to him. When he turns, his hands are over his mouth and his eyes are wet. But he doesn’t look unhappy.

“You like me.” He whispers.

“Uh” Duck scrambles, “well, yeah, we’re, uh, friendly types, fuck.”

“You think I’m handsome.”

“Shit, you heard all of that?”

Indrid nods, Duck sighs.

“Fuck it. Yeah, I think you’re handsome. And all the other stuff. And lots of, uh, other stuff that I didn’t say but could’ve.

Indrid steps closer, “Is the part where you admit all our arguing has been the only safe outlet for your, um, passion for me?”

Duck snorts, “Hell no, sometimes you need a fella who’ll tell when an idea ain’t feasible. But…” He meets Indrids hopeful gaze and smiles, “I’d be lyin if I said I ain’t thought about what it’d be like to be a different kind of partner to you.”

Indrid reaches for him, and Duck goes willingly into his arms as the taller man blushes and says, “Yes, I’ve thought about that quite a lot as well.”

------------------------------------------

Dani’s glad Indrids’ show is open so late. It means she and Aubrey can go once Aubreys’ act is over. She even texted Jake and Hollis, asking if they wanted to check it out too (also, if Indrid’s ex was there, having someone who looked like, and basically was, the head of a motorcycle gang would come in really handy).

When the four of them reach the bar, she peeks in hoping to see Indrid, but can’t spot the taller man (or Duck) anywhere.

“Huh, maybe he left?”

“Or maybe he’s taking a little ‘break.’” Hollis makes airquotes before pointing up. They all look towards the balcony, which clearly isn’t in use for the party.

It is, however, in use for the two figures currently occupying it for a long and intense looking kiss. One is wearing red glasses, the other lets out a laugh that unmistakably belongs to Duck Newton.

“We should give them some privacy.” Aubrey says. The other three look at her, and then she grins.

“Just kidding! WOOOOOO GET IT DUCK!”

“ABOUT FUCKING TIME DUDES.”

“GET A ROOM!”

“I’M SORRY ABOUT THEM BUT GOOD FOR YOU!”

----------------------------------

The sound of his friends catcalling them breaks Ducks concentration for all of two seconds. Then he flips them the bird, and goes back to the very important business of making out with his boyfriend.

#Prompt Fills #indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #AUs #taz aus

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lovelylogans · 5 years

Text

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter three / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism,

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 5,995

notes: you know the first sentence of the chapter? i’m literally still writing this

if this was a full length fic (we’re ignoring that this is chapter three shut up) i would include:

logan does actually try being nice for once and literally everyone in town asks if he's sick, and when logan finally explains it all to roman, roman rolls his eyes and knocks his foot against logan's and says "why on earth should you ever change? you're wonderful" and they both blush and change the subject and logan acts like "you're wonderful" isn't echoing around in his head for the next week

logan having a weird bonding moment with his grandfather when his grandmother makes his grandfather take him to the country club, and they both find themselves hiding in the same corner with all the historical records instead of socializing

virgil finds a stray kitten, patton finds out about it and cries about the cuteness, and then cries harder when the kitten finds a good home, virgil almost has a stroke from the sheer Cute when patton holds it

logan figures out that dee's first name is wiped out of all the school records (???) and that their grandmothers are apparently friends (???) and they have to sit through some kind of brunch together in their newly budding nemesis-ship glowering at each other, emily somehow entirely oblivious to the daggers her grandson and dee are shooting each other

there is a new kid at sideshire who is out and Cute and roman might be swooning over him a little??? his name is (draws from the hat of gilmore girls love interests) jess. oh yeah, like, bad boy jess. i can make that work. anyway hard cut to logan being sulky or jealous in the background every time this comes up

patton goes to a pta meeting, chaos ensues

logan has hit his growth spurt and has shot through a pant size in a month; patton actually cries a little when he realizes logan is taller than him now and he's getting so old he's such an adult!!!

logan studies to the point where patton finds him slumped over his study materials regularly, and at one point he nearly passes out walking to the bus stop and virgil sees and makes him sit down and eat and tells patton, and patton sits him down and has A Talk about taking care of himself

but we're gonna have time jump to the point of... oh, let's say it's october? before logan's birthday. then-ish.

⁂

it's autumn in sideshire! the leaves are all orange and red and brown and crunchy, a chill is in the air, sweaters are busted out, virgil gets more and more influxes of orders for hot cocoa/coffee, etc etc, mood setting, you get it.

logan's settled more and more into the swing of things at chilton: he has an impeccable studying schedule set up, with various allowances for when patton or roman insist he's "working too hard" and break it. he and dee are, that weird brunch aside, mostly circling around each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

patton's mostly gotten into the swing of things, too; he and his parents still bicker at dinners, but he's used to that, he's been used to that for years. he waits for logan to get home at virgil's, he supervises roman and logan sleepovers, he still works for his business degree and oversees the chaos that is the inn.

he's at the inn one day, directing the landscapers on where to put all the leaves the part-timers have raked up and has fallen into a discussion about flowers that'll do well in their cold climate, when a familiar boy races up the lawn, grinning wide, clutching—patton squints, but roman's upon him before he can tell, giggling as he tries to catch his breath, holding onto his shoulder for balance.

"mr. sanders!" he exclaims, and laughs again, letting go of patton to his hand to his mouth. "um, i'm sorry, i know you're working, i just don't have anyone else to tell yet and—" he falls into giggles again.

"that's okay," patton says, very confused as to what's happening. "um, just—handle the leaves, we can keep talking flowers when we have our appointment on...?"

"thursday."

"thursday, right! okay, mr. giggly, let's go inside, you can tell me all about it."

patton has an office! he doesn't use it much, prefers to be out in the scrum of things, but it's very adult-looking and he's fond of it. all dark woods and file cabinets that logan helped organize and a variety of coffee mugs littered around, and patton pats the couch, sitting down himself, sighing a little. it's nice to sit down, he's been on his feet all day.

"okay," patton says. "so, what warranted running up to my inn with a..." patton frowns. "is that a box of cornstarch?"

"oh!" roman says, lifting it to eye-level, as if noticing it for the first time. "oh! i might have shoplifted." he looks worried for a second, before he giggles again, covering his mouth with his hands. "oh my god, i can't believe i just did that."

"i—go back," patton says, shaking himself, because sure, he'd shoplifted in his misguided youth, but not roman. "you shoplifted?!"

"accidentally!" roman defends. "i just—okay, so, you know jess?"

he knows jess from a distance—he's seen him around town on his motorcycle, knows him like he knew the boys he'd gravitated toward, the kind his parents would disapprove of so the kind of boy he'd throw himself at. he also knows jess from logan's grumbles of "what kind of name is jess anyway" and "as suspected! he's a fight club fanboy, i would have thought roman knew better" and "what do you mean, jealous?! i'm not—i'm not jealous! that's ridiculous! jealous, dad *poorly executed scoff that tells patton he's right* honestly."

"i've seen him around," patton says, instead of getting into all that.

"he," roman says, drawing himself up, and giggles, "kissed me."

patton blinks. "he did?!"

"he did!" roman says. "i was in the grocery store and i was trying to act, you know, all chill, like, oh, hey, didn't see you there, like i didn't follow him in from the outside, so i didn't really notice i was staring at corn starch, and he came around a corner and was like so you have a really desperate need for some cornstarch? and i tried to play it really cool, and i just ended up blurting out nice jacket like an idiot, but then he laughed like it was funny and not like he was laughing at me and he was showing me all the pins he had on there and talking about how it was good for riding, and he said i'll have to take you out for a ride sometime and inside i was like, you know, oh my god!! that sounds like a date! because it totally sounds like a date, right?!"

patton's about to agree, but roman plows over him, still babbling excitedly.

"—and he was telling me, like, all about the stuff we might potentially do, and i told him i knew a really nice place for, like, a picnic, or something, and he said so a picnic's one of the only things to do around here? and i was like well, i dunno, i think it'd be a pretty nice date, and oh my GOD i still cannot BELIEVE i said it like that, and then he looked at me and did this cute little smirking thing he does, it makes him look like james dean or marlon brando or something, and he said a date, huh? and i said what, is taking people out for a motorcycle ride something you do with all the boys in town? and HE said only the cute ones and i almost screamed patton i swear and i tried to play it like, oh, yeah, a motorcycle ride, totally something someone asks me to do like every day and this is totally not the first time someone's ever called me cute and asked me on a date, and so i said and what's in it for all these cute boys, then? and he said well, i'm looking at just one cute boy in particular and THEN!!!"

"he kissed you," patton surmises.

"he kissed me," roman said. "and then he said seven? and i said yeah and then he left and then i ran all the way here."

"wow," patton says, because, well. what else can he say?

"yeah," roman sighs happily, and then he chews on his lip, and then he says, "patton, you know things about boys."

that... was not where he was expecting this to go. "i...sure?"

"i mean," roman says, and flaps his hands. "i can't tell my mom about this, she might kill him. what do i—i've never been on a date before, and i've never been on a motorcycle, and you have—"

"how'd you know that?!"

"logan told me his other dad has one, and i mean, you were a rebellious teenager, weren't you?" roman says. "you had to have gone on dates, patton, help me."

"i—"

"i mean, other than your massive crush on virgil—"

"my what?!" patton squeaks, cheeks flaming red.

"oh, patton, please, you know that i've known for years, it's obvious," he says, then, "and you can't tell logan!"

"we're going back to the virgil thing later but, i mean—i figured you'd want to tell him," patton says.

"i can't tell him this!"

"you tell each other everything," patton says, a little blindsided, because they did tell each other everything. patton cannot think of a secret kept between them. from him, maybe. but not between them.

"yeah, but—" roman bites his lip, harder. "he doesn't like jess, and he's—we're—you know."

"he'd still want to hear about it from you than anyone else, you know how fast gossip spreads in this town," patton says.

"he'll get all weird about it," roman says. "and then we won't talk as much anymore, and then he'll start passive-aggressively writing an article for the courant about the dangers of motorcyclists, and then jess will see it, and they'll argue, and then i'll have to figure out how to calm it down without making either of them think i'm preferring the other, and oh my god, you're logan's dad, i can't be telling you about this! i cannot believe i'm asking you for advice for a date!"

"well, who do you usually go to about this kind of thing?" patton says pragmatically. "other than logan or me, i mean, you can advice from them if it's too weird hearing it from me."

roman looks at his shoes and mumbles, "i go see," and then the name tumbles into something indecipherable.

"sorry, who did you say? i couldn't hear—"

"i go see virgil," roman wails, and patton actually laughs, before he blinks.

"wait. you're serious?"

roman hides his face in his hands. "i go to the diner and i tell him about—about whatever's going on with logan, and then he tries giving me advice except he's terrible at it, and then i get to make fun of him for being worse at romance than a teenager, and then he grumbles at me about it, and it's a system, okay?! but i can't tell virgil about jess, are you crazy?!"

"i just—virgil?" patton repeats, trying to wrap his head around it.

"virgil hates jess," roman bursts out. "he told me so."

"oh, i'm sure he doesn't—"

"he told me that," roman says, "to my face. and then he started being, all—" he makes his voice gruff in his best virgil impression. "that boy who walks around town like he's trying to figure out the best windows to break and businesses to vandalize? he's bad news, roman. stay away from him. that kid is trouble, you mark my words. like he's—like he's a criminal, and i'm some kind of innocent damsel that needs protecting!"

"okay, okay, okay," patton says. "no virgil, then."

"but i can't talk to you, me and logan are—" roman waves a hand vaguely. "you know."

"yeah," patton says. "i mean—yeah, actually, what's with all this, since you and logan are all—"

he copies the hand gesture.

"yeah, but i just," roman says, and scuffs his sneaker over patton's carpeted floor. "i dunno. i kind of figured if he wanted to go out, he would have made a move by now, right? i don't wanna... i don't wanna be all hung up on him when there's this guy right here who does want to date me."

patton considers that, and tries to set aside the fact that logan's his son, because roman looks like he needs advice right now.

"look. do you really like this guy?"

roman worries his lip between his teeth, and admits, "i think i could. i think i'm on the way there."

"okay," patton says. "then i'll help."

he holds up a hand.

"i'm only going to give you a little bit of a lecture, but you're smarter than i was when i was your age. stay safe, okay? and if he tries to talk you into anything—seriously anything—that you're uncomfortable with, you call me, okay? or your mom. actually, your mom would be way better at intimidation than me."

"okay."

"okay," patton says. "then it's a first date, not a marriage proposal. go into it with the goal of getting to know him. have fun. if it doesn't work, it doesn't work, no big loss. if it does? then you can go from there."

roman bites his lip some more. "you really think i should tell logan?"

"i think he'd be madder if he found out from someone else."

roman gusts out a sigh. "okay," he says.

patton ends up realizing he should probably get back to work, and suggests that roman go meet logan at the bus stop and walk him back home or to virgil's or wherever, so he can tell him the news.

logan steps off the bus, ready to spend a friday afternoon clearing off his weekend homework so he can have something to discuss at family dinner, and then focus on extra credit and planning his week on sunday, and blinks when roman waves at him from the bench.

"you're here."

"yeah," roman says, standing up.

"you never come to walk me back."

"yeah, well, i wanted to talk to you."

"about what?"

"how was your day?" roman says, dodging the question.

logan's eyes narrow, just a little, before he tells him about his exam in history about the french revolution that he thinks went well, and logan asks "how was yours?"

roman tries to make himself sound as happy as he sounded—as he'd felt—when he was talking to patton. "um, actually, i got asked out."

logan blinks at him. "asked out where?"

"no," roman says. "like, um. like i got asked out on a date. tonight."

logan stares at him, still, face so blank that roman doesn't have a hope of reading it. "a... date."

"yeah," roman says. "like. romantically. a guy thought i was cute and asked me out. a date."

"which guy," he says.

"jess," roman says. "you know. the new guy. the junior with the motorcycle."

"motorcycle," logan repeats.

"we're going to go on a picnic."

"a picnic."

"at seven."

"seven."

"he kissed me," roman says, and there's not a reaction. not at all. "at the grocery store. i might have shoplifted in all my excitement."

"shoplifted."

"logan, are you just going to keep repeating everything i say?!"

logan shakes himself, and says abruptly, "i forgot i told virgil i was going to pick up a book i wanted to borrow from him."

"oh," roman says. "um, okay. do you wanna get a jam tart or—?"

"i'll be in and out," logan says. "i have a lot of homework to do."

"okay," roman repeats, and logan looks at him, because roman's biting his lip the way he does when he's nervous, and he tears his gaze off of his lip. the lip that jess kissed today, apparently.

"you always wanted to go on a date," logan says, robotic. "and now you're going on one. good for you."

roman tries for a smile. "yeah. i'm—i'm really excited."

"good," logan repeats. "that's good."

he almost sounds like he means it. he gestures to the diner. "i'll see you later."

"do you want to do lucy's on saturday?"

"again," logan says. "i have a lot of homework. i'm not sure how free i'll be. midterms."

"oh," roman repeats, and then tries for a smile. "okay."

okay's starting to not sound like a word.

"have fun on your date," logan says, and his tone is just a bit cold, and roman forces out "logan—" right as the door closes behind him.

virgil glances up, and says, "hey, kid, i wasn't sure if you were going to stop in today—"

"i'm not staying for very long," logan says. his tone is still very blank. studiously blank.

"to-go bag, then?" virgil says, already packing up logan's (healthy) after-school snack. "don't study too hard, okay, it's the weekend."

"right."

"and tell your dad to stop by after dinner with your grandparents if they try feeding you, like, caviar or something."

"okay."

virgil narrows his eyes at logan, and says, "you okay?"

"fine."

virgil's eyes narrow further.

"i'm fine," logan repeats.

"right," virgil says, and then, to the nearest worker, "jean, could you handle the register a minute? i've got a book upstairs i want logan to look at."

logan follows along, with none of his signature confidence or arrogance, and virgil unlocks the door to his apartment.

logan's only been up here a few times. most of the time, he just stays in the diner, or virgil comes over to their place. he slept over here a few nights, as a kid. it's a small place, homey like his dad's, but a bit more sparse. logan drops his backpack at the door.

"there's no book, is there."

"nope," virgil says, and logan sits on virgil's couch. "you okay, l?"

logan shrugs, pulls a blanket that virgil has over the back of the couch onto his lap.

this is kind of freaking him out. whenever logan gets upset, he's usually angry, quick to explode or snap, or he sulks. he's never so...

listless.

"roman's going on a date with jess," logan says tonelessly.

"oh, shit," virgil says, "the delinquent?!"

"he has a record?" logan asks, plucking at an imaginary loose thread in the blanket. there's none of the investigative curiosity that would usually be in his voice.

"not that i know of, he just—he has that vibe, you know?" virgil says. "are you sure he said jess?"

"he kissed roman in the grocery store. roman said he accidentally shoplifted. they're going on a motorcycle ride to a picnic."

all of his words are devoid of energy.

"do you need a hug or something?" virgil asks helplessly, because he isn't sure if he's ever seen logan this... defeated before.

"no."

"jam tart? yelling session? anything?"

"no," logan repeats, and sets aside the blanket. "i have a lot of homework to do."

"you can do it here? if you want?"

"i think i'll go home."

"do you need me to walk you there?"

"you're in the after school rush," logan says. "no. i'll be fine."

"are you sure?"

"yes, i'm sure," logan says, and stands, folding the blanket again before setting it on the couch.

"logan—"

"i'm fine," he repeats, goes to get his backpack, and walks out of the apartment, and then out of the diner, as virgil stares after him.

virgil lets out a breath, and gets out his phone.

"virgil, hey!" patton says happily, picking up after the second ring.

"hey," virgil echoes. "um. logan just stopped by, and—"

"was roman with him?"

virgil blinks. "you knew?"

"roman came to the inn to tell me all about the kiss and the date and stuff, and i told him logan would probably take the news better coming from him than from the gossip mill," patton says. "also, why didn't you tell me that you're apparently roman's romantic guru?"

"i am not his romantic guru."

"he made it sound like you are," patton says. "he said it's a system. that he makes fun of you for not knowing anything about romance."

"okay, but that kid bullies me daily."

"he's fifteen."

"doesn't change the fact that he's a little jerk."

"we'll come back to that later," patton says. "why'd you call?"

"oh," virgil says, because right. the not-great news. "right. um, i'm pretty sure roman just broke your son's heart."

there's a moment of silence before virgil shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"i've never seen him so..."

"mad?" patton says, worried. "did he yell at you? you know he doesn't mean any of it, but he'll apologize as soon as—"

"no," virgil says. "no. he wasn't mad at all, that's why i'm worried. he was just... lifeless."

another moment of silence. "oh," patton says, strangled.

"yeah."

"like...?"

"like, i tried talking to him, and he was just. blank. didn't want a hug, didn't want to yell, didn't want a jam tart, didn't want anything. just told me that roman was going on a date, and he said he had a lot of homework to do and that he was going to go home. kept telling me he didn't need me to walk him back and that he was fine."

"oh, no," patton murmurs. "i—oh, no."

"yeah. so. figured you should have a heads-up."

"thanks," patton says, distracted. "i—i'm going to go check on him."

"keep me updated?"

"yeah," he says, and then, "i've gotta go."

"right. okay."

patton ends up calling it an early day at the inn, and drives home. no one answers when he opens the door.

"hey, i'm home," he calls, dropping his keys into the little bowl by the door.

nothing. he frowns.

he was just... lifeless, echoes in his head. he stomps loudly up the stairs, and pauses, before he opens up the door to his son's room.

there's a lump on the bed. curled up under the covers. glasses on the table. head turned away from the door.

"hey," patton says, softer.

no response. patton crosses and sits carefully on the edge of the bed. logan's just staring out the window. his aren't red, or watery, so he hasn't cried. he's just... lying there.

patton reaches out and puts a hand on what he's pretty sure is logan's ankle. he squeezes, gently.

"so, you haven't had the best day," patton prompts gently.

no response.

"i'm sorry," patton offers. "i know that must have been hard to hear."

nothing.

"i have some emergency logan's berry crofter's if you want it, honey."

nada.

"is it okay if i lay down too?"

a long pause. patton's about to ask again, before—

"lie," logan croaks out.

"what?"

"lie down. you're a person, not an object. people lie down, objects lay down."

"oh," patton says. "okay, then, can i lie down too?"

"can you call grandma and grandpa first?" he whispers. "just tell them i'm sick."

"yes," patton says. "yes, of course, i'll call right now, just—"

he fumbles with his phone for a second, before he manages to click on the contact name.

"emily sanders speaking."

"mom, hey," patton says, pitching his voice low. "i'm gonna have to cancel dinner today."

"what?" she demands. "why?!"

"logan's sick."

"he was at school today, wasn't he?"

"he started feeling bad on the bus, mom," he says, and racks his brain for an illness severe enough that it would get them out of it. "puked as soon as he got off."

"don't be crass."

"sorry," patton says. "but he's sick and i don't want to make him take the drive and sit down for dinner when he's going to be too nauseous to handle it."

"let me talk to him."

"he just laid down for a nap, i don't wanna wake him," patton lies. "look, i'm sorry to do this so short notice, but i really have to insist. he's a mess."

a long pause. "we could drive down to look after him."

patton's eyes probably go cartoonishly wide in alarm. "mom, that's a nice gesture, really—"

"great, then we'll—"

"i don't want you catching whatever it is he has," patton finishes, louder. "seriously, we're fine here, we can have a, a, a make-up brunch or something. i'll let you know as soon as he feels better."

a huff. "brunch it is, then. at the club."

patton winces, before he says, "whatever you say, mom. i'm gonna, um. clean some stuff up around here."

"tell me when you're—"

patton hangs up.

"how bad is it," logan says, in that same blank, awful voice.

"brunch at the club, whenever you're feeling better," patton admits, setting his phone aside before he takes off his shoes, and lies down on the bed—well, leans back against the headboard so he can keep an eye on his son, really.

logan nods, and resumes looking out the window.

"i'm really sorry," patton says softly.

logan doesn't say anything.

logan doesn't say anything for the rest of the night.

⁂

"hey."

"hey. how is he?"

"not good. you were right. even when he's sick he's not so quiet. i think he said maybe fifteen words between me getting home and him falling asleep."

"did he...?"

"he was just. lying there. the whole night. he was just lying there, virge. he didn't do anything. he didn't talk, he barely ate—"

"he's going through a growth spurt, not eating is—okay, i'm sure you know all that, should i bring breakfast, tomorrow morning?"

"as long as you aren't too busy."

"i'll make crofter's pancakes, or something. bring you some hot cocoa/coffee."

"thanks."

"um. not to be awkward, or anything, but roman brought by the boy."

"...ah."

"i don't like him."

"roman mentioned that."

"i just—roman deserves better. don't tell him i said that."

"what did they do?"

"they got cake."

"did he treat roman okay? from what you could see, i mean."

"i mean, i was in and out of the kitchen, but roman looked—happy. i guess."

"why 'i guess?'"

"i dunno. i mean, he tried to put a hand on roman a few times, and roman just kind of... laughed uncomfortably and tried to move."

"if he tries to pressure roman into anything, i swear—"

"hey, roman's a headstrong kid. he's a bit too stubborn for his own good. no one's about to make him do anything he wants to do."

"if he presents it like he's sweeping him off his feet—"

"...oh. i see your point."

"i just—sorry. i have a history with those kinds of boys. logan's existence alone as exhibit a. but he's probably a nice boy, right?"

"i still don't like him."

"sweetheart, this is the part where you say, yes, patton, i'm sure he's a nice boy and that roman had a lovely time, but he's going to come to realize that waiting for logan to make a move was the wrong choice and figure out his love life."

"oh. um, all that."

"okay. you know, it's weird for us to be talking on the phone like this."

"yeah. usually, you just barge into the diner, it's weird to be talking to you without fending off requests for hot cocoa/coffee."

"hey, i'm not that bad."

"i'm reminding you of this conversation next time that starts up again, then."

"fine, fine, if you say so. i think i'm gonna go to bed. you still have your spare key, right?"

"right, yeah. i'll text when i'm on the way."

"you know i probably won't wake up with that."

"yeah, but. just the gesture of the thing."

"i know. gosh, what a mess."

"they'll get there eventually."

"we can only hope."

"teenage boys are dumb."

"don't i know it. i'll see you tomorrow?"

"yeah, i'll see you then."

⁂

virgil's used to getting up early, mostly because of opening up the diner but also partially because he has a terrible sleep schedule. patton, who has the sleep schedule of "yes," is less likely to be up at this kind of hour. so virgil unlocks the door with the key patton gave him as soon as he moved in, and goes to the kitchen to start making breakfast, only to come to a stop.

"oh," he says to the blanket-wrapped boy at the kitchen table. "um, hey, logan."

"virgil," logan says, pencil scratching over paper. so that's something.

"i told your dad i might come over to make breakfast. so."

"right," logan says.

"you want pancakes?"

"sure."

okay. one-word responses. better than none, right?

virgil digs around for the bowls and plates and pans he'll need, and sets aside patton's hot cocoa/coffee (in a thermos) and then turns to survey logan some more.

"what are you doing?"

"making a list," he says. "well. a variety of lists, really. it seemed untidy to have one big one when i could categorize."

okay, that sounded more like him. virgil tried not to sigh in relief.

"categorize. like what?"

"chilton, college applications, things we need to do around the house, dad's business plans. plans for the diner too, actually, just there."

virgil picks it up, and blinks. "remodel?"

"at least paint. you're due for it."

"the diner's classic. vintage, even."

"like i said. at least paint."

the house phone rings. logan blinks, swivels around.

"no one calls the house phone," he mutters, and gets to his feet, picking it up.

"logan sanders speaking." a pause. virgil can hear what sounds like a woman responding. "no, he isn't here." a pause. "he wasn't here last night either." another pause. "what do you mean, he didn't come home?"

a longer pause. virgil's missing some kind of puzzle piece, he can feel it.

"no," logan says, voice faraway and cold. "he told me was going on a date. he didn't tell you?"

oh. SHIT.

the woman's voice, louder, and oh no.

"i'm sorry, i don't know where he'd be," logan says, and hangs up.

"logan," virgil manages, after he picks his jaw up off the ground.

"excuse me," logan says, "i'm feeling rather ill. i'm going to lie down."

he sweeps up the stairs. virgil has to reassemble his thoughts before he grabs his phone, scrolling through the contacts, and hissing "pick up pick up pick up you little—"

"you've reached roman prince—"

"fuck," virgil hisses, and clambers up the stairs after patton, before he bursts into patton's shoulder, shaking his shoulder.

"mmph," patton mumbles, and if it was any other day, virgil would be marveling at his bedhead, his sleeping face, but right now—

"patton. patton wake up."

"virgil?" patton mumbles, props himself up on an elbow and rubs his eyes.

"roman didn't come home last night," virgil blurts out, and patton blinks, before sitting upright.

"what?!"

"ms. prince called here because she thought he might have been over here," virgil says, "because roman didn't tell her he had a date and he didn't come home last night."

"oh, god," patton says, wild-eyed, and rolls out of bed, going straight for his closet. "do you think he's—?"

"i don't know," virgil says. "i knew i didn't like that kid, i knew it—"

"i'm sure he's okay," patton says, a little frantic as he searches for a passable shirt. "i mean, this is sideshire we're talking about—"

he stops in his tracks. "who answered the phone?"

"what?"

"you said ms. prince called here, who—?"

"logan did."

"oh, no," patton says, horrified, and shakes himself. "right, okay. you're going to go to ms. prince's and offer to help look for roman, i'm going to stay here and—" he gestures toward logan's bedroom.

"right," virgil says. "right, okay. you have hot cocoa/coffee in a thermos in your kitchen, i'm going to go—" he jerks a thumb toward the door.

"right, yeah," patton says, and they split up.

virgil's on his way to ms. prince's, brain swirling with possibilities, when he sees a familiar pair of red, doodled-over high tops peeking out from a tiny little garden alcove off the main street. virgil's heart practically stops. he feels like the jogger in the intro of a crime show that's about to stumble across a—

but he can't stop himself from barging forward, heart in his throat, and—and he's just lying there. the pair of them are.

the boy is on top of roman. it infuriates him.

"HEY!" virgil shouts, voice deeper and rougher than even he would have anticipated, and he closes his fist around the neck of the leather jacket, yanking him roughly off of roman, tossing him aside.

"get your hands off him!"

he shoves the kid when he tries to get closer to roman again, and he's so incensed that he can't even think.

"what the hell, dude?!" the boy demands.

"don't you dude me," virgil shouts. "do you have any idea what could have happened out here?!"

"virgil, stop!" roman shouts back, tugging sharply at his arm, and virgil swivels. "we just fell asleep—"

virgil says sharply, "there's no just about this, roman!"

"it was an accident, he didn't—"

"your mother called the sanders', she's worried sick," virgil fumes, and roman's face drains of blood. "do you know how terrifying it must have been for her to wake up without her kid in her bed in the morning?! why the hell wouldn't you have told her?!"

"we didn't DO anything!" the other kid shouts.

"oh, you better hope you didn't do anything," virgil snarls, turning to face the kid again, "staying out all night! outside! in october! are you insane?! you are SO lucky you two didn't catch hypothermia, to start with—"

"my mom," roman says, and tugs at virgil's hoodie sleeve. "virgil, my mom—"

"you better sprint back to that dance studio if you don't want to be grounded for all time," virgil snaps.

but roman doesn't. roman turns to the boy, and says breathlessly, "it was really nice—i'm really sorry about all this, um—"

"hey, i've got your number," the boy says, and he looks pleased when roman darts forward to kiss him on the cheek, shouting "bye!" and running for the studio.

there's an awkward silence.

"am i free to go, officer?" the boy sneers. "or do you have to give me a shovel speech, too?"

"i don't like you," virgil says, and gives his best intimidating grin. he's pleased to see a flicker in the boy's attempt at cool confidence. "so i'll leave all that to ms. prince."

he strides away. he turns a corner in the street and waits until the diner is in sight before he digs out his phone.

"hello?" patton answers, breathless, and just like that, all the fight leaves him.

"hey, i found him," virgil says. "he's probably going to get grounded until the end of his natural life, but i found him. he's okay."

"oh, thank god," patton gasps. "he's okay?"

"lucky not to have hypothermia," virgil says darkly. "fell asleep in that little garden off main, the one with the willow tree?"

"they fell asleep?"

"i guess," virgil says. "that's what he said, anyway. i really don't like that boy, patton."

"yeah, well, i think you've got a household joining you on that," patton says wearily.

"is he—?"

"oh, shoot, right," patton says, and virgil hears him shout, "virgil found him, he just fell asleep!"

the response isn't something virgil can hear. "what'd he say?"

"nothing, he just kind of loudly exhaled at me," patton says. "i think he's back to not talking to me again."

virgil sighs, rests his head briefly against his diner. "what a mess."

"what a mess," patton agrees wearily. "i can't bribe you into coming back to making those pancakes, can i?"

virgil snorts. "you know what? why not. you and logan probably need them."

"amen," patton says.

#wyliwf #my fic #sanders sides fanfiction #moxiety #logince

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moonlightreal · 4 years

Text

Winx club Season 8/14

In which Sky doesn’t quote Thor

14 The Wishing Star

This episode opens, where else, at a concert at Alfea! The other students whisper and ooh and aah. So the Winx are famous pop stars but also hold concerts here like every other week and go to school here? They should be treated more like when the choir performs, I mean it’s cool but not a super big deal.

sigh this pop star thing. It feels a little less weird than it did in WoW since the girls are younger so the blatant wish-fulfilment version of being a professional musician isn’t as jarring I guess. But I still can see so many opportunities for characterization—whose idea was it to form the band? Who decided Bloom wis lead singer rather than Musa?What happens when Musa writes a song and loves it but the others hate it? What happens when there’s a concert but the girls are busy with schoolwork? Why don’t the minor fairies also form bands? Why do only Alfea students come to these concerts? When do they practice? Do they ever perform at other places in Magix and who sets that up? Where did they get the transforming instruments? Are some of the girls thinking of ‘musician’ as a future career? How will that conflict with ruling their planets? And adventuring?

So. Much. Wasted plot & characterization opportunity.

Girls sing. Cute shots of the minor fairies dancing. Knut waltzes Faragonda. Kiko crowd-surfs on the minor fairies. Stella kisses the screen.

The girls go to meet their boyfriends. Stella is adorable.

But Sky’s missing, he’s on Eraklyon. “His dad wants him to spend more time at court being a crown prince and all while Sky would rather be a professional hero.” The other specialists and Bloom express sympathy for Sky.

Season 8 timeslide: Sky is no longer king… if he ever really was, that whole thing was retconned pretty much right after Secret of the Lost Kingdom when we all realized we were going to have more stories. Also there’s no mention of Brandon being Sky’s squire as he was in season 1.

Meanwhile on Eraklyon! Cool shot of the palace! Nice landscaping?!

Yikes, Sky is yelling at his dad, “I’m a Specialist, my place is at Red Fountain!”

Erendor: “You need to put the good of the kingdom first, that’s what princes do.”

Sky: “I put the good of everyone first, that’s why I go on missions with the Specialists!”

So clearly the dubbing department hasn’t seen Thor: Ragnarok because they missed sliding in, “Because that’s what heroes do.” and having me fall over laughing. Also this situation is very much caught in the timeslide; is Sky a student still learning to rule the kingdom, or a graduate ready to begin his duties?

But as Sky walks away I see someone peering from behind a pillar… a familiar blonde head… oh no, not the number one source of couples drama in all Winx-dom! D: T_T

Diaspro’s done well by the new art style, she’s got gorgeous golden eyes and a nice braid. Her face is really wide though, she looks like an Ever After High doll. She’s hoping to take advantage of the fight so Sky “will finally be mine.”

Yeah, you tried to kill his girlfriend two seasons ago, why are you not in jail?

Diaspro plots bug me. Strap in y’alll.

Gorgeous nighttime shot of Alfea. In Bloom’s room the girls are saying how great their concert was. Then Stella goes into how hard it is to spend time with their boys when they’re busy saving the magic universe. The other girls try to shut her up before Bloom gets sad, but Stella is oblivious and just rambles on. Brandon’s planning to take her to the “magic enchanted theater” sometime soon.

Musa yells at Stella. Stella: “What’d I do this time?” And there’s Bloom, sad now. But Bloom says it’s not Stella’s fault; Sky didn’t say he was going to Eraklyon. The girls talk about boys, with a side of Grumping at Stella.

“Brandon and I always talk.”

“When Riven left we stopped talking, and that didn’t go well.”

“Sometimes Timmy doesn’t call or text but I know he’s just thinking about his projects.”

But the good news is, Valtor’s gone so everything’s going to get better!

Bloom goes outside to make a wish on a star and there’s Sky! They talk a little about not having time, and Bloom suggests Sky wish on a star for more time.

And now to what I’m really curious about! The Trix! We cut to Valtor’s asteroid and I kinda want to see him showing the girls around, but instead he’s on his throne meditating or something while the Trix float in front of him.

Exposition time! Only three witches like them can get the Wishing Star aka the Comet Star apparently, which grants wishes. It’s made of Sparks (Sparx?) The energy that gave birth to the magic universe, the stars themselves. So… Dragonfire? “the magic of fairies, and witches.”

Flashback to Valtor trying to grab the comet and getting knocked for a loop. Incompatible magic.

Icy does the, “And why should we help you?” and it turns out Valtor’s mark is on their hands—they belong to him. Just now or still from season 3, I wonder. Also once Valtor becomes the most powerful sorcerer he promises to give them immense power.

Icy, apparently forgetting every other teamup they’ve ever done, thinks this sounds like a good deal, “Am I right, sisters?”

The Wishing Star hurtles through space, quite close to Valtor’s asteroid. Our villain team warps outside and…

...And we cut to the wishing Star, which is a person of the same species as Queen Dorana, but with a more snowy theme. She comments, “Valtor’s palace. Hasn’t changed much in the last thousand years. Still creepy!” That was kinda random and cute, and also, Valtor’s had that palace for a thousand years and space people just know where it is?

...And THEN the Trix appear and the chase is on. Stormy’s storm powers seem to be able to cause a meteor storm in space. Darcy summons the illusion of a black hole which actually draws things into it. Then icy succeeds in catching the comet girl in a block of ice. The Wishing Star is caught! Valtor is pleased!

But then she sends out her power in a blast of colored lights and a star-shaped box.

Valtor goes, ‘Noooo!”

The colored lights fly away but the star box flies straight at Lumenia and nearly beans Twinkle. She flees, with the star box chasing after her! Twinkle flies to the palace for help, where Argen is admitting to his sister that he thought being king of Lumenia would be more exciting. Heh. Then in comes Twinkle, chased by a star box!

Queen Dorana recognizes it: the star case. (so, book version rather than movie version of Escape to Witch Mountain?) And it’s a bad sign! We need the Winx immediately! Twinkle goes to fetch them.

Bloom and Sky are having a peaceful evening looking at the stars… when Diaspro texts. Sky makes a horrified face.

Bloom: “Who’s messaging you?”

Oh just my ex who always teams up with villains and tried to murder you back when…

Diaspro keeps calling and Bloom says Sky should answer it. Then Twinkle arrives. Saved! Bloom and Sky must say goodbye as the Winx leave on an urgent mission!

In the Owl Sky ignores a few more increasingly irate texts then calls Diaspro back. She’s got a super secret mission from Sky’s dad! They gotta go find the “lost locket of Eraklyon, one of the most poerful items in our kingdom. And the two of us have to find it! Together!”

Sky is not down for this together stuff. He tries to tell Diaspro the mission might be dangerous, but she is undeterred. Then the other boys turn up with a new Specialist mission, that Sky has to turn down since he’s got thiss mission with diaspro.

“Diaspro? That crazy girl who won’t give up on you?”

“Yes Brandon, that’s the one.”

“Come on Sky, the Specialists aren’t afraid of anyone, even broody aristocratic girls from Eraklyon.”

In case you were wondering how the boys talk about Diaspro.

And honestly, I was sympathetic for Diaspro, she and Sky were engaged and then Sky started falling for Bloom and instead of working things out he did nothing and let both girls find out the truth by surprise in public and Bloom attacked Diaspro thinking she was Icy. Diaspro was kinda more sinned against than sinning, at that point. But the heartbreak apparently caused Diaspro to go over the edge and she started teaming up with villains, cast a love spell on Sky, and pushed a magicless Bloom into a fiery pit. My annoyance at all things Diaspro isn’t really with her, it’s with everyone who acts like Diaspro is just an annoying ex instead of a dangerous criminal.

Things from Diaspro’s perspective would make a great fanfic.

But now we’re going to Lumenia to learn about the star case and the Winx’s second mission of the season!

The Winx arrive on their hoverboards, showing those off so kids will buy the toys, then we arrive at the palace. They meet Argen, who recognizes them from his days as Obscurum but they don’t recognize him so he explains what happened to him.

Then, star case! It contains the essence of the wishing star. Tecna remembers hearing about it from Miss F in a “cosmomagic lesson.” It’s the most powerful star in the universe and it’s made out of “Sparx, a magical radiance that is the source of all fairy powers. And witch magic!” So, Dragonfire. Which is why I shall keep spelling it Sparx.

So the girl in the comet was herself a star and to defend herself she “split herself into the seven prime stars. But her essence remained inside this case.” The Winx have to find the seven stars and put them all back, so the Wishing Star can pull herself together again. But they need the star compass, which is in the case—but it won’t open.

Bloom has an idea: go inside the case! Using our Enchantix powers!

The view pulls out to show our villains watching and I want them to say something about how the Winx are still using Enchantix like last time...

But no. Valtor orders the Trix to find the compass first.

Enchantix!

And it’s… all right. I can complain about the pink creep—aka everybody is wearing more pink than the first time around—but that’s about it. It’s not a terrible redesign, but not brilliant. Musa’s translated best, I think, maybe just because her color is already pink so it’s not jarring like Aisha’s or Bloom’s.

The girls miniaturize and poof into the star box, which is like a miniworld of decorative gears. They find a ballerina figure—the star case is a music box. They find the star compass easily, and Tecna says “achievement unlocked!” again. But then a cold wind starts to blow and a familiar laugh echoes...

“The Trix they’re back!”

“I hope you like this place, because you’re never leaving.”

Cliffhanger!

How did the Trix get miniaturized, hmm?

I have a suspicion that when a season of Winx is made, both halves are made at the same time by different sets of writers. So things don’t completely match, like the Wishing Star being a person of the same sort as Dorana and Argen who are not stars. Stars were lots of things, but they weren’t people until now. I bet we’ve seen our last staryum, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Valtor uses a lot fewer portals. I’m hoping we haven’t lost Orion because stolen design or not, I really like him. And I prefer legit villain Valtor to the wimp who did nothing but pick on Obscurum for twelve episodes, so please keep him threatening to destroy the planet, ok?

#winx season 8 #winx club

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vino-and-doggos · 5 years

Text

Duality, chapter 4

Read on AO3

Chapter Length: 4,557 (full length total so far: 15,959)

Rated: E

Status: Incomplete (4/?)

Summary: Roy Mustang is a young man, dealing with his burgeoning sexuality, a difficulty alchemy teacher and his hard-set daughter, and a good-looking cadet that also likes quiche.

All beta thanks go to @flourchildwrites, who is not only the best beta, but an amazing friend.

This chapter was inspired by Janieshi’s Espionage. If you haven’t read this classic yet, please check it out!

Chapter 4: Soldiers and Second Chances

A year passed faster than Roy ever thought a year could pass. The oppressing warmth of summer made way for falling leaves and crisp air. Soon, crisp air became downright cold with a side of precipitation, which didn’t stop as the weather got warmer, but it was more bearable knowing that green buds were sprouting, dotting the stark landscape. Before he knew it, it was July again, and the heat had returned in full force. He had been with the Hawkeyes for a full year. And he was finally beginning to perform basic transmutations. The apprentice had never been so happy to see a piece of chalk.

That afternoon, as Roy sat in the front room to practice drawing the arrays that Master Hawkeye assigned him, he heard a soft knock on the door. Looking hesitantly toward the closed study, Roy knew that there was no way his master was going to let Miss Riza’s lesson be interrupted just to answer the door. He sidled over, thinking how strange it was that this was the first time someone had come calling in the entire year he had been there. Roy opened the door a crack and saw a man dressed in Amestrian Blue.

“Oh, good afternoon, young man,” the soldier lilted. His Eastern accent was prevalent, almost disarmingly so. Roy cast him a wary look. He was a year older than when he arrived, and damn it, he had actually grown a few inches. In all reality, at sixteen, Roy only had a few more months before he could enlist himself. Well, with his Aunt Chris’s permission of course. A question from the soldier broke Roy from his thoughts. “Is Master Hawkeye home?”

“He is,” Roy affirmed; he didn’t want this young man to think he was home alone. “However, Master Hawkeye is preoccupied with something important.”

“I figured as much,” the soldier chuckled sheepishly, using his hand to ruffle the back of his close-cropped hair. “I just came to see if he had changed his mind. He never does, but that doesn’t mean the military is going to stop asking.”

“Change his mind about what?” Roy asked curiously as he opened the door further.

The soldier stuck out his hand. “The name is Barnes, kid. Jimmy Barnes.”

“Roy Mustang,” he said curtly. Still, the eager student returned the polite gesture and grasped the soldier’s - Barnes’s - hand. Roy was conflicted; on the one hand, Barnes didn’t seem like he was there on a malicious mission, and honestly he wanted to know a bit more about his master from someone who didn’t live in the same house as he currently resided in. But on the other hand, Roy felt like he should shut the door and return to his studies, protecting Hawkeye’s privacy.

Making a decision, Roy stepped outside onto the front stoop and closed the door behind him. “What exactly does the military want with Master Hawkeye?”

“I can’t believe you’re his apprentice and you don’t know!” Barnes chuckled. “Berthold Hawkeye is the only known alchemist who practices flame alchemy.”

“Flame alchemy?” Roy responded, hesitantly, but also somewhat eagerly. He watched the young cadet’s eyes light up.

“Yes! His transmutation circle can take a tiny spark and turn it into a towering inferno of flame! I’m not an alchemist myself, but I’ve heard rumors from people who have seen it in action,” Barnes sighed wistfully.

“And the military scientists and alchemists can’t figure it out?” Roy questioned.

Barnes shook his head. “They’ve been trying for the better part of the past decade. But they can’t seem to get the transmutation circle right, and even when they get close, well... From what I understand, they’ve blown up a few laboratory workspaces that way.”

Roy made a strangled sound between a laugh and a groan. The soldier chuckled in return.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “with the tensions in Ishval rising, flame alchemy would be an asset to the Amestrian military. Hawkeye doesn’t even have to become a state alchemist if he didn’t want to. I’m sure the alchemists would settle for having him on as an independent contractor.”

After a key phrase, everything else the soldier said had an overtone of radio static. “Tensions in Ishval?” Roy echoed. This was the first he had heard about it.

Barnes nodded in the affirmative, but threw a furtive glance over his shoulder in retrospect. “Not a whole lot of news has reached any of the papers yet. So it seems like the military’s trying to keep a lid on the conflict, but it’s going to boil over soon. The Ishvalans aren’t happy with being rounded up and put in one spot. The locals aren’t comfortable with the Ishvalan religious practices. If you ask me, everything is a little bit strained.”

Roy took in this information. Ishval wasn’t that far from East City. Any sort of conflict could quickly spread to where he was. Would his alchemy training cease if a war broke out? His face must have demonstrated some kind of discomfort because Barnes’s demeanor suddenly changed. Roy carefully smoothed his features again.

“But I’m sure the military can handle it! Many upstanding men, like yourself, have joined up. Have you given it any thought, Roy?”

Roy shook his head and said out loud, “No, I haven’t.” Inwardly, he was floundering. What the hell kind of questioning was this? Master Hawkeye would be proud of his student’s placid facial features.

When Roy thought about joining the military and taking up arms, he remembered the military men who frequented his aunt’s notorious bar. Sure, there were some nice ones. The old man that Madam Christmas always saw privately in her own room once or twice a year seemed nice enough, though Roy had never had a conversation with him. But the old man had to be for the Madam to trust him like that, right?

The other soldiers that came to Christmas’ bar, however… They left something to be desired. The dirty men often came in with sunken eyes and haggard souls, but with the application of a bit of alcohol, they became raucous and rude to the girls, sometimes to the point of having to be forcefully removed from the premises. They entered in packs and would get sloppy drunk. They left horrid messes in the men’s room that I had to clean up, thought Roy haughtily. From what he knew, there was nothing appealing about military men.

Well. Except maybe the dress blues.

Barnes seemed okay from what Roy could tell. But it was hard to base someone’s entire personality off of an interaction that, so far, had only lasted a few minutes.

The soldier seemed to notice the younger man in front of him was deep in thought. He waited a few moments before saying, “If you haven’t really thought of it before, now might be the time. You seem like a good kid, and if anything does happen in Ishval, we could use soldiers and alchemists alike. We’re not that bad,” he said, flashing a winning smile at Roy, who got the feeling that this wasn’t the first time he had given this speech to a local youth.

“I suppose I’ll think about it,” Roy conceded. Just thinking about it wouldn’t cause any harm, would it? “Why did you join? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

Barnes looked thoughtful while answering. “I guess I just thought I should protect my family. I’m the oldest and the only boy, and I’ve always felt like I needed to watch out for my little sisters. What better way than to step up and defend the nation as a part of the military?”

Roy nodded solemnly. That did make sense. He, too, was the only boy in a group of sisters - the fact that Roy-Boy was the youngest didn’t weigh on him too much, though. The parallels were enough.

“But anyway,” Barnes continued, “could you please just pass along the message to Mr. Hawkeye that, if he’s interested, to contact General Grumman?”

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Roy nodded sharply.

Barnes turned crisply and proceeded down the walkway. Roy let the chilly air wash over him as he entered the house, thankful once again for the cross-breeze that cooled the house down every night. Master Hawkeye and Miss Riza were still shut away in the study.

Heaving a sigh, Roy got back to tracing arrays onto pieces of scrap paper.

The following morning, Roy entered Master Hawkeye’s study as he had every day for the past year. Today started differently, though, when Roy was the one to begin their discussion. If there really was a war on the horizon, it would be best to broach the subject earlier rather than later, right?

“Master Hawkeye, there was something that I was supposed to bring to your attention.”

“Oh?” his superior questioned, curiosity obviously piqued.

“A soldier was here yesterday, asking for you,” Roy started. He faltered almost immediately when he saw the dark look set into Hawkeye’s face. Gathering his courage, Roy continued. Just because the master didn’t look happy didn’t mean that the message was going to remain undelivered in its entirety.

“He wanted you to consider joining the military as a state alchemist, or at least become a contracted researcher to teach the enlisted alchemists flame alchemy.” Even Roy was surprised at how steady his own voice held.

Hawkeye scoffed caustically. “I’m sure he did. And I’m sure he told you how much money I would make, and how much prestige the position would bring, and how it would be good for the citizens of Amestris!”

“Not quite, sir…” Roy started. This was the most he had heard Master Hawkeye speak, outside of reading excerpts from textbooks and asking the corresponding questions. Shocked at his master’s reaction, but ever the academic, the student couldn’t help himself. “What exactly is flame alchemy?”

“Precisely what it sounds like - a bad idea!” snapped Hawkeye.

“But it sounds like prestigious research! Sir, you have a general in the Amestrian Military asking for your research! It couldn’t be that bad!”

“You know nothing, boy,” Hawkeye spat. “This research is dangerous. Flames consume, and they consume quickly and without regard for anything else. In the wrong hands, a person, a family, an entire village could go up in flames with the snap of a finger!”

“But sir, it could also help people! Can you imagine how much easier controlled burns for farmlands would be with an alchemist who could manipulate fire? Or utilizing an alchemist to keep heat on a steam engine? The positive uses for flame alchemy are endless. Surely the good outweighs the bad!” Roy protested.

Hawkeye suddenly got quiet and turned away from Roy, walking towards the dark, sooty fireplace. “Have you ever been burned, Mustang?”

“Burned, sir?”

“Yes, boy, burned. Be it from the stove, or spilling a hot mug of tea on yourself, or…” the master paused, looking at the embers left from the chilly spring nights months ago, “touching a fire.”

“Yes, sir, I have,” the apprentice confirmed.

“It’s not a pleasant sensation, is it?” Hawkeye paused, looking at Roy. “Long after the initial injury, the pain remains. It aches; it throbs. It might even blister or disfigure. Fire is not forgiving.”

“Still, sir,” Roy started quietly, trying a different tactic, “wouldn’t the money be helpful? You can’t tell me that an income, a salary, wouldn’t make a difference for you? And for Miss Hawkeye, too? That way she wouldn’t have to hunt for food -”

“That’s enough.” The words were spoken calmly but were by no means warm. The fiery rage in his master’s eyes had been replaced with forbidding glaciers. Wrong tactic.

“You are my student. You have been graciously accepted into my home, into my life, and into my daughter’s life. Have you ever gone to sleep hungry, young Mister Mustang? Have you wanted for anything that I did not provide for you during your time here?”

Roy swallowed thickly, and his poorly-masked ambition slid slowly down his throat. It settled in the pit of his stomach, now fully morphed into regret. This was it. One conversation. One damn conversation and his apprenticeship was gone. Out the window, flying west, back towards Central. He must have stayed silent for a beat too long because the next words out of Hawkeye’s mouth felt like a nail in a coffin.

“Get out of my office.”

“Sir,” Roy attempted to protest, but it came out weak. His throat was tight, and the threat of tears burned at the back of his eyes.

“GO!” Hawkeye commanded.

Roy promptly spun on his heel and flung open the pocket door to the study. Pushing past a startled Miss Hawkeye on the stairs, the apprentice - or was he? - retreated to his room. He closed the door behind him and slid down the door frame, drawing his knees to his chest. Quivering breaths racked Roy’s chest as his head rested on crossed arms.

Great job, Mustang, you really fucked this one up, didn’t you? he thought bitterly.

He was furious with himself, enraged at Master Hawkeye, and pissed off at Barnes. Why bring this up every year if this was the reaction? Was the soldier usually on the receiving end of this outburst? Or was Roy just unlucky enough to have been the person to answer the door?

Raising up, eyes still closed, Roy rested the crown of his head against the door and slowly opened his eyes to look toward the ceiling. Drawing a few shuddering breaths, he calmed himself and started to think of a plan.

The sun was high in the sky before Roy moved from his spot against the door. He began gathering his things with a solemn finality. There was no way that Master Hawkeye would let him continue his training. He questioned his master. Such disrespect would not be tolerated. His teacher was many things; forgiving was not one of them. It didn’t matter that Roy was not the true instigator of the conversation - the soldier had no bearing on Berthold Hawkeye, and Mustang knew it. If the guillotine was coming down on someone, it was going to be the apprentice.

He had one chance, one last-ditch effort to convince Master Hawkeye to let him stay and finish learning all that he could about alchemy. On the off chance that didn’t work, however, he didn’t want to waste time attempting to gather his things.

Roy’s beaten suitcase was loaded with clothes, and the smart leather satchel that Madam Christmas sent him for the winter holiday of her namesake last year was stuffed with notes and Roy’s books. He was prepared to make a clean break if need be.

Taking one last fortifying breath, Roy opened the door and silently made his way down the stairs.

As he approached the study, he heard hushed voices speaking frantically. The yong alchemist paused and shrank back against the wall, not unlike his eavesdropping sisters. Curiously, he inched his ear to the edge of the doorframe and listened intently. It was the most words he had ever heard pass between father and daughter in a single conversation.

“He blatantly disrespected me, what else was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Father. How about you tell him about your research?” Roy heard Miss Hawkeye incredulously answer; he was shocked that she seemed to be advocating for him.

“That isn’t possible, and you know it. You’ve seen how dangerous that research is, Riza! Out of everyone, you should be the one most vehemently against me telling that boy anything!” Hawkeye hissed.

“He deserves to know,” she responded, voice deadly.

“I wasn’t aware you were so fond of the boy,” Master Hawkeye said, an almost sarcastic lilt to his voice.

“I - I am not!” Miss Hawkeye defended. “He’s just here to study alchemy - all kinds of alchemy. That should include the specialty of his own master.”

“But it’s -”

“Say dangerous one more time,” the girl said so quietly that Roy had to strain to hear. “All alchemy is dangerous. Flame alchemy is no exception. It all lies in what the person practicing it decides to do with it. It all lies with you deciding to trust him. Mama trusted you. And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving?”

Roy chose this moment to make himself known. Slowly crossing the threshold, he saw his master and Miss Hawkeye standing in the middle of the room, staring each other down, their postures stiff and unyielding. Hawkeye’s imposing stature was back in full force, making the slight frame of his daughter seem even smaller than what she was. The boy countered the tense situation with a very small smirk that ventured nowhere near his eyes.

“I’m sorry. Am I interrupting?” Roy said smoothly - coolly. He drew himself up to match his superior’s rigid posture from across the room.

“Riza, leave us,” Berthold directed her with a point.

The look on Riza’s face betrayed her sharp nod and acquiescence to the directive. Roy’s eyes wanted to follow the movement as she walked out the door, but he forced himself to maintain eye contact. As soon as he heard the tell-tale snick of wood against wood, indicating that the pocket door was closed, Roy launched into the speech he had been ruminating on for the past hour.

“Sir, I understand that I was in the wrong in questioning your motives. I sincerely apologize. But, it doesn’t matter how curious I am about your research. My curiosity isn’t important. And it also wasn’t my place to question your decisions. What is important, however, is that I feel I haven’t learned everything I came to learn. And what is your decision is whether or not I am allowed to stay and further my training.

“A year’s worth of tutoring in alchemy just barely got me to drawing transmutation circles. I sat down and I read the books. I learned the theory; I learned the compositions. I memorized, recited, questioned, and answered. I could go somewhere else and learn more with the foundation you’ve given me. I don’t want to go somewhere else. I want to continue with the master that I started with. I want to stay here. But if you are asking me to leave, I will do so without turning back.”

Roy paused, just short of panting, feeling breathless. His mind flashed to his packed belongings on the bed in his room - the room - upstairs.

“Are you quite finished?” Hawkeye said quietly.

The boy felt heat start to redden his cheeks and did his best to halt the color in its tracks. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” the master continued, “because I have no intention of forcing you out. You are free to go at any time - you’ve known this from the beginning. But I don’t believe that I’ve bled you dry of your potential yet.

“You’re smart. Sometimes too smart for your own good. I’ve already given you all the tools to piece together the basics of flame alchemy. Handing my research over to you would be... unsafe.” Hawkeye paused. “In ways you cannot yet comprehend,” he ended, bitterly.

Roy felt properly chastised. In the few hours of contemplation before this confrontation, the boy really perceived this to be a “don’t shoot the messenger” situation. He was only doing what was asked of him!

In retrospect, though, Roy realized that he did come off a touch ungrateful for the provisions of the Hawkeye family. And, just maybe, he questioned the methods of the master a bit too deeply. He was, after all and throughout everything, a guest.

But more than anything, the young alchemist sensed a foreign emotion emanating from his master, something completely different from the intellectual confidence he usually excluded: fear.

On a basic level, Roy understood. Like Miss Hawkeye said, all alchemy could be dangerous depending on the wielder. But flame could spread quickly, out of control before it ever had the chance of being tamed. On a more complex level, though… How was one supposed to perfect what one’s own master appeared to fear?

All in the same breath, Roy felt relieved. He wasn’t out of an apprenticeship. He didn’t have to return to Central. Most importantly, however, he didn’t have to find another alchemy master to teach him. The thought of staying, of continuing with Master Hawkeye, filled Roy to the brim with giddiness.

A genuine, yet cautious, smile broke Roy’s face. He was staying.

His thoughts turned to his packed bags upstairs. Bashfulness, apprehension, and dread flooded Roy’s system. Yet again he had acted hastily and let his emotions take control.

“Thank you, sir. For the second chance.”

Berthold’s face also donned a small smile. “Thank you for being up front with me. It’s been a while since someone was so frank. It’s good to know that I can rely on you to keep me steadfast.”

As Roy nodded, his master crossed the room to clap a hand onto Roy’s shoulder, reminiscent of the first day that the apprentice had arrived. “No lesson today.”

Before the student could breathe a sigh of relief, however, Hawkeye proceeded. “Continue drawing those transmutation circles I assigned you yesterday. Read the next chapter of The Analysis of ‘Exposition of the Hieroglyphical Figures’ and be prepared to discuss the importance of mercury and the sun.”

Instead of deflating like he normally would, Roy nodded and simply said, “Yes, sir.”

“Good boy. Dismissed.”

Roy spun on his heel and, gently this time, slid the pocket door open and made his way up to his room. All things considered, he believed he got off easy. But that didn’t alleviate the slightly uncomfortable, sheepishness he felt as he climbed the steps to his room (his room). The book that Master Hawkeye wanted him to read from was packed and ready to go - like the rest of his things.

Knowing that he was able to stay, though? That gave Roy all the confidence he needed to unpack and return to life as it was, so to speak.

With a spring in his step, the young man opened the door to his room, and went to grab the suitcase and the satchel off the bed to unpack… only to discover that neither were there. Curiously, he opened the top drawer of the dresser and found his clothes within. He quickly flung open another drawer, then another. Someone had unpacked his suitcase.

Traveling over to the small desk the apprentice had installed in his room approximately three months after moving in, he realized that his satchel, too, had been unpacked. The contents of it adorned the desk - notes in a neat, organized pile, books stacked smartly according to size. Just as his mind started to process what he was seeing, Roy heard a noise behind him. Whipping around, he saw Miss Hawkeye leaning casually against the doorframe to his bedroom.

Quickly, he said, “Thank you for unpacking my things. But you didn’t have to do that. It would have been terrible to pack them up again if your father had kicked me to the curb.”

Miss Hawkeye scoffed, “Like he would have done that to his favorite apprentice.” With a roll of her eyes, she pushed herself off of the trim work and into the room proper. “I don’t know why you pulled a stunt like that anyway,” she said, a disapproving tone in her voice.

“How was I supposed to know he’d react like that? It’s not something I was expecting at all!” Roy responded defensively.

“I’m sure the soldier told you that they ask him every year. What did you think, he turned them all away politely after inviting them in for tea?” she intoned.

“Well, no, but -” Roy started. Miss Hawkeye cut him off.

“No buts. You still have too much to learn. He still has too much to teach you. Neither of you are allowed to throw in the towel just yet.”

The wheels in Roy’s head started turning, the cogs fitting together. Between this statement and the bits of the conversation he had eavesdropped on before, he realized his hunch might be correct.

“Why, Miss Hawkeye, do I dare say that you are in favor of keeping me here? Might you actually like me?” His disarming smile was turned up to eleven, charm oozing from every pore. To his utter delight, the cheekbones of the young woman in front of him turned a delightful shade of pink.

“Absolutely not,” she vehemently denied. “You’re just the most promising alchemy apprentice to cross the threshold of this house. I would hate for Father to have to start all over again with someone half as talented as you.”

“So now I’m talented?” Roy teased as the flush on the girl’s face grew darker.

Through gritted teeth, Miss Hawkeye growled, “Good night,” and spun on her heel, shoulders hunched up to her ears and her hands balled into fists at her sides. Right before she closed the door with a bit more force than Roy thought was necessary, he could have sworn he heard her mutter “conceited boy” to herself.

Chuckling, the apprentice shook his head. But then thought seriously about the character witness that he apparently had in Miss Hawkeye. She noticed how hard he was working, how much he was trying...and how smart he was. She noticed that he was giving his all to this alchemy training. And she thought it was unfair that her father was not reciprocating the same level of trust and knowledge in this apprenticeship.

Just as he thought he had her at least somewhat figured out, Miss Hawkeye went and scattered every piece of paper in his mental file about her, the one still titled “Master Hawkeye’s Daughter.”

In that moment, Roy realized that the girl wasn’t protecting him, not really. It was most likely - almost guaranteed, in fact - that she was looking out for her father, and her father alone. Though it appeared that Miss Hawkeye was siding with the apprentice instead of his master, Roy thought back to the last thing she’d seethingly said to her father.

And, let’s be honest - will you get over another apprentice leaving before he’s learned?

Miss Hawkeye was, in a way, taking steps to ensure that her father would continue thriving. By cutting out a place in the shape of Roy’s silhouette, she was attempting to entice him to finish training one - one - apprentice completely. In doing so, this could give Master Hawkeye a sense of fulfillment that could, once again, turn him into a proper alchemist, instead of a recluse locked away in a mansion-sized house.

Sinking into the chair at the desk, Roy sighed. Even though the sun still hung high in the sky, Roy felt spent and more than ready to retire. Nevertheless, he opened his textbook, taking out paper and a pen to jot down notes. From that moment on, Roy resolved to raise his personal bar and study longer hours, reviewing even more than what he was currently.

In that moment, Roy made a vow to himself. He would gain Master Hawkeye’s trust. He might unlock the secrets to flame alchemy along the way. Most importantly, though, he would give his master a reason to possibly prosper once more.

#duality #duality chapter 4 #vino writes fanfiction #fma fanfiction #fullmetal alchemist fanfiction #precanon #precanon fanfiction

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erisgregory · 5 years

Note

Klaine prompt! Kurt lives alone in a cabin in the woods where he hunts and keeps to himself. One day he runs into Blaine a young werewolf from the nearby pack.

I didn’t mean for this to get so long or for our boys to be so chatty but since I’m out of practice I ended up with a very dialogue heavy 3527 word fic. I hope you enjoy it though!

(ON AO3)

The crisp new snow lay in drifts around the cabin, crunching with each satisfying step as Kurt made his way out into the woods to catch his dinner. The sun was just beginning to peek over the mountain top sending the illusion of a warm glow over the glistening landscape and Kurt took it all in with a heavy sigh.

Yes, he wanted to be exactly where he was. He’d chosen this solitary life after the loss of Finn and then his father. He’d learned to hunt and fish as a child, and while he’d once scoffed at the idea that he’d ever use those skills, he was grateful now his father had forced him to learn. Yes, he was here by design and it was a beautiful place, but Kurt was lonely. It was hard not to be when he was so cut off from the rest of the world. Even still, Kurt knew he couldn’t go back to the hustle and bustle of New York City, or even the quaint little life that might wait for him in Lima. Kurt was a loner now and he was just going to have accept that his loneliness was in exchange for the peace he felt here.

Kurt slung his shotgun over his shoulder and hiked toward the lake where he hoped to find a deer, something that could last him a lot longer than the duck he’d shot only a few days before. If the break in the weather was luring him out, it would probably be luring the wildlife out as well.

The forest was silent aside from the sound of Kurt’s boots. Even the birds were just beginning to wake and had yet to start singing. The morning hung around Kurt full of promise, and just ahead the lake was coming into view.

Knowing he needed to stay out of sight, Kurt stayed back in the line of trees and settled down to watch and wait. That was one thing being out here had taught him, one of the most valuable things, patience. He’d gone home empty handed plenty of times and made do with what he had in the pantry, but he’d learned that patience usually paid off.

Steadily the sun rays climbed over the mountain and began to glisten in the frost on the trees and bushes, the birds began to call out to one another, and as Kurt waited he heard a rustle across the way. Quiet as can be, Kurt took his gun and aimed it into the clearing before the lake, watching and waiting to see what might emerge.

It wasn’t a deer, however. It was a wolf. A dark thing, huge really. Big enough that for a moment Kurt stopped breathing all together. It was limping, dragging its hind leg as it moved toward the edge of the lake. The, just as the fear of being seen by the creature was setting in, the beast seemed to shudder all over and it collapsed on the ground. Only it was no longer a wolf Kurt was staring at, but a young man!

He hadn’t meant to gasp aloud, but he had, and the young man whipped his head around and seemed to zero in right where Kurt was hiding. Kurt nearly dropped his gun, so there was a moment of disorientation where he righted the thing and tried to decide to lower it or keep aiming at the man on the shore. He lowered it and the young man passed straight out, a heap of nakedness and what was most certainly blood. Kurt didn’t dare move.

Kurt waited for the man to come to again, but he didn’t. Five minutes went by, then ten, then twenty. Kurt was confused and scared out of his mind because werewolves just weren’t real! But also because the man was obviously badly hurt and Kurt was probably going to have to help him and he hadn’t the slightest idea of how to do something so bold.

Twenty five minutes later Kurt eased up from his hiding spot and made his way over to the still form of the man wolf person. He was shaking all over, but this man was injured and Kurt was clearly the only one around. So he bent down and felt for a pulse. Okay, still beating. Faintly, but it was there. And he was breathing, thank god. He was also sort of gorgeous, but it felt wrong to think such a thing while looking at someone unconscious.

“Hey,” Kurt tried, shaking the man’s shoulder the tiniest bit. Nothing. “Okay, you’re pretty banged up, so I’m just going to get you back to my cabin and clean you up and then we’ll go from there. Okay? And you aren’t going to wolf out and eat me, right?” He asked not expecting a response. However he did get what might have been a chuckle/cough from the man.

“Hey, um, I’m Kurt and I’ll be rescuing you now, alright?” He asked, still uncertain about the whole situation.

The man nodded, his eyes cracking open just the tiniest bit. “Please.” Was all he said.

“Right.” Kurt said. He slipped his pack and gun off his back and pulled off his outer coat. This he wrapped around the man. Then he picked everything back up and managed to get the man to his feet. He was still limping and even though Kurt only knew the barest amount of first aid, his ankle looked horribly swollen.

“Do you think you can walk? If you lean on me? It isn’t far.”

Kurt got another nod so he wrapped his arm around the man’s back and they began to make the short walk back to his cabin.

It was tough going and several times it seemed like the young man at his side wasn’t going to be able to take another step but eventually they made it to the cabin and Kurt got him settled in a chair by the fire, his injured foot propped up on the foot rest.

They didn’t talk for several long minutes while Kurt covered his guest in blankets and stoked the fire. He got an ice pack out for the ankle and a bowl of warm water and a washcloth to begin cleaning the man up, looking for other wounds.

“It mostly isn’t mine,” the man said quietly. “The blood,” he added when Kurt looked confused.

“Oh. Okay. Are you hurt anywhere else?” Kurt asked, stepping back and appraising the man.

He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Just my ankle. And I think I might be a little dehydrated. That’s why I was trying to get to the lake.”

“Oh.” Kurt said softly.

“I guess you saw everything, didn’t you?” The man asked.

“Um. If I say yes do you turn into a wolf and eat me?” Kurt asked with a shaky laugh.

“No, but I do have to get a promise out of you. That you won’t tell anyone what you saw. No one has seen a wolf from my pack in probably fifty years, so I can’t have you out there telling people about us.”

Kurt held up his hands in front of him. “I won’t, I swear! I don’t think anyone would believe me besides.”

“Maybe they would, my kind can never be too careful. There was a time when we were hunted nearly to extinction.” the man said.

Kurt didn’t quite know how to feel about that. The man before him seemed harmless enough, but that wolf had been huge and terrifying.

“It’s okay,” The man told him, gleaning from his silence that he wasn’t entirely for werewolf kind just yet. “I’m sure it’s a lot to take in. Thank you for helping me, though. I’m a little ways from home and was attacked by a rival pack. I’ve been alone in the woods for days just trying to make it home. I’m Blaine, by the way. Blaine Anderson.”

“I’m Kurt. Hummel. Kurt Hummel,” Kurt said and held out his hand.

Blaine took his hand though he looked surprised by the gesture and they shook. “It’s really nice to meet you, Kurt.”

“It’s weird to meet you, but I’m glad I could help.” Kurt said honestly.

“I’m sure it is,” Blaine chuckled. “We don’t normally show ourselves to humans.”

Kurt sat himself opposite Blaine by the fire and crossed his arms over himself. “So,” Kurt said, drawing the word out in his awkwardness. “Do you live around here? I have to admit I sometimes hear the wolves at night, could that be your clan or whatever?”

“I don’t live far from here and it’s quite possible. I heard there was someone living out here, but we all try to give you plenty of space. We’re peaceful and just want to be left alone.” Blaine explained.

“Me too. I mean, I’m just trying to keep to myself, I wouldn’t want any harm to come to any of you, anyway. Even if it was a little intimidating seeing you in your… you know… fur.” Kurt could feel his eyes going wide at the memory, he was still shaken by the fact that he had a werewolf in his living room.

Blaine laughed outright and it was such a warm sound that Kurt couldn’t help but smile at it a little. “Sorry, it’s just that no one from my pack would call me intimidating. I’m small for a wolf and I’m known for singing way too may show tunes and performing for the pups. I’m practically a runt, but thank you for the ego boost.”

“You like show tunes?” Kurt asked, caught off guard by the thought.

“Sure! And pop music and some oldies, I love to sing and dance. I about drove my parents crazy a few years ago because I was determined to leave the pack and go to New York to follow my dreams.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking,” Kurt added.

“No, it’s okay.” Blaine settled further back in his chair and a flicker of sadness crossed his face. “My brother went out to L.A. to follow his dream of being on the big screen and he was caught by hunters. It just about destroyed my parents. They’d begged him not to go, and after we lost him I just couldn’t see putting my parents through all of that all over again.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Kurt uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, reaching out to touch Blaine’s knee without thinking. “I lost my brother last year too, and then my dad. That’s how I ended up out here by myself. I was in New York with those same big dreams, but it just didn’t feel the same after losing them. My dreams changed.”

Blaine placed his hand over Kurt’s and Kurt was surprised by how much warmer he felt in just a short time. “I think it’s okay for dreams to change. Do you think you’ve found what you were looking for out here?”

Kurt leaned back, bringing his hand with him and sighed. “Most days, yes. It’s peaceful here. I’ve done some writing and some voice work which is fulfilling in a different way, but it’s very isolated. I wanted to get away from everyone, and I have, but I find myself getting lonely now and then. Not enough to go back really, but it’s there, making itself known.”

Blaine seemed to consider what Kurt had said before speaking up. “I think I know what you mean. I have friends and I have my parents, but it’s not the same, is it? I love my life but I do think I’m still missing something.”

They sat in silence after that, both looking toward the fire, thinking. Eventually Kurt realized that he’d left Blaine naked in nothing but blankets and he blushed at the thought. “I just realized I forgot to offer you something to wear. I was so worried about warming you up and making sure you weren’t badly hurt. That I’ve completely forgotten my manners. I have a closet full of clothes that I think should fit, though the pants might be a little long. And while you get dressed I’ll make some tea if you like. Are you hungry?”

“I’d love some tea, and yes, breakfast would be amazing, You’re more than kind, Kurt.” Blaine said as he stood stretching. He still limped as he walked toward the bedroom Kurt was pointing him toward, but overall he had much more color than when Kurt first saw him.

Blaine came back dressed in red jeans that were rolled at the ankle and a white polo shirt. He took his tea and sat back by the fire while Kurt finished breakfast.

“You look almost healthy over there, how’s your ankle?” Kurt asked as he cracked eggs for an omelet.

“I’m much better, we wolves heal quickly, though my ankle my take a little more time.” Blaine admitted. He had his foot propped up again and the ice pack back on it.

“I’m so glad you weren’t hurt worse. You said a rival pack did that to you? Is that something that happens a lot?” Kurt asked, curious to know more about his strange guest.

“Oh no, thankfully the other local packs all keep to themselves. This one was passing through, though, and didn’t seem to have the same code of ethics as us. They didn’t mind roughing me up just for the fun of it because I was out alone, and as I’ve mentioned, a little on the small side, comparatively.” Blaine explained.

“That’s not right? Are they going to stick around, do you think, should we be worried?” Kurt asked, suddenly realizing that his little cabin didn’t stand much of a chance against a rogue pack of werewolves.

“Oh no, I held my ground as best I could. I don’t think they’ll be sticking around to get the backlash from my pack. They high tailed it out of there pretty quickly when I told them who I was. Our pack looks out for this forest and we’re known pretty far and wide.” Blaine said.

“Oh thank god. I was scared there for a minute. I don’t think I have much chance against them if they were able to hurt you.” Kurt shivered a little just thinking about it.

“Don’t worry, Kurt. My family has always looked out for any humans in our territory. We won’t let anyone mess with you, especially since you been so generous in helping me.”

“I’m sure anyone would have done the same.” Kurt tried to brush off the compliment.

“Not likely. It took a lot of bravery for you to approach me, even though I was passed out. I can’t imagine how scared you must have been.” Blaine told him.

Kurt could feel his cheeks going red. “It was pretty scary,” he admitted shyly.

“Yet here you are making me breakfast and being just the nicest host.” Blaine grinned at him and his smailed warmed Kurt all the way to his toes.

“It still feels like something out of a fairytale, just so you know.” Kurt confessed.

“It does for me too,” Blaine said with a slight shrug of his shoulder.

“Do you have wolf specific fairy tales?” Kurt asked, suddenly curious. Breakfast was ready so he plated the omelets and brought a plate to Blaine.

“We do,” Blaine nodded. “A lot of them revolve around a kind human helping a wolf in trouble, so this is very much out of a fairy tale for me. I know your human tales tend to skew things though. Wolves are the bad guys usually, right?”

“Right.” Kurt told him. “But I guess I’m just thinking along the lines that werewolves even exist. That’s pretty fantastical to me.”

“Is it a good surprise, do you think?” Blaine asked, his cheeks tinting pink.

Kurt felt a flutter in his stomach as he replied. “Yes, I think so.”

“Good,” Blaine nodded and dug in to his omelet. “This is delicious, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Kurt murmured.

They fell into a companionable silence after that, eating and trading glances. When they were done Kurt took away the plates and bent to check on Blaine’s ankle.

“It’s healed!” Kurt was shocked but pleased.

“It is,” Blaine said, rotating it to try it out.

Kurt set the ice pack in the sink and came back to sit by the fire, folding his hands in his lap. He wasn’t sure what to do now, or what to say. He didn’t want to keep Blaine from returning to his pack right away if need be, but he didn’t necessarily want him to go wither. It felt a little like Blaine might just disappear if he walked out just then. Kurt didn’t want to never see him again.

“I can see you over there thinking, you know.” Blaine’s voice had a teasing quality to it that snapped Kurt back into the present.

“Oh?” He asked, a little flustered at being caught.

“Yeah, and I hope I’m not being to bold when I make a guess and say you’re worried I’m about to leave and never come back?” Blaine leaned forward in his seat, one eyebrow cocked at Kurt as if daring him to deny it.

“Well, you are a mythical creature, and you’re all healed now, so…” Kurt flapped his hand and sighed. Somehow he’d become very attached to Blaine and the wonder of it all in the short time they’d spent together. He felt a bond with Blaine that he couldn’t explain.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re friends now, and friends don’t just disappear on each other.” Blaine told him matter of factly. “Besides, we’re just getting to know each other, I’m not ready to give that up. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said. “That’s okay with me.”

“Good.”

“Good.” They agreed.

“I do have to be getting back for now, I need to let everyone know what happened and that I’m okay, but if you don’t mind I’d like to bring you dinner. Something tells me I deprived you of finding yours this morning.” Blaine offered.

Kurt smiled at him, his insides feeling all squirmy and happy at the same time. “I’d like that.”

“How’s Italian sound, I make a mean fettuccini.” Blaine said.

“That would be amazing.” Kurt grinned.

Blaine stood and Kurt followed suit. “I’ll be leaving as a wolf, so you can keep your clothes and I can travel faster. It’s not going to freak you out to see me change again will it?”

“I don’t think so,” Kurt told him. He couldn’t bee one hundred percent sure it wouldn’t bother him, but Blaine was his friend now so hopefully it wouldn’t be too scary.

“Good,” Blaine said, grinning right back at Kurt. “Then I’ll just say goodbye.”

“Oh, okay yeah.”

“If this were one of my fairytales, I’d kiss you now.” Blaine said softly. “Would that be okay?”

Kurt’s face felt hot all over but somehow he managed to nod. Blaine took his hand oh so gently before leaning in slowly, so slowly to press his lips to Kurt’s. It was soft at first, like a question. Blaine’s other hand slid along Kurt’s jaw, tipping Kurt’s head to the side, and then quite without warning they deepened the kiss, warmth suffusing between them.

Blaine slipped his tongue into Kurt’s mouth and the world just tipped away. Everything was heat and passion and gone was the awkwardness from before. Kurt felt like he was made for this, made to kiss Blaine. He slipped his arms around Blaine pulling him close until they both had to stop to catch their breath.

Kurt leaned his forehead into Blaine’s as they panted against each other’s lips. “That was…” he started.

“Yeah,” Blaine chuckled. “Unexpected.” He finished for Kurt.

“And amazing,” Kurt added.

“I have to go now, but I really don’t want to.” Blaine admitted. He did pull back eventually though. Letting Kurt slide out of his grasp slowly. “I’ll be back. Say six o’clock?”

“Sounds good,” Kurt said, wanting nothing more than to pull Blaine back in.

“I’ll leave your clothes on the porch that way I don’t have to… strip in here. In front of you. Again.” It seemed like Blaine couldn’t stop grinning now, and Kurt certainly couldn’t.

“Fair enough,” Kurt told him. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight!” Blaine nodded, then he headed for the door. “I’m so glad we met, Kurt Hummel. I can’t wait to get to know you better.

“You too Blaine Anderson, see you soon!”

“See you soon!” With that, Blaine headed out the door and Kurt sat so he wouldn’t be tempted to peek at Blaine’s transformation. Once he was a wolf, Blaine howled softly and Kurt came to the door to wave him off.

Who would have ever thought he’d meet a real life werewolf, or fall for one for that matter! It was straight out of a fairy tale and one he believed would have a very good ending indeed.

#klaine #kaline fic #eris writes fic #kaline au #usurix

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humanoid-whowouldveknown · 6 years

Text

The Tales of Old Vilnius

Ašmenos gatvė

- ...and also acrylics in those large jars, - says insatiable Tony, - yeah, all the colors, except maroon. And brushes. No, not these, the ones in the corner. One, two, three, and zero. And maybe... yeah, this palette knife. And that one, too. Wait, what's on that shelf?...

While we are packing everything into our backpacks, a tiny, gray-haired saleslady restlessly rummages the cashbox, like a bird in a feeder, searching for the change from Tony's 200-litai bill.

- I have no change at all, - finally, she sighs. - Maybe you can take this?

She puts a box of colorful chalks on the counter. Not pastel, not even oil crayons, just simple chalk, like the ones we used to write on a blackboard with. And, of course, on asphalt.

Chalks don't interest me, I'm trying to zip the bag, and Tony automatically puts the box in his pocket. The saleslady, assured that the problem is fixed, smiles freely.

- Good, good, - she says as we walk away, - Present it to your kids, they should be happy.

Neither Tony nor I have any children. But we leave this knowledge to ourselves, not to disappoint the tiny gray bird.

Outside the doors, two suns are shining - the sky one, and its reflection in a silver puddle that fills the entire roadside. And wind is blowing, spring-warm and so strong that we promptly give up our right to choose the path and turn, so it hits our backs.

- Sunny wind, - says Tony, and squints, like a pleased cat.

We turn around the corner, to Ašmenos gatvė, and there - who would've known?! - Wind stops. And we instantly remember that we wanted to stop for smoking a long time ago. Even before we stopped by the shop. And now we want it so much, no words could describe the feeling.

While Tony is busy with the cigarette rolling machine and empty tubes, I loiter around, pretending to be in any way helpful. And, naturally, rubberneck at the surroundings, automatically framing all I see - click, click, click.

- Look, - I say, taking a cigarette from Tony, - someone couldn't finish a hopscotch game.

- Not even the game - they couldn't finish the drawing, - he nods in agreement.

The sidewalk is, indeed, divided into squares, but the artist never got a chance to write the numbers. Maybe they were called for lunch, or just got clipped by the ears for damaging public asphalt.

On the other hand, we, two overgrown fools, don't care about the rules. No one will call us for lunch. And it's pretty hard to smack our ears.

Drunk with a sudden (like thirty years ago) and still captivating permissiveness, sunny wind, tobacco smoke and the weight of paints in our bags, I pull the box of chalks from Tony's pocket and squat next to the first square, confident in my intention to write a tremendous number 1. Bright-blue, like the sky in the puddles under our feet, or yellow, like the joyful spring sun, or green, like the future, not yet visible, foliage, or red, like Tony's old coat. However, as I pick up the chalk, all ideas disappear, and, for an unknown reason, I cover the entire square in blue. Not satisfied with the result, I shake out the leftover chalks and begin drawing fishes. Because the blue square is quite indeed the sea. Based on the bright colors of my fishes - the Red Sea. Exampli gratia. Though, in a matter of minutes, the fishes take such weird forms that the sea is clearly gifted to aliens. Let them communicate with these fishes themselves, cause human race, presented by me, gives up.

- Wow! - says Tony.

He already finished his cigarette, and now wants to enter the fight.

The second square Tony confidently shades with green and blue, and I already know that it will be Venice, the one he is so crazy about. Quickly, the colorful houses rise from the water; however, instead of gondolas and motor boats, the landscape suddenly fills with winged creatures, looking both like humans and foxes.

- Mother of God, who are they? - I ask dazedly.

Tony laughs:

- No idea. They came here themselves and decided to be. It's not my place to judge.

- Well, then let my fishes live in their waters, - I say, - They perfectly match to your foxes, I think.

- True, - agrees with me Tony, moving the box so I could also take chalks.

The third and fourth square we paint simultaneously, almost racing. Tony, of course, is the champion on this competition - he is a professional. He gets up, stretches, and observes the results with pleasure.

- Oh wow! What is it? - he asks me.

- A city map, I guess, - I reply uncertainly, setting aside purple chalk, - Right, the map. You know, the one with tour paths for tourists. Every day it is drawn on the city wall. And at night, the rain washes the picture away. Which is why in the morning comes a duty artist and paints a new one. He, of course, doesn't really remember what was on the wall yesterday. To tell you the truth, he doesn't even try to remember, drawing whatever streets he wants. But tourists can still use this map: while the artist draws his lines, the city changes to match them.

- Well, then there should be two artists, - Tony says, - Firstly, the man can't work every day. Secondly, then there is even more changes and chaos. And everyone is happy.

His drawing in the fourth square perfectly matches this statement. On the surface two very pleased winged fox-humans, a bit - as much as it's possible with their fox faces - similar to us, levitate over the city-lake, with large red mugs in their hands.

- They are drinking coffee, no doubt, - I say.

- Naturally. Whatever you look and wherever you live, it can't happen without coffee.

We might as well just go for coffee now - we wanted to, anyway, - but instead Tony begins to roll another cigarette, and I paint the fifth square. Its impossible to stop.

- What is it? - asks Tony, - It's beautiful, but I understand nothing.

- Probably, it's a book. Or rather their version of books. When you continuously fly above water, it's great to have some fun things reflect in it. For example, books with illustrations. It's also better to prepare the texts on the clouds, in the mirrored way, so that they reflect as needed.

- Alright, - Tony nods. He gives me a cigarette, grabs the chalks, and, while I relax, quickly draws flying writers in the sixth square. They carefully cover the clouds in reflected letters.

- Yep, that's exactly how they work, - I nod and begin the seventh square. Toni takes the eighth.

I draw streams of colorful wind above a rich blackness of coastal fruit gardens, and Tony works on the main square of the city, where underwater trees grow - so tall that tired creatures can relax on their branches, expanding high above the waters.

In the ninth square, I draw a bridge, but not between two riversides - between the earth and the sky. Precisely like the Old London Bridge, it is covered in buildings, at least on the visible part. What happens above the clouds? I don't know. It's not my business.

Tony is still drawing, so I roll the cigarettes. After finishing the last, tenth square, he takes the rolling machine and, stunned, freezes looking at the skies. I observe his picture, and, finally, ask:

- So... what is it?

- A map, probably, - Tony smiles, - But not the city map like yours, but how to get there. From here, I mean. In case of an emergency.

- Wow, - I say, peering at the drawing, - wow.

What else can you say?

We sit on the edge of the road and smoke. Honestly, it is a bit cold outside, since our friend wind has returned. While we were drawing, he relaxed, and now he is entirely ready to blow again.

Honestly, we should get our butts off the edge of the cold road and go to the coffeehouse or home. But we are so tired that for now, we can only smoke in the icy sunny wind and blissfully smile, looking at our work.

A girl, about ten years of age, exits the apartment house. A ginger girl in an old red coat, chubby enough to earn a nickname "bomb" or something like that. She has a waist-long ginger braid, round green eyes, straight forehead and such a forceful chin that no one would've wanted to be her hypothetic enemy. In the left hand, she holds a gray knitted hat; she probably took it off just a minute ago. In the right hand, she holds a flat round box, that one could surely use like a bat. Her face almost screams her uncompromising intention to play hopscotch in the squares she, herself, diligently drew before lunch; so they belong to her only; so no one disturbs jumping or laughs at the mistakes.

When she sees my and Tony's pictures, the girl freezes in amazement. For like five seconds, not more. Then she lands her bat on the first square, straight on the head of one of my fishes. And begins to jump.

The girl jumps very delicately. Stands for a long time in each square, preparing and calculating the next move. She tries hard - maybe to save the pictures, or to get perfectly precise movements. She seems to succeed at both.

Reaching the ninth square, the girl freezes and observes the tenth. Finally, instead of jumping, she carefully pushes the bat with her colorful boot towards the edge between the squares.

There, the bat slowly crawls on the edge, and slowly moves farther. There... hell, where is it?

The curvy girl in a red coat stands in the ninth square, on my bridge between the earth and the sky. She confusedly examines the tenth, on which nothing lies, except for Tony's picture. A flat white box couldn't possibly mix with the image. And yet, it's not there.

The girl drops her gray hat on the ground. Automatically puts the end of the braid in her mouth. Thinks. Squats down and observes the picture. Carefully, touches it with her hand. Finally, she stands up and makes a step.

We look at her as if we were enchanted.

#translator #im not the owner #max frei #the tales of old Vilnius #chapter 1 #vilnius #old town #tales

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sky-girls · 6 years

Text

Chasing Colors

I don’t even know dude I was bored I wanted to distract myself and this was born, it’s pribs a mess and it was written on under an hour so welp enjoy I guess lol

⭐

She doesn’t look up when he comes in but she still knows who it is, it’s a little embarrassing but it’s not just the rhythm of his steps or the art supplies hanging over his shoulders and much less the sound of his voice humming a song, always a different one that she can’t really place, it’s just that he comes around the coffee shop every weekday around the same hour.

He always asks exactly for the same thing too, one black coffee, sometimes when he hands her the cash his hands are full of smudged black ink or something, sometimes they are totally clean, and then he just goes to sit on corner sipping his coffee and looking at everyone with boredom and disinterest.

And he always stays about the same amount of time, just looking at people and doodling something on his notebook, until 4 p.m comes around and he he gathers his things and goes away to what she assumes is class. The coffee shop is close to campus anyway, every customer and almost every employee are college kids.

She smiles at him when he comes to the counter as always and he smirks back, she wonder what she has to do to get an actual smile out of him, but she guesses he is just one of those guys who doesn’t go around giving free smiles much less to their baristas.

“Good afternoon,Luna.” He says, with a polite yet almost teasing tone and every time he speaks to her she has to fight the urge to blush or giggle, because she is hopeless apparently. She doesn’t dwell on the fact that he knows her name, he has been coming here for almost the whole semester it would be weirder if he didn’t. She knows his too and it means completely nothing.

“One black coffee?” She asks with a gron and his smirk grows bigger.

“You haven’t forgotten about me, I see.” He winks at her and she does blush just a little bit but she manages to hide it looking for his change.

“I don’t think it’s possible to forget about you.” She tells him carefully avoiding his eyes, today his hands are stained with what seems like charcoal.

“No one has managed yet at least.” He says smugly and she rolls her eyes at him.

“There’s always a first time for everything though.” She says as she is making his coffee.

“But I am sure it won’t be you.” He says as she passes him his coffee and this time she can’t hide the blush from him.

After that as usual he walks away and goes to his table takes out his notebook and starts drawing. She gets distracted pretty easily, the constant rush of clients keeping her busy and and Matteo just as a thought on the back of her mind, it’s a pretty busy day, the cold has finally arrived to buenos aires and people are acting accordingly and getting much more hot drinks, she has more important things to do than focus on what Matteo is doing or not.

In fact her shift ends and she hasn’t glanced at him more than once or twice so she is surprised to find him still on his table focused on his notebook. She looks at her phone is just a little after four, maybe he got too distracted and hasn’t noticed the time or maybe she is a psycho for noticing the hour he always leaves, whatever it is she still gets closer and softly pokes him on the shoulder. She sneaks a look at his notebook as he is surprised, he is drawing the couple on the other side of room, it’s all in black and white and that’s not something she usually appreciates but it’s still so incredibly pretty Luna can’t help but stare, it looks almost like a picture and she is totally in awe of it.

“You needed something?” He asks and just then she remembers she wanted to talk to him and not just stare at his drawings.

“Ah, yes, yes, sorry.” She says quickly looking back to Matteo, who is staring at her with a raised eyebrow. “It’s just that it's a little bit over four and I wanted to make sure you didn't forget you have somewhere else to be or something, not that i know you schedule by heart or something but you do always stay until this time so it’s kinda weird that you are still here so in case you got distracted or something I just wanted to remind you.”

He keeps just staring at her as she rambles with this annoying little smirk on his face and next she is definitely not going to be as considered, he can miss whatever he has to do.

“My class got cancelled.” He explains amused. “Thanks for noticing though, I didn’t know that you cared so much about me.”

“I don’t.” She says to quickly and the little chuckle he lets out makes her roll her eyes. “You are just always here I am bound to notice you.”

“Yeah, I am pretty hard to to ignore.” He says leaning back on his sit and she just sighs annoyed.

“But well now that I know you won’t miss anything important I can go without problem.” She says turning around and walking a few steps until he calls her and she turns back to him.

“Or you could stay with me and help me kill time.” He says and she raises an eyebrow. “ I am supposed to meet with a friend after class but now that I have no classes and he does I am just getting bored.”

“You seem pretty entertained for me.” She says pointing at his notebook but still takes a seat in front of him.

“This is what I do every day.” He says passing the pages of the notebook too fast for her to see anything, she does notice some of his drawings seem to have color. “In class, in my free time, to prepare for test and I love it but it’s not like I couldn’t use a break.”

“Is that for a test or assigment or something?” She asks softly and he shakes his head.

“Nah, this is mostly just practice and relaxing.” He tells her. “I just like to come here and draw people.”

“What kinda people?”

“I don’t know.” Matteo shrugs. “Everyone.”

“Everyone.” She repeats slowly and he nods with a knowing look in his face. “Even me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He teases and Luna pouts.

“Well yes, that's why I am asking you.” She says and he just stares back at her. “Or what is what you draw a secret.”

“Nope.” He says and Luna’s eyes get distracted with his lips for a second, but just for a second. “But art is something especial you know? I don’t know how I feel just showing it to you with nothing for it.”

“What?” She asks and Matteo leans in closer to her resting his elbows on the table.

“I am gonna show my soul to you, Luna.” He tells her almost laughing. “What do you have to offer for that?”

“Isn’t art supposed to be a gift for humanity or something?” She asks and he laughs, it’s a nice laugh, she had never heard it before.

“That’s what people who won’t live off art say.” He tells her and she sighs. “So how much do you want to see the drawings of you that might or might not be here.”

“First, I want to know if there are really any drawings of me there.” She tells him. “I need to make sure you have something to offer and are not just tricking me to get free coffee or something.”

“That never crossed my mind.” He gasps dramatically. “Let me tell you something, what if we do something else? What if I show one of the drawings I have of you and then I tell you what I think would be a fair price to see them all?”

“What if I don't’ like your price?” She asks crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well you just don’t get to see the drawings, what else could happen?” He asks with a small chuckle and she pouts pretending that she is thinking of it but honestly she is too curious of course she will say yes.

When she nods he grins at her and starts searching his notebook quickly, she sees many, many black and white pages pass, drawings of people and things and landscapes all in black and white and then he stops on one page full of color and turns the notebook towards her.

It’s her, of course it’s her that’s what he was supposed to show her, but it’s her full of color, the only thing full of color in the drawing everything else, her co workers, the background, is black and white, but she is not.

She is laughing at something Jim said, she even remembers what it was because this is not from many days ago and as she pulls the notebook closer to her she can see the slight blush on her cheeks from the laughter, and the crinkles around her eyes, which she doesn’t think are as green as he has made them be actually. She can also see her messy hair trying to escape the ponytail she uses for work and all the colors of her chipped nail polish, everything on the picture has just as much detail if not even more but somehow she feels like the most important part of it, probably because of the color but she is the part that is supposed to be catching the attention and she doesn’t know what to do with that.

“So do you like it?” He asks softly, tapping his finger on the table and for the first time she notices he is anxious about this.

“It’s beautiful.” She whispers clearing her throat softly. “Why did you draw me in color here, though?”

“You are very colorful person.” He says simply and Luna looks down to herself, this is not the first time someone has told this to her but she doesn’t think Matteo has ever seen her out of the uniform so she has no idea what he actually means.

“I am not talking about your clothes.” He tells her with a soft laugh.

“Then what are you talking about?”

“So do you want to see the others?” He asks changing the topic completely. He is smiling, just a little,an actual sincere smile, he seems pleased of himself, proud actually, not in the annoying way he seems to carry himself around always but ina softer, more honest, more excited way. It’s pretty cute if she is being honest.

“That depends.” She tells him. “On what your price is.”

“It’s very simple thing.” He says nonchalantly but she can see the way the way the corner of his lips are fighting to turn into an even bigger smile. “Just go out with me some day.”

“Go out with you?” She asks surprised.

“Yes, yes, whenever you want , wherever you want.” He informs her bringing the notebook back to his side of the table and closing it.

“If I do will you tell me what you meant with colorful?” She and and he hums tapping his pencil against his chin.

“Probably.” He settles on. “It depends on how it goes.”

“But I will get to see the rest of the drawings you have made of me, right?” She makes sure.

“That was the deal, yes.” He tells her and Luan bites her lower lip, there are definitely worse things to do than going out with him, it’s not like she is losing anything here and besides she really really wants to see the other drawings now.

“Okay then, I would love to go out with you.” She says with a smile and extends her hand so he can shake it, he chuckles at this but takes shaking it softly and not letting it go when he lets his hand fall softly on the table.

“Fantastic.” He says with a smile and eyes bright with somethings she can’t quite place but makes her feel warm inside and like butterflies are coming alive inside of her. “I can’t wait.”

#soy luna #lutteo #sorry #i didn't even make the idea justice lol #but maybe one day tm #mine

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