#He's got logic and chess and he's not afraid to use them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pathofcomet · 4 years

Text

my honey, my daisy, my only

fandom: ikemen vampire

pairing: isaac/MC

summary: “Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.Written for Isaac week, day 4. Prompt: AU. Hanahaki AU. (AO3)

“Do not fall in love with anyone here,” Sebastian threatens, wiping a glass and carefully placing it to the side, to be moved to the cupboards a little bit down the hall.

She places her trembling hands in her lap: scared and her heart still throbbing in her chest. This place and this time suddenly don’t really feel like a dream anymore, the fear too real. Love is a concept that doesn’t fit in this image that she’s building of the inhabitants of Saint-Germain’s mansion, so his warning is hollow, empty.

“Why?” she still asks, dumbly.

Sebastian stops – and then slowly, he undoes his necktie and the first two buttons at the top of his shirt. With the downwards pull, she can see the small scar sitting at the base of his throat, nothing but a faint line, whiter than the rest of his skin. His finger is just delicately following the path of where there has once been a cut.

“You know what this is, right?”

She nods. It’s not proper to ask more about it, because what’s there left to be said, when you have given up all memories of a loved one for the chance to keep on living? When the flowers start growing in your chest alongside your love, there are only two choices, really: you’re either having your feelings reciprocated, or have them disappear forever, alongside your memories of the person you fell for. Sebastian chuckles, a dry little thing.

“This does not exist here yet.”

And now the warning sinks in, with its whole finality and strength. If you love, and you are not loved back – here the only choice left is to eventually choke on all those feelings. She can feel her throat constricting in painful memory, the ghost of something she will never be able to recall. She nods again, and Sebastian, pleased that he got to her, resumes his work.

***

Love is pain. Love on its own is pure death – it goes as simple as that. But love kills slowly and beautifully, for it is not entirely unkind.

For vampires, the suffering is doubled. Because while sex is the food, love is the appetite.

And Isaac is stuck in the middle, thirst clawing at him, knowing the pain long before the love arrives.

***

Is there a reason for what humans do? Isaac doesn’t feel like he became a vampire a long time ago, but the separation still comes to him naturally. Even more so ever since she joined this place and turned his world upside down.

Isaac opens his door to her small figure in the frame and no matter how much he scrambles for a reason why she’s here, he can find none. By all laws of logic, she should be afraid and hateful. Instead, she smiles and doesn’t pour all the contents of the tray in his lap, which is more than he’d expected.

And Isaac finds himself smile back. Mistake no. 1.

***

Saint-Germain drinks his coffee, watching the exchange between Isaac and his newest visitor, and he calculates inside his mind several possibilities and probabilities. In time travel, just as in love, there are no real certainties, not even for the best out there. But there are more or less twenty days left for their young visitors – certainly not enough to develop any severe forms of the sickness, even if she is to catch it.

Saint-Germain thinks her better than that. But twenty days are more than enough to have her fall in love with a city instead. Cities don’t break hearts. So he clears his throat, passing his cup over to Sebastian, and creates an excuse.

Mistake no. 2 – Isaac didn’t do anything directly about this one, but he still considers himself guilty for it.

***

“Smiling suits you,” Isaac says, and her cheeks bloom red, like flowers.

He is smiling as well, and the two of them are on the side of the road, looking at each other, suddenly transfixed. When not frowning, when not teased, when at ease – Isaac looks like a man entirely enjoying the spring of his life. Full of playfulness and boyish charm.

It is gone in a moment, but she trusts her eyes more than the slip of her mind.

She doubts she’ll make Isaac admit to such a thing, especially when he still seems to have problems keeping his blush at bay even when they brush shoulders accidentally, on the more crowded streets, but… she thinks this might be a date. Or at least that’s how dates in movies look like, since she cannot remember her own ones.

But they walk and talk. He takes her to his favourite café, and she has the best baguette of her life. The coffee sticks to her throat.

***

She reaches out, too much and too willingly. Trusting too much, fearing too little – it drives Isaac a bit crazy. He doesn’t have the bloom to go by. He never experienced love in his past life, focused on his studies as he’s been, and vampires can judge only by their thirsts. But it feels like way more than anyone has tried to do for him in a while, ever since Napoleon, and suddenly Isaac isn’t sure if he wants to call her a friend.

Or something more.

Mistake no. 3. He spends two hours on the kitchen floor, Sebastian stepping gracefully around him, drinking bottle of rouge after bottle of rouge, his lips turning redder and redder, the clawing feeling at his throat not quite disappearing.

***

“Luv,” Arthur says, and she flutters her eyes open, slowly, to him pushing her hair behind her ear.

She went unfocused there for a bit.

“That expression doesn’t suit you,” he continues, sighing.

She tries to scold her features better and focus on the game of chess in-between the two of them in the library. Leonardo is napping on the floor in the corner, a blanket she brought from upstairs over his shoulders. It’s been harder to control the pain, flaring up at random times – and she’s sure it still shows on her face, no matter how much she wants to actually hide it. It’s nothing much but discomfort, thrumming from deep inside her chest, but only for now.

It’s a bit annoying that Arthur somehow already picked it up. She frowns at him, pushing her piece across the table. From his own expression, she can tell it was a bold but completely stupid move. It’s fine; she hasn’t played chess in a long time and she didn’t expect to win in the first place anyway.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

“You know him better,” she closes her eyes again, turning her neck a bit – Arthur gets a bit distracted staring at the expanse of skin there. “What should I do?”

Arthur grins, his fangs sharp.

“I think you’ve been doing just fine.” He points a finger towards the clock on the wall, already several minutes past the time for Isaac’s meals.

She gets up, technically allowing him the win, leaving the room. Leonardo opens his eyes to peer up at the writer, and although they say nothing out loud, there’s some knowledge passing between the two of them regardless.

***

“Why did you stay until so late, then?” Sebastian asks, grateful that no matter how badly Isaac might need blood, he’s not just grabbing at his shirt and sinking his fangs in his skin, instead ripping from his hands a glass vial.

She’s away now, so his hunger is already slowly fading, as Isaac is trying to do calculus in his head, and more definitely not think about the time spent together, which just keeps adding up.

In the entrance hallway, she’s coughing, delicately trying to cover it up with her handkerchief. When Saint-Germain shows up, she gathers the two small flower buds that she coughed out in her handkerchief, and hides it in her pocket, smiling up at him instead.

The notion of having him as a dance partner staves off the pain, at least for a while, just a bit.

***

She gives and gives. Mistake no. 4: Isaac accepts. He doesn’t know how to say no, even when it hurts. He doesn’t know how to translate her own suffering, when he’s so happy to just have her near.

Isaac’s used with the thirst, nothing else he hasn’t experienced before. The trouble with love is that it feels fresh each and every time.

So while he thinks he has things under control, she most definitely doesn’t. When one chooses to pluck out the flowers growing in their chest, the memories disappear. The one who picks this path, will keep on making the same mistake, not recognizing the patterns, unable to grow with no roots grounding them in place.

So she falls, fast. When Isaac saves her, an upside down mirror of her first night here – not fear thrumming at her wrists this time around, but just the pleasure of having him near, she stumbles, and swears, and the words come out muffled.

She covers her mouth, looking up at Isaac like a deer caught by its hunter. He wants nothing else but – mistake no. 5. Isaac doesn’t stop: then and there, when the doubt starts coiling inside his stomach.

Instead, he offers himself as her company and gentlemanly ignores her when she asks for five minutes to freshen up. In the corner of the room in which she ducked to hide, Vincent pats her back, as petal after petal falls out from between her lips, until she’s left shivering.

And beautiful. Love is pain. Pain is beauty.

Maybe that’s why Isaac cannot look away, cannot keep away: because her cheeks blush with the prettiest of red each time he gets to close. He realizes he maybe pushed too hard simply because, in the fountain where before was only clear water, once he gets up – she’s surrounded by cherry blossoms.

The petals swim all around her, a child leans over to pick a few in her hands. An older lady tuts disappointingly at the two of them. Isaac reaches out a hand, fearful.

But what is he fearing? Why is he so afraid? If this is true –

No.

Mistake no. 6. Isaac cannot believe the obvious signs, because he doesn’t think he’s worthy of them. Men kill more hearts just by not trusting their own.

***

She shivers in the bathtub, the water getting colder, overflowing with flowers and petals. She’ll have to deal with that later – now she is busy counting up to 10, over and over again, trying to calm the thrumming of her heart, the desperate up and down of her chest: her hand pressed over the scar there.

She wonders: how long into these symptoms she got the removal done? How much did she think she could handle, before it all became too much?

Isaac, pushing at Napoleon’s shoulder, bites at his neck, fangs so painful that it makes the other man hiss. The soldier grabs at Isaac’s hair, enough to make eye contact.

“Slowly,” he urges, and Isaac’s grip on him relaxes, though his gulps still ring too loud in his head.

It brings him no pleasure, but his friend calms: with the warmth of another person, the fresh blood, hunger easier to be sated. The tug turns into pets, and Isaac places a kiss where he pierced the skin, lapping at the blood spilling out.

Napoleon sighs. “You’re wet. Let’s change, shall we?”

***

“This room is getting stifling, Toshiko-san,” Dazai says, coming around to check on Isaac.

They’re vampires, they’re supposed to heal and recover fast. Dazai just wants the bragging rights, that he cares the most out of their friends group. And also, maybe, Dazai wants to check the one rumour he has heard, which proves itself quite true.

Isaac is still asleep. Around him, overflowing from his desk and shelves and windowsill: flowers upon flowers, fully bloomed. Dazai sighs. The smell is almost sickeningly sweet – and she looks quite pale.

“I figured I’d be bothering him more if I were to take them out each and every time…”

Each and every time she bends her body over and coughs out flowers in exchange for his love, is the sentence that she doesn’t finish. She is also quite right. And despite it all, she is still here, right next to him.

What a little fool, their Toshiko-san.

***

They dance together, in front of several pairs of eyes, carefully noting each and every small detail, change in them. Like how Isaac’s pupils get the slightest bit more dilated, his fangs sharper, grazing his lips even with his mouth closed. Like how she can’t quite keep her back straight, how she doesn’t really speak.

Sometimes what remains unsaid means more. It is unbearable to hold each other like this, would have been even more unbearable if they didn’t.

Isaac disappears as fast as he appeared, and she’s left on the spot, hands clawing at her throat. She hunches over, clasps her palms to her mouth as she’s trying her damn hardest to stop breathing, to stop feeling. To calm the wave of emotions threatening to spill over, past her lips and in her lap, like a sky decorated with cherry blossoms.

“I believe it is a bit late for that,” Saint-Germain says.

And then they’re out.

***

In the afternoon glow, filtering through the stained glass, she looks beautiful. And Isaac is filled with need: not for her blood, to be fed – but for her love, as a man. His touch against her cheek is tentative and tender and that of someone begging to be held and pushed away at the same time.

Isaac isn’t sure yet which scenario he’s wishing hardest for.

She meets his eyes, and something in him goes even softer. It melts away everything in her.

“W-what is-? Why are you crying…?”

And despite not being hurt, she keeps crying. The tears are just that, in the beginning, and Isaac’s thumb passes over her skin, catching each and every one. She finds she cannot stop, once the dam has been broken: the happiness is suddenly too much. Here he is: just him and her, and he is touching her, and he is caring for her.

Much more than she thought she deserved, much more than she thought she’d get. Way too little compared to how much she still wants. So the tears keep spilling, never stopping. Then they’re not just tears anymore, a petal falling as well each and every time.

Isaac’s hold gets just a bit gentler, and that’s how she knows something is not quite right, before the petals start falling in her lap. Against her cheek, he clenches and unclenches his hands. Slowly, awkwardly, searching her face all along, he reaches out… and pulls her into an embrace.

She sniffles in the material of his shirt, his arms closing around her. The petals are cascading now more rapidly, down his back, and her hands claw at him.

“It’s going to be all right… Please, don’t cry.”

Of course, he can say that because he’s not the one spilling his feelings from his guts, betrayed by his body to show his feelings. He can say that because he is not dying from loving. She trembles in his arms, knowing she doesn’t deserve the comforting, knowing he doesn’t want her.

“… I’m sorry,” she whispers, and her hold on him tightens, and her tears fall even more furiously, accompanied by her pained wailing.

Isaac holds her, gentle as ever, his palms soothingly rubbing down her back. If he were to count the bones he can feel through the thin material of her dress, the numbers would be higher than in a normal human body.

Love taking roots, love taking over.

If she were to see his expression, she would find it pained, his face buried at the crook of her neck. But even when they untangle, Isaac covers his face with his palm, the downward tug at his lips, making his fangs visible, hidden from her.

Mistake no. 7: Isaac cannot tell the truth. Even worse, Isaac hides the truth, even when he knows hers is so painfully obvious, even when that so obviously pains her.

“Do you intend to return home?”

***

“Don’t go back…” Isaac says, laid on his back, her just a bit further to the left.

And while she’s staring at the open night sky in front of her, he can’t stop looking at her.

She shifts, coming up, suddenly coughing up the now familiar flower petals. They’re falling in-between her fingers, overflowing her hold. Isaac’s heart squeezes in his chest at the sight.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, in-between gasps of breath.

He looks at her, taken aback.

“This,” she shakes her hands in the air, the pink flowers falling all around her. “Knowing it’s you.”

Isaac chokes on his next words, and changes the topic. He can hear her, trying to keep in a new wave of coughing. He has accidentally heard her complain to Sebastian about the chest pain, how her muscles are aching with how much she’s been heaving, how her insides don’t feel quite alright anymore.

Her body, so small and frail, holding the weight of her entire, spilling love.

***

Isaac doesn’t like the way he gets when he’s hungry – it’s been worse these days, what with the desperate need of her as well. Sometimes, something alike a fog washes over him.

When he comes back to himself, he’s in a bed made of blood and flowers: scene of an almost-crime. She’s still breathing, and that’s all that really matters, but his head is foggy and there’s nothing to do but wait and pray, and pray and wait – and hate himself for all of it.

Isaac has only words to rely on in this scenario, for his feelings. And words tend to fail him already, so much and so often. And he tends to fail words as well, so obliviously.

If he can hurt her even like this, why does she love him?

If he can hurt her even like this, how is he supposed to hold on to this last piece of his humanity while actually accepting that he loves her?

Mistake no. 8. Isaac pushes her away.

***

“Sebastian,” she whines, because it’s the fourth time he’s brought up to her rooms only a bowl of the blandest soup.

He pushes at her shoulder, gluing her back to the pillow again – as it should be. She’s paler now, weaker, and in the air all around her room, the sweetest of fragrance, the spring back in his home country. Bouquets of flowers sprang from place to place since his last visit, and… he is fearful she might not make it for the door.

“Sick patients don’t get to complain about the schedule of an overworked butler.”

She pouts, even as she picks up the spoon. It hangs in-between her fingers.

“Sebastian?”

A beat.

“Yes?”

“Just… why?”

He sighs. “I don’t think anyone knows, or remembers for that matter. I just think it’s just the heart thinking it doesn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“So you get a person or you get the flowers? They’re pretty, but they’re cruel.”

Sebastian eyes her cracked lips, the petals of her flowers – living and still image of each other.

“So is love.”

A beat.

“Did anyone tell you that you make a terrible emotional support?”

He grins at her, this time flicking her forehead.

“Might have heard it several times before.”

***

“What do you think you’re doing, Newt?” Arthur asks, shoving his friend’s body against the wall, a bit too harshly, holding onto the collar of his shirt.

Isaac covers his hand in his, pushing. Arthur doesn’t let go, just lets out something that is between a growl and a sigh. Isaac, more or less, does the same.

“She’s bad,” Arthur says.

Isaac remains unfazed. “I know.”

“Worse, after all that blood loss.”

And only that – the guilt, makes Isaac actually realize that bad is not just the dull lull in her chest, but something more definite. Arthur would have never gone out of his way like this if that wasn’t the case. Only when the panic settles in, accompanied by a wave of anxiety so forceful Isaac almost feels like throwing up, does Arthur finally let go.

“You can lose her in two ways,” he says. “Pick the one you can live eternity with.”

***

She can’t really speak anymore – words too harsh on her throat, where buds are slowly crawling their way up. Someone comes by to prepare her a new cup of tea regularly, because it’s supposed to soothe the pain. She’s not sure it’s effective at all, but she also cannot complain much anymore, anyway.

Her coughing fits now can keep going for even half an hour at a time, and she cringes with each intake of air, because her muscles are aching so desperately for some kind of relief. She has nothing to give.

Theo comes and reads poetry to her, though she notices him skipping the love poems. Arthur plays chess with her again, though he’s not chiding her for taking too long this time around. Napoleon sits by her side, as they eat crepes together.

She misses a party, stuck in this waiting game, to see what comes first: her demise or her return. Isaac doesn’t – and in the span of a night, he makes a new friend in an old one and loses him too.

He doesn’t want to lose another person. Ever – if possible, or at least not in that way.

His hand trembles around the handle of the door, trying to gather his courage. The familiar scratching at his throat returns, stronger and stronger the longer he hovers.

He enters without knocking, and she looks up from a book she’s trying to read, startled. She immediately starts coughing at the sight of him; this time around, the petals fall freely all around her. Isaac shakes and trembles in the doorway.

“G-gods!” he says, and in two big steps, he’s closer to her bed. “You’re… this is… bad.”

She manages a weak smile at him.

“I know.”

His voice trembles. “How can you be so c-calm about this?”

She shrugs, though it’s just a tiny movement, barely there, so that she doesn’t trigger another coughing fit. She’s had so long to imagine herself at this point – just because it came faster than she expected, doesn’t mean she didn’t expect it at all.

He keeps his distance. Any closer and she’ll just explode in a bouquet of flowers.

“Y-you’ll soon get back and you can get help and-” Isaac is a blabbering mess and a stuttering fool, only for her.

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“Even if I return, I won’t.” She raises a hand to her chest, pressing it to a scar, that Isaac can notice from where her nightgown has slipped down her shoulder. “It would mean forgetting you.”

She raises her gaze, meets his. She’s begging, one last time. She’s telling him, in words this time. And Isaac stands there, stunned into silence, because if she is to have the same fate either way, what is he protecting her from in the first place?

“I love you,” he says, and for a long moment, there’s only silence stretching between them,

Then, he blushes, fidgeting on the spot, the words obviously out without having thought them. She struggles with her bedsheets, but is still fast enough, despite her weak body, to have gotten up on her own feet by the time Isaac is at her side, arms around her waist, to help her.

She licks her lips – chapped and pale things that they are, and looks up at him, exhausted and obviously pushing herself.

“Say it again. Say it and mean it,” her hands, fisted around the material of his shirt, eyes falling down with the request, too much and too late.

“I l-love you. I don’t…. Please don’t just disappear like that.”

His hold tightens around her body and she sighs.

“I love you too,” and she gets up on her tiptoes, pressing her lips against him, nothing but a chase gesture.

Isaac closes his eyes, pulling her closer, opening his mouth, his tongue coaxing hers to follow suit. Which she does, so willingly and openly, and something in Isaac’s chest tightens, just the love he has for her. And something in her chest opens up, releasing, just the love she has for him.

When they part, all around them, branches of cherry blossoms surround them. It’s like her chest has been cut open, and everything fell over – and she is smiling, beautifully and honestly for the first time in weeks.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and Isaac buries his face at her neck, exhausted with the honesty, relieved at her health, so in love that it hurts – and maybe he understands her better than he wanted to admit, maybe he understood her all along.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp isaac #isaac week #isaac x reader #isaac x mc #isaac/reader #isaac/mc #ikevamp isaac newton #ikevamp fanfiction #ikevamp fanfic #ikemen vampire isaac

66 notes · View notes

decayandfanfics · 3 years

Text

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut later.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

__________________________________________________________

Chapter 4 / Chapter 5

An intelligent enemy rather than a stupid friend.

True to his word, Jin treats you like a friend. He makes his best to make you feel a little more comfortable, knowing that you are probably scared to death. So, he engages with you, tries to help you with the cleaning and laundry. So does Compress, ever a gentleman he makes himself useful by being chivalrous. Of course, this doesn’t make you forget your own precarious position, but at least you use it in your favor and suddenly you are delighted at the sight him washing dishes.

After three days of their invasion, you find yourself folding some clothes when he asks you.

“board games?”

“yes” Compress smiles at you “since Shigaraki and Spinner have appropriated your tv and laptop, I thought it would be fun to play something, don’t you agree?”

“well…I’m afraid I only got a chess board.”

“It’s fine, dear. Will you play with me? I’m a little rusty, but I’m sure it would be fun.”

You look for the board, stored in some dark dusty corner of one of your closets as Compress prepares the little kitchen table for your game.

Seven matches later, you sight already getting bored of your constant wining. To be honest, Compress isn’t that bad, but there is no point in comparing you two when you spend playing your first two years in college.

Toga and Twice had gathered around the table to cheer, without really understanding what was happening, and not long after that Dabi and Magne were watching too.

“That was pretty impressive, dear!”

“you aren’t bad either, but I was in the chess club in college a few years ago. I learned a lot in there.” You say moving your eyebrows in funny gesture.

Compress stands giving you a bow and before you begin to gather the pieces to store it again, Shigaraki sits in front of you, putting each black piece in its place.

“Tomura -kun is going to play! You think he can beat her?” Toga whispers to Compress, before Magne answers from behind “Shigaraki is very good at this kind of games, my bet is on him.”

Shigaraki gives you a defiant glare, and you gather again your own pieces. Once you are ready, his ungloved hand points your turn to open the game.

He seems sure of this, a cocky smirk twitching his dry lips up, so you decide you will play seriously this time.

You open by moving your queen’s pawn, and he follows your movement just as you expected. Your king’s knight moves to protect your pawn, and again he reflects. The moment your bishop moves, you have control of the board.

You smile and his smirk turns into a feral grin stretching across his face.

“Smart girl…” he states amused before moving, and then, the game is his. “but you better try harder.”

You wrinkle, the tip of your teeth showing briefly before such challenge.

“Then, better not to disappoint.” Your answer sounds as playful as his defiant statement.

Forty minutes into it and you are completely invested in the game.

The back and forth is tight. For every strategy, he just counteracts your wits with something better and more difficult than the last. At the same time, every time he thinks he already got you, you manage to scape his control and get ahead again.

Its…weirdly exciting, to say the least.

Shigaraki’s eyes burn through your own, trying to read your expression in an attempt to predict your next movement and for a brief second you think about their color and the way his mouth twist upward whenever he fails to trap you.

He’s every bit the strategist you would expect from a ruthless leather, and you wonder how the media managed to paint him to be so childish and immature before, when you see nothing but a skilled hunter.

You feel surprised. Having never really thought about his clever ways or how he just seems to organize the league like a perfectly calibrated weapon, but seeing him now, you can trace every time, every word and every motion that gave away his intricate thinking pattern.

Surely, he’s bat shit crazy with the hero drama and such, but surely that’s not intelligence exclusive.

Your hand travels to your chin, a finger gently taping over your lower lip as you think your next move in one of your classic hard thinking gestures.

With your eyes fixed in the game, you don’t see the dragging look he gives to your lips.

You blink concentrated in trying to disarm his attack, unaware of his brief thoughts. Unaware of the fluttering motion of the eyelashes that crown your clever eyes, fanning softly over the smooth skin of your cheeks.

Just a mere second of self-indulgence and an intrusive flashing idea creeps out of nowhere between his destructive thoughts like a whisper of something unfathomable to him.

She’s very pretty. He thinks as he absorbs every angle of your face, trying to imprint in his brain the way light reflects over your cheekbones and between your lashes.

You move you tower, and his attention draws back to the game, knowing he already won.

You watch it in slow motion, slapping yourself for not seeing it coming. His slender fingers taking his bishop, striking down your tower and compromising your king. That’s it, you lost, but the moment gets buried under the sudden butterflies in your belly when he arches his brow smugly and smiles softly as the “jaque-mate” leaves his lips, and in a brief defining second the thought takes form in your brain, gluing itself to your skull.

He’s quite handsome when he smiles like that.

Half feral, half childish, and every bit a smart ass.

Yeah. He looks handsome like this. Comfortable in his own skin…youthful.

Confident.

He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed in yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.

A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing your name the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.

A clever pretty girl.

“Again?” he offers quietly, lowering his gaze because something in him just cannot stand your sweet defiance in a way he never thought possible.

Out of nowhere, he feels…

Embarrassed?

What the fuck.

Of what? He doesn’t know, but he knows he feels his blood creeping neck up and warming his face and he hates you for it, yet he can’t help the need to keep playing with you, just to feel there is something in you that relates to him.

The rest of the league cheers, about it. Magne, Compress and Dabi (surprisingly) engage in the game making bets and pointing moves.

Two games after and he has won two to one (yet in his mind it feels more like a draw after hours of relentless back and forth) when you finally call it for the night before standing, ready to just go to bed.

You give them all the good nights, your eyes lingering on his briefly, like trying to convince yourself that something weird just transpired between the two, just to disappoint yourself when he denies you the pleasure of his attention, seemingly distracted with the little tower between his fingers.

You brush it off like maybe it's only your imagination, maybe that's his way to get competitive and you saw something out of sheer loneliness and stress. You even tell yourself a joke about Stockholm syndrome, completely unaware of how later that night a lanky shadow slither through your bedroom door and watches your sleeping form, just to confirm again that you were, in fact, very pretty.

Chapter 6

13 notes · View notes

tazzytypes · 3 years

Text

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 16

Hey guys! So sorry for the delay -- if you follow me on Tumblr, you know that it has been a battle trying to get time to work on this next chapter. Between school and work, the burnout is strong this semester and the senioritis definitely doesn't help. Is it just me or are teachers putting a lot more on our plate than they did last semester? Anyways, here's chapter 17 -- This chapter is shorter than usual, but I hope you enjoy it!

Read more on AO3 or find more chapters on the Masterpost!

Stevie’s voice echoed throughout the salon, the woman standing on the same part the brunette witch had once laid. Emily had yet to decide which was more improbable, Stevie Nicks serenading them or the fact that she had gone to hell and back. She stood on her own in the corner of the room in an attempt to ease her nerves. Having something at her back was reassuring, similar to huddling under your sheets as a child. She wasn’t sure, however, which boogeyman she was hiding from.

They all seemed so unfazed. Hell was but a mid-week grocery run. Stevie singing more akin to listening to your sibling practice for an upcoming recital.

Myrtle, Zoe, and Queenie sat poised in the corner of the room, so still that she might have mistaken them for an oil painting. Cordelia and Madison were similarly stationed on the other side of the room, Madison standing by the staircase and Cordelia standing by the door. Misty sat on her own, directly in front of Stevie with tears brimming in her eyes. It wasn’t hard to see that the woman was obsessed. In fact, it quite surprised Emily that Misty had yet to faint.

Stevie Nicks — The White Witch — sang Gypsy. Emily had heard it a thousand times before in her car, in her room, in supermarkets over the intercom, and she was listening to it yet again. Emily was a witch, she had been to hell, she had fought a demon, found out that her dreams were never really just dreams, and now she was watching Stevie Nicks sing. The fever dream continued and the young witch was just along for the ride.

So still was everything that it was hard not to doubt her own mind. Even the warlocks were perched with bated breath, Behold on the stairs and the others above them. Pennypacker was the only one in motion accompanying the siren that was Stevie fucking Nicks. It was impossible not to stare at her. Still, Emily’s eyes couldn’t help but flicker up to the new Supreme. Blue eyes met hers before flicking away. Michael’s expression was firm and stoic. Her friends back home would have called it “resting bitch face,” but she felt there was more to that expression. However, Emily didn’t know him enough to quite define what.

He had been quiet since Cordelia awoke — not that he was particularly chatty to start with. Michael and Ariel were perched above them on the balcony. The Chancellor’s gloating had yet to clear from his face, his eyes flickering to Cordelia again and again. The former Supreme did not indulge him, keeping her eyes firmly set on Misty as if she might disappear. They must have been close, Emily concluded, for her to look like that.

“I knew you for such a short time, but I have missed you forever,” Cordelia had said. It almost made Emily feel bad for doubting the headmistress — almost.

Emily looked around the salon and grabbed a glass of wine. She doubted anyone would comment on her underage drinking. It was the least she deserved after the day’s events.

The distorted voice of a thousand tongues still rang in her ears and her desire for answers burned her with every breath. Grabbing a second glass, she gave into the fire. Her feet were light as she made her way towards the stairs. No one noticed her leave… all except one.

Michael’s gaze was nothing short of sharp, but there was something else to them. She had seen it in hell, reflected a thousand times over in the mirrors that lined the halls of purgatory. It only flashed across his face for but a moment, but she had seen it clear as day.

Michael Langdon was afraid.

Even now, his back to her as she came to the top of the stairs, she could feel that fear. It was anxious and tense, always on alert. The kind that kept you from everyone and everything. It was a fear Emily was all too accustomed to.

“It’s hardly fair,” She spoke, Michael turning only slightly towards her in acknowledgment of her presence. Holding out one of the glasses, Emily came to rest beside him. Stevie continued to sing and the others continued to watch, unaware of their conversation or pretending it wasn’t happening. “This should be for you. Celebrating your success. They usurped your victory with a victory of their own.”

Michael accepted the glass of wine, nursing it in his hand as he leaned on the railing. “I have a feeling this won’t be the last celebration we’ll have. No offense to you witches, but I’d much prefer something with my fellow warlocks.”

He watched her carefully. What had his father meant? A gift? He was supposed to wipe out the witches, not join hands and sing kumbaya. Her eyes focused on him but quickly flitted away back towards the revelry.

Emily shrugged. It was a fair point. She assumed celebrating with strangers wasn’t anyone’s idea of a good time.

“Still,” she said, doing her best to pretend she couldn’t feel his eyes on her, “Enraging, isn’t it… or, at the very least, frustrating.”

“How did Cordelia find you again?” he asked.

Emily pretended not to notice his once-over. Ignoring the question told the young witch all she needed to know. She chuckled and shook her head. “Someone left an anonymous tip. Apparently, there’s a hotline or something… 1-800-is-this-a-witch.”

Michael smiled, a lopsided expression more to signify that he heard her than out of actual enjoyment. Emily’s hazel eyes once again flickered away from his and to the floor before gazing out at Stevie once more. Michael followed her gaze and they rested in a brief, comfortable silence.

“You should be more careful about who you stare at,” She said, so low that the boy-wonder barely heard her speak. Her eyes flickered back to him, the light of the fire accenting a ring of gold around her pupil. “and who sees you doing it. Especially in a crowded cafeteria.”

Zoe had told her about the tip, naturally. It had been one of the many things that ran through the brunette’s brain since she arrived at the academy. A normal person wouldn’t have a good enough sense of witchcraft. Hell, Emily hadn’t even heard about Robichaux before her sudden transfer. Thus, the only logical conclusion was that the anonymous tip was also a witch… or a warlock.

Emily would be lying if she said that the look on Michael’s face didn’t amuse her. She hadn’t been sure at first, but now there was no doubt. Names were something she had always been bad with, but faces? Faces she always remembered. Especially when they were pointed out by a friend as, “that boy who keeps looking at you.”

Michael’s lips twisted and his brows furrowed, his eyes immediately going to survey the witches below. They remained unmoving; eyes fixated on the performance. No one's gaze flickered upward. There were no poorly concealed whispering.

“Do they know?” He noted.

“No.”

Michael finally turned to look at her fully. Either she had something up her sleeve or had yet to learn of the safety that came with dishonesty.

“Why?”

Emily thought for a moment. It was a good question. The coven had been nothing but kind, but something in her gut twisted whenever she thought about baring all her thoughts out to them. She wanted to call it intuition, but it wasn’t as if she could ask Cordelia or even Zoe to confirm that particular assumption.

“They’re very opinionated,” She finally decided,” Everyone is. I need to come to my own conclusion.”

“And what is the question you are trying to answer?”

“What game you’re playing,” she said, surprised when the thoughts spilled past her lips. It was the wine, she imagined. “It’s akin to chess, but I can’t quite place the name of it.”

Michael simply smiled, a detached and unemotional expression. “Maybe one day.”

“Maybe, but for now… congratulations.”

Once again, her words made him pause. She was the first to congratulate him… even among his fellow warlocks. He quickly spoke to hide his surprise.

“To surviving hell,” he said, holding his glass out for a toast. Emily cautiously clinked her glass against his own, the action just as hesitant as when she had taken his hand.

“Did you know,” She spoke again after taking a sip and trying to hide the grimace the bitter drink provoked, “historians speculate that toasts were once used to check for poison?”

“Last I checked you brought the wine, not me.” Michael said, “unless this is a confession to attempted murder.”

Emily looked at him for a moment as her mind comprehended what had just happened, mouth opening and closing like a gaping fish. Michael felt almost proud of the result.

“No, that’s not—” She let out a sigh and pinched her brow, “I ramble when I’m nervous.”

“You’re nervous?”

“I just got back from literal hell. My nickname in high-school was Satan, but that was just a joke.”

Michael laughed. A genuine laugh, not just the ones you did to fill the awkward silence. He tried to hide the expression, but his lips couldn’t help but twist into a small smile.

“Think of it this way,” he said, leaning a bit towards her as they continued to talk, “you’re prepared for the day your time comes.”

“That’s hardly reassuring.”

She took another drink, not bothering to hide her expression of distaste. Emily leaned back on the railing so that she was facing the stairs as if she were expecting someone to sneak upon them. Looking over her shoulder, she stared at her new Supreme and waited for his rebuttal.

“They all have the power to escape their hell,” he said, looking back at the festivities below, “they just choose not to.”

Emily’s brow furrowed, “How do you know that?”

“Call it a gut instinct.”

A silence lapsed between them, both observing the people around them. On this balcony, everything felt so detached. They were but spectators in their own lives, barely retaining control.

“Hell’s personalized, yeah?” Emily finally noted. Michael didn’t look at her, but she could feel his eyes boring into her. He was probably annoyed with her, but for once she couldn’t bring herself to care. “What do think your hell would be?”

“What would yours?”

“I have a few ideas.” The brunette’s lips twisted a bit, a purple hue now forming on them from the wine. “The never-ending hall was close.”

“What was that about, anyway?” Michael found himself asking before he could think. “You said it was purgatory.”

She could only sigh, her eyes bugging a bit as she tried to think. How crazy was crazy? She didn’t even have a basis for comparison anymore. Better yet, how did she even begin to answer?

“I had a dream once. There was a never-ending hall filled with beings that hadn’t been human for so long that they now looked more like shadows. I had to walk down that hall with a basket of… something.” Emily explained. The glassy fog seemed to appear for a moment in her eyes, but she quickly shook it away. “I’d rather dissect a frog for eternity.”

“You have a surprising lack of sympathy for a witch.”

“I don’t know whether I should take that as an insult or a compliment.”

Michael laughed and shook his head. Emily mirrored his expression for a moment, but it quickly fell as her eyes settled on the stairwell. She must have only been in that hellish void for a moment, but it felt like she had been writhing in it for eternity — screaming bloody murder for someone to save her. The shadows of this place taunted her, a predator that could consume her at any moment. Sleep was not going to come easy that night.

“Pain is relative and so seems is hell,” She said, voice detached and distant once more. The change made Michael perk up, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. “She was in pain… I will be in pain. I am simply jealous of the outlet in which that pain comes in.”

“Envy is surprising as well.”

Emily smiled, wry and humorless. “What can I say? We can’t all be perfect.”

Michael didn’t respond to that, his eyes narrowing onto movement below them. He couldn’t see Cordelia from this position, but he could see Madison. The witch looked back with a confused expression as if someone had thrown something at her back. Her eyes flickered back to Stevie for a moment before she took a few steps back and disappeared out of his view.

Emily followed his gaze, seeing the tail end of Madison disappearing below them. “What do you think they’re plotting?”

“You don’t trust your own kind,” Michael said. A statement. Not a question. Emily simply shrugged.

“I’ve known this world for two months,” She said, “I don’t trust anyone.”

“Yet.”

“Yet,” She agreed with a crooked grin, “Though I suppose not leaving me there in hell earned you a few points in the right direction.”

“Witches zero, warlocks one.”

Emily made a face, lips curling and head cocking in contemplation.

“You’re about an even tie at this point.” She said.

Once again, the silence consumed them. They had gotten used to it, she presumed. Emily wondered how time worked in hell - things had certainly felt like an eternity. It was enough time to make her feel different, somehow. Her eyes flickered to Michael as he stared into the distance. That was a better question for Cordelia, she presumed.

With a sigh she turned back towards Stevie, allowing herself to be serenaded once more. The song came to an end and they watched as Misty shot up and began clapping. Stevie smiled at her and held out a hand which the woman gratefully took, practically skipping towards the singer.

“You think she’d let me take a photo with her?” Emily asked. Michael gave her a befuddled look, brows knitted and nose scrunching. She didn’t notice the look at first, too focused on the scene below them. When she turned, her face immediately mirrored the boy-wonder’s.

“It’s Stevie fucking Nicks,” she said, tone defensive, “My mom was a huge fan of hers.”

Michael simply rolled her eyes and Emily scoff at his ignorance. Bringing her glass to her lips, she tilted her head back and downed the rest of it. She grimaced and shook her head before placing the glass on a nearby table.

“Come on,” she said, nudging his arm a bit and making her way towards the stairs, “you should get one, too. Hang it in your office when you become Supreme.”

Michael turned around to look at her. “You really have no idea of how things work, do you?”

“A month ago, magic was a distant dream of childhood,” Emily spoke, giving him a pointed look and gesturing to the room around her, “I’m in the midst of a train wreck which is my reality.”

That was enough to make Michael chuckle.

“You’re quite the poet.”

Emily could only laugh at that, rolling her eyes for good measure, “Whatever you say, Mr. Supreme.”

The girl’s change of personality was enough to give one whiplash. She had been so timid before they performed Descensum, barely able to meet his eye and cautious as a mouse. Then again, the drinking probably had something to do with it. Michael wondered what she saw in those few moments she had been alone in hell.

Emily waited expectantly. With a sigh, Michael gave in to her demands. Behold looked to them as they descended the stairs. He had seen the brunette pass him on the way up. The suspicion he had before was still evident in the way he looked at her, but now it was accompanied by a hint of surprise. Witches and Warlocks were natural enemies, after all.

Misty’s back was to them as they approached, the only thing visible of the woman being her curly hair and flowery shawl. She and Stevie seemed to be in a serious conversation. Everyone seemed to be in serious conversation, talking to one another in hushed whispers.

Michael followed after Emily, hands behind his back. He regarded the room, eyes scanning over the occupants as their eyes flickered towards him. It would be harder to sneak around now given his new position. He’d have to adapt. Sparing a look back towards the balcony, he found Cordelia settled into her corner of the room once more. Madison was nowhere to be seen. Whatever conversation they had concluded. His expression soured ever slightly. Emily must have been a diversion.

“Excuse me,” the brunette witch spoke. Stevie Nick’s presence seemed to have sobered her somewhat, timid nature returning. Michael turned his gaze back towards her, feeling the eyes upon them. “I don’t mean to be rude, but could we get a picture with you? My mother is a huge fan — practically grew up with your songs as lullabies.”

Misty was beaming, whatever conversation she had with the White Witch obviously going well. She bit her lip as Emily came to stop beside her as if it was the only way to keep herself from spilling every last detail.

“Anything for a fellow witch,” Stevie said happily. Emily reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Misty happily took it from her as Michel awkwardly stood to the side. With a sigh, he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced to his shoes then back up to the balcony. Ariel smiled at him and rose his glass. Michael offered a strained smile in turn.

His attention was pulled away by movement out of the corner of his eye. When he turned, he found Misty waving him over.

“Your turn, Mr. Supreme!”

Michael could only sigh at the nickname but still walked towards Stevie with a strained smile. He was stiff next to the woman, something that seemed to amuse Emily.

“Congratulations on the promotion,” Stevie said as Misty directed them into place, her eyes focused on the camera, “Descensum is a dangerous spell. The last time I visited this coven, it didn’t end well.”

Misty turned to Emily as she took the photo, showing the results to the brunette who smiled and thanked the woman. Michael pulled away from Stevie, the forced smile quickly leaving his face and into something more amicable. Misty showed him his pictures and he just offered a smile and nod before the woman handed the phone back to Emily.

“Where are my manners,” Misty said with an awkward chuckle, motioning to Stevie as she realized the awkward silence building up, “This is Stevie, of course. And Stevie this is—”

Misty paused for a second as she looked to Emily, “Well I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Emily,” The brunette introduced, holding out a hand to Stevie, “I’m new.”

The musician smiled and took Emily’s hand.

“You have a musician’s fingers,” Stevie noted.

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Can’t lie to me, child. Not only am I familiar with these things, I’m a witch as well. What do you play?”

“Only a few things,” Emily admitted, pulling her hands away and allowing them to settle at her side.

“What was your first?”

“Violin,” she said, “tried piano, but couldn’t quite catch on.”

“You’ve certainly fiddled with the devil today,” Stevie noted, turning to smile briefly at her biggest fan, “You were one of the ones who saved our Misty, weren’t you?”

Emily glanced towards the boy-wonder before returning to the woman, “Actually, I was just an unintended side-effect. Michael did all of the work.”

The brunette stood back towards the man as if to guide Stevie’s eyes, biting her lips and looking to him in apology. His eyes flickered from Emily to the other two women, noting their hesitation.

“In that case,” Stevie said, ignoring the way Misty looked between herself and the new Supreme, “Thank you very much. You have done a great deed for this coven. Misty is one of the most powerful witches I know.”

Her tone was cool and icy. Emily couldn’t help watch the two as the tension was drawn between them. It was as if the witches knew something she didn’t. It was infuriating.

“The pleasure is mine,” Michael said, articulate and direct as if he were giving a speech instead of a conversation. The whole interaction felt like a bravado, an act. “Such is the job of the Supreme.”

Emily was pulled away from the conversation as Misty linked their arms together. “So, you’re a fan of Stevie?”

The brunette allowed herself to be distracted, “Not as avid as you — or so I’ve been told.”

“Oh she’s—” Misty said. Her eyes darted once more to Stevie, then Michael, then back to Emily. She squeezed the brunette’s arm for emphasis. “you know how some songs just make you feel like dancin’? That’s Stevie for me.”

Another glance was given towards Michael, Misty’s ever-present smile faltering for just a moment.

“How are you feeling?” Emily asked.

“I’ll be better once I see the sun,” Misty said, pulling her shawl tighter around her, “Anything’s better than this damn candlelight.”

“If I stay down here any longer, I may just go blind,” Emily agreed, doing her best to be reassuring. She tapped the rim of her glasses with her free hand. “Not that my sight was great to begin with.”

Misty smiled at her and squeezed her arm once more.

“So where did Miss Cordelia find you?”

“Georgia.”

“You’re used to the humidity, then.”

Emily nodded, “Too familiar. You from Louisiana?”

“Born and raised,” Misty sang, “Spent most of my life living off the grid in the swamp.”

“Is it more peaceful?”

Misty smiled awkwardly and gave a nod towards Michael and Stevie. The pair were still talking, Stevie leaning back ever slightly and Michael standing with his hands behind his back.

“Certainly has less politics,” The swamp-witch said, earning a small smile from Emily. The two lapsed into silence. Emily was quickly overwhelmed by the sounds around her, head turning a bit to break free of the crackling fire and roar of whispers in every corner of the room.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Misty spoke, pulling Emily from the chaos, “What was your hell like? I’m assumin’ it's different from everyone. I mean, there was a boy in my chemistry class that seemed to enjoy… well, you know.”

“Do they have dissections in chemistry?”

“He was an avid learner.” Misty said, “or, at least, that’s what his parents called it.”

If the horror of childbirth wasn’t enough to dissuade Emily from having kids, Misty’s comment was enough for her to swear them off entirely.

“It’s all a blur, honestly,” she said, returning to Misty’s question, “All I remember is a door by the River Styx then—”

“Styx?” Misty asked, nose crinkling and brows knitting. Emily opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by a boisterous voice from above.

“I believe this would be a good time to make a toast,” Ariel spoke from above them, clearly enjoying the control he had over the room, “In celebration of old friends and new…”

Emily found her mind wandering as the man spoke. Misty hadn’t known what she spoke of. Was it because of descensum? No, it couldn’t be. From the bits and pieces she had been able to collect from her fellow witches, Misty had lost her life performing the same task they did.

Hazel eyes flickered back to Michael only to find him staring at her in turn. Emily didn’t know how to feel about that look in her eyes. She had seen fear, but that was the most dangerous expression a person could wear. It meant they would do anything to get themselves out of a corner. Michael was a snake sizing her up. Was she a threat or his next meal?

Madison awoke in the night to muttering. In all honesty, she hadn’t had the chance to fall asleep in the first place. While she wore the title of “cold bitch” with pride, the fact that Cordelia looked to her for such a monumental task was suspicious at best. Well, she was a powerful witch — powerful enough for Fiona to think she was supreme.

Her hand went to her neck instinctively. The swamp-bitch’s shit was enough to remove all signs of trauma, but some days Madison swore the gaping wound was still there. Being strangled to death the second time probably didn’t help the fact. Neck-related trauma seemed to be her shit.

With a sigh, Madison tossed and turned, throwing her sleep mask off the side of the bed. This place was darker than fucking night, anyways.

She had just settled back to sleep when the muttering came again.

“Can you can it, Persephone?” Madison snapped, “Some of us want some fucking beauty sleep.”

“Finis venit,” she heard again, somewhat slurred and groggy, “Ante infinitium.”

“Look, Satan,” Madison snipped once more, pulling her phone off the bedside table and turning on the flashlight, “Go the fuck to sleep before I shove my foot up your—”

Madison wasn’t scared by much. She had been to hell where she worked in customer service and given a hand-job to Harvey Weinstein. However, when the light landed upon her temporary roommate, she was, at the very least, startled.

Emily was almost going full exorcist. Sitting straight up from the blankets in which she had made her bed, her eyes stared lifelessly ahead.

“Fenis venit,” she said again, a drunken-like slurring to her voice, “Ante infinitium.”

Then she fell back and resumed snoring.

“Fucking freak,” Madison scoffed, turning off the light and pulling the covers up.

She should have roomed with Zoe.

“How’d you sleep?” Zoe asked Emily as they all stood outside the academy. Two bodyguards packed their things into the car and Emily could only shift from foot to foot as she watched them.

The younger witch’s eyes flickered between the bodyguards and her mentor. Why did they need bodyguards, anyways? “Fine.”

“With Madison?” Queenie said, letting out an incredulous laugh on Emily’s left, “yeah right. She had you sleep on the floor, didn’t she?”

Emily’s eyes flickered to the ground and her lips pursed together.

“… Maybe.”

“Girl, you went to fucking hell, but you’re going to let a blonde bimbo push you around?”

“It kind of worked out,” Emily said, “She snores.”

Madison, only a few feet away from the trio, scoffed loudly and rolled her eyes. Queenie could feel the starlet’s eyes boring into her back.

“How loud?”

Emily’s eyes flickered back to Madison whose nostrils were flaring as she glowered. She expected the look to silence the girl.

“Like a bear.”

Queenie laughed and even Zoe couldn’t help but snort. Madison crossed her arms and huffed, stomping her heel into the ground in protest. She looked like that dog in 101 Dalmatians — the one in the beginning with its snout in the air pompously.

“At least you don’t have to share a room with her,” Zoe said, leaning in close but not bothering to lower her voice, “Did the earplugs help?”

“Very.”

“Whatever,” Madison snapped, “at least I don’t talk in my sleep.”

“And?” Emily said, finally turning to look at the woman, “that’s quiet… and amusing, if you think about it.”

Madison’s eyes narrowed and she took a few steps towards her. Emily sighed as she recognized the signs of a square-up, the woman coming until she was barely a foot away from the brunette.

“You know they have a saying about bears and sticks,” Madison said.

Zoe took a step towards the two, “C’mon Madison. Can’t you just chill for like five seconds?”

“That you should wave one around at a black bear, but not a brown bear?” Emily asked, crossing her arms and ignoring Zoe entirely, “Really important distinction, I’ve heard.”

Madison frowned and narrowed her eyes. The next thing Emily knew, the end of her skirt was on fire.

“What the hell, Madison!” Zoe yelled, quickly moving to perform a counter-spell. However, as soon as she began to cast it, the fire was gone. Emily hadn’t moved an inch, her eyes still firmly set on Madison. She didn’t… she couldn’t… could she?

“Consider it a lesson,�� Madison said, crossing her arms and smiling smugly.

“In what,” Zoe exclaimed, “bitch-craft?”

Myrtle’s voice silenced any further retorts, coming to stand with the group with Cordelia at her side. “Can we wait to start the petty squabbles once we get out of this damnable place?”

“Whatever,” Madison said, clipping Emily’s shoulder as she pushed her way towards the car, “I call shotgun.”

Cordelia spared a glance at the other three witches and they followed Madison’s lead obediently. Zoe squeezed Emily’s shoulder as she passed, offering a reassuring smile.

“How are you feeling?” Cordelia asked once the women were out of earshot.

Emily didn’t have a snappy response for that one.

“Different,” she finally decided after a few moments of consideration.

Cordelia patted her cheek. Her eyes were sad as if she knew what the girl had gone through. Emily didn’t like when people presumed things like that.

“The pain will fade.”

“It’s not the pain I worry about.”

“Then what is?” Cordelia asked, brows furrowing.

“The fact that everything made sense there.”

Cordelia opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a shout from the car.

“Come on, Delia,” Myrtle called, “The plane takes off in two hours.”

Smiling and nodding, Cordelia squeezed Emily’s shoulder. “We’ll talk more later.”

The brunette had barely a moment to think before she felt a weight over her shoulder. Jumping a bit, she turned to find that Misty had swung an arm around her. The girl was all grins, constantly looking up to the sky and spinning around as if she were dancing from the second they stepped outside.

“Don’t worry too much about Madison,” She said as the two sauntered towards the car, “She’s always mean.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Wonder what her hell was.”

“Retail,” Emily said, “or so she said. Kind of generic, don’t you think? Then again, generic would probably be an insult to her. Irony, I guess.”

Misty laughed, “I like you. You’re funny.”

The ride to the airport was eventful. While all the girls were tired and ready to go home, a playfulness emerged from their delirium. Cordelia sat near the front of the car, talking in hushed whispers to Myrtle as the rest of them held an avid debate in the backseats. She would glance back at her girls now and again via the rear-view mirror.

“You should really get that checked out,” Emily said, turning back to the starlet, “Snoring is usually a sign of breathing problems.”

Stationed at the center of the car, the newest addition to her family seemed to be blooming. Cordelia had never heard the girl speak so much. She had worried, naturally, the effects hell would have on the girl's psyche. However, her instincts had been right. Giving the girl something to conquer had done Emily some good and revealed more of the magic in her bones.

Madison huffed. “I don’t snore.”

“Like sleep apnea or something?” Zoe asked, clearly reveling in any conversation that pissed off her former roommate.

“Kind of,” Emily said, “when you snore it's because air can’t get through your air passages properly and causes the surrounding tissue to vibrate… or floppy airways.”

“Hey, Madison,” Queenie shouted between chuckles, looking back to the tiny back seat the starlet had been shoved into, “You got floppy airways!”

“At least I don’t have floppy skin.” Madison snapped before grumbling, “Will probably live longer, too.”

“The fuck did you just say?”

“Actually, the belief that weight is correlated with health is inaccurate,” Emily said, “Correlation does not equal causation. Also, haven’t you died three times already?”

“Here’s a question for you,” Madison said, “Do you know how to mind your business?”

“Depends — Do you know how to not be a bitch?”

Queenie let out a barking laugh. Misty giggled a bit as well, leaning into Emily with a smile.

“Almost always,” She whispered to the brunette.

“What did you say, swamp rat?” Madison demanded, taking off her sunglasses just to glower at the pair. She much preferred it when Emily was nearly mute.

“Girls,” Cordelia finally sang, feeling a headache coming on, “can we please save the bickering for when we get back to the academy?”

“Sorry, Miss Cordelia,” Misty quickly apologized, shrinking in her seat.

Madison was anything but apologetic. “Emily started it!”

“Like hell I did!”

“Girls!” Cordelia exclaimed, the whole car falling into a tense silence. If not for the gentle rumble of the engine, one could hear a pin drop. The silence was quickly interrupted by a nearby car slamming into their horn.

“Still quieter than Madison’s snoring,” Emily muttered quietly, a chuckle leaving Cordelia despite herself. Looking in the rear-view mirror, Cordelia watched as Misty leaned into the brunette and whispered something in her ear. Emily smiled and whispered something back, Madison loudly scoffing in response.

She made the right choice, letting Emily into the academy. Still, something the girl had said was stuck on repeat in her head, “…everything made sense there.” Misty had said the girl had used powers in hell. Emily had told the headmistress of her dreams, but Cordelia had also been to hell. It was no dream, not in the slightest. It was real as anything.

Cordelia’s eyes flickered to the back seat, watching her girls. She couldn’t help but wonder if Michael was the one truly rising or if fate had a different future in mind.

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon

14 notes · View notes

pollyna · 4 years

Text

A concept: Leonard H. McCoy is a good dad. Four hundred fifty people can confirm it and one, eventually two, kid is going to tell him.

For the first two years Jim doesn't really know how or why Leonard's marriage has ended, but he knows it was a sad and awful affair that messed up Bones pretty bad. And he knows, just because he can snoop like no one else in the entire galaxy, that there's a kid in Georgia, her name is Joanna Elizabeth and she loves green and she is almost four. He knows that Bones talks to her every time he can, goes home every weekend he isn't on rotation at the clinic, doesn't forget a birthday or any kind of recitals she does. He can't be there, not as much as he likes, but he always sent a flower or two to make sure his baby girl knows how proud he his of her. Still when the-ex, whom Jim refuses to learn the name, calls in the middle of the evening and says "you're a really shitty father Leonard" and Leonard agrees with her, Jim would like the break something or to shake Bones up because how could that woman think Bones is a bad father? What does she knows about bad and worst fathers? About being forget by their own mother to a person they'll never call dad and who makes them want to run, runrunrunrunrunrunrun, every time something is slightly off? Because they now, he knows, that when he's going to realize what's wrong is gonna be the end. And if not by his hands it will be by his words and they never really gonna forget what he said to them. Not after five minutes and not in ten years. What Bones is a bad father because he is not with his daughter every day? Is he a bad dad even when he calls her daughter after almost forty hours of shift, with tears in his eyes because he lost one to many patient, but seeing his little girl is more important than anything else? Is he a bad dad because the ex wants him to be so bad so she'll have an excuse to cut him off once and for all or she is just mean? Jim knows Bones isn't a perfect dad but he also knows that "perfect" dads are shiny dreams of stars, starship and broken promises that got lost in the death and broken debris. Perfect dads are the one who leave behind them empty graves and so much grief a life time won't be enough to process it all. So the ex should give Bones a little more credit and maybe, maybe, Bones himself is gonna start believing he can be a good dad for Joanna.

The fact is the never really talk about dads, not when they're sober at least. They don't talk about a lot of things but they're getting better on that side. The first fathers' day on the ship come and go, Leonard and Hikaru share a drink and spend the night talking about their girls. Later Bones will tell him that Sulu is a great dad™, trying to say the tm too but pronouncing something similar to t-n, but every one is a better father than he is. 'M just a shitty excuse for a dad, Jimmy. And oh, that makes Jim tear a little, but he doesn't answer because Bones is already asleep.

For the second one their in the middle of a diplomatic mission, too many light years away from Earth, and not even Sulu remembers of it. Still Jim kisses Bones before cuddling with him that night. They still don't talk about it but is a little better than the previous year.

The third year Jim is dead. Joanna is ten and she calls him uncle Jim. The ex, he knows her name is Jocelyn but still the ex, calls at least twice a week and she says she is sorry about some things she said when he was at the Academy. Jim is still dead when all of it happens but he is alive, weak as a new born but alive, when Bones confesses to him that maybe, just maybe, he is not a bad dad. At least not as bad as he used to think. Jim consider it a victory on his personal agenda.

The fourth father's day they share a drink in his private quarter before Hikaru can drag Bones away for their annual "cake and I-have-so-many-feelings-about-my-baby girl" but, when he comes back, he's sober and he's still laughing. Joanna calls the next day and she screams his name so loud even Scotty, five decks under theirs, can hear it. What she is saying is dad I love you, thank you for the present oh god but what they get is a dadiloveyouthankyou! And it's the first time Joanna says "happy fathers' day uncle Jim!" Bones spends the rest of the night kissing him as if he's the treasure.

Th fifth year, the last one before they're going to spend six to nine months on earth, Bones is quiet for a week. He's still kissing him every time he can, bitching with Spock and playing poker on Wednesday will all the senior crew but he's just sad. It's Bones himself that solves the mystery: "Last week one of the new technician, the one we picked from the end of the Alpha Quadrant almost a year ago?, came in for xe physic and xe leaves me a note? Like a paper one, with little doodles all over the page, colorful little, beautiful things and xe wrotes, in Standard, that xe is grateful to know me and xe things I did more to help xem to settle in and learn to live in the middle of so many new species than anyone else. Xe said working here is like starting a new life for xe and I took the role of xem dad? And it wasn't the last card I received! Other eight people left their physic giving me strange, colorful and hilarious pieces of paper wishing me a great dad's day. And then Spock comes in today and he hugs me, a legit hug Jim!, and he says that he will be honored if I could accept to be the godfather of a child who doesn't exist yet, because he can't thing about another human he could trust for the role. And they all are all the faith in the galaxy in me when I don't, not in the role of father at least, and it's unsettling and makes me want to hide away until they realize I'm not that great and I'll let them down."

"I have the best crew in the galaxy or didn't I? So Bonesy you have to trust them when they say and do things like that. And babe, you deserve it. I know you don't believe it but it's true" he concludes kissing him on his lips.

(Bones saves every single one of the card he receives inside a box he takes with him when they arrive on Earth and leave it with his mom because space and danger and all that stuff.)

The sixth, seventh, eighth father's day are spent in different places all over the Alpha and Beta quadrant, trying to meet new species and learn new things. Some of them are the best kind of day, where Bones talks to Jo, kisses Jim until he becomes a little more stupid and in love with this man, and once he even plays chess with Spock and Uhura. Others are not so good but Bones&Hikaru tradition helps more than anything else.

On the ninth Bones is cuddling a new born who lost his parents during a raid on their home planet. "We should adopt him" Jim proposes during dinner and "it's the most logical course of action to take doctor" adds Spock. "Oh hell" is the only thing Bones says before requesting the papers for adoption.

(It's not the only thing he says because they discuss it for hours, because they're afraid to fuck up everything and he is just a baby and he already their world. They've been married long enough to trust they're going to do this together but is all new and terrifying just as exciting.)

For the eleventh father's day they're on Jupiter, Joanna's eighteen and Samuel's two and they spend all day at the park near the Starfleet Center, with the Sulu's. Bones is laughing at something Ben said and Jim looks at him and he is just grateful to do this, having a family, rising a child and exploring space with this wonderful man.

#leonard h mccoy #james t kirk #mckirk #otp: bedside manner #bones doesn't believe he is a good dad but jim knows better #because jim knows bones is trying to do the best he can in a solution that isn't the best one #and jocelyn is mean but she is angry too but she knows leonard's a good dad #low self esteem #from the academy to their first five years mission #the crew of the enterprise #bittersweet #leonard mccoy and hikaru sulu little ritual on father's day is a sleepover with cake and their little girls pic all over the place #father's day #joanna mccoy #samuel kirk-mccoy #bones is the dad™ of the enterprise #this is the longest stuff i wrote as concept #sorry for all the mistakessss #so if you want so kind of concept you can drop it in my box :)#i hope all of it makes a little sense i wrote most of it sleeping in lol #and please remember open comunication is the best way to solve problems #star trek aos #the kelvin timeline

20 notes · View notes

minervahopebeyond · 4 years

Text

Blood Daffodils.

Hello!! OMG, I can’t believe I’m finally posting this chapter ✨ I’m so so nervous but I just wish that you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it 💕 Let me know what you thought in the comments! 🙌🏻 Ps. I’ve checked but I’m sorry if you find any errors in this one.

Chapter 15: You Take My Breath Away.

Draco knew that running away, bargaining with death, having your best-friend/ex-boyfriend (if he could call Theo that) turn himself into a Death Eater, and being currently hunting horcruxes, could change a person and their perspective of life. That was why his first reaction to him noticing the Golden Trio’s behavior was: maybe I’m just paranoid.

Yeah, right.

They were hiding. They were keeping secrets. They were lying to his face about it, saying that absolutely nothing was going on. Draco was starting to get really pissed off about it.

He was climbing up the stairs when he heard the love quarrel that actually wasn’t one.

“He has to tell him before that, Mione” Weasley whispered rather loudly. It was weird that the muffliato wasn’t in place, most of the times Ron was the one who reminded everyone about it.

“I’m not talking this with you, Ronald. You heard him loud and clear yesterday.”

Wild guess: they were talking about Potter. It was a pretty heavy assumption because yesterday the two of them almost didn’t talk to Draco nor James and Sirius.

“He is lying. How can you not see it? You’re supposed to be the brightest witch our age!”

“Okay, so you want to risk it then? Go on. Do it yourself. I don’t want that on my conscience.”

The flowers in his lungs started to scratch him. He was just hoping that they weren’t talking about the Hanahaki... There were little things that Granger wasn’t willing to do, and telling Harry the truth about Draco’s condition was one of them. Weasley had held it in for longer than he expected, he guessed that it was only because he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure that Potter loved him back. The only thing that everyone in the house knew for sure was that Potter fancied Draco, and Draco fancied Potter. There was this grey area where Sirius and Mr. Potter looked at him funny whenever he was with Harry and, occasionally, he wondered if actually everyone knew that Potter fancied Draco, and that Draco was hopelessly in love with Potter.

He walked toward Granger’s room and knocked.

“...Yes?” She said.

“Can I come in?” Draco asked gently.

Soon enough, the door was being opened and Weasley was looking at him worriedly. He couldn’t blame him, Draco only was this gentle when something was wrong.

“I’m bored.” He stated in a lame attempt of getting them to stop talking about whatever nonsense they were talking about.

“Well, I’m going to take a shower.” Replied Granger as she grabbed her change of clothes and walked off her room. Weasley followed with her eyes and then turned to look at Draco.

“I’m going to start cockblocking you and Harry if you interrupt me and Mione one more time, ferret.”

“Does it really count as cockbloking if I interrupted when you were sitting two meters away from each other? And fighting?”

“Considering that you and Harry had like five and a half years of fighting as flirting then yes”

Draco blushed and pulled a face.

“We weren’t flirting.”

“Maybe he wasn’t (which I doubt) but you were.” Weasley said as it was the most obvious thing in the world before asking him to play chess with him.

———————

Dear Theodore:

You would know if someone were planning to stab you behind your back, right? Because sometimes I feel like this disgrace to Salazar’s name for trusting people too much. I trusted you to choose to run away with me, for instance... Okay, low shot, sorry.

I’m panicking. Potter, Granger and Weasley are acting weird and my flowers are hurting me more than usual, like a warning maybe? And I don’t know what the hell to do. I don’t have a clue about why they are hiding things. I asked James and Sirius about it and the only one who has the same feeling as I have is my cousin. Mr. Potter says that it’s just because we have trust issues. If I’m lucky enough James is right and this is all in my head.

It would be so much help to have you around, you’d wouldn’t be afraid to call this fuckers out in their stupidity. I try not to be afraid to say what I think but I fear that I can’t afford having another fight with Harry after the last one, i coughed enough flowers as it is.

Please be safe and don’t be stupid,

Draco.

———————————

He was finishing his make up. It felt weird to care for something so banal and shallow in the middle of a war... But it was his first date with Potter in his entire life so sue him for acting as it were the only thing in the world that mattered right now.

When Harry has asked him out the flowers almost tried to jump off his lungs to get to the boy. Their awful timing was something truly remarkable. Potter watched the petals fall from Draco’s mouth and his face darkened. Before he could take back the offer, he responded enthusiastically:

“Yes, I would love to.” With a smile to match his happiness. Potter nodded and smiled right back at him and Draco thought that he was going to pass out from the tickles alone.

Now, as he was finishing applying the soft silver eyeshadow, he begged for the flowers to behave tonight. Coughs made Potter sad and nervous, so they needed to be kept at bay.

He looked at his reflection, taking in the image. Maybe it was too grey? He thought as he added some glittering white in the inner part of his eyelid, giving him a little more light in his look. As far as he knew, Potter liked when he used make up, he always got nervous and his cheeks turned red. The only logic assumption was that, yes, Harry liked him with make up.

What he didn’t know was whether if Potter liked his muggle clothes or his posh robes more... Draco always felt more attractive in muggles clothes, though. He guessed that remembering Theodore taking one look at him in muggle’s jeans and pushing him up against the door of the room of requirement to snog his face off had something to do with that. And Theo was a lot of things, but he truly had taste (aesthetically speaking) so Draco was going to trust him on this one.

He took one last look in the mirror. The black jeans hugged his legs leaving little to the imagination... They were Sirius’ actually, they just didn’t fit him anymore so he gave them to Draco as well as a lot of other stuff. The black combat boots were the only ‘not formal’ shoes he had and giving that he was wearing jeans he chose to wear them with the outfit. A tight black T-shirt and his favorite green oversized sweater too. He looked good, he just wished that Potter would think the same.

He left the bedroom and started to walk down to the kitchen. Harry had asked for him to meet him there, and he had absolutely no idea what the boy had in mind to achieve have a date in a house full of people. As he got closer the voices in the kitchen became clearer.

“I’m going to cry, Padfoot! Look at our boy.” Mr. Potter’s voice sounded so fond and sweet.

“Dad stop it!”

“I can’t believe that you actually matched your clothes, Harry. You didn’t even try when you dated Cho or Ginny.”

The daffodils started to dance when they heard Granger say those words. ‘WE ARE SPECIAL. WE ARE SPECIAL. WE ARE SPECIAL.’ He smiled softly and stopped himself from entering just so he could hear a little bit more.

“Do you remember the charms, Prongslet? If at some point you need them and you can’t remember just knock on our door, alright? Better safe than sorry-“ Sirius said and the flowers started to tickling him to death, his face was blushing. Good thing that Potter interrupted him.

“Shut up, Padfoot! As if you don’t remember making me take notes of the whole bloody talk.”

“Hey, don’t forget the silencing charms, mate” Weasley said playfully and Draco decided that Potter was tortured enough for one evening. He turned the knob and entered the kitchen.

As soon as he crossed the door, his eyes went directly to Potter who was standing right across of the room. He looked gorgeous, his jeans weren’t as baggy as they normally were, maybe someone tried to transfigure them for him. His flannel blue shirt contrasted with his beautiful green eyes. His hair wasn’t fixed, Draco guessed that Harry was aware that he liked it just as the bird’s nest that it was. And lastly but not less important: Potter’s cheap cologne was all over the room, it was the only thing that he was capable of smelling.

Harry was looking at him, frozen in place. The blush in his cheeks was quickly invading his entire face. Weasley pushed him in Draco’s direction, gaining a glare from Potter before the beautiful green eyes locked with his grey ones.

“Yo-You look n-nice, Malfoy.” The stuttering was so cute that the daffodils started to scream to kiss him senseless. Patience, you stupid flowers.

“Nice? He looks hot!” Weasley said with and indignant tone in his voice, Draco couldn’t help but to chuckle. He saw Granger punching the redhead in the arm and his friend let out a pained noise. “What? I don’t like blokes and even I see it.”

Potter was getting pretty annoyed with his friend so Draco decided to change the subject.

“You are not that bad yourself, Potty” He said smirking and Harry offered him a gorgeous smile.

The rest of them where whispering like children and Draco contains his urge to snort and tell them to fuck off.

The boy gestured to follow him and they went up the stairs. When he asked why he had suggested to meet in the kitchen, Potter responded that it was actually Sirius’ and Mr. Potter’s request; they had mentioned not being able to help Harry to choose his robes for the Yule ball or to give him dating advise in general, so maybe watching him go (even though they were staying in) to his date was like a symbolic thing for them.

They were standing in the hallway then, right in the middle of it. Harry took out his wand and mumbled an incantation as he pointed it to the ceiling. A wooden trap door manifested itself. Draco frowned.

“It’s the attic. I wanted to go somewhere but we can’t leave... Dad mentioned this to me.” He clarified before waving his wand and making the door open to reveal a wooden set of thin stairs that leaded to said attic. Potter made a playful bow and said: “After you, Sir”

Draco raised his eyebrows with an amused face and started to climb up the stairs, trying to hold on tight to the railing because the bloody thing was too steep. The flowers were dancing so happy that he felt dizzy.

“A true gentleman then.” The blond boy replied as he was four steps higher than the boy.

“Actually, I just wanted to look at your arse.” He said with that sassy and playful tone that Draco loved so much. He almost chocked with the petals as he snorted.

As soon as he saw it, he gasped. It was beautiful. There were shining color lights hanging above them, the only illumination that the room had... But there were hundreds, at least it seem so, the entire ceiling was covered up with them.

“Did you do this...?” He asked, his eyes still fixed in the beautiful lights.

“Yeah... Found them up here. Sirius used to be obsessed with Christmas lights... He charmed them to work without electricity, says that it took him about four months.” The boy walked towards where he was and looked up as well. “My grandparents used to hang them around the house for the holidays, Dad told me that they didn’t like them much, but Padfoot was so happy when my Grandmother offered the first time that they started to hang them every year.”

“Euphemia sounds like an angel.” And when he turned to look at him, the boy was smiling warmly and nodding.

The date was wonderful. Harry had prepared a picnic, they ate on the floor with a blanket and cushions that were a whole more prettier than the ones that were at the living room. Draco suspected that the boy had transfigured them himself.

They ate and talked and laid over the blanket to watch the lights above them. Draco was fascinated with them and Harry apparently was fascinated with Draco, because he could feel his eyes on him... All the time. The flowers couldn’t stop tickling him.

“Draco.” The green eyed boy called for him.

Something in him shifted. When he turned his head to look at those marvelous green eyes, he was hit with unimaginable want. The Daffodils, him, it was all the same now. Because Potter did this for him. He worked so hard to give Draco this, to show that he cared... Even if it never got to love, how could he keep avoiding this?

“Harry.” He responded, almost like a whisper.

The dark-haired boy ran his fingers through his hair and Draco shivered, closing his eyes.

“I’m so glad that you saved me in fifth year.” Potter said, so honest and kind. Draco could have cried of happiness just from those words alone. The flowers twirled inside of him. “I’m so happy that you are here.” He wanted to kiss him, it felt like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.

“I’m happy to be here too. With you” Draco added softly before leaning, closing the short distance that was between them, and pressing his lips over Harry’s.

The unbearable need to be with him, to be as close to him as it was physically possible, felt like fire... It felt like a fire that came from deep within him, bright and hot, burning everything in its path... Somehow it felt like the flowers were part of it too, like they were dancing around Draco’s heart, in the middle of the fire and they were enjoying every second of it.

Everything felt so new... The way that Harry was grabbing his sweater, the noises he made, his gorgeous green eyes reflecting the colorful lights that shone above them... It felt so new, so perfect... And he felt so utterly, irrevocably, in love with this boy... No, this man. Because that was what Harry had become, that was who he was kissing senseless, the man he was in love with: Harry James Potter.

And he couldn’t find it in him to hold back anymore. Maybe the flowers would get even more clingy and needy after this, but who cared? It didn’t matter. It was meaningless compared to Harry. Everything was meaningless compared to him.

Being so close to him was perfect, it felt like their bodies were made for each other... That their paths were meant to cross, to give them this. Even with all the fights, the banter, their different values and opinions..

They were made to learn from each other. They were meant to know the other so well that, even without speaking a kind word for five years, they could still understand each other. They were meant to slowly accept the other, with every flaw and every strength... They were meant to learn how the other smiled, cried and kissed.

And Draco gave Harry a part of his heart with every touch, with every single kiss and praise that he whispered into his ear. He gave him whatever he could, feeling like the luckiest person in the world...

Even with the Hanahaki, even if this was just temporary... He didn’t regret a single thing.

Later that night, in Potter’s bedroom, after they climbed down the stairs of the attic, still kissing as they smiled, trying not to fall, Draco found himself with Harry sleeping soundly on his chest. The Daffodils were so drugged that he could barely feel them. The smell of Potter was different, mixed with his smell...

As he closed his eyes, the lyrics of the song just appeared in his head. It was weird because he never particularly felt attached to that song... Not like with the others... But he just kept singing it in his head until he fell asleep.

Look into my eyes and you'll see

I'm the only one

You've captured my love

Stolen my heart

Changed my life

Every time you make a move

You destroy my mind

And the way you touch

I lose control and shiver deep inside

You take my breath away

You can reduce me to tears

With a single sigh

(Please don't cry anymore)

Every breath that you take

Any sound that you make

Is a whisper in my ear

I could give up all my life for just one kiss

I would surely die

If you dismiss me from your love

You take my breath away

So please don't go

Don't leave me here all by myself

I get ever so lonely from time to time

I will find you

Anywhere you go, I'll be right behind you

Right until the ends of the Earth

I'll get no sleep till I find you to tell you

That you just take my breath away

I will find you

Anywhere you go

Right until the ends of the Earth

I'll get no sleep till I find you to

Tell you when I've found you -

I love you

#drarry #fanfic #fanfiction #prongsfoot

17 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

A Change in the Weather AU (inspired by Cacophonylights's A Change in the Weather) - Chapter 29

Read on AO3.

“Who in the world needs three trousseaus?” Sebastian moans, trudging behind his boyfriend, his sister, and his soon-to-be brother-in-law through what Olivia refers to as “the hallowed halls of Carolina Premium Outlets”. Kurt was initially surprised that a woman with the financial means of Olivia Smythe would opt to shop at an outlet mall instead of the other upscale clothing stores within a hundred mile radius of the beach house, but it also made him adore her even more.

Never let it be said that Kurt Hummel does not appreciate outlet shopping. His monthly bill to Rue La La alone will attest to that fact.

On top of that, not only had she invited Kurt to come, she demanded his attendance. “I need you, Kurt! I need someone with your refined, sophisticated eye for fashion to help me in this, my hour of need!” she’d declared with the dramatic flair befitting a literary scholar, grabbing him by the hand and wrenching him from his seat in Sebastian’s lap on the porch swing, not about to take no for an answer. At first, he suspected she chose him because her mother was otherwise occupied (which he discovered later on that she wasn’t), but it still flattered him that she went to him for help in this arena and didn’t opt for a personal shopper.

Going to a mall, doing something that could be defined by uncultured swine as banal, had been a welcome change. Not that Kurt didn’t absolutely love everything else they’d done so far - fighting the tides for their dinner, braving bee stings, nearly drowning in Sebastian’s Mustang …

… karaoke.

And the jellyfish. Oh sweet baby Jesus, he can’t forget the jellyfish!

This vacation started out like an episode of Survivor: North Carolina Edition, and even though it isn’t over, Kurt has nothing to worry about because he’s already won the grand prize. But walking into this plucky haven of discounted commerce, with it’s bright, white, artificial lighting and grainy, outdated music piped over the speakers feels like returning to the familiar. Breathing the recycled conditioned air relaxes every muscle like a full-body Shiatsu massage. It reminds him of weekends spent hanging out with his girls, grabbing a soft pretzel and complaining about the men in their lives, which was really a disguised form of good-natured one-upping:

“Finn will never understand the sanctity of my evening ice water face bath! He says it looks painful! He won’t even try it, the scaredy cat! Something about brain freeze and him being afraid of shrinking his skull. But his pores, Kurt! He’s got pores so big, you could live in them! And the sun damage from all that football? He’s such a … such a boy! I don’t know what I’m going to do with him some days! Anyway, did I show you the absolutely adorable music note pin he got me? It’s so perfect, I’m surprised you didn’t have something to do with it! You didn’t, did you? No, I didn’t think so. He said it was for the anniversary of our second kiss! How did he even remember?”

(How did Finn remember? Kurt had thought scornfully. Aside from the fact that Rachel circled the date on Finn’s calendar, then filled in the box with a note written in blood red Sharpie; inputted a message into his phone; and then reminded him every day of the week before; Kurt had no idea …)

“I completely understand what you mean,” Kurt had agreed with an appropriately commiserate eye roll. “I’ve finally managed to open Blaine’s eyes to the importance of jade rolling, but he’s so impatient! Married to the idea that an alpha hydroxy toner is some magical elixir that is going to solve all his problems for him.” Kurt tutted, nodding his head solemnly when Rachel gasped at the failings of his boyfriend. “But he did go out and buy me the cutest raw silk bow tie, out of the blue and for no reason whatsoever, so I guess I can’t be too angry with him for neglecting his dermatological responsibilities …”

The current man in Kurt’s life wouldn’t be in the running to win that competition, not with his constant bitching and complaining about the pain in his feet, the pounding in his head caused by the ‘lame ass music’, and his all-encompassing boredom.

But in this instance, listening to Sebastian gripe doesn’t dull Kurt’s shopping experience an inch.

On the contrary - it heightens it.

“I do.” Olivia grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts towards Talbots to outrun her brother’s sour attitude. “Now, hurry up! We’ve got seven more stores to hit!”

“Why bother?” Sebastian reaches for Kurt’s other hand, frowning when his fingers close around air. “I think you’ve bought every white outfit and peony-covered bed sheet in this place!”

“Hmph. You can never have too much white. And floral never goes out of style,” Olivia tosses over her shoulder, smirking when she notices her brother’s ineffectual attempt at retrieving his boyfriend.

“Great! You can use those sheets when you’re a wrinkled old biddy then.”

“That’s the plan,” Olivia replies with a grin of superiority nearly identical to her brothers. It’s uncanny, like they pass it around, only one of them allowed to use it at any given time.

“Should you even be wearing white at this wedding?” Sebastian retaliates. “I mean, isn’t white reserved for the virtuous?”

“Oh boy,” Brian mutters, taking a gargantuan step away to show how not associated with Sebastian he is at this moment.

Olivia and Kurt stop walking, spinning around in unison to glare down the approaching offender. Kurt wraps an arm around her, shielding her ears with his hands.

“That’s a low blow!” he scolds.

Sebastian shrugs, unfazed. “All I’m saying is that Olivia and Brian haven’t exactly been waiting on a block of ice for this day to arrive, have you guys?” He glances at Brian, who’s strategically hiding behind his fiancee’s fifteen shopping bags and a rotund, fiberglass planter. “Come on, man! Back me up!”

“Look, Sebastian, I love you like a brother,” Brian says, “but I’m not doin’ that. I know which side my bread is buttered.”

“Coward.” Sebastian turns his attention back to his sister and his boyfriend. He rolls his eyes condescendingly at their united front, their matching expressions of umbrage. “Sorry, not sorry,” he offers as his trivial non-apology.

“Oh, okay …” Olivia rolls up her sleeves, gearing up for a fight. “If that’s the way you want it, let’s talk some truth! If I was worried at all about a higher power sending lightning down to smote the impure at my perfect wedding, I wouldn’t have invited Julian or you! Between the two of you, you could set the entire venue on fire!”

Instead of being offended by that remark, Sebastian grins. “You’re not wrong. In fact …” Sebastian’s grin widens like he’s just conceived the most brilliant plan in the world “… I think it might be better if Kurt and I didn’t attend your stuffy old wedding.” He creeps closer to Kurt, prepared to take his sister to the ground to get his boyfriend’s hand back. “For the safety of your guests, of course.”

Olivia pivots, maneuvering a giggling Kurt out of her brother’s reach as swiftly as a chess master would castle a king. “I never said Kurt would set the place on fire.”

“And who says I wouldn’t go just because you weren’t going?” Kurt points out as he’s shuffled towards the safety of another store.

Olivia squeezes Kurt’s hand and beams, proud to have such a loyal companion in this fight.

“Employing that logic, I don’t see why my presence was necessary for this shopping excursion,” Sebastian argues, though it comes across more like he’s pouting. “You have Brian here to play valet. You guys could have gone by yourselves and had all the old lady fun you wanted. I would have given you my blessing.”

Kurt’s jaw drops straight to the collar of his borrowed button-down. “We told you where we were going! And I told you you’d be bored out of your mind! You begged us to come!”

“As a favor to you, babe.” Sebastian crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant toddler - a toddler with biceps the size of Kurt’s calves, on breathtaking display in the tight t-shirt he’s wearing. But Sebastian also looks so charmingly immature, Kurt can’t help breaking, smiling at him with heart eyes. This attitude shift - his playful moping and edge-free teasing - is one of the things Kurt loves about having Sebastian out here, surrounded by the loving bosom of his family. He’s softened, less sardonic, stopped trying to keep Kurt at arm’s length via the use of inappropriate jokes and jabs that skirt a line.

He’s gone from minor criminal mastermind, the scourge of Dalton Academy, and has become a goofy teenager.

Sebastian caps off his claim with, “Lord knows neither one of you has any sense of style,” and this time, it’s Olivia’s turn to cover Kurt’s ears. “Offense! Now you’ve gone too far!”

“Come, Olivia …” Kurt sniffles, squaring his back with a dignified roll of his shoulders, symbolically sloughing off Sebastian’s slights “… I refuse to stand here and be insulted by a boy wearing boat shoes.”

“Now, Kurt, don’t you listen to that mean, bitter … oh my God! Neiman Marcus is having a clearance sale! Come on!” She grabs Kurt’s hand and bolts toward the store, and God, is she strong! Kurt feels his feet fly out from under him as he rushes to keep up, Sebastian and Brian chuckling behind them. Kurt loses Sebastian in a sea of discount racks, each boasting bright red and yellow signs proclaiming 50% off! Final sale! 85% off re-racks! Kurt frowns at the signage, but then can’t help snickering at his own reaction to them. These signs are tackier than Kurt would expect for a Neiman Marcus store, outlet or otherwise, no doubt, but look at him being a sign snob when he can barely afford half the items on the rack at regular price?

Kurt finds his size (or his general range) and starts sifting through items one at a time, savoring the experience. He hears Olivia ooo and ahhh at a rack beside him, but his mind begins wandering to thoughts of the boy sauntering their way, helping Brian bear his load, laughing while his eyes search for Kurt.

And smiling like he’s never been happier.

For all of Sebastian’s incessant whining and rude remarks, Kurt can’t say he hasn’t fantasized about going on a no holds barred shopping excursion with him. He’s curious as hell how Sebastian would dress him. How Sebastian sees him. This button-down he’s wearing, top button undone and collar popped, is one of Sebastian’s - something Sebastian had tossed Kurt’s way after breakfast with only a, “Please?” as if his intentions were clear without further comment.

And they were.

But in a dedicated ensemble-selecting situation, what would his aesthetic be?

Kurt assumes there’d be a lot of denim and distressed tees involved, which might actually be quite fetching on him. It is on Sebastian, and the two of them are proportionately similar. With a chunky leather belt and his Doc Martens, he could see himself pulling that off. It’d be comfy, less restricting than the clothes he chooses for himself. And who knows? Sebastian might throw him a curve ball, surprise him by choosing an out-of-left-field accessory.

He’s exceptionally good at that.

The more Kurt thinks about it, the more he finds himself getting excited over the prospect of such a trip even though it’ll likely never happen.

But it could. Who knows?

It gives him something new to fantasize over.

Cooper had once accused Kurt of picking out Blaine’s clothes, and Blaine had defended him. Or himself, come to think of it. His personal style choices. But the truth is Blaine balked at a lot of Kurt’s attempts to dress him. He borrowed items from Kurt’s closet and vice versa, but letting Kurt style him? They didn’t do that all too often. The two of them had such signature styles, it felt like stepping on one another’s toes.

Might have been a good thing that Kurt didn’t, in retrospect. As with Rachel’s carousel horse sweaters, Blaine owns a cardigan or two that Kurt wouldn’t mind setting on fire.

And the temptation is strong.

But as for Sebastian’s style - Kurt suspects there’s a degree to which someone else buys his clothes for him. Like a personal shopper, or perhaps even his mom. He wears a lot of the same outside of his Dalton uniform - designer label clothes that suit his figure but don’t exactly scream personality. Kurt can see Sebastian approving the colors and having the final say, but in the end, he doesn’t do the work.

His t-shirts are a different story. Those he obviously picked out personally. They’re conversational, speak to more than his taste in clothing.

They’re a peek into his identity.

If Kurt had the chance to get his hands on Sebastian’s wardrobe, he’d dress him in pieces tailored more for his figure - dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up and one tail untucked hinting at his trim waist, layered over simple tanks of solid colors, and jeans slightly snugger than he usually wears.

Kurt swallows, his mouth stone dry at the silhouette that combination creates in his mind.

He startles out of his daydream when he realizes he’s stopped searching. Olivia’s voice has become a low hum in his ears, blending with the music and occasional store announcements; his hands gripping two separate hangers like an iron vice determined to break them in half. He peeks up to see an amused Sebastian staring at him, heading in their direction, but his view gets cut when Olivia thrusts a hanger in front of his face.

“Oh, Kurt! Look! It’s Tom Ford and it’s leopard! It would look so fierce on you!” Olivia takes a gander at the tag. “And it’s 75% off! A steal, Kurt! You have to get it!”

“Should I?” Kurt turns to the nearest mirror, mounted on a support pillar, and holds the long-sleeved shirt up to his chin. It is rather stunning. He doesn’t have to look at the price tag to know that it costs a pretty penny. 75% off of Tom Ford’s average retail price is quite the splurge for normal, non-economically blessed humans. What Olivia considers a steal would mean the sacrifice of an entire weekend at his dad’s shop. But, luckily, he has it to spend. And he’s worth it, especially after everything he’s been through.

“Absolutely! You’d be losing money not buying it at that price!”

“You know what? I think I will!” And as excited as he is at adding a new separate to his Tom Ford collection, Kurt feels a pit grow in his stomach when those words pass his lips. He feels guilty not bookmarking every single cent he has for NYADA, but seeing as he has this new plan to put into action, he breaks down and decides to buy the shirt, a pair of slacks, and a belt to tie the whole look together.

“You know, you should just go crazy,” Sebastian mentions. “It’s all good. I’ll pick up the tab.”

Kurt’s heart speeds at the offer, an orgasmic Yes! pinging through his brain, but he shakes his head. “That’s very generous, but even on sale, the prices in this place are insane! I don’t want you spending that kind of money on me.”

“Why not? I have it to spend. What’s a couple thousand between boyfriends?” Sebastian says, playfully bumping Kurt’s hip with his own. “Besides, I like the idea of spoiling you.” He leans close to Kurt’s ear and whispers, “If you want, I can take it out of what I owe you. Or in exchange for sex. Whatever floats your boat.”

Those words, in contrast to the heat of Sebastian’s breath, make Kurt’s skin go cold. It’s a joke. Sebastian is teasing. And Kurt should be happy that he feels free to tease him about this. Things are slowly coming out in the open, people are finding out about their ruse, and they don’t care, because in the end, the two of them fell in love. They’re happy.

And no one died.

Jokes about money, or their relationship, may not mean anything to Sebastian, not since the end justified the means. So they shouldn’t mean anything to Kurt.

So why do they?

Bzzz-bzzz. Bzzz-bzzz.

Kurt’s phone vibrating in his pocket is rare enough for this trip that it makes him jump a full foot in the air. Truthfully, he forgot he brought it with him. He’d deemed it unnecessary for most outings, only holding on to it in case of an emergency. He sticks the leopard shirt under his arm and pulls his phone out of his pocket. He unlocks his screen and sees an incoming message from his father. He taps on it to open it, but it refuses, bouncing back to the main screen after a few seconds of stalling.

“What is it, babe?” Sebastian asks after Kurt stabs at his screen for the fifth time with no luck.

“It’s a text from my dad, but I can’t open it,” Kurt replies. “He sent a picture attachment, but it keeps freezing up.”

“Maybe it’s too big.” Sebastian puts his share of Olivia’s shopping bags down and rests his hands on Kurt’s shoulders, gently kneading away the tension this is causing him. “Lord knows I understand that problem.”

“Ha ha,” Kurt deadpans, assaulting the screen more vigorously like he’s interrogating it for information.

Which he kind of is.

“Speaking of, can I see those pictures?” Olivia asks.

Sebastian shoots his sister a disturbed look. “You want to see pictures of my junk?”

“Does Kurt have pictures of your junk on his phone? Because if he does, I think we’ve identified the problem.”

“And what’s that?”

Olivia stares at her brother with such intense seriousness, Kurt thinks she may not be kidding when she says, “His phone obviously has a virus.”

Brian guffaws unexpectedly and turns away.

“Funny,” Sebastian deadpans back.

“I want to see the pictures from that hot air balloon ride you guys took!” Olivia clarifies, blessedly halting the conversation in its tracks.

“Oh. Yeah,” Kurt says, distracted by this issue with his phone. “Let me just …”

“Did you forget how to use it?” Sebastian asks, only half kidding. “I mean, you haven’t really been using your phone since we got here.”

“It’s not that,” Kurt says, not surprised anymore by how easy it is to bypass Sebastian’s humor and see the real message inside. Kurt is struggling to open a text - a text from his father. Sebastian knows that’s going to cause Kurt anxiety. “This has happened to me a few times before. Shoot! Now it won’t let me access my photo gallery!”

“I should really upgrade your phone,” Sebastian says, like it’s his responsibility to handle this problem, as if he has the authority to make that decision.

“My phone’s fine, Bas,” Kurt grumbles, more annoyed at his phone than he is at his boyfriend.

“Kurt, this is serious! I don’t want your wack ass service to go out when I need to get a hold of you. What if we’re sexting and your phone locks my messages, too?”

“I don’t think it’s the service. I have full bars. I can get on the Internet just fine. It’s my internal storage … mmph!” Kurt gives up on his gallery, accessing Facebook for the photos instead. “It’s the phone! I think it’s finally aged out.”

“Ergo why I should upgrade it.”

“Grr!” Kurt doesn’t bother glaring at Sebastian since he accepts the fact that he made his point for him. Yes, it would be nice to have a new phone. This one’s been giving him grief for a while. But it still works, and it’s decent. Why toss something away because it’s temperamental and frustrating? If that’s the case, he should break up with Sebastian. He laughs out loud when that conclusion pops into his head, but he doesn’t mention why, regardless of the strange looks he’s getting.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian mouths to a perplexed Olivia while pretending to patronizingly pat Kurt’s hair. “He does that sometimes.”

“Okay, okay!” Kurt cheers as his Facebook page pops on the screen. “I’ve got it! Here’s the one at holy shit!”

“Holy shit?” Olivia repeats.

“I don’t remember us going there.” Sebastian crowds with Olivia and Brian around Kurt, all staring at his phone. The first photo that comes up is the exact photo Kurt wanted - the two of them kissing in the basket of that hot air balloon with the caption he wrote, Love Defies Gravity, overhead. But that’s not the issue. The issue is:

“Seen by … 1,452 people!?”

Even Sebastian gasps when Kurt reads it.

“That’s … a lot of people,” Brian says, a less astute observation than Kurt would expect from a lawyer.

“It is. I---I didn’t even know this many people were checking their Facebook pages over the summer. Everyone seemed so busy …” Kurt pauses, swallows heavy, one that fills all the negative space in his throat, then crawls through his chest when it gets that far - his lungs, the spaces between his ribs, his heart. There it stays, obstructing his breathing, rooting him to the spot with its oppressive weight. Because it’s not just the length of the seen by list that makes Kurt’s eyes swell (and yes, it appears that almost everyone he’s ever met, known, given his Facebook information to has seen this picture), but the comments they left. Only the first four are displayed, but when he clicks the View more comments hyperlink, they shoot down his screen, disappearing out of sight.

Kurt scans the list of names quickly, noting that pretty much every member of the New Directions has not only seen the pictures but has had something to say – something positive, and that makes Kurt giddy with relief. Not that their disapproval would have had any influence over whether Kurt stays with Sebastian or not. He doesn’t need a single one of his friends to approve as long as they understand that this is what he wants. But it’s nice to know that his friends are happy for him, even Rachel, who has left him a string of heart emojis, one or two of them broken, and the almost impossible to believe comment – I’m so sorry. About everything. Call me soon. I want to talk about this.

Kurt stops reading names after he sees Santana’s remark - Plot twist of the century! Way to get it, pretty pony! FYI - I’m still down to cut a bitch if he goes back to being a puto!

“Hey!” Sebastian says, pointing her comment out.

“What?” Kurt gives him a one shoulder shrug. “It’s her way of saying she approves. Besides, it’s good to know.” Kurt smiles to himself when he hears Olivia backhand her brother and he yelps, “Careful, will ya!? Your engagement ring’s sharp!”

Kurt gets so caught up in his happiness, he doesn’t see one name in particular at the way bottom of the list. The name of someone who had said they’d sworn off Facebook for the summer, but who’d been checking it on the sly whenever they got the chance.

One of the first people to flip through all the photographs on Kurt’s page, even though they didn’t leave a comment.

They couldn’t bring themselves to, not on any of the photographs Kurt has uploaded while he’s been at the beach house – the ones he took of the ocean view from Sebastian’s room, the selfie he took with Sebastian on the porch swing, the one he took of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Especially the one of Sebastian asleep in bed.

Blaine Anderson.

***

Several times on the car ride home, Kurt attempts to download his father’s message. He waits while the loading icon circles round and round and round, but all he gets back is the error message File not available for download.

“Shoot! But why aren’t you available for download?”

The phone doesn’t answer, but Sebastian does.

“Because I’m a shit phone, Kurt,” he says in a cartoonish falsetto. “Let your sexy boyfriend upgrade me.”

Kurt side-eyes Sebastian. “Is that code?”

Sebastian bounces his eyebrows. “Do you want it to be? There is such a thing as a gadget kink, isn’t there?”

“You would know,” Kurt mutters. “You do realize that even if you upgrade my phone today to one that is faster, more reliable, has a longer battery life, and …”

Sebastian glances from the road to Kurt stuck in the midst of that sentence with his mouth half-open “… and …?”

“I don’t know. I kind of lost myself in my own argument.” Kurt’s face goes blank, marooned on the question of exactly why it is he’s turning down the offer of a new phone. He’s never been a phone snob. He’s the one constantly defending the fact that yes, he owns an older iPhone, but if it’s not broke, don’t fix it.

Except now that argument is invalid.

A newer generation iPhone would be nice, but again, it’s too much money. He loves Sebastian, but he doesn’t need him paying for everything.

At what point would spoiling be considered mooching in Sebastian’s eyes, even if Kurt starts out by vehemently objecting?

Kurt shakes his head, demolishing the image of himself wielding the latest in Apple technology when he remembers the point he was attempting to make. “That’s right. Even if you upgraded my phone today, I still might not be able to open this message. If I can’t download it, it might not transfer over.”

“Why don’t you give him a call?”

“I’ve tried! It’s not just my texting that’s on the fritz, I can’t do anything! The infuriating thing is I haven’t gotten any significant messages from anyone the whole time I’ve been here! The one day my dad has something so important to tell me he includes a picture, it pulls this crap, deciding that, after a long and loyal relationship, today is the day it’s going to screw the pooch!” At least it waited longer than Blaine, Kurt thinks sourly. Was more reliable in the end, too.

“Maybe the problem is your service and we’ve entered a dead zone,” Sebastian says sympathetically, as if a similar criticism about Blaine may have crossed his mind. “You’ve had no problems using your phone at the house, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I say wait till you get to the house and give it another shot.”

“You’re … you’re probably right.”

“Hey …” Sebastian reaches across the center console for Kurt’s hand. Kurt takes it without looking, without needing to look “… if you’re that worried about him, use the landline. Put your mind at ease.”

“Yeah.” Kurt pockets his phone, his mind whirling through the spectrum of possibilities, trying to hit blindly on which one is more plausible. It doesn’t help too much since not a single one of them is any better than the rest. “I might just do that.”

***

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Sitting alone on the edge of Sebastian’s bed, staring at his phone screen, those words are as far as Kurt gets before his phone goes loopy again, but the chills that spiral up and down his spine show no sign of stopping.

Now that he has that much of the message open, his Facebook app starts flipping out. He’d been reading the threads underneath his photos, but the longer he scrolls, the app errors out and shuts down, forcing him to log in all over again. He has two-factor authentification set on all his apps, which means waiting for an authorization text before he can do anything. He’s had to change his password twice so far. He prays he won’t have to do it again.

There are just so many variations of TheGoddessPattiLuPone he can come up with.

He’ll have to move on to TheGoddessBetteMidler soon.

In between shut downs, he catches snippets of conversations that solve a couple of mysteries for him. Like how Sebastian managed to see his old Cheerios videos. A helpful Brittany was apparently instrumental behind that one, bringing them up on her phone from the official Cheerios archive (accessible only by past and present members of the Cheerios) when Sebastian mentioned he was interested in starting a squad at Dalton and would she mind giving him a few pointers seeing as she was one of McKinley’s star cheerleaders and all.

Kurt sighs over the fact that she fell for that one but he can’t hold it against her. She’s a sweetheart that way, rarely thinks badly of anyone for too long. Even with everything Sebastian has done to sabotage the New Directions, it would be water under the bridge as long as he was nice to her. Maybe gave her a gummy bear or two.

Kurt’s coffee order - a splash of cream and a half spoon of sugar - Kurt deduces in a round about way came from Mercedes one day when they went to visit Dalton to pick up some transcripts and he took her to the commons for coffee. He remembers her commenting in a voice that could never competently whisper, “A drop of cream and a half spoon of sugar? Oh honey. What’s wrong now?”

It was only once. Kurt had forgotten Sebastian was even there. He had started to dish when he caught sight of Sebastian out the corner of his eye. He immediately took Mercedes by the arm and led her away out of earshot of ‘the criminal chipmunk’.

If Kurt doubted that Sebastian actually did spend a great deal of his time gathering blackmail fodder on people the way he claimed, his mind has definitely changed, though he’s not exactly sure how knowing Kurt’s secret coffee order would help Sebastian bend him to his will.

On the flip side, Kurt is interested to find out what else he knows, and about whom.

The phone shuts down and restarts. As soon as it springs to life, it rings, the volume turned up so loud, it shocks him, causing him to fling his phone a foot in the air. Luckily he catches it before it hits the floor. He can’t afford for this thing to break more than it has. He looks at the screen, expecting (but not necessarily hoping, and that makes him feel like a heel) his dad’s number. But it’s not.

It’s Rachel’s.

Kurt groans. He’s not sure he wants to talk to her yet. Because it won’t be talked to, but talked at, a dozen questions flying at him in a single breath which he won’t be given a chance to mull over adequately before he’s expected to answer. And even though he recognizes that he doesn’t owe Rachel anything - any explanations and definitely no apologies - she may ask questions he doesn’t have satisfactory answers for. Not according to her.

Oh God! He doesn’t need this now! Doesn’t need this stress, doesn’t need to be pressured, especially when he has a mysterious message from his father to reckon with. He argues over it to a phantom Rachel in his head, outlining his reasons in a numbered list as to why he doesn’t need her interrupting his calm, harshing the one luxury he’s allowed himself the entire summer, and how there’s not a single thing she can say that will guilt him into feeling anything other than over-the-top, insanely happy.

He gets so wrapped up in winning this non-existent argument, lining up the zingers he’s been stockpiling for just such an occasion, it takes him a few seconds to notice that his phone has stopped ringing.

He stares at the red disconnected call icon on the screen, a choked off, “Oh no,” slipping past his lips.

Kurt took too long.

This could be bad.

But on the bright side, it’s not bad right this second. It seems fate answered his question for him. At least now he has a chance to take a breath before he has to consider---

The phone rings again.

Kurt sees Rachel’s name re-appear on the screen and mutters, “Good God.”

Rachel has nothing going on this summer, so she has plenty of time to keep dogging him till he answers. He knows that for a fact.

He could turn off his phone, put it in a plastic bag, shove that plastic bag in a pillowcase, and then put that pillowcase in his luggage, but he’s still trying to get to the bottom of the text from his dad.

He has no choice.

Best to get this over with, he decides, before she sweet talks Finn into finding out where he is and makes him drive her to North Carolina to talk to him personally. Even if they can’t narrow down the exact location of the beach house, she’d make him drive around while she called out his name through a bull horn to hunt him down.

Erring on the side of caution, Kurt begrudgingly picks up. Rachel’s voice comes through before the phone even makes it to his ear.

“Kurt?”

“Rach?”

“Oh thank God!” she says with an exaggerated sigh, as if Kurt has been missing for months. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

Kurt glances at his screen, the call history for her number outlined in small white numbers denoting this as the fifteenth call from her in the past hour. “I can see that.”

Then comes silence.

Silence because she expects him to lay everything out for her without her having to ask.

And, at the moment, after everything she said about Sebastian being a temporary person (even though, to be fair, Kurt had given her no concrete reason to think otherwise) he’s bitter enough not to.

She breathes in as if she’s about to start a sentence.

He breathes in, prepared to cut in and say, “I know what you’re going to say, Rachel,” though he doesn’t.

So he waits.

She clears her throat, and in a compassionate voice, she asks, “Wha---what happened?”

“Uh …” If that isn’t the loaded question of the decade, Kurt thinks. “It’s like this … he … Sebastian, that is … no - maybe I should start with Blaine … but first, there was this …” Kurt sighs. There is no good place to begin. “You know, it’s a lot to talk about and, to be honest, I’d rather not do it over the phone.”

“Fair enough,” she says, and Kurt can almost hear her nodding. She breathes in again but pauses, holding this one breath for a long time before letting it out in a rush. “You and Blaine aren’t getting back together … are you?”

She sounds so sad.

She sounds the way Puck’s hug felt after he and Blaine told their friends about their decision to break up.

She sounds like something important has been ripped away from her, because Kurt and Blaine’s plans for New York were, in small part, Rachel and Finn’s plans, too. As much as he’d daydreamed about living the poor college student life with Blaine, their Bohemia Academia in a run down apartment they’d make quaint and homey with a combination of stuff from home and accumulated kitsch, Rachel had imagined living somewhere nearby with Finn so they could drop in unannounced for impromptu trips to the farmer’s market; hang out on the fire escape during hot summer nights, sipping sweet vermouth and talking about the cattle calls they’d been to, the parts they hoped they’d get, commenting on no small parts, only small actors, which would turn into a dig at Blaine’s and Rachel’s heights respectively, and probably devolve into a pillow fight..

There was a future wrapped up in Kurt and Blaine’s plans that wasn’t entirely theirs and now that life is being mourned.

“No,” Kurt says, pulling off that bandage before it sits too long, hurts too much. It’s not the declaration that hurts. It’s the anticipation of what that answer might bring. He closes his eyes, jaw going rigid, hands clenching, bracing for the impact. “Never.”

Another in a long series of silences hovers between them. Not a tense one, but not a comfortable one. But then Rachel says the one word Kurt never expected to hear in response to that revelation.

“Good.”

Kurt’s eyes pop open, and inside his chest, his heart stops. “Come again?” he asks when he should be relieved he’s getting away relatively unscathed.

“He shouldn’t have broken up with you, Kurt! He was wrong! Everything he said at that party was wrong!”

“What about what you said at the party?” Kurt asks sarcastically. He can only keep so much of his anger over that contained. Of course what she said was annoying - typical Rachel Berry rhetoric. But he also felt betrayed by the person whose alliance was the most difficult of his life to obtain. He’d thought that made it the sincerest. “About how we were being very mature about the whole thing, and it was good that we were taking some time to reevaluate our choices as we stepped into the future as adults?”

“I was wrong,” she admits tearfully. And not Rachel Berry’s overacted I feel sad when you’re sad tears. These are the genuine article. “I wanted to support you. I wanted to support what I thought was your joint decision. But thinking back on it, re-evaluating what Blaine said, how you reacted to it …” She sniffles, blows her nose away from the phone, and all of the seething bitterness that has been building up in Kurt’s heart over her melts “… then seeing those pictures of you and Sebastian together, and after having a long talk with Finn, I realized that what Blaine did to you is wrong. On so many levels. You did nothing to deserve it. Nothing. And if Sebastian treats you right, if he treats you the way Blaine should have treated you, the way you deserve to be treated then …” She pauses for a deep breath, returning to form, coming to the crux of her argument “… you have my blessing.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at the insinuation that he needs any blessing from her, but he smiles fondly, so hard that his cheeks hurt. It’s a curse that none of them can seem to stay angry at Rachel for long. Even Mercedes, who had more right than any of them to hate Rachel’s guts after that rigmarole with West Side Story came around about a month later. “Thank you, Rachel. That’s very kind of you to say.”

“You’re very welcome,” she says, her voice slightly broken as she gathers herself together. “Well (*sniff*) now that you guys are official (and Kurt can see the air quotes on that one), may I ask you a very important question? And please answer honestly. This is for science.”

Oh boy. Here it comes, Kurt thinks. “Sure, Rachel. What would you like to know?”

“He’s a good kisser, right? Tell me I’m right! A boy with as much experience as he has should have gold medal technique!”

“Yes, Rachel,” Kurt says, laughing when he hears her snort. “A-plus. The absolute best!”

***

“Fuck …”

Sitting on the porch swing, stiff and expressionless as an Easter Island statue, Kurt stares at his phone screen, unable to blink even with the salty sea air stinging his eyes, sucking the moisture from them. His lips try to move instead so he can mutter to himself, sort things through with a private debate, but all he can manage is another expletive.

“Fuck …”

To Kurt:

Call me as soon as you can. We need to talk ASAP.

Along with that ominous message, his father sent a picture of an envelope, the return address NYADA, specifically the financial aid department. Across the bottom of the envelope where Kurt has gotten used to seeing the words AMOUNT DUE are stamped the words FINAL NOTICE.

Kurt swallows hard.

He’d tried calling his father when they reached the beach house on both his dad’s cell phone and the house phone, but they just rang and rang. They didn’t even go to voicemail. Considering the time, he was either running errands or in a meeting, Kurt didn’t know for sure, which didn’t calm his anxiety any. Because those errands could be to the doctor’s office, or with his cardiologist.

Spur-of-the-moment meetings, since Kurt didn’t know about them, indicating something important had cropped up while he was away.

He’d considered calling the Lima Police and requesting they stop by and do a wellness check, but that felt like an overreaction, so he decided to try one last hard reboot of his phone. The screen went black for what seemed like an hour but was probably more like fifteen seconds. After keeping him waiting, sweating it out, the operating system had the nerve to update. Close to five minutes later, the screen went white. His icons shuffled, then everything snapped back to normal. Then, without him touching it, the boxes he’d been trying to access for most of the afternoon opened, including the message from his father and its accompanying picture.

He didn’t have to look at it too long to know what it was. It slapped him in the face the second it filled the screen.

He wishes the file hadn’t opened so smoothly, that he could have eased into accessing it. Because now, underneath this beautiful star-filled sky, a stone’s thrown away from a magnificent beach, he’s about to be sick.

No, he thinks. Not now. Not when I’m here, in this sanctuary, where nothing bad can touch me, still trying to make sense of my feelings. Not when I don’t have a clue how to fix this, where to even start.

But maybe that’s the rub. Maybe he was never meant to figure this problem out. Maybe his acceptance to NYADA was something he was meant to lose, like Blaine, another part of his life he arrogantly thought was a sure thing, something he didn’t bother worrying about once he’d gotten it, slipping through his fingers.

“Hey! You figured your phone out!”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, quickly closing the text. “I just … turned it off and turned it back on again. Worked like a charm.”

Sebastian looks his boyfriend over, but particularly his smile - two-dimensional, not doing its usual job of lighting his eyes - and starts to worry. “What did your dad have to say? Nothing bad, right? He’s not … he’s not sick or anything?”

“No. No, he’s fine. He just got home, I guess.” Kurt tries to stuff the phone in his pocket, but his numb fingers have a problem working.

“You know” – Sebastian sits beside Kurt, his eyes lingering on the phone Kurt tucks out of sight – “I never did ask you what you needed $10,000 for. I mean, did you pick that number out of the air at random? Or was that what you thought dating me was worth, because, if that’s the case, then frankly I think you sold one of us short.”

Kurt nods tersely but doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s paralyzed. Now is definitely the time to own up to something, but what? To his old plan of needing the money to go to NYADA? Or this new plan of moving wherever Sebastian is going that he’s become attached to? He knows he’ll tell Sebastian both, but which one takes precedence? If emotion weren’t entering in to it at all, if he wasn’t still confused about this relationship with Sebastian, then the answer would be NYADA, definitely. And even as that new plan, glimmering in his head, tickles his lips to make its way out, he knows the answer is NYADA no matter what, above all.

Sebastian puts an arm around Kurt’s shoulder and pulls him against him as he reclines. He pushes off the porch with his feet and starts the swing rocking its soothing rhythm.

“Originally I thought it was so you could buy yourself a new wardrobe,” Sebastian continues, trying to get Kurt relaxed enough to spill, “and I have to say, I was all for that. Hell, I was going to up it to $50,000 and take you shopping myself. Make sure you got your money’s worth.” Sebastian waits for a comeback, a snide remark, anything. But when Kurt remains quiet, Sebastian kisses his head. “Talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s going on.”

Kurt sighs. He can’t put this off any longer. Putting it off, coming up with some excuse not to talk about it, would feel like lying, and he doesn’t want to lie to Sebastian.

“It’s for … it was for college. NYADA.” God, he isn’t prepared to admit this. Not yet. Even after the time he’s given himself, he’d never wanted to admit to any of this out loud. That was worse than not having the money, so he’d been doing everything in his power not to. “I had gotten some scholarships and some financial aid, but I was approved before my father was elected to Congress.” Kurt hears Sebastian sigh. He knows he can fill in the rest, but Kurt feels like he has to keep going. “It never dawned on me to call and update them, but they found out on their own anyway. They readjusted my aid and, in the end, I came up short. Without that money, I … I can’t go to college.”

Sebastian sighs again, but instead of sounding frustrated, this sigh sounds hurt. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter, Sebastian. I can’t take that money now. Not after …”

“Stop, Kurt.” Sebastian reaches into his back pocket. “Just … just stop.” He pulls out his wallet, takes out a piece of paper, folded once, and hands it to Kurt. At first, Kurt has no idea what it could be, though he has a nagging suspicion. But that suspicion can’t be correct! It would be ludicrous if it were!

But since ludicrous seems like par for the course this summer, it’s exactly what Kurt thinks it is – a cashier’s check for $10,000, made out to Kurt Hummel, dated the day Kurt agreed to their fake boyfriend arrangement. And even though Kurt is teetering on the brink of incredulity, he has to smirk at the comment Sebastian had the bank print in the memo line – For services rendered. Bow-chicka-bow-wow.

“You’ve … you’ve been carrying this around with you this whole time?”

“Well, yeah.” Sebastian shrugs. “Regardless of what you see on TV, you can’t just write a personal check for ten grand. And I had every intention of keeping up my end of the bargain. I got it drawn up early in case we didn’t fool anyone and my folks cleaned out my bank account. A personal check would have been worthless then, so …” Sebastian makes a go ahead and take it gesture, encouraging Kurt to put it away for safe keeping. But Kurt shakes his head.

“Thank you, but … but I … I can’t,” Kurt says, those words killing him, driving nails into his heart and twisting as he stares at this check, made out for more than he needs, his name in the pay to the order of line. It’s the answer to all his prayers, but for the sake of his conscience, he has to turn it down. Goddamned conscience! Fuck you! “That’s very generous of you, but …”

“We had a deal, Kurt,” Sebastian interrupts. “You more than held up your end. In fact, I would say you went above and beyond considering.”

Kurt nods. Objectively, he has to agree, but the way Sebastian chose to phrase it makes him feel sick. Plus, and he doesn’t know why, he feels offended. He doesn’t know what he expected Sebastian to say about the matter. He’d prepared himself for Sebastian to give him the money. He’d prepared to refuse and for the two of them to fight over it. But instead of indignant, he feels insulted.

“Then … then what does that make us? What does that make this? Everything we’ve done so far?”

“It makes it what it is, Kurt,” Sebastian says, throwing an arm in the air. “I love you, and you love me. And this …” He gestures to the check in Kurt’s hands like it’s an annoying fly he’s shooing away “… this is ancient history. Tying up loose ends.” Kurt starts shaking his head. It’s a reflex to object. This doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that boyfriends did for one another. Teenage boyfriends at that! It’s too much!

Sebastian, facing down his obstinate boyfriend, groans. “Kurt! Are you really going to throw your dreams away, your entire future, for something as stupid as money?”

“Well, you can call money stupid,” Kurt argues, his hand holding the check shaking. “You have it, alright? But when you don’t have it, it’s not stupid! It’s actually kind of important!”

“You’re right,” Sebastian agrees. “You’re absolutely right. It is important. It’s important, and you need it. You need it to go to college. So why the fuck aren’t you taking it, Kurt? I’m fortunate. I happen to have more money than I can use, sitting around, doing nothing. So let me give you some …” Kurt scoffs, rolls his head away. Sebastian amends his statement. “Or lend you some - however you want to do this. Remember when I said that money doesn’t matter to me beyond enjoying all the things my wealth can buy me? Well, I would really enjoy the opportunity to do this for you.”

Kurt doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, hoping the right words will simply come to him. When they don’t, Sebastian takes that as Kurt trying to come up with a better argument against this, and he huffs out a frustrated breath.

“Look, if you don’t take it, I’m just going to send it to fucking NYADA with your name plastered all over it, so you might as well stop being so fucking stubborn and do it your damn self! If you and I hadn’t gotten together for real, if we hadn’t fallen in love, you’d be taking this check, conscience clear, and on your way to New York. But we lucked out, Kurt. We got something better out of this in the end. Being able to call you mine is worth the world to me. But if it causes you to give up your dream, then it’s a bad thing. I don’t want what we have to be a bad thing. I want it to be a good thing. I want it to grow and last, and that will only happen if you live out your life. If you follow your dream.”

Sebastian takes the check from Kurt’s fingers. He folds it and slides it in Kurt’s pocket. Kurt doesn’t move to object. He can’t. What Sebastian says makes sense to him logically. It’s his pride that has a problem with it. This isn’t the end. Sebastian isn’t Blaine. He isn’t going to let Kurt go just because they’re going to schools in separate states. Kurt is finally seeing an ending to this where he gets to have it all – the school of his dreams, the future he planned, and the boy he never planned on. This would be a loan, he promises himself. He’ll pay back every single cent, even if it takes him a lifetime.

“You’re going to NYADA, Kurt,” Sebastian says, kissing Kurt on the forehead between words, “one way or another. And there’s not a force anywhere on earth that’s going to keep me from making sure you get there.”

#ACITW #ACITW AU #Kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt

38 notes · View notes

nad-zeta · 4 years

Text

Match up ｡◕‿◕｡

Hello! Hope you are well 💕💕💕 I love your writing and especially how you wrote matchups, they are so detailed and very descriptive. Honestly you’re such an AMAZING WRITER. Had to put that in capitals cause it’s important and you’re amazing. So cause I love reading your matchups I want to request one for myself

I’m 173cm and 63kg ( so 5.67 ft and 118lbs according to google) and 20 years old. I have blonde hair silver highlights and they are about shoulder length. I have straight hair but sometimes I curl them a bit so they become wavy. I don’t wear much makeup, usually an eyeliner, mascara and a red lipstick. I wear glasses cause your girl is blind af. As for my look and style , sometimes I’m classy and sometimes I’m retro. Well that’s enough for my looks.

As for my career I’m currently in university studying for Computer Science and working a part-time job in a company for web development. Very nerdy but what can I say I love this stuff.

Ugh so about my personality , I would say I’m very open-minded, most of the time quiet and reserved. And I think because of that my friends have told me I look like a bitch and I give a ’ don’t mess with me’ vibe. And sometimes they tell me if “I didn’t know you I would probably be scared to talk to you”. This so different from what I am. I always think things through so when I talk to people I’m careful of what to say to them, and I’m almost never rude or disrespectful. Well I say almost cause there are some peope who get in my nerves and make me go off, but it is rare as I’m a very calm person . Those people that get in my nerves are people that are disrespectful to my friends and family, rude people in general and especially those who are rude to workers who work with costumers, people that comment about peoples appearances like their weight and color of their skin or their fashion choices , people who are refuse to listen to facts and science etc. I’m very supportive when it comes to my friends, people I love and appreciate ( it doesn’t matter if don’t hang out with them much) . And if they want to do smth I always give them advices or what to do to get better etc. Also I would say I’m very analytical and very hard to open up. It’s usually very hard for me to share personal information and I don’t even tell my problems and worries to my friends. When I’m with people that I like, I usually smile a lot and I’m very talkative and friendly .I’m also very honest with my opinions and thoughts. If I think you’re wrong I would say so and if you have some toxic traits I would say look you should try to fix it. For example my friend used to be very jealous to her boyfriend and I kept saying to her that you should try to fix it or control your jealousy. Also I’m very curious .Everyone has bad traits and one of mine is that I’m VERY stubborn and I have a hard time taking care of myself. Sometimes I forget to eat or I stay up all night and don’t sleep at all and stuff like that. Also I’m very precise as well as when I talk and when I do tasks .

Now for things that I like : I like swimming ( I stay all day in the sea or lake when when I go by the sea or lake) , I like logical problems cause I love solving them, I like crosswords, I like to play chess, I like to learn about things. I like math and physics ( And I always was the best in my class in those subjects), I like painting but I’m not that good at it. I also like traveling .

Okay that was about it. Sorry if it was long and kinda messy but I tried to give as much info as possible so you can best match me. I saw that you have tons if requests so take it easy . Take care for your self and thanks in advance for doing these matchups. 💕💕💕

Omw you are making me blush😳😳! You are such a sweetheart! 🦋☺❤Thank you for all you kind words, all your comments and likes on my posts! I legit appreciate them so much and i get excited every time i see you in my notifys🦋😳❤🌻, you legit make my day, dear! ❤🥰So thank you so much! 🌻🙌Thanks for the request! I hope i can live up to your expectations and i hope it was worth the long wait! 😂😏🌻I hope you have a wonderful day dear! Sending your lots of hugs and i hope you are keeping safe! ❤

So i match you with…………. Hideyoshi

You now found yourself surrounded by a gaggle of warlords, all looking at you, in the centre of the room. You had saved the great Nobunaga’s life a few hours prior to standing centre stage in front off all the warlords. After saving him from the flames, you got spooked and ran through the forest, where Masamune swiftly picked you up and plopped you down his horse. Mere moments after you arrived in Azuchi, you were summoned to the council room to decide your fate. Nobunaga sat before you wearing his trademark cocky grin, while beside him Hideyoshi scowled down at you like a guard dog.

You were relatively calm throughout the whole ordeal, that was until Nobunaga decided to grab hold of your chin and made some rude joke. Your calm demeanour slipped, and you gave a man a piece of your mind, which unfortunately was interrupted by Hideyoshi. The second you smacked his hand away from your face and started to speak up, you found a sword at your throat. Your sharp eyes turned to Hideyoshi as you continued to give the man a piece of your mind.

Once you were done, silence reined as you and Hideyoshi glared daggers at each other. The silence was finally broken when Nobunaga’s laughter ringed out, “she is the most amusing fireball, calm and reserved one minute, and the next, she is exploding.” He then smiled over at you and told Hideyoshi to leave you be, thereafter, he named you as princess of the Oda forces. And so your life in Azuchi began.

You worked incredibly hard for the castle and its people. In fact, you might have worked a little too hard as you started to feel the strain of the emotional and physical stress caused by the week from hell. You made quick friends with the maid, but all and all kept to yourself. The younger maids were somewhat afraid of you, most likely thanks to your intimidating vibe and face expression. It was this distinct quality of your that could even send shivers down Hideyoshi’s spine. Speaking of… this man did not trust you! However, because of your incredibly intimidating vibe, he did not employ his standard micromanagement procedure, instead opting to watch you from afar, while gathering intel on you from your fellow maids. Although, that all changed on one cold winters day.

You had been working so hard and taking up so many different side hobbies that you unknowingly neglected your health. You hadn’t slept for a few nights now, being too absorbed in your tasks, and as a result, your body gave out. You were in the library, helping the resident angel sort out the various books when you collapsed. Mitsunari was by your side in a split second signalling his vassal to fetch Ieyasu. Fortunately, Hideyoshi was low key spying on you, not trusting the new friendship that had blossomed between you and his dear vassal, Mitsunari. At first, he thought you were faking and that you were going to assassinate Mitsunari the moment he let his guard down. But that never happened, you laid seemingly lifeless in Mitsunari arms.

That is when the stubborn man realized just how stupid he had been. How many times has Mitsunari only sung your praise, saying how wonderful and sweet you were, despite the rumour surrounding you.

Hideyoshi picked you up and carried you to your room where he tucked you in. He sat by your side the entire night. Making sure your room stayed warm and being prepared to feed you some food the moment you woke. Ieyasu had told him that you had collapsed as a result of your lack of self preservation skills. Of course he said it in a very much more Ieyasu way, mumbling about how silly you were under his breath, while handing Hideyoshi a care package for you filled with tea and sweets.

It was the first time that Hideyoshi had truly looked at you, and he felt a pang of guilt spring from his chest. You looked so weak and fragile, you had dark circles under your eyes, and your skin looked so pale. He asked around only to discover that you had not eaten or slept for a few days due to being too absorbed in your work. It was then that he marched up to Nobunaga’s room, plan in mind.

You woke up the next morning in an unknown room, with Hideyoshi slumped over next to you, happily snoring away. Hazel eyes shot open when he heard you shuffling, and a rueful smile came to rest on the man’s face, “just where do you think you are going, young lady.” Halfway snuck out of the the door, you turned around slowly to see something you hadn’t seen since you arrived, Hideyoshi wearing a bright smile. His voice might have been stern, but his eyes were laced with worry and concern. After a long hour of being lectured about the importance of caring for yourself properly, Hideyoshi broke the news to you. That you would be staying at his manor from that point on wards, so he could care for you personally.

He left no room for arguments as before you knew it, this man was dragging you by the hand to a nearby tea-house. He ordered a feast for the two of you to share. You were still rather cautious around him, as you curiously eyed the food before you, “If you don’t dig in, I am going to have to hand-feed you like I do with Mitsunari.” He sent you a rather playfully charming smile, as he pushed a plate stacked to the high heavens with sweet buns towards you. You were quiet and reserved at first, but thanks to Hideyoshi bright, bubbly personality, he had you opening up in no time.

He wished he could go back in time and smack himself for thinking you to be an intimidating bitch, cause that is most certainly not the person who is now before him. The two of you spent the rest of the day together as Hideyoshi insisted on making up for his mistrust for you, by buying you everything in the markets.

Since moving into his manor, Hideyoshi would spend every free moment he could get, getting to know you. He loved how bubbly and friendly you were. The two of you could legit laugh and chat for hours on end. Somewhere in your various conversations with the man, it came up that you loved the beach or rather swimming. This man was beaming in excitement at the fact that you were a fellow travelling lover. Since this discovery, you best be sure Hidemama took you on lakeside picnics and beach explorations all the time. He loved the way you would curiously look around and the excited smile you would wear. Whenever he was out scouting and found a beautiful body of water, he would be sure to take note of it and bring you back to it, on a surprise date. You never did get to swim on these dates due to Hideyoshi’s mama bear instincts and the lack of swimwear. However, that all changed one day

You and Hideyoshi had hiked to a surprise location, to have one of your classic picnic dates. Before you knew it, you stood before a small waterfall that trickled into a large crystal clear lake. Your eyes gleamed in delight, and you could help yourself. You removed the first few layers of your kimono leaving Hideyoshi to stare after you. This man was flabbergasted and went red as a beet, as you peeled away layer for layer of your clothing. You wasted no time in jumping into the clear water, happily swimming sound. What was even more shocking was the fact that you even managed to convince the overprotective mama to climb in and swim with you. The two of you swam and splashed about for hours.

Hideyoshi had long ago fallen in love with your bright sunny personality. And amid your splashing fight, he couldn’t help but pull you closer by the waist until the two of you were nose to nose. He looked down at you questioningly as he moved a stray lock of hair out of your face, to tuck it behind your ear. You gave him a small smile and inched up until your lips met in a sweet kiss.

Hideyoshi absolutely adored everything about you from your open-mindedness, to the way you would always think before you spoke. He loved that you were purposeful in everything you did. He also loved your honesty and willingness to help or give advice when needed. It’s no secret that the mother hen is a bit over the top when it comes to Nobunaga and his loyalty. You recognized this toxic trait relatively early on in your relationship, and from what the town’s woman has been saying, it was something that had causes him never to settle down and commit.

The two of you had a rather open honest relationship, and Hideyoshi respected the fact that you brought this issue up. In fact, you were the one to help him with this slight toxic trait of his. And just as you have helped Yoshi with his negative qualities, he has helped you with yours. This boy knows how stubborn you can be and your reluctance in sharing personal information and your worries with your loved ones. Thus the two of you work on these issues together. Hidemama is always by your side to lend you support of any kind. And thanks to your open communication soon you are able to share your personal details with the man and confide in him whenever you are feeling sad or upset.

The two of you are an incredibly doting couple. Hideyoshi LOVES to spoil you any chance he can get. This man forever showers you in love and affection. You see, He has developed a system to help remind you to look after yourself. He makes sure to eat every meal with you, cause he loves your company and needs to make sure you are getting that good nutrition. He will always be the one to sneak up behind you and envelope you in a warm hug to drag you away from your tasks, to come to bed. Where he will trap you in his arms and shower you with love from dusk to dawn. Bonus points, he loves to take warm bubble baths with you, it is low key his favourite thing in the world to do.

All in all, the two of you sweethearts are usually found nestle in each other’s arms. Hideyoshi loves to hold you in his arms while he works. Sometimes, he might even just pretend to work and spend the entire time watching you decipher your crosswords, all while wearing a fond smile. He will definitely drop sweet little kisses on your cheeks, forehead or nose during these quiet time. In fact he loves to drop little kisses on your face whenever he bumps into you in the hallways. He especially love to see the slight blush creep onto your cheeks whenever he surprises you with a lingering kiss. More so when the fellow warlords catch the sweet moment between the two of you.

He loves to spend quiet evening with you, simply playing chess and chatting about anything and everything. Just as much as he reminds you to take a break from work he is thankful for you, for doing the same. He cant help but wear his bright smile whenever you plonk yourself down in his lap and distract him from work, while enveloping him in a warm hug and showering his face in tiny kisses. Loves it when you play with his hair while he rests his head on your shoulder returning your hug. He doesn't know what he has done right in his life to deserve someone as loving and tender as you

He thanks his lucky stars every single day for having the privilege of meeting someone as kind and wonderful as you.

Other potential matches………….. Sasuke

I hope you enjoyed this dear and i hope you have the best day! Sending ya lots o hugs!🌻😱☺🥰🙈

13 notes · View notes

holyfuckthisfishcandrive · 4 years

Text

Bridges and Money

First, Previous, Ao3

Word count: 1161

Warnings: very brief mention of murder, rape and mugging, less brief capitalism

Janus leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed and listened.

Mum sobbed.

"How can they just do this?" she asked.

Because the system is corrupt, Janus thought.

"I don't know," Luan said. He sounded exhausted.

Janus knew exactly what this meant. Mum made more than Luan. Her paycheck covered the rent and part of their groceries. Or at least it had.

Silently he stood up and went to his room, sneaking out of the window. He didn't want to keep listening to this.

Not if he could do something about it.

Sending a text to Virgil, he moved through the backstreets, not letting anyone see him.

He couldn't let his parents suffer because some motherfucking capitalist had decided they didn't need his mother anymore. They needed money, he'd get them money.

Legally or illegally.

It didn't matter to him.

He only stopped when he reached the Northbridge, where he leaned against the railing, stared down into the filthy water and flexed his fingers.

He knew it well, the anger in his veins. The burning hatred against those people in power. Those people at the top of the world who looked down and saw chess pieces to be sacrificed. And he knew how to turn it into strategies.

He heard the sound of footsteps getting close.

"What's wrong?" Virgil asked and swung his legs over the railing just next to him. If someone were to come by they'd probably think he was about to jump.

"My Mum got fired," Janus said. There was no point in beating around the bush.

"Oh, bollocks," Virgil cursed.

"She and Luan are afraid that they won't be able to pay the rent anymore. I can't just sit by and watch that happen."

"And what do you plan on doing? Robbery? Getting a job?"

Janus watched the water move slightly in the wind.

"I guess you could call it a mixture of the two."

He kicked a bottle cap down and watched the ripples spread.

"If you're not 100% on board you should probably not get involved. It's risky. Not just jail-risky but cemetary-risky. Or hospital-risky," he warned. "I can also do it on my own."

"I've been in the hospital before. If you want to scare me off get better material. Are we going to become thugs or something?"

Janus shook his head. "No, better."

He made a dramatic pause.

"We're going to become vigilantes."

Part of him, the theatric childish part, had expected the declaration to be accompanied with a thunder roll or an explosion. Something, anything to show that the meaning the words held.

But nothing happened.

The world didn't care about his decision.

He'd have to make them care.

Virgil was still watching him silently as if waiting for him to elaborate.

"Heartrate is so busy with Psyche and all those other lunatics that the capitalists and corrupt people in power go unpunished. If no one else is going to do anything about that, then why not us? If we can save a few people from getting mugged, raped and killed along the way, even better."

Virgil looked down at the water, seemingly turning the suggestion over in his head.

"Wouldn't that make us heroes?" he asked.

Again Janus shook his head. "Heroes need some sort of stupid moral code. I don't care for that. We'll do what we deem necessary."

Virgil made an acknowledging sound.

"If you're in, of course," Janus added quickly. "I completely understand if you don't-"

"Bloody hell, of course, I'm in. I'm not letting you go and die just like that, you ignorant prat."

"Wow, thanks," Janus said sarcastically.

"Do you already have a plan on where to start?" Virgil asked.

"No," Janus admitted. "I guess we should get some protection and weapons or something."

"Very well planned," Virgil remarked.

"Oh, shut it."

A car drove by and they fell silent until it was off the bridge again.

"You know, if you were to swear to never tell another living soul about it I might know a place where we can get some stuff," Virgil broke the silence.

Janus glanced up at him. "What do you mean by that."

"Oh, nothing," he smiled.

Janus had seen that smile before. It was the same smile he had whenever he knew things he wasn't supposed to know. Things about the underground and the businesses behind closed doors that only the worst of the worst were ever meant to know. Virgil wasn't part of a mafia, Janus knew that for sure, but where he got his information was still a mystery. Janus had the feeling that it was dangerous, so he never asked.

"I swear on everything dear to me that I won't ever tell anybody about it," he swore.

Virgil swung his legs over the railing again and grinned at him.

"Let's go!"

Without waiting for a response he turned on his heel and walked down the sidewalk.

For a moment Janus stared after him dumbfounded before hurrying to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?"

Virgil didn't answer.

As soon as they reached the end of the bridge he glanced around and headed down to the river bed.

"Virgil, where the hell are we going?" Janus whisper-yelled. He didn't feel safe enough to speak loudly down here.

Virgil still didn't answer and instead headed towards an old dirty door in the foot of the bridge.

He pressed the rusty handle down. It opened without a sound and Virgil pulled Janus inside. The door fell shut behind them.

For a moment they stood in the darkness.

It didn't smell as mouldy as Janus had expected. That probably meant that it was used regularly.

Something clicked and one by one the lights turned on, illuminating the big room.

The walls and floor were made of concrete and stone, by the back of the room was a small area hidden by a curtain, a bed and by the front were shelves of equipment. Bulletproof gear, weapons, casual clothes, blueprints, swimming vests and boxes upon boxes.

"Whose is this?" Janus asked looking around in a mixture of awe and shock.

"Professor Logic's," Virgil shrugged. "He doesn't use it much. I found it a while ago. There's probably stuff in our size around here."

He sauntered deeper into the room and began looking through shelves.

"Are you on new meds or something?" Janus asked. "You know that if Logic or anybody he knows ever finds out we're here we can leave the country and change our names and he will still hunt us down?!"

"That's why I made you swear first," Virgil picked up a bulletproof vest. "Hey, this one could be your size. Try it on."

Janus hesitated for a moment longer glancing from the vest to Virgi land back before shrugging and following him to the shelf.

He had known this would be dangerous.

What was one more risk if he was going to piss off powerful people anyway?

Taglist:

@patton-cake

#sanders sides #janus sanders #ts janus #virgil sanders #ts virgil #platonic anxceit #my writing #au #woethough au

14 notes · View notes

shootingcookielover · 4 years

Text

I don’t know. This might be really bad. I can’t tell anymore.

Warnings

suicidal Roman

Characters

Roman, Janus, Remus, “Logan”, “Patton”, “Virgil”

Platonic, maybe romantic Roceit

The edge of Thomas’ consciousness always felt… off. It gave him the creeps, made his skin crawl with the knowledge that just one step was enough to… disappear. Forever.

Potentially. None of them knew for sure; none of them had ever tried. None of them had ever wanted to try.

There was a sort of warning in the air around the subconscious, something that made all the alarm bells in your head ring, your steps falter and your stomach drop.

Like approaching the edge of a cliff when you’re afraid of heights.

Roman pushed a strand of hair out of his face. He pulled his sash into a more presentable position.

It did nothing to help with his looks, he knew. He hadn’t combed his hair that morning - or the morning before that, or the one before that- he hadn’t combed his hair for well over a week.

He hadn’t changed his clothes for the same amount of time.

Hadn’t brushed his teeth.

The last one didn’t bother him too much; there was no need to brush teeth of you didn’t eat, after all.

He had, however, slept a lot lately.

Logan would be proud. The logical side had always insisted Roman sleep more, instead of staying up late to come up with more ideas.

Thick fog rolled out of the subconscious, heavy and gray.

It moved towards Roman, but stayed just an arm’s length away. He felt his own arm rising, moving towards the mist cautiously.

“Roman.”

His hand faltered. He quickly pulled it back. A scowl festered on his face as he turned towards the voice.

Towards Janus.

The snake-like side stood a few steps away.

“What do you want, you reptilian rapscallion?”, he asked, his voice a lot less scathing than he wanted it to be.

Janus sighed. “I could ask you the same.”

Roman was about to retort, when the lying side spoke up again:

“However, I know that I am perhaps the side you want to see the least at the moment, let alone open up to. So I won’t ask. All I’m here to do is make sure you don’t do anything… rash.”

Without the creative side’s consent, words slipped past his lips. “This wasn’t a rash decision.”

His hands formed into fists. “I’ve been planning it for at least a week.”

Janus sighed. “That’s not…”, he cut himself off. “Listen, Roman, I know you don’t like me. But… neither of us wants this… not truly.”

The creative side huffed. “You don’t know what I want, snake.”

“I might not, but I know of your deepest desires. The ones you keep hidden deep down, the ones you lie about. I am those lies, Roman.”

The prince bared his teeth. A quiet growl grumbled in the back of his throat. Though he didn’t know what to say, so he kept silent.

“And I can help you achieve some of them.”

Another huff came from Roman’s mouth. His arms crossed. “How would you do that, Jack the fibber? I doubt you can get Thomas a main role in the next Disney movie any time soon.”

The lying side shook his head softly. “I’m not talking about Thomas’ desires. I’m talking about yours, Roman. The quiet ones you never talk about.”

He lifted his gloved hand, reaching out to the creative side. “All I ask for is a week.”

Roman shuffled his feet uncertainly. He couldn’t trust Janus.

He had a plan.

The subconscious’ presence made the air heavy with an almost depression-like feeling.

It twisted around his heart. The fog behind him closed in, he knew it without needing to look.

Warning bells were set of by it. They sent pictures of his family into his mind, projected Patton’s excited smile before his inner eye, Virgil trusting him with careless touch, Logan admitting in a rare moment of quiet that, maybe, he actually did have emotions.

They lacked Roman’s reaction, to convince the creative side to step away from the subconscious, to take Janus’ hand.

He felt himself hesitatingly raising his hand.

The dim hope growing in Janus’ eyes must have been one of the lies he was known for.

Slowly Roman’s fingers wrapped around Janus’ gloved ones.

“A week.”, Roman said, voice almost completely silent.

The lying side nodded. “A week.”

On day one, Patton showed up on Roman’s doorstep. He wore a smile that was just a little too wide.

“Pat!”, Roman greeted. It wasn’t Patton he knew that. “What are you doing here?”

“I haven’t seen you in a while, kiddo, so I thought I should check up on you!” The other knew as well.

“Well, as you can see I am doing marvelously!”

Patton shuffled his feet nervously. “There might be another reason that I’m here.”

“Oh? Well then, out with it, padre!”

“I was thinking that, maybe… you could show me around the imagination…?”

Roman blinked as he heard those words dripping from “Patton’s” mouth. They filled him with an excitement that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He quickly stepped aside to let the fatherly side in. “You will be absolutely blown away by my astonishing creations!”

This was all that Roman had wanted to do with Patton. Show him the special places he’d created, his subjects, the fabulous creatures roaming his lands.

For Patton to enjoy it all so much, it filled Roman’s heart with warmth and love and if the fatherly side talked with one of the few snakes that didn’t know English, or perhaps let a few lies slip, Roman could overlook it.

On the next day, Logan knocked on his door. Roman was surprised to see the logical side with a plate of still-warm spaghetti in his hands.

“What brings you here, Logan?”

“I have noticed your absence from the last few weeks’ food-gatherings and, as starvation is known to be quite unpleasant, I have decided to bring you breakfast.”, his voice was just a little too robotic.

The logical side raised the plate in his hand.

Roman stared down at it as he slowly took it from the other’s hands. “...Thank you.”, he said, earnestly, voice wavering a little.

Logan nodded. “It is my pleasure. To make sure you actually consume the food, I will stay in your room.”

With those words the logical side pushed past Roman and sat down at Roman’s desk.

The creative side watched the logical one pull out a book.

Roman closed the door.

He finished his food quickly; he had been starving, hadn’t he?

“Sooo”, Roman began as he vanished the empty plate with a wave of his hand. “You gonna leave now, or…?”

The logical side snapped his book shut - a philosophy book; Logan hadn’t been fond of those. “Actually, I have been wanting to teach you how to play chess for a while now, so that we may ‘bond’ and become closer, therefore increasing our joint performance.”

Roman smiled at Logan. “I know how to play chess.”, he remarked, snapping a chess set into existence.

The logical side nodded. “Of course. I apologise for assuming.”

The creative side waved his words off. “It’s fine.”

Surprisingly, playing against Logan was fun and quite difficult. Roman had only ever been able to play with his own creations; they all had very similar strategies to his own, so the logical side posed an actual challenge.

And, if, perhaps, Logan got a bit too into the game, lisped and hissed a few times, then, well, nobody had to know.

On another morning Virgil stood at Roman’s door.

He scuffed his feet at the ground, looking anywhere but the creative side. “...wanna watch some Disney movies?”

The prince blinked in surprise at Virgil’s forward-ness.

The anxious side crossed his arms, a light embarrassed blush rising to his cheek. He had yet to snap at Roman or give him a nickname.

Roman stepped aside, letting Virgil in. The anxious side entered, looking somewhat lost in the giant bedroom.

The creative side closed the door. “So… What movie do you want to watch first?”

Virgil shrugged. “What’s your favorite?”

Roman shook his head. “I can’t choose between them! I love them all equally.”, Virgil should know that.

The anxious side chuckled. “Right. How about… jungle book?”

Roman agreed.

If Virgil didn’t quite act like he usually did when he relaxed, then Roman didn’t mention it.

“Remus?!”

“Hey brother dearest!”

Remus slung his arms around his brother’s shoulders, effectively throwing them both of balance and landing them on the floor.

“Did ya miss me?”

Roman wiggled in Remus’ grasp, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. “Not really!”

“Well, Double Dee told me to talk to you, so how’d you fuck up?”

Remus sat up finally, still cradling his twin between his legs. “D’ya kill someone? Rip out their heart and hid it in your closet and need a good way to get rid of it? Cannibalism can work!”

Roman shook his head. “No, I didn’t-!”

The creative side pushed Remus off of himself, before scrambling to get to his feet. “I didn’t murder anyone! I’m not…”, his voice trailed off a little as he brushed off his wrinkly clothes.

“...you.”

His twin stuck out his tongue as he flopped to the ground. “If nobody died then why are ya going through the stages of grief, brother dearest?”

Roman’s eyebrows twitched in irritation. “The stages of grief?”

Remus nodded seriously. “You’re at stage 2: Disheveled mess.”

The prince stared for a moment. His curiosity got the better of him. “...what’s stage one?”

“Murder!”, Remus responded gleefully as he jumped to his feet.

“Why did I even-”, he stopped himself. “You know what, I don’t care. Why are you here, Remus?”

The other twin pursed his lips. “I already told ya! Double Dee said you’re upset.”

He bumped his shoulder into Roman’s. “I’m still your brother, Roman.”

The prince had never heard his brother so… earnest.

“Now, wanna go slaughter some innocents? Maybe set an orphanage on fire?!”

Aaaaaand there it was. Roman pushed a stray strand of hair out of his face.

“No, Remus.”

The other twin pouted. “Fine, be boring, then!”, he walked over and flopped onto Roman’s king prince-sized bed.

The prince cringed at the thought of the dirt and disgusting substances Remus must have dragged on his sheets.

The duke rolled about the covers, relishing the bed that was not his.

“So, what do ya wanna do, brother dearest?”, Remus crowed, raising his head so he could make eye-contact with Roman.

A sigh and a plop accompanied Roman’s descent onto his favorite arm chair.

“I don’t know.”

Remus huffed as he pushed himself into an upright position. “Y’know I was joking before but you really are boring sometimes.”

Remus’ words were a strange deviance from the other sides. They usually told him he was “too adventurous”, took “too many risks”, was simply “too much”.

Crunch.

The prince looked up again to find Remus taking a bite out of his bed.

He blinked a few times before surging to his feet. “Remus!”

His brother screeched as he shoved himself backwards, away from his twin.

Roman landed face-first in his sheets. Remus fell off the bed.

He took off, cackling, throwing himself out of the window.

The prince rushed after him. Remus was outside, running along the roofs of Roman’s capital city, with loud maniacal laughter trailing after him.

Roman quickly climbed out of his window as well. “Remus, come back, you ratman!”

There were exactly four knocks on Roman’s door the next day.

He pulled it open with a yawn. His legs still ached from all the exercise he’d done yesterday.

In front of him stood Janus himself.

The snake-like side wore a soft smile that looked just a little off on his face.

“So, what is it today?”, Roman asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Janus shrugged. “I totally have something planned and don’t think we should just do what you want.”

The creative side snorted. “I thought you knew all my ‘deepest desires’.”

Janus sighed, adjusting his head and his stance. “Well, I can’t always distinguish between lie and reality, so.”, the snake-like side shrugged. “I don’t exactly know what you actually want when it comes to me.”

Roman decided to ignore the implications of that statement, instead stepping aside to let Janus in.

The snake-like side took the invitation. His eyes roamed the room, as though he hadn’t seen it before.

“You don’t need to keep up the charade, you know.”, Roman mumbled, slowly closing the door.

He didn’t turn towards Janus, simply leaning his forehead against the wood in front of him.

“...charade?”

The creative side scoffed. “I know it was you. Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell?”

A sigh. “...of course you knew.”

“What did you think you’d accomplish by pretending to be them?”, Roman finally turned around.

Janus stared back, an almost lost look in his eyes.

There were tears brimming in Roman’s eyes. “Because all you’ve accomplished is making me feel even worse. You gave me what I can never have. Do you actually want me to dive into the subconscious?!”

Janus winced. He fiddled with his gloves. His eyes were averted.

Roman raked a hand through his hair. The tears spilled, finally. “You do.”, he breathed, leaning against the door behind him. “Great. Maybe I should just-”

“No!”

Roman’s eyes snapped open again. Janus was almost shaking.

“I do- I don’t want you to do that! I… didn’t think…”

Janus stumbled back, there were tears brimming in his eyes too.

“You didn’t think what?!”, Roman snapped.

“I didn’t think you’d want to hang around me!”

Roman’s fist collided with his wall. Pain spiked up his arm. “That’s a terrible excuse!”

Janus flinched. “I… I know. I just…”, he pulled his hat off, fiddling with the rim.

“All of this is garbage!”, the words fled his mouth as Roman slid down to the floor. He buried his face in his hands. “We’re both garbage.”

Hesitant steps.

“I… I really am sorry. I didn’t-”, a sigh, “...give me another chance.”

Roman glared up at Janus from in-between his fingers.

“Another week.”

The snake-like side pulled one glove off his trembling hand. The left hand. Scales littered the skin there.

He held the hand out to Roman.

The creative side scoffed.

“...half a week?”, Janus weakly offered.

“...please?”

He sounded so much like Patton it almost hurt.

Roman took the hand. “Half a week.”

Roman and Janus spent half of the next week together. They traveled through the imagination again, they played chess again, they watched movies together again.

They played video games together, they baked in the dark sides’ kitchen. They stole Remus’ diary - an old tradition Roman had given up on a long time.

The days passed quicker than the creative side had expected. When the set time-frame was over, he found himself back at the edge of the subconscious.

The lazy gray fog didn’t reach out to him this time.

The alarm bells in his head were so much louder now, than they were before. With Patton, Virgil and Logan there was a new face smiling in his mind’s eye, trying to dissuade him from doing this.

Janus.

“I suppose I failed.”

Roman sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “You didn’t.”

“...then why are you here?”

The creative side turned around, facing the snake-like side. A small smile graced his lips. “For old time’s sake.”

Janus gave a tiny smile himself. “Let’s leave.”

Roman took his hand and nodded. “Let’s leave.”

#sanders sides #roman sanders #suicidal thoughts #suicide attempt #janus sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders

20 notes · View notes