#turns up thirteen years late and pastes this on the wall before disappearing

[sachart]

is this something?

#turns up thirteen years late and pastes this on the wall before disappearing #eames inception #arthur x eames #dream husbands #dreamhusbands #arthur inception #inception #tom hardy #sach art #christopher nolan

[okwritingandpain]

Hogwarts Legacy: The Curse of The Ravenclaw House: Phineas Nigellus Black x Reader

Chapter 4: Mending Cracks

"What is it now, Scrope?" You ask as the one-eared house-elf appeared in the common room. Other students were whispering about you. Scrope sat across from you at one of the small tables in the corners of the Ravenclaw common room.

"Professor Black wishes to see you in his office." said Scrope, "Another window appeared." You turned your head in curiosity. Another window?

"Brilliant!" You say, standing up. "I'll be there as soon as I can!" You starting heading towards the door in a rush. Your classmates slithered away from Scrope as they looked at him with the most appalled looks. "Are you coming with me? I have some floo powder--"

"Scrope doesn't need floo powder. Scrope can apparate." He said, snapping his fingers and disappearing.

"Right, Penny and Deek taught me about that." You mumbled, throwing the floo powder in the flames. "Headmaster's Office Hallway." The flames ingulfed you and before you knew it, you were in the Headmaster's hallway. You took a deep breath before walking up to the giant griffin statue. You, luckily, still remembered the password you had stollen from Scrope two years ago. "Toujours Pur." The statue shifted as you jumped onto the platform that turned into Professor Black's office. He was sitting at his desk, reading a book. Looking up, Professor Black looked shocked at your sudden appearance.

"How did you...?" He trailed off, trying to understand what was happening.

"I told you the polyjuice story right?" You ask to his shock.

"The what?" He squinted at you.

"Never mind." You say quickly, "Where's the window?" Black pointed behind himself where you remembered the portrait Headmistress Niamh had once occupied. Instead there was a new window. It still had the Ravenclaw House crest, but now the window depicted the crest in a vial surrounded by blood.

"I suppose we have to venture into another window." Black gave you a small smile as he walked in front of it. You joined him, holding his hand as he stepped up onto a desk and entered the window. Inside was a too familiar place. You didn't want to be here. Black looked around confused. "Where are we?" He asked, examining the dark wood walls and stone floors.

"My home." You say, looking at the sign. "My muggle orphanage." He looked at you confused.

"You are a muggle?" He asked, suddenly becoming distant. You shook your head, watching him lighten his demeanor.

"I don't know. I was sent here by a man whose wife had just died. I assume she was my mother...sometimes I like to believe that at least on of them was a wizard...it would make the ancient magic thing make more sense." You give a nervous laugh as you look around the hallway which was as bare as you remembered it. The orphanage was always cold and distant. It never felt like a true home. It was a place of despair...

"I didn't know..." Black whispered, "I can't imagine..." You sigh as you walk past the front desk where a snoozing receptionist laid. Black followed you quietly as you reminisced on the past. You remembered growing up in these halls. Kids would play around you as you sat alone thinking to yourself. That was most days, but this day...something felt different about it.

"I can't believe it." You whispered, "This day of all days." You stop at a cracked door that leads into where you spent most of your time in the evenings...the library. Black (naturally being taller than you) stood up you, peering in to see what the commotion was. Inside was a thirteen year old version of you. At the time, you had no idea that you were a wizard and that only in a mere three years you would get a chance of a life time. You remembered that you had gotten your hands on Little Women by Louisa May Alcott. The library was small, but every corner was filled with books upon books. You sat in an arm chair that was in front of a large fire place. It was cozy and comforting.

"Y/N, what are you doing in here so late?" A man appeared in the other doorway across the way. Your younger self put the book down and turned to look at the man.

"Hello, Charles." Young you says, motioning for him to sit in the chair next to you. He shrugs, sitting down and crossing his legs.

"It's late. Maybe you should head to bed like the others?" He asked, looking at the door. "I think we all want to go to bed."

"I can take care of myself. You don't need to watch me." You say, picking up your book again. He glared at you, but an idea flashed through his mind.

"If I told you," He began, "that if I show you a magic show, would you go to bed afterwards?" You snort as you read your book. A large smile grew on his face. "I'm serious! A magic show." He stood up, pulling out a wand from his coat pocket. You set your book down, confused. Black's eyes grew wider.

"What's with the stick?" You ask, setting the book down. Charles smiled, giving a few waves for dramatic effect.

"It is a wand. I think it will impress you more than you think. Lumos!" He waved his wand and a bit of light appeared at the end of the wand. You looks at him with awe.

"Great trick." You muttered, trying to hide your shock. He smirked once more as he turned to the fire.

"Glacious!" He shouted as bits of ice set the fire out. The room was dark now, besides a few candles behind you.

"How did..." You said shocked.

"Incendio!" Charles said, relighting the fire. "Are you sure these are merely tricks anymore?" He sat back down as you stared at the fire.

"Magic...is real!" Your face lit up with glee. If magic was real, than why hadn't you known about it before? Was there some sort of secret wizarding world?

"It very much is." He replied, holding a letter in his hands. It held a seal of a school. "I was supposed to give this to you, but luckily I had a few charms up my sleeve to stop such things from happening."

"What?" You reach for the letter, but he moved his hand away.

"You have no place at that school. Not with the residences that reside there. You won't even know it exists. Half-bloods such as ourselves don't need to get involve with pure-bloods like Black." He snapped, shoving the letter into his coat pocket.

"Then why show me this!?" You retort, trying to grab his coat.

"Levioso!" He hisses, making you float in the air. "I showed it to you, so you would beware of the harsh reality we have been given. You need to know that pure-bloods are the enemy. They will kill us all. It seems you don't appreciate what I have shown you. You don't deserve magic." He walked over to you and put his wand to your head. "Oblivate." He hissed as you dropped to the floor. You looked up at him confused.

"What's with the stick?" You ask. His demeanor returned to a smile.

"Go to bed, Y/N." He rushed you out the door as you leave. Charles paced around the room, gripping the wand in his hand. He took out the letter from his pocket and read what it said:

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Phineas Nigellus Black

Dear Y/N L/N,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Matilda Weasley Deputy Headmistress

Charles crumbled up the paper and threw it into the fire. Black shifted above you.

"You don't think that's Cornelius, do you?" He whispered, close to your ear. It couldn't be! There was no way! But Black had the right idea. You couldn't believe it...he had been there throughout your entire childhood until Professor Fig appeared at the orphanage door one day.

"Could it be?" You ask, watching Charles pace the floor. The blue magic was appearing again. Charles squinted and then turned towards the door you were hiding behind.

"You're here again?" He asked, rushing towards the door. In a panic, you and Black bolted down the hallway. Behind you was the growing louder footsteps of Charles as blue magic appeared under your feet. "It can't be!" He yelled behind you, "You of all people, Y/N. Of course you're. Just. Like. Me." The hallway was a dead end. You and Black turned around to face Charles.

"Cornelius..." Black hissed, raising his wand. "Arresto Momentum!" Charles froze for a second as Black grabbed your hand pulling you past him. You both ran until you saw the front doors. You were so close, almost there!

"Crucio!" Cornelius snapped as it hit you. The pain was gut wrenching, unbearable in everyway. You expected Black to keep running, to leave you behind...but he didn't he stood in front of you, facing Cornelius.

"Flipendo!" He yelled.

"Protego!" Cornelius shouts, blocking the spell. The two duel as you wait for the pain to stop. Black defends best he can until--"Diffindo!" As a large slash hits him in the stomach knocking him on top of you. Cornelius runs up and yells, "Avada Ked-" Everything went black again. You were in Professor Black's office, laying on his desk. He was on the floor, groaning.

"What is happening anymore." You muffled as you rolled over to lay on your face. Black stood up and pushed you off his desk.

"I am done with all this!" He snapped, pushing his chair over. "I didn't sign up for this!" You stood up, rubbing your eyes and looking at the empty portrait where the window used to be.

"There like a pensive, but...interactive." You muttered, turning to Black.

"Why are we seeing them?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"Maybe...Cornelius is uh...trying to find us...both?" You sputter to Black's glare.

"Preposterous." He hissed, pacing the floor. "What would he want with me or you?"

"He hates you...he hates this school...I'm like him." You list off a few things. Black glares even harder as he set up his chair again and sat down.

"Let us not worry about this...get to class." He snaps to your shock. Feeling a bit betrayed you leave the office. Black watches you leave as Scrope appears behind him.

"Master..." Scrope says, "Scrope has brought you a message." He hands Black an envelope. Nodding his head for Scrope to leave, he opened it.

"Sincerely, Cornelius Hopkirk." He reads aloud, slowly setting the paper on his desk. "Merlin's Beard." He whispers, looking at the empty portrait behind him.

#phineas nigellus black #hogwarts legacy #fanfic #harry potter #hogwarts #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #phineas nigellus black x reader #professor sharp #seventh year #ravenclaw #poppy sweeting #natsai onai #romance #slow burn #hogwarts oc #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry

[allianettemie5]

Mr. Moss's reputation amongst various factions differentiated drastically: Treasure Hoarders never took him for a serious inconvenience, the Fatui on the other hand had welcomed him as an important business partner; the folk of the Qingce Village however knew him as a long-time friend and protector of the land. Not with a sword, no, — but with wise words and foresight that helped the villagers avoid any major threats. With all the paperwork and trade agreements flowing through his hands, no one had an issue with him settling down here almost thirty years ago.

He found his beautiful wife here, in Liyue, and the feeling of stability he felt the day they married was something he wanted everyone dear to him to feel. This was also the day he got a Vision, sealing his promise in stone.

"Skadj" wasn't a very usual name for Snezhnaya, but none of the other children's bullying ever bothered him. He liked his name, it was unique and sounded really warm. His family cared for him, his best friend stood up for him against the bullies, and he had his beautiful Marigold by his side. He liked sliding his hand through her soft fur sometimes, and hugging her when the cold of the winter got through the walls of the house. It felt like he was wrapped in the fluffiest blanket in the world.

Marigold passed away when he was thirteen.

Ajax sat with him that night holding Skadj in his hands, and maybe that warmth was what helped him go through her death.

A year later Ajax went missing. Only for a few days, but it was enough to send Skadj spiraling down. And when his friend finally was found, it felt like the old shy, easily frightened, but kind and selfless Ajax disappeared.

Three years went by. His parents were out more, leaving before the sunrise and returning back home in the middle of the night, weary and cold. And so Skadj had to grow up. He learned how to cook, how to chop firewood, and how to lul himself to sleep. He mostly kept to himself, wary of his peers

Then one day they never came back.

The next day he got a notice in a letter that his parents died in a working accident honoring the name of the Tsaritsa; he stayed up late, way past midnight, sitting in the kitchen wrapped in a heavy blanket. A door opened and a shadow entered the house. A man in a dark cloak that had blazing red eyes behind a mask. Skadj pushed the chair at the intruder, backing away from him. The man slowly put his hands up and took off his mask and hood.

"I did not come here to harm you."

His name was Luc, and he radiated warmth. He was only a year older than Skadj, and yet his eyes carried sadness and pain.

And then Skadj realized that Luc was spiraling down, just like he did years ago, and that Luc needed the same kind of warmth too. And so it was Skadj's turn to bring that to him.

That's when a star came down from the sky into his hands. A little golden star turning into shining golden Vision.

They have travelled together since then. He learned how to fight and how to stay hidden, how to run and how to remain immovable. They saved each other a number of times impossible to count. And when Luc said that he was ready to go home and offered to come with him, Skadj followed him without hesitation.

Austin asked him once how he got his Vision. "It appeared the day I decided to be a musician for living," he said to him not going into details.

It was true, in general. Only that it appeared in the middle of the night — another one Steve stayed up late to practice on the old piano in the warehouse he named his 'studio'. The piano, as well as a worn out zither and an ancient-looking lyre, was a gift from an old man that Steve visited while still living in the countryside — until they moved to the capital. His father started working as a judge in the Courthouse, his mother became a head attorney. It was inevitable for Steve to be a law student.

He began studying then, putting half the effort into law school, and the other into practicing piano. In the first winter he was brought to a hospital after a mild seizure. Doctors said it to be a tumor, and gave him three years.

Between everything Steve put all his free time into musical studies.

His parents were in the house, long asleep. He snuck out to the warehouse, careful not to wake them up. Once he made sure that his parents would hear anything he gently touched the keys of the piano, and it responded with quiet notes. It was only him and the music that night.

The old man passed away two years ago at that point; his will stated that all the musical instruments were left to Steve, to the great displeasure of his parents, alongside a letter. 'Follow your dreams without hesitation,' it said.

He practiced till he could barely keep his head up.

He woke up with a glowing Vision in his hand.

His parents found out, of course, that he stayed up several nights in a row, and banned him from the warehouse. When he finally managed to sneak in, he did not find the piano in its rightful place.

Steve decided to run very far away. Packed his things, fastened the zither's belt over his shoulder, and left, going east.

He kept the letter till his very end.

Master Post

#private recording 1 #genshin impact au #junkyard129 #skadj #steven suptic #part 2 everyone #allianettemie5 original

[host-club-hq]

Call of the Scar pt. 1

➼ pairing: harry potter x reader

➼ genre: sfw, fluffy, fantasy

➼ word-count: 3.4k

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

➼ part 1 of many :)

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

➼ talk to the characters!

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

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

CLANG!

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, my Lord! I only meant-"

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

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

"No! The boy is everything!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Last night." Harry begins to sit up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A ruddy faced wizard appears atop the crest ahead. 

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

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

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

"Sir." Cedric confirms. 

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

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

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

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

"Bugger off." He swats your hand away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's a Portkey." you finish. 

"A Portkey? What's a-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, bugger off-" you begin.

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

You look to Harry with disbelief. 

"Well, that's a first-"

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

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

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

"Mr. Potter."

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

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

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

"And Mullet!"

"And here comes Moran!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Krum?" Hermione guesses.

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

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

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

"Lay off." he grumbles. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thank you." Harry smiles cheekily. 

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

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

"Quiet, you." Ron bites back. 

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

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

"It's not the Irish."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And the ones on the ground?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[let-it-show]

As She Falls In Love

I-I don’t know. This is fluff and falling in love and going through figuring it out and the struggle. I wouldn’t call it angsty though. This isn’t how I normally write! It’s basically a flow of feelings. Have some sap, lovelies.  ---------- She never planned for this to happen, and yet it won't let up. Every day she sees Anna and for that, every day she smiles. Elsa has missed her so much these past thirteen years. She more than missed her, but she doesn't know that there's a big enough word for it. Maybe it has to be a phrase, such as 'longed for', but that sounds a little romantic. Does that even matter anymore, she starts to wonder? She knows her sister, but doesn't REALLY know her. They're related but it has been so long since they were together in any sort of family sense that Anna's like a friend she adored and spent every moment with up until magic slowly made them disappear from each other's lives. Anna was like a dream or a wish that came into her life briefly, and then was simply another person in her life to watch. To have her back after the thaw... Elsa doesn't know how to start at first.

She approaches Anna and greets her with a hug every morning. When she first held her sister in her arms on the fjord, her body had tingled all over and it was like she couldn't keep her close enough. Elsa couldn't even believe it was real. But it had been real when she felt Anna's warmth against her, as Anna had sighed her name in happiness. She can't let that slip away, she can't lose the way Anna squeezed her, and so every day she makes sure she holds her.

At first she feels this must be how sisters greet each other, and even if maybe it was less appropriate in their adulthood, they already lost so many years. Their relationship is an exception to most rules. It never had a chance to be normal anyway.

Elsa also makes sure to tell Anna she loves her every day. When she first met Anna in her mother's arms, she loved her. She loved her when she hurt her and she loved her all those years on the other side of the door. And after the thaw, she can't believe how much she loves her! Whenever she says those three words to Anna, she sees her eyes light up and her cheeks get a little redder.

The thing is, she's finding she wants to whisper those words in her ears. She wants to say it with her lips against her sister's skin, feeling her shiver with every cool breath. This isn't how she's supposed to feel, she's sure, but the urge grows and grows.

She finds herself analyzing Anna's every word, and every movement.

If a touch with Anna ever feels too brief she starts to immediately wonder if something changed, if she crossed some line - but luckily, it seems, every touch lingers. Anna pulls away from her really only when she has to, letting Elsa hold her hand, her arm, even wrapping her arm around her waist. Of course when she does that, Anna immediately leans into her and Elsa has to catch her breath. She's only dreamt of any of this before.

Elsa says good night to Anna every night with a hug. One night she changes this as they've been talking on Anna's bed into the late hours. Elsa is comfortable laying on her side and she yawns. "Can I just stay here?" she asks Anna.

She swears Anna was glowing as soon as Elsa finishes her question. She nods and says yes, and they begin to slip under the covers. Elsa found herself immediately craving contact with Anna as they slept, a new level of comfort. Was that normal? Did it matter? Again, their relationship is an exception.

As she finds her mind trapped in wondering if she can do this, the situation is figured out for her. Anna scoots her body closer and her arm curls over Elsa's waist. Anna lets out a satisfied sigh while Elsa's eyes are wide. She's relieved that Anna can't see her face in this darkness. After a moment's hesitation she slides her palm over Anna's hip, every nerve on edge and sure that there's ice forming over the bed. But Anna doesn't pull away or say anything, she just relaxes.

Another way she's allowed to be closer.

Elsa can't stop thinking about her. Her every thought and decision has Anna behind it. She wants to protect her, wants to love and appreciate her, wants to share her whole heart with her. When Anna spends time with Kristoff her heart hurts and tears but she somehow keeps control of herself. Yet she can't show that ever, because Anna is happy to have friends and she loves Anna happy. If she could just stop overthinking whenever she's with him, stop projecting a reality that might not even be, she could feel relief.

Something's wrong with her. Clearly.

Every day she can't wait to talk to Anna. If Anna seems distracted or doesn't have much to say, Elsa tells herself not to get anxious. It doesn't mean Anna doesn't want to talk to her. Sometimes the young woman is less talkative for whatever reason, and it could be any reason. There are times Elsa forces herself to say something, even something strange, just so there's more to say.

Not that there's a lag in conversation very often-they can't stop talking late into the night. It happens every night now and they fall asleep with one of them curled into another.

Elsa wants to kiss her awake in the morning. She wants to drag her fingers to her lips, running them over Anna's knuckles until her eyes flutter open. Even she knows that could be a bit much, however, so she seeks a different method of gently shaking Anna awake when she sleeps too long.

And again, one morning Anna figures it out for her.

After Elsa gently shakes her awake Anna looks up at her with tired eyes and a little smile. She sits up and reaches for Elsa's arm. As soon as she has a hold on her, she draws Elsa's face down to her own. She smiles and kisses Elsa's blushing cheek. "Good morning!" she says slowly before shifting her head and yawning.

Elsa find herself emboldened that night, so as soon as the lantern is out and Anna's head hits the pillow, she leans over her. For a second Elsa toys with one of Anna's braids, kept in for the night to control her hair. Then she dips herself down to softly kiss Anna's freckled cheek and the corner of her mouth. "Good night, Anna, I love you so very much," she whispers before she can run out of courage. When she drops her own head down to her own pillow, her eyes are wide again, and she finds herself tugging at her own fingers before moving to the sleeve of her teal nightgown.

When she repeats the kisses and words the next night, Anna's hand seeks out Elsa's as it tugs on her own sleeve again. Elsa's heart threatens to leap from her chest when Anna squeezes her hand and moves closer.

It has become harder for Elsa to think about anything or anyone but Anna. She knows she loves her more than she's supposed to, and wants more with her than she's supposed to. The idea of meeting suitors is something she's unable to give more than of a fleeting thought. Of course, it never really has been important to her as she spent so long hiding herself away. She knows this, and maybe that's why her feelings are warped, maybe that's why she doesn't know how to grow, how to force feelings of affection for someone other than her sister.

It's not that she doesn't like people. She has several friendships in the castle and some favorites outside the walls. Not a single one brings anything close to what Anna brings out of her though. Only Anna can make her heart feel so warm, can make her actually want to touch and be touched past hugs, and past hand-holding.

She's not supposed to feel like this! Yet she can't fight it and even worse, potentially, she's not feeling as wrong about it as she should. Is it so wrong? Anna makes her happy, makes her feel loved, makes her feel alive... Is it really wrong at all?

Some deity out there must be out to force her hand. She gives Anna her good night kiss and the two clasp hands as they drift off, as has become the routine for a few weeks now. It's not enough at all but Elsa makes herself be content with it. She's been good at concealing for most of her life. And so as normal, she falls asleep to the sound of Anna breathing.

The next thing she knows she's in not just a cold, but a frozen sweat that's incredibly uncomfortable. It stings in a strange way. Her eyes are wide and she's trying to catch her breath as thoughts of unbearable sadness fade from her mind in a slow pulse. She's so sure something is greatly wrong and all she loves has been shattered. She can't get through this!

Then she realizes there are lips on her forehead and then on the top of her head. At the same time there's an arm wrapped around her and she is slowly secured in a warm embrace. Anna's heartbeat thuds against her ear and the way it soothes her so completely almost confuses her even more. However as the thoughts turn to nothingness and the heartbeat continues, she realizes she's had a terrible dream. A dream, and nothing more. The reality is that she is with Anna, and Anna is soothing her, whispering that she's okay, that she's loved.

As Elsa comes back to herself, she grips Anna tightly. "Oh Anna, your heart is my sun, even on a miserable, dark night." She's not entirely awake yet to form a cohesive thought, but she knows the love she feels. She knows she adores and desires her sister, that she will go to the ends of the earth to give her the best life she can. She finds the crook of Anna's neck and kisses her there lightly to show her affection.

Anna doesn't pause. She does nothing to hint she's uncomfortable, instead continuing to stroke her hair and give her a squeeze with a quiet sound of acknowledgment. Elsa falls asleep with her face buried in Anna's skin, her warmth melting down the frozen sweat into nothingness.

The next night Elsa is invited to rest her head on Anna's chest and she says yes before she can even think about it. Of course she wants to feel her heart. As Elsa closes her eyes, Anna's fingers stroke her cheeks. It's probably the best she's ever slept.

It's harder and harder to focus. She wants it to be morning or night, and she doesn't want to deal with hours of documents and meetings in between. Anna visits her of course, they have breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. Anna helps with work tasks. They even go for walks sometimes, and those are nice. They aren't private.

Those nights begin to come earlier and earlier. Elsa finds herself pushing to stick to the schedule and settle in sooner rather than later with Anna. She wonders if she's setting herself up for disappointment sometimes, because what if Anna isn't ready for winding down when she is? However, she notices that Anna is often tugging her toward the bedroom, wanting to start their nightly chat.

Sometimes it's less chatting and more cuddling. Elsa isn't sure where it started to change so much. They talk of course, but sometimes it's while she lays half on top of Anna and traces her features with just traces of ice. Anna shivers and giggles, but never makes her stop. Sometimes Anna pulls Elsa against her and flings her arm around her to tickle her senseless.

If ice starts shooting out of her fingers, Anna releases her and kisses her face.

So it happens one night that Anna releases her and catches her lips instead of her cheek. Anna pauses at first, brushes a stray hair from Elsa's face, and brings their lips together again. Elsa's heart is pounding. She reaches for the hand returning from her face to around her waist. She laces their fingers together, returning the kiss. Something in her wants to break in the best way because she's knowing she hasn't misread and that she has everything she's always wanted.

When Anna finally pulls back, she has a smile reaching her eyes. Her gaze meets Elsa's and there's no look of regret, or even surprise. Anna knows how she feels. Anna returns how she feels. Elsa smiles back at her and the two laugh together as Anna hugs her tightly and buries her face in Elsa's back.

Elsa brings her hands to her lips and kisses her knuckles in the way she's hoped to. She doesn't feel wrong for the joy that surrounds them. They have never been normal.

Their relationship has always been an exception.

#Elsanna #fanfic #Elsa #Anna #lots of SAP #WARMTH AND CUDDLES

[thatmultifandomhoe]

Knitting You a Home - 6

Pairing: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Human Reader

Word Count: 1,551

Genre/Rating: Hybrid AU - Established Relationship - Angst - Fluff - Smut - PG-13

Overview: Things have changed for you and Namjoon. It’s been a year since the two of you got together, and despite a rocky start, it was impossible to deny the bond and love you shared for each other. But ever since Hoseok had been separated from his Mate, Namjoon has been withdrawing himself from you and doesn’t come home until late at night.

With questions far larger than either of you imagined, you can’t help but wonder if he’s let his past and old fears come back to haunt him. You had shown him that it was possible to have a home and be loved once before, but will you be able to do it again?

Warning: None.

Playlist:

Main Master List:

Knitting You a Home Master List:

Mated Love is Never Easy Series Master List:

Sneak Peak - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15 - ?

©thatmultifandomhoe Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

Tugging on his baseball cap, Namjoon pulled out the folded-up flyer once again, making sure he had the right address. The overhead purple neon light flickered once but continued to light up the dark as packs of people entered and left Lotus at the same time.

He was tucking the paper into his back pocket when he suddenly heard laughter. Looking up only to see a woman with both her arms around two friends who were laughing just as hard. Their smiles were contagious and for a moment, Namjoon felt himself smiling, wondering when the last time he had felt that relaxed was.

After meeting you, his life had fallen into a familiar routine. It was exactly what he needed and he loved it, but sometimes he found himself wanting to do the unexpected, to just go with no real plan or idea and stumble upon something different.

Which was why he was walking through Lotus, the most popular night club in town. Eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness, strobe lights bounced around the room as the bass thumped out of the speakers. Sweat and liquor hung in the air but nobody appeared to give a damn. The other Hybrids that Namjoon spotted as he made his way to the bar were either used to the sounds and smells, or they were too drunk to care.

Before Namjoon reached the bar, he managed to stumble his way over to the restrooms to catch his breath. It wasn’t as crowded as the dance floor, allowing him to relax his tail. He was looking around the club, watching the bartenders toss glass bottles and shake up mixed drinks, one even filling about seven shot glasses with amber liquid in a straight line at once.

Out of the corner of his eye a door opened, a man stumbling back to the bar with a shit eating grin and he thought nothing of it. But when the door didn’t close right away, Namjoon’s ear twitched in its direction, hearing different music coming from there than what was being played in the club.

It was faint, but in seconds he was able to detect the rap music coming from behind the door underneath the sound of EDM.

The flyer suddenly felt heavy in his pocket, and as he pulled it out once more, the paper clenched in his grip. Behind that door was where he wanted to be.

Not thinking twice, Namjoon opened the door to find a hallway leading to a staircase that went down. The rap music grew louder as he walked down the stairs, his heart beating in unison as his steps were drowned out. Following the music, the stairs only went down one floor before breaking out into another hallway, and halfway down there was a door that at the moment, was open, allowing red light to stream out into the grey hallway.

There wasn’t anyone guarding the entrance like he thought, and nobody stopped him when he walked through the door. Instantly he was transported to another place, one that he hadn’t expected to exist underneath Lotus.

The room opened up into a large underground basement, cinder-block walls encasing the several hundred people that were occupying the space. Red strobe lights danced around and in the middle of the room was a large stage that was being used. Only there were regular white spot lights being used to highlight the stars of the show. Amps were set at the sides of the stage, but with music seeming to be coming from everywhere, Namjoon assumed they had installed several in the ceilings or on the walls.

Up on the stage were two groups. On the left side were a group of nine men, and on the right was a group of about thirteen who were currently dancing. The crowd screamed as one of the dancers flipped, twisting his body and spinning around on his shoulders.

Namjoon smiled as he walked further into the room, not quite entering the crowd but absorbing everything that he saw. Despite the numerous strobe lights, he had to take out his cellphone and hold it above the flyer. He didn’t recall there being dance battles advertised as well.

“Hey newbie!” a voice suddenly called out.

Startled, Namjoon looked around him, wondering if he had misheard or if they were looking for someone else. But he was off to the side with no one else around him, and the blond-haired man was coming straight towards him. Namjoon straightened up, watching as he came closer. The stranger was wearing a black tank top that showed off his muscular arms while piercings decorated his ears.

He nodded towards Namjoon’s phone, gesturing with his hand across his neck. “If you’re gonna be down here, first thing you need to know is to kill the light.”

“Sorry,” Namjoon murmured, double tapping the screen.

The stranger grinned though, coming to a stop once they were close enough to hear each other without straining their voices to shout. “It’s alright. Boss prefers there to be no phones so none of the artist get caught.”

“But they’ll hang up flyers at recording studios?” Namjoon asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

“Studios are always looking for new talent,” he pointed out. “They’re willing to look the other way. Officers however, would love to break this up. I’m Jackson by the way. What’s your name?” Jackson held out his hand, waiting for Namjoon to shake it.

“Namjoon.”

“Well, Namjoon, how the hell did you find the Underground?”

The flyer was still in his hand, so instead of answering, Namjoon simply held it up. Jackson shook his head, glancing at the stage before looking over his shoulder. Following his gaze, Namjoon spotted a lounge area that was further away from the stage.

“Come on,” Jackson called out. “Let’s go over there and talk. It’ll be easier than over here.”

Without waiting, Jackson headed over to the lounge, leaving Namjoon no choice but to follow after him. There wasn’t anyone else when he joined Jackson, but empty glasses littered the large square table as well as crumbs.

It wasn’t as loud this far away from the main attractions, and he was still able to see the performance going on. “I thought this was for rap battles?” He asked Jackson, finally tearing his eyes away from the dancers.

Jackson nodded, sinking into the black leather couch. “It is. We have a high demand for rap and dance battles, but not everyone does both. So, we alternate between the two. This just happens to be our dance battle night; come back tomorrow night and you’ll see the rappers go at it.”

Pressing his lips together, Namjoon joined Jackson, taking a moment to take it all in. He was finally here, and he had come on the wrong night. This was just his luck.

“You wanted rap night I take it?”

“Yeah, but it’s alright.” Shrugging, Namjoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees to watch the stage, smiling when the whole group got involved this time.

Raising an eyebrow, Jackson gave Namjoon a once over. He wasn’t dressed as if he was going to participate in either battle, and he didn’t look as if he came here to get his party on. All he wore was jeans, a green shirt, denim jacket and a baseball cap. Instead, he looked like he was about ready to go home. Like this was the last place that he belonged.

However, his eyes honed in on the square outline in one of the pockets of his jacket. Jackson had been around artists long enough to have an idea of what it was. “What’s with the notebook?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

Namjoon patted his side, relieved to feel that it was still there. “I work at the recording studio,” he explained, taking his notebook out of his pocket. “I saw the flyer a couple nights ago and finally decided to check it out.”

“What do you think so far?” Jackson stared at the notebook, spotting the worn-out corners on the cover. As Namjoon absentmindedly flipped through it, the black ink in his sprawled-out handwriting became visible for a brief second before disappearing again.

The Hybrid couldn’t take his eyes off the stage though. As he inhaled, he was able to make out the faint distinguish scent that Jackson was human and friendly, a note that he mentally marked up in his mind. For some reason, like he felt with you, he knew he’d be able to trust Jackson.

For years he had been working on his own music project, and Yoongi - who had spent as much time helping Namjoon out and listening to it – had even encouraged Namjoon to finally put it out there. It was ready for the world to listen to, but he kept holding back. He needed to see if people would actually give a damn about what he wanted to say, to know if they were able to look beyond the tail and ears, and see him as himself. As a serious artist. Pointing at the stage, he turned to look at Jackson over his shoulder, a wolfish grin appearing on his features as he held up his notebook.

“I want to get on that stage.”

#btsbookclub #btswriterscollective #hyunglinenetwork #kwritersworldnet #starryktown #wkcnet #kconnect #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan sonyeondan fanfiction #namjoon #bts namjoon #bts namjoon x reader #bts namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #bts kim namjoon #namjoon smut #Namjoon fanfiction #bts hybrid au #bts hybrid fanfic #hybrid namjoon #wolf namjoon #wolf hybrid au #namjoon fanfic #kim namjoon fanfic #namjoon angst #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fandom

[myemergence]

take me back to the start

Title: take me back to the start Author: @myemergence Rating: E (for one smut scene, later in the fic) Artist: @benjaminrussell Artwork: MAGAZINE COVER and MUSIC VIDEO Warnings/Triggers: mentions of alcoholism, mentions of OC character death, car accident Notes: Thanks to @marcia-elena for the beta on this. I so appreciate all the work you put in! Written for @buddiebigbang. And the artwork is amazing! I love them so much, Holly! Summary: Country music star, Eddie Diaz, is on a break before his US tour when he gets unexpected news: he has a son. He needs to come home to his hometown in West River, TX right away. He hasn’t set foot there since he left for Nashville nine years ago, leaving his old life behind. West River is the last place that Eddie wants to be—he needs to focus on his career, and his tour—not looking after a kid that he doesn’t even know yet.

Crossing paths with his high school sweetheart, Evan Buckley, who’s now a Deputy with the sheriff’s office just might change all of that, reminding Eddie of the person that he used to be… and the kind of person that he wants to be.

Read the whole thing here: AO3 LINK

*

The thing about being a musician and wrapping up a big tour is that it makes the time afterward to unwind and let loose even more rewarding. Taking the time to ground himself before hitting the road again has become essential for Eddie, an integral part of his process. 

This time, there’s no unwinding. As soon as the last concert in the tour ended, he boarded a red-eye flight from Los Angeles into Houston. And he’s tired, a feeling that’s not exactly foreign to him, but he feels weary down to his bones. He’s headed back to West River, Texas, about fifteen minutes outside of Austin, where he was born and raised.

A place he hasn’t as much as set foot in for nine years.

Eddie blinks blearily as he pulls his rental car up to the drive-through at Dunkin for a much needed coffee. He’s within an hour of West River, but he’s going to need something to power through the last hour of his drive as the sun is beginning to rise over the expanse of otherwise deserted small-town Texas that surrounds him.

It’s so quiet out here that it’s almost unnerving.

“Good morning, sir. That’ll be $3.27.” The dark-haired girl at the drive-through window can’t be more than eighteen. 

“Morning.” He holds out his phone so that she can scan his payment.

“Aren’t you…” She trails off slowly, eyeing him suspiciously. 

Eddie adjusts the trucker hat that he’s wearing, despite the fact that the sun hasn’t become a hindrance yet. He’d put the hat on before he pulled up to the drive-through only a couple of minutes ago. He knows that he’d be nowhere without the support of his fans, but he’s exhausted. He just wants to get to his abuela’s so that he can fall into bed. He’s tempted to drag a hand over his face and beg for his coffee.

“Eddie Diaz.” He introduces himself with a winning smile. He’ll try to find time to rest later. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Rosie. I-I can’t believe I’m preparing Eddie Diaz’s coffee. Nobody is going to believe me,” Rosie practically squeals, her face flushed as she fumbles with scanning his phone. “Here, um,” she steps away from the drive-through window momentarily and comes back with a pastry bag along with his coffee. Simple like always: black, with 2 sugars. “For the road. Gone Now really helped me through a hard time, when I lost my grandpa—and you wrote it about yours.”

Eddie’s smile becomes more genuine as he takes the coffee and muffin from the girl. He’s sure he looks like a mess, with blood-shot eyes and bags under his eyes. “I think most people have forgotten about that song. That was on my debut album.” He’d written that song what feels like a lifetime ago.

Like he was a different person back then than he is now. He supposes that in some ways, he was.

“I was only thirteen when it came out,” Rosie says. “I hope you make more songs like that. Your new stuff is great, but… that’s definitely my favorite. Anyhow, I won’t keep you, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be.”

“I do,” Eddie confirms, reaching over into the top of his duffel bag that’s resting on the passenger seat. “It was really nice to meet you, Rosie.” He hands her one of the signed albums that he carries with him, a simple thank you that he likes to have for those truly special fans. “It’s not my debut album, but I do hope you’ll enjoy it.”

Eddie offers her a parting wave as he pulls away, and tosses the hat that was his poor attempt at disguise onto the passenger seat. He takes several sips from the steaming coffee, then sets it in the cupholder, wincing as the heat nips at his tongue, hoping that the caffeine will help keep him alert for the rest of the drive home.

Before he pulls onto the road, he scrolls through his phone, pulling up his debut album on Spotify and pressing play, a wistful smile crossing his face. He’s trying to put a little space between him and the reason that he’s coming home to West River; Rosie’s words remind him, at least for a moment, why he started making music in the first place. He hears the familiar opening chords and pulls out onto the quiet road.

There was a time when not a single day

Went by without us talking

And now I can barely remember your face

We’d spend hours weaving words

And guitar notes together

Just you and me in the music’s embrace

But you’re gone now, you’re gone

All those moments lie six-feet deep in the ground

You’re gone now, you’re gone

I keep missing you ‘cause you’re not around

He knows he can’t live in this world of make-believe for long. He can’t pretend that what matters is his connection to the music anymore—he stopped writing his own music long ago. But it’s nice to remember, even if those moments are fleeting.

*

Eddie pulls into the same gravel driveway that he used to skid his bike tires on as a kid. His abuela still lives in the same house she did back then, only a few doors down from his childhood home. His parents moved an hour north about five years ago. Eddie’s stomach flops a bit, and he tries not to dwell on how little he talks to them these days, or their lack of support over the years.

 He drags himself out of the rental car and grabs his bag out of the passenger side, leaving the rest of his luggage in the trunk. Before he can even make his way up the short drive, his abuela steps out onto the porch.

Eddie yawns into the crook of his elbow, then makes his way up to her. “Hey, Abuela,” he murmurs, pecking her on the cheek.

“Eddie,” Abuela says. She welcomes him with a crushing embrace, and he smiles as he hugs her back. She pulls back just enough that he can see a fire in her eyes; he already knows what that means, so he remains silent until she spits it out. “You were supposed to call me back so I knew you were doing alright.”

“I told you I have you listed as my emergency contact. If anything happens to me you’ll be the first one they call,” Eddie teases with a laugh.

“Edmundo,” she scolds, swatting his arm, and he watches as her jaw tenses under his name.

“Okay,” Eddie acquiesces. “I’m sorry, alright? I’ll be more cautious next time and call you. But Houston to West River isn’t a long drive.”

“Shannon—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Eddie asks. “I haven’t slept in over twenty-four hours. I just need a couple of hours and then I promise we’ll talk, okay?”

“But, Eddie—” Despite the fact that he’ll probably be reamed for not turning his full attention to her, Eddie pushes the door open and steps inside. He stops in his tracks as his eyes catch sight of the figure who’s settled at the table, and his duffel bag drops to the floor. He feels abuela’s hand on his shoulder. “This is—”

The pretending is over.

“This is Christopher, your son.”

*

Eddie knew coming back home to West River wasn’t going to be a vacation in any sense of the word. He knew what would be waiting for him; baggage so heavy that it had the ability to destroy his entire career. The dream that he’d risked everything for, that he’d given up everything for.

This is Christopher, your son.

Abuela’s words echo in his ears.

Sure, there had been a few phone calls beforehand, warning Eddie of the kid’s existence after Shannon had shown up at Abuela’s with the boy. That hadn’t prepared him for this moment at all.

What the fuck is he going to do?

The temptation to drop by the hole-in-the-wall bar downtown to take the edge off is there. Instead, he tells Abuela he has to take care of some things and he disappears. He just needs to drive around for a little bit to clear his head. He needs to figure out what he’s going to do.

A kid will ruin everything.

How could Shannon keep this kid to herself for years, not mention a word of his existence, and then just drop him off and leave like he’s somehow now Eddie’s responsibility?

Eddie unrolls the window, letting the evening air hit his face as his foot presses down more firmly on the gas pedal.

Take care of it. You only have a few months until the tour.

Fuck all of this.

These backroads are so familiar, and there’s something comforting in driving down them late at night, when the rest of the town is quiet. It reminds him of those late nights when he and Buck would—

Eddie stops his thoughts short, the ache in his chest just as familiar as these roads. Buck.

What are the chances that in a town of a few thousand people he won’t run into Evan Buckley? That’s even if he still lives here. Eddie shakes the notion from his head, refusing to allow himself to get nostalgic about the past. A past that revolved around Buck.

Right now, he needs to focus on how he’s going to fix his life—before it becomes a public relations disaster.

Pressing down on the gas harder, Eddie gets lost in the feeling of the cool night air hitting his face, saving him from his downward spiral and memories of Buck.

Unfortunately, the moment is short lived. Red and blue lights flash in his rearview mirror amidst the otherwise stark darkness of the night. With a sigh, he pulls over to the shoulder of the road.

*

Buck climbs out of the cruiser and closes the door, walking up to the driver’s side of the out-of-state car. “Do you know why I stopped you tonight?” He quickly scans the inside of the vehicle, assessing if there are any passengers that he needs to be aware of before settling his sight on the driver.

Of all the people he could’ve had the unfortunate task of pulling over tonight, somehow it’s Eddie Diaz. He studies Eddie’s face, tipping his head to the side as his identity registers with Eddie. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Buck.”

It’s like he took the words right out of Buck’s mouth, because really, what are the fucking chances? After nine years Eddie somehow still has the ability to make Buck’s heart thunder in his chest merely by saying his name. His jaw tightens as he looks at the country music star in front of him.

“It’s Deputy Buckley,” Buck tells Eddie, his voice tight. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

“This has to be an actual nightmare,” Eddie mutters, though Buck’s sure at this point that he’s talking to himself.

“License and registration.”

“Evan—”

“I said, license and registration. Don’t make me ask again. I’m going to suggest that you actually listen this time if you don’t want to end up in jail for the night.”

Eddie’s mouth snaps shut at Buck’s words. “I’m gonna grab the registration from the glove compartment.” He opens the glove box and hands over the paperwork, along with his license.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want that news story,” Buck mutters as he takes the documents and inspects them. He obviously knows that it’s Eddie, and he already ran the plates and knows that it belongs to a rental in Houston. He hands the paperwork back to Eddie. “Watch your speed, because next time I’m not going to be this nice,” Buck warns.

“This is nice?” Eddie actually has the audacity to laugh at him. “Seems more like you’re Deputy Dick to me.”

Buck’s lips press together into a tight line. He’s used to not being well liked while on the job—but it feels harsher coming from Eddie. “You know, I could still take you in tonight, if that’s what you want.”

Eddie shrinks under the words, and what he says next sounds sincere. “You know that’s not what I want.”

The same words that Eddie had said to him all those years ago, at the end. Buck feels his chest fracture down the middle, a reprise of the heartbreak that Eddie left in his wake.

He forces himself to school his expression despite the way he’s feeling. “Have a good night, Eddie.”

He doesn’t wait for Eddie to respond, turning sharply on his heels and walking away from the man that’s had his heart all along.

*

“You know, I don’t really think that this qualifies as guys’ night,” Buck says as he looks across the card table at Chimney, taking a sip of the lemonade in front of him. 

 Chim raises his brow a little, glancing in the direction of the living room. “You’re my brother-in-law,” Chim says, “and I’m not sure how to say this delicately, so I’m just gonna say it. If there’s one Buckley I’m trying to make happy right now, it’s not you, Buck. I’m trying to get in her good graces after the bottle rocket incident.”

Josh snorts from where he’s sitting, bringing the beer up to his lips.

“I’m not going to be the one to tell my wife that she needs to leave so we can have a proper guys’ night,” Chim adds.

“You would never say something to Maddie, and not just about guys’ night,” Josh challenges, his brows shooting up.

“I’m sorry, was that a complaint I just heard? Because I’m pretty sure that the last time you hosted a card night your mom showed up,” Chim points out.

“And Buck’s place—”

“Has constant interruption. I know, I know.” Buck rolls his eyes dramatically. “Are you gonna deal us in, or what?”

“Mads, were you gonna join us?” Chim calls helpfully into the other room, and Buck glares at him.

Maddie lifts herself off of the couch and walks out to the dining room table where they’re all situated, grabbing the bowl of chips from the counter and pulling up an empty seat. “I don’t want to play, but I’d love to talk to you guys.”

They really need to start finding different circles of friends, at least for nights like tonight. It’s not as if Buck’s going to tell his pregnant sister to go away, so instead he smiles. “We’d love it if you talked to us, Mads.”

“Really?” She grins, and Chim looks at Buck gratefully. “So, I heard a rumor that Eddie’s back in town.”

“Pick a different subject.”

“He’s back in town and got pulled over by West River’s youngest and brightest the other night,” Chim says.

Just the mention of Eddie’s name is an unwanted reminder that he’s back in town, at least temporarily. The fact that this wasn’t a figment of Buck’s imagination sends his brain into overdrive. There’s been some speculation over the reason for his return, and Buck has done everything in his power to stay squarely on the outside of those conversations.

He’s made it clear to his family and friends since Eddie left town that there is one topic that he refuses to discuss: Eddie Diaz. A lot of the locals were around Eddie growing up, and having someone that’s famous from their small hometown is something to talk about—especially when there’s a new tour that’s announced, or when Eddie is working on a new album.

But his friends? They know that it’s a hard and fast rule, and bringing it up on guys’ night is a definite foul. 

“Guys,” Buck manages as evenly as he can muster. “Talk about something else.”

A tense silence falls over the room, and for a minute Buck refuses to look up, knowing the pity that crosses their faces any time that someone brings up Eddie. He’s tried to hide his heartbreak behind indifference, but he’s not naive enough to believe that any of them buy it. Most of them had front-row seats as they watched Buck’s hopes and dreams shatter to the ground around him, leaving a hollow shell behind.

Finally he looks up.

“Can we make an exception this one time, Ev?”

“Maddie. I don’t talk about— about this, and you know that.”

Maddie’s hand covers his, her touch light, her tone equally calm and even. “You know, this has a name.”

“Why are you bringing him up now? You know I moved on from him a long time ago.”

It’s as if Chim and Josh aren’t sitting awkwardly at the table, trying to avoid the line of fire. Even if Maddie is officially a Han now, nobody wants to get obliterated during a battle of the wills between the siblings.

“This is guys’ night,” Buck reminds her. “The one night of the week that I can unwind and relax. Instead you’re here and dredging up a past that died years ago.” He lets out an exasperated sigh. “I was a kid. Just a stupid kid. There’s nothing else to say. We were together and then we weren’t. He has his life now, and I have mine.”

“Maybe that’s true, but you never did move on, not really. He’s in town for who knows how long, so maybe it’d be a good chance for the two of you to talk?”

“No, it wouldn’t. And, uh, thanks for ruining tonight,” Buck mutters as he stands up from the table. This is the kind of interference he’d expect from their out-of-town parents, always assuming they know what’s best, but not from Maddie.

“Buck,” Chim warns, and Buck sighs again, shaking his head in frustration. Chim’s always been protective of Maddie, something that Buck’s always appreciated, especially after all that she endured with Doug, but tonight feels like the exception.

“I’m gonna head home.”

“Buck, you really don’t have to go,” Josh says helplessly.

He attempts a smile for what Josh is trying to do—slapping a bandage on the evening, trying to piece everything back together. Buck shakes his head. “I think it’s for the best if I go.”

Buck says his goodbyes and hops into his Jeep, driving home. He knows that Maddie has the best of intentions, and that she cares about him with her whole heart, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

When he arrives home he notices there are only a few lights left on in the house, and that the porch light is on for him. 

“You’re home awful early,” Carla says as soon as he makes his way inside, barely looking up from the little girl that’s propped against her side.

He shrugs a little, not wanting to get into all of the details of how the night quickly spiraled out of control in a way that was just too much for him to handle. “I couldn’t stand the time away from her.”

“Mhm,” Carla says in her knowing way, and Buck’s thankful that she doesn’t say more than that. She knows enough about his past with Eddie, but she’s always stayed out of that part of his life.

Buck toes off his shoes, crossing the room then and scooping Lucy up in his arms. “Hey baby,” he murmurs, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

“She insisted I read her three stories out here and not in her bed because she was ‘not tired yet, Carla’.”

Buck chuckles at her words, feeling Lucy squirm in his arms before she settles again. She rests her head against his shoulder and he hoists her up higher so that she can curl into him. In a world where everything else is imperfect he’s able to come home and hold a little piece of perfection in his arms. Their lives have been far from easy, and there isn’t a day that Buck doesn’t wish he could be more for her.

He’s doing his best to make up for the huge piece missing from her life—the absence of her mother. Every day she helps him remember that there is more than heartbreak and loss, that sometimes there’s hope, too. He has to hold on to that.

“I’m gonna head out,” Carla says, kissing the back of Lucy’s head and giving Buck a sideways hug before leaving.

Buck walks down the hallway, glancing at Lucy’s bedroom door and then pivoting, walking across the hall to his own room and laying the sleeping girl down on the pillows, covering her with the sheet and comforter. He gets ready for bed and lies on top of the covers beside her. He knows he shouldn’t make a habit out of this and he won’t, but tonight he needs the physical proof.

He hasn’t lost everything, because he still has Lucy.

#buddiebigbang2021 #buddie #911 fanfic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #mywriting

[digitalworldbound]

koukari 24 or kenkari 30? sorry for the challenge :p but if you're not comfortable with the pairings, go ahead with takari! :3

Pairing: ken x hikari

Summary: “I can’t talk to cute people, okay? I don’t know how to flirt!” (#30 from the prompt list)

Author’s Notes: I was revisiting my old fanfiction from when I was thirteen, and it reignited my love for cheesy AUs. So, I present to you my first ever KenKari content (I apologize if it is bad, but I've tried my best!)

on the corner of thompson rd. and fifth street stood a quaint structure with walls that appeared to sag and well-worn stairs. a seemingly hand-painted sign hung above the door way read : ♡ book 'n' brew ♡

in full honestly, the crooked hearts would of been enough to draw ken in completely had he not been on a search for a new coffee joint. earlier that september morning, a bug placed strategically in his starbucks cup stirred up the motivation to search for a more tasteful choice in brew.

mindless trotting about lead him to the worn, brick steps. many customers were slightly deterred by the haggard appearance of the building, but ken thought otherwise.

it was charming and smelled of home. plus, the little pink hearts were hard to dismiss.

pulling the smooth handle and trapping the chilly air behind him, ken opened the door and stepped in.

the store was quite small, as expected, but seemingly transported him away. warm fairy lights hung on the edges of tall, oak bookcases. the lights made ken’s dark cerulean eyes dance with wonder. while the oak cases were aging, they were sturdy. books lined the shelves in every way imaginable. when the books filled up the shelves vertically, the left-overs were placed haphazardly in the spaces between, whether that be on top of, in front of, or behind other books. the smell of well-loved pages filtered through the air, mixing with the smell of freshly brewed something.

the coffee! ken reminded himself.

humming a mindless tune under his breath, he made is way to the countered that was nestled in between two bookcases. plants, napkins and even more books littered the counter top. the owner, however, was nowhere to be found.

"hello?" ken’s crystalline voice called out.

"how may i help you?"

ken made a noise of surprise, not expecting the light, feminine voice to come from behind him.

a girl emerged from behind one of the bookcases, her hair swept to the side and held in place with a barrette. she looked ethereal in her loose dress, the extra fabric making her look like a bird ready for flight. she coughed quietly, her amber eyes drilling into his own with curiosity.

blush erupted like wildfire across ken’s cheeks. the tips of his ears burned in embarrassment. he was caught staring, but the stranger’s beauty was disarming.

"so?" the owner lightly suggested, a gentle reminder that ken still had yet to respond to her initial question.

"oh, yes! i was wondering if you had any coffee?" he finally spoke up. all too late, he realized his mistake. a flush rose to his neck, and ken had half the mind to run out of the store and never return.

raising an arched eyebrow, the stranger purposely flitted her eyes over to the obviously placed coffee pots, before turning her attention back to ken.

"hm, i would say that i do." she chuckled. her dress gently swayed behind her as she slipped behind the counter. Looking over her shoulder, she smiled in his direction.

"obviously." the boy muttered under his breath, embarrassment consuming him alive.

"pick your poison."

ken pretended to ponder his options. on a normal day - which this wasn't - he could always go for a medium roast coffee with creamer and two sugars, but today felt inexplicably different.

"i think i might go with some oolong tea today, if it isn't any trouble."

"of course not, silly. it's one of my personal favorites." the barista smiled. she turned around, completely engrossing herself in the task at hand while ken decided to explore the shop.

his fingers danced on the spines of novels and novellas, enjoying the way they felt beneath his fingertips. as a child, ken never had the attention span for reading. he was always distracted by the butterflies or colorful markers or dandelions. these things were real, and for him, the words in the books weren't.

consumed by his thoughts and the texture of the spines, ken drowned out the shop owner's declaration of warm drinks.

when the surprisingly small hand cupped the boy's shoulder, he jumped, knocking several books from their perch.

"oh no, i'm so sorry. usually, i'm not this clumsy." he offered, quickly picking up the fallen objects and shoving them haphazardly back onto the shelf. anxiety swirled in stomach; he felt like an absolute fool.

the owner simply smiled and pushed the small mug into ken's cold fingers. how long had it been since he stumbled into the shop? ten minutes? an hour? the thoughts were washed away with the first sip of tea, as the warm, comforting flavor washed away the flush on his cheeks.

"my name's hikari," the mystery barista offered, turning towards the door behind the cluttered counter space, "yell for me if you need anything else." she smiled, then disappeared.

"i'm ken ichijouji!" he called after hikari, but it was too late. her delicate frame had already slipped away, disappearing into further into the shelves.

with a barely distinguishable pout on his pink lips, ken sipped his oolong tea languidly and perched himself in recliner nestled into a dusty corner. the cloth on the seat had once been beautiful, ken was sure. years of patrons had worn away the bright red velvet into a thread-bare pink. it was s comfy, so ken snuggled himself deeper into the chair.

glancing around, he browsed the titles nearest to him.

viva by e.e cummings

pride and prejudice by jane austen

star girl by jerry spinelli

the hobbit by j.r.r. tolkien

hikari apparently had an interest in most things, not unlike ken. they just had interests in different places.

losing interest in the books quickly, ken demolished the luke-warm beverage and placed his dirty mug (that he now realized adorned the same little pink hearts as the sign that hung above the entrance way) next to the coffee pot and hurriedly yelled out his goodbyes.

he closed the old, wooden door, walked down the brick steps, and turned onto thompson rd. his stride was strong and his gaze was fixed onto some imaginative point on the horizon.

ken was on a mission.

-

the rest of his week was rough, even by ken's standards. book 'n' brew had been closed for the past five days, much to his dismay. ken had inherited the ability to burn water and couldn't be trusted to make his own tea. with the name-brand fix no longer being an option, five whole days without caffeine had put ken on edge.

it was a rather dreary sunday. the rain fell in sheets and drenched the ken down too his sock-less toes. inky black hair plastered to his forehead; his eyelashes had already clumped together. his wet sneakers lead him down the familiar cement of thompson rd. and his heart leap into his throat when he saw the lights on in the infamous bookstore.

the warm atmosphere was once again barren of any patrons (besides ken, of course). hikari was much easier to spot, given that she was directly behind the counter. ken’s heart-rate picked up; he was almost giddy.

hikari's hair was swept to the side again, the ends barely dancing across her shoulders. her billowy dress had been replaced by jeans and a t-shirt. an apron hung loosely off her thin frame. she wore the tea stains like accessories. his heart gave another weird flutter.

however, before he could question his reaction, ken became far too preoccupied with the smells of the quaint shop. cinnamon wafted around his ears while cocoa assaulted his nostrils.

the owner physically perked up when the wind chimes above the door sang a song, signaling the first customer of the day.

rain dripped from his clothes as ken walked towards the delicious aromas while mulling over the half-baked plan that he attempted to conceive a week prior.

it wasn't much. he just thought that hikari was impossibly cute and wanted an excuse to strike up a seemingly casual conversation. the only problem that presented itself was the fact that ken absolutely despised reading.

so, during his caffeine withdrawal, ken invested a part of his meager wages into a hoard of "spark notes" books. these were easier to understand and got straight to the point, anyways. every morning of his coffee-less week began with a literary classic. much to his dismay, the plots bored him to tears. lovers would fight and makeup, enemies would always become friends. books were too predictable.

nevertheless, when the shop was finally reopened, ken had the basic knowledge of not one, but five(ish) novels to use as conversation starters. he wanted to be prepared to keep her interest, no matter how small his understanding of the material.

"hello, hikari!" ken chirped, a bright smile spreading across his wind-nipped cheeks.

"good morning, ken ichijouji, how have you been?" though she was talking to him, her eyes never left the countertop she was cleaning. the shadows under her eyes did not go unnoticed, but ken decided against bringing it up.

" i'm great! i've been put off, though, as your shop hasn't been open in nearly a week."

hikari chuckled darkly, her eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments. "don't worry about that. i'm here now. would you like anything to sip on or any novels to escape into today?"

ken was slightly confused by the unusual turn hikari's behavior. her voice was no longer sweet, but laden with exhaustion. however, he let none of this deter him from his mission.

"yes, please. i would like a coffee with creamer and two and a half sugars, please."

the blue-eyed boy watched intently as hikari made his drink. In an effort to bring a smile to her face, ken joked that his preferred his coffee the color of his sun-kissed skin. despite how stupid it sounded, her cheeks warmed as she giggled. looking like an idiot was worth it if it meant that hikari would laugh like that.

"so," ken began as the silence settled in, "have you read any good books lately?" he took a quick sip of his coffee and let the warmth sink to his icy toes. september was almost over, but the chill of october was already creeping around the corner.

the corner of hikari's mouth twitched, and ken’s heart soared when he knew he made the correct choice.

"hm," the young woman started, her body relaxed against the cluttered surface of the counter., "i had you pegged as more of a 'movies-are-better-than-books' type of guy." her elbow grazed a stack of books that were balanced precariously on the edge.

"ah, well, of course not! i have loved reading since primary school." ken stuttered out. his face was a shade of deep red, resembling the worn-out velvet of the chair he was sat in. the lie sat uneasily at the pit of his stomach, but ken pushed it aside.

"well, to answer your question, i just finished the book thief by markus zusak." by now, a smile had warmed up hikari’s amber eyes, brightening the mood. rain still splattered against the shop windows, but the pair paid little mind.

"what was it about?" inquired ken. while he had no interest in reading, he certainly had an interest in whatever hikari was talking about. her slow, languid voice soothed him.

hikari eagerly rambled on and on about the characters and plot, being careful to only tease at the spoilers. ken stared intently into her eyes. he didn't have a clue what she was talking about, but he loved every minute of her voice ringing in his ears.

the coffee sat abandoned in his lap, warm long gone and chilly. the raven-haired boy took a drawn out sip, absentminded. furrowed eyebrows and a quirk of the month made hikari giggle in the midst of her story-telling.

once hikari’s story lulled to an end, ken began to talk about the books he didn't really read. he steered away from specifics and danced around with the big ideas. though her attention was divided behind between making herself a cup of tea and ken’s pride and prejudice synopsis, she seemed at ease.

"you remind me of Lydia Bennet, actually.” hikari’s hair whipped around, her eyes wide with surprise. ken was too preoccupied with the speech he prepared, one that he was sure would enthrall her. “you have that aura about you.”

“i have the aura of girl that would run away with a grown man at the age of fifteen?” the incredulousness in her voice snapped ken from his coffee-induced stupor. He hands shook. oh god, i should have read the book.

“the sparks notes didn’t mention that part.” his mouth reveals him before his brain can put a stop to it. “oh, god, i’ve ruined everything. i can’t talk to cute people, okay? i don’t know how to flirt!” his absolute, all-consuming panic must have been obvious from the way the warmth crept across his face.

her giggle caught him off guard. “how can you laugh at a time like this? i just compared you to a mother’s worse nightmare.” ken was miserable, doing his best to disappear into the cushion of the recliner.

“because it was endearing to watch you pretend to know what you’re talking about.” hikari said simply, her cheeks pink.

ken only hummed in response, not trusting his voice to respond. Instead, he basked in the warm atmosphere and tried to gain the inertia to take himself to work. while they sat in comfortable silence, mulling in the conversation, hikari leaned down and pried the empty ceramic mug from ken’s now-cold fingertips.

the contact sent a shiver down his spine, his heartrate skipping sporadically in his chest. he was on fire.

and ken knew.

he knew by the blush that rose in the girl’s cheeks, and the look of confusion still in her eyes. ken knew that coffee was good, but it had never tasted better than when he was with her. he had never tried so hard to gain the attentions of the girl, never expecting himself to be willing to do research on a subject that didn't interest him just for the sake of conversation.

the realization shook him to his core.

ken knew that he was falling for her.

so he did what he was best at.

he ran.

"oh my, look at the time. i am going to be late for my shift. it's been good. thanks for the coffee." he slammed a wad of money on the counter and rushed to the door, wind chimes tinkling after him.

hikari's goodbyes were caught in her throat.

#kenkari #ken ichijouji #hikari yagami #digimon

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH127

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 127: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XVII)

{cw: cannibalism}

"I see," Su He whispered, walking with the two others in the direction of the night watchmen.

The strength of the field brought the night watchmen into the illusory range, revealing Su He’s figure to the night watchmen. The night watchmen finally realized Qi Leren and others’ presence and looked at them with surprise and vigilance: "Who are you?"

"We’re with the one you just called a foreigner, investigating the cause of the disaster and trying to end this nightmare," Su He said.

The watchman looked at them carefully, and they were looked at by this deformed strange face. Qi Leren felt very uncomfortable, not because their eyes were full of malice, but because these ferocious and horrible faces were uncomfortable to look at.

"I know that you passed from the outside world through the fog to come here, maybe you’re the key to end all this. If you want to know, okay... This disaster started eight years ago..."

The hoarse voice of the night watchman sounded in the dark, telling the story of the disaster of the new moon.

More than 20 years ago, the Holy City was invaded by demons. It wasn’t known what happened after that, since the whole city was surrounded by fog, but the demons had disappeared and the Holy City was restored to calm. The residents who survived the event found that they could never walk out of the fog, and no matter how far they walked in the fog, they would eventually return to the Holy City.

Since then, no woman had become pregnant and no babies had been born. The city had grown old alone in the fog…

It was not until a night of the new moon eight years ago that the nightmare began.

"At least one in ten people disappeared that night. No one knew what had happened, and the whole city fell into a panic. On the next night of the new moon after that, another group of people disappeared... Slowly, we found the rule. Whenever the night of the new moon comes, we must never be awake before the sun rises, otherwise we’ll disappear. After that, people gradually got used to this kind of life. Whenever the night of the new moon came, they would drink sleeping draughts to ensure that they slept until dawn, and the amount of people disappearing began to decrease. But there were always accidents... For example, the one who almost became food for the demons just now. "

The young man who was still sitting on the ground shivered, hugging his head and trembling as he sobbed. Knowing the truth of the disaster of the new moon had put him on the verge of collapse. As long as he thought that he might have eaten the living even once, he fell into fear of not going to heaven.

"I've been sleepwalking since I was a child. I sleepwalked once on a night of the new moon, but it was strange that during this sleepwalking, I was awake, and I 'saw' my wife take off her pajamas, and her body slowly turned into that of a demon. At that time I was scared crazy, but when I looked at myself I saw that I had also become a monster, and I followed her out of the house..."

"That night, I saw a Holy City that was like hell. My wife and the demons searched for and chased prey together. They found a living person who hadn’t fallen asleep, attacked him crazily, and ate him. I’ve never seen such a cruel and barbaric scene in my life. A group of people eating a person like mad dogs. They plucked bloody meat from the screaming living person and chewed it greedily, as if it were food given by God. I tried to stop this atrocity and pushed my wife away. She bumped into the wall and woke up covered in blood."

A tearful smile appeared on the strange face of the night watchman as he repeated: "She woke up."

Everyone was silent, and even the sobbing young man held his breath and forgot to cry. In the deep darkness, the horrible night watchman whined: "She turned back into a human being, watching the demons screaming in the dark. I approached her, trying to protect her, but to her eyes I was the demon. She wouldn't listen to me at all, just screamed and ran away. That group of terrible, inhuman beasts jumped up... I roared, struggling to fight with them, and I wanted to wake up at this moment, even if I died with my wife... I hit the wall with my head, again and again until my skull cracked, but I couldn't wake up. I was trapped in a nightmare. This dream is too long and too desperate...

"The demons had a good meal. I don't want to admit that I was as hungry as them. I used my last human dignity and reason to compete with them for my wife's flesh and blood. Before the sun rose, they returned to their homes in an orderly manner, and some demons even spontaneously cleaned up the traces of their hunting, washed away their blood, and woke up to meet dawn in bed as if nothing had happened. Bleeding out, I lay on the ground waiting to die. As dawn rose in the east, my body changed back to human and all the wounds healed. What happened on this bloody night could only be borne by me alone. After dawn, the neighbours who had eaten my wife recovered their human appearances and asked with concern how my wife and I had slept last night. They didn't know that they’d just killed her a few hours ago. I couldn't even say it! I couldn only stay in hell in silence, alone, in hell!

"Susan, my wife, had become a person who disappeared in the disaster of the new moon, forever." The night watchman who witnessed all this had chosen to keep it a secret.

"Later, I saved a few living people, one of whom was a pharmacist. He prepared a draught that can make people lose a short period of their memory and mixed it with the sleeping draughts. We let the people we rescue choose whether to join us or drink the draught and forget all this. Most of them chose to drink the draught and forget this horrible experience. Those who choose to stay will become one of us and keep this secret together. Together, we study the method of lucid sleepwalking, the cause of the disaster of the new moon, and how to appease this group of demons who keep hunting the living. The more you insist, the more desperate you are...

"This city, once full of devout believers, may have no souls left to go to heaven."

There was a spasm in his stomach, and Qi Leren pressed his hand on his abdomen. The confused and desperate narration of the night watchman drew him into that same horrible feeling. Sleeping people became demons, killing the waking people who knew the truth. In order to protect more people, they could only cover up these crimes and keep their mouths shut. On this evil night, this tragedy had been repeated for eight years, which is so long that it was desperate.

They desperately kept the secret that would have made everyone fall into hell, but it was too late. In the first few disasters of the new moon, too many people had committed unforgivable crimes. What was even more frightening was that no one knew whether they were innocent or not, and those who knew the truth always thought about their missing relatives and friends, and questioned whether they once mourned those who were in their stomachs.

"Take it and let him drink it." The night watchman threw a bottle of medicine at him and Ning Zhou caught it and handed it to the man kneeling on the ground. Trembling, the man took the draught, so panicked that he couldn't open the bottle after several times. He bit the cork with his teeth and drank it without question.

The man who’d drank the draught sat on the ground absently, looked at the silver cross embroidery on Ning Zhou's gloves, and murmured, "Can God forgive me? Can I still go to heaven?"

The medication had begun to work, tiredness welling, yet he looked up at Ning Zhou with desperate eyes full of tears.

Ning Zhou's fingers curled and the feeling of grief swept over him. He recalled Maria on her deathbed, leaning against her pillow, holding his hand, tears flowing in her blue eyes.

"I have to go back..." she had said angrily. "Once I die, the power there will be completely out of control. If there are demons lurking there, everything will be done for.

"But I can't go back. In the past thirteen years, I’ve tried every means to open up that dead field. But it’s dead. It’s no longer a door that can be opened and closed at will, but a locked door that cannot be opened without a key... Behind that door, what evil forces have begun to move?"

Maria, whose face was gaunt with sickness, shed tears silently: "My self-righteous salvation may be the greatest evil. You must... You must save them... Promise me..."

Half kneeling in front of the bed Ning Zhou had taken her hand and nodded wordlessly.

Eight years later he’d really come here, but the Holy City that Maria had guarded with her life was already a hell on earth.

"In the name of God, I forgive your crimes and give you peace of mind." Ning Zhou's hand was on the man's forehead and the white gloves gave off a faint light.

The man smiled happily and closed his eyes slowly.

With his deep sleep, his body began to change: his face twisted, his body swelled, and the clothes he wore were torn. He let out a low roar and opened his inhuman eyes.

The sound of the night watchman's flute soothed his appetite. He jumped off the roof, fell heavily on the ground, and then walked into the distance, returning again to the demon's side.

The leading night watchman sighed heavily and whispered, "Sometimes even we doubt whether we’re saving mankind or demons. Or maybe we’re just saving ourselves."

-----

Editor’s Notes: Allow me to remind you of the gravestone Qi Leren saw in the cemetary in chapter 121.

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#Welcome to the Nightmare Game #欢迎来到噩梦游戏 #danmei

[sohotthateveryonedied]

In the Eye of a Hurricane

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

He can hear his mom’s voice as he reads the letter, recognizes her handwriting in all its fancy loops and swirls. She tells Jack in the letter that she has been hiding a secret from him for years and doesn’t have the guts to tell him in person. Tim skims, tries to pick apart his mom’s long-winded explanations about living in fear of being found out, of the shame that followed her every day.

Tim can’t even begin to guess what she could be talking about until finally he sees it, clear as day in black ink.

Timothy isn’t your son.

Mom is dead. Dad is in a coma. Bruce is...here.

Tim is still getting used to the idea of a parental figure sticking with him for longer than a few weeks at a time. He keeps waiting for Bruce to turn a corner and disappear without a trace like he should, but it never happens. He stays by Tim’s side, offering support that Tim wasn’t even aware could be offered. It’s different, but it’s a good different. Tim only wishes that could be enough to wash away the grief. He takes it one day at a time, bit by bit, if only to keep himself from looking too far ahead and seeing the sea of loneliness waiting for him in the case that his dad never wakes up. Today he dedicates himself to handling his parents’ finances, sifting through the mess they left in the hands of their thirteen-year-old son. It’s eerie being in his dad’s office now, like he’s entering a tomb. Tim is searching for his parents’ insurance documents so he can get that dealt with and out of the way, then move on to the next project. Whatever takes his mind off of it all. It’s hard enough seeing his dad lying in that hospital bed every day, looking dead but not quite getting there yet. Tim opens the next filing cabinet, grabbing another stack of files and opening the first folder, only for an envelope to fall out. It’s not like the others, otherwise Tim would have put it back and disregarded it altogether. But this one is not a clean white envelope you would find in any office. This one is made of thick paper, yellowing at the edges with swirl patterns on the flap. Jack, don’t open this until I’m dead, it says in Tim’s mother’s handwriting.

Dad clearly didn’t obey orders (what else is new?) because the envelope has already been torn open. It’s crumpled at the corners, creased in places it shouldn’t be, as if Dad was angry when he stuffed the contents back into the envelope and locked it away in this cabinet. Tim’s first instinct is to read it. After all, Janet Drake is dead. She’s not here to scold Tim for going through what isn’t his, but that is precisely what stops him from opening the letter. This is from his mother—his mother who is now dead. And his dad is in a coma. Poking into their business...it feels wrong. No matter how curious Tim is, he can’t desecrate this letter. So he tucks the envelope into his pocket, careful not to wrinkle it. He can’t imagine what the letter must be about, but that isn’t very surprising. Despite being their son, Tim didn’t know Janet and Jack Drake any better than he’d know a gym coach or one of the housekeepers. He knew everything about their company and their lifestyles, but he never got more than a glimpse into who they truly were. Not until it was too late. The closest Tim would ever get to bonding with his parents were the rare nights on which Mom and Dad would sit with Tim on the sofa, watching Pixar movies until he fell asleep. Those were his favorite memories of his parents: his dad calling him “champ” and talking endlessly about the movies’ animation styles, Mom with her hair down and her makeup washed off, for once not caring about her appearance. Tim doesn’t know what the letter could possibly be about, but curiosity is a persistent thing. Days click by, switching off into nights in an endless cycle. Dad doesn’t wake from the coma. Tim isn’t sure if he ever will. Dick and Bruce hover around him like house flies, waiting for some kind of ball to drop. Maybe for Tim to break down, to cry, to mourn the ending of his world. Instead, all Tim can do is wonder about the letter. If it was so important, Tim would already know whatever it was, right? Maybe it’s a copy of his mom’s will. Maybe it’s a map to a collection of buried treasure that she never told anyone about. Maybe it’s a confession that she was secretly a supervillain and all of those trips she and Dad took were actually with the intention to rob every bank across the eastern seaboard. Tim keeps the letter buried under piles of school papers in his desk drawer, but it might as well be sending out a signal to him every minute, reminding him of its presence. He falls asleep night after night in his temporary room at the manor, listening to the letter rattle around in its drawer like a tell-tale heart. What does it say? What secret was his mother hiding? Is it about Tim? Is it about her past? Will it unlock some family conspiracy? Tim makes it almost a month resisting the siren’s call before he can’t take it any longer. He climbs out of bed one night, the floor cold on his bare feet. He grabs the letter from its hiding place and jumps back into bed where the shadows’ tendrils can’t reach. He pulls his blanket over his head, a shiver running down his spine as he clicks on his flashlight and sets the beam on the letter. He can feel the walls watching him, witnessing this desecration of his dead mother’s written crypt. These are the last words he will ever get from her. Tim opens the letter. He recognizes his mother’s stationery, the flower patterns at the top. Back when he was younger, Tim used to spin around in his mom’s desk chair and ask why she had special paper with her name on it. “Because important people like to stand out in their letters,” she’d say. “Why can’t you just use regular paper?” “Because regular paper doesn’t have your name at the top. You can’t feel official if you’re not using official stationery.” Tim thought about that as he spun. “You can if you write it in yourself. All you need is some crayons.” His mom chuckled and ruffled his hair. “I suppose you could do that too.” He can hear his mom’s voice as he reads the letter, recognizes her handwriting in all its fancy loops and swirls. She tells Jack in the letter that she has been hiding a secret from him for years and doesn’t have the guts to tell him in person. Tim skims, tries to pick apart his mom’s long-winded explanations about living in fear of being found out, of the shame that followed her every day. Tim can’t even begin to guess what she could be talking about until finally he sees it, clear as day in black ink. Timothy isn’t your son. He stops. Rereads the sentence. Then again. And again, trying to tempt the words into making some sort of sense. Tim doesn’t know how long he spends staring at those four words, his eyes glazed, before he tentatively starts reading again. Janet talks about how guilty she feels for not confessing this earlier, how she doesn’t want Tim to find out, how sorry she is that Tim isn’t the son Jack wanted him to be. That she disappointed him by giving him Tim instead of the “correct” child. Tim is going to be sick. He throws off the blanket and goes to the gas fireplace across the room, turning it on. He crumples up the letter and throws it in without a second’s hesitation. He watches it catch fire, the flames blackening the corners as they eat away at the letter until it’s no more than ash. This can’t be real, he tells himself. It can’t be. His dad… He knew. Dad knew all this time. They both did. Tim has been walking around, thinking he knew exactly who he was and where he came from. Writing his dad’s name on school forms and calling himself Tim Drake when he’s not even a Drake. Not biologically. How could they hide this from him? Did it never occur to them that Tim should know this kind of vital information? That it might literally reconfigure his entire life? Tim sits there on the rug, staring at the fireplace as the walls crumble around him. He can’t believe they kept this from him. Who doesn’t tell their own son that his genetics aren’t what he thinks they are? That somewhere in the world, there is a person walking around who has no idea he’s got a son somewhere. He probably doesn’t even know that Tim exists. The more Tim thinks about it though, the more it makes an odd sort of sense. His parents have always been distant, always treated Tim like they expected something different every time they looked at him. Like he was so entirely Other that they couldn’t help but be disappointed, no matter what he did or how hard he tried to get them to love him the way other kids’ parents did. He wonders when Jack found the letter. Was it given to him with instructions, or did he stumble upon it one day in Janet’s office? Did he confront her right away, or did he wait a while? Tim thinks back to three years ago when their marriage took its first sudden dip, as if they hit a wall out of nowhere. Could this have been the cause all along? Three years since the secret came out. Three years of arguments bordered by stony silences, flipping back and forth between moods whenever they weren’t on yet another long trip, trying to salvage a failing marriage. Tim used to assume it was his fault that his parents were never home—maybe there was something wrong with him that they didn’t want to see. Now it all makes sense. Jack has never acted like much of a father to Tim in the first place, as if he’s subconsciously known all along that there was something dividing him from his son. Because there was something dividing them, something deep in their DNA. Which, of course, begs the question: If Jack isn’t Tim’s father, who is? Parts of the letter were ripped, the ink smudged in places from what must have been scars of Jack’s anger at finding out his family was built on a lie. If Janet did divulge who Tim’s biological father is, Tim couldn’t find it in the letter. There are only two people in the world who can give Tim the answers he needs, and one of them is dead. The other one is close behind. He’s stuck in limbo. The days after the revelation pass in a haze. A haze of astonishment, silent questions, answers he needs but may never get. Tim keeps waiting for the universe to shift, because he just found out information that changes everything he thought was true about himself. He should be feeling something, right? Maybe it’s because he and his dad never had a real relationship anyway, so there’s nothing to mourn. There’s no deciding moment of what does this change? because there's nothing to change. He and Jack have been living separate lives for a long time now. This revelation just cements something Tim has known for years. He never had a father before. Why should it change anything that he still doesn’t have one now?

[Read the rest on AO3 because this one got kinda long.]

#whumptober 2020 #this is from the day before yesterday #i just forgot to post it here #batfamily #batfam #batman #tim drake #red robin #robin #bruce wayne #jack drake #janet drake #dc comics #fanfiction #fanfic #no.17 #dirty secret

[megalony]

Teacher’s Pet- Part 13

Here is the latest part of my dad! Ben Hardy series, I hope you all enjoy it, there is some angst in this part. Feedback is always lovely.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr​ @rogermeddow​ @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse @milanosaurus @httpfandxms @saint-hardy @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls @mrsalwayswritex @rogerina-owns-me @peterquillzsblog @im-an-adult-ish @crazylittlethingg @allauraleigh

Series taglist: @im-an-adult-ish​​ @gwilymleeisbae​​​ @k-k0129​​​​ @haileymorelikestupid​​​ @glittrixvibe​​​

Series masterlist

Summary: Gwilym sets Ben up on a date with (Y/n) who teaches at the school Ben’s kids go to. But Ben is hesitant in the relationship, desperate not to make the same mistakes and needing to put his kids first.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Do you still get nervous?" (Y/n) looked over at Ben with a glimmer in her eyes and the way she bit her lip told him she was nervous but her smile showed it was a good type of nervous.

Ben had been in this position three times before but this was the first time (Y/n) had been to a scan and it made her extremely nervous. She couldn't help but wonder if they'd had a false positive or if the baby's heartbeat would be too fast or too slow. Maybe there would be a complication or something wrong or this was a phantom pregnancy. Ben seemed to be coping really well with this news and (Y/n) was growing more and more attached to the notion that she was going to have a baby.

"Every time." The smile on Ben's face calmed one of the thousands of nerves shooting through (Y/n)'s chest and stomach before both their eyes turned to the midwife who placed the wand on (Y/n)'s stomach, ready to see the baby.

"Okay, there's your little one. I'd say your thirteen weeks rather than twelve, but everything looks good and the heartbeat is strong."

When the midwife pressed the speaker Ben felt the way (Y/n) almost jumped on the seat when it sounded like the heartbeat was bouncing off all four walls right back at her. Seeing the small grey outline on the screen made (Y/n)'s heart beat much faster than normal and she suddenly wanted to record the baby's heartbeat so she could have it on repeat.

This set everything in stone. They were going to have a baby and despite how (Y/n) had panicked that Ben would be upset or afraid or recoiled but he was engrossed in the screen and the heartbeat seemed to be entrancing him like nothing else she had seen before.

They had taken the boys to school and then come right to the scan meaning they didn't have to come up with an excuse as to where they were going without the three of them. But now this just proved to (Y/n) that soon they were going to have to tell the boys that they were going to have a new sibling. And with how Finn was uneasy about a mother and Carter was desperate for them both to give him the love and attention he wanted, this might not come as good news. James might not even want another sibling, he might want (Y/n) as a mother but he might not want to share.

As Ben stared at the screen, he felt like he was suddenly becoming lightheaded.

Having another baby was conflicting his mind because Ben knew how his boys were going to react. And even though Ben loved all his boys and raising them, he knew that his past for having kids didn't give a good outcome. Nor did he think having four kids was going to be easy with the kind of problems each of them faced right now. But Ben knew they could try and make this work, he loved (Y/n), the boys loved (Y/n) and Ben was already in love with the picture on the screen.

But deep down there was a fear in the put of Ben's stomach that was making him chew through his thumb until he could taste blood on his tongue.

If this baby turned out to be a boy, it would be a premonition that this relationship might not work out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure about this?"

(Y/n) wrapped her hands around her glass that she decided to focus her attention on rather than looking across at Ben. Somehow, this didn't feel like the right time to do this.

She wanted to wait. (Y/n) wanted to wait a few more days, possibly even weeks before they even thought about telling the boys about having another sibling. It was still early days right now and they were all in such a good place and getting along perfectly like a family, this was something that was going to rock the boat and not in the best kind of way.

But deep down (Y/n) knew that if they didn't tell the boys soon it would only mean that they would keep trying to put it off until it was too late. They had to tell the boys sooner or later and it was better to do it now rather than later so they had time to come to terms with it. James might not have such a bad reaction, (Y/n) was close to him and he didn't seem like another brother or even a sister would be a bad thing to him. With Finn, he was just going to be wary because a mother wasn't a good thing in his eyes and another sibling would mean he wouldn't get as much of Ben's alreadu divided attention.

Carter was another matter entirely.

He hated having to fight for Ben's attention as it was and a baby was only going to make matters worse in the aspect of attention, especially because (Y/n) couldn't give Carter all her attention when she had a baby to look after.

"We have to tell them sooner or later, may as well be now." Ben leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter and took a sip of his drink whilst his eyes never left (Y/n)'s.

"Couldn't we tell them at dinner tonight? It'd be nicer than formally sitting them down to tell them."

"Not unless you want food thrown at you or Carter trying to turn a utensil into a weapon, no."

The way Ben looked at (Y/n) showed he wasn't joking about this, he was being very serious. It would be less formal and more calming if they talked with the boys about this at dinner but it wouldn't be good where Carter was concerned. He would most definitely lash out at this news and he could throw his plate, his food or even grab his knife or fork and try to hurt someone. Ben loved Carter more than anything but he knew where his sons anger was concerned, Carter was a liability and that made him dangerous.

"Okay, let's go talk to them." A soft smile formed on (Y/n)'s lips as she followed Ben out of the kitchen and made her way into the lounge as Ben headed up to go and get Carter.

Part of Ben wanted to tell Carter the news separately but he knew if they did that then it wouldn't be fair. They would end up telling James and Finn first in case they heard the news from Carter and the outburst he was bound to have and if one of the boys told Carter before Ben and (Y/n) got the chance Carter would feel even worse. Telling them all at the same time was the only option they had that would be fair to them all but it meant that if Carter did lash out or get unsettled about this then they would have to take him to one side so he didn't upset James or Finn.

"Boys, can we turn the game off for a few minutes? Me and your dad want to talk you for a minute." (Y/n) sat down on the armchair, digging her nails into her knees to try and keep herself calm and not seem anxious in front of the boys.

She watched with a calming smile as Finn set down his game console and sat further back on the sofa and James shuffled over to the tv to put the consoles back and turn off the tv. James was quick to shuffle back over to the sofa and sit in the middle just as Ben and Carter headed into the room.

The smile on Carter's lips made (Y/n)'s stomach churn because she knew at any moment, their next words were going to make that smile disappear and she didn't want to bear witness to the expression they would see in exchange for that smile. Her eyes followed the eldest boy as he sat down on the far side of the sofa, sitting on the edge with his back straight but his head tipped to the side. He didn't seem annoyed or anxious or even that happy, he looked unphased with a placid smile on his lips.

Ben tried to smile as he moved and sat on the arm of the chair (Y/n) was sitting on so he was next to her. He felt his anxiety dwindling down, if only for a few seconds when (Y/n) reached over and slipped her hand into his own to try and calm them both down.

"Alright, now none of you are in trouble, we just have a few things to tell you. The first thing is that (Y/n)'s going to be moving in with us next month."  Ben tightened his hand around (Y/n)'s as he felt like he was on a roller coaster coming up to the drop that he was so afraid of.

"Mum's coming to live here?" The excitement in Carter's voice and the way he and James seemed to straighten in their seats like they were now on red alert with excitement made (Y/n)'s heart swell despite the anxiety she felt. She had been staying with them quite a lot lately, she was barely ever at her house anyway. And now they were having a baby it was only logical that she live with them like she was practically doing already.

"As long as you're all okay with that." As (Y/n) spoke she couldn't help but keep her eyes on Finn because he was the only one who would be uneasy about her coming to live with them and if this was unsettling to him then it was going to become a problem. But the four year old tried his best to smile for roughly two seconds before he looked over at Ben with the same, wide eyed but calm expression he usually wore.

He was okay with that.

With a deep breath, Ben turned his head to look down at (Y/n) with a look in his eyes that asked if she was really okay with this. If she didn't want to do this now then he would come up with some excuse to say and they would wait until she was ready to tell them. But when (Y/n) smiled and leaned her head on his arm, they both knew it was now or never to tell the boys.

"The other thing we have to tell you is that me and (Y/n)... we're going to have a baby."

Ben found his eyes switching between James and Finn for their reactions whereas (Y/n)'s eyes solely focused on Carter. The toothy grin on James' face and the way he was hurriedly tangling his fingers together into knots showed this was some of the best news he had heard in a while. Finn looked up at Ben with an expression that showed he was uncertain how he should or even how he wanted to react to this news but he didn't look panicked or overwhelmed so Ben took a guess that Finn wasn't upset about this.

The moment Ben dared to look at his eldest boy, he didn't like what he saw.

Carter was silent, something which was never a good sign for him. His hands were knitted together in his lap but his knuckles were whiter than snow and his arms were so tense they started to shake. Ben could see Carter's teeth jutting back and forth and grating together and his face was slowly but surely turning the brightest shade of crimson from his anger and his lack of breathing.

"No."

That one word slipped past Carter's lips in such a silent whisper but everyone in the room had apprehension in their eyes when they looked over at him. Finn tensed up against the arm of the sofa like he wanted to disappear, James darted his eyes between Carter and Ben like he was doing morse code with his eyes for help, but (Y/n) and Ben both kept their eyes solely on Carter.

"Carter-"

"You can't have a baby, it's not fair. I don't want you to."

Ben was unsure who exactly Carter was directing his words at because he seemed to be looking in between (Y/n) and Ben in a way that showed he was too uncomfortable to have eye contact with either of them and that hurt Ben. But seeing his other two boys looking worried hurt him more and that wasn't fair. Finn had been scared enough by Carter when he got angry and James had gotten into enough scrapes with his big brother to last a lifetime.

"Boys, go up and play for a minute please." Ben scratched the back of his neck before leaning his head to the side to motion for James and Finn to leave the room so they didn't have to bear witness to an argument. Neither of them needed any encouraging to leave and disappeared within the blink of an eye.  "Carter, it's not your place to say if we can do this or not even if it upsets you. This isn't any different than when James or Finn were born."

Ben knew that with James, Carter didn't remember much about him being born but he did with Finn and he never reacted like this. He had been confused and a bit nervous which was what Ben had expected, but he had never been outright furious like this or demanded that they didn't have a baby.

"Yes it is! (Y/n)'s my mum, she's mine she said so, I don't want you to have another baby because you'll forget me and she won't be my mum anymore! Make it go away-"

"Stop it." Ben stood up when Carter jumped up from the sofa so they were both stood staring at one another with a foot of space between them that didn't look very safe to (Y/n). "You know that isn't how this works and we both know (Y/n) is still gonna be your mum, that won't ever change unless you want it to. If I'm James and Finn's dad does that mean I'm not your dad anymore?"

Ben knew Carter had every right to be upset but he really hated when Carter took to being spiteful to show how upset he was. It would feel so much easier and better if Carter just cried and said how he felt without having to be malicious because he thought he should. It really cut through Ben and it took a lot out of Ben not to be rude back when he knew that sometimes Carter said things to get a rise out of him. He made Ben angry so he was as angry as Carter felt, to show him how things made him feel but it wasn't always fair on Ben to do that.

"Carter, honey I'll still be your mum because I love you and a baby doesn't change that."

(Y/n) felt her heart constricting in her chest when Carter barely even looked at her but when his eyes did sweep over her frame, they were dark voids that told her he didn't believe what she was saying.

"No you won't! My other mum doesn't have another baby, neither does James' mum and dad said Finn's mummy won't ever have a baby because she's mean. You said you were my mum but you're replacing me because you don't want me anymore! Dad's the only one who wants me and he always sends me away."

Carter stomped his foot down to match the volume of his voice that was boarding on a scream of vengeance. Tears flushed his reddened face and his body started to shake from the adrenaline and pain coursing through his system. In Carter's mind, the other mothers he knew had one child just like his brother's mums and (Y/n) was no different. She couldn't be his mum and have a baby of her own because that would be replacing him and he was used to people being annoyed with him and not wanting him. He was sure that (Y/n) was having a baby because she didn't want him anymore.

He also knew that despite all the times he had been reassured and shown by Ben that Ben loved and wanted him, Ben sometimes had to send him to stay with his parents when he lashed out or became too much of a liability around the boys. In Carter's eyes Ben didn't want to deal with him and so he sent him away for a few days, he didn't see it as Ben protecting James and Finn or trying to curb Carter's attitude and let them all calm down and have a break.

"You know the rules Carter, if you hurt or scare your brothers you go to grandads because I can't let you do that. I never abandon you or send you away. If (Y/n) didn't want you why would she move in and look after you? She doesn't have to do that and neither do I, I don't have to look after you but I do because I love you. We both love you we're not replacing you."

"Then don't have another baby!"

(Y/n) dug her nails into her arms to stop herself from tearing up at how unsettled Carter was. Since the moment she suspected she was pregnant (Y/n) had only been worried about Ben's reaction, she never once considered that Carter would be even more cut up and unsettled by this. But he was now screaming to emphasise his point and he didn't care about the tears that were staining his cheeks and welling up in his eyes.

"That's not for you to decide-"

"It should be!"

"Really? Are you the one looking after this baby, feeding it, bringing it up, loving it? It's not your decision just like it wasn't when I had you or James or Finn so you don't have a choice in whether we have this baby or not.  I know you're upset and I understand that completely but you know this isn't a debate. You can't ask for us not to have this baby and think it will happen."

Ben knew this wasn't easy for Carter and it wasn't going to be something he could just accept completely like with James, but he was going about this in the completely wrong way. He couldn't demand they not have this baby and think it would work like that and he couldn't say this was his decision when it wasn't. He may want to make the decision himself but he knew he didn't get to choose if his parents had another baby or not, that wasn't up to him no matter how deeply he felt affected by this.

"Carter, sweetie I know you're worried we won't love you or have time for you but that has never happened with your dad, he's never not had the time to care for you or talk and listen to you. This time won't be any different."

(Y/n) stood up and walked over to Ben, feeling desperate to wrap her arms around Carter and tell him that it was going to be okay and that this wasn't going to change. But the look Ben gave her and the way he moved his arm out in front of (Y/n) showed that he didn't want her too close to Carter in case he lashed out. It was unnerving to Ben right now that Carter hadn't lashed out at him or himself, he had done well by only shouting right now and Ben was anticipating Carter to be physical at any moment.

"You're supposed to be my mum, you said you want to be my mum, so you can't have a baby. You'll be replacing me with your own baby you won't want or need me you'll love them more than me because I'm not yours!"

"Sweetie I don't want to replace you-"

"Yes you do I'm not stupid. You're like this with all the kids at school, you pretend and you act like their mum and you said you loved me but now you won't need me because you have dad and you have a baby. All mums leave, they're all cruel.

(Y/n) wrapped her arms around her chest as her teeth punctured her lower lip to stop herself from crying. She knew she couldn't take what he was saying to heart, Carter was doing what he thought he should because he was hurt and angry and the only way to express himself was to hurt everyone else so they knew what he felt. But his words hurt and now (Y/n) knew what Ben meant. Carter would be cruel, he would throw harsh words out there and expect to cut through people because he knew his words hurt almost as much as when he punched or kicked.

It made her wonder what kind of things Carter started to say to Ben when they were mad at each other.

"Don't talk to her like that!"

"Why not? I want a mum but she isn't my mum anymore she wants her own baby that she won't love because she's just like my mum! It's her job to pretend to be nice and pretend to love us she might not even love you."

"Your mum left you and me and it was her job to love you. (Y/n) doesn't have to love you she isn't your teacher at school and she doesn't have to be your mum so don't be so fucking rude." Ben pointed at Carter in a manner that usually made the eldest boy lean back and back down when he knew he was wrong. But this time Carter just sneered back at Ben like he was preparing for a fight.

Ben's words seemed to stump Carter for a moment but when his eyes darted to (Y/n), Ben knew his next words were going to be far from nice.

"Finn is scared of you, he hates you he won't even talk to you because he thinks you'll be mean to him and James only likes you because he is desperate for a mummy. You'll leave your baby just like every mum does."

(Y/n) didn't have a chance to overthink Carter's cruel words before the ten year old was suddenly lunging towards her. His hands curled into fists and he managed to bash one hand against (Y/n)'s shoulder and push her back when he leaned into her with a bit of force before Ben jumped between them. Ben's arms wrapped like wire around Carter's waist like he was going to rugby tackle him to the ground but instead he picked Carter up and hurriedly moved to the other side of the room.

Ben could handle Carter lashing out at him and he always got James and Finn out of the room if Carter was about to have an episode but he never thought he would go for (Y/n) like that. He seemed so attached to her and he always tried to be on his best behaviour around (Y/n), she brought out the best side in him. Ben wouldn't tolerate Carter going for his brothers and he certainly wasn't having him go for (Y/n) when she hadn't done anything wrong.

A violent scream left Carter's lips as he doubled over to try and get out of Ben's hold but he couldn't when Ben deadlocked one arm around Carter's middle and the other around his neck, pinning his son against him.

The ten year old stomped his heels against the floor until pins and needles shot through his legs and up to his spine and he threw his head back into Ben's shoulder but he knew well enough to know anything he did to Ben wouldn't get him out of this. Ben worked as a transporter, he was used to people trying to escape custody or attack him and he was trained in self defence. He had pinned Carter down before, he had restrained him by the wrists, the arms and held him in deadlock until he calmed down more times than he could count. Each time Carter never won but he always tried.

(Y/n) pressed her hand to her mouth when Carter tipped his chin into his neck and suddenly clenched his teeth down into Ben's arm. The amount of force he used to bite Ben made Ben's frame tense and his head tip back. (Y/n) could see his teeth crunching together like ice grating on ice and and the vein in his neck pulsed as he managed not to shout or even groan in pain.

Not wanting to stand by and watch, (Y/n) regained her ability to move and quickly hurried over but she stopped short when Ben locked eyes with her and violently shook his head. Carter shouldn't be around anyone but Ben right now because Ben was the only person he could hurt and get away with it. He knew Ben wouldn't let him hurt anyone else.

"If you want to breathe you pack that shit in right now." Ben tightened his arm around Carter's neck and moved it until his elbow was at the front of his neck allowing Carter a small space to breathe but making it hard enough that he would stop biting.

The moment Carter stopped biting Ben's arm (Y/n) could see a steady stream of blood on his arm and the puncture and indentation marks were evident and clearly going to bruise. She had seen Ben with bite marks and scratches from Carter but this was very bad.

"Now you listen to me very carefully Carter Alec Jones. I don't care that you've just bitten a chunk out of my arm but I care very much that you've just hit the one person who's never upset you, hurt you, told you off or gotten mad at you for anything and still loved you despite all the shit that happens with you. So if you fucking dare to go for your mum like that again I'll do more than put you in a choke hold."

For a few moments Carter screamed and writhed around to try and get out of Ben's grasp but once Ben's words seemed to settle in his mind he stopped writhing and tried to listen to what was being said.

"You're coming for a drive with me, you will sit in the back on your own and I'll strap you in that fucking harness if you dare piss about even once. You will not be back in this house until I know you won't go for your mum or your brothers and I don't care if you scream for the whole drive. You can be upset about us having a baby, you can cry about it and you can talk to me properly about it without being so fucking hurtful but you cannot lash out at your mum or tell us we can't have a baby if this is what we want. Do you think you can do that?"

Ben didn't want to have to make (Y/n) take James and Finn out the house so Carter could calm down, it was more fair to them to take Carter out until he calmed down. But he wasn't sitting in the front in case he tried to mess around and Ben had a harness he used to have to put Carter in when he was younger so he didn't have a tantrum in the car.

If Carter wanted to talk about this then Ben was fine with that but he couldn't go around hurting anyone or screaming the house down and lashing out violently and with his words. That wasn't how Ben wanted or had tried to raise him.

"Right, go put your shoes on." Ben released Carter but held the scruff of his neck so he could guide him over to the hall just to make sure he didn't get any ideas about still lashing out. "Are you okay?" Advancing over to (Y/n), Ben cautiously wrapped his arms around her, feeling his heart hammering away in his chest when (Y/n) brushed her fingers over the bite mark on his arm that was still bleeding rather badly.

"Don't be too harsh on him, he didn't mean it he's hurting."

"I don't want him to think he can lash out at you when he feels upset, I've had him punch me when he gets in a state and he's never gone for you before. It's not gonna click in his mind that he could hurt you or the baby if he punches or hits you until he does it and I snap at him for it."

It was alright that Carter never went for (Y/n) before but if he didn't connect the dots that hurting (Y/n) could hurt the baby Ben had to drill it into his head now so that nothing like this or worse would happen.

"Let me talk to him later, when he knows I'm not mad and he understands we still love him things will be better."

With a sigh, (Y/n) wrapped her arms around Ben's middle and buried her face in his chest, feeling her anxiety dull down slightly when she felt him pressing his lips to the top of her head. Even though this had gone exactly how they guessed it would and it wasn't very good right now, things were going to get better.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #dad! ben #imagine #BoRhap #gwilym lee #gwilym imagine #teachers pet

[not-close-to-straight]

Lost and Found (Thirteen)

Tony’s Birthday Party!

MASTERLIST HERE

************

The night of Tony’s birthday party, the Malibu house was lit from the inside out, the doors and walls opened up to make room for the DJ and the dance floor, the walk out balconies and pool patio swirling under colorful projectors, and the driveway lined with lanterns and spotlights. Cars were already jamming up the neighborhood roads as drivers with backseats full of party goers waited their turn to drop off clients at the front doors, and around back the last of the delivery vans had finally finished unloading cases of overpriced alcohol and celebratory champagne for Tony’s birthday toast. 

The music was thumping, the lights pulsing, the carefully planned and outrageously priced decorations already in danger of being ruined by a too tipsy stumble or general drunken shenanigans and everybody was hyped to spend the night celebrating the birthday boy…

...except the birthday boy himself. 

Despite the lights pouring in from the rest of the house, Tony’s bedroom was still mostly dark. He’d opened the windows to try and breathe the cool night air, but outside already smelled like overly expensive cologne and nearly smothering perfume. The ocean was right there, right at the bottom of the cliffs, but the crash of waves was muffled beneath the sound of the party. The stars were most likely bright, but the spotlights from the driveway reflected past Tony’s window and overshadowed them with a wash of color and the full moon stayed hidden behind a passing cloud.

Tony sat slumped in his favorite chair swirling ice around a glass of nearly empty soda, suit jacket carelessly open and tie still somewhere on the bed, eyes blank and jaw tense as Natalie moved silently around his room picking out cuff links, a watch, and a compact of make up to hide the worst of Tony’s Monaco bruises. 

It was supposed to be Pepper helping him tonight, Pepper who had always carefully coordinated his outfits so his socks matched the pocket square and the pin-striping on his shirt and the cuff links she had made for each birthday. It was supposed to be Pepper reminding him to behave for the love of God and no Tony, you don’t need a speedo under tear away pants, you are a billionaire not a Chippendales dancer. Pepper who was supposed to click her tongue and fix his tie but instead it was Natalie with her barely there smiles and enigmatic eyes and unnerving ability to look right through him. 

“You don’t seem particularly excited for your birthday.” Natalie perched on the arm of Tony’s chair and tilted his chin up to dab concealer at his brow line. “Something on your mind?” 

“I feel like you know the answer to that question already.” Tony grimaced when she probed at a particularly tender spot. “Since you seem to know everything else, including a dead language, how to put Happy on his ass, and the exact moment I’m having a melt down.” 

He raised an eyebrow challengingly but Natalie only hmmm’d and kept cleaning him up, so Tony finally blew out a breath and admitted, “I don’t know anyone down there. Two hundred people at my house tonight and other than Pepper and Rhodey I wouldn’t be able to pick any of them out of a line up. It’s not so much intimidating as it is sorta depressing. House full of strangers.” 

“Not uncommon for someone as famous as you.” Natalie countered, and pushed back a lock of Tony’s hair to get to his forehead. “An event like this is attended by either good-time acquaintances who don’t mean anything to any of us, or full of schemers and plan-makers looking for a chink in our armor and a weakness in our psyche. Which would you rather it be?” 

“Would it be so much to ask that it’s full of friends?” 

“Do you have any friends, Stark?”

“Touche.” Tony caught the almost fleeting flinch of apology on the redhead’s implacable expression, and waved it off. “Don’t worry. Not the worst thing that’s been said about me. Sorry you’ve been relegated to babysitting duty, by the way. This can’t be fun for you.” 

“Is that what this is?” Natalie snapped the compact shut and put it back on the dresser. “Babysitting duty? Ms. Potts told me to simply assist you with whatever you needed to be ready for your birthday party.” 

“Yeah.” Tony scratched at his chin idly. “That’s Pepper-speak for ‘you’re on babysitting duty’.” 

“Do you usually require a babysitter at your own birthday party?” Natalie held up two watches, and Tony pointed towards the one he wanted. “I would say you’ve been remarkably self restrained this evening considering there’s several thousand dollars worth of alcohol downstairs.” 

“I don’t drink as much as I used to.” Tony swirled his soda glass again. “Also, last year I gave a lap dance to the British Ambassador’s wife and nearly started an international incident, which is probably why Pepper left any dignitaries off the list this year and why I’ve decided to leave the hard alcohol to everyone else.” 

Natalie visibly tried to smother a smile, but it escaped as a smirk anyway. “Well, if that’s the case, I prefer the term nanny. It pays much more than babysitter.” 

“Oh, is Pepper not paying you enough?” Tony waved off Natalie’s help and fastened the watch around his wrist. “Cos I can talk to her about that. I know she’s the CEO but I feel like I still have some influence on Stark Industry things. It’s my name on the building after all.” 

“I saw your paycheck last week.” Natalie held up Tony’s jacket and he stood to shrug into it. “You are officially the mechanic of Stark Industries and I don’t think mechanics have any say in CEO dealings.” 

“The mechanic.” Tony smiled a little. “I’m okay with that. 

The jacket fit looser than it had only a few months ago when Pepper had it made, the waist at the pants a little baggy instead of perfectly tailored so Tony went to find a belt. “Natalie?” 

Natalie’s eyes narrowed when she saw the belt, narrowed further when she saw how tight Tony had to cinch it. “What else can I do for you, Mr. Stark?” 

“You could call me Tony, for one.” Tony smoothed his shirt down and wet his lips anxiously, chest tightening in near grief as he thought about all the last things he’d been checking off his list lately. “If uh-- if this was your last birthday, what would you do?” 

“My last birthday?” 

“Okay not-- not your last birthday. Maybe that was a bad example,” Tony glanced over Natalie’s shoulder when the door opened and James peeked his head around. “If you wanted to make this birthday extra special or extra memorable. What would you do?” 

“Oh.” Natalie’s smile almost seemed sad as she brushed the lint from Tony’s lapel. “Well if I wanted an extra memorable birthday, I’d simply do whatever I want, with whoever I wanted and not care what anyone thought about it.” 

“Have anybody particularly in mind?” Tony swallowed when James stepped all the way into the room, damn near breath taking in his custom fit dark blue suit, silver fingers gleaming out from beneath the tailored cuffs. “For that memorable birthday?” 

“Someone I can never have.” It was a startlingly vulnerable admission from the usually unreadable woman, Natalie’s lips curving up even as her eyes dimmed in sadness. “But it doesn’t matter, I don’t celebrate my birthday anyway. Far too busy dodging whip wielding maniacs in exotic locations while trying not to snap a high heel with my new employer.” 

Tony finally looked back at Natalie, cocking his head curiously. “You don’t seem the type to worry about snapped high heels. In fact, you seem like the type to break them on purpose and use the pieces as a weapon.” 

“Well you don’t seem the type to make small talk with a secretary when there is someone far more interesting waiting to speak with you.” she countered smoothly, then stepped away and clasped her hands. “Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” 

“...that will be all, Ms. Rushman.” 

Natalie excused herself quietly, and even though Tony frowned when he saw her give James a wide wide berth at the door, the frown immediately softened and disappeared when James pushed the door mostly closed and crossed the room to lay a sweet kiss on Tony’s lips. 

“Hey.” James’s smile was just a tiny bit goofy when he pulled away. “Happy birthday Tony.” 

“Yeah.” Tony cleared his throat and offered the soldier an almost equally goofy smile. “Happy birthday to me. Wow.” 

“Wow, y’self.” James drawled, looking Tony over with an appreciative light in his pale eyes. “You look beautiful.” 

“Beautiful?” Tony repeated skeptically, but James didn’t miss a beat, brushing his knuckles lightly just lightly over Tony’s cheek and nodding. 

“Beautiful. Sure do like you in a suit.” Then with a flash of devilish, “Sure do like ya out of a suit, too.” 

“I gotta say, I’m a big fan of the way you get all--” Tony made a motion over James as he turned to the bar to refill his drink. “--flirty and Brooklyn sometimes. Big fan and I hope it goes on all night long. But before we get into that--” 

“--that?” 

“--anything about flirting.” Tony corrected with a faint blush, and James’s heart skipped a beat or two seeing the flush of pink. Fuckin’ beautiful. “Before we get into that or into the birthday party or anything, I think we should talk about what happened at Secretary Pierce’s party.” 

James stiffened almost imperceptibly, shoulders straightening and jaw setting, but he shook it off and tried to relax again even though the touch of drawl was gone from his words when he replied, “It’s fine, Tony. We don’t need to talk about it.” 

“We do.” Tony corrected-- or started to correct, but it caught in his throat when he saw the blood toxicity monitor still at the bar, the screen thankfully blank but it’s presence alone enough to make his stomach twist. “We uh-- shit. No, we do need to talk about it because--” 

Just put it away, it’s just a monitor. Just a number. It’s my birthday, I should just put it away and think about different things like how good James looks in that color. 

Keep it together, Stark. 

“--because I’ve been pretty MIA lately and I don’t want you to think I didn’t notice what he was doing to you.” Tony swept the monitor off the counter and back behind the bar for later. He could find it later. “Pierce was being a prick and I don’t know why but don’t ah-- don’t think I haven’t been around the last couple days because I was mad or anything.” 

Yuck, Tony didn’t really like apologizing for anything and especially not for being too busy for the normal relationship bullshit, but this wasn’t really a normal relationship-- if it could be called a relationship at all-- and maybe if he had started apologizing for things like going incommunicado before right now, karma wouldn’t have deemed it necessary to strike him down via poisoning and his mind slowly failing him and--

--keep it together, Stark. 

“I missed you.” Tony said instead of everything else, and that was definitely more honest than he meant to be but it was worth it because James’s relieved smile stretched from ear to ear. “And I’m sorry about movie night last night. I know we were supposed to hang out but I went to bed early. Sorry.” 

“I missed you too, was weird not to see you after seeing you so much--” pointedly, and Tony flushed again. “--th’last few days.” James took the soda Tony handed him, glad the conversation had steered away from Pierce and the way the man had made the uncomfortable crawl up James’s spine and clamor at the back of his head. “You did make it to movie night by the way, you were just so tired after meeting with Colonel Rhodes you fell asleep before the openin’ credits finished.” 

“I woke up in bed.” Tony pointed out, and James admitted, “Cos I carried you in here. You were all tuckered out.” 

“Tuckered out.” Tony repeated with a chuckle. “Oh man, I love that. Well, thank you.” 

“Ain’t no thing, Tony.” There was the Brooklyn again, easy and smooth and feeling natural the more often it slipped into James’s speech. It had been happening a lot lately around Tony-- easier words and looser laughter and a nearly foreign urge to be gentle, a long buried want to be sweet and maybe even tender. Tony made James want to be tender and that wasn’t a word James had thought he knew a few weeks ago. 

Gentle and tender which only made the knowledge and instincts about killing and murder and cold, purposeful mayhem all the worse. 

But James didn’t want to think about all that right now because right now Tony was coming back towards him and holding up a set of cuff links for James’s shirt, mentioning how he thought they would look nice and laughing about how James couldn’t be the only person at the party with cuff links. Tony was laughing and talking and faking it, changing the subject from Pierce or whatever had gone on in the closed door meetings with Colonel Rhodes and Pepper that led to him being so exhausted. Faking it and not quite lying but coming close enough that it hurt James’s heart just a little bit. 

Tony shouldn’t be faking anything when it was just them, when they’d already been vulnerable and danced together and everything else together and held hands in public leaving the party the other day. 

Tony shouldn’t be faking anything, even if James loved his smile and the way his eyes crinkled up at the corners with a grin and how pretty Tony’s mouth was.

He makes me tender. 

Tony was stressed despite the smile, stressed despite the crinkles, stressed despite how gorgeous red his mouth was in the lamplight. Whatever Colonel Rhodes had been yelling about from behind the lab doors was stressing Tony out. Whatever reason Pepper had for leaving a boardroom discussion in tears was stressing Tony out. The growing noise from the party downstairs and the constant honking from the still-coming line of cars in the drive was stressing Tony out and James hated it. 

Fuck, he makes me tender. 

“What if we just don’t do this, sweet thing.” James stilled Tony’s hand at his wrist because it was the fourth time the link had slipped and Tony was starting to look frustrated. “No cuff links, no fancy clothes. No party.” 

"There’s two hundred people downstairs.” Tony closed his eyes for a minute to concentrate, then tried the cuff links again. “Enough alcohol to get the whole of New Jersey absolutely sloshed. I ordered caviar, and by me, I mean Pepper and by caviar I mean so many fancy foods, Pepper would actually kill me dead if I cancelled the party and she lost all that money.” 

“Tony.” 

“Besides, this is a big deal. Big blow out for my birthday? It’s the tabloid event of the year, the women wear all sorts of crazy dresses they got from insane designers and set the summer fashion line based on whatever they are still wearing by the end of the night. Business deals are struck and I’m pretty sure a few pregnancies happen and I-- I can’t cancel it.” 

Tony was rambling now, voice shaking and head shaking as he kept going. “I can’t cancel it. It will be fun, we just have to get in the mood is all. I know it might be hard on you getting pushed into this sort of thing but hey, it’s like Monaco without the villain. Better food, better drink, no bad guys. It will be fun. I promise.” 

Tony was faking it again, almost lying again. Stressed and slipping, rambling and unable to concentrate and James shuffled closer so he was looming over Tony, non threatening but wholly protective and not going to be ignored. 

“Tony.” he lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Tony, what if we just don’t? You don’t want to be here anyway, I can see it in your eyes, same way you didn’t want to be at Pierce’s party or in the crowd at Monaco. So maybe don’t cancel the party but what if you and me just leave?” 

“Just leave?” Tony’s throat jerked as he swallowed. “Seriously?” 

“We could slip out the back door.” James offered. “That feels like somethin’ I used to do-- shirk responsibilities and get lost doin’ other things instead, maybe ditching school or church and playing a prank. Bet I’m good at disappearing without anyone noticing, so let’s just go.” 

“Kiddo James was a trouble maker, huh?” Tony finally smiled a tiny bit. “Well, where would we go?” 

“Don’t think it matters.” James reached for Tony’s hand and wound their fingers together, squeezing lightly. “Let’s get lost for a little bit, you and me.” 

“Lost.” Tony looked down at their hands, then out the window where the waves were lapping silver against the beach. “Yeah, I could be okay with lost.” 

******************

It was sort of embarrassingly easy to steal a few trays of food from the party and a couple bottles of wine. It certainly said something about the assembled guests if they didn’t notice the birthday boy and a massive, silver armed soldier sneaking around the edges of the room and making off with piles of food and alcohol, something about how they had only come for the prestige and photo opportunities rather than to celebrate Tony himself. 

But tonight both Tony and James were glad for the anonymity, Tony relieved to escape the crowd without being accosted by well wishing strangers, James relieved to hold onto Tony’s hand as they hurried down the back stairs and towards the sandy stretch. 

The party had really kicked off by now, the DJ turning the music up and the shouts carrying down from the house and into the night air, but Tony tucked the drinks beneath one arm and held onto James with the other to pick his way across the uneven ground to a tucked away area sheltered from the worst of the noise by a rocky outcropping. It was sandy and soft, big enough to stretch out but close enough to dip their toes in the water and Tony balanced the bottles on a couple flat rocks while James spread the food out around on the other side. 

Down here the music and noise got lost in the sound of the waves, the party lights finally fading as the last of the clouds drifted away from the moon and when all they could hear was wind, Tony finally exhaled a sigh of relief and let the tension bleed out from his shoulders. 

“...this was a good idea.” 

Pants were rolled up to calves, expensive jackets shucked, cuff links and ties balled up in the sleeves so they wouldn’t get lost. Bare toes met cool sand and when Tony opened the wine and offered the first drink to James, the soldier tipped it back and took a long swallow straight from the bottle, then grinned a crooked, “Happy birthday, Tony.” 

“Happy birthday to me.” Tony took the bottle back and drank deep from it as well, wiped his mouth and turned to say--

--nothing, cos James met him halfway in a sweet, slow kiss that was somehow infinitely more exciting than the pile of presents waiting upstairs. 

“Yeah.” Tony licked his lips and grinned. “Happy birthday to me.” 

The caviar was delicious even though James choked on the first bite when Tony mentioned how much it cost. Maple caramelized figs with topped with bacon had them licking their fingers and Tony split his sides laughing when James tried an oyster and declared it ‘went down like a giant booger’.

“I don’t want to know how you know what a giant booger tastes like.” Tony informed the soldier, and tossed away the first bottle of wine to open a second. “Please don’t ever say that again.” 

“Don’t try and feed me it, then.” James retorted suspiciously, and pushed the oysters off to the side to eat more of the deviled eggs instead. 

The trays of snacks emptied quickly as they traded bites back and forth, tossed lighter pieces in the air and tried to catch them, started and finished another bottle of wine that didn’t seem to affect James at all but turned Tony into a rumpled, giggled adorable mess. 

It was easy and it was relaxed, much better than the party upstairs and despite the lack of noise or party goers, much more fun than the planned event ever could have been. When the teasing conversation comfortably waned, James and Tony just listened to the faint music and the louder crash of the waves, each lost in their own thoughts, each acutely aware of the man next to him, each wholly comfortable being lost so long as the had each other for company.

Easy. 

Tony broke the silence first, crumbling an avocado toast wedge between his fingers and mentioning, “My Mama never liked Alexander Pierce. She always complained about needing an extra long shower to wash the oil away whenever he’d come over for dinner. Said he was slimy.” 

“Ma’s always know best.” A flash of someone warm filtered through James’s mind, the name Minnie--no, Winnie?-- and a beautiful smile. “What was your Mama’s name?” 

“Maria.” Tony scooped the filling from a deviled egg and ate it off his fingers. “Maria della famiglia Carbonell.” 

“Italian.” Why did James know that?

“Yep.” Tony tossed James the white of the egg and chuckled when the soldier promptly ate it. “Italian. Every bit as beautiful and fierce as all the stereotypes and at least twice as funny as anyone ever thought. She taught me to play the piano and also the best place to stab someone if they got too close to you.” 

James barked a surprised laugh and Tony smiled fondly. “She even taught me to mend my own clothes just in case I ever found myself in a position where our billions of dollars couldn’t buy me a new shirt.” 

Tony’s hand when to his chest when he thought of Afghanistan and how he’d wished for his Mama’s guidance in the cave. “She was perfect. An angel.” 

“And your Pa?” 

“Howard. You know about him already.” Tony grabbed at some sand and let it run through his fingers. “Brilliant. Genius. Cut-throat. I never once thought I’d miss the bastard but here I am wondering if he’d be proud of the way I’m handling all his sins.” 

Bitterness creeping into the words, and James frowned, “His sins?” 

“The guy in Monaco.” Tony hadn’t meant to bring Monaco up tonight, not for his birthday and certainly not when they were sitting in the moonlight at the beach, but it was too late now. “Turns out his dad worked with my dad back in the day on the arc reactor. There were some probably sketchy accusations, some definitely sketchy behavior afterwards and here we are decades later. I’m dealing with Vanko’s sort of rightfully pissed off son and I had no clue until Rhodey sat me down and walked me through it.” 

“That’s what you’ve been meeting with him about.” 

“That and the Iron Man thing you’re still being really calm about.” Tony slanted a sideways look at James. “You really don’t have any questions about how I suit up and save the world on a weekly basis?” 

“Dunno.” James lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “For some reason it seems like Iron Man isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever heard of. Can’t explain it.” And after a beat, “Besides, don’t change who you are, right? You’re still Tony.” 

“I’m still Tony.” He smiled a little bit and they were quiet again, working through another bottle of wine. 

By the time Tony spoke again the words were a little slurred, “By the way, I like when you call me sweet thing.” 

“Oh yeah?” James leaned back on one elbow, then shifted to his side so he could see Tony better. “Why’s that?” 

“I don’t think any of my other--” Tony made a vague motion. “--relationships or hook ups or anything like that called me nicknames. Or pet names. Nothing other than Tony. One time a date called me Daddy and asked to be spanked--” wine came out James’s nose and Tony grinned. “But not sweet thing. Or sweet heart. I like it. Like them both.” 

He cleared his throat, brushed a little sand off his pants. “Keep calling me it?” 

James hooked his finger under Tony’s chin and brought him down for a gentle kiss, “Oh sure thing, sweet thing.” and Tony scrunched his nose in delight. 

“Imagine that, I like everything about those words.” James laughed at him and Tony budged closer for another kiss, half delirious with the thrill of their hidden, almost innocent moment. “How um-- how old were you for your first kiss?” 

“You know I don’t know that.” James protested lightly and Tony mumbled in agreement. “But you’re the one I remember, so I guess you count as the first. What about you?” 

“Oh I’ve been kissing since I was old enough to smile at pretty girls.” Tony quipped. “Pre-school. Kindergarten. All of it. Everyone wanted to kiss me. I had rosy cheeks and curly hair and had the finger guns and winks down by age four. I was a real ladies man.” 

“Finger guns?” James asked, and when Tony mimed the motion, he snorted, “That’s dumb, Tony. People like that?” 

“Everyone likes finger guns, James.” Tony retorted, and dropped one eye in a wink and pew-pew’ed at the soldier. “See? Doesn’t that make you want to kiss me?” 

“Hell sugar, everything makes me want to kiss you.” James decided and Tony had to look away so he wouldn’t be so obviously smitten over such a sweet comment. “When was the first time you kissed a fella, Tony?” 

“Christ, I love how you talk.” Tony gulped back some wine. “Not that I don’t find the pissed Russian thing you do super hot, but the Brooklyn thing just does it for me.” 

He was drunk for the first time since before Afghanistan, the liquor going straight to his head and making his tongue loose and Tony fell back in the sand to look up at the stars as he answered, “I’ve never kissed a fella. Not before you.” 

“What?” 

“Remember how I rambled on about twenty five years of camping out in the closet and how my Dad said a bunch of stuff and sometimes it's all I hear in my head?” Tony nodded towards to the sky. “Yeah well, that all came around cos I tried to be with a guy one time. I was young and drunk and he was older and a creep but it was college so I figured, why the hell not?” 

“...what happened?” James’s left hand clenched into a fist, a surge of rage nearly black filling his soul. “Tony, what happened?” 

“Nothing that would make you go all murdery right now.” Tony turned onto his side so they were facing each other and patted at James’s hand. “I got in over my head and panicked, I told you how my Ma taught me self defense? I ran all the way back to me and Rhodey’s room and made him promise never to say anything to anyone and it wasn’t until later that I realized I'd never even been kissed. Had only gone far enough to start getting pants off but somehow we skipped the kiss altogether.” 

Tony tapped at James’s fingers idly. “Glad for it now. Kissing you is way better.” 

Christ James loved how Tony was soft and sweet like this, tipsy and loose, eyes shining, lips and tongue stained red from the wine. He was beautiful always, but more beautiful tonight on his birthday, in the moonlight, admitting that kissing James was better. 

James knew he had been the best at several things in the past, but all of them felt like bad things, like dangerous things and things he shouldn’t brag about being the best at. 

But kissing Tony? 

“C’mere, sweet thing.” James pulled Tony in for one kiss and then another, shifting closer across the sand until their knees knocked and their feet twisted up, breath coming faster as their mouths met and lingered, lips parted and tongues tangled and when Tony broke apart to gasp, “Every teen summer rom com was right, kissing at the beach is the best.” James admitted, “Don’t know if I ever saw a teen movie, but I sure agree about the kissing part.” 

The embrace stretched slow and languid until James moved to spread their coats on the sand, rolled onto his back and brought Tony down onto his chest so their hands could wander and bodies could move slow and easy together, reveling in the syrupy slow arousal building between them

Tony had never imagined a moment like this would ever be possible for him. Not after college, not after Howard, not after years of being himself and now that he was Iron Man. Moments like this weren’t possible for people like him, but here he was anyway, smiling into a kiss and getting ahold of frankly ridiculous muscles and for the first time in forever, Tony was lost in a moment he didn’t want to ever end. 

A moment like this wasn’t possible and yet…

“You sure taste sweet, sugar.” James murmured into his ear and Tony tucked his head into the soldier’s big chest and snuggled in close. “Yeah, c’mere. I’ve got you.” 

“Mmmm.” Tony sighed when James’s hands landed low on his hips, rubbed comfortable circles into his lower back. “This might be the tamest birthday I’ve ever had.” 

“Disappointed?” 

“Not in the slightest.” 

Tony fell asleep curled up in James’s arms and the soldier stayed awake holding him close for a long time after, mind and heart racing. 

He should be drunk after several bottles of wine, but he wasn’t even the littlest bit tipsy. Tony had stopped acting stressed out, but their night together hadn’t quite erased the worry furrows on his brows. Iron Man was on James’s mind a lot more often than he wanted to admit, but it was only because the thought of something happening to Tony made the part of James that ached to be tender hurt in an awful way. 

He couldn’t be tender when Tony was in danger, no he had to be the person that had nearly killed Natalie the other day, the person that had come close to ripping Vanko apart with his bare hands. 

And then there were the black lines at Tony’s reactor that the genius never wanted to talk about but James knew were getting bigger, longer, stretching thicker across the scarred skin and marring the gorgeous body. It couldn’t be good, that sort of thing was never good and James’s heart sank to his toes the longer he thought about it. 

Tony was hiding things from him, things James maybe didn’t have the right to know yet but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t find out soon, it might be too late. 

He had just barely found Tony, and was still in the process of finding himself. The bad days were further and further in between, the moments where he snapped into something horrifying less and less extreme and every kiss shared with Tony brought James one step closer towards himself, he just knew it, he could feel it in his soul. 

So why did it feel like everything was going to be taken away before he was ready to let--

“You okay?” Tony stirred in his arms. “James?” 

“Real swell, sweet thing.” James whispered and Tony smiled sleepily, “I love when you talk old timey.” 

“Go back to sleep.” James kissed Tony’s forehead and finally closed his eyes too, letting the sound of the water and wind calm his thoughts again. 

There would always be time to worry later. 

Tonight he wanted to lay here and wonder if he remembered what it felt like to be in love…

….or if this was the first time he’d ever been ready to say the words.

*************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

(for the record, neither @striving-artist nor I can believe no one caught Brock Rumlow last chapter mentioning being worried about interference from ‘big and blond’.... *cue dramatic music, anyone?*) **************

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#ncts fics #winteriron #tony stark #bucky barnes

[moonflowerlesbians]

I took a quick break from prompts to write 5000 words of pure angst. I hope you’ll forgive me. 

“we let precious time go by”

Read on AO3.

Summary: “The day will come when she returns to an empty flat, or she’ll wake to a cold pillow beside her. If she’s lucky, she’ll be there when the beast pounces. She’ll get to say goodbye. 

A piece of her will die that day, she knows. 

Dani will die that day.”

Word Count: 5088

They live together thirteen years after Bly. Thirteen wonderful years in a little flat in a small town in Vermont that looks like the spirit of Christmas itself retched on every building in the wintertime. They sell poinsettias and wreaths of holly for the holidays and budding perennials in the warmer months. They find the cheapest grocer, the best plumber, the man who drives into town selling fresh eggs on Wednesdays.

They befriend an elderly woman with three toy poodles, who stops by The Leafling every Sunday morning before mass to purchase flowers for her late husband’s grave, and they try not to think of Hannah. The daycare center three doors down marches the children to the park twice a day, right past the shop, and they try not to think of Rebecca and the Wingraves. They learn the quickest route to their favorite take-away place by heart, and they try not to think of Owen.

It’s hard, though, when your world’s been shattered and everyone else is carrying on as if nothing’s happened. But, thirteen years go by, and they manage. They manage, even as Dani becomes a bit less like herself every day, and Jamie struggles to pretend everything is fine. She pretends not to notice when she finds a sock in the freezer or Dani’s toothbrush between the couch cushions. Pretends not to notice when the lines on Dani’s face grow deeper, etched into her fair skin like stone, and she pretends not to notice when Dani wakes in the dead of night to gaze out the window for hours on end, then returns to bed as if she never left.

She’d brought it up with Dani over dinner. She had grasped Dani’s hand ever so gently, running a soothing thumb over the knuckles. Dani looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Maybe she hadn’t. A tear tracked down her cheek and dropped onto her lap.

“Please, love, please let me help,” Jamie had begged, and she had never meant anything more in her life, save the night she had accepted Dani’s ring.

Dani had observed her sadly, centuries of knowledge weighing heavy behind her eyes. “You can’t.”

“Please, Dani.” She hadn’t meant to break down, she hadn’t. She had meant to be strong, a steadfast rock in a stormy sea.

“Jamie…” Dani’s voice had been soft, resigned. “It’s her.” She looked down at her clasped hands, as if unwilling to bear witness the damage sure to show on Jamie’s face.

This was meant to be dinner, a question about a frozen sock, an easy explanation. Just a little swamped with the shop’s finances. A natural remedy she had read about in a magazine. Not this. Anything but this.

Jamie had known the day might come, when the memories they’d repressed would reappear to haunt them like Peter fucking Quint. She had hoped with every fibre of herself that the ghastly woman from that terrible night at the lake would slumber for decades yet.

Christ, how long had the Lady been awake? How long had Dani kept this from her?

Dani had seemed to sense her question. She’d become too good at that as of late.

“Only a few months.”

A few months.

Jamie’s lips had tightened into a thin line, and she forced herself to swallow back a sob, eyes closed.  

“Dani, why-?”

Why didn’t you tell me?

Why now?

Why this?

Why them?

“You don’t deserve this,” Dani had said, and Jamie’s heart shattered. “It’s my burden, not yours--”

“No. No, no--”

“--I can’t ask you to take this on. I invited her in; I condemned myself, not you.”

“Stop, Dani, stop.”

“Jamie, please…” Dani had sounded so small, so broken. “You have to go.”

“No,” Jamie had refused outright. “Never.”

“Then me. I’ll leave.”

“No one is going bloody anywhere.” Jamie had been steely calm, even as her ribcage threatened to break with the effort. “You and I are staying right fucking here. You hear me, Dani? Right here.” She hadn’t been able to hide the crack on the final syllable. Her ring caught the warm glow of the kitchen light.

Jamie took a steadying breath. “When you came home with that wee plant, you know what I thought? I thought, ‘ah, shite, she’s gone and found another lost cause.’” Here, Jamie had given a small smile. “‘And I bloody love her for it.’”

Dani wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Haven’t got a clue how you always see the possibility in everything. No one’s too far gone to save with you around, Poppins. It’s exhausting, really,” Jamie had continued. “I took your ring, and I’ve never regretted it. Not once, yeah? Not once. I knew what I signed up for: lovin’ you, relentless optimism an’ all.” Her laugh had been watery. “So, we’re not goin’ anywhere. It’s us, yeah? Always has been, always will be.”

So Dani had stayed. And Jamie redoubled her efforts to support her.

She runs the errands on the evenings where the dark feels all too familiar and returns to Dani huddled beneath a fleece blanket. She wraps Dani in her arms and soothes the nightmares away with feather-light kisses. She’s there in every way she can be, never pressing, never rushing, and never letting Dani see just how utterly terrified she is.

To tell Dani would be to ruin the careful dynamic they’ve reached. Dani is scattered, rain moving with the wind; Jamie has to be grounded, a stake dug deep into the earth. But the slopes grow muddier the longer the rain pours, and dirt washes away, gone like a rushing stream. Jamie knows she can’t keep this up forever. She’s already lost so much, and her most important person is fading fast, swept up in the rising current.

She loves Dani to the stars and back. Which is why Jamie must bear this load alone. Dani is already carrying the sky on her shoulders, and Jamie cannot burden her with this.

Call her stupid, call her noble. She calls it mercy.

She knows she’s pulling the same shit Dani did not telling her that Her Royal Lakeness was stirring. She knows, and she resents herself for it. She also knows that Dani would look at her with such guilt for causing Jamie strife. Dani would try to mask her hurt to spare her wife, and Jamie’s gut wrenches at the thought. Her brow would crinkle, lips pursed, and Jamie would yearn to kiss the stress from her face.

Jamie is rewarded for her silence. Dani is getting better about vocalizing her nightmares, telling Jamie when the Lady makes an appearance as she slumbers. They embrace beneath the covers and speak between labored breaths, where Dani finally caves and Jamie does her best to hide the way she’s become afraid of the dark. She murmurs reassurances and tells herself they’re for Dani, pressing kisses into her forehead.

Dani sleeps tucked into Jamie’s side as though it’s enough to ward off the ghosts, a formidable wall against things that go bump in the night. She sleeps, and Jamie lies awake. Her defense is slipping. She can’t keep them both afloat.

She can try. She can hold out as long as Dani will have her. She will. She doesn’t know anything else. Jamie swears, she swears on her plants, she swears on her life, she swears to anyone who will listen that she will be there for Dani, even if she can’t be there for herself.

The weeks pass and more socks freeze, more toothbrushes go missing, and Dani drifts. Some days are better than others. Some days, Jamie’s Sisyphean task is easy, and Dani meets her at the top of the mountain with a flirty smile and sunshine on her greedy tongue, with hands that grab at Jamie’s belt and tug her shirt up and over her head. On those days, they feel like themselves.

But, on other days, days when the whole world is overcast and the tide is rising, they shutter the shop and lock the doors to their second-floor flat. They wear matching pajamas, while the television set plays classic cinema. Jamie makes tea; Dani still hasn’t mastered it in a decade, and Jamie doubts she ever will. Their legs tangle in a heap, ankles sliding along calves.

Jamie comes to rest her head on Dani’s sternum, allowing the beat of her heart to remind her that they’re here. Dani is here, breathing steadily and weaving their fingers together like it’s the simplest thing in the world. Like they aren’t living borrowed years. Like Jamie’s mantra of one day at a time doesn’t feel like a splintered crutch beneath her arm, supporting the weight of an impossible situation.

Every day feels like the last, and Jamie hates it. She hates the feeling of inevitability that lurks just out of sight. The beast in the jungle, Dani had said. It prowls between streetlamps and seeks refuge in their walls, skittering away when Jamie shines a torch, only to return the instant she turns her back. The creature is waiting for something Jamie can never see, and it terrifies her. She cannot prevent what she cannot see. All she can do is wait, hopeless, at the mercy of a fucking ghost.

The day will come when she returns to an empty flat, or she’ll wake to a cold pillow beside her. If she’s lucky, she’ll be there when the beast pounces. She’ll get to say goodbye.

A piece of her will die that day, she knows.

Dani will die that day.

And, god, she feels so bloody selfish for thinking of her own fucking self-preservation when the woman she loves might one day disappear from the world, but, Christ, how can she be expected to go on like this? Just waiting for the days to pass until she’s alone again. Again.

She’s lost more people than she can count. Some to time, some to death, some to drink, some to the shelter of a warm embrace Jamie could not provide. Each loss is different, yet each brings about a sting that is painfully familiar. An old bedfellow she’s forced to accommodate. It settles in her bones, nestling into the hollow spaces between her ribs, cold and unwelcome. Once it latches on, it never truly leaves.

The ache is ever-present, a plate of steel, layering and building into a grim suit of armor that clashes and clanks and frightens people away with its noise, and, after a while, she forgets. Forgets what it’s like to be free of those reminders that she wasn’t good enough for people to stay. Wasn’t good enough for her parents, nor her foster parents. Wasn’t good enough for classmates and teachers who deemed her a waste of effort. Wasn’t good enough for women who hid themselves from the world or from their own judgment. Hell, she wasn’t even good enough for the prison system, released early on account of behavior.

She forgets how to breathe without each inhale taking the strength of someone who’s had a scarlet letter branded across her chest her whole life. Forgets how it feels to extend a hand in invitation without her own fear dragging her down, the fear that results from rejected companionship and harsh words. She forgets what it’s like to touch and be touched and to lay yourself bare before another, trusting that you are safe and wanted.

Dani had taken her proffered hand and held it to tender lips. She had glacially pried away nearly three decades of fine steel with the care of a dutiful lover, uncovering the origin of each piece as she went. She had never once flinched away, only nodded with sweet understanding and kissed Jamie a little more fervently that night.

Then, one day, Jamie had found herself the lightest she’d ever been, open and vulnerable beneath Dani’s affectionate gaze. She had breathed, and it had felt like a sigh. The old ache was not gone; it could never truly be banished. But the act of sharing her very soul, and receiving Dani’s in return, had turned bruises into mere memories and fear into excitement.

Her armor had sat, gathering dust in a corner of their life, no longer needed. She had been content to let Dani, or, rather, the security of their relationship, be her protection.

Now, though, with the ground they walk upon growing perilous, Jamie is defenseless. Her own beast hungers, prepared to strike with familiar claws, and Jamie loathes that she is reaching for her old guard. Loathes that she even considers distancing herself. That Dani cannot escape the cruelty of a fate brought on by selflessness, and Jamie is pondering how life will go on without her.

It feels so bloody selfish that it makes Jamie sick to her stomach. It’s only human to fret about the future, but this feels like an especially abominable twist of the knife. And Dani can never know. No, never. Jamie will be strong for her. She needs to be unwavering in her dedication to their love.

She manages, though it feels like standing in the middle of the road, watching a lorry drive toward her at a hundred kilometers an hour and choosing not to move out of the way. Rather, she plants her feet firmly on the asphalt and stares down what will surely splinter every bone in her body if it doesn’t kill her.

For Dani, she tells herself.

Dani, who startles at unseen reflections in their dishes and damn near scares the living daylights out of Jamie. There’s a haunted look in her eye, and, suddenly, Jamie can hear their countdown clock ticking away the seconds without Dani having to say a word. Her chest is heaving as Jamie steps in front of her, inspecting her for signs of physical harm, and blocking the faucet from her line of sight. Dani can’t meet her eye, craning her neck to see the sink.

Her voice is hoarse, ragged. “I saw her.”

No. No, no, no, no. Dreams are one thing. Dreams, Jamie can handle. Bad dreams can be banished with soothing caresses and warm tea, but this? They are both very much awake.

Breathe.

“What did you see?” Jamie seeks confirmation to calm her racing pulse.

Dani’s lip trembles, and she clutches frantically at the countertop. “Her.” It’s little more than a whisper, but the meaning is unmistakable. Dani continues, with painstaking deliberacy. “I keep seeing her.”

Christ. Keep seeing her? The sheer terror in Dani’s tone implies this isn’t the first time the ghost has appeared to her. But it is the first Jamie is hearing of it. No, not this again. Not Dani keeping from her the details of the most horrific secret of their lives.

She can’t stop to process this now. Dani is shaking, and Dani is frightened, and Dani needs her here, in this moment, not dwelling on what this means for the course of their lives.

Jamie turns the tap off and pulls the drain. “We’re gonna be okay. You can’t think the worst.” The words sound hollow, even to her own ears, but she tries, god, does she try to mean them with everything she has.

“Jamie…” Dani’s tone is warning.

Don’t lie to me.

I have to, love, Jamie thinks, I have to, or we’ll both give up, and I’m not ready.

“We could have so many more years together.”

Could.

It’s not technically a lie. ‘Could’ leaves room for uncertainty, the unpredictability of an entity so far beyond the scope of their control that they’d be institutionalized for suggesting such a thing exists. ‘Could’ allows them to pretend they aren’t trapped on a preordained path, walking side by side into inevitable grief. ‘Could’ is hope.

“It’s okay,” Jamie hears herself repeating. Distract. “I’ll do the washing up from now on, yeah? You’re shit at it, anyway.”

It earns her a weak chuckle from Dani, and it’s enough. Jamie holds her close, speaking soft comforts, though her stomach roils and knots. Dani trembles in her arms, and Jamie curls a soothing hand to the back of her head.

It’s going to be okay.

It isn’t.

It isn’t, and, deep down, Jamie knows it isn’t, but she holds onto the falsehood like it’s the only thing keeping her from drowning. She has to believe that there’s hope, that there is a chance for a future for them, because if she doesn’t, she doesn’t know what she’ll do. Her mind screams to prepare for the inevitable worst, but a part of her, that bright, sunshiney part, where she holds her fondest thoughts, tells her to pretend just a while longer.

She does. She does, because she loves Dani too much not to. They’ve been through far too much together for Jamie to withdraw now, when Dani needs her most.

She cannot control who lives and who dies. She said as much to Dani, years ago, in the forest behind the manor. Knowing that everything must come to an end dictates life’s joys. Temporality is the driving force of sanctity. The moments we hold most dear are the ones that have come to an end. They are forever preserved in amber memory, pressed between book pages, and flowing through veins. You are left warm, free to continue and free to leave more life behind in the hollows of lingering remorse.  

‘Live in the moment,’ say thousands of song lyrics. If only it were that simple. If only Jamie could simply ignore the consequences and allow herself to just exist with Dani in the life they’ve created. She can’t, though, and it is agonizing.

Instead, she dons the facade of a woman who believes that there is still good in the world, chances for miracles, despite countless experiences to the contrary. In private, she grieves a life she hasn’t yet lost.

Dani sees her shoulders shake only once, the day Jamie returns to a flooded flat and eerie silence and Dani with her face mere centimetres above the water in their overfilled bathtub. The tips of her hair are submerged, and her breath sends ripples across the surface. It’s unclear how long she’s been hunched over the side of the tub, but judging by the pool around her, quite a while. Jamie turns off the tap and draws Dani back onto her heels. Dani lets out a panicked gasp, and her eyes dart around the room before they finally flick to Jamie and back to the water.

“Do you see her?” Dani rasps, returning to her position bent over the rim.

Jamie peers into the tub, too, unsure of what she might find. She does not know whether to be elated or dismayed when only Dani’s heterochromatic reflection stares back at her.

“I only see you,” Jamie says, and it seems to pull Dani from wherever she’s been. The sleeves of her bathrobe are soaked, and she notices the puddle around her knees. She stammers an apology, but Jamie could not care less. Dani sags against Jamie’s firm grip on her upper arm.

Her voice comes subdued, as if each syllable takes monumental effort. “I’m so tired, Jamie.”

Jamie understands. She feels it, too, the toll this has taken on the both of them. The constant glances over her shoulder, always on alert for any sign of danger, living their lives like prey. She cannot hope to equate her exhaustion with Dani’s, but she understands all the same.

Dani continues, using such frightful terms as “fade away,” and it’s all Jamie can do to swallow the lump in her throat and the tightness in her chest. Dani sounds so timid, so lost, and she’s looking to Jamie for answers she hasn’t the faintest notion how to find and the soil is eroding and the current is quickening and it all becomes too much.

“You’re still here,” she says, like that will make everything alright. The wet tile seeps into her trousers, cold and clammy.

“It’s like I see you right in front of me,” Dani says softly, “and I feel you touching me. And, every day, we’re living our lives, and I’m aware of that, and it’s like I don’t feel it all the way.” She readjusts to study the water again. “I’m not even scared of her anymore. I just stare at her, and,” Dani takes a shuddering breath, “it’s getting harder and harder to see me.”

Jamie’s already strained resolve is rent in two. All of the air is sucked out of her lungs at once, and her heart constricts. She cannot help the well of tears that rises behind her eyes and threatens to spill over. She needs to be resilient, needs to set her emotions aside. For Dani.

But Dani is nodding. She’s nodding and crying and saying things like, “Maybe I should just accept that and go.” It’s excruciatingly similar to the conversation they’d had at the dinner table, all those many months ago.

And Jamie breaks. “No. No, no, no.” Her thumb rubs circles into Dani’s wrist. “Not yet.”

You can’t leave me. I’m not ready.

“Jamie…” Dani says in that same, horrid, broken tone, and suddenly, Jamie knows. Their hourglass contains mere grains. They are nearing the end, and it hurts, and the pain is so much worse than she could have ever anticipated.

Dani has all but given up, and Jamie is fucking furious.

Not with Dani. Never with Dani.

Rather, Jamie has a bone to pick with the universe and its sense of righteousness. There’s no such thing as fairness in the world, as has been proven to her time and time again. But this? This is shit, and it’s not fucking fair. Just this once, she’d like to strike a bargain. Allow her to be selfish, just this once. Allow her to remain at Dani’s side until they grow old and grey and their eyes fail and their joints creak. Allow her this one thing, and she will never ask for anything again.

The universe, in all its cruelty, remains silent, and Jamie resents it even more. She resents the set of circumstances that led them to this point, Dani tearful on the bathroom floor. She resents the world that made the woman she loves hurt in unfathomable ways. She resents that the most marvelous woman Jamie has ever met has been reduced to a shell of herself, harboring an invisible intruder.

She resents that all she has to offer is herself, when Dani deserves so much more. It’s all Jamie has, though, and maybe, this time, it will be enough.

“If you can’t feel anything,” she says, voice wavering, “then I’ll feel everything for the both of us.” Dani opens her mouth with quivering lips to speak and is cut off. “But no one is going anywhere. Okay? You’re still here.” A tear escapes, tracing a trail down her cheek.

“What if,” Dani whispers, more afraid than Jamie has ever seen her, “I’m here, sitting next to you. But I’m just really her?”

Jamie chokes down a sob. She exhales. “One day at a time.”

They clean up the water and blow out the candles and eat a quiet meal of pasta and sauce from a jar, holding hands all the while, as if any loss of contact would be to admit defeat. Dani is here, and Jamie is here, and they are together, and when they lay in the dark that night, they do not sleep.

Jamie hovers over Dani, pressing gentle kisses to every bit of skin she can reach. Dani’s eyelids, her knuckles, her wrists. The hollow on the underside of her knee, her clavicle, the sensitive patch just below her ear. Anything to reassure Dani that she can still feel, she is loved, and she is safe. The act is not erotic, nor is it meant to be.

She pours every ounce of passion into every caress, touching Dani as if it was the first time. She endeavors to convey her message, clear as crystal, that Dani is the single most important thing in her life. Their love is all that matters. For this one night, let them forget about ghosts and manors and lost friends and be wholly present in this moment of solemn intimacy.

Jamie commits every kiss to memory, savoring Dani’s smooth skin beneath her lips. The way she sighs and whimpers when Jamie finds a particularly tender spot, the way she relaxes into Jamie’s embrace when they finally settle, a leg thrown haphazardly between Jamie’s thighs, her face pressed just above Jamie’s breast, sending small puffs of air against Jamie’s sleepshirt.

Dani sleeps, and Jamie’s mind wanders to all the words she wishes she could say. She sighs them into the night air, a hand cupping the nape of Dani’s neck.

I love you, she thinks, and I’m going to lose you, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. She inhales the faintly floral scent of Dani’s shampoo. It’s not fair. It’s not fucking fair that you’re going to go, and I have to go on without you. Think of me, Dani. Think of me and stay because I can’t explain to your mother what’s happened to you. Stay, because I’m not ready for our life to end.

She’s crying, now, and her tears dampen the top of Dani’s head as she tries to remain still.

You’re in pain. I see it, love, and I never, never want you to hurt. You’ve been so damn brave. You’ve fought so hard. For yourself. For us. I will be forever grateful for the time you’ve given me. You are everything I never thought I could have, my love.

Dani stirs against her with a hushed, confused noise. “Jamie? Wha-?”

“Go back to sleep, baby,” Jamie murmurs, her eyes shut tight. Dani nuzzles into her chest, and only when her breathing evens out once more does Jamie release the tension from her limbs.

Rest, sweetheart, you’ve earned it.

Three days go by, and Jamie spends them at Dani’s side. They walk the streets of their little Vermont town, and they greet the old woman with her three toy poodles. They watch the line of children toddle by on their way to the park, shepherded by exasperated adults, and share a smile. They wrap themselves in blankets and bundle on the sofa, Jamie with a book and Dani with a crochet project that Jamie’s been teasing her about finishing. The tea is hot, and the company is good, and Jamie is happy. The rain comes down against their windows, but they are shielded from the deluge, though the soil outside turns to slick mud.

The sun rises on the fourth day, and Jamie blinks awake. The pillow is soft under her head, and she is loath to move. She reaches a tentative hand to Dani’s side of the bed to pull her closer, but she finds the sheets are cold. Jamie’s stomach leaps to her throat. She sits up, peering around their room, listening for any sign that Dani has simply risen early. The clock on the bedside table reads six-thirty-eight in the morning. Beside it, a single sheet of paper folded in half.

Perhaps Dani has run to the coffeehouse to bring back breakfast. Perhaps she has gone for a walk. Perhaps she has done anything except Jamie’s worst fear come to fruition, but what Jamie knows in her soul to be true. She takes a steadying breath as she examines the thing in her hands. With shaking fingers, she unfolds the note.

The script is slanted, a mixture of cursive and print, as if written in a hurry. The ink has smeared in places, where the page appears to have been wet. Dani’s normally neat lettering is scattered.

Jamie,

I can’t risk you.

Not for one more day.

I love you.

Dani

Her heart stops.

The silence is deafening. Her whole world narrows to the thin yellow paper in her hand. Her last piece of the woman she loves.

She knows what has happened. She knows where Dani would go, where Dani has gone, deep in her core. But she has to be certain.

It is her first plane ride without Dani. She spends the six-hour flight clutching the armrest, knuckles white, as she looks straight ahead. The flight attendant has the decency to only appear mildly perplexed by Jamie’s lack of luggage. When she lands, Jamie can only nod at the cabbie’s futile attempts at conversation.

She gazes up at the daunting manor house, its brick overgrown with English ivy. The grounds lay vacant. The path to the lake is unkept, yet she treads it anyway, past the church, past the cemetery, slowing as the water comes into sight.

How badly she wants to be wrong. How badly she wants to return home and find Dani worried out of her beautiful mind.

The water is unseasonably warm, but that does not stop the chill that permeates Jamie’s bones. She swims out as far as she can bear before holding her breath and plunging below the surface. It’s nigh torturous to keep her eyes open, but she needs to see. She needs to be sure.

Everything is blurry through the liquid lens, fuzzy around the edges. Something stands out from the landscape of green and blue. A spot of porcelain and red against a backdrop of emerald.

No.

Jamie shakes her head.

No, please, no.

But it is.

And she screams. She screams out thirteen years of rage and sadness and grief and frustration and love. The sound is muted, but she does not care. Dani is gone, and she is alone and it burns and stings like nothing Jamie has ever felt.

Everything Jamie could give, she gave. It wasn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. Nothing will bring Dani back.

She rises to the surface with a cry, paddling to the muddy shoreline and crawling up the bank to collapse in the shallows. Her ring rests heavy on her left hand. A reminder of promises made. Eternity.

Together. They were supposed to stay together.

It’s us. Always has been, always will be. That’s what we said, Poppins.

She gasps, taking in great lungfuls of air that Dani will never breathe again. Her hair hangs limply, plastered to the sides of her face. She shivers, but she cannot move.

She sits in the shallows of the lake at Bly Manor, and she weeps.

Dani is dead.

And Jamie is alone.

#so....thoughts? #I woke up and I chose violence #someone give Jamie a hug #im only mostly sorry #I hope you enjoy this though #I’m kind of proud of this one actually? #let me know what y'all think! #writing #the haunting of bly manor #Bly Manor fanfic #damie #damie fanfic #fic #fic writing #jamie #dani clayton #Owen sharma #Hannah grose #viola lloyd #flora wingrave #miles wingrave #Peter quint #the haunting of Bly Manor fanfic #dani x jamie #jamie x dani #my writing #angst #hurt no comfort #thobm #thobm fanfic

[babybottlepop96]

Home Again Chapter 1

Jean x Marco

Summary: Jeana and Marco have been friends since the tender ages of 5 and 7. They grow together and fall in love.... then Jean disappears.

Warnings: This story will contains mentions of past rape and abuse. The violence parts will probably be descriptive, but the rape will not be. There will be eventual smut further along into the story. 

~20 Years Ago~

"Jean, honey, this is mommy's new boss, Mr. Bott. He is the man who is going to help us, so I need you to be on your best behavior, okay?" The small five year old with ash blonde hair, dark brown undercut and honey golden eyes nodded his head as he stared at the tall dark haired man with dark chocolate eyes.

"Nice to meet you Master Jean." The man smiled down at the boy with a warm smile. "This is my son, Marco, he just turned seven a few months ago. Heard you enjoy dinosaurs and superheroes?" Jean nodded as he stared at the boy just two years older than himself with wide eyes, mapping out all the freckles along his tanned skin, milk chocolate eyes staring back into his own with a smile that could make the grumpiest of men relax. "Marco has a boatload of dinosaur and superhero toys, Marco, why don't you show Jean your room?" Marco smiled, grabbing Jean's hand and dragging him up the giant spiral staircase to the second floor.

Once inside the room, Jean's jaw dropped, the size of Marco's bedroom was bigger than his whole house combined. The ceiling was high with detailed trim along the edges, painted in a dark brown and a pale maroon shade of red. The bed was bigger than what any seven year old should have, a giant flat screen tv was mounted onto the wall across from the bed and games, movies and toys filled the rest of the room. "Do you want to play a video game? I have Spyro the dragon, Crash Bandicoot, Mario Kart?" The freckles kid asked, naming off games while setting up one of the many gaming consoles he owned.

"I… ummm.." Jean stood there nervously, rocking on his feet while twiddling his tiny thumbs. "I've never played a video game before." He looked up to see Marco smiling at him.

"That's okay! I'll teach you! We can start with Mario Kart, it's a multiplayer game, so I'll be able to teach you!" He smiled proudly as if he just won first place at the spelling bee.

"Oh, okay! Thank you!" Jean grabbed the controller Marco handed out to him with shaky hands. The two sat down on the squishy blue and purple bean bag chairs and started a game, Marco showing him how to pick his character, how to move and control the kart and how to throw the special abilities gained when hitting the boxes with the question marks.

"So, Jean, what's your favorite color?"

"Purple." Jean spoke as he tried to concentrate on what he was doing on the screen, still having a bit of trouble with the turns.

"Cool! Mines red!" Marco spoke as he gestures to the room around them. 

"Favorite food?" Jean asked, stealing a glance at the older kid next to him, he couldn't help but smile, Marco's smile was infectious.

"Spaghetti! Well, all kinds of pasta! Penne, ravioli, ricotta-"

"I thought ricotta was a cheese?" Jean questioned, he wasn't actually sure himself, he just knew that cheese was a luxury in his home, never having enough money most of the time for really fancy things like cheeses.

"Oh, yeah! It is!" Marco giggled, "I just really like ricotta cheese." Jean giggled too, this kid was alright. "You're my new best friend, Jean."

~8 Years Later~

"Will you just shut up, Yeager?" A thirteen year old Jean Kirstein, as calmly as he could, spoke with his fist balled up at his sides as he walked out of the middle school building.

"Come on, Kirstein, didn't your poor piss excuse for a mother teach you it isn't nice to tell people to shut up?" Eren, the school bully, asshole and dick, in Jean's opinion, insulted. That's when Jean's resolve faded into nothing and landed a swift punch to the tanned, unblemished skin, a crunch was heard throughout the whole parking lot. Eren fell to the ground but quickly regained his strength and landed a kick to Jean's guy. The wind was knocked from Jean's lungs, but his anger was dominant. He lunged for the bastard who insulted his mother, the only parent he ever knew who worked her ass off to make sure he survived, to give the douche-nozzle a good pounding, but warm, strong arms held him back before hos fist could collide with it's intended target.

"Jean." A warm voice whispered in his ear, Marco. He relaxed in the freckles arms but he was still livid. "Let's go." Then, he was dragged off to the black Chevy Impala.

"Is that your boyfriend Horse Face? Man, I knew you were fruity but seriously? You could do better!" Jean almost got out Marco's grip, but the taller, older teen had his grip firm and all but threw the teen into the back seat.

"Jean-" 

"No, don't start Marco! He taunted me about how I have to live my life, insulted my mother, then insulted you! He deserved to get his lights punched out!" Jean yelled, unshed tears forming in the corners of his Carmel eyes, threatening to spill any second. Marco just simply drew the younger into his arms and the driver drove towards Bott Manor. "He… he doesn't have to be so mean! I never did anything to him!" 

When they finally pulled into the Manor, Marco led Jean to his room, the same room they first became friends in eight years ago. The stuffed animals and small toys are now replaced with books, CDs and even more games and movies. Marco sat them down on the bed and neither spoke for a few minutes. "He was right, ya know." Marco finally spoke and Jean looked at him like he had four heads. "You could do better than me, if we were together."

"Marco Bott, you stop right there! No one could ever replace you! You are literally the best person alive! If I had the balls to kiss you I would!" Jean and Marco's eyes widened and Jean turned into a blushing, flustered mess. "Oh my god! I'm so sorry! I.. I don't know why I said tha-", but Jean couldn't finish, Marco's lips pressed firmly against his in a gentle yet passionate kiss that spoke thousands of words and so many feelings. 

"I love you Jean." Marco whispered as they pulled apart, foreheads still touching as both tried to regain their breath and slow their hearts. Jean cupped Marco's face in his hands and kissed him again.

"I love you too, Marco."

~2 Years Later~

Jean Kirstein, fifteen year old freshman at Trost High, walked through the park on his way home after work. He hates his job, hates working behind the counter at the local Taco Bell, hates that Eren works there too in the kitchen as a prep cook, hates dealing with annoying ass customers with snarky attitudes complaining that their crunch wrap supreme doesn't have enough sour cream. Well sorry, Karen, I don't make the fucking food nor do I determine how much sour cream goes on it. Today was a particularly bad day, Eren called off claiming he was sick when Jean really knew he was out with his "boyfriend" leaving him to prepare food and take orders. Then someone took a dump on the men's bathroom floor, didn't even try to aim for the fucking toilet! Just took a shot right there in the middle of the goddamn floor which he had to clean up himself while his manager bitched about him not doing his job at the counter. All Jean wanted to do was go home, talk to his boyfriend for a little before he eventually went to bed and got up early the next day for school.

It was a simple request that he wished for while the clock ticked by slowly. Jean was so into his own head, he never heard the footsteps coming up behind him until it was too late. A wet cloth covered his nose and mouth, his eyes widened for a second before the world faded to black.

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

"We have to find him!" Marco shouted at his father who was looking at him with a solemn expression. Marco paced back and forth in front of his father's desk, hands taking through his u kept hair. He has barely slept a wink since Jean vanished three days ago, his mind wondering about all the worst scenarios it could think of.

"We are trying, son, but we have no evidence of anything taking place. No struggle, no personal belongings, nothing to suggest anything has even happened."

"But Jean couldn't have just vanished into thin air! He wouldn't run away either! He loved his mom too much to just up and leave her and me…" Marco trailed off, thinking about his and Jean's time together over the last two years. Picnic and arcade dates, eating pizza and hot wings while they binge watched their favorite tv series at that moment, the soft and gentle kisses they shared between one another before they parted ways, always promising to text each other once they got home, letting the other one know they got there safe. That's the single most reason why Marco knew something was wrong. Neither of them forgot to send the 'im home safe and sound' text. Not once, in the ten years that they've known each other, did they miss sending that text. Even as children and Marco's father gave Mrs. Kirstein a cell phone as a gift to keep in contact, did they miss THAT text.

"Son, we are doing everything we can to find Jean. But we also need to think rationally, Jean might not ever be found." Marco froze at those words, Jean may be lost forever? He may never see those honey eyes, beautiful smile, perfect sketches and vibrant paintings painted by those slender pale hands and fingers? May never run his hands through those soft locks of ash and brown ever again? That's when Marco broke, he screamed and fell to the floor in a fetal position on the floor. His father looked at him with hurt in his own dark chocolate eyes, for him, his son and Jean's mother who was currently out looking for her only child as they speak. Don Bott rose from his leather chair and walked around the desk, kneeling in front of his son. He put his hand on his back and whispered a pained, "I'm sorry, Marco."

~10 Years Later (Present Day)~

Here he was, once again, at an underground auction. Mr. Bott hated these things, but he had no other choice, ever since Mrs. Kirstein passed away three years ago from a drunk driving accident, he hasn't been able to find someone who cleaned as well as she had. Every person he hired had an attitude or just didn't speak at all, always forgetting to dust the book shelves or take out the trash. So he relented and took up on Mr. Ackerman's suggestion to go to an auction. Getting there early to get a good seat, Mr. Bott, along with Mr. Ackerman, Mr. Braun and Mr. Hoover, the Dons of their respected parts of New York City, all sat down to converse while the auction for the…. Pleasure portion of the auction slowly came to a close. Mr. Bott cringed as the scum of New York bid money on these poor people just for the gratification of getting their dick in a hole.

"And now for our last and best prize of the night!" The auctioneer spoke as the Dons sighed in relief, none of them liked the idea of people being sold for pleasure as they themselves, tried for years to get it under control but never succeeding. "This one has been in the business for ten years, used and a bit rough looking, but this little beauty will be the best fuck you ever had. Clean and pliant, not a bad body either if I do say so myself. Number 54!" The announcer spoke as someone roughly shoved a young man out into the center of the room. The numbers flying from the crowd started pouring in left and right and it got the Dons wondering whom this "prize" was. "Three-thousand!" "Ten-thousand!" "Twenty Five-thousand!"

"Two hundred-thousand!" The crowd went quiet after hearing the deep booming voice coming from the front row.

"Two hundred-thousand! Going once! Going twice! Sold! To Do Bott!" The young man was then hauled out of the room to be prepped for leaving the facility.

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

"Dad! I'm home! Reiner, Bert, Mikasa, Eren and Armin are here too!" Marco called from the doorway as he and the others walked into the Manor. "Dad?!"

"In the living room son!" He heard his father call and the group walked towards the sound.

"What's up? We heard your voicemail and hauled ass here. What happened?" Marco asked as soon as he saw his father, eyes brimmed with tears and a small smile. The others in the room, specifically Dr. Yeager, looked at them, small sad but slightly happy smiles on their faces. "What's going on here?" The group looked at each other, confused and concern plastered on their faces. Once Mr. Bott moved to the side and gestured to the couch, it was then that the group realized what was happening. On the couch asleep, lay a thin pale man, dark circles under his eyes, bruises and scars and even some fresh wounds, now neatly stitched up thanks to Dr. Yeager, littering his almost naked form. Marco stared at the man laying on the pale green couch and tears flooded down his cheeks. "Jean?"

#attack on titan #Jean Krischtein #marco bott #jean x marco #kidnapping #abuse #eventual smut #jeans mom #marcos dad #eren yeager #mafia au #reiner #bert #mikasa #armin #erens dad

[avadescent]

Rivetra-Parent AU but modern is still lodged in my brain, so here’s Eren attempting to win a Science Fair.

Crossposted on AO3 w/ references

Eren bursts in through the front door like a high-powered locomotive on a one-way rail track, and as he kicks his shoes off expertly before striding into the meticulously polished threshold, Levi feels no need to act like an accommodating parent today and decides to leave Petra in charge of all the damage control.

She catches him by the sleeve before he can slither away from the kitchen however, and promptly threatens to make him sleep on the couch should he leave her to deal with their rambunctious thirteen year-old alone. Cleaning up is his specialty, after all.

Really, Levi thinks as he seats himself once more, Wives just have too much power sometimes.

“Eren!” Petra greets warmly as he rushes into the kitchen. Levi arches a brow, because Eren on a normal day is a big, bumbling, annoying idiot whose pent-up energy needs a thorough rain check; Eren today looks like even more of a big, bumbling idiot than usual.

This is not good.

“How was school today?” Petra ruffles his hair like nothing’s amiss and Levi shoots her a nasty look because he knows she knows that Eren’s firecracker energy today spells Impending Doom. Instead of giving them a colorful, sparkly show, Levi is quite sure they’ll be given an explosion and one hell of a kitchen to clean the longer they allow this overly excited version of their adopted son to linger.

“Good evening.”

The clear and pleasant (albeit slightly monotone) voice that greets them from the kitchen doorway causes Petra’s smile to widen even further—and Levi’s patience to wear thin.

“All right, spit it out,” he orders, crossing his arms in the hopes to get this over with as soon as possible. “What did you do this time?”

“Eren didn’t do anything!” another voice pipes up, a shock of blond peeking out from behind Mikasa’s scarf. When Levi’s perpetual glare settles on this poor, unsuspecting child, Armin hastily blurts out a mandatory: “Yet.”

“They just announced that the Science Fair’s coming up!” Eren informs, still too enthusiastic for Levi’s comfort, but that’s where Petra comes in.

“Are you planning to join the fair?” she asks, and to Mikasa and Armin, “Do your parents know that you’re here?”

“Yeah, but we had to go to Mikasa’s to ask for permission, that’s why I came home a little late,” Eren answers for his friends, his voice turning sheepish at the end, eyes darting nervously between his father and the floor (not that looking at the floor is alleviating his anxiousness in any way, Levi’s obsession with cleanliness stares him back in the face as glaringly as Levi’s gaze itself).

“So what,” his father bristles disapprovingly, “Are you going to build a baking soda volcano or something?”

“Or… something,” Eren supplies meagerly, and it doesn’t help that neither Mikasa nor Armin are offering any placating clarification or better yet: an explanation.

“And what exactly is this something?” Petra asks, god bless her soul.

“We’re still working out the details!” Armin says, now looking as nervous as Eren. “So is it all right if we stay for dinner… sir, ma’am?”

Before Levi can open his mouth to deliver the big fat No he’s been itching to deal out since Eren came crashing in, Petra shoves Eren and his friends in the direction of the stairs and says with what Levi can tell is genuine sweetness, “Of course! Levi will drive you guys home too, so don’t you go walking out in the streets at night, you hear?”

“Yeah, thanks!” Eren beams at her and then he’s rushing off with his friends to conspire. “Holler when dinner’s ready!”

“You mind the time, brat!” Levi snaps, having crossed the distance between him and his wife. “Either you come down on time for dinner or you’re getting leftovers.”

Eren blanches, and then he’s mock-saluting, used to his father’s attitude. “Aye aye, Captain!”

The kids disappear behind Eren’s door with a loud bang, and then Levi is whirling on his wife, displeasure evident in the crease of his brow. “You and I both know encouraging him was a bad idea.”

“For your kitchen, maybe,” she quips easily, all versions of his glare having lost its effect on her years ago.

“I’m not just talking about that,” he grouses in a tone that indicates he is just talking about that. 

“Young adolescents need encouragement!” is her defense, and then she’s pushing past him. “Especially around his age.”

“Who told you that?” he scoffs, “The Parent-Teacher Association?”

The way she blushes slightly is telling enough. “Seriously?” He sounds genuinely shocked.

“He’s entering high school now, I’m just trying to be a little more… lenient.” She shrugs, and he absent-mindedly brushes her hair back from her face when it falls forward with the motion of her cutting the vegetables. “Let him spread his wings and all.”

“At a Science Fair?” he replies incredulously. “You want him to end up like Shitty Glasses?”

“First of all, that is not how we regard friends in this household,” Petra scolds uselessly. “Second of all, why not? He seems excited about it.”

“Wait until he steals all your bleach to conduct hair-brained experiments,” he scoffs, and Petra rolls her eyes at his argument because the only one who cares for kidnapped bleach is him.

“Listen, they’re probably planning right now,” Petra begins.

“You mean Armin’s doing all the planning,” Levi interjects, grumbling.

“Exactly!” Petra beams like he just walked into her trap and he realizes a millisecond too late that he did. 

(Wives definitely have too much power.)

“Armin’s a smart boy and he knows how to keep Eren in check—remember that incident with the rock?”

She builds a solid argument and Levi has to admit that, albeit he does so with a bit of snark, flicking her hair like they’re still teenagers and sending her a complimentary ‘tch’ sound to put a cherry on top of all his irritation.

Her muffled laugh at his reaction serves as a familiar response, and as they settle into a comfortable rhythm in their kitchen as they always do, she looks up at him with a considerate smile and aims to bargain, “We’ll just trust him with whatever it is he plans to do, okay? He came asking us for permission, after all. Teenagers I know would have run off and done whatever it is they wanted to without asking for anyone’s permission.”

The reference to his days as a rogue in the outskirts of the city is plain as day, but as always Petra manages to make it seem like something worthy of admiration—something cool, and not at all something to be ashamed about. She’s always been one to see something for what it is, and Levi doesn’t doubt for a second that her admiration for him isn’t misguided at all, because he knows—he’s learned—all the ways that Petra is genuine, and this is one of the ways.

So even though he’s usually the one calling the shots around here, for a rare occasion, he relents and listens to her.

“You can keep him in line if he goes too far,” she continues, and she sounds so sure that nothing will go wrong that Levi almost believes her, “Since you’re the only one who can do that.”

He huffs, flicking her hair again. “Are you stupid?” he asks, and the question has bite but he manages to relay it in a way that sounds so incredibly fond, “You’re forgetting all the times he’s listened to you instead of me.”

“We’re even then.” She grins, and he’s a little surprised when she leans forward to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. You’re doing great.”

A thousand nights of doubting himself and his abilities as a caretaker weigh behind that last sentiment—a thousand nights of hurling insults into the sky at self-righteous parents who thought he was unfit for the job, a thousand nights of Petra sitting by him and letting him take his frustration out on the grimy state of their house’s outer walls because they were wrong, because for all his crass he would never walk away from his kid—and because this is Petra, he believes her.

And because this is Petra, he tilts his head to take advantage of their solitude, and dinner is delayed by a few minutes.

— 

“So,” Eren preludes, his grin still far too exuberant for Levi’s liking, “We have a plan!”

Armin nods in tandem with the announcement, but his mouth is too full of mashed potatoes that he has yet to provide any input into this so-called plan.

“All right, we’re listening.” Petra opens the floor for discussion with a slight wave of her knife, and Levi finds the unconscious action amusing. Maybe this is why he does all the threatening in their relationship. “But first, when’s the Science Fair?”

“Two weeks from now,” Mikasa informs. “Eren wants to generate biodiesel.”

Levi and Petra blink. “He wants to what?”

“We’re going to store used cooking oil and treat it to remove impurities, then we’re going to subject it to transesterification in order to produce biodiesel that we can use to power a toy car or something,” Armin rushes to explain, though the looks of impervious ignorance gracing the adults’ faces does not fade in the slightest, “We’re still working out the kinks, but it’s a solid plan and will most likely just take a week of trials, so we’ll be in time for the fair.”

“I’m making the posters,” Mikasa adds, as an afterthought.

“Hold on.” Petra shakes her head. “What’s this about biodiesel?”

“Biodiesel is an eco-friendly fuel source made from cooking oil!” Eren tells them enthusiastically, though he just sounds like he’s citing a Wikipedia article the way Hange prattles away about her experiments. Levi side-eyes Petra with a damning look of ‘I told you this would happen.’

“Basically it’s like gas,” Armin explains, always ready to back Eren up with solid fact. “But it isn’t harmful to the environment. We’re thinking of creating biodiesel for the Science Fair, because—”

“It’s sure to win!” Eren interjects animatedly. “We’re going to beat that horse-face Jean and his potato arc reactor if it’s the last thing I do!”

‘Arc reactor?’ Petra mouths confusedly, but Levi’s just as clueless as her.

“So basically…” Petra tries, and Levi continues her sentiment with a deadpan, “You want to turn my kitchen into a fucking power plant.”

A look of sure-fire guilt and hopeful excitement crosses Eren’s face at the fact that Levi understands exactly what they’re trying to do here—which could end in a disastrously good or a disastrously bad way, depending on how he takes it. (Eren made his friends promise to cross their fingers behind their backs while trying to convince Levi into allowing them to conduct experiments at home, just for that extra boost of luck.)

“Walk us through the methodology,” is the order that comes out of Levi’s mouth, but it’s leaning more towards that hopeful excitement than the sure-fire guilt from earlier, so Eren’s still revving in full throttle when he delivers a run-down of what he and Armin had discussed earlier, with the occasional input from Mikasa.

“We’re going to let Mikasa cook three hundred grams of chicken in three-hundred grams of oil,” he starts slowly, so as not to lose his parents—or himself—in the process of explaining their project. “Because Armin said it should be a one-to-one ratio.”

Levi nods like he understands, so Eren continues, “Then we’re going to heat up the used oil at sixty degrees for about an hour to remove any moisture or impurities.”

“Hold on. How are you going to do that?” Petra asks, her brows furrowed. “What equipment are you going to use?”

“We’re going to borrow flasks from Mom’s lab,” Armin supplies, “We’ll put the used oil inside, then we’re going to heat the flasks in a pot—kind of like a water bath for the oil.”

“And that’s it? It becomes biodiesel?”

“Um.” Armin flushes embarrassedly. “Not exactly. That’s still the… first step.”

“How are you going to generate biodiesel then?” Levi crosses his arms derisively, like this is the sign of Impending Doom he’d divined earlier.

“Well—we let it react,” Armin stutters, “With methanol. And sulfuric acid.”

There’s a long stretch of silence that pervades the dining table at the mention of hazardous chemicals, and Eren is tense the whole time, Armin quivering beside him and Mikasa coiled as though ready to spring into action at any moment, and some niggling part of these kids’ brains whispers in fright that maybe they’ll find a dinner table flying at their faces at any given moment now, even though Levi hates it when he has to clean up after broken glass.

It doesn’t help at all that Petra is simply staring at him lengthily, as though waiting for him to say something. That means she’ll agree with whatever he decides and if he decides they can’t do it then that’s a promising project going right down the drain. Eren crosses his fingers harder.

“You better make sure we don’t get food poisoning,” Levi finally says, spooning vegetables into his mouth, and at the verdict both Eren and Petra look like they’re ready to bring him the entire fucking moon.

— 

A few days later, Levi shuts the door in Hange’s face.

“Hey!” comes the muffled yell of outrage from outside. She seems to have brought bothersome company with her, because after that he’s being scolded.

“Levi, this is not how you should be treating your guests,” Erwin’s voice booms, but Levi can’t really bring himself to care, so he turns around and walks away, except he’s intercepted by Petra, who with her welcoming nature disrupts all his last-minute plans for a peaceful weekend.

“Hange, Erwin, wonderful to see you!” she greets, and the taller woman falls forward to press a grateful kiss to Petra’s cheek in return.

“Wonderful to see you too, unlike some people,” Hange gripes, and if he were any younger Levi probably would have flipped her off in reply. Instead, he just passes his handkerchief to his wife with a grave aura about him, pointing to his cheek when Petra tilts her head at him in confusion.

“Is Aunt Zoë here!?” Eren yells from upstairs, but his parents find no need to give him a positive response when they can already hear him thundering down the stairs. “Aunt Zoë!”

“My little titan looks like he’s grown so big!” Hange gushes, already accepting the firecracker that is Eren Ral into her open arms and swinging him around like a stuffed toy. Eren laughs, because then he’s swung into his Uncle Erwin’s arms too, who catches him with as much ease as it had taken Hange to pick him up. “What have you been feeding him, Petra? At this rate he’ll grow taller than Levi! You haven’t been giving him an overdose of Cherifer, have you?”

“The only person in overdose here is you, Shitty Glasses,” Levi grouses, and Hange flicks his forehead in return.

“Where’s Armin?” Erwin asks, setting Eren down. “We’ve brought all the materials he asked for from Hange’s lab, so you should be ready to start your experiment.”

Armin and Mikasa hurry from the stairs just as Erwin asks, and the former is beaming up at the man with unreserved gratitude. “Thanks Dad!”

“No problem,” Erwin replies, patting his head. “Eren, you help me carry the stuff from the car.”

“Yessir!” Eren rushes outside with Erwin in tow, and as they do so Mikasa tugs on Petra’s sleeve.

“What is it, dear?” Petra smiles, and Mikasa looks up at her, that overcast gaze clouded with a steely determination.

“Ms. Ral,” she starts, “Can you show me how to cook fried chicken?”

— 

The weekend is—and this is the understatement of the year—a Fucking Disaster.

Eren has managed to turn their kitchen into a laboratory this time, with a digital weighing scale plugged in next to the microwave and a big pot filled with three Erlenmeyer flasks settled upon Levi’s most prized possession: the induction stove.

He stands like a cactus in the corner of the kitchen—prickly and dry and harmful to anyone who comes within reach except maybe Petra—surveying the people who have invaded his home and who are now boiling three flasks of used cooking oil, methanol, and sulfuric acid inside his cooking pot.

He’ll have to buy a new cooking pot after this weekend if the way Hange’s leering over it is any indication.

Petra and Mikasa are situated by the stove, cooking batches of chicken thigh that Petra had him drive to the store to buy (he has to crack that Wife-Power thing before it does him in someday). Mikasa’s adept at learning and that applies here, as she whips out batch after batch of fried chicken and pours golden oil into a beaker for Hange to separate into a For Analysis test tube and a For Experiment flask.

Eren had tried to cook a chicken, but it had blackened as a consequence of his sporadic attention span.

So now he’s just the designated stirrer, since a water bath is these kids’ alternative for a three-neck batch reactor (as if Levi and Petra even know what the hell that is) and the reaction needs to be stirred constantly, according to Hange and Armin, who parrot each other frequently regarding the methodology that now everyone’s got it memorized. 

Even Levi, who stipulated earlier that he would not be helping them turn his kitchen into a disaster zone whilst raising a spray bottle of self-concocted cleaning solvent in their faces like he was going to shoot them with it any second.

The first time Armin tries to pour a batch of oil into a flask for pre-treatment he’s shaking so badly under Levi’s dead-eyed stare that he accidentally spills everything. Levi’s muttering a string of profanities as he proceeds to do self-designated clean-up duty. 

Erwin pats the boy on the back and when he tries for the second time, Eren notices his uncanny ability to pour just enough oil into a flask to make 250 mL.

That sort of diverges into a little side-experiment where Hange encourages Armin to pour oil at a variety of different volumes—20 mL, 50 mL, 150 mL, and so on—and it vaguely reminds Levi of a drinking party when they cheer every single time Armin gets the exact measurement after one try.

It takes Petra asking them in learned Levi-fashion “what they’re trying to do” that everyone remembers they’re here for a biodiesel experiment and not an experiment to test Armin’s Hidden Talent (even though Levi’s 110% sure Hange has an entire encyclopedia dedicated to her son’s growth alone, and that’s not including the record she’s probably kept of Eren over the years, from all his baby teeth down to every single nail clipping).

They go back to watching over the cooking-pot slash water-bath, and Hange yells bloody murder when she realizes they’ve let the temperature get to one-hundred—Levi moves in anticipation of a coming explosion but thankfully that doesn’t happen.

At some point Petra’s hand ghosts over his butt and he turns his head to snap at her for stealing his phone, but everyone’s suddenly back in Drinking Party mode as Petra records Mikasa flipping chicken thighs like they’re pancakes and aiming them at the plate Eren has raised a few feet away. Hange’s yelling in admiration and scribbling onto a notepad—Levi’s brows crease because since when did she have a notepad—and then Hange asks like it’s the end of the world: “How do you manage to make every chicken land on the plate?”

Mikasa turns in that aloof manner of hers that Levi can respect, and then she’s saying: “I’m good at calculating angles.”

That gets Hange’s undivided attention for the rest of the hour, with Eren trying to get her back on track with reasons along the lines of, “We’re not here to study Mikasa’s eyeballs, Aunt Zoë!”

Levi thinks that maybe they all would have been arrested right there and then if anyone else had heard it—for fuck’s sake Erwin is the goddamn Chief of Police, but all this so-called Chief-of-Police does is turn to look at Armin with a jovial smile and a politely asked, “So what’re we doing next?”

It’s midnight by the time Eren gets four rows of biodiesel samples to test on a toy car the next day—if he can wake up to greet the next day, that is—and it’s nearly one in the morning by the time Levi’s got the entire kitchen spotless and all the trash (including Hange and company) out the door.

He crashes into bed after a quick three-minute shower, and he can barely question why the heck Eren is in their bed too before Petra rolls to curl into his side, sound asleep. 

He sighs in reluctant compliance, but it’s easy to sink between the warmth of Petra and Eren at his sides, and when he drifts off to sleep he thinks the comfort is well-rewarded after a rather tiring day.

— 

The day of the Science Fair comes, and Levi looks bored as he scrutinizes all the other booths around them. He spots the mandatory baking soda volcano off to the side and decides Eren’s got this competition in the bag until he notices a horse-faced classmate flaunting some Potato Arc Reactor with much vigor. 

“That’s the horse-face you were talking about?” Levi asks incredulously, because he hadn’t expected Eren to be accurate in his observation of the other boy. Eren nods in a manner that can’t be described as anything else but “repulsed”, his eyebrows scrunching in the middle like he’s itching to just punch the boy in the face. Which Levi wouldn’t really mind—he thinks this fair could use a little more flair.

“Well I think you’re definitely going to win!” Petra cheers, and her positive energy is the only boost Eren needs because when the panel of judges comes strolling by he leads the presentation and the demonstration of his project with what Levi deems is adequate decency.

“You three really made that?” one of them jeers. “I don’t believe you for a second—you seem to have used chemicals unavailable to high schoolers. Did you solicit outside help for this experiment?”

Eren, dumb and determined as always, doesn’t disappoint when he snaps back, “The only people we asked were our parents, and the guidelines say we can ask our parents!”

Another judge narrows his eyes—Levi recognizes him as Nile Dok, that annoying prat who usually leads the Parent-Teacher Association meetings, and he feels inclined to punch this man in the face and break a few teeth when he whirls on Petra to ask, like he’s ready to persecute the lot of them for breaking the rules, “And what exactly were your contributions to this project, Ms. Ral?”

The man stumbles back in surprise when Petra levels him with a stern glare and a just as sternly said, “I simply showed them how to cook the chicken to get their used oil, Mr. Dok. Nothing more than that.”

“Hm.” He studies her for a long moment before turning to face Levi instead, which would have been a huge mistake if they hadn’t been within school premises and Levi had all the room to demonstrate just how many ways he could break this man’s teeth. “And you, Mr. Ral? Did you contribute in any way to your son’s project?”

“Hah? Of course I contributed.” He shifts his weight onto one foot, and with an air of nonchalance that manages to qualify Eren for first place in this stupid competition, he says with all seriousness: 

“I ate the chicken.”

#rivetra #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #eren yaegar #petra ral #levi ackerman #or more accurately levi ral #because tehcnicalities #further explained on a/n in ao3 #said a/n also contains references i used if anyone's interested #yay