#Are you riveted by my pop-talk | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

merakiui · 7 months

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maybe, i'm afraid.

azul ashengrotto x (female) reader cw: slight angst, nsfw, azul bottles his feelings and is insecure note - happy birthday to my favorite tako in the whole world. <3 may you have wonderful days forever!! // loosely inspired by lovelytheband's "maybe, i'm afraid."

i. spring - dancing in your party dress, you were singing me some frank sinatra as you wept. pull me close enough. it seems like we lost touch, so hold me as the record skips.

“Can you believe we’re gonna be fourth years?!” Kalim exclaims with wide, sparkling eyes. They look like twin garnets set into his face—polished jewels having caught the aquatic illumination from Mostro Lounge’s aquarium. “Time really does fly, huh!”

“Feels like yesterday,” Ruggie agrees around a mouthful of food. His plate is stacked as high as it can possibly get, piled with contrasting flavors. “Pretty crazy to think we’re all gonna be heading off in different directions soon.”

Jade nods. “Our school lives are as fun as they are fleeting.”

An odd quiet falls over the three of them, which is soon broken when Floyd drapes himself over the booth. He leans down to swipe a sliver from Jade’s plate. “Whatcha talkin’ about?”

“Just reminiscing.”

“Ah. S’bout that time, ain’t it? Gettin’ sentimental in the spring.”

“Makes sense. The semester’s ending and people are starting up their internships or going home. Really makes you think…”

Ruggie gazes at the group huddled near the bar. Riddle, Jamil, and a half-awake Silver chat alongside you and Azul. You seem to be in the middle of a riveting story, for your arms gesticulate wildly. Azul looks on with what Ruggie thinks is the most mushy-gushy, ooey-gooey smile he’s ever seen.

“We’re gonna come back in the winter, aren’t we?” Kalim asks, tilting his head.

“Indeed. For the cultural festival.”

“Yeah, that’s right! It’ll be fun to see you guys after so much time apart. Oh, we should all keep in touch! That way it’ll feel like no time has passed at all.”

“Perhaps not for us.” Jade follows Ruggie’s line of sight, landing on one person in particular. “For others, the gap is cavernous.”

“What do you mean, Jade?”

Floyd catches on then. “S’not our fault he’s not sayin’ anything.”

Ruggie shrugs. “It doesn’t concern me.” He pops up from his spot in the booth, grinning. “It’s been great and all, but I’ve gotta get my fill. Wouldn’t be right for a guy to skimp out when it’s Azul hosting.”

Giggling, Floyd waves him off. “You do that, Sharksucker.”

Kalim turns to the twins, brows raised. “You’re talking about Azul?”

“He’s been swept up in Shrimpy ever since. It’s been—how long now?—about two years or something.”

“Oh.” Kalim blinks back at him, slow on the uptake. And then, seconds later, it hits him. “Ohhh! He likes (Name)!”

“There ya go.”

“I’m afraid he’s yet to confess,” Jade adds around a bite of cake. “You should see the plans he’s drafted. Dozens of them, in fact. Each one is… Oh, perhaps I’ve said too much already.”

“I don’t get it. If he likes (Name) so much, why wouldn’t he just confess? Why make plans?”

“Wow, Sea Otter, you don’t play when it comes to feelings, do ya?”

“If it was me, I’d want everyone to know how much I care about someone.” To demonstrate this point, he cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “You’re the best, (Name)!”

You glance past a now wide-awake Silver at the twins and Kalim. Mirroring his actions, you reply in a giggly voice, “Thanks! You’re great, too, Kalim!”

Beaming, he says, “See? It’s not so difficult. If Azul needs any help, I’d be happy to—”

Floyd throws his head back and cackles like a madman. “Not so difficult for you!”

Jade masks his amusement behind a gloved fist. “My, my. I think I’ve just witnessed the very soul drain from Azul’s eyes. You have quite the talent, Kalim.”

Kalim doesn’t hear the underlying meaning or the backhanded barb in his statement. “He’s got time, doesn’t he?”

“That’s what he keeps saying. But deep down he knows.” Floyd watches Azul hurry to recover his composure before anyone can notice. “He’s leaving for his internship after school’s over and then graduation’s next spring. He’s running out of time.”

“Does (Name) like him? Maybe she’ll confess before he does!”

“That’s just it. He doesn’t know what Shrimpy feels for him. Been driving himself crazy all school year tryin’ to figure that one out.”

“I suspect he’s grown excessively cautious as a result of his fear of rejection,” Jade explains, dragging his fork through the buttercream smeared on his plate.

“But if he confesses now and she doesn’t feel the same, he’ll have all summer to recover.” Kalim turns his stare on you next. “(Name)’s always been nice. I’m sure she wouldn’t shatter his heart.”

“When you’re Azul, even the tiniest push is enough.”

“Really? But he’s always so strong!”

Jade hums. “Three hearts are quite the boon-burden.”

“Only makes lovin’ someone that much worse. Cuz then you’re lovin’ ’em three times as much.”

“Isn’t that good? I think it’s sweet Azul cares about (Name) so much.”

“Sweet…” Jade shares a look with Floyd. Something unspoken passes between them. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Azul thinks it’s a pain in the ass. Throws him off his course and he loooves bein’ on his course.”

Kalim stares a moment longer. “Maybe he needs a push in the right direction.”

“Liquid courage works wonders—”

“—or gives way to woe.”

“Nothing like that.” He doesn’t elaborate further, instead getting up and padding over to the bar with a cheerful bounce in his steps. “Hey, everyone, let’s take a picture!”

Riddle welcomes him with a warm smile. “Ah, hello there, Kalim.”

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Jamil comments, arms folding across his chest. Which, arguably, is worse because it can only spell trouble should Kalim find himself inspired.

“Way ahead of you!” You hold your Ghost Camera up, turning the lens on Kalim. Lighting up like the very sun in the sky, he poses just as you snap a photo. It takes a few moments for it to develop, but once it does you hand it over to him for his perusal. “Looking good as always.”

“Aww, thanks! Okay, your turn next! Let’s get a big group photo and then individual photos.” With the camera now in his possession, Kalim’s free to fidget with it as he pleases. “Ooh, this is neat!”

“Careful with that!” Jamil bounds forward just in case. “The Headmage gave that to (Name). Don’t break it.”

“I won’t,” Kalim promises, holding it up to capture you and Jamil in its sight. “I think I’ve got it! Everyone, group up! Picture time!”

There’s lots of fumbling. An argument about height breaks out. Floyd pokes fun at Riddle for having to stand in front to account for his height. Riddle fumes, red with anger, and stomps his foot indignantly—all while insisting he’s still growing. You offer to stand beside him, but he hisses at you like a cat: “Don’t patronize me! I’m of perfect, healthy stature for someone my age!”

Kalim looks on from behind the camera. “Actually, can we get (Name) and Azul together first?”

Azul, who had been in the process of adding to the joke with a comment of his own, hesitates. He peers at Kalim, his walls rising. “Me?”

“Yeah! Only fair to put you front and center. You’re the host, after all!”

“Ah, right. Of course. But then—”

“Why me?” you ask, confused. “If anything, I should stay out of the picture. I’m not a third year like the rest of you.”

Kalim gasps, scandalized. “We can’t do that! It doesn’t matter what year you are. You’re still our friend, and parties are for everyone to enjoy.”

“Doesn’t that throw off the original plan?” Ruggie wonders, munching on a frosted donut.

“Kalim, we need to account for height. Riddle can’t stand in the back.” Jamil glances apologetically at Riddle. “That’s just the reality of it.”

Riddle huffs, refusing to dignify that with a response.

“I’ll stand in the front,” Silver offers.

“What? No, that’s not the issue here, Silver.”

“It’s not? I thought we were picking who stands beside (Name).”

“Ooh, I wanna stand with Shrimpy!” Floyd wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your head. “C’mon, Sea Otter, take our pic!”

Jamil sighs. “All of you…”

“Shall we take individual photos with (Name) first?” Jade suggests, smiling placidly at Kalim.

This time the message is received loud and clear. “Oh, great idea, Jade! Azul and (Name), could you stand next to each other?”

The group disperses to allow you and Azul to do just that. Rigidly, Azul steps closer. He keeps a healthy distance between your bodies, one Jade picks up on right away.

“Please smile and pretend like you love each other,” he instructs, to which Azul flusters.

“W-What? Jade, that’s—”

“C’mere, Ashengrotto! I don’t bite!”

With a joyous laugh, you wrap your arm around Azul’s waist and drag him in close. He stumbles, flushed in the face, just as the camera flashes. The corresponding photo slides out next, blank for a while. Eventually, the image begins to show up with striking clarity.

“How’s it look? Great, right?” As soon as it happened, it’s gone—your warmth. The comfort of being held. Azul almost pursues you when you release him from your grasp and move towards Kalim to inspect the photo. Thankfully, he catches himself. “Hey, this is nice! Good job.”

You and Kalim share a high-five.

“Me next, Sea Otter!” Floyd crowds in, baring his pointed teeth in an unruly grin.

With everyone’s attention on you, Kalim, and the camera, Azul’s left to stand behind in silence. Anticipating the rainless deluge, Jade lingers within earshot.

“I know,” he mutters in a brittle tone. “Don’t say a word.”

“Not a peep. Although if I may share just a tiny tidbit… Kalim offered some very helpful advice. You may want to hear it.”

Azul stares at him, stunned. “You told Kalim?”

“Not directly, no. It was implied.” Jade averts his mismatched eyes on purpose. “More or less.”

“I should’ve made you and Floyd sign NDAs…”

“Is it really so sensitive?”

“Yes! Yes, of course it is!” Azul deflates with a sigh, looking on mournfully. You’re trying to snatch the camera from Floyd’s hands. He holds it up and out of reach, laughing raucously. “What did he say?”

“If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart.”

Azul barks out a short, hollow laugh. “In an ideal world, that’s easy.”

“You’re making it more difficult than it needs to be.” Jade issues an encouraging smile. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“Are you seriously asking that?”

“It’s just something to consider.”

A minute ticks between them. Jade watches the scene alongside Azul, delighting in distant chaos.

“I’m afraid, Jade,” he admits quietly, the confession as soft and fragile as a single breath. “She’s everything and I’m…nothing.”

Jade frowns in disagreement.

“I’ve looked at it from every conceivable angle. There isn’t any calculated risk to be made—no potential profit or success to be had.”

“Are you certain?”

“Very.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to get it off your chest. We have a few weeks left before the break. If not your heart, perhaps you could establish a means to communicate?”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt… For the sake of networking—”

Jade chuckles. “Networking? Is that it?”

Azul scowls. “You’re awfully irritating tonight.”

“I’m not the one with his tentacles tied, hopelessly infatuated.”

“You—”

“(Name), there’s something Azul would like to tell you,” Jade announces, and you turn to look at him.

Azul thinks he should just go ahead and die right there. Is it possible to spontaneously combust if he thinks about it long enough? Is such a phenomenon magic? All he needs to do is visualize it and then the spark will catch and—

“Yeah? What’s up, Azul?”

Azul flounders, his concentration broken. Like he’s done so many times in the past, he plasters his trademark smirk-grin on and falls into the shoes of the sleazy conman. “If you ever find yourself in need of study materials even after I’ve graduated, do not hesitate to contact me and I—”

You laugh. “I think I’ll be good. Thanks, though.”

With withering confidence, he chuckles. “I could give you quite the deal. You’d be missing out…”

You roll your eyes, unconvinced.

Jade—annoying, asshole Jade—brushes past, smooth as sea glass. “I shall take my leave, but please continue your chat. I believe there’s a camera waiting to capture the memory of me.”

Now it’s just you and Azul. He clears his throat, suddenly awkward.

“(Name), I—”

“Azul—”

“Oh.” He stares at you, a smile twitching on his lips. “You first.”

“No, no, you spoke before me.”

“Ah. Well…”

If you confess now, you’ll have the entire summer to mend your tattered heart. As if a love that’s been flowering for two years could possibly be resolved within the span of a few months.

He tries again even though it’s not what he really wants to say. “I do hope you’ll have a pleasant summer.”

“You as well.” You nudge him. “Kick ass at your internship.”

“I intend to.” Right. Internship. Work. Business. He can hold a normal conversation if that’s the topic. “And you? Do you plan to stay here?”

“Yeah. Crowley’s letting Grim and me live on campus since we don’t have anywhere else to go. I’ll work part-time in Craneport. Summer is a great season for tourism, but I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

Azul laughs. “If it’s a family, they may spend more on kid’s menus for the novelty of it all. Be sure to talk it up to truly sell it. All children deserve to know the magic of a seasonal menu, do they not? Food in fun shapes. Fairy tales and sparkles. All of that razzmatazz. It’s the experience they’re paying for, after all.”

“Is that advice free?”

“Is it?”

“Fine, fine.” You dig through your pocket and hand him the photo from earlier. “Your payment, good sir. A memento of me.”

Azul takes it from you, admires your effortlessly pretty smile, and then freezes. “Oh, I look positively dreadful!”

“Not at all. It adds character.”

“A horrid sort of character.”

You sidle up beside him, peering at the picture. “I like it. It’s a photo of an imperfect Azul.”

“What an ambiguous compliment.”

“I’m serious! It’s Azul when he’s not acting. I like imperfect Azul. He’s authentic. A real person.” You pat him on the shoulder. He stiffens, betraying his initial nonchalance. “Or maybe not. One day I’ll catch you off guard.”

“We’ll see.”

“One day…” Your attention is stolen when you catch sight of the group attempting to bunch together for a selfie. Offering Azul that same smile he’s admired ever since he saw it, you add, “Have a fun summer. Don’t be a stranger next year, okay?” And then you’re bounding across the lounge. “Wait for me! I want in, too!”

For the rest of the semester, Azul keeps the photo tucked away in his phone case.

I have time to mull over the pros and cons, he tells himself when he departs through the mirror, summer break at his fingertips.

ii. summer - maybe i’m just too good. maybe i’ll run away. maybe i’m over you. maybe i shouldn’t stay. maybe i just don’t care. maybe i talk too much.

It occurs to you, while sorting through the photos you’ve taken throughout this past school year, that there’s an absurd amount of Azul. Whether on his own or with others, he appears in more photos than anyone else. You wonder how that happened—how you managed to be there for so many of his moments, each one documented in photographic permanence.

Some of them are humorous. Azul looking unimpressed when you lifted your camera to capture him. Grim jumping into his arms to demand snacks. His glasses sitting crooked on his face. Some of them are endearing. Azul reading in a comfortable nook in the library. Azul smiling fondly at the lens during an alchemy lesson. Azul laughing after you cracked a joke during PE. Some of them are animated. Azul waving at you from across the courtyard. Azul rolling his eyes at a dull pun. Azul playfully blowing a kiss to the camera after you told him to do something memorable. Some are special. Azul in his birthday robes. Azul during that time Mostro Lounge became a butler café for one week. Azul on his last day of the semester, leveling the camera with a roguish smirk.

This one—the most recent and last photo taken of him—is especially important. It’s the conversation that prompted an unforgettable expression that fills you with butterflies whenever you recall it.

“I think you’ll miss me,” you told him, elbowing him for good measure.

“I think I will,” he replied, his lips curling.

Unequipped to deliver a witty retort, you could only gawk.

“Don’t tell me that’s all it takes to shock you into silence.” He chuckled, and there was that infamous smirk-grin—sitting so perfectly on his face, as if it was meant to be there for this very exchange. “You’re too easy, (Name). Where’s the challenge?”

Wordlessly, you raised your Ghost Camera and snapped his picture.

There are so many facets to his person that you’ve managed to catch on your camera—complex layers you wouldn’t have otherwise witnessed if you hadn’t spent so much time around him.

Now you realize why you have an abundance of Azul photos.

We sure hung out a lot this year, and every time I had my camera…

Is he your muse? Is he just naturally photogenic? He fits into plenty of backgrounds, but it’s never the scenery that fascinates and bewitches. It’s always his expression, his body language, his emotions. And the reason all of these photos are so important is because this is an Azul who is comfortable enough to show these sides to you. An Azul who wants you to document his best and his worst, his beautiful and his ugly, his silly and his serious.

Sitting at your desk, thumbing through stacks of photos, you know he’s more than a muse. As you watch Azul move in various pictures, you wonder what he’s doing. It’s only a month into summer, but everything feels so slow. Campus has cleared out, and with it the lounge has closed for the season. You’re certain he still has his ways of making profit and spreading word of its wonders. Azul isn’t foolish. He’s always working an angle. Endlessly clever and stubbornly ambitious.

Does he miss me, too? you think, running your finger over his smiling face. Or was that just something he said to get a reaction?

Just then, a gut-wrenching thought lodges itself deep: Are we even friends? What if he thinks I’m a nuisance? Maybe he’s just tolerating me and all this time I’ve been delusional.

You glimpse the photos again, watching Azul laugh soundlessly in an animated loop. What am I to you, Azul?

As if on cue, having sensed your sadness, arms wrap around you from behind. For a second you think it’s Grim, but then you see distinctly human hands clasping together. You whirl, startled out of your skin, to find Azul Ashengrotto standing there.

“Wha… What?”

He’s…here. Azul is standing in your bedroom.

You blink once and he remains. You blink twice and he’s still there, gazing down at you with soft, smiling features.

“Hello to you as well.”

“Hey…?” You pat his cheek and flinch away. “Oh, you’re real!”

“Of course I am! Why wouldn’t I be?” Chuckling, he withdraws and moves to stand at your deskside. “I’m wounded. To think you would forget me just like that. And I thought I was plenty memorable.” He blows you a mock kiss then, and that’s when it finally strikes you.

This isn’t your Azul. This is an Azul from your photos.

How is this even possible? you think, scrambling to find which picture—which memory—he’s from. In doing so, you remember a particularly unique fact about the Ghost Camera. It’s a magical device that allows a photographer to capture slivers of their subject’s soul, which gives way to a special sort of connection known as a soulbond. The deeper the bond, the more likely the person in the photographs is to take on animation and, in some cases, slip out of the image that contains them.

So this is Azul from the time at which he was last photographed, you determine, holding up pictures to match his corporeal likeness to that of the scenery. The Ghost Camera is so cool…

“I missed you, you know.”

“Did you now?” He leans in close, curious. “How much?”

You push him away with a weak scoff. This isn’t good for your heart. Any closer and you might say something you’ll come to regret.

“Not as much as you think.”

“Is that so?” His gaze pans over to the pile of photos on your desk. “And these photos are simply here for convenience?”

“D-Don’t worry about it! Summer project. You wouldn’t get it.”

He flashes his teeth at you in a bright, competitive grin. “Try me.”

“You’re so nosy. Don’t you get tired of prying?”

“Not in the slightest.” He leans against the desk, his arms folding casually over his chest. “That’s besides the point. You’re avoiding the subject at hand.”

You turn in your chair and open your mouth to reply—why are you so invested in this?—but a better idea crops up. Meeting his cerulean stare with fierce, fiery eyes, you challenge him: “If it matters so much to you, I could be convinced to share my plans for the small price of one kiss. A real kiss. Not that fake one from before.”

Azul blinks back at you, a smirk crawling onto his face. “Is that all you desire?”

“What do you mean by—”

Your question is cut off when another set of arms embraces you from behind. Warm, soft lips press against your cheek; his breath tickles your ear.

“Are two not better than one?”

With a yelp, you jerk back so fast that you almost fall out of your chair. Standing there, looking very proud of himself, is another Azul. But this one, unlike Dorm Azul, is dressed in his school uniform. A very helpful distinction.

“D-Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

It’s the only coherent sentence you can manage. Your mind is a panicked muddle: I can’t believe it. Two Azuls. Am I dreaming? This is definitely a dream, right? There’s no way he’d kiss me on the…

You slap your hand over your cheek, gasping. “Y-You kissed me?!”

“Is that not the price you wanted me to pay?” School Azul asks, one brow raised as if daring you to deny that fact.

Dorm Azul’s fingers curl under your chin, guiding your gaze towards him. “Unless you’d like to raise the price…”

You swallow thickly. This can’t be happening.

“Of course, in raising the price, it’s expected you raise the value of the information you’re willing to divulge,” School Azul adds with a chuckle. “Is that not fair?”

You shrink under both of their insistent stares. “W-Why do you even wanna know?”

“Why not? Any information is good information so long as it’s useful.”

You scoff, but it comes out choked and shy. “I… I’m going to use these photos to put together a present for you. I know your birthday’s so far away, but I’m getting a head start.”

“And this present would entail…?”

You click your tongue at him. “I already paid my half for that kiss. No more.”

“Aah, is that right?” Dorm Azul leans in, kissing dangerously close to your lips. You reach up to touch the corner of your mouth after he’s pulled away. “How much for the full story?”

“How much are you willing to pay?”

School Azul rests his chin on your shoulder. His hands settle on your waist, pulling you up from your seat. This proximity allows you to feel his hair as it brushes against your face. Dorm Azul closes the distance as if it’s second nature, and now you’re sandwiched between the both of them.

Your heart stumbles in your chest. He’s quite literally surrounding you, but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

“A very valid question.” Dorm Azul glances coyly at School Azul. “What do you think, Me?”

“Will we be enough for you, (Name)?” he purrs, rubbing slow circles into your hips.

You’re dizzy in their arms, your entire body warming with anticipation and embarrassment alike. Is it okay to be selfish? Even though this isn’t technically Azul—just mere memories of him—it seems so real. He’s holding you, touching you, reaching for you…

“Hmm. Two does seem to be a bit much.”

“Let’s call it a holiday and say it’s seasonal spoiling.”

“A gift for the summer.”

“Do open the window to let in the breeze. The heat is prone to making one feel rather…stuffy.”

They’re doing this on purpose. Maybe another Azul is more troublesome than I once thought. I can only handle so much charm!

Shrugging off self-doubt, you grab Dorm Azul by his lapels and yank him towards you, sealing the space that once separated your mouths in a hungry kiss. He melts against you, eyes fluttering shut. It’s quick and starved, the way you chase each other’s lips. You cling to him before you can fall, arms looped around his neck to keep him near.

Fully clothed and achingly desperate, you loathe the unbearable heat, but nothing is more molten than the space between your thighs.

Meanwhile, School Azul takes his sweet time running his hands along your sides, up the length of your body until he reaches your chest. With his form pinned to yours, you can feel his erection pressing against your ass. Rather shamelessly, he rolls his hips. You’re pushed up against Dorm Azul next, who takes hold of your hand and guides it to the strain in his slacks. He pulls away briefly to allow School Azul to slide your shirt up and over your head.

“Were you anticipating this?” he whispers, taking hold of your breasts.

“No way,” you protest between kisses. “Not… No. K-Keep dreaming. It’s too much trouble to wear one in the summer. Gets hot and—”

Dorm Azul captures your lips in another ravenous smooch, and the objection dies in your throat.

“There’s no need for these pesky articles where I’m from,” School Azul murmurs. He presses kisses into your bare shoulder, humming his very obvious delight. “You’d have already been laid out beneath me if that were the case… Soft and sweet, all mine to love at the bottom of the sea…”

“Humans have so many steps,” Dorm Azul laments, tutting.

“And merfolk don’t?” You try to sound smart with your question, but it comes out breathless when your nipple’s twisted between two fingers. “Oh…”

“Not when it comes to clothing. The very concept doesn’t exist beneath the waves.”

“You could visit sometime and see for yourself. I’ll welcome you with open arms.” Dorm Azul rests his forehead against yours. “And maybe then you’ll find yourself so taken with my home that you’ll want to stay.”

“A tempting offer.”

“But?” he prompts, his gaze falling to your hand as you palm him through his pants. He inhales a shaky breath.

“What’s stopping you?” the other Azul asks, his voice muffled in your skin.

“Firstly, I’m not a mer.”

“My dear, that’s nothing. Have you forgotten my proficiency in potionology?”

“And how much will one of your potions cost? I’d love to visit, but if it’s going to bankrupt me—”

“For you, a single kiss is all I require.”

“Isn’t that awfully cheap?”

Dorm Azul chuckles at this back-and-forth. “You say that as if you want me to charge an exorbitant amount.”

Glaring, you squeeze him out of revenge. His laughter comes out choked next, replaced with a needy whimper. Unbelievable.

“Maybe I do.”

“I would be careful with those words, dearest. I might take them to heart.”

He ruts against your hand, panting into your mouth. The kiss is sloppy and wet, all tongue and saliva. You move on instinct, grabbing at his shoulders when you’re taken to bed next. Both Azuls peer down at you from where they kneel on either side of you. They issue you hazy, lust-drunk smiles. Hands wander, feeling every inch you have to offer. You shut your eyes and submit to titillating touches.

“You really did miss me,” School Azul remarks when his fingers slip into your shorts to rub you through your sodden panties. Your breath hitches, a strangled whine squeezed from your throat, and he laughs. “I missed you, too.”

“I really like you,” you blurt, chest heaving with your every breath. He squeezes your clit to draw another sinful groan from you. “I think—Azul, you’re so—I think you’re so amazing… I wish we talked more. The year—aah… It went by so fast.”

“It did, didn’t it?”

“I wanna know you—the real you. I wanna know what Azul’s like when he’s comfortable and when he’s sad and when he’s happy. I wanna—ooh! Please… Please, Azul…” You grab fistfuls of the sheets, arching up towards the hands that caress your stomach lovingly. “I just want you.”

“And you’ll have me,” he—you’re not sure which—promises, leaning over to kiss you. It’s soulful passion, lust bleeding into love. Your cries are lost on his lips when you come undone beneath him, buoyant on a mellow wave.

You sense the loss before you see it.

Half-nude and gasping for breath, you stare up at the ceiling. Your bedroom is empty. All that remains of the Azuls are the animated memories imprinted on the photographs.

“I’m losing my mind…” you mutter, draping your arm over your eyes.

Please let summer pass quickly.

iii. winter - maybe all we are is fools with hearts that tried too hard. and maybe that’s just fine as long as you’re here in my arms.

Azul paces restlessly in his VIP room. It’s been months since he’s seen you, but his heart hasn’t swayed in the slightest. If anything, he’s only grown fonder in the time spent apart. Absence… What a bothersome thing.

“You’re gonna walk yourself into the floor, y’know. Your shoes’ll be all worn out by the time you’re done.”

“I’m aware,” Azul quips, uncharacteristically jittery. He turns towards Floyd. “Do I look presentable? Is anything crooked or misplaced? How about my hair?”

“You’re fine.” At Azul’s disbelieving glower, Floyd pouts. “I mean it. Shrimpy’s gonna like it either way.”

He bristles, defensive. “Who said anything about (Name)?”

“No one, but you’re thinkin’ it.”

“I… T-That’s besides the point! It doesn’t matter. She’s only here because I invited her. Common courtesy and all that.”

“Mm, I dunno about that one.”

Azul frowns at the vault set into the wall behind his desk. If only he could pack all of his fears in there and lock them away for good. Then he could continue masquerading as someone fearless and confident. With winter having descended upon campus, bringing with it layers of fluffy, glittering snow, and the cultural festival having concluded successfully, Azul finds himself lost.

This is the last birthday he’ll celebrate at Night Raven College and, subsequently, the last February he’ll spend with you. He’s running out of time.

“Invitation or not, Shrimpy’ll always wish you a happy birthday. S’not like her to forget. Plus, she cares about ya.”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

Azul’s tone is so sharp that Floyd raises his hands in defense. “Guess not.”

“What would you do?” He inhales a wobbly breath. “If you were in my shoes…”

Floyd scratches the back of his neck, contemplative. “Dunno. Guess I’d wait for the right moment and say somethin’ to get it outta my system.”

Azul sighs. “Jade said something similar.”

“He ain’t wrong.”

“I’m not prepared.”

“No one is.” Floyd smiles at Azul’s baffled expression. “C’mon, Azul, you can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to. S’just how it is.”

“Even so, it’s better to know all viable routes and options before diving into uncharted waters.”

“That’s just it. You can’t know. S’kinda the whole point, ain’t it?”

“I can’t do it,” he decides, the words heavy on his tongue. “I’d rather accept my future failure now than continue working towards it.”

“Like a coward.”

“Far from it! In business, that’s known as rescission. It is a completely valid method of—”

“You ever realize your feelings and business are two separate things? Not everything’s gotta be about business.”

Azul stands there, nonplussed.

Floyd makes for the door, stopping only to add, “Your fly’s unzipped, by the way.”

“You—” He scrambles to check. Much to his relief, it’s not. “Honestly… That’s not even funny.”

He smooths nonexistent wrinkles, schools his expression into something brave, and exhales slowly. I’m not going to ruin an occasion as grand as this with a half-baked confession.

Having made up his mind, he steps through the door out into the bustling lounge. Like clockwork, all eyes turn to him. He searches the crowd for you, hopeful. But before he can locate you, party poppers resound with a loud bang. Confetti trickles down like colorful rainfall, landing on his suit and getting stuck in his hair.

“Happy birthday, Azul!”

He wants to run and hide. He wants to dive into the sea and seek solace in his favorite octopus pot. He wants to bury himself in the sand and disappear.

Instead, he smiles and spreads his arms like he’s just pulled off an astounding magic trick. “Why, thank you, everyone! I’m pleased you could make it. Do enjoy yourselves to the fullest tonight.”

Cheers erupt amongst the partygoers, but they might as well be on a completely different island. Azul turns, hoping to make his rounds and escape, but Kalim intercepts him. Jamil isn’t far behind.

“Azul, happy birthday!” Kalim smiles just as Jamil catches up.

He passes two expertly wrapped gifts into Azul’s empty hands. “On behalf of Kalim and myself, thank you for the invitation.”

“Yeah, super thanks! It’s been so much fun. I hope you’ll like your gift, but if you don’t just let me know and I’ll get you something else. Whatever you want! You deserve it on your special day.”

Azul looks past him, not in the mood to entertain. “Yes, of course. It’s not a problem.”

Jamil raises a brow, but then it clicks. “(Name) wanted me to pass on her regards.”

As expected, that draws his attention. “Why’s that?”

“She wasn’t sure if she’d get to see you on your big, busy day.” Jamil eyes Azul knowingly.

Kalim nods. “We ran into her on the way here, but she said to go on without her.”

Azul doesn’t like the way they’re both looking at him—as if they’re in on some joke he’s not currently aware of.

“Well,” he says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “her regards are well-received.”

“You’re not going to meet her?”

“It’s my big, busy day, isn’t it? I’m afraid she’ll have to catch me at her earliest convenience.” Azul, gifts in hand, smiles. “Please do enjoy the party, you two. Thank you again for your thoughtful gifts and birthday wishes.”

On his way to the table designed for gifts, Azul spots Riddle, Silver, and Ruggie. They stand off to the side, chatting amongst themselves. He supposes, if anything, he might as well say hello. Setting the gifts down, Azul struts over.

“Good evening, gentlemen. I do hope you’re enjoying yourselves.”

“You know it. Parties at Octavinelle are always somethin’ else,” Ruggie says. Unsurprisingly, he’s done well to fix himself a plate and more. With him around Azul doesn’t have to fret over food waste.

“Your presentation at the cultural festival was very informative, if I may say so,” Riddle commends, sipping his fizzy beverage.

“As was yours.” Azul’s smile tightens. For some reason, he’s always felt the need to walk on eggshells around Riddle. And for good reason, too! Whatever Azul seems to accomplish, no matter how lofty a feat, Riddle seems to do better. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the rewarding experience yourself.”

“Indeed.”

“It’s good timing,” Silver notes, and all eyes drift towards him. Azul perks up. Timing. He needs more of that. “Your birthday came right after the festival. It’s almost like celebrating your hard work and another healthy year all in one.”

“Never thought about it that way. Guess it makes sense when you put it like that.” Ruggie grins cheekily. “Lucky you, Azul.”

“I wouldn’t call it luck. The dates just happened to align… Either way, thank you, Silver. I’m pleased you can look at it with such inspiring positivity.”

“You catch up with (Name) yet?”

“No? Am I meant to?”

“Just asking.” Ruggie shrugs. “She had me run a few errands for her yesterday. Said it was all for your sake, but when I tried to get more info outta her she told me I’d have to wait for ‘the big reveal’—whatever that is.”

Now everyone’s looking at him. Azul feels small.

“With how often I’ve heard her name tonight, I’d think she’s the one with the birthday.”

“Is she really so popular today? Odd. I haven’t had the chance to greet her,” Riddle muses.

“I thought I saw her this afternoon.” Silver furrows his brow, uncertain. “She seems busy.”

“Which is precisely why I can’t fathom the insistence that I ought to have met with her already.”

Ruggie tilts his head. “That the only reason?”

Just how many people are in on this asinine joke? More importantly, which eel is he going to have to wring out for spilling a not-so-secret secret?

Azul realizes his mask is slipping and so he repairs it expertly. If Ruggie takes notice of this, he doesn’t say anything. “It’s bad manners to show up late to a party. I’m sure one of us will agree.”

Riddle nods, but his words are surprisingly lenient. “Life happens. I suppose we can’t fault (Name) entirely.”

“She’ll make it. I’m sure she will. Don’t worry, Azul,” Silver reassures.

He’s not. He won’t. He isn’t.

“If the world was ending tomorrow,” Ruggie says, sliding into a new subject with practiced finesse, “what would you all do?”

“The end of the world…” Riddle frowns. “That’s impossible.”

“It’s a hypothetical. Anything’s possible.”

Silver hums thoughtfully. “I’d spend what time I have left with my loved ones.”

“You sure you’re not just gonna go running back to Briar Valley to protect Malleus?”

“As a guard it’s my duty, but fighting against the inevitable would be pointless.” Silver looks to the rest of them for their input. “If the world is ending and there’s nothing a guard like myself can do to prevent it, then I can only offer what’s left of my time.”

“So companionship. Okay, good to know. What about you, Riddle?”

He huffs. “I refuse to let the world end before I’ve accomplished my goals.”

“Yikes. You academic types don’t rest, do you?”

“No, no, it’s true,” Azul pipes up. “I agree. Why am I going to let the world get in the way of my plans?”

“So both of you are going to resist it until the very end?”

“You said anything can happen in a hypothetical, yes?” Riddle smirks. “In my hypothetical the world says it’ll end tomorrow, but it never does. It keeps saying so like it’s a faulty forecast. The end of the world is scheduled for next week, the week after, three weeks from now. By then, a year’s passed and the world still hasn’t ended.”

Ruggie groans. “That defeats the whole purpose of my question. You can’t give yourself more time when it’s already so limited.”

“Anything is possible if you know what you’re working with,” Azul adds, nodding alongside Riddle. “I quite like this hypothetical.”

“Leave it to the honors students to logic it out and make it more complicated than it needs to be…”

“You wouldn’t spend it with your loved ones?” Silver asks, but it appears as if the question is directed entirely at Azul. “I think I’d want to tell them the things I never got to say. Things I put off saying… Would you do that, too, Azul?”

“I…” He shuts his mouth and then opens it. “I’m not sure what I could possibly say within such a limited timeframe.”

“It doesn’t have to be complex.”

“I guess a good, old ‘love you lots’ is better than nothing,” Ruggie says.

Azul stops short. The end of the world. Time. Loss. Loved ones.

Time! He’s running out of time!

“Well, this was quite the lively discussion, but I’m afraid I’ll have to excuse myself now. There are a few more people I must meet.” Azul smiles gratefully at the three of them. They wish him another happy birthday before he finally departs, his heart in his throat.

He’s running out of time.

Logically, Azul knows the feeling doesn’t reflect his reality. It’s not as if he has to confess by the end of the school year. Logically, he has his entire life to confess. But who’s to say you’ll stay in his life after he graduates? You might be gone by the time he finally finds the right words, the right time, the right circumstance.

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Floyd’s right. There’s no way of knowing for sure until he does it. There’s no way to know what lies in those uncharted waters until he dives in. There’s no way to know where your heart lies until he confesses.

The world isn’t going to end tomorrow, but if he doesn’t say what he needs to before graduation he’ll never have another chance. And then that world—the world contained within NRC’s boundaries—will implode and that will be that.

At that very moment, a camera flashes. He spins around to search the photographer out and—

There you are, striding through throngs of people to reach him. There you are, dressed for the occasion. There you are, wearing that pretty smile he sees in his dreams.

“Happy birthday!” You turn the photo towards him for his viewing pleasure. It’s of him, staring off into space. He looks so stone-faced with his knitted brows and pursed lips. “Sorry about showing up late. I had to add the finishing touches to your present.”

You hand it to him. The amateur wrapping job makes the gift appear more lumpy than it actually is. It’s heavy like a textbook. Shaped as such, too. Azul wonders what its contents could be. Perhaps something relating to economics? A novel in a particular genre?

“Thank you very much. I’ll take good care of both.” He tucks the picture into his breastpocket, battling the urge to tear into your gift now. He needs to know. What did you get him? What could it possibly be? “I’m glad you could make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

“Even if the world was ending?”

“Uh… What?”

“Ah, never mind that. It was simply a lingering thought from a previous conversation.”

“That’s so grim! And on your birthday, no less.”

Azul waves his hand through the air. A playful smile draws his lips apart. “Can you believe Riddle said he’d make the apocalypse wait on his behalf?”

“Seriously?” You snort, eyes brightening with amusement. “Even the apocalypse gets a schedule…”

He barks out a laugh. “Insanity, isn’t it?”

“Maybe for us, but definitely not for Riddle.” You glance at him. “What about you? What does Azul Ashengrotto’s last day look like?”

He intends to answer with something prepackaged: Awash in success until the very end!

“Alone.”

“Really? No friends or family by your side?”

“Would that make it better? Perhaps being surrounded by others only intensifies the dread.”

There’s some sort of symbolism in coming into the world alone and going out the same. Azul just can’t quite phrase it eloquently.

“Maybe there’s no right answer. Maybe there’s not any comfort in it either.” You run your fingers over the edges of your Ghost Camera. “We can’t know what lies ahead until we’re there. Maybe that’s why we spend so much time theorizing.”

“Quite the insightful judgment.”

“For the record, I wouldn’t mind being your plus-one for the end of the world.”

“I’m flattered.” He grins. “I shall be yours in return.”

“No strings attached?”

“All the strings attached. So many,” he exaggerates.

“No fair!”

Silence fills in the cracks. You stand side by side, drinking in Mostro Lounge’s upbeat atmosphere. After some time, you nudge him.

“Look at us, speaking about all of these sad things. It’s your birthday, not a funeral!”

He wonders if now’s a good time. Should he lighten the mood and confess? But wouldn’t that just make it even more serious and somber? Is there ever going to be an opportune moment?

You can plan all you want, but you know life’s never gonna go the way you want it to.

Surprises. Spontaneity. Luck. All things left to chance. All things Azul attempts to anticipate. He thinks back on the many plans and what-ifs he calculated and wonders if it was worth it.

“(Name), I just wanted to say—” He stops himself, his fingers curling around the gift cradled in his arms. I love you and I want you in my life. I don’t want the world to end here with you and me. I want to know what lies beyond and experience it with you—the good and the bad. Everything. “I just wanted to thank you.”

For being my friend. For being yourself. For existing in the same world as me, even if it feels like we’re doomed to be islands apart.

“What’s this? Genuine thanks? Am I going to find an anemone on my head next?”

“That can be arranged. Isn’t it tradition to grant the person of the hour one birthday favor?”

“Hah! You wish!”

I do. I really do.

The party wears on into the night. Azul repeats the same mantra as before: I have time.

When he’s in his room, gifts piled high on his desk, he sits back in his seat and carefully unwraps yours. It’s a book, leather-bound and regal. It looks expensive. While attempting to approximate its value, he reads the title spelled out with alphabet stickers: My Azul. His brow furrows. Just what are you playing at here?

Cautiously, he opens the book to the first page. Your writing winks back at him: Happy birthday, Azul! This is my gift to you. It’s a chronological journal of your school life! :D People often say it’s difficult to picture themselves through the eyes of others, so I wanted to show you what I see every time I look at you. I hope you’ll never forget just how important you are. If you ever do, open this book to remind yourself.

With love always,

(Name).

“Curious,” he mumbles, flipping the page. The layout reminds him of a scrapbook. You’ve decorated it with stickers and patterned tape, scrawled words in different colored inks. There are two photographs—each from Azul’s second year. He’d forgotten about these. That time it snowed so much the students had a snowball fight in the courtyard. That time an alchemy accident (courtesy of Grim) led to Azul speaking in cat for the rest of the day.

In the center, a small blurb reads: My Azul is terrifyingly good at making snowballs within record time, just as he’s terrifyingly good at marketing them at all the right moments. My team was totally losing. Leave it to Azul to swoop in when he knows it’s advantageous… He’s intelligent and passionate. Even when mistakes occur, he works through them effortlessly. (Although it was nice having Catzul for a day!)

He rolls his eyes at that last bit.

The next page displays photos in much the same fashion. You’ve clearly put lots of effort and thought into each arrangement. Azul feels like he’s walking through a museum with every page. Like the first, the rest of the pages that follow include photographs of himself (some with others and some with you) and a short paragraph describing your observations.

His eyes are on the verge of a typhoon as he soaks in every sugared sentence.

My Azul is strong. My Azul is silly. My Azul has the best laugh. My Azul is great at bargaining. My Azul is awkward. My Azul is clumsy (in the best ways). My Azul is resourceful. My Azul makes the best study guides (thank you!!!!). My Azul is a hero. My Azul never gives up. My Azul is a talented mage. My Azul is…

All of these things he’s never heard anyone acknowledge before—have you always seen him in this way? Is this truly what he’s like through your eyes? He finds that hard to believe, and yet there he is on the page, winking at the camera or posing in an outfit from one of the many school trips he’s attended. You’ve added little comments and doodles in the margins and corners. Azul smiles as he reads them.

Noble Bell College sure was something! I’d like to visit again one day…

Vargas Camp was exhausting! I still can’t believe we survived.

Halloween! I want to experience it in the Coral Sea one day. But maybe just for one night. An endless Halloween is too much…

The ceremonial robes are very pretty. They’re so different from the uniforms in my world.

Happy Beans Day! Azul prepares all year for this. That level of commitment is impressive!

Azul reaches the end with watery eyes. He sniffles, so enveloped in a love he’s never felt from any friend before. You care. You truly, honestly care. It’s clear in each and every page—in the words you’ve written. You care about him.

The final page has a blank space the rough shape and size of a photograph. For some reason he understands what he’s meant to do. He slides the photograph you gave him all that time ago from his phone case and pastes it to the space. And then he reads what’s written below.

My Azul keeps all of these walls up in order to protect himself. He’s sensitive and self-conscious. He likes to uphold a perfect image at all times. He likes to keep his weaknesses hidden, his cards close. But then he’s also funny. He’s sincere and gentle. He’s sweet. He’s someone I admire from all sides, good and bad. Even when he’s scheming, even when he’s acting, he’s still Azul. My camera’s captured so many of his moments, which is very apparent now that you’ve made it to the end. But I’m happy to have documented these moments because they showcase everything that makes my Azul himself.

My Azul has never looked “positively dreadful” to my camera. Even on the days where he feels like nothing, my Azul is everything to me. I will always think so.

He’s crying. He can’t help it.

Azul sits there and he sobs.

He sobs until his throat is dry, until his eyes are blotchy and red. He sobs until he can’t anymore.

Holding the book close to his chest, he wonders how he ever managed to befriend someone like you.

An angel. That’s what you are.

An angelfish.

And he’s Azul. Your Azul.

iv. spring - but, baby, i’ll be there. yeah, baby, i’ll be there. it’s been a little hard. i’ve been a little tough. but maybe all along i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid. i’m afraid, i’m afraid, i’m afraid.

The air is sweet with the scent of blossoming flowers, thick with pollen. Azul’s chest is light, swelling with excitement. A new chapter is about to begin. In just a few hours he’ll graduate along with the rest of his peers and then it’s off to start another story. For Azul, this is just a continuation of something already so prolific.

He strolls past The Great Seven, pausing briefly to admire the Sea Witch in all of her tentacular glory.

“With this weather, it’s almost difficult to imagine they called for rain.” Jade peers up at the sun, shielding its obtrusive rays with one hand.

“They’re always gettin’ it wrong,” Floyd says, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “So annoying. I was hopin’ it’d rain and then they’d cancel.”

“Unlikely. There are always contingency plans put in place when it comes to an event as momentous as graduation.”

“Bleh. Lame. I wanna skip. I hate bein’ in those stuffy clothes, packed in close like a sardine.”

“If you’re absent, you won’t receive your diploma.”

“What a scam.”

Jade simply smiles. Ironic.

Azul turns around to look at them. “Four years… Gone in a blink. Will either of you miss it?”

“It was certainly enjoyable. I admit there are some aspects I’ll miss quite fiercely.”

“Guess it’ll be a bummer not seein’ everyone all the time. I’m gonna miss playing with Baby Seal and Shrimpy.”

“I’ll miss them, too.” Azul sighs. “(Name) especially…”

“You still haven’t told her?” Floyd raises a brow. “You’re gonna leave without sayin’ a word?”

“That does seem to be the plan,” Jade answers.

“I… I’ve thought it over.” He clears his throat. No time for waterworks. He needs to be in top shape if he’s to deliver the opening speech as Salutatorian. Riddle took first place, which wasn’t a shock to anyone. He always did say he’d make Valedictorian no matter what. Azul had been keen to fight him for it, even if it became clear he’d never surpass him. Second place is irksome, but it has its merits. Although he isn’t going to settle with just that! He’ll get first place one of these days. “We’re better off friends.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Is that enough?”

“Is what enough?”

“Her friendship.”

“It’ll have to be.” Azul’s gaze glazes over.

He’s run out of time, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe that was meant to be.

“Well, let’s not dwell on it any further!” He claps his hands and turns swiftly on his heel. “There’s still work to be done.”

Jade and Floyd exchange furtive glances. They know as well as he does that he’s lying.

But maybe that was also meant to be.

— — —

Crowley tasked you with snapping photos for NRC’s yearbook. “Because I am a paragon of magnanimity,” he said, “I am entrusting this very important task to you once more. Take lots of pictures! Don’t miss a single moment!”

You do just that, photographing the graduates as they wait in a room behind the stage, chattering eagerly amongst themselves. You raise your camera to document Azul when he stands at the podium to give his salutation speech. You do the same for Riddle when it’s his turn. The ceremony is grand, ballooning with emotion. You look on with a cheek-splitting smile, proud of every student who crosses the stage. It’s bittersweet. The friends you made when you were enrolled as a first year are now moving on in life.

Time flies. What a whirlwind year it’s been.

When it’s Azul’s turn and he goes down the line to shake the hands of his professors and Crowley, you wave at him from your place in the audience. He meets your eyes from where he stands, and he smiles.

Your camera catches that moment in perfect permanence.

By the end of it all, your face hurts from smiling, your throat sore from cheering, your hands raw from clapping. Grim grumbles at you to knock it off with the sun shower, your tears dampening his fur. You wipe your eyes and sniffle. “I’m happy for them. It’s a good day.”

He forces his head under your palm, allowing you to pet him and cry through it in peace. He doesn’t say anything. You don’t need him to.

While the graduates meet up with their family and friends, you make your rounds. Kalim introduces you to his parents and siblings—all thirty-something of them. You’re in a daze by the time introductions are finished, and Jamil leans over to whisper, “No need to commit everyone to memory.”

“Have you talked to Azul yet?” Kalim asks after everything has settled down.

You shake your head. “Why? What’s up?”

“Just wanted to ask. I know the Headmage wants you to take lots of pictures.”

“We shouldn’t keep you any longer than we already have,” Jamil adds with a curt nod.

You smile. “Congrats, both of you. Good luck.”

“We gotta keep in touch. Promise me you’ll call whenever you can. You’re always welcome to visit, too! Oh, I’ll go check with my parents now! I’m sure they’ll say yes!” Kalim bounds off in their direction.

“Just let me know well in advance. That way I can plan for proper accommodations,” Jamil says, following Kalim with sharp eyes.

“I’ll do that.” You turn to leave and then stop. “I hope you get your vacation one day, Jamil.”

He stares at you, mystified, before a gentle smile softens on his face. “One day,” he echoes. “I hope you’ll find your way home.”

“One day.”

The two of you share a final look before going your separate ways.

Surrounded in such an energetic environment, talking to and meeting families, you find yourself longing for your loved ones. So much time has passed. You wonder how they’re doing. Are they well? Are they worried?

“Aah, it’s Shrimpy!” Floyd crashes into you with so much force you nearly topple. He steadies you with a giggle. “Where’s Baby Seal?”

“Left to gorge on refreshments. Hey, since you’re here, can I get your picture?”

“Course you can.”

Detaching himself, he poses for you. You take a few photos, mirroring his good mood.

“Are your parents around?”

“Mhm!”

“Seriously? They came?”

“Course they did.”

“Did they take transformation potions?”

Floyd nods. “Pops does land business sometimes, so he’s used to it. Mama doesn’t leave home much. She’s real bad at walking on her feet.”

“Ah, got it.”

Floyd grins down at you. “You wanna meet ’em?”

“Maybe later… I’ve gotta keep taking photos.”

“I gotcha. Make sure to snap a few of Azul.”

“Right! Speaking of him, where is he? I’ve spoken to everyone but him.”

Floyd peers out across a sea of faces, scanning each one like a predator sizing up his next meal. “He’s avoidin’ ya.”

“What? Why?”

“Why don’tcha ask him when you see him? Bet he’ll have a fun answer for ya.”

You would, if only you could find him. As the afternoon wears on, you begin to lose hope. If he’s truly hiding from you, he’s doing a great job of it. After what feels like hours of walking in aimless circles, you take pause to consider the situation. If you were Azul and you wanted to hide away for a little while, where would you go?

To someplace familiar. To someplace comfortable. To someplace quiet.

He’s pacing in front of Ramshackle when you arrive. You open the gate and step through, taking each step one at a time. Once you’re within a close enough proximity, you make your presence known.

“Azul?”

He startles and whips around. As soon as he sees you, he lurches forward, intending to leave.

You block his path. “Hey, wait! What gives? I’ve been looking all over for you. Floyd told me you’re avoiding me.”

“Floyd doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“But I’m sure you do. So what’s up?”

“It’s…nothing. I merely wanted to tour campus one last time.”

“Oh. Why didn’t you say anything? I would’ve come with you!” You attempt to elbow him, but he side-steps you. “Uh, right…”

“Ah, sorry. I… Admittedly, there’s quite a lot on my mind.”

“I get it. Congrats, by the way. Your speech was really good.”

“I’m pleased you think so.”

This…isn’t Azul, you realize, a frown flickering on your face. At least not the Azul I usually see.

“I got to meet all of Kalim’s siblings.”

“Did you? All of them?”

“Every. Single. One. His family’s huge!”

An uncomfortable silence festers between the two of you. You glance at your camera and then at Azul.

“Can you believe that Crowley? He wanted me to take all of these pictures, but there were dozens of professionals who did it much better than me! What was even the point?”

“Terrible, isn’t it? A job as good as the one you do deserves proper payment.”

“Exactly! My services aren’t free.”

Azul smiles, a wistful gloss to his gaze. You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes—can see the calculation as it comes to fruition.

“You can cry. I won’t judge.”

“I’m not going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s normal, Azul.”

He inhales a deep breath, holds it for three seconds, and then releases. When he looks at you next, his expression is hard and riddled with subdued anxiety. A zephyr blows between you, rustling the leaves in the trees, raking through the grass, dragging wispy fingers through your clothes and hair. The quiet expands and stretches wide.

Azul opens his mouth, shuts it, and sighs. A forlorn resignation flits over his countenance.

“I—” he swallows hard and then it just bursts free, the admission he’s kept secret for so long— “I love you.”

Another breeze combs through the premises. Your gasp is swept away with it.

“I’ve loved you for two years. And I… I wanted to tell you so many times in the past, but I never could. I was scared and I ran away. I still am! The truth is that I’m afraid of losing you. I’m afraid of messing up in front of you and looking like a fool. I’m afraid of showing you the parts of myself I hate most. I’m even afraid of that phrase—of saying it because it terrifies me to think, in some distant world, it might be reciprocated. But I have to say it, and I want you to know. Even if you don’t feel the same, I have to tell you.”

You gape at him, utterly speechless. The longer you do so, the more flustered he becomes.

“Y-You’re free to think it’s gross or weird. I understand I’m not the most ideal candidate, but I…” He wrings his hands, exhaling shakily. “I think you’re everything. My whole world.”

There are so many things you want to say. So, so many. But they’re all jumbled, carried along like flowers floating down a stream in spring. You close the gap, taking his hands in yours, and you kiss him.

Azul startles, squeaking against your lips. It takes a minute for him to find his rhythm, but soon he’s wilting against you, his body relaxed. You taste saliva and salt—tears. When you pull back, he’s crying.

“I think you’re the most ideal candidate. I’ve always thought so.” You cradle his cheek in a warm hand.

A sob trembles through him. “I never thought—you’re just so… I couldn’t have imagined…”

“That I’d like you?”

“Yes!”

“Why?” “Because…”

“I’ve always liked you, Azul. I’d never lie about that. Your birthday gift—those are my honest opinions.”

“Every one of them?”

“Each and every one.”

He sniffles weakly, drying his eyes with the heel of his palm.

Instinctively, you reach for your camera. And then you hesitate. You’ve always stood behind the protective lens of your trusty Ghost Camera, assuming the role of photographer in order to remain in his orbit. But now you’d like to try putting the camera aside and documenting Azul’s moments with your own two eyes.

He loves me.

You just manage to shut the front door before you’re pulling him flush against you. He presses you up against the wall in the foyer, a knee slotting between your legs. You melt in mutual merriment, grabbing at every part of him. Your uniform blouse is ripped open in a hurry. You try to handle his graduation robes with caution, appreciating expensive embroidery, but vehemence gets the better of you. It’s a wild rush. Hot and panting, you’re shuddering in carnal delight, every nerve alight. When he presses up against you next, half-dressed and hazy with an addictive adoration, you can feel the result of your exploratory touches straining for release.

“Upstairs,” you mumble against his mouth, sweating out of your skin.

You fall into bed as one, tangled around each other. Azul trails kisses up the expanse of your stomach, working you open on skillful fingers. You shiver beneath him, your heart pounding in your ribs.

“I love you.” A kiss to your belly.

“I love you.” A kiss to the valley of your breasts.

“I love you.” A kiss to your lips.

You love him just as intensely.

He drags his fingers out next, admiring the slick coating them like it’s a valuable substance. You giggle, dizzy with delirium.

“Can I call you mine?”

You run your hands up and down his arms. “I’d like that.”

“Your boyfriend,” he murmurs, astonished. “I’m your boyfriend…”

“Mhm…” You sit up in bed and climb into his lap. Slowly, inch by inch, you lower yourself. He sucks in a breath through grit teeth. “And I’m—mmh—I’m your girlfriend.”

Azul whines into your mouth. His arms wrap around you to keep you firmly pinned to his body, and he bucks his hips up to meet you the rest of the way. Filled in such a way, connected so intimately, you breathe a satisfied sigh. You dig your nails into his shoulders. Every muscle slackens. It’s bliss, pure and perfect. The both of you mold to one another like sea meeting shore.

You grind down, chasing a mounting climax. “You’re the best—perfect. So perfect. Oh, I love you, Azul. I love you so much. I’ve always wanted to say it.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “You have no idea how fervently I’ve yearned for this—for you.”

You can’t possibly begin to imagine, but you can definitely relate. Weeks of silent pining, of hoping something might happen and you’d be able to confess without fear. Those days are behind you. Now you can know love in his arms and it isn’t so uncertain.

You lose yourselves in the sensations of sweet, soulful sex. He’s gentle like a spring breeze, dedicated like a devotee at your altar. You’re much the same, your moans just as plentiful. Just as loud. You’re wrapped in wonder when you look into his eyes and find the same amount of love reflected back.

I’m so happy I met you.

When he cums, he digs his fingers into your hips to drag you down and bury himself deeper inside. You unravel shortly after, your orgasm coaxed out by a few attentive massages to your clit. Your bodies, sticky and sweaty, stay connected even after you’ve come down from the clouds.

“Had I known, I would’ve said something sooner.” After catching his breath, Azul rests his head in the crook of your neck. “I regret it.”

“I don’t. Things happen when they happen.” You run your fingers through the tangled, silvery strands of his hair. It’s soft just like him. He leans into your touch and hums appreciatively. “I’m glad it happened when it did.”

“I’m glad I could say it. It would’ve eaten me alive if I’d left without telling you.”

“And are you still afraid?”

Azul places his hand over yours. “No, not anymore. The world ahead looks much clearer now.”

“Am I in it?”

He laughs. “More than that.”

“Oh?”

“You are my world.”

#twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #azul x reader #n/sfw

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slutforsilverfoxes · 1 year

Text

Imagine…

BAU!reader being married to Hotch but keeping her maiden name in the field to avoid assumptions and judgment. The team knows, obviously, but then a former colleague of Aaron’s from the Seattle office happens to be in town for a conference and wants to catch up over a drink. You can’t help but tease him, of course:

“Knock, knock,” you murmur, leaning against the doorway to your husband’s office. With a glance at your watch, you ask, “Y’gonna be late for your date?”

Aaron looks up at you with a frown before returning his attention to his case file and mumbling, “Not a date.”

“Mm, my apologies,” you respond with a twitch of your lips as you approach his desk. You lean your elbows on the dark wood and rest your chin in your open hands. Batting your eyelashes, you amend, “It’s a meeting betwixt old coworkers.”

Aaron rises from his chair, pressing his fists against the desk opposite you and positively towering over your smaller stature. He meets your fiery gaze with equal defiance, then leans forward to press a kiss to your lips and murmurs, “Are you our resident Reid while he’s with his mom? Who says ‘betwixt’?”

“Oh, shut up, nerd,” you taunt back between kisses of your own. “You collected coins; I played Scrabble. Now get going! Can’t leave a lady waiting for the Aaron Hotchner.”

—————

But WAIT! There’s more! Said agent gets a call while they’re out for a drink and asks Aaron and the BAU for help on a new case. Naturally, you all have to fly to Seattle together…

“Mama, you know this cabin is pressurized, right?” Derek teases with a nudge of your shoulder.

You mumble back around a sip of coffee, “Yeah, so?”

“So if you glare any harder, you’re gonna burn a hole through the jet and we’re all gonna die up here.”

Emily snorts out a laugh and you steal a Cheeto from JJ’s snack (for which you’re met with a stern, “Hey!”) to throw at her. Emily collects the offensive projectile from her lap and pops it into her mouth with a ferocious chomp in your direction, receiving an, “Oh, bite me, Prentiss,” in response.

“Just find a way to slip in that you’re married,” JJ counsels, moving the bag out of your reach to avoid further retaliation.

“Or accidentally fall into his lap. Turbulence can be nasty, you know,” Emily offers as a follow up.

“Like that?” you deadpan, jutting your chin toward the scene at the back of the jet. Aaron and Agent Brandt are over by the coffee, and she’s just steadied herself using your husband’s broad shoulder.

“Or,” Derek counteroffers, tugging at the chain around your neck that holds your wedding and engagement rings while you’re out in the field, “put this rock on and go claim your man!”

“This is dumb. I’m being dumb,” you grumble, flipping open the case file and burying your head in it. “Can we get back to talking about this sociopath and not my high school-esque jealousy?”

“What’s happening? Did I miss anything?” Garcia’s blonde curls bounce up on the monitor before your group, ready for the next installment of this evidently riveting saga.

“Nothing is happening, Pen,” you respond with a sharp look her way, “and y’all need to get out more. Watch a romcom or something if you need some angst.”

“You all completely suck,” Penelope sighs dramatically. “My cup runneth empty in my lair!”

“Then go get yourself another cappuccino, baby girl,” Derek answers smoothly with that dazzling smile of his, perched on the armrest of your seat.

You feel his presence before you hear his voice, every atom in your body suddenly on high alert and keenly aware of everything that is Aaron. “Hey.”

You look up at him with an easy smile, determined to not let your unwarranted bitterness reflect on your work. “What’s up, Hotch?”

He squats down in the aisle beside you so he’s not looming over you and brushes his knuckles across your cheek in an uncharacteristically tender touch, given your current audience. “Do you have that travel bottle of Advil? Brandt may have been overzealous with the margaritas last night.”

“Yeah, it’s… in the side pocket of my bag,” you answer, brow furrowed because he tossed it in there this morning to ward off your inevitable headaches during the coming late nights.

“You’re the best, honey,” he murmurs, standing halfway to press a kiss to your forehead before returning to his full height and going off in search of the pain killer.

“‘Overzealous with the margaritas’, huh?” Emily teases, then starts singing the viral song about just how many margaritas are needed to perform certain acts that shan’t be discussed in polite company.

From across the plane, Dave glances at Aaron who’s rummaging through the overhead luggage bin, then turns his attention to you with a knowing gaze. You avert your eyes, feeling a blush creeping across your cheeks, and settle back in your seat before flipping through the case file in front of you. “So crime scene photos would suggest we’re dealing with a disorganized killer…”

—————

But WAIT! There’s even more!

AH tags 🖤 @gothwifehotchner

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spitdrunken · 8 months

Text

THIS IS INCREDIBLY SELF-INDULGENT BUT. MY BLOG!

notes: power imbalance, sexual harrassment, murder mentions.

rotating a thought in my head where 'you' are an increasingly popular erotica writer from the pride ring. with writing, you've hit a bit of a niche, as a lot of the big porn producers (VoxTech's subsidiaries) are not exactly known for their riveting dialogue or personalities. no one's there for anything more than that, but there are demons who do want a bit more 'meat', so to say, with nowhere else turn. that is where you come in!

it's not enough to make a steady living off of, not even when you start taking incredibly specific commissions, but it's never been more of a hobby anyway. you are completely anonymous online, keeping care to use throwaway emails and accounts for everything. still, voxtech's products are utterly inescapable: it's either using them, or using nothing at all. (and those rumours about their boss vox having complete control over his technology, even after selling, has to be a rumour... you hope.)

meanwhile, as your penname continues to grow more and more recognizable, it falls in the vees' meeting room. valentino's immediate suggestion is just to kill you. people in the comments keep comparing his dialogue to yours. what the fuck is that about? who the hell watches porn for the DIALOGUE in the first place?

velvette, while shrugging her shoulders, only adds that their new releases tend to go trending, prior to release. fucking far from the top of that list, but still. trending is trending.

vox, sighing internally, plasters a smile on his face. there's really no need to kill new up and coming talent, val. we should suggest them to work for us instead. and if they don't... we can simply prevent them from working. they'll make up their mind, then.

you return to your laptop to an utterly inescapable pop-up describing the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to work at voxtech! it's a whole wall of text, describing your pay (higher than you would have expected), where you will be living (in one of the appartment buildings owned by voxtech), and when to head to their main office. there is no word on denying the contract, an utter impossibility, it seems. not that you'd dare. vox's and the radio demon's showdown was the talk of the ring for days, and apparantly, all that rancour was the source of alastor denying a contract of his own. that really is more shit than you can handle in your undead life now. so, you take the job.

as your stories are starting to get heavily promoted, velvette absolutely insists that you add in at least a couple of looong clothing descriptions, based on her tastes. she's such an overwhelming, pushy presence, that it's hard for you to say no. she goes on about how, if it gets popular enough, people might be interested in somewhat similar outfits. probably not, though, let's be honest with ourselves. she makes you model them, all the while telling you that you really wouldn't be allowed to breathe in the direction of her studio otherwise. when you ask her why you absolutely have the one modelling, she just rolls her eyes. you based large parts of their appearances after you, didn't you? might as well make you look the part.

valentino is one of the worst parts of the job. compared to everyone else, he hardly pesters you, but he's still a terrifying presence. he'll give you 'suggestions' and make you steer your work in certain directions, getting too close and blowing smoke into your face. he gives a graphic description of how he jacked off to one of your stories, just to see your response. (this is a lie: why would he jack off if he can just call some stupid whore over to do it for him? also, he doesn't read.)

if a part of one of your stories ever gets a 'porno adaptation', he's having you play the part of the director, and has you sit in during the entirety of the viewing. you can tell he takes great pleasure out of any of your discomfort, or any of your fumbling- until it's too sloppy, and then he gets mad, of course, and you end up leaving the room with shaky legs.

vox seems to be the nicest one out of the three of them. really, he's only ever been courteous to you. but you've seen him flip his lid during the aforementioned 'radio demon fiasco', which you have been wise enough to never mention, so you still walk on eggshells around him. he can also get pretty pushy about deadlines, so you're not taking any chances.

he insists on having semi-regular meetings with you about the sales figures of your most recent works, wherein you also have to describe your process on other projects and pitch new ideas. frankly, you wish these meetings could be an email! but even when you tried to broach the subject, telling him that, surely, the company leader's time is much more important than this?

he simply brushed you off, telling you that he can decide for himself who and what to spend his time on, thank you very much. now, please continue. he'll inform you of the latest kinks and dynamics that have been most popular, though with some peculiar additions as well. you swear that, sometimes, the main character really does seem to resemble yourself in those suggestions, and the love interest a member of the vees...? you're certain you're just imagining it.

#hazbin hotel x reader #valentino x reader #vox x reader #velvette x reader #hazbin hotel #i just like the thought they're all a little TOO into you. sighs longingly #cha.vox #cha.velvette #cha.valentino

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ilylovelyz · 2 months

Text

⍣ ೋ bad boy

˚ · . sanemi shinazugawa x afab!reader

: ̗̀➛ semi-public sex, unprotected sex, slight thigh fucking, groping, slight teasing, mutual pining, friends with benefits, heavy degradation, sanemi is a meanie but really he's secretly infatuated with you, choking, slapping, anal, dacryphilia, orgasm denial

won't you be my bad boy, be my man? be my weekend lover but don't be my friend you can be my bad boy, but understand that i don't need you in my life again

"come here you slut," you hear the wind pillar spit, his strong hand already grabbing at your small wrist and dragging you to one of the various rooms of ubuyashiki's mansion.

you can't help the grin that grows onto your face, cheeks blushing excessively as sanemi roughy shoves you against the wall chest first, his hard-on pressing against the clothed swell of your ass. his hands roughly grope onto every part of your body, cupping your breasts through the shirt of your uniform before they hastely travel down to cup your heated sex.

"you were fuckin' teasing me." he growls out, bringing a hand up to grab at your neck, lightly squeezing your airway shut before tilting your head to look back at him.

your pussy clenches around nothing at his anger, most wound find it terrifying, but you find it nothing but a turn-on. you laugh half-heartedly at his words, "i don't know what you're talking about."

sanemi stares at you intently, his jaw clenching so tight it might just shatter. your heart beats faster and faster, body heating up at the thought of your impending doom.

sanemi curses at you loudly, his hands unbuckling your belt, practically ripping your trousers down and pushing your underwear to the side, his index and middle finger shoving it's way into your empty cunt.

your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling of his fingers invade your walls, gasping loudly at the pleasure. your arm reaches back to sanemi, your fingers tugging on the ends of his white hair. a desperate mewl escapes your lips when his ring finger slips in, his finger pads pressing mercilessly against your g-spot, bringing tears of pleasure to your waterline.

you feel on the brink of your orgasm, your hand leaving sanemi's locks to brace yourself on the wall in front of you. before you could cum, sanemi abruptly pulls his wet fingers away from your poor pussy, smirking evilly at your cries.

"what? you seriously thought you could get away with brushing your ass onto me like that? really? in front of everyone?" he laughed, laying a flat strike on your ass cheek, enjoying the way your body jolts at the sudden pain.

his hands continue to strike at your asscheeks, turning them a vibrant color of red until your face is a similar red with tears, crying out for mercy.

for a second, you are given relief when he draws his hands away from your body, a breathing out a hopeful sigh. your ears cringe at the buckle of his trousers, the moving of fabric. your chest heaves in anticipation when you feel the tip of his cock brush against the underside of your ass, his hands spreading your hand-printed cheeks wide.

your grin dissapates when you feel the heaviness of his cock press against your puckered hole, pressing lightly against the untouched opening. "y'know.. your punishment isn't over," he breathes under his breath. you can just envision his maniacial smile.

any words of disapproval are quickly shut down when his cock tip pops into your virgin hole, the pain riveting through your body. his cock slowly glides into you, the only lubricant being his pre-cum. your mouth agapes into a silent scream, your fingernails scratching into the wooden door.

sanemi finally bottoms out, his cock snug in your untouched asshole. he brings a hand up to your shoulder, rubbing small circles into your uniform, an attempt to comfort you through the pain. he leans his chest into your back, his other hand tilting your head once more and encapturing your lips with his.

he swallowed down a pained groan that comes up your throat, his hips slowly moving away from your ass before moving them forward back again, testing your comfort.

his lips pull away from yours, a string of saliva connecting your lips. his eyes watch through his beautiful long lashes, his hand patting your shoulder once more before his hips move faster, his balls lightly slapping against your ass.

finally, the pain begins to subside, a small moan leaving your bruised lips. in a moment of weakness, your head leans forwards onto the door, your elbows and lower arm laying flat upwards onto the door. the unmistaken sounds of skin slapping skin begins to grow louder and louder with each increase of speed with his hips, his hands gripping tightly onto your waist.

sanemi bites at his lips, muttering incoherent curses and phrases underneath his breath. his purple irses are glued to the curve of your ass, his cock twitching with every jiggle and movement.

"y-you're so f-fuckin' tight," he stutters our, his head dipping down onto your shoulder, his chest becoming flush with your back. his hips rut desperately into your ass, fucking his cock upward into your hole.

the feeling of his cock press against your prostate feels so foreign, like something you can't even describe. his fat cock stretches out you to the max, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. your eyes stare at nothing in particular, hardly able to think of a sentence that makes sense at all.

before you even realize it, your body is trembling as you cum, drool dripping down your chin as you enter cloud nine. sanemi isn't too far off, as with a rough thrust of his hips, he's emptying his balls into the tight confines of your ass, his chest heaving into your back.

with a huff, he's pulling his soft cock out of your ass, allowing it it to lay freely inbetween his legs. "tease me again and i'll fuck your brain out even worse."

#sanemi shinaguzawa angst #sanemi shinazugawa smut #sanemi x reader smut #sanemi demon slayer #sanemi x you #sanemi shinaguzawa #sanemi smut #demon slayer sanemi #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader fluff #demom slayer smut

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rafestar · 2 years

Note

I have this idea and I gotta tell someone, so yk those push pop candy’s. Well y/n eats one and takes the whole length out and sucks it and Rafe looks or drew and they think of their divk. And get horny so uh idk after like bang bang they do that and uh idk

TRY ME | Rafe Cameron

WARNINGS: +18 smut, oral sex (female receiving), sex without protection, hair pulling, dirty talk, etc

SUMMARY: reader teases rafe with a candy during dinner with their families.

A/N: thank you for the request love, i hope you like it. english isn’t my first language, if there’s any mistakes i will gladly welcome any advice or help, enjoy♡

"Choose one"

After finishing dinner at the Camerons' house, we all stayed at the table talking. While our parents were arguing about their things, Wheezie was handing out candy to me and Sarah.

“This one looks tasty.” I pointed to the strawberry push pop.

"It is! I'll take one too” exclaimed little Cameron. "You can also take some Rafe"

Rafe.

He on the other hand was in his own world, probably high, drunk, whatever.

“I'm not 13 years old to keep eating that shit” Even though he was looking down, clearly using his phone, I could see him rolling his eyes.

“Rude” I spoke.

Rafe, who was in front of me, for the first time tonight glanced up at something other than his phone or his food.

His intimidating look made me shift in my chair.

I never had any kind of contact with him, despite the fact that i was always at his house since Sarah is my best friend and our parents are also very good friends.

I could see from his look that he was throwing daggers at me. "No one was talking to you”.

And before looking down again I could see how he articulated "whore" before continuing on his phone.

Ignoring him, I continued my conversation with the two sisters while we sucked on our candies.

"I really don't know what to do, Topper is a good boy…”

“We already know you like Jo-“ Sarah covered Wheezie's mouth as I laughed.

"Wheezie!" Sarah whispered-screamed.

The three of us laughed until I noticed someone burning me alive with his eyes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Rafe's eyes were riveted on my lips. A smile gross on my face and I decided to try something.

I foolishly licked the top of the treat, carefully running my lips over the tip so only he would notice. I pushed the long candy until it was all in my mouth.

Meanwhile, I was still deep in conversation with Sarah, but I could clearly hear Rafe complaining and sometimes I'd side eye to see him squirming in his seat.

Until suddenly he pushed his seat back and got up hitting the table and knocking over a couple of glasses. "Shit…"

One of the drinks that fell was Sarah's. "What's wrong with you!"

"Fuck off Sarah." Rafe left the room without giving another backward glance.

"Words!" Rose yelled after continuing to drink her wine. "This kids…"

Everyone looked at each other strangely, less clearly me.

"Maybe he has an emergency," Ward justified.

Yes, an emergency.

Hiding my smile, I turned to continue my conversation, as everyone else did.

It took a while until everyone decided to go to the tables outside, since the weather was very good to be in the garden.

While my mom and Rose went on about their business, Ward and Dad talked about their jobs. Wheezie, Sarah and I were just laying on the floor looking at the stars.

The breeze got cooler and my skin got goosebumps since I was only wearing a sundress.

“Do you mind if I go upstairs to get a sweatshirt in your room,” I asked Sarah.

"It’s okay”.

I gave them a smile before getting up and brushing some of the grass off the skirt of my dress and headed inside the house.

I closed the door behind me and everything was pretty quiet. I made my way to the stairs until I felt a tug on my arm that took me to the kitchen.

Before I was going to scream, Rafe turned me around and covered my mouth with his big hand.

My eyes looked at him terrified, since from his look, he looked quite furious.

Looking sideways at the curtain-covered window, I saw our parents share a few laughs.

Rafe grabbed my jaw hard to direct my gaze to him.

"W-What do you want?" I whispered.

Rafe ran his tongue up the inside of his cheek before letting out a mocking laugh. "What do I want?"

Rafe grabbed my waist to lean me against the counter, and that's when I felt it. Against my stomach, I could feel how hard he was. My eyes flicked down and I saw how big he looked behind his jeans.

"I have something for you" my eyes widened in surprise.

Rafe rummaged through his pockets until he pulled out the same candy I was eating an hour ago.

“Thank you but I already ate one…”

My body was still trapped between his and the counter. His hip pressed hard against my stomach to keep feeling him. I watched as his long fingers removed the plastic from the long candy before taking it to his mouth. I saw how a trace of saliva was left on the candy when it came out of his mouth.

I felt like I had a pool inside my underwear. I couldn't help but get turned on by it. My cheeks turned hot pink as my gaze moved from his lips to his eyes. I guess he sensed my arousal, since with his free hand, he grabbed my waist for stability. My knees were shaking and if it wasn't for his touch, I'd probably be on the ground by now.

A lopsided smile appeared on his face, and his eyes sparkled a light blue.

He directed the sweet towards my closed lips, and outlined them inside. “Stick out your tongue”.

With his hand holding the candy, my tongue ran over the stick. His head tilted to the side and his eyes darkened as he followed my movements.

For a moment my movements stopped when Rafe introduced all the candy into my mouth.

"Push your lips against it and don’t let it fall" I did as he told me and his hands fell to my thighs.

He pushed me up onto the counter, squeezing the bare skin peeking out from under the skirt of my dress.

His hot breath felt against my face as he moved closer to me, looking closer into my eyes.

"I'm going to fuck you with that damn candy in your mouth."

My pupils dilated with desire, and I didn't take my gaze from him.

His hands trailed up the hem of my dress to my underwear and ripped it open. My eyes widened in shock and my hands clenched against the counter.

Rafe brushed my hair back and began to kiss the exposed skin of my neck. My head fell against the wall and my back arched. His cold hands ran over my neck and arms, caressing me gently. He slowly lower the straps of my dress until my breasts were exposed.

His hot kisses went down to one of my breasts, licking and biting through the center of my areola. Not leaving the other unattended, he massaged my nipple into a squeeze that made me jump to the edge of the counter.

He did the same steps with my other breast. His kisses trailed down my thighs, taking small bites and leaving marks on my sensitive skin. His big hands gripped my thighs, and I began to feel him kiss my core. His kisses were soft and his licks were soft.

He sucked all the folds in my core, before inserting his tongue. My legs trembled at that, and I could feel him smile against my intimacy. His tongue came out and went back to licking softly over the rest, before taking my clit between his teeth.

Saliva dripped down the side of my mouth as I clenched the candy hard.

I was near my peak of arousal until Rafe came back up. "Even sweeter than that fucking sweet."

My frown showed my frustration and he smiled at that.

His hands unbuttoned his pants and lowered his boxers a little, and the great bulge of him finally came out. My eyes widened at the size of him, and saliva kept dribbling from my mouth. His thumb wiped me clean before taking his hand to himself and massaging it a few times.

Without warning he entered me and my eyes squeezed shut. My whimpering over the candy and his growling were silent, since the only thing that separated us from our families was a simple window.

I opened my eyes and couldn't flinch at the image in front of me. Rafe's head was thrown back as his bare arms held the kitchen counter to the sides of my body.

"Jesus christ… how can you be so fucking tight Y/N” he sighed, before pulling out of me a bit and resting his forehead against mine.

My eyes looked at him and with my hands I grabbed his waist and pushed him back into me. His moan rumbled inches from my face.

His hand moved up to my hair and he squeezed hard before beginning to thrust hard and fast. We had both grown used to each other's size.

His onslaught made our skins crash against each other. Rafe brought his head to my neck as he gasped. Tickles turned my stomach.

"Your walls were made for me," he murmured against my neck.

His other hand gripped my thigh tightly as his thrusts followed the same quick, hard motion.

My walls began to contract against him, and my lips were sore from pressing against the sweet. Rafe came out of my neck and with the hand he had wrapped in my hair, he grabbed the candy and tossed it to the side.

Our lips immediately collided kissing hard.

His kisses were wet and passionate. Continuing with his thrusts, his fingers quickly massaged my clit.

Rafe contracted inside me without stopping to move. “Shit, Y/N…”

Hearing my name come out of it in such a pornographic way, was what made me break.

We both got to touch our highs and euphoria ran through our blood as he came inside me.

His thrusts ceased but his kisses never stopped. Our tongues were still tangled and our breaths felt rough.

Rafe leaned his forehead against mine as the kiss broke, both of us trying to catch our breaths.

I opened my eyes and Rafe was already looking into mine. Before we broke apart and helped me down from the counter, he kissed me again, but this time was in a sweet way.

He helped me clean up and walked me back to the garden where our families were.

I expected him to stay, but he didn't even say goodbye and he just walked out of the garden before getting on his bike and driving off.

Does he regret it?

It was just sex, but still. A bit of guilt coursed through me as I sat down next to Sarah.

I just fucked her brother.

My best friend's brother.

Sarah snapped me out of my thoughts. "And the sweatshirt?"

"Oh um..."

♡

taglist: @cecespeach @poguesworld @fullkookrafe

tell me if u want to be added ♡

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roseharpermaxwell · 9 months

Text

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs - Part One

I'm such a fan of an AU, and I love how many there are in FirstPrince. Any situation you can put Alex and Henry in, I'm here for it.

Here are many of my favorites so far, up to 10k words. Give the authors some love and let me know if you find something you adore!

like a goddamn angel by @coffeecatsme. G, 1k. If it wasn’t for the hot blonde standing just inside the Red Cross vehicle, Alex doubts he would’ve even signed up to donate blood in the first place.

Alex decides to donate blood despite being squeamish, and Henry takes care of him.

take a picture (it’ll last longer) by @whimsymanaged. M, 1.4k. Alex’s physiotherapist tells him to start doing yoga, and it’s driving Henry up the wall.

Drummers Do It Better by @everwitch-magiks. M, 1.4k. "Drummers," Alex starts, hitting his drumsticks against the table for optimal effect, "are little sluts."

Nora snorts. "Are you sure you wanna make that claim about yourself, Alejandro?"

"Respect my authority on this subject," Alex says, with the conviction of someone who did in fact enjoy blowjobs in the bathroom less than half an hour earlier. Case in point. "For every idiot who wants to start a band, there's one tenth of a drummer. Which is why you have your guitarists and bass players talking about 'their band' — singular — while drummers talk about their gigs. Drummers don't play in one band, we play with whoever sounds hottest at the moment. So you don’t marry the drummer — they'll be out of your bed and on their way to bang someone else's hi-hat before you've caught your breath."

Or: Alex has some strong opinions during a riveting round of 'Fuck, Marry, Kill.' Unbeknownst to him, Henry is also in a band.

took you long enough by coffeecatsme. G, 1.5k. Alex is, as much as Henry wishes differently, very much straight, and wouldn’t think twice about curling in his best friend’s bed if he needed to shut his eyes for a bit. It doesn’t mean anything. And yet Henry can’t take his eyes off of Alex, hopelessly wishing he slip next to Alex and take him in his arms.

Henry finds Alex asleep in his bed. Cuddling ensues.

sparks fly by rizcriz. T, 1.6k. Alex smiles, glancing down at the maroon suit Nora had helped him pick out, feeling a little proud of himself. And, as he does most every time he’s in Henry’s vicinity, he almost immediately completely forgets the camera and crowd watching him in order to give Henry all his attention as he looks back up. “I’m touched,” He says, bringing his free hand to his heart, and reminding himself to speak into the microphone in his other hand. “You remembered me,” he says, as if this is his first interview with this particular musician.

It’s not. Though, when he thinks back on it, even the first interview hadn’t felt like the first.

And if the internet's response to that interview were anything to go by, they didn’t think it did, either.

or, Pop star Henry and red carpet correspondent Alex.

like it’s patrón by @hypnostheory. E, 1.8k. Henry points his gun back at the target, his left hand closing around his right on the handle. Behind him, Alexander clicks his tongue.

“Nah sweet thing, that’s gonna make the recoil hit harder,” Alexander says, reaching around Henry to adjust his grip. He leaves Henry’s right arm straight, but bends the left one in slightly, so it’s supporting but not holding the full weight of the gun. It puts the sight right in line with Henry’s dominant eye. “Put your left leg forward, right leg back against mine.”

Henry shifts his legs as instructed, which presses the two of them together from Henry’s back to his ankle. Alexander hooks his chin over Henry’s shoulder with a wicked little grin Henry can only catch out of the corner of his eye. “Take the shot.”

Henry meets Alexander at a gun range, but it’s not the first time they’ve met. Alex calls in a raincheck.

the odds are never in your favor by coffeecatsme. T, 1.9k. “Love,” Henry whispers—that pet name, it’s that stupid pet name that made Alex forget the reality of the Games—and Alex knows the words before he even utters them. “I don’t think they’ll allow both of us to live.”

The ending of the first Hunger Games book, but with Alex and Henry.

Aftercare by whimsymanaged. M, 2k. When Alex has an intense hookup without aftercare, he finds himself on his best friend Henry’s doorstep in desperate need of looking after.

Getting Clinical by @cha-melodius. T, 2k. “So, come here often?” Alex tries to joke, only to realize too late the implications behind asking such a question in a sexual health clinic. He grimaces, hard. “Fuck, I didn’t mean— you don’t have to answer that. I was just— trying to make it not awkward.”

To his relief, Blue Eyes just looks amused. “And made it exceedingly awkward instead?”

(Or: Alex, Henry & a meet-cute at the STI clinic)

you're calling me? by coffeecatsme. T, 2k. “As I was saying.” Nora claps her hands together. “I have an idea. Spin the bottle, but instead of truth or dare or seven minutes in heaven or whatever, whoever it lands on has to call their crush right now and confess.”

Alex’s heart drops somewhere in below his stomach. “Wait a fucking minute.”

Or, Nora proposes a drinking game, and Alex suddenly has to come to terms with his feelings for his best friends.

for you i'd ruin myself (a million little times) by coffeecatsme. E, 2.2k. Bright eyes meet Henry's, and impossibly there’s a grin playing on the man’s lips, amusement where there should be disgust behind the brown irises. “Will I be arrested if I sneak their prince off to my room?” he asks, head tilted to the side.

Or, Henry meets Alex one fateful night in Texas during his tour in the U.S.

voir dire. by @chaa-kiao. T, 2.2k. Henry Fox had the Heimlich maneuver perfected long before he got his job as a teacher. Along with cardiopulmonary resuscitation. He also never leaves the house without his phone, lest he need to call an emergency number. Generally, he isn’t so overstrung about things. Of course, generally, he doesn’t have other people’s lives in his hands.

When his soulmate knocks on death’s door, it’s more than likely Henry will be the one answering.

doctor doctor, i'm at death's door! by dearestalez. T, 2.3k. “How did this even happen?”

“Dropped a knife.”

Henry sighed deeply, “you’re the smartest and stupidest man I know.”

“Hey,” Alex grinned, “you married me.”

Henry finally pulled back, their faces inches apart. His smile was tired but loving all the same.

Or;

Alex accidentally injures himself and decides to hide it from his doctor husband Henry because surely, that’s the smartest thing to do in that situation.

Sunkissed by everwitch. T, 2.5k. It's been a long summer of being completely ignored by one Henry Fox, the blue-eyed boy who's been deliberately avoiding Alex ever since the first day of camp. When Alex finally confronts Henry, the last thing he expects is to find that Henry isn't nearly as stoic and unfeeling as he's always seemed. As the two form an unexpected connection, it remains to be seen if this sudden spark between them will last beyond the summer sun. After all, they've spent no more than a few hours together. It's not like they'll still be on each other's mind, after they've gone back home. Right?

the best intentions by @smc-27. G, 2.5k. He sees the flyer when he’s in town picking up the fabric and books June wanted from the market.

Once a year. On the prince’s birthday. The chance for his one true love to rescue him from the tower. A cash prize to go along with the prince’s hand in marriage. The title of Prince Consort and a palace of their own.

Alex knows himself. He knows how people are with him. He’s made people fall in love with him without even trying for it. He’s had to break hearts since he was 15 and Charlotte Marks told her father she was going to marry Alex. He can get some cloistered prince on board.

how do you want me? by rizcriz. T, 2.5k. “Christ,” Henry curses quietly, lowering the camera. “You’re beautiful.”

Kneeling on the bed, his ankles crossed behind him, a hand tucked into his briefs, the other carefully weaved through his hair, is Bea’s friend Alex. The light sits on his skin, a delicate shadow of eyelashes fan over his cheeks, and when Henry speaks, he opens his eyes and looks at him from beneath those eyelashes, a careful smirk slipping over his lips. He doesn’t move from the pose, though, as he says, “You’re not so bad yourself, sweetheart.”

Or Henry’s in over his head.

The Perils of Desk Building by @hillerskas. NR, 2.6.k

2B,

Are you planning on getting any work done in your specifically rented office space? Fabulous, as am I.

The thing about an absurd amount of noise is that it can be incredibly distracting.

Regards,

Henry (2A)

When I want sincerity by @clottedcreamfudge. M, 2.6k. Alex always aces his interviews – he's never not been offered a job after an interview, and he's had a fair fucking few of them. He's not a bullshitter, either – he really tries. He learns about the company, asks engaging questions, gives thoughtful answers. He's a fucking delight.

This one shouldn't be any different. (It is.)

Total Collapse by clottedcreamfudge. T, 2.6k. Henry hates him. This is an immutable fact. So, when they'd been arguing in the third floor break room and the world had started to shake, the last thing Alex had expected was to be saved from a hefty chunk of falling ceiling as it cracked and fractured above them.

break up with your girlfriend (cause i’m bored) by fxckingeyelashes. E, 3k. the one where Alex and Nora are Henry’s new coworkers, but Henry is mistaken and jealous.

Gym Buddies by @omgcmere. E, 3k. "I'm Henry," the guy offers. Alex pushes up one rep, then another. The blood is rushing to his face as he powers through more, and seems to be rushing elsewhere as well, because there's undeniable arousal pooling in his groin from the exertion. He struggles slightly for a moment, then, and instead of taking over like Alex expects, his new best friend Henry starts—talking. "That's good, so good. Perfect, can you give me another?"

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Sweat pours down Alex's forehead as he pushes the bar back up off his chest.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. So good for me. There you are, love." Henry helps Alex settle the bar back on the rack, and Alex exhales in a rush, his heart thudding almost painfully against his chest. Fuck.

PUMP Gym is notorious for gay guys cruising, and Alex wants to hook up.

Tracing constellations by clottedcreamfudge. E, 3.1k. When Henry had mentioned he was going to be in a charity calendar, Alex hadn't really thought much of it. He'd said it casually enough that there hadn't really been any necessary follow-up questions; calendars don't exactly whip Alex into a frenzy, as a rule.

Two months later, Bea sends him an innocuous link, complete with a winky face, and Alex clicks on it without question.

And promptly loses his fucking mind.

diamonds are forever by rizcriz.T, 3.1k. Henry shakes his head. “James Bond is fictional.”

Alex raises his eyebrows. “But . . . ?”

Gaze slipping to the ceiling, Henry nods once. “It is not . . .” He says, making a face as his eyes meet Alex’s again. “Dissimilar to James Bond.”

Alex nods. “So . . .” He trails off, the information still processing. It’s a bit like his mind is buffering as he makes sense of it. It’s so little information, yet so much all at once. Like someone’s thrown an encyclopedia at his head and given him a cliff notes explanation expecting him to know it word for word. “That would mean—I’m dating James Bond?” He blinks, sitting up straight. “Oh my god,” he exclaims with sudden realization. “I’m a Bond Girl.”

Love At First Bark by everwitch. G, 3.2k. “I still don’t know your name, do I?”

Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate.

“It’s David,” Henry supplies.

“Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?”

Henry blinks at him. “... David?”

“What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.”

Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

i wouldn't stop for red lights by matherine. E, 3.3k. There are flowers on Henry’s desk when he comes into work. They’re pretty, really – chosen by someone who knows him, because there are hydrangeas and white roses and daffodils, and certainly not enough baby’s breath for the bouquet to have been cheap. Not that Henry would make assumptions, nor that he’s the sort of person that would look up the cost of a gift, but he knows who put it here. Even before he looks at the little card attached to a rose’s stem, he knows, because he gets flowers every April 15th.

dinner and a show by rizcriz. T, 3.4k. For the first time since he walked out onto the soundstage, he eases into his chair, and nods, genuine comfort seeping into his bones. “Now it’s getting interesting,” he says, motioning towards the monitor with a grin.

He doesn't even think about his answer, either. Eyes flicking over Prince Henry’s features. He smiles slow and interested, and very carefully says, “Smash. Definitely smash.” And to send the point home and reiterate just how fucking bisexual he is, no matter how hard people try to bury it, he turns to the camera, and says, “Name a time and place and I’m there.”

Or, a game of smash or pass changes two lives irrevocably.

The Beginner’s Guide to Floriography by @harrysglasses. G, 3.4k. Henry owns a flower shop. Alex is a frequent customer with a very busy love life.

home by rizcriz. T, 3.4k. For a moment he fears Henry’s been outed against his will somehow, but he scrolls down to find a video clip. Unable to trust himself to watch the video, he scrolls a little further to read the transcript.

He learns that Henry had come out during a ribbon cutting, of all things. He’d stood in front of a crowd of a couple hundred people gathered for the opening of a new youth shelter, and he’d told his truth. Alex is tempted to watch the video, to examine his body language to see if it was planned or not, but he reads further and one sentence stands out to tell him it wasn’t.

There is no comment yet from Buckingham Palace.

or, six months after Henry rejected Alex at Kensington Palace.

sweet like candy by @indomitable-love. T, 3.5k. Alex is going to kill Nora.

A 68.9% chance he wasn’t going to fall and break his leg, his ass.

And now he has recovery from one minor surgery, a mountain of medical debt, and a story that Alex will be hearing about every holiday, birthday and other family occasion for the rest of his goddamn life to look forward to.

Alex shouldn’t have let Nora goad him on. But he was restless, and he did. He can’t be too mad though, not when his own stupidity led to him meeting Henry.

call it what you want to by rizcriz. T, 3.8k. It’s.

Not a secret, exactly.

It’s just, time fucking flies when you’re having fun and before anyone knows it you’re six months deep in a relationship that feels like its going to stand the test of time and neither you nor your boyfriend know how to sit down your friends and family and tell them the truth. And, okay, this is kind of their faults, in a way, because they had agreed to test the limits of their relationship in the privacy of their apartment and never really in front of anyone else—

Okay, fuck, maybe it is a secret.

A different kind of Crown Court by clottedcreamfudge. E, 4k. Henry doesn't even really want to be courted, is the thing; the freedom to be himself is absolutely lovely, and he wouldn't give it up for anything, but the idea of marrying a single one of the obsequious, boring, or downright strange men he's come across so far fills him with dread. Why can't he just be himself for a while? Why can't he just… Well, not play the field exactly, but—

Actually, yes. That's exactly what he wants to do.

I Miss You Exceptionally by ronans. NR, 4.2k. Alex’s jaw clenches more and more tightly as he catches Henry’s name floating around in various strangers’ conversations. It’s not a surprise, obviously, but it doesn’t really sit well.

‘I can hear your teeth cracking,’ Nora says, shoving his arm.

‘I’m sorry if I’m not exactly thrilled that my ears are getting railed by the name of the guy who flew across an ocean to avoid me.’

‘I thought you were into that.’

Or, Alex Claremont-Diaz has been blanked for five years after kissing his college roommate, when said college roommate writes perhaps the most devastating novel Alex has never read.

kitchen confidential by @dumbpeachjuice. T, 4.3k. The NDA is approximately a mile long.

“Jesus fuck,” Alex splutters. “What, is their favourite film The Menu or something? Am I gonna come out of this one alive?”

Or, the one where Alex is hired to cater a private dinner party for Prince Henry and his friends, and it does not go as he expects.

Sleep With Me by HMS_Chill. G, 4.3k. Ever since high school, Alex has been falling asleep to the same podcast: Sleep With Me, where a British man named Tilney tells rambling bedtime stories and gives positive affirmations. But after they're outed, the podcast goes quiet, and Tilney may be closer than Alex thinks.

dad of honour by stutteringpeach. G, 4.6k. Henry and Alex are getting married. Arthur knows just what to do.

in need of assistance by stutteringpeach. G, 4.6k. Henry has a crush on Alex. Arthur can tell.

9 to 5 by smc-27. T, 4.7k. Henry is Alex’s favourite colleague. By a fucking country mile, to be honest. He’s intensely competent, has an insane memory for process and policy, and is kind to everyone.

Also? He’s fucking pretty, and Alex might be new to bisexuality, but he’s not that new. He knows what he likes, and what he likes are men with pretty eyes and kind smiles and nice cheekbones and English accents.

Other men, too, but like. Be serious. Henry’s top of the list.

Unfortunately, Henry lives in London. Alex lives in New York City. They work closely together and meet once a week, if not more, and Slack one another almost every day. Alex is on the legal team, and Henry is in business operations, and the second Alex met Henry for the first time, he knew he was truly fucked.

the love of my life, forever by coffeecatsme. T, 4.8k. “So,” the host of the talk show starts, eyes glimmering with excitement as he gazes at Alex over the desk, “your new single. I think anyone here would agree that it felt like a death by a thousand cuts, listening to those lyrics. If you don’t mind me asking… There’s been a lot of speculation online about who the song is about.”

Alex flips his curls to the other side, trying not to smile. “Uh huh.”

Or, 5 times the media speculates Alex is dating someone else and 1 time they realize he's been with Henry all this time.

when you know, you know by vibrantsaturn. T, 4.9k. With shaky hands, Henry pulls out the ring from the box, looking at Alex with tearful eyes that he adores so much. Asks, "Alex, darling, will you marry me?"

Alex lets out a watery laugh, swiping an arm across his face to get rid of the rapidly falling tears. He kneels down to cup Henry's face and brushes his thumbs across his cheekbones softly.

"Baby. Don't you remember?" Alex whispers, leaning their foreheads together. "We're already married."

or,

Alex "marries" his best friend when he's six-years-old. It just takes some time for them to fall in love, but they get there.

for you, i'd set the world on fire by softcinnamonroll. T, 5k. Alex was four years old when he first witnessed love in person. He was out for lunch with his abuela and June, munching on a cheese sandwich when a couple sitting a few tables over from them caught his eye. It was a young couple, around his mommy and daddy’s age, and they were holding hands and feeding each other spoonfuls of their dessert.

[or Alex just really wants to fall in love]

Burnin' Through The Sky by @cricketnationrise. E, 5k. This whole thing is Nora’s fault, actually, and he will hold this against her for the rest of their natural lives. Possibly into the next. His personal life is fine. It’s possible he was whining about not having dated anyone since his last boyfriend, but this event is so clearly not going to fix that problem.

Or: Alex wasn’t expecting to meet anyone at speed dating, let alone anyone like Henry.

Library Requests by M0ssPiglet. T, 5.5k. “You read anything good recently?”

“I’m currently re-reading Pride and Prejudice?” Henry offers, and phrases it as a question because he’s a dimwit.

“Ya, that checks out,” Alex says, cocking an eyebrow. “But I’m looking for something that’s, I dunno, actually fun. You got any recommendations?”

Alex gives him a smile, like this is just the kind of thing you ask a librarian. Henry supposes that actually, it probably is.

“Right, well, I can probably help with that too.” Henry grabs another scrap of paper, scribbles down The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue and pushes it over to Alex. “Since you seem like the kind of person who thrives on debauchery and general lawlessness.”

A 5 +1 where Henry’s a librarian who flirts via book recommendation, and one time Alex flirts back.

Little Talks by harrysglasses. G, 5.7k. “Tío, Mr Fox likes you.”

“What?” Alex’s heart skips a beat, a forkful of spaghetti halfway up to his mouth.

“Oh my god, Alex,” June hisses, “Have you been F-L-I-R-T-I-N-G with my daughter’s teacher.”

Alex is roped into doing the school run for his niece while crashing at June and Nora’s house for the summer. He stops bitching about it once he meets the teacher, Mr Fox.

before the first light by @dumbpeachjuice. T, 5.7k. “I don’t feel anyone. And I’m not going to feel anyone. Because I don’t have a soulmate.”

Alex looks confused. “What? Everyone has a—“

“I don’t have a soulmate,” Henry tells him with a sigh, “because I don’t have a soul.”

just give me a minute by smc_27. T, 5.8k. Alex isn’t obsessed.

He just thinks Henry is fucking beautiful and perfect and smart and so, so talented. He just thinks Henry’s fingers look gorgeous on his piano. He just thinks they like the same things and have similar opinions. And he just thinks if they could be in the same place at the same time, they might like, have something.

Okay, he’s a little obsessed.

Or: Alex is trying to be a GROUPIE here, but his kindness keeps getting in the way.

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel. E, 5.9k. “So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually.

“No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.”

Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?”

(Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

In the Dog Days by chamel. T, 6.1k. Henry had been so excited when he’d announced it to their little group, gathered one evening at the pub, that David was going to be coming over to the States. He’d gone on and on—an impossibly soft look in his eyes—about how much he missed him, and how great it would be to finally have him here, and how everyone would love him.

Alex has his doubts. He’s not jealous, because that would be absurd. Henry’s one of his best friends. It’s not— It’s not like that between them. He’s happy for Henry, truly.

He just doesn’t understand why Henry wouldn’t previously have mentioned that his boyfriend is a fucking shapeshifter.

(Alex isn’t exactly thrilled to meet Henry’s boyfriend David—obviously a shapeshifter—but what really bothers him is the fact that David refuses to show his human face.)

heartbeats under coats by HypnosTheory. E, 6.1k. Alex, a DC lawyer on his way back from a work trip, is stranded in New York after a freak blizzard grounds all flights. He gets the last available hotel room on the island, but a freak error means the room is double booked. Unwilling to leave the other stranded, both men agree to share the room and wait out the blizzard together.

Want you BRIMNESxt to me by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.2k. "On the bright side," Henry continues, still smiling slightly, "the staff and any stranded customers have been given permission to do the one thing every IKEA employee dreams of being able to do."

Alex thinks that the one thing this IKEA employee dreams of being able to do would probably get him fired, so he just raises his eyebrows in question until Henry elaborates.

"We can stay over in the showroom beds, Alex. That's what we've been given permission to do."

So begins The Great IKEA Blackout Sleepover of 2021.

(i would stay forever if you say) don't go by coffeecatsme. T, 6.3k. The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away.

A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was.

To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

Turnabout's Fair Play by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.5k. He manages to get a couple of hours' sleep – after working himself into a rage that works wonderfully at burning through all the caffeine and adrenaline – and pretends to still be asleep the entire time Liam's up and getting ready for work.

And cheating. Work and cheating. Because those texts were from yesterday and Liam said tomorrow, which is... Today. Cool. Liam's putting on his shoes by the front door and fucking off to cheat on Alex after five years of being together, and that's totally fine. Alex has gone past upset and straight through to vengeful.

shake it loose together by stutteringpeach. E, 6.5k. Alex is in the corner of his sister’s bachelorette party sporting the most confused boner of his life.

“Buckle up, cowpeople!” one of the strippers is yelling. He’s wearing nothing but a neon pink thong and suspenders. “It’s time to see how well you can ride the bucking bronco!”

‘Pony’ comes on, because of course it fucking does, there are strippers at this party. It’s basically written into the constitution at this point—where there are strippers, thou shalt play Ginuwine. Fucking Channing Tatum and his ridiculously chiseled abs.

Love is Thai food and crepe paper by clottedcreamfudge. T, 6.5k. "Jennifer says, 'love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs'," Henry says, just as the microwave goes 'ding' in an annoyingly accusatory way. Alex glares at it. He's not in love with Henry; they're just goddamn arepas.

Have You Tried Turning it Off and On Again? by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.6k. It’s been a month and Henry’s absolutely not making up IT issues to call a stranger who lives on the other side of a vast ocean, except that he’s doing precisely that. He’s managed to figure out that Gabriel is five hours behind him, but that doesn’t narrow things down particularly well, even in a country with multiple time zones.

Not that he’s trying to narrow it down. It’s dangerous enough feeling this connected to someone whose voice is an octave or two lower than the crown would allow, let alone when-

Well, when his heart belongs completely and irrevocably to someone else already. He’s already gone and handed it to someone he can’t have and who doesn’t even bloody want him back, so maybe that’s why this whole thing is so compelling to him. He can’t give his heart away twice, can he? Not when Alex Claremont-Diaz is already holding it in his hands, whether he knows it or not.

Foreign Bodies by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.7k. “We both know it's not a doctor you need,” Henry says, sharp and beautiful, hands hovering just in front of him like he wants to touch Alex, but knows exactly how it would be received; like he knows Alex would burst into fucking flames at the first brush of his fingertips.

Three hours ago, Alex had been quite happy to live without being burned. Now, he thinks he'd pay for the privilege.

You Know the Rules by clottedcreamfudge. E, 6.7k. "Understood," Bea says seriously, eyes on the screen. "Loud and clear. You're terrified of commitment."

"No—"

"And you think that it's your erotic fiction driving men away, when in fact it's your lack of desire to connect with anyone," Bea continues, drowning out Henry's loud protestations. "It's clear to me now. Victor could have ditched the candles and bought you that antique writing set you wanted and it would never have been enough for you because you didn't want to be seen."

Rendered silent by his own confusion and Bea's profound wrongness, Henry stares at her for a good few minutes before he manages to find his voice. "What utter bollocks."

Kind of a weird question by @gallifrey1sburning. T, 6.9k. “You’re so sure?” Nora asked, and the glint in her eyes told Alex, very clearly, that nothing good was going to come from this. So, of course, he doubled down.

“100%. Photoshoot, performance art, whatever, I don’t care. That is not just some guy hanging out on the High Line looking like he just… I don’t know, wandered off of some beach in England where he was staring moodily out to sea waiting for his lost love or some shit. There’s no way.”

“Fifty bucks says you’re wrong.”

“And how the fuck do you intend to settle that bet?”

“Easy. You go ask him.”

I fall to pieces when I'm with you by viciouslyqueer. E, 6.9k. If once is an accident, and twice is a coincidence, when it happens a third time Henry really starts to think about it.

Three times Alex doesn't want Henry to touch him and one time he understands why.

Red, White & Royal Goose by fairestfaerie. T, 7k. Happy Gooseday Alex Claremont-Diaz!

Or, the First Prince soulmate goose AU that literally no one asked for.

Original prompt: soulmate au where one person finds a goose who leads them to the other person. the difficulty comes in not being mauled by a goose

i open my eyes and i see that it's you by weather_stained. T, 7.2k. Henry plans to spend the week relaxing at Lake LBJ with Bea and David, but he doesn't anticipate the near-drowning, the concussion, or the beautiful stranger who quickly endears himself to Henry—after nearly killing him, that is. Who needs relaxation when you have Alex Claremont-Diaz in your life?

who ya gonna call? by @anincompletelist. M, 7.2k. Henry is a ghostwriter. Alex is a little confused on what exactly that means.

Chasing Butterflies by quill_and_ink. E, 7.3k. "'Hey, how's it going? Nice weather today, yeah? Cute dog, what's his name? Quick question for you - d'you wanna choke me with your dick?'"

Piss-up in a brewery by clottedcreamfudge. E, 7.3k. "I hate this," Alex says, not for the first time, and Henry covers his face with his hands.

"Yes," he says, a little muffled, "that's coming across."

"It's not, like, personal," Alex clarifies, even though it fucking is. "I just don't really like sleeping with other people. I mean, sleeping in beds with other people. I like having sex-"

"Yes, alright," Henry says peevishly, not moving his hands at all. "You needn't extol further on your love of intercourse."

"Who the fuck talks like that?"

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by @historicallysam. T, 7.5k. Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

Can't Buy Me Love by @everwitch-magiks. M, 7.6k. Alex is a high end escort. Henry is his wealthiest client. He's also a total asshole, which Alex has zero patience for. He'd never let a client walk all over him like that, not even one with striking features and an air of firm authority that Alex has to keep reminding himself he’s not attracted to. But over time, Alex learns there's more to Henry than fiery insults and cruel dismissal. So much more. Alex is in so much fucking trouble.

He should end things with Henry before he gets burned.

(He couldn't end things with Henry if he got paid for it.)

Class(room) Warfare by chamel. M, 7.7k. “So what you’re telling me is that you’ve begun some kind of weird aggressive mating ritual with an English professor,” Nora says around obscenely large bites of her burrito.

“How the fuck—” Alex splutters, because he honestly has no clue how she came to that conclusion. “We’re not flirting. We’re at war.”

(It starts with a polite request to erase the whiteboards at the end of class. It gets a lot more ridiculous before it ends.)

it’s (not) the end of the world as we know it by viciouslyqueer. T, 7.8k.

BREAKING NEWS: SHOOTING AT NYC’S GAY CLUB ‘Ritz Bar and Lounge’.

June is saying something. He can’t hear her – or anything else for that matter. It’s like his brain decided to shut down and not comprehend anything in front of him.

The only thing he’s aware of is a thought at the back of his mind, hitting him with such force it’s all he can focus on – no matter how much it makes his knees give out under him, how his heart feels like it’s being ripped out of his chest and stabbed repeatedly with a sharp knife, cut into a thousand pieces with no possible repair.

Henry is in New York.

Actors Alex Claremont-Diaz and Henry Fox meet on the set of ‘Roses, Wisteria, and Royal Bluebells’, and stay friends after filming is over. When a catastrophe happens that tips Alex's world off its axis, he realizes just how deep his feelings for Henry run.

Dr. Dickhead series by cmere. E, 8k. Alex doesn't really understand why boring and pretentious Professor Henry Fox volunteers to help out at his students' events every semester, but he needs all the help he can get, so he's just gonna have to put up with him.

Blooming Lovely by Celaestis. T, 8.1k. "Yes, but we all know she hates chocolate. I feel like it's harder to say a big passive-aggressive 'fuck you' with flowers, that's all."

"Orange lilies," Alex blurts from behind the counter.

The man stops, turning his full attention on Alex. Alex realises pretty is an inadequate adjective; he's hotter than the surface of the fucking sun. Y'know, objectively. "I beg your pardon?"

lying in the low light by smc_27. E, 8.5k. The thing about having a one night stand with the guy your sister is close friends with and gatekept from you is that it becomes really fucking important that she never knows.

Or, Alex and Henry have a one year stand.

Or, Alex and Henry are in a relationship, only they’re the only ones who don’t know it.

blood is rare and sweet as cherry wine by @jackwolfes. M, 8.8k. "Do try to make a good impression tonight,” Henry mutters under his breath.

Alex’s jaw clenches just for a moment before he wills himself to relax. “Only if you try to get that stick out of your ass.”

After two months - two dreadfully long, boring months - of being married to a man that seemingly does not want anything to do with him, Alex gets a tip that his husband is going to be the target of an assassination attempt. He deals with it about as well as you'd expect him to.

ft: light whump, rash decisions, and sex in a bath tub.

all the words we don’t know by @smc-27. M, 9.2k. Henry, who Alex has never met or seen, and if he had, he’d certainly have a better reaction now. Something other than standing there and staring and not saying anything.

The only thing that makes him feel marginally okay with it is Henry is doing the same thing.

Then he seems to snap out of it, literally give his head a shake, and say, “You must be Alex.”

“Yeah.” He sticks his hand out too abruptly, and Henry looks down at it like hand shaking is a foreign concept. “Hi. Henry?”

booty shorts (a saga) series by coffeecatsme. E, 9.3k. Men should not be allowed to wear skin tight spandex shorts, Alex decides, as he watches the stupidly tall blonde dip into his millionth squat in a row.

Or, 5 times Alex stares at Henry's ass, and 1 time he does something about it.

Or, 5 + 1 times Henry wears tight booty shorts and Alex has feelings about it.

You're The Best Thing That's Never Been Mine by @cityofdownwardspirals. T, 9.4k. He can admit to himself that Henry is indeed the most attractive man he has laid eyes upon. Any person with common sense would agree with him there so he doesn’t read that much into it. He argues that that is why he started sweating when Henry smiled at him, just like he sometimes sweats when he watches Star Wars and he sees Han Solo on screen. Just two objectively attractive men, nothing more.

What he can’t understand is the fact that Henry was very bluntly flirting with him.

And while the flirting itself did not make Alex uncomfortable, he had to remind himself that Henry was one of his clients and that his fiancée was just outside the door while Henry flirted with him.

Henry is getting married and his soon-to-be wife surely won’t appreciate him hitting on a guy or that guy being their wedding planner.

He needs to get a grip.

The Woes of a Professional Matchmaker by ronans. T, 9.9k. ‘Mr Clare-‘ Henry almost chokes when he lays eyes on the man in the waiting room. ‘…mont-Diaz.’

‘You’re about to do a deep dive into my personal life, pretty sure you can call me Alex.’

Henry clears his throat. ‘Uh, quite. Alex. I’m Henry Fox.’

Alex beams at him and stands up, adjusting his burgundy blazer as he goes. Christ. The air between them clouds with the smell of Alex’s unbearably tasteful cologne as he moves past Henry into the office.

He’s fucked. Absolutely fucked.

Or, Henry runs a matchmaking business. Alex is his newest client.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Two

RWRB FirstPrince AU Recs Part Three

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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dreaming-of-mossballs · 18 days

Text

All of this, for a phonograph? - (Gepard x florist!reader)

Summary: After having an odd dream and unexpectedly getting a promotion, you head down to the Underworld in some weird journey of self-discovery that ends up in a whole lot of chaos.

▸ Genre(s): fluff, angst

▸ Word Count: 16.6k

▸ Tags: Gepard x reader

▸ Warnings: food mentions, violence, mentions of blood, crying, emetephobia tw, having to wake up early,

A/N: IM SO FUCKINGN TIRED.

I was not expecting to surpass my word count record. Anyways, sorry for the initial jankyness. I don’t write in present tense often

MOSSBALL MASTERLIST (psst more gepard here)

Sitting at a desk in front of a window, accompanied by a stained brass lamp and an old family photo you were certain had been lost (during the evacuation of Rivet Town), you watched the people of Belobog mill about the Alexandra Plaza beneath the setting sun.

You smile softly to yourself, laying your tired fountain pen to rest beside a variety of parchments that contained pictures of flowers you had never seen, and writing that didn’t quite make sense.

Something tugs at the corners of your mind to make you rise from your seat and tiptoe down the hallway towards the kitchen.

It was your kitchen, presumably.

The mahogany floorboards creaked softly in protest, but they were covered by the sound of the familiar sound of music coming from the phonograph you’d had as a child. It got louder the closer you got to the end of the hallway.

How you missed those old songs. You used to sit by the fireplace with a warm cup of milk, listening to the music while the flames flickered at you.

From the kitchen, golden light peeps through the doorway at you. Warm and comforting, it drips over the paintings and vases decorating the hallway.

It was so strange. This place felt like home, yet you had never seen it before in your entire life.

As you push open the door, your heart leaps and lodges itself directly in your throat.

Oh. It’s Gepard, you think, surprised.

He stands in front of the kitchen sink, a bright blue apron adorning his waist and shoulders, with dishwashing gloves to match. Bubbles from the soapy water floated around him while he worked, and then sank to the tile floor, where they disappeared with a few soft pops.

The oven light illuminated something resting on the top rack. You lick your lips; it was always a joy whenever Gepard decided to cook.

“Ah, good evening, honey,” Gepard says, discarding his gloves and resting them on the counter. “Are you finished for the day?”

Honey?

Something about that struck an odd note.

“Yep! All done,” you say, not quite knowing what you’re talking about. “I can rest easy now. Thanks for taking care of the dishes,”

You smile and bound over to his side in your slippers.

“I’m happy to hear that. The pie is almost done, are you feeling hungry at all?” He asks. He unties his apron, (which, you might add, looks very good on him) and pulls two plates out of the cupboard. You have two of everything, from spoons to mugs. It makes your heart flutter like a herd of butterflies.

“Um… gosh, this was unexpected. But pie sounds great!” You reply while bending down to peer through the oven door. Its crust was a wonderful golden color, just like the sun. “What kind is it?”

“Apple,” Gepard replies. He sidles up next to you until your shoulders are touching. You had a decent view of the hair on the back of his neck from here, which was slightly darker than the hair on top of his head. Definitely cute, you think.

The captain smiles gently at you, almost puppy-esque in the way his eyes search yours for approval. He tilts his head downward and—

Wait a moment. Why was he so close? What was going on?

—to slowly and tenderly place a kiss on your cheek.

Your heart threatens to reach escape velocity.

Whoa there, scooter. Keep it cool, now, you scold yourself.

“You’re always so generous,” you compliment, cupping his cheeks with your hands. You shut your eyes, and this time, kiss him gently on the lips. It felt so right, the way you combed your fingers through his hair and how you knew exactly what to do.

Gepard’s cheeks burn pink as you pull away. The color contrasted his blue eyes, which resembled rich, deep sapphires with icy blue highlights at the bottom. You stared at them dreamily, when suddenly a strange ringing invaded your eardrums.

Oh, that must be the pie.

You pulled some oven mitts that were the size of cookie sheets out of your pockets and turned back to the oven— which had, for some reason, been very curiously turned into a washing machine.

You whip around again, and this time your husband(?) is dressed in full military regalia. Gepard takes a few steps back and throws himself out of the open kitchen window, saluting you as he goes.

You were certain you lived in a two-story building.

And oh, the ringing. It was getting increasingly louder. You clamp your hands over your ears indignantly while scanning the room for the source of the noise.

Can we not do this right now? You thought. I just wanted some pie,

Gravity seemed to be playing tricks on you as the fog began to lift, pulling you out of your deep sleep.

You blinked. The strange building had been replaced by the wooden ceiling of the Eversummer Florist you were used to.

Phonograph… I need to get my phonograph so Gepard and I can—,

Groaning, you limply smacked the phone on your bedside table with your arm and turned to tuck the blankets back under your chin. But the damn thing rang again as if to mock you.

Huh. I don’t remember setting two alarms, you thought. You clicked your tongue on the top of your mouth, cringing at the dreaded taste of morning breath as you sat up slowly.

You picked up the phone, hazily coming to the realization that it wasn’t yours. The alarm’s label was titled, “surprise,” which was ironic, considering it was quite the unpleasant one. A picture of Artem, from the hit novel, Tale of the Winterlands, was set as the lock screen.

There was no other person whom it could belong to.

The old wooden door to your dorm swung open, slamming into your armoire, which you were grateful was already chipped at that point. The sounds of streamers and confetti poppers blasted through whatever peace of mind you previously had, and a group of people, all wearing green berets, invaded your room. They were waving party wands around like it was the last day on Jarilo-VI.

Speaking of Vaska, she was busy pushing her way through the gaggle of people. She squeezed her body out of the fray to stand right over you, her green eyes staring straight at you unblinkingly, like some sort of lizard.

“Congratulations, (Y/N)! You’ve been promoted!” She cheered at you through cupped hands. Before you had realized it, you’d shot out of bed in surprise, flinging your covers everywhere.

“What? Really??” You asked, your jaw agape. You were still in your pajamas, but you were far beyond the fear of being seen in them.

“That’s right,” Meg, your boss, remarked. She was strict, but rather kind. “You’re now the general manager of the Eversummer Florist!”

She did have some odd ways of celebrating, though.

“Unless… you’d like to turn it down, of course,” she teased with a shrug.

“WAIT—! No, there’s no need. I would like the promotion, please,” you blurted. Vaska chuckled as she watched you scramble to put on your slippers,

Meg planted her hands on her hips sassily. “As I thought. Now, can you give everyone a thank you for giving you such a lovely surprise?”

“Thank you, everyone,” you gave them a toothy grin. A few whoops and cheers erupted from the back of the crowd.

“There’s a cupcake for you downstairs,” your boss added. “Pick it up whenever you like. Anyway, have a nice day off, kiddo. You deserve it more than anyone,”

“Aww, thank you so much!” You exclaimed. A cupcake sounded wonderful.

Meg tuned right around and whisked herself out of the door from whence she came. Everyone else followed suit in a single file line, like a group of ducklings. That made you chuckle.

You opened the blinds and peered outside. Icicles coated the power lines and hung from the roofs of houses, announcing the upcoming Solwarm Festival with their appearance. Meg probably had an ulterior motive, seeing as Belobog hadn’t held a Solwarm Festival in years— and Vaska had a particular penchant to break down under pressure. She could probably use another person to help ensure the festivities went smoothly.

You scoffed confidently at the challenge. With you and Vaska on the job, there was nothing on Jarilo-VI that could take you down. It would be a good way to show off your newfound skill at the job as well.

But as you stood there, woozy from the forceful wake-up and experiencing the overwhelming need to pee, your brow furrowed.

What exactly do I want to do from now on?

The question came hurtling entirely out of the Snow Plains, punching you right in the nose.

Yes, you had moved to the surface and become some sort of flower tycoon. And you were as sure as you could be that you liked your job. Plus, you had even gotten a promotion. To the position of general manager, of all things!

But had you really put any thought into what your future might be? You had been given the opportunity to move to the surface by the ADCS (or Administrative District Civil Service), and you had taken it.

After a year of living here, you now had a few more things to consider. Did you want to move back home? Surely not after getting a promotion. Your boss would kill you.

Additionally, you weren’t necessarily homesick. Life in the mines was largely nomadic. Where employment was, you would follow. You didn’t miss the hacking cough you’d develop during the winter from the rock dust building up in your lungs.

Friends didn’t stay too long either. You all had to eat in some way or another, and work wasn’t always guaranteed for people who traveled together.

Maybe you could help expand the flower business? Or even get an apartment of your own? Perhaps officially studying mechanical engineering might be the way to go…

All these thoughts made your brain feel like it was going to split. You sighed, plopping back down on your bed before you remembered Meg had given you a pile of flyers to hand out two days prior. They advertised the Solwarm Festival and its details, a good source of information for anyone who wasn’t privileged enough to have experienced the festivities.

You had meant to give one to Natasha, since you weren’t sure how well news travelled from one floor to another. Plus, since Rivet Town was mostly safe again, you could probably pick up your phonograph from your old home.

Rats, you thought. So much for my day off.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

The streets and buildings of Belobog’s Administrative District had a light dusting of snow on them, much akin to the powdered sugar they put on the pastries they sold at the local café.

Alexandra Plaza was certainly filled with things to do, including, but not limited to visiting the Neverwinter Workshop, seeing a play at the Golden Theatre, and taking a tour of the Belobog History and Culture Museum. It was nothing short of incredible. Of course, there were a fair amount of activities in the underworld too; they would just be considered less than legal to the people up here.

You munched on your cupcake as you meandered your way to the rail car, the one specifically tasked with bringing denizens of Belobog from one level to another as thoughts flowed through your head. They’d fly in like birds, then disappear without a trace, so you had no time to dwell on them. Ones about your future, your old home, and the expectations you had for yourself.

What is it that I want, exactly?

You weren’t quite sure. You shuddered. That dream earlier had really shaken you up.

They say people dream about what they want the most, you wondered. But was it realistic in the slightest? You didn’t think so at all.

A cloud of frosty air rose in front of your face as you let out a heavy sigh. As you were reaching the ticket gate, you rounded a corner and nearly knocked heads with an older woman. She wore a maroon leather jacket trimmed with brown mink fur that brought attention to the hood and sleeves.

She glared daggers at you, pulling her tote close to herself and mumbling something about “soot-dwellers.” Meanwhile, you did everything in your power not to let your eyes roll out of your sockets.

Straightening your back, you hopped onto the rail car, leaving the Overworld and your worries behind you.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

As the rickety screeches of the elevator subsided, you felt like you were on cloud nine.

The underground was as familiar as the back of your hand. Although you’d spent a fair bit of your years as a vagrant in the mines, Boulder Town had an air of nostalgia to it as well. The miners used to gather there for a meal and a drink after a long day’s work (although it was mostly for a drink, if your memory served you correctly).

Soot and iron flooded your nostrils in waves as you walked around the northeast corner of town. The faraway shouts of the Fight Club arena, along with the hearty laughter from the miners in the tunnels, could be heard.

And how you missed this feeling! The sighs, the smells, the feeling of belonging. It all brought memories flooding through your brain. You missed singing and dancing around a campfire with other workers— arms around each other’s shoulders, mugs of bread soda in hand— while also competing to balance as many items as you could on Peak, the lazy miner (the record was 17).

A common saying from the old folks was that Geomarrow could make your blood run hot. And honestly, you believed them. One glance around the city hammered in the impression of hot-blooded community you felt. Geomarrow was the lifeblood of Belobog, and you were proud to be a part of it every step of the way.

Surface-dwellers could never understand it, you thought to yourself smugly. But you would never say that aloud.

You blended in seamlessly here, no mannerism you’d learned as a child going forgotten. You fell back into your usual swaggering gait, patting the backs of every old friend you came across. There was Seele, arguing with some poor member of Wildfire right next to the grocery stand; Hook, who was running at full speed alongside two other children, and you could’ve sworn you spotted a flash of someone with dark blue hair and green eyes before they vanished into a dark alleyway.

Old neighbors and colleagues greeted you, which made you smile. In the Underworld, there were no formal titles that you had to remember. Nobility? Never heard of it. If you were self-made down here, it was no joke.

Speaking of self-made, Miss Natasha was the real deal.

After nailing a good amount of posters to the walls, you dusted the soot off of your hands and headed towards the local clinic. The shopkeeper’s bell rang as you entered.

“Hi there, Miss Natasha!” You waved, the fliers pressed tightly to your chest.

The clinician smiled gently at you. “My, my. It’s been a while, (Y/N). How’s life been treating you?”

She stood front and center of the small, cramped room. Only a few cots were occupied; your favorite one next to the Geomarrow heater seemed to beckon you to come and have a seat.

“Quite well, as a matter of fact,” you chirped. “How about you? It looks pretty empty in here… although I guess that’s a good thing,”

Natasha chuckled softly. “I’ve been healthy, thank you kindly. One of the miners actually had a baby last week,” she placed down the vial she had been holding onto a nearby table.

“That’s wonderful!” You responded, clasping your hands together. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

One of the flyers slipped out of your arms and floated slowly to the concrete floor.

“Shoot. Actually, I came down here to give you this,” you said, sheepish about your faulty attention span. You handed her a flier, which had an illustration of a bright orange Solarflower bouquet.

Natasha let out a gasp and placed a hand in front of her mouth. “My goodness. They haven’t held a Solwarm Festival in many years. I didn’t think there would be one ever again,” she beamed at you. “I would be honored to attend, (Y/N),”

You bounced happily on the balls of your feet. Somewhere in the background, the shopkeeper’s bell rang, but the noise was quickly submerged by your other thoughts.

“I’m so glad!” You jabbered on and on. “Make sure to stop by the florist’s for some free suncakes. We partnered with a local bakery this year, so hopefully we can draw in lots of business. And—,”

Natasha’s red eyes flickered towards the clinic entrance behind you for a split second, which made you pause and turn your head slightly. And oh boy, were you glad you did.

Because standing in front of the clinic door was none other than Captain Gepard of the Silvermane Guards, surrounded on both sides by armored soldiers.

The captain locked eyes with you for a moment before you decided the Geomarrow heater in the corner of the room was the most interesting thing you’d ever seen in your life.

Gepard’s eyebrow raised at you quizzically.

“Miss Natasha,” said Gepard. “The Fragmentum monsters in the southernmost part of Rivet Town have been taken care of. Is there anything else you’d like us to attend to?”

He shot another glance at you. There you stood— hands behind your back while bouncing from one foot to the other— decidedly not looking at him. You prayed to Qlipoth he couldn’t feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from his position.

It felt decidedly strange running into him like this. You stood on one side of the room in front of a few raggedy cots, and he stood on the other, soldiers ready to back him up at a moment’s notice less than a foot behind him.

Just like the day you came to the overworld, you felt completely out of place.

Natasha pressed her hands together with a pleased expression. “Wonderful! I believe you’re all set to go for today. Thank you all for your service,”

Her smile practically lit up the room. Gepard nodded. “It’s the least we could do, Miss Natasha,”

You took the opportunity to take a small sidestep towards a rack of scrubs to hide behind.

Natasha, almost certainly sensing your jackhammering heartbeat, turned towards you, effectively gluing you to where you stood.

Shoot! She’s like an apex predator,

“So… Captain. Have you met (Y/N)?” She inquired casually. “They were one of my biggest helpers back in the day, in fact,”

You jumped in, a hint of nervousness present in your voice. “Yes, yes. We’ve met before. We’re well acquainted— and um, friends, I guess?”

You muttered a quiet, halfhearted “yeah” under your breath. You couldn’t see the soldiers’ eyes under their metal visors, but you could guarantee they were eyeing you with major secondhand embarrassment. They probably had no idea you two knew each other. Or maybe they thought that some weirdo from the underground was cozying up to their captain. Decidedly awkward, you thought.

One of them let out a raspy cough, which brought you back to your senses.

“It’s really best I get going,” you told your old caretaker. “I have to pick up an old family heirloom at my old place. Nice seeing you, Gepard,”

You smiled as best you could, but to Gepard, it appeared as if it were made of ice. Compared to how much you usually talked, the room felt frigid in the absence of your chatter.

The captain wondered what the reason could be for such visible uneasiness. But he forced himself to keep his lips shut. Now was not the time.

Natasha gave you a reassuring pat on the back as you floundered around in your head. Better to let the youngsters sort themselves out, she thought. It was about time you learned, anyway.

“Oh, before I forget,” Natasha added. “Be sure to take care around that area, dear. You may need clearance to enter. Maybe you should bring someone along with you?”

“Right, sounds good,” you replied, glossing over the last half of what she had said. You wanted to get out of there as soon as humanly possible. But Gepard’s incredible generosity could not be thwarted.

“Perhaps us guards could come with?” He offered.

You punched yourself mentally at not hightailing it out of there earlier.

“I’m sure its fine. There’s really no need to trouble yourselves—,” you said, waving your arms about.

Gepard didn’t falter in the slightest. “The leader of Wildfire herself said it may be dangerous, and it is imperative to us that the safety of Belobog’s citizens is ensured. We’d like to help if we can,”

Ouch. He was right on the money. Natasha’s powers of suggestion were seriously unmatched. The instructions her smile hid were very, very thinly veiled.

Your shoulders fell as you deflated. “Okay, fine,”

Gepard dipped his head, and all the Silvermane Guards tapped the butt ends of their halberds on the floor in unison, causing the ceiling to shake. A ceramic vase tipped over, causing the flower inside to meet its unfortunate end. You looked at it mournfully.

“Wait—,” you paused. “How many of you are coming, exactly?”

“As many as you need,” Gepard replied, tapping his fist to his chest.

You felt a wave of panic rising in your throat at the horrifying vision of being surrounded and jostled around by an entire squad of soldiers. “Oh, there’s no need for you all to come. Just one or two is fine, thank you,”

You imagined your old neighbors peering out their windows at you and gasping at the notion that you had been arrested.

“…you know what? Maybe just one is fine,”

“Understood,” said the captain. “You four may go back to your posts. I’ll accompany (Y/N) to Rivet Town,”

You cursed the goddess of fortune for choosing this exact moment to smite you.

Normally you’d be happy to see him, but all of these soldiers standing around were giving you a major freak-out. To make matters even more stressful, each of these people directly served the Supreme Guardian.

Of all people to have a gigantic crush on, why’d it have to be one of Belobog’s most incredible and amazing people?? You sighed. Why couldn’t you have fallen for that weird guy who stood by the Everwinter Monument every day? He was waaay closer to your league.

You gave Gepard a queasy thumbs-up.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

Humming an old mining song was the only thing keeping you distracted from Gepard’s shining presence beside you.

Now that the other guards were gone, it should be alright, you thought. But you couldn’t bring yourself to start a conversation for some reason.

Easy now, (Y/N). Yes, the object of your unrequited love is walking right next to you. But it could be worse. It could be an automaton Direwolf!

So why was it so damn hard to talk all of a sudden??

He didn’t look like a Direwolf, even though he was as tall as one, you thought. You narrowed your eyes at him as you walked to double check.

Gepard glanced down at you with a questioning “hm” that almost made you keel over.

Curses. This was overwhelming.

Additionally, your original hypothesis was proven correct a few months ago. Gepard was a big softie at heart. He’d even get down in the dumps when his flowers would inevitably die (which hadn’t happened recently, thanks to you.)

You wondered if he ever worried about other people’s opinions. He was so kind and considerate, it pained you to imagine him getting the brunt of public backlash as such an influential figure.

Knowing him, he probably didn’t. But if he did, he would likely hide it to avoid burdening others. He wasn’t exactly the type to expose his soft underbelly, after all.

You hoped that if anything came up, he’d consider reaching out to you. The man who was Belobog’s iron defense always went above and beyond for the people. But he ought to have someone looking out for him, too.

Scoffing at yourself, you shook your head. Gepard really brought out a slew of worries in you. You did your best to swallow down the lump in your throat when suddenly, you were hit with the nostalgic smell of your old favorite food cart.

Was that grilled olm?? Your mind kicked into high gear. Your stomach let out a loud growl as if to protest the fact that you’d only had a cupcake for breakfast.

You turned to your companion with a pleading look in your eyes. “Oh man, I’m starving. Gepard, would you mind if I made a stop for some grub real quick? I promise it won’t be long!”

“Not at all,” he responded. Without a second to waste, you took off running towards the corner of town where all the food stalls were gathered.

Gepard looked from afar with a pensive look on his face. You’d always held a sort of confidence in the way you walked, but here, in your second hometown, you flitted from stall to stall with an aura of familiarity he had never seen before. You had no problem dodging obstacles that cropped up from nowhere; Gepard, however, felt like his limbs were made of wood as he tried in vain to catch up to you. His eyes had widened hilariously as he stepped into a pothole and his arms went flying in the air.

“Oh my gosh,” you exclaimed while offering your arm out to him for balance. You bit back a laugh at his flushed cheeks. “Would you want to sit down while I wait in line?”

He accepted your offer graciously, and took a seat at one of the low-seated tables by a chain link fence.

You gawked as you watched the Silvermane Guard Captain willingly plant himself at a kiddie table. Gepard could barely fit his knees under it, making him stick out like a giant rock crab.

But you were rudely jostled from your thoughts, as just when you were about to order, two men shouldered right in front of you. You recognized the red leather jackets they wore, symbolizing they were fight club combatants.

Ugh. Scott’s boys. Many knew all too well about his unsavory business practices. Some got involved because they had no choice. Others joined because they wanted the power. You had stayed far away from the institution, preferring to run with a more respectable crowd.

One of the men had chopped brown hair and messy stubble, while the other had blonde hair cut in a mullet. Although you couldn’t tell he was blonde at first, because almost every strand was coated in coal dust. You pinched your nose shut at the smell of motor oil and grease.

They were busy chatting up the vendor with no hint of shame at what they’d done. Your eyes narrowed as you saw one of them shoot a glance at you out of the side of his eye.

They knew damn well what they’d done.

You weren’t going to take this shit from a couple of Luka wannabes, you decided.

Before the brown-haired man could finish ordering, you rapped him on the shoulder harshly. He paused for a short moment to turn his head towards you.

“Excuse me,” you said with a hint of disdain. “I couldn’t help but notice you happened to jump the line,”

The man turned without so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. “…and a plate of Belobog sausages with extra sauerkraut—,”

Your eye twitched.

“Hey, you,” you interjected, tapping him again. “The line starts back there. Have you considered getting your eyes tested?”

“It’s just food, love,” he replied. The man paused for a second to spit a glob on the ground next to your shoe. Your lip curled in disgust.

“I see your mother never taught you manners,” you hissed.

The people behind you were starting to murmur.

You clenched your fist at your side as you stared him down, but before you could break his nose, you remembered that Gepard was still sitting by himself at the kiddie table.

You sighed. It probably wasn’t the best idea to get into a fight in front of a refined young noble such as himself. He might have a heart attack.

Unfortunately, the brown-haired man wasn’t finished with you. He grabbed your coat collar and yanked you towards him as his companion snickered. You could make out every scar and every bead of sweat on his face.

Sheesh. Overkill, if you ask me.

“Look man, I’m sorry, okay?” You scowled. “Cut in line all you want. You’re the big man. Happy now?”

Okay, you had to admit that wasn’t the best apology in the world. But you would’ve vomited had you made it any nicer.

He snorted, reaching a calloused hand towards your messenger bag. “Yeah? Well, I oughta teach you not to—,”

You scraped the front of his shins as hard as you could with the inside of your steel-toed utility boots.

The man roared like a wounded bear and released your collar, enabling you the opportunity to push yourself away. As he fought through the haze of pain, he readied his stance to fling himself at you, when Gepard’s metal gauntlet pushed against his chest, stopping him in his tracks.

“Do we have a problem here?” Your companion asked.

His blue eyes narrowed threateningly at the man, who was currently fighting Gepard’s iron grip. If the captain had let go at that moment, he would have absolutely torn you to shreds.

Murmurs began to erupt from the crowd, such as, “Why is the captain here?” And “serves him right,”

The man snarled again, frothing at the lips. This time, he went for Gepard, wrapping both hands around his throat. You witnessed his expression contort in surprise, and your hackles raised higher than they ever had.

Thinking on your feet, you grabbed the nearest plate of food— which happened to be Frostweave Salmon with cocktail sauce— and threw a large fillet at the man. It hit him square in the face, temporarily stunning him. Sure, it wasn’t a taser, but it was the best you could do.

His blonde-haired companion, having a better sense of self preservation than he did, yanked him backward and away from Gepard. One downward glance at his plethora of medals told him all he needed to know. He signaled at his friend to retreat for the time being, and they slunk away, shooting glares full of venom at you as they went.

You snuck a peek at the vendor, who was currently cowering behind the condiment station. She motioned to you with her hand:

Just go.

Slipping a few shields on the counter for the trouble, you sped off towards Rivet Town once more.

•┈••✦ ❆ ✦••┈•

“Want one?” You asked Gepard. You held up a limp fillet about 20cm away from his face.

“No, but thank you for the offer,” he declined politely. Your cheeks were still flushed with heat from the subsiding chaos.

“I appreciate your help, by the way,”

“Think nothing of it,” he said, in usual Gepard fashion. The captain’s forward gaze didn’t waver in the slightest.

You soon reached the Rivet Town checkpoint run by two automaton hounds and a few vagrants with shovels. After quickly looking over your papers, they allowed you to enter the premises.

Ever since the disaster, the town had remained eerily silent. Even though it was safe, the only noise you could pick up was your own footsteps. You were so used to the background noise of gears grinding and metal squealing loudly, that the fact that you could hear your own breathing made a chill creep up your spine.

The creepy ambience aside, the salmon was awfully bland, you thought, while munching solemnly. The texture was that of something that had been frozen and thawed multiple times. You were disappointed the quality had dipped so low since you’d left.

“(Y/N), are you feeling alright?” Gepard’s voice rang out of the blue.

You nearly choked on a chunk of fish. “What? No, why?”

He looked at you with horror in his eyes. Realizing your mistake, you jumped in faster than you could say “chicken and mushroom skewer.”

“YES. I mean, yes! I’m okay, why do you ask?” You crammed the rest of the salmon in your mouth and tossed the empty plate in the nearest dumpster.

“Please excuse me for being intrusive, but you’re usually… a bit more talkative, perhaps?” Gepard said, scratching his chin. He had an instinctive desire to rest a hand on your shoulder, but you seemed farther away from him than usual, both physically and emotionally.

“I guess I do, huh?” You let out a nervous chuckle. “I’m okay, just a little tired, I guess. Thanks for worrying, though,”

Gepard’s eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly, but he didn’t want to intrude.

Meanwhile, you lamented at your emotional communication skills rivaling that of a five-year-old’s. You’d better pick up the slack before he started to suspect something.

As you continued on your not-so-leisurely stroll, you came across an open clearing, with nothing but a single food cart in the middle. It seemed to be fully operational, with steam still rising from the griddles.

The sight completely baffled Gepard.

“What reason would a food cart have to be all the way out here?” He asked.

“Oh, that?” You said, turning to look at the cart. The sight would’ve appeared completely eerie to a normal person; the cart had no wheels, and yet there weren’t any visible marks indicating it had been dragged from somewhere. “That’s Belobog Burritos, of course!”

“Belobog… Burritos?” He wondered aloud.

“Yep. It’s a food stall that’s kind of an urban legend. Been here as long as I can remember,” you shrugged. “It sits there every day, no owner or anything, but there’s always freshly made food. Even when the town went under, it was still up and running,”

You waved your hands in his face in a vague gesture that he assumed was supposed to be spooky. His irises made a concentrated effort to follow your every motion.

“…or so I’ve heard,” you continued. “Apparently, if you get something from the stall, you have to pay in full or some seriously bad stuff starts happening to you,”

Gepard cast a stiff look back at the cart, feeling his blood run as cold as ice. He suppressed a shudder and continued walking. But the thought kept weighing on his mind as he walked. He felt as if there was a lump in his throat, preventing him from breathing in all the way.

Jeez, he looks pretty shaken up, you thought as you stole a glance at him after a few minutes. His face was a few shades paler than it had been previously, and his neck was all stiff. It looked like he was trying his best to not be scared (and failing miserably).

Maybe you could hold his hand to make it less scary, a part of you whispered slyly.

You beat that internal voice with a sledgehammer as soon as it surfaced.

I guess I’ll check if he’s okay,

You tried to lay a hand on his deltoid, but completely missed and firmly patted his lower back— which was much more intimate a gesture than you’d attempted. Gepard’s shoulders flew upwards in a flash as he curled them in towards his chest, and his eyes blew wide open.

“Gyeep!” He let out a strangled shriek through clenched teeth.

Your jaw fell open.

“Oh, shit!” you stammered. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, are you alright?”

His armor rattled with how heavily he was breathing as beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Sheesh, you had never seen him this shaken before.

Gepard’s face burned like a furnace. “I’m perfectly fine. Just ill at ease,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and dabbing at his forehead with it.

That didn’t do much to convince you that bringing him had been the right idea. You sighed. Gepard really was too kind for his own good.

Holding out your elbow at a right angle, you made a small offer to reassure him.

“Want to hold on to me until we get there?” You asked. “It’s okay if you’re scared, you know,”

You glanced around at the old, ruined buildings, which were surrounded by barbed wire and rubble. The whole area felt hostile, even to you.

“I don’t blame you, honestly. This place is pretty freaky,” you said with a short laugh.

“Okay,” Gepard paused. “If it’s alright with you,”

You smiled warmly at him. “Go ahead,”

He raised his arm and gingerly placed a hand on your bicep, curling his fingers slightly around it for a better grip.

“There! You have nothing to fear now,” you said reassuringly. Gepard blushed. He wanted nothing more than to beat himself up for falling apart in front of you in such an uncouth manner.

You continued walking towards your destination; this time, his heartbeat felt a bit more relaxed with you at his side.

After a short while, the ruined structure of your old home appeared looming from the dark. As a monument to the destruction, the skeletal building almost seemed to reach towards the false sky above.

“Quaint, isn’t it,” you joked, turning towards Gepard. Looking at the house in its entirety, the shutters were missing from the windows, the roof was nonexistent, and the chimney had been mostly reduced to a pile of bricks. It was entirely unsalvageable from a realist’s perspective.

The captain studied your features carefully— you showed no traces of hurt or anger that would normally be present at such a scene.

It puzzled him, how you were able to maintain such a cheerful demeanor when a building that was supposed to represent comfort and safety was torn completely to shreds. He was filled with admiration at how well you had held yourself together.

“Let’s go in,” you said. You nudged away the splintered wood door with your elbow and stepped into the building— you really hoped it hadn’t been ransacked while you were away.

Gepard’s hand dropped reluctantly to his side. He followed suit, scanning the interior for any structural instabilities.

“What are you searching for?” He inquired.

You were busy bending down over a fallen bookshelf with books scattered in its midst. You analyzed the wreckage; a few ceramic teacups and saucers lay crushed under the impact zone, which you took care to avoid.

You brushed a few coal-black cobwebs out of your way that made you want to pull your skin off. “Just an old phonograph. It meant a lot to me as a kid, so I figured it was time I went back for it,” you said, not bothering to mention the dream you’d had that morning.

As much as you wanted to deny it, it almost felt like the phonograph was the one part of the dream that could come true. Hearing the music you listened to in your childhood again wasn’t a hard thing to accomplish, but that lovely, soft feeling that had blanketed your heart when you had realized that Gepard was waiting for you in that kitchen— you didn’t think you could recreate that.

Considering your dream would never, ever happen.

You felt disappointment form a hard lump in your stomach.

When did I start believing in a pipe dream? You wondered. Natasha would scold you for chasing such nebulous goals.

“I got a promotion recently too. I was actually considering moving out and getting an apartment instead of staying at the florist’s. It gets crowded there sometimes,” you said offhandedly.

“You got promoted?” Gepard replied, his eyebrows arching in surprise. He hadn’t heard anything about this, even with Serval serving as the best grapevine around.

“Yeah, I did!” You said happily. “I totally forgot to mention it because—,”

I’ve been avoiding you since we went to the museum, whispered your inside voice.

“I… wanted to surprise the others,” you drabbled, your shoulders drooping the slightest bit. But you picked them up as fast as you could.

“Of course,” he said. “You have my sincerest congratulations,”

That sent another pang of guilt through you. He was so incredibly earnest. And here you were, lying straight to his face in order to keep him at an arm’s distance. All because your own feelings were too much to handle.

You needed something to take your mind off the situation, and quickly.

“Hey, check this out!” You said with a little more artificial enthusiasm than you’d intended. “This photo is practically ancient!”

You hoisted an old sepia photo of you and your grandmother in front of your chest. You were watching her lift a tray of cookies into the oven in the kitchen. There was a huge variety of sweets, including chocolate buckeyes, and coconut macarons. You missed her baking more than anything.

In the picture, your grandma wore a simple lilac apron, decorated lovingly with white lace around the edges. It was incredibly well-made; you’d had trouble finding one of similar quality ever since (even though the goods were supposed to be super high-end in the overworld).

Gepard, however, had lost all ability to speak, completely blown away by the piece of your past you had so voluntarily let him see.

You looked so joyful as a child, completely free of expectations that would have been bestowed upon you had you been raised as a noble, like him. That wide, toothless smile held treasures he couldn’t even begin to fathom.

“So cute…” you muttered softly. You quietly removed the picture from its frame and slipped it into your bag, where you felt it rest alongside your old pickaxe that you brought with you everywhere.

Running a quick check in the tiny hall closet, you thought you heard the high-pitched sound of ice cracking in the kitchen.

Weird, you thought, poking your head around the corner to take a better look. But what you saw nothing short of baffled you.

An ice-type Fragmentum creature, donning the damaged apron of your beloved grandmother, stood in front of the oven range. The kitchen itself was mostly intact, save for a few boxes of grains scattered about and a few appliances knocked over.

“Oh,” you started. “Son of a—,”

The creature let loose a gurgling sound from its throat and charged at you.

“Shit—!” You yelped as you scrabbled around for the nearest weapon. All reason leaving you, you completely forgot about the pickaxe in your bag. In the few seconds before it reached you, you took notice of a rusty frying pan hanging from a holder on the wall. Mimicking Gepard, you swung it with every drop of strength in your body and landed a forceful whack on the side the monster’s head.

The sound of metal on metal rang out all through the house. Bits of ice fell off the creature, sizzling with eerie smoke as they hit the tiled floor.

The figure struggled to regain its balance, reaching its icy claws toward your face. You could feel the icy chill radiating off of them, stealing your heat away.

That’s my heat, you bastard!

Gepard, having certainly heard the commotion, came speeding into the room like the cheetah he was named after. You were clinging onto the back of the monster, which was bucking you around like a Voidranger in a futile attempt to dislodge you.

In a sudden burst of effort, it flung you backwards and sent you careening into one of the cabinets. Bits of rotten wood showered on you from the impact, and a stray spice bottle hit you on the head. You disgustedly spit out the sawdust that had snuck into your mouth and caked your tongue.

The captain desperately scanned the room for something to use. The kitchen was far too small to activate his shielding device, so he wrapped his arms around the nearest table and hurled it straight at the icy foe (all while praying you wouldn’t be furious at him afterward for ruining your kitchen).

Thankfully, the table made an excellent weapon. It sent the monster sprawling across the floor with a creaking groan. Gepard then launched himself at it and pinned it to the floor with his arms.

Unfortunately, the enemy hadn’t quite given up yet. It wrestled one of its arms free of Gepard’s grasp and reached its clawed hand to slice at his lower legs. In a strange fit of ingenuity, you grabbed your pickaxe out of your bag, wedged it under the Fragmentum creature’s head, and just like a bottle cap— you twisted its head clean off.

Letting out a sickening crack, the monster’s head rolled leisurely across the floor and bonked into an open cabinet door. You nearly vomited at the sight.

Now unoccupied, Gepard rushed to your side. “Are you—,” he started.

“Yeah,” you choked out. “I’m okay,”

You clutched your chest while letting out wheezing gasps.

The captain glanced around the area worriedly. “I think it’s best we get going. There could very well be more monsters around here,”

“Wait—,” you gasped, scrambling to your feet. “I think— I think I found it,”

You peered into the cabinet that had been violently smashed o pieces. Something glinted at you from the debris— but a grinding sound came from outside that made your hair on your neck stand completely on end.

Bending down, you brushed away the wood chips from the spice cabinet and successfully uncovered the old phonograph. It was in decent condition, aside from a few screws missing, and your family’s record collection lay right beneath it.

“Ah, classic gran,” you said aloud. She did have a habit of putting things in the wrong places, after all. That saved you from having to check the upstairs floor.

“Okay, now let’s go,” you declared. You crammed as much of the device as you could into your bag, the horn still handing out of the flap, and made a mad dash for the front door. Gepard’s armor rattled as he followed suit.

We better tell the guards about this, you thought while your feet pounded against the pavement. Your breath condensed in large clouds as your throat burned with the taste of iron.

You cast a glance over your shoulder to see if Gepard was still following, just in time to see his eyes widen in horror.

Your boots left long marks in the dirt as you skidded to a halt. There you stood, aghast, as you realized what greeted you wasn’t the exit— but an automaton Direwolf.

It stood tall and menacing, with steam pouring out its joints and pistons that fired like a heartbeat. As a piece of technology from the old world, no one fully understood how they worked, not even denizens of the Robot Settlement, who modified and repaired them for a living. It made dealing with hostile ones a living hell.

“By the Architects,” Gepard swore. “(Y/N), find somewhere to hide, quickly!”

You obliged, opting for the nearest shelter that happened to be a pile of crates and barrels to the right of him. You crouched like a bear cub with your knees pressed to your chest as you tried to get a grasp on the situation from your location. Your companion was gearing up to ready himself for battle.

Shit. I need an opening to activate Earthwork, Gepard thought. He hoisted the barrier-device-slash-guitar-case defensively. I have no one to cover for me here,

The aggressor made of meshing cogs eyed him ominously through its crosshair. He eyed it back, the gaze of a predator in his eyes. He refused to falter, even minutely. Doing so would mean death for the both of you.

It raised its one chainsaw arm with a thundering roar, and the battle began.

The earth shook tremendously with every step as it sped forward, full-throttle. Gepard’s heart thrummed as he tried to consider all his options, but it was closing the distance faster than he could formulate his thoughts. He couldn’t roll right or risk giving away your position, or dodge too much and risk leading it towards the settlements. But a solid hit to one of the leg joints would slow it down considerably.

The automaton Direwolf swung ferociously at the captain, cutting large glowing divots in the nearby boulders that sizzled as they touched the surrounding air. Steam hissed, loud and high-pitched in your ears, bringing out a type of instinctual fear from within you.

A grimace crossed Gepard’s features. Direwolves were built for speed, so there was no chance you could both outrun it. Additionally, there was nothing that could escape the gaze of its optical sensor with so little cover around. He was going to have to fight it head-on.

It raised its mechanical arm to strike once more. The captain grasped his battering ram firmly by the handle, and swung it in a large arc. It landed a solid blow in between the metal plates that comprised its abdominal area, and sparks showered in the air, suggesting a sufficient amount of damage had been dealt.

The now open wires sizzled as the automaton staggered backwards. Gepard wasted no time seizing the opportunity; he was relentless in his following sequence of attacks, aiming for the most vital points concealed within the machinery.

He ducked under its flailing limbs and struck a heavy blow on the machine’s back. But it swiveled its torso around unexpectedly, without moving its legs even a millimeter, and swung at him again, leaving deep scores in the earth. Gepard skidded out of the way, leaving his cape billowing wildly behind him with the following dust cloud.

Your eyes flickered around the area as clangs and thuds rang out around the clearing. You reached a mitten-clad hand out tentatively to slink along the ground, but retracted it as white-hot sparks showered your exposed forearm. You had to make your next move, and quickly.

There was no way Gepard could win a battle of endurance. Not even with his superhuman amount of stamina. You almost called out to him, but halted when you realized it could easily draw the Direwolf’s attention to you. And you had nothing but your old pickaxe in your bag to defend yourself with.

You had to get help. It made no difference if it was the vagrants with shovels or the entirety of the Silvermane Guards. You had to make sure Gepard got out safe.

You ran a quick scan over the area; there were a few other piles of debris that were sizable enough to stay out of the monster’s field of view. If you could just make it to the exit, you’d be free to call for help.

Ducking your head, you sprinted to the closest pile and dove behind it. You snuck a quick peek at the scene. Gepard was still holding his own. Good.

This time around, you hid behind a barrel laying on its side. A patch of metal lattice fell over with a loud crash due to the shockwaves of the fight, but the machine paid you no mind.

Finally, you resorted to shuffling on your hands and knees to crawl just out of view behind a tarp that was almost threadbare. By this point, your pants were ripped and your knees were bleeding, picking up bits of rocks and glass that stuck to your sticky skin. But you ignored it. You were in the homestretch. The guards couldn’t be too far away now, they had probably heard all the commotion and—

You heard a loud thud that made your limbs completely freeze over.

Trembling, you turned ever-so-slightly behind you. You caught sight of a stray barrel rolling over to bump itself on your foot, followed by a pained groan that stole your breath right from your throat.

Gepard?

In the dim lighting, you could vaguely make out a figure clad in silver and gold, laying limply against a wall, a few broken crates on each side. Fire flickered in the background, illuminating the barrier device laying discarded on the ground, just out of arm’s reach for him.

You noticed something drip down slowly from the top of his head and soak into his fur collar, staining it a bright crimson. His eyes were closed, and he was showing no signs of moving.

Blood… that was definitely blood.

Time seemed to grind to a halt around you. Your knees threatened to give out, and you could only vaguely make out the sound of your own voice— screaming, wailing— something that wasn’t quite words. The sounds from the enemy machine sounded muffled, as if they were deep underwater, in a world different from your own.

Shaking profusely, you became aware of just how much fear had saturated your body. But you had to keep moving. The captain was alive until proven otherwise.

And you would hang on until the very end.

You ground your teeth together and made a quick sweep of the area. There was a package of dynamite that miners used to blow apart piles of debris to your right, but you had nothing to light it with. Even if you did, you didn’t trust your aim enough to keep Gepard out of the blast radius. To your left lay some books, a radio, and— an oddly shaped rock?

Whatever. It was just the right size for throwing.

You stuffed it in between your arms and pushed aside another book just in time to spot one of the old flares the miners used to use.

Yes! That could be your saving grace.

Your arms wavered so much that you thought that they might fall out, but you had to keep going. Gepard’s life was on the line.

You whipped back around and cranked your arm back far as it could go, when suddenly, you felt something whir and vibrate in your palm— and a strange mechanical voice rang out in your ear.

“Hello,” said the voice, which seemed to be coming from your palm. “I am Findie, model 17703 of the home-finding series. Please input your instructions, and I will locate whatever you are looking for!”

You whipped the rock(?) in front of your face. One of the gears rotated, as if it were waving “hi” to you.

“What the FUCK??” You roared in surprise.

A rock was a rock, no matter how much it yapped, you decided. You twisted the cap off of the fuse, wound your arm up, and chucked the rock with the fury of a blizzard.

“Over here, asshole!” You screamed. Your fear tore through your body like a tornado, threatening to tear you apart.

Fury rolled off of you in waves as you held the fuse high above your head. Clouds of red smoke rose into the air and billowed around you, swirling around your dust-covered face.

The rock landed square on the machine’s metal head with a loud tang.

The machine turned towards you menacingly for a short moment, but immediately refocused on the prey directly in front of it.

Shit. That was bad.

You scrabbled on the ground for anything you could get your hands on. A lantern? That would do. A plank of wood? Why not. Who gave a shit at this point??

Anything that would get you out of there and safe and sound. You’d promised you would help Serval with an invention later that week, and you weren’t one to break your promises.

The items bounced off of the machine one after another. It would halt its movements every time one made contact, but you were running out of things to throw.

Tears and ash clogged your eyes, but you wouldn’t let up, even for a second. Not until every bone in your body was forcefully broken and you were bruised and battered into next month.

“Get your GRUBBY HANDS off of him!” You roared. Tears and snot were streaming down your face now, and your entire body screamed at you to run, escape, anything. But you forced your feet to stay rooted to the ground where they were.

Gepard’s head lolled weakly to the side. You choked as you assumed the worst had come to fruition, and you felt as if the world was crumbling around you.

You were in the middle of chucking a portable radio at the thing when you heard the smattering of feet heading in your direction. You gasped as a wayward antenna poked you right in the eye.

Soldiers. And a lot of them, at that.

Guards in Silvermane uniforms stormed the clearing, waving around halberds, cannons, and muskets galore. Without wasting a second, the cannoneers let out a barrage of attacks that nearly blew both of your ears off.

“Backup is here, Captain!” One of the soldiers announced. You spotted a slight movement from the spot where he lay.

Another wave of firing went off. Cannonballs embedded themselves in the joints of the machine, inhibiting its movement— it began to creak and sway on its feet. Evidently enough, it realized that the most imminent threat came from the squadron of soldiers that had arrived, rather than Gepard, who was likely unconscious.

The main soldier continued issuing orders. You watched him, completely enraptured, from behind. You hardly noticed as a Silvermane gunner snuck up from behind you, and shuttled you somewhere out of harm’s way.

Soldiers had successfully managed to surround the automaton, impeding its movement. The Direwolf stamped its feet in confusion at the sudden commotion.

Shots rang out once more, and several nets weighed down by iron balls wrapped around the machine— along with a grappling hook that tied its legs together with a cord. But the machine sliced through the feeble wires with little effort.

As you took a step back, something clanked against your thigh from inside your bag. You gasped, turning to the soldier beside you with a realization.

“You have to disable the control panel,” you said, recalling your previous knowledge of when you worked in the mines.

“We’re more than aware of that,” he said curtly. He turned back to the battlefields without as much as another word.

“Yes, but the door to the panel is impervious to attacks. Could you take out the optical sensor on its face, maybe?”

The guard sighed, but shouted to the nearest cannoneer to aim a shot towards its face. An explosion burst from the area where the attack had landed. The automaton was now twitching violently with its sensors disabled.

Gepard, who was slowly regaining consciousness, sensed the sudden halt in activity. It was far noisier than it had been previously, the shouts of men and the clanging of metal made his head throb with pain. Sticky red liquid coated his falling eyelids, staining his vision red. The captain ignored the pounding in his skull and forced himself to his feet.

I… have to… I’m… still.. needed…

His body groaned with effort. He fought through the haze of pain and commanded his eyes to focus.

Earthwork was just a hair’s breath away. All he had to do was grab it.

Qlipoth… give me strength!

The captain mustered every ounce of courage in his body, bracing his arm against a nearby wall for support. Blood dripped down his face with even more fervor, but he wiped it off with his glove, sending a few small droplets smattering to the ground.

“The captain— he’s alive!” One of the men cheered. You gasped as you saw him stagger to his feet.

Gepard willed his muscles to move and dove in between the machine’s legs. He snatched his weapon and spun, quickly smashing it in one of its knees. The Direwolf lost its footing and toppled over immediately.

“Captain, use this!”

Gepard swiveled, surprised to hear the voice coming from not one of his own soldiers, but you.

Your pickaxe sailed through the air and clattered on the ground at his feet.

“Use it to break into the control panel on its chest,” you instructed with a shout. “There should be an emergency off switch right in the center!”

He grabbed the tool, but instead of using it to pry open the door to the circuit breaker, he punched it repeatedly with the metal gauntlet on his right hand until the steel door crumpled like a piece of paper. Your jaw dropped in shock at the sheer ferocity of the sight.

Clinging to the machine’s torso, Gepard scanned the machine’s chest cavity for the switch. But bundles and bundles of wires blocked his view.

The gigantic machine began to rumble. Gepard had to act, urgently. There wasn’t enough time to search for the switch, but he had to do something.

As thoughts fired through his brain like lightning, he had an idea. He could use the pickaxe to hook under the wires and pull them out. If he used his hands, his metal gauntlet would likely act as a lightning rod and thoroughly fry him, but the pickaxe’s handle was entirely made of wood. It was a decent shot.

The captain held the pickaxe with both his hands and used it to dig under the nest of wires, using his legs to anchor him to the machine— and yanked backwards until the threads snapped. He did it again, this time winding them around the pickaxe like spaghetti before pulling once again.

The machine fizzled and popped, its lights flickering before finally succumbing to the damage and collapsed, leaving enormous dust clouds in its wake. You covered your mouth with your shirt to avoid breathing them in.

Gepard’s chest heaved with great effort, and three guards hurried to his side, immediately, shouting things like, “Captain, are you injured?” And “Captain, we were so worried!” You were surprised at just how much emotion the usually stoic guards’ voices held when dealing with their leader.

The young noble let out an enormous sigh of relief. As soldiers practically swarmed him on all sides, one offered their shoulder for him to lean on, and they hobbled back towards the Silvermane Guard camp together.

You were barely aware of the sensation of someone throwing a blanket around your shoulders (even though you were still sweating buckets), and leading you to another location. You figured this was the secondary location of the Silvermane Guards’ camp, reserved for dealing with the public.

Said location was farther than Gepard than you had hoped it would be, but you couldn’t afford to be picky at this point. You were dropped off at an inconspicuous tent that was complete with snacks and apple juice to await further instructions. You felt much like a lost child.

The tent had a few tarps and blankets on the ground to shield you from the cold, hard ground, which would suck the heat out of any living thing that it came into contact with. It also included a stack of down pillows in the corner, which you readily surrounded yourself with, stacking a few to prop yourself up like a makeshift recliner. They definitely weren’t the softest things in the world, but they offered a welcome respite for your aching bones.

Although the tent’s canvas was reasonably thick, voices still managed to make their way in from outside. Bits and pieces of conversations, mostly about the incident and how you were faring. You wish they’d just ask you, honestly.

The next time you heard someone’s voice, you took the opportunity to creep out of your tent and ask them how Gepard was doing. The recipient of your questioning was power-walking with a few rifles in their arms that were likely being brought back to the barracks.

You lifted a hand to get their attention. “Excuse me, is Gep—,”

You bit your tongue. The sheer amount of guilt that welled up in your throat was utterly stifling. You didn’t have the right to address him with so little respect after what he’d been through.

“Um…” you continued, fighting through the anxiety that threatened to close your windpipe. “Is the captain okay?”

“Captain Gepard?” The soldier turned to face you. “Yes, he has a few injuries, but he will survive,”

You let out a wheezing sigh of relief that made your knees shake. “Thank Qlipoth. What kind of injuries?”

“Well— he got his brains jostled around a little bit when his head got bashed against a wall,” the soldier mused. He had an air of casual-ness about him. “He has a few lacerations from some shrapnel as well. Did you see the one on his head? That one was real nasty,”

Nothing had prepared you for the way the ground wriggled beneath you or how your stomach flipped inside out and backwards. You couldn’t breathe for a moment as your diaphragm heaved uncomfortably. You staggered over to the scrap metal pile, where you proceeded to vomit up the meal you’d gotten from the food stall earlier.

The soldier watched as you wiped away the vile liquid dripping from your chin and turned back around.

“Sorry,” you muttered. Why the hell would you say it like that?? You glowered at him internally. He shuddered, feeling your gaze on him.

At that moment, you wanted to be anywhere else but there.

“I’ll uh— I’ll get you a cup of tea,” the soldier said apologetically. You took a seat on a wooden crate, bracing yourself by gripping its edges so tightly you thought your knuckles would freeze that way.

They came back in a heartbeat with a steaming cup of tea, as promised. It was the type commonly used in the Silvermane Guards’ rations. You drank it gratefully, elated to finally be rid of the taste of vomit in your mouth.

After you’d finished, you asked if there was anything you could help with around camp. The guard looked at you like you’d sprouted an extra head.

“H-help out? Why?” He asked. “We couldn’t possibly ask you to help out all you’ve been through, Mx. (Y/N),”

After all I’ve been through, huh?

You barked a dry laugh.

“I’m perfectly fine,” you said plainly. “You all have done so much for me. I feel like I owe it to you all,”

You clenched your fist to quell the slight bitterness that was eating at you. “Besides, the only reason I made it out of there alive was because the captain saved me,”

The soldier sighed, loaded with uncertainty at your statement. “I’m not sure, since it’s technically against protocol to enlist the help of citizens without proper reason. But firstly, you should go see the lieutenant—,” he said, resting his hand on his chin. “—I believe he wanted to obtain an incident report from you, but there’s a chance he’ll have a job for you to do afterward,” he pointed you in the direction of the tent, which had a large dark blue banner flying above it.

“Right, okay,” you acquiesced. You set your cup down, dusted off your tunic, and waved the soldier goodbye. He waved back, with a slight air of confusion about what had just happened.

Meanwhile, guards milled about everywhere you went. You soundlessly slipped into the tent you had been directed to, awaiting your sentencing, sitting down in a foldable metal chair in front of a desk with a quill and an inkwell. You flinched at how cold it was.

The tents here weren’t the most comfortable thing ever, but they were much neater than the ones in the vagrant camp, where people hoarded every scrap of metal they could get their hands on. This led to tents looking more like portable junkyard balloons.

A breeze of air whisked its way inside as the tent flaps peeled open, and the lieutenant’s metal visor glowed like a flame in the lamplight. The man had to duck a fair bit so as not to act as an extra support pole inside the tent.

He set down his hefty shield with a clunk, all while sitting down in front of you. A sheaf of papers also made its appearance from his bag, and he shuffled through them with incredible dexterity (considering he wore clunky metal gauntlets on both hands).

“Hello,” the man said, raising his hand in greeting. “I’m Lieutenant Thrace Hawthorne of the 4th Division of Silvermane Guards. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You must be (Y/N), I presume?” He asked as he extended his other hand towards you.

You took it cautiously, keeping a close eye on his body language. “Yes, that’s me. I was instructed to come here by another guard,”

He gave you a firm handshake, but squeezed your knuckles in a way that made them throb with pain. Air hissed thinly through your teeth. “Yes, and I thank you for being here as we intended,”

You retracted your arm, eyeing the man up and down suspiciously. You couldn’t discern his facial expressions with that stupid hat in the way.

“—you are aware that the Silvermane Guards do everything in our power to maintain a safe environment for the people of Belobog, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied obediently.

“And, in order to keep the Guards as safe as possible, we need as much information as we can get,”

You nodded.

“Good,” he said while dipping the pen nib into the inkwell. “So, I will be asking you a few questions about what happened down here today. Is that alright with you?”

You agreed, albeit not too enthusiastically. Something in your gut told you that you didn’t exactly have the option to refuse.

“I’m glad we have an understanding,” he replied smoothly. “So, what kind of business were you two conducting in Rivet Town earlier today?

You paused, scratching your chin. “I went to retrieve an family heirloom from my old home. Captain Gepard was merely accompanying me at that time,” you explained. “We intended to be in and out in less than half an hour,”

The man across from you scribbled down a few notes. “Were you aware that it was a dangerous area at the time?”

“I was not. We had been told it was largely safe,” you responded. “Threats that severe shouldn’t have been lurking there, as far as we knew,”

Lieutenant Hawthorne tutted, which rubbed you the wrong way. Just his presence made you want to itch. “Where or from whom did you receive this information?”

“No one in particular. I’d just heard word on the street,”

“Any particular people that come to mind?”

“No, sorry,” you shook your head. You’d seen far too many people on your way to recall accurately who had told you what.

“Okay. And why was Captain Gepard accompanying you at that time?”

“I was visiting Natasha, and she had said that it might be best if someone came with me, because it might not be particularly safe,”

“Ah… that Natasha,” The man mused. “Wildfire’s leader,” he said, flipping the page over. You pursed your lips at him as something twisted in your gut. You didn’t trust this man as far as you could throw him and his stupid gigantic shield.

Don’t you dare say her name like that, you hissed.

“The captain himself volunteered to go,” you jumped in quickly. “That’s just the way he—,”

You froze, realizing you’d given away more than you’d intended to. Your emotions had gotten the better of you.

Hawthorne’s gaze was unwavering through his silver visor. “Interesting… on the other hand, what is Miss Natasha like?”

This time, you thought through your words carefully. “She’s— she’s a kind woman and one of the hardest working people in the underworld. She takes care of people at every possible opportunity,”

“What’s her relationship to you?” He inquired.

“She’s the local doctor. Everyone knows her,” you said bluntly.

“Does she have any strong opinions about the Guards that you know of?” The lieutenant asked.

“Not that I’m aware,” you shook your head. “She’s never refused their help or spoken badly of them,” you explained. “She has the best intentions for everyone, no matter their background,”

Unlike you, you slimy bastard, you whispered internally.

Lieutenant Hawthorne asked you a few more questions, mostly about the automaton and the rescue, such as what color it was, if there were any discernible features, etc., before asking completely out of the blue,

“Are you romantically involved with Captain Gepard?”

“No??” You shot a look loaded with incredulity at him. “With all due respect, where did that come from, sir?”

“He’s never mentioned you before,” Hawthorne stated. His voice was like unbending steel. “An affair is unlikely, but not impossible,”

Who in their right mind would arrange a secret rendezvous in RIVET TOWN?? You snorted. This officer wasn’t worth a lukewarm bottle of rye bread soda.

“Then what is your relationship with him?”

Hah. As if I knew, you scoffed. You tried to formulate an answer as best you could.

“We’re friends. And I assume that, like most people, Gepard likes to keep his work and his life separate. That is all,” you said, your tone as flat as a sheet of paper.

“I can tell from your tone that you did not particularly enjoy those last few questions,” the man said, resting his hands on the table. “But this incident was incredibly serious. The guards may suspect some sort of foul play,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You clenched your fists at your sides so hard your knuckles turned white.

“I’m sorry for asking something so intrusive. But, a word of advice, (Y/N)—,” the lieutenant said, motioning towards you. “I suggest you keep your distance from the captain for the time being. As a witness of such an alarming incident, you wouldn’t want to draw attention to yourself,”

I know that, you gritted your teeth. I’m not stupid,

“Especially considering how he was outside of his usual territory. Some might think you lured him there on purpose,”

You bit back tears, pinching the bridge of your nose to hide your quivering jaw. “Sure. I’ll keep your advice in mind, thanks,”

Turning away so that he couldn’t see your expression, you pushed aside the tent flaps with barely controlled anger.

You knew he was right. All you ever did was get Gepard into odd situations that he wasn’t equipped to deal with.

Guilt crashed over you in waves. You were a bad influence, dragging him everywhere without a spare thought for his job or reputation. And he was probably too kind to turn you down otherwise.

Did he even really like you?

You knew this thought was ridiculous, but maybe, just maybe, you had deluded yourself into believing it. It sent sharp jabs of pain through your chest that wouldn’t stop, no matter how much you tried to think around it.

You walked in circles around camp in an attempt to calm yourself down. But it didn’t work. Finally, you ran across the same soldier that had given you tea earlier, and pestered him politely enough that he finally revealed Gepard’s location to you.

You had to get word from the man himself, or you’d never find peace.

After a few minutes of walking around, you spotted a tent that had a few more soldiers milling about it than usual.

Not knowing whether or not their eyes were on you, you approached it cautiously. You crept in even though your mind wasn’t sure if you really deserved to be there.

The medical tent was dark— you had to scrunch your eyes up a fair bit to adjust to the lighting. But, using the small sliver of light filtering in from the inside, you could faintly make out the shape of Gepard lying motionlessly on a cot.

You quietly pulled a metal bin up next to his right side to serve as a shoddy chair. It was then that you realized the true extent of the damage you had done.

The captain’s head was wrapped in bandages that partially covered his left eye. A pad of gauze with adhesive tape on each side was stuck to his chin, and there was a pillow on each side of his head to keep his neck in place, along with one under him to keep him supported. Most of his armor, such as the metal breastplate and his medals, had been removed and set aside, save for the metal arm armor he wore. You wondered if someone had forgotten to remove it.

You noticed his cape hanging torn from a metal rack, and stared at it with a plaintive expression for a few. You didn’t think there was anything you were capable of doing to make this situation any better.

Sighing, you rested an elbow on your knee while tracing the outline of his hand with your free arm. He was resting so peacefully— albeit his eyebrows were a bit furrowed— maybe it would be best if you let him rest for now and came back later?

You rose to your feet quietly like a mouse. But even with a severe head injury, the captain’s perception hadn’t dampened a bit. He began to stir.

“Mmm… Franz? What is it?” He croaked weakly, his brows furrowing the slightest bit. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Franz, is that you?” The captain asked again, a little bit stronger this time. You flinched as he wined in pain. He was definitely feeling the hit he’d taken. You returned to your seat on the frosty metal bin.

“No, sorry,” you said softly. Your stomach churned like butter just looking at him. “…it’s me,”

You patted his hand gingerly, willing your tears to go away.

“(Y/N)…”

Gepard opened his eyes to get a better look in the dim lighting of the tent. You leaned over the cot, your eyes filled to the brim with guilt and ash covering your cheekbones.

“I’m… glad that you’re safe,” he rasped. The captain cleared his throat painfully.

“That’s my line, dummy,” you smiled at him, slightly relieved. But your voice was loaded with pain.

“How are you feeling?” You asked. “There was a lot of… blood… as they were carrying you out,”

“I received a fairly bad cut right above my left eye,” he said. “They gave me a few stitches for it. I did hit my head pretty badly, but it’s nothing life threatening, thankfully,”

“Thanks the architects,” you sighed. “Your armor looks pretty beat up too. Are you gonna get it fixed?”

“It did its job,” Gepard replied. Lantern light hit its surface and it glinted, as if it was agreeing. “My rib cage could have cracked otherwise,”

He patted one of his ribs with his gloved hand to hammer the point home. You felt another twinge of guilt in your chest.

“R-right. Is there anything you need? Like water, y’know,” you murmured.

“I’m satisfied for now. Franz got me everything I needed earlier,” he cut you off.

“Okay,” you chewed on your lip in silence. Your hands fidgeted with nothing, as if searching for something to do.

You could tell Gepard’s eyes were trained on you, but you kept your own focused on the ground. A few chunks of dirt surrounded your feet where they had broken off from your boots that drew your attention.

Tears kept threatening to well up in your lower eyelids, but Preservation be damned— you were not going to cry right in front of him.

You rubbed your face with your sleeve, which unfortunately still smelled like bile, and feigned a cough to make the action less conspicuous.

“Y’know… I wanted to thank you for saving me back there,” you paused, staring off into the distance. “I got off with nothing but a few scratches because you kept me safe,”

Gepard hummed in acknowledgment, for he was unable to nod with his head and neck incapacitated. What you couldn’t hear, however, was how the inside of his head had whispered to him that if you had gotten injured, he would never have forgiven himself. The captain couldn’t say it outright— but he hoped that the way he gazed at you so longingly would get the message across.

With your nerves ticking at the fact he hadn’t said anything, you added, “They asked me like, a million questions before they let me go,” you chuckled lightly. It felt misplaced, but it was the best you could do to cheer him up.

Gepard didn’t seem to find the humor in it, though. His eyes stared back up at the ceiling. “Is that so?”

“Y-yeah,” you twiddled your thumbs slightly. “Some guy named Hawthorne— he sat me down for an hour or two earlier. He seemed kinda shady,”

“Oh, Lieutenant Hawthorne?” Gepard pondered. “I know of him. He may come off as a bit cunning, but he means well. Hawthorne lost his brother during the quarantine of the underworld. He just wants to keep the guards safe from any threat, so that no one has to go through the same experience he did,”

“Really?” You gasped in shock. “I guess I owe the guy an apology then,” you said, resting your head in your hands as your chest twinged with embarrassment.

“…I really jumped the gun on that one, huh?” You sighed.

“I don’t blame you,” Gepard replied. “Trusting your gut is important. And you would have more than enough reason to harbor some animosity, given the way the guards treated you all here previously,”

Something about his voice— although it wasn’t outright comforting— soothed your nerves a bit. Only someone so level-headed could reassure you so well, you laughed inwardly. Which was impressive— considering he was lying exhausted and halfway dead in front of you.

Maybe you didn’t have the right to be scared, because this was just the nature of his job (you know, the one he did every day for a living). But he was supposed to fight valiantly for Belobog’s people,

Not a single, worthless vagrant like yourself.

You kept inhaling a preparatory breath to speak, but each time the words would vanish right as they were about to exit your lips.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. You had to spit it out.

“Gepard… I have a question to ask you,” you paused. “It’s kind of weird— but is that okay?”

The young noble’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. Surely it wasn’t— no, it didn’t look like it.

That wasn’t the face of someone who was about to confess. He scolded himself mentally. This wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about it. Instead, every hill and valley of your expression was laden with worry and pain. He wished he could sit up and take you into his arms, so he could whisk all of that pain away.

“It’s fine with me,” he said. “What is it?”

“It’s just—,” oh Aeons, this is so embarrassing, “Why is it that you hang around someone like me? If I’m being honest, I really don’t understand,”

Gepard’s mouth went dry.

“Someone like you? What might you mean by that?” He inhaled sharply.

“I’m just a troublemaker,” you replied, smiling sadly at him. “And you’re a guard. We’re as different as winter and spring,” you were taken aback almost disbelievingly.

“You’re hardly a troublemaker,” Gepard retorted. “At least, not in Serval’s sense, where she deliberately makes things harder for me,”

Okay, well, maybe not deliberately.

You grimaced. “That may be true. But, I cause you problems in other ways. Like, that time at the cafe tables. You’re a public figure, for Qlipoth’s sake! What was I thinking, pulling you up there in broad daylight?”

You clamped your mouth shut before you ran entirely out of breath. “My presence also puts a strain on your reputation. I’m from the underworld. We’re supposed to be lazy and dishonest, y’know,” you scolded. “I hear old ladies whispering about it all the time,”

You kept yammering, “Hawthorne even asked me if you were off horsing around with me because I brought you out there today,” you groaned frustratedly. “All I do is get you into weird situations,”

You were a centimeter away from pulling all your hair out.

“That’s not entirely true. I get into plenty of weird situations myself,” Gepard protested. “For instance, Serval—,”

“Stop throwing your sister under the bus!” You barked, proceeding to pinch him in the thigh.

“Agh—!” He flinched with a yelp. “As I was saying— that isn’t true in the slightest. Yes, we may have ended up in a few strange situations. But those are a rare minority of the times we spend together,” he shot back.

Gepard reached out and rested his gloved hand on your knee reassuringly, a new look coming across his face. Your heart twirled in your chest.

“Did you know that before we met, my days were largely routine… just like clockwork?” He asked.

“But you brought excitement into my life,” he declared. “Being friends with someone unaffiliated with the guards has been incredibly beneficial in terms of my own personal happi—,”

The captain cleared his throat before he gave away anything more. His cheeks turned a rosy shade of pink. “A-anyways,” he sputtered. “The benefits of being your companion far outweigh any drawbacks you think you might have,”

A noise of surprise escaped from your throat as you felt your face begin to heat. Wow, he sure had a way with words. But you weren’t going to go down without a fight.

“I— well, what are the guards going to think about you nearly getting killed over a stupid piece of junk?!?” You blurted out, your voice breaking. The phonograph in your bag bumped against the cot at the sudden outburst.

Gepard searched your eyes in vain for what you might be feeling, but he came up completely empty. His chest fell at your distressed face.

“It’s true that the guards are tasked with many important duties,” he began, enunciating each and every word slowly. “Such as defending the union, serving the people, and enforcing the orders of the Supreme Guardian… I believe my help today would fall under the ‘serving the people’ category,”

You tilted your head at him as if to beckon him to explain further.

“We get called to track down lost pets or put up posters quite frequently, in fact. It may not be the most exciting job, but it is an honor to help the citizens of Belobog in any way, shape, or form,” he said stubbornly. “And you are one of the people, are you not?”

He defiantly exhaled through his nose. You were left looking at him, slack-jawed. He’d left you almost no room to argue.

“But— I’m not a technically a citizen of Belobog. I’m just a random vagrant from the mines!” You argued. It was a dumber point than you wanted to push, but you knew no other way to fight back.

“Belobogian creed dictates that we treat the people with respect, no matter where they should live,” the captain said without a hint of doubt. “It’s true that the previous Supreme Guardian sanctioned efforts to close off the underworld, but it was framed in the light that it would ensure the safety of the people on the surface. But it was wrong,”

Gepard sighed, feeling the weight of your words squeezing his chest. “It was my understanding that we were all just trying to survive the Eternal Freeze… but in any case, it would have been disrespectful to ignore Miss Natasha’s request to accompany you—,”

Okay, now that’s stretching it a bit, you blanched.

“—and let you go by yourself. In fact, Article 4, Section 5, Line 2 of the Silvermane Guard handbook states that—,” he blathered on. It honestly impressed you. You were helpless to do anything besides stare in disbelief as words poured from his mouth like a waterfall.

“But wh-what about the higher ups and the old folk? Won’t they get angry at you if they find out you’re hanging out with someone of my standing?” You jumped in the moment he stopped to take a breath.

“If people want to trouble themselves with our relationship, which is in fact, none of their business, I say we let them,” Gepard responded. “It is of no concern to me unless it affects you negatively. In which case, I would step in,”

He tightened his grasp on your leg. “I did not reach the station I am at by trying to please those types of meddling figures. Your background has never once concerned me, not even for a second,”

The captain locked eyes with you in such a way that you thought you’d evaporate if you averted your gaze, it was so intense.

“You are not some kind of vermin,” he proclaimed. “It pains me to see you talk about yourself like this. You are one of the Eversummer Florist’s most capable workers, and first and foremost— you are my friend,”

He finally clamped his mouth shut. Aeons, the man in front of you had no clue how much those words meant to you. You sank your teeth into your bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

“I promise you, (Y/N). What people think will not come between us in the slightest. I will be your iron wall, whenever or wherever you may need me,” he vowed with every fiber in his body.

And that’s when tears came pouring down your face.

They streamed down your cheeks and soaked into the collar of your coat. Your body shook with sobs, your shoulders shuddering every time you drew in a breath.

It happened so fast that Gepard was completely at a loss. He stammered out a few words, horrified that he might have caused something, but all that came out were a mess of vowels.

You couldn’t hold it in anymore. Short cries escaped your throat that you tried to stifle with your hand, and you gripped your knees tightly, trying to still your shaking body. But it wouldn’t stop. Your chest felt tight, so tight.

“(Y/N),” Gepard said gently from his position on the cot. “(Y/N),” he called again.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispered. “I’m here for you,”

All of those feelings flowed out of you like a dam had broken. He wove his thumb in circles around the fabric of your pants in a comforting gesture, easing your aching soul.

You grasped his hands suddenly with both of your own and held it to your cheek, letting the warmth of his skin through his glove calm you down. You nuzzled into the palm of his hand mournfully, tears continuing to trickle down your face, until they finally slowed to a stop, your cheeks and eyes still wet.

After the crying had subsided, leaving only the occasional hiccup, Gepard pulled a clean handkerchief out of his pant pocket and handed it to you. You blew into it loudly, giving him a congested apology afterwards.

You threw your head back to look up at the tent ceiling while blinking away any remaining tears. Willfully scrunching up your face, you let out a calming breath and returned to looking at the captain. He had a relieved look on his face.

“Okay,” you breathed. “I’m okay now. Thank you, Gepard,”

“It was the least I could do,” he said, placing his hand back down on the cot.

“Yeah,” you sniffed. “But it was more than enough,” you mustered up the best smile you could in order to reassure him.

“Um, about what you were saying earlier—,” you brought up. “If— if you say so. But the higher ups, would they withhold a promotion from you or because you were hanging out with me?”

He smiled gently at you, capturing your soul effortlessly with that simple motion. “I’m quite satisfied with being the captain of the Silvermane Guards, thank you. My deeds as a soldier stand as a testament to that,”

You wiped at your face with the sleeve of your coat jacket. “Hah, I guess I was worried for nothing then,” you said with a hint of frustration. “How silly of me,”

Gepard reached up and patted your head reassuringly, causing your eyes to widen. “The fault isn’t all yours. I appreciate you being so considerate, but it’s not your job to protect me,”

He put such meaning into every word he said. Such an admirable way of life.

You swatted his hand away lightheartedly. “Yeah? Well, it’s not your job to protect me, then,” you sniffed. You stuck your tongue out at him as far as it would go, which elicited a short laugh from Gepard.

Aeons, that smiling face was priceless. You could just lean over and kiss him right on that cot.

The smile faded from your face, replaced with something else now. You reached over him and wiped some stray hairs from his face using your single clean glove, watching them fall back into place with a satisfied look.

As you were retracting your arm— much to your surprise— he gently lifted one of his hands and placed it to yours, palm-to-palm. His fingers were slightly bent, so they wrapped around to the back of your hand. A smile danced on your lips; your face and neck much warmer than previously.

You clasped your hand entirely around his, admiring his soft smile. It was so warm and dreamy, a rare ember in a world as cold and hard as Jarilo-VI— a planet so unlike its namesake.

Just when you were stroking the side of his hand with your thumb, you heard a deep rumble (or maybe it was more like a growl?) from your companion’s stomach region.

Gepard went as red as a tomato.

“Captain… I thought you said you didn’t need anything?” You squinted your eyes at him accusingly at the realization.

Gepard internally cursed himself.

Sighing, he said,

“…maybe some porridge will do, thank you,”

BONUS:

“Ugh,” you grunted. “C-captain, you’re heavy! Franz, can you help me get him up real quick?”

Lieutenant Hawthorne, who was walking by the tent at the time, heard shuffling and something that sounded like a grunt of protest from the captain.

“Truly, (Y/N). I can sit up by myse—,”

“NO,” exclaimed both your and Franz’s voices loudly. Hawthorne stopped in his tracks.

“May I at least hold the spoon?” Gepard pleaded. Hawthorne could see your silhouettes from the lantern light cast upon the tent’s walls. You had your hands on your hips as Franz held a bowl and a tray behind you.

You snorted. “In your dreams. I got you all banged up, so it’s my job to take care of you. If I leave you be, you’ll just overwork yourself until you pass out again!”

“May I remind you, that was but a singular instance when—,”

“Lalalalala!” You sang obnoxiously. “I can’t hear you!”

“(Y/N), I beg of you. I must maintain my dignity,” he implored one last time.

“Here comes the Astral Express!” Hawthorne heard you shout, completely overshadowing the captain.

The tent went silent for a moment.

“It’s good, right?” You asked after a short pause.

“…yes,”

Th lieutenant chuckled to himself and continued on his way.

BONUS 2: Belobog Central Hospital

“…and as long as you take care of yourself, you should be good to go in about two weeks,” said the head nurse to Gepard, who was just finishing up giving him the synopsis of his condition. “We’ll be monitoring your condition for the time being, okay? Head injuries are nothing to joke about,”

He agreed. The captain lay in a hospital bed with a neck brace and one leg elevated with a foam wedge, which, frankly, he thought was overkill, considering he was able to walk to the camp.

A vase of fake flowers lay on the bedside table. Gepard smiled to himself. You’d mutter under your breath and call it a waste of a good vase.

After half an hour, the pain medications they had given him finally kicked in, and he’d drifted off to sleep.

He dreamt about making you a rye bread soda iceberg, your eyes lighting up as he placed it in front of you. Maybe once winter came around, he’d make you a pie, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it. He snoozed softly, when suddenly he was awoken in the middle of the night by a scratching sound at the hospital window.

Gepard lifted his body as much as he could to get a better look, when he spotted the tops of two blonde heads along with a purple-haired one.

The tufted ears on Lynx’s hat wobbled. Serval’s blue eyes peered above the windowsill and they narrowed into crescents as she grinned. Meanwhile, Pela was looking around frantically, making sure no one spotted them.

His elder sister reached up with the multi-tool you had bought her, and fiddled with the lock. The latch came open with a clean pop. And true to her name, Serval slunk in gracefully, her heels clacking on the laminated floor.

“Hi, little bro,” she smirked. “Are visiting hours over?”

He looked at her incredulously. “I think you know the answer to that. Why else would you be breaking in?”

“Breaking in is a stretch,” she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Like I said, we’re visiting— just outside of the intended time!”

Gepard sighed. “I cannot believe you managed to drag the other two into this. What if you get caught?”

“Actually, it’s three,” your voice piped up. It came from somewhere under Pela. You spoke again. “And we won’t, I promise,”

The captain’s eyes went as wide as saucers.

That’s right. He was on the second floor.

Lynx hoisted herself up, and Pela began to follow suit.

“H-how?” He blurted. “How did you get in here?”

“There’s a dumpster out back that we used to elevate ourselves,” Pela said, not wavering in the slightest. “It could only hold about two people, so (Y/N) is currently holding me up,”

She hoisted herself entirely into the room and beckoned the others to come hoist you up. Gepard spotted one mitten, then the other. And then the rest of you came into view. And you were holding a basket with a blue silk ribbon tied to it.

“We brought you a gift basket!” You whisper yelled. Gepard’s face lit up like a spotlight at the sight of you.

You hopped over to his side and leaned over him with a smile, showing him the contents of the basket. “We’ve got flowers, and cookies, and— hey! Are those fake flowers?” You snapped your head towards the flowerpot indignantly.

You put the basket down and scoffed. “That’s a waste of a good damn vase if I’ve ever seen one,”

Whisking yourself towards the sin against botany, you yanked the faux flowers out and tossed them aside. Then you replaced them with a few stems of white tulips from your basket and filled the vase with water from the nearby sink.

Gepard smiled. You’d said it all almost word-for-word.

And so you stayed a while, talking well into the night. And you were all so tired that no one showed up to their jobs the next day.

2024 - Dreaming-of-Mossballs - Do not repost/translate without my permission - NO AI

💙 THANKS FOR READINF I LOVE YOU 💙

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

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A Rose Under The Moon

Moon Knight System (Marc, Steven, Jake) x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: None literally just filler lmao

A/N: YOU GUYS I AM SO SORRY IT IS TAKING ME SO LONG TO PUT STUFF OUT LIFE IS JUST... IT'S BEEN INSANE THE PAST FEW MONTHS

Taglist: @bad4amficideas @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @shirukitsune @lokisremainingsanity @mundivagantsoul @furblrwurblr @zoleea-exultant @latenightcravingz @daygirl26 @thelastemzy @leahnicole1219 @marsmallow433 @crazyunsexycool @oscarissac2099 @littlenosoul @animechick555 @capsiclesworldsblog @cloudroomblog @lov3vivian @princessakirika @fog-sama @cheshire-salvatore-mikaelson @badbishsblog @lillycore555 @stardream14 @kittenlover614 @patchesofwork @enheduannasposts

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Chapter 11:

Good Food And Cat Fuzz

Jake grinned at you as you shuffled about your kitchen, chittering about some interesting things you’d read about the other day on some ancient ruin that was found in Greece because of a construction site. It was difficult to summon the interest in the subject, the overwhelming love of history and ancient cultures that Steven had, but he let you talk nonetheless.

His eyes softened as you carefully sliced the pork tenderloin and drizzled the sauce over it. Even uncooked, the thing smelt heavenly. Maybe letting you volunteer him for this little dinner wasn’t such a bad idea, after all.

Steven was an amazing cook, yes, but not being able to really indulge in animal products left Jake’s cooking skills a little stagnant; because Jake refrained from buying groceries that might upset him.

Steven assured him that, yes, he understands that they all have different dietary preferences, that it was no reason to “neglect himself”. But, his concerns were never really on himself. The focus was on Marc, Steven, other people… you.

His thought bubble was popped when Puck mewed and just casually hopped up into his lap with a purr.

He grinned down at the black feline and began stroking her fur, “Hey, chiquita. Cozy, I see?”

Puck purred louder in response, leaning into his touch; her little body relaxed and oh-so-casual. She was possibly one of the friendliest little cats he’d ever encountered.

He didn’t notice when you had ceased your adorable rambling, leaning with your arms on the countertop, the pork forgotten for the moment as you slowly smiled at Jake; his arms curving gently to let Puck crawl into his embrace, rubbing her cheek on his shirt, her purr so loud you could hear it from where you were standing.

He murmured a conversation with Puck for a good minute or two, Puck giving little “mrrp’s” or “muh’s” in reply, as if she was genuinely speaking with him back.

“Mhmm,” You could hear him softly mutter. “Yes, oh, yes. I know. Life is so very tough for someone who doesn’t have to pay taxes.” Puck mewed a bit louder.

“Si, si, carino.” He grinned, his bushy mustache quirking up. You had to admit, he was… handsome. Sweet. The beard he was growing suited him nicely, as well. Puck put her front paws on his chest and sniffed his chin.

“What? No, I know you don’t pay taxes, you little felon…”

Puck smashed her head into his mouth with an affectionate purr, making him laugh and tip his head to avoid getting a mouth full of cat fur. And, doing so, he realized that you were watching him.

Watching him with that beautiful, sweet smile of yours.

“Oh, don’t mind me!” You giggled as his tanned skin flushed with embarrassment and you make a shoo’ing gesture. “You two sound like you were having a riveting conversation!”

Jake looked off to the side and coughed into his hand. “Well, animals benefit from, uh, conversation. I read online that, uh… it’s good for… stimu… lation..." He struggled.

You laugh once again and turn to place the tenderloin into your oven to cook. “Oh, yes, Puck over there is quite the conversationalist.”

As if to agree with you, Puck meowed loudly, making you both chuckle.

The abashed glow on Jake’s cheeks dulls a bit as he shakes his head. “She… is.”

“She seems taken with you.” You smile, walking over to the duo and stroking behind one of Puck’s ears.

Standing so close, Jake could smell your perfume–a sweet, sugary smell that blended with the spices of your cooking. God, it was intoxicating. He wished he could pull you against him and kiss you–

“Wanna sit on the couch while dinner cooks? I’d sit with you at the table but the chairs are sooooo uncomfy.” You say, knocking his thoughts back to reality.

Jake coughs, almost concerned for a moment that maybe you might pick his train of thought out of thin air and call him out on it. He reaches up and scratches his hairy upper lip with one finger, “Oh. Sure.”

Puck mewed and squeaked when Jake cradled her in one arm and let you lead the way to your couch (as if he couldn’t see it from where he had been sitting previously).

You chuckled at how attached to Jake Puck seemed to be, and literally hopped onto your couch cushions, Puck expertly clambering out of Jake’s arms to walk along the back of the couch, staring up at him expectantly, as if to say, “Come on! Sit!”

He shook his head with a chuckle and walked around the opposite side as you popped on some random documentary about Pompeii. “Someone’s a history nerd like Steven, I see.” He teased.

You grinned at him as Puck wasted no time in claiming his lap as her special spot to snuggle, purring loudly as he began to stroke her silky fur, “Eh, what can I say? I’ve always been fascinated by ancient cultures.”

“So has Steven.” Jake murmured, feeling a pit of guilt gnaw at the lining of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked back at you, a dark brow rising on his forehead inquisitively. “How long have you been obsessed with this stuff, Rosa?”

“Oh, geez…” You prop your head back, your throat exposed as you stare at the ceiling deep in thought. Jake swore he could see your pulse thump in your neck, and the thought made a nervous bead of cold sweat dribble down his spine, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“I think it has something to do with my old man,” You finally say. “He was always reading those kinds of books to me, ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome, China… stuff like that. He was a professor who spoke at seminars and local libraries.”

Jake blinked at you, “A professor?”

“Yeah! An archaeologist.” You grin nostalgically. “It’s where he met my mom, actually. Some people couldn’t tell by meeting her, but I am pretty sure she was from somewhere in Egypt. Not Cairo or Luxor, but… somewhere. My dad liked to brag that he “brought his work home with him.””

Jake gives a short, dry laugh as he turns to look at the screen. Wow. You really were perfect for them. Right down to having ties to the very place Steven often obsessed over; the place where Khonshu first found them…

“How’d they meet, exactly?”

“Well, Dad said something along the lines of meeting at some local bar after they found some small, obscure little tomb in Saqqara. He and his buddies apparently got drunk, almost got into a fight with some locals, and my mom “swooped in” to save them by punching one of them and cursing some absolutely foul things at them.”

You giggle, "But, that might just be my dad’s way of embellishing the tale. Mom once said she met my dad doing something dumb and hurling in a trash can.”

“Ah, love at first sight.” Jake joked with a laugh, imagining the scene himself.

“Not entirely.” You point out, smiling at him, mirth in your eyes.

His eyebrows shoot up once again, “Qué?”

“My mom hated my dad at first. She was one of those “I don’t wanna be shackled to some rando my entire life” kinda people… She had just earned a degree in… well, everything a doctor normally does. She practically ran the local hospital in the town where I grew up.”

“Oh, damn… no kidding?” Jake huffed. “So, what changed?”

“She agreed to meet with my dad, one last time before he came back to the states.” You sigh, smiling bittersweetly. It was good to talk about them, but it still made your heart cinch in your chest when you remembered that you didn’t have them around to talk to anymore…

“He began rambling, about the tomb, mostly. The mummified cats, a mummified baby crocodile, and of course, some tablets and scrolls, as well as y'know, the well-preserved murals.” You giggle. “It was some kinda temple, or holy place or…”

“Or something." Jake finishes with a charming grin, making you nod with another sweet chuckle.

“Yeah. She told me, halfway through his mile-a-second rambling, that something just clicked in her brain. Something in her head told her, “No, I can’t live without this nerd.” And she went with him.”

“Heh… that’s…”

“About as storybook as how I inherited my shop?” You snark.

“Well, I mean, I didn’t wanna offend you or anything…” He mused, his furry lip quirking up in a smirk.

“Nah, I’m used to it.” You reply, waving your hand dismissively. “She traveled with him, her knowledge of the local areas and languages as well as a medical background made her a no-brainer in terms of needing an interpreter and medic at a digsite. But, after my mom found out I was coming along, they settled in my dad’s hometown and stayed there.”

“Wow, when did they find out you were making your grand entrance?” He asked curiously.

“Well…” You smiled awkwardly and rubbed the back of your neck. “...Let’s just say there’s a reason I had a onesie with the words “made in Egypt” on it…”

Jake gasped, trying to reign in his laughter. “No.”

“Yep. Apparently they didn’t care that the only thing separating them and the entire team was a slip of canvas, and… oh this is so gross.” You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes and give a short bark of laughter. “I’m not gonna go on.”

“Oh, no, I get it.” Jake began snickering. “No child wants to imagine their parents during–ahem-- “the making of” portion of your life, so to speak.”

You curl in on yourself in laughter at his rather blunt and astute summarization of your thoughts. Puck meowed at you, standing on Jake’s thigh with the tip of her tail curved as her big green eyes blinked at you slowly.

You finally remember your feline companion’s presence, realizing now that she was probably getting jealous that you two were paying more attention to each other than her... So, you leaned over (rather close to Jake; not even realizing how he stiffened up at the gesture) and gave your little black cat a kiss on her cute little forehead, loving the little “prrbt” she made as she mashed her head into your lips.

You look up at Jake, “So… how’d you and your “separated at birth” brothers meet?”

Jake immediately coughed, tugging the collar of his shirt a bit nervously, “Well…”

🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒🌒

Layla sat on the edge of the building, looking down into your flat through your open window from above, kicking her feet and grinning as she held her cheeks in her palms, her elbows on her knees.

“Don’t you think it’s a little creepy to be spying on them, Layla?” Taweret asked, a chubby little brow curving in soft reprimand.

“Oh, c’mon, Taweret.” Layla said, looking up at her. “Jake is getting close to her… maybe he’ll open up, about himself or the other two, or…”

“...Or you were just being nosey.” She said, putting her hand on her hips and wagging a finger at the woman.

“Can't it be both?”

“Oh, you're just terrible!” The goddess sighed.

“Hey… she's perfect for them, Taweret… I jus’ wanna see how this starts out. And… I hope Jake will tell the boys about her. I worry about them, y'know.”

The hippo-woman sighed once again, a small frown on her muzzle, “As do I, m’love. We can only pray for the best.”

She looked around warily.

“...And hope Khonshu doesn't have something up his sleeve.”

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Chapter 12: Link

#moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #jake lockley x reader #steven grant x you #marc spector x you #jake lockley x you #a rose under the moon

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nerdieforpedro · 6 months

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Last Line Tag Game

rules: in a new post, show the last line(s) you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you like).

Tagged by @tinytinymenace @djarinmuse @chronically-ghosted @pedroshotwifey

So I think I’ll give three last lines, because it’s what I’ve been working on, first up is Din Djarin smut. I was supposed to be writing fluff, between @alltheglitterandtheroar and @megamindsecretlair it changed for the better and teasing is always fun. ☺️

Both arms pull Din’s head to your chest, the sharp inhale of air before he’s buried in your body has you whining. The intensity of just two of this thick fingers have you close to your second orgasm but he removes them, a pop then a second as he mouth part from your nipple. “Taste yourself, then you’ll come twice for me.”

Second is from “This is the Neighboorhood Din” my modern Din AU:

“Dear Lord in heaven I am not dressed or prepared to talk to that sort of man any day.” She muttered as Ms. Harris made her way down the stairs toward her, she hugged her, and her arms wrapped around her as well, eye still lingering on the man sitting on the porch. His sweatpants did not leave much to the imagination. They weren’t tight by any means; one could just trace the lines. Thick thighs and well… heavy in the middle is the most polite way to say it. The only way she can think to describe it while hugging her aunt.

Third, last line from chapter 5 of “The Lake Between Us” (yes I do have future chapters written I planned! Unheard of in Nerdie-land)

“That I did Moonbeam. You should be cautious of my motives, but I can start at the beginning of my troubles for you if you like.” He placed his hand on hers, running up her arm to her shoulder and drew a small circle around her mole. “Be forewarned, the past is neither rosy nor glamorous. It is fraught with hardship, double-crosses and some death.”

Moonbeam grinned, nodding as he spoke, “Sounds like a thriller Ezra. I’m all ears. Add a dash of romance and some mistaken identity and you have yourself a movie marathon.”

“I’m sure you’d be riveted to hear it.”

“That I would.” Moonbeam crosses her legs and leans forward, touching his chin with a finger, “Speak.”

Lastly, I might be trying finish my Dave York series finally. 👀 Or one of them, though I’m not sure all of them are on Tumblr. I think I write too much stuff and it get’s jumbled. This is a softer Dave:

At her core, Kiara felt safe with him. It hurt to admit though she wasn’t exactly sure why, pride maybe? Maybe she wanted to continue to be independent but she hadn’t been for a few months now.

No. Not when she really thought about it.

Her head was leaning against the steering wheel, the nurse had seen his SUV parked in the driveway. Dave pretty much lived with her now, though she didn’t remember giving him a key. He hadn’t needed a key their first night together either.

I’m also working on “Roc & Doc” and crafting the murder mystery since I killed off Rockford’s partner and introduced his brother. What role will his brother play? We’ll see. Also, if you’re going to be a furry for the night, make sure you can in and out of your suit. 😎

Chapter 5 of “Weddings 101 with Dieter” is under way as well. I want a lot to be in it, might be too much. We’ll see how it turns out, also smut because Dieter’s gotta get Maya’s dress off - he did promise her that. 😘 Half-ass and Bridezilla are in full swing!

It’s a lot like always because it’s Nerdie, what else am I supposed to do? Too many ideas, not enough follow-through. I did four instead of three. 😵

NPT: @maggiemayhemnj @morallyinept @rhoorl (for the sweatpants) @linzels-blog for Din @inept-the-magnificent @soft-girl-musings @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @magpiepills @secretelephanttattoo @goodwithcheese @undercoverpena @legendary-pink-dot @for-a-longlongtime @lady-bess @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @gemmahale @laurfilijames @avastrasposts @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @tightjeansjavi @frenchiereading @boliv-jenta @thefrogdalorian @trulybetty @kewwrites @beefrobeefcal @fhatbhabie

And whoever else saw all this and was like, let me do it too! ☺️

#last line tag #last line challenge #last line game #pedro pascal characters #fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #din djarin #dieter bravo #tim rockford #ezra prospect #wips #wip

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witchhazelevesque · 2 years

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The ‘that guy was creepy’ thing gets talked about, but at the end of Mark of Athena, Leo can tell Nico’s not telling the whole truth and still isn’t someone he completely trusts. If there had to be a reason Leo disliked him- and if it was actually explored- that should have been the crux of the issue. And considering they have such polar opposite methods of coping with their trauma, and how they present themselves, that seems like something that could set the other off.

They get into a fight and start mocking each other’s demeanors, like Leo setting his hands on fire and straightening the front of his hair so it falls over one of his eyes, hunches his shoulders and says in a raspy voice, “It’s me. The Shadow King.”

Nico seethes and contorts his face into a big grin, popping up on his toes and saying in an overly cheery voice, “Don’t you mean The Ghost King? You know, ‘cause you're so pale. Ba dum tss!”

The whole thing is so uncanny Leo almost stops right then. But he's more furious than freaked out (just barely) because he has never- at least in years- done the fake drum thing.

He tosses his head to swing his hair out of his eye, then lets it fall back in place. “Yes, it’s so strange, considering how close to the sun I am all the time, hiding in the crow's nest.”

“We should rename it The Raven's Nest then, ba dum tss!” Nico exclaims.

This continues on and off when they don't have demigod business to deal with, and it’s weird, because Leo finds that it’s nice not to have to keep a smile hitched on his face all the time, and to not have to fill every silence with chatter, and since the rest of the crew think he’s just being an asshole to Nico, they don’t ask him if there’s anything wrong.

Spending so much time thinking of jokes distracts Nico from dwelling on his experiences in the jar and in Tartarus. He face aches after smiling and his sides from laughing so much and that distracts him from the shakiness in the rest of his body. It helps put the others at ease a bit, because they hadn’t been sure how to approach him or help him with the trauma he’d just been through.

Leo steals the crow's nest and sits up there in the wind, and he’ll admit, it’s nice, the breeze in his hair, the sky open before him, makes him feel like he’s in a movie. He hates being alone with his thoughts, but it's easier not to think up there. At least until he has to get back to work on repairs to the ship, because he’s a dick, but not that much of a dick. Nico grinds his teeth seeing that his hiding place is occupied, and figures he may as well stand at the helm, and the extremely complicated control panel is a feat to make sense of, but he is Committed to the Bit.

Sometimes the deck is occupied, and the rigging still seems too close considering he's engaged in conversation with the other crew members already, and might have to do it again when he doesn’t have the energy. When that happens, Nico goes down to the engine room where Leo's working and just stands there, banging a hammer against a rivet that doesn't need to be hammered, just to make unnecessary noise. Considering that the engine room is the loudest place on the ship already, it doesn't have much impact, which Leo manages to convey with a stare through his fringe at Nico.

Nico keeps doing it anyway.

They manage to get the other to break character a few times, like when Leo’s talking about “-my stupid baby bat wing hair-“ and Nico does a double take and asks, “My what?”

But Leo’s still talking, “-maybe a whole bat motif-“ and he makes a mental note to suggest Nico make himself some Stygian Iron Batarangs. Would he get copyrighted for that?

At lunch one day, Nico manages to startle a laugh out of Piper and Leo slams down his cup and shouts, “I told that joke last week!”

Nico just stares at him and says, “Nico tell a joke? That sounds really weird.”

“Oh, not as weird as Leo remembering something so far back as a week ago!” Leo shoots back.

“I’m pretty sure Nico vowed in the Styx to never crack a smile!”

“Leo has a terrible sense of humor, no way he’d ever get anyone to laugh!”

“This is getting really meta,” Frank whispers to Hazel.

“Do you think they realize they’re just insulting themselves now?” She mutters back.

They’re some self-loathers, of course they end up insulting themselves.

Anyway, eventually they stop the Freaky Friday thing and their takeaway is that they’re really fucked up.

But it also shows them why the other behaves the way he does, and cools suspicions and irritations and makes it easier to work together.

#leo valdez #nico di angelo #piper mclean #hazel levesque #frank zhang #it could be read as #valdangelo #but really they just need friends and therapy #hoo #mark of athena #moa #heroes of olympus #house of hades

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kenjiyabuki · 8 months

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dmd ftr ep 5 shenanigans: surprise, bitch. i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me

when this episode was nearing the end, it felt bittersweet as i got attached to watching these boys weekly and upcoming series will probably gonna take forever to come out (i am sure they will keep on being active by doing dances on tiktok and selling products on lives etc but i find those contents very tedious, i like my actors acting more). i was wishing for this not to be the end and then, to my surprise, BAMMMM a preview for another episode started playing!!!! but then it was still bittersweet bc it was revealed that they will be singing and dancing throughout the whole episode...

like many other BL fans, there is nothing that turns me off faster than BL boys singing. personally, more than the boys' voices, its the songs themselves i find unbearable to listen to. to my dismay, Thai BL industry loves generic pop and slow ballads, two genres i cant stand listening to. anyhow, i enjoyed the fuck out of My School President, songs and all, so i am open to surprises!!! in fact i am begging to be proven wrong!! and i am glad that they seem to be choosing the winners based on their skills, not by vote or smth else!!!

now back to the episode::::

How Well Do You Know Your Bro challenge was kinda boring because questions were not that riveting but i thoroughly enjoyed Thomas being put down about not getting to play w Kong. i will comeback to that Tee & Kong situation soon.

finally KengNamping won and they got to have some lil old✨💫💞The Special Friendship Time💕💫 ✨. is this what we are calling having a heart to heart on a pseudo-date with your potential work partner nowadays???? during their Special Friendship Time, i was busy taking hundred of screenshots of Namping because he looked so damn good in his fit!!!!!!!!!

pink lipgloss, Celine shades, rainbow mesh sweater, bracelets, Adidas Samba OGs.... cmonnnn

it was sooooo sweet to see them openly talk about their lives and dreams. they had such a progress across these 5 episodes!!! they were finally open about how they want to work together but also things they need to better in order to do so. i cant help but just love their blushing and awkward demeanor!!! it somehow works in their favour.

so funny how keng is admittedly a hard to crack introvert but sometimes his awkward bluntness somehow leads to UNBEARABLY cute moments. like i was climbing up the wall when they were having their final discussion on the bench and keng was being like "who else would i be talking" OR "can we get this over with" while looking Namping in the eye LMAOOO and Namping cant help but just giggle... just some yummy novice fanservice <3

back at the house, Thomas getting jealous over TeeTee & Kong having a talk was funny to me because the it was kinda one of the most obviously produced/edited scenes of this show. i am not going to blame them, maybe they were worried about the show being too conflict free. honestly, i did actually expect Tee to ask Kong to be his partner because nothing gets past me just like Thomas::

we know in all boys sent postcards to each other episode 1 but the show didnt reveal who sent which. well actually, Domundi X account shared a picture of the postcards and (if you have too much free time like me) you can pair the cards w info given by boys themselves in that episode;

another brilliant investigative work i've done in collabration w Paint. also peep Namping's cute duck drawing. honestly what this man cant do???

so hey, Tee sent his postcard to Kong!!! so while folks were on social media making fun of Thomas being overly possessive, my dude was actually onto something!!! his radar was going off and he had to settle the matter!!! i get him, he is like "i''m already an established actor and have a fanbase, just let me get my man so we can maximize our joint slay and leave" and he is so right.........

since the first episode, everyone was tickled by how this show is working like a dating show, me included. but after seeing this comment and similar ones made me think further:

if you think about it, they kinda WILL date??? not on some delulu shit, think about it: they will be shipped, will do fanservice & skinship, spend most of their time together, travel together, co-habit if its required, not just work together but also will be required to take care and trust and depend on each other, FOR at least a couple years if it works out. they will be stimulating "dating", even out of a tv series. being branded pair is a long term job that requires a lot of trust and compatibility. they are also rookies in the industry, so of course they are taking it seriously and discussing their future like choosing a romantic partner.

so, while i felt really sad for Latte as he seemed really worried while trying to look chill about everything, i am glad TeeTee and First chose to not rushing into a pair just to win the show and were honest about still needing time to hone their craft and building chemistry. and i'm not opposed to TleFirst but i still want to see LatteFirst in LUAT as the side couple. i enjoyed them in the pilot trailer and think their roles is going to fit them well. i also dont want to see an actor lose a job for a ship, cmon...

Gems broke my little heart again ahhhh. TBH, Tle clocked his tea when he said Gems should be more confident in himself. its not easy to do so in front of an audience and i'm sure the industry feels like horse race but i hope Gems will be more sure of his abilities in the future and finally have his moment.

on a bigger twist, KengNamping & ThomasKong were the finalist couples!!!

honestly, i have NO IDEA which couple i want to see win. mostly because both pairings give off very different vibes to me. for me, my choice would depend on the plot of this supposed new series, but i dont even know what it is even about.

i was thinking what kind of series i would like to see them in. when i think of ThomasKong, i can see them pulling off a fun and youthful series like My School President, Kieta Hatsukoi or I Will Knock You. w KengNamping, they would look good in a period series like I Feel You Linger in the Air or To Sir, With Love, even though Domundi has already LUAT (which will hopefully come out in this century). i just want to see them in something angsty but also incredibly romantic. should the unimaginable occur and someone from Mandee Works is reading this, feel free to steal ideas!

i am excited for next week, i will be glad no matter the outcome. cant wait to see the crazy stage putfits!!!!

HIGHLIGHTS OF THE EPISODE

keng's pink socks, same colour as the namping's blushing cheeks hehe

teetee threatening to drown thomas lmaoooo 🤨im telling yall thomas was onto something w his suspicions, tee is praying on thomaskong's downfall!!

thomas finally being called out for laying it on thick because enough is enough!!!

lattefirst bickering about meat...

idk this is a translation thing or not but gems getting brother-zoned gagged me

keng's glasses taking a dip in the water. you lose some, you win some. his glasses are gone but at least he now has a partner. thank god it wasnt the celine sunglasses...

yes king!!!!!!!!!!

#dmd friendship the reality #domundi #ThomasKong #KengNamping #another novella about this random show that like only 3 people watch on this site

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popculturebuffet · 11 days

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American Pop Review: All Those Dreams, All Those Sons (birthday review for Brotoman.exe)

In Loving Memory of Ron Thompson 1941-2024

Hello all you happy people and it's time to kick off your shoes i'm breaking the news as it's time for a LONG delayed look at American Pop. So as a bonus my patrons get, in addition to a 5 dollar review a month for 5 dollar or higher patreons, a review on their birthday. As a gift for their support. I forgot to ask about Brotomans and gave him his late... and even later as some delays kept hitting this poor thing and I kept feeling awful about it. Thankfully we're FINALLY here and talking about Ralph Bakshi's American Pop.

While most of you seeing this probably know who Ralph Bakshi is , a quick refresher for those who don't: Bakshi was an animator, and one of the rare ones who focused on animated films geared at adults. He'd branch out on occasion, doing the Hobbit, the Lord of the Rings and in his mind and no one elses Wizards for a family audience, but he primarily stuck to tales breaking down society and being filled with sex and drugs. It's remarkable to me he could do this and saddening we don't have more people trying to make animated films for adults. And I love children's animation, I do, but ther'es some stories you simply can't tell and also have kids come see the movie. Sometimes i'ts because you want to have a cat do drugs, sometimes you want to have a man fuck a cartoon, sometimes you want to write a riveting generational saga about a families constant all too real tragedies.

If that last one sounds like a bit of a departure, it is. After making Lord of the Rings Bakshi wanted something more down and earth, a musical fable with more relaistic characters, pushing rotoscope as far as he could. The result was.. only a million more than it's budget, but still resulted in a critical darling and cult classic among animation fans. It probably didn't help it was promoted as a rock n roll epic.. when only half the film , if that, has rock in roll in it. The rest is a stark generational saga of failure, loss, and dreams and it slaps. So come see what I mean under the cut.

Production wise I don't got much that I haven't already said and the few bits I do are best so let's get cracking.

American Pop is, as mentioned, a generational saga following 4 diffrent men from boyhood to manhood. It's not an easy watch as only one of these stories has a happy ending the rest all being some form of tragedy as the shortsighted choices and passiveness of these men destroy them and damage their children. It's a hard saga yet anchored by moments of joy humor and music and a triumphant ending, and to tell it properly i'm going to break it up into 4 sections, one for each main protaganist. Now some of our protaganists spill into their kids sections, as you'd expect but it's pretty clear when their story ends and their child's begins. It's a neat sweet spot between anthology film and a narrative film: the film is still essentially one long narrative, but each protaganists story has a clear ending bleeding into the next generation.

Zalmie

Our story begins with Zalmie, a small child as he and his mother prepare to flee russia during one of it's many porgoms, targeted riots designed to wipe out the jewish people that resulted in many lost lives and immigrants. It's a genocide I didn't honestly know happened till this movie and should be talked about more, as it's all too chillingly familiar to the kinds of tactics we see used against minorties today. The porgoms are also the inciting incident for Don Bluth's american tail.

So our hero and his unnamed mother come to New York, where the bulk of our stories take place and the love of Bakshi's life. Most of his films are set in New York. The only one's that don't are his 4 fantasy films and Cool World, which chooses Vegas again. It's clear the city is in his bones and every frame we see of it is lovingly drawn.

That's one of the films strengths: It's backgrounds: only a few characters are rotoscoped to life, a process where ink is drawn on real photos of people to help get thier movements down. Bakshi seemed to use this a lot using it for his tolkien duology and this film. For the backgorunds he uses photos resembling cartoons from the time or historical photos, giving us nice impressionist faces in the crowds. He'll also frequently use live action stock footage to segue scenes which is less effective to me , but I get the budget wasn't that high so you have to make do.

The rotoscoping itself looks pretty good. It can look uncanny valley in places as this was long before they could easily edit it digtially, and even then as we've seen modern equilvents can still look really weird, see in a scanner darkly (Which I need to watch) or polar express (Which is still really good). But it mostly works here.. the teeth never look right and shots with a lot of teeth can look hilarously bizzare, but for the most part it allows some nice flexible expression on the faces they gently edited the best they could and for the big bombastic emotions to really pop.

Zalmie gets into the music scene and begins a generational love of the craft via a burlseque club he happens upon. He's quickly hired by Louie a man with big ears, and a bigger mouth and who takes the kid under his wing, with some minor reluctance but it's clear while he tries to put up a wall he takes to the kid and his talent at handing out chorus sheets for the crowd to sing along to. Sadly back then David Byrne wasn't born yet to summon perfect choruses with his telepathic powers, you had to make do.

Zalmie's mom isn't super happy with his new life, but accepts a gift of a banana he got from an organ grinder.

Sadly.. we don't see his mom for much longer as next scene.. she dies. And it's a historic incident too, thank you wikipedia as I otherwise woudln't of known as they link to it in the plot summary for the film, the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire. So in the film you see women banging on locked doors.. and it's real. Employers locked the doors to stairwells to prevent unathorized breaks. I don't have a gif for that as it's so inhumane and horrifying to basically lock your workers inside a possible oven I can't joke about this. it's just.. my god. Thankfully this nightmare lead to better saftey standards.. but also cost 146 people their lives in truly horrifying ways... and in this reality Zalmie's Mother was one of them.

In a truly moving scene though without saying a word... Louie takes him in, putting an arm on the kids shoudler. While he tries to deny he's bascially Zalmie's new dad, it's very clear he is.

So cut to puberty which isn't good on our hero: While Louie had him as a singing act puberty's cutting into it homer simpson style. Unlike Abe instead of wrining his hands Louie is TRYING to keep his adopted boy afloat and assumes it'll change back.

Tragically.. it never gets the chance. Zalmie gets drafted into world war one. The good news is he gets uso duty. He ends up as a horses ass, figuratively, and wants to sing again, to get back out there, but it's still not bad... till the planes raid and a stray bullet hits im in the throat. For the rest of the film Zalmie has a deeper voice and it's clear the impact leaves a mark on more of his neck. Louie once again shows he's a stand up guy by showing up at his bedside. Awww.

So later Zalmie's become a deep voiced clown.

And I really like Zalmie's voice, that raw rasp to it. He's played by Jeffery LIppa whose wikipedia article is basically "he exists". That underlies his talent as Zalmie undergoes a bit of a transformation as the movie goes on. But we'll get to that for now Zalmie meets Doris, a stripper working at the club he's working at and is immeditly in love. With Louie's encouragment he goes after her and we get a really charming scene. He goes to her dressing room, she invites him inside and they just stare lovingly at each other as they strip down. While I try my best words really can't do this justice, it's just this look of pure love and attraction between two people. The proof that sex can be romantic in the right context even if we don't get this far because rotoscoping sex would be awkward as fuck.

So instead we cut to some time later as Zalmie's trying to encourage Doris to be a singer, having heard her voice and knowing she has talent.. but while I never have any doubts he actualy cares for doris... I have just as little doubt this is more for him. He could sing, he's badly wanted this, and now he can't so he's projecting onto his wife. He's already shown to be a pretty good manager in Louie's stead, an organizer, he could be happy with that. But he WANTS the big lights, the fame, and even if it's just through his wife it's something.

So they try it.. but let's say 8 months later they've hit a brick wall: Doris has talent but is heavily pregnant and Zalmie is forced to have her perform anyway as he can't afford to marry her. Enter Palumbo, the local mob boss who Louie introduces Zalmie too.. and he'll help both with Doris' career and the wedding.. if Zalmie delivers a few packages for him.

So Zalmie does reluctant at first.. but over a few scenes he settles into the life: his wife is performing in the top clubs, his son is by his side , a young boy at this point, and he has everything he could want. He's gone from hating what he has to do simply to get by.. to welcoming it while Delores is clearly more uneasy when their now having regular poker games at her home.

Sadly Delores.. dosen't get much fleshing out. SHe's mostly there to love Zalmie, be a tad reluctant.. then die horribly, stuffed in the fridge.. or in this case given the wrong package meant for Zalmie that winds up with her exploded off screen. She just dies to create angst for Zalmie and his son Benny, and in general the women in this film are more plot devices than genuine characters. The film does a good job giving the major romances belivieable chemistry, so it dosen't harm the film, but it's noticable as fuck that not a single one really gets to speak and are mostly shuffled aside.

So with Delores sad death.. we move on. Zalmie's story gets to continue the longest, spreading out across three chapters, but he's no longer the focus after that. No the POV shifts to

Benny

It's the late 20's early 30's at this point and when we see Benny next we've time skipped: It's something very common in this film, with big time jumps happening fast. It feels like a biopic in that regard, if for people who never existed: it has to cover a VAST swath of time but unlike a biopic isn't bound by real life so it can pick and choose what we see easier without feeling like it's cutting important stuff out. It still does here and there but most of the time skipped is stuff there wasn't a story for or we get the gist of anyway after we jump ahead.

So Benny is a young man now, working in a dive club with a do-wop act and denying his father's attempts to get him a better job, a conversation that feels well lived in, like this is far from the first time. It's also made clear, if not said WHY Benny refuses: he knows what his dad's up to, having been playing the piano, his talent and calling, when his mother died. He dosen't want any part of the Palumbo family.. which is unfortunate as Salmie needs him to marry Palumbo's daughter. He's resistant till he reads between the lins and gladly agrees knowing his dad probably can't say no and live long.

So we have a suprisingly charming wedding, with Palumbo and Salmie declaring each other brothers and everyone goofing around and Louie is there.. and Louie has not aged. I can't honestly tell if this is a pact with the devil thing or a John Stamos thing.

And.. the two hit it off.. we ge ta deeply romantic scene in their new mansion where again despite teh female characters mostly being props.. bakshi and his actors pull of honest to god chemistry. He makes something that should be schmaltzy, two people crammed together by their parents genuinely falling in love, and make it feel earnest and cute.

So some time later we're back where we started.. while Benny's performing in a much more upscale place, Zalmie is berating him... but this time.. it's because he thought about the army and Zalmie said son you fucking high. His reasons are also clear: if he makes it out of the war, he can support his family... and get away from THE family. As the next stretch will make clear his wife also isn't too keen on mob life and Benny likely dosen't want to fall for the trap his dad in: Getting in deeper due to debt and having to do worse and worse things that could get his family killed in the crossfire. Zalmie seems dead to it, accepting of what he lost.. but Benny remembers.

Tragically it's this heroic impulse, wanting a better mob free life for his family.. that leads to Benny's end. What happens to the poor guy in WWII is easily the best scene of the movie: Benny is inflirtrating a town when he spots a piano, playing it. Maybe he misses his art, maybe he just knows he dosen't have long to live. But this one moment of simply wantin ga break.. costs him as a German soldier sneaks up behind him... and even knowing he's going to die and leave his family behind... Benny plays. He plays soulfully from the heart, his last performance and his best... and he dies for it. the Soldier letting out a thankful danke.. before savagely murdering him. A reminder war knows no peace, no freinds.. and no hope. He leaves behind a wife greving her father forces to get remarried and a son...

Tony:

Tony grows up comfortably in the suburbs like his dad and thus catchs the end of his grandfather's story: Zalmie is brought before the senate to testify and while Palumbo is confident he won't talk.. he does. Zalmie's story ends here as he lays out why: his son died leaving him a wreck, he got thrown in prison, and Palumbo's assurances h'ed get out slowly stopped coming. Zalmie's story.. is a heartbreaking one: a kid with all the talent and potetial who slowly lost his parents, his wife, and his morals, and despite everything still lost his son. All he has left is the truth: he knows he probably won't live long.. and dosen't care. And given Palumbo dosen't come up after this it's safe to say he probably did go down. Did Zalmie go with him? We'll never know. Tony didn't find out, so neither do we.

Instead Tony becomes a beatnik, adoring poetry slams and really getting into it. Thus he's a bit pretentious and jokey, but a good kid and my faviorite of the four, with Ron Thompson giving a standout performance. Thompson originally auditioned for a bit part, but his delivery of "GREETINGS PIZZA MAN" got Bakshi's attention, he asked who he was then cast him as Pete, our Finaly Belenski and eventually Tony. As a result he got top billing thanks to Tony having a sizeable role and Pete getting used in all the promotion as the modern star.

But we'll get to him later.. for now the focus is on Tony who hammy as he is feels isolated at home, his sisters and brothers ignoring him and his mom and step-dad both not really paying attentoin. So he steals his step dads car and books it for California. It's also a large part of why I think Palumbo went down: while Tony's Parents never came looking his grandpa would've gotten pissy over what he saw as an insult. So without him around Tony gets a clean slate. We neve rfind out what happened to his family or his poor mother who already lost her husband nad, no matter how lax she might've been it's left unclear, lost a son.

So Tony heads to the wild cornfields of Kansas, doing dishes for a night and meeting a waitress named

While they have the standard Belenski starring at each other adorably we've come to expect, with him giving a fun monlogue about she's the prize in the box of cracker jacks we call life. Which yeah, is pretenious as it sounds, but also cornily sweet and fits given Tony's likely still 17 at this point. What Teenager isn't a tad corny? It's what makes the character works: he goes into operatic rants and what not, but he comes off like any overdamatic teen and tends to be funny in the process.

So Tony can't convince the waitress girl to go with a strange man she just met to california. It was the 50's, they didn't know how bad that sounded. So they have a one night stand as represented by a train going through a tunnel

And we cut to tony i'm guessing a year or two later, washing dishes in a dingy club. He clearly WANTS to be on stage but his boss points out he can't sing and he can't play guitar.. even though there's a wide wooly world of insturments. He quits after a rambling monologue about dish washing, that again is funny because we're clearly not entirely laughing WITH tony, and frankly given the boss is a douche and thinks there's only one insturment in the world, I support this.

Tony then gets lucky... metaphorically this time, as he plays the harmonica, Benny's harmonica likely recovered from his body, and his sweet groove attracts Frankie Hart, the lead center of a six piece band and her guitarist also notices and invites him up in the 60's sense of piece brotherhood and passing the joint around, which he gladly takes. To the films credit it dosen't portray weed as the reason some of these guys get into hard drugs later or evil, just something done casually which for 1981 is progressive as hell. We weren't to just say no YET, but it was coming.

Bennie can't sing, though guitar man poitns out the obvious EVERYONE can play guitar, and his harmonica skills aren't exactly prime. He can WRITE though and eagerly takes them up on their offer to read some running home to get it and making some on the way home. For this segment a lot of real 60's songs are used and if I haven't covered the soundtrack it's not becaause it's bad, more because I don't recognize a lot of the songs and they play breifly. Music is at the heart of this movie.. but it's only mildly a musical. It still counts as there are music numbres and several factor into the plot, as well as a load of montages, it's got music in it.. but it's all brief and mostly lisecned. IT's still good and Tony's chops get him a regular gig with them.

Tony still wants to perform.. but is happy to soak in his music being sung. He's honestly fine being simply a part of things.. at first. But a later performing session shows two problems: The first is a drug problem: Frankie has one and Tony's been knocked down to her suplier, the second issue being she dosen't seem to value his music or at least acts like it. She still invites him on stage for a performance.. but after he'd done some acid kool aid leading to a truly trippy rendition of don't you want somebody to love you that really works. The songs been used a fuckton for promotoin and stuff by my time, but it works well thematically her.e

Tony fall down and go boom and it's here his story really gets tragic: his grandpa fell to his ambition, his dad fell to simply wanting some peace... Tony's fall.. is drugs. He gets addicted to painkillers and starts to spiral, seprating with the band for two months , feeling they don't need him in his stupor and thinking they fired them. We think that too.. till he returns to the studio and instead has simply been misisng, mildly butthurt Frankie married the drummer for all of two weeks. His spirit returns when she shows up and slaps the shit out of him... and says she needs him.

The relationship.. is about as healthy as it sounds. The two are happy together.. but also feed into each others addiction and by our next time skip while Frankie and co's album is a huge hit and they've got jimmi hendrix opening fo rthem, with an awesomely animated stand in of him. And while usually I feel Purple Haze is overplayed as it gets used in pop culture all the damn time as the stock "I'M DOING A DRUGS" song, it works here.. for basically the same purpose but also to contrast Hendrix at the height of his powers.. and to have them ironically opened by someone who'd also die far too soon from too much drugs. Tony and Frankie are burnt out at this point, and clearly out of their mind.. and have a guest. A young blonde haired blue eyed boy. Their in kansas. And like you Tony quickly connects the dots and freaks out a bit over it.. and the heroin in his system.

He dosen't have much time to react as after she sings for the kid.. we cut to Frankie dead. And while over the top.. tony's reaction is utterly heartbreaking, his face broken as he clings to her. Their relatinoship wasn't healthy.. but he still loved her.

Tony decides to get out of music and take his son Pete with him. Tony is... no less stable, spending most of their time dealing drugs and selling drugs and yells at his son for buying cornflakes and taking care of the groceries and you know.. being the parent in the relationship. I'ts heartbreaking: Tony was a mild ass.. sure.. but he was just a wide eyed kid who could've gone far , as could've frankie had he not got hooked on drugs and she not died from it. INstead h'es just a washed out wreck of his old self, heavy bags under his eyes, not even THAT much older. It's a truly heartrending end and a sign of what heavy drugs does t oa person and it's not pertty.

Eventually things hit their breaking point on a park bench: Tony wants to sell Pete's guitar, pete obviously does not and reveals during the argument he knows Tony's his father.. and it's why he's been protecting him. Tony's eyes go wide.. and he realizes both that his kid has been trying his damndest to save him.. and that he's beyond it. He dosen't want to get clean and won't.. and being around his kid is forcing the poor kid to take care of him when ther'es more to him. Granted his solution of pawning the guitar and telling a random passer by to tell him goodbye is... something, he coudl've gone to his family, but the fact Tony got as far as "shit I need to leave before this poor kid ends up like me" is still something. And as tony fades into the abyss, to never return... we move on to our final scenes

Pete: Pete gets the least screentime. Techncially I consider the start of pete's story to come at tony's end but they overlap heavier than Zalmie with his son. At any rate Pete really only gets about 20 minutes of screentime, 10 of which are purely focused on him and not entertwined with Tony's tragic end.

Pete has done okay for himself but not great. On one hand he's got bitching shades, a love of music like his papa, and a slick purple jacket I really want. He also has a cool tendnecy to drop his shades when he sees something musical and intresting. Despite having a short runtime we do get a sense of who pete was: someone whose cool, has swagger.. and deals drugs to get by, but learned from his old man's horrifying example to not do them himself as far as we can tell. He also has a girlfriend. She sure exists.

He's tired of dealing though having the good sense to get out of crime his grandpa had his great grandpa learned too late and his father never learned so when dealing to a band he knows asks to play. They shoot him down and the exec says they can find anothe rdealer if he refuses... but when he almost walks out the need for drugs is too strong and the lead singer makes a compromise: they'll play ONE song. not recording it. Pete agrees and dosen't throw away his shot.

It's here he sings, or rather a recording of Bob Seger sings, night moves, a song I truly love and is awesome, a simple song about a first time.. fitting how his parents met and what his mom told him. Thing is.. that's not what bakshi wanted. Bakshi wanted Freebird, which fits the father son angle more, even if it's sung to a lover instead of a child. Me I prefer Night Moves as a song and feel it still fits.. but agree Freebird fits better tonally.

No matter the song the band and label is impressed and we end with Pete singing a medly of songs as he rises to rock stardom... and the film rises to batshit insanity, using green colored footage of the actors singing and performing, splices in bits of Pete's family history he likely dosne't know about, and in general being what I assume acid feels like. Ralph Bakshi would know. But i'ts a solid finale and I like the lack of finality: We know Pete made it but we don't know if that holds, if he stays sober unlike his old man, if he ever finds said old man or any of his family. Learns more about them. We just know for one breif moment, after over 70 years of strife, a belinskiy reached his dream.. and that just has to be enough.

American Pop is excellent and if this hasn't convinced you to watch it I don't know what will. At the time this article was pubished it's free to view with ads on youtube and I strongly recommend doing so: It's a tragic yet joyous tour through parts of music I hadn't really carred to look into before but might now. A love leter to music, new york, america and those who didn't quite make it. It's a wonderful film and well worth your time

thanks for reading

#ralph bakshi #american pop #bob seger #night moves #animation #the 80s #film #music #jimmi hendrix

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