#if you know what propmted this then um hi

[arschrom]

I think its time to finally post this one

#i made this in march or april i think??? #if you know what propmted this then um hi #hypnosis mic #hypmic #bad ass temple #hitoya amaguni #amaguni hitoya

[tennessoui]

For The propmts, "I can't trust you"

hi hello!!!

this is set in my "there was only one desk" au, where obi-wan and anakin, well. share a desk in the office and hate each other.

"""""hate each other"""""

(1.5k) (angst here and now but actually the stupidest thing ever)

The person sitting at Obi-Wan’s desk is not, in fact, Obi-Wan Kenobi. For one thing, it’s a woman with a severe red bobcut and better fashion sense than Kenobi’s ever had. For another thing, Anakin can’t actually remember a time when he’s made the trek up to the twelfth floor just to annoy Kenobi only for the man to not give him attention. So this woman, who doesn’t even raise her eyes to look at him when he’s standing next to her desk, can’t be Kenobi.

“Uh,” Anakin says. He’s holding a singular cupcake on a plate in both hands, red velvet because Obi-Wan hates red velvet and with a candle in the icing because Obi-Wan is extremely paranoid about the sensitivity of the sprinkler system. “Who are you?”

The woman’s fingers pause on the keyboard and she looks up at him sharply. With a raised eyebrow, she tilts her head to the nameplate on Obi-Wan’s desk.

Bo-Katan Kryze it reads.

Anakin blinks. “Do you—share this desk with Obi-Wan?”

“I don’t know who that is. I sit here every day,” Kryze says. “Is there something I can help you with?” She makes it clear that she believes there is absolutely nothing she wants to help him with.

“Um.” Anakin stares at her uninterested face, the nameplate, the desk itself.

He realizes rather suddenly that the plants are gone. All of Obi-Wan’s plants are gone, and in their places are picture frames filled with pictures of strangers, a standing calendar, and a souvenir mug.

“No,” he says slowly. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” the woman says, turning back to her computer. “Have a nice day.”

Anakin turns around and goes back to the elevators around the corner. He feels a bit stupid, holding a plate wth a cupcake on it, so he tosses it into a small trashcan next to a desk as he passes by, plate and all.

He still feels a bit stupid, and the feeling lingers all the way from the twelfth floor to the tenth, where his desk is. If Obi-Wan was playing a prank on him, he just fell for it like an idiot. 

But if he hadn’t—

“Obi-Wan wasn’t at his desk,” Anakin says to Vos as he sits down in front of his own computer. “There was this woman there instead, and she’d moved all of his stuff. Even the nametag.”

Vos doesn’t look up from his screen. He’s been sort of distant since Anakin came back, like he forgot how to talk or some shit during the month and a half he was away.

His silence would make sense if Obi-Wan asked him to help with the prank. And Vos probably would hop on the opportunity to fuck with Anakin. He tries to say he doesn’t play favorites of course, but he very clearly does. 

And his favorite very clearly is Kenobi, not Anakin. 

Anakin remembers the chair incident, after all.

So if Obi-Wan told him about trying to pull a fast one on Anakin his first day back at the office, hire a woman to sit at his desk and change all of its decorations just to confuse him, Vos would probably help out by pretending everything is normal.

Anakin narrows his eyes and looks at his desk. Nothing’s been moved or changed since he last saw it. No new cameras to video his reaction.

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” he asks, looking over at Vos. “I mean, it’s a lot of work, isn’t it? Points for creativity, I guess though.”

Vos’ fingers still on his keys and he finally looks up, going as far as to take his hands off the keyboard completely. “What?”

“Like where did he put his plants? And the zen garden with all the sand, you know? He moved that zen garden somewhere else just to fuck with me for a bit? And the name too, her name— Bo-Katan? Kryze? He could have tried a little harder to make up something believable.”

Vos looks at him, eyebrows furrowing. “Sorry,” he says slowly. “But–sorry, but what do you think is happening here, exactly?”

Anakin frowns. Usually Vos would be laughing by now. “Joke’s on him though, I brought him a cupcake to celebrate my first day back, and me and Bo-Katan split it instead. No cupcake for Obi-Wan. It’s what he deserves for such a lame prank.”

“Skywalker,” Vos’ voice sounds even slower. “Skywalker, there is no prank.”

There’s a very weird feeling in his gut. He forces a laugh. “Uh, right, of course not,” he says. “But seriously, where is Obi-Wan? I’ve been taking pictures I want to show him for months. He’s going to love them.”

He better love them, at least, if he knows what’s good for him. But Luke and Leia are adorable, especially now that they’ve stopped teething on everything in range. Even someone as heartless and deplorable as Kenobi will be swayed by their big eyes and general all-encompassing cuteness.

The look Vos gives him is uncharacteristically cold. “Two things, Skywalker. First, there’s no prank. Obi-Wan quit. Sounds like you brought cupcakes to his replacement, like some. One man office welcome brigade. Second, if you really think Obi-Wan Kenobi wants to see your fucking baby pictures, you’re more stupid than I thought.”

Anakin blinks and then stares as the feeling in his stomach spreads to his chest. “What? No. No way.” He blinks again, eyebrows furrowing. “Is this the prank?”

Vos pushes his chair away from his keyboard, rolling it to the edge of his desk. “Skywalker. Anakin. There is no prank. I’m telling you the truth. Obi-Wan has separated from the company. He is not here today, and he won’t be here tomorrow. He left.”

“But—” Anakin’s mouth is open, but no words are coming out. “But. He didn’t tell me.” 

There’s a knot in his stomach, one that may be bigger than his stomach altogether. No, it has to be some sort of��of prank. Of practical joke at his expense. When Obi-Wan pops out in an hour or so, Anakin is going to hit him so hard in, like. The shoulder. For the crime of being really, really not funny.

“Why would he tell you, Skywalker?” Vos asks, carefully putting his hands on his knees as he looks at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “You don’t like each other.”

“I—I mean. We do!” Anakin splutters. “We spent quarantine together! And last summer when we did the office expedition and got lost, we camped together! For two whole days!”

“Those aren’t bonding activities,” Quinlan says. “You know that, right? No one else would consider those things as foundations for a friendship or even workplace relationship.”

Like he always seems to do when Kenobi and “workplace relatitonships” are brought up in the same sentence, Anakin flushes. He can feel the tips of his go red.

“Look, I get that you’re—friends or whatever,” he mutters, pitching his voice down low so that no one else can eavesdrop. Not that anyone else is really paying attention, but just in case. “But we’ve—you know, you saw us. During the. The quarantine. We. Spent the night together.”

“Yeah, you fucked,” Vos rolls his eyes. “You fucked.” “So if he were going to leave the company, he’d tell me, alright?” Anakin puts his hand down flat on the desk. “Yeah? He’d tell me.”

“Only if sleeping with you meant something to him,” Vos points out, pushing his chair back fully behind his desk. “So I guess it didn’t.”

The words—sting.

A lot.

The words fucking hurt like Vos has just thrown a fucking cactus into his dick. Because—alright, they’d never talked about it afterwards or anything, but—kissing Kenobi, his annoying and annoyingly attractive deskmate, sleeping with him, touching him and being touched in return…it’d changed things for Anakin. Things he didn’t want to name then, and things he definitely doesn’t want to name now, if—if Obi-Wan really…really just.

Left.

Anakin shakes his head, wordless. “It meant something,” he says, practicing the words, even if it’s only Vos around to hear him.

“Yeah?” and Vos’ voice is cold. “Then why’d you just take almost two months of paternity leave, huh? If sleeping with my friend meant something.”

Anakin shakes his head again, staring fixedly at his keyboard. “Did he really—Vos, you’re not lying, are you? Did he actually quit?”

Vos is silent for several long moments. “Yeah,” he says, sounding strange. “Yeah, he did. This is—you’re upset about this, aren’t you?”

It could still be a joke though, because sometimes Vos goes too far and sometimes he doesn’t know when to quit, even though Anakin thinks he’s pretty obviously begging him to stop right about now.

He stands. “I—I don’t believe you. I can’t— I can’t trust you.”

Vos watches him swing his jacket on with raised eyebrows. “I suppose you don’t need his address then,” he says, expression guarded. “If you’re going to fact-check this yourself.”

Of course Anakin is going to fact-check this for his fucking self.

And either way, Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to have a lot of explaining to do.

#asks #prompt fill #obikin #there was only one desk au #anyway so part two would be the confrontation #and obi-wan did quit and he didn't tell anakin #because he was all hurt that he emailed anakin one day and got an out of office automatic response #that was like 'on paternity leave be back in a couple of months' #and like hes so hurt because damn he a) thought he and anakin were getting really close to dating #but he's expecting kids? what is the sitch with the mom?? they must be together #and anyway b) they must not actually be friends if obi-wan is finding this out NOW #like THIS #and anyway the truth is anakin impulse adopted 2 stray puppies outside his apartment complex #took a wild amount of time off to get them used to his place and him as their dad #was rushing in his out of office email and went to make a pun (pet-ernity leave) but didnt notice the autocorrect #so all of the office and obi-wan thinks he has babies now #just want that one scene where anakin is like no!!! luke and leia are my dogs!!! i took peternity leave!! #and obi-wan pinches the bridge of his nose and deep breathes for ten seconds before going #what (another deep breath) #the FUCK is PET-ERNITY LEAVE #yeah ok kit understands thta this could hava been a text post

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Rage

Prompts: Okay so fic where Logan and Roman get to go Apeshit on the other sides!! each of them have one other side who supports them in this. (Virgil for Roman and Remus for Logan) I hope you have a great day!! - anon

What would you do if Roman and Logan went apeshit at the same time? Like- Roman apoligises for ignoring him, and theyre both chill with each other and they get mad at the others together? Virgils just like "Yehhhh you tell them, Princey" "Fuck yeah Specs" - anon

Propmt Idea!: Remus looks at his brother and this nerd and realizes they both need to get rid of some steam, so he sets up a rage room for them, but the other sides walk in on them while they are doing the rage room? - anon

Would like to request a fic where roman just doesnt show up in his prince costume. He thinks he doesnt deserve it. I dont know what else would happen lol, but Roman with no prince outfit. - anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: some allusions to manipulation and guilt tripping

Pairings: logince, platonic or romantic i don't care

Word Count: 4994

It doesn’t start with much. Just a knock on the door.

Logan sighs, pushing back from his desk, schooling his expression into the blank Logic the other Sides know and striding to the door. He hesitates for a millisecond too long before he turns it swiftly to the left and pulls it open.

“Yes?”

He blinks.

Roman stand outside, something cupped in his hands. He…his hair isn’t done up. It’s still all fluffy and bedraggled, as if he just rolled out of bed. He’s not in pajamas, per se, but the sweatpants and shirt he’s wearing certainly aren’t his prince costume.

“Hi, Logan,” he says quietly, “uh, do you have a free minute? If not, that’s—that’s fine too.”

Logan blinks again. “I have about fifteen minutes to spare, how may I help you?”

Roman fiddles with the edge of the package. “O-only if you want to, Logan. I know how much you like your schedules and I’d hate…if this is your only free time I don’t want to steal it.”

The Logic facade slips as Logan’s brow furrows. On the one hand, yes, he would prefer to have his alone time be alone time, on the other…

“You can come in, Roman,” he says, standing aside, “I don’t mind.”

Roman’s head jerks up. “R-really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks, Logan.”

Logan shuts the door carefully behind Roman as they walk back into his room. The other Side stands there for a moment, not looking around at Logan’s room, but instead down at the box in his hands. After a moment of silence, he turns and offers it to Logan.

“For you.”

“For me?” He takes it cautiously. “Thank you, Roman. Did—I do not believe we have any special occasions coming up. Not on Thomas’s calendar.”

Roman tugs at the hem of his shirt. “There isn’t one, Logan. I just…I, um…”

“Take your time.”

He gets a nod of thanks. Then Roman takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Logan blinks. And blinks again.

“…to me?”

Roman nods and gestures to the box. “That’s, uh, not part of it, not really, but it’s something I wanted to give you anyway.”

Logan looks down at the box. He tips it this way and that. It’s just a plain cardboard box. No flashy wrapping paper, no dazzling calligraphy, nothing that screams ‘this is a gift!’

“You can open it whenever,” Roman says, clearly interpreting his silence as disbelief or hesitation, “I don’t—it doesn’t have to be with me here, if you…don’t want.”

“Thank you, Roman,” Logan says instead, “now what were you here to apologize for?”

Roman falters. He tucks his hands behind his back and lifts his chin. The way he looks like he’s bracing for Logan to punish him twists something awful in Logan’s chest.

“I have been dismissive, rude, and unkind to you,” he says, quiet yet firm, “and I have not made it clear that I value you and all the contributions you make.”

Logan’s hands stutter on the box.

“It is…unfair of me to assume that some of us are more important to Thomas based off of our individual roles and…functions,” he continues, stumbling a little as he looks for the right words, “and I owe you an apology.”

He takes a deep breath, letting his head hang for a moment, then he raises it and looks straight at Logan.

“I’m sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s mouth drops open. He almost drops the box.

“I…I guess if that’s anything,” he mumbles, nodding toward the box Logan just managed to save, “it’s kind of my peace offering.”

Peace…peace offering?

Logan takes a deep breath. His hands tremble slightly on the box.

Why…why is Roman here? He—he says he needed to apologize. Yes, that is true. Logan has been the brunt of Roman’s irritation more often than not and has been pushed to the side in favor of Roman’s issues. Their rivalry is not always friendly and, in fact, lingers closer to outright animosity. And it is true that, out of all the other Sides, only Roman seems to resent him when he gets Thomas to listen.

But…is it?

Logan realizes belatedly that Roman is still waiting. He blinks, looking up at him, mouth opening and closing a few times.

“I’m not ignoring you,” he says quickly, “nor am I outright offended by your apology. I…just need time to process.”

Roman accepts it unquestioningly, stepping back and bowing his head respectfully. Logan watches him for a moment.

He’s been the brunt of Roman’s irritation recently, but…tensions haven’t exactly been low. More often than not, he’s the one directly opposing Roman. It follows that any irritation that spills over for Roman falls onto him.

Their rivalry isn’t friendly but Logan hasn’t exactly been upfront about looking at it as a rivalry. Most of his comments toward Roman have revolved around precisely the opposite, haven’t they? His stomach twists at how often he’s dismissed Roman out of hand or called him stupid.

As far as Roman resenting him goes…he’s never done anything about it. Thomas relies on him a lot, sure, but…

Roman’s words replay in his mind.

‘Individual roles and functions,’ that’s what he’d said. Logan needs to be listened to, that’s the role of Logic. Roman…what is Roman?

Roman is romance, Roman is passion, Roman is desire, Roman is Creativity.

Logan squints, thinking harder. He’s missing something, what is it? Something about the word ‘functions’ sticks in his brain. It sits a little strangely in the sentence.

Functions…what does it mean to function?

Fulfill a purpose, sure, but it carries another implication. That some criteria have to be met in order for the thing—whatever it is—to function properly.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

Roman’s function. It isn’t just to be Creativity, he’s Thomas’s Ego. And in order to function, he needs—he needs—

“Roman,” Logan says after a while.

Roman’s head raises. He looks at Logan, his head tilting when Logan doesn’t speak for a moment. Logan takes a deep breath and sets the box down.

“I believe I owe you an apology as well.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “For what, Spe—Logan?”

Logan swallows. Has his throat always been this dry? “I have performed a similar lack of awareness. I have not taken into consideration your needs and as such, I have contributed to—and may, in fact, be largely responsible for your discomfort as much as you have mine.”

“That’s…that’s…”

“Please,” he mumbles, “let me say it?”

Roman hushes.

“Thank you.” He takes another deep breath. “I didn’t realize that, as the Ego, you…you need a certain amount of validation to stay healthy. To keep Thomas healthy. You create and make things because that’s your job and you’re very talented at it.”

Roman makes a choked-off sound.

“And it makes sense that you would be hurt if the rest of us—me, in particular, don’t respect that.” He adjusts his tie. “And as much as we—I like to say that you throw tantrums whenever you don’t get your way…”

He trails off, looking sadly at Roman.

“Have you…you haven’t really gotten your way in a long time, have you?”

Roman flinches. Several expressions flicker across his face too fast to name.

“If I have ever given you the impression that I do not believe you to be worthy of our time, attention, or praise,” Logan says firmly, “then that is my fault. And I’m sorry.”

Roman swallows thickly. “Thank you,” he manages, his eyes threateningly shiny.

Logan finds, to his dismay, that his eyes are also brimming.

“Can I—“

“Yes, of course—“

They take two quick steps toward each other and Roman’s arms throw themselves around Logan’s waist as Logan wraps his own around Roman’s shoulders. Logan closes his eyes at the sudden rush of warmth and clutches Roman a little tighter. The added pressure draws forth a small noise.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Logan, I’m so sorry, Specs,” Roman babbles into Logan’s shoulder, “I care about you so much, you’re so important to me, I’m so sorry—“

“It’s okay, Roman,” Logan mumbles, trying to soothe himself with the words as much as he does Roman, “it’s—it’s okay now.”

They cling to each other like that, desperately trying to anchor themselves as the air buffets around them.

When they separate, wiping eyes and noses and searching for a tissue box, Logan picks up the box with shaky hands. He turns it over.

“Can I open this now?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman says, taking Logan’s tissue to throw out, “you can do whatever you want, Spe—Logan.”

Logan pauses. “You can…you can call me nicknames, if…if you want.”

“Are you sure? They don’t make you feel like I don’t take you seriously?”

Heat rushes to the tips of Logan’s ears. “I, well, that’s…how you show affection, right?”

“One of the ways,” Roman says softly, “but yeah. Yeah, Specs, you got it.”

Logan distracts himself—and hopefully Roman—from the flush on his cheeks by carefully prying open the cardboard box. He pauses when he sees a truly massive array of pens inside.

“They’re the disposable brush pens you had Thomas looking at,” Roman says quietly, “I, uh, I know you mentioned that you wanted to try taking notes with another pen that wouldn’t bleed as much and the reviews said this one would be good.”

“Th-thank you, Roman,” Logan says, immediately glancing around for his notebook, “can you—?”

“Here.”

“Thank you.” He uncaps one of the pens and starts to write. “Good balance, excellent variability in line weight, good readability.”

He hears Roman chuckle over his shoulder and it’s full of fondness.

“I’m glad you like them, Specs.”

“It’s certainly the best peace offering I’ve ever had.” He twirls the pen between his fingers. “Perhaps the only peace offering, but the best nonetheless.”

Roman pauses. Then, “I know that you…feel like we’re not listening all the time. But I want you to know that I am. I do listen to you Logan.”

“I know you do.” Logan sets the pen down. “You…for all the grief I’ve given you about not paying attention, you might be one of the only ones who do listen to me.”

A humorless laugh leaves Roman’s throat. “Oh, don’t worry, promise it’s not just you.”

Logan’s grip tightens on the edge of his desk. “Believe me, I’ve noticed.”

“I just—“ Roman’s hands go to his hair and clutch tightly— “do you have any idea how much work it takes just to come up with the few ideas I do end up submitting? And then to get them tossed aside like I just came up with them right there? Sorry, I—“

“No, no, you’re right, and I can’t say that’s at the forefront of my mind—“

“And like, I understand that they’re there for workshop and I’m going to get critiques and that’s what I want, but—“

“But there’s a line between constructive criticism and just criticism,” Logan says, “I understand.”

“And…if I’m gonna be honest?” Roman sighs. “Most of the time, it’s not really you.”

“It isn’t?”

“No, you—you at least know why you don’t like something and you give me feedback as to why and how to change it.” Roman’s lip twitches. “That’s better than some people.”

Before Logan can say anything, Roman shakes himself.

“Sorry, I came here to apologize, not dump all my stuff onto you. That’s not fair.”

“You’re not dumping anything, Roman.” Logan frowns. “Nor have you actually had the chance to talk without someone jumping down your throat.”

“Okay, so it’s not just me? I—because sometimes I feel like—“

“Like you’re walking on figurative landmines every time you open your mouth?”

Roman’s shoulders sag. “Exactly.”

“Believe me,” Logan scoffs, “I know the feeling. Most of the time I have to judge precise increments to pause so I can finish a sentence before someone’s telling me to shut up or talking over me.”

“Have you—“ Roman gestures between them— “have you noticed how often one of us gets called on—which, first of all—“

“Is awful, yes, please continue.”

“—yeah, and then we’re only allowed to speak when someone else thinks we’re going to back them up?”

Logan groans, leaning fully against the side of his desk and adjusting his glasses. “I know I insist that we cite our sources in this house but I never imagined that my role would be to become the citations list.”

“And then it’s always credited as someone else’s work!” Roman throws his hands up. “Like, what are we, filler characters? Props for your character development?”

“It certainly feels that way sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“What, being shoved to the side so someone else can have an epiphany that gets them into the next part of their character arc? Yeah, I wonder what that feels like.”

“Or having your contributions skipped entirely because they’re not relevant enough.”

A tense silence falls over Logan’s room. Then Logan’s hand tightens so much the desk groans in protest.

“Do you think,” he says lowly, “they even know what they’re doing?”

“I’ve got a better question,” Roman bites out, “do you think they would care?”

His fists tighten at his sides.

“Because at least one of them,” he snarls, eyes fixed on a blank space on Logan’s wall, “was more than happy to cut the strings on a puppet when it wasn’t useful anymore.”

Something surges in Logan’s chest as Roman says those words.

“Or shuttle them to the back, all but begging to be included?”

Roman’s eyes flash with anger, each word dripping with venom. “But we have to do what’s right, remember? We have to be forgiving, or have an open mind. We have to meet him in the middle.”

Logan rolls his eyes and pushes off the desk. “Meet me in the middle.”

Roman takes a step toward him. Logan takes a step back.

“I said meet me in the middle.”

“You know what? No,” Roman says, as both of them know who they’re speaking to, “you come meet me in the middle.”

Logan’s eyes widen dramatically and he puts a hand on his chest. “Wow, you’re being so closed-minded. Aren’t you supposed to fight for honor and do good? Don’t you want to help Thomas do the right thing?”

“Oh, but don’t forget, don’t do it for the wrong reasons because that’s even worse, if you’re not doing it with only this intention you’re still an awful person, and let’s not forget,” Roman cries, throwing his hands up, “the strict sense of right and wrong you’ve had your whole life is incorrect! And unhealthy! And it’s your fault that everything is going wrong because of what you’ve been taught!”

“And who cares if you got hurt because of it,” Logan continues, folding his arms, “because at least someone else didn’t.”

They stand there, panting for a moment, before a growl comes loose from Roman’s throat and Logan crumples up a scrap piece of paper in his hand.

“Fuck.”

“You said it, Specs.”

Then there’s a knock on the door.

Both of them exchange a look. Logan turns back.

“Yes?”

“Uh, hey L—“

“Ro-bro!”

“Can we—Remus, I swear to god, don’t break the door!—can we come in?”

They exchange another look before Logan hesitantly opens the door. Virgil waves a little awkwardly. Remus has no such reservations—and when does he ever, springing forward and tackling Roman onto the floor.

“Ro-Bro!”

“Re—Re, get off!”

“No,” Remus says delightedly, snuggling further into Roman’s weight, “I’m real proud of you so you get cat pile.”

“Cat pile—wait, you’re what?”

Logan is also staring in shock at Remus’s declaration, turning to look at Virgil. Virgil nods, a small smile on his face.

“We, uh—so I got summoned the moment Princey showed up outside your door—“

“Wait, you what?”

“And I,” Remus declares, poking Roman gently in the stomach, “heard something bad from you.”

Logan isn’t sure what that entails, but if the way Roman goes pale and Remus’s expression softens is any indication, it’s nothing good.

“Sorry, Re—“

“None of that, Roro,” Remus murmurs, “I get it. You…you haven’t exactly had it easy lately.”

“Neither of you have,” Virgil agrees, looking between them, “and we, uh, we may have heard everything you guys have been talking about.”

Roman just sighs.

“Which we’re sorry about! That���s an invasion of privacy and not cool, we know, but—uh—“

“We’re not that sorry we heard it.”

“Yes, we are!”

“Nah.”

“Remus, I swear—“

“Those aren’t swear words, Emo-yre.”

“That—did you just try to make a bad manteau out of ‘emo’ and ‘Eeyore?’”

“Sure did!”

“It didn’t work,” Roman says dryly, only to get smacked in the shoulder. “Hey!”

“Okay, bad manteau aside,” Virgil says, looking back at Logan, “I’m sorry for eavesdropping. And for…you know, all the other stuff too.”

“Like what,” Logan says, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

“Not speaking up about listening to you,” Virgil says without missing a beat, “talking over you, saying you don’t understand things. All of that.”

Then he looks at Roman and scratches the back of his head.

“And I’ve been really shitty to you.”

Roman stills, eyes fixed on Virgil.

“I, uh, I’m normally the one just criticizing you. I insult you and—and belittle you and make you out to be stupid and brash.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “And you’re normally the one that gets yelled at when we start fighting.”

He looks at Roman. Roman looks back.

“So yeah, Princey, ‘m sorry.”

Remus gives Roman a gentle—for Remus, it’s gentle—squeeze. “Do you need me to apologize too?”

“What? No, no, Re, you didn’t do anything. Not to me.”

Remus looks up at Logan. “How about you?”

Logan thinks. “…no, I…I don’t believe I need an apology from you either.”

“You sure? Not even for anything that happened a few days ago?”

Virgil groans. “I need an apology for that tongue lollipop.”

“Actually, you’re right, I do need an apology for that.”

Remus huffs dramatically, “fine. I apologize for enjoying a tentacle pop in your general vicinity.”

“Now I need an apology for you calling it a tentacle pop.”

“It was a tongue, Remus.”

“A tongue is a tentacle.”

“You’re not making my need to hit something go away, Remus,” Roman groans, scrubbing his hands over his face as Remus springs onto the balls of his feet, “now help me up.”

“Ooh, do you want to smash things?”

“At the moment, your face.”

“Kinky.”

“God—no—“

“You guys should go into a rage room!”

Roman blinks. “A what?”

“A rage room,” Logan says, tilting his head at Remus, “it’s a room designed for you to go inside with protective gear and break things. Broken equipment, computers, bottles, that sort of thing.”

Virgil nods to Remus. “We’ve done it a couple of times. It’s really good stress relief.”

Roman brushes his shirt off. “Huh. Yeah, uh, maybe.”

He looks up at Logan.

“Would you, uh, want to come with me…or go by yourself?”

“I find it’s better with someone else,” Virgil stage-whispers to Logan, “but you make your own choices.”

“No, I…I’d be happy to go with you, Roman.”

“Where are we going?”

Logan and Roman freeze.

Virgil notices, immediately turning to face the two in the doorway. “Uh, hey, you two. Maybe don’t do that next time?”

“The door was open,” Patton says, stepping inside Logan’s room, “we heard you guys from downstairs.”

Virgil clears his throat, looking pointedly at Logan as if waiting for Patton to ask for permission to come in. Patton follows his gaze.

“So yeah, where are you and Roman going?”

Logan takes a deep breath, glancing at Roman. Roman meets his eyes for a second before stepping backward and lowering his head. This time it feels different. Too practiced. Too…deferential.

His hand clenches as he hides it behind his back.

“Remus has offered to take us somewhere,” he says cooly.

“Oh, that’s exciting!” Patton looks back and forth between them. “Where?”

“In the Imagination.”

“Well, I figured out that much, silly! I meant where?”

Logan narrows his eyes at Patton. Surely…surely he’s realized, right? Only too late does he notice Janus staring at him.

Shit.

“I believe our dear nerd is keeping secrets,” he says smoothly, “how interesting.”

Logan bristles. “Last I checked, it was perfectly acceptable not to divulge private information.”

Janus tilts his head, blinking innocently. “But since when have afternoon plans been private information?”

“Since you aren’t entitled to knowing everything that goes on around here.”

“You tell him, L,” Virgil mutters.

Janus’s brow twitches, glancing first at Virgil, then back to Logan. Logan folds his arms. “Well, I certainly understand the reason for all of this animosity.”

“We were having a conversation,” Logan says, “you two inserted yourselves into it.”

Janus glances behind him at the open door.

“You know that’s not good enough.”

“Believe me—“ Logan suppresses a snort— “I would never cross a boundary that you enforced.”

Logan knows that ‘liar’ is written all over his expression. He’s finding it quite difficult to care.

Janus looks at him for a moment longer before he must come to the conclusion that he won’t get what he wants out of Logan. Logan allows himself the smallest of smirks before he sees where Janus’s attention has turned. Then he stiffens.

“I’m sure Roman won’t be so rude,” he says lightly, “will you, my dear prince?”

Roman doesn’t move. His head is bowed, his hands are behind his back.

“Come now,” Janus laughs, “aren’t we past all of this? Don’t be stubborn now, Roman, it’s not like we can do anything to you.”

Roman’s flinch is too well hidden.

“Wait, hang on, Janus,” Patton says, holding out a hand, “Roman, kiddo, where’s your prince costume? Are you feeling unworthy again?”

Something cold sinks into the pit of Logan’s stomach.

“Are you okay, kiddo?” Patton starts to move forward, stopping when Remus steps in front of Roman. He gives Remus a look but Remus won’t budge. “Roman, talk to me.”

Roman huffs. “Why?”

“So I can help, of course!”

“No, thank you, I don’t feel like being lectured right now.”

It’s not anything confrontational, it’s barely more than a polite decline of Patton’s less than polite request, but Patton recoils as if Roman’s slapped him.

“K-kiddo?”

“My, my, Roman,” Janus drawls, and now there’s an edge to his voice, “and here I thought you were over this little temper tantrum of yours. How…disappointing.”

“I—I—“ Patton clutches at his polo— “what did you mean by that, Roman?”

Roman takes a deep breath. “Lately, especially lately, you don’t—when I try and talk to you about something, you make it into something I’m doing wrong.”

“That’s not—“

“It is,” Roman says firmly, cutting off Patton’s denial, “it’s something I don’t understand, or something I’ve done wrong, or something I need to apologize for. Every time. So no, I’m not really in the mood for a lecture right now.”

Patton’s face falls and he misses the reassuring squeeze Remus gives Roman’s leg.

Janus looks at Patton, concern written on his features, before he turns back to Roman.

“I’m sure this might seem reasonable to you, but—“

“Reasonable?” Roman laughs again. It’s still not funny. “You want to talk about being reasonable?”

“Roman—“

“I don’t bend perfectly to each of your little plans and then have the self-preservation,” Roman spits, still not looking up, “to stand up for myself only to be punished, and now you have the audacity to talk about being reasonable?”

“You get him, Ro-Bro.”

“If you must know, my lord,” Roman says, each word as sardonic as he knows how to make it, “we were discussing, privately, the possibility of going to Remus’s rage room. Is your curiosity not sated?”

Janus’s brow twitches, his mouth falling open in the face of Roman’s barrage of words, just managing to resist taking a step back. His gaze darts to Remus who is openly glaring at him, then to Virgil.

“What?” Virgil shrugs. “Don’t look at me, he’s not wrong.”

Patton gulps. Then he looks slowly from Logan to Roman and back again.

“W-well, kiddos, I…I can’t say that I’m thrilled to hear that you’re both angry.” He tries to stand up a little taller. “B-but! There are healthier ways to…deal with that anger than breaking things. I’m sure if we all just sat down and talked, we could resolve this in a healthy, non-toxic way, and—“

The edge of Logan’s desk cracks under his hand.

He stands at his full height.

“I do not recall asking for your input,” he says coldly, “nor was this a conversation you were involved in. Roman and I do not require your permission, nor your approval.”

“Fuck yes, Specs.”

“Get them, Lolo.”

Logan adjusts his tie and looks over at Remus. “Shall we go now?”

Remus glances at Roman. Roman nods and the three of them start toward the door. Before they leave, Roman pauses and turns to face Patton and Janus.

“At some point, you will ask yourselves why we feel uncomfortable coming to you about things. I hope, for your sakes, you remember the answer.”

He hears Virgil let out an ‘oh, damn’ as the door closes.

As soon as they make it to the Imagination, both Logan and Roman are panting again. Roman blindly gropes for Logan’s hand, Logan pulling them after Remus as fast as they can go.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—“

“In and out, Roman, we can do it, come on—“

“Alright, here we—whoa,” Remus says, spinning back around only to see the two of them almost hyperventilating, “hey, hey, you two, get your butts in here.”

He tugs them both inside and pushes them down, huddled on the floor.

“Hey, hey, you two assholes gotta breathe.”

“Re—Re, they’re gonna—they’re gonna be mad—“

“They can’t do shit to you, Roman,” he promises, “Virgil and I won’t let them. You either, Logan, you guys are gonna be fucking fine. You know they’re not actually the worst people on the planet, they’re just—“

“Stuck with their heads up their asses,” Logan mumbles, “yeah, we know.”

“That’s right.” Remus rubs Roman’s shaking back. “Come on, we’re here to let stuff out, okay? I’m gonna give you guys some space, but if shit gets bad, I’ll hear it and I’ll come. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Remus summons two bats and holds them out like swords. “Now go smash some shit.”

Roman opens his mouth to say thank you but Logan’s way ahead of him. He takes the bat and only pauses long enough to snap himself into protective gear before he’s bringing it down hard on a stack of sheet glass. The shards fly everywhere and he immediately wants to do it again.

So he does.

And again.

And again.

And again.

The last sheets are shattered by Roman’s bat before he can get to them.

“Come on,” Roman growls, hefting his bat, “there’s a car around here somewhere.”

A pristine sports car sits a few feet away. Roman’s bat morphs into a sledgehammer and he brings it down onto the hood of the car with a yell. Logan knocks off the mirrors. Destroys the headlights. Rips the door off of its hinges with a strangled cry.

There is something unique to be found in destruction.

Each sound, each shard, each object obliterated starts to pound insistently at the horrible weight in their chests. Each thing they toss to each other only to whack it across the room with the bat makes their smiles a little less manic. Each time they end up panting, out of breath, they’re a little further away from crying.

In the end, they are back to back, surrounded by the carnage they have wrought together. Roman’s weight is solid against Logan’s back, the very edges of their arms brushing. They can feel the way the other breathes, small puffs of air into the finally still room.

Roman snorts.

Logan holds back a chuckle.

Then they’re laughing.

Loud, long, and hard. The room rings with it, echoes with it, fills with it until it’s swallowing them.

Laughter is the brain’s blue-screen.

It doesn’t start with much. Just a knock on the door.

It ends with the sound of two bats clattering to the ground.

“Specs?”

“Hmm?”

“You feel any better?”

“Yes, Roman, I…think I do.”

“Good.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah…yeah, think so.”

“Good.”

“Can we…perhaps do this more often?”

He hears Roman’s warm chuckle. “You tired of being nice?”

Logan laughs too. “Yes, Roman, I think we both are.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

#dragonbabbles #fic #sanders sides #roman sanders #roman angst #roman sanders angst #logan sanders #logan angst #virgil sanders #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #janus sanders #deceit sanders #patton sanders

[stefliv]

"Flat 1, right?"

Propmt: Write a story that takes place in the same building but in two very different time periods.

I got the prompt from https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/ , when I was actually submitting to writing contests. Thought to share, just to put it out there.

To avoid any confusion: Bold = Past residents , Not Bold = Current residents of the building.

Um, Idk about warnings. Maybe just one; sensitive topics, mostly about sterility and infertility.

Katherine stood there, all sweaty and covered with mud, proud of herself. The garden looked better than ever and you couldn’t even know that once the ground was covered by weeds. She sighed happily as she stepped inside to take of her dirty clothes.

“Hey, honey! Sorry, I didn’t hear you coming in, I was hanging the clothes”. Stella greeted her boyfriend with a sweet kiss on the lips.

“It will be hard, but I think I’ll get over it”, George said sarcastically.

It was nice, finally having a place of their own. No parents, no younger siblings and most importantly, no noise. It was just them with each other. Stella sat next to him on the couch, while George nuzzled in her neck.

“Do we have anything for lunch?”

“Um, actually no, I didn’t manage to cook, I just came back from work too”, Stella said.

“It’s okay baby, we ‘ll just order something. How’s pizza?”

She smiled at him as a sign of yes. She couldn’t believe how in love she was with the man in front of her. And living together was really easy. Sure, it was only one month now, but she could tell it would work.

Ding!

Peter rushed to the oven, as his wife entered from the backdoor.

“Peter, it smells amazing in here, what did you make?”

“Oh, you know darling. Just my favorite thing of all time”

“So, we’re having pizza”, Katherine chuckled as she watched her husband pulling the pizza out from the oven, with a pair of oven gloves on his hands and a big smile on his face.

“Yes! But it’s homemade and all the ingredients are fresh, including the tomato sauce, from your lovely garden. How’s that going, Kate?”

Katherine rumbled about the finished garden to him. That place was like a gem inside the city and that garden made her feel like they were still in the countryside. It only took her three months to make it just how she dreamt it. The vegetables were planted first and after they settled in their new home, the flowers took their place in every little spot Katherine good find bare. The colorful palette of the garden matched the outside of the house. A little white detached house, with a small garden in the front and a bigger one in the back. The two gardens connected from the side of the building with a stone path.

The truth was that they have spent a lot of money to start their life together. They needed money for the first rent, internet, water, electricity, heat and the list could go on and on. So, when, George decided it was a good idea for them to buy a car, they had their first fight in their new apartment. Yes, they both worked, but Stella was a part – time waitress who still struggled to get her degree and George’s salary alone couldn’t carry them. After a long argument, a compromised was made to buy a used car, only because Stella’s parents agreed to help financially.

They entered the garage with their fresh new car – well, not really new, but you know. Stella closed the black gates of the beige building, as George parked the car next to someone else’s.

“Who do you think has this car?”, he playfully asked pointing to the car on his right.

“I don’t know, honey, and I don’t care. You shouldn’t either.”

“Oh, come on, I want to get to know our neighbors!”, Katherine pout.

“No, you want to gossip and I’m not encouraging that”, Peter said as he continued to read his newspaper, unbothered.

Katherine really wanted to meet the couple that just moved across the street. They’d arrived earlier that week and they had this amazing car parked outside their door. What did they do for a living? Why did they move? Did her husband got a new job in the city, as Peter did? Or did they move because they wanted a change of scenery?

“It’s not gossip, Pete. I am socially curious. And a friendly person. I’m going to give them a freshly made lemonade as a welcoming gift and invite them over for dinner. Is Saturday good?”

Peter looked his wife with adoration. He asked her too much; moving to the city, leaving her family and friends behind, while he hunted this big job. He was so lucky that he managed to find this house for her, with a garden. She loved nature, but he should have known she would ‘ve felt lonely at some point.

“Saturday sounds great, Kate”

“For real? I was thinking to have the girls over for drinks on Saturday”, Stella frowned. Maybe she frowned a little bit too much on purpose, to win him over.

“Oh, I see. Come here you sad little baby.”. George wrapped her into a warm hug and kissed her cheek.

“What do you say, we make a little welcoming party on Saturday? Not something big, we both invite our friends over and maybe tell the neighbors they could come too.”

“Isn’t some sweet grandma living in the basement?”, Stella asked him.

“I am no judge. If she feels young and wants to mingle, she can come.”

Saturday night came quickly and the place looked amazing. George really outdone himself with the décor; some led lights and a couple of mini neon signs he found online and the living room was screaming “It’s party time”. Stella, of course, got the drinks and a variety of snacks to pass around all night.

“Hello Mary, hello Jack. Welcome to our home”, Katherine welcomed her guests with a wide, genuine smile.

“Thank you, Katherine, we really appreciating you having us over.”

“Please, -”, she replied to the tall blonde woman, “- call me Kate. This is my husband, Peter, I don’t believe you’ve met yet”

“Oh, we crossed paths on Thursday for a minute.”, Jack chuckled giving his hand to Peter.

“Yeah, I got to tell you Mary, you got yourself a man who knows his cars. He couldn’t shut his mouth about the beauty parked across the street.”, Peter shook his guest’s hand laughing heartedly.

It was refreshing having people over again. He may wasn’t used to be around a lot of people, but after Kate, he couldn’t imagine the loneliness again. Her family hugged him like he was one of their own, and when he asked for Kate’s hand, cheers erupted through the house. The whole block heard them that night and the celebration lasted for a weekend. His in – laws were the closest thing he had to a big family. Being an only child in a house with an abusive father and a scared mother, didn’t exactly scream “happy family”. After his mother passed from cancer, he left home, leaving his father alone - as he should have been all these years. And that’s how, he, a 15 – year – old boy, ended up working in a farm on the countryside. Kate’s parent’s farm. They were the ones who pushed him to hunt his dream and helped him get a degree from their local community college at economics. Without them he wouldn’t be in the city now, following a career on that accountant office.

“The place looks great, you guys!”, the squeaky voice of Stella’s friend, Nicole, pulled her out of her trance.

“Yeah, we love it too.”, George smiled at his girlfriend.

“Did you meet Paul yet? He’s a friend of George and I have the slightest idea you two might be working in the same building! Come, I’ll introduce you.”

Stella loved to watch their two worlds collide. At first, you’d thought these two weren’t going to last. An art student with a free spirit and the energy of a golden retriever puppy and a freshly graduated programmer with the attitude of a leader and the personality of an introvert. She was an open book and George was so closed to his cell, as much as a shellfish would be. But once they got to pass through the first impression, they could see each other crystal clear. Stella had such a creative mind, but in order to use it meaningfully, she managed to enhance her discipline; paint three hours now, practice her sketching skills one hour then. Sure, there were days when she lost time, because inspiration hit her or because she couldn’t think of a theme about a project, but she had a strict program about her studies and she followed it. George liked his life in an order and he watched everything through a logical pair of glasses; but not in his work. Of course, programming has rules, but if you put your imagination you can do amazing things; software design, websites, forums, apps, games and so many more. His job was – and he quotes Stella on that one – “No different than art. Just, instead of a brush, he’s holding a code.”.

The dinner was a huge success, as the two couples were getting along like they’ve known each other in years.

“Five years of marriage, huh? And you still tolerate with him?”

Jack laughed at his new friend’s joke and he pointed at a half – drunk Peter.

“You laugh now, but it’s only been a year for you. I bet it’ll be the only one.”

The two men laughed, while Kate brought the dessert; her famous apple pie. Peter could kill for a slice of that pie.

“So, -”, Katherine said as she sat in her seat again, “- have you thought about kids?”

The other couple chuckled, but this time with a hint of nervousness.

“Um, we have been trying for a while now”, Jack replied hesitantly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you don’t have to answer that, I was just trying to make conversation.”, Kate said seeing Mary blushing and frowning at the same time. She was clearly uncomfortable.

“No, it’s okay. Really.”, Mary said looking sadly at her husband. “The truth is, we can’t have children. We can try, but…”

“But there’s a chance this won’t happen for us.”, said the young man as he took his wife’s hand on his.

It was like Peter saw the man for the first time tonight. He looked tired. He shouldn’t be, he was just twenty - six, he should be glowing. But the dark circles below his eyes suggested otherwise.

“I’m really sorry. You two would have made wonderful parents.”, Peter said to couple in the verge of tearing up.

“We’ve made our peace with it, a little while ago.”, Mary smiled at Jack. “We’re actually considering adopting.”

“That is so beautiful!”, Kate grinned to both of them. She smiled, but deep inside she felt a sincere pain for that woman. Not wanting kids it’s a thing, but not be able to have them is another. You lose a part of yourself and it hurts. She felt grief. But she didn’t have to show them that. They’d think she pitted them, while she actually had a great amount of respect for those two new friends sitting across the table.

“Well, I say we cheer up, because a child, no matter where it comes from, it’s a blessing!”

“I’ll drink to that.”, Mary laughed through repressed tears.

“Shots! Shots! Shots!”

Stella got through a bunch of shots with her friends, as the rest of their party cheered for them. The party was a big success. Not too many people, but just the right amount to make some noise and give the house a colorful twist. Around midnight the doorbell rang and Stella went to open the door. She was a little bit of tipsy, but not drunk. Not really drunk, at least.

“Good evening.”, a small old lady greeted Stella outside of her door.

“Hi!”, she replied cheerfully.

The old woman chuckled in the sight of the half – drunk lady.

“I am-”

“Oh, I know who you are! You’re Mrs. Robinson, from the ground floor. Flat 1, right?”

“Yes, I am dear. You must be Stella. Your husband George informed me about the party earlier this week.”

“Wow, he is… he’s not my husband, not yet. Oh, I am so sorry, are we making to much noise? Would you like us to turn the music down a little?”

“No, not at all dear. You have fun while you can and drink for me too.”

“So, why did you come, so late?”, Stella leaned against the door, focusing on her neighbor.

“Um… You know, George said if I wanted to come, I was welcomed and I- I couldn’t sleep…”, Mrs. Robinson muttered.

“Oh my God!”, Stella yelled. “How rude of me, of course you can come in! Come, come, may I offer you some wine?”, she practically shouted so she could hear her.

“Thank you so much dear, a glass would be wonderful”, the woman grinned from ear to ear as she entered the house. “You have a such a lovely place”, she shouted back.

“Aw, thank you, you are so sweet! Sit here and George will get you your drink”.

Stella introduced some of the people to Mrs. Robinson as she went to find her boyfriend. She found him in the kitchen pouring himself a drink and she told him what just happened.

“I’ll get this young soul a drink right away then!”, George said happily.

“I love you so much”, said Stella, with the most loving eyes.

“I love you even more”

The dinner came to an end, as Jack and Mary left their house and Katherine and Peter were washing the dishes. They discussed their new friends, Pete congratulated his wife and her amazing cooking skills, until they came across the matter of the kids.

“I was deeply sad about them, Pete. Children are such a blessing. To want one and not be able to conceive it? It sounds like proper torture to me.”

“I know sweetheart. I know.”

All of a sudden, Pete, snaggled in his wife’s hug. She carefully put down the dish she was holding and hugged him back. She knew what he was thinking. Some people didn’t deserve to be parents and some couldn’t have the kids they deserved. She kissed his forehead and she felt a tear, dropping on her left shoulder.

George woke up first around noon. A few minutes later, Stella nuzzled in his neck.

“Hey you.”, she murmured through her teeth.

“Good morning beautiful”. He kissed her forehead as he held her closer. “Last night was amazing”

Stella smiled mischievously.

“You mean the party or after?”

“Both!”, George chuckled as he kissed her.

“When did Mrs. Robinson leave?”, Stella yawned, “I don’t remember saying goodbye to her.”

“You mean Mrs. Kate? She left around one o’clock, didn’t stay that much. But everyone loved her! We should invite her for coffee one day, she was so nice with everyone.”

“Agreed. Come now, we have to clean this place up.”

Three weeks after the dinner night, Katherine was getting these early morning nauseas. Poor Peter couldn’t help her a lot, but he did go to get her some medicine for her stomach.

“Babe, are you okay?”

The only thing he heard in response was Stella spilling her insides out.

“I’m going to the pharmacy to get you something okay? Just, please don’t die while I’m gone.”

“Ha ha, very funn-”, Stella couldn’t finish her sentence as another wave hit her.

Kate had to try something. Just to be sure. She bought a couple when they got married, just in case. She didn’t know what to expect, but whatever it was, it didn’t matter. It was going to be okay.

Stella pulled a test out of the bathroom cabinet. She had to be sure. It felt like regular stomach aches. It better be. Because that is the last thing she could handle right now.

“Babe-”

“Honey, I’m home!”, Peter yelled.

Kate walked outside of the bathroom with a pregnancy test in her hands, smiling.

“Is this what I think it is?”, George asked with fear in his eyes.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Stella said, smiling softly, “it’s negative.”

“Pete… it’s positive.”

#writing #writer #prompt #original #originalwriting #originalcontent #story prompt #differenttimeperiods

[pynkhues]

Hey here’s a propmt for playing house. I want you to write something where Beth and Rio have to explain to one of the kids where babies come from 😂😂 I can just see the arkwardness 🌹‼️🤪🥰❤️

Sorry this has taken so long! Hope you like it

Set in The Centre and Circumference / Domestic Fic universe

-

“Hmmm, I don’t know if I like this,” Annie says, squinting across the backyard as Beth passes her a mug of coffee, moving to sit beside Ruby on the other outdoor setting, following her sister’s gaze out across the yard. Beth hums in agreement, watching as Emma glances back at them, Jane and Marcus on either side of her, whispering things into her ears like an angel and a devil on her shoulder, and god, who’s she kidding. A matching pair of devils.  

“Right?” Beth says, taking a sip of her own coffee as Marcus suddenly starts talking louder, becoming audible albeit not intelligible, gesturing to Jane and Emma together, and then to himself, like he’s trying to convince them both of something. She frowns, considering them. “They’ve been like this since I picked them up from school yesterday.”

Well, Jane and Marcus have at least, Beth thinks. It’d been weird. They’d been unusually quiet when she’d gotten there, sitting together in the back of the classroom, furiously whispering to each other which had their poor teacher laughing nervously (and god, he’d been so relieved when Beth had led them out the door to take them home, a fact she has approximately zero intention of telling Rio any time soon. Although even now the thought makes her groan – parent-teacher night’s next month after all, and she’s not sure she’s ready for the laundry list of Jane and Marcus’ misbehaviour, at least not while sitting next to an inevitably irritable and punishment-scheming Rio).

The fact of all of that alone had been strange enough, but they’d just sort of - - stared at her, like they’d never seen her before. In the classroom, on the car ride home, even when she had all five kids set up at the dining room table doing homework. Stared at her until Beth had jokingly made some robot noises which - - okay, they were seven and the unimpressed look on Jane’s face and the pitying one on Marcus’ had Beth already dreading adolescence.

Thing is, it hadn’t even stopped at her.

Rio had gotten home from work just before dinner, and Jane hadn’t been able to stop looking at him either, but Marcus - - he’d barely been able to look at his father at all, had pointedly avoided him in a way that had Rio tense throughout dinner and then quiet in bed with her. The way his unhappiness over it oozed off him had had Beth pulling his head to her chest and massaging the tension out of his neck until his eyelashes fluttered shut against her skin and his breaths steadied at her breast.

She tells Annie and Ruby as much (albeit with a little less detail).

“You don’t think one of the mom’s has said anything to the kids about Rio again, do you?” Ruby asks, tone weighted with concern, and Beth rocks her head from side-to-side.

“I don’t think so? As much as I hate it, Rio wasn’t wrong when he said Marcus is used to kids saying things about him. Besides, why would that mean they were staring at me?”

Both Annie and Ruby seem to consider that, and Beth lets her gaze settle back on the kids, watching as Emma suddenly furiously shakes her head, Marcus still talking beside her. She clutches her doll to her chest, and Beth sighs, shifting to get up only - - only Emma’s not upset. She’s wrinkling her nose, like he’s just told her something gross. Beth sits back down, frowning, confused.

“Maybe they’ve just realised that you’re all ABC family hour, and gangfriend’s like, late nights on HBO,” Annie jokes, and Beth just gives her a look. “Speaking of gangfriend, where is he? Thought you said he’d been taking the weekends off when you guys have the kids?”

“He is. He just likes to go to the gym in the morning. He and a few other guys have this like, boxing group. They’re all pretty into it.”

And so’s she, if she’s honest. Likes Rio coming home a little sweaty and a lot relaxed, the tension eased from his body in a way she only usually sees when he’s fucked her until she can barely walk which is - - fun too, but not exactly helpful the weekends they have a houseful of kids and an errand list as long as her arm.

“Mm, I bet they are,” Annie hums dreamily. Her gaze flicks back to Beth. “You need to tell me where he goes.”

Beth snorts.

“What, so you can perv?”

It’s enough to make Ruby laugh and Annie to give them both a look of mock outrage, waving her arm out enough to spill her coffee on her jeans, but she barely seems to notice.

“Maybe I want to join, huh, did you think about that?” she says, and then, a breath later: “But for real. I’m single, and there’s something like, primal about watching hot guys box. I assume he’s boxing with other dark and broody babes? What am I saying, of course he is.”

And god, it’s not like Annie’s wrong. On the primal thing, or the other babes. Rio had tried to get her going to his trendy inner-city gym instead of the yoga studio at the club a few times now, and it had just been too much. She always finished working out before him, which meant she always ended up watching him until he was ready to go, and she’d never really understood it before him, but watching Rio box just did things to her. The strong, firm line of his body, glistening with sweat, the light agility of him on his feet, the power in his arms, in his legs, the way he usually won, and just - - god, she was always breathless by the time he was out of the ring, and then even more so when he fucked her up against the lockers in the change room, the metal cutting her back, his body slick with sweat against hers, the way he’d fuck her like a prize, his fingers bruising at her ass, and - -

Beth swallows thickly, crosses her legs, and Ruby stares at her, amused, eyebrows halfway up her forehead.

“You okay there, B?”

Beth waves her off, taking a sip of her coffee.

She’d stopped going after they got caught by a guy Rio knew, materialising out of nowhere and wolfwhistling right as Rio had slammed back into her and just - -

Seriously.

She blushes to the roots of her hair.

She could never go back.

Beside her, Annie suddenly lurches to her feet, finishing the last of her coffee and letting it hang limp from her hand. She gestures vaguely to Beth.

“As much as I’d love to unpack everything about that look, I should probably go,” she says. “Greg’s dropping Sadie off tomorrow and like, I haven’t done any dishes since he picked him up, so.”

Which is - - well, a pretty effective way to kill any of Beth’s leftover heat (she should really keep that in the back of her mind for when Rio’s feeling particularly – um – playful in public). Ruby seems to echo the disdain at least, and they both groan at Annie.

“Bitch, it has been a week and a half. Are you kidding me?”

“I would literally buy you a dishwasher myself if I thought you would ever actually use it,” Beth adds, and Annie laughs, opens her mouth to reply when Marcus and the girls suddenly appear at her side on the patio. Beth sits up a little taller, smiling at them, and Marcus smiles back, a picture of innocence as he says:

“Miss Elizabeth, do you and my daddy have sex?”

Somewhere inside, Beth can hear Kenny and Danny playing video games, can hear lunch gently simmering in the crockpot, can hear the faintest whir of the washing machine working through its cycle. Which is nice, she thinks blankly, her smile not shifting as she tries to process what Marcus has just said to her. She can’t quite look at Ruby, who even out of the corner of her eye she can see has her mouth hanging open, and she definitely can’t look at Annie, even if she does see her drop heavily back down into her chair (doesn’t even have to know for sure to know that she’s grinning).

Beth clears her throat, softening her gaze.

“Who told you that?” she asks, and beside him, Jane shrugs, a suspicious look on her face.

“Lucas Bircher. He said he saw his daddy naked and he put his penis inside his mommy’s butt and then his daddy told him that that was sex and it was how they made babies.”

“Not if it’s in her butt,” Ruby says quietly, taking a sip of her coffee when Beth spins around to glare at her. She drops her mouth open, planning to tell the kids what, she’s not sure, when Jane continues:

“But then we asked Kenny, and Kenny said growed-ups have sex because it’s fun and that you and Mr Rio do it all the time.”

And Beth blinks at that, heat flooding her cheeks, and she’s not sure if it’s more in embarrassment or anger, because god, she could kill him.

“He said what?”

“I said you’d never do that, mommy. I told them you and Mr Rio don’t like having fun,” Emma says authoritatively, and just like that, the dam breaks for Annie, her braying laugh exploding out of her as she collapses back into the chair.

“My daddy loves having fun,” Marcus insists with a frown, and Annie laughs even louder.

“Oh, he really does, kiddo, he really does.”

Beth spins around to glare at Annie, only to catch Emma and Jane in the process, who are looking at Beth unconvinced, which - - rude, Beth thinks. She’s a lot of fun!

“But how does putting a penis in your butt make a baby?” Jane says with a frown, and well, Beth swallows a grimace, looking helplessly over at Ruby, who just shrugs uselessly back at her, waving out a hand. Beth sighs, trying to remember how she’d explained it to Kenny, and - - right. She’d explained it through being pregnant with Jane, but Jane was the youngest, and there was barely a year and a half between Emma and Jane, and Marcus had no younger siblings (well, not until Jane), and Beth flounders a little.

“Well, you remember your Aunt Nancy,” Beth tries. “You remember how her belly got really big because it was busy making your cousin Dakota.”

Marcus looks at her blankly, but Jane and Emma both seem to think about it, Emma most of all, clutching her doll back to her chest, her forehead furrowing deeply.

“So Uncle Greg and Aunt Nancy had sex,” she says slowly, and Beth blinks as Annie’s laughter stutters, and right, this might not have been her best idea.  

“Are you and Mr Rio trying to have a baby?” Emma asks, brightening suddenly, and Jane stares at Beth and scowls.

“You had enough babies. No more.”

Which is enough to make Marcus frown, like he categorically disagrees, and god, Beth wishes she could take this conversation back about ten minutes and…then maybe put a pin in it for ten years.

“No, we’re not trying to have a baby,” Beth says, ignoring Annie’s thank god, and Ruby’s muttered agreement, and she flushes again before she can help herself, adds: “We-“

But before she can get very far, Emma interrupts her.

“But then why are you having sex?”

Jane scoffs, rolls her eyes, shoving Emma’s arm.

“Kenny said it was fun, stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!”

“’Ey, nobody’s stupid.”

Rio’s voice cuts through the kids’ chatter like an arrow, and Beth spins on the spot before she can help herself, her eyes wide, mortified, because god, this is not a conversation anyone should have sprung on them, and she’s flushing to the roots of her hair all over again. Rio clocks it, forehead furrowing slightly at her as he strides forwards to stand beside her chair, his duffel bag from the gym slung over his shoulder, his knuckles still strapped, and he looks impossibly good in a pair of sweats and a loose tank. He pauses only when he suddenly sees all three sets of kid’s eyes wheel around onto him, and Beth feels it – the way his eyes dart first to Ruby, who’s suddenly looking incredibly enthralled by something in the sky, and then to Annie, who’s grinning so wide her face looks like it might split in two, and then to Beth, who starts mouthing words at him before she can help it, trying to give him a heads up, but he just returns the kids’ stare instead.

“Still doin’ this, huh?” he says, amused, or at least he is until Marcus asks him:

“Daddy, why do you have sex with Miss Elizabeth if you’re not making me a baby brother or sister?”

And honestly, it’d almost be funny – the short circuiting look on his face if Beth could summon a breath. At least Annie seems to find it funny, if the way Annie’s laugh twists into an almost strangled scream is anything to go by. Rio gives her a look that should just about kill her, before he turns his attention to Beth. He pauses briefly, taking in her flushed cheeks and her wide, slightly wet eyes, before he looks at the floor, then lets his gaze flick back up to her.

“Elizabeth, why is my son askin’ me about sex?”

His voice is deceptively calm, but she can hear the do-not-want strain underneath it, and Beth, she shakes her head.  

“A kid at school talked about it,” she says apologetically. “And then Kenny maybe offered an - - an inappropriate opinion.”

Rio nods, unblinking, staring down at Marcus who just tilts his head, turning briefly back to Beth.

“Is sex why you kiss so much?” Marcus asks her, having not gotten an answer from his father, and Jane nods, adds:

“And why Mr Rio touches your boobies?”

“I don’t think boobies are for sex,” Marcus says authoritatively, and he glances over at Beth’s chest, squinting a little at them, like he’s trying to understand. “Miss Elizabeth’s are just big and really soft and like the best, most comfortablest pillow in the world, and my daddy likes things that are the best.”

“You need to kill me,” Annie whispers to Ruby. “My life will never get better than this moment.”

It earns her another sharp look from Rio, his jaw rocking forwards, before finally he huffs out a breath, stepping forwards on the patio to crouch down in front of the kids, his gaze shifting between them, and it’s almost unfair, how easily he can command their attention.

“I kiss Miss Elizabeth for a lot of reasons,” he tells them, and Beth feels her breath catch. “I kiss her because it’s fun, like Kenny said, and I kiss her because I like her, and I think she’s real pretty, and I kiss her sometimes to make her feel better, or make me feel better, and sometimes just when she’s talkin’ a lot,” and okay, Beth thinks, rolling her eyes. “And I kiss her coz she’s my girlfriend, remember?”

The kids all seem to consider this, their little faces scrunching up, and it’s Emma who asks:

“Do you kiss her when you have sex?”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells them easily, his voice soft. “Sex is somethin’ that grown ups do for all those reasons as well, and yeah, sometimes to make babies too. It’s how me and your ma made you,” he pokes Marcus gently in the belly, before glancing over at the girls. “And how your mama and your dad made you guys, but it ain’t just for that. Most important thing to remember is that sex is something special two grown ups who like each other and want to be with each other share together, and when you guys are a lot older, when you growin’ up, and you want to share that somethin’ special with a boyfriend or a girlfriend of your own, you come and talk to me and your mama about it, and we’ll help you make sure it’ll be somethin’ that’s gonna be real special, and real fun, yeah?”

The kids nod, placated, and she can tell they’re still a little curious, but at least for now the matter seems to be settled. Even more so when Rio suddenly claps his hands together, rising back up to his feet and grabbing his duffel. He yanks open the zip, pulling out a white paper bag, and says:

“Now who wants donuts?”

It’s seamless then, the utter delight that erupts on the kids faces, and Rio grins, nodding his head back towards the house, waving the bag at them.

“I’m gonna be checkin’ fingernails before you gettin’ one of these, so go clean ‘em up.”

The kids practically sprint into the house, giggling and Beth watches them go, amused if not still a little embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she says, wrinkling her nose, and Rio looks back at her, shrugs.

“Kids,” he replies simply. “You gonna have the talk with Kenny about appropriate conversations or you want me to?”

“I can,” Beth says with a sigh, although she doesn’t particularly want to. Rio just nods, takes her in, and Beth blinks, feels a heat shoot through her that really has no place right now. “Let me know if you need me to help you feel better after, yeah?”

It’s flippant, but it’s also - - god, it’s loaded, and Beth flushes, bites her lip, and Rio grins at her, waving a hand back at Annie and Ruby, adding a, “Ladies,” by way of greeting before darting back into the house, calling out to the kids, and Beth just watches him, a warmth spreading in her chest that she doesn’t really know what to do with.

“How does he do that?” Annie says behind her, and Beth reels around at where her sister is squinting after him, and Beth puts on her best groan.

“I know,” she says, playing up her resignation. “I hate it. I mean, I love it, but you know. I hate it.”

“Love it, huh?” Ruby says, and Beth blinks over at her, eyes scanning her face, and Ruby just wriggles her shoulders, sinking a little further down in her seat, taking another sip of coffee. “Just like he likes you, huh?”

And just - -

Beth flushes, squints, fumbles a little with her coffee mug.

“What are you talking about?”

And then Annie and Ruby are both laughing, and Beth rolls her eyes, shuffling up to her feet, grabbing their empty cups and telling Annie she should come with her, if she wants a demonstration on how to clean up after you eat, which only makes her sister squawk, and so what, if maybe Annie and Ruby look at her a little knowingly later too, when they catch Beth watching Rio carefully clean the powdered sugar from the donuts off the kids’ hands?

And so what if maybe Ruby just smiles at her, watching Rio set the table for lunch?

So what if she lets Rio make her feel better later, and so what if he makes her laugh, tickling her bare chest with his stubble, if he bites her breast in that way that makes her breathless, so what if it is fun, so what if she lov - -

Oh.

#beth x rio #the center and circumference #my fic #prompt fills #beth boland #rio #ruby hill #annie marks #emma boland #marcus #jane boland

[bkdk-writings-dump]

Their stuck in a roadtrip together and everything that can go wrong goes wrong

First up for the empty my inbox challenge. This is one of the shorter ones, but it’s pretty much exactly what the propmt says. Enjoy!

All Your Fault

Izuku’s stomach growled, sort of surprising him as he stared out the window and watched the desert scenery go by, rock music blasting from the stereo as his boyfriend drove down the empty highway, window open to let the wind whip through his blonde hair.

“Oh, geez. I guess I should have lunch, huh?” he said, after seeing it was well past noon.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, but a small smile gave him away.

“Pass me my sandwich too, okay?” he said.

“Mm-hm,” Izuku hummed, reaching into the back seat for the little travel cooler, which he popped open and then stared down into disconcertedly. “Um… I think we forgot the sandwiches. I mean, we have soda… and grapes… and I think there’s granola bars in the other bag with the chips, but… no sandwiches.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Katsuki barked.

“Sorry! That was my job, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, no shit. I made the sandwiches, you packed ‘em. Except you didn’t!”

“Sorry Kacchan!” Izuku pouted, trying to dampen his boyfriend’s foul mood. It seemed to work, as he sighed looked away a minute, calming himself down, then looked back to the road.

“It’s fine. We’ll stop at the next exit and get something. No fast food though! I’m not eating that junk,” he eventually said.

“Aw, man,” Izuku sighed. Katsuki gave him a little glare then, communicating his suspicion without words, and Izuku shook his head. “Kacchan, I promise I didn’t do it on purpose! I like your cooking, you know that,” he said, putting his hand on Katsuki’s arm for a moment.

“Damn right you do,” Katsuki said, cocking a smile.

They passed a road sign then, their spirits slightly dampened by the words “Next Exit 50 Miles.”

“Oops,” was all Izuku could say.

—

About twenty minutes later, the entire car jostled and Izuku cringed at the sound of the car rolling over something.

“Oh, fuck, what did I hit?” Katsuki asked. Izuku turned around, trying to look, but he couldn’t see much.

“I – I don’t know. Some rocks, maybe?” he said.

Katsuki sighed, sort of relieved, but over the course of the next few minutes, both of them grew increasingly worried. Something didn’t feel right.

“You don’t think…?” Izuku started. Katsuki grit his teeth and nodded.

“Yeah. Flat tire.”

Izuku groaned as Katsuki slowed to a stop and pulled over, sinking down in his seat and covering his face with his hands. The music cut abruptly to a stop as Katsuki pulled the keys out of the ignition, everything suddenly sounding so dead.

“Oi. Get out and help me,” Katsuki said, and Izuku nodded from under his hands, but still took his time getting out of the car and meeting Katsuki around back. Katsuki was kneeling down, looking at the back right tire, which even from where he stood, Izuku could tell was completely flat.

“Goddamnit. I think I have a spare in here somewhere,” Katsuki grumbled, getting back up and popping the trunk. Izuku sighed, clinging to his arms as he shifted awkwardly on the dry dirt of the roadside. Katsuki eventually retrieved his spare tire, wrench, and jack, and slammed the trunk shut before turning to Izuku with a frustrated glare in his eyes.

“Well, are gonna fucking help or what?” he said.

“S-sure! Just tell me what to do, okay? I’ve never–” he started, but Katsuki rolled his eyes and cut him off.

“Never changed a tire before. God, you’re so fucking useless.”

“Kacchan!” Izuku yelled, cheeks turning an indignant red. “Well, of course I haven’t, I’ve never popped one before,” he mumbled out, trying to look intimidating, but just ended up looking more like he wanted to cry. “Why do you have to be so mean?” he added in a whisper.

“Well, we wouldn’t exactly be in this situation if it wasn’t for your dumb ass,” Katsuki retorted, making like he was going to start getting to work, but instantly distracted by Izuku’s reply.

“What are you talking about? You were driving!” Izuku yelled.

“Yeah, and maybe I would have been paying more attention if I wasn’t so fucking hungry!” Katsuki shouted back, getting right up in Izuku’s face.

“Why is everything always my fault, huh?” Izuku screamed, pushing Katsuki away as he really started to cry. “Sometimes I forget why I even like you,” he hissed, then stomped away, only to realize he didn’t really have anywhere to go, so he just got back into the passenger’s seat to curl up and cry. He didn’t know what Katsuki was doing, but he didn’t really care. What was it about just a few bad things happening to them that got Katsuki so pissed off? And why, of all things, did he always have to direct his anger at Izuku? His boyfriend. The person he’s supposed to care about the most. When they were planning this trip, Izuku was so excited to finally spend an entire week alone with Katsuki, but now he wasn’t so sure how great that was going to be. Were they just going to get mad at each other every day? And if they did, would Izuku have to face the fact that maybe… this wasn’t going to work?

That thought made him cry even harder, his heart squeezing painfully at the idea of ever having to let Katsuki go; he loved him too much. He just wished he would be less of an asshole sometimes.

A timid knock came from his right, and Izuku looked over to see Katsuki rapping his knuckle on the window, face pulled into an embarrassed flush. Katsuki opened the door a bit then, and cleared his voice.

“I’m sorry I said that. I was just mad… It’s – It’s not your fault I popped a tire, and you’re not useless, okay? I just, um… you need to get out of the car so I can change the tire.”

Izuku blinked up at him a moment, then wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands and nodded.

“Kay,” he said, getting out again. “Can I help?” he asked quietly.

“No, I got it,” Katsuki said, shutting the door and walking back over to the flat. Izuku still felt guilty, like he really should be helping, but Katsuki seemed to be doing just fine by himself, so instead he decided to watch what he was doing so that, maybe next time, if there was a next time, he’d know what to do.

Eventually, Katsuki got the spare on and put everything else in the trunk. He looked a little red and his shirt was pretty sweaty as he started to pull at the front to cool himself off.

“Alright. All done,” he said.

“Thanks, Kacchan.” Izuku smiled, putting a hand on Katsuki’s sweaty cheek, and gave him a peck on the lips. “I’ll drive now, okay? You look pretty tired.” he said, giving Katsuki a wink as he walked around him to the other side of the car.

“You little shit,” Katsuki said, rolling his eyes, but smiling openly.

So there were a few hiccups in the beginning. That didn’t mean they couldn’t still enjoy their time together.

And by now, Izuku knew that lesson pretty well.

#bakudeku #katsudeku #izukatsu #my fic #prompt fic

[writernotwaiting]

Mis-Matched, Part 3

Oh my God!  An update and it’s only been a couple of weeks! Sometimes miracles do occur.

Title: Mis-Matched Rating: M (this is subject to change at the whim of the author’s muses) Characters: Loki, Sigyn, Frigga, Theoric, and various supporting OCs Description: This is an attempt to fill the propmt requested by @someillplanetreigns (and now I can’t even tag you!): “you asked for prompts and pairings - I would like to humbly beg for more Logyn? I don’t have a great prompt, but this odd thought is in my head about a way to make the comic plot about Theoric and the marriage into something about marriage by proxy? Maybe something like Loki has the duty of proxy-marrying Sigyn cos Theoric’s in the army, and totally plays everyone by going the whole hog and appearing as Theoric, but then Sigyn, who thought Theoric was dull as ditchwater and Loki is… well, y’know, Loki.” I’m not sure this is precisely what you wanted, so I apologize in advance for my wayward muses – Loki does what he wants. Chapter: 3 of 4? Acknowledgements: thank you @icybluepenguin for serving as one of my favorite institgaors and sounding boards – you rock!

Part 1 Part 2 On Ao3

_______________________________

           The morning was bright and clear as Frigga led her entourage out to the garden. Once there, the women divided themselves into little groups—one set going to sit in a shady arbor with their needlework while they took turns reading aloud to those who worked, another fanned out to care for the various plants, another group sat with sketch books taking botanical studies of rare plants.

           Sigyn stood by and watched the women move with perfect assurance toward their tasks, then looked over at the queen inquisitively. “What would you prefer I do, your majesty?”

           Frigga turned a smile onto the newest addition to her court. “What would you prefer, my dear?”

           Sigyn balked at the question and felt her face flush. “I’m afraid I’m not altogether suited for any of these pursuits, ma’am. I never learned the finer points of needlework, or drawing—Herr Bragisson is a bachelor and hired no female tutor for me.”

           “And gardening? The study of magic often involves the study of living things—herbology, and growing things.”

           Sigyn’s blush grew darker and she began worrying at her cuticles. “I’ve never shown any affinity for live plants. Don’t misunderstand me—I know what to do with the plants after they’re harvested. I’ve read many books on the healing arts, and on potions. It’s just the growing of them that seems to elude me.”           [read more cut below]

           Frigga’s brows drew together. “I wonder how that could be. Your sensitivity seems very strong. What sort of magic seems to come most naturally, Sigyn? What were the first spells you could cast?”

           Now Sigyn looked decidedly nervous, and Frigga placed a hand on her arm to soothe her. “It’s quite fine, dear. No one’s talent is ever exactly like anyone else’s—there no shame if yours is a little different than most.”

           “Um, actually, I probably have the most ease with small pyrotechnics—you know, fireworks and light spells.”

           “I see.” Frigga’s smile became a little sly. “Perhaps one of the reasons Herr Bragisson was so eager to see you placed with a spouse so soon.”

           Sigyn laughed, a bit relieved to have the conversation turn. “Yes, undoubtedly! Prince Loki might have told you about the first time we met—I was actually wreaking havoc on one of the greenhouses. I certainly was never able to grow anything out there, so I took to using it as target practice.”

           Frigga laughed. “I think he did mention something of the sort. Loki is always up for a bit of mischief himself.”

           Sigyn rolled her eyes—she remembered his reaction vividly. “Yes, he certainly seemed to find it amusing.”

           “Unfortunately, I’m not sure I have a need for anyone to redecorate my own greenhouses. We shall have to figure out something else for you to do. In the meanwhile, why don’t I show you around the gardens, and perhaps in the afternoon you could do a bit of searching in the library for me.”

           Sigyn’s eyes lit up. “The library? Oh yes, I would very much enjoy that sort of errand!”

           “Excellent, I’ll give you a list of things I would like you to hunt down for me, and you can let me know what you found out this evening after supper.”

           It was a lie, of course--not a hugeone—fireworks were most definitely Sigyn’s secondfavorite spells, but there was no doubt that her greatest affinity was for fire magic. She could easily call flames out of anything, set fire to the wettest, greenest wood, make flames dance intricate patterns, hold white hot fireballs in her cupped palms. To admit this, however, was to admit who she was—what she was—and that was something she could never do, not if she wished to remain in Asgard. Her father and guardian had always made it quite clear—her mother had not been a citizen and Sigyn would not be welcome if that secret came out.

           For her part, Frigga had detected a lie, she just didn’t know what it was covering over. It made no sense—they were just spells. Frigga, however, was nothing if not good at digging out the truth—it was a survival trait; her second son was Loki, after all. In fact, perhaps another discussion with him was in order, since he had spent over a week out in the country with Sigyn. Frigga liked her temporary charge, but there could be no secrets in cases like this. Not if a family alliance were a possibility.

           Despite this little hitch, the queen really had meant it about the research, and drew up a list of topics for Sigyn to look into for her. After lunch, she gave her a data recorder, asked Gudren to show her to the library and introduce her to the archivist.

           Early that afternoon, Loki came to check in with his mother, just to chat—what other motivation could he have? “Father’s locked in his office with the auditors this afternoon, and gave me permission to ‘follow my own pursuits,’” he intoned, imitating his father’s sonorous baritone.

           Frigga pretended not to notice the sarcasm, nor to notice as his eyes scanned over the clusters of women at work. Instead, she took his arm and led him away from prying ears for a short turn through the arboretum. Once out of earshot, she patted his arm. “While you were out in the country, did you notice anything odd about Sigyn’s magic?”

           “Her magic? No, why?”

           “There were no spells that she seemed to have particular difficulty with? Things that went awry or got out of control?”

           “No. If anything I’d have to say it was the opposite. It’s hard to believe she’s self taught. In fact, one morning she started to show me a fantastic fire spell, which is something I’ve never quite mastered. I was hoping to have her show me how, but she got called away.”

           “Hmm. I was just curious. She tells me that she hasn’t quite mastered spells for growing plants and I just wondered if maybe she was just being modest.”

           “I guess I couldn’t say. We never went into a garden.”

           “Well, no matter.” Frigga smiled. “I sent her to the library this afternoon to collect some notes for me since there didn’t seem to be anything for her to help with here. She’s a bookish girl,” Frigga’s tone approving rather than dismissive, “I thought she might be able to ferret out a few obscure references for me. The archivist can point her toward the right texts.”

           “Really? That should be something she would like.”

           If his mother noticed that her son’s visit was a tiny bit shorter than usual, she was diplomatic enough not to say.

           Loki found Sigyn easily enough at a large table toward the back of a side room, sun streaming through a window onto the text in front of her. Every competitive bone in his body suddenly came to life—he would not let Theoric take her home with him. It was unthinkable.

           He sidled up to the table, and pulled a chair around. “So what sort of wild bilgesnipe has mother sent you after?”

           Sigyn’s eyes went wide when she saw who her visitor was, then she smiled brightly, “oh it’s not that bad. She just wanted notes on these new herbs that some ambassador had brought from Alfheim, so the archivist pulled a couple of botanical references for me. I should be done long before supper. In fact I think I’ve got most of what I need already—I just need to do some cross-checking.”

           “Hmmmm . . . just the sort of thing Theoric would enjoy talking about I’m sure.”

           She snorted before she could catch herself, but then she schooled her face into neutrality and took a long look at Loki before she replied cautiously, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate that I can supervise the health of the household without consulting him on every detail.”

           Loki could see the battle in her countenance, so he licked his lips and decided to gamble. “Especially since he wouldn’t know the answers, anyway.”

           This threw Sigyn farther off balance, and she opted to deflect, “Yes, well, it’s good that I’ll be able to fill that role. I’ll be able to make myself useful.”

           Loki barely contained a snort and tried hard not to roll his eyes, there’s a lofty goal for a marriage.

           Instead, he drew his chair closer so he could get a better look at her text. “Which book is this, anyway?” He reached across Sigyn to pull the book closer and look at the title pages, brushing her arm in the process.

           “Alfric’s herbology — I hadn’t seen it before. He’s very thorough.” She relaxes at the change in subject, and he hid a little smile.

           “Did you already look at Sumerson?

           “No, but the librarian pulled it for me. I was going to look at it next.” She pointed to the stack on the far end of the table.

        ��  “Good idea—they don’t always agree with one another.”

           “Really?”

           “No. They used to get in tremendous rows at guild meetings.”

           Her eyes brightened again. “No! How do you know about that?”

           “My tutor told me—both of them meticulous to a fault but with egos the size of Yggdrasil itself, apparently.”

           “Oh gods, I would pay to see that!” She smiled openly now, catching his mischief.

           “He said it was quite entertaining, as long as you could avoid getting dragged into the debate.”

           “Oh, do tell.”

           “Apparently they once went at it for a week about the classifications of square-stemmed plants and whether they constituted a family unto themselves, or should be divided into three separate ones.”

           “Why that’s completely illogical—how could you divide mints into more than one family?”

           “There you are! But they went at it for days. Sumerson went on and on about the chemical composition of the oils and the intoxicant effects of certain species on various species of felis, insisting that this set them apart from the rest of the group.”

           “That’s ridiculous.”

           “Well, obviously, but he very much sticks to detail, so it’s good you have both books.”

           “So good of you to approve.” Sigyn’s eyes fairly danced now, and Loki was stopped cold by it, his gaze magnetized by her own for a long moment before it flitted over the rest of her face—forehead, cheeks, nose, lips. It was all Loki could do to keep himself from leaning in for a kiss.

           Sigyn blushed hard, turning away to pull the book back in front of her and try to find her place again, all while trying desperately to ignore the fire in her skin that somehow made her painfully aware of the fabric of her clothing shifting over her skin, made her swallow hard and her heart beat fast.

           She flinched when Loki’s hand covered her own, but didn’t pull away.

           They sat in silence for several long minutes as his fingers roamed over the back of her hand, carefully outlining each knuckle and tracing the tendons down toward her wrist, while Sigyn’s face remained fixed on the far page. Once his fingers slid to the underside of her wrist, though, Sigyn balled up her fist and shook her head. Her voice came out small as her throat constricted, “I can’t.”

           Loki kept his touch light over her skin, tried to keep his voice just as light, “Modal verbs are tricky things, don’t you think? Such small things—can’t, won’t.”

           Sigyn’s other hand felt unsteady as it covered her mouth briefly and she squeezed her eyes shut. When her hand came back down, she forced a smile. “Those little words cause so much trouble.” She kept her eyes focused on the book, but he saw her fight for control, saw the tears that she blinked back before she next spoke in a quiet, bitter tone, “Little words like ‘I do’—they get in the way.”

           She pulled her hand away from his to hide it in her lap.

           “Sigyn.”

           “I think you need to go now so I can finish my work.”

           Loki leaned in. “We’ll talk later, then.” As he walked behind her, he squeezed her shoulder and trailed his hand across her back.

#loki #sigyn #logyn #fan fiction #my fan fiction