#{and might lower my chances of finding anyone to write with her significantly}

[thenexusofsouls]

{i am the caretaker of souls} Hey guys, looking for a bit of advice here. I've recently been very inspired by a character I saw in a horror movie, and I am pondering adding her to this blog. My issue is that I would love to add some things to her as far as abilities, background, and motivations... and also take some away. I have other inspirations I could combine with her to make an even more interesting character, and I also might want to remove some things about her that could be intensely triggering to users on here (yes even more so than the ones I have right now). So the decision is... do I play her as-is from canon, but not fully run with my inspiration as I'd like to and really risk bothering people with how triggering she might be... or do I run with it, change her up, and then... what do I call her? She would be too different from canon to merely say canon divergent, yet not my original character so I can't call her an OC either. Has anyone else ever altered a canon so much that it was like an OC, and if so, how did you handle it? Is it better not to change canons so much that they might be unrecognizable, or the flip side, to borrow the core concept of a canon character as a base for an OC? I would love to make her a Marvel OC, actually, but... it just seems wrong, like I'm stealing someone else's character design.

I keep flip-flopping on what I want to do, so any advice would be helpful. She's from a movie with essentially no fandom on here that I can see, so my chances of irritating other people rping from that movie are pretty much zero. Even so, I hesitate to lift a base character and then change it into my own, it just feels wrong. But I'm so inspired... Argh!

Thoughts?

[mercy-burning]

No Fun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Everyone knows there’s no fun in friends without benefits. (Inspired by the song Friends Without Benefits by Chloe Collins) Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Strong language, drinking, oral sex (fem receiving), mention of male receiving oral sex, penetrative/unprotected sex, creampie Word Count: 3.4k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: Hello! Sorry my scheduling has been all over the place lately, as I’m sure you’re probably tired of hearing about at this point 😅 But, No Fun is finally out!! (It was also a very good way for me to ease myself back into writing after recovering from my cold alsdjflsdkjf) Also, if you don’t follow Chloe on TikTok (or any social, really) you should! She’s super sweet and writes all her songs about Criminal Minds. This one’s my favorite, though! It’s such a vibe, I hope you’ll all give it a listen! 😊❤

***

Her eyes opened of their own accord. No alarm, no ring of the cellphone, no hand on her shoulder accompanied by the voice of one of her co-workers saying they'd finally landed... She liked it that way. Not only because it meant she had that rare peace and quiet first thing in the morning—though that was definitely a perk. It also meant that she was most likely at Spencer's apartment.

In his bed.

In his shirt.

As her eyes adjusted to the golden warmth that beamed through the curtains, she stretched out her arms and legs, knowing full well that he was in the kitchen; He was always in the kitchen, ever the early bird.

Speaking of, the smell of coffee started to permeate into the bedroom, and it comforted her further as she rose into a seated position. In a matter of minutes, the coffee would be ready, and Spencer would be waiting patiently, sipping from his own cup while hers sat untouched at the spot across from him.

Normally, she would get dressed and meet him out there, but upon remembering all the delicious things that happened in that kitchen the night before, she was feeling a little devious.

So she got out of bed and removed her underwear, leaving her in just his shirt, which barely covered her ass. She was going to leave them in the bedroom, but after a split second decision, she ended up striding out into the kitchen with the garment dangling from her fingers.

"Good morning," she sang, standing in front of the kitchen counter. It covered her lower half, so the only indication of her indecent exposure took form of the fabric in her hand.

Spencer was reading something, not bothering to look up as he spoke. "Good morning. Your coffee's how you like it. I thought we could stop at the gas station on the way in to get something to eat."

"Yeah, that's fine," she responded, setting the underwear on the counter and picking up her coffee. "But I was hoping you would eat me instead."

She nonchalantly lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip as he finally looked up, raising an eyebrow. Her eyes glanced down at the counter as if to say, Look...

And he did.

The seductive sparkle in his eye at the sight in front of him sent a drip of excitement into her bloodstream that rippled throughout her whole body. It always had.

That's initially what drew her to him in the first place. Yeah, it was common knowledge to anyone that Spencer was intelligent, endearing, and handsome, but it was his flirty side that really got Y/N going. It didn't come out often, if at all— unless he was drunk or with the person of his affections.

Y/N found this out when the team threw him an impromptu birthday party last year. After discovering that he hadn't reminded anyone of his thirtieth birthday, Emily immediately called Penelope back home to start planning, and she looped everyone in before they landed later that night. Y/N herself was kind of disappointed with herself for even fathoming the idea of forgetting her friend's birthday, especially since she'd known him for years and celebrated his birthday with him and their friends before.

So before the party that night, she decided to go out and get him something. Only, she couldn't find anything, and it was on her way back when everyone was wondering where she was that Y/N started to question whether or not she really deserved to be considered his friend.

It didn't stop her from putting on a happy face and celebrating his birthday to the fullest, though— She showed up and hugged him immediately, holding onto him perhaps a little too long before offering to give him anything he wanted as compensation for forgetting his birthday, and his thirtieth at that. Of course, he insisted that she didn't really have to do anything for him, but she knew that was just him being himself.

Nonetheless, the party moved along, and with pretty much everyone out of his apartment after a long night of drinking and cake and celebration, Spencer and Y/N were the only two left, buzzed and sitting a little too close.

After convincing him to let loose and have a little fun on his 'special day', Y/N had managed to get him to help her finish an entire bottle of wine. And he'd been making his way through a few beers as the sun set and the stars came out.

And then he started looking at her weird.

That was the only way she could have described it in her drunken state, but it was certainly true, if only for the fact that it wasn't a look she'd ever seen from him before. His eyes were wide, pupils blown to almost full dilation, and his tongue kept dancing behind his lips like he was tracing out some sort of invisible pattern.

When she confronted him about it, drunkenly giggling and asking why he was looking at her like that, he laughed back and flat-out told her, "Have I ever told you how pretty y'are?" And she didn't even get a chance to respond before he continued. "Y/N, you're really pretty... Like, you're the prettiest woman I-ever seen."

"You're pretty, too, y'know, birthday boy," she laughed, smiling incredibly wide. Her whole body was practically on fire, and it only got hotter when he leaned in and kissed her, hard and sloppy, and with purpose.

They went on that night, stumbling around every square inch of his apartment while mumbling drunken compliments and haphazardly throwing aside their clothes until they woke up the next morning in his bed, naked, hungover, and absolutely shocked by what had happened.

Things at work were significantly more awkward, as to be expected, but as the days went on, the more they started to catch little stolen glances and shared recovered memories of what really happened.

More specifically, Y/N couldn't stop replaying these few sentences in her head, on a loop in between flashes of hands in hair and tongues on skin...

"You said you'd give me anything I wanted, right? What if I want you?"

"Then go ahead... Have me."

...Have me...

They met up in the parking lot one day after work and simultaneously blurted out in their own words how they couldn't stop thinking about what happened and how much they wanted to do it again...

And they did.

That seductive sparkle in his eye was there when he kissed her that first night on his birthday, it was there just before they started making out in the parking lot just a week later, and it was there now as he looked down at her panties on the table and then flitted his gaze up to meet hers.

Y/N's body buzzed with a thrill as Spencer made his way around the kitchen counter and dropped to his knees as she sat on the barstool and spread her legs for him.

***

They were late for work that morning.

To make it inconspicuous, Y/N showed up ten minutes after Spencer did— maybe a little exaggerated, but it didn't raise any suspicions. It might have sucked when as soon as she walked in everyone was on their way out to go to the airstrip, Hotch with his phone in hand and ready to dial her number, but nobody suspected a thing.

Spencer threw a little smirk at her as he passed, and she resisted the urge to smack his ass out of spite.

She would have done it, too, but there were two specific rules they'd set once they decided to regularly sleep together, and one of them was that nothing could happen at work or around their friends. And regardless of how badly they wanted to steal kisses or touches at work, their arrangement meant too much to compromise. Once either rule was broken, their little friends with benefits excursion would be immediately void.

Unfortunately, after a flight that was absolutely laced with their sexual tension and once they'd landed in Minnesota for this latest case, they both shared a look that practically set in stone the undeniable, inevitable truth.

They were obsessed.

The whole ordeal was incredibly exhilarating, already an inevitable outcome when it came to regularly sleeping with a co-worker, but what they weren't counting on was just how thrilling it was. Almost a year into their extracurricular activities and they were spending just about every free moment attached by mouths and hands and limbs. And as time progressed it became increasingly more difficult to keep to themselves, needing to be in proximity to one another constantly.

That's not to say they weren't excellent at handling it, though.

Sure, the burning in their veins at the sight of one another after knowing what it was like to be intimate was excruciating, and being paired together on cases knowing that they couldn't break any rules had them feeling like they were going to drown... But the pay-off after a long period of time with no physical contact was absolutely worth it.

All the secrecy and the holding back made it that much explosive when they finally got a decent moment alone.

Right now they were on their way back from a week-long case in Georgia.

And maybe it was fucked up, but once the team realized it was going to be rather grueling, the first thing Y/N thought was how better her stress relief was going to be when they finally finished. The second she thought it, she briefly glanced over at Spencer and saw that he had the same look on his face.

Even during the jet ride home, they were sitting on opposite sides while everyone slept around them, staring at each other and only breaking eye contact when someone rustled in their sleep.

Grueling images of the things they'd seen in the past week danced between them alongside flashes of all the things they wanted to do to each other as compensation. They heard faint screams and gunshots muffled by the high moans and shouts of each others' names, heavy breathing and skin slapping against skin...

The only word that sat between them as they clamored into Spencer's car and drove off was, "Drive."

It was late. They were exhausted and alert all at the same time. Their bodies were practically on fire. Y/N's leg bounced rapidly as Spencer's fingers tapped the steering wheel with fervor and impatience. And when he knew there would be no one around to pull them over for speeding, he stepped on the gas harder, and their heartbeats picked up right alongside their speed.

Even the walk up to his apartment was laced with impatience, Y/N's leg still bouncing as Spencer unlocked the door.

They rushed through it the second there was a tiny sliver of light from the dim nightlight she knew he kept in the entryway.

And then it was beautiful, heavenly chaos.

The door slammed loudly as Spencer leaned his whole body weight against Y/N, sending her flying towards it. They were drawn together like a magnet to a fridge, a moth to a flame, days of pent-up frustration and tension beginning its firework show right there in his entryway as their mouths clashed together.

No amount of contact was good enough it seemed, because it was just constant movement. Their hands wandered and their bodies pressed into each other continuously as they kissed the breath out of each other. Even still, they continued all the way to his bedroom, grunting while bumping into furniture and walls and doorways, but never daring to separate an inch all the same.

"God, I needed you," Spencer whispered once his bedroom door was shut. His hands tugged at her shirt and tried to get the buttons done as he continued. "All fucking week, you were just right there and I couldn't touch you..."

Y/N pressed her mouth to his and started hastily unbuttoning his shirt as well. After a few seconds, he pulled his mouth away and started to speak again, his fingers still trying to get her shirt undone. "I need it bad..."

With a frustrated grunt, Y/N pulled him in closer by the collar of his shirt and hissed into his mouth, "Then shut up and fucking take it..."

Her words kicked him in the ass and shot him forward, sending them flying towards the door once again. She yelped at the sharp pain that came and went as her back hit the wood, but with Spencer's hands finally tearing open her shirt and settling on her bare waist as he practically shoved his tongue down her throat, she couldn't complain.

Both of their shirts came off, and as soon as they hit the floor her hands went to his hair. She tugged on the wavy locks, a soft moan escaping her as he dipped his hands under the back of her bra and worked the clasp. It came off quickly, as it always did, and once it hit the floor he leaned down and gave her breasts all his attention. His tongue swirled around her nipples one my one, littering her skin with kisses in between and reveling in the way she kept tugging on his hair each time he gently tugged a nipple with his teeth.

Eventually, they both couldn't take any more, Y/N pushing his head down while tugging down her slacks and Spencer being glad she did, using his hands to assist her.

Having known for about a year now how heavenly his mouth was when it worked at her wasn't even a fair warning for the intensity of the shudders that soared through her body when his lips made contact with her clit just then. She let out a loud, broken cry of relaxation and relief and pure ecstasy as he practically devoured her.

His tongue was gliding through her with ease, ravening groans erupting from his throat and sending more sharp waves of excitement through Y/N's bloodstream with every passing second. His ministrations were quick and greedy, sloppy yet precise. And when he added his fingers to the mix, she gripped his hair tight and cried out his name, tensing at the sweet, burning stretch they provided.

That only drove him more wild, his tongue flicking over her clit faster while his fingers pumped, curled, and dragged languidly inside of her. He worked to pull every ounce of pleasure from her body, all while squeezing his eyes shut and losing himself in the taste of her, the way her thighs lightly trembled over his face and the desperate clutches of her fingers in his hair...

He wanted all of it. All of her.

He also wanted to hear that sound she made when he was helping her through the peak of her orgasm— a high, dreamy cry that boiled his insides and turned him into an animal.

And there it was, with just three more quick pumps of his fingers. It started off soft, though he knew the second he sucked on her clit and grazed her g-spot with his fingers it would careen higher and louder, right into that perfect pitch that he wished he could hear for eternity. Her thighs shook almost violently around his head, her fingers clawing at his scalp so tight that he felt little pinpricks of pleasure run down the back of his head and through his neck.

Y/N came down soon after, her voice resorting to small whimpers and pants as she tried to push his head away. But it wasn't until she actually tugged his hair up that Spencer finally retreated and got up off the floor.

"I thought you wanted me to take it?" he panted, already missing the warmth of her legs over his face.

She reached down and started toying with his belt, pulling him closer by the leather and throwing him a smirk. "Yeah, but now I wanna take it."

Before she could sink to her knees, though, he stopped her, walking her towards the bed and sitting her down as he finished taking off his pants. "Another time... Right now I need to be inside of you."

The urgency dripping in his voice and through his movements made Y/N burn all over again, and really, who was she to argue? Yeah, maybe she wanted to suck the living soul out of him, but his eagerness to get to the main event gave her the opportunity to treat him tomorrow morning. Spencer was always hard in the morning (at least on the rare occasion that she'd wake up before he did), and the thought of his sleepy groans and whines as she slowly worked his cock with her mouth was more than enough to keep her satisfied until then.

It also made her incredibly wet and ready, which was convenient when he climbed over her and bent her legs back, leaning forward and sinking into her in no time at all.

The sounds that came out of their mouths right then were exceedingly pornographic. It had been too long since their last sexual encounter, and even though they'd been at it plenty of times before, it still felt as intense and fresh as the first few times.

As aforementioned, they were obsessed.

Their song and dance of skink on skin never got old. Time and time again, it was like they'd never touched before, every feeling so intense it was like they were on the top of a rollercoaster that just kept falling and falling with no end in sight.

Every time he snapped his hips forward and and stretched her wide, her insides crumbled apart and gave way to his storm. She embraced his using of her body for pleasure, and he gave her the best orgasms in turn.

As of right now, she was caught between wanting to look down between their bodies to watch him fuck her and laying back to let it happen— take it all in that way and lose herself in the moment.

Though, she settled on the former, just as she always did, because watching Spencer fuck her was always the more exciting option. Especially when he was as urgent as he was now.

She watched with her bottom lip out in a pout as he fucked her, taking notice of how his hands looked gripping her waist and how his stomach tensed with every movement. Her eyes wandered over the planes of his body, and then finally his face. Usually he'd be so focused on the task at hand that his eyes would barely be open, taking in every ounce of pleasure that he possibly could, and that was exactly the case here. Fluttering eyes, pouty lips, flushed face, hair damp and wild as ever...

It drove her half mad.

"Harder," she demanded, reaching out and pulling him closer by the ass.

Spencer was more than happy to comply, a satisfied huff of laughter coming from him as he leaned down and sharpened his movements. His hips were heavier, pinning Y/N down into the mattress with every thrust forward, consequently drawing a little whimper from her each time.

To take it a step further and complete her request, he leaned back a little and pushed her legs open and wide, spreading her further and pinning her down that way to give his hips more driving force.

Unsurprisingly, neither of them lasted long after that.

Y/N shouted his name into the air, leaning her head back as her body tensed and gave in to his force. And he fucked her through it, his grunts gradually getting louder until his hips pushed into hers one final time, at which point he leaned down and put more of his weight on top of her.

As he filled her with his release, she sighed out, clenching herself around him and reveling in his warmth. Whether it was the warmth inside of her or the warmth he provided by blanketing her body with his own, she was glad for its presence. There was nothing else she'd rather have felt after a hard week at work—or any hard feat, really—than Spencer.

He retracted his warmth once they'd settled, however, removing himself from the bed on shaky limbs to grab wipes on the other side of the room.

And of course, Y/N admired him the whole way, flashing him a devilish wink when he inevitably caught her staring.

***

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[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n and ranboo

this is an extra part to the great adventures series

summary: part two to the angst imagine (the not so great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo jack and ranboo) it’s a happier ‘ending’ please read what is written in bold

this is an “alternative ending” around 15 years into the future this doesn’t mean this is actually how the series is going to end im writing it now and including it as part of series as their friendship is already established i can confirm y/n and the group are going to have a happy ending when the series eventually comes to an end this also does not mean the series is anywhere near the end i plan on continuing the series as vlogs come out, i feel the need to confirm this now love between y/n and ranboo in this imagine is completely platonic

it had been about a month since you last streamed whereas ranboo continued to stream a few days after the fallout as he wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. even though ranboo knew this huge fallout would eventually happen, it still hurt him, especially since he knew there was no way to prevent it, the four of you in the same house mixed with the stress of being some of the most-watched content creators made living rather difficult. it was like walking on eggshells as you didn’t want to interrupt someone's stream, then there was the additional stress of obsessive fans finding out where the four of you lived, you still remember that day very vividly. you were sat in between tubbo and ranboo watching the office whilst Tommy was in an interview when you received a message from your mod.

Chris: hey y/n I received this message earlier I don’t want to scare you, but maybe get the locks changed. someone sent a message claiming this is your address *image of message from ‘fan’*

it didn’t take long for tubbo and ranboo to receive a message from their mods saying the same thing

“holy shit...”

“chances are Tommy has the message too. we shall go check around the house when Tommy is done with the interview.”

luckily no one ever showed up to the house, but the fact some people were so obsessed to the point they found your address was enough to put everyone in the house on edge. and now it was just you and ranboo in the house. you didn’t feel safe as even though ranboo promised to not let anything happen, you didn’t wanna risk it.

“we should move. there’s no point in having such a big house for two people, what are we going to use the extra space for heh? hide and seek with people who have our address. no thank you. I say we move leave this mess behind and start completely over, hell I’d feel safer in the us and that’s saying something”

ranboo agreed the house didn’t have the happiest memories attached to it anymore, it hurt walking past the hallway as it would bring back the memory of him crying into the crook of y/ns neck whilst tubbo left the house.

“let’s do it, I’ll do an early stream then we can look for houses. go take a shower. I’ll stay close to the door so you’re safe, then you can stay in my room whilst I stream, you can join me if you would like.”

“you’re being very protective all of a sudden...let me guess you got the message from our mods announcing the obsessive fans are at it again?”

“go take a shower.”

“no.”

ranboo ended up picking you up, carried you to the bathroom and turned the shower on before putting you on your feet.

“quick shower I’ll see you later.”

and with that he left the room shutting the door behind him, 30 minutes later you got changed and followed ranboo to his room ready to join him whilst he streams

“hey boo, can I join you? I kinda wanna get into streaming again.”

“I'm so glad you asked, I was going to do a face cam stream, if that’s okay?”

“of course.”

you grabbed his mask and glasses whilst he locked the door so you were both safe. “here you go.”

“thank you.”

the pair of you started the stream and it was honestly going well, you were having so much fun you forgot about all the negative things currently going on, you began to understand why ranboo continued streaming as for those 2-4 hours of streaming it felt as though everything was back to normal. 3 hours later the two of you ended stream and Twitter went crazy. tweets ranged from fans talking about how ranboo was streaming with you, how Tommy was in chat, and how tubbo was modding as people who mentioned anything about their address being leaked were banned by tubbo. the one thing that caught ranboos eye was fan art and a picture of you both from the stream captioned ‘they’re platonic soulmates your honour’ ranboo went as far to like, retweet and comment on it.

ranaltboo: glad you liked the stream it was great having y/n back, think I might make them play tattletail next stream

definitelynoty/n: isn’t that the Furby game that terrified you in 2021? bring it on boo!

Twitter went crazy over this interaction, you had finally come back to social media after months of being inactive, and it looked like you were here to stay. a month later you and ranboo moved out of the house and sold it to your aunt and her wife and their three adopted children, you explained the situation and even changed the locks for them all before they moved in.

“Please do tell us if anyone shows up who shouldn’t be. we changed the locks as you were aware- oh hello little one.”

you noticed one of their children decided to cling onto your leg

“I like your hair it’s colourful!”

“Indeed it is.”

“WOAH A GIANT!”

the little girl let go of your leg and ran to ranboo asking to be picked up, unsure of what to do he looked towards you. however, you were too busy laughing about the fact he was compared to a giant.

“I'm so sorry uh if you want to pick her up you can, you don’t have to.”

“pick me up, tall man... I want to be taller!”

ranboo ended up standing next to you with an arm around your waist whilst the child sat on his shoulders happily playing with his hair.

“ranboo do not drop that child.”

“I didn't- I didn't plan on it y/n.”

eventually, it was time to leave and the child reluctantly let go of ranboo.

“bye-bye!! hope to see you soon!”

soon enough you were at a smaller house, far away from the old house, leaving behind the negative feelings. it could only get better, a week later the pair of you had settled into the new house, it finally felt like home. you and ranboo were now streaming full time again, safe to say the two of you were thriving and closer than ever.

“so I’m thinking if I hit the sub-goal today I’ll let chat pick what colour I dye my hair.”

“make it higher, and I’ll let you cut my hair.”

“Are you being serious? oh my god!”

a few minutes later you took to Twitter to announce you were going live.

y/n: kidnapping children in the sims with ranboo psst check the subgoal.

within 20 minutes you had hit the sub-goal, chat ended up picking another random neon colour for your hair.

“right hair dye and the cutting stream will be this weekend, now let’s go back to kidnapping.”

tubbo, tommy, and jack felt awful for what happened and went back to the house where you used to live, hoping to see you there so they could apologise, tubbo knocked on the door only to be met by a young child.

“my sister watches you on twitch!”

“oh that’s lovely.. are y/n and ranboo here?”

an older woman came to the door.

“oh no, I’m sorry dear they both moved out, but they left this box and said to give it to you if you returned.”

“do you know where they moved to?”

“I'm sorry dear, I'm not allowed to tell you that information for safety reasons.”

“I understand, thanks anyway.”

they ended up going back to jacks where the three of them had been staying.

“We should open the box.”

tubbo opened the box and emptied the items onto the floor, inside was the rocks y/n handed tubbo from every trip, photos of the group, a necklace y/n had gifted to Tommy a day before the argument, and a hat y/n had taken from jack during a trip to a zoo.

“what the fuck!”

“holy shit!”

“they really kept all these in hopes we would come back?”

“and now we’re too late.”

it was now the weekend you and ranboo were ready to stream, you stood leaning on ranboo who was significantly smaller than you as you lowered the chair he sat on.

“starting stream...now.”

after the starting soon intro played, you explained what was happening to any new viewers or people who didn’t watch the stream.

“so I’m about to become Edward Scissorhands...I love that film can we watch it later?”

“yeah mhm sure!”

you didn’t know this but your ex best friends were watching and ever so often would show up in the chat.

“so boo, what are we doing with your hair today?”

“just a trim please darling?”

“This is y/ns hairdressers you get what I’m capable of!”

you ended up doing a pretty good job of cutting ranboos hair, even he was impressed.

“I didn’t doubt you for a minute!”

“mhm sure thing please don’t mess up my hair tall one!”

soon enough you had the dye on. 45 minutes later you left to wash it off, leaving ranboo to entertain stream,

“chat I think I missed some of their hair it’s okay, I own scissors, I’ll just cut it.. speaking of they did a great job, didn't they? I honestly expected them to mess up.”

a few minutes later you joined ranboo again and spent the next few hours talking with chat. tubbo, tommy, and jack stayed the entire time. they loved the fact you and ranboo were able to stay close after what happened, Tommy noticed you were still wearing the necklace he got you many years ago and spammed them chat with him tubbo and jack

Tommy: THEYRE WEARING THE NECKLACE!!

jack: so what? they clearly don’t wanna talk to us.

tubbo: shut up listen to them.

“chat why are we spamming platonic soulmates?”

“they’ve been saying it all over Twitter, look on trending y/n.”

you started to blush slightly at all the amazing artwork soon enough the stream came to an end, after saying goodbye the pair of you sat together going through fan art. unfortunately the one that caught your eye was this one twitter post where the artist had created a drawing of a piece of paper with you, ranboo, tommy, tubbo, and jack, however the paper was ripped separating you and ranboo from the others, captioned ‘it was never meant to be’ this clearly upset ranboo as he took off his mask and glasses placing them on the desk before going straight to his bed.

“boo…are you okay?”

“Are you tired of me? are you going to leave next?”

“what? no of course not! I could never get tired of you, why do you ask?”

“everyone else has left..i thought they cared about us, i knew it would happen eventually and i couldn’t stop it, i’m sorry, y/n, please don’t hate me.”

you sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor,

“come here.”

you watched him roll over to face you.

“you know there’s no one else who I'd rather spend the rest of my life with, right…if i hated you i wouldn’t have moved house with you. it’s not your job to fix everything and make everything better, you’re a streamer for christ sake not a therapist.”

“i guess so.. can we watch that thing you were on about for ages.”

“edward scissorhands? “

“mhm!”

you could tell he wanted to be distracted, so you agreed and put the film on, towards the end you began to get upset due to how overwhelming everything was.

“Why are you crying?”

“poor Edward.”

“come here.”

ranboo pulled you into a hug you laid there crying into his chest, he knew that wasn’t the reason you were crying, but he wasn’t about to make you tell him, luckily it didn’t take long for you to stop crying as ranboo quickly distracted you.

“ranboo..”

“yeah y/n?”

“I feel bad i didnt realise how much pressure was on you whilst everyone was arguing.”

“Hey, it’s okay, is that what’s upsetting you?”

“mhm.”

“don’t blame yourself, i’d do it all over again to keep you safe and happy..then again i didn’t do a good job on keeping you happy.”

“you did..you were always there for me even when i gave up on social media, you shared your room with me after i started receiving creepy messages from that obsessed fan, hell you even went on adventures with me even though it was clear you hadn’t been sleeping, just so we could spend time together and forget about what was happening. you mean a lot to me boo.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too bud, I’m tired.”

“go to sleep, it’s been a long day.”

“okay.”

“you just staying there?”

“yes.”

“oh, oh okay, goodnight.”

about a year later the two of you were still thriving, ranboo got you a promise ring a few months earlier.

“heh what’s this for?”

“as your best friend i promise to stay by your side and keep you safe and make sure that you’re happy, in other words you're stuck with me till the end of time.”

“boo…i really don’t know what to say.. thank you so much!”

“you don’t have to say anything!”

you ended up going out to buy him a promise ring when he started the stream and decided to take your cousins with you now that they were a little older. ranboo was doing a facecam stream when the door slammed open revealing you covering your three younger cousins ranboo not realising you were hiding them from the camera, instinctively stood up covering the camera

“ranboooooo!”

“yes you three and y/n ,what do you need?”

“we would like to watch a film!”

“Okay, i’ll go put one on, y/n will you entertain chat?”

“sure thing boo boy!”

once they left you sat fixing your hair forgetting you were wearing the ring chat noticed this and went crazy, so did Tommys group with tubbo and jack.

tubbo: that’s a ring, right??

jack: yeah looks like it.

Tommy: holy shit I always thought if anyone was gonna get married it would be tubbo and y/n, they were inseparable.

tubbo: hilarious.

jack: it could just be a ring, no one mentioned marriage tommy!

Tommy: we should congratulate them.

jack: at least let them explain fucking hell.

soon enough ranboo came back into the room,

“sorry one of them found it hilarious to steal my glasses...”

“they’re little shits i swear to god but i love them.”

you both noticed chat going crazy and both looked at each other before laughing.

“i'm sorry, i can’t take you serious in the mask and glasses!”

“i can’t take you serious with neon hair, but here we are!”

“rude!”

you and ranboo quickly put an end to the rumours,

“no we’re not engaged or married, it is a promise ring. no they’re not our children, they’re y/ns cousins they just spend a lot of time here..chat stop calling me and y/n parents and comparing us to phil that’s not..that’s not how it works okay!”

“parent arc!”

“y/n, don’t encourage them!”

“it’s a little bit funny!”

soon enough the bit came to an end and eventually ranboo ended the stream.

“hey boo look what i got you”

you handed him a little black box, inside was a ring similar to yours

“i promise to always stick around and be here for you”

“oh my god”

ranboo tackled you into a hug thanking you several times for his rings. you and ranboo were living your best life meanwhile jack, tommy, and tubbo were stuck dealing with the guilt of what happened, but they’re weren’t giving up that easy. they wanted you both back, that’s when you received a notification, tommyinnit has sent you a message request: hey y/n can we talk..please?

taglist

@dumb-chaotic-bi-energy @uselesssapphickitten @l0ver0fj0y @etheriaaly @xx-smiley-xx @hawarun @kylobensgirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @reverse-iak @renleicrashed @augustine-is-joy @c1loudee

[mozak-hh]

Genshin Impact Headcanon:

When they’re horny.

thank you all so much for the genshin matchup requests! The response was so overwhelming I’m beaming. I’ll try getting through as many requests as I can so while you guys wait I’ve decided to write you a little something in appreciation. ^^ I also added my first female character because I was sick of the lack of gender diversity hehe. If you like Jean, pls comment any other fem requests you may have since it really helps out a lot. Don’t be afraid to ask me to write anything either, it’s my job after all! x

Includes: Kaeya, Diluc, Xiao, Jean

Type: Nsfw, you have been warned~

Kaeya:

When is this man not horny?

Perhaps it was the change of wind, or maybe it was the change in your attitude that set Kaeya off. The subtle lift of your skirt, the breeze making the collar of your shirt flow, Kaeya couldn’t resist the temptation of wanting more. He was a man after all. A man who fancied you quite significantly.  How could he resist the primal urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you closer? Your scent was mesmerizing, making it hard to turn away. Suddenly Kaeya found his body had become too warm to stand it. 

Kaeya growled in lustrous frustration. A Bead of sweat dripping from the crown of his head. The damp air of the shower only adding to the sensual heat in his lower abdomen. The hot water covered his broad shoulders and streamed down his toned abdomen, gliding over his hand as he pumped his cock in slow, rhythmic motions. 

Perhaps it was the change in scenery, being away from you for so long that is, which brought Kaeya into this animalistic state. He lifted his head up and jerked his arm faster. Streams of water following the curves of his muscles. He’d already seen you that morning, but his heat had gotten a lot worse. He imagined your small frame pressed against the shower wall, covered by his taller build. Arms captured in his own as he thrusted into you. You squeezing your legs which were wrapped around his waist. Locking him in your tight wet walls.

“f-fuck it..,” Kaeya moaned as he turned to lock away from his throbbing cock. rubbing his callused hands over the soft tip, pumping his hand a few more times before letting out a chocked moan. Cumming all over the wall in front of him, and letting the water wash the rest of the sweat off his body.

Damn. Kaeya sure as hell wouldn’t be spending another night in the shower alone.  

Diluc:

Diluc is a busy man, so its often that he doesn’t have the time to enjoy simple pleasures such as sex. But after weeks after not being able to spend one night with you, he becomes ravenous. 

He becomes rather snappy and short tempered. Not being able to handle any person touching him. This wont interrupt his work performance much, but it’ll make him a lot less polite, often making his staff tend to the bar instead of him. That is, until you see him one late night during his rut. 

You went to his winery to provide him with some necessary information. The maids let you in and told you he was upstairs. Once you began to move slowly towards his bedroom chambers is when you heard the painful grunt. 

You rush to door and open it slightly, peering to see if anyone was hurt. It seems as if time had slowed down completely, your breath hitched. Diluc sat at the corner of his bead, palming the large bulge straining beneath his pants. Half of his buttons on his shirt were undone, leaving his exposed chest gleaming with sweat. He must of had good hearing, as his eyes snapped to the door where his eyes instantly met yours. 

“Oh Fuck.. you look delicious..” Diluc’s eyes scanned your form, licking his lips as he stood from his bed. As soon as you silently shut the door behind you he wrapped his strong arms around your body, letting him hoist you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

Diluc becomes a little more loud during sex, perhaps even a bit whiny. All while hugging you so you can’t leave. For the rest of the night, Diluc has to have his cock inside you. Gripping you tightly and fucking you senselessly. He won’t stop until he can’t breathe. 

Jean:

Jean’s another hopeless case, never allowing herself to indulge in such matters. But after getting involved in you, she suddenly finds herself waiting for her day to end, signalling her to go home. For jean, it’s the thought of her face in between your thighs that make her legs feel light beneath her office desk. 

Being under a heavy workload all the time, doesn’t do any good either. Unfortunately for Jean, there is no such thing as a sweet release during her breaks. that is, until you stride into her office, tray in hand. 

After hearing about Jean’s stress this pass week, you decided it would be a perfect chance to bring her lunch. Striding into her office, Jean’s legs start to shake, fire swelling in her stomach. You smile, and place the tray of hot food on her desk. Jean’s mouth waters, but not for the food.

“Oh you poor thing! I couldn’t imagine sitting at this desk all day. I brought some things I thought you might like-” you look down at the plate on the desk, “ I’m hope I didn’t intrude-” 

“Y/N baby~” Jeans huffs under her breath, standing up and pushing her chair abruptly. By the time your eyes snap back up, Jean’s already moved the tray of food, and taps your shoulder from behind you. Turning around, your met with a harsh kiss. Jean’s tongue dominating the inside of your mouth, making your cheeks flush and knees grow weak. You loose your balance, falling down towards the desk. Jean takes this opportunity to rest your head in her hand, gently lowering you down and slamming her other hand on the desk to catch you both before starting to kiss you again. 

You wrap your hands around Jean’s neck, running your hands through the back of her head. You whine as she stands, making her way towards the door and locking it. She turns around after the soft click, and strides back towards you, loosening the buttons on her shirt. 

 Licking her lips, she stands above you. Lightly yanking your shorts.

“Let’s take these off, shall we?”

(Sorry I’m a simp for dom Jean pls send help)

Xiao: 

This guy goes through regular periods of heat, like an animal. Perhaps It’s an adepti thing, but every so often he’ll stop talking to you and shut himself within the walls of the inn. Not even the managers go near him, fearing the unusual scent coming from his chambers. This man wont let himself stop. Only using his time to pleasure himself. 

Somehow in your right mind you decide to check up on him to make sure he was doing alright. Ascending the stairs to the attic you catch the scent of something sweet, mixed with the smell of sweat and Xiao himself. The air begins to grow thick as you reach the door to his room. Turning the knob a few times you find it to be locked from the outside. Panicking, you pound your fist on the door to see if someone had locked him inside.

Xiao smashes his fist through the door, wood splintering and groaning under his force. He rips the handle off clean, allowing himself to bust the door open and pull you inside. Trapping you beneath his body as he Hauls the broken door closed again. Seeling it with special magic.

“I knew you’d come for me~” he purrs, putting his thigh between your legs and caressing your face. Pinned up against the door, you notice Xiao’s ankles bound in thick metal cuffs, the long Chain connected to his bed. There were claw marks on every whole. It truly looked like he tried to destroy the place.

You try to break from his grip, but he blocks you with his arms, kissing you forcibly. His breath is hot, his hands tremble. “Touch me y/n, touch me” he wines, bringing your hand to press on his crotch as he moans into your neck.

Sex with this animalistic beast will be nothing short of desperate. From the minute you allow him to the end of his heat, Xiao will have his throbbing cock inside you. He won’t let you go, hugging you from behind as he pounds into you. Don’t try to run away from him, that’ll just turn him on.

At the end of his heat he’ll probably feel so bad but if you’re ok with it he’ll have you around more often during his heat.

Hope you enjoyed~

[neondvcks]

and the water was honey

fjord/jester, fairytale!au

A/N: I guess inserting these characters into Fairy Tale settings is a thing now; do note that this a standalone piece. As always please excuse any inevitable mistakes and inconsistent writing.

[AO3]

There lives a witch in the woods.

She is dangerous and terrifying and has an insatiable hunger for children. Fjord is told about her within hours of arriving in town. One of the dockworkers warns him with a laugh when he asks about the endless trees expanding onto the horizon and a few others join in on the joke; spinning tales of nightly visits and boiling pots filled with uneaten vegetables.

A cautionary tale then, Fjord decides, told to children to keep from misbehaving, to keep them in line. There had been plenty of those when he was growing up, though they were surely less imaginative than flesh-eating witches.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She has hoofed feet and twisted horns and she sing sweet lullabies to lure people into her hut. Fjord doesn’t put much stock in fairy tales, even less so when it’s the tavern drunk who’s spouting them. The man is old and his voice carries throughout the entire establishment as he talks about disappearing nephews and curious ritualistic markings.

Fjord has known many men like this one, lost in the haze of spirits and grief, plagued by invisible horrors buried deep within their minds. Harmless, really, to anyone but themselves.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She smells of cinnamon and sugar and keeps her victims in cages to fatten them up. Fjord has been in town two days and has already heard about her thrice. It rings different, though, from the mouth of a shaking kid; even if he caught her trying to put her hand down his purse. Her eyes are big and pleading and her fear is so tangible it nearly hurts him.

Fjord understands children like this better than he understands anything. From the stubborn set of her jaw fighting against the trembling of her lower lip to the ratty, ill-fitting clothes on her back. Alone and desperately looking for a family.

*

There might actually live a witch in the woods.

Her house is hidden beneath the dark canopy and decorated with an array of oddities. Fjord curses the child’s ability to tug at his heartstrings and coax a promise out of him as he studies the sweets and baked-goods lining the roof and walls. The faint scent of cinnamon hangs in the air.

It’s curiosity rather than bravery that drives him forward. With his hand on the hilt of his sword he inhales once (an overwhelming breath of sugar) and knocks on the door. The sound is muffled by the gingerbread and for a long moment nothing happens.

Then a soft musical voice filters through one of the sugar-paned windows:

“Nibble, nibble like a mouse, who’s nibbling at my house?”

There is no pause, no wait for an answer; the door simply opens with a gentle creak. Fjord peers into the dimly lit room, hesitating only slightly before tightening the grip on his sword and stepping over the threshold.

With the curtains drawn the only light comes from a fire burning in the hearth, casting eerie shadows onto the floor. A large table surrounded by a mismatch of chairs sits in the middle of the room, a warm sweet smell drifts up from the stove on his right. Aside from his own shuffling feet, the ticking of an ornate clock is the only sound until—

“Friend or foe?”

Fjord whirls around quickly, sword halfway out of its sheath. There, in front of the now-closed door, stands a figure hidden by shadows - it’s only discernible features the curling horns and coiling tail. A sudden rush of blood fills his ears as his heart beats out a warning sign in his chest.

The voice continues, though it doesn’t seem to come from the creature’s mouth: “A weary traveller looking for warmth or a sneaky thief looking for trouble?”

He steadies himself - slow breath in, slow breath out - determined to keep the trembling out of his reply.

“Friend, I hope.”

There is a long pause - made longer by the fear clawing at his throat - before suddenly the figure in front of him wavers then disappears into thin air as the curtains fly open and bright daylight streams into the hut.

“Oh, thank Gods,” someone pipes up near his elbow, causing him to jump. “I just made scones and they really are best when they are still warm.”

Smiling merrily stands a young woman barely a foot from him, in her hands a tray of delicious smelling pastries. Smaller than he had imagined her to be with cheerful eyes and a soft accent to her words, the horns on her head seem far less threatening - even the fangs in the corners of her mouth don’t seem to betray any bloodthirst.

Bewildered Fjord looks on as she places the scones onto the table and turns her attention towards the handful of children that seem to have climbed out of odd places all throughout the room (he must imagine one of them appearing out of the clock). One of them, with a beak and ruffled feathers, blinks curiously at his tusks as they all sit down and excitedly reach for jars of jam and cups of milk.

Surely, he thinks, this is when he ought to wake up.

“Won’t you join us, mister…?” The woman gestures to an empty chair, still smiling pleasantly even as her gaze flickers down to the sword at his side. The children all peer up at him with a mixture of expectation and wariness.

“Fj—Fjord.” He clears his throat as he cautiously sits down, still scanning the room for any potential threats. “The name’s Fjord.”

“Fjord,” she echoes, pleased. “I’m Jester.”

It is always ill-advised to take food or drink from strangers - even more so from strangers living in edible houses hidden away in dark forests. Still, when the offer is made with such eagerness, such generosity, it becomes significantly harder to refuse. In the end, Fjord eats two scones.

*

As a sailor Fjord knows that to survive a rip-current one can only stay calm; resistance is futile and only increases the chances of fatality. Being near Jester feels oddly similar to the sensation of being dragged out to sea; overwhelming and disorientating and strangely exhilarating. More than once does his breath escape him.

Jester asks countless questions (aided by the bravest of the children) and happily interjects her own anecdotes and wisdom wherever she sees fit. Repeatedly, Fjord finds himself staring at her for a beat too long - at her open-mouthed laugh and the way her nose scrunches, at the way her skirts twirl when she gracefully moves about and her tail dances behind her - and when she catches him with raised eyebrows his face flushes so hot he wonders if it couldn’t all still be a fever dream.

Somehow he ends up out back, axe in hand and a pile of woodblocks at his feet, two of the kids at his side for supervision. They laugh with him as much as at him now; don’t seem as perturbed by his monstrous appearance. That is until he mentions their sister and fear and confusion and hope flicker over their small faces.

Watching them retreat hastily to the hut, a bird joyfully chirping from a nearby tree, Fjord cannot blame them. Had he been presented with a place like this at their age he would’ve done anything within his miserable power to keep the outside world from creeping in. Even now a part of him yearns for the sanctuary within those gingerbread walls.

*

A comfortable quietness falls over the hut once the children settle in for the night. Jester and he sit at the scrubbed-down table, the fire crackling, a pot of tea between them. The scratching of her pencil as she scribbles in her journal is oddly soothing and for a little while he wishes not to speak. He wishes to sit here with her and her peculiarities and warmth until the days run out.

“They have families that miss them.”

“They would not have come here if they hadn’t been lost and alone,” she dismisses.

“They need to go home,” he pleads.

“They need to be safe,” she counters.

“Jester—”

“Do you have family Fjord?” she demands, suddenly; eyes bright.

He looks away as something akin to shame fills his chest.

“No,” he admits, gruffly.

She leans forward, carefully putting her hand on his and waits until he meets her gaze once more.

Softly she says: “that’s why you found us.”

It’s there then, mirrored within her; something painfully familiar. Slowly he takes her hand into his own.

“Where is your family Jester?”

Her shoulders slump only slightly; when she speaks her voice trembles with emotion.

“I can’t go home.”

They sit there, at the scrubbed-down table, hands intertwined between them, the night stretching on.

*

There lives a witch in the woods.

She keeps the company of a terrible monster with sickly green skin and grotesque teeth. Children stray to her house and return their heads filled with ridiculous fancies and their fingers sticky, rambling about endless pastries and undying fires and other such absurdities.

It is said that at dusk, when the wind blows just right, one can hear her laughter ringing through the trees.

[cluttermind]

Without A Parachute (7/15) - Silver, Gold, and Secrets

Summary:  Emma worked tremendously hard to give herself a better chance. From group homes, to living in her car, to ivy league student, this English Major’s only solace was escaping her reality through books. One night, Emma comes home to find a small package with only her name on it written in beautiful calligraphy. The package contains a thick, brown leather journal. Emma soon learns that the fiction she writes in the journal eventually becomes reality. Will Emma learn to control this gift, or will she fall too fast into the temptation to change too much? With the help of her good friends August, Robin, and Elsa, and the mysterious, intriguing bartender of The Jolly Roger, Emma discovers just how easy it is to lose control, and how difficult it is to pick up the pieces.

Rating: M

Words: 31,139 total / 6,952 Ch 7

Read on ao3: Beginning | Current

A/N: Sorry again for the inconsistent posting schedule! I'm trying so hard to stay on track. Here's a LONG chapter with a whole lot happening to make up for it :) Enjoy some fluff, plot, and smut! 

Also the formatting is better on ao3 so I’d recommend reading there :)

//

I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow

Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows

One for sorrow

Two for joy

Three for girls and four for boys

Five for silver

Six for gold and

Seven for a secret never to be told

- Counting Crows, Murder of One

Cold, Emma rolled over to snuggle closer to Killian. Instead she rolled flat onto her stomach. She blindly reached out, slapping the empty mattress next to her trying to find him. Groaning when she concluded he wasn’t next to her, Emma rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, checking the clock next to her. 9:30 am . Sighing, she dragged herself out of bed and made her way downstairs. Halfway down the stairs she spotted Killian in the kitchen. His phone was in his hand. His ear buds were in. And he was dancing . Like an idiot. In boxers and a t-shirt. His hair still messy from bed. God, he was awful. But fuck he was sexy.

He clearly didn’t notice her because he didn’t stop, only slowed a bit to fill the coffee maker with water. So Emma snuck up behind him and joined his ridiculous dancing. Eventually he turned around, saw her, and broke out into a fit of laughter.

“What’re we dancing to?” Emma yelled so he could hear her over his music. It was so loud she could hear it faintly from where she was in front of him. In response, Killian connected his phone to the bluetooth speaker on the counter and blasted Your Such A Mystery by Bleachers.

To anyone on the outside of their bubble they looked ridiculous. To Emma, it looked like what love should be. Or, at least, what she had always imagined it to be. Jumping around the kitchen at 9:30 in the morning in their pajamas, everything felt comfortable and wonderful. Maybe it was the endorphins talking but she felt like she was on cloud nine. And when Killian pulled her close to him to kiss her passionately, she believed that this must be the high people tried to chase with drugs. Who needs drugs when they have a Killian?

When the song ended, Killian pulled back. “Coffee, love?”

“That depends. It’s not the same crap you have at the pub, is it?” Emma teased. Killian lowered the music so they didn’t have to scream to have a conversation when they were standing in each other's personal space.

He chuckled. “I promise it’s not. It’s local and it’s sweet. You’ll like it.” Killian poured them each a mug of coffee. He was right, she did like it. There was a hit of chocolate that did, in fact, make the bitter drink a little sweeter. She hummed softly, enjoying the comfort of the warm mug in her hand as the coffee started to bring her back to reality.

“What is it?”

“Ithaca House Blend from Ithaca Coffee Company. It’s fair trade and organic.” He explained, taking a sip from his mug.

“Why don’t you serve this at the Jolly?”

“Because it’s not cheap and I spend money on alcohol. You and maybe 2 other people have ever ordered coffee there.”

“Maybe that’s because they know you serve shit coffee.”

Killian chuckled. “Maybe.” Emma hopped up to sit on the island while Killian leaned back against the counter across from her. They drank their coffee for a moment in comfortable silence, listening to the music coming softly through the speaker on the counter. “How are you this morning?” He asked, tentatively. Concern blanketed his words, silently asking whether he hurt her, whether she regretted it, whether she enjoyed it. He was familiar with the buzz that an orgasm left him in and the way it sometimes, or more recently the way it often, faded the following morning. That morning, however, he woke up happier than he had ever been. Killian, who was much more of a night owl than an early bird, nearly sprung out of bed dancing while he replayed every glorious moment of the previous night a little too graphically according to a certain part of him that was more awake than the rest of him. That’s how he ended up dancing alone in his kitchen. Partially because he was happy, partially because he needed to work off the stress that started to settle in his stomach when he remembered the countless nights he regretted the morning after and wondered if that was how Emma would feel.

Emma knew. She knew exactly what he was asking when he spoke. “Cold. I did wake up alone while someone was having a dance party without me.”

Killian chuckled, set his mug down and moved to wrap his arms around her. Emma’s legs wrapped around his waist and his arms around his neck. “Better?”

“Much,” she said, nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck.

“I have to pick up a few things from my apartment today and I assume you need some things from yours. I thought we could get that out of the way this morning, binge some Netflix or break out the DVD collection,” Killian’s voice dropped, “maybe jump in the hottub later?”

Emma sighed, heat pooling in her belly. “That sounds wonderful.”

They finished their coffee and made their way upstairs to get dressed during which Killian spent more time staring at Emma than actually pulling his own clothing on and Emma spent more time staring at Killian than actually pulling on her clothes and if it wasn’t for that lingering, delicious, ache between her legs reminding her of the previous night’s activity there likely would’ve been a repeat.

“Later,” Emma purred as she walked past him and out of the bedroom carrying her bag with her. Like a puppy, he followed her, hanging on each syllable that fell from her mouth.

They hopped in Killian’s car and drove back to Collegetown. In the daylight, the view from their drive was wonderful. Half the way back Emma could see the lake. She let her mind drift as she stared off into the distance, Killian tuning the radio to the local college modern rock station - WICB 91.7 FM. Emma’s eyes drifted to sleep from the soft vibrations of the car. Unfortunately her nap, which was more like sleep part 2 considering she had only been up for about an hour, was quickly interrupted by Killian gently shaking her shoulder. He had parked right outside the Jolly Roger.

“Swan, wake up, love.” He placed a kiss to her temple as if he was bribing her to open her eyes.

“Five more minutes,” Emma grumbled.

“You can go right back to sleep when we get back to the house but right now I need you to pack.” Emma groaned, refusing to open her eyes. “Or else.” Killain smirked

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll withhold sex from you all week.” He toyed.

Emma opened her eyes for the sole purpose of glaring at him. If looks could kill, Killian surely would’ve been dead in that moment. Then she closed her eyes again. “Okay goodnight.”

Killian scoffed. “Fine. Then I won’t buy you breakfast.”

Emma’s ears perked up and she instantly opened her eyes. “CTB?”

“If I say yes will you please go pack?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

Emma jumped out of the car, slamming the door a little too hard in her excitement. Killian mentally noted that she was significantly more food motivated than sex motivated and went to his apartment to pack his own things.

In her bedroom Emma stared at the handful of clothes she owned. She grabbed a few pairs of jeans and leggings and a pair of sweatpants, her favorite Cornell sweatshirt and long sleeve (which together may as well have cost her an entire week's pay), a nicer sweater, and some long sleeves. Remembering that Killian mentioned a hot tub, she tossed in the simple black bikini that Elsa made her buy back in September when the weather was still nice enough to go gorge jumping. But when it came to lingerie, Emma was stuck.

Emma Swan: When you’re back we need to go shopping.

Elsa Agnarr: FINALLY!

Elsa Agnarr: where?

Emma Swan: That mall in Syracuse you always try to get me to take you to?

Elsa Agnarr: really?! i mean im not complaining ;) why the sudden desire to take a shopping trip?

Emma Swan: Oh nothing. I just need some new bras.

Elsa Agnarr: and you felt the need to text me a week in advance to plan a shopping trip for just some new bras…

Emma Swan: I slept with Killian.

Emma’s phone rang and Elsa started speaking the second she answered the FaceTime call. “You did what?”

“I told you.”

“Were you safe?!”

“Elsa!” They laughed. They were the cautious two of the group, nearly mothering over August and Robin whenever they could. Of course Emma was safe.

“Was it good?”

“Oh my god.” Emma blushed furiously.

“Oooooo I knew he’d be good in bed.”

“Elsa!”

“Oh come on! Even though we don’t play for the same team, anyone with eyes would bet that Killian Jones is good in bed.”

Emma sighed, an unfamiliar green-eyed monster rearing its ugly head in Emma’s mind. “Don’t remind me.”

“So are you guys together?”

“I don’t know.” Emma admitted. She wanted to be. To call Killian Jones hers? That’s a dream Emma hadn’t allowed herself to have. No matter what, Killian had been there for her. To lose that, to lose her friend if none of this worked out, might kill her. He deserved someone better, someone less damaged . And the familiar spiral began tightening in her mind.

“Don’t overthink this Em. You deserve to be happy and he clearly makes you happy. I see the way you smile every time his name pops up on your phone.”

“I just don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“I think you ruined what you had when you slept with him. There’s no going back from that. You need to talk to him.”

“I know.”

“Elsa! Elsa!” Emma heard a familiar voice shouting on the other end of the line. Elsa giggled.

“Sorry I have to go. Anna’s been forcing me to help her make some pro/con lists for the college’s she’s been accepted to.”

“Well she can’t go to Harvard. That’s a given.”

“Can’t go to Penn either.”

“Guess it just has to be Cornell.”

“ Far above Cayuga’s waters - ” Elsa started singing loudly so Anna could hear the alma mater every Cornell student knew by heart by the end of their first semester.

“ With it’s waves of blue-” Emma joined in. “ Stands our noble Alma Mater, glorious to view. LIFT the chorus, speed it onward, loud her praises tell, hail to thee our Alma Mater - ”

In the background Anna groaned. “Not again.”

“ HAIL, ALL HAIL, CORNELL! ” They screamed, bursting out laughing.

“I’m going to Harvard if you don’t stop.” Anna threatened.

“No you’re not.” Elsa turned her attention back to Emma. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later.” They hung up. Emma’s lingerie problem, however, will have to wait another week. She shoved the nicest things she owned into the duffle bag she packed, stuffed her laptop and her journal into her backpack, and finally left her apartment to meet Killian at the car.

He was sitting against the edge of his open trunk, reading something on his phone when she reached him.

“Reading anything interesting?” She asked to get his attention.

“Nope. Just doing some online shopping, love.” Killian kissed her cheek as he took her bag from her and placed it in the trunk. He had a black backpack and his guitar secured in its case. “Breakfast?”

“Please.” Emma was starving and entirely unprepared for the way he took her hand in his after he closed the trunk of his car, nonchalantly, as if this was their normal, their comfortable, their them .

They walked to CollegeTown Bagels, their joined hands swinging gently between them. When they arrived, they got on line as Killian told her a story about one Summer he spent with his grandparents as a kid. His thumb rubbed softly over the back of her hand, engrossed in his own story. Emma, however, wasn't paying any attention.

At the front of the cafe, there was a brunette, a ghost from Emma’s past. Or, at least, she looked like a ghost from Emma’s past. Emma couldn’t quite make out the girl’s face. She was looking down at her phone, her hair blocking Emma’s view. Suddenly her past was flashing before her eyes, unfolding like a horror story where the victim runs into the house and the audience screams stop. But there’s no stopping the spiral Emma’s mind falls into.

A security guard was at the end of the aisle, clearly noticing the PopTart box Emma was shoving under her sweatshirt. The guard cleared her throat when Emma noticed her.

“Are you going to pay for that miss?”

Emma was panicking. She couldn’t pay for it. She didn’t have money. All she had were a few hand-me-down clothes in a backpack and a bruise on her cheek from her last foster home she was trying to escape from.

Thankfully, a brunette around her age came to stand beside her and held up a credit card. “Yes, ma’am. Our Dad’s in the car just outside.” The guard nodded and left them to be. The girl turned to Emma. “The key is swiping one of these.”

Emma nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’m just like you, you know. Trying to get away. I’m Lilly.”

Emma’s grip on Killian’s hand tightened like a vice grip.

“Swan?” KIllian asked, concern blanketing his voice. “Are you alright, love?

But Emma didn’t hear a word he said.

Emma and Lilly shopped for a bit. They became fast friends. When they checked out and left, however, a car not too far away started honking and driving after them. Emma figured this was the man Lilly swiped the card from. So they ran.

They lost the car and Lilly led her to a beautiful lake house that was empty for the season. And they promised to be friends forever, no matter what. Emma told her everything about her life, about moving between foster homes, about the abusive man that ran the last group home she was in, about how alone she felt all the time.

And Lilly pretended to understand. Because, in fact, Lilly couldn’t truly understand what Emma was going through. Because when they were caught later that night, it was Lilly’s father who caught them. Because this was Lilly’s family’s summer home.

Killian’s hand was starting to hurt under Emma’s grasp. It was their turn to place their order and Killian stepped up to the register, taking Emma with him.

The brunette looked up when she stood to throw away her empty coffee cup. It had to be Lilly. But what was she doing in Ithaca? Emma nearly started hyperventilating, wanting to call out to her but being unable to find her voice.

“Swan, what do you want for breakfast?”

Emma watched the girl she assumed to be Lilly leave. “I’m actually not hungry anymore. I think I’ll just meet you outside,” She said, without turning to look at him. Emma let go of Killian’s hand and dashed out of the cafe.

There was already distance between them. Emma just stood there, shocked. She didn’t know what to say or whether to say anything or whether Lilly still hated her. And even though Emma was standing alone, now nowhere near Lilly, she was working herself up to a panic attack. Her entire body was shaking. Killian followed shortly after.

“Emma?” He quickly noticed her panicked state and pulled her into his arms, placing a comforting kiss to her forehead. “Come on, love. Let’s go.”

***

Back at the house, Killian made tea for Emma and opened a package of PopTarts to put on a plate. From the kitchen he felt the weight of Emma’s thoughts, but she hadn’t said a word to him since the cafe. Something happened there, but he couldn’t figure out what. Was it him? Was it another guy? Was she having second thoughts? Was she starting to regret what they did? Was she starting to regret what they were, what they had become, what was so strong between them?

She was curled up on the couch, staring at the TV which was turned to the local news channel. It was Ithaca. It was grey, cold, probably some form of precipitation was expected at some point in the day, some local business was probably doing something for charity, the university students were probably protesting or petitioning something, and there was probably news about music or theatrical performances. Every now and again something major happened at one of the colleges and that was actually newsworthy. All of this to say that if you need something mindless to watch, local news in central New York was the place to turn.

Killian brought the tea and plate over to Emma who graciously accepted the mug but ignored the plate. Killian sat next to her, keeping some distance between them in case he was the reason she was upset. “Talk to me, love,” he urged her, gently.

Emma took a sip of tea. “It’s nothing, Killian.”

“Swan, you’re clearly upset about something. You’re an open book to me.” He sighed. “Did I do something? Do you regret last night?”

Emma looked at him, wide-eyed like a deer in headlights. “What?! No! Killian, no.” She set the mug down and laid down, resting her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, playing with his softly. Instantly she felt relaxed, her heart fluttering slightly, her entire body tingling in bliss from the feeling of Killian’s fingers running through her hair.

“You know you can tell me anything, love.”

Emma sighed. “I thought I saw an old friend. I guess she’s more like a former friend. I’m not really sure anymore, to be honest.” Killian stopped his motions and looked at her. “Don’t stop,” Emma nearly whimpered.

Killian chuckled and resumed playing with Emma’s hair. “What happened?”

“Lilly and I met when she saved my ass while I was trying to steal PopTarts from a convenience store.”

“Ah the shoplifting PopTarts story.”

Emma looked up at him. “You remember that?”

Killian blushed. “Aye.”

Emma could’ve kissed him senseless in that moment. Finally, for what felt like the first time in her life, someone genuinely listened to her. And this wasn’t the first time Emma had this realization about Killian. She noticed every time he heard her answers to how her day was. She noticed every time she ranted about school or told him what she learned. But something about this time meant a little more to her.

“Yeah. The shoplifting PopTarts story. Anyway, she made me feel like she was like me. Like she was also a foster kid, bouncing around from home to home. It was a particularly bad time. I was running away from a home that didn’t treat any of the kids right. There was always a reason for the guy running it to hit us, always something we did wrong, something we did to aggravate him. So I ran and I was hungry and I was about to get caught and Lilly stepped in with a credit card and said that our dad was waiting for us outside. She told me she swiped the card from some stranger, that she was also running from the system and brought me to this empty lake house which, by the way, was her family’s lake house because she wasn’t running from the system because she was never in the system and she tricked me into thinking she understood but she couldn’t understand. No one could understand what it’s like to constantly be running as a child, to not have a home, to sometimes have a roof over your head but never be at peace and never feel safe. No one could understand what it’s like to want to get the fuck out so fucking bad that you spend two and a half years living in a car you worked overtime to be able to buy just to have consistency in your fucking transcript so ivy leagues don’t immediately reject you. No one could understand unless they fucking experienced it.”

Emma was screaming by the time she finished. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she bared part of her soul to a man she realized she didn’t want to live without, a man that made her feel loved and at peace and at home, a man who would stand so fiercely beside her through anything life threw at her.

And in that same moment of realization for Emma, Killian fell in love with her.

“Emma . . .” Killian whispered, silently making promises to himself that he dared not speak out loud for fear that she’d run from the sheer intensity of the way he felt for her. No longer would he ever allow her to be hit or hurt. No longer would he ever allow her to feel alone or hungry. No longer would he ever allow her to not have a home or someone she would call family or someone she could turn to when everything was crashing down around her or simply getting too much for one person to carry. No longer would he ever allow her to feel unloved.

He didn’t want her to ever have to run from something again. He wanted to be what she ran to.

“There’s more. I’ll tell you the rest another day.” Emma sat up so that she could curl up against Killian’s side as he engulfed her in his arms. He held her tightly against him and they sat silently for a while. Eventually, they both fell asleep.

***

They were sitting on the floor on either side of the coffee table in the living room, Emma’s back against the couch as she lost yet another game of chess to Killian who broke out his grandfather’s marble chess set. He had even tried to let her win on multiple occasions but Emma was too distracted by his deep blue eyes to pay any mind to the game in front of her. She missed easy takes and fell easily into his traps. Fitting, really, considering how easily she fell for, fell into, him .

“Alright, alright, I surrender.” Emma tapped her foot against Killian’s thigh. “I believe that you promised me a dip in a hot tub?” She asked, smirking at him.

If it were possible to undress someone with your eyes, Killian would’ve been naked in an instant with the look Emma was giving him. He waggled his eyebrows at her, entirely up to play this game she started. “Did you bring your swimsuit, love?"

“Do I need one, Captain?” Emma teased.

“You little minx.” Killian growled, his cock already starting to harden simply at the words falling off her tongue, and the image they created in his mind. “You go change, or strip, either works wonders for me, love, and grab some towels from upstairs.”

Emma giggled and bounded up the stairs to change into her black bikini. She pulled her hair up into a bun on the top of her head, grabbed some towels, and rummaged through the dresser drawers to find a pair of Killian’s swim trunks for him.

She found him in the kitchen, pouring two glasses of red wine. Killian was nothing if not a romantic.

“I hope one of those is for me,” she toyed, wanting to get his attention and catch him off guard while she wore nothing but her bathing suit.

The second he saw her, Killian’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow,” was about all he could manage.

Emma threw his swim trunks at him. “I brought you these.” He caught them, easily.

He handed her a glass and kissed her softly. “Outside on the left end of the deck. I’ll meet you there, my love.”

The cold air nipped at Emma’s skin as she quickly walked towards the hot water, careful not to spill her wine. It was a long day that tested all of her emotions. Quite frankly, she was exhausted and stressed. Killian tried all day to keep her mind busy, tried to help her relax. As graceful as we were for him, none of it worked. Her past with Lilly kept replaying over and over like a broken record or a film on loop. Sinking into the warm bubbly water, her back against a few of the jets, finally she felt herself relaxing. The jets felt so good against her back she was nearly moaning by the time Killian joined her. She actually didn’t even notice him slipping into the tub across from her until he chuckled.

“Enjoying yourself, love?”

“This might be better than sex.”

Killian threw his head back and laughed. He could have come up with a cheeky line, but he knew she needed this. He knew she needed to really relax, to turn her mind off for a second. He’d follow her lead on where this went.

“Come here, Swan.” He took a sip of his wine and set it down on the ledge behind him. Emma moved to sit between Killian’s legs. He placed a sensual kiss on her shoulder and his hands trailed up her arms to rub her shoulders, working at the knots that had formed there likely from stress.

Emma moaned softly. “That feels nice.”

“All I want is to make you feel good.” Killian whispered against her ear, nipping teasingly at her lobe.

“Mmm you’re succeeding.”

He trailed kisses slowly down her neck, stopping at her pulse point to suck gently at her skin. His fingertips ghosted down her sides, tracing the curves of her breasts and her waist. “I’ve wanted you since the day I met you, Swan.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine as he spoke in that timbre she learned was reserved for only the sultriest of remarks, the dirtiest of phrases, the sexiest of sayings.

“Well now you have me . . . And I’m all yours, Killian.” Emma’s hands rested on Killian’s thighs. As much as she wanted to turn to face him, to straddle his legs and grind into him, to tell him to take shed them of the few clothes creating a barrier between them, Emma was quite enjoying this teasing game.

“And I, yours, love.” Killian pulled her back against him so she could feel the effect her words had on him. “Just hearing you say that is enough to turn me on.”

Emma wiggled her ass back against him which elicited a hiss from Killian behind her. “I quite enjoy having this effect on you, Captain.”

“Oh do you now?”

“Aye,” Emma said, mocking his accent.

Killian chuckled. “You think you’re funny?”

“Aye,” she mocked again, a devilish grin plastered on her face.

In response, Killian nipped at her pulse point, dragging his teeth teasingly over her skin, sucking to leave his mark on her. Not expecting how incredible that would feel, Emma gasped. “Not so funny anymore, are you, my love?”

Taking a deep breath to attempt to calm her racing heart, Emma hummed softly. “It’s hard to think straight when you’re doing such salacious things to me.”

Killian trailed his fingertips underwater over her stomach, whispering in a sultry tone against her neck between wet kisses, “Close your eyes, Swan.”

“Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

Emma closed her eyes. “With all my heart.” She let her head fall back against Killian’s shoulder.

“Imagine I’m kissing down your body,” Killian whispered, trailing his hand between her breasts and down her stomach to the waistband of her bikini bottoms. Emma hummed in response. “Teasing just above where I know you want me.”

Dancing his fingers over her skin, he turned his attention to her breast. “You’re wearing far too much clothing, love.”

Emma reached behind her neck and untied the top while Killian untied the back, tossing the material to the ground beside the tub. “Better?” She teased.

“Much,” Killian smirked, cupping her breasts in his hands, massaging gently.

Emma moaned, heat pooling in the pit of her stomach. “Killian . . .”

“Does that feel good love?” He purred.

“Fuck, Killian. Yes,” Emma groaned, arching her back as if her body was begging for more of his touch, more of his voice, more of his everything.

He placed a kiss on her shoulder. “You’re so beautiful, Emma.”

Emma hummed softly. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop what? Talking?” Killian teased.

“Don’t stop talking,” Emma affirmed, the simple way each word teasingly fell off his tongue sending chills down her spine.

“As you wish, my love.” One of his hands grazed over a sensitive spot on her side.

Emma broke out into a fit of giggles. “Killian! Stop!"

Killian chuckled, purposely tickling her. “Stop?”

“I’m ticklish!” Emma nearly bucked back against him, her laughter uncontrollable. Killian grins, the carefree nature of her genuine laugh warmed his heart. For once today, after a long, stressful day, it looked like Emma was relaxed. But he stopped, lifting both of his hands off of her body, complying with her request.

“Wait, no,” Emma whimpered.

“No?”

“Come back.” She reached back and grabbed one of his wrists, bringing his hand back to rest on her stomach.

“I’m here, Swan. Wherever you need me.” He lowered his lips back to her neck, over the mark he had left earlier. Once again, his hands were roaming her torso, dancing over her stomach, careful to avoid her ticklish sides, caressing her breasts beneath the water, teasing her nipples.

Emma groaned, his name slipping effortlessly from her lips as her eyes close and her head resettles against his shoulder. “More,” she whispers, as if saving that word only for him.

“How about,” Killians hands trailed down her body to her thighs, “here?”

Emma inhales sharply, his fingers dangerously close to where she so desperately needs him. “More,” she repeats. “Killian, please.”

She can feel him smile against her throat, grinning like a madman.

“Where?” He asked, as if he didn’t already know, as if he didn’t already know where she was aching for his touch, as if he wasn’t aching to give her everything she needed, everything she wanted.

Emma rested her hand over his, guiding him to rest above where she needed him over her bikini bottoms. He strummed his fingers over her clit. “Oh god.”

“Killian will do just fine, love,” he joked, chuckling as he continued his teasing.

If Emma could do anything other than moan she might’ve - would’ve - rolled her eyes at him. Instead, she played along, giving him exactly what he asked for. “Oh Killian.”

He hummed softly. “I love the way you moan my name, letting the world know who’s turning you on, who’s making you feel this good.”

Grinding her hips into his hand, Emma was reaching the point of begging. “Killian,” she pleaded, “more.”

Killian grinned, having found the perfect opportunity to mention one of the ridiculous pickup lines he had spent hours looking for on the internet after they had first met when she was studying for economics. “Are your legs available for some open market operations, Swan?”

Emma’s eyes shot open and she turned around to playfully hit his chest.

“What? Not up for a conversation about open markets, Swan? I thought you’d be an expert after all that studying you’ve been doing.” He smirked, clearly enjoying this game they’ve been playing.

Emma glared pointedly at him, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. “You almost ruined the mood.”

“Almost?” Killian raised an eyebrow at her.

Emma shifts to straddle his legs, now facing him, finally able to see the storm in his eyes. Killian dragged his nails down her bare back, scratching gently. Her hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck and her lips captured his in a passionate kiss she had been longing for since this dance began. His tongue slipped between her lips, finding hers as he held her close to her. Instinctively, Killian groaned into her mouth as her hips rolled over his straining cock.

Emma grinned against his lips. “You like that, Captain?”

Killian hummed, his hands now resting on her hips, edging her down harder on him as she resisted. “More, Emma,” Killian pleaded.

“My, my, how the tables have turned.”  Emma listed her hips off him entirely, eliciting a groan from the man beneath her.

“You’re killing me, love.” His hands ran over her ass, squeezing.

“Hmmmm maybe I’m feeling a sense of sympathy,” Emma teased, her hands toying with his hair, “for those swim trunks.” While her eyes portrayed the utmost innocence, her words insinuated that her intentions were anything but.

Killian smirked, waggling his eyebrows at her. “A growing sense?”

Emma giggled. “Well something’s growing.” She ran her hands down his chest until her fingers were brushing along his waistband. Killian leaned back, giving her the room she needed, groaning and laughing softly at the utter bliss rippling through his body at every brush of her fingertips.

Her hands grazed over his cock, clearly hard and ready for her. “Why don’t we move this into the bedroom?” She whispered salaciously against his lips.

“Swan, you read my mind.” She left him with a quick kiss, hopping out of the tub and wrapping a towel around her as she raced towards the back door to escape the cold, Ithaca night, with Killian following closely behind.

***

The past few days had been more than Emma ever could have dreamed of. Falling asleep wrapped in Killians arms holding her closely against her, waking up to freshly made cups of coffee, spending days playing games and reading and telling nonsensical stories, spending evening curled up on the couch watching whatever seemed interesting on Netflix, and spending nights making out on the couch like hormonal teenagers was simply perfect.

It was Wednesday. Spring break was halfway over and Emma dreaded having to go back to the reality of classes and studying and being apart from Killian. Her eyes fluttered open, sighing as Killian trailed butterfly kisses down her body. He had pushed the covers away, needing to see her face for cues. They hadn’t bothered getting dressed from the night before and had fallen asleep shortly after cleaning up from a delightful rendezvous.

She gripped the pillowcase with one hand while her other ran through his messy hair. A sleepy moan escaped her lips when he kissed her inner thigh. “Well this is a nice way to wake up,” Emma purred.

Killian grinned against her thigh, his stubble scratching gently against her only turned her on more. Unfortunately any endeavour he had planned for that morning was interrupted by Emma’s phone. He groaned, resting his cheek against her thigh, looking up at her with pleading, piercing blue eyes. “Please don’t answer that,” Killian begged. He’d been wanting to taste her all week, but they always seemed to get a little caught up in the moment.

Emma checked her phone, thinking it might be Belle asking her to come in a day or two to help out this week. “It’s August,” she said, confused. August never called her. His preferred method of annoying her was sending a million and a half text messages in a row until she answered. She gently swatted Killians face away from her, a move that was met with an even louder groan as he flopped onto his back. Emma answered the phone. “August?”

“Ems, I don’t fucking know what I’m going to fucking do,” August said, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked on the other end of the line.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Emma asked, concern so clearly blanketing each word that Killian was no longer pouting like an incessant child and instead tossing her his t-shirt from the floor before grabbing a clean pair of boxers from the dresser for himself.

“I can’t fucking believe this is happening. Everything is falling apart.” It sounded like August, someone who had been her rock through the stress of their first semester, was crying. Emma quickly pulled Killian’s shirt on.

“August you have to talk to me. What happened?”

“I didn’t get the fucking internship.”

“The one with the publishing house in New York? I thought the final interview went well! The HR rep basically told you that you got the job.”

“Don’t you think I fucking know that?!” August screamed. Emma winced. “Fuck, Ems I’m sorry.”

“What happened?” Emma asked softly.

August sighed. “I have no idea. I got great feedback after every round and they basically handed me the job after the last round but I must’ve fucked up something because I got a rejection email this morning.” He choked on a sob. This was his dream internship. He had worked his entire life for the chance to be at this publishing house. He spent countless hours prepping and forcing Emma to ask him interview questions he had complied from random internet sources and previous interns he connected with on LinkedIn.

“August, I’m so sorry. You have that other interview right?”

“I turned it down. I turned it down after the empty promises HR made.”

Emma’s heart broke for her friend. “Fuck August. I’m so sorry.” Killian came out of the bathroom after brushing his teeth and flopped back into bed, throwing his arm over his eyes. Emma reached over to play with his hair with her free hand.

“I don’t know what to do.” August whispered.

“We’ll figure this out. There are still applications open and great publishing houses to start at. Check Nashville. If you’re feeling adventurous check London.” Emma paused. “We’ll figure this out, August.”

“I just wish I knew what I did wrong.”

“So send an email. You had a good relationship with that guy in HR, send him an email and ask for some feedback so that you can come back next year and do better.”

“Yeah. You’re right.” August sighed heavily. “Thanks Ems. I better go. Sorry for bothering you.”

“I’m always here for you, Gus.”

August snorted. “I hate you.”

“Aw, I love you too!”

Killian smiled next to her, partially because it felt damn good when she ran her hand through his hair like she was doing and partially because it warmed his heart to hear how much she cared about her friends. And he would have been lying if he didn’t admit that he was imagining what it would be like to be on the receiving end of her “I love you.”

Emma hung up the phone after saying goodbye and sighed.

Killian uncovered his eyes to look up at her. “Everything alright, Swan?”

“Yeah. Something happened with August’s internship and he’s back at square one.”

Killian rolled onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow. “Why do I sense there’s something else? You forget you’re an open book to me, love.”

“I just . . . I haven't even thought about what I was going to do this summer.”

Suddenly, Killian’s heart was in his throat, realizing that Emma might choose to spend the Summer in a glamorous city working for an incredible publishing house . . . away from him.

“What do you want to do?” He asked, tentatively but ready to fully support whatever dreams and goals she had. If only she knew how deeply he was in this thing that they started, how fiercely he’d stand beside her no matter what, how no matter where in the world she was he’d either wait for her or follow her. Killian, he was realizing this week, would follow her to the end of the world, or time, if that’s what it took to be with her.

Emma smiled down at him, shifting so she was no longer sitting up next to him but laying down facing him. “I want to write. I really want to write.”

Writing . Writing was something she could do anywhere. Writing was something she could do in Ithaca. Writing was something she didn’t have to leave him to accomplish. Killian grinned before showering her face in kisses.

Emma giggled, rolling onto her back so that Killian was taking his place atop her. “What's all this for?” She asked between fits of giggles, pretending like she didn’t know why Killian was happy - ecstatic really. Her whole life she wanted to be a writer, to tell stories like the ones that got her through the worst moments of her life, the ones that provided her an escape even when she was too tired to run, the ones that gave her hope and showed her love and captured her wildest imaginations. Writing suddenly had an added benefit. She could write wherever she wanted to write. She could write from Ithaca. She could stay near Killian. Emma didn’t need to give up her heart to follow her dreams.

“I just -” Killian paused, his heart racing as he smiled down at Emma beneath him.

“What, Killian?”

His heart skipped a beat when she said his name. Granted, there was nothing he adored more than the way Emma said his name. This time, however, she spoke his name as if she was claiming him as her own. “I just really didn’t want you to be away from me.”

“I think you’re stuck with me.” Emma pulled him close to her. “If you’ll have me, that is.”

“Emma, I am always yours.”

Neither of them could imagine, in that moment, a life without each other. And so they didn’t.

[just-emotional-trash]

An Outranked Romance Ch. 3

Pairings: Eventual Romantic Prinxiety, Logicality, and Remile

Story Summary: At Camp Regality, lords, ladies, and royalty alike learn the values of being a member of court in the Kingdom of Animiria. Prince Roman is thrilled at the chance to get out of the stuffy palace! Virgil, the son of a lowly Baron, is ready to leave the moment he gets there, and plans to slip through unnoticed. But what happens when a certain Princely figure won’t leave him alone?

Inspired by this post by @ironwoman359

Chapters: World-building - First - Previous - Next

Chapter Warning(s): None (that I see, but please tell me if you find one!)

Words: 2.8k

——————————

The first thing that Virgil heard when he woke up the next morning was humming.

Quickly after that, he noticed that Remy wasn’t in their bed. Instead, they were in the bathroom, most likely doing their make-up. That on it’s own wasn’t out of the norm. What was strange was the fact that they were softly singing Disney Princess songs whist doing it. Remy, for all of their amazing traits, did not sing princess songs. They claimed it was to protect their ‘cool factor’ whatever that meant. So waking up to a rendition of A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes was a new experience for Virgil.

“Remy?” Virgil called out as he entered the bathroom, “Are you... having a good morning?” Remy looked at Virgil in the mirror with a smile the size of a dinner plate.


“I am having a wonderful morning, thank you! My crops are watered, the sun is shining warm on my face-”


“-But your eyes are photosensitive-”


“-and the cutest boy in the kingdom is here! At this camp!” Remy finished their dark purple lip with a flourish as they turned to Virgil.


Virgil was taken aback with the realization that Remy had done their eye make-up. “You... you did your eyes! They look amazing!”

And they did, with subtle eyeshadow and eyeliner with a wing so sharp it could cut glass. All this seemed to overpower their red eyes that were normally kept hidden behind shades. Their ocular albinism was fairly severe, and while it didn’t impair their vision much, the red eyes freaked most people out. Not to mention they would go blind if exposed to sunlight for too long. They wore shades for a good reason. But because of said shades, they normally chose to not wear eye makeup because... what was the point? Unless, of course, they knew they might need to take their shades off for someone they wanted to impress.

“I know right? It’s the first day I’ll be here, I’m sure many students and teachers will try to force me to take my sunglasses off.” Oh, thought Virgil, that’s why, I thought he just wanted to impress- “So when I inevitably have to take them off in front of Emile, he might not be too freaked out.” Virgil started to assure them that their eyes were nothing to be ashamed about, but he quickly registered the unknown name.


“Emile? Who’s Emile?”


Remy rolled their eyes like it was obvious. “The duke? I asked around with higher ranked nobility. Apparently he’s not very well known because he’s shy and doesn’t attend many events. And honestly, if all he had to hang out around was those stuffy nobles, I can’t blame him,” They finished with a shrug. Vigil laughed and agreed.

“I can’t argue with that, but Remy. Really, you don’t need to try and disguise your eyes. Do you really want to be with someone that would drop you for something as simple as that?”


“No, but first impression are everything! Come on, hurry up! I’m starving and my duke awaits!” Virgil laughed again and followed him out the door to get ready.

—————


Breakfast sped by quickly, with far too much food and people far too awake for 8:30 in the morning. Then they had classes in the “Palace of Perfection” - aka the Pompous Palace to Virgil and Logan, who dubbed it so last year because of the way most of the staff and students acted. Virgil and Remy waved goodbye to Logan as they made their way to the classroom for Barons.

There are 5 “levels” of nobility in the kingdom of Animiria. The highest is Royalty. Those born into the royal family are considered top tier. Kings, queens, princes, and dukes alike find themselves in superior ranking. Underneath them are the Marquis, then the Earls, then Viscounts, then Barons. All members of nobility are distinguished, but Barons are the most common. The Insomni line of nobility is one of the weakest, and furthest from the Royal family. Neither of the Insomni siblings had ever even been to the palace. They lived on a small estate, a few days travel from the capital city. Because of this, most other nobles never knew Virgil or Remy, and they were commonly isolated in what few noble gatherings they did attend, closer to home.

Ranking was everything, especially to the more old fashioned nobility. The recent king had been trying to fade this discriminating rule out, but to little avail. For example, Logan’s family, all Viscounts from the Moreno line, were particularly stiff on this rule. Logan could only have friends of his rank, or one below or above. Anyone lower is “not worth his time” and anyone higher is too important to be bothering with his presence. His family considered this rule incredibly generous and flexible. Logan didn’t seem to mind, as he tended to keep to himself.

Such rules were common among noble families. As such, classes were divided by ranking. In these classes, students learned knowledge appropriate for their ranking. Barons, being the lowest nobility (most of whom were estate holders), only got classes in manners, some ethics, and of economics. A lot of economics. Most of the morning was economics. Virgil was nearly asleep by lunch a few hours later.

Lunch came and went with little fuss. Remy complained about the monotone teacher - “Maybe I should hire him. He nearly put me to sleep, do you know how hard that is?” - and Logan simply read through a new book he had found in his free time at the large library in which the Viscount’s lessons took place.

Finally, it was time for the only fun part of camp - electives. Before camp starts, they send you a letter of invitation. You have to send them back a letter including what electives you’d like to be placed in. Virgil was in art, archery, and music. Art was first, and was usually filled with mostly female nobility. Last year, the only other male was a second year Marquis named Ethan. He had graduated, so Virgil was expecting to be the only man this year. Not that he had a problem with that, but he wasn’t excited about the teasing he would receive from the teacher.

However, these fears were wiped from his mind when he opened the door to find Prince Roman talking and laughing with the teacher in the proud, obviously fake way he’s been using with all of the nobility. Virgil quickly finds a seat toward the back of the room. Prince Roman moves to take a seat at the front as the teacher calls the class to attention.

“Good afternoon, class! Welcome to art. I’m Baroness Matilda, and I hope to have a great year!  As you may have noticed, this year our roster includes our own Prince Roman.” Giggles flew around the room as the Prince in question turned around and smiled. Virgil just rolled his eyes. “He has asked that we as a class treat him as just another student, and I expect that of each of you.”

The Baroness moved to her desk to pick up a clipboard. “This is a class for all forms of art, but we will begin with traditional. You have been assigned a random partner for our first project. You must get together during free time and sketch each other by the weeks end. This is our first project, so it does not have to be perfect, however I expect more than just stick figures.” She made a pointed look around the class, then looked down at her clipboard.

“I have the list of partners here, I will post them on the board. Please come find your name and partner and get started.” She took a paper out of the clip and taped it to the chalkboard. Almost immediately it was crowded. Virgil slowly made his way up to the front, as to not have to wave through the crowd.

As the squeals of disappointment and excitement filled the room, Virgil found his name listed beside another of significantly more importance. And one that was likely to be a royal pain.

“You’re... Virgil, right?” A gravely voice said behind him. Virgil turned around to see the prince himself. “I’m-“

“Prince Roman.” Virgil finishes for him. The royal seemed taken aback.

“Have... have we met?”

“No, but they made sure your name was known last night.” Virgil answered dryly.

Roman smiled sheepishly. “Yes, I suppose the overdramatic entrance would have done that.” Virgil just shrugged. The prince took that as a cue to continue talking.  “I’m excited to learn more about art. All forms of it really. I’ve dabbled in many, but I’m the best at writing. I’ll show you one of my works one day!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “No offense your highness, but can we focus on the project?” He looked upset at the prospect, but nodded.

“Of course. But please, you don’t have to call me by my title, just call me Roman.” Virgil raised an eyebrow at that. Maybe Roman wouldn’t be like every other insufferable noble at this camp. He could hope. “Anyway, when can we meet up to work? I’ll only need an hour or so.”

“If you say so... Roman. It’ll only take me an hour as well, but it will only take me a few minutes to snap a reference photo so...” Roman flushed at that.

“Well I’m sorry, I’m not used to the combination of technology and art! Do you know how long it took me and my father to convince the royal advisors that cell phones weren’t evil?!”

Virgil scoffed. “Come on Princey, do you expect me to believe that you couldn’t just use them anyway?”

Roman made... some kind of offended noise (Virgil had never seen anything like it before, but he clutched his heart and made high pitched noises, he seemed offended), and responded, “I’ll have you know that it’s hard being a Prince!” Virgil raised an eyebrow. “No really! I have to constantly be perfection, and any mistake is amplified to the nation!”

Virgil chuckled. “Oh no, afraid your fan club will realize that you’re a human, not a perfect god?”

“Whatever, Emo Nightmare.” Roman huffed.

Virgil raised his eyebrow. “Emo Nightmare?”

“You called me Princey!” Roman accused. “I thought we were doing the nicknaming thing!”

“Ok, Romano”

“You cannot call me Romano.”

“I am so calling you Romano.”

Roman made his offended Princey noises once more. “Come on, I’d far prefer Princey.”

Virgil smirked. “Oh, and what are you going to do, issue a royal decree?”

“Yes!” A church bell rang in the distance, the signal for changing classes.

“You have fun with that.” Virgil picked up his things and started to leave the room. “Bye Romano!” He called as he passed the door.

“You’re insufferable!” He heard from the room as he laughed and walked out to the archery field.

—————

Virgil had already had a strange day. He had not expected to encounter the prince, much less poke fun at him. But what he saw at the field defied all known logic.

In the year he had known Logan, he had been predictable. His choice of friends followed his parents rules. He rarely smiled, even rarer did he laugh. If there was a book near, he was reading it. But this, Virgil could never see coming.

Logan was sitting on a bench, book closed on the bench next to him. And on the other side was the Royal Duke Patton, and Logan, laughing and smiling along to whatever he was saying. It was enough to stop Virgil in his tracks.

“I’ve only known him for like, a day, and I know this is weird.” Remy said as they walked up next to Virgil.

Virgil shook his head. “I’ve never seen him like this. I’ve heard Duke Patton was a personified ray of sunshine, but I never took them seriously. I guess he’s just like that?”

“He really is.” Virgil and Remy jumped as they noticed another had joined their party. “Hey,” said Duke Emile, as he walked up to the other side of Remy. “I’m Emile, he/him. Please don’t call me by title, I’m just a normal person.”

Virgil smiled at his meek introduction. “I’m Virgil, he/him. And this is my sibling Remy.” Virgil put his hand on their shoulder.

Remy had yet to reply, and was instead looking dumbstruck at the object of their affections. They seemed to finally pull themselves out of their reverie and flush red. “Remy, they/them. It’s... it’s nice to meet you.” In what seemed like a dash of courage, they took Emile’s hand in theirs and kissed the back of it.

He flushed and stammered, “It- it’s nice to see- I mean meet! You as well!” Virgil smiled and left the blushing idiots to themselves as he walked over to the pair on the bench.

“Logan, how many times do I have to tell you? Please don’t call me by my title, I’m just a normal person! I’m no greater than you, or Emile, or any other person on this planet.” The Duke Patton talked enthusiastically, waving his hands around to accentuate his words.

Logan frowned “I’m not sure what you mean, you are indeed ranked higher.” Patton threw his hands up in exasperation, just in time for Virgil to walk up behind him and get hit in the nose. The force knocked him back and onto the ground behind him.

“Oh my goodness gracious, are you okay? I’m so sorry!” Virgil looked up to see a duet of worried faces, both looking down at him. Logan seemed rather amused, despite the fact that his best friend was sprawled out on the ground. The other, who must have been Duke Patton, looked incredibly guilty. He had big, round eyes and he was offering his hand to help Virgil up.

Virgil just shook his head and laughed as he took Patton’s hand and lifted himself off of the ground. “I didn’t see you coming up behind me, I feel really bad, is there anything I can do?” Patton asked.

Virgil smirked. “You can tell me how you got Logan to laugh, I’ve known him for a year and only seen him genuinely laugh maybe once or twice.” Logan and Patton tinted pink and Patton laughed nervously as he tried to answer.

“Well, I guess I’m just a funny guy! Anyway, I haven’t introduced my self! I’m Patton! And please do-”

“Don’t use your title, you’re just a normal guy like everyone else.” Virgil interrupted. “I’ve heard the same thing twice today from your brother and cousin.”

Patton smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, we’re just tired of being held up on some pedestal.”

Virgil shook his head and chuckled. “It’s fine, I just find it funny that the three people at this camp that have the most power are functionally the most humble.”  

“Trust me, it gets really annoying fast.”

Virgil hummed in agreement. “Anyway, when did you two meet?”

Logan finally decided to butt in. “We are both taking a class in astrology, and we ended up next to each other in the front of the classroom. We just started talking and our personalities compliment each other well.”

“Well that sure is a fancy way of putting it but yep! Anyway, I’m gonna go find our instructor. Class was supposed to start five minutes ago, the silly goober,” Patton smiled and waved goodbye. Virgil looked at Logan with an expectant expression resting on his face.

“If you’re hoping for more details, I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” Logan shot him down quickly. Virgil laughed at the dry response.

“Just tell me one thing.” Logan just raised and eyebrow in invitation to continue. “Isn’t he of much higher rank? Wouldn’t your parents disapprove of you two being such casual friends?”

Logan sighed and ran his hand through his hair once. “My parent’s ideals are old fashioned. It’s not as if we are courting one another or betrothed, we are simply... friends. And what my parents don’t know won’t hurt them. Now if you will excuse me...” With that he walked off in the direction that Patton had left. Virgil just looked on with a shocked expression as Logan and Patton met up, and Patton gave Logan a hug. Albeit still and hesitant, it was a hug nonetheless. Logan, who had never touched Virgil for more than a handshake or a high-five, was hugging the royal duke.

“How much stranger can this day get?”

—————


iknowthisissuperlatepleasedontkillme

At least it is nearly 3 times longer than usual? Does that start to make up for it?

Yeah no, but we can pretend. i did not think this chapter would be this long. I’m happy we get to start seeing some actual interaction between the ships this time!

Taglist: @monroig @anaussiefander @www-dot-ohshit-dot-com @treasureofpriam @ghosttb0y @mostpeopleannoyne @athenashipsthings @icequeenorginal @cas-is-a-hunter  @justastressedprincess @rebeyerfdog @felicianoromano @roxiefox24 @laytonsartblog @bestbluebouquet@colorfulamo @alexanndrite

[unordinary-analysis]

Episode 170

Honorable mentions:

Blyke is pissed at this guy

I’m not sure if I can call the superhero posse the superhero posse anymore because Blyke is kind of doing his solo superhero thing now, but I mean he’s part of the posse, and nothing is really contradicting. Yeah I’ll keep calling them that. The nature of the group changed, but not the basics.

Superhero posse is Remi, Blyke, and Isen btw

At the end of my first paragraph, when I say, “-with the complications of a real world situation,” I am aware that the UnOrdinary universe is not real, lmao. The phrasing I used is to try to convey that the factors of things like actual performance ability in regards to power are the roots of this system. So rather than being presented with a society whose classifications exist just for the hell of it, like it seems with a lot of stories, it is clear in UnOrdinary that the hierarchy is prompted and necessary, which makes it harder to debate the morality of its nature when presented with issues like discrimination or abuse of authority. Just a quick note. Probably should have made that more clear, but I didn’t want to go too off topic lol. I do that too much already.

Tfw you didn’t think you would find much to write about and the all of a sudden you have pages of writing

No clue what to say about the end of the episode. I don’t have any predictions as to what Kuyo might want. His history with Rei could go either way because we still don’t know if he stayed a hierarchical abuser or if he eventually turned to Rei’s side. Until we know that, and maybe even then, I won’t say anything.

^^also just lazy this is long already and I have to write another of these

My eyes are numb to this sorry if the transitions are confusing

Low Tiers vs. High Tiers: Newside and Origin Edition:

So, and I’m aware this is a skillfully awful way to start this post, we’re all aware of how bad the tensions are between different tiers, especially in places like Wellston. But in this episode, and the few before it, there’s finally a chance to explore into this concept outside of the select group of teenagers that make up Wellston Private High School. And, yes, we’ve gotten a few examples outside of this when Remi spent time as a vigilante, and also when the superhero posse got into some trouble at Kovoro mall. I don’t know, Remi just brings out the injustice in people for some reason? Anyway, I’m bringing this up now because I don’t think I’ve really talked about this before even when the other examples were relevant. To be fair, I don’t think I was writing these for most examples and during the first superhero arc (Remi’s), I had just started and my posts were like maximum 300 words long. Anyway, I really wanted to take advantage of this opportunity now. It’s always really refreshing to see outside the small bubble we’re normally confined to as the usual focus of the story is on the hierarchy struggle in Wellston and everything to do with it. Though this Blyke arc is very much centered around his struggle with his power and his goal of advancing in the hierarchy, it also opens a window for us to see out, again, into that underlying concept similar to Wellston’s power struggle, but on a more extreme scale. Obviously, the villain of our story, John, is the main focus in the comic because he is the main character, but the villain(?) of the UnOrdinary universe is painted to be the struggle between low and high tiers. The hierachy’s paradoxical creation of social imbalance and social stability is the underlying focus behind uru-chan’s writing in this comic. This is a comic about class struggle with the complications of a real world situation (see honorable mentions above for clarification).

The social dynamic between the different tiers is magnified in the recent chapters’ events and location. We are already aware and comfortable with the concept of higher-tiers (not like high-tiers but higher) preying on low-tier districts to gain power quickly, so it’s a bit less noticeable, or standout, now, for me anyway. But in comparisons to the power struggle at Wellston currently (Joker situation), the situations in these worse off towns is still significantly worse. I’m just going to summarize what’s happening really fast, but hopefully you already know what’s happening because I’m bad at explaining. So basically: lower/mid-tiers or straight up mid-tiers (no known naturally higher-tiers have done this to our knowledge, but more on that later) pick a district known to be filled with low-tiers (always weaker than the offender) and attempt take over in hopes of gaining authority and power. Because no higher-tier has been seen attempting this, I want to say that the cause of this is the feeling deprivation of it in their normal life, where their ability grants them nothing special. Similar to how John reacted shortly after he gained his powers at first, they want to become the oppressor instead of the victims that they’ve always been. By going to lower-tier districts where around a 3.0 (or with aid, something higher), give or take is stronger than anyone else around, these people become “trigger-happy” for lack of a better word. They take advantage of finally being able to do something that they never have before and take it a little far. I do not think there are many motives other than this, especially because in this episode when Blyke was approaching the Newside woman, she thought, “Does he plan on toying with us, just like Lance did?” Take note of the word toying. From her word choices in her conversation with Blyke, I’ve pieced together that all Lance really did was mess things up around Newside, never really doing anything focused or thought through. He was thoughtless and impulsive. Destroyed their town and terrorized its people only because he could. I’ve also hinted at a little bit the use of ability enhancers. From Remi’s superhero arc, we know that some of these lower-tiers are injecting themselves with this enhancement drug to shoot up in strength to be able to attempt anything like this. This means that even if you are the lowest of the low, you have a chance at tasting power, which obviously stretches the number of people pulling something like this. I’m not too concerned about this today, however, because it’s kind of separate from the topic of hierarchical conflict, or at least enough for me to separate it from this post.

This entire concept of low-tier invasion and takeover is an example, probably the most telling one, of the dangers that come from such a polarizing system as the UnOrdinary hierarchy.

Everything I’ve said really seems to lead to the fact that dealing with both injustice and discrimination around ability and people trying to change who they were born to be is unavoidable in a world like UnOrdinary. Obviously, this ranking system was put into place for a reason as exemplified by Rei’s reign at Wellston. But as the world reaches new ages and innovative thinking, the confines of the hierarchical ladder aren’t as stable and reliable as they used to be. I’m sure in the past, the hierarchy has gone along almost without a hitch, but as violence grows due to the harsh pedestal the hierarchy unintentionally puts high-tiers on, and radical ideals are being placed into the heads of anyone who will listen (UnOrdinary the book), the structure of the hierarchy is becoming more fluid, which is confusingly ironic. It’s like the historical Age of Enlightenment reborn. People as a whole are growing more and more restless.

So, the big question is whether or not the hierarchy is still the best design for UnOrdinary’s society. Because while it has created a cushion for accidental and catastrophic incompetence in a more general, everyday context, it has evolved into less normalized, yes, but harsher clashes between the different ability levels. I will say that I, personally, support the idea of the hierarchy because order, when done right, will always defeat brute force. What I’d like to say is that, with proper involvement with the authorities, I think the hierarchical system would run smoothly. And yet they are caught in this circle of trying to stop revolutionary thinking among its civilians. This is why the authorities are trying to put an end to the superhero movement, not because the heroes are helping to clean up the streets, but because in doing so, the superheroes are disrupting the natural hierarchy. See the irony? The authorities aren’t doing what they need to do to stop the hierarchical uprising because they’re busy trying to stop people from rising up against the hierarchy, which somehow contradict. Now, all of this needs a beginning. This cycle obviously had to start somewhere or else the entire history of the hierarchy wouldn’t be so good and desired. The superhero movement is this start for this cycle and they all stem from the same thing: the revolutionary ideas that came from revolutionary thinkers: the book UnOrdinary. Obviously, before this there were some issues with the hierarchical system (allowing John to abuse his power as king), but the issue is more extreme and relevant as I explained in the second paragraph (the thick one), because of the lower-tiers feeling unsatisfied and acting out on other low-tiers because of that. But I really want to let myself believe that UnOrdinary set off a chain reaction in the UnOrdinary universe leading to the class struggles in the extreme state they are currently in. And as the comic is obviously called UnOrdinary, I like to think that there is a reason for that title rather than something so personal and niche as a sentiment of John’s.

[the-rebel-archivist]

The Warmth Inside

Another one shot from Cullen’s perspective! 

For once, the Inquisitor has more work to do than Cullen does. Keeping her company long into the night, he decides whether or not to return to his lonely tower across the battlements in the cold. I also briefly indulge my headcanon that Cullen’s actually really good at drawing but only uses his skill to doodle in margins (mainly weapon designs).

Prompt: A quiet moment, relaxing, a kiss on the cheek, unexpected softness, a laugh

-

The fur of Cullen’s mantle tickled his nose. There was a draft coming in through the windows of the inquisitor’s quarters. There was always a draft somewhere. It didn’t seem so bad in the daytime, it was almost refreshing then, but at two o’clock in the morning it was intolerable. Still, it was warmer in here than in his own tower - he was dreading the cold walk back across the battlements - and improved significantly over it by the Inquisitor’s presence.

Raynda was at her desk, her head propped up on her hand, blinking hard. Each blink seemed just a little bit longer than the last and her head was dropping lower by stages. Finally it slipped from her hand and she sat up with a start, then leaned back in her chair and shook her head in an attempt to clear it. She ran her hands over her face in exhaustion, leaving a smeared black streak of ink behind. “I am so fucking tired right now,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been up since five, trained until my fingers ached, had to deal with diplomats all day, and now I have to make up for the time I lost with them to finish up these reports before tomorrow.”

Getting up from his spot on the loveseat where he had been reading to keep her company, Cullen stood behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. “And you’re cold and hungry and there are wolves after you?” he asked teasingly, leaning down closer to her and wiping the ink from her cheek.

“Big ones, with sharp, pointy teeth.” She looked up at him, her expression falsely mournful with a slight pout on her lips. Her hair had fallen out of its ponytail and wisps of it surrounded her face, shining redder in the firelight. Maker, everything about her begged him to kiss her. Being able to do so whenever he wanted and knowing that she wouldn’t pull away was such a newly discovered joy.

“I have historically found that a cup of tea can help to keep the wolves at bay. Shall I get you some?”

“You would have my undying thanks,” she said with a tired smile. “I’m at a good stopping point to take a break anyway.”

He took her hand as she got out of her chair and used it to pull her gently toward him. Taking her face in his hands and brushing the loose tendrils of her hair back he kissed her gently before turning away with a half smile to pour tea from the kettle hanging over the fire.

Raynda sat down on the loveseat that he had so recently vacated - “flopped” may even have been a better descriptor - and he could feel her eyes on him. “How are you not tired at this hour?” she asked.

“I’ve gotten used to being awake this late. Or early, depending on how you look at it.” He left unsaid that he preferred to delay going to sleep from fear of the nightmares. How could he possibly tell her about those? And how could she ever stay once she did?

He brought the tea over to her, along with some for himself. Raynda always seemed to have nice tea, herbal and almost sweet enough to have without sugar. The mug in his hand was warm and Raynda herself radiated heat. The whole scene must have been incredibly picturesque, he thought to himself, with the two of them sitting close together by the fire and sipping hot drinks. He’d never been very good at drawing people, but it might be a cute thing to sketch for her if he got a chance; she always seemed to enjoy looking at the poorly-drawn doodles he put in the margins of his notes.

“What do you have left to do tonight?”

“Just sign about a billion letters Josephine had drafted for me. I have no idea what they say and I’m fairly certain that I’m signing my soul away.”

He laughed. “If you write out your signature for me to copy I can probably help you sign them.”

Raynda covered her mouth with her hand dramatically. “You would help me forge documents?” She touched her hand to her collarbone and shook her head. “I’m shocked, Commander. Shocked and disappointed.”

“I’ll tender my resignation immediately.”

“Wait until the morning. There’s no point resigning before the crime has been committed.”

-

“You have some ink on your face,” he told her with an amused smile after they had finished signing the letters and were sitting once again on the loveseat. She scrubbed at her cheek with her palm and most of the ink came off, leaving only a small dark tint.

“Better?” she asked.

“Mostly. But you also have something on your face right… here,” he said as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. She laughed delightedly, a tinkling laugh that made him feel warm inside.

“That was very smooth of you,” she said with some appreciation.

“I’m quite proud of it.”

She rested her head against his shoulder, readjusting uncomfortably after a few moments. “You are aware that you don’t need to wear armour up here, right? It’s unlikely that I’ll find you offensive enough to attack.”

He felt a flush come over his face. “To be quite honest, it’s mainly to keep warm before I make the trek outside to return to my room.”

“You don’t have to go.” She gave him a teasing smile. “My reputation, such as it is, must already be in tatters from you being here so late. I can’t imagine anyone truly believes all we’ve been doing is paperwork.”

“It’s not that… I-” He touched his neck and looked away, unwilling to meet her gaze. What would she think of him after she knew? As long as she was unaware he could almost envision himself as a whole man, but was that not a lie? She deserved someone better, not a man imprisoned by his own weakness and frailty of mind.

He felt a hand on his face pulling it toward her. She was looking up at him, her eyes soft. “Please stay, Cullen.”

“I have… bad dreams. They will wake you up.” He waited for her to say something funny and flippant in response, maybe something about him being a child. That was the best case scenario. Perhaps instead she would be upset that he hadn’t told her before. In his darkest moments he had even imagined that she would turn him away, reproach him for his failure to overcome his past when he’d been trying for the past ten years with no success. If she would just let go of him he could slip away and not bother her with his problems again, she had enough to contend with without an attachment to someone irreparably broken.

“From the Circle?”

He nodded wordlessly. Would there be no reprieve from this? Why did she insist on exposing his every flaw if she was only to tell him to go?

He tried to pull away but was prevented from moving when she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Don’t leave.” She bent his head down to her shoulder, running her hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You aren’t alone, not anymore.”

He didn’t know how to describe what he felt. Relief? Uncertainty? A need to cry he hadn’t felt in his waking moments since he was a boy?

“You don’t need to hide, not from me. I’ll always be here for you. Cullen, I... I care about you, all of you.”

I love you.

The thought sprang unbidden into his mind. He’d never told anyone he loved them. Whatever he felt for her was something he had never experienced before. But it was too soon. Probably. He was no judge of appropriate timing in a relationship.

“I care about you too.” It seemed so weak, such a pitiful statement in contrast to what he felt, but it was safer.

“Then don’t make me worry about you being out in the cold. Come to bed.”

He breathed in her scent. He didn’t know what home was supposed to smell like, but it smelled like her. He loved her. There was some freedom and joy in that knowledge.

“Alright.”

-

When he awoke the next morning from his first sound sleep in months he had his arms around her and she was holding him back. The draft was still blowing in through the window. He felt her hair tickle his nose.

[lunaraen]

Some Aidesse writing?

When it comes to the Order, veryfew things outside their personal rooms are really theirs, and even then, most things inside their rooms are fair gameat some point.

Prank wars typically know nobounds outside the most valuable or cherished of items.

Aiden’s stuff in general, theexception, tends to be left alone, if only because half of it’s somehow managedto find its way into Jesse’s room and because the others warming up to him hasbeen a slow process that mostly involves each side trying to not pick fights orreopen old wounds. Screwing around with what’s his might be well within theirrights, but it’s a risky move if they don’t want to deal with him or the chancethat either side’ll get testy.

But that’s hardly grounds for himto legitimately claim anything outside the shaky domain that’s his room andwhatever he’s left in Jesse’s (or whatever she’s taken from him, like too manyof his shirts and several of the books he’s nabbed from their own privatelibrary).

Aiden can try to stake those claims,maybe, but it doesn’t mean much.

It’s not really practical to tryand act like there’s a spot on the couch that’s his, not when it’s in the living room with several couches that getused regularly by everyone in the Order, those still living in the temple andthose just visiting.

But it’s totally his spot.

It’s cozy, to the far right sideof the couch in front of the fireplace, positioned next to the armrest andright by the small side table, the one typically covered in crumpled papers orwhatever books he’s brought from his room.

Given the trouble Aiden used tocause for nearly all of them regularly, and then the way he almost got Lukasand Jesse killed, it would be easy to steal the spot or rub in the fact thatit’s not his at all and can’t be stolen, that it was their couch first beforeit was ever his, just like this was their home first. None of them have triedit yet, and the more time passes, the less likely he thinks they are to try.

Not worth the time, maybe, or tooclose to stooping to his previous level of petty, but he’s comfortable anyway.

In all their daily chaos androutine, moving between adventures and disasters and even back and forthbetween cities, he’s carved out a little place for himself that feels more andmore normal by the day, a place outside his room or Jesse’s where he can justrelax and watch the chaos whirl by. It’s normal by this point; nobody questionsit anymore, what he wants or what he’s doing here of all places.

It’s nice.

“Hey.” Jesse’s voice isnice too, less startling than pleasant, and Aiden smiles when he looks up,finding Jesse leaning over the couch and smiling down at him through her bangs.

“Hey– oof.” Less nice is the way Jesse jumps the back of the couch,landing less than gracefully in his lap as one of her arms quickly wraps aroundhis shoulders to steady herself. Aiden’s attempts to adjust amount to littlemore than futile, and brief, squirming, one foot letting him know it’s lostcirculation. “Thanks for the warning. Really appreciated that.”

“It’s not my fault you’re sobony.” The wriggle is brief but exaggerated, feigned discomfort betrayedby her grin as she twists enough to wrap her arms around his middle. He’sskinnier than her still, but nowhere near as outright skeletal as he was whenhe first got here.

Jesse, soft as she might be, alsoweighs a considerable amount more simply for all the muscle from training,which is impressive and also currently somewhat unfortunate for his poor legs.

“And it’s not my faultyou’re built like a brick house, but my lap’s suffering for it anyway.”He’d like to consider himself lucky that he’d already set aside his notebookand quill, but Aiden doubts Jesse would have sat on him if it meant possiblyfolding the pages or screwing up his quill, and then they wouldn’t be here,with his knee digging into her side and back or all of her weight pressing downon an oddly turned ankle.

(He supposes he’s just luckyshe’s cuddling with him in the first place, but this position’s notparticularly comfortable and, way shorter than him or not, all that musclemakes her dense.)

“Alright, alright.”Jesse detaches, with a bit more reluctance and dramatics than are probablyneeded, and shifts off his lap, lifting him onto hers before he can adjust. Hisankle appreciates it anyway, half-numb as it dangles off the couch.“Better?”

“I’ll take it.” Hewraps an arm around her shoulders, comfortably loose as his other hand snatchesback up the journal and quill.

“How kind of you. It’s verychivalrous and noble of you to put up with me.”

He grins, feeling as cheeky andsmug as she looks and sounds.

“I know.”

She nudges his shoulder, doing abad job of hiding her smile before ducking her head and briefly nuzzling hisneck. It gets the reaction he knows she’s looking for, and she laughs at hisstuttering yelp, only barely not a laugh itself in a desperate attempt to wardoff more attention to an unfortunately ticklish area.

It works, mostly because Jesse’sattention is now on the words scrawled onto the paper, gaze jumping from theneater sections to the ones almost entirely sketched out.

It’s fun to watch her gaze shift,her head tucked onto his shoulder, and still his grip on the book tightens whenher brow furrows.

“It doesn’t look like yourusual writing.”

And even now, after everything,after years of regret and reform, part of Aiden wants to pull it close to hischest, to get up and leave, to redirect the conversation in some brusque butfinal way to keep her nose out of his business. That desperate, twisting partthinks of insults, cold comments, and the sorts of mocking he’ll be openinghimself up to by answering honestly.

Even if it weren’t Jesse asking,he hopes he wouldn’t listen to it, a remnant of a poor time and a poorerperson, worse in character if nothing else.

But because it’s Jesse asking,with all the curiosity she can have and none of the malice or even teasing he’dunderstand and expect from someone else, it’s an easy urge to shove down,because he never wants to be that person again and especially not around her.

“It's–” Aiden pauses,licking his lips instead of biting the lower one again and hopes it makes himseem more at ease, “it’s not. It’s a letter– well, maybe two. I’m tryingto draft it. I was wondering if you could, y'know, read it over. I want to knowif I’m saying it right; there’s still a lot I want to touch up, I’m just notsure how yet.”

He knows if he asked the twopeople he’s writing to, they’d tell him to forget it.

Heck, he fully expects Maya tojust storm the temple after getting hers to chew him out for not visiting andfor being dumb about it when they live in the same town.

(She gets grumpy enough as it iswhenever he rightly mentions that their years-long “exile” in SkyCity was mostly, if not entirely, his fault, along with all the emotional andphysical bumps that came with prison and reform; neither of them ever blamedhim then, and they seem more than convinced now that all of them getting homewas solely because of his letter.)

It’s a five minute walk to theirplace, and it feels more potentially daunting than any of the much longer walkshe takes every day to get to whatever build he and the rest of the constructionteam are working on somewhere in Beacontown.

He hasn’t been to their part oftown yet, luckily enough, for work or for his own curiosity since he went weeksago to check out their new house.

Aiden picks at the upper cornerof the page, already curling and creased.

Letters are easier than actualtalking. In theory.

They might think he’s dumb forit, but he knows they’d appreciate the thought behind the letters.

Well, if he splits the letterinto two. He wants to write them each their own letter, but he knows they’lljust read each other’s anyway. They live together, and while they’ll respecteach other’s privacy and let each read the letter meant for them, Gill sucks atkeeping things from Maya whether she’s trying hard or not to get him to spill.

She’s terrifying when she wantsto be, and Gill’s sappy either way.

And, as Aiden’s learned, ifeither of them are worried or annoyed with Aiden, they’ll be sure to let eachother know it through letter-sharing and ranting, because they’re the type offriends to worry like that when they don’t really need to and really shouldn’tbe concerned in the first place.

Still, they’re worth the effort.If they share theirs, that’s their right.

Jesse’s hand squeezes his arm,gently, and he doesn’t know if it’s meant to be reassuring or just supposed todrag him out of his thoughts.

It manages to succeed at bothanyway.

“I’d love to check it.”As interested as she sounds, she doesn’t make much of an effort to hide yetanother glance between the writing and him, mouth pulling into a frown.“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“I figure between me andLukas, you’ve seen plenty of bad drafts and more than enough trash writing. I know you’ve read worse from mebefore.”

Aiden’s letter to her, afterthey’d dealt with the Admin, read as desperate and awkward even when he wroteit, if significantly more mellow than anyone would have probably expectedbefore Sky City. Now it reads as even lousier than he remembered, too formal inall the wrong places and too informal simply because of their history.

With any luck, writing to twopeople who’ve been his best friends for almost as long as he can remembershould be easier, because and in spite of all their history and everythingAiden’s ever done.

“It’s never as bad as eitherof you think. That seems like a writer thing.” Aiden bites back a commentabout how it might be more about them, about their history where, even as Lukasstayed quiet, he was just as subjected to the Ocelot attitude of tearing peoplebesides themselves down for just about anything as Aiden was. If he staysquiet, they can avoid that conversation and Jesse can have more time to lookfor issues. Jesse tilts her head, eyes skimming the page for only a few momentsmore before she points at one line. “It doesn’t hurt to have a newperspective, though. I don’t think that’s supposed to be about theirhorse.”

Aaaaaaaaand maybe Jesse will justspot an obvious typo he should’ve caught in the first place, the scrawledsentence looking more rushed and oddly asking about their horse in a paragraphotherwise focused on their new garden and built home upgrades.

It’s the sort of thing that makesoutsider proof-reading valuable.

“Oh, bite me.” He huffsunder his breath as he scratches out the word, writing the slightly neatercorrected version above it. It’s why he has drafts, beyond his inability to besatisfied with a letter the first time. “I knew I missed something.”

“Only if you’reasking.” Her grin’s cheeky as can be, all teeth to let him know exactlywhat she’s responding to and accompanied by an over the top eyebrow waggle.

He loves her so much; it doesn’tmake her less of a dork. It’s just part of what he loves about her.

It doesn’t keep Aiden frompushing her shoulder, rolling his eyes as his tone goes dry, not monotone butas overtly sarcastic as he can make it.

“It’ll be hard for you toactually read if you’re busy gnawing on me. I taste terrible.”

“You’re not as bad as youthink.” He should expect the kiss on the cheek; he doesn’t. “In a lot of cases.”

Aiden could be sarcastic again,more biting or dry about how that’s not much of a surprise and how he’s good at being wrong, but the only thingdry is the inside of his mouth and he can’t help the lopsided smile.

“Good. That means there’shope.”

“There’s always hope.”

…that’s the sort of mindset hewants, and he hopes Jesse’s feedback will help let that bleed into the letter,spill over into whatever the finished products look like.

They all deserve a little morelight like that.

[qwertythepopstarian08]

JSAB Steampunk AU Fanfic: Terminal

I couldn’t resist writing another gift fic for @just-steams-and-shapes

I have literally fallen in love with that AU, and I’ve realized how fun it is to write Luce and Belle.

I know some details may be off, but I’ve been putting this story on hold for a bit, so I hope everything suffices in quality.

This is technically an AU of an AU of an AU (is that right?) so any inconsistencies can be attributed to that... please?

Also, just because Belle and Luce were the only available characters on that blog so far, I added an OC, Riley the Mountain Blossom. She has a minor role, so please don’t yell about her presence.

Description: Belle realizes just how dangerous Deceoras can be... no matter who they used to be.

Warnings for minor body horror, animal death, angst, and canon-typical violence.

Three months, two weeks, and four days after his transformation, Luce was still a Deceora. Belle had tried everything she could to revert him to normal, from medicine to magic to chiropractic procedure, yet nothing seemed to work.

Belle was in no way fine with this. Luce was reduced to what was essentially an animal, and because of the stigma and fear surrounding the Deceoras, he couldn’t leave the house or even linger by the windows. He was trapped in his own body, barely able to communicate for the words scrambled on his tongue and got lost between his jagged fangs.

The two of them tried their best to find a cure, but it seemed that Luce was doomed to stay a monster forever. Even the feral Deceoras seemed to sense something was up. A few had taken to lingering by the workshop, not attacking but just… watching, beckoning the newly transformed creature to join them.

Each time one came, Belle hoped that their bond would hold up, but even she couldn’t deny the look of distant longing in Luce’s gaze…

Deep down, they both knew that he’d slip. Given his predatory nature, it was only a matter of time.

It had been a full year before things went downhill.

Luce had started falling into a hopelessness, believing that he’d never go back to normal. He’d remained in his beastly state for what felt like an eternity, and each passing day made his heart break as he awoke to see himself looking and feeling like a monster.

At the moment, hee was sulking, perched on one of the tables and trying vainly to gnaw at a granola bar. His teeth just weren’t meant to consume oats, or anything other than meat and shards, for that matter, so he only succeeded in eating the snack one bite at a time, over the course of an hour. It was… loud.

((Cronch-cronch-cronch-cronch))

Belle had tried to raise his spirits. She approached, a tentative smile quirking at her features.

“Luce? You awake?”

It was code for, ‘Are you in control?’ Luce was prone to snapping into a more feral state at times. He never hurt anyone, but he didn’t seem to respond to vocal communication, unable to understand. As of late, he’d been slipping out of control far more often than usual, undoubtedly because of his lack of hope. He just didn’t have the strength to fight his instincts. Much to Belle’s relief, the Deceora nodded, huffing as he sat up. He was aware, although he just wanted to sleep.

“Rrrr….” he growled lowly at her, too tired to muster up words. He licked chocolate from between his teeth, giving Belle a side glance. “Mmrf.”

The purple shape crossed her arms, her tone becoming a bit irritated.

“Come on, Luce… I want to talk to you.”

The Deceora turned around, sighing heavily. “Monsters… don’t talk.” He drew in on himself, a soft, sad croon spilling from his jaws. “But… I listen…”

Belle walked around, cupping the beast’s face in her hands. She was unafraid of his lagoon infection by now. From the looks of it, it only spread through open wounds, and she’d taken care to bandage any work-related injuries. Luce looked up at her with puppy-dog eyes, whimpering a bit. His heart rate eye, now modified to fit his current facial structure, started to slow in pace.

Belle pulled him into a sudden hug, giggling as she heard him squeal and try to break free. He’d gotten significantly bigger during his time as a Deceora. If he stood on his hind legs, he came up to his sister’s shoulders, counting his horns. He was no longer the weakest and smallest of the monsters, but the purple engineer was unafraid, having reassured herself that he’d never raise a claw to her.

He was her brother, after all. They poked fun at each other and teased, but at the end of the day, they only had each other. Belle was rather strong; she had to be, given her line of work. She easily hefted him up to her shoulders, where he clung to her, held by her second pair of arms.

“I”m gonna spin ya….” she warned.

Luce threw his head back and screamed. From any other Deceora, the sound would have been threatening, but in the months that he’d been like this, Luce had learned other ways to communicate besides through his stilted speech. That particular scream was one of excitement.

Luce’s screeching halted as he heard knocking at the door. Belle frowned, and the beast felt himself being lowered. His horns drooped, and he whimpered, allowing himself to be set down.

“Alright, fun’s over,” Belle stifled a chuckle. “You stay right there.”

Luce huffed, sticking his tongue out. He dimly wondered what Belle’s excuse would be now. With his advanced senses, he could hear his old friends outside, undoubtedly looking for him. He admired their loyalty and concern, but it only broke his heart when he heard Belle tell them, time after time, that he was ill and couldn’t come out to play.

He was thirteen now, but he was still a kid… or at least he was before turning into a monster.

His thoughts started to spiral, and he shook his head, standing on shaky legs. A low, curious growl rumbled from his core, and he peered around the corner of the table to see who was at the door.

From what he could see, it was a flower. He vaguely recognized the kid from the last time he’d been outside, before he was cursed. The young sprout had just joined his mutual friend group, and he thought he remembered her name as being something that started with an “R”...

The flower was inquiring about him again. It was a sweet gesture; she hardly knew him, yet she came all this way just to ask about him.

“Uh… do you know when Lucy will be better?”

Luce winced at the nickname. In his current state, he couldn’t quite suppress the urge to hiss, wanting to shatter whoever came up with that title. He wished he could blame his aggression on his current state, but he’d always been a bit volatile at heart...

The girl at the door seemed to hear him, her eyes going wide as she glanced over Belle’s shoulder. Luce darted behind the table, although the flower managed to catch a glimpse of his tail, hearing his claws clicking against the floor. She shuddered.

“What was that?”

Belle tried to remedy the situation, holding up all four of her arms to block the flower’s view. “Nothing, just some old, creaky gears… don’t worry about it!”

The flower narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “I’m worried… is Luce doing alright? He never passes up a chance to go exploring….” Her tone became solemn, almost nostalgic as she sighed. “The other kids say that he once knocked out a bird with his arm cannon. We nursed it back to health, and it’s not mad at him… in fact, we named it Lucy Junior….”

Luce’s growl abruptly cut off, and he blinked, tilting his head. Suddenly, his endearing nickname didn’t seem so bad, and he crooned sadly, thinking about that day, all those months ago.

One of the rowdier kids had dared him to try to shoot fireworks from his arm. They’d all gone out to the forest to goof around and pretend to be explorers or monster-hunters. Up until his disappearance, Luce fondly recalled the crazy stunts that the others put him through. It was all fun and games for the most part. Occasionally, a kid broke an arm, or a few bushes got burned down. But no real damage was created.

The bird had been a misfire. It had been sitting in a tree, far away from the action. But then, as soon as Luce readied his cannon, it swooped, coming down in a collision course for the blast. They had banded together to nurse it back to health; they may have been a destructive bunch, but none of them would actually kill someone… Right after that, Luce vanished, having fallen to the Deceora curse…

Luce whimpered, looking up to see Belle starting to close the door. He shook his head, suddenly growling to himself.

He missed his friends, he missed his life… he missed being a kid... and not some abomination. He wanted his old life back, even if he stayed a monster.

Without a second thought, he jumped up and rushed at the door, shrieking. It was meant to be one of his signature battle cries, but in his current form, it came out as a threatening roar.

The girl, whose name he now remembered as “Riley,” turned with wide eyes. Luce was vaguely aware of Belle’s startled yell, hearing her begin to mutter blights and otherwise rude exclamations.

Luce ignored her, determined. He rushed through the door, leaning outside to see the girl. Mustering up the willpower to be understood, he screamed, “RILEY! IT’S ME!”

Riley screamed, staggering back. She obviously knew what a Deceora was… everyone around here knew all too well. She scrambled back, watching with wide eyes as Belle fearlessly grabbed the monster by the tail, dragging him into the house again.

“What are you doing?” she hissed. “Tryin’ to get killed?”

He whimpered, shaking his head and pointing at Riley.

He choked, “Friend….I miss… my friends.”

Belle groaned, holding her head. She crossed her arms, backing away and allowing the Deceora to go free.

“Well, half the neighborhood has heard ya now… might as well go and clear things up before people start jumping to conclusions... “

Her gaze became distant, and Luce knew that she was thinking back to his initial change. Belle had assumed that he was a feral beast, attacking him, thinking that he was dead. She’d been trying to get the full story before she acted nowadays, not wanting to put anyone in unnecessary danger ever again.

Luce happily crooned, standing on his haunches to give her a proper hug. He nudged her shoulder with his snout, then fell back onto all-fours, turning to face the confused flower.

“Hi… Riley…” He trotted outside, keeping his gait slow so as to avoid frightening her. “It me… Luce? Remember…?”

Riley blinked owlishly. She stepped back, concerned. She knew what a Deceora was; EVERYONE in Paradise probably did at this point. They were infamous for being relentless killers… but this one… just wanted to hug her.

“What… what are you?” Her petals drooped, and she looked up at Belle. “Is this like… a guard animal? Did… did you train it to attack intruders?”

Belle raised her arms in surrender. “Nope.” She chuckled bitterly, sending a glare towards Luce. “That’s my dumb little brother. Got himself turned into a Deceora.”

Riley suddenly staggered back, her eyes going wide.

“A what now?!” She looked at Luce, who whimpered. “YOU’RE A WHAT?!”

He shrugged, then started to trot closer, trying to appear small. Luckily, not many people were out at this time, having seen the other Deceoras in the area and opted to stay indoors more often lately.

Luce approached Riley, his head held low. His horns flicked downwards, and he glanced at her, a soft, nonthreatening growl pouring from his jaws.

“Don’t be… scared… won’t hurt…” He tilted his head, whimpering. He towered over the flower, so he could understand her fear. If he stood to his full height, he’d be like two of her, with the physical strength of ten. He kept his voice low, trying to avoid the growling tone. “It’s me… Luce… friend… won’t hurt you… not monster…”

Riley seemed to understand, frowning as she looked up at Luce. She recognized the pink hue of his gaze, a twinge of guilt hitting her as she saw how afraid he was… of scaring her. This couldn’t be a trick. Deceoras were smart predators, but none of them could mimic speech, at least to her knowledge. There was no doubt in her mind… that the monster before her was her friend. She hesitantly approached, reaching up to touch one of his horns.

He recoiled slightly, whimpering. His gaze was melancholy; he wasn’t in any pain anymore, but he was terrified… he didn’t want to scare anyone. Riley frowned.

“Oh… Luce… what happened to you?”

The Deceora breathed a sigh of relief, then sat on his hind legs, chuckling bitterly. He lifted his foreleg, showing the jagged scars and bite marks that still lined his arms. While the scratches and claw marks had healed significantly, the bite wound was still visible, having closed up but left a dastardly scar. It was proof of his curse. As long as it remained, Luce was sure that he’d remain a Deceora, lagoon venom coursing through his veins.

Riley shakily reached up, tracing a hand along the scars.

“... You were bitten?” She looked up to see him nod sadly. “But… that’s never happened before…”

Belle stepped up, crossing her arms.

“Maybe it has.” Luce and Riley looked at her oddly. Sighing, she elaborated, “I mean, nine times outta ten, Deceoras kill their victims and leave nothing behind, so there’s no telling what really happened…” She looked at Luce’s scars, frowning. “I’ve been thinkin’.... What if some of the victims survive, but they end up like Luce? Some of those Deceoras are smarter than they look… who’s to say they aren’t people?”

Riley thought for a moment, humming. It sounded crazy, but….

Luce huffed, his horns drooping. Riley tilted her head, thinking. If Luce could spontaneously change into a Deceora, who was to say that others couldn’t befall the same fate?

“That’s… strikingly sensible…. Most Deceora attacks happen out in the Badlands… too far out in the wilderness for a shape to find help in time…” She crossed her arms. “If one was to succumb to the venom and turn into… this… no one would ever know…”

Belle added, “The Deceora attacks have been less frequent here ever since Luce changed…. They must know that he’s still a shape at heart… they won’t turn anyone else if it’ll just give us power against ‘em…”

Luce glanced between the two, huffing. He didn’t want to think of himself as a symbol of fear at all… even to the enemy. While he was a frightening creature on the outside, he doubted he’d be able to bring himself to kill a Deceora with his own claws and teeth. Back when he could shoot blasts at a distance, it was easier to shatter something… he didn’t have to get blood on his hands.

But now… he knew deep down, the moment the shards flew, he wouldn’t be able to hold himself back. As soon as blood was spilled, he’d succumb to his instincts and KILL. He’d tear it apart.

He grumbled, bristling.

“No… hurt… anyone…” His horns flicked back, and he hissed. “Not monster… won’t fight.”

Belle gave him a sympathetic glance, sighing. She reached over to pat him on the head, and he purred sadly, nuzzling her hand.

“No one said ya had to, bro. I know you don’t really wanna hurt anyone…” She frowned and looked at Riley. “He’s been real skittish lately. He wouldn’t raise a claw to anyone.”

She internally winced, thinking back to her initial reaction to his change. She’d attacked him in fear, and he sat there and took it, knowing that fighting back would result in her getting injured worse.

He was aware of his raw power, having seen Deceoras tear shapes apart. He didn’t want to become another monster. Although he had predatory instinct, he’d mellowed out slightly, knowing that if he didn’t keep his aggression in check, he’d shatter someone… most likely her.

Luce whimpered and nudged Belle in the side.

“Want… go back…. Inside…” He growled softly, on high alert. “Someone… see…”

Belle nodded, sighing.

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone else would be too keen on seeing a large Deceora just wanderin’ about…” She glanced at Riley, starting to back away towards the house. “See you later?”

The flower held up a hand in a half-hearted wave. Luce looked over his shoulder as he was lead back inside. If he squinted, he could see fear in her eyes.

~~~

~~~

Later that night…

Luce’s eyes snapped open as he heard scratching at the window. He leapt up, horns flicking back as he glanced around, his pupils shrinking despite the lack of light. A low growl had started to rumble from his core, and he found himself on edge, sensing something. He stood shakily, tossing his blanket aside as he scanned the area.

It was a few minutes shy of midnight. He grumbled slightly, a snarl threatening to rip from his throat. He was frustratingly familiar with being awoken late at night… or rather, in the darkest hours of the morning. He turned to face the window, his tail thumping against the edge of the bed, his claws digging into the sheets.

His glare met parted, serrated jaws, and he hissed, agitated by the familiar sight of another Deceora.

The pests had stopped attacking his home altogether, but they’d taken to watching him. They normally kept their distance, yet a few curious stragglers stuck around dangerously close to his dwelling, waking him with their clicking calls.

They seemed to think he was a part of the pack, if only for the fact that their venom ran through his veins...

A deep, subdued instinct in Luce’s core forced him to respond, and he, instead of ignoring the creature and going back to bed as he desired, found himself hissing quietly at it, his eyes narrowing as a warning.

It pawed at the window, inquisitive. It seemed to be a bit younger than him, small and a bit scrawny in stature. It didn’t look like it could put up much of a fight, although Luce knew better than to judge a creature by appearance. He trotted up to the window, sitting up on his haunches and pressing his face against the glass.

He could feel the cold of the night from the window. It was pleasantly chilly, just the right temperature for a nightly walk… if there were no Deceoras out… if he wasn’t a Deceora himself.

He huffed, swiping a claw at the visitor, trying to get it to leave. It tilted its head, rearing up and leaning against the windowsill, small, raspy chirps sounding from it. It didn’t seem aggressive, but it wasn’t sentient as Belle had mused earlier, either. It just wanted to play…

Luce winced, his horns flicking upward, before he sighed.

In an act of impulsive curiosity, he nudged the window open, allowing the crisp air to filter through. The young creature outside gave an almost happy series of clicks, nearly climbing inside, before Luce scrambled out, hopping out of the window. He landed with a soft thud, shuddering for a second as his body became accustomed to the chilly, fresh breeze. He purred, having missed the brisk weather dearly.

Quickly growing fond of him, the other Deceora nudged him with its muzzle, trilling. It was a similar shade of lagoon corruption… it must have thought he was a member of its pack.

His tail started wagging a bit, and he paused, looking up at the sound of approaching footfalls. He instinctively pushed the other creature behind him, letting out a huffing hiss as he glanced around.

From the shadows, another Deceora emerged… an adult. It stood tall, easily reaching the roof of the house in height, not even counting its horns. It glowered down at Luce, who staggered back, cowering a bit. He recognized the towering being’s power, and while his logical mind told him to run, his instincts forced him to stay, waiting for approval from the higher pack member.

He instantly jolted, a slightly worried trill escaping him. He looked down at his claws, his vision blurring a bit. When had he started thinking like this? He was a shape, not a Deceora. And yet… he almost… liked it out here, with the nightly beasts. He shook his head, looking back at the tall creature. The smaller one had bounded over to it, giving an affectionate purr as it approached. The large Deceora let out a deep croon, briefly embracing it before turning to face Luce.

It locked eyes with him, communicating a welcoming aura, before it turned, retreating into the forest, the tiny monster in tow. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself advancing forward, quickening his pace to keep up with the giant.

His strides were less clumsy than usual, and in his sleep-deprived, instinctive mindset, Luce didn’t think twice about following the two beasts. In that moment, he was just another Deceora, roaming through the night, hunting for sustenance.

In just minutes, Luce had slipped into the mindset of the beast.

A rapid fluttering movement  piqued his attention, and he snapped his gaze towards the source, horns flicking backwards. A low growl ripped from his core, and he halted, turning around. The other two monsters slowed to a stop, the younger beast glancing over its shoulder to glance at him, curious as to why he stopped.

Luce’s predatory instincts flared up, and he stalked towards the bush where he’d seen the movement, a clicking hiss escaping from him. He heard a frightened chirp, a fanged grin spreading across his face. Whatever was there… was afraid.

He sniffed, catching the scent in the air. Avian… warm-blooded… terrified of him. He hadn’t eaten anything since that granola bar from earlier… Whatever was there would soon become his dinner.

Luce crouched, inching towards his prey. Seeming to sense his intent, the large Deceora turned, watching him, ready to interfere if something went wrong. It gazed down at him, holding the smaller creature back from interrupting.

There was a sudden rustle of grass as the hidden animal tried to flee. Luce gave a howling cry, pouncing at it. His claws closed around a small, feathered shape, and he suddenly squeaked in surprise, recognition dancing in his gaze. He tumbled through the bushes, holding the tiny bird close, his eyes squeezing shut.

He could feel a warm , viscous liquid trickling from where his talons had punctured the avian. Its panicked cries quieted to pained trills, and it vainly tried to wriggle free, only for its damaged wing to snap the wrong way.

Luce heard the bird’s dying cries, his heart racing. Its blood splattered across his mechanical eye, which he angrily tore off, shuddering. Warm, slick blood coated his flesh. He’d killed something. With his own two claws. He went cold, nearly letting out a cry as he stared down at the bird.

He recognized it… it was the bird he’d helped to rescue a year ago. Once again, he’d harmed it… this time, it would perish in his hands… in his talons.

Unable to restrain his carnivorous nature for any longer, Luce lowered his head, crunching down on the tiny avian and finishing the job, silencing his prey. It gave a last, shrill chirp, before falling silent, the light leaving its eyes as the venom worked its way through its system.

Luce stood, the bird still suspended from his jaws, its bloodied feathers slick and dripping with red. He glanced over at the other two Deceoras, his eyes wide and tearful.

He trotted over, dropping the bird at the larger beast’s feet unceremoniously. As soon as the bird fell from his jaws, he gagged, backing away and glaring at the large Deceora. It stared through him, a confused croon escaping it as it tilted its head. It failed to interpret Luce’s conflicted expression, moving aside to allow its smaller companion access to the catch. The younger monster trilled happily, wasting no time as it darted over, its jaws closing around Luce’s catch. Purring, it snapped its head to the side, tearing the bird’s wing effortlessly. It tore at the avian like a piranha, unaware of the emotional turmoil the action caused Luce.

He staggered back, a haunted look glaring over his eyes. His head hurt… his senses were overloaded. He hadn’t meant to kill the bird. Yet… he was… hungry.

His mind reeled, his rational thoughts warring with predatory instinct. He couldn’t think straight. He was overwhelmed.

Shaking his head wildly, Luce broke into a run. He was dimly aware of the Deceoras calling after him, although their clicking cries were mute in comparison to his screeching. He shrieked until his throat was raw, trying to block out his fervent senses. He could tell, even without the heart monitor, just how fast his pulse was racing. Terrified, he rushed back to the house, wanting nothing more than to curl up and cry himself to sleep.

He wasn’t a real Deceora. Belle had reassured him of his sentience many times before, but after this, he was beginning to doubt his chances of ever changing back. Even if he managed to reverse his curse, would things ever go back to normal? He’d spent so long as a beast… he couldn’t imagine returning to his old self now.

He’d have to relearn how to walk, to speak, to exist as a normal shape, just because of his mistake. He’d have to reintegrate into society, have to regain the trust of his friends, of himself… He didn’t think he could handle it.

Luce came to a halt just as he reached the window, looking down at himself. His claws were caked in avian blood, and the smell was starting to agitate him, his eyes flickering between fearful pink and mindless lagoon. His head aches, and he started to sway on his feet, nausea flooding his core.

He whimpered, curling up, his tail tucked to his side as he shuddered. He licked the blood from his paws, his jaws clattering, raspy breaths leaving him as he fought his own instincts. The old scar on his foreleg suddenly ached with a phantom pain, and Luce whined, looking over his shoulder to see pink and green blood starting to drip from the aggravated wound.

His entire body screamed with agony, and the Deceora finally mastered up the strength to stand, his frame quivering.

He hesitantly approached the window, standing on his hind legs to reach. Hissing softly, he hefted himself up, attempting to scramble back inside. He only managed to succeed in knocking his arm against the wall, wincing at the loud thump that sounded, a stinging pain shooting through his shoulder, down to his wrists. The pain only increased as he attempted to scramble up the wall, his claws digging into the windowsill as his hind legs kicked vainly.

Finally, he seemed to alert Belle to his troubles, his cries echoing through the night. He heard approaching footsteps, tensing as he saw his sister rush into his room, her fists clenched with worry. She looked around, frantic, before she spotted him clinging to the window, a confused glimmer shining in her gaze.

“Luce?” She opened the window, wasting no time as she reached out and carried him inside. She held him at arm’s length, looking over him for injuries. “What were you doing out there?”

He whimpered and looked away, ashamed of himself. He refused to speak, afraid to show his bloodstained fangs.

Nonetheless, Belle caught sight of the reddish stains along the Deceora’s scaly flesh, her eye filling with a deep, paranoid fear. She nearly dropped him, her hold faltering as she stifled a gasp.

“Is that… blood?”

She set the Deceora down, crossing her arms. He averted his gaze, a shrill whine escaping him as he lowered his head. His horns were angled downwards, a clear indication of his anxious state. Something was bothering him, and it definitely had something to do with the blood.

“Luce, were you attacked?” Belle decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She’d incriminated him once too many times, and she couldn’t afford to lose his trust again… for him to lose his trust in himself again. “Are you alright?”

Much to her dismay, Luce just whimpered more, draping his lanky arms over his face and attempting to look small. He was panicked, his agitation only increasing as time passed. He’d done something horribly wrong, and he recognized it.

Belle sat next to him, pulling him into a sudden hug. He winced, his breaths quickening, before he abruptly pulled away, his eye going wide.

“You… hurt…” he whined. “Stay away…”

Belle sighed, holding out her hand to show the tiny, irritated scratch. Normally, Luce would have merely worried about spreading his corruption through the open wound, but only one panicked thought filled his head now. He could smell the trace amounts of blood, a deep, horrible part of himself thinking back to that bird and wishing that he’d seized the chance to devour it.

He growled lowly, and Belle tilted her head, slightly concerned.

“I got nicked working on some parts… no biggie.” She narrowed her eyes, suspecting a deeper meaning behind the Deceora’s worry. “Why?”

That simple question seemed to set him off, and he suddenly shrieked, unable to handle his own emotions. He ended up rolling right off the bed, scrambling to try and right himself. His limbs felt heavy… foreign…. It shocked him to think that he’d gotten used to his new form, but right now, he could barely move.

Everything felt… weighted. He wanted to go back outside.

He refused to look at Belle, his eyes welling up with tears.

“I…” He hesitated. What would Belle think? Would she finally see him as a monster?

His mind swam with frantic thoughts, and he curled up, his eyes flickering between lagoon and pink. Belle took notice of the ocular change, her voice filling with worry as she reached out, only to be responded to with an aggressive hiss.

Luce arched up, his eyes wild with agitation. It was getting difficult to think properly, especially in this… limited space. He wanted to run, but between the bed and the walls, he could barely maneuver. It was quickly becoming clear… a monster like him wasn’t meant to coexist with shapes.

He wanted… to be free.

Shaking his head, he acted on the impulse, leaping for the window. He heard Belle yell after him, yet he forced himself to ignore her, bracing himself as the glass shattered. His scaly flesh deflected most of the glass, although he couldn’t help but hiss in pain as he hit the ground, shards of glass falling around him. He didn’t waste a second to leap to his feet, briefly shaking himself before he broke into a run.

He couldn’t stay here… not after what he did. He couldn’t endanger his sister.

Shocked, Belle climbed out, rushing after him. Her panicked yells rang out through the night, and Luce felt tears threatening to spill from his eyes again.

He glanced over his shoulder, screeching at her, trying vainly to get her to stop following him.

“Luce, what are you doing?!” Belle started to fall behind. She was athletic enough, but she just wasn’t built for such a sprint, at least not a long-distance one. “Luce, come back! Luce!”

The Deceora paused briefly, turning to face her. He arched up, his eyes flaring with corruption, before he let out a threatening roar, his horns angled backwards. His jaw hung open, dripping with venom. His heart was racing.

“Stay away!” His words dissolved into hisses, and he screamed, “DANGEROUS!”

Belle finally seemed to falter, taking a shaky step back. Her eye filled with fear, and Luce could almost sense what she was thinking of… a feral Deceora.

It hurt to scare her like this… it hurt to yell at his sister, but he had to, if only to get her to leave him alone and forget. He gave an almost rabid snarl, swiping at her. He was dangerous, and she had to see it.

“Luce… bro…”

Before Belle could get another word in, Luce cut her off with an angered hiss. Without further hesitance, he turned and ran, hoping that he wouldn’t be followed. He wanted to believe that he’d never harm her, that the incident with the bird was a fluke, but he couldn’t trust himself. He kept running, forcing himself to race through the forest as his muscles burned in protest.

“I’m… sorry…” he wheezed. “Too dangerous…”

He didn’t stop until he could no longer hear Belle’s footsteps, could no longer detect her scent in the air. He collapsed in the middle of the wilderness, sure that he must’ve travelled all the way to the Badlands with how far he’d run.

Luce’s heart ached, even more so than his body. His mind reeled, and he found himself curling up and sobbing, fighting to catch a breath as he wailed. He was vaguely aware of the inquisitive, familiar chirp that sounded near him.

The small Deceora from earlier trotted over to him, nuzzling up to his side in an attempt to provide comfort. He didn’t protest this time, having resigned himself with his fate. Whimpering pitifully, he returned the embrace, a clicking hiss escaping him as he did so.

The younger creature purred sadly, seeming to sense his despair.

Luce could barely breathe, but he didn’t dare move, afraid to lose his only companion. His eyes slid shut, and he drifted off, feeling his will to return to normal dwindling to nothing.

The chances of him ever reversing his curse were slim to none. No matter what Belle had tried, he’d remained a Deceora. He sighed, although as he took in the crisp, chilly air, he found his despair being replaced with something else.

A curious anticipation… for his new life.

~~~

~~~

Weeks later, Belle was still searching for her brother. The only sign of him had been an avian corpse, a familiar little bluebird that had once been fondly referred to as, “Luce Junior.”

The bird was mauled by a Deceora. Belle knew her brother was to blame.

Her hopes died that day, and from then on, when clients of the workshop asked where he was, she replied with a sad sigh, a haunted look in her eye, “I don’t have a brother. Luce is dead.”

She saw a familiar Deceora sometimes, in the odd hours of night. It was smaller than the others, with dark, thoughtful pink eyes. Its wounds had healed. It had let go of the past. Sometimes, it looked at her, and Belle got a rush of familiarity, almost wanting to speak to it.

She didn’t dare approach, for she knew what it was capable of. It didn’t matter who it had once been; it was a Deceora, and it was dangerous. It was fond of her, nonetheless, and Belle often caught the creature watching her from afar, protecting her from a distance.

But it never stuck around. Belle knew deep down… it was afraid of becoming attached.

[kevuvu]

The April Fool is my writing

HEY SO that Dragon AU I had? This is the drabble I wrote for it! Near the end you’ll see uh.. where I lost motivation ... there’s some notes and shit.. i don’t plan on continuing it! :’) anyways uhh

Royai, 1974 words, babies first attempt at a fic... enjoy

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

On the rare occasion, Roy Mustang could be quite a fool.

It was a strange happenstance for sure, as most have reason to believe otherwise. At a young age stupidity was wrung out of him as if he were a towel, anyone who knew Madam Christmas considered it inevitable. Under her guidance he learned typical boyish things like reading body language and how to swindle somebody. Instead of befriending kids his age he talked to wise customers, instead of playing with sticks he played with minds. Roy took to the life like breathing, it was natural for him. To be a fool was unheard of, but alas Roy was still human. Try as Madam might there was only so much she could do to wisen up the boy, and the most human part of him was what she lacked the heart to squash out - something his new tutor encouraged in fact. General Grumman, a frequent at the tavern and the boy’s new teacher - loved Roy’s youthful idealism, and consistently sent him on errands to challenge that faith. What Grumman intended was to temper his ideology, to strengthen it into a powerful mindset that could confront the world.

Instead, he created a travelling heart throb, a very very lost travelling heart throb.

It was safe to say he was in a bind. Roy was used to old ladies fawning over him - cooing something about grandsons and youth - but today it was particularly bad. It seemed that word spread of a young man with a passion to learn - with the money to afford it! and it was as if the entire village had a particular infatuation with the idea. Who knew a coast town could be known for its gold mine? It was in a desperate attempt for some peace of mind he declined his escort to the next town, choosing to rely on flimsy directions down a long and confusing road into the thick forest, to reach a secluded farming town before nightfall. It certainly wasn’t his brightest choice, and it was as he was kicking himself for the blunder when he noticed something odd.

Blood interrupted his path, creating a trail deeper into the woods. The sight encouraged Roy to be careful, taking note of his surroundings as he followed it. If getting lost made him a fool, then he had no idea what this was. It was eerily quiet, and he suspected it was due to the gashes in the trees. Strange, contorted claw marks that seethed with power, the sight had him ghosting the dagger at his side. Something in the area was dangerous, whatever caused the damage could spell out their anger in just a swipe alone. He had a faint suspicion his foster mother’s cat wasn’t the cause. No animal came to mind except one, but he squashed the theory in favour of being pragmatic. Burn marks? Broken trees? Roy tried to justify the charred earth he found, making up an excuse about the summer heat and fire. It was playing dumb and he knew it, but he refused to believe in his boyish dreams until he thought of everything. In the corner of his eye he spotted a body, heaving an unfitting sigh as he walked over to the logical explanation. Whether it was a sigh of relief or disappointment he wouldn’t say, but when he spotted something golden in the clearing Roy’s breathing stopped. He was now staring at a dream, and there was no one around to pinch him.

You see, Roy Mustang found a dragon. While it was half dead, caught in a steel net, and the reason for the bodies, the fabled beast looked as stunning as the legends told. Finding a rare creature would make anyone happy, but to Roy it was exceptional. In the time he learned about the world, he found himself drawn to the legends, listening to tales whenever he had the chance. Now he was seeing a tale with his own two eyes. The creature looked more akin to a bird, but there was no question about its blood. If not for the whipping tail or the menacing talons, it was for the fire that burned in its eyes. Eyes currently staring at him, eyes that told him he would be a 4th body if they weren't already compromised.

This was the reason Roy was uncharacteristically a fool - it wasn’t getting lost, it wasn’t following blood into the dark woods, but it was finding an angry dragon and vowing to help. General Grumman sent him on these errands to test his ideology, and there was no better exam than this. Roy Mustang was an idealistic moron, but a damn good one at that, and he knew he had to play his cards right if he was going to help them.

"Hey there," he whispered, crouching low as he approached the beast. He was met with a hiss in response, a sign he knew all too well that meant he was overstepping boundaries. It was a shame Roy didn’t have a knack for animals, though it was rather unfair to compare the two. A dragon’s intelligence was presumed equal to that of a human's - something that created heavy controversy over history. He held on to the theory of intelligence, continuing forward with a goal to prove his innocence. Maybe if he was careful enough the dragon would forego the prejudice for just this moment, and allow him to help. Though, with the beasts huffing, his chances were looking a little grim. "Easy now, I got some bandages in my bag, I’m gonna patch you up alright?" It did not need to speak, the unwavering glare was clear with the death threats. Instincts were screaming at him to run, but he persevered knowing the situation was too grave to back down from. The boy knew better, and he paused to shuffle off his bag and search for his medkit.

After gently rifling through his items, Roy continued to crawl over to the dragon with his medkit in tow. He hoped to be as clear with his intentions as possible, but the dragon still bristled at his advancements. A flame was spit out in defense - if you could call it a flame that is. It looked more like lit sludge and hot tar than a flame, with a smell so foul that Roy could only credit it to be blood. Roy winced, partially due to his hastiness, and paused for a moment to reassure them. "It’s okay, I want to help you.” He tried to sound as sincere as possible, holding out the bandages to prove it was all he was holding. "Will you let me?” The creature continued to stare, and Roy took a moment to wonder if they could even understand him.

What a stubborn creature, knowing full well what they are and reminding him of their two different worlds.

Determination is what kept Roy’s frustration in check. Stubbornness to a dragon was like fish to water, he was banking on logic to win out. The beast’s wound wouldn’t clot in time without his assistance, and if they truly were smarter than the average bear then it should have realized this by now.

As if on cue, Roy heard a huff of indignation. The dragon rolled onto their side and exposed the most serious wound to him, a lengthy gash on the wing, wrapping around the side of its body. Inappropriately Roy was reveling in this moment, being quick to remove the net before the dragon changed its mind. His skills in first aid were minimal, but he attempted to clean the wound to the best of his knowledge. Applying antiseptic, Roy looked at the dragon for any sign of irritation - knowing one wrong move could cost a hand. The dragon appeared calm, but the long tail that extruded from its lower back gave away its irritation. Not unlike a cat, it was thumping against the earth - flame on the end roaring with the rush of air. It was fairly amusing, but it sometimes came a little too close to his hair. He suspects it does that on purpose. Roy diligently applied the bandages for the next few minutes, recalling the process vaguely out loud as a confidence boost and as a one sided conversation to ease the tension.

The student, as amateur as he was, finished the last bandage with pride. “It’s not perfect but it works - maybe I should take up Dragon Medical Care as a side study?” Roy continued to talk, noting the the beast was significantly more calm. His plan to ease tension seemed to work, now the dragon stared at him with calculating eyes instead of eyes of fury. He also noticed the dragon was surprisingly good humoured, allowing themselves to be layered in bandages that were more of a nuisance than help. Maybe his charm really does work on more than old ladies.

Roy stood up and stretched, taking a look at the sky to judge the time. The real problem was what to do now. The dragon needed rest to heal, but people were likely going to look for the poachers. They needed to move somewhere out of sight, but there was no guarantee that the dragon wouldn't scamper off the moment it could. It wasn’t like he could stop it either. Roy wasn’t an optimist, but he hoped it could rely on him until it was healed. He pondered on his choices, but it wasn’t until he exchanged eye contact with the beast that he decided on the next course of action.

“I’m going to go look for a safe place to make a camp, I’ll come back to get you alright?”

If the dragon took the risk to trust him, he should trust the dragon in turn, and as the dragon stared at his eyes he took in the sight of the myth in front of him - just incase it was his last time.

---

Was Roy ever not a fool? Was he blind to this all along, and only now became aware of it? He was having an identity crisis while attempting his last chore for the day - starting a fire. Simple enough he thought, he managed to convince a dragon to follow him to a new location, to fall asleep while he set up a camp, and even caught a fish to eat! how hard was a measly fire? very hard apparently.

without any matches roy pulled up his sleeves, grabbing some rocks he Thought were flint and started wacking for a spark.

WOOPS I STOPPED WRITING! :(

Time skip to him at the camp

Uhhh more later im toired

Paragraphs I took out to add in later - but never did bc I stopped! enjoy the uh... nonsense bc i haven’t proofed em

---

a dragon willingly showed weakness to him. Whether it was because they had run out of options did not matter, the creature chose to risk death by his hand over their pride. He wasn’t arrogant as to assume it was out of trust. No amount of effort could ever hope to persuade the mind against history. The dragon must have a strong reason to live, something far stronger than dying to an underhanded trick. Roy wanted to honour their choice, approaching the wound with this in mind.

---

Roy tried his best not to stare at the peak of red markings exposed under the feathers. If memory serves right, it was the very reason its kind was hunted. Intricate script that was theorized to be magic embodiment, as the winding text described the source of their power. Staring at it would be suicidal, they would rightfully assume ill intentions. Still, his insatiable urge to learn was nagging him in his mind.

Even if he were to succumb to the desire, it was a fruitless ambition. Roy could never hope to understand the language, the language itself would have to accept him.

---

THAT’S IT!!

[rex101111]

When Eri Midoriya, yah damn lizard?

(You fucking want it ya flying rat shaped tree??? You’ll fucking get it)

Aizawa was no stranger to paperwork. The process of going through thesometimes endless amount of documents that needed to be signed, marked forerrors, copied and sent to various people so they could sign, mark forerrors and copy and send to other people and so on was a curse he had todeal with on a daily basis for many years now, first when he started working asa professional hero, and again as he added “teacher” to his longresume.

He had to fill out situation reports, damage costs, and budget requests,as well as go through essays and grade tests and home work from dozens ofpeople over the years, and he did it with the detached professionalism thatthat kind of work required.

So why was one line in a personal file giving him this muchtrouble?

Well, because he couldn’t detach himself here, couldn’t think interms of pure numbers and figures, couldn’t boil everything he needed to writedown into simple terms, Shouta “Eraserhead” Aizawa was doing the samemistake he has been finding himself doing since he began teaching the newestversion of class 1-A of year one in UA academy.

He got attached, made it personal, and now he was in the middle of anintense internal moral debate over what to put in the “family name”field of Eri’s personal file.

“What a headache…” He muttered out loud as he put his pendown, rubbing his forehead with both hands while he leaned his elbows on thetable in the empty teacher’s lounge he had sat next to about an hour ago,getting his paperwork done when this one file was all that he had to dobefore his work for the day was done.

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what her family name was,using the information he got from Chronostasis while he was captured, aboutEri’s history and how she came under Chisaki’s wing, so to speak, and the oldman that was found in the base hooked up to a life support machine made it veryeasy to put two and two together.

No, the problem was if he used that name for her, it would nodoubt cause the girl no end of trouble down the line. Having a connection to aleader of Yakuza group, especially one that made such an impact, and that manyconnections, would serve only to complicate her life further and give her morehardships to deal with.

The girl was half the age of his students, and has already suffered morethan her fair share, he was not going to make her suffer through anymoreif he could help it.

But, that sudden moral obligation left him without any real option ofwhat to give her as a last name, and if he left any field on this paper empty,others would either walk right back to him with it or force him to writethe obvious answer down, or fill it in themselves with significantly lesssympathy.

So, he had to put something else, anything else, in that field,but again, he had to be careful about that as well. Putting in any random namewould either sever any rights UA might have to keep her safe once she’s out ofthe woods and the whole mess over the precepts died down (and just thinking ofthe mess that would cause in his class is giving him a migraine), orwould put her in harm’s way if, by some impossible stupid chance, it was thefamily name of someone with ill intentions.

He tapped his fingers on the table surface, glaring down at the page asif it would surrender the perfect answer to this mess, trying to hash out somethingto would, at the very least, cause the girl the least amount of grief.

“What a damn joke,” He muttered bitterly, Family names shouldbe a point of pride shouldn’t they? And here’s a girl with either none to speakof, or ones that would bring her nothing but trouble,“ He rubbed his eyestiredly, "Might as give her my-”

He stopped.

He took his hands away from his eyes to look at the file one more time,going over the various details he’d had to fill out about her, height, weightand blood type, and the one small picture he was able to convince her to takestapled to the upper right corner of the file.

She was wearing a long sleeved shirt with a brightly grinning sun on thefront, while she herself was smiling much more timidly, most of her white haircombed and brushed and tied in a single braid by Ashido and Hagakure, with aNo. 13 hairpin stuck, given to her by Uraraka, on the side of her bangs liftingthem over her eyes. Her arms were clasped behind her back nervously, but shewas staring right at the camera, ruby eyes shining.

He stared at the picture with a blank stare, as he did when the girlspresented it to him when he had asked for one. He held it by one of its lowercorners, rubbing his fingers where he held it idly as he considered it.

“Aizawa Eri,” He muttered under his breath, feeling out thesound of it on his tongue, making one corner of his mouth twitch up less thanhalf an inch, “The name of a pro hero….might gain her some allies…” Afew more things crossed his mind for a moment, of course, but as always the practicaland pragmatic benefits that floated up before anything else…as did the negatives,“….And enemies.”

Eraserhead was not a name that would make many average citizens widentheir eyes in recognition, and that was by design, since he was a teenager hefound the glorified popularity contest that was the hero rankings distasteful,and so he does his work in the shadows, when most honest working folk sleep.

On the other hand, many criminals and outlaws would clench their fistsand grind their teeth at the mention of his hero name, it was a point of pridefor Aizawa that he had managed to make a nuisance of himself to anyone whothought themselves worthy of the titles “villain.”

He was a veteran in the field,and one of the best in the business, and more than once did he have to suffer theodd ambush in his daily life, and he handled himself as well as his positiondemanded of him.

But, a little girl? Alone during school or with friends? Who had alreadygone through the wringer?

He let go of the picture, shaking his head. No need to burden her withthat….his apartment would have been too small anyway.

But of course, this left him back in square one, but before he couldbang his head on the table to get his thoughts in order, into the room crashedthe one person that never failed to make a mess of them.

“Ey yo ERASER!” Present Mic shouted as the door he flung opencrashed in the wall next to him, making his fellow teacher flinch and his eyestwitch, “What are you doing here man!? You and I were supposed to be outdrinking by now!”

Rubbing his eyes while taking a very deep breath, as well as remindinghimself that this headache in the shape of a man was his coworker and friendand hitting him is not the proper reaction to him yelling (Nedzu’s words andnot his, obviously), Aizawa turned to him, “Almost done Mic, I just needto finish this one last paper.”

Yes, just this one paper, just this one paper that he can’t help butthink of what kind of impact it will have on the life of the little girl whohas found herself under the protection of his school and his students, mostlyfor the fact that she has literally no one else in her life to take care ofher.

Easy.

“One paper!? That’s what’s been holding you back here all thistime!?” He yelled out some more, stomping over to his coworker to peerover his shoulder…or rather shove his head next to his to see what this paperis all about, “What could it-” He stopped, his mouth closing as hesaw what it was that Aizawa was working on, “Oh, It’s aboutEri-chan.” His voice softened considerably, the way it always did when he discussedthings that actually mattered to him, getting out of Aizawa’s space, the latterglaring at him lightly before he returned to glaring at the file instead, Micscratched the back of his head, “Need help?”

Aizawa shook his head, “No, just need to fill out one morething,” He pointed to the still empty, “Family name” field onthe paper, tapping on the vacant line after, “And it’s proving harder thanI thought…”

Yamada raised his brow at him, “Don’t we know Eri-chan’slast name though?”

“Yes, that’s part of the problem.”

“Wha-Oh, oh yeah.”

The two looked down at the paper together, both completely silent asthey considered what to put there, Yamada slowly catching up on all the optionsAizawa has thought of already.

“Can’t give her a random name…”

“Too unpredictable.”

“Can’t give her actual name…”

“Very much predictable.”

Mic stopped, looking at Aizawa directly, his mouth turning up as what heconsidered to be an amazing idea popped into his head.

“Can’t use mine either,” Aizawa snapped, knowing what he wasthinking just by looking at him, “The last thing she needs is a connectionto any kind of….reputation.”

Mic dropped his smile, sighing, “Can’t use mine either then…”

The quiet stretched out for a few more minutes, the two men glaring downat the paper hoping it would sort itself out, before a chuckle escaped PresentMic as a thought occurred to him.

“Something funny Yamada?” Aizawa snapped, not evenslightly in the mood for any of his friend’s nonsense.  

Mic shook his head as he just kept chuckling, ignoring Aizawa’s tiredmenace, “Nah Eraser, I just remembered something and it gave me anidea.” He looked at him and grinning a cheeky little smile at Aizawa,“How about we make her a Midoriya?”

Aizawa’s gut reaction was to hit Mic on the back of the head andquestion his sanity, but a split second after he stopped, mulling the thoughtover as he considered how the girl acted around his class….specifically aroundMidoriya and Uraraka.

“I mean,” Mic continued, seeing that Aizawa was starting onthe same track of thought as he as, “She already calls him papa…whynot make it official?”

Aizawa scratched his chin, the idea rollingin his head a bit more….he reached for a pencil, and carefully scratched downthe character for ‘green’.

—-

Midoriya looked up at his teacher in shook, before looking back down onthe paper in his hands, especially at a very specific name written on it, beforeagain looking at his teacher and repeating a few more times, the situation notquite sinking in just yet.

“It’s just an idea,” Aizawa said, with a placating handgesture, to little effect, “But as I’ve explained, it’s more or less thebest idea I could think of.”

The boy gulped, putting down the paper and pulling on his lower lip ashe thought deeply on it, pragmatic reason at once clashing and in cahoots withhis personal feelings, “What if someone looks into it?”

“I’ve talked to your mother,” He said, smirking as he thoughtback to the rather…emotional conversation he’s had with Inko Midoriyalast night, “And after I’d explained the circumstances to her, she admittedthat she’d always wanted a daughter as well.”

Izuku blinked, blushing a little as the matter became clearer to him,looking down at the paper again, looking between the picture Uraraka and therest of the girls took of Eri…and his last name next to hers, “…It’s herdecision.” He said finally, sighing as one corner of his mouth twitched up,“We can’t force her.”

Aizawa smirked at his student while shakinghis head, wondering how someone could be that dense, “I don’t think we’llhave too.”

—

Eri stared wide eyed at Izuku, the paper in her hand shaking in hergrip, “Is-is this real?”

He smiled gently at her, putting a warm hand on her shoulder, “Onlyif you want it to be.”

She looked between the paper and Izuku a few times, her eyes growing wetteras she did, before she dropped it in favor of flinging her arms around his neckas she wept openly, squeezing as hard as she could as he wrapped his armsaround her in return rubbing calming circles on her back.

At their feet the file floated down gently until it touched the ground,the two far too busy hugging and crying to notice it.

(The very next morning, Present Mic had several announcements regardingrecent events, included among them a reminder for students to change into theirsummer uniforms next week, the planned menu for the cafeteria that day…and amessage to Midoriya Eri to remember come pick up her jacket from the teachers’lounge, before he decided he liked it too much to give it back and take it forhimself.

As she rushed out of the common room to retrieve her jacket, all eyeswere on Midoriya as he rubbed the back of his head, “It’s uhh…it’s a longstory.”

As the rest of the students rushed him with question, Uraraka stayedbehind the implications of all of this rushing through her head.

To her horror, the idea didn’t seem too bad.)

[jaivendra]

You, the brave, daredevil you're, open Google Maps, throw your mouse into the air, and land here. There square measure palm trees, legion 20-somethings talking into their AirPods, and every place you look, a well-recognized logo: Apple, Amazon, Intel, Yahoo, Microsoft, Google. All at intervals some blocks of every different. wherever square measure you? Your initial guess can be San Jose, perhaps Palo Alto, or Mountain read. That is unless you noticed the dearth of Teslas, or smell of spread, or, the title of this video. this can be chemical element gully, a cluster of cities in Israel with one in every of the best concentrations of technical school corporations and startups on Earth. It’s home to Waze, Wix, SodaStream, and Fiverr files a lot of patents per capita than nearly four countries, and is hierarchal the fourth most startup-friendly nation overall, behind solely North American country, the UK, and the U.S. The distinction is, those countries aren’t round the corner to the Syrian warfare. thirty members of the United Nations still don’t acknowledge the existence of Israel, together with most of its neighbors.

In fact, any proof of traveling there, on any passport, prevents you from visiting eight of these countries. thanks to this, Israeli customs stamps not your passport however a separate piece of paper. however despite all of this, despite the constant threat of an act of terrorism, Despite being solely slightly larger than the Republic of Fiji and having simply 2 and a [*fr1] p.c the population of the U.S., Israel creates a number of the foremost productive technical school corporations and entrepreneurs within the world. Why?

As one of the important world leaders World Health Organization consults my channel for the recommendation, you would like to grasp a way to begin your terribly own geographic area. Well, you’re in luck. The formula is really quite simple: initial, purchase some Ping-Pong tables, throw down one or two of bean luggage, and, at intervals minutes, a procession of Soylent-drinking, smartwatch sporting CS-grads can assemble at your door. Even higher, why not build some flats, a grocery, and, whereas you’re at it, a pharmacy. Then they’ll ne'er leave Work-life what? simply kidding! principally. over some countries and cities have tried charming technical school corporations with tax breaks, grants, free 21-foot cacti, and different whole traditional things, however nearly as several have failed. On the opposite facet of the Arabian Peninsula, urban centers engineered what it calls “Free Zones”, areas with special incentives to draw inbound styles of corporations, like Biotech companies, picture studios, and technical school corporations. initially look, the urban center net town seems like a good success. And, to some extent, that’s true. It convinced Microsoft, Cisco, IBM, HP, and Canon to take a position many bucks within the middle of the desert, at a time once the long run

of an urban center was rather more unsure. however, having lovely buildings with far-famed logos on them isn't constant as making Associate in Nursing atmosphere of innovation. You’ll notice many the previous within the Cayman Islands, however, it’s not precisely the initial place that involves the mind after you assume “cutting-edge research”. Meanwhile, the geographic area is, despite its terribly high price of doing business. In different words, tax breaks might bring corporations, however not essentially innovation. firms return to urban centers mostly for their promise of no financial gain or company tax for 50-years, however usually just for selling, support, and sales, whereas hiring most of their engineers within the U.S., India, and Israel. So, what do those countries have that others don’t? There square measure 3 basic ingredients to a productive technical school scene. the primary is Talent. one in every of the most effective predictors of that is, unsurprisingly, education. within the words of Scott Galloway, “Find the colleges that square measure gaining the foremost traction in engineering or STEM Associate in Nursingd you’re reaching to notice a system that may turn out an imaginary being.” essentially, place a bunch of good, bold folks during a tiny, contained house, sprinkle-in some idealism, concepts can collide and good items can happen.

At the extent of a nation, universities square measure regarding proximity, and hey, if you furthermore might learn one thing on the approach, that’s a bonus! that is nice news for Israel, one in every of the foremost educated countries within the world. regarding forty-seventh of these over twenty-five have a university sheepskin. The Hebrew University of the capital of Israel, Tel-Aviv University, and therefore the Israel Institute of Technology square measure all globally competitive colleges. and since the country is simply thus tiny, and its population thus highly-concentrated in mere some regions, it's constant fertile ground for entrepreneurship as a university field, at a far larger scale. ninety-two Israelis board urban areas, nearly entirely within the Northern 1/2 of the country. Startups, therefore, square measure enclosed by their customers, business partners, and competitors. the opposite side of Talent that’s usually unnoticed, however even as vital, is demographics. Not simply however massive a population is, however conjointly what it’s like. for instance, it’s dishonest to mention solely that Japan has 126 million folks and African nations, 98. What those raw numbers hide square measure their age and background, which might either act as a free economic multiplier factor or a bleak and dear undoing. Japan’s population could also be giant, however, it takes Associate in Nursing unfortunate form - way too many elderly folks for not enough young. Unless many Japanese suddenly modification their mind and begin having youngsters tomorrow, the land of the rising sun can slowly set, as the continent grows into a consequent major shopper market.

Now, Israel’s growth isn't quite therefore dramatic, however, it's growing, that is quite what you'll say regarding the longer term of most developed countries, as well as all of Europe, the U.S., Canada, Australia, and China. the matter isn't that Japan doesn’t have working-aged individuals. when its population shrinks, there'll long be millions and innumerable staff. however, they’ll be busy caring for his or her oldsters, not inventing an ensuing massive factor. Israel, meanwhile, has enough individuals to worry for the recent and young, with lots leftover. It additionally has some additional help: immigration. The Law of come permits any individual, their mate, children, grandchildren, and even their non-Jewish mate to come back to Israel and receive citizenship. There are even scholarships to hide your expenses whereas you learn Hebrew. The results of all this can be that there are a hundred and forty scientists, technicians, and engineers for each ten,000 Israeli workers, compared to only eighty-five within the U.S. The second, much-simpler ingredient is Capital. beginning a business is dear, and somebody has to write the checks. the nice news is that the sole factor geographical area hates quite cheap housing is missing out. Investors pour cash into firms whose sole talent is up the speed at that they'll flush hundred greenback bills down the restroom just because they don’t wish the sensation of getting lost a chance. Once word gets out that somewhere, like Israel, is nice at manufacturing high-value startups, finding investors became exponentially easier. The additional checks are written, the additional working capital companies concentrate. Israel’s government got the ball rolling within the ’90s with massive incentives for anyone willing to come back to take a position within the country.

Today, 4.5% of its total GDP is spent on analysis & Development, which is simply barely but an initial place in South Korea. Now, manufacturing several good, young graduates and giving them bundles of money is cool and everyone unless they take those skills which capital to CA, giving Americans the roles and tax greenbacks. The third ingredient is, therefore, a High customary of Living. Israelis ought to wish to remain within the country. It’s a fun truth for South Africa that Elon Musk grew up there, however not a lot of use as a result of Tesla and SpaceX ar yank firms. And this can be more durable than it sounds. On one hand, entrepreneurs and workers care regarding aid, crime, transportation, and so on. But, it’s a balance. Because, as salaries rise, firms are less drawn to the lower price of hiring Associate in Nursing Israeli engineer - presently $73 thousand over, say, a Californian - 114 thousand. Salaries are therefore high within the San Francisco Bay space, for instance, that, if you’re feeling significantly low cost, you may simply get a $20 million personal jet to avoid wasting cash, therefore you'll rent workers in less-expensive Houston and fly them over for the workday. Israel must be enticing enough for individuals however not therefore valuable that companies look elsewhere. Together, these 3 ingredients go a protracted method towards creating Israel one in every of the technical school capitals of the globe. however there’s additionally another, more durable to live, but, no less real, issue to consider: culture. If you graduate from Stanford with a degree in technology on weekdays, there’s a really real probability you'll walk into a Facebook or a Microsoft on Monday and begin creating $100+ thousand greenbacks a year.

Or you may pay your day's mendicancy for cash with the likelihood of losing heaps solely to finish up back at the situation. once the overwhelming majority of latest firms fail, beginning one may be a large risk, particularly considering however profitable the choice. It takes a definite reasonably temperament that’s willing to fail - and do therefore terribly publically. In several Asian countries, the culture of saving face makes entrepreneurship impossible for several. The reputational harm of failure is just too nice. In Israel, however, a spirit of hutzpah - roughly, audacity or bravery - has simply the alternative impact. The author of the book Start-up Nation writes “Somewhere on the method - either reception, in school, or within the army - Israelis learn that self-assertiveness is that the norm, taciturnity one thing that risks your being left behind.” Israel is one in every of a few states that need long military service for everybody - three years for men and a pair of for ladies.

During their service, Israelis learn skills that apply to the work, build long friends and business partners, and are reminded that their country can’t be self-satisfied. Ultimately, Israel proves that there's no single issue to economic success. it's high rates of education, several government investments, and, particularly considering its earth science, a powerful customary of living. however, it isn’t graded preferred in any of these classes. Instead, a mixture of these things, at the side of factors like yank aid, permits the country to prosper. It additionally shows that top-down, government policies are solely therefore effective at encouraging entrepreneurship. Countries will present cash left and right, however innovation happens at the amount of the individual - his or her ability to require risks, begin new comes, and learn new things. If that seems like you, let the American state suggest these videos on Skillshare. This one is instructed by Guy Kawasaki, the guy liable for selling Apple’s revolutionary 1984 Macintosh.

[spectrumscribe]

one, two, step-

@rhi-draws-things three million years ago drew me my goatsona (goat persona) for my DnD group, and i was supposed to give her something in exchange, so uh sorry i’m late Rhi but here’s a Thing that i hope you like.

set in/based on Rhi’s excellent tmnt 2012 Fusion AU. an alternate universe where mutants have the ability to fuse with other mutants and also humans. its v good trust me.

Borne out of habit and repetition, there’s eventually a day that Mikey wanders into the barn specifically just to see Donnie, because he’s got nothing else to do and no one else he wants to talk with. Not that he really wants to talk, what with a weight of aimless uselessness sitting in his chest and a snarl of unhappy emotions waiting to spark into a right storm. He just needs… something. Something to do, someone to see who isn’t anyone inside the farmhouse.

Of course, Donnie is about as welcoming as he ever is these days. Crookedly slouched, absolute intensity on his work, no room for niceties or kindness. Just steely determination to fix things.

Donnie has been like that since they got here, and even worse since he diagnosed Leo’s coma as one that could be indefinite. Mikey has seen only scarce glimpses of his older brother, since Donnie can’t figure out how to sit still longer than passing out on the couch for a few hours. It’s a little weird, seeing Donnie behave so much like Mikey sometimes does. Honestly, it’s disconcerting, and it gives away just how really upset Donnie probably is about Leo, and their father, and everything.

It makes him a right asshole to talk with, too.

Mikey says hello anyway, and rolls his eyes at the curt greeting he gets in return, as well as the “go away, Mikey, I’m busy,” that follows right after.

“You sure you’re busy? Not just obsessively working on shit ‘cause you’re neurotic as hell?” Mikey needles, leaning on the desk beside Donnie and hoping to maybe start a good bicker. His brother doesn’t even look up.

“Mmm,” is all Donnie grunts. Oh, so he’s regressed to monosyllables? Nice.

Mikey pokes Donnie’s shoulder. His brother shrugs it sharply and keeps working. Mikey just about rolls his eyes out of his skull.

“Skill testing question: when was the last time you stood up, and if that number is not below five hours ago, how much feeling have you lost in your lower half at this point?”

“Mgh.”

“That answer just fills me with new knowledge, really. I feel all warm and tingly and shit. I might write a thesis paper on it.”

“Go away, Mikey.”

Mikey sighs loudly, pushing away from the table dramatically. “Look, I’m bored as fuck, so not I’m leavin’ until you stand up and at least attempt to take care of yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Donnie says, even though his voice is rough and his eyes bloodshot. Mikey frowns, watching his brother’s steady fingers keep working at the helmet-thing for April. Though his hands move fluidly, Mikey sees a serious slump of exhaustion to Donnie’s shoulders.

And not even a herd of wild horses could drag Donnie off to bed, not while Leo’s still asleep and Donnie has work he apparently has to do, even though he needed a break like, forever ago. Mikey knows his brother well enough to know no matter what he says… nothing is going to make Donnie go and actually take care of himself right now.

Desire for a good mock fight evaporates in Mikey, and he’s left feeling worn out again.

Mikey sighs to himself, watching his brother try to single-mindedly solve everyone’s problems in one go. A part of him is kind of jealous of Donnie’s sheer determination and near compulsion- at least he has goals, and drive to do meet those goals. Mikey has energy to burn, but nowhere to aim it on this stupid farmland. Playing with chickens and cooking meals only keeps him entertained for so long, but right now that’s all he knows how to do. Everything else is outside his capabilities.

Mikey misses home, misses their friends, misses their missing father and things being easy, at least sometimes. They’re all cooped up in the farmhouse together right now- him, Donnie, Raph and Casey and April- and yet it feels like there’s distance between them all, so long as the gap Leo left remains open.

Mikey’s lonely, honestly, and he knows his brother probably is too. Unwillingness to actually talk that out doesn’t erase it from being a thing.

Donnie has no energy to keep this endless workhorse drudgery up anymore. Mikey has too much energy to handle and not a single task left to spend it on. Neither of them is willing yet to actually talk about all the horrible stuff sitting inside them, but they’re both in serious need of closeness with someone, because this isolation feels like it could kill.

And then Mikey nearly smacks himself upside the head. There’s an easy solution to all of this.

“Hey, Donnie?”

“Mm? What.”

“Turn around.”

“What? No I’m working-”

Mikey grabs the back of Donnie’s chair and spins him around. Donnie barely lets go of his tools in time, unwillingly rounding with a scowl in place and his mouth already open to scold.

“Fuse with me,” Mikey says seriously, and Donnie’s mouth clicks shut.

“…why?” Donnie asks, giving Mikey a suspicious look. Mikey grins, grabbing his hand.

“Do it and you’ll understand,” He says cryptically, just to annoy Donnie, and hauls his brother out of the seat he’s probably been in for the last ten hours. Donnie stumbles, blinking rapidly and muttering about hypoglycemic attacks and the chances of him passing out mid fusion dance. Mikey ignores Donnie’s grumblings, and artfully corrals his brother into the dance.

Donnie drags his feet at first, annoyed and clearly at the end of his science-‘til-I-drop binge, but Mikey feels a tingle start in tips of his fingers as they fall into sync. It spreads up his hands and arms, from his toes up his legs- fluttering and warm and making him feel lighter than air. There are hints of sadder things, of heavy hearted emotions and pain, and those feelings from Donnie are evenly matched by Mikey’s. Neither of them is okay, neither of them is willing to talk about it. Not yet.

Fusion removes the need to talk.

Mikey laughs in surprise as Donnie abruptly spins him, his brother abruptly throwing himself 100% into the effort to fuse, and there’s Donnie’s familiar laugh; something Mikey hasn’t heard in weeks since they arrived at the farmhouse. It’s creaky in places but its real, and it makes a bubbly feeling burst in Mikey’s chest.

They spin together, drawing close as their feet slide and tap in perfect sync- they’re at opposite ends of the scale nine times out of ten, and then there’s times like this, where it’s all ease of movement and simple knowledge that the other knows the exact step they’re going to take next- where everything just makes clear perfect sense, and there’s no falter in their communication at all.

They’re the B-team for a reason, and it’s not just because their older brothers are sometimes jerks and get too easily exasperated with their eccentricities. It’s because they sometimes just click.

Donnie actually smiles, and it’s like months of stress lift from his eyes just with that expression, and Mikey mirrors the toothy grin with all the sincerity he’s got in him. It overpowers all the twisty awful emotions he’d had before this, and Mikey finally feels nothing but okay.

Donnie obviously feels the same, laughing freely as they dance, and against the echo-y rafters of the barn and mixed with the smell of old wood and hay and substances Mikey couldn’t even name- it’s amazing sounding, and it draws more exhilarated laughter out of Mikey.

Step, step, and twirl- they crash together in a burst of feelings and understanding and unconditional familial affection and love-

-and Monnie opens his eyes, all three of them feeling significantly less achy and awful than Donnie’s had, and from a much higher perspective above the ground. He yawns, feeling the urge to go and sleep off the fading exhaustion one part of him has, but the burbling energy the other half provides gives boost to the absolute determination he possesses, and then he doesn’t need to anymore.

Stretching his four arms above his head and behind his back, Monnie sighs happily as strength and vigor erases aches and cramps from bending over a desk and bedside. Good fucking god, why didn’t he do this hours ago, if not days? Weeks, he could have done this weeks ago, rather than sit around feeling miserable and tired and aimless and too wired to sleep at all. Why didn’t he? Everything is so much easier to handle now that he’s fused.

Both sides of him respond that it’s because he’s two parts of dysfunctional individuals with communication problems. Monnie tells himselves to fuck off.

He glances at the now very short table all of Donnie’s projects are scattered across, and finds a dozen new solutions popping into his head now that he’s got a fresh streak of creativity to add to the genius’s, and all the knowledge needed to articulate, refine, and execute the ideas. The daunting tasks of medical, mechanical, and economical problem solving are much less stressful, now that he’s got a thrum of excitement in his chest and broader perspective.

Of course… a repressed part of one half is calling to the restless part of the other half, demanding to be outside in the sun and getting his blood pumping. Part of him has been cooped up in this barn for weeks, and it makes the other halve jittery just to experience secondhanded. Monnie feels it thirdhanded and he understands both sides of the equation.

“I need to finish this, though,” Monnie mutters to himself, picking up his tools and the helmet and examining them, as well as absently starting to rearrange the desk into a manner that suits all him instead of just one half of him. He really does have so many things to get done- so many things, jeez- but the sun is warm and the wind is sweet and part of him recalls a very lovely climbing tree not far from the farm.

Admittedly, Monnie is as determinedly focused as he is impulse and whim driven. He needs to get work done, but he also needs to get out and stretch and re-fucking-lax, Donnie, you’re tying yourself up in knots like this-

-I know what I’m doing-

-wrecking your posture is what you’re doing-

-like you’re one to-

-talk, slouching so-

-much of the time over-

-videogames-

-desks-

Monnie shakes his head, quieting the brief squabble with himselves. His fusion remains solid despite the bickering, which is nice since it’s been ages since he was himself, and while he has occasional scattering days where a lot of messy and painful feelings make his emotions and opinions invert and turn sharp and terrible and hating, aimed at himself and himselves and everything- Monnie really, really does love himself a lot. Even if he finds bits of himselves annoying at times.

He’s made of two halves that click just right, sometimes, despite being such laughable opposites in so many ways, a perfect mix of them both… and that topic of thought leads Monnie to an idea.

“…strike a balance!” He tells himself triumphantly, setting down his tools and projects. “One- two- one hour of hiking, and then work for a few more, and then dinner prep and another walk? Yeah, that seems fair.”

Both parts of him are in total agreement that being away from the farmhouse will be good; getting away from the oppressive silence and failure that lingers in the upstairs levels, choking and painful to even think on. That will ease the continuous worrying Leo’s coma causes for everyone.

Which Monnie isn’t going to do, because he has a tree to climb and a forest to explore with new eyes and so very many things to accomplish after that.

Monnie steps away from the desk, humming pleasantly to himself an aimless but upbeat tune as he walks towards the barn doors. They open easy as anything for him- he has twice the strength of either side of him- and Monnie is bathed in the hot afternoon sun as he steps out.

The wind is sweet, the more indoors-y half of him finds delightedly, and he laughs to himself as he squints up at the blue, blue sky. It really is such a lovely day, and being himself makes it seem even lovelier.

Raph is on the porch currently, fiddling with what looks like his sketchbook, and staring at Monnie with something between exasperation and confusion. Monnie waves cheerily, and turns the motion into a quadruple flipoff as he absconds from the farmhouse lawn. Raph had been snappish and unpleasant to Mikey this morning when he just tried to say hi, and Monnie feels absolutely justified in flipping his brother off and explaining nothing of why he’s fused.

The forest welcomes him and the jaunty steps he takes speed up as it does. The trees are taller and thicker than anywhere in NYC, a hundred birds and small animals are just nearby, and the earthy rich scent of everything speaks to a nearly buried part of his brain.

It feels wonderful. The tug of duty and responsibility and guilt and love remains, tying Monnie to the farmhouse despite how much he just wants to run and run and never look back, but he lets none of those things seize hold of him.

Monnie will go home later, finish projects and make dinner for everyone- later. For now, he has a tree to climb.

[clefaiiiry]

Title: May

Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions, Pocket Monsters: Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire | Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire Versions, Pocket Monsters: Red & Green & Blue & Yellow | Pokemon Red Green Blue Yellow Versions 

Word Count: 3,631

Relationship: Aogiri | Archie/Matsubusa | Maxie

Characters: Matsubusa | Maxie, Haruka | May, Senri | Norman, Aogiri | Archie, Lance | Proton, Lambda | Petrel, Apollo | Archer (Mentioned)

Additional Tags: Team Rocket AU, Baby May, Adoption, Might get a second chapter haven't decided yet, Offscreen character death, First Meetings, Awkward Flirting, The best kind of flirting, idk man just take it

AO3 Version

To say Norman wasn’t popular in Team Rocket was an understatement. He did as he was told and kept to himself. He had few connections within the organisation and didn’t see the need to broaden his horizons. Hardly anyone could recognise his face and those who did would only groan about the stick up his ass. There was a rumour that he was close to becoming an Executive, though anyone caught whispering about such nonsense were put on Archer’s shit list.

Why he was ‘best pals’ with a scientist working in Goldenrod City was beyond anyone’s understanding. Maxie Matsubusa was nothing special in the seemingly endless lines of scientists, but Norman had decided he was worth his time.

Not that Maxie would ever complain. Norman kept the Executives off his back and showed a genuine interest in his personal studies. Anything to distract him from the damn Mew Project. Besides, it was nice to have someone within Team Rocket to be able to rely on.

Even so, that didn’t mean he expected to Norman to show up in his lab with a six-month-old baby in his arms.

“This is my daughter, May,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Maxie nodded slowly, wondering if he’d had enough coffee to deal with this. “Right...”

“Say hi, May,” Norman said, taking one of her little hands and waving it.

Without even meaning to, Maxie waved back.

After that day, Norman was never seen without her. May was usually strapped to his chest, waving at passing grunts. Petrel was especially fond of her.

“Awh, she looks just like you!” He said one morning, lowering himself to be at eye level with May and attempting to make her laugh. Norman muttered something about how yes, children generally look like their parents.

Despite Petrel’s best efforts, May just stared at him blankly. He was about to give up when she grabbed his beard and yanked. Hard.

The sound Petrel made was inhuman, but it made May burst into a fit of giggles.

Thankfully, Petrel took it in good humour. “She admires it!” He claimed, though somehow Norman found himself disagreeing.

The other Executives were less than thrilled with the development, but as long as Norman continued to maintain the same work output, they couldn’t really complain.

May just became part of the routine.

Norman brought her to visit Maxie every few days. Every time, she would hold out both arms to the scientist until he gave her a hug. He was clueless as to why she expressed such affection towards him.

“It’s because she likes you,” Norman insisted, “you’re basically her uncle by now, anyway.”

Some part of Maxie wanted to protest, but the way the girl would stare up at him with huge, adoring eyes was enough to keep it down.

It was a few months later when Norman did something unexpected once again.

“Can I ask you to do me a massive favour?” he asked, not looking up from May who was asleep in his arms.

Maxie frowned. “Depends what it is.”

“Archer roped me into a mission to Cinnabar Island. I need you to take care of May for a few days, week at the most.”

There was a beat of silence before Maxie sighed and reached up to readjust his glasses. “I’m thoroughly convinced that leaving me in charge of your child is a bad idea.”

“Who else can I leave her with? Ariana is out of the question and Petrel will definitely want to keep her if I let him anywhere near her again.”

“What about Proton?”

“I wouldn’t trust Proton as far as I could throw him.” Norman smoothed out the little bow in May’s hair. “Honestly, you’re probably the only person she won’t throw a fit with.”

A little groan came from May as she stretched out. Norman’s expression didn’t change as he lifted her to rest against his side, her head on his shoulder.

“Think about it,” he said, pushing up to his feet, “I’m heading off on Friday, so I’ll need an answer by then.”

Maxie didn’t even have a chance to say a word before Norman was heading out, May poking her head over his shoulder to wave as they disappeared into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind them.

The lights in the lab suddenly felt significantly harsher as Maxie sunk back in his seat. He rubbed a hand over his face and let out a long sigh.

It wasn’t like he had much choice in the matter, he couldn’t exactly leave May with someone like Petrel, but that didn’t make him feel any better about the prospect of caring for a small child.

Of course, this was when he realised that he couldn’t go back to work with how harshly his hands were shaking. His nerves frayed much too easily.

After a quick glance around to make sure the lab was unoccupied, he took the Poké Ball from his coat pocket and released Numel into the room. The creature blinked slowly, wobbling on groggy feet. Maxie smiled, lowering himself to his knees to pet the Pokémon’s head.

“Sorry, did I wake up?”

Numel huffed, but pushed their head into their trainer’s hand. Maxie chuckled softly, nuzzling his forehead into the Pokémon’s nose.

“Urh, hey, is Norman in here?”

The voice was so sudden that Maxie let out an undignified squeak. In his hurry to stand, the back of his head slammed into the desk with a loud thud. His ears were ringing as he clutched his skull, letting out a anguished groan. He was vaguely aware of a person crouching at his side.

“Shit, you okay?”

He tried not to flinch when he felt a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine.”

It was only when he opened his eyes that he realised his glasses had fallen off. He cursed under his breath, fumbling around with all the grace of a Magikarp.

The person at his side pressed them into his hand. “I got ya.”

Maxie muttered his thanks as he pushed them on and finally got a look at them. He momentarily forgot how to breathe.

The man crouched beside him was probably the most beautiful man Maxie had ever seen and he was certain that he would probably start crying if he had any less self-control. He did not, however, have enough self-control to stop himself from gaping for as long as he did.

“You sure you don’t have to go to the medical bay? That was a pretty bad lookin’ bump.”

“I’m fine!” Maxie yelped, covering his face with his hands. “I just didn’t sleep very well last night.”

The man laughed, and the sound warmed something in Maxie’s chest. “If you say so,” he said. The grunt stood, offering a hand to help up Maxie. The man’s grip was strong, the heat a nice contrast to how cold Maxie’s hands always were.

After another long moment of staring at the man, Maxie cleared his throat and looked away. “Sorry, can I help you?” he muttered.

The man grinned. “The name’s Archie. I was told-” He did a quick glance around the lab. “-that I could find Norman here?”

Maxie felt his heart rate finally starting the settle. “You just missed him.”

“That sucks.” Archie waved his hands quickly. “I mean, it sucks that I missed him. But I guess I got to meet you so that’s cool.” His eyes darted around, unable to settle on one point. “Ah jeez... Sorry that was kinda forward-”

“No, no, it’s alright, honestly,” Maxie said, fussing with the hem of his lab coat.

A grunt from the floor caught their attention. Numel was pouting, headbutting their trainer’s leg and huffing impatiently. Archie gave the Pokémon and pat on the head.

“Awh, hey little fella,” he cooed, “sorry did I interrupt cuddle time?”

Maxie folded his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbled, “I was just about to feed him when you barged in.”

“That’s a shame,” Archie said, “there’s nothing better than a good cuddle with your Pokémon. I do it all the time with my Carvanha!”

Suddenly Maxie was very concerned. “Don’t they have extremely rough skin?”

Archie shrugged. “Yeah, but they still deserve cuddles, right?”

“Well, yes, but-”

Archie shushed him. “They can’t help their rough skin. They’re just big babies who want hugs.”

Maxie stared at him for a long moment, feeling the colour return to his cheeks. Why was this man, who could most likely snap him in half without too much effort, so adorable?

“Anyway,” Archie announced, “as much as I hate to leave ya, I gotta take off.” He frowned for a second before he snapped his fingers and met Maxie’s eyes. “Oh yeah, I didn’t catch your name, did I?”

“It’s Maxie.”

Archie opened his hand and started trailing his finger over his palm. The movements were rapid, but flowed smoothly. Maxie frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Huh?” Archie stared blankly for a second. “Oh, I kinda picked it up from a friend of mine. She always said that if you write someone’s name on your hand three times you’ll never forget it.”

Maxie hummed. “Nice sentiment, though I am unsure of how it would work in practise.”

“Hey, it hasn’t failed me so far.”

Once he was finished, Archie headed out. He paused in the doorway before turning back with a grin.

“By the way, I think you’d look way cuter with your hair down.”

In the next second, the door had been slammed in his face.

Maxie grumbled as he went back to his desk, glaring at the door for a full minute before the tension bled from his shoulders. He looked down at his palm. After a short while, he started tracing the start of an ‘A’.

“-And she needs a nap at one o’clock or she gets grouchy by bedtime. Hey, are you listening to me?”

Maxie perked up. “Yes, of course,” he lied.

Norman narrowed his eyes, but decided not to comment.

Maxie had never been fond of water, especially not a force quite as unforgiving as the ocean, but he begrudgingly accepted the invitation to see Norman off. The sea air made him feel physically ill, and the way a particularly high wave would crash over the pier was, for lack of a better word, terrifying. He just hoped that the way he’d plastered his back to the wall was subtle enough to go unnoticed.

Keeping May up this late would certainly backfire, but so long as she got the missed hours back somewhere Norman didn’t mind too much. Maxie, who was aware that he was the one who would have to deal with it, struggled not to take it personally.

Grunts milled around them, loading the stolen fishing trawler for the trip. Maxie was certain he’d seen Proton hanging around, but had managed to avoid the Executive so far.

A long yawn rose from May and she nestled herself further into Maxie’s side.

“Don’t worry sweetheart,” Norman said, a rare smile crossing his features, “you only have to stay awake a little while longer.”

May whined, reaching out to grab at her father’s sleeve. He let her grip his thumb.

“Thanks again,” he said without looking up, his voice somehow lacking in its usual firmness, “I know sort of sprung this on you last minute...”

Maxie shook his head. “You can make it up to me some other time. Besides-” He ruffled May’s hair. “-she’s not so bad. For a child.”

A rare chuckle rose from Norman. “Kids, eh? Who’d have them?”

The pace of which the grunts moved suddenly increased tenfold and Norman let out a long sigh. He shouldered his duffle bag. “Looks like we’re heading out.”

“Will you let us know when you arrive?” Maxie asked as May squirmed in his hold.

Norman shook his head. “Can’t. Complete radio silence. Proton is going to kill someone by the end of it.” He leaned down to press a kiss to May’s forehead. “Be good, alright?”

She only huffed.

“I’m sure we’ll manage,” Maxie chuckled.

With a nod, Norman turned on his heel and followed the grunts on board the ship. He didn’t look back.

It was two days since the mission was supposed to end and Norman still hadn’t returned. Maxie didn’t find himself as concerned as he thought he should be. Missions went sour quite often. Arrests were growing increasingly common with how much of a nuisance Team Rocket liked to make themselves.

No one had sent Maxie any updates. Not that he expected them to, no one ever went out of their way to tell him anything, but he thought that he would’ve heard something by now.

He was brought from his thoughts by the sound of May muttering in her sleep, strapped to his back and drooling on his coat. It was more practical to have her there rather than leaving her in a corner of the lab to make a mess.

Maxie briefly considered waking her up when he heard yelling in the hallway. He lowered his papers and paced across to the door, poking his head out and frowning.

There were few people Maxie was truly intimidated by. Executive Proton was not one of them. He was nothing more than a brute who used threats of violence and blackmail to get his way. Maxie avoided him out of spite rather than fear.

Proton was berating some poor grunt, most likely just because he was bored and not because the grunt had actually done anything wrong.

“Go on, get out of my sight,” Proton said with a wave of his hand. The grunt scurried away with their head low.

Maxie waited until the grunt was around the end of the corridor before he decided to approach.

“Sir?” he asked.

The Executive’s head lulled back, and he let out a groan. “What do you want?” he grumbled as he turned, eyes narrow, hat sat at a skewed angle.

“I take it the mission was a failure,” Maxie said slowly. Proton’s laugh made him shudder.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Proton took out a packet of cigarettes. Maxie wanted to remind him that there was no smoking in the labs, but decided against it. “Archer probably set us up, but I can’t take that shit to the boss without any proof.”

With a frown, Maxie said, “do I dare ask for the details?”

Proton simply shrugged. “Lost some guys. No big deal, grunts like that are disposable anyway.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand?”

“Huh?” Proton noticed May and chuckled. “Oh yeah, Norman left his brat with you. Hope you’re ready for the long haul.”

Maxie felt his blood run cold.

“I should really be going,” Proton said, making little effort to hide the smirk spreading across his features, “Get back to work, Matsubusa. Don’t want that cute kid to go hungry, do you?”

Without giving Maxie an opportunity to respond, Proton headed off, rooting in his pockets for a lighter. Maxie only realised he was still stood in the hallway when May started crying.

The next week was a blur. Between working on the Mew Project that Archer kept pushing and making sure May was content, he barely had a minute to himself.

Not that he minded too much. Maxie preferred it to being left to dwell in his own thoughts.

He finally understood why parents became hopelessly obsessed with protecting their children from every potential threat, regardless of the intensity. It wasn’t like he was making an active effort to hover, but he found dangers in places he wouldn’t even expect them.

Part of that was certainly because he spent most of his time in the lab, May desperate to touch anything in reach.

The best solution seemed to be talking. It could amuse her for a good hour or two if he just kept voicing his ideas to a toddler who couldn’t yet engage in intelligent discussion. It was like having a lab assistant. A nonverbal, not very helpful lab assistant but she kept his spirits up and that was the most he could ask for.

Considering he was mostly parenting through guess work, he was impressed with how well he was doing.

That was, until May figured out that her real father wasn’t coming back.

May rarely cried. She preferred to voice her discomfort through whines and gentle prodding until she got the attention she needed.

But one night she wailed and howled for hours with no end in sight. No matter what he tried, Maxie couldn’t get her to settle. He would just have to wait until she tired herself out.

Even if it took all night.

There was a pounding at his front door and it took Maxie a solid five minutes to finally work up the motivation to answer it.

A brute of a man stood in the doorway, his face creased from decades of scowling. Maxie had never spoken to him before, and he was glad he had put off introducing himself to the neighbours for so long.

“Would you shut that damn brat up?!” he yelled, “Some of us need to sleep!”

Maxie wanted nothing more than to tell the man where he could stuff his complaints, but he forced composure. “I’m sorry,” His voice was strained, “But she’s a baby. Babies cry-”

“The damn thing needs a muzzle!”

The door was slammed in his face and there was a small dip of silence before May started up again.

Maxie decided he wasn’t getting anywhere and he pulled on a coat, lifting the shrieking girl into his arms. It took him a solid minute to wrestle her into some warmer layers and he left his apartment.

By the time he had reached the street level, May’s screams weren’t quite as intense, but she was still sobbing fiercely and burying her face into his shoulder. He rubbed her back and tried to soothe her, but it wasn’t enough to quell her tears.

The night air was cool and dry, but he’d rather stay outside rather than risk another encounter with a sleep-deprived neighbour.

“Max?”

Of all the people he expected to run into, Archie certainly was not at the top of the list.

“Didn’t know you lived ‘round here,” he said as he approached, still in uniform. He had likely only just got off his shift.

“Oh, I’m urh...” Maxie gestured clumsily towards his apartment block. “Over there.”

Before Archie could respond, another high-pitched wail came from May. She wriggled in Maxie’s grip and pounded her tiny fists on his shoulder.

“Got your hands full?” Archie asked, his expression making it evident that he was trying his damnedest not to laugh.

Maxie deadpanned a, “you could say that,” before he went back to trying to hush her. “She’ll tire herself out... eventually...”

Archie let out a light chuckle and shook his head. “Didn’t know you had a kid.”

“She’s not mine,” Maxie said. His lips tightened as he reconsidered his words. “Well, she is now,” he admitted, “her father left her with me.”

Archie nodded, but didn’t push any further. Maxie was thankful for that.

They stood together for a long while. Maxie wasn’t keeping track of the time. If May weren’t still sobbing her little heart out, he would’ve been able to appreciate it a little more.

Archie cleared his throat, a cloud of breath rising in the night air. “Can I have a try?” He held out his hands.

Maxie considered it for a long moment before he nodded. “Be my guest.”

With a level of care that Maxie didn’t know a man of his size could be capable of, Archie took May and brought her to his chest.

“Hey there, little lady,” he said, rubbing her back as she squirmed, “I’m sure Max would really appreciated it if you’d let him sleep.”

Maxie snorted, and would deny he ever made such a sound until his dying breath.

Between his soft voice and gentle swaying, Archie easily lulled May off to sleep. Maxie would’ve joined her if he hadn’t caught himself. Once she was finally snoring, Archie carefully passed her back.

“How on Earth did you-”

“Oldest of five.” Archie grinned. “You learn a few tricks.”

A fond smile graced Maxie’s expression as he glanced down to the girl sleeping in his arms.

“How about you?”

“Huh?” Oh no, how long had Archie been staring at him? Maxie wished he could hide his face.

“You got any siblings?”

“No, no,” Maxie said, “it’s just me.”

“Awh, thought you’d be the baby.”

Maxie scoffed. “Of course not.”

A little whimper made both men freeze. May shifted, but remained asleep. Maxie let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I suppose I should get her back inside.”

“Urh, yeah...” Archie scratched the back of his head. “I’ll... see you at work then.”

Being cautious of how May was positioned, Maxie fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Between the dim light and his own poor eyesight, he spent more time than he would’ve liked with Archie hovering awkwardly at his side.

When he finally fished out the elusive keys and got the door open, he offered a weak smile. “Goodnight, Archie.”

“Goodnight, Max.”

“Please, call me Maxie.”

That stupid smile made Maxie want to huddle under his duvet until his stomach stopped doing backflips.

“Sure thing, Maxie.” The name sounded natural on Archie’s tongue. “If lil’ missy wakes up again, you know who to call.”

Maxie could only nod, not trusting his voice.

With that, Archie turned and headed off down the street. He stopped briefly and turned back, offering a wave and a toothy grin before he carried on. Maxie watched until he was out of sight.