#I tried to make the flowers on the wall more abstract so I wouldn’t take forever drawing them

[laniemae]

Shading and perspective test done with 4th anniversary Amane! Couldn’t get over the floor flowers but I absolutely loved the symbolism it implied so I had to draw something based off it.

[myhatisblue]

I started this Mills thing forever ago.  I did what I could with it since it was already pretty long but it does just kinda stop.  Least there’s some fun lore here.

In an ideal world Gaspar Mills would be at home. Curled up in blankets, as the smell of a slow cooked stew permeated the air, and the television showed and sang the roars of a kaiju or two.  Left alone disconnected, and at peace.  

But it’s been a while since he’d gotten the freedom to even go home. His most recent job went bad, sure an abstract horror laid slaughtered… But not before Mills found himself gutted, and internals spread across the floor. The beast was arrogant, its twisting limbs and multiple mouths came in close to enjoy the meal. Close enough to touch, and stupid enough to forget to make absolutely sure he was passed out. Regardless of the nature of the creature it was just meat and bone… It cried out the same, a broken form trapped in skin it never consented to. Craving to be unwound and set free.  A request the King of roaches would deny over and over again on any other day.  It was a step too far, a peak that wasn’t easily backed down from.  

But the madness brought on while at the brink of death drives all sense away. Before he fully grasped his action the room was coated in red fibers of meat and spikes bone.  And in the middle of it all a flower bloomed from what hadn’t been cast away to the walls or floors.  A victory yes, but what remained of Mills was barely held together. Death would finally come this time, he’d be done with all of this. The world faded and nothingness gripped him once again.

“Can’t believe you finally did it.”

Even in death there was no escaping that voice. It was as much a part of his mind as he was.

“Just let me fucking die in peace Kenneth.”

“Man, you wish Gaspar. You already know there’s no getting off this ride.  Within the hour the monster hunting bastards will be scooping up your sorry corpse.”

“It’s Mills asshole… and as if there’s even enough there to put back together…”

“God you’re being dramatic as fuck again.  You might have earned the cute little title of ‘King of roaches’, but you ate the heart of the eldritch lord of flesh.  You really think a few missing organs are going to stay gone for long?”

“...Eldritch lord?!”

“Oh, ha wow that just slipped out. Woops.”

“Fuck off Ken. You just like dumping shit like that one me when I can’t get rid of you.  Then refuse to say anything beyond it.”

“To be fair I’ve already told you that I make up half of the shit I tell you. If you get stuck on one thing or another that’s your fault.”

“Urgh… Can you atleast give me a hint about what the flower was?”

“Say please and maybe I’ll consider it.”

“...”

“Come on Mills.”

“Ugh.. Please Kenneth tell me what the hell that meat flower was.”

“Making something new is complex, even more so when it’s alive. Why wouldn’t you start small? Wouldn’t have pinned you down for someone who’d spread flowers though.”

“I didn’t plan on doing that, I just did what it’s flesh wanted… And I guess that was what it wanted to be.”

“Sure it was.”

“... I’m not taking the bait.  If I ask what you're implying you're just going to say ‘oh nothing’ in that stupid tone.”

“That sounds about right.  Well it seems like our time is running out, but I’ll give you this.  Keep doing anything and you’ll get better at it.  Though I’m not sure that’s what you actually want this time.”

It all went quiet after that, and soon the world saw fit to drag Mills back to consciousness. The ceiling was white, and mumbling voices filled the air.  They seemed like they wanted his attention, but it all faded into background noise. His body felt wrong, the placement of joints and internals…  It wasn’t right, but just like every other lump of flesh it could be altered. With an unsteady hand he reached towards his stomach. Skin parted, and it wasn’t long before the  voices around changed from murmurs to out right screeches.  No matter how much he tried to correct the mistakes it was never perfect.  The pain was growing, still he tried to fix what was broken. Until his arms were grabbed and an all too familiar needle was stabbed and injected into his neck. Instantly the world faded and not even that cold nothingness could take him.

By the time Mills was able to open his eye again a man was sitting next to him reading.  He was wearing a Navy blue suit,  with a black dress shirt underneath.  The gray hair and tired eyes spoke more to the amount of stress he deals with day to day than his actual age.  Mills had asked once expecting him to be well over 50 only to find out he was only 39. His name was Harris, and he was the poor fool stuck trying to keep Mills in line. A job that likely only added to the amount of gray hair growing on harris’ head.

After letting his eye wander between Harris and the ceiling, Mills tried to pull himself up out of bed.  It was only then that he became aware that his hands were currently restrained.  6 black bands that were about an inch thick had been placed on his arms.

“I… Pissed off the higher ups.. didn’t I?”

His voice was shaky, and pathetic but it was enough for Harris to put down his book. He looked as if he was about to scream at Mills but took a breath and managed to only let out a sigh.

“I don’t know what you expected… You gave the medical team the scare of a lifetime. What were you even trying to do”

“My insides… they don’t feel right…  I just wanted to fix it.”

“Sneckdraw had suspected it was something like that. Give me a second. I wrote down a message from him.”

Harris pulled out his phone, making sure to mimic the emotionless tone of the demon hunter Mills knew all too well.

‘Organs that undergo complete evisceration often grow back imperfectly.  I can only conclude that this process will hold a heavier weight for one so engaged in the subject matter.  All you can do is move forward, bear the weight of your choices, and do better to avoid them in the future. With time it will fade.’

Mills couldn’t help but scoff, that sounded like something he’d say. Most of the time Sneckdraw says nothing, he just stares and leaves everyone around him on edge.  But on rare occasions he’ll speak with extended detail. Drawn out words, spoken in a deep monotone, slow and deliberate. Always unsettling in their delivery.

While Harris couldn’t capture it fully he got the gist.  Although Mills couldn’t be sure if the impression was actually intended, or just how a message from sneckdraw naturally ends up sounding.

“That sounds like a lot of words to just say that it’s normal…”

“There was nothing normal about that scene Mills… What was that?”

“Guess you saw me after all that huh…’

“Yeah, I did.”

No escape from this conversation… The grim look Harris had been wearing since the start of all this was evident. It was a genuine concern, the kind that always knocked Mills off kilter.  He could bear the pain and what it did to him, it was easy enough to ignore it, and bury it deep within.  But being reminded that it wasn’t normal, that it wasn’t just fine to keep going like that… It shattered the poorly put together illusion everytime. Mills would have to be honest, or he’d never leave the medical wing.

“...You know how I ask people to avoid physical contact?”

“Yeah, I remember you saying their bodies were too loud.”

“It’s not just that… Their flesh speaks to me.”

“It what?”

“‘The skin is a prison’, and every single living thing I’ve been forced to have contact with wants to be set free. Everytime I’d tell them to fuck off.  I was out of options, so that was me giving it what it wanted…”

“Why haven’t you brought that part up before?”

“Cause the list of possible solutions can only really end with me locked in a cell somewhere for being a problem.”

“That’s the paranoia speaking Mills. We’re here to support you, but we need to know what the problems are before we can help solve them. Has this gotten worse over time?”

“Na, since I woke up it’s always just been there.”

“That’s good to hear at the very least.”

A phone rings, and it only takes a glance at Harris to know what was coming next.

“I have to head out for now,  I’ll be back later tonight. If you need me before then you know my number.”

“How am I supposed to make a phone call when my arms are tied down…?”

“Just shout, someone will be around to check on you.”

“Well at least tell me what the armbands are about before you fuck off.”

“Ah right, they should help you stay grounded and stay focused on where you are. It’s a better answer than just wrapping your arms in cloth over and over.”

“Right…”

Again Mills was left alone to stew with his thoughts… While he was sure he could escape the restraints if he put his mind to it, what would be the point?  The compound the medical wing was in was deep underground. He wouldn’t get far before he was thrown back in bed.  

At the very least he would be able to rest his eye for a while. Or at least that would have been his plan if not for a new guest slipping into his room.

“Talk about Déjà vu, at the very least you're looking better than last time I crashed your hospital room.”

Brandom Lewis was always easy to pick out of a crowd, his fashion choices were unique to say the least.   Tending to favor bright colours and floral designs, and a pair of orange toned glasses he was hard to miss.

Brandon took a long look at Mills, getting really close to his face. Unintentionally showing off the other unique feature the man hid.   Perhaps man was the wrong word, because he was more accurately described as a highly complex hivemind of insects piloting a human corpse. And under the right circumstances liked getting annoyingly close to other peoples faces. Letting them enjoy the sight of his collective squirming ever so slightly beneath his skin.

After evidently enjoying making Mills visibly uncomfortable, he set on freeing his hands and crashed on the seat next to his bed. Mills took the opportunity to rub his wrists and stretch out his stiff arms.

“They’re gonna have to go back on before I leave, but may as well enjoy the freedom while you can. Though between you and me it’s stupid to even bother with them.”

“I agree but the illusion of control is a hell of a thing.”

“Don’t I know it! So Kid, how are you doing? Last time I actually saw you, you were still a twig by comparison. Faye mentioned that you were going to work on bulking up. Didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.”

“You know how time goes, months in the other dimension, are days out in the real world.”

“Mhm, I’ve heard new blood is gonna start being trained there in the next year or two.  Once the nerds make sure people won’t blow up randomly after prolonged exposure from being there.”

“They don’t mention shit like that to me, building materials just start showing up.”

“Huh I figure they’d just have you make those kinds of things.”

“Things I make there have a minor habit of collapsing into meat if my brain gets too fuzzy.”

“Ahh with the millions invested in equipment, I guess that would be a bit of a problem.”

“Millions??”

“Oh yeah there’s some serious money being poured into you. No pressure or anything.”

“So you're saying I probably shouldn’t make the ground under them collapse no matter how funny it would be.”

“Nahhh do it anyway, It’ll be great for you.”

“Yeah I’ll get to enjoy a few years without having to worry about taxes, or bills. It’ll just all be in a nice cell custom made to fuck me…  Now why are you even here Brandon?”

“I’ve got the day off, and didn’t have much planned beyond doing dailies and that's easy enough to do here.”

“Dailies…?  I assume that it's related to the game that you’re always playing? Heard Faye ranting about how you dropped a few grand on that thing.”

“She just doesn’t have the backing of the gatcha gods.  And if we’re being real here what else am I gonna spend money on?  Housing, internet and food is covered already, and I can’t exactly go out and party like the old days.  If I drop a few bucks here and there investing in the things I enjoy, what's the big problem?”

“It sounded more like gambling when Faye was telling me about it, and pretty shitty investment if that’s the case.”

“Says the dude who spent hundreds on original godzilla posters…”

“That’s art!”

“Riiiight…”

“You have to have seen them, I know people around here are always breaking into my house and bugging the shit out of it! Shits real nice looking, it’s peak classic poster art.”

“Information related to your house is classified, But I have been keeping up on your reports.  I enjoyed the ones that just degraded into calling people assholes or ‘mega dicks’ for 10 pages.”

“Well normally I have to get that shit done the second I finish a case.  Can’t blame me for still being a little pissed about the whole thing. Not like I really get why I’m even doing it, hell I’m shocked you’re even reading them.  Kinda assume they got tossed in a bin and thrown into a cabinet somewhere.”

“Nah, I read all of it. What might be some ‘crackhead’ in one of your reports could likely be related to some bigger fish in another game. So I might not be able to smash some skulls like the old days, but I still get a little rush from nailing down someone trying their best to be ignored.”

“I get it, I just didn’t really see myself doing so much deskwork.”

“Well you’ve managed to piss someone off given those arm bands so you might be doing a lot more of it if you keep this up.”

“Huh, Harris told me they were just replacing the wrappings I used to use.”

“Kid, you have got to work on your senses.  Skipping on the magic studies just cause you’ve got bad blood for it is gonna screw you.”

“I’ve been working on it, but it just never clicks.  Come on what the hell does magic have to do with the bands?”

“Try and take one off.”

Stares were shared over a brief silence before a loud electric pop filled the air. Even the slightest movement Mills tried to make against the bands ended in a sharp shock to his arms, while they stayed clung exactly where they were placed..

“Shit!”

“Pfft God you should see your face, kid.  Priceless.”

“Not fucking cool!  What if they get caught on something or someone rips them off mid fight?”

“It’s magic and set to protect solely against your interference. That’s talking mentally and physically. So even asking someone to remove them or even replacing your arms is going to lead to a lot of fun results.”

“Fuck they can do that?”

“They got your blood, name, and pretty much anything else they’d ever need to nail any spell or curse on you. You ought to be happy, it's not worse than a few shock collars.”

“Ugh… I killed the beast, while the details might have gotten a little messy but the results were still good.”

“The higher ups will always see you as a danger to humanity, giving them more reasons to think that lands you in early retirement.”

“Speaking from experience?”

“You know it…

Ah crud, look at the time.  I remembered some stuff I need to handle before night rolls around.  Show me your hands, so I can lock them back up.”

“Fine. But before you go, any idea how much longer I’ve got here?”

“Given the rumblings I’ve heard you’re gonna be stuck with a week of observation. So at least you’ll have tons of time to write the report for that last job.”

“Great…”

Mills let his arms be locked to the bed he was already stuck in. Without much else to do he could really only try and sleep.  Least that would kill some time.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Could we pretty please get a villain whumpee in a straightjacket?

Oh I had so many ideas for this one, so I hope you like what I came up with! It’s a bit of a different kind of whump, but I hope it’s still good :3

CW//Dehumanization, baby talk, medical settings, straightjackets, medical malpractice

Villain hardly got to see the outside of the building.

Nearly as soon as the vehicle sped up to its front, they were trundled from its interior, feet stumbling to asphalt for a moment before the privilege of walking was taken from them-- their body swept up in a pair of strong arms.

They hated being carried. No, there was not enough strength in that word. They detested it. Loathed it. Those weren’t enough either. No, they felt that, if they were to encapsulate their sheer fury at the situation with language, they would need to begin digging in dictionaries of obscure Kanji.

But there was no time for that, because they were being carried right now.

Usually, Villain would have struggled. Writhed and squirmed until they were dropped to the floor. Or thrown. Whichever happened quicker.

Yet, unfortunately, at that very moment, there was no time for that either. No. At the moment, there were much more acutely focused on an emotion other than rage. One that went by the name of terror.

Every villain knew of the Metropolis Rehabilitation Center for Extraordinary Cases. After all, they were the extraordinary cases.

But no one ever thought they would see the thing in person. Much less be carried into it by Hero, of all the noble, goody two shoed assholes.

It was a gargantuan structure-- towering blocks of concrete, stacked upon each other, and covered with shimmering white tile, bright enough to blind anyone who dared to look upon it directly. There was one thing worse than that tile, surface dancing like freshly fallen snow.

The only thing worse than the Center’s exterior was its front door. The pair of them, in fact, glass and steel. That fact was terrifying in and of itself. Being close enough to those doors to examine them was a fate no villain expected to ever have to face.

The second time that Villain began to thrash, there was no fury in it. Nothing was locked around their body, not a chain or cuff in sight, but Hero’s grip was more than enough to turn the menace of the city into the much larger equivalent of a kitten, held by the scruff of its neck.

“Let me go! I don’t want to go!” Their thoughts flew from their mouth as freely as their panicked voice. “T-The prison! Wouldn’t that be much better?”

“Come on.”

The villain shivered at the soft voice, a second quiver shaking their spine when a hand stroked its way through their sweat-soaked hair.

“They’ll love you here.” Hero’s voice curled, coaxing a frightened dog. “I’m sure you’re be their new favorite.”

There wasn’t an ounce of perceptible mockery in the tone. As though a hero genuinely gave the slightest shit. As if they weren’t taking them to the place half-drunken villains told horror stories about, only to be accused of fabrication. ‘It can’t possibly be that bad.’

But everyone knew, everyone knew full well, that there was no falsehood in those stories.

They didn’t want to be a favorite. They were a villain! Even as they approached the double doors, Villain could not help but fantasize about the 10 foot high walls of the Metropolis Villainous Correctional Facility, topped with their electrified barbed wire.

It would be horrible, certainly, but it wouldn’t be the Center!

Yet, with a tinny bell, the hellish building’s entrance swung open.

Inside, the Metropolis Rehabilitation Center for Extraordinary Cases smelled like flowers. The particular scent was unrecognizable-- neither rose nor marigold, lavender or coral-bell. Yet, the aroma was overwhelming.

Villain’s struggling turned to thrashing.

The walls were blue. A light, baby blue, with a sickeningly joyful air about it. Abstract paintings and plaques hung along hallways and lobby walls, marked by tacky statements of motivation.

‘Mistakes are proof that you are trying.’

‘Make it happen!’

‘I can and I will.’

The captive villain felt sick. Their straining was useless, not gaining them an inch of freedom even as it cost them feet of dignity. Not that they expected to keep hold of that for long.

The lobby itself was bright, disgustingly colorful. The walls were lined with chairs painted in blinding technicolor, while the front desk itself danced with decals of butterflies and birds.

“Let me go!” Another screech tore itself from their throat.

A receptionist, lab-coat the color of a summer sunflower, looked up with a warm smile.

“I see our newest friend is here.” They chirped. “I’ll call up our welcoming party.”

“No need!”

From one of various, straight hallways, clattering footsteps sounded. Two lab coats, dyed in that same sickening, jaundiced color, ran forward at a jog. Shame forgotten, Villain buried their face in Hero’s chest. Anything to not have to see the doctors. Anything.

“Oh, what a cutie!” One of the lab coats exclaimed. “Aren’t they a sweetheart?”

“Oh, Villain, you’re going to have so much fun here.” A second voice smiled.

“I’m sure they are.” Hero’s hand stroked once more through their hair, though it did nothing to aid their incessant trembling. “Come on, bud, there’s no reason to be scared.”

“I fucking hate you!”

Three voices turned to roaring laughter.

“Come on, they’ve even brought you something.”

“Yeah.” One of the doctors chirped. “It’s a nice jacket, to keep you warm. We don’t want you getting cold.” Their tone switched on its head, from high-pitched to clinical, as they whispered: “Put them down, please.”

Gently, Villain felt themself lowered to the floor. In an instant, they were kicking out, struggling, straining, screaming and screeching. Their attempts to get to their feet, however, were thwarted by firm hands on their shoulders and a leg across their own.

They didn’t need to see the jacket to know what it was. As soon as the canvas touched their skin, they knew. Yet, it was a three on one. No amount of hysterics could stop the sleeves from slipping onto their arms, compressing their hands against the sewn-shut ends. Leather rubbed against metal buckles, canvas ribbing against itself, as, with terrifying speed, the jacket was applied.

The straightjacket.

It was far too taut, tight enough that, in their hyperventilation, Villain felt that it made them unable to breathe.

“Take it off!” They wailed. They noticed only then that the garment around them now was dyed the same color as the walls-- that unnerving, baby blue.

“Shh, shh, it’s just a jacket, buddy.” The hand in their hair was unfamiliar and nerve-wracking.

They had their legs, still. Only half of them pulled in terrible, suffocating tightness. Fury focused, Villain kicked out, desperate to get their legs under them.

They had no chance.

And, of course, their last ounce of dignity had to be wrought from them.

Villain’s shoes had been lost hours ago, though they couldn’t remember the exact scenario. Perhaps during the fight, perhaps afterwards, when they were thrown into the car and harnessed to its restraints.

It didn’t matter. To the doctors, so it seemed, all that mattered was that they could stand. And, to them, that was a problem.

They looked like socks, and, going on, they felt to be as such. Yet, as Villain at last got their feet under them, they realized otherwise. The bottom of the garments seemed to be formed in such a way that, when they tried to stand, their legs shook with the effort of simply retaining their balance. The curves and form of their feet, countered by fabric and plush.

“W-What the- What did you-” Villain gasped.

“Oh, those are just your wobblers, honey.” One of the lab coats smiled. “See? They make you wobble!”

“I’m gonna fall, you piece of shit!”

“Oh, don’t worry, dear.” Another voice, followed by a pair of arms, braced against their back. “You won’t fall. We’re here to help.”

“I don’t want your help!”

“This one’s funny.” The voice came with a smile. “Come on, then.”

Another pair of arms, practically lifting them. Their legs felt to be singed by lapping flames from the strain upon their muscles alone.

“We have a room all set up for you! And once you get your medicine, you’ll feel so much better.”

“So, so much better.”

It was with hysterical shrieks, rapidly weakening, that the patient that had once been Villain was helped down the hallway.

They would never again see the outside of the building. The nice doctors would make sure of that!

[twistedmusings]

Vil Schoenheit: After RSA’S Performance

The first time he had been left speechless was because of you.

You who always knew what to say, you who always had an answer to the problem at hand.

Where were you?

A/N: What is formatting. I don’t even know.

But listen though. When did Vil get hot? I mean he has always been hot but is it now because he is sad boy? A rude boy turned sad boy? Is that why I am attracted to him now and was compelled to write this?

I don’t know but I’m in love so I’m going to run with it.

This is how Vil would react if MC looked like they were enjoying RSA’s performance.

Part 2, here!

What Vil felt couldn’t really be put into words.

His grades would say that he was one of the highest ranking students in the Language Arts for Night Raven College. Not just in regular human speech but also in fairy-dialect, animal dialect and any sort of dialect that Professor Trein would demand. Vil also excelled in prose, poetry and abstract writing.

Being left speechless was not something that was supposed to happen, not twice in a row.

The tightening of his throat would speak otherwise, as well as the sudden feeling of vertigo.

Vil could barely hear Kalim through the jovial sound of Neige’s voice, the one thing that had kept him awake for these past few weeks--no these past few years. When was the last time that he had felt so helpless? Was it when he had first met him? Neige, with his bright smile and lovable personality that made people overlook his mistakes, his very obvious mistakes. The way he wouldn’t go when it was his cue, or how Neige would forget almost every other line only to finally have the script memorized by the time it was opening night.

A children’s song.

“What even is this song! The chorus just won’t leave my head!”

He wasn’t even ready during dress rehearsal, Neige would wait until fucking opening night.

Was it dramatic to say that the whole event had haunted him? As well as the domino effect of undeserved fame that Neige had gotten afterwards?

No, to Vil, being overshadowed by this person despite all the effort that he put into each and everyone of his performances was something akin to being shot by a gun.

Over and over and over.

He had been beaten by a children’s song.

Every single commercial, every music video, every promotion and every product placement that Neige did was like a dagger carving him up from the inside out.

So when the VDC presented itself, he jumped at the chance to not just shape himself into the perfect being to defeat Neige, but to shape others to show that not only could he surpass himself but he could help others break through their own ‘ugly’ exteriors to discover their own personal beauty. And by all means he had done it, he had taken five rough and ugly rocks and turned them into polished jewels.

Polished jewels that framed the diamond he had worked so hard to turn himself into.

His grip on the audience seat loosens when something flashes through his mind.

The practices had been rather arduous, not only having to make sure that he was flawless but trying to deal with Epel’s stupid gender based ideas, Ace and Deuce’s lack of grace and even Kalim’s really really terrible singing voice. Yet something had made it even a little bit worth it.

Someone, he needed to correct himself, someone had made it a bit worth it.

The sixth potato that he had hoped to start shaping after this whole thing was over.

What could he say about you? At first glance you were truly nothing special. An uneventful, magicless person from an equally uneventful place that hadn’t even been accepted into this school but was instead made a student because of the monster next to you. You weren’t even a student, more like a glorified problem solver for the Headmaster. Ideally, Vil should have also hated your guts since you were essentially getting the same education that he had been getting when he was a first year but without any effort but there was something different about you that he had not expected.

I think you’re probably the fairest out of everyone in the school.

A small glimmer of something beautiful.

But in the end your opinion is the one that will matter to you.

You were honest. That is something that Rook had mentioned about you once he did his recon of the new manager for the VDC team. How the Ramshackle prefect really didn’t have anything to offer but that the quality that stood out the most to the hunter was your refreshing honesty.

He had modeled for crowds of adoring fans and yet he found himself pulling out his pocket mirror and fixing non-existent imperfections before talking to you. Yet even when he tried to make himself look presentable to you, you always seemed to catch him when all of his walls were down.

“You should have seen the information that I got from Riddle, Leona, and Azul. They have really gotten a reputation behind them, the Ramshackle prefect. I wonder what will happen if we keep them close~”

Vil wouldn’t admit it to anyone but there had been a brief moment that his heart skipped a beat when the news about how the VDC team would be rooming in Ramshackle. He figured it had skipped out of beat due to the horrific news that he would have to room in a dorm that had not been used for who knows how long but when he had come inside and been greeted by your smile, it was almost surreal how he had come to terms with this feeling of nervousness.

The night before the VDC had found Vil in the Ramshackle lounge, a cup of tea in his hand as he watched a video of that day’s performance. There were still minor imperfections here and there but those would be easily covered up by his own singing and movements. Epel had also improved exponentially which highly increased the probability of a successful performance and with Jami’s hypnotizing movements and Rook’s aura there was no doubt that he had this competition under his heel.

But nerves like these didn’t leave overnight.

A creak on the stairs brought him back to the present, taking a sip of his tea as he continued to look at the video.

“If you’re here to ask me about why I am awake at this hour, Rook, I would like to remind you that you insisted we review the performance in the morning which already did nothing to calm my nerves--”

"Vil-senpai?"

His head snapped up to look at you , the light of the moon masking him in shadows while illuminating you as you made your way down the staircase. He clicked his tongue and turned off his phone.

"Was I interrupting something?"

Vil shook his head, “Last minute detail check. Everything has to be perfect by tomorrow.”

You nod and walk towards him, standing next to the couch before pointing to it. Vil looked at you before looking at the seat next to him. What were you--oh. He nodded and you sat down on the other side of the love seat, both of you farther apart that he would have liked.

“Does the manager have anything they want to say to me?”

“It just gets me thinking. You have been doing this performance perfectly in my eyes. Over and over again that it makes me wonder just what you think is lacking.”

You bring your feet up to the seat, hugging your knees together as you look down at the floor, “Maybe your definition of perfect and my definition of perfect are so different.”

The Pomefiore dorm leader rolls his eyes, “Did your Heartslabyul friends put you up to this?”

“Ace and Deuce? Great Sevens no. If they did I would have rightfully ignored them and gone to bed. I’m just your manager, I’m not here to negotiate.”

“Just a manager.” Vil frowns and looks at you, “You understand that you are currently housing the Vil Schoenheit as well as six other people who happen to be under my temporary tutelage. If you and your dorm weren’t around I would have had to keep those two Heartslabyul potatoes in the Pomefiore dorm and I don’t think I could stand letting them sleep in one of our beds. Our dorm has standards, luckily yours is the most neutral place I can stand being around those two without losing sleep.”

He blinks at the snort you let out, staring as you wave your hands and apologize while trying to prevent another one from surfacing.

“That is the only straightforward compliment my dorm has received. Neutral.” you laugh again before wiping a fake tear from your eyes, “Am I allowed to take it as a compliment?”

Vil is glad for the darkness, it hid the sudden flush in his cheeks.

“Take it as you will.”

You nod and stand up, stretching and letting out a satisfied sigh when your back made a small cracking noise that had Vil clutching at his cup. Anybody else and he would have walked out of whatever conversation he was having, so why did he find that tolerable with you?

“Then let me pay it back.” you hold out your hand and for a brief moment Vil wants to take it. Clearly that was an invitation for something and it alarmed him that he didn’t mind the mystery behind it. Yet your finger pointed at the cup, Vil looking down and seeing it was empty.

Oh.

He hands it to you, doing his best to make it so that your fingers would brush in the most accidental way possible.

“In my own opinion, as well as the opinion of others, I think you are the fairest out of everyone in the school.”

The air in Vil’s lungs gets caught in his throat.

“No joke. The way you carry yourself, the effort you put into everything you are a part of. Even the potato comments are almost...endearing? Potato plants produce rather pretty flowers, right? Maybe you are just trying to get the flowers inside of us to bloom as well?”

He is staring.

He is staring and not saying anything. You had left him without speech.

“But in the end your opinion will be the one that matters most to you. I just hope that it will always be positive.” you scratch the back of your head and yawn, “I’m going to grab a glass of water and head back to bed, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Your eyes are still meeting his as a small flush adorned your cheeks, probably embarrassed by what you had just said. Or he would like to think you would be embarrassed, if this was any regular love story he would stand up and grab your wrist and keep you from running away from him before cupping your face and leaning in--

“Good night, Vil-senpai.”

"Goodnight."

You who always knew what to say, you who always had an answer to the problem at hand.

Where were you?

His eyes start looking around for your figure, hands itching and brain running slower than it ever had before. Maybe you would make it better? No, you would make it better. You would go over to him and smile before saying that the competition hadn’t even started and just because that song seemed to be moving everyone under a stupid nostalgia spell, Vil’s hardwork would shine through. Neige hadn’t taken everything from him, not just yet.

Vil feels the weight on his shoulders lessen when he looks at you only for it to double when he sees your face.

You were smiling, humming along to the silly melody as your head bobbed up and down.

Even in practice your gaze remained fixed on them, yet with Neige you seemed to feel that infectious, annoying melody and enjoying it?

“What’s wrong? You look pale.”

Had he lost you as well?

“Vil...Vil?”

The first time he had been left speechless was because of you.

“...Nothing. Don’t worry.” he turns his back to Rook, “It’s not worth seeing their performance. I will be in the waiting room.”

Vil walks away, so many thoughts clouding his head as he replays the words you had said to him.

Who the hell cared about his opinion when yours was just as important?

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (February 9/2021) - New Lands, Sapnap’s Visit

It wouldn’t be the Dream SMP without emotional whiplash, now would it?

As tensions between Puffy and Ponk have escalated, Karl takes Sapnap and George with him on a journey to a new land to live in, starting a brand new country to house his library. 

What was at first a fun time building the library quickly turned serious, as Sapnap decided that now was the time to pay Dream a visit.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Tubbo

Jack Manifold

Ranboo

Captain Puffy

Foolish Gamers

Karl Jacobs

Sapnap

Badboyhalo

---

- Ponk is angry at Puffy’s arson from yesterday. He asks Niki for advice on what to do. She says she would burn a house down in revenge.

- He also speaks with Foolish.

- Ponk destroy’s Puffy’s mushroom house, leaving her homeless again.

- Ponk also gets a tour from Warden Sam of the prison. Not to visit, just to be shown the mechanics. 

- He tries to run up the guards’ spiral staircase but when Sam attacks him, he backs down. Sam is irritated at this.

- Ponk and Sam have an argument about tridents.

- Later, Sam tells Ponk that every friendship goes through fights occasionally, and he forgives Ponk. 

- Ponk continues on his Valentines’ Day plans.

- Ranboo accidentally kills Jjjjjjjjeffrey with sweeping edge. Mr. Krabs adds insult to injury.

- Tubbo does an abstract bit.

- Ranboo kills several more pets. He is not having a good day.

- Puffy finds out about the destruction. She’s upset.

- Realistically, she should get retaliation, but she doesn’t know if she should even bother.

- Foolish comes over to where her house used to be, and Puffy says she knows about Foolish’s involvement earlier. She thanks her son for trying to save her house.

Foolish says he was too late, but Puffy replies that it only mattered that he tried.

- Karl comes online with plans to move his library. Sapnap arrives as well and Karl tells him that he has nothing to his name on the server except the library. 

The llamas in Party Park have begun to unionize, and though cleaning up L’manhole would be the responsible thing to do, they are definitely not going to do that.

- George comes online as Karl dismantles the library.

- They start walking down the path to look for an area to build their new country.

Sapnap: “We lost our best friend recently. He’s in prison.”

Sapnap also notices that the Community House has been rebuilt, but...it’s not the same.

- George performs a special ceremony at Spawn.

- They set off, heading out past Spawn in that direction.

- Sapnap gets concerned that they’re heading out so far. He doesn’t want to get too far from the prison.

- They make it to the flower forest biome past Alyssa’s Barn.

- Karl decides on a nice little cliffside to build the library in. He sets down a rule for the other two: a flower that is picked up must be placed down again.

- Sapnap is the protector, as resident tough guy.

- Captain Puffy visits the Temple of Undying to admire Foolish’s building. Foolish helps cheer her up.

- Sapnap reveals that he’s brought Beckerson and Mars with him. They can be the country’s most prized possessions. The oldest pets on the server.

- They plant and grow the first red-spotted mushroom. Karl deems it sacred and unbreakable.

- They repurpose Alyssa’s Barn for mushroom growing.

- They shelter from the rain under the sacred mushroom.

- They start building. 

- Bad magics his way over to help with the building. Karl explains that the mushroom is sacred. Bad compares their country to a fungal growth.

- As they’re building, Karl tells Bad that in a perfect world, everyone on the SMP would join this country. There’s no duel citizenship. Everyone can join (barring Skeppy)

Bad is appreciative of the invitation.

- They continue building. Foolish arrives to assist!

- A pillager raid comes through and Sapnap kills them. As he does so, a white horse wanders by. Sapnap declares it their special horse. It can be their Horsecretary.

- The building continues!

- Dream joins VC and viewer wars break out between Sapnap and Foolish as Dream encourages everyone to try and get their viewer counts to be equal.

- Foolish heads back to his beautiful, stunning, gorgeous summer house to show on his stream.

- Sapnap gets a bright idea to go to the prison and visit Dream.

- Sam joins the call and Sapnap tells him he’s trying to get through the prison portal. 

- Sam asks if Sapnap actually wants to visit Dream, and Sapnap says yes...

-

--- SAPNAP’S PRISON VISIT --- 

-

- Sapnap tries to get into the prison and asks Awesam to let him visit Dream. 

- Awesam agrees. Sapnap isn’t sure if he was ready, or if this is the optimal time, but he ends up going through.

- Sam asks the questions.

This is Sapnap’s first time visiting.

His residence is in a new place that he and Karl are creating.

He believes Dream is deserving of being locked up. 

Sapnap: “We used to be best friends...”

Sam: “’Used to be?’”

Sapnap: “Yeah, I dunno...where we stand anymore, it’s kinda...yeah.”

Sam: “What does that mean?”

Sapnap: “Well, I dunno...I don’t know if he’s the same anymore. I don’t know if he’s the Dream -- my Dream anymore. My best friend.”

- Sapnap reviews the waivers

- They start making their way through the prison. Sapnap is nervous.

- Sapnap signs the other two waivers.

- They reach the lava wall.

Sam: “Good luck getting him to talk.”

Sapnap: “What do you mean? ...Is he not talkative”

Sam: “Something like that.”

- Dream’s cell walls are spotted in crying obsidian.

Sam: “And Sapnap?”

Sapnap: “Yeah?”

Sam: “I hope that you’re the one.”

- Sapnap enters the cell.

“...Hello? Dream? ....You okay?”

- Dream is silent, holding the clock. He hands Sapnap a book that says: “I am not talking.”

- His clock is now labelled “DO NOT BURN”

Dream: “you took so long.”

Sapnap: “You hurt a lot of people, but...you hurt specifically me...took me a little bit to decide to come and see you...”

Sapnap: “You’re better than this.”

- Dream looks at his clock, turning away from Sapnap.

Sapnap: “Once upon a time, we were best friends. If you’re gonna talk to anyone, you can talk to me.”

- Dream turns back to Sapnap, now holding the clock in his offhand while he writes in the book.

Dream: “im on strike”

- Sapnap asks what for, then if Dream is okay.

- Sapnap asks why the cell looks so run-down, with the crying obsidian dripping everywhere.

“it was a security measure.” [The crying obsidian]

“ill get out one day.”

- Sapnap insists that Dream has to stay locked up. 

Sapnap: “I love you man, but you gotta stay here...this is where you belong for now.”

- Dream hands him the book.

“i spend days i broke the lectern i was making a portal and he did this.”

- Sapnap says that he can’t try and escape. He misses Dream, Sapnap says that they can be friends, that he can come and visit, that George can come and visit, but he has to stay here. 

“Please don’t try and escape.”

- Dream runs over and throws the clock in the lava. Sapnap is worried that he’ll make Awesam mad and make things worse for himself.

“eventually.”

“eventually.”

“eventually.”

“eventually.”

- Sapnap repeatedly tells him no.

Sapnap: “If you try and break out early...you know, you only have one life left, okay? And...I don’t think it’s gonna be Tommy. It’s not gonna be Techno, Dream...If you break out of this prison, it’s gonna be me who takes your final life. And it’s not because I have any resentment towards you or anything --”

Dream moves towards the lava but stops.

“-- But it’s because this is where you need to be, Dream.”

Dream’s head turns towards Sapnap and he takes another step towards the lava.

“You have to stay here, okay? We can still be friends, I can come and visit you, but you need to stay here.”

Dream moves back to the back of the cell.

“can you pass a message”

“he stopped visiting”

- Sapnap asks who

“ranboo”

- Sapnap asks what message

“:)”

- Sapnap says he’ll pass along the message.

“thank you”

- Sapnap asks if, if he passes along the message, Dream will behave. If he’ll stop acting up and throwing his clocks away.

Dream finally speaks, though it’s barely a whisper.

"Yes.”

- Sapnap says he’ll visit Dream more, and asks if he wants George to visit as well. Dream hands him the book again.

“yes and tell the warden i need a new clock”

- Dream signs the book.

“thank you for visiting me” is the final message.

- Sapnap says he’s ready to leave. Sam tells him to stand in the water.

Sapnap and Dream stand in the water together and they die by the potion together.

- Sapnap tells Sam that he spoke, and that he said he’d be better. That he needs a new clock. Sam is exasperated.

- Sapnap asks how long it’s been since he spoke to someone else. Sam says it’s been quite a while.

- When’s the last time he saw someone?

- The last person to visit him was Ranboo.

- Sam asks if he told Sapnap anything else. Sapnap says no.

- Sam kills Sapnap with Warden’s Will, sending him to Spawn.

- Sapnap comes back to the prison. Sam lets him through the portal.

- Sam explains that he just thought it was strange that Dream would talk to Sapnap, and had to “make sure.” Sapnap says it’s fine and leaves the prison with his things.

- Ranboo joined the game.

- Sapnap whispers to Ranboo that he wants to talk. They meet at the Community House.

Sapnap tells him about the prison visit, saying that Dream doesn’t seem the same. He doesn’t even talk now. He tells Ranboo that he was told that Ranboo was the last person to visit. He asks if Ranboo remembers anything about his visit, anything off.

Ranboo, of course, doesn’t remember much.

- Sapnap gives Ranboo the message: 

:)

- Ranboo freezes and goes silent, then runs away into the Nether. Sapnap is confused.

- Just as Sapnap is ending stream, Ranboo sends a message in game chat written in Enderman.

Doomed are those who try to run, for it always catches up eventually :)

---

Upcoming events remain the same.

Bad also mentioned that he has an upcoming lore stream that he’s scheduling, though it involves a particular person whose schedule makes them difficult to get a hold of for it.

[beanieman]

Shinalice Tattoo And Flowershop AU: Shin Gets A Tattoo

(Their designs in this are from by the wonderful art @yttdie made that inspired me to write this fic. You should go check their art out, it’s so good!) 

Shin lingers outside the door to the tattoo parlor, clutching a bouquet to his chest. He's really going to do it. He's going to get his first tattoo. He's not sure if he's shaking from excitement or nerves as he enters the small parlor. It's the first one Shin's ever been inside. It's not at all the shady place movies depict them as. Abstract art lines, black walls, and Alice's colorful flowers are placed in a vase on the front desk. Next to the vase is a small bell with a sticky note reading "Ring Me!" attached. Shin takes notice that Alice's handwriting is surprisingly neat as he rings the bell.

"Coming!!!"

Alice pops his head out from a small room in the back, giving a wave and genuine grin when they lock eyes. It makes a heat rush to his face that Shin wasn't expecting. Today was an awful day to use a headband to push the hair away from his face. Now all his crimson blushes are on display for all to see. But Alice doesn't seem to notice as his eyes glint with recognition.

"Shin! Did you finally come to take me up on your offer? I remember it vividly! You gifted me flowers for free, and I'll repay my debt by giving you a discount on a tattoo!"

"So you remembered...I want to cash in on our deal. I brought more flowers for your shop. I was thinking they'd be a good reference for my tattoo."

He hands over the bright blue bouquet he was carrying while avoiding eye contact. Handing off flowers may be his job, but most of his clients aren't handsome tattoo artists.

He notices how tenderly Alice takes them like they could be made of glass. For a man who looks so intimidating, he's much more gentle than he looks.

"What are these called?"

"Forget me not's. Ahaha, I was thinking getting a cluster on the back of my hand would look cool..."

"We'll match in that case!"

Alice holds his hand out, showing again the daffodil-covered skull on the back of his hand. It was a big inspiration for him. He loved the way the tattoo looked under the cool blue lights of the flower shop. But for Alice to point it out so bluntly like that....it makes him a little flustered. It doesn't help when Alice puts his hand on his back to guide him over to a chair in the corner.

For a second, he gets so caught up in the euphoria of having an attractive man caress him that he forgets he's about to get a needle shoved into his skin.

But then Alice brings out the ink.

And reality hits.

This is going to be painful.

Looking around, he tries to find anything to distract him as the needle begins to buzz. His eyes land on Alice's muscular arms covered in tattoos. He has a sleeve with multiple sections. At the very top is ink with a deer's head laying on top of a flower bed. In the middle of his arm are chains surrounded by a wall of blue. And at the very bottom, a lone X that looks like it marks a treasure on a map. If nothing else, it's the perfect conversation starter.

"Do your tattoos have meaning?"

The needle is already touching his skin before Alice can respond. Bright colors explode under the tip as the flower begins to form. It's painful, but he tries to focus on Alice, whose eyes are narrowed steadily in unbreakable concentration.

"A few! The chains you see are to recall my time in a band of legends!! As a symbol of the end, I had the letter X tattooed when I departed from that very same band."

"And the deer?"

"They're majestic! Not every tattoo has to have meaning."

Alice's hand works with a speed Shin has never seen. He's grateful for it. His only goal going into this was to not pass out by the end. Which seems more reachable with how fast Alice works.

"What about your tattoo? Do these forget me not's have a meaning to you?"

"N-Not really. I just like flowers."

He gesture's to the tiny daisies plastered around his pale blue shirt as proof, but his words aren't entirely true. Forget me nots symbolize true love and respect. They're a promise that you'll never forget the receiver because of how deep your affection runs. The idea of someone caring that much for him one day... it's a nice thought. But to admit all that to an acquaintance? Not happening.

They banter back and forth for another hour. What he learns about Alice is he can make a conversation out of anything. Even seeing birds soaring out the window gets them on the topic of air travel. His charisma is admirable, but not more than his tattoo skills.

His pen flows quickly and steadily, producing thin lines that pop under the blue coloring. His bedside manner isn't bad either. Even with such an intense pain that pierces his hand, Alice keeps him distracted, making it easier to ignore. He makes it so easy to ignore, in fact, that when Alice proudly proclaims

"It's done!"

Shin can hardly believe his ears. He looks down at the ink that's now stained into his skin. He didn't get his hopes up for the final product, but...he loves it. It's everything he wanted it to be and more. Alice looks satisfied with the final product as well. He beams with pride at Shin's look of awe. He must see that look ten times a day, and yet he still looks thrilled at Shin's joy.

"Are you impressed, Shin? It's some of my finest work! Be proud to be adorned with my talent, mwahaha."

"Heh...looks really good, Alice. The flowers were a good trade….so about paying."

Alice looks down to Shin's newly tattooed hand and back to his face. He glances away and shrugs his shoulders casually.

"Consider it repayment for the flowers. You don't have to pay anything at all! Just leave a good review on our establishment page, please, and thank you."

"Eh?! Well, if you say so...Are you expecting more flowers to make up for the price?"

"W-Well, no, not at all. But perhaps we could get a coffee sometime? To make up for the difference. If you don't want to, don't worry yourself-"

For the second time today, he can't believe his ears. It almost sounds like...Alice is asking him out on a date. Surely he means as friends. Yea, that's all it is. Their places of business are side by side. Why wouldn't they want to get to know each other more? Not that he's opposed to treating it as a date...but no need to make assumptions.

"Uh, yeah-that sounds good! Ahaha, really good! Er...I should get your number…."

They exchange numbers with shaky hands. Both of them trying to look cool as they put the digits into their phone. Shin can feel how crimson his face is. He needs to get out of here before he does something stupid, "I need to get back to my shop. Flowers won't sell themselves. I'll text you later."

"Good luck on your ventures! I'll be searching for the best possible spot to find coffee in the meantime."

Shin turns to wave goodbye, only for the door to stop him as he runs face-first into the glass. A thumping sound echoes through the small shop as he stumbles back.

"Are you okay??"

"Yes!!"

He doesn't look back to see Alice's confused face as he darts to from the shop and back to his own. He's in such a hurry; he doesn't even see a woman dressed in black enter the parlor behind him.

But she distracts Alice's attention from his blunder, as she's a face he knows well.

"The hell? Was that the flower shop guy you wouldn't shut up about?" Alice feels heat rushing to his face at the call out. Okay, he might have a crush on the cute flower man next door. Sue him.

"Yes! Yes, it was."

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Lydia Deetz

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Lydia after she moved into town. You went to the same school as her and were in a few of her classes, though you doubted that really mattered; you’d find out about her pretty quickly even if she wasn’t.

- Lydia was an ...interesting character. You liked to think of your school as fairly accepting, people weren’t outwardly mean to her; some were even welcoming, but you somewhat understood many peoples hesitance towards befriending her. Above all, she was fairly standoffish though at the time, no one knew why.

- Still, you liked her style. She was strange and unusual, something you admired. So you took the chance and tried to befriend her, approaching her after school and trying to start a conversation as she unlocked her bike. She was polite but quick to end your talk, making up an; obvious, excuse before riding off.

- But you wouldn’t be deterred, continuing your efforts as the days rolled by and eventually getting her to warm up to you. You even managed to invite her out with you, giving her a tour around the town and slowly getting to know her better.

- Over time, you grow to like her more and more until you realize that you don’t just want to be her friend. It’s then that you have a real predicament on your hands, and a decision to make: try to ignore your feelings and hope they go away or confront them and hope for the best.

- It’s a few months into your friendship that you decide to confess your true feelings for her. Unbeknownst to you, she was planning on doing the same.

- You were sitting in the towns graveyard with her, a place you’d been to several times mainly because you knew she loved it. It seemed like the perfect place to tell her how you felt so you took a deep breath and stumbled through your confession. And... she burst out laughing.

- Yeah, so not a good sign. You were completely embarrassed and was wondering whether you could play it off like you were joking. Deciding that you couldn’t, you went to stand up and leave before she lunged forward, grabbing your hand quickly and exclaiming “no, no” as she tried to stop her laughter.

“I’m sorry, really. It’s just that, all day I’ve been wondering how I was gonna tell you that I liked you and, well, here we are.” She smiled, and ushered you to sit back down.

- The two of you had your first date in one of the towns many fields. You brought a basket full of stuff and sat out there for hours, having a picnic and overall just hanging out. She’s got about a dozen photos of the day.

- You had your first kiss at least a week after you first got together. Neither of you were brave enough to just go for it so it took you a while to actually do it.

- When you did, it was after the two of you snuck out together and were taking a late night walk through the town. You were sat on an old wooden fence, the moonlight shining above you as you talked. That was when you turned to look at each other and just began to lean in, inching closer and closer until your lips met.

- And thus began your strange and beautiful relationship.

- The two of you are most likely bambi lesbians; your relationship is fairly innocent and things never really get too hot or heavy. 

- It’s the 80s and you sort of live in a small town so you try to keep your relationship on the down low. Whenever you’re out in public, you try to just act like friends, never doin anything exclusively romantic in nature. 

- Holding hands, locking arms, hugging, sitting very close to each other; you can get away with a lot since you’re young girls but you try not to push your luck. 

- Most of your dates take place where there isnt a lot of; if any, people. She prefers keeping to herself so you wind up just hanging out at her place or places no one really goes, like the graveyard or forgotten roads.

- Pecks on the lips and cheeks.

- Sweet and chaste kisses. 

- Laying your head in her lap while you sit and talk. Occasionally, she’ll run her fingers through or just play with your hair, looking down at you with a soft smile. 

- She’s got soooo many photos of you. She likes to jokingly call you her muse, taking random snapshots while you’re doing something or asking you to pose for her. 

- Horror movie marathons. The two of you have stayed up late countless times, eyes wide and glued to her tv screen as you shovel popcorn into your mouths. 

- Riding your bikes together after school. Sometimes you’ll just ride around town, stopping at some random place you’ve never been to and going exploring together.

- Walks through and picnics in the graveyard. It’s one of her favorite places to visit except when its close to the anniversary of her mothers death. 

- Letting her talk to you about her mother and rant about Delia and her dad. 

- Meeting the Maitland's and her eccentric parents. They all love you and have a feeling that you aren’t “just friends”, not that it really matters to them anyways. Delia is particularly happy with the idea of you two being together, Lesbianism is so avant-garde. 

- Morbid conversations. Want to have an hour long conversation about death? Well, you’ve come to the right girl!

- You’ll never have to worry about getting rid of spiders again for the rest of your life. She’ll just scoop them up in her hand and gently place them outside while you trail hesitantly behind her. 

- Dancing together. 

- Surprisingly enough, she’s quite fond of being bridal carried or getting piggyback rides. 

- Getting to see all of her rare smiles and giggles, most of the time they’re reserved pretty much exclusively for you. 

- She doesn’t really use nicknames/pet names all that much but occasionally she’ll call you the name of a character from a movie or show when you say or do something that reminds her of them. 

- Collecting and pressing flowers with her. You help her swap out and rearrange the ones on her wall every few months. 

- She has a bit of a dramatic streak so occasionally you’ll just have to snap her out of it, either by cheering her up or helping to rationalize a situation.

- She loves rainy days. She likes to invite you over, sit up in her room and just hang out with you while the skies are a dreary gray. She finds the atmosphere very beautiful.

- Her room is perfect for afternoon naps. The two of you head over to her house after school, lock her bedroom door and pull the curtains down before snuggling under her covers and catching a few zzz’s.

- She’ll never admit it out loud but she actually really likes cuddling. You tend to cuddle hugging each other, taking turns having your heads resting against each other’s chests.

- She loves eating dinner or lunch at your house. Delia prepares the weirdest foods for everyone so being able to eat something like a normal turkey sandwich or bowl of soup is a nice change.

- Going to antique and thrift shops. If it looks haunted, she’ll want to buy it.

- Holidays!! She gets all festive around them; especially Halloween, always wanting to decorate and do the usual seasonal activities.

- Letting her style your hair. She finds it really fun and you certainly don’t mind looking a bit unusual.

- Gothic tea parties. Join her on her wooden floor, surrounded by black teddy bears and creepy dolls, eating little sandwiches and drinking tea.

- She likes to write you little poetic letters. Some are purely romantic while others are dreadfully depressing but you love them all the same.

- It’s pretty easy to find her presents; if it’s ugly then she’ll love it.

- Doing little crafts together. She likes artistic stuff, as long as it isn’t weirdly abstract like delias art.

- She tends to stick to compliments about the work that you do or the things you choose to wear. She prefers making you feel good about the stuff that you make not the things you were born with.

- Many people don’t seem to realize it but she’s got a pretty good sense of humor. That, paired with the shenanigans you get yourselves into, ensures that the two of you have a good time together!

- Getting dragged into supernatural and paranormal adventures. If it was her choice, she would probably leave you out of it, but alas, it isn’t.

- Beetlejuice is certainly an interesting individual to meet. Lydia is not fond of him calling you babe though, even if he calls everyone babe.

- She’s never really gets all that jealous. She reasons that you’re with her and if you’re with her, then you most likely like weird people, which you don’t find all that often where you live.

- She’s certainly been through some stuff, especially after moving to town so she’s fairly protective of you. Now that she knows the dead can linger on, she tries to look after you even more.

- She’s somewhat sensitive so she tends to take things to heart even when they’re misunderstandings.

- You dont fight a whole lot but when you do, your arguments wind up turning into catty yelling fights. One of you will usually storm out, throwing a “fine” or something of the sort out before you go.

- The two of you will give each other the silent treatment for a while but you’ll most likely be miserable the entire time. She’ll cave a little sooner than you will, finding you at school somewhere or being let in by your mom and just showing up at your bedroom door shyly. You both usually have a hard time staying mad at each other, once either of you apologize.

- She gives you a “love you” everytime you say goodbye. It’s pretty much routine by now.

- She doesn’t realize it for a while but ever since she met you, she hasn’t thought about dying. In fact, now that she has you, she can’t even bear to imagine it. She wouldn’t want to leave you behind, she loves you.

- Her one goal in life is to be the woman that historians say “lived with her lifelong best friend, never marrying or having children but writing letters to each other about loving each other fiercely”.

[thebibliomancer]

Tides of the Dark Crystal liveblog pt 3

Tides of the Dark Crystal by J.M. Lee because I want the answer to Amri’s question. Don’t you?

Last time on book: The dream team of Naia, Spider-Tavra, Kylan, and Amri have gone to Tavra’s friend(?) Onica to get the lay of the land after Kylan shotgunned exposition petals all over Ha’rar. Onica used her Far-Dreaming to let the team see the Vapran and All-Maudra’s reaction to all of those petals. Then on Amri’s turn, he asked the entire planet Thra how they can beat the Skeksis.

Chapter 3

Weirdness on either side, Chamberlain in the middle

The answer to Amri’s question was a wall.

Well. Thanks for that, Thra.

It’s a bit of a weird vision. Amri actually feels like he’s himself, not as a petal or peeping through another Gelfling. Just an Amri standing alone in an infinite dark void, with a stone wall in the middle of it.

Amri sighed. Of course this would happen. The first thing he shouted out to Thra was to ask it how to defeat the Skeksis. If Thra cared about the Gelfling, and knew what to do, then wouldn’t it have told them already?

In fairness, Amri. Maybe your question broke the planet? Maybe you logic bombed the entire world.

Or to be less mean, the planet is sick with the Darkening. So maybe it can’t give a straight answer. Aside of a wall in a void.

Then the wall catches on fire.

The fire had engulfed the wall, but where it had been reavenous and red, it was now blue as the midnight sky. The wall itself had crumbled in places from the teeth of the fire, and where the rock had fallen away, Amri saw shining light. Crystal veins, white as starlight, bared as the wall crumbled, bit by bit. And revealed in the light of the crystal were words. Images. Figures...

Then he was back on the boat, his hands clammy against Onica’s and Naia’s.

I hope Onica has a book about interpreting dreams.

Although, blue fire. Wasn’t that the fire skype that the Dual Glaive did in the show?

The flower petals already kinda took their role as the thing that communicates to all Gelfling so, yeah, this is an abstract dream.

Onica, explain!

She doesn’t though. She just tells Naia to go ahead and ask her question.

Half not surprisingly and half not, her question is “Please, tell us where we can find Rian.”

It makes sense but also, its weird that she doesn’t ask instead about Gurjin.

It sure is more handy for the plot that she asked about Rian because they get a village of a Skeksis carriage drawn by rolling armalig slug racing through the snow. Whether its inhabitants are laughing all the way ho ho ho ho is not shared.

Amri realizes that they’re seeing a vision of now and somewhere pretty close by actually! They passed through that snowy area on their way to Onica’s Exposition Hut.

Hm. Always interesting what commonalities there are between the show and the YA books despite the very different courses they take. They’re both going to have a Rian Chamberlain carriage rescue scene although the location and presumably the context is gonna be different.

Naia rushes out ahead because rushing out ahead is what Naia is best at. Amri, Kylan, and Tavra soon follow, but Tavra asks Onica to wait here in case they need a place to hide.

Just gals being pals, doing crimes, hiding fugitives.

While poor Kylan has to take the long path, Amri just starts climbing up the sheer rock wall, even with the sandals slowing him down.

Amri actually manages to catch up to Naia although they wind up on different ridges on different sides of the trail.

Naia being Naia, she just jumps off the ridge, onto the carriage, and goes through the canopy.

A Skeksis scream curdled the air, high-pitched and nasal. A moment later, Naia and another Gelfling crashed through one of the carriage windows. The carriage tipped, the armalgis squealing in distress at the disturbance.

Oh my god.

Imagine being Chamberlain. Probably sitting in a carriage and psychologically breaking Rian because his sensitive soldier brain is no match for your words words words. When an angry Naia drops in and starts waving a dagger around.

No wonder he screm. And now wonder he crashes the carriage into the ravine wall.

Amri wishes again that he had wings making me think hmm but slides down a fallen tree that Tavra points out to him.

“I hope Kylan tells a nice song at my funeral!”

Oh, Amri. I don’t think Kylan knows much more about you than Onica did.

Amri lands in a pile of snow and finds Naia and Rian with his blue streak of hair pulling themselves out of a snow bank.

Rian runs back toward the carriage because he says Chamberlain has the vial. The important plot driving vial. Containing Rian’s liquidated girlfriend.

Out of the carriage, coughing and swearing and spitting, came a Skeksis. He emerged, reptilian snout first, like a black bird from an egg, almost too big for the door. His feather-lined cloak squeezed out, then billowed as he stepped into the snow, rising to his full height. His eyes smoldered beneath his prominent purple brow, black pupils tiny and livid as he cast his gaze upon them.

This is another scene I wish I could have seen in live action puppets. Chamberlain pulling himself out of the crashed carriage.

Rian demands Chamberlain give him the vial, his confidence impressing Amri who wants to curl into a perfect orb and roll under a table when faced with a Skeksis.

The Chamberlain glared, then reached back to fluff the black collar around his neck so it framed his face.

“The vial? The vial? After ruining our carriage -- MY carriage? Stupid Gelfling. Stupid Rian. After all we’ve done for you, you stand there and defy us. Defy me.”

Effrontery! Offense! How dare?!

Naia threatens that they’ll take the vial by force if Chamberlain won’t hand it over, which is pretty gutsy. Even given that she has a sweet metal dagger and Amri has Tavra’s sweet sword that he has no idea how to use.

Chamberlain takes out the vial and threatens to pour our Rian’s girlfriend if they make a move on him.

“You think you can command me?” the Chamberlain asked, a low growl growing in the back of his throat. “You, puny Gelfling? Giving me orders? A Skeksis? One of Twice-Nine? You dare to command me?”

“The Skeksis won’t rule the Gelfling much longer, not once we prove to them what you’ve done,” Naia said, brandishing her dagger. “To the Crystal, and to our people.”

“So hand over the vial before we make an example of you,” Rian said.

And Chamberlain, well, he took exception to that.

Because he is a petty lizarddragonvulture man when he’s in a good mood and he was just in a carriage crash and these Gelflings keep saying words at him.

So he wonders aloud what Vapra tastes like and then chugs Mira goo.

“OH YES. SWEET AND BRIGHT AS SPRING SYRUP! Mmm-MMMM!”

Leave some scenery for the rest of the characters, SkekSil.

So to contextualize the situation, now Chamberlain doesn’t have the thing they wanted from Chamberlain. And he’s all roided up on soul juice. This is not a situation that they want to be in anymore!

“Now,” he said. He threw back his cloak and drew a short, sharp blade, smiling at them with a mouth of razor teeth. “What were you saying about making an example of me?”

Tavra tells Amri to raise his sword and tries to give him really quick sword pointers. But Amri makes a quick decision and hucks the pouch of fire dust that Onica gave him, the spicy coral shavings getting all in SkekSil’s eyes and nose.

Wow, that fire dust Chekov’s gun fired way sooner than I thought it would.

While the Chamberlain drops to his knees and tries to soothe the burn by shoving snow into his eyes and nose, Amri yells to Naia and Rian to run.

Luckily, Rian does, since previously he was paralyzed by unfathomable rage.

The three run and run and run over the hills and through the woods until they can no longer hear Chamberlain.

And then things get weird.

The vertigo returned, and Amri stumbled, then leaned against a tree as the world spun. In every swirl of snow, every spot of shadow, he saw Skeksis faces. Phantoms, rising out of his worst fears. His throat felt tight, locking air out of his lungs.

“I don’t feel great,” he tried to say.

“What’s wrong? What’s --”

Tavra’s voice fell away, and all Amri could hear was... humming. An intense droning, a chant, coming from deep in the earth and high in the heavens at the same time.

Are there Mystics about?

The drone vibration sharpened, and Amri heard words. Coming from the earth. From the stars. From the suns and the moons. It drowned out the cold and the bright light. It chanted in time with Amri’s heart, in time with the pulse of the world. Of Thra.

Oh, hey, is the entire planet returning Amri’s call? Was that wall vision like.... an answering machine?

I have no idea! This has been some odd bookends around an exciting Skeksis encounter.

Just as Amri thinks he recognizes the voice, the world vanishes.

You keep cliffhangering me, chapters in Tides of the Dark Crystal!

[hardyimagines]

Oblivious

SHORT AND SWEET

Bane being confused over reader’s period.

——————————————————————

It was late at night. The bed creaked beneath your shifting weight as you rolled from one side of the bed to the other. The fan that swirled above the pair of your slumbering forms did nothing to soothe your body as sweat spread along your skin, a thin layer draped over you like the sheet you kicked at every few seconds.

Bane was curled up behind you, knees pushed against the backside of your legs and arm hooked over your waist as he slept soundlessly. Apart from the heavy breaths that airily left the mask and left him sounding like a character from Star Wars, he was silent. You were the noise maker, moaning and groaning in your sleep as you flipped and flopped, agonizingly uncomfortable. The sheet was around your shoulders, then your waist, then kicked off to drape only over his body until you’d sleepily drag it back up to your chin and shiver beneath it. A few seconds later and you’d been hot again.

The small cottage was your’s and your’s alone. Bane had his own home, but yours offered more comfort. More privacy. More.. walls. He lived in a sewer, a place of semi-choice that he hadn’t complained about until he’d met you and you’d told him he could spend the night whenever he wanted. He’d taken advantage of that offer and was at your house nightly. The house wasn’t big by any means. It had a kitchen, which you kept insanely clean. The windows constantly looked as if they were propped open, smudgeless and clear. The countertops practically sparkled and the dishes were never left out on the countertops or in the sink. Sometimes he wondered if you even used them. Not once had he seen a dish or even a drawer left cracked open.

There was a small hall, lined with crooked framed photographs, hung along the length of the wall. Most of the pictures contained only you or old captures of your parents, who you never saw anymore. There was one of a wilted flower. And one of an abstract painting. There was no particular flow to your home, no theme or strict color. No set feel to it. It was random. You had plants tucked away in every crevice of the house. Knick-knacks lines the shelves on the walls. You had a variety of clocks throughout your home, but those had been a sense of comfort, the quiet and relaxing ticking of the minute hand as it circled the length of its home endlessly. You’d purchased the clocks before you’d met Bane. How were you meant to know you were going to have a boyfriend almost instantly — one who actually talked quite a bit and filled the silences better than the soft ticking of the clocks.

The window in the corner of your white-painted bedroom, the simplest and emptiest of the house, was propped open, hot air blowing through and lifting the sheer gray curtain before it drifted back down at a slow pace to return to its original position, lazily swaying against the floor. You huffed underneath your breath before this time rolling to face the man who typically woke up and rubbed your back until you’d drift into a deep slumber. Tonight was different.

Bane lifted his head when your rolling wouldn’t stop. His hand was gentle as it pressed against your warm forehead, ignoring the sticky beads of sweat that evaporated against his palm. He stared down at you, eyes creasing with his would-be smile. The man drew his thumb down to your cheek before letting the pad of his finger brush over your chin, delicately pulling it down as he eyed your parted lips. What he would give to kiss them..

His life.

The man moved closer to you, big arm flexing in the slightest as it curled around your waist. He rolled further on to his side, slightly settled on his front. His trousers stuck to him, luring his attention south. He could comfort you in a moment. His free hand slipped between your body and his own, feeling the front of his slacks uncertainly. He expected the strange feeling to be in his head, but when his fingers grazed the wet material of his pants, he rolled over and blindly searched for the light switch.

The golden bulb flickered before illuminating the small room. You were laid on your stomach, one leg bent out to the side and the other extended out completely. Bane was staring down at his crotch, completely speechless at the red stain that marked the front of his pants. He blinked once and then twice, attempting to think of a reasoning for the strange liquid that he’d somehow managed to get into while sleeping. Was he bleeding? His hand pinched the hem of his pants. Dragging them open, he peered inside, more confusion draining him when he realized that he wasn’t bleeding, not in the slightest. His soft eyes slid to you, ready to wake you and inform you of the situation, see if you could help him figure out what the hell was going on. The man had never felt such fear in his life, not until those big, curious, blue, innocent eyes met your back. He caught sight of the same red stain on your pants. His brows pulled together, a deep etch forming between his brows. What the hell was going on?

Bane’s fingertips pressed against your back, stroking it slowly as he sat up. Hunching over, he pinched the material of your pants and pulled on them slightly so that the material was flattened. “Jesus Christ.” He uttered. You let out a soft hum of distaste. Not only was the light on and Bane was touching you, but he also felt the need to talk?

“Y/n.” He shook you softly. His palm curled around your shoulder, delicately shaking you as firmly as he could. “Y/n!” He tried again, his voice only slightly louder. The worry doubled at your lack of response. “Y/n, you’re bleeding!” The innocence that’s dripped in his tone was sweet. He was worried about you, large hand curled in your pants as he studied the stain. At first, he thought he’d severely hurt you. Having sex and going directly to sleep afterward had just given him the horrible thought that he’d.. severely damaged you.. and yet, somehow, it seemed way worse than that because, as he stared at your twisted features, he could tell you were still in an immense amount of pain. Surely sex pain would’ve faded by now.. or at least it wouldn’t bother you while you were trying to sleep. Your eyes fluttered open, completely oblivious to the fact that not only had you bled through your slacks, but you’d bled on your boyfriend. Bane was a picture. His eyes held more emotion than any set of eyes you’d ever seen. He was staring down at you in fear, like he’d just seen you take your head off and put it back on. “You’re bleeding.” He repeated.

Those words were dreaded by every woman, you were sure of it. Your eyes fluttered open fully and without hesitation, you sat up. For someone to inform you of a heavy situation such as this, it left your insides trickling with hot embarrassment. “Fuck..” You whispered. The stain was on the bed too. You felt your cheeks growing hotter by the second and your eyes stung from the building tears. How could this happen!

Bane’s hand moved to your own. He took it carefully before climbing off of the bed and helping you with him. “Did.. did I do this to you?” He asked. His hand moved to your back, caressing it slowly before he pulled you along with him to the bathroom across the hall. The bathroom was brightly lit, the only bulb in the house that refused to burn out. He lifted the toilet lid before ushering to your pants. “Take those off, I’ll wash them for you.”

You were stunned by how helpful he was being, in a trance as you followed him to the bathroom. Part of you was focused on trying to prevent yourself from crying and the other part was focused on Bane’s words. “Wait.. baby..” You pushed your hands into your waistband before pushing the material to the floor and lowering yourself down on the toilet. “Did you just ask me if you caused this?”

Bane, doing his best to hide the fact that your blood was also smeared on his trousers, turned away from you and busied himself with heading back into the bedroom so he could gather the bedding and wash it. “Yes.” He answered. He could hear you loud and clear as he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his pants. Waiting for your inevitable ‘yes, you did do this’, he closed his eyes for only a second before gathering the materials and carrying them to the washer which was right next door to the bathroom. He put on a new pair of sleepwear before making his way back into the bathroom to get your dirty clothes.

“Honey..” You shifted on the toilet seat shyly before shaking your head in mild amusement. It was hard to be embarrassed when the man you loved was oblivious to what was going on. “You didn’t do this. Women’s bodies, they do this once a month.” Your brows furrowed as he left the room once again, filling the washer with all of the clothing before he started the machine and moved back into the bathroom. He looked so confused.

“Your body.. makes you bleed?” He sounded like a child. He stepped back into the room, large hand circling the doorknob. He pulled it shut behind him before moving over to the bathtub and turning on the faucet so the warm water could fill the basin. You watched him for a few moments before clearing your throat.

You wanted to explain it to him simply. “It’s my body’s way of saying I’m not pregnant.” You offered up with a shy smile before rising from the toilet after you’d flushed. Stepping into the hot water, you sent him a grateful smile before wrapping your arms around your bent knees. You were still wearing your shirt, the material was wet the second the water rose up high enough to touch the end of it. Bane narrowed his eyes slightly. Why had he never heard of a woman bleeding periodically?

The man stepped toward the tub before crouching down beside it. His hand lifted to press against your hot back, stroking the length of your skin slowly. “Is there anything I can do?” He made a mental note to use the cracked computer later to do some research about these monthly visits.

“You’ve done more than enough, baby.” You assured him. “I just want to clean up and then try to get some sleep.” He could tell how baggy your eyes were, how groggy you were acting and droopy your entire body seemed. Your head turned to the side, temple pressed against the top of your knees as you eyed the seemingly intimidating, masked man who crouched beside the tub shirtless and big. He looked like he was ready to fight off your cramps, your headaches, any discomfort that came your way. Your heart tightened. Opening one adm, you draped your damp skin around his broad shoulders, sweetly pulling him into you so your mouth could graze his mask. You wanted, so badly, to kiss those pink, plump lips of his. But you knew you couldn’t, do your lips brushed to the exposed areas of skin on his face, kissing each area slowly, lingering without a care. His eyes fluttered, savoring the little gestures of affection. He knew you wanted a kiss from him and he hated that he couldn’t give it to you. But now was not the time to focus on the negatives, you were so appreciative for him, you wanted to show that in the best way you could. So, your lips continued their journey along his skin, fingertips caressing the back of his head as the hot water you were submerged in soothed your aching stomach.

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Tagged: @willowick13 @pansexualginger @heyitscam99 @haroldpain @justrepostandlove @emerald-bijou u @multireality @innerpaperexpertcloud @goodiesintheclosetlove @giftofdreams @ihclipse @inkedfandom @thatsamegirl @doct0rstrange @jakechillenhaal @shanty-lol @centerhabit @clevertheoristpainter @favouritereadings @badmaax @thephuonganh @wewillfindourwaythere

@uhhhemilyrose @scarrasco1325 @bignastyfan-nz @hot-and-spiceyyy @azayamari @shane-isa-shame @lonewolf471 @crldrr @keeleyella @overitall2018 @lovebitesimagines @eddieisasnack @axxl-rose @slytherintothedeep @lucreziaborgiatheunholyfamily @demoncrypt1066 @captainbuckyboobear @phire23 @orphiceseum @advictedtohim @uncreativezx

[absoluteindulgence]

Vacay Away

A/N: OKAY SO LET ME START BY SAYING, THIS FIC IS 2 1/2 MONTHS LATE. I originally wanted to post this for Black History Month. But I'm black all year so better late than never! Also, I apologize to all those waiting for me to upload, I've been consumed by Sims 4 and even made Mirio in-game lmao. If you have not finished MHA Season 4, there's a mild spoiler. Lastly, this is smut, so read at your own horniness risk.

Pairings: Mirio Togata X Black/POC!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Cursing

Word Count: 5.1K

As new graduates, the world was bright and shiny, like an apple ripe enough to bite. You decided after all the hell you and Mirio went through this year; it would be enough to graduate and offer Mirio a well-deserved rest. Too many nights went on with sweat induced nightmares with tears flooding from his despairing blue eyes; Reliving the horrors of fighting Chisaki, losing his quirk and his mentor who always showed him promise until his last breath.

Although you were at another agency during the ordeal, you always kept in contact with Tamaki and Nejire. At first, Tamaki didn't want to share any information, because he knew how it would tear you apart, but after he saw where your loyalty stood, he had to. You spent the rest of your days taking care of Mirio. By his side as soon as you knew his whereabouts. Staying in the hospital overnight, even going home to get a spare change of clothes, just to come back. You watched as he vented what it felt like for him. Not a single bone in your body blamed Eri; she was a child after all.

You still trained with him and even accompanied him on his internship. You knew he was capable of hand-to-hand, but what mattered was the villains with quirks that were life-threatening. Eventually, you laughed with each hospital visit and became well acquainted with the staff. After graduating with just above average grades, the two of you felt a sigh of relief: no more pity parties and sad looks. You two had to get away from it all.

And so, the voyage outside of Tokyo began. Originally you were going to celebrate by staying over at one another's home, but that wasn't fun enough for you; you wanted to feel free. Not just for yourself, for Mirio. He deserved to feel like himself even though he said he wouldn't cry over spilled milk anymore. You wanted to be by his side.

And so the bustle outside the city proved to be challenging. It took more buses than trains to leave. And even then had to take the abstract route to get outside of the town and into the country. Your breathing was more steady with the air being exceedingly more lucid, camping out to watch the stars shine, even being cheesy, mentioning the shapes found in the midnight sky. And the impromptu sexy times would be something you two take to your graves.

When you finally got close to the hot spring you were planning to surprise Mirio with, you admitted into the closest hotel. Luckily, the staff knew who you two were and gave you a week free, along with benefits like the perks of free food and massages. Unsure if that was related to filling a quota for the month or if they loved LeMillion as much as management said they did.

You two were starting to look like people who lived in the forest, eating off the land. So, of course, you were going to take advantage of the salon there as well. But you knew better than to go in expecting them to know what to do with your hair. You had your hair products tucked away neatly in your oversized backpack and had even taught Mirio how to handle your naps. He liked playing with your hair because he found it therapeutic and saw it as another way to bond with you.

Mirio's face of content made you beam with hope into his recovery. You were pushing yourself to get him out of his rut. You weren't sure if he knew how much you still worried about what happened. But you wanted to make up for the time that you weren't able to be by his side during the life-changing experience, apart from blaming yourself, because he told you what had been plaguing him.

As his partner, you did your best to assert the situation and go based on logic instead of emotion. But the look on his face, knowing that he let Eri out of his sight, spoke louder than any words. Having obtained Eri, and getting to spend time with her to build morale, was challenging at first as she was hesitant when looking at you. At first, she thought you were dirty due to Chisaki's influence.

After realizing that's just how your skin looks, she apologized profusely — not wanting to hurt your feelings and be accepted by you. You worked your way into taking care of her, although not great with kids. And since she was a particular but essential case, you wanted to make your imprint on her memory. She began to ask you questions about yourself and Mirio. At times asking the dreaded ones related to sex since she was around Deku and his friend Bakugou. You kept calm but wanted to dropkick the self-proclaimed hero with murder in his name. Aizawa made sure to scold him and tell him not to slip up on the foul language around Eri again.

As you entered your hotel room, you dropped off all the luggage you brought — yearning for the chance to feel warm running water. Mirio's breath lightly fanned over you as he rubbed your shoulders for you. He insisted on carrying your belongings before the trip, but you ran ahead of him with all your things. Even though your bags were more substantial than his one.

"See Sunshine; I told you to let me carry them. And now you're rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension." It was clear that he was smiling, with every grip on your muscles.

Your moans were soft, reassuring he hit your tense areas, "And yet I didn't complain at all like you thought I would."

"Because I was watching you." His light chuckles tickled the back of your neck, "And you're too stubborn sometimes."

You giggled under his touch, eyeing your heap of bags near the king-sized bed, slowly undressing. Slipping out of your boyfriend's gentle hold, you placed your dirty clothes in a laundry bag you brought. You needed to take a shower soon; you were getting antsy and anticipating fresh water from a showerhead instead of a stream. The life of hiking in the wild could only be so good for so long. Especially with your hair not getting enough moisture in the fresh air.

Fully nude, you turn to look at Mirio with a playful smile, "Oh, you think so?"

You were pulling your hair out of its messy afro bun while Mirio ogled your hair defying gravity as it did, it left a pleasant grin on his face. You gave him a quick peck on the lips before you searched through the bags. Looking for your tried-and-true skin and hair care products that were placed throughout your belongings. Speeding into the bathroom, you turned on the cold, metal dial to hot water. Awaiting the warm water, you tried your best to detangle your hair, barely succeeding.

Assuming the water warmed up enough, you step into the shower and let the water run through your hair and down your body. An exhale leaves your body as you peaceably scrub your skin of scum. You inhale the smell of your favorite soap, and your mind clears with a serene smile. After lathering and rinsing yourself off, you gently detangle your hair, working the shampoo through it.

The door to the ugly white bathroom swings open slowly, enters your buff boyfriend. Undressing to get in with you, he yawns as he wraps his arms around you. You hastily scoff and turn to him, his sleepy smile says it all. Mirio pulls you closer as he kisses your neck.

"You took too long to get out, Sunshine."

"Because I'm at war, right now."

"Is that right? Well, you could have asked for my help."

Mirio lightly patted your curly locks, patting them down and occasionally scratching your scalp. The feel of his fingertips was enough to make you doze and lose balance. Catching you with his free hand and pulling you closer to his defined chest. With a little giggle, you smile and gaze into his eyes, looking at the water dripping off his hair.

"You know, I just finished cleansing my body, and now I'm getting back to square one."

Humming a tune, "Is that so?" he replied lazily with his chin resting atop your head, "I'm sorry, Sunflower."

You turn your body around to cross your arms over his broad, muscle-bound shoulders, sketching out the scars littering his body, some light scratches others with a firm texture. Your eyes lingered all over him as you slowly caressed the back of his head, placing kisses all along his collarbone and neck. Stopping at his jawline, Mirio cups your ass with his strong hands.

He leans down to reach your ear, "If you start, I'll finish."

You raise up your head innocently to look at him, eyes armored with honesty and lust. Pushing your luck, you lather him in soap and rubbing his chest in circular motions, moving lower to his abs. Pretending to graze his cock, then lather his shoulders down to the wrists and giving eye contact through the whole ordeal. Your lips curve into a sweet smile that causes him to groan.

The motions are simple yet affect him like the ripples from a waterfall. You lightly graze his collarbone with kisses as his muscles tense, placing your hands low to his sides, tracing his adonis belt. A light sigh leaves his thin lips, instantaneously, he picks you up, pushing your tiny frame against the cold wall. The chilliness gives you goosebumps all over, erecting your nipples — Mirio's grip firm around you and his breath heavy on your wet shoulder.

"See, you're pushing it, Princess." His chuckle fanning over your ear.

A tiny snicker escaped as he pressed his lips close to yours, smothering you in kisses, eliminating any free space between you two. His cock stood at attention, the tip tickling your flower. His soft, thin lips left no part of your neck and collarbone untouched. Your nectar seeped onto his thumper as you whimpered with impatience.

"Fill me up, baby."

"Be patient, my Sunflower," He hooked his arms under your thighs, positioned himself to kneel under you while gently sliding you down where your inner thighs touched his cheeks.

Facing your pretty essence, he bulldozes his tongue into your bud. The instant tremor to your clit as your legs quiver as his tongue swivels and explores every part of you. The jolts in your legs leave your voice hoarse as moans break out from your lips. His obligation to pleasure you is selfish and greedy as if his way of controlling you is to give you what you want. Your body rolls as his grasp around your plump thighs tighten, keeping you in place.

Your soft whimpers leave him to groan against your tingling golden arches, "You taste so good, baby." He gives a quick love bite to your shaking thighs, still balancing you against the cold wall as you thrust into him enthusiastically.

His body tenses under yours as he pulls your body close from your ass. He takes hold of your soft cheeks and does a solid lick to your clit, making you quiver. So deliberate with his actions as he purposefully teased you close into edging. You start to whine uncontrollably and grab hold onto his hair to push him closer to you. Resulting in a chuckle that reverberates through your bud, your cry is sensual as you let go of him and hold onto your breasts, playing with your nipples.

"Fuck, you look so hot." Mirio looks at you from between your legs, his blue eyes peering into your glowing, erotic ones. "I'll give you what you want Sunflower, but do me a favor: Don't hold back. I don't care who hears, let them know who you belong to."

You stare back at him flustered, the fault of hot water, or the excitement your powerful boyfriend brings to your flesh cavern. Your nod is subtle, but he catches it quickly, sparking him to make you lose your mind as Mirio dives back in. Without haste, his tongue thrashes around, promising with each taste of you he'll leave you screaming out his name.

The morning after, your body felt tight near your thighs, wishing you washed your hair instead of getting thrown off. Looking a mess, but filled with leftover pleasure. Your voice was loud since you lived to the expectations Mirio requested. Clearing your throat did nothing for you, either. You tried sitting up in the king-size bed but was wrapped in a firm bear hug and a kiss to your fuzzy mane.

"Where are you going, Princess?" His morning voice groaned into your ear.

"Nowhere now with your thick arms around me."

"Because there's no reason to stay up, right? This is where the trip ends, and I'm happy with this."

Mirio snuggles closer to you, your heart flutters, and your smile stretches wide and goofy-like. You're happy that he's in a state of happiness, you can feel the radiation more than usual. "Well, actually, this isn't where the trip ends; I have one more surprise for you."

His messy blond, bed head shuffles behind you; he rotates your waists to stare at you, "What are you talking about, Sunshine?" He tries to rest his shoulder on the pillow while the other hand lays tenderly.

"Get dressed, and I'll show you exactly what I mean."

There was an exception in getting ready; you took your time fixing your hair into a comfortable style deciding whether to leave it in or out, Mirio being a sweetheart asked you to keep it simple to avoid what may come of the day. After leaving the room, you made your way to the massage rooms. The masseuse present was fair and gentle. Making small talk with you, one of them mentioned a noise complaint from an older man. He was complaining about his hotel neighbors yelling about mangoes and cereal in the middle of the night.

"I believe it was the third floor he resided in," The masseuse cooly responded while working the muscles in your calves.

A shock shoots through your body as the dots connect, you try to hide your face further into the cushion. Mirio laughed out loud, "I guess he was hungry but had to wait till the morning, you know?"

"I guess so." 

 The rest of the massage went well, laughing here and there. It was the most relaxed you had been in a while. You remembered to check in on Mirio since he wasn't used to massages and was prone to outbursts of laughter since he's so ticklish. After the massage, he pulled you into a bear hug and smothered you in kisses, declaring, "I wish it were you that touched me like that."

With more trekking, you reached your final destination. Mirio blissfully bounced about, continuously looking at you and back at the environment. "Hot springs? Oh, babe!"

He was so excited; he couldn't form any other words other than how much he loved you. He pulled you close, littering your face with kisses and tight hugs. Couldn't even break his grasp or stop him from being excited, Mirio treasured the way he would love loud, concretely when targeted to you. His smile was just as infectious as your boyfriend made a scene in front of the entrance. Older couples passed by with sweet looks, whispering to themselves, 'the enchantment of young love.'

Management provided a private unisex bath usually reserved for a group of four or less that pass by. Mirio separated from you with a quick peck to the cheek and sprinted into the changing room for something more comfortable for the water. Women mainly littered the hot spring except that not a lot of people occupied the space today. Leaving the worry of interruptions or disturbances to diminish. You were the first to leave the changing room, wrapped in your bathrobe given to you by staff, and you brought your favorite towel for whenever you would go to the beach or spa.

You walked into the unisex area, finding the way into the pool of warmth. As you found your spot, you took off the towel revealing your nude body. Sinking slowly into the hot water, the sensation of heat traveled throughout your being. You took your time getting used to the pool of warmth, making gracious moves to familiarize yourself with the temperature and size of the domain. Momentarily wrapped into a warm blanket of water before you could be covered in the embrace of your sunny beau.

As you looked around, the space was stunning; a subtle but luxurious set up outdoors littered with banzai and bamboo trees all around the wooden barriers. The stones around the water resembled ashy grey marbled crystals, exquisitely scattered. Swishing in the water, you laid onto a pile of smoother rocks. The rocks were gracious to your back as you rested against them. As you reached comfort, the blond-haired man entered the serene environment. His beam caught your attention as he admired you from outside the water. Your smile allured him as your fingers motioned for him to come closer. Not wasting any time, Mirio recklessly dived into the steamy water.

Face colored in horror as he sloshed his way to you, still smiling. Mirio used his body to cloak yours as he grabbed your ass, sneaking a kiss to your cheek. "Who knew you could make the water look so good, Sunflower."

"Since we took that long shower last night, you don't remember?"

"Perhaps, but every shower you take is noteworthy."

You giggled softly in his embrace as he chuckled in response. Hearing his laugh was too divine, while the smile on his face is sickly sweet. He pulled you by your waist, eliminating the space in between you and his muscular figure. He feels warmer than the pool of water you are standing in. You look up to allow him to peck your lips, his index finger traces your jawline, thumb tickling your neck with subtlety. The touch is simple but intensifies the pleasure forming between your legs. He pays attention to your face, knowing it's hard for you to hide your need for him.

"Are you that anxious to be touched?" His question was hiding a seductive undertone. He peers into your eyes while holding your waist with his other hand, pulling you into his thighs, not shying away from how you're making him feel. His hardon grazes against you, "Can't say you're alone in that, my love."

He trails his hands down your body, kneading his fingers into your inner thighs, rubbing any tension he knows the masseuse didn't work out. The motions are gentle but firm as he hums a little tune. It's corrective in further easing your mind. Mirio came closer to your ear with his hums, placing sensual kisses on the sensitive spots of your neck. Freeing one hand, he takes your breast in his grasp, lightly pressing into it. The grip is just how you like it as he pulls his lips away from your neck and hunches over to meet your nipple with his tongue. The first flick leads to a sharp breath of air. He sucks in your supple flesh circulating your sensitive nerves.

Drowning in the feeling of him touching you, it's reminiscent of the first time you became intimate, and your body is over the moon. His other hand cups your free breast as he smothers them in the kisses they deserved when he wasn't able to see you and had to heal. Mirio's sensuality builds within as he's already beading precum from his love throbber. The eagerness to touch you as he feels your heart beating out your chest eggs him further, challenging himself to grab both with one hand as he rubs your inner thigh in circular motions.

Too anxious to neglect or half-ass any part of your body, he brushes against your dripping essence, still rubbing circular motions into your thighs, pulling his right hand back close to your face, "I know I'm keeping you in suspense, Sunshine. But I can't control how much you're affecting me right now."

Staring into his eyes, you saw a light that was once dimmed, almost dying to a burning lustful glaze. Nearly intimidating as his hands roamed all of you since he could no longer pay attention to just specific parts of your body, he made a swift move to lift you. No longer on your feet, your legs rest at his sides as he pulls you close. Your legs wrap tightly around him as he places kisses between your nipples, breasts, and neck. Airy moans leave your lips that only he could hear, purposefully grazing his ear with your sweet sounds. Heightening his sense and forming goosebumps on the traps of his neck and ongoing down his arms. A deep grunt escapes from Mirio's thin lips as he balances himself with you.

You rub the back of his neck, a trigger that always sets him off. He breathes in through his nose controlling his urges. Whether the reason is the way you would tip-toe to do it, the feel of your hands caressing him or the glow within your eyes that makes him grip you carefully. No way would he drop you, but you could feel his urge to melt. While preparing you for what's been on his mind since entering the luxury hot spring, he prods you with his cock. Pressing into your bud to tease, almost tickling. Still breathing down the side of his neck, you whimper, "Mir, please..."

"Nice try my sunshine, I'm just feeling how ready you are for me, I'll give you exactly what you want."

Deliberately and poise is the impact Mirio places into the junction of your thighs. Your arms wrapped around his shoulder blades, daring to bite at his shoulder to make contact quicker. His thrust made the perfect adjustment to your sopping core. You are gasping harshly into a sensual moan, as he licks the side of your neck behind your ear. The sensation makes you shiver close to him.

"Damn, Sunshine, you're sucking me in. I feel so connected to you."

"I agree, baby. Now, are you gonna move?"

A low chuckle escapes as he grins, "You're so greedy."

His thrusts are scarce as he relishes your inner muscles squeezing onto him tightly, refusing to let him go. Without warning, Mirio thrusts deeply within you. You grip onto him tightly as he licks the sensitive spots on your neck. The thrusts match how quick his hips roll into you, stretching your flower out with ease. The muscle memory of him coming into play as the sensuality leads to chill all throughout your body and hardening your nipples.

Mirio's passionate grunts reverberate through your ears, sending the shock waves straight to your silk igloo. The divinity in hearing them makes your moans louder and higher in pitch. He holds onto your frame like he'll lose you all while hitting your cervix, insanely intoxicating. Your legs tremble as you feel your body ready to give out.

"I hope you're not trying to cum just yet, my Sunflower." Pushing his cock further into you with each bounce, fucking you speechless. "I haven't even fucked you into every nook and cranny here."

His voice in your ear made your pussy turn into a waterfall. The sloshing rampage in your pink pearl wouldn't stop as Mirio kept a pace matching each broken moan coming from you. Your thighs were a clear indication when the coil within you read itself to be snapped. There was no letting up and stopping yourself from crying out his name or how hard the pounding jogged your brain.

With his rod expanding within you by another inch, you knew he was close. Readjusting his hands to grip your thighs, not before a playful smack to your ass. You wasted no time hooking one of your arms behind his neck before he pounded your flower. Too delicious to feel anything but pleasure, reaching your peak, you take soft nibbles into his shoulder in hopes for the coil to pop and overrun you into oblivion. Your body shivers within his hold as your cup begins to overflow. You grasp desperately to Mirio as he maneuvers your body to bounce on top of him, continuously smacking your ass.

You jolt from each smack as you tighten around Mirio's love rod, making less than unintelligible noises. His smirk is hidden from you, but you know it's there as his voice reaches a level of cockiness, "I feel how close you are, Princess."

No time to respond with a smartass remark, you're too enveloped in the sensations given. Short of breath, eyes closed tight as your chest tightens, the pressure rises until it's too much to bear, alluding to the build-up of your cream canal. The coil pulled so tightly finally snaps, as your body unravels within your buff boyfriend's arms. The orgasm hits and sticks, achieving the takeover of your nerves and sinking your body low into Mirio as he finishes inside of you, spreading both your cheeks to gain control.

His growl fluttered your pussy as he filled you with his seed, his hands imprinting your pert ass as the force of his thrusts stopped his touch from being gentle at the moment. You wince from the impact of his tense fingers against your supple skin, knowing a bruise will linger soon. You let out a deep gasp as you stare at your boyfriend. He regains composure quickly while holding you, making a noble face, with a goofy smile as he stares back. You shy from him as his face is too angelic compared to what you just finished doing.

"Hey babe, could you let me down?"

"Of course, Beautiful."

He rests your feet back into the warm, soothing water. You cup his face gently, pushing him into the corner where your towels and bathrobes laid. Your legs wobble as you push him back onto your robes, eager to drop to your knees. The water rushes through your thighs, tickling you, sensationalizing your clit in the process. There's no other way to stop it than to stand, and yet as you're steady in crouch form, your mouth envelops onto Mirio's love rod. A sharp gasp escapes and a fist clenches as he restrains himself from pushing your head down.

His gasps are loud with each soul-suck you perform, even yelling out your name at times. Surely some neighbors are above and below, but there are not enough hands in the world to cover your lover's mouth. He stares intently at you as his throbber expands with each slurp you provide. You return his gaze, his face is overly flushed as he calls out to you, fiercely.

"Fuck, you look amazing, babe. Your eyes are so beautiful." The passion he feels within achieving all the pressure you put and knowingly feel like he's curling his toes underwater. He's so close you can feel his balls twitch, even his growl is becoming more prominent. You push to get him to finish in your mouth, and yet he advances beforehand, raising your mouth off his cock and turning your body around to lift you and rest your tush onto his wide thighs.

"Not so fast my Sunflower, I'm not ready to blast off." Mirio easily controls your body, keeping your frame close to his throbber near your slit, dripping with essence, causing him to slip in with ease. You gasp in unison as your rosebud tightened around him, "Damn, there you go sucking me in."

"At this rate, I have to make you scream and shout to the whole world." Wasting no time, Mirio planted your face down, ass up into your robes while still inside you leaving little time to react.

Without warning, he propelled deep into your dripping flower. The impact indeed rough was enticing as he bent over close to your ear, breath huffing as he kissed your neck. Jittery to your sweet spot being acknowledged, he stands to smack your ass listening to the echo through the resort. It's enough to rattle you into oblivion. His hips roll fiercely into you as if the spanking was the sound to begin a race: Whether it was against himself or you was the mystery.

On the verge of tears, you felt your body surge with mighty ripples of water controlled by earthquakes. A well-acquainted feeling, and yet it was estranged. You murmured how close you were, and Mirio's grunts shook you to your core, tightening around him. He groaned rather harshly as he smacked your ass again, loading you up with all of him. The coil within you once again burned, binding brashly.

"Babe, I can't hold back," Your legs tense as each of your moans shudders out your full lips, "You feel so fucking good."

The master of positions, he places you onto the flat surface of the hot tub. His intent to drive you mad working as his hands lay firmly at your sides, to rub into your thick, soft ass. He holds you from behind, drilling his love rod into you deep. Your pussy clenches to him with unfailing devotion, as your final moans end your build-up. You stretch your hands out to grab Mirio's wrist as he deeply grunts for the last time as he finishes inside of you again. His cock twitches with ferocity as he clenches your hips. His breaths graze the back of the neck roughly, you stand slowly to gather feeling back in your legs.

Your body tries to adjust to the position as you stretch as high into the sky as possible. But your thighs hysterically give out, and you stumble into the embrace of Mirio. He's holding you from behind with a tired, yet satisfied smile. It's enough to release a light chuckle as sweat drips from his now messy hair. You lean back onto his chest with a huge exhale.

"Did I go overboard, Sunshine?" He crossed his arms around your waist.

"Not at all, you went above and beyond. I can stand now, but when we get back to the room, I think I might pass out."

A hearty laugh erupted from your blonde beau, loud enough to echo, and you could have sworn you saw a tear from his cobalt eyes. The vibration of his laughter traveled to his chest, feeling like the ground under your feet would crumble, jumping your heart rate. 

"I'm sorry for laughing, Princess, but I just think you're so funny."

"What did I say that made you laugh?"

"The fact that you thought you would be sleeping when we're back at the room."

[tsubaki3192]

250+ Followers HC! Artist!MC Draws a Portrait of Nobunaga, Ieyasu, Kenshin, Mitsuhide

Requested by: @puffpuff300​

Note: Thank you so much! Haha this sounds like so much fun… So here we go!

Haha… Not all of these are portraits or are they drawn, but…

Edit: I’m so sorry it took so long! But now I think I’m back in business! 

Please let me know if you’d like to be (un)tagged!

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

Nobunaga:

Honestly? You just loved the way the paint seems to splatter itself on the page.

No, before I properly begin, you don’t necessarily do traditional painting. You like the abstract ones. Like Piccasso… but not quite his style xD

Piccasso’s style… Would confused the shit out of NObunaga if you drew him in that style- I swear if you don’t paint him like that at least once, I’ll smack you xD

Anyway, your paints are precious to you. You know that Nobunaga might be able to get some oil paints for you, but acrylic paint has always seemed to be better for you. That, and you’ve gotten used to it.

On the night you arrive at Honnoji, you’re carrying your art satchel, filled with paint, a couple of canvases, and your beloved brushes. You were in Japan to paint some of the blooming cherry blossoms and scenery at the time.

Dragged into this mess of a Princess and chatelaine duties made you miss painting so badly. Even picking up a calligraphy brush reminded you of the calligraphy-brush style paintings you had been studying before you had arrived.

So you grab the a4-sized canvas and wander the hallways for days, as you search for the best thing to draw. Honestly? You’ve had to white the canvas multiple times simply because nothing seemed right.

That sakura tree in the corner of the castle gardens? Nope.

The bustling streets of Azuchi town in the middle of the day? Hm...

The Ghost of Mitsuhide, smirking wildly as he wanders down the hallways? Not that either.

Not even the pretty Mitsunari seemed to capture your attention for long.

Ironically though, you didn’t even think of paining the lord of the castle at first, perhaps because his ego didn’t need to be brushed up further? 

At the end of the day, you’ve decided to retire to your room, having wasted the whole day wandering the town and castle, listlessly, tirelessly and unsuccessfully seeking the perfect scene to paint.

Weirdly enough, just after dinner, you somehow end up outside the tenshu, peering through the gap the raven-haired lord left in the doorway.

What a sight, though, to see Nobunaga hard at work, that frown finally focused on something other than yourself. You’re suddenly filled with inspiration, and you set down opposite the gap, sketching the outline of exactly what you’re seeing: the gap between the doorway, and Nobunaga seated at his desk.

You know he can see you: You’ve spotted that all-knowing smirk of his. But he doesn’t speak or move until you begin to leave, having finally marked out the correct colours in pencil. 

“Fireball, you may enter the room if you wish-?”

Unsurprisingly, you had jolted at the sound of his voice and bolted from the opening of his door, leaving a baffled Nobunaga staring at your empty postion.

2 days later, you leave the completed painting on his desk, covered by a square of leftover fabric you had used to make the kimono you wore that day. 

He unveils it curiously, only because you didn’t leave a note of any kind. 

Honestly? He just kinda stares at it- curiously- since the painting seemed even more realistic than the ones circling at that time.

And he just laughs, leaving it hanging against the wall beside the Kimono you had made for him.

Mitsuhide:

Okay… So catching this one somewhere paintable is simply impossible. Believe yourself- You’ve tried.

In fact the only reason why you’re trying to paint Mitsuhide is: 1. You don’t have a camera, and 2, He’s just so ethereally beautiful and 3. He’s never lingered in somewhere pretty or ‘nice’ enough for a sufficient amount of time to even sketch him.

As for Mitsuhide, he, without a doubt, is teasing you. He’s seen the paint tubes you brought with you on that night you had first arrived in the Sengoku Era, and he’s seen that sketchbook- or rather paint-book- of yours, filled with random practice paintings of flowers you’ve spotted in the Azuchi gardens-

or Kyubei, which you had admittedly sketched multiple times. Why were both Lord and Vassal so pretty?

and has figured out their uses after stealing a blank page from your book and a couple of paint tubes. 

You’ve found that same torn page tucked within the pile of paperwork when he requested your assistance once.

It was kinda cute too: fingerprints and finger painting galore xD

You’ve also spotted paint residues of blue beneath his fingernails, much to your amusement.

Anyway… So you’ve been trying to paint an image of Mitsuhide with a parasol beneath a willow tree for awhile now… And it’s to the point where you’re tempted to just use your imagination bc he’s simply not letting you.

But you just snap at him, one day, after having had a VERY bad day. And he just… relents, standing statue-still despite you still grumbling beneath your breath with every glance towards him.

You stuff Kyubae into the image too bc he deserves to be immortalised in a painting with his lord….

It takes a week, on top of all your other duties, to complete the painting, and if that’s not the best painting you’ve ever painted, you’d be lying to yourself.

Honestly, even though he’s curious and teasing about it, Mitsuhide only finds out once you’ve completed the painting. Yes, he could’ve seen the painting at any time, but a part of him wanted to keep that as a reward for all his hard work.

He makes that adorable blushy pout when he later realises he simply could’ve asked you to see the painting: Kyubei’s seen it before he has.

You leave the painting on his desk under all the paperwork there is, knowing full well that his curiousity would get the better of him and he’d stop working-

It works, but only at the expense of your blush from his tease when he finds you in the kitchen with Masamune, rewarding yourself with Mochi.

He’s secretly proud of it, and it’s the only one he’ll willingly hang in his room.

Ieyasu:

Ehhhh…. This one’s kinda easy, okay?

So you’ve always wanted to paint Ieyasu with Wasabi. It’s been on your agenda ever since you first caught him playing with the baby deer 3 nights after your arrival in Sengoku Japan.

The only thing is, you’ll have to resort to using Traditional watercolour techniques, since you: 1. Had no paints on you, and 2, canvases didn’t exist back then. You could try to make one, but you swore it wouldn’t turn out as good as the store-bought ones.

So you do paint it. From your memory, and from whatever scenery you could draw from the Azuchi garden.

It’s pretty funny, actually: You know most of the Azuchi warlords are aware of what you’re up to. And by that, you mean all but Ieyasu, who claimed he couldn’t care less, and Mitsunari, that oblivious genius.

Nobunaga and Mitsuhide knows because they’ve been watching you, and Masamune and Ranmaru only knows because Hideyoshi found out.

Long story short, you’ve been neglecting yourself: forgetting meals and overall becoming a Mitsunari 2.0…. Hence the whole “Hideyoshi” thing.

Honestly, it’s a surprise the receiver of the painting doesn’t know. Usually Ieyasu would be the type to scold you with harsh words before you even get to painting him.

But not this time.

Actually, you’re certain he’s been avoiding you. For what reason? Who knows. But painting from memory was always a good mental exercise….

Ieyasu does find out eventually, but that’s simply because you purposely drag him out to the garden where you’ve hung the painted scene on a branch to allow it to dry.

He just sort of stands there surprised, before averting his gaze.

“This is what you’ve been doing the entire time?”

You don’t blame him for the blunt question since you rushed off to the location at any given time to continue the painting, pretty much neglecting anything but your sleep, chores and-

Honestly, being that tsundere-contrarian he is, he flicks you on the forehead while muttering a quiet “It’s good” with averted eyes.

You honestly should never have grinned that widely at his words, bc now he’s walking off while  blushing… and taking the painting with him :3

Kenshin:

You know better than to go behind Kenshin’s back. And by that, you mean “Oh-god-he’s-etherally-beautiful-but-also-a-yandere-so-I-must-gain-permission-to-paint-him-otherwise-he-might-kill-me-help”.

But honestly, it takes you awhile, simply because you’re not sure how to approach him- He’s always given you that sensation of “don’t-touch-me” xD

If it weren’t for Sasuke, who you had known for years, given you went to the same university and assisted him with some artist renditions of the night sky, you honestly would never have had the courage.

The question comes off as awkward. Very much so, since you had been, well, stalking him for days on end before he calls you out and you reply to him, nervously stuttering in response.

Kenshin doesn’t disagree with your request, however, choosing to just call for you whenever he suddenly feels bored.

It’s honestly chaotic and stressful, since he keeps changing position every few minutes…. ^-^’��

In the end you enlist  the help of Shingen, who was only willing to pose for you so he could stare at your expression~ xD

The rest of the time you spend painting is holed up in your room, which, by the way, confuses Kenshin since usually artists would force him to sit agonising hours of stillness just to capture his appearance.

So he goes looking for you.

It’s at a pretty ironic time too, considering you were just adding the finishing touches to the painting. Just some background colouring and details….

But Kenshin’s hovering over your shoulder and-

He compliments you with some VERY sugary words, while you’re wrapped up in his arms. Honestly it puts Shingen’s flirting to shame xD 

You’re warm, but to be fair you’ve left him pretty much unattended for the past week thanks to your want to paint.

Just cross your fingers he never asks you how exactly you managed to accurately paint the position he, in the painting, sat in.

Shingen would most certainly die from spending hours with Kenshin’s princess and love of his life-

Tagging: @tsukiiiyo​​ @unstoppablelinda​ @zavannahmj​ @nad-zeta​ @thesirenwashere​ @ikemenoliver​​ @jiyuu-chan​ @nuttytani​ <3

[suntrastar]

abstract: chapter 1

chapter 2!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader

Summary: Wait- Bucky Barnes attends your art class? And you didn’t even recognize him?

Word count: 7k (i am insane i know this!! you can also find this fic on ao3 !!)

Author’s note: hello! attempting to upload a fic on here for the first time ever! do i understand this website’s format. perhaps not. but am i going to try? perhaps yes! anyways hope you all like it :) likes and reblogs are very much appreciated!!! umm idk how this works if you wanna follow me you can?? do follows exist on tumblr dot com i think they do. hope they do. love you all. this is a long chapter buckle up (BUCKle up lmao i am not funny)!! enjoy ;o

“Hey, can you come look at this?”

You teach three classes a week- Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays. The latter two are enjoyable in their own right, but Mondays are definitely your favorite. Instead of teaching kids, who are funny and creative but so messy, and so loud, you get to teach adults. People your own age or usually older, putting you in a position of authority, valuing your opinion, wanting you to come look at things.

It’s a delightful power trip.

You turn away from the window to see who’s speaking.

It’s Steve.

Of course it’s Steve, your star student, staring at you with a worn, weary intensity, wiping a paintbrush on a paper towel. He’s already pushed his sheet of paper across the table, bumpy with water and watercolor paint, cream-colored edges starting to curl. He leans away from it, reclining in a seat that’s adult-sized but dwarfed by his frame, looking so forlorn, like the paper just abandoned him, moved to the opposite side of the table by itself.

You stifle a laugh.

“Sure,” you say, and make your way over to his table.

Steve fidgets in his seat as you look at his painting. You try to keep your jaw in check.

It drops anyway.

As always, it’s beautiful. He’s painted a sky, swirling with purples and pinks, and careful clouds, flickering in and out between layers of paint, elegant and pale yellow-orange. And the sun- it’s off-center, and you’re sure it was unintentional, but that adds to the effect, because it’s hot red, and dazzling, and slowly seeping into the still-wet sky. Tendrils of red like real sunbeams, pushing through the clouds like a real sunset.

You don’t know why Steve even takes this class. Half the time, you feel like he should be the one teaching.

“It’s gorgeous,” you say eventually, once your words come back to you. “I love how you painted the sun- the red, oh my god. You’re seriously a natural.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, and you push the paper back towards him. He looks down at it, still tense, brow furrowed, and you almost laugh again, until he looks back up at you. “I wanted to know what you thought about it.”

Power trip.

“I love it,” you say, giving him a reassuring smile, which he hesitantly returns. You might be laying it on a little thick, but Steve still looks distressed, and you genuinely like the guy enough to try to help him.

When he walked in with his friend for the first class, you were floored. People like Steve don’t attend classes like this- classes like this are attended by regular people. Not people that walk like dancers, all grace and light steps, not people that are extraordinarily jacked, with jutting shoulders and rippling muscles, not people that have a weirdly authoritarian air around them, like a politician, but less shrewd.

Still, you welcomed them and made awkward small-talk and tried not to stare at their arms and hoped you came across as a somewhat decent person. It’s your first time teaching adults, you explained, and Steve gave you a smile so sincere and reassured you that you would do great, boosting your confidence to the point where you actually did.

Steve is lovely. He’s passionate about art and has a good eye, a better eye than you, really, and he always tries so hard with whatever he does, and he’s funny in a dorky way, and completely unaware of it. He always wears a baseball hat and tucks his shirts into his pants and called you ma’am once, and looked so surprised when you burst out laughing and told him to call you by your first name. With him, two classes have flown by, and now, during the third, he’s warmed up to you enough to talk to you like a friend.

The friend he brings with him, though?

A total douchebag.

The night to Steve’s day, the rain to his sunshine. It’s obvious that Steve brings him along as some sort of moral support, to make himself look less out of place, which is fine, except the guy always treats you like you’ve perpetually offended him.

And maybe you have, maybe one time you did something that’s worthy of his eternal dislike, but you wouldn’t know what it is, because he’s never brought it up, because he barely fucking talks.

You don’t think he’s a naturally quiet guy. He definitely looks like he has a lot to say, but no matter what, he only ever talks in single-syllable bursts, quiet enough that half the time you miss what he’s saying.

He doesn’t ignore you, either- he listens to everything you say and lets his judgement flicker over his face- which is way worse. A glare is a slight misstep, a shake of his head means that you’ve just said something that he finds stupid, a scowl is a catastrophe.

You don’t even know his name. He’s never introduced himself, and always writes his name in a shaky, illegible scrawl on the sign-in sheet, and by now you don’t care enough to look it up.

Still, you’re nice to him, polite. It’s okay if he doesn’t like you. You don’t need to be liked- being noticed is enough.

You shift away from Steve to his friend, sitting next to him at the table. He’s staring at you in a way that you can only describe as violent, and you flinch, and then plaster your smile back on.

“How’s it going?” You ask, expecting no response, stealing a glance at his paper. He’s painted the entire sheet a watered-down blue, and you want to congratulate him, for actually participating this time, but you don’t say anything. “The watercolors working out for you?”

Your heart goes out to the poor paintbrush in his hand. It’s barely been used, is steadily dripping water, and is being throttled in his gloved grip. He always wears one glove- it’s weird, but you’re not going to pry.

He catches you looking and a whole myriad of emotion plays over his face; irritation and shame, a creased brow and a scowl. You have the feeling that you’ve taken a massive overstep, even though you haven’t said anything else, even though you’re not looking at his hand anymore, just at him.

His hair hangs over his eyes, glossy and carelessly wavy, which you would find pretty, maybe, if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is. Like you’ve just done something terrible.

“Sure,” he says, and that’s it.

Even when you turn away, he’s glaring.

You hate it, so you pretend it’s not happening.

Steve gives you a sympathetic glance before you head back. You wave it off.

“Shonna,” you call, to the fiftysomething woman hunched over her painting a few tables down, “how’re the flowers looking?”

***

Thirty minutes before your fourth Monday class starts, you arrive at the studio to find Rina washing paintbrushes in the sink.

“Hey,” you call.

She turns to you and gives you a surprised grin. “Oh, hey! You’re here early- come help with these brushes.”

You set your bag on the counter by the wall and join her at the sink. You’ve known Rina for ages- ever since you were roommates in college. The class before yours is taught before, some advanced painting thing that she is extremely overqualified to teach.

She’s kind of famous. And kind of self-absorbed, and a little bit pretentious, but maybe that’s just what happens when you’re as successful in your field as she is. No matter what it is, you can’t complain- she’s the one that helped get you this job in the first place.

“A couple of people in my class like to get here early, so I just try to arrive before them,” you say. She passes you a clean paintbrush. You reach around her and tear off a paper towel from the dispenser. “Did you dye your hair? It looks so pretty.”

“Yes!” She shakes her head, letting her hair sway. Last time you met her, she had dyed it pink. Now it’s mahogany red, straight and sleek and falling just past her shoulders. She looks a little unreal. “How’s your class going? Are the people okay?”

“Yeah, most of them are pretty nice.”

She passes you another paintbrush to dry. You consider bringing up Steve’s friend, but decide against it.

“That’s good- and you’re welcome, by the way. But okay, listen. Do you remember that one guy I told you about a while back, Dustin? So yesterday I was just sitting at home, and then he texted me…”

With the formalities out of the way, she launches into a story about someone you definitely don’t remember. Still, you humor her, listen to what she has to say, chime in at the right parts and say “really?” and “no way!” too many times. The minutes tick by.

When all of the brushes are washed and dried, you take them, since you’re going to be the one using them next, and start setting up for the class. Rina walks away and grabs her stuff from the counter. She lingers by the doorway, door already propped open, aimlessly scrolling through something on her phone, hesitant to leave for a reason you don’t know. Maybe she has more to say- if that’s even, like, possible.

You set the brushes in a container at the center table, and head over to the shelves on the far wall to pull out more supplies. Unfortunately, today’s class is revolving around watercolor again. It’s drudgery, such a boring medium- dull, unsaturated, painstaking when it comes to detail. You bring out a stack of paper, the least-depressing palettes, and then mason jars for holding water.

You’re setting the last jar on the table when Rina shrieks.

It startles you, making your hand slip.

The jar wobbles over the edge of the table and then falls, shattering into cloudy glass pieces at your feet.

“Shit,” you curse, and look over at her. “Rina, what the hell?”

Standing across from her in the doorway, having arrived early for class as usual, are Steve and his friends, two shades more flustered than usual. Rina is gawking at them.

Okay, they’re attractive, but not that attractive.

Not shriek-worthy attractive.

You sigh loudly and carefully step over the glass, making your way over to them. “Hi, Steve,” you say, and he jolts, like a scared cat. He’s blushing, stepping back into the hallway, hands awkwardly dangling at his sides. His friend is staring at Rina like he’s about to murder her, and you’re staring at him like you’re about to ask him to pass you the broom behind the door.

Because you are.

“Sorry about… that. There’s a broom behind the door, could you pass it to me?”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you are desperate to hear him, even if he’s only going to utter a simple yes, but Rina buts in.

“You did not just ask the Winter Soldier to pass you a broom.”

Who?

“Girl, what?”

All three of you turn to her, cornering back into the wall. She looks even more unreal, eyes blown wide, red creeping up her neck, giving her hair a run for its money, still gawking. You resist the urge to reach out and pull her chin back up, to close her mouth.

She alternates between looking at Steve and at…  

“That’s the Winter Soldier,” she says slowly, like she’s trying to convince herself, or you, and then steps closer to Steve, who instinctively takes a step back. He’s fully in the hallway, now. “And you’re Captain America.”

Steve’s jaw clenches. He stays silent, and you feel bad for him, that’s all you can feel, really- you are confused beyond reason, halfway convinced that Rina is losing her shit, still awaiting the broom, still awaiting Steve’s friend’s words, racking your brain for any image of Captain America or the Winter Soldier that you might have- and coming up completely empty.

You don’t watch the news, like, ever.

Little details float back to you. Steve’s dressing sense, his manners, his muscles…

The baseball caps that both of them are always wearing...

His friend’s glove…

Oh, fuck.

“Are you?” You ask dumbly. The question is meant for both of them, but you only look at one of them while speaking. A glare meets you back- a slight misstep.

You can’t even see your feet, in this situation. You’re walking blind.

Steve crosses his arms and looks at you sternly. He doesn’t look angry, but as close as he can get. “Yes,” he says, completely guarded and unfriendly and not lovely at all. “I thought you knew that.”

You are so stupid- how did you not know that?

“I didn’t,” you say, and you don’t sound convincing at all. Not much fazes you, but you are absolutely, positively fazed right now, and starting to spiral out. “I had no idea- I thought you guys could have been, like, bodyguards, or something, not actual Avengers, oh my god. I’m so sorry, shit, thank you for your service?”

You’re going to end it all- this is so embarrassing.

Steve’s mouth twitches. Rina is scarlet-faced. The Winter Soldier, god, looks so tense, like he might shatter, too, into silent, grumpy pieces all over the floor.

“You’re welcome,” Steve says, and marginally relaxes. He stays in the hallway, the Winter Soldier by the door- you should have paid more attention in your tenth grade history class, what is the guy’s name?

Rina peels herself off the wall, and you start to get nervous. There’s a painful silence, with lots of staring, where you’re still trying to coax a few rational thoughts out of your brain, and only coming up with one- Rina needs to leave.  

You try to tell her that with your eyes, with a pointed look, but you’re not great at this whole communication-through-expressions thing, so she doesn’t get the hint, or does and just ignores it.

“So, let me get this straight,” she says, tearing the silence like a plastic seal, voice starting to rise, from wonder to excitement, from painless curiosity to danger, “there’s two Avengers taking your class? And you didn’t even recognize them?”

“Nope,” you say, looking away, at a stain on the wall, at the distant glass shards still unswept away on the floor.

“That’s…”

She trails off before she has the chance to call you stupid, because the Winter Soldier gives her a pointed look of his own. Low brows and dark eyelashes, blazing blue eyes- she has no choice but to listen. Your staring was irritating, but his is intimidating.

She scampers away, mumbling something you can’t catch and brushing against Steve as she leaves.

This whole thing is so unprofessional, but at least you can breathe again-

“Here,” the Winter Soldier says, and a broom handle comes into your view.

Just one word, but you’ll take it with open arms. You take the broom from him, give an unreturned, unfamiliarly sheepish smile and head back to the broken glass on the floor.

The broken glass is swept up and tossed in the trash. You avoid looking at the doorway, focusing on other useless tasks instead. Rearranging the supplies on the table, fiddling with the window blinds, chatting with the rest of the class attendees as they start to file in.

Then the class starts and you’re swept back into your demonstration, talking and teaching and showing off different techniques that can be done with different types of brushes. You only look in their direction once, right after showing off some technique you barely remember from art school with a fan brush- they sit at their table near the back, Steve paying attention as usual, his friend silently reacting, as usual.

So they decided to stay- that’s good. Great, even.

Until the next part of the class starts, when everyone gets to work on their own paintings, when you have to stop talking.

You mill around the room, searching for a conversation to join in on or a comment to make, but find none. Then you take a sheet of paper and hopelessly try to draw- search for a distraction and a spark up of an idea, something, anything, and come up completely empty. It’s just...

How famous are they? Like, A-list celebrity famous? Are they offended that you didn’t recognize them- should you start treating them differently? You don’t keep up with this stuff. You have an impossibly long list of other things to worry about- you don’t have the time to worry about this stuff. The Avengers aren’t something you think about ever, because why should you?

If you opened any newspaper or magazine you would find something about them- a charity gala they attended, some recent threat they neutralized, the latest gossip surrounding their personal lives. But those lives are so far detached from your own that you’ve never bothered to look.

You simply don’t care. You’re not a native New Yorker- it’s not like these people are your hometown heroes, that you grew up idolizing them. They save the world time and time again and society is forever indebted to them and all of that, but what are you supposed to do about it?

And most importantly, what is the Winter Soldier’s fucking name?

Enough of this chaos goes on in your mind to make your head hurt. Fuck it, you decide- you’ll face it. You straighten your shoulders as you stand, trying your best to look purposeful as you walk to their table, like you have reason to go over there. Yeah, they’re strong. Genetically enhanced and all of that, and they’re important: they’re Avengers.

But they’re taking your class.

You slide into the chair across from the Soldier without taking the time to gauge their reactions.

“Do other people here know?” You ask.

Steve startles, eyes widening, and then considers the question while swirling his brush in green paint. He’s working on a landscape today, you think. “Shonna might,” he says, not rudely. “But nobody else.”

So maybe not that famous. Or maybe the people here are just like you and don’t care.

But it still doesn’t make sense. “Then why did you think that I knew?”

“Because you talk a lot,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing ever.

“Well, yeah, that’s part of the job-”

Steve cuts you off, and fuck, you hate getting interrupted. But he’s smiling, and you can’t bring yourself to get upset over it. “You talk a lot to us.”

Us?  

More like to him.

You take it in stride, don’t let your confidence slip. You’ve purposely angled your head away, and you know the Winter Soldier is staring at you- you can feel it on your cheek, on your shoulder, on every nerve in your face. You don’t look back at him. This revelation hasn’t made him any less unpleasant.

“Yeah,” you say, like it’s just as obvious, “because you’re a nice guy, Steve.”

Steve raises his eyebrows so high that they disappear under the brim of his hat. You smile at him as nicely as you can, sugar-sweet, until he can’t take anymore and drops his gaze back to his painting. You turn back to the nameless man across from you.

Winter Soldier.

“Hi,” you say, only to him, and prop your elbows up on the table, resting your face in your hands. “I love the little pattern you have going on with your painting.”

It’s random splotches of black paint- calling it a pattern is an exaggeration. But you carry on.

“This is probably a bad time to ask, and it’s kind of a dumb question, but, like, what’s your name?”

He just barely raises an eyebrow, allowing for a fraction of surprise, before schooling his expression back into his usual mix of anger and boredom, a casual glare and slight frown. For a moment, you wonder what he looks like when he’s happy.

“You don’t know his name?” Steve is in disbelief, and then he winces, and you think he’s been kicked under the table. Abruptly, you laugh.

It rings out. A few people turn and stare, but you brush it all off with another smile.

He’s still staring. You don’t mind it.

The paintbrush in his hand is suddenly unsteady.

“My name is Bucky,” he says, slowly and loudly enough for you to make out the sound of his voice, for the first time ever.

He is definitely bothered by you asking, his mouth drawn tight, and you can’t even take the time to appreciate how cutesy his name is compared to his demeanor, because oh hell. It’s going to be difficult to keep up this whole dislike thing, if his voice sounds like this, low and rough and gritty like sandpaper, pleasantly grating over you and your skin…

You have to consciously remind yourself to keep on smiling.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky.”

Things should feel different, but they don’t. Nobody really reacts- everything resumes as normal. Steve focuses on his panting, adding delicate brushstrokes to the branches of a tree. You linger for a moment, and then get up from the table and flutter off to someone else.

For every class, you wear this kitschy apron, paint-stained, with strings tied in a hasty bow against your back that Bucky always aches to even out. Someone tells you something, and you respond eagerly, fully phased out of the past incident.

He stares until he realizes he’s staring, and then drops his eyes back down to his paper.

Steve wanted to attend this class for a number of reasons- he was bored and wanted something to occupy his time, he wanted to revisit an old hobby, he wanted to learn from you- some hip, emerging artist he’s a fan of, whose work he’s been following for a while now, who is seriously talented, although you have yet to prove it. He wanted to go do something separated from the events of his regular life.

So much wanting. Bucky wants to know why you’re so indifferent.

He doesn’t know if it’s a good thing that you didn’t know his name, or that you didn’t flinch or gasp or accuse him of something, or pointedly look at his left arm. Should he be thankful? Steve is clearly thankful, already loosening up, freed of any lasting tension.

Bucky just feels wary. You’re unsettling.

You come back over to their table one more time. The sleeves of your shirt are pushed up, and there’s a smear of something dark on your forearm, ink or paint. On one wrist you’re wearing a  bracelet made of braided leather. On the other you wear a bulky digital watch.

Practical.

“Everything okay?” You ask, as if something not okay could potentially have happened, in your forty-five minute absence.

Steve fixes you with a friendly smile. Bucky can’t ever bring himself to do the same.

“Yep,” Steve says, and you nod your head, clearly relieved.

“Great!” You glance at him for a spare second, and turn away again.

Everyone he knows is so guarded, walls built high and doors barred shut. Except for you, if Bucky can say that he knows you, the perky art instructor, Steve’s favorite artist. You’re confident and flippant, and that should be a bad pairing, but somehow you can carry yourself within it just fine. Always purposeful in the space you occupy, not reacting to the knowledge of his and Steve’s major, momentous identities.

Bucky wonders, idly, as he blots water over what you so generously called a pattern, why you didn’t.

It’s not like he wants you to acknowledge it, wants you to call him a war criminal or a Rusisan spy. He just wants you to-

He doesn’t know.

The class goes on. An older couple sitting a few tables away have caught your attention, chattering on and on about their personal lives.They have a pet cat that their landlord doesn’t know about, and when they retire they want to move to the seaside in Italy, and in May their son is going to graduate high school.

“High school?” You gasp, loud for no reason. “I hated high school.”

Before the class ends, you take your position at the front of the studio, and talk some more. He knows it’s part of your job, but you are excessive.

There’s an art exhibition going on at some museum, and one of the featured artists is an acquaintance of yours, and on Saturday the admission fee is discounted, and if anybody is interested, you have a stack of flyers on the center table. And you hope that everyone has a good week.

You look at Bucky while finishing up your little monologue, giving a half-smile that’s for the whole class, but seemingly only directed at him. He blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again, you’re looking somewhere else.

***

“Morning, pal, you ready to go?”

Steve gives him a hopeful smile as he peels an orange.

Bucky’s hair is still wet from his shower, dripping water onto his shirt. It’s early, too early to go anywhere. He doesn’t even know why he’s awake- usually after his wake-of-dawn runs, he falls back asleep, or lies down and just stares at his ceiling, thinking, until he grows restless enough to get up and do something. But today, the restlessness came much sooner, so he got up much sooner, and it might already be a mistake.

He takes a seat at the kitchen island, next to Sam, trying to think of something that Steve might have had planned for today, and coming up completely empty. “Go where?”

Steve looks hurt, for a brief second. “The exhibition at the museum, remember?”

Oh.

That.

“I’m not going to that,” Bucky says, harshly enough for it to be dropped.

Steve does not drop it. “Hey, come on. Just look at it.”

From his back pocket, Steve pulls out a flyer, one of the flyers you had out on Monday, folded up in a neat square- when did Steve pick one of those up? He holds it out, and Bucky, wishing he was asleep again, takes it.

He unfolds it, and the words are written in tiny letters, and the few photos on the paper are in color but too grainy to make out, and it gives him a slight headache, but he pretends to look it over. Sam leans into him to see it, loudly crunching cereal in Bucky’s ear.

“Looks cool, Rogers,” Sam says, and Steve grins, and now Bucky is the bad guy in the situation, for not wanting to go, even though Sam isn’t going either.

Bucky passes the flyer back without reading a single word.

“I’m not going,” he says, again.

But Steve is relentless. He sets the orange peels aside and gives him a look, and Bucky can already feel his resolve starting to crumble, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. Does he not understand that Bucky is already doing as much as he can?

“Why not?”

He picks the easiest answer.

“I don’t want to.”

Steve’s brow furrows as he splits the orange into two, giving half to Bucky. Sam slurps the milk from his cereal bowl.

They’re all blissfully silent.

“Come on, Bucky,” Steve says suddenly, almost begging. “I really want to see it.”

“I don’t-” He falters, he’s losing the battle. “How many people are there gonna be?”

Steve lights up. Bucky tries to stay indignant, tries to keep his face twisted in dislike, but it’s difficult with Steve. He’s always so full of optimism, has so much of it that it spills out through the seams, rubs off onto whoever’s closest.

“Not that many,” Steve says, like a promise, shaking his head. “That’s why we should go now.”

“Will she be there?”

Sam perks up.

Steve frowns. “No? Or wait, maybe. It’s a public place- I don’t know. She could be.”

It’s miles off from the answer he wants, but again, for Steve, he’ll take it. Bucky ignores Sam leaning across the counter like an idiot and asking “who’s she?” and eats his orange slices in silence.

***

Huge, bulbous heads, and beady little eyes. The limbs are long and wavy and contorted in the weirdest positions, seas of arms and legs and joints, women twisted over each other in gnarled embraces, a man with his arms twirling over and over again around his own torso. And the colors- a complete eclectic mess of everything- blue, red, yellow, green, purple. Everything.

You walk through the museum floor one, two, three times. The paintings on display are unsettling and ugly, and you’re on the verge of tears.

They’re gorgeous. Pain thrown on a canvas, told through canvas. It’s overwhelming- you’re overwhelmed, and you can’t do anything else about it. The museum just opened and there’s barely any people around- you can wallow in your sadness as much as you want to, for now.

Or maybe you’ll wallow in your frustration, instead.

This… you want to create like this.  

But you don’t have it.  

It being an impossible, nearly unattainable type of pain, or misery or anger or any other emotion so strong and visceral that you could translate it into something like this, something that evokes something else from other people. From an audience.

You might have had something like that once, but that’s all too far behind you now. Forgettable. What you need right now is an idea, a spark of inspiration, a single coherent thought. A confirmation that you aren’t completely lost.

You wander back to a painting in a far corner, all alone in a small alcove. A red woman, with her head nestled in green grass and legs wrapping around the sun, quite literally head over heels for it. Her mouth is wide open, gaping, calling, wailing, maybe. She has a hooked nose and a mole on one of her arms, and her white dress has fallen down to pool on the grass, and her legs are lithe and unshaven, prickly like the grass, just like the yellow spikes of the sun, drawn almost comically.

How do you even- how do you even come up with things like this?

By living an interesting life, probably. Through not being boring.

You stay there for a while. Long enough that more people start to file in, pretentious art students wearing all black, eccentric people with awesome haircuts, tourists. They peer over your shoulders, awkwardly, waiting for you to move. When you don’t, they leave you to be, giving you a rude look or two that you pay no mind to. There’s space on either side of you, if they’re so desperate to see. Sidling up right against you is kind of weird, but you’ll excuse it, for this painting.

Eventually, you realize that you should probably get going.

You’ve been standing so long that your legs are starting to ache, and there’s countless other Saturday errands you have to run- doing your laundry, buying groceries, calling up your mom- boring Saturday things to do.

You leave the red woman, regrettably. The fabric of your sleeve comes back dry when you wipe your eyes, even though you feel fully washed away, feel like you’re floating as you drift over to the elevator.

The doors slide open and a few people file out, and then it’s empty, thankfully. You step inside, press the button for the ground floor, wait for the doors to fully close-

“Wait,” a voice calls.

You’re not rude- you press the button to hold open the door.

When it fully opens, Steve steps inside, followed by Bucky.

You’re still out of it. You don’t even realize who they are, not until the doors have slid shut and the floor jolts as the elevator starts its descent and they’ve been staring at you for a solid five seconds.

“Oh, hi,” you say, after too much silence. You need to get yourself together. “You guys came!”

Put a little pep in your step! And more joy in your voice- nobody wants to listen to someone so drained.

Steve shrugs. “I wanted to see it.”

Bucky just smolders, clearly saying with his silence, “I didn’t.”

“Did you like it?”

Steve considers your question. The elevator stops at another floor and the doors slide open, but there’s nobody waiting to step inside. You wait for Steve to gather his words together, sure that he’s trying to come up with a nice way to voice whatever he’s thinking, which is definitely not nice. There’s no way that he liked the art, not one chance.

“It was… intriguing,” he says, at last. Neither of them are wearing hats today, because the museum doesn’t allow it. Even in this artificial light, his hair shines, golden-blond. “Did you like it?”

“Yes,” you say, without wasting a second. “The one of the red woman- it’s probably the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“It’s only January,” Bucky grumbles.

His voice shocks you, sends an ice-cold jolt up your spine that you definitely dislike.

Steve turns to him, peering over your shoulder, surprised and disappointed. The two of them have a silent conversation with their eyes and you stand in the midst of it, waiting for the goosebumps to settle back down, waiting for the chill to go away.

It’s difficult- he clearly doesn’t like you, either- and even if he has his own troubling little backstory, which you don’t care enough about to google, it’s not justified.

But…

It almost makes his aggression... amusing.

“It is January,” you say politely, dismissing him. “Great observation.”

The elevator reaches the ground floor and the doors side open. You exit in step with Steve, with Bucky right on your heels.

You all stand around in the museum lobby, a wide hallway down from the giftshop and a small cafe.

“Are you headed out?” Steve asks. He puts his hands in his pockets, feet planted wide.

Bucky crosses his arms. He’s wearing all black. If it were anyone else, you would make a joke- he could almost pass off as a pretentious art student, if the outlines of his body weren’t so visible through his clothes, all taut muscle and sharp angles. His hair curls over his shoulders, prettier than anything you’ve seen on any girl.

These guys are Avengers, you think, and proceed to push the thought away.

They look so… un-Avenger-y.

“Um.” You press a hand against your forehead, trying to formulate a response. Chores suddenly seem miles away, the last thing you should be doing. You have all of Sunday to complete them, anyway.

“I was going to get something to eat from the cafe first,” you say, nodding over in its direction. “You guys wanna join me?”

You don't know why you look at Bucky when you say it

“Sure!” Steve says, all cheery, still standing alongside you. He smiles and his teeth are pearly white.

Of course his teeth are pearly white. Dentists everywhere are probably cowering, clutching their little metal instruments for dear life.

Then he hesitates, and turns to Bucky. “If you have nothing else to do, I mean.”

Bucky pauses. You and Steve both stare him down.

“They have these raspberry-almond muffins that are to die for,” you say, like it’ll convince him.

He rolls his eyes. Bored and still gorgeous- if only.

“I’m free,” he says, and you don’t know why he looks at you when he says it.

You pay the bored teenager working the cash register with cash. He gives you your change, and when he turns away to prepare your order, you shove half of the bills and all of your coins into the tip jar.

Bucky sits at the farthest table with Steve. His knees can barely fit underneath it, and the tabletop is sticky, and he’s now willingly spending more time here, and with no disguise there is no way that he isn’t going to be recognized by someone, and he doesn’t know why he hasn’t fully booked it yet.

Because…

He doesn’t know.

Maybe because you’re not asking for anything from him, aren’t minding that he’s sullen or unapproachable or anything else- his presence seems to be enough for you, which is bothersome, and at the same time, mildly exciting.

“Are you having fun?” Steve asks, while you smile at the teenager handing you plates of muffins, little glasses of some milky-espresso-coffee drink.

“What do you think?” Bucky asks, while you start your journey back to the table, and Steve opens his mouth to respond, already bothered, and Bucky’s already guilty, but then Steve hops up to help you carry everything back.

You sit down laughing. Steve is laughing, too. The corners of your eyes crease and he can see all of your teeth, and you look at him for a split second, and then turn away before he can get a read on your expression.

He sits in silence, while you and Steve trade jokes and stories and easy banter, talking about art and local politics and all types of things he can’t bring himself to care about, things that Steve is relishing in. You’re witty, apparently, or at least quick enough to get a few quick laughs out of Steve, and Bucky would never say it, he’s barely thinking it, but he appreciates you for it.

And the muffin isn’t quite to die for, but it’s okay.

During a lull in the conversation, you break your attention away from Steve and turn back to Bucky. You look concerned, almost, still smiling but without showing all of your teeth, leaning towards him like you’re about to tell him a secret.

“I never apologized for before,” you say, and Bucky immediately sits up on edge.

Even Steve goes wary, eyes narrowing.

You suddenly give a long, weary sigh, and press a hand against the back of your neck, like whatever you’re about to say is going to be so tedious. “For my friend flipping out when she saw you guys- she’s literally crazy, she’s always doing too much- but on her behalf, I’m sorry.”

The silence following afterwards is deafening.

“It’s okay,” Steve says, after a long moment, while you’re still looking at Bucky- your eyes make his skin itch, and he doesn’t say anything else. “She’s not the worst that we’ve gotten.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything.

“Okay, great,” you say, and you slump back in your seat, looking away, back to your half-eaten muffin. You pick off an almond from the top and eat it. “Glad we got that out of the way. I just thought it would be weird if I didn’t say anything.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, so polite, even though you’ve done nothing to deserve his thanks. “Have you known her for a long time?”

“Yes, oh my god,” you say, and readjust yourself in your chair again, accidentally bumping your knee against Bucky’s, but not apologizing for it. He glances underneath the table, at your entire bare knee, visible through a rip in your jeans. “Rina- her name is Rina- was my college roommate for a while.”

“You went to college?” Steve asks.

“I have an art degree,” you say dryly, “which was… an okay decision, I guess. Sometimes I think I should have just dropped out and done, like, stand-up or something.”

You clearly don’t want to discuss it, leaving the last part as some sort of rhetorical joke. Steve takes the hint and nods, already closing the chapter, and you take a sip from your little glass, finally silent. The foam on the top of the drink sticks to your mouth until you lick it off. Bucky replies to it anyway.

“Why stand-up?”

You turn to him so fast that he almost misses you faltering, and give him a dazzling smile. He thinks of your bare knee under the table, and tries not to sweat. “Because I’m funny, Bucky.”

He doesn’t like how his name sounds when you say it. “Tell me a joke.”

“Oh, okay,” you say, and clasp your hands together. Steve is watching, rapt at attention. “Let me think real quick- oh, I have one. Which beverage has a black belt in karate?”

Bucky waits.

You wait, expecting something from him.

It’s Steve that has to say, “I don’t know, which beverage?”

“Fruit punch,” you say, exaggerating the last part, and Bucky just keeps on waiting.

Steve cracks a small smile.

“Let me tell you another,” you say. “What type of phone does a piece of fruit carry?”

Steve takes a few wild guesses. He’s enjoying this, and you are too, both of you feeding off of each other. “A phone-fruit. A fruit-phone. A frone?”

You shake your head. “A blackberry.”

Bucky doesn’t tell you that he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Tough crowd,” you say, when he doesn’t react. “Don’t worry, I have more. Where do you go on red and stop on green?”

“Where?’ Steve asks, waiting, leaning forward in anticipation.

“When you’re eating a watermelon!”

It is not funny, it’s painfully unfunny, and maybe that’s why you and Steve burst out laughing. Bucky steals a glance at your watch, since he doesn’t wear one of his own. It’s nearing noon- how has so much time passed? Why is he still even here when he doesn’t even like you?

“Why are all of them about fruit?”

You look at him like his question is the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard. “What food is the best listener?”

Bucky just sits. All the foam in his little espresso thing has dissolved, having been left untouched. He doesn’t like the taste of coffee- too bitter, and caffeine doesn’t work on him, anyway. Maybe he should drink it, because you paid for it, and because you didn’t make a comment about old-fashioned manners or chivalry when Steve offered to at first, just shrugged and got in line.

He knows that you won’t care.

The drink sits on its own, glass beading with condensation.

“Corn is the best listener,” you say, without waiting for Steve to throw his questions or guesses at you, without waiting for Bucky to spit out another sentence. “Because it’s all ears.”

“That wasn’t funny,” he says, and glares at the spot beside your head.

You nod sympathetically, and he thinks again of the rips in your jeans. “I know. But it was about a vegetable.”

Oh.

You stare at him straight-faced, crossing your arms over your chest. Steve does the same, and then he realizes- the two of you are a bunch of kids, punks, juveniles- mocking his stature, pretending to be serious, somehow not offending him.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky says. “You’re…”

He can’t even help it. He looks back at you  and his face works on its own. He gives a single, dry chuckle, but he’s smiling, and dragging his hand over his face, scrubbing it off just as fast, but you still see it, and smile back and gently nudge his knee again underneath the table, and then turn back away again, and he’s still staring at your hair while you take big bite out of your to-die-for raspberry-almond muffin, already back in conversation with Steve.

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Jack: Silenced II

           When he thought about rolling over to see Flynn making her bed, Jack smiled. Her muscular figure would be silhouetted by the rays of dawn coming through the window, a tan blur against the black obsidian of Camp Othrys.

She walked around in her underwear in the morning. Luke said it was invitation. Jack knew it wasn’t. It was a marker of tested trust, Flynn’s willingness to be vulnerable knowing that Jack wouldn’t make the first move or ogle her. At least, that’s what Prometheus said when Jack brought up his concerns.

But, when Jack rolled over, there was no Camp Othrys, no line of Flynn’s weapons against the wall. His electric bass guitars were gone, as were all of his sketches of the Orpheus Metal band posters. (They were terrible—Pax had made better ones.)

A harp and loom lingered against one cavernous wall. There was a built-in fireplace roaring, providing some respite to the chilly air. The ceiling was crystalline, reflecting purple, emerald, and blue against the white bedding. Someone else’s bedding. It smelled like someone else.

Jack sat up, shoving the feather pillow away. He clutched at his hair, finding that someone must have trimmed it. He choked at the gap in his memory.

They had fought the Romans—an aerial attack against the Princess Andromeda. Jack was snatched by an eagle. Screams. Flynn’s roar of fury. He remembered falling in the water…

The clothing he wore was white, baggy, and cotton, too much like his hospital garb from the first time Steve, his step dad, institutionalized him. This prank has gone too far, Steve had said, angry Jack would dare scare Ashton and Shelby by claiming the walls were screaming. Jack’s skinny jeans and band shirt were gone. What if all of it had been a hallucination: Camp Othrys, the Princess Andromeda, the monsters, the gods.

Jack choked back a sob. This. This wasn’t the hospital. Jack dug his nails into his pockets, the material too thin and delicate to keep him from clawing his legs in a panic. No Mr. Sunny. His pillbox, and all of his medication, was gone. How much time did he have? He knew the withdraw symptoms: vomiting, hypersalivation, diarrhea, diaphoresis, insomnia, agitation, and rapid psychosis.

He had woken in a cold sweat, but a cold sweat didn’t always mean withdraws.

Rapid psychosis. Jack’s heartbeat thudded in his head. This felt real, but everything always felt real—that was the problem. There was a distant song—lovely and eerie, just abstract enough to question its authenticity.

His stomach churned with ignored hunger. A platter with tropical fruits, bread, and a mug of water lay beside him. Jack knew enough about mythology and fairy tales not to eat something unless you were directly invited and only if you knew that the owner of the food wasn’t a witch with powers to trap you eternally.

She must have undressed me. That girl with the caramel braid. Unease squeezed away any hunger: a stranger had taken off his boxers while he slept.

When Jack got to his feet, his legs trembled and his head pounded. He slipped a blanket around his shoulders. As he wandered towards the cave entrance, he passed a shelf filled with dried and drying plants that smelled of Alabaster’s laboratory. Several ancient tomes lined a desk beside it. One was open to a page illustrating human anatomy with words in… Minoan, if Jack had to guess. Some of the titans at Camp Othrys wrote in the dead language. Jack turned the page and flinched. There was an inked sketch of him, sleeping. He turned the page back.

Was it him? Or had his brain filled in the gaps?

It’s starting. Monsters. He was going to start to see and hear monsters again. Not the real ones. Not the friendly ones on his ship. Not the ones that came to his monster seminars about how demigods were friends, not food. Innocuous, innocent things would become sinister and comfort would lilt to paranoia.

         But there were no monsters outside the cave. Just her.

         The sun’s amber and coral hues broke against the ocean’s horizon, bleeding into the water and clouds to unite them into zigzagging, heavenly passageways. Crepuscular rays danced through their holes, making this girl’s hair glow as though one more constant in the coming of dawn. She stood, singing, at the edge of a beach. Her bare feet made lumps in the sand, compounding with each flush of the tide; if she forgot herself for long enough, the earth would reclaim her.

         Jack swallowed. In the oncoming lighting, he could see the silhouettes of flowers—so many flowers. There was a maze of roses, larkspur, delphinium, lilies, hollyhock, and sunflowers, all reaching towards the sky and curling about with a careless grace that looked both wild and tamed in their pattern. Some whisper cooed that these flowers didn’t belong together, making Jack fear they’d bow and bury him if he dared to walk through.

         But he needed to walk through to get to the beach, to follow the siren call. He hesitantly passed the first rose bush, expecting it to jump into Alice in Wonderland levels of criticism.

         “Jack!”

         The call made him jump away from the roses. After an exhale, he realized it was the girl, not chatty flora. He rushed past the rest of the flowers.

         “You’re already up,” she said when he reached her. The comment sounded more surprised than the disappointment he’d detected last time. Her white, sleeveless dress and braid fluttered in an ocean breeze. The effect made Jack’s blanket feel like an epic cloak.

         He gestured to his clothing and back towards the cave. “Thank you for the hospitality, Ms…” He trailed off, frowning. His throat felt worn. He’d have to do his warm up exercises. At least there was plenty of salt water to gargle. “How did you know my name?”

         “Ms?” she echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Oh,” she giggled, “You talk in your sleep.”

         Jack didn’t—or no one ever said he had before. Pax (and Axel under the guise of worrying over Pax) had slept in his room when they’d had particularly bad nightmares. That sounded like something Pax would abuse, even subconsciously, and would result in Flynn taping both their mouths shut.  Morpheus liked to keep a strict record of who talked in their sleep, so he could play with demigods that slept through Alabaster’s lectures.

         Jack swallowed. “Um, Ms., I hate to be a bother, but I had a pill box in my pocket—”

         “I disposed of it. I don’t allow plastics on my island and the contents had been soiled by the ocean.”

         Jack choked. That was the first gift Flynn gave Jack—the first time he realized all his ballads, poems, and offers to carry her books hadn’t just annoyed her. She and Phil had been teaching him to carry it on his own, a marker of independence that made him proud, even if Flynn double checked every hour to assure he hadn’t overdosed on anything. Most people didn’t trust him with important things, but she and Phil were entrusting him with that.

         “You won’t need them here. Ogygia itself can soothe you—”

         Trembles shook from Jack’s core to his fingertips. “Ogygia,” he whispered, taking a step backwards. The beautiful horizon tilted. His hair felt course as he tugged at it. “You’re—you’re Calypso the Seductress, detainer of men—”

         Before the words left his mouth, he turned to flee. The sand slipped under his bare feet. The blanket tumbled from his shoulders, disappearing with the sight of that horizon. Jack ran towards the retreating darkness of the island, away from the sunlight that sparkled in that glowing hair.

Others at camp found Homer and Hesiod’s work boring, but he’d put the Odyssey to proper music and knew most verses. He knew of this nymph-goddess.

Each step made Jack’s body feel leaden. His panic numbed with an encroaching exhaustion. He shouldn’t be this tired—he knew his body. He healed fast. This weakness—how could she—did she—?

Jack’s legs failed him while racing through the gardens. Rose canes loomed over him and curled around in a canopy of thorns. In their sharp and cloy embrace, consciousness hazed to nightmares.[1]

 ***

Pain pinched Jack’s cheek. He jerked away, expecting to see Pax with a super glue tube and fake mustache to make Jack “look more esteemed.” That prank had not gone well. Turns out, Flynn did not like Jack with a Western train-robber look and she did not like how the fake black hairs tickled when he nuzzled her.

Instead of Pax, he saw Calypso with a small bandage that she must have ripped off his face. There was a tiny, brownish-red scab on the other side.

Jack sat up and jerked back from her. They were back in the cavern, on the mattress made of white fluffiness. She had a basket of tiny bandages at her side.

“Calypso the—”

“Don’t.” She placed her hands on her hips, glaring. Considering how she knelt beside him, her regale stature was impressive. “I get messages from the gods, you know. They call you Jak-Jak the Scourge of New Rome, Jak-Jak the Plague Bringer, Jak-Jak the Corrupted Spawn of Apollo. Need I go one? Shall I assume you’re here to plague me? To give me cancerous sores? Shall I make assumptions of your person off hearsay, like you have done with me? How long ago did Homer and Hesiod write that libel about Odysseus?”

Her eyes watered.

Jack frowned. Had his name really traveled that far?

A tear streaked down her perfect cheek: a raindrop down the smoothness of a statue. Rumor had it that Pax could cry on command. What if she could too?

Or, what if she was a good Samaritan helping out, decried, like many women had been, by the histories written by men?

Jack exhaled, telling himself to relax. He tried counting, the way Axel told him to when he got confused. Axel would be furious at him for this kind of assumption, for upsetting a mythological creature based off hearsay. There were lots of fabled monsters at Camp Othrys that were friendly (when well fed. Jack had to make rules about demigods being in the dining hall during monster feed time).

“I—I’m sorry, Ms. Calypso,” he said, looking down at his hands. There were more little bandages tapped across his forearms. From a quick examination of his skin, the thorn pricks had already healed and scarred over. The base guitar chord was still braided in a bracelet around his wrist. He touched the scars there, finding ridges where he’d healed Lucille and Lou Ellen’s skin by peeling off his own. That new kid, Ethan Naka—something, had joked that Jack’s arms would start to match Flynn’s burned face. Jack gave him a case of chicken pox for that. No one was allowed to talk about Flynn’s face, except Flynn herself and their son, Pax. Pax, only because he was a sweet little munchin and the only person other than Jack that could make Flynn blush.

Calypso gently touched his chin. Jack didn’t flinch back this time. “It is alright.” And, she ripped off another bandage. Some hair came away with it, making Jack wince.

Everything seemed… clearer. Sharper than it had in years. His thoughts raced with a hyper clarity that scared him. “What else was wrong from the myth?” he asked, observing the cavern in a new light. The cool breeze that rustled the white curtains was refreshing, intermixing the gentle sweetness of flowers with the herbs in her cabinet. He frowned at the tomes there. Had he imagined the drawing of him?

She dabbed a cool, wet cloth against his stinging skin. Sadness lined her eyes. She hesitated. “I don’t know what you know of this place, brave one. The island is a phantom island, my imprisonment for helping my father in the first Titan War. Time does not have the same meaning here as it does elsewhere.”

Jack glanced past her, to the roaring fire in the wall’s inset fireplace. There was a pot over the flames, boiling furiously. He swallowed, despite her earlier assurance. “You’re not going to… eat me, are you?”

“Eat you, my sweet?” Her eyes seemed to dance.

“Well, that response reaffirmed every fairytale fear that I had.”

Her laugh was melodious. She must have thought that had been a joke. It was not. “I’m afraid we mostly eat vegetables and fish here. There’s a scarcity of cannibalism on the island.”

Jack nodded, somewhat comforted. That hadn’t been in the original tale, but you never knew with Greek mythology. He didn’t want to be rude (again) but, if this was the Calypso, he had an important question. “How do I get off the island?”

“Jack, a terrible fate awaits you off the island. I cannot, in good consciousness, allow you to leave until you are healed, well-rested, and well.” She gestured to his lanky frame.

Once again, Jack considered pointing out that this was his natural state of stick-figure Jackness. He let the offense slide. In the Odyssey, she said something similar to Odysseus. Staying here would worry Flynn, Luke, and the boys, but he had no way off the island unless he lucked into some abandoned boat or cartoon-barrel. In the Odyssey, Calypso gave Odysseus a bronze axe so he could build his own raft. Jack doubted he could lift an axe over his head without falling backwards let alone build a raft with it. Greeks were master ship-builders. Jack was a master builder of group-therapy sessions for monster support, metal bands, and stories to make Luke, Flynn, and his boys smile.

Besides, Calypso helped Odysseus only after she held him captive for seven years and he provided her a son (or several, depending on the author). There were no sons on the island, unless they were hiding in the cartoon-barrels. Maybe the ancient authors truly had discredited her.

“I can stay,” he said hesitantly, “but only for a few days. Flynn, Luke, and my boys need me.”

Calypso’s lips pursed and her gaze softened, making her look both relieved and troubled. She glanced away. “You’re so young to have children.”

“Oh, we adopted.” Jack beamed. “Luke says they’re too close in age to be my sons, and Axel says I’m not allowed to both be the head of our metal band and his father, but they’ve taken well to it. They haven’t started calling me dad yet, but I’ll work them over.”

Calypso looked confused. “Metal band?” she repeated.

Jack leaned forward excitedly. “We already played once at the HMM—a bar for monsters—er—a tavern.” He scrambled to find words that would translate to ones she would recognize. “The crowd loved us. Clops threw a goat at us!”

“A goat?”

“Yeah! A goat’s this four-legged—” Jack fumbled, realizing that’s not the part that confused her. She repressed a smile at the pause. “It’s a really big deal to have a monster throw a goat at you instead of trying to eat it. Kind of like when people throw their underwear at the stage and about as sanitary. Much lighter impact.”

“What?!” Her face scrunched in disgust. The expression was almost cute. It put Jack at ease. This was the first time he felt like she wasn’t acting or hiding anything. “People have thrown their underwear at you while you’re performing? Is that… normal?”

Jack considered this. “I don’t really know. It never happened to me when I did solos in the church choir—” Well, once after service but that was a little different. One of those instances where the boy denied it happened the next day. “—but Pax—one of my sons—talks about it like it’s a marker of success. I think they’re mostly thrown at Axel. He’s a handsome boy and a hearthrob amongst demigod and monster alike. Plus, he’s the guitarist, and the angsty one, and people always love angsty guitar players.”

The look of confusion deepened. Jack absently tugged a lock of his hair, wishing it was a little longer. “It’s like a lute—oh, wait, that was 13th century. Uh, it’s a fretted stringed instrument—anywhere from four to nine strings though standard is six, and you play it by plucking or strumming with one hand while fretting with the other—or picking. Or bapping the body. Uh—how about I make you one? All I need is a box, a longish piece of wood, some sticks, and some of your uncut harp strings.”

I can make an instrument, but can’t make a boat. Not for the first time, Jack wondered why Luke and Flynn wanted to keep him around. He managed to use his powers to save Axel, Pax, and Alabaster (though, really, he thought it was mostly Flynn. She was so incredible). But he still didn’t feel like he was great at the killing department, regardless of Phil’s continuous encouragement. Even during the interrogations he and Flynn had been conducting on Romans, he flinched and shrieked when someone’s finger was broken. Despite all this time, he hoped Flynn and Luke found him useful.

Calypso nodded slowly. “Will you teach me how to play?”

Jack nodded enthusiastically. “The positioning might seem weird, but you’ll pick it up easily. From what I’ve heard of your singing and harp-playing, you have perfect pitch and a natural grasp on music—”

She tucked a lock behind her ear. “You like my singing?”

He tilted his head quizzically. “Of course. You’re incredibly talented, both naturally with your voice quality and the amount of work you’ve put into perfecting your craft.” Jack supposed that’s what he’d do, too, if he had an eternity to work on anything. An eternity of music—the foundations for paradise. Maybe that’s why God is said to have a choir of angels and how he crafted souls: by singing them to life. “Each word you sing weaves a secondary layer of emotion—both melodious and melancholic, interweaving multiple stories into—” He frowned, feeling his explanation lacked poetic value—ah!

“’Tis sweet, when mournfulness enshrouds

The spirit sorrowing and pale,

And gather round the angry clouds,

To take the harp and tune its wail.

‘Tis sweet, when calmly broods the night,

To wander forth where waters roll,

And, mingling with the waves its voice,

To rouse the passions of the soul!”

When Jack was done, she stared at him, her eyes wide and her expression unreadable. He frowned. “I—sorry—” he said, his insides churning. Had he done something wrong? He didn’t feel confused right now. The world felt so much clearer. An uncomfortable dread settled into him upon realizing something for the first time: not everyone burst into poetry at random. How stupid had he been to not know that before?

“No.” She put a hand on his. Her eyes watered. “I—that was beautiful. Did you—”

Jack blushed and pulled his hand back. “No. It’s by John Rollin Ridge, a famous Native American poet. I was just reciting.”

She cleared her throat and looked away. “I—let’s get you a box. I wish to hear this guitar of which you speak.”

 ***

Normally, Jack felt such mania for whatever project he focused on, everything else fell in the background. As he twisted the tuning pegs of his guitar (sabotaged off Calypso’s extra harp) his mind scattered with worry.

This newfound clarity was almost overwhelming. There was so much wrong in the world for him to mull over. Each time he stopped singing, it hovered on its peripheral, like a night terror lurking along the receding rays of the sun.    

Between each question from Calypso—she enjoyed hearing updates from the outside world—he’d hum or sing the ballads he’d composed about Flynn’s ventures. Calypso would pause her work on the strings and stare at him with that unreadable expression.  

After she finished with the sixth string—winding them of her hair—she sat closer to him. They worked in the shade, where the woods met the beach. Some distant whisper warned Jack that more time had passed than the evening angle of the sun, but he couldn’t be sure. The sun was all he had to go off of, and he wasn’t used to the awareness of passing time. Normally, Jack felt the passage of existence through the crystal notes of a song, the annoyed flash of Flynn’s smile, Pax’s giggle, or the upwell of elation at the end of monster help session, measuring life in crescendos and decrescendos of energy and joy. Jack didn’t like wanting to look at a clock, especially now that there were none. That was always someone else’s job.

“Why did you adopt children?” Calypso asked it with the practiced calm of an over-thought question.

“Flynn can’t have children.” Jack had to be gentler with these strings than the metal ones from home. He wondered how their sound would differ, and hoped it would ease the 2,000—4,000 year transition in music for Calypso.

“She’s barren?”

“So says the goddess of childbirth.”

“And this doesn’t bother you?”

Another reason Jack couldn’t stay long: it was almost the weekend before he vanished and he and Flynn would need to go to her Nainia’s apartment to sing to her, as they did every Sunday. The kind grandmother’s health was failing and Jack knew they needed to visit more often. “Why should it?” Jack frowned, repeating the question in his head. “Well, it did when I first found out. I wanted a family. Then, I adopted[2] the boys, and now we have one. And, it wouldn’t matter even if she could. We’re not… physical. Recently, we started curling up without clothing, but nothing else. Just snuggles.”

Jack felt his cheeks flush, both at the memory of Flynn snuggled up in his bunk (she never let him near hers; she wanted a place of her own) and that he’d told Calypso about it. Was that something else people didn’t normally blurt out? To Luke or Phil? Sure. To Calypso the Seductress, the Detainer of Men…

Her cheeks rouged. Shame crept along his awareness. You weren’t supposed to blurt stuff like that. Negative two on the Jack social protocol scoreboard.

“Oh… um… But you’ve already adopted—have you two not been married long?” She struggled to maintain eye contact.

Something pinched in Jack’s chest. “Um… she’s not really into the idea of marriage, but we’ve been dating for…” With no clocks on the island, he didn’t know how many days he had been unconscious. Normally, Jack could recite the length of time down to the minute. The thought of Flynn’s blush when he asked her to prom. The day before he met Luke. The day Jack accidentally killed his whole mortal family with a song.

That memory hadn’t resurfaced in so long, not since he was sobbing into Flynn’s arms over it. How could he banish it from his thoughts? It wasn’t like the thoughts of his half-siblings he killed—the other children of Apollo. No. They deserved it. They had reaped the favor of their father since birth. The cessation of that favoritism brought the world back to order, the way things should be to balance the scale that an unfair god created, like correctly a flat note to perfect harmony. But his family… Had he ever even had a funeral? And did it matter?

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Calypso asked.

The funeral part did bother Jack. It took him a moment to retrace the pieces, sliding his fingers along the guitar string. Flynn. Sex. Marriage.

Flynn would puppet and charmspeak boys into their room to humiliate and toy with them, but, she wouldn’t take Jack. Jack never wanted to pressure her, but icy insecurity crawled through him at the thought. What was wrong with him? It didn’t matter that Prometheus said Jack and Flynn viewed sex differently: Jack, as an expression of love; Flynn, as subjugation. Jack didn’t understand that. All he wanted was to be everything Flynn needed, and he didn’t understand why she could puppet others but wouldn’t puppet him. If that’s what she wanted—

         The string snapped and lashed him across the cheek.

         He shrieked and jerked backwards. Blood trickled down his skin. A full string wasted—an instrument piece dying before it could sing its first song.

         Something cool touched his face. Humming filled his ears. The lashed skin tingled and Jack wondered if this is how others felt when he healed them.

         When Jack blinked to clear his vision, Calypso knelt beside him. Her too-perfect face rested in a gentle, knowing smile. The strap of her white dress slid onto her shoulder, tickled by the length of the braid. For the first time, she looked like the goddess of the island—something about the subtle shift in confidence.

         Jack flinched when he felt her spider fingers in his hair. She must have put them there to hold him steady for a cheek-cleaning. “You ran from me when you first found out who I was. Do you—did you really think I could make you forget Flynn?” The question could have been rhetorical, but there was enough real curiosity to make Jack tremble.  

Fear coiled his confidence, the same fear present when Luke lost himself to Kronos or his anger. If Calypso lost her temper…

         “Odysseus never forgot Penelope,” Jack whispered, “So the stories say.”  

Could that fear come from the possibility of forgetting Flynn? Do people only experience fear when they’re experiencing doubt or uncertainty?

At the watery glisten of her beautiful almond eyes, an idea made Jack sit up and almost clock foreheads with her. She startled at the sudden movement. “And you never forgot Odysseus!” Jack cried. “Calypso, do you always fall for the people on your island?”

Calypso hesitated. A tear broke from the dam along her eyelashes. “I… I try not to say anything when travelers first come…”

“Have you heard of platonic love?”

Her brow furrowed. Her melancholy faltered to confusion. “Platonic? You mean… relating to Plato? Or the idea that abstract objects are objective, timeless, and are non-physical and non-mental?”

Jack would need to ask Alabaster about that later. “Uh—well, I want to be your friend. You’re really nice, but you don’t need to fall in love with everyone you meet, or at least not romantic love. Let’s be friends! I mean—have you ever heard of a rebound?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t think you ever fully moved on from Odysseus. So, we should talk about him. Tell me what you loved and hated about him and why you fell for him in the first place.”

Calypso’s expression darkened. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Exactly! You never forgave him for hurting you or yourself for loving him. Both are still hurting you. So, let me be your friend. Let me help you get over him without being a replacement for him. And, after this war is over, we can still be friends! Either we decapitate Zeus and his lackeys and his power no long holds you to the island, or we can keep in touch. I know the myths say I can’t come back twice, but I’ll bet I can Iris Message you. I mean, you have rainbows and Iris can go anywhere rainbows can.”

Her lips cracked to protest. Upon considering his words, she stared off at the coastline. “No one has thought of that before.”

Jack beamed. The fear was gone. He shoved a hand between the two of them (awkward due to the close quarters). “Let’s shake on it?”

Calypso glanced from Jack’s hand back to his face. Curiosity perched her lips. “You’re… one of the oddest men I’ve ever met, Jack Flash.”

Jack blushed. “I get that a lot.”

Cautiously, she shook his hand.

At the time, Jack didn’t think to make her swear on the River Styx.

He should have.

 ***

author’s note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! This series is going to continue! I’ve just been struggling to focus on writing with some crazy stuff going on at home. ^.^’‘‘‘ Thanks for your patience and continued support!

 Footnotes:

[1] So, Homer’s Ogygia is as Riordan described it. I needed to at least alter the flowers so Jack wouldn’t immediately recognize where he was. Also, flowers for symbolism because I’m a tool.  

 [2] I kept accidentally writing, “kidnapped” here. Not too far off.

[staticscreenwriting]

All you have to be is here - Part 1 - Billy Hargrove

Synopsis: Billy has fucked up and has to do 60 days of community service at a home for troubled kids and youth. Working with the kids there makes him learn a lot about himself. Also there’s a girl there his age who’s smile is phenomenal and who is way too nice to him. 

I guess I should mention there’s a lot of angst in this. Talk of substance abuse later on, physical abuse, emotional abuse. All that kind of gnarly real life stuff. It deals with kids and teens struggling with a a shitty family life so be aware of that. 

Part 1 of ?

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please. Also It’s 2:30 am here so I’ll make a header image later after I’ve slept a little. K thanks.]

I never really ever felt so adored before Never really ever felt this type of vulnerable Don't have to hide, don't have to fear All you have to be is here Never really ever felt so adored before And I said I wanna feel like this forever Even if forever's just for now We're on fire, let us burn As the outside world, it turns We are here and alive In our corner of time Forevermore

There’s a thing about waiting rooms, Billy thinks, where they try to make them look alive by putting everything up on the walls they can find. All the bullshit abstract paintings and clocks in weird shapes and bright color. It doesn’t change the fact that it’s a waiting room though, and people here aren’t happy. 

The walls are the offest white Billy has ever seen and the sad thing is he’s fairly sure they deliberately chose this color. He can hear the ticking of the clock shaped like a daisy flower, hammering through the silence. 

Everything here seems too much. The walls are too off-white. The clock is too loud. The paintings too bright. There’s people on the brochures and flyers that are so neatly placed on the table in the middle of the room. Those people stare at him with their shiny colgate smiles that are just a tiny bit too wide to be reassuring and end up looking more creepy than anything.

He really has to give it to them, they tried it here. Tried to make the place feel less sterile and more homely and warm. The seats in the waiting room are cushioned and comfortable and there’s music playing faintly in the background.

And yet this is still a waiting room and no one wants to be here.

A cough sounds from his right, followed by another one. It’s the 12th cough in the matter of 5 minutes. He’s counted. The man next to him looks about Neil’s age and he’s built like a tank. And he looks positively miserable. 

In the corner of the room sits a girl who seems to be a little older than Billy. She has bright red hair pulled up in a crazy bun and she’s nervously fumbling around with a hair tie. Twirling it around a finger then twirling it back. Tangle, untangle, tangle, untangle. 

“ Billy ? “ 

He looks up at the voice and his heart sinks all the way down to his stomach. I am not sick. I am not sick. I am not sick and I don’t need to be here.

But the facts are that he is here, he has to be. And waiting for him in the doorway of the waiting room is a doctor. A therapist. Dr. Ryland Kapelsky.

Who the fuck calls their kid Ryland ? 

He’s got a thick bushy mustache and glasses that look two sizes too big for his tiny head. Everything about him seems far too comical. This has to be a caricature come to life, straight off the pages of a sunday newspaper.

This man, Billy is painfully aware, knows more about him than he wants him to know. He’s most definitely read his file. He surely knows this therapy session is court ordered.

And still, caricature man holds no judgement in his eyes. 

“ Billy ? “ he asks again, now looking straight at Billy as if his deep brown eyes might look right into Billy’s soul, “ that’s you, right ? “ .

Billy nods and gets up “ yeah that’s me “.

Dr. Kapelsky has a firm handshake and Billy think that this guy is not one to bullshit. Which is quite tragic because bullshitting is something Billy absolutely excels in. 

“ Nice to meet you, if you’d please follow me to my office “.

His voice is stern but not mean or angry. He seems professional enough which is a bit surprising compared to his comical look.

As they move down the hallway, more off-white walls left and right, Billy glances at the various plaques and certificates proudly displayed.

He wonders if there’s one for winning the caricature look-alike contest. Suppressing a chuckle he follows the man into a spacious office and sits down in yet another cushioned chair by a big oakwood desk. 

Dr. Kapelsky closes the door before joining Billy by the desk. He sizes him up, tries to figure him out by just initial impression. Billy can tell. He’s probably trying to come up with a way to approach the situation, to get him to open up and spill all his deep and dark secrets and emotions. 

Billy can see it all happening and yet all he can concentrate on, is the taxidermy racoon on the shelf in the corner of the room. Why the fuck did this comic-figure-looking guy have a taxidermy racoon in his office ? 

“ So, Billy. Let us start with introductions. I am Dr. Ryland Kapelsky but you can call me Dr. K. It’s what most of my younger patients do.” 

Billy hates this, not the guy but the attitude. He’s not going to win him over by pretending to be cool and down with the kids. He’s not a kid. 

He’s not a patient either. Because he is not sick. 

“ a’right. “ 

“ And you are ? “ 

“ Billy Hargrove, you know this. You’ve read the file. “ 

“ I did, indeed. “ 

“ So you know this is court ordered. I’m not here because I want to be or need this is any way. I have to be here or I’m going to juvie. That’s the only reason. Sorry to disappoint but we’re not gonna end up making daisy chains and talking about our feelings. “ 

“ I understand that you don’t want to be here “ Dr. K. says and slides the too-big glasses down his nose “, no one really does. I need you to understand though, that this is a chance for you more so than a punishment. “ 

That’s easy for him to say, Billy thinks, he’s the one getting a big ass paycheck.

“ I see you’ve also been assigned 60 days of community service. Is that correct ? “ 

“ Yes, sir. “ 

“ I was asked to suggest an institution I find suitable for you to work those days. One that I think will benefit you. “ 

“ Wait wait wait. What ? I thought I was gonna pick up trash at the side of the highway “.

“ Billy, “ Dr. K says and does that thing adults do where they look at you and sigh and pretend to care “ this is supposed to help you. It’s a chance. Picking up trash is not gonna do anything now, is it ? I want you to take something from this. “ 

Oh he has taken something from it. Don’t punch rich kids whose parents have the funds to get a good lawyer and press charges. No matter how deserving those rich kids are of a fist in their face.

“ Alright then, what’s the verdict, doc ? Where you gonna send me off to ? “ 

“ Well. There’s a place in Huckley, it’s a tiny town about a 30 minute drive from Hawkins. It’s called the Huckley home from troubled children and youth. There’s kids and teenagers from troubled homes who struggle in life. They’re all a bit younger than you. Most of them come from abusive homes. “ 

“ What are you saying, sir ? I’m not a troubled youth. I don’t need to attend some looney institute, bad enough I have to sit through this shit here.“ 

He doesn’t like this man insinuating stuff about Billy’s home life. He doesn’t know shit. No matter how many plaques and trophies and certificates. This man doesn’t know the first thing about Billy’s family. His home. 

“ Oh no you’re supposed to work there. Help out in activities. Attend the group session and listen to the kids. Also, and I mean no offence, Billy. I only judge by what I am familiar with. By what I’ve learned over the years. I see your father was asked to accompany you to today’s appointment. He’s not here. “ 

“ I’m almost 18 my dad doesn’t need to be here. “ 

Truth is, Neil wouldn’t have come no matter what age Billy is. 8 or 18 it doesn’t make a difference. Neil laughed at him when the letter came. Then gave him a black eye to go with. His taunting words are still ringing through Billy’s ears. 

“ Yes but we usually like the parents to be there. To asses the situation and to — “ 

“ Well he’s not here so can we drop it ? “ 

“ Sure. “ 

Billy can see him scribbling something into his notebook. Probably another assumption. It’s ridiculous, really. The fact that he has to sit here and let a complete stranger make up a story of what he thinks is going on in Billy’s life.

“ Look doc, I don’t need you to figure me out or anything like that. It’s bullshit anyway. All I need is for you to sign my notes every session for the next 8 weeks so the court knows I’ve been here and that’s about it, okay ? You get paid either way so it shouldn’t matter. “ 

“ This is my job, Billy. It always matters.”

“ Well this time it don’t. Now tell me about that troubled youth center thing so I can get that over and done with.” 

- XXX -

The Huckley home from troubled children and youth stands at the end of a cul-de-sac with a little lake and a whole god damn forest behind it. There’s two other houses down the street but they’re all about 10 minute walk away from the big red brick building.

He takes one last puff from his cigarette before stomping it out on the floor and walking up the gravel driveway towards the big oak door.

There’s gold ornaments on the door handles and up and down the sides. He wonders if this is one of those fancy looney bins that rich parents send their kids to when they don’t wanna deal with them or can’t bother to bring them on their trip to Aspen.

The inside looks nothing like Billy has expected it to look. There’s wide big walkways and windows that let the sunlight stream through the halls. Every wall is plastered with drawings and macaroni picture frames and certificates that all hold little shiny star stickers. 

It reminds him a little of his elementary school back home in California. His mom used to be a teacher there and even before he was old enough to visit the school himself, sometimes she took him with her to sit by her desk while she taught the kids a new letter or help her put the shiny stars onto an especially well done assignment. 

But his mom is gone now and sticker stars don’t mean shit in the real world. He wonders if they ever really did. If so, he’d like to know when they stopped mattering.

“ Can I help you ? “ a voice speaks up from his right. There’s a girl there and she doesn’t seem to be much older than him. She’s wearing a white shirt that proudly displays the letters HHTCY. Ah great, uniforms. 

She’s cute though, he has to admit that much.

“ Hi. I’m Billy. Billy Hargrove. I’m here for — uh community service “.

“ Oh! Oh yeah just let me — let me see if I can find someone to … “ she doesn’t finish the sentence, just hurries back towards the way she’s just come from.

Billy uses this time to look around the halls a little more. The certificates all seem to have been rewarded for different things. Exceptional Storyteller. Hide & Seek champion. Queen of hopscotch.

He wonders what certificate he’d get. Biggest disappointment ? Lousiest life ? Best hair ? Probably all of them. 

“ Sooo, seems like Janet was supposed to show you around but she’s had a family emergency so she’s not here aaand that means I’ll show you around since literally anyone else is currently busy. “ the girl appears again, her mouth spitting out words a mile a minute. 

“ I’m (Y/N) “ .

“ Billy. “ 

“ Hi, welcome to —” 

“ Look sweetheart, I don’t need to whole spiel, okay ? I’m here on court order so just tell me where to go and what to do and let’s get this over with. “ 

She looks defeated for a moment which makes Billy feel a little bad about his harsh tone but really, the quicker he’s started the quicker he gets to leave. Once this is over he’s not gonna see this girl ever again, so who cares ? 

“ Oh, alright. Well here’s a schedule that Janet made and a floorplan. I need to show you around before you get to actually do anything but I am scheduled to sit in on a group talk so I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me. Now look, I get you don’t want to be here. Honestly I don’t give a shit about that. But these people, these kids, they are here because we care and because they need someone to care. Don’t be a dick in there. Don’t ruin this for them. If you do, I’m gonna kick your ass into the next dimension. Is that clear ? “ 

Billy is stunned. He doesn’t know who this girl is but it’s not the same one that he’s interacted with just minutes before. This one isn’t timid or sweet. She’s spunky and feisty and interesting and — kinda hot.

“ Whatever you say, ma’am” 

“ Yeah, whatever I say. Now let’s go !” 

Damn. What the hell has he gotten himself into here.

- XXX -

The room that the group talk is held in is big and airy with light colored walls and even more paintings. It’s not at all as small and cramped and sad as he had imagined it. 

There’s a bunch of people here, about 6 or 7 kids who range from what Billy assumes can’t be much older than 6, to people who look to be around his age. Then there’s (Y/N) and a woman that had introduced herself to Billy as Dr. White, though all the kids seem to refer to her by her first name, Lydia. 

Some of the kids are smiling, radiating with energy and joy while others hardly speak up and mostly keep their eyes focused on the floor. Though even those kids are always attentive, Billy notices. Always listening. Still a valid and active part of this conversation even when they don���t even speak a single word.

This whole talk is so different from what he expected it to be. There’s no pressure. No one is forced to do an emotional strip and lay bare all of their darkest secrets and innermost feelings. it’s mostly the kids talking about their day. The good and the bad. Things that scared them and things that gave them hope. Lydia seems genuinely interested in what they have to say too. (Y/N), Billy notices as his eyes keep drifting towards her, hold a warm smile on her face the entire time. And it’s not fake or overdone. It seems so genuine, so honest. He wonders if anyone has ever smiled at him like this.

“ Abby, you haven’t said anything yet. How was your day ? “ Lydia asks, looking at the girl across from her in the circle of chairs. Abby must be around 7 or 8 years old. She’s small and has a big mop of blond hair on her head. Her sweater seems a few sizes too big, she’s practically drowning in it. Billy isn’t sure he really wants to know her story. If she’s here, he’s sure it’s not a happy one.

“ It was — alright. Grandma and Grandpa came to visit. They took me to get ice cream, mom wasn’t here though. Not this time. They said next time she’d come. Maybe I get to see her for my birthday. “ she says the words with a sprinkle of hope, one Billy knows too well. A hope he has tried to hold onto for so many times in his own life. One that’s but a mere illusion. It’s a trick. It’s not real.

He hopes this little girl never has to find out about that. He hopes, sincerely hopes, that she gets to keep this hope in her heart for as long as humanly possible. Because losing it comes with pain and suffering and heartbreak. And this little girl doesn't deserve that. 

“ So how would you rate your day from 1 to 10 ? “ Lydia asks. 

“ Like a 7 maybe ? “ 

“ Are you asking me ? “ Lydia smiles at Abby.

“ A solid 7 “.

“ That’s good then. “ 

They’ve done this with all the kids that had wanted to share something, ask them to rate their day. Billy’s days are usually 4s sometimes when it’s a real good day their climb up to become a 6. Then there’s days, those when Neil is home, that are no better than a 2. Those ones come with at least a bruised cheek or a bloody nose and at worst with a broken rib. 

“ So, I guess that’s it for today. Thank you guys for sharing your stories with us. Those of you to stay, please go get some lunch. Those that go home, I’ll see you next monday and I hope your week becomes a solid 10. “ 

Something in the way Lydia speaks, makes Billy feel a little more at easy. She has a softness to her words, like they’re made of cotton. His mom used to talk like that to her students. All gentle and kind and wonderful. 

“ Hey you “ a hand waves up and down in front of Billy’s face “ let’s grab lunch then let me show you around. “ 

It takes a moment for Billy’s eyes to fully focus on the person in front of him, only to be met with (Y/N) who’s wearing a huge scowl on her face. 

“ Huh ? “ 

“ I said let’s go eat. Oh and uh — thanks for not fucking this up. “ 

He doesn’t think behaving like a decent human being deserves any kind of thanks, he appreciates it anyway.

- XXX -

“ … and this is my office. Well technically it’s Janet’s office but she mostly does our paperwork and accounting and so she does that from home most of the time aaaand that means I get to use the office while she’s not here. Even though I’m only volunteering and I’m not supposed to have an office actually but uh —  “ 

“ You talk a lot, don’t you ? “ Billy asks as a smirk pulls up the corner of his lip. 

“ I’ve heard people say that, yeah. You on the other hand talk very little “ (Y/N) says before sitting down on the big oak desk. 

“ Yeah well I don’t got nothing to say to you, babe. “ 

“ Ah man, you gotta stop with those pet names. “ 

“ Huh, and why’s that ? Does it make you nervous ? “ there it is, the smooth suave Hargrove charm that his mother always said was gonna cause her sleepless night and gray hair. He always scoffed at that, now he wishes he could see her with gray hair. Older and — alive. 

“ Pretty much everything makes me nervous really but no, it’s just unprofessional. “ 

“ You’re a volunteer and I am here on court’s order. We’re hardly professionals. “ 

He can see a small smile threatening to cross her face, it’s so subtle he almost misses it. Almost. 

“ What’s the deal with Abby ? “

“ huh ? “

“ The little girl. “ 

Something about this girl reminded Billy so much of himself when he was younger. Her whole demeanor was so familiar like he was looking into some kind of distorted mirror that allowed him to look into the past. He just had to know what her story was, even if it meant to feel the all too familiar pain. 

“ I can’t tell you any specifics but well, her mom has — issues and her dad is not in the picture. She used to stay with her grandparents but they are getting older and feel like they can’t provide her with all the things she needs at this moment. So she stays here with us. “ 

“ Do all the kids ? “ 

“ Nah. Some of them stay here permanently. Some temporary. Some just come around certain days of the week. It really depends on their individual situation. We provide them with what they need even if it’s just a place to stay and some open ears. “ 

Billy wonders if things would’ve turned out different for him had he had someone who cared. Who was willing to listen. To his sadness and his anger and all the pent or emotions he had to keep inside for the longest fucking time.

“ Well good for them. “ 

“ Yeah. I hope it makes a difference. “ 

Billy smiles at her. He hopes it seems genuine, because it is.

“ Oh I’m sure it does. “ 

- XXX -

Billy is exhausted once he arrives home. (Y/N) took him around the entire building doing several different chores and tasks to make sure he got acquaintanced with everything that needed to be done. From tidying up the community lounge rooms to helping prepare food to paperwork. She made sure he saw and did it all at least once. And my god, this girl was thorough.

As he steps through the door, he can hear the scrapping of cutlery against the porcelain plates. They’re all sitting around the kitchen table like a perfect little family. Neil, Susan and Max. A sight for sore eyes, if he’s ever seen one. There’s no room for Billy on this table. There never really was.

Neil’s eye shoot up as his son enters the kitchen, a snarl makes its way onto his lips and the gross mustache twitches disgustingly. God, Billy can’t even put into words how much he detests his father.

“ Look who returned home. The prodigal son. My boy. Tell us Billy, how was community service ? Did you work real hard ? Did you make them proud ? “ 

The teasing is hardly hidden in his words. It’s ugly and taunting and Billy is sure those words are gonna ghost through his head for much much longer. If Neil could just shut up for once. Just once.

“ It was alright. Can I go to bed now ? “ 

“ Alright ? What kind of answer is that ? “ Neil snarls, taking another sip from his can of bud light. Susan and Max avert their eyes down towards their plates, nervously pushing their food across the tableware. 

“ What do you want me to say, dad ? That is was good? It wasn’t, it was fucking exhausting ! That I’m sorry ? Well I’m not. The dude had it coming. I did a shit thing and now I’m suffering the consequences, what the fuck else do you want me to do ? “ 

He knows, as those words leave his lips, that he’s fucked up. Before he can even register what happens, a loud smash echoes through the room before. Then Billy feels the smooth surface of the fridge pressed against his back and Neil holds him by the face in a grip so tight, Billy is sure there’ll be bruises tomorrow. 

“ Is that a way to talk to your father ? I give you everything you ungrateful little shit and this is how you thank me ? Grow up, Billy ! Start taking some god damn responsibility “ 

Smack. 

He’s used to it by now. It stings a little less each time. He hates that it does. He hates that he gets used to this. From his dad of all people. The one who should be sheltering him from bad is the one bringing it upon him.

“ Do you hear me ? “ 

“ Yes sir ! “ 

Another smack. This time he can feel his lip split open. He’s used to that one too.

“ Excuse me ? What was that ? A little louder please. “ 

“ Yes, Sir !” 

When Neil lets him go and sits back on the kitchen table, Billy carefully steps over the broken plate and hurries towards his room. The rage in his system says “slam the door” but he knows that would make things worse. So much worse. 

Though he can’t help himself but punch the wall. Once. Twice. Three times. He loses count at some point but gets pulled back into reality when he notices a red sheen covering his knuckles. 

As if a split lip wasn’t shitty enough he had to add bleeding knuckles and a bruised fist to it. Great. 

The rage feels all consuming. Like it’s taking over everything and swallowing him whole. He needs to get out. Needs to get away for a moment. Out of this house where misery lives and anger seems to inhabit every corner, every wall. If he doesn’t get out now he’ll explode.

So he opens the window, quiet as a mouse, like he’s done so many times before and rushes towards the camaro. If Neil notices he’s gone, that’s something he’ll have to deal with later. It doesn’t matter right now. All that matter now is getting away. As far away as possible.

- XXX -

There’s a perpetual red glow in this 24h convenience store. It comes from the neon signs in the window that advertise hot dogs and cream soda. Billy thinks it gives the place a realy creepy vibe. 

He fumbles around the freezer before taking out a popsicle package and holding it to his swollen knuckles. It’s soothing sure, but it’s uncomfortable holding that stupid box to his hand.

“ Have you never seen a movie before ? You gotta use frozen peas, man “ 

Recognizing the voice immediately, Billy turns to see (Y/N) stood next to him, a white grocery basket hanging from her arm as she holds out a packet of peas to him. 

“ They properly take the shape of your hand. Works way better, trust me ! “ 

“ Oh yeah “ Billy replies, taking the peas from her hand and holding it to his injured. Goddamn she’s right. “ You some kind of secret nurse or something ? “ 

“ Not really but that’s common sense. “ 

“ Not something I can pride myself with apparently. “ 

And when she laughs at that, it’s like for a second his knuckles don’t hurt and he forgets about the dried blood on his lips.

“ Man, you just got ordered community service for punching someone. Thought you’d have learned. “ 

“ You should see the other guy “ Billy jokes. But really, it’s not funny. Not even close.

“ Yeah ? Big guy ? “ 

“ Huge. Made of drywall “ 

“ Huh. Did you win at least ? “

“ Ya betcha, baby. I always win “ and if only that was the truth.

“ Come on Rocky, lemme get some stuff to fix you up. “ 

It’s a few minutes later that Billy sits in the bed of her pick-up with (Y/N) standing between his legs, dabbing alcohol onto his lip and knuckles. If this wasn’t such a ridiculous situation it could even be a little romantic. With her so close to — certain regions of his body. Fucking hell Billy, get it together !

“ So uh — do you wanna talk about what happened ? “ 

“ Not really. “ 

“ You sure I could — “ 

“ Look (Y/N) I don’t have the best life at home, okay ? But that’s all you need to know. I’m not one of your kids that spill their heart and emotions out to you I just needed to get away from home, is that alright with you ?  

“ That’s perfectly fine “.

He can almost feel how genuine her words are. She doesn’t judge or pry. And he is eternally grateful for that. 

“ Why are you here so late anyway ? “ 

“ Had to get some groceries. We’re gonna pretend I didn’t just come here because I had a huge craving for ice cream, okay ? “ 

He scoffs. This girl is ridiculous. And something about that makes her incredibly charming.

“ So, I assume you don’t wanna go home tonight ? “ 

He doesn’t. If Neil has discovered him gone, he can’t show up home again tonight. Not under any circumstances.

“ Not really, no. “ 

“ I have a pretty comfortable couch. It’s big enough for you and it comes with an extra fluffy cuddle companion. “ 

“ What does that mean ? “ 

“ I have a cat. His name is Luke Skywhiskers and he’s fat and orange and very clingy. So if you don’t mind that — “ she shrugs her shoulders in a way that shouldn’t be nearly as cute as it is. 

Billy isn’t particularly fond of cats, then again he’s never really had a lot to do with any cats. Never being allowed to have any pet because they’re “dirty” and “cost a shit ton of money” according to Neil, Billy was never given the chance to really bond with an animal.

But then again, everything was better than going home.

“ Sounds alright. “ 

“ Okay, cool. “ 

“ Thank you, (Y/N). “ 

“ It’s no problem. Just follow my car and I’ll see you at my place then “ (Y/N) says, pats his chest and gets into her car.

As Billy get into the Camaro and  slumps down in the seat he wonders how his night managed to end like this. Bloodied and bruised and one the way to spend the night at a complete strangers house. 

A stranger who’s shown him more kindness in the last 24 hours than his dad did in the last almsot 18 years. 

Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe it was a solid 5. 

[pookha]

Symphony of the Heart

Chapter 2-Euphony

Hermione and Harry go out for Harry's 30th birthday, then go back to her place. Timetables get re-arranged.

This chapter written for MalfoysAngel's "The Dirty Thirty" challenge.

"It's kind of nice it's just the two of us tonight," Harry said, leaning into Hermione's shoulder.

"Yeah." She slid an arm around his waist and leaned back into him as they walked.

"You said you wanted to eat light tonight? Tapas?" Harry asked.

"Sounds good."

Harry took out his wand, held tightly to Hermione and they Disapparated.

They appeared in an empty warehouse, in a designated safe Apparition spot. He held her for a moment longer than was strictly needed. She broke away first, but kept holding his hand as they walked to the High Street. The air was noticeably cooler and fresher and Hermione looked around quizzically.

"Where are we?" she asked, then answered her own question when she saw the Welsh signs.

"Cardiff; Dafydd's is the best. People make fun of Welsh cuisine, but when I was stationed here for a bit, it really grew on me. Welsh tapas sounded strange to me, but it's actually really good " Harry squeezed her hand and she squeezed back.

"Sounds interesting."

"I half-expected you'd be trying to take me someplace to have a surprise party." Harry laughed.

"We'd talked about it, but everyone's out of town. Luna and Ginny are off in Scotland; I think Ginny's going to suggest they go to Gretna Green. Neville and Hannah were going to come, but he came down with a cold, and she's taking care of him. Dean and Seamus are helping George with that audit."

Harry nodded; he knew the audit she meant.

"Still, it's good to just go out with the two of us. When was the last time we did something like this?" he asked.

She sighed.

"The 10-year anniversary." Her voice got thick.

Harry stopped and hugged her.

"No more thinking about that night, okay?" He held her close.

She sniffled for just a second, put her head down into his shoulder, and when she raised it, she smiled.

"One good thing came out of that night and morning."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

Hermione pulled back slightly and punched him lightly.

"Ow," Harry said, rubbing his arm in mock injury.

"Yes, yes, I remember our vow; if both of us are still unmarried at thirty-five, we'll get married to each other. You still want that?"

She nodded.

"Don't you?" She jerked him to face her.

"I-" he paused.

"Yes, I still want that."

He cupped her chin and raised her face.

"I love you, and I think I'll learn to be in love with you."

"I-I love you, too, Harry."

She stood up straighter, pulled him close and kissed his cheek, just barely grazing his lips.

"I can learn to be in love with you, too."

He twisted his head just a bit and their lips met. They exchanged a brief, chaste kiss and both reddened.

They passed the rest of the walk to the restaurant in companionable silence, holding hands.

"It smells amazing," Hermione said as they took their seats at a private booth at the back of the restaurant.

They chatted easily about their friends and about work, but both knew that the other was avoiding the hard topics.

When the food came, they both dug right in and ate mostly in silence, but with occasional glances into each other's eyes.

Suddenly, Hermione reached across and touched Harry's head.

"Thirty years old, and just a speck of grey at your temples." She shook her head.

He ran a hand through his hair, which had thinned some over the years, but still was a wild mess if he didn't pay attention to it.

She smiled and he grinned back.

They took care of the cheque and walked out together down toward the sea, hand in hand.

"So, do you think that Ginny will actually get Luna to marry her if they do go to Gretna Green?" Hermione asked.

Harry see-sawed his free hand.

"Fifty-fifty, I don't know if Luna wants to get married, or what sort of agreement they might have about what each of them wants, exclusivity-wise."

Hermione nodded; she remembered what Harry had told her about them asking him to join them in polyamory and him refusing.

They both sat on a wall watching the sun set over the sea. Harry kept his eyes on Hermione as she looked out, and soon enough she noticed him looking.

"Yes?" she asked.

"You're beautiful; I don't know if I've ever told you that before."

He couldn't see it since the setting sun had already coloured her face, but he was sure she blushed.

"I'm not, really, am I? My hair's too frizzy, I'm a bit too round now, and my teeth are still--"

Harry cut her off.

"Don't let anyone say you're not beautiful; even if that anyone is you."

She lowered her eyes.

"Thank you."

It was growing darker and the streetlights came on.

Harry stood and helped Hermione up, then they headed down a set of steps to the beach.

"What would you like to do now?"

"I'm not ready for tonight to end; want to come back to my place?" Hermione asked.

"Sure."

They walked into some shadows and Harry made sure they weren't being watched. He took out his wand, pulled her tight and Disapparated.

They appeared outside Hermione's house. She'd bought a place in rural Yorkshire last year. It was easy Floo or Apparating distance to London, but enough out in the country that it was peaceful.

She unlocked the door and disabled the wards, carefully checking them to make sure they hadn't been tripped. Harry watched approvingly.

They had just barely hung their jackets on the pegs just inside the door when a meowing greeted them. It was a small tabby that Hermione had named Jennyanydots, Jenny for short. Harry had found her in a barn while on a case, a barely weaned kitten. There was no sign of her mother or her siblings. It had been just over a year since Hermione had lost Crookshanks, and Harry thought a kitten would do her good. Hermione had taken to the little tabby instantly.

Harry knelt down to scratch Jenny under the chin as she head-butted his legs.

"I'm going to feed her; I'll meet you in the living room in a moment."

The cat continued to rub on Harry's legs until she heard a can open in the kitchen. Then she ran off, tail up and meowing excitedly.

Harry laughed and went to the living room. Hermione had repainted since the last time he had been here and the walls were a light blue now. It opened the room up more than the old beige had. Harry closed the curtains against the night sky. When he turned around, he saw that Hermione also had a new painting over her mantle.

The bright colors and bold brush-strokes immediately told him it was one of Luna's. Harry tried to make something out in the abstract shapes and as he did, they shifted. He thought he saw a field of sunflowers and it changed to that.

"Interesting, isn't it?" Hermione came and stood beside him.

"Luna says it's ‘telepathically morphic,' which means it can tell somehow what you see in it and change to it, within some limits. It doesn't do humans very well, and some animals are just blurs."

Harry watched as it shifted to a stylized tabby cat and knew it was reacting to Hermione. Then it shifted again to some type of flower. Hermione blushed, then turned away. The flower pushed a vague memory in Harry, but he couldn't place it.

Hermione pushed him gently toward a sofa. He turned away from the painting reluctantly, but let himself be led.

"Why don't we get together more often?" Harry asked as Hermione sat next to him and put her head on his shoulder, but he already knew the answer.

"Work." She sighed. "We're both just so busy. I mean we eat lunch together most days, but it's just not the same."

"Yeah, I wish it could be like this more; just us in the quiet night."

"Ah, a poet." She laughed and he laughed easily with her.

She lifted her head and met his eyes.

"There's an easy way to see more of each other."

"Yes?"

"We could just get married now. Let's go to Scotland tomorrow and do it. Why wait five more years?"

Harry pulled back slightly, unsure if she was taking the piss out of him.

"I'm serious, Harry."

He started to pull away, but she gripped the back of his neck and pulled him toward her for a kiss.

He kissed her closed-mouth for just a second before melting into the kiss and returning it. Their mouths both opened and the kiss deepened. She started to pull back, but Harry put his hand on her cheeks in a silent request for more. After a long moment, they both pulled back.

"You've never kissed me like that before," she whispered. "Even that time we almost fucked; the kisses weren't like that."

"I was never truly sure you wanted me to kiss you like that before."

She barked a short laugh and sat back on the couch.

"I mean Ginny told me you could be oblivious, but I never thought I'd have to throw myself at you to get your attention."

Her tone turned more serious.

"I do mean it; why not do it now? Why wait five more years? You love me, I know you do; and I love you, too. I know earlier today I said I could learn to be in love with you, but I already am; have been for years."

Her cheeks flamed again and she lowered her eyes.

He lifted her chin again and kissed her; a gentle lover's kiss.

"I love you, too, but I'm not sure I am in love with you," he said after they broke apart.

A tear appeared at the corner of her eye.

"I'm not sure I can be in love with you, at least not like that."

"Is it because of what happened with Ginny?" Hermione asked in a small voice.

He shook his head.

Suddenly, she understood.

"Look, Ron's dead."

Harry turned away and started to rise, but she yanked him back to the couch.

"Ron's dead," she said again flatly.

"You're not dishonoring his memory by loving me; you wouldn't be forgetting him in any way."

Her voice rose.

"I'm here! I love you! I want to be with you! I want to have children with you! You want children?"

He nodded dumbly.

"You want them with me?"

Now his face flamed, but he nodded shortly.

"It's...it's just weird for me. I never thought of you like that back then; you were just my friend." Harry's voice was quiet. "And even if I had thought of you like that, Ron was in love with you, and I knew if I got in the way of that, I'd lose Ron."

"We lost Ron anyway."

Harry yanked back again, but Hermione went with him.

"It's been thirteen years. He'd want us to be happy. I can't imagine he'd want either of us to suffer more. If we found that with each other, I don't think he'd mind."

Harry broke her grip again and stood.

"I'll have to think about it."

He walked to the door and grabbed his jacket. She didn't say anything as the door opened and then closed.

He stood outside with his head pressed against the door. It had started to drizzle and the water dripped down the back of his neck. He could picture what was happening inside.

Hermione would be sitting on the couch, crying quietly and it was his fault. Jenny would hear and trot in to comfort her. Hermione would pet the cat absently as she wept.

Harry banged his hand on the door in frustration. He heard a noise from inside. He made to leave then hesitated as he saw a shadow appear around the door's edges from inside.

The door yanked open; Hermione held her wand pointed right at his face.

His hand was still half-raised to bang on the door again or knock; he wasn't sure. He moved to push her wand out of his face, but she lowered it and grabbed him. She tugged him back inside her house by the lapels of his jacket.

"I'm-" he started to whisper, but she pulled him tight to her and kissed him. He shifted his weight and pushed her against the wall. He slid his mouth off hers and down her neck. She wrapped her hands in his hair and pulled him in.

"This-" she whispered.

He lifted his head.

"You sure?"

She replied by taking his hand and placing it over her breast.

He went back to kissing her neck, down her collarbone to the top button of her shirt. She lifted the hand he had over her breast to the top button of her blouse and he undid it, then kissed the skin that had been exposed there. Then he undid the next button and slowly kissed down to the next one. Both started to breathe faster.

She still had her wand in her hand and waved it behind his back. All the buttons on his shirt suddenly popped open and she yanked it out of his trousers. She pushed it back off his shoulders and he shrugged it off. She put her wand on the counter next to the coat hooks and slid her hands into his pants to tug up his undershirt. With a jerk, she pulled it up and over his head. She ran her hands over his chest and up over his shoulders to his back before pulling him in for another lingering kiss.

He pushed her back and slowly finished unbuttoning her shirt, grinning as he slid it back off her shoulders. She put her hands slightly behind her to let the shirt slide off. He pushed back after it had fallen to the ground in a whisper of silk and trapped her hands behind her. He pressed his body up against her and kissed down neck and collarbone again, following where he'd kissed earlier. She moaned as he kissed the top of her breast again. Her nipples stood out taut and stiff through the fabric and he rubbed them lightly with his thumb.

He let her hands go and spun her so she was facing the wall, then he lifted her hands up over her head.

She gasped when he pressed against her arse from behind and she felt how hard he was, even through his trousers and her slacks. His hands came from behind and slid under her bra, cupping her breasts. He pinched her nipples lightly as he ran his lips from behind one ear, down her neck and then back up to the other ear.

He flipped the cups of her bra up over her breasts, but she made a noise of negation, so he stopped.

"It's not comfortable like that; just take it off."

He fumbled with the back straps for a second before he realized it unlatched in front. He managed to unhook it with slightly shaking hands and lifted it over her head, then he turned her around and started kissing down her neck again.

He ran his tongue just around the outside of her areola, but never quite putting his mouth on it or her nipple, enjoying the way she squirmed against him. He kissed down the underside of her breast and down her stomach to the waistline of her slacks. He knelt down in front of her and kissed across her stomach. He reached up and grabbed her slacks, and her knickers under them and pulled them both down in a quick motion. She lifted her feet one by one and he slid her shoes off, then lifted her slacks with her knickers still in them away from her feet.

She stood naked in front of him, her breathing coming quick and hard.

"Beautiful," he said, then leaned further down to kiss her on the leg. She wrapped a hand in his hair and pulled him up.

"I wasn't expecting this, and didn't shave."

He pulled her hand away and put it at her side.

"I don't care," he said, lowering his head to her legs again. He kissed from her ankles up to her knees, looking for a reaction and when it was small, had her flip around facing the wall again. This time, when he kissed the back side of her knee, she let out a small sound. He kissed up her thighs to the mound of her arse, and the sounds grew as he did. He ran his hands over her cheeks and spread them apart. She took the prompt and moved her legs apart more and leaned into the wall.

Sweat dripped down her back and into her crack. He saw it and licked it off, then moved his tongue down. When he ran it just around her arsehole, she gasped, but he wrapped his hands around her thighs and pulled her tighter. She squirmed more as he kept his mouth and tongue pressed to her.

He licked and kissed up her back, then back down again and kissed over both her cheeks. He spun her around again, and started to lower his head, when she wrapped her hands in his hair again and pulled him up.

"Not yet. It's your turn first."

"What?" he managed to gasp, before she spun them both around, her hands still wrapped in his hair. Their legs tangled for a moment, and they both threatened to fall over, but they managed to stay standing. They both laughed for just a second until Hermione lowered her lips to his neck.

She kissed him all over the same way he'd kissed her, paying special attention to tease him with kisses down his chest, and as she ran her tongue over his nipples, he ground into her, pressing against her thigh through his trousers. She lowered one hand to his crotch and rubbed his hardness. He moaned and tried to kiss her on the neck, but because her head was over his chest, he couldn't quite reach. A small sound of frustration escaped his lips. She looked up, grinned, kissed him deeply, then lowered her head again.

She grabbed his belt and undid it, then unbuttoned his trousers. She slid down onto her knees and unzipped him, then pulled his trousers down. He stood out hard against his pants, and she reached up and grabbed his dick through them. She rubbed it up and down twice before grabbing the hem and pulling them down.

She leaned in and licked him from the tip down to his balls, then took one in her mouth, then the other. When she took her mouth off, the cool air hit the moist flesh; his skin goose-pimpled.

"Fuck," he whispered.

"Later," she said, lifting her mouth off his cock.

"First, fellatio for the birthday boy."

He laughed for a second until she took his head and part of his shaft into her mouth, leaning with one hand against the wall for balance and the other hand wrapped the bottom part of his cock.

"I--I won't last long," he said.

"That's okay; you're young, at least for a few more hours," she said, pulling her mouth off him.

She ran her tongue slowly, ever so slowly over the head and around the shaft, then shifted down as far as she could to lick under his balls. She took her time licking back up, until she reached the top.

"Please," he said, his voice barely audible.

"Yes," she whispered back, then put her mouth over him. She wrapped her hand around him and stoked gently as she slid him in and almost, but not quite out of her mouth. His dick tried to twitch in her hand as he moved involuntarily, but she held it firm. When his struggles became stronger, she increased the speed of her stroking.

She looked up at him and their eyes met. He gasped and she knew that had pushed him to the point of no return. She kept her eyes on his as she sucked his dick. He reached his hands down to her hair and tried to guide her off.

"I'm gonna come!"

She held on a few seconds more, taking him deeper in her mouth than before and then came up off him. A string of spit and pre-cum dangled between her lips and the head of his cock. She kept stroking and watching him.

His eyes closed and his breathing got heavy, then paused for a second. She pointed his dick down away from her mouth and he came on her chest, gasping with each ejaculation. When he'd almost finished, she took him back in her mouth and squeezed up his dick. His breathing was still coming heavy and fast. She pulled back off him butterfly kissed up and down his shaft, pausing once to lick off the very last drop clinging to the tip.

Harry opened his eyes and looked down.

"Shit! I'm sorry!"

He caught the confusion in her eyes.

"I didn't mean to come on your tits."

She laughed as she stood and ran her hand through it, smearing it on her breasts.

"No, I did that. I don't like it in my mouth. It's more the consistency than the taste; although, that's not usually great either. Besides, there's nothing wrong with being sticky from sex and if I don't like it, I could just vanish it with my wand."

She grabbed her wand from the counter and did just that.

"I-" he started to say, but she put a finger on his lips. He could taste himself on it.

"No talking." She took his hand and started to lead him away. He pulled her back and kissed her again, then let himself be led, pausing only briefly to grab his wand from his trousers.

When they got to the bedroom, Jenny was sleeping on the bed. Hermione sat on the edge of it and Jenny opened one eye suspiciously. She dropped her wand on the bed and Harry put his next to hers..

Harry started to get into bed with her, but she just shook her head and put her hands on his shoulders. She gently pushed him down to his knees. He understood and smiled.

He lifted her left leg and kissed it behind the knee where he'd gotten such a strong reaction earlier and she gasped again. He kissed and licked all down her leg, down to her feet, then licked the bottom of her foot. She tried to pull it away, but Harry held tightly and licked her arch.

"Tickles," she said, "not erotic."

"Sorry," he apologized.

He lifted up and kissed up her thigh instead, then suddenly pulled her forward to the edge of the bed. He pushed her legs more apart and lowered his head.

He ran his tongue slowly over the outside of her lips, enjoying the feel of the stray wet hairs against his face. She reached down and tangled her hands in his head again and pulled him closer.

He lifted a hand and spread her lips apart more and dove his tongue in and out, licking her quickly. Moving up, he licked her clit and her hands tightened in his hair. His chin and lips were drenched with her and as he licked her clit in long, slow motion, she moved underneath him, raising up to meet his tongue.

She quivered under his mouth and he could feel her starting to lose control, so he pulled back from her clit. She made a noise of protest.

He went lower and licked the sensitive skin between her pussy and arse and knew that he was driving her crazy. He ran his tongue back up the outside of her lips again on both sides before returning to her clit. As he licked faster this time, he slid a finger inside her and fucked her slowly with it.

"Fuck!" She moved even more under his mouth and he had a hard time keeping his tongue on her. He pulled back from her, his face covered in her juices. He stood and leaned over. She licked herself off his face. He laid down next to her and slid two fingers inside her. She moaned and when his thumb found her clit, her breathing got ragged. He fucked her with his fingers, slowly at first, then faster, as his thumb made circles.

"Oh! God!"

"I like watching you as I fuck you." He whispered in her ear.

"Cup your fingers forward." She gasped when he did and he kept fucking her while keeping the pressure up between his fingers and thumbs.

He obviously found the spot, because her pussy tightened around his fingers and she bucked under him and then suddenly, she covered his entire hand. He looked down from her face and watched as she gushed. He pulled his fingers away and even more came out.

"Don't stop; I'm close." She pushed his fingers back.

He slid his fingers in again and put his thumb back on her clit.

"Faster!" she begged.

He fucked her faster with his fingers. This time, she didn't just buck, she thrashed. She gripped the blankets in one hand and Harry's arm with the other as she came. He grimaced as her nails dug into his arm, but he didn't stop.

"Oh my God," she said when she'd finished. Harry pulled his fingers out and licked them. She sat up and licked his fingers also. Their tongues met and then they kissed, his fingers still between them. She pulled back slightly and took his fingers in his mouth one by one until they were clean.

"Sorry,I thought you came when you were...um... squirting?" he said hesitantly.

She shook her head.

"I was close, but not there yet. Have you never been with anyone who squirted before?"

He shook his head.

"Not like that."

"It doesn't happen every time, and not always when I orgasm, but it's usually close to when I come. I can squirt without coming and come without squirting."

She kept her eyes on him.

"You don't think it's weird, do you?"

"No, not weird." He moved her hand slightly and bumped it against his cock, which was hard. She wrapped her fingers around it and stroked it.

"I want to fuck you. Protection?" he asked.

"I use the potion." She kept stroking.

"You want me to use a condom, or the hard or soft Charm?"

"Have you been with anyone else recently?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"More than a year for me; you?"

"Me too." She stopped stroking and took her hand away.

"The soft charm, I think."

He nodded in agreement, reached around her and took his wand. Jenny was now wide-eyed and staring at them.

"Your cat is watching us." He laughed.

He stood and waved his wand over his shaft and said the charm. Hermione nodded in approval.

"Lay down," she ordered as she stood.

He laid down and adjusted the pillow under his head. Hermione waited for him to get comfortable, then climbed into bed with him. Jenny took this as her cue to leave, and leapt off the bed with a soft ‘merp.'

"One pussy's enough for me anyway," Harry said.

Hermione laughed and straddled him. She reached her hands up to the headboard for balance and Harry took in a glorious view of her breasts. He leaned up on his arms and took a nipple into his mouth. Then suddenly, she was rubbing against him, hot and wet. She teased him just outside, sliding up and down slowly, but never taking him in. She rolled her hips, and when her clit hit him, she groaned. She moved faster, getting a bit wild, until Harry put his hands on her hips and slowed her.

He arched his hips up for a better angle, she took one hand off the headboard and guided him in. She slid slowly, ever so slowly down him until he was all the way in. She rocked her hips, fucking him in a controlled rhythm. He kept his breathing steady as she moved on him and tried to think of Quidditch.

She took her hands off the headboard and put her body fully on his; her breasts mashing against his chest.

"Pinch my nipples," she whispered as she bit his ear. She ground against him faster.

She sat back more upright and he reached up and pinched her nipples gently.

"Harder," she said.

He pinched them harder and bucked on him, now rising off most of him with each stroke, then slamming back down.

She gushed all over him as he squeezed her nipples and then bit each of them in turn. Her fucking got wild and uncontrolled.

"Fuck! I'm going to come again!"

"Me too!"

He kept his eyes open as she came and watched her. Her eyes slitted and she threw her neck back. Her hands gripped the covers tightly and then he was over the edge too. She kept bucking on him as he came in her. He joined her in gripping the covers tightly. His eyes closed involuntarily and when he opened them, she was watching him. She smiled, leaned over and kissed him, but kept fucking him until his dick got too soft and fell out. She rolled off and scooched over in the bed, so neither of them had to stay in the wet spot.

They held each other in silence for a few moments, lips occasionally touching, and hands gently stroking backs and chest.

She broke the silence first.

"We should have done that years ago." She looked him right in the eyes.

He tried to turn his head, but she reached up and held it between her hands.

"Seriously, if we weren't both hung up, wouldn't you have liked to do this?"

He nodded.

"Words," she whispered.

"Yes, I wish we'd done this before. Yes, I was hung up on it. Yes, I do love you. Yes, I want to be with you." His voice was hoarse and low.

"I don't want you to feel like you have to be with me out of pity or because of our vow. I can release you from it if you want. Better to do it now, before we get too hurt if you're really not sure."

Her eyes filled with tears. He kissed them away.

"I don't pity you any more than I think you pity me; you don't pity me?"

She shook her head.

"I'm tired of hiding how I feel."

"Obviously," he said, imitating Snape's voice. She giggled, then punched him lightly on the arm.

"No Snape voice, okay?"

"Sorry."

"I want to wake up with you, come home to you, have you there for me and be there for you. We'll both have tough days coming. I know you're tapped to be the next Head of the DMLE and I'm likely to be Minister sooner rather than later. Let's do that together."

She leaned in and kissed him again.

"I--I think I'd like that. Please, give me a few days to be sure, okay? I promise you I'll know within a week."

"If we're not going to do that, then we can't do this"

"No, I agree, it's all or nothing."

"I can live with that." She turned her face slightly from him and he knew she was lying; maybe to herself, maybe to him, maybe to both of them.

"I have to go pee," she said, getting up. She grabbed her wand off the bed when she went and he watched her arse the whole way, admiring it.

When the bathroom door closed, Jenny stuck her head around the doorframe and looked in.

"It's okay, kitty; we're done."

She merped, trotted into the bedroom and jumped on the bed, right onto the wet spot, now cold and clammy. She let out a squeak and immediately leapt off again and ran out of the room complaining vocally with meows.

"What's going on?" Hermione's voice came from the bathroom.

"Jenny jumped onto the wet spot."

"Can you take care of that? Sheets are in the closet, third shelf down."

"Okay." He stood and stripped the bed of its sheets; underneath was some sort of Charmed mattress pad that had repelled the moisture. He found the blankets were also wet and dried them with his wand. He piled the blankets in one spot and when he opened the closet, he saw a hamper. He started to put the wet sheets in it, but saw some of her clothes in it and hesitated.

"Can the wet sheets go in the hamper with your clothes?" he shouted.

"Yes, I'll just take more care when I wash them."

He heard the toilet flush and water running, then a couple of muttered incantations.

He jammed the wadded-up sheets into the hamper and took out clean ones. He noticed that all of her bed sets matched and were all neutral colours. He picked out a grey one and set about putting it on the bed, struggling a bit with the corners, when she came out of the bathroom in a fluffy white terry-cloth robe.

She rolled her eyes and waved her wand at the sheets. They leapt out of Harry's hands and onto the bed, tucking in perfectly on the corners, even the top sheet, which Harry could never get right, so he always left it off. Another wave of her wand and the pillowcases followed suit.

She picked up the blankets and looked them over.

"They were only a bit damp, so I dried them with my wand."

She nodded.

"That'll do for tonight. Staying the night?"

He gulped and nodded.

"Good," she said and stepped forward and kissed him.

"You should go clean up, too. I copied my bathrobe and enlarged the copy a little; it's hanging on the hook."

"Thanks," he said, pulling her into a tight hug.

She pinched his butt lightly and he jumped, then laughed.

He went in and showered quickly. After drying himself off, he found the bathrobe she'd altered and put it on. It was still a bit short, but otherwise okay. Even though it was a copy, he thought it smelled like her.

He heard noises from the kitchen when he came out, so he went in there. She was boiling the kettle. His clothes were neatly folded on the table with his pants on top of his trousers.

"I'm making some decaf tea, want some?"

"Yes, please."

He sat at the table and watched as she bustled around the kitchen efficiently. She knew he took his tea with a little sugar and milk and prepped it without asking. They both sat at the table in silence, enjoying their steaming mugs. Harry pressed his leg against hers and she twined it around him.

When they were done, she leaned her head into his shoulder and they just rested like that. Harry enjoyed the companionable silence and it wasn't awkward at all. He lifted his hand and stroked her neck and hair. Her breathing got slow and deep, and she started to doze off.

"Bed?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, better, or I'll fall asleep on you and you won't be able to move until morning."

They stood and walked to the bedroom, hand in hand. She shrugged her bathrobe off onto the floor and slipped into bed naked. He did the same and joined her. Under the blankets, she spooned up into him and fell asleep with his arm around her. He watched her, thinking how lucky he was to have a friend...no a lover...like this. A wife like this, maybe. Lost in a spiral of thoughts, it took him a long time to fall asleep.

Hermione woke up, wondering briefly why she was so sore, then she remembered. She rolled over; there was no one there except Jenny.

"Harry?" she called out.

No answer.

She sat up and tears began to spill down her cheeks. She hadn't expected him to just leave. Jenny looked up, saw her crying and climbed in her lap, purring.

"You?" Hermione asked. "Why didn't you stop him, hm?" She scratched Jenny under the chin for a few seconds then got up. Her wand was on the nightstand next to her and she took it.

She stumbled to the bathroom, dropped her wand on the counter, and noticed that Harry had hung his robe neatly back on the door hook. It took her a second to realize there were two hooks now and that Harry must have copied the one there. She looked around and saw that he had also copied the towel rack and the towel. She shook her head, wondering what it meant.

The shower was hot and soothing and she took her time washing her hair and luxuriating in it. She started to step out, then paused and grabbed her wand. She ran it over her legs and crotch, and all the hair on them fell off. She sighed; she hadn't meant to remove all her pubic hair. She rinsed down the tub and stepped out and toweled off.

She grabbed her wand, walked naked to her closet and picked out her clothes for the day. Comfortable knickers and her most comfortable (or least uncomfortable bra, as she sometimes thought) then blue jeans and a plain, light blue blouse.

She made sure her wand was in her pocket and thought about her to-do list. Officially, she was on holiday, so she didn't have to go into the office today, but she might go to work just to get her mind off Harry. First, though, feed Jenny, clean the kitchen and litter box, then breakfast.

She went to the kitchen to get Jenny her food and saw the note on the table. She sighed again, picked it up, put it down and decided to feed Jenny first.

When she opened the can, Jenny ran from the bedroom and bunted against her legs until she put the food down. Hermione rinsed off the spatula and can before sitting at the table to read the note.

Hermione,

I got a notification that they caught Nott again, so I had to go in even though I'm on holiday. I didn't want to wake you since you were sleeping so peacefully. I promise I'll be back as soon as I can. I haven't forgotten what we talked about last night and I'm not just going to walk out on it.

I love you, and will see you as soon as I can.

Harry

She folded the note back up and slid it into her pocket, then started to cry again. She should have known he hadn't just left her after a one-night fuck; that wasn't like Harry at all. She wiped the proto-tears off and stood. She took care of her chores in quick order and had started in on the laundry when there was a knock at the door.

She opened it with her wand in her hand like always.

Harry stood there, a bouquet of Stargazer Lilies and a ring box in his hands. He knelt in front of her and opened the box. It held a small, plain gold band.

"I-" he stammered.

She started crying again for the third time that day, but this time tears of joy.

"Scotland? Today?" he asked.

She nodded and knelt next to him. They embraced on their knees and she kissed him, then he kissed the tears away.

"You are the one I want to grow old with, Hermione. I'm sorry it's taken me so long to see that."

"I'm not," she replied. "If we'd hurried this, I think it would have fallen apart."

They both stood, Harry helping her up. She took the ring and slid it on. It fit perfectly.

"Where's yours?"

"I thought I'd let you pick out mine."

"Wise man. I like the plain band." She spun it around her finger.

"Shall we message Ginny and ask if they want a double wedding or do you want to keep it just us?"

She thought for a minute.

"Just us."

"I do love you."

"I love you too."

He pushed her in the door and closed it behind them.

[not-close-to-straight]

Fairest of Them All (Two)(Stuckony)

Birds burst into song and flowers literally bloom wherever Tony goes because even Nature loves him, plus we get to meet Prince Charming!Steve (he’s so so good in this fic, such a good Alpha!) and holla for love at first sight, because that’s why we love fairy tales, right?

SNOW WHITE AU MASTERLIST HERE

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

Tony rode clear through what was left of the night, racing away from the castle and his family and everything he had once thought to be true. 

He checked the stars above every few minutes to make sure he was staying on track, grateful for Jarvis’s insistence on memorizing where the different stars lay in case he ever got lost. He had laughed when the old Beta had told him “One day when you leave the castle, you’ll have to know this sort of thing”, but now Tony knew every star in the night sky and which ones would lead him in the right direction towards the river and across to the mountains.   

There was barely any moon so Tony couldn’t see further ahead than the horse’s ears and had no choice but to lay close to the horse’s neck to avoid any low hanging branches once the road from the castle curved sharply around and right into the forest. He had to trust the gelding to pick its way around any sharp rocks or holes and more than once the horse whinnied uncertainly, and Tony just closed his eyes tight and hoped there wasn’t any wolves or bears or any of the other horrible animals he’d heard about lurking in the shadows. 

It wasn’t as if there was anyone to help if things went wrong worse than they already had. 

He was completely alone out here. 

Tony didn’t know if he’d made a conscious decision to stop crying at some point during the wild ride or if he was simply too numb to feel the tears freezing on his cheeks or if he was perhaps finally too dehydrated to have anything left to give, but either way Tony’s eyes were dry and dull when the first stirring of dusk broke on the horizon.

As soon as it was light enough to see relatively well, Tony eased the worn out horse to a stop and slid off the saddle and onto the ground, his legs nearly giving out from the impact.

“Easy, lovely.” he ignored the way his entire body was aching and rubbed at the velvety nose for a quick moment before offering the horse an apple slice from the bag. “You did so good, so good for me, yes you did. Thank you, you lovely beast.”

The horse nickered and pushed his head into Tony’s shoulder, huffing loudly and twitching his ears until the Omega laughed quietly and produced another apple slice. Jarvis had been thoughtful enough to wrap a weight of hay along with the other supplies and Tony limped to a patch of frosted grass and scattered half the hay around, looping the reins up and over the saddle horn so the horse could eat.

The gelding tried to head butt him in a semblance of thank you and Tony laughed again, surprising himself with the sound even as he wrapped his arms around the animal and hugged it tight. He’d always loved animals and they had always loved him, so it wasn’t so much a surprise that he was laughing at the horses antics, it was a surprise that he was laughing at all.

“Feels like a dream, lovely.” the Omega scratched behind the big ears as the horse munched away. “All of this feels like a dream, or maybe it feels more like a nightmare. I keep thinking I’m going to wake up in my bed and everything will be fine but--” he exhaled shakily. “--but that’s not what’s going to happen, is it?”

The horse didn’t answer, but it did lift its head and stare at him for a moment with what almost looked like adoration in the dark eyes so Tony dropped a quick kiss on the broad forehead and went to find himself something to eat.

He settled on an apple just so he could share more of it with the horse later, and pulled out the map and hastily scribbled directions Jarvis had tucked in his pack, spreading it out on a relatively flat rock to try to figure out where the hell he was.

Tony had followed the stars as best he could, but they had disappeared a few hours ago and since he had never even been outside the castle walls-- or at least not that he remembered-- he had no idea how to tell where he was in the forest or even how far he’d gone from home. 

Obadiah had always insisted the outside world was too harsh for a Prince, that there would be people waiting to hurt him, people waiting to use him, people waiting to do all the sort of things that Obadiah had actually been doing the entire time and that was a bitter sort of irony Tony would never be able to appreciate.

But despite the bitterness over what had become of his life, despite the anger still sparking at the edge of his vision and the bone deep fatigue pulling at his consciousness, Tony couldn’t help taking the time to look around and wonder at the cold beauty of the world he’d only glimpsed from the windows of the castle.

The trees were almost all bare, even the evergreens missing their needles as their branches cracked under the force of winter and dragged near the ground. The bark looked black beneath the sparkle of frost and it reminded Tony of the outfit Ana had made him for his eighteenth birthday, all sharp lines and bold glitter and stunning in an abstract sort of way that had made people stop and stare.

Grass grew in patches here and there across the clearing, and Tony plucked a piece and chewed at the end curiously, cataloging the taste and texture and wondering how it was still green before flicking it away. There were no flowers of course, and he hadn’t expected them here away from the tended gardens of the castle, but there was still a hint of floral in the air, a scent of green and life that made the forest feel as if it were holding its breath, just waiting to burst into bloom.

Mountains in the distance, and Tony traced the outline of the peaks with his fingers before searching for a coordinating symbol on the map, tracking the distance from the mountain peaks to the river and then looking around for any identifying markers so he would know have at least a general idea of where he was in relation to the river as well. 

There was nothing he could use as a landmark though, the forest stretching on and on in every direction, the trail he had been following barely a trail at all anymore. Tony traced along the route Jarvis had drawn on the map, tapping absentmindedly at a vague shape identified as a canyon that ran nearly parallel to the trail. Sometime last night, just shortly before dusk, the horse had shied away from the left side of the road for quite a while before relaxing again and moving back towards the middle and if it had been the threat of the canyon in the dark that had spooked him…

Tony measured the space between the canyon and the river and strained his eyes to see as far down the fading path as he could. If he was correct in his estimations and the horse could keep up its current speed, they should reach the river by late afternoon and hopefully be able to cross it before sun down.

Hopefully.

“Are you ready to go, beautiful?” Tony trilled to the horse as he rolled the map back up. “Or should we stay until it warms up just a little bit?”

The horse nickered in apparent agreement and Tony sighed, unfolding one of the blankets from his pack and smoothing it out at the base of a tree. “Yeah, I suppose I could sleep a little.”

Even fully dressed and wrapped in his heaviest coat, tugging the edges of his blanket up and around his legs and hugging his arms around his midsection, Tony was still cold. It was so so cold. He’d never put any real thought into the reality of a winter that lasted longer every year, of nights that lingered well past what should have been dawn and sunlight that only a few hours to shine before it was covered in clouds. Winter had only affected his life in minor ways, like how soon he had to light the lamps or whether or not enough flowers grew to decorate his table and rooms and to lay at his parents graves. 

Tony had never thought about the people outside in the Winter, the ones who had to hunt for firewood to warm their homes and wear extra clothes because the chill never quite went away. Food had to be scarce since crops wouldn’t have time to grow and while water would be plentiful with the snow and ice, what happened if the rivers froze and fish was unavailable for months at a time?

He frowned and huddled tighter to the tree, tipping his face up to try and catch the weak rays peeking through the branches above.

How had he lived twenty one years and never took even a second to consider what happened in the world outside of his workshop and library?

With that sobering thought swirling round in his mind, Tony fell into a restless, uncomfortable sleep for almost two hours, only jolting awake when a bird burst into sudden song close to his tree. His mouth was dry and head groggy, a migraine pounding behind his eyes from the glare of the sun off snow and Tony groaned as he moved to stretch and every one of his muscles rebelled.

Oddly enough, the ground beneath him felt softer than it had before, warmer even and Tony blinked down in confusion when he saw the frost had melted almost entirely away in a six or seven foot circle around him, green grass a few inches tall crushing easily between his fingers.

“...What…” he was too tired to even attempt to understand what had happened while he napped, jaw cracking over a yawn and eyes falling closed for another few minutes. 

He was so tired. 

The horse had come to lay next to him at some point, the big body giving off enough heat that Tony had instinctively curled into its side as he slept and now only half awake, the Omega leaned over and petted the sweet thing, crooning and trilling gratefully when the horses ears twitched his way.

“Winter’s breaking at least a little bit, hm?” he asked the horse, struggling to his feet and refolding the blanket with sluggish fingers, glancing up with bleary eyes to where he heard birds singing and squinting uncertainly when he thought he saw leaf buds on previously bare branches. “Leaves? Is that leaves?” 

Sure he was hallucinating from lack of sleep, Tony fed the horse another apple treat and crunched through a few half hearted bites of his own before putting everything away and readying himself to go again.

Everything hurt-- his thighs almost shaking as he resettled over the stretch of the saddle, his rear sore from the previous nights ride. He was emotionally exhausted and physically worn out and two hours of sleep wasn’t near enough but Tony knew they had to get to the river and across by nightfall or he was running the terrifying risk of being hunted down and caught, dragged back to the castle to face an uncertain fate.

Tired or not, still rubbing sleep from his eyes or not, swaying on his feet and vision blurring or not, he had to keep going.

“Come on, lovely.” He clicked his tongue and the horse started off immediately, following the path with sure, steady steps as Tony struggled to even hold onto the reins. “Alright, I’m going to trust you to keep walking, take your time and please don’t trip and--” he was too out of it to finish the sentence, slumping forward in the saddle and yawning again.

The past twenty four hours had been the worst of his entire life, starting with the Alphas that had been almost violent, then his Uncle and the witch and having to hear so many awful truths from Ana and Jarvis. Running for his life through the woods wasn’t something Tony had ever thought he’d have to do and on top of it all, grass was spontaneously growing and birds were following him through the trees to sing and it-- it was just too much.

It was too much and Tony couldn't think about it right now, couldn’t think about random grass and snow melting while he slept and he certainly couldn’t think about the line of prophecy swirling round in his head.

An Omega to end the Winter.

He couldn't think about it right now.

But if he had been thinking about it, if Tony had been together enough to take a peek back at the clearing where he’d slept, he’d see the very first sprouts of wildflowers creeping up in the grass, bright green stems and tiny leaves that would burst into color by days end.

But he was too tired-- and maybe too afraid-- to look so the wildflowers went unnoticed as the Omega trudged onward towards the river and what he hoped would be salvation.

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

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

Regent King Obadiah Stane preferred to take his breakfast alone, eating his eggs and fruit and toast in the privacy of his rooms, sipping at his tea as he read a few pages from a favorite book or looked over the latest reports from the front lines of whichever battle his armies were involved in at the moment.

It wasn’t really an all out war anymore, not for nearly eight years now, not since Sunset had snatched that unfortunate soldier from the pile of nearly dead and turned him into a monster, putting him at the head of the armies and sending them across the plains in a wave of destruction.

The Soldier was unstoppable, his very soul held hostage by Sunset’s power, an Alpha stripped of everything but the ability to kill, his scent ruined by the metal and magic used to put his broken body back together. 

With him as Commander, Obadiah’s armies had flattened all but the smallest pockets of resistance left in the Kingdom, amassed a force that had swept through the smaller adjoining lands and ran ruling families from their throne. The troops marched under a flag of ten rings set against a red star, a symbol of both his and Sunset’s might and only when they could advance no further did Sunset call the Soldier home to the castle, giving him the title of Huntsman and keeping him as a personal assassin.

Thanks to the Soldier, to the Huntsman, there was no such thing as all out war anymore. The reports were simply of rebel factions that refused to be squashed, of minor uprisings in villages, tallies of men killed and lists of supplies needed.

Thanks to the Soldier, the army of the Ten Rings was uncontested by anyone on this side of the great sea and so long as the rebel camps were being systematically found and destroyed, that was how it would stay.

So Obadiah’s morning was peaceful, nothing to worry about in the reports, his breakfast eaten at a leisurely pace and tea sipped unhurriedly and then--

“Stane.” Sunset blew into his room with the force of wind, the door banging open and into the wall and startling him into spilling his drink. “Where is the Omega Prince this morning?”

“You are not to be in my chambers unless summoned.” he growled irritably, mopping at the tea splattered on his favorite robe. “Leave me be.”

“Mmmm no…” Sunset tapped at her bottom lip with a distractedly long fingernail. “No, I don’t think I will. In fact, you’ve been acting far too imperious with me lately, and I think its time for a reminder that without me you wouldn’t even have that silly Regent King title. Or have you forgotten what I did for you?” 

Obadiah swallowed back another growl, making an attempt to cover his fangs as he offered her a smile just bordering on insolent. “What do you want, witch?”

“I want to see the Prince.” she snapped her fingers and her Soldier moved into the room as well, slipping into the corner to stand guard, pale eyes trained on Obadiah in an unblinking gaze. “There is no such thing as a love potion, no matter what those other silly witches say, so I can’t force him to continue to love and trust you implicitly, but I can certainly help things along. I want to see him before he meets the other Alphas this morning.”

“No.” Obadiah stated and Sunset’s eyebrows flew towards her forehead, the Soldier’s lips curling in a warning snarl. “No matter how much your pet growls at me, I will not let you charm Tony. I don't want him even knowing you exist, much less being close enough for you to--”

“What. Is. This?” the witch moved faster than humanly possible, her power sparking in the air and propelling her forward so her hand could wrap at Obadiah’s jaw, nails digging in enough to make him hiss as she wrenched his head to the side. “What is this?!��

“What is it?” Obadiah tried to yank away, but she called on more of her power and held him perfectly still.

“What is it?” Sunset repeated and with far more strength than she should have had, shoved the Alpha towards the mirror above his end table, folding her arms and tapping her foot impatiently as Obadiah craned his head to see the odd patchwork of blue at the base of his neck, swirling designs spreading in no discernible shape.

“That, you stupid Alpha, is sign of a witch’s spell come to bear. The first marker is always on your neck, the second over your heart.” She was practically spitting in rage and even her Huntstman’s gaze flickered red in a split second of unease. “Tell me, Regent King. Is there any particular spell that comes to mind for you? Any one that would have particularly unfortunate consequences for the both of us should it come to pass?”

Obadiah closed his eyes and muttered a curse, covering the blue with the palm of his hand. “Yesterday upset my nephew more than I bargained for, but today I’ll put it to rights. The curse will go no further than some shaken faith and uncertainty on his part.”

“Send for him.” Sunset’s green eyes sparked angrily. “Now. I am through taking chances or relying on you to take care of things. Send for him or I’ll send my Huntsman for him, do you understand?”

Obadiah gave the witch a wide berth as he passed by, leaning into the hall and bellowing for one of the servants to fetch the Omega Prince to his chambers.

A tense ten minutes passed before the servant reappeared, stuttering and stammering, pale and terrified and Obadiah knew before the Beta even spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Regent King. The Prince does not seem to be in his rooms and none of the servants there in the hall knew where he has--”

The unfortunate servant was dead before he hit the floor, nothing more than a look from the witch telling the Huntsman to move forward and neatly snap his neck.

The Soldier was back in the shadows again while Obadiah was still gaping at the body, and Sunset’s eyes were a touch wild, her movements just a bit uncoordinated as she straightened her dress and then her hair, trying to keep herself calm.

“I’m sure he’s with Ana and Jarvis.” Obadiah managed after a moment. “He often goes to their chambers when he is upset. We will search there, and then the gazebo in the gardens close to his parents grave. He’s here, I’m sure of it.”

“Are you sure of it?” Sunset asked faintly, staring into the mirror at her neck where a design of blue was rapidly working its way to her ear. “Because if not, things are about to take a terrible turn.”

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

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

Sometime around midday the horse stumbled over a half hidden log on the forest floor and Tony-- who had been hovering on the edge of sleep for the better part of the morning-- was thrown right out of the saddle and off the horse’s back, catching himself awkwardly with his previously hurt wrist and crying out in pain.

The horse immediately put its head down to huff at Tony’s hair, pushing at him gently until the Omega struggled back to his feet, blinking away frustrated tears.

“Is your leg alright?” Tony held his arm close to his chest and knelt to run the other hand gently down the horse’s leg from knee to hoof checking for anything that felt out of place or already swollen. The animal shied away from a press near its ankle and Tony’s fingers came away tinged with red.

“Oh, it’s not bad, just a scrape, just a scrape.” Not sure if he was reassuring himself or the horse, Tony sacrificed a little of his water to clean away the bit of blood and then tied a strip of linen around it to keep any dirt out. “How’s that? Let’s keep going, hm?”

The idea of walking made the already exhausted Omega want to scream but he knew the horse needed a break from having someone on his back, and at least walking would force him to stay awake. Before the horse had stumbled, Tony had been tired to the point of nearly passing out and that just wouldn’t do, he absolutely had to keep heading towards the river.

Tony stopped long enough to give the horse some more hay and to eat his way through one of the sandwiches Ana had packed, checked the map one more time, then resolutely set off in the same direction as before.

It was slow going, but it certainly was easier to stay awake walking alongside the horse so Tony kept his steps as fast as he dared, eyes set determinedly on the path ahead. There were birds that seemed to hop along through the branches and sing louder every time he stumbled so Tony started to listen to their song and try to whistle it back. When there was a patch of grass, he paused to let the horse snack and scattered around the seeds he picked from the bread for the birds in case they were hungry too and when they came upon a family of deer in the clearing, Tony took a moment to drink from his water skin and watch quietly so he didn’t spook them, marveling at how the deer looked right at him and weren’t scared at all.

So distracted by the life in a forest that had seemed so bleak just that morning, Tony let more and more time slip away from him, his steps falling slower and slower and the sun was beginning to dip low in the sky before he heard the sound of the river in the distance.

Cursing himself for dawdling, for taking the time to pet the bunnies that had come to meet him and to sing with the birds, Tony clicked his tongue at the horse and urge it along faster, pushing himself into a jog as they headed up a steep hill.

“When we get to the top of this, I’m going to ride you again.” he informed the horse and it nickered at him in agreement. “We’ve got to keep going again, I hope your leg is alright to run a bit more. I have to try and cross the river before the sun goes down or I’m afraid--”

Just a few steps from the top of the hill, a massive destrier came charging up and over the crest and Tony didn’t have time to do much more than duck his head and scream in fear, his own horse rearing up on its hind legs with a panicked bray before wheeling around and bolting away into the forest.

“Are you alright?” There was suddenly an Alpha right in Tony’s space and looming over him, and Tony automatically snarled out loud, popping his little fangs in as much a threat he could manage, clambering backwards to keep some space between himself and the stranger.

“Oh, oh I’m sorry.” The Alpha dropped back several steps, one hand raised placatingly and the other pulling both his hat and scarf away from his face so he didn't look quite so imposing. “I’m sorry, forgive me, Omega. I didn’t mean to crowd you, I just wanted to see if you were alright. I’m going to see if I can catch your horse, it bolted right off when Nomad and I came running up like that. I’ll be right back, as long as you’re alright to stay here?” 

“Yes, that’s--” Tony eased his way towards the trunk of a tree and put a hand to his head to stop a sudden rush of dizziness. “That should be--um, I should be--”

“You’re not alright.” The Alpha came back slower this time, rumbling comfortingly as he tried to get a closer look at Tony. “I don’t mean you any harm Omega, I just want to make sure you’re not hurt. Did you hit your head when you fell? Are you feeling dizzy? I’m not going to leave you here if you have a head injury, would you allow me to--”

The Alpha’s nostrils flared when he got a hint of Tony’s scent, brilliant blue eyes flickering red for a split second before he turned his head away, coughing to cover the sudden growl in his words. “I--I--” he coughed again. “Omega, does your head hurt at all? I can’t risk you fainting while I’m-- while I’m--”

This time a growl did break through and Tony’s mouth went dry, his heart pounding and breath coming in choppy pants. The Alpha scented like sun warmed rosewood and crushed pine and something else thick and drugging and Tony was having a hard time remembering why his head hurt or why he was on the ground again or why he’d been upset just a moment before-- why would he ever be upset when this Alpha was so close--

“Forgive me.” the Alpha said again and Tony had to work to squash the urge to purr over the sound of the deep voice. “I-- I need a moment. Going to get some air and find your horse and then I’ll come back and we can meet properly.”

Tony mmhmm-ed something in response and leaned back into the tree, his muscles unlocking and eyes falling closed. He had very nearly died just now when the war horse had come running over the top of the hill. An Omega of his stature would have been trampled beneath the heavy hooves before the rider had even noticed he was there and Tony should have been hysterical from the shock but instead he felt light headed and dizzy, felt as if he were floating just a few inches above the ground and he so desperately wanted the Alpha to come back and talk to him again, wanted to bury his face in the Alpha’s neck and scent him properly and--

That particular thought startled Tony out of his daze and he jerking upright, looking around in bewilderment when he saw his horse tethered to a tree next to the other stallion, a fire crackling a few feet away and the Alpha sat on the other side of the flames, watching him intently.

The sun was down already, the sky completely dark and Tony’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I-- what-- how long--”

“You were sleeping.” The Alpha murmured. “I came back with your mount and you were sleeping. I hope you don’t mind, but I had to check for a head injury and when I didn’t see any blood, I let you rest. You look like you needed the rest and I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Oh.” Tony looked around him again, wondering if he really did hurt himself and that was why he wasn’t terrified of being alone out in the forest at night with a strange Alpha. “....thank you.”

The Alpha smiled then, his fangs glinting in the firelight and Tony-- Tony had to squeeze his thighs together so he wouldn’t whine at the display.

What was wrong with him?

“I checked your horse’s leg and there’s a small cut at his ankle that would benefit from some rest.” The Alpha was saying and Tony shook his head, tuning back in to the conversation. “Seeing as how it’s too dark for either one of us to keep riding for the night, you are more than welcome to share my camp.”

“....Alright then.” Tony kept his coat gathered around his body as he moved away from the tree and closer to the fire, settling cross legged onto the ground and peering curiously at the Alpha across the way, noting the golden blonde hair and big shoulders, the way he was obviously trying to look as nonthreatening as possible though his hands looked strong enough to crush rocks. “Who are you?”

“Officially?” The Alpha smiled again, sweet and a little teasing. “I am His Royal Highness Prince Steven Grant of the Rogers Kingdom across the sea, Heir Apparent to the Throne and Duke of Leaman.” 

“A prince.” Tony waited for the ripple of unease that he thought would accompany meeting another Alpha prince, but it never came and he cleared his throat to ask, “Honestly?”

“And a rather charming one, so I hear.” Prince Steven winked. “But I don’t have patience for titles and formalities, so please just call me Steve.”

“Steve.” Tony tested the name on his tongue, missing the way the Prince’s eyes flicked red again as he said it. “Steve. Doesn't seem like a very princely name.”

“I said I was charming, not princely.” Steve informed him and Tony ducked his head to hide a smile. “And you, Omega? Is there something I can call you?”

“Tony.” he whispered, almost shy. “You can call me Tony.”

“Tony.” Steve repeated, resisting the urge to growl approvingly as he watched the Omega’s cheeks tint pink. “Are you hungry, Tony?”  

“Starved.” He admitted over an ill timed gurgle from his stomach. “I’ve been riding most of the day and didn’t stop to eat much. Probably not my best plan but it’s hard to eat when I’m thinking about--” 

Tony shut his mouth with an audible click, not quite sure why he’d been ready to spill his secrets to an Alpha he didn’t even know, and quietly grateful when the Prince didn’t comment o his near slip. 

“Here.” Steve ignored the awkward silence after Tony had stopped talking so suddenly, and filled a napkin with whatever he’d had on his own plate. He got to his feet slowly so he wouldn’t alarm the Omega and risk being snarled at again-- though Tony’s little fangs were about the sweetest Steve had ever seen-- and offered up the food. “Try this, if you’d like. And if you want some wine, I have that too.”

“If I’m not imposing.” Tony kept his coat tucked firmly around him so Steve wouldn’t see the silk shirt and dirty but still obviously well made trousers. The last thing he needed was the Alpha asking questions about where he was from or where he was going, especially when Tony was still feeling light headed from his fall and more than a little compromised by the lingering Alpha scent. He kept his hurt wrist covered as well, not wanting to give Steve a reason to come too close again and not wanting to explain the finger shaped bruises.

He still couldn’t shake the feeling of safe though, or understand why the urgency to escape faded a little more every time he glanced up and caught the Alpha’s blue gaze, but by the time Tony had finished his food he was feeling as close to relaxed as he’d been in days, stretching languidly and putting the napkin aside.

“How are you feeling?” Steve had told himself over and over not to stare as the Omega ate, but he couldn’t help himself. Tony was simply stunning, the fire making his skin look soft and reflecting gold in the dark eyes. Every time Tony took a bite, Steve had caught sight of a pink tongue against red lips and the hint of delicate fangs and every time the Omega had swallowed he’d had to watch his throat move and hear a soft noise of satisfaction….

“That was very good.” Tony said and Steve dragged his eyes from the tempting peek of collarbone beneath the heavy coat. “I appreciate you sharing with me.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t very good.” He smiled at how polite Tony was, well spoken and gentle with his words. “But you are sweet to say so, Omega. Very sweet.”

Tony flushed prettily and Steve snatched up his wine skin, taking large gulps to keep himself from growling again. The Omega was obviously over tired and most likely scared and the last thing he needed was an Alpha panting after him simply because Steve had scented warm vanilla and spicy cloves and sweetest honey and was half out of his damn mind with want.

“I think the birds are half in love with you.” Steve changed the subject before he did something embarrassing, motioning to the trees where three or four birds were chirping merrily through a tune even though the sun was down. “They started singing almost the moment you woke up and haven’t stopped yet. I haven’t heard a single bird singing since my ship came to the borders a few weeks ago, did you know?”

“I’ve heard them a lot recently too.” Tony tipped his head back and grinned up at the birds who seemed to sing suddenly louder, their song even merrier. “I love them. Beautiful.”

“Beautiful.” Steve repeated, helpless against staring at the curls tumbling around Tony’s ears, nearly speechless at how lovely the Omega was when he was smiling like that. “Christ, Tony, you are beautiful.”

Tony’s eyes went very wide, his mouth falling open in surprise and Steve jumped to his feet. “I-- I think I need some more air. Sorry my Omega-- Tony. Sorry, Tony I just-- I’m going to check on the horses.” he motioned to the animals that were clearly fine, standing no more than ten feet away. “And then I need to-- I need to--”

He was almost gasping for breath at this point, chest tight and palms clammy as the Omega ran his tongue over the tiny point of his fangs in a clearly nervous gesture.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I’ve just never--” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe and only speaking when he could do it without wanting to rumble something claiming towards the pretty brunette. “You are safe with me, Omega. Please don’t think you aren’t. I just need a minute and perhaps a short walk and then I’ll come back.”

“I know I’m safe with you.” Tony blurted without stopping to think because he knew in his heart he was safe with the Alpha, just like he’d known he was safe with Ana and Jarvis. Safe. “I know I’m safe you, Alpha.”

Alpha.

“You’re safe with me.” Steve said again, softer this time and Tony dug his fingers into the dirt at his side as he nodded. “I swear. I’m never going to let anything happen to you.” Truth, not even hesitating before making the promise. “Not anything, Omega. Not ever.” 

“I know I’m safe with you.” Tony shivered when the Alpha’s eyes shaded possessive, a whole body shudder racking his frame when Steve took first one, then another step away. “You don’t have to go. I’m fine. It’s-- I--”

“Just for a minute.” Steve whispered, even though he was clearly fighting his biology to even say the words. “I’m afraid I’m going to frighten you and I don’t want to do that. I’m going to take a walk until I calm down and then we can talk some more and--”

Tony whined, high pitched and anxious at the thought of the Prince leaving and Steve felt the sound like a knife to his soul, twisting through his heart as every cell in his body screamed to get closer to the Omega.

“You’re cold.” Steve said then, which didn’t make any sense at all. Tony wasn’t cold, he was flushed and his eyes dilated and plucking at his coat as if he wanted to tear it off but Steve knew if he saw even a hint of the Omega’s skin he would lose the battle against whatever was clawing at his mind and his heart and telling him to take and claim and mineminemine, so instead he said, “You’re cold.” and picked up an extra blanket. “Cover up.” 

Steve didn’t trust himself to move enough to even hand it to Tony, so instead he tossed it over the fire and into Tony’s lap, turning on his heel and marching towards the horses immediately because he had to leave now now now or he didn’t know what he would--

Tony caught the blanket and pressed it to his face, inhaling deep and--

Oh.

Oh it was heat and sunshine, the scent of trees on a summer day, blue like clear skies and red like the rosewood that made up his bookshelves, light blooming in gardens and pure white perfection and Tony’s mind went peacefully blank, nothing but the image of his Alpha in his mind, his Alpha and he wanted-- he wanted-- he needed--

Tony didn’t realize he was moaning, didn’t realize he was rubbing his cheek into the soft blanket and purring, and he didn’t realize the Alpha had gone stock still at the first needy sound, had whirled around and fallen to the ground when Tony had started to purr.

“Sweetheart.” Tony’s eyes flew open when the Alpha spoke, widening when he saw the Prince on his knees in the dirt, one hand outstretched pleadingly. “Tony, can I-- can I scent you?”

Tony nodded wordlessly, his breath catching when Steve reached for his wrist and held it carefully so carefully in his huge hand and whispered a quiet, “Thank you.” 

Steve lingered for a moment, brushing his lips over the soft skin at the bottom of Tony’s thumb, dropping a gentle kiss in the middle of his palm, nuzzling over the pulse point at Tony’s wrist before dragging in a deep, open mouthed breath to get as much of Tony’s scent as he could. 

Then the Alpha made a ravenous sort of noise, low and greedy and hoarse and oh Tony needed to hear it again so he tugged at his wrist until Steve let go, hushing the anxious rumble with a reassuring whine of his own and tipping his head back, offering his throat to the Alpha.

Steve muttered something that might have been are you sure and Tony only nodded, catching his tongue at the edge of his fangs just to make the Alpha look, the motion more instinct than anything else. “I’m sure.” 

“You too.” Steve asked begged, slipping his hand into Tony’s hair and guiding him closer, holding him steady so the Omega could scent him as well. “Please, please Tony tell me you feel it too--” 

Steve already knew, he’d known for hours before and the way Tony gasped and wriggled closer, the way he offered up more of himself for the Alpha to scent was only confirmation, and Steve damn near came undone right there when little fangs dug into the base of his neck as the Omega purred something content and hungry.

Tony was shaking, mind blanking and body overwhelmed, fatigue and soreness disappearing, the worry over the witch and his trek to the rebel camp falling away as the Alpha gathered him up into strong arms and lay him out on the discarded blanket. 

And then finally, finally, Tony whispered what had been swirling round in his head for hours since he’d caught the first hint of Alpha scent, a single word that would explain everything even if he still didn’t quite understand how it all worked.

“....Mate?”

The Alpha’s eyes opened so dark red they were nearly black, a rumble that was almost a roar working through his chest.

“Mate.”

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

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