#Shoe Rack with Three Compartments | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

freebooter4ever · 4 years

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Ice Cream And An Apology

Eugene drags his bff Snafu on a vacation to Los Angeles six years after Snafu left him on that train. They end up on Santa Monica beach where they finally admit they might be in love, and it might've been brewing for a long while, and wow are they clueless sometimes. Ace Eugene and Snaf, written for @skelesocks who makes the best Ace Eugene content around, thank you! And who was sad that I made Eugene cry, so here is me making him feel better through Snafu. (their vacation date includes a tiki hut, ice cream, swing dancing, secret cliffside hotels)(I took all the parts I do like about living in LA and put them here)(the ballroom existed but it's torn down now, the hotel is a real place I stumbled on while hiking way too far down the beach but it's actually a 1930's pool building called Palos Verdes Athletic Club)(with bonus historical photos cause I'm a fucking nerd)

Two years into grad school Eugene decides he needs a proper vacation. The only reason Snafu knows this is because Eugene also decides Snafu is the person he's gonna vacation with. And apparently Snafu has no say in this decision.

A very curt letter arrives one spring afternoon with a time, a date, and the address of the New Orleans railroad station, as if Snafu needed to be told where that is. Granted, Snafu's track record in being responsive and easy to reach is perhaps not the best, but Gene's known that for years. Snafu doesn't know what's changed with this particular meet up.

He's also a little resentful of the fact that Eugene thinks he can snap his fingers and Snafu will drop everything on a dime and come running. Mostly Snafu resents this on account of how true it is. Six years after the war and Snafu still can't let go.

So Snafu shows up at the train station, right on time, with his duffel packed tight, and his hat a little jaunty.

Eugene steps off the train with his ticket book in hand. He looks right and left, like he can't see Snafu standing a mere three feet in front of him. It must be the hat.

"You lost, Sledgehammer?" Snafu asks.

Eugene's eyes finally find his. Snafu's heart drops out of his chest, and he suddenly remembers why he made his original vow years ago to walk away and never see anybody again.

"Shelton?" Eugene asks, like he can't quite believe his eyes, and the formality stings.

"Miss me?" Snafu smirks.

Eugene doesn't answer. He simply walks up to Snafu, shoulder's Snafu's bag, and climbs back onto the train.

Snafu follows - like fucking always.

Eugene shoves Snafu's duffel into the luggage racks already almost stacked full, and guides Snafu to a private compartment.

Snafu glances admiringly at the plush seats and curtained windows, and whistles, "Adjunct professors must make quite a bit of money these days."

"I'm paying both your way and my way on this trip, so...yes," Eugene says, and Snafu knows it's non negotiable. No matter how many times Snafu offers, Eugene never accepts repayment.

"The truth is…" Eugene says that night after they've converted their plush seats into a bed, "...not making much money doesn't matter so much when you don't use it. I don't go out, I don't do anything, my parents pay my rent. What else am I going to spend it on?"

Snafu shrugs. A lot of things pop into his mind, but it's true Eugene never goes out so Snafu doesn't want to discourage this change. Eugene is the most boring college student ever. Snafu knows because he makes the drive from New Orleans to Auburn every weekend. And every weekend is the same, they spend most of the time lying around Sledge's dorm - Eugene studying and Snafu reading his latest murder mystery novel.

He supposes the sacrifice of Eugene's social life might have been worth it, though, if it meant being able to pay for the sleeper car. Because that night on the train when Eugene wakes Snafu with a yell, there are no prying eyes to judge them. Snafu wraps his arms around Eugene's shoulders in the privacy of their bunk and holds him till he calms down.

Sometimes Snafu wonders who does this for Eugene during the week, on the nights Snafu's not there.

"I just don't sleep those nights," Eugene whispers in the dark, his voice barely audible over the clacking of the train tracks.

Snafu squeezes him tighter. Eugene's back is pressed against Snafu's chest, and Snafu's nose is in Eugene's hair. And sometimes Snafu worries he might be crazy, but he also swears that the smell of Eugene's neck is the only thing capable of stopping Snafu's own nerves from jumping out of his skin. He'll never admit to Eugene how selfish he is. That Snafu doesn't keep dropping everything to run to his side out of some altruistic need to please. No.

Snafu's fucking addicted to the boy in his arms and he can't let go. No matter how much it hurts.

Plus they aren't boys anymore. Eugene is twenty eight, and Snafu is thirty, and he keeps waiting and waiting for Eugene to grow up and leave him behind but it hasn't happened yet.

It takes four days for the train to reach Los Angeles. It's hot - so fucking hot, Snafu wonders why Eugene picked summer of all times to vacation here, but the dry wind and brilliant blue sky is still a relief compared to the sticky humidity of home. He can kinda see why people come out here, even if the baking sun also makes him feel a little like a raisin.

Eugene rents a car. An unnecessary expense in Snafu's mind. The car even has a swamp cooler, which at first Snafu decries as the most absurd waste of cash. But then he presses his face to the passenger window to watch the rocket-like thing work. And sure, he can't feel the wind on his face anymore, but damn if the air in the car doesn't become more bearable faster.

Eugene watches Snafu and just smiles.

The outside heat cools off the closer they get to the coast. Snafu has no idea where Eugene is taking them. Perhaps that's why Eugene invites him everywhere, because he never asks questions. Honestly Eugene could take him anywhere in the world and it'd still be something, simply because it's with Eugene. Except caves. Snafu doesn't mess with caves.

They park in a giant lot, and when Snafu opens the car door he hears the familiar sound of gulls and the ocean. All around his head, though, are two story buildings - not a horizon line in sight. They must still be in the city. But then they turn a corner, walk two blocks down the street, and there it is: the Santa Monica pier.

The hippodrome catches the eye first. Then Snafu sees the long line stretching down a checkerboard walkway. The crowd of people ends at the mirrored doors and box office of the Aragon Ballroom. Something must be happening for it to be so busy in the middle of a random saturday. The crowd is young too, mostly teenagers. Snafu feels old, looking at them.

Snafu stares at the ballroom for a minute and then leers at Eugene. "You taking me dancing?" He asks.

"No," Eugene says, "I don't dance." He turns away from the gigantic world famous dancehall hanging over the ocean on spindly legs, and starts walking down the boardwalk.

Snafu hurries to catch up.

They clamber down tall wooden steps to get to the beach. Snafu touches one and ends up with a splinter in his hand, naturally. He's too busy trying to pick the damn thing out of his finger to notice when Eugene stops. Snafu collides with his back.

Eugene balances precariously at the edge of the bottom step, leaving only a little room for Snafu to squish in behind him. Snafu leans his chin on Eugene's shoulder and tries to figure out what is on the ground that Eugene's so intently marveling at.

"Gene?" Snafu slips his arm underneath Eugene's elbow and wiggles his hand in front of Eugene's face, "Your pa's the doctor."

"What?" Eugene asks in confusion as if brought out of a trance.

"Splinter," Snafu explains.

Eugene very carefully pries the long skinny splinter out of Snafu's finger. And then he goes back to staring down at his feet.

"What are we waiting for?" Snafu asks. He places his hands on either side of Eugene's hips and tries to remain patient.

"An engraved invitation," Eugene intones. He bends over to untie his Chuck Taylors and pull them off.

"That's just asking for splinters," Snafu points out when Eugene's socks come off next.

Eugene leaves his socks neatly tucked into his shoes on the wooden plank and steps into the sand.

Snafu, being more familiar with thievery, hastily threads the shoelaces through his own belt loop and then ties Eugene's two shoes together to hang off his hip. His own shoes stay on as he traipses after Eugene. Snafu's had enough sand between his toes to last him a lifetime.

It doesn't take long to catch up to Eugene. When Snafu reaches him, Eugene is breathing shallowly and clenching his fists, staring at the rolling ocean waves and the handful of beachgoers. To the casual observer, Eugene would appear to be enjoying the view, but Snafu sees the tension. Snafu sidles up to Eugene and leans against his shoulder.

"I thought it would feel different," Eugene says. His voice is calm, he looks calm, but he's anything but. Snafu knows the feeling all too well.

"C'mon," Snafu slips his hand into Eugene's and tugs him away from the shore, "Let's get off the sand."

They make it back to the boardwalk and Snafu gives Eugene back his shoes.

Eugene smiles at him gratefully, and that grin with those eyes is precisely the reason Snafu's always here. And in this case 'here' means 'by Eugene's side come hell or high water.'

Eugene smiles, and Snafu shrugs it off, and lets Eugene use his shoulder to steady himself while he puts his shoes back on one-handed. Those smiles make Snafu want to kiss them off Eugene's face to get rid of them. They're altogether too kind, altogether too caring, and it just worsens the already deep hole Snafu's dug himself.

They walk down the boardwalk for a short distance, eyeing the push carts, and the souvenir stalls, and the hot dog stands that look suspiciously crusty.

"Those aren't for you," Snafu says, pushing Eugene along by the small of his back when the boy lingers a little too long in front of a cheesy sign with a cartoon corn dog dancing on a stick. The dog has eyes, and looks way too happy about being eaten.

"What, why not?" Eugene asks.

"They're un-hi-Gene-ic," Snafu drawls.

"Oh god," Eugene casts his eyes to the sky.

"It's in the name, no Gene's allowed," Snafu adds.

"I got the joke, Snafu," Eugene says.

The next food stand they come to is a tiki hut. There's no other way to describe it. It's the tackiest thing Snafu's ever seen. Snafu hears about the 'tiki' craze sweeping the nation after all the boys came home from the south pacific. He sees advertisements using the motifs in the magazines at the mechanic shop he works for.

The tiki design is always heavily stylized, and completely fake, and so fucking ugly it makes Snafu's eyes hurt.

He turns to Eugene, and their eyes meet. There's a rush of shared knowing between them, it sends Snafu tingling down to his toes, and a genuine smile breaks out onto his face, and before he knows it they're both laughing. They lean against each other, giggling helplessly at this silly simulacrum of the islands they were trapped on for so long.

"Four nights on a train for this, Gene?" Snafu teases.

Eugene slings an arm around Snafu's waist to steady him and, still laughing, they wobble over to peer at the menu tacked against the entrance to the hut.

"Coconut ice cream," Snafu reads with exaggerated admiration.

Eugene shudders violently, and Snafu can feel it through his body. "I can't stand the smell of coconut," Eugene whines, "All those coconuts on Pavuvu, buried in the sand, rotting with that inescapable stench."

Snafu shakes his head, "You're missing out."

"Nope," Eugene insists and breaks away from Snafu, "We're not eating here. I would rather eat the No-Gene's-Allowed dancing corn dog."

"I bet by the end of this trip I'll get you eating coconut ice cream," Snafu calls.

"Not happening," Eugene calls back, making his point by already walking away.

Snafu eyes the coconut tiki shack, eyes Gene, and starts plotting.

Blissfully ignorant, and completely confident in his ability to talk Snafu into or out of anything, Eugene continues down the boardwalk.

Meanwhile, Snafu's attention is captured next by the neat row of bicycles at the very end of the small line of makeshift booths. The bicycles are clean, and shiny, with pastel baskets and sparkling handlebar bells, and colorful seats with clean, bright stitching. The kind of bicycles Snafu dreamed of when he was a kid. He slows to a crawl as they pass by and eventually stops, unable to resist going over and putting his hands on one.

Snafu rings the bell and chuckles.

He glances up and Eugene is smiling at him again in that overly fond way that says Snafu could probably get away with practically anything right now.

So, they end up renting two bikes. Snafu's is a mint blue with a grey basket. He pulls his shoes off and drops them into said basket to ride barefoot. The spikey plastic pedals feel hot and firm underneath Snafu's feet. Eugene's bike is a reddish salmon color with a burnt orange basket that when combined with the sun glinting off Eugene's red hair, makes him strike a truly imposing figure.

Snafu laughs about this for at least five minutes straight before they get on their way. He wishes he brought a camera. There's one slung around Eugene's neck, but Eugene blushes and refuses Snafu's request to use it.

"If I can't take embarrassing photos of you with it, what's the point of even having it?" Snafu demands.

Eugene still refuses.

Snafu sticks his tongue out at Eugene and takes the lead on the bicycles. It's incredibly easy to ride along the flat beach. The path isn't paved, and is a little rough, but half the time Snafu is standing on his pedals as he rides, so he hardly notices. Occasionally he looks back to make sure Gene is keeping up.

The only time he loses track of Eugene is when they're pedaling through a dilapidated old pier. Snafu banks a slight curve and notices Eugene isn't appearing around the shops and buildings behind him. He circles back around to find Eugene stopped and straddling his bicycle, looking towards the ocean.

Snafu pulls up alongside him and eyes him quizzically.

"It's two men…" Eugene nods at a couple making out on a beach blanket in the distance, "I saw them walking out there. The one with long hair isn't a girl, he's a guy."

Snafu looks at the couple passionately embracing, and then at Eugene's expression. "Shocking," Snafu says sarcastically, "Scandalous."

"You don't seem surprised," Eugene says.

"I live in New Orleans," Snafu replies, "Not all of us spent most our lives in hicktown Alabama."

"Mobile is not a hicktown," Eugene scowls.

"Stop staring at them, Gene," Snafu warns and nods at the couple, "They might give you a show." He rides off, this time determined to leave Eugene in the dust.

Snafu keeps going on his bicycle for a few hours. They're forced to make a brief detour around a marina, but they end up back on an oceanfront path, and continue on pedaling until suddenly the beach abruptly ends. The sand narrows off into rocks, and rising high above them are towering cliffs.

Eugene coasts to a stop next to Snafu and puts his foot down to rest. He's breathing hard. All that studying and not enough manual labor.

"Guess we're continuing on foot from here," Snafu suggests casually.

Eugene huffs in disbelief, "You're joking."

"Four nights on a train…" Snafu smirks, "I ain't stopping yet."

They bring the bikes back to the nearest beach facilities and lock them up in a rack, then set off across the rocks. At first it's fairly easy, there is a dirt path running directly beneath the cliff face but slightly above the worst of the jagged rocky beach. They've climbed over much worse during the war.

Eugene is an unenthusiastic hiking partner, however. They pass by a beautiful stucco building nestled into the cliffs with a high wall and flanked by old fashioned lamps. Eugene stares longingly at the NCAA sized swimming pool behind the wall.

"Later," Snafu promises him, and leads him on.

The rocks turn a little more treacherous past the wall, and eventually it gets to the point that even Snafu is carefully picking his way across rock by rock. He climbs hand and foot up to the base of the cliff and expertly assesses the narrow ledge leading across a plunging chut to the next rocky beach. The chute is roughly four feet long and ends in churning water. The waves are coming in, crashing against the rocks and zipping up the chute to lap at the ledge. Snafu puts one shoe on the ledge and wiggles it around to test his grip.

"Snaf," Eugene pleads from the rocks below, "I can't…"

Snafu stares down at him unblinkingly. And then turns and starts to walk carefully across the ledge. He makes it to the other side and leaps over the rocky outcrop.

"Merriell!" Eugene cries.

Snafu can no longer see him. After vaulting the end of the ledge he lands on another rocky beach, and in the distance he sees another point where the rocks give way to cliffs. Snafu clambers on tirelessly, but the path soon becomes all but impassable. He's reached the farthest point he can go. Eventually he gives up and turns around.

He climbs back onto the taller rock sticking out from the ledge and sits down on the top to watch the waves break against the rock's front edge. Below him and across the chasm, Eugene sits huddled on his own rock, intently watching the waves. Eugene ignores Snafu's return.

"Eugene?" Snafu calls softly.

Eugene's head jerks up and he looks at Snafu with a painful mixture of worry and anger. "What the hell, Snafu?" Eugene yells, "You jump over the other side and don't answer me for a half hour? I had no way of knowing if you slipped, or fell, or hit your head, or drowned…" Eugene's voice wavers.

"You could'a followed," Snafu argues.

"I cannot cross that ledge," Eugene snaps back, "Not all of us have your super human climbing abilities. You shouldn't go on alone...what if you ended up in the water?"

"Gene, I'm a good swimmer," Snafu says dismissively.

Eugene shakes his head at him in exasperation. "Fuck you, Shelton," he says, and he clearly means it. He turns back to the waves splashing at his feet and rubs his hand into his eye.

Which is when Snafu notices something odd.

He toes back across the ledge and hops down to the rock next to Eugene's to confirm his suspicions. Snafu tilts his head and scoots as close as Eugene will let him.

"Gene?" Snafu prompts gently, "Are you crying?"

Eugene screws his face up and presses his chin against his knees. He's clearly about to start crying in the way anyone starts to cry when they're feeling on the verge and someone asks them about it.

Snafu hastily stands and closes the last few inches between them. He crouches next to Eugene and puts his arm around Gene's shoulders.

"This was a mistake," Eugene breathes.

"I'm sorry," Snafu says. He leans his head in close to Eugene's and leans his weight against him in hopefully a comforting manner.

Eugene shakes his head and a brief sob chokes his next words, "I can't…." he pauses to catch his breath, "I can't do this anymore."

"Then we'll leave," Snafu suggests, "You've got a car. We'll drive out to the desert. You can draw some cacti."

"No, Snaf," Eugene says quietly, his voice goes almost calm, "I mean I can't do this anymore with you."

Snafu stands when he hears those words.

Eugene shivers and starts crying anew.

"You're gonna leave me stuck here without even a train ticket home?" Snafu's mind immediately jumps to how much bus fare will cost, and whether he's got enough cash on him or if he'll have to pick up some odd jobs before he catches the first train back.

"No!" Eugene exclaims, angry again, "I would never do that to you."

"Then what, Gene?" Snafu asks, his own voice rising.

"You can't keep leaving me like this," Eugene insists.

"I just jumped over a goddamn ledge…"

"You left!" Eugene tilts his face up to Snafu and hurtles the accusation at him, "You left without a goodbye and…"

"I came back!" Snafu interrupts.

"Not for my wedding," Eugene says sullenly.

"Nor for Burgie's," Snafu waves it away with a gesture.

"I'm not Burgie!" Eugene declares.

"I came back for your divorce!" Snafu counters.

Eugene drops his head onto his arms.

"For fuck's sake, Eugene haven't you cried over her enough?" Snafu sighs. He climbs back onto the ledge and scoots across over to the jutting rock to put some space between him and Eugene, "It's been four years. You barely knew each other."

"I'm not crying over Edna," Eugene protests sourly and sniffles snot back into his nose.

"Can't imagine why you two didn't work out," Snafu rolls his eyes and swings his legs over the edge of the rock to dangle above the crashing waves, "With names like Edna and Eugene."

A very slight smile tugs at the corner of Eugene's mouth. "E squared," he says.

"She's probably better off," Snafu offers, "No longer saddled with the terrible mouthful 'Edna Sledge'."

"You're one to talk, Merriell," Eugene points out.

"Merriell Sledge has a nice ring to it," Snafu goads him.

"I like Eugene Shelton better," Eugene jokes back.

"Thought you said you were done with me," Snafu says, unable to prevent his big mouth from opening.

Eugene looks up at him with the meanest glare he's ever seen.

It slowly, slowly starts to dawn on Snafu that he might be the reason Eugene Sledge is crying.

That comes as a shock. Snafu takes a moment to think back on his life and all the times he might've made someone cry. And not because he shoved some bully or asshole into the dirt. It's a very short list. One of his earliest memories is visiting his grandma as a child. She cried when he left, and hugged him for longer than he's ever been hugged in his life. His parents died, but they weren't the crying type anyway. His baby sister stopped crying after their parents' deaths. Even when Snafu enlisted, she didn't shed a tear.

And absolutely none of the men Snafu formed attachments to were the crying type either. Till Eugene, till now.

But Snafu can't imagine why Eugene is crying over him. He answered the extremely self-pitying letter Eugene penned in the weeks after Eugene's divorce, he's spent every weekend with Eugene since to keep him company, he tries to be there for whatever Eugene needs. Eugene's got no fucking reason to cry because of him.

Eugene's crying like Snafu broke his heart, except there's no possible way Eugene could care about him that deeply. This love Snafu's got going is a one way street, and he's careful to keep it that way.

Snafu digs into his pocket and pulls out a rather beat up carton of cigarettes. He calmly lights one and tosses the rest to Eugene. Eugene holds the carton like it's something precious.

"Sledgehammer," Snafu says, "Just tell me what you want."

Eugene takes a deep breath to steady himself. He grips the paper cigarette carton hard till it crinkles. "I think I want what those two guys on the beach have…" Eugene tells the waves. And then looks to Snafu for some sort of validation, "...but with you."

Snafu smokes his cigarette and tries to remember there's a ten foot gulf with choppy waves between them and launching himself across it is not physically possible.

"And this is why I can't keep doing this anymore, Snaf," Eugene says when Snafu doesn't answer his request. Eugene turns back to the rocks below his feet and says with great frustration, "Our friendship means everything to me, but it's killing me."

Those last words weigh heavy on Snafu's conscience. "Okay, Gene," he says, "We'll finish out this vacation, and then I promise you'll never have to see me again."

Eugene swallows hard. He squeezes his eyes shut and buries his head in his arms once more, so he doesn't have to see Snafu right now.

Snafu makes his way over the ledge for the last time and carefully places a hand on Eugene's trembling shoulder. "C'mon," he says kindly, "Let's get back to the bikes."

Eugene twines his hand with Snafu's. Snafu bends down, braces Eugene's arm with his own, and helps him stand. Eugene sways into Snafu's chest and for a minute their faces are too close together for comfort. But neither of them are looking at each other. And Eugene isn't smiling, so it makes it easy for Snafu to deny the kiss and pull away.

Eugene's horribly quiet as they make their way back over the rocky beach. He pauses before they pass the wall with the swimming pool.

Snafu looks back questioningly.

"I'm hungry," Eugene announces, "You made me ride my bike for three hours, then scramble over rocks for two. This place looks nice, it's hygienic, there's no palm fronds or fake tiki statues. We're stopping here."

Snafu eyes the iron gate skeptically. The lock is hanging loose and the gate is ajar, but only because a few people from the private pool are swimming in the ocean nearby.

"You object?" Eugene asks stubbornly, ready and looking for a fight.

"It's too fancy," Snafu says and jerks his chin in the direction of the three story building stacked in layers on the cliff like a cake, "I see white lace curtains in those windows. Fucking clean lace curtains."

"The hot dogs were too poor, this place is too rich," Eugene says, "Make up your mind, Snafu."

Snafu sighs, but concedes Eugene may have a point. He gestures for Eugene to go through the gate first.

Sometimes Eugene's ability to take all of his generational wealth and privilege and put it to use comes in handy. After hours of physical exercise they look bedraggled. Both of them are dusty, the armpits of their shirts are damp, Eugene's collar is creased, Snafu never had a collar to begin with, they have sand pouring out of their shoes, and yet when Eugene walks through that gate he owns the place.

Snafu slinks in on his coat tails and settles in to watch the show from a distance. Some pool boy comes up to stop Gene from going any further, and the set of Eugene's shoulders takes on a stubborn slant. Eugene isn't pretentious. But he knows how to be. Snafu's never seen Eugene use his status, or his upbringing to deliberately belittle anyone beneath him. When he does draw out this intangible skill to demand the kind of respect money offers, it's always in defense of someone who doesn't have it.

And Snafu kinda likes being the beneficiary of that benevolent righteousness. It's entertaining to watch people's attitudes change toward Eugene in the blink of an eye when they realize he's someone of means.

All it takes is a few quick sentences, and the attendant who initially stopped Eugene is suddenly apologizing and taking Eugene's ID. Before the attendant reverently carries the ID back towards the main house, he glances nervously at Snafu.

Snafu tilts his head back against the pool wall and lazily smiles. Snafu knows where he belongs but he doesn't give a shit.

The attendant turns tail and runs.

Snafu watches him go with a bit of hypocritical glee till Eugene quietly returns to Snafu's side.

"We're staying here tonight, huh?" Snafu smirks.

"Yeah," Eugene nods confidently, his hands in his pockets, "It looks comfortable."

Snafu hums and grins at Eugene admiringly.

"You might have to put up with clean lace curtains for longer than expected," Eugene warns.

"Think I can handle that," Snafu replies.

"Swell," Eugene says, only half sarcastic and immediately satisfied with Snafu's agreement. Eugene's eyes start roaming around the pool deck till he spots what he's looking for, "Now that's settled, I see a burger bar with my name on it."

"I believe the name on that sign says 'Hanna's'," Snafu points out drolly.

"Grab that table overlooking the ocean," Eugene says, "I'll bring you a menu."

Snafu climbs a narrow stone staircase built into the cliff face and sits down at one of the three tables hidden in a nook behind a trellis of lavender. He adjusts the tables a little, shoves one closer to the wall at the edge of the cliff, and then sits down.

Eugene comes up a few minutes later and offers Snafu an embossed menu featuring a long list of items and no prices. "I see you removed the lace tablecloth," Eugene notes with a grin.

Snafu briefly glances at the discarded pile of table linens he made on the table next to theirs and scoffs, "Don't need that shit for hamburgers."

Eugene bites his lip and concentrates on reading his own menu.

They both order hamburgers, and Eugene deliberates between a milkshake or a soda before eventually settling on the house rootbeer. Snafu additionally orders three extra sides of french fries. The hamburgers are as large as Snafu's hands and the french fry portions are generous enough that Snafu still has a large stack at the end of the meal. He leans back in his chair, props his feet up on the ocean wall, and snacks on fries while surveying the waves.

Meanwhile Snafu can feel Eugene's eyes on him.

Snafu finishes his fries, and lights a cigarette.

Eugene is still watching him.

Snafu can't bring himself to meet Eugene's gaze. Eugene's eyes are everything good - kindness, vulnerability, trust, smarts...when Snafu looks into them he feels this rush of uncontainable emotion, that drug that makes his nerves calm. And the persistent need in the back of his head to be somewhere doing something quiets down till it goes silent entirely, because he's here, sharing this with Eugene, and somehow that's more than enough.

They're not even doing anything, they're relaxing on the side of a bluff looking out at the ocean and sharing a cigarette. It should be boring as hell, and yet when Snafu does finally get the guts to flick his eyes towards Gene, he's utterly satisfied.

He's going fucking insane, is what it is. All cause of Eugene's eyes. He tries to clumsily explain this to Gene. Snafu feels he owes him that much. It doesn't come out right. None of Snafu's words ever come out right, not like Gene's with his studied elocution and tendency to think long and hard before he speaks.

Except this time, as Snafu speaks, Eugene's face loses his sour expression entirely, and Snafu sees hope there - maybe a little bit of joy.

Eugene places the cigarette back in Snafu's hands and leans his elbows on the table intently. "Snaf," he says very seriously, "how do I explain to you that I feel the exact same way every time I look at you?"

"Not possible," Snafu counters stubbornly.

"Snaf!" Eugene laughs.

"I can't be for you what those guys on the beach are for each other," Snafu says.

"Why not?"

"Just can't."

"Just like I can't fall in love with my asshole gunner during the middle of a war?" Eugene's still grinning like he can't stop now that he's started.

"I'm not enough, Gene."

Eugene sighs. He studies Snafu's profile quietly for a minute, and then switches tactics. "Do you know why mine and Edna's divorce was okay by my parents?"

Snafu shakes his head. He hadn't even given it a thought. Just assumed Eugene's parents knew their son deserved the best, and anyone named Edna was clearly not that.

"We, uh," Eugene coughs, "We never consummated the marriage. I kept putting it off. Easy to do under strict christian values. Till Edna got fed up, realized I wasn't about to give her kids anytime soon or ever. And demanded we split."

"You're still a virgin?" Snafu stares at him in surprise.

"I am," Eugene blushes angrily, "And I'm kinda tired of people shaming me for that."

"No shame," Snafu says fairly, "I remember how you were during the China occupation years. Always thought that was just cause your fear of VD, though."

"Yeah, that was my excuse at the time," Eugene says, "Snaf, you know I love you. Passionately. I want to be able to say that, whenever I feel it, instead of choking it down and trying to hide it. I'd like to kiss you. I very much enjoy holding you. I think we could live together very happily. That's what I want from you, nothing more." Eugene reaches over the table and takes Snafu's hand resting beside the crystal water goblets. "I'll beg you, if that's what it takes to get it through your thick skull."

Snafu smiles a little despite himself.

"Also, we're both gonna have to work on quitting smoking," Eugene concludes his list, "cause I'm going to need you to grow old with me."

Snafu plucks at the bar menu on the table beside his elbow. He casually picks it up and scans the dessert section. "You know...," he says casually, "...they've got coconut ice cream." He flips the menu around so Eugene can read the list.

Eugene reaches with his free hand and grabs the menu to examine it. "If I buy you coconut ice cream will you finally admit you love me back?"

Snafu looks at him and Eugene is smiling so hard his cheeks must hurt.

Snafu uses their twined hands to pull Eugene closer over the table and press his lips to Eugene's in answer. He looks deep into Eugene's eyes, his gaze as unwavering and cliche as his devotion, and says, "I love you, Gene. Heart and soul."

Eugene threads his free hand into the back of Snafu's curls and touches their foreheads together. There's a knowing between them that's existed in some form since that first day on Pavuvu. Eugene doesn't need to say a word, Snafu can read it all in his eyes. He leans in and kisses Eugene one final time before pulling away and standing up.

"Now that that's settled," Snafu says with a devil grin, "Let's go see about that coconut ice cream."

Eugene groans, but when Snafu wraps his hand tighter around Gene's to help him stand and leads him back down the cliffside stairs to the pool deck, Eugene willingly follows.

Snafu stands on his tiptoes at the poolside bar to order a double scoop ice cream cone with chocolate drizzle. Eugene stands to the side and fiddles with the condiments while he waits. Snafu tilts his head to bat his eyes saccharinely at Eugene while the bartender is in the back with the scoops. And Eugene's reflexive smile in return is bashful and more than a little endearing.

They take Snafu's prodigious two scoop chocolate drizzle coconut ice cream cone outside the gate and onto the ocean rocks. The evening air is finally cooling, but the setting sun melts the ice cream fast. Snafu keeps having to lick at his hands where the milky cream runs down his fingers. Snafu sucks at the edge where cone meets ice cream, and notices Eugene watching him.

He waggles the cone in front of Eugene's face invitingly.

Eugene hastily grabs Snafu's hand so his wiggling doesn't make the double scoop fall off into Eugene's lap. "Fine," Eugene sighs, as if tasting ice cream is a true hardship. He holds Snafu's hand still and takes a tentative lick.

Snafu grins when he sees Gene's eyes light up. "It's only called 'coconut ice cream'," Snafu announces, "Never said it tasted like coconut."

"How…?" Eugene asks.

"They just make it out of coconut milk, it's flavored with vanilla," Snafu says, proud to have won an argument.

Eugene eases the cone out of Snafu's hand in order to better take another bite of ice cream.

Eugene's hair is blowing wildly in the ocean breeze. Snafu watches strands of hair fall across Eugene's face and Eugene desperately tries to shake it out of his mouth so he can eat. Snafu chuckles and brushes Eugene's hair off his forehead and holds it there to give him easier access.

Eugene crinkles his eyes at Snafu in amusement and mumbles his thanks in between bites of ice cream.

"I think you've had enough," Snafu comments and draws the cone away from Eugene's grasp after two thirds of the ice cream has magically disappeared. But instead of eating more himself, Snafu kisses Gene and sucks on his bottom lip to get the last drops of ice cream. Eugene tastes sweet, and his lips are refreshingly cold. And when Snafu opens his eyes, he can see that Gene is silently laughing at him - or with him, because Snafu is laughing too.

Snafu grins, kisses the tip of Eugene's long nose because there's some ice cream there, and then turns back to his cone. He barely gets his mouth around it before Eugene is tugging the cone out of his hand a second time.

"Hey, you could'a got your own!" Snafu exclaims, trying to keep the ice cream away.

Gene wins. Because of course he does. "I'll buy you a second one," Eugene promises.

Snafu threads his fingers through Eugene's bangs again to hold them back, and chooses to watch Eugene instead of the sunset. Gene's tinted round sunglasses are brilliantly rosy, casting colored shadows on his cheeks and making them even rosier.

"Gene," Snafu says, just to be able to savor his name.

"Mm?" Eugene cuts his eyes to the side and raises an eyebrow at Snafu even as he licks melted ice cream off his hand.

Snafu tilts his chin up and scoots closer till their sides are pressed tight together. "I think this is gonna be the best vacation I ever have," he confesses.

Eugene turns back to his ice cream and comments, "Thought this was the only vacation you've ever had."

"Yeah, but I mean in the future too," Snafu swipes at his collar and unbuttons it a little to give himself more breathing room.

"Naw," Eugene scoffs, "Don't worry, we'll top it." He licks his lips and hands the almost empty ice cream cone back to Snafu, "That's pretty darn good."

Snafu breaks into a wide grin. "I told you. I told you so, Sledgehammer!" he says proudly, "Next time I suggest new food, you better listen!"

Eugene laughs and agrees, "I will." He maneuvers around on the rock till he can lay his head in Snafu's lap. "If you drip any ice cream on me, try to aim for my mouth," he advises.

"Sure thing, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and bites into the last of the cone with a crunch. It's a bit messy and he does end up dripping some on Eugene, but it lands on Eugene's forehead . It's okay though because Snafu bends over to kiss him clean, and Eugene laughs and complains that it tickles.

When the ice cream disappears, and the sun is set, and the last bit of twilight is slowly fading, Eugene and Snafu make their way back across the rocky beach to their bikes. Nothing's changed, yet everything feels different. This time when Eugene miraculously spots a tiny crab species scuttering over a rock, and stops to admire it, Snafu can openly admire Eugene and Eugene's goofy fascination. And when they're chatting as they walk, and Eugene retorts with something particularly sarcastic, instead of just laughing it off, Snafu gets to tug Eugene back by his hand, spin him around, and lay a kiss on him. Just because he wants to.

Of course, when they do finally reach the bikes and rejoin civilization, Snafu has to reign in his urges somewhat, but from time to time he still manages to smile at Eugene in that way that makes Eugene blush, and usually trip over his own feet if he's not being careful.

They drop the bikes off at the booth, and Eugene pays a rather hefty late fee. They're walking back to their car when Snafu grabs onto Eugene's elbow and stops them both.

He draws Eugene in close and whispers, "Look at the pier, all lit up at night. Like fireflies."

The hippodrome is dotted with popcorn lights, it's turrets and arches glamorous behind shadow in a way they aren't during the day.

Eugene stands straight, takes a deep breath, locks Snafu's arm under his elbow, and takes off down the street towards the pier.

"Gene, where are we going?" Snafu asks worriedly, slightly alarmed and keeping a sharp eye out for anyone looking at them askance because of being arm-in-arm.

"I want to dance," Eugene decides. He marches them straight up to box office window of the ballroom and slaps a ten dollar bill on the counter. "Can he and I enter the ballroom as a couple?" Eugene asks challengingly.

Snafu nearly chokes. It's late enough there's not many people around outside. Most everyone is in the ballroom where the band is in full swing. Whenever one of the front doors opens and people exit, a cacophony of talking and loud music escapes with them.

The bored and exhausted woman behind the desk takes in Eugene, lingering on Eugene's Marine Corps ring, and then Snafu, and shrugs, "Sure, whatever."

Eugene nods enthusiastically in relief, "Thank you," and slides the money over. Being pressed up against Eugene's side, Snafu can feel him sweating.

The girl behind the counter gives them two tickets and their change. Eugene gratefully pushes five dollars of it back to her, nods once more, and drags a still-in-shock Snafu over to the doors.

Eugene falters once inside the doorway, suddenly shy. He holds his head up high, but there's tension in his neck when Eugene swallows nervously.

It's up to Snafu to pry his hand out from underneath Eugene's sweaty armpit, and walk them both onto the dance floor.

The first few dances are easy as pie. The songs are familiar, big band numbers both of them recognize from their days during and immediately after the war. Eugene is a horrible dancer, but Snafu more than makes up for it. And with how lively everything is, no one notices two boys in a crowded corner doing the jitterbug with themselves.

Plus Snafu secretly enjoys having to grab Eugene's hips and turn him in the proper direction or place. Even if it also means he nearly trips over Eugene's feet every five minutes. There's a freedom in being able to be naturally affectionate with each other in public.

The only person that bothers them is a short but very handsome man who comes up to compliment Snafu on his dancing.

"How'd you get stuck with this dancing ginger elephant," the guy says to Snafu and sticks his thumb at Eugene, "Why, you're so light on your feet, I bet you could get any girl on the wall in here."

"I'm teaching him how to dance," Snafu says curtly. He shifts his grip on Eugene's hand and swings Gene close into his side protectively.

Meanwhile Eugene is glaring at the newcomer.

"Hey, you're teaching skills must be pretty swell," the guy says admirably, "Can I get a lesson?"

Snafu skids their dance to a stop. There's no way this asshole is going to go away without some kind of placation. Snafu turns around and grins, fully prepared to give this guy a verbal vertical buttstroke to the chin. But Eugene intervenes first.

"You're out of luck, mister," Eugene says. He pushes his way in between the guy and Snafu, "I'm afraid he's all booked up tonight."

"Oh," the guy says affably, completely clueless to Eugene's souring mood, "Well, how about tomorrow?"

"He's busy tomorrow too," Eugene replies.

"But not tomorrow night," Snafu interjects, slipping around Eugene, "Give me your name and number and I'll call you with my lesson schedule."

Once Snafu jots down the guy's information, the man finally goes away satisfied.

"You're not really going to call him?" Eugene asks.

Snafu tries to coax him back into a dance, but Eugene's limbs turn very floppy when he's unenthused. "Of course not," Snafu answers, "But he's gonna leave us alone now. And he won't go complain to someone about the two guys dancing together on the floor."

"True," Eugene sighs.

Snafu spins them around and launches into one of the dance moves Eugene picked up the fastest in order to give Gene something to feel confident about. They link hands and hook opposing arms behind their heads. In one swoop their grips slide down each other's arms till they catch their hands again.

Eugene grins.

Snafu uses their momentum to snap them close together again and they playfully push each other to rotate clockwise.

"Feeling better?" Snafu asks.

"He was smarmy," Eugene states. He switches direction on the beat and touches Snafu's shoulder to follow.

"He was," Snafu agrees, amused.

"He's not your type," Eugene says, turning a second time.

"Definitely not," Snafu agrees again.

"What is your type?" Eugene asks. He sounds slightly worried, as if the thought just occurred to him that Snafu might have a 'type'. And he might not be it.

"I like guys who are smarter than me," Snafu reassures him smarmily.

"Well shit, that rules out at least ninety percent of the population," Eugene declares.

"Yeah," Snafu grins, "Good thing I found you."

"Good thing," Eugene agrees.

Snafu swings out and twists back in till he's tucked neatly under Eugene's arm, and pauses to wink at his dance partner. "Plus, you're no elephant," he reassures him.

Eugene snorts, "Actually he might have been right on that front…"

"No way!" Snafu insists, stepping out and holding their hands at length, "You'll be a great dancer. I think you might be ready for a few aerials."

Eugene furrows his brow and looks concerned, "Please tell me you're joking."

"Nope. Don't worry about it, I'm light, you'll toss me around like I'm nothing," he says.

"Snaf," Eugene exclaims, "I'll end up dropping you is what I'll do."

"You won't," Snafu insists. He shim shams into Eugene's space and tilts his head up till they're a breath away from kissing, and smiles disarmingly, "I trust you."

Which, of course, Eugene can never resist so here they are on the dance floor, Snafu explaining the simple physics of launching one body off another to an expert in biology. Hooking their arms together and him rolling over Eugene's back is the easiest so they start there.

For all his nerves, Eugene proves to be a very solid dance partner. He never shies away from a hold, and his feet might be slightly off but they never stumble. The first time Eugene effortlessly swings Snafu over his leg and into a side dip, Snafu's heart is fluttering in his chest and he's gazing up at Eugene in exuberant delight. Eugene sets Snafu down, swings him out, and when they come back together they almost collapse against one another in relieved laughter over their success. Snafu's arms lope around Eugene's neck and they giggle terribly.

Snafu didn't expect this.

He probably should have, Eugene never does anything by half and he always is a quick learner. Eugene picks up the steps so fast, in fact, that by the end of the second hour Snafu has to start shooing wallflower girls away who keep wanting to take Snafu's place.

Eugene, being Eugene, completely fails to notice the girls' interest, which is almost as entertaining as him refusing to take his attention off Snafu all night. A few times Snafu offers to give Eugene a break, and maybe find his own girl to take for a spin in the middle of the dance floor. But Eugene insists he needs no breaks.

When the music finally switches to something slow, Snafu slides to a stop and leans heavily against Eugene's shoulder panting.

"Let's get some water," Eugene suggests, and pats Snafu on the back. He starts off in the direction of the bar but Snafu hangs behind.

"What," Snafu taunts when Eugene glances back at him, "You won't slow dance with me?"

Eugene's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes go wide.

Snafu doesn't give him a chance to overthink things. He takes Eugene's hands, positions them properly for a waltz, and leads him into the dance. At first Eugene is stiff, and he refuses to make eye contact with Snafu, too busy scanning the room.

But after a few steps, after the world doesn't end, Eugene folds in closer to Snafu's body. Their cheeks brush. And Eugene's ear is suddenly right there, in front of Snafu's mouth. So Snafu tightens his embrace, and sings along to the song's romantic lyrics in a whisper meant for Eugene alone.

Snafu can understand Eugene's initial hesitation. After all the years Snafu spent sharing dances with various partners he didn't give a shit about, this feels especially vulnerable, despite the fact that they are one couple among thousands on the floor. There's a part of him that didn't think he'd ever have this moment. That for all the people jumping at the chance to dance with him, Snafu'd never feel the same way about someone else.

Eugene is so fucking gentle, it's easy to mistake him as soft. His hand is light against the small of Snafu's back. It's a little hard to believe not two minutes ago that same hand was gripping Snafu's thigh hard as Eugene spun him into an aerial. But as always, Eugene only uses his strength when necessary.

"When I graduate this year, I'm going to do my PHD in Florida," Eugene says as they slowly sway to the music, "I know I'm asking a lot but...Merriell...would you come with me?"

Snafu remains silent. He hadn't fully considered what loving Eugene might actually mean. That with him came Alabama, the Sledge family, the universities...

"I'll have a stipend, to take the financial pressure off," Eugene hastily elaborates, because Eugene always feels that if he adds more facts into the conversation he'll be more likely to win, "If you can find a job locally, that'd be great, but you wouldn't need to work. I've been budgeting this past year and I've calculated a way for the two of us to live off what I make. Maybe not comfortably, but it wouldn't be for long. When I get my diploma we can go back to New Orleans, or anywhere you want really. There are colleges and universities in almost any city. Snafu, I want you with me. No more pining after you every week and only feeling whole on the weekends…"

"How long've you been thinking about this?" Snafu asks.

Eugene is quiet for a while. "Do you mean how long have I been planning for it, or how long have I wanted it?"

"The second one?" Snafu asks, slightly uncertain.

"That day on the train…" Eugene begins.

"A few days??" Snafu interrupts incredulously, "That's all the thought you've given this, for fucks sake Gene!"

"On the train in 1946!" Eugene corrects sternly.

Which just about shuts Snafu up.

"Why the hell didn't you say anything sooner?" Snafu asks.

"Snaf, if you would just let me finish," Eugene complains, "That day on the train Burgie was talking about marriage, you were asking about jobs, everybody seemed to be thinking about commitments and when you turned to me the only damn certainty I had in my head was you. But then you didn't say goodbye. I thought...I figured…you were done with us in your life...with me."

"If I follow you to Florida will that make up for it?" Snafu asks.

Eugene grins, real slow, like he knows the past four years of Snafu being at Eugene's beck and call is partially Snafu's way of atoning for his abrupt departure. "It just might," Eugene says confidently, "It just might."

One thing about the timeline of everything doesn't add up in Snafu's mind. "So," he says, "I don't say goodbye and six months later you go and get yourself married?"

"I assumed leaving was your hint to me to try to fall back into civilian life. To forget about the war, and war buddies, live normally. And according to everyone, that meant marriage," Eugene sighs.

"Who's everybody?" Snafu smirks.

"Not you, obviously, Mr. Confirmed Bachelor," Eugene smiles back at him slyly, "But my mother, and Sid. Hell, even my brother got on me for still being a virgin."

Snafu laughs and dips his head closer to Eugene as they dance. He rests his cheek on Eugene's shoulder along with most of his weight, relying on Eugene to hold them both upright. "Did you love Edna?" he asks.

"I did, but not in the way she wanted," Eugene says quietly, "She's a lovely person, sometimes I wish I could love her like she deserves, like how I love you. Might've made life easier. But not better, I don't think."

"You saying me walking back into your life after your divorce made things better?" Snafu laughs at the absurdity.

"Yes," Eugene says seriously, "Infinitely better."

Snafu lifts his head from Eugene's shoulder in order to pull away and look into his eyes, to see if he's telling the truth. "Okay," Snafu agrees, "We'll go to Florida together. Till then, I'll see if my boss knows anyone in Auburn who can find me some work up there, and I'll move to Alabama."

Eugene gives Snafu a blank stare, so akin to the ones Snafu usually gives him, that it throws Snafu off and makes him question everything (including the efficacy of his own blank stares, maybe he should try to learn to communicate better).

The song the band is playing comes to an end, and the swing starts up again. The couples around them whirl into motion. But nobody pays attention to the two men standing in the middle of it all with their arms locked around each other.

Till Eugene surges forward and kisses Snafu.

The kiss catches Snafu off guard. Eugene's hand is flat on the small of Snafu's back and is holding Snafu flush against Eugene's body. Good thing too, cause Snafu's knees almost buckle in surprise. Eugene bends him over backwards in his enthusiasm to kiss Snafu harder, and Snafu wraps his arms tight around Eugene's neck and smiles into the kiss.

This is it, this is the 'war-is-over-we-are-going-home-together-in-triumph' kiss Snafu has been waiting for. Not triumph in the form of parades and adulation. But triumph in that against all odds, they survived, they found each other, Eugene fucking loves him, and they're gonna actually, finally...live.

They're about six years late, but Snafu figures that's forgivable when taking into account insecurities and the lingering numbness and fear hanging round their necks.

Eugene breaks the kiss and stares into Snafu's eyes, and Eugene is so pretty - he's so fucking pretty it hurts. Snafu wants to kiss him till all traces of that war weary blankness are gone from his eyes. There's moments - when Eugene comes to life with his sarcasm or sly wit or intellectual curiosity, and Snafu likes to pride himself on being able to bring those moments out. But is it enough?

After a bit Snafu begins to notice that it's not just them gone completely still. The couples around them are stopping and staring, and whispering.

"Shit," Snafu says under his breath to Eugene. He ducks his head and takes his arms off Eugene's shoulders.

"Yeah, we should probably get out of here," Eugene agrees. His hands still grip Snafu's hips.

Snafu laughs, giddy and reckless, and bumps his shoulder playfully into Gene's. If anyone nearby had any doubts after that kiss, all they'd have to do is take one look at Eugene's face and see how damn in love he is.

"Hey!" someone in the crowd calls out and Snafu can see the guy coming at them in the peripheral of his vision.

Snafu grabs Eugene's elbow. "Walk fast, but try to not draw more attention," he whispers and leads Eugene off the dance floor. They make it to the entrance and out the doors. As soon as they get outside, Snafu twines his hand with Eugene's and breaks into a run, their feet hitting the wooden boardwalk with loud hollow thumps. They can hear agitated voices and footsteps behind them, and they don't stop running till they reach the car.

Snafu slams the passenger door shut and turns to Eugene as soon as he gets inside. They're laughing from adrenaline and Snafu's heart is racing. He cups Eugene's cheek and tilts his head for another quick kiss before Eugene starts the engine.

Somehow Eugene knows the drive back to the hotel on the oceanside cliffs. Snafu doesn't pay any attention. He kicks his feet up on the dash and is too busy admiring Gene's long nose and the curve of his jaw backlit by the passing neon lights to give any thought to the car's direction.

The parking lot for the hotel is at the top of the cliff. There's a locked iron gate, nestled between eight foot tall hedges, with the name of the place welded onto it in an arc. The gate is small, and barely noticeable at the edge of the lot. Eugene has a key - it's antique and very decorative - and lets them in. The stairway beyond the gate switchbacks down the cliff, with thick walls protecting people from falling off the path. The air is thick and heavy with the smell of flowers growing abundantly around them.

Snafu pauses under one of the lamps. He folds his elbows over the wall, rests his chin on top, and looks out across the hotel and gardens below, and the ocean beyond. "We stepped into a goddamn fairytale," Snafu says.

Eugene comes up behind him with an embrace and rests his chin on Snafu's head, "Does that make you my prince?"

"No way," Snafu emphatically denies, "If anyone is a prince in this scenario, it's you Gene."

"Impossible," Eugene says with a smile, "Prince Eugene sounds like a pompous ass. Prince Merriell, on the other hand…."

Snafu laughs. "Maybe that's what my ma had in mind when she made up my name."

"Definitely," Eugene agrees, "She knew you'd grow up regal."

"Fuck regal," Snafu rolls his eyes, "Fuck propriety. You willing to give up all that shit for me, Gene? We ain't gonna be accepted into those circles anymore."

"Yes," Eugene says readily.

And Snafu believes him.

Their hotel suite, as expected, has white lace curtains covering each window, holding back the ocean breeze. Snafu's mother hung lace curtains in their home too, but those were already yellowed with age, patched in places, and quickly turned grey with dust. These hotel curtains reach to the floor and yet remain pristine.

Snafu stands on the balcony and smokes before bed. Eugene sits inside and reads. Or at least Snafu thinks Eugene is reading. Snafu turns his gaze away from the ocean only to catch Eugene guiltily ducking his head behind his journal.

"What?" Snafu asks, with a wry smile.

"Nothing," Eugene says, which almost definitely means it's something he's embarrassed about.

Snafu snubs out his cigarette and leans over Eugene's shoulder to investigate.

"Thought you just drew plants?" Snafu asks.

"I'm expanding my range," Eugene says dryly.

"You made me look skinny," Snafu comments.

"You are skinny," Eugene counters. He hooks an arm around Snafu's waist and walks him over to the bed. He sweeps Snafu off his feet in one of the lindy hop holds, and tosses Snafu onto the bed.

"Never should have taught you those aerials," Snafu teases. He stretches out across the pillows and dares Eugene with his eyes to join him.

Eugene says nothing, just grins widely as he climbs onto the bed next to Snafu.

Snafu kisses that self satisfied smile on Eugene's face.

They lie next to each other, their legs entwined, and their noses so close they're almost touching. There's a lightness in Snafu's chest he's never felt before. Happiness he knows, elation he knows - as rare as those things are. But this is new. He knows it can't last. Nightmares will come, they won't just go away, but for now he can lie here and soak up Gene's presence.

"I already knew you loved me," Snafu confesses.

"What do you mean?" Eugene asks.

"Even before you said it today. I think I've known since Okinawa," Snafu says.

"I figured," Eugene replies.

"Were a couple of fucking cowards," Snafu laughs.

"No, the world is cowardly," Eugene counters, "We were just trying too hard to adapt to it."

Snafu bites his bottom lip in consideration. He lifts his chin, thinks about saying something, and then decides words aren't necessary. Gene knows. Gene's always known. Snafu reaches over and gently takes Eugene's hand. Snafu twists around and pulls Eugene's arm across his body till his back is tucked against Eugene's chest.

Eugene folds around him. He's warm, and he's so much in love.

"Snaf," Eugene whispers in his ear before they fall asleep, "Let's get it right this time. Just you and me."

tagging requests: @xmxisxforxmaybe @diasimar (btw i think you have tagging turned off) (also if I am missing anybody on this list I apologize, pls tell me <3)

#sledgefu #Bad germs

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winters-cursed-king · 4 years

Text

Some People Pay- Chapter 1

Fandom: Harry Potter

Summary: The first term holidays were never going to be good for Sirius. Provoking Lucius Malfoy at a pureblood gathering made them even worse and McGonagall might be slightly concerned

Tws: Child abuse, physical abuse, violence, implied/referenced self harm, blood, torture, bullying (?)

Fake Your Death Series || Read On AO3 || Chapter 2

Sirius pushed the box of blades shut, taking in deep breaths. Blood trickled slowly down his forearms, but he couldn’t work out what was from the cuts lining his wrists and what was from his shoulders.

The letter shook in his hands, words blurring together as he tried to read it.

Good evening Sirius,

I hope your holidays have gone well and you are well refreshed for your second term at Hogwarts.

The uniform you gave me has been placed back in your dorm, alongside all your books. As per request, I have asked the house elves to avoid your bed however I expect it to still be kept tidy.

I would remind you there is a transfiguration essay due in on the first Friday back and if you are having any issues please come see me for help.

On the train back, I will be in compartment three. There is something that came out of the bag you gave me that I would like to talk about.

Regards,

Professor McGonagall

His hands shook harder as he folded the letter up, the paper scraping against his fingers as blood blotted the edges.

Pushing himself up off the wall was more difficult than he’d expected. His legs were weak under him, shaking and betraying him, and he almost tripped several times while trying to remove the false brick from the wall.

Carefully, he tucked the letter into the matchbox alongside the one from James. It was worn out, carefully wrapped in tissue paper. Hidden alongside his wand and the notes Remus, James, and Peter had written to him in class.

Slotting the fake brick back over the hole, he pulled the dress shirt off the rack, trying not to cough as dust was scattered across the room.

He buttoned it up slowly, hair pins in his mouth. He was careful not to pull too hard on the fresh cuts as he fixed the cuffs.

As he pushed his feet into the dress shoes, he pulled down the mirror. He had a blackeye, and his lip was slightly swollen, but it’d be fine.

He fixed the last pin in his hair. The bun was not messy enough to call it attention to it, but just messy enough to be a statement of rebellion.

He could feel the footsteps from the crowds downstairs and the voices discussing every piece of latest gossip. It rattled the black iron railing that ran down the halls and made the doors creak and shudder.

The staircase was long, and windy, and in full view of anyone in the ballroom. He could see the guests floating around in the candlelight, whispering to each other. He knew most of them by name, and all of them by deed. He could see Lucius showing off something on his arm, and Bellatrix carefully adjusting the hem of her skirt.

It took everything he had to stop his hands from shaking. He gripped the railing as he stood at the bottom of the stairs, eyes scanning for the safest corner to hide in.

How Lucius managed to cross the room in the span of milliseconds, Sirius would never know.

“If it isn’t our little blood traitor,” Lucius sneered.

Lucius was taller than him and broader than him and older than him. His white hair was pulled back off his face, held in place with a slytherin clip, and his fingers were dripping with rings.

“Fuck off.”

Lucius caught Sirius’ wrist, nails digging in deep, stepping closer and closer. “What did you say to me, runt?”

“I told you to fuck off. Go suck a dick or something.”

There was an art in keeping a cocky grin on his face. A sort of rhythm in the way he ignored the irregular beating of his heart and focused his eyes squarely on Lucius’ cold ones.

Lucius twisted his arm back, pushing him up against the railing of the stairs. It pressed against the cuts on his wrists and sent fresh flames of agony through his shoulders and back. On such an awkward angle, he couldn’t even stand up straight.

He leant in and whispered against Sirius’ ear, fist tightening around his wrist. “Do you want me to show you what we do to blood traitors?”

Sirius kicked at Lucius’ shins. “Get off me, you jerk. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, Lucius,” Andromeda draped her arms over his shoulders. “Don’t you have better things to be doing?”

She had a fading bruise under her cheek bone, and her eyes were tired. Brown hair had been gathered meticulously into a silver bun net and her fingers were worn.

Lucius shrugged her off, digging his nails in deeper until he drew blood.

But he didn’t even look at her.

She gave Sirius an apologetic look, but walked off, her fingers twirling the loose strand of hair.

The punch hit Sirius in the chest before he even saw it.

“Fucking mudblood lover,” Lucius snarled. “Do you really want to make a mockery of us?”

“You do that just fine by yourself.”

Another blow caved Sirius’ stomach in.

He didn’t get a chance to breath before Lucius’ wand was pointing under Sirius’ chin, digging in sharply.

Pain burst through his body. It twisted patterns, igniting every bruise and cut. It laughed and snarled, biting at his skin and gnashing at his bones. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to focus on anything but Lucius’ grin and the pain that ran through his bones.

“Oh Lucius!” Sirius’ mother fawned. “I couldn’t find you anywhere. How long has it been?”

The wand left Sirius’ throat instantly, and his wrist was released. But the pain wasn’t gone. His mother’s voice kept everything on edge- fists clenched, heart racing.

“Far too long, I’m afraid,” Lucius sidled. “I haven’t seen you since the end of school last year.”

Sirius’ breath caught in his chest. He couldn’t open his eyes, they wouldn’t work for him and he couldn’t make them. They were fixed firmly shut, unwilling to cooperate. He could feel his hands shaking and he hated it. He couldn’t show weakness. Especially not here.

His mother slapped him across the face, nails digging into his skin.

His vision was blurry. His mother’s pearls seemed to reflect the too bright light, her black netting obscuring his view of the room. Her snake headed cane tapped against the marble floor.

“What took you so long? Do you exist to ridicule me?”

“I couldn’t bring myself to watch whatever scene you were making,” he shrugged.

He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. He was tired, and sore, and school started again in a couple of days.

Lucius’ smug smile said it all.

“I should’ve locked you up in the attic,” she growled lowly. “Be grateful I’m too kind to do what I should’ve. If you had any parent but me you wouldn’t be here, you can bet on that.”

“I don’t want to be here.”

“Do you want a taste of what responsible parents do to their blood traitors?”

The head of her cane hit just under his chin, tilting his head up slightly.

He raised his chin to look her in the eyes, words turning bitter and painful before he spoke them. “How bad could it be?”

The cane sent a sharp burst of pain across his chin, hitting his split lip. He could taste blood, feel it trickle down his chin.

He didn’t even have time to focus on it. Time and time again his mother’s rings scraped across the skin of his cheek, drawing blood, and the cane sent bruises blossoming across his body.

She stayed detached, upright, observing with cold eyes. Sometimes he thought it’d be better if she yelled or screamed or snarled.

He fell into the routine he’d perfected over the years. Taking shallow breaths, keeping his eyes fixed on the floor, biting his lip to keep the tears from forming.

The room was spinning around him in a blur of light when the blows stopped. It took all of his willpower to stand up straight and look his mother in the eye.

He could feel everyone’s eyes on him. He could see Cygnus nodding in approval, and Lucius’ smug, aloof grin.

The only one looking away was Andromeda. She was staring at the ground, hands shaking in her lap, whispering something to Regulus.

But he wasn’t listening.

He was watching Sirius with wide eyes and fists clenched around his robes. His chest was rising and falling jaggedly, with the trained restraint of someone who couldn’t show fear.

Sirius caught his eyes, trying to fix his face into an easy going, reassuring smile. Everything was going to be ok.

But Regulus looked away, his face quickly going blank.

Sirius leaned back against the railing, ignoring the shots of pain from the not quite healed gashes on his back, and laughed as best he could through the raspiness.

“Is that all you’ve got, you old bat?”

Shots of pain pressed against the skin of his wrist, carving patterns and letters he couldn’t bring himself to look at. Bursts of purple and red cut through his mind, blocking out his vision entirely, and he could feel his throat constrict. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see. He was numb except for the blinding white pain that became his only tether to reality.

This was it. This was how he was going to die.

He couldn’t remember anything after that. He’d be able to feel the agony in his veins for the rest of his life, or the feeling of his skin splitting open and his bones splintering. He’d be able to say how hoarse his throat had been for days after or how the fury in his mother’s eyes was permanently ingrained in his mind.

But the details were gone as soon as it had happened. A massive dark gap in his memory that stretched for an indeterminable amount of time and hid images that haunted him in nightmares.

He could remember the aftermath, though. He could remember falling to his knees, face a mess of tears and blood, body shaking and breath trapped in his chest. He could remember the cold marble against his split skin and how he hit his head on the railing.

He could remember that one last glimpse of Regulus’ pale face before everything crumbled into an empty, unforgiving darkness.

#HP #Harry Potter #Angst #The marauders #Sirius Black #Regulus Black #Lucius Malfoy #Fic #Fanfiction

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the-ignoble-and-most-sane-black · 4 years

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Red Converse

Summary: I made Delilah years ago because I was bored and now I’m too emotionally invested in her and the marauders to stop writing about it so I decided to post it. She’s James Potter’s twin sister. It’s a marauders story. Predictable as hell.

Pairing: eventually Sirius x Delilah (I know, its cheesy)

Word count: 3k

Warning: maybe slightly scary imagery for a second? Snape is in there too so that’s definitely a warning. I’m stating this now before Snape stans come for me, he’s in there for a second. Not described to your standard. You have been warned! Also I’m dyslexic so maybe bad spelling?

The flap

The crisp flap of my father opening the daily profit is a staple of the morning in the Potter house.

His elbows perched upon the table, his spectacle hidden eyes overlooking. They were the only thing you could see over the paper covering his whole being. I was sure he did it just to keep James under control.

James on the other hand was gobbling his eggs like he had never been feed. Ripping into his toast and talking with mouth full.

"Should I slick my hair back?" He coughed out.

"Slow James," my mother laughed, sipping her tea.

"He only has one speed," watching my legs swing back and forth under the table.

"Delilah, please eat something" my mother nudged.

My brother and I were the same amount of opposite as we looked alike.

He was a man of action and I was an observer. He was laughs and jokes. Could outrun a horse with his energy. His talent and confidence hard to match.

That's why I preferred to be the other half of him. More of a background character to his antics. Course if anyone came for my brother they'd face a wrath likeable to the god of war.

We held our anger very similar. You don't mess with our family. Something you learn with older parents. Parents that parts of the Wizarding hate for their views. Their correct views. Which are that we are no more better than our neighbor because our blood.

We are both left handed. I mirrored our mother and he took after dad. Both have terrible eyesight. Kind people, once you got past how annoying we both are at first.

James couldn't keep still at what was happening today.

September 1st, 1971. Our first day of Hogwarts.

And I was too, excited to learn. I just hated new places. I liked the comfort of my home. I was just a anxious person compared the nothing my brother cared about.

That was why I wasn't eating.

"If you aren't going to I will!" James poked my arm rapidly, never tiring.

"James, leave your sister alone!" My father warned, never looking up from his paper.

"How can you do that?" James shook his head, folding up in his seat. "Teach me"

"You'll learn when you have kids," he winked to him, ruffling up his hair. "Get your feet off the chair"

"Please," James said over-dramatically, stealing my toast I was sliding him under the table. "Children are Delilah's thing!"

"Why is that?" fiddling with my eggs for mom's sake.

"Your a girl!" He peppered in as that answered the question.

"What's that suppose to mean!?" I raised my voice.

"Calm down," his hand pushing the air slightly, "I'm just saying I'm never, ever, having kids!"

~~~~~~~~~~~

I stared at the brick wall waiting for it to dissolve. I think magic forgot I'm not that stupid. Only James would run straight at a brick wall. This had to be one of dad's jokes. Like when he tied my socks together on my feet and made them unremoveable. I had to crawl down the stairs to my mom in tears. Dad slept the night on the couch.

James offered his hand out to me. I looked it over, my hands glued to the cart by sweat.

"Come on, I've got you! We crash, then we do it together!" Flashing a smile.

And I took it. Knowing he was nervous about it too the moment our skin touched gave me comfort.

I had a gift.

I could feel people's emotions with a single touch. I could control them too. I tried not to do it often, debilitating to take people's emotions from them.

I only did it once.

When James broke his arm. He was trying to fly around the yard. He wanted to be the best quidditch player in the world, wanted to get onto the team his first year. It was a dream of his.

He hit the ground so hard I thought he died. Then came his tears. He wouldn't stop crying and I couldn't stand the sound of it. Watching him lay in the yard sobbing while clutching his arm against his chest. Listening to him choke on his tears, saying he'd never make it.

The minute his confidence wavered, I knew. I didn't have a second thought. My brother wasn't allowed to think about himself badly, not James Potter. I would suffer hell before I let that happen willingly.

We ran through the wall together, just as we came into this world. Three minutes apart from birth and it would be that way til death. We'd die by each other's side, grey and probably bickering about something. 3 minutes apart.

He laughed, thick and unbeatable. Like he was excited we made it through the wall. Trying to hid any embarrassment about thinking it wouldn't work. He stormed off in front of me. Trying to surf with the cart.

"James," Mom's voice wavered as it raised, "Slow down!"

But he was already gone. He only stopping when he ran over a kid. He was a stubby bloke, blonde hair that was slightly greasy. Slackened against his face. He was only eleven but was somehow managing side burns.

"Owww!" His voice shrieked, the cart laying by his side as he held his ankle.

"I'm sorry," James held onto his laugh, "I'm so sorry!"

If I could get away with hitting him I would have. Never could take a single thing seriously his whole life. He probably was born laughing.

"Are you okay?" I bent down to him, offering manners my brother lacked.

"No," he whined.

"You can sit with us, I promise to not run you over again" James held his hand against his heart before reaching out to pull him up.

The boy stepped onto my foot as James lifted him. He almost went right back down. I could see him shake, though I already knew he was nervous when I got close enough.

"She doesn't bite," James laughed, "I'm James, that's Delilah. We're twins! Don't we look identical?"

His arm slung around me, tugging me into his side.

James is messy jet black hair and hazel eyes. A centimeter taller than me, which he'd hold over me every chance he got. His skin slightly lighter than mine, not that it is noticeable to anyone but me.

I used dad's life work to keep my hair neat, the longest I ever let it grow was a bit past my shoulder. Dirty blonde but it looked a caramel color in most lights. Light freckles across my cheeks. Golden brown eyes.

We shared the same nose and lips. Our eyebrows grew in a similar shape and my face was a more feminine version of his.

We held each other differently. Squared shoulders, though he always looked relaxed. Probably the confidence. I was always tense, but I stood straight. I hid behind my hair, looking down to cover my face.

"I'm Peter," the boy finally managed, sharing a smile with James.

"I think we will be great friends, Pete!" He slung his arm around him. "Mom, Dad! This is our friend Pete!"

Our parents shared the same expression and kindly greeted Peter. They ran off after that, James dragging Peter behind him.

I stood by my parents for as long as I could, watching the clock.

"You can write us everyday," my mother kissed my left cheek and then my right. "We are always just an owl away."

"Excuse me!" A new voice called. "Sorry! I'm new?"

I looked back to see a girl with fiery ginger hair. Her green eyes were as bright and piercing as fresh cut grass.

Behind her stood a miserable looking blonde girl, hair curled and nose pinched. She didn't have a cart like the red hair girl.

Her and my parents started talking. Laughing along at something they said.

"I was supposed to meet my friend, Severus. I know nothing about magic, but I can't wait to learn!" She drawled, "I'm Lily Evans by the way, I forgot to mention that."

"I'm Delilah," I answered quick, afraid she would start talking again before I could finish. "Potter."

"We both have flower names" she smiled holding out her pinkie. "Flower friends."

I took it, holding my breath to not intrude on her. I made the decision to lead her onto the train. Searching through the crowd for James. I found him in a compartment hanging from the storage racks.

He had made a new friend. Lanky. Hidden under a baggy sweater and short pants. His light brown hair swooped down trying to hid a scar across his face. He coincidentally was also trying to hid a smile as James swung back and forth.

"Delilah!" His voice high and breathy. "Look!"

"You know him?" Lily sounded a tad disappointed under the curiosity.

He crashed down from what ever trick he was attempting, smiling up at us from the floor.

"He's my brother," I smiled, so slightly it looked like my resting face.

"Your shoe is untied," the lanky scarred boy answered, choking on a laugh. "Remus."

"Thank you," I pulled my brother up. "Delilah."

Lily moved over to Remus. Sitting next to him and beginning a conversation about the book on Remus’ lap. And just how James thought him and Peter would be great friends, I could see those two would be too.

"Who's your friend?" James whispered to me, it was the first time I saw my brother still.

"Lily Evans"

I didn't expect for it to unnerve so much. Days, I prayed for him just to calm down.

"Lily Evans" he hummed. "I'm gonna marry her!"

"How hard did you hit you head?" Faking sincerity as I laughed.

He nudged me back, pushing me right out of the compartment.

And that's how Sirius Orion Black came into our lives.

I wish I knew exactly how much he'd mean to me when I knocked him out. Instead of the idiot I thought him to be as he smiled up at me. His head by feet.

"Stars," he laughed, brushing his hair out of his face to reveal his grey eyes.

"Excuse me?" Blowing my bangs back, James sliding under my arms.

"Sorry, De!" He snickered, yanking me up.

"You've got stars on your shoes," the boy sprung to his feet with the grace of a dancer. Dusting his hands off on his trousers. He outstretched it, leaning his whole body to me. "Sirius Black!"

The smile on his face and the way he threw his head back screamed two things. The first was arrogance and the second was trouble. Two things that attracted my brother instantly.

James took his hand as quick as he could.

"James Potter," gingerly as ever.

Sirius paused for a moment holding his smile.

"I like your shoes," he pointed to me.

I looked down to my beat up red chucks, they were stained from running after James in muddy woods. Drawings from when I'd get bored. They were the most ugly looking shoes in the world.

"My shoes?" Trying to figure out what was going on in the boys head.

"Yeah. The stars are a nice touch" he winked, brushing back his thick black hair.

"You here with anyone?" My brother butted in, "cause we got room!"

"Alright," he looked up to the rack over the window. "Have you ever tried hanging from those? Dad always bats me off them, but"

"As amazing as flying a broom!" James answered.

"I think we’ll get along just fine. Must be fate that" he realized he didn't know my name, his face falling.

For once I couldn't place the emotion. He was a hidden boy and every fiber of my being I wanted to know why. Curious by nature, I suppose. Never met a person I couldn't read.

"Don't mind Deli, she not one for fate! Analysis" James gagged.

"Deli?" He asked, "that's a strange name."

"It's short for Delilah," I corrected. "No one calls me Deli."

"She hates it," James mused, "per the rules of being the oldest, I must annoy her!"

"Three minutes," shaking my head.

I was three minutes older. I decided from a young age that James needed to be the older brother. It made more sense that way.

"Your twins?" Everyone spoke in unison except Peter, he smiled holding a laugh in his chest.

"They are identical!" He broke the shocked silence.

"Nice one, Pete!" James patted his shoulder.

Him and Sirius falling down next to him.

I sat opposite of them, next to Remus and Lily, who James was now calling Evans, much to Lily's dismay.

James always had to give people nicknames.

Sirius and James accents were quite a contrast, enough to give people a culture shock. James is cockney true as the city. Sirius is smooth english, a bit of French mixed in.

Yet the two of them were basically joined at the hip in the five minutes they've known each other. He always could make friends as if it were as easy to breath.

That was until a cheesed off boy slammed our door open, brooding look in his eyes. If I thought Sirius was dodgy, this greasy dark haired boy took the top spot!

"Lily, I have been looking for you everywhere!" He whined, his foot stomping.

"Sorry, Severus" she brushed her hair behind her ear, grabbing her stuff. "I'll see you guys later!"

"Where are you going?" James surged forward, "there's room for one more! James Potter" he held his hand out to the boy.

He looked it over, taking Lily's hand and pulling her along with him.

"Tosser," James mumbled, "didn't need to drag her off like that!"

He fell back into his seat.

"I'm sure the love of your life will return" reassuring him.

"You snide now, but just you wait Deli! She loves me, I know it!"

"What is he talking about?" Whispered Remus, his elbow brushing against my leg.

All I heard was a howl and the feeling on my back braking. When the contact broke my hands went to my back, realizing it was fine. But the shocked expression didn't leave my face.

"Are you okay?" His finger bending the corner of his book in.

"Are you?"

"What?" He slid slightly back.

Why am I so weird? Did James steal the ability to form a normal conversation in the womb? I already knew the answer to that one.

"Nothing sorry," shaking my head, pulling it towards my chest. "He thinks he's going to marry Lily. Don't know why."

I spent the entire train ride thinking about what happened. Looking at the scars on his hands, one peaking out from his collar. There was only one conclusion. Yet he sat there crossed legged, diligently reading a book in a wool sweater with patches on the elbows. a 11 year old with the anxiety of a middle aged man.

I adored him.

The train rolled to stop. We were at Hogwarts. I could curl up in a ball, hide under the seat. They'd never find me. Go right back home.

"Woah," James pressed against the glass, "that man is HUGE!"

"Let me see!" Pete joined him, shoving his way in.

"You look ghastly!" Sirius mentally slapped himself. "You alright?"

His hand went out to me again and James was too enthralled by the tall bloke ringing a bell to save me. I could just not take it, but I didn't want to be rude.

I squeezed my eyes shut, he wasn't as easy as lily. I felt what I thought was a whip slash cross my body.

I shivered pulling back.

"My hands that cold?" He joked

"She doesn't like touching people," James turned, "feels their emotions or whatever"

"Pardon?" Sirius pulled back, scratching the back of his head.

"She's only a slight freak!" Holding my shoulders, "trust me, she's just fine you've got nothing to worry about, mate!"

"Thank you," I mumbled under my breath. "If you aren't feeling a practically strong emotion I don't feel anything. Sometimes see a quick memory. But normally it's nothing"

"See, Nothing!" Butted in James again.

Remus looked me over with eyes I didn't enjoy, like I could be a potential threat. Though there was nothing behind his eyes besides worry. Slinging his bag over his shoulder.

Sirius was more concerned, pondering if I saw anything and if so, what. I was just more concerned as to why my brother’s new friends gave me the most horrible feelings.

"Did you see anything?" He finally asked.

I didn't meet his eye, "no"

"Promise to stay out of my head, deli" he offered

I only smiled, "I make no promises."

"I like you," he whispered before following James and Peter out of the train.

Then it was just Remus and I

"You are a bad liar," his eyes glued to the ground. "So what do you see?"

"When I touched Sirius?" I answered.

He stifled a laugh, "no."

"I'm not scared of you," his eyes shot up, "I know you are worried about that. I'm not going to tell."

"Why?" He answered.

"You're wearing mismatched socks," I nodded, pulling my shoes down a bit to reveal my mismatched socks. "We can be strange together!"

"I'd like that," a relieved smile on his face.

I managed to make my first friend.

Sirius was up to the hat first. The cocky smile fell from his face as quick as the voices in the room when the hat yelled gryffindor. A Black in gryffindor. The only one excited was James.

James anxiously danced next to me, pulling at my sleeve. He was dreading how far back our names were. That's was until Lily got up there.

Gryffindor too.

"My best friend and wife in the same house as me!" He whispered to me. "Pete, what house do you think you'll get onto?"

"Hufflepuff" He nodded, the most certain I've seen him.

"What about you?" Asked Remus.

"Ravenclaw," I lied.

I had no idea where I'd go, but something told me it was Slytherin. I looked to James, afraid that this would be my last moment with my brother

"Me too," Remus scanned me over, until his name was called, "wish me luck!"

"Luck"

He was gryffindor too. The names went on and on until I knew it was me next.

"James," I grabbed his hand.

"What's the matter?" I was shaking.

"I love you!"

Delilah Potter

"I'll be at the table with you in a minute," he shoved me forward.

Please don't be Slytherin. Please don't be Slytherin. For the love of Queen Elizabeth II don't be Slytherin.

GRYFFINDOR

James never cheered louder.

#sirius black #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #marauders era #lily evans #james potter x sister! reader #sirius black x reader #my ocs #marauders fic #delilah potter

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shipping-receiving · 5 years

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Fictober 2019 Day 29: “I’m doing this for you.”

Rating: T | Word Count: 2821 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones Relationship: Jaime Lannister / Brienne of Tarth Tags: Alternate Universe – High School Notes: A continuation of yesterday’s story

(read on AO3)

//////

At 5.57 pm, Jaime pulls up in front of the modest single-storey house that Brienne shares with her dad. He checks his reflection in the rear view mirror—eyes still as green as when he last checked, and not a single strand of golden hair out of place. He takes a deep breath, and gets out of the car.

Just to be safe, he checks his reflection again, or as much of his reflection that he can see in his car window. He’s wearing his navy blue suit with a deep maroon tie—he’s still a Lannister, after all, he has to have some shade of red somewhere—and he thinks he looks quite dashing, thank you very much. But he has no idea what shade of blue Brienne chose in the end, or if she’s even actually going to wear blue like he asked. She’s evaded or flat out ignored every text he’s sent this past week to ask her what she’s wearing. He has three different blue suits, for Seven’s sake; he needs to pick the one that matches best. In the end, he decided the navy was the most neutral option, and he’s now marching his navy-clad self up to Brienne’s front door.

His finger has barely even touched the doorbell when Brienne’s dad flings the door open. Jaime straightens his back immediately.

“Good evening Mr—”

“Yes, hello Jaime.” He shepherds Jaime into the house and into the living room with an outstretched arm. “Let me get one photo of the two of you before I leave.”

“Um—”

“BRIENNE!” he shouts. “JAIME’S HERE!”

Jaime thinks he might have heard a muffled groan, then— “COMING!”

He hears her footsteps coming down the hallway, but just as he’s expecting her to round the corner into the living room, he hears: “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?” Jaime asks, at the same time that her dad says, “You look lovely, Brienne,” in that tired way of a man who has said those words to his disbelieving daughter too many times today.

“I don’t—” he hears, and then there’s another groan, and then he sees a corner of navy blue cloth peek out around where he thinks her knee should be. Navy blue is good; navy blue matches his suit. But that corner of navy blue isn’t moving.

“Gods, Tarth, just—”

“Fine!” she exclaims, as she steps out from behind the wall.

Oh.

She’s wearing a sky blue shirt—he thinks it might be a men’s shirt, but it fits her well—with the sleeves rolled up neatly to her elbows. She’s left two buttons unbuttoned so he can see her collarbone—and considering she wears crew neck t-shirts pretty much all the time, he almost feels embarrassed to be able to see her skin there. It’s tucked into a navy blue A-line skirt that hits just below her knee, and it flares out enough that it’s a nice balance to the breadth of her shoulders. Pinned to her shirt is an elegant brooch, a golden starburst set with tiny sapphires, and she’s put a couple of golden bobby pins in her hair, too, just to pin it back from her face. He knows she refuses to wear makeup, and he didn’t expect her to, but her lips look just a touch pinker than usual. And then he looks at her feet and wants to laugh in delight because she’s wearing navy sneakers with white laces, and it works somehow, it works for Brienne, and she probably doesn’t even know it. It’s—the whole look is—well, it’s hardly conventional at all, but Jaime thinks—

“Brienne, you look—”

But before he can even pay her any compliments, she just starts rambling.

“Shut up, Jaime. I’m doing this for you. You asked me to prom. You told me to wear blue. Well, I don’t own a dress, and I couldn’t find one off the rack within my budget, let alone a blue one, and I know this isn’t what girls usually wear to prom but I had to improvise, I don’t even have the right shoes and I’m pretty sure I wore this skirt to a funeral once, and the brooch was my mom’s and it’s the nicest thing I own—”

At that point he grabs both her wrists, and she goes quiet immediately. “Brienne,” Jaime says, in earnest, “I was going to say you look nice.”

“... Oh. Um. Thank you,” she says, stiffly, but there’s a bit of colour to her cheeks now that wasn’t there before. “You—you look nice too.”

Jaime flips his hair dramatically, and flashes her his most winning smile. She rolls her eyes at him, but he swears the colour in her cheeks is three shades darker than it was three seconds ago.

Suddenly, he feels a hand on his back swivel him around.

“Alright, one photo before we all have to get out of here.” Brienne’s dad is definitely pressing the button on his phone for far longer than it takes to take one photo. “Smile for the camera!”

“Where’s he going?” he asks Brienne from between his teeth. He puts his hand around her waist.

“Date,” Brienne mutters under her breath. She squirms beneath his hand.

When her dad is finally done taking probably a hundred entirely identical photos, he gives her a huge hug and says, “Have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Jaime bites back a smile when he sees Brienne’s eyes widen, as if she’s thinking, but you do a lot of things, Dad. Then, they’re ushered out the door, in the direction of Jaime’s car.

Jaime thinks about holding her hand, just the short way from the front door to his car. But then he thinks of her squirming beneath his hand on her waist, and doesn’t. He uses that hand to open the door for her on the passenger side.

For the first half of the drive to school, neither of them say a single word. Jaime notices that Brienne seems to be taking very deep breaths.

“Are you nervous, or something?” Jaime asks, finally.

“What do you think?” she snaps.

Hells.

“It’s just prom,” Jaime says. He feels stupid already, saying something like that when he’s dressed in his navy blue suit for the occasion.

“What do you mean, it’s just prom?” she scoffs. “How can it be just prom when you know you’re definitely going to be crowned Prom King?”

“Not definitely.”

“Definitely.”

“Since when do you care about that kinda stuff, Brienne?”

“I don’t care, I’m just—but I’m your—don’t you care?”

“Not really.” Okay, he might care a little bit, but not really accommodates a little bit of caring, right? “I just want to have a nice night with you.”

Brienne doesn’t respond.

They’re at a red light right around the corner from the school now, and he can already see everyone making their way inside. He looks over at Brienne, at how her eyes are fixed on them, in their dresses and their suits. Then, she stares down at her skirt, where her hands are bunched up tightly in the fabric.

They don’t speak again until he’s parked the car.

When he gets out, Brienne is still sitting in her seat, not moving. It’s not that he doesn’t want to open her door for her, it’s just that the few times she’s been in his car, she’s never waited for him to do that. But it’s prom night, right? He wants to do this for her. Yet, when he opens the door, she’s still frozen in her seat.

“Brienne.”

No answer.

“Tarth!”

She startles, looks up at him. “Sorry. I’m. I’m ready.” But then she turns her head back to the dashboard, and she’s still not moving.

“Are you okay?” Jaime puts his hand on her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she says, as if she wants to crawl into the glove compartment and hide there. “I’m—it’s nothing. Let’s go. I can do this. I—I want to do this for you. I don’t want you to miss prom.”

“Why do you keep saying that? You’re doing this ‘for me’? If you didn’t want to come with me—”

“No—” She looks up at him again, eyes wild with alarm. “it’s not that I don’t want to go with you. I just—it’s a lot of people. A lot of dancing people. A lot of girls in dresses a lot nicer than what I’m wearing. A lot of people who don’t—think very much of me.” She worries at her lip for a few seconds, then says, “These people also think very much of you.”

“I don’t care what they think.” It’s not entirely true, but it’s truer than it was before he became friends with Brienne. “Since when do you care what they think?”

“I don’t! It’s just—too many people who’d be looking, and whispering, and I’m not even in a dress—”

“I think you look great!” Should he be more descriptive? He can absolutely be more descriptive if that’s what she needs.

“I know you do!” She takes another deep breath. “But—look, it’s fine, give me a second and I’ll, I’ll get through it.”

“Don’t—” Don’t torture yourself for me, Jaime wants to say. But Brienne has already swung her legs out of the car, and is striding with purpose towards the school.

Then, as they get nearer to the entrance, he sees it. The way people turn to look at her, and at him right next to her. He sees exactly what she was so nervous about.

Brienne’s strides are a little less purposeful now.

“Brienne.” He tugs on her arm. “Why don’t we just—go somewhere? Away from all of this?”

She turns back to him. “I don’t want you to miss prom!” she repeats, helplessly.

“We don’t have to go far. Somewhere in school. I’m sure there has to be a classroom that isn’t locked. Or your corner, where we used to study.” Where I asked you to prom.

Brienne stares at him for a long while. “The library,” she says, finally. Then she turns, and walks away.

——————————

This is so stupid, Brienne thinks, as she keys in the door code to the library. That part isn’t the stupid part—she got the code from the librarian barely two months into her first year, because she’s smart and she uses the library diligently for its intended purposes. The part that is stupid, is how she just basically panicked just before she was about to go to prom with Jaime. How many girls in this school would die to be in her position?

She switches on the lights in the far corner, where there’s a couple of comfy couches. Jaime is following close behind her as she walks towards them. She sits on one of the couches, and expects him to take the other, but he settles himself right beside her instead. It’s snug, and their arms touch. It’s not even her skin against his; he’s wearing his suit after all. She tucks her arm into herself anyway.

“How do you know the code?” he asks, moving closer to her.

“The librarian likes me.” She can’t move further away, unless she devises a way to melt into the arm of the couch. “Sometimes I stay past opening hours to study.”

“Nerd,” Jaime says, and there’s no cruelty in it at all.

“Guilty as charged,” she replies, with a small smile.

She leans back on the couch, stretches out her legs, and Jaime mirrors her. She looks over at him, all dapper in his navy blue suit—it had taken all her willpower not to collapse in the living room when she saw him—and then she looks down at her own outfit, cobbled together from so many random parts. She’s wearing sneakers. And she’s supposed to be at prom with Jaime Lannister.

Brienne needs to know, and now’s no better time than any other. “Why did you ask me to prom, Jaime?”

He turns his head to her. “Why not?” he asks in return, as if she’d just asked him the most ludicrous question.

“I’m—I’m Tarth,” she insists. Like that would explain everything.

Jaime just laughs. “That’s why I asked you. Because you’re Tarth. Because you’re Brienne, and I like you, and I don’t want to go to prom with anyone else.”

Wait.

“Um.” She’s gripping the fabric of her skirt again, though she’s already creased it in the car. “Can we rewind just a little bit?

“To which part?”

“To that part where you said… you like me?”

“What about it?”

“Could we just—make that crystal clear?”

“Um. I… like you? I’m not really sure how to be anymore straightforward about it.”

“Like… as a friend?”

“No…?”

“Oh.” Oh gods.

“Yeah. I know I haven’t really said it, but. I was kinda planning on doing that later tonight. During prom. Or after, maybe. Your dad didn’t actually give me a time to have you back home.”

“Oh—uh—he usually doesn’t have to worry about that.” She’s usually the one wondering when her dad will get back from his dates, actually.

And then Brienne looks down to where her hand is gripping her skirt. Except she’s not gripping her skirt. She’s gripping Jaime’s hand.

When did that happen?

“I’m going to assume,” Jaime says, tentatively, “since you haven’t let go of my hand yet, that this is fine with you.”

Brienne just nods. Is it very warm in here? It feels very warm. It feels like her shirt is sticking to her back.

“And just to be crystal clear—” he nudges their linked hands— “do you like me? Or are we just sitting here, on a couch in the school library on a Saturday evening, holding hands as friends?”

All this time, all the time since she became his friend, Brienne never dared to ask herself that question. Does she like Jaime? She would have been terrified of saying yes, even just to herself. But if she had said no—it would have been a lie. So she just… didn’t ask.

But now, now she just nods again. She does like him. Until she realises he asked two questions. She forces herself to look at him, look into his eyes. “Yes… to the first question.”

Jaime is breaking into a grin now, the stupidest, widest grin she’s ever seen on his face. It must be infectious, because he’s teasing her with, “I’ve never seen you smile that wide before.” And then, of course: “The blush is pretty standard though.”

“Shut up,” is all she can say.

What a witty comeback, Brienne. You don’t deserve the door code to the library.

“How are you feeling now?” Jaime asks.

Deliriously happy. “I’m okay.”

“Are you ready to go?” Gods. Prom. Of course there’s still prom. She can hear the music sounding faintly from the school hall.

She’s trying to nod again, but she’s pretty sure she has a pained expression on her face.

“You’re a terrible liar, Brienne,” Jaime smiles. Again, there’s no hint of cruelty in his observation. Just—something like affection.

She sighs. “I really don’t want you to miss prom.”

Jaime shrugs. “And I don’t want you to suffer through it.” He sinks further into the couch. “This is really quite comfortable. Do people study on these? I’d fall asleep in seconds.”

“It’s a prime spot, actually,” Brienne retorts. “Which you’d know if you had used this library for something other than talking to Addam.”

“We were whispering!”

“It was louder than actual talking, Jaime.”

Jaime just rolls his eyes at her. That’s supposed to be Brienne’s move. She’s the eye roller in this—this—well, she supposes it’s no longer a friendship, as of three minutes ago.

They sit in silence for a little longer, still holding hands.

Eventually, Brienne asks, “So what happens now?”

Jaime doesn’t answer immediately. He lets go of her hand, shrugs off his suit jacket, loosens his tie. “We don’t go to prom, I guess.”

“Are you sure—”

“I’m sure. I’d rather be here with you.” He’s stretching his arm across her shoulders now. “In your natural habitat.”

“So we’re going to just sit here?”

“Well.” Jaime wraps his fingers around her upper arm. “There’s other things we can do.”

“Oh.” Brienne looks around at the shelves upon shelves of books. “Like… read?”

“Um.” Jaime seems almost caught off guard by her suggestion, but they’re in a library after all. What else is there to do in a library? “I suppose we could read,” he accedes. “Or I could kiss you. If you want.”

Oh. That would be a misuse of the privilege of knowing the door code, wouldn’t it? But Brienne supposes it’s fine, when it’s just a Saturday evening. When it’s just the two of them. There are hundreds of other students, dancing and maybe even kissing too, in the school hall not too far away. It’s just the two of them, though, in this corner of the library.

She would have gone to prom with him, eventually. She would have done it for him. But then he offered to skip prom, for her.

So she lets him kiss her. She lets herself kiss him. After all of that—it’s the least she can do.

#fictober19 #jaime x brienne #braime #my fic #i'm tired this might be terrible #also i nixed corsages/boutonnieres because i'm not familiar with the etiquette

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jeserai · 5 years

Note

Angst no.8 + fluff no.9 for the sentence starters please? I'm in need of some angst/comfort stuff

8. “Is that blood?” “…No?”9. “Sleep over? Please?”

And though she’s not looking at Catra, she knows that Catra is going to be giving her that confused, annoyed look, so she recites, “‘for whither thou goest, I will go.’ I won’t let you do this—whatever it is—alone. If you want to fight, and bleed, and get hurt, I will be there with you.”

8. “Is that blood?” “…No?”

Adora silently jerks awake just past 3am, her hand already on the dagger kept under her bed. As she swings it out, a familiar hand catches it; Catra curses and then collapses on her bed, no doubt glaring at her. “What the fuck, Adora?”

“Oh.” Adora loosens her grip on the dagger and Catra takes it by the blade before tossing it onto the floor as Adora blinks the sleep from her eyes. “And don’t what the fuck me, what are you doing up so late and sneaking into my room?”

“Um, none of your business,” Catra sniffs. She stands with a groan, and Adora listens to her parabatai crack her back as she settles back into her pillow. And then she sniffs, and freezes.

“Catra.”

“Yeah, princess?”

“Is that blood?”

A long pause. “…No?”

With a heavy sigh that Adora sincerely hopes conveys all of her exasperation, she sits up and swings out of bed. “Come on, Catra.”

And surprisingly, Catra follows without even a bit of snark. She even reaches for Adora’s hand to let herself be tugged through the Institute and up to the training room, where Adora pushes her down to the floor and sits across from her, careful fingers easing up her shirt. Adora hisses as she sees the wound, deep and bleeding freely, and she reaches a hand out in a wordless demand as Catra reaches for her stele. She doesn’t flinch or wince when Adora begins to draw careful iratzes despite the way it must burn; all Catra does when Adora glances up at her is stare down at the floor, scowling.

“I really hope that wasn’t from a werewolf,” Adora tries, “I don’t want to have to fight a whole pack again.”

Usually, a remark like that would earn her a snarky remark or at least a roll of Catra’s eyes, but now she just huffs and shrugs. “It’s fine, princess.”

“Catra, I just—”

“It’s fine,” Catra snaps. As soon as Adora finishes, Catra bats her away, rolling down her shirt and grabbing her stele. “By the Angel, Adora, I’m not a kid! We’re Shadowhunters, this is what we do. We fight and we bleed and we get hurt and we die, this is our life.”

Adora forces her voice to remain calm despite the way she wants to shake some sense into Catra. “I know that, but I don’t want to just sit here and watch you do this to yourself; you’re my parabatai. We swore it, Catra, ‘where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.’”

For a moment, Adora is sure that Catra is going to concede and come to bed, but then she stands ramrod straight and shakes her head. “I’m going.”

And though she’s exhausted, and upset, and annoyed beyond belief at her hotheaded parabatai, Adora stands and grabs her sword from the weapons rack. “Let me get dressed then.” And though she’s not looking at Catra, she knows that Catra is going to be giving her that confused, annoyed look, so she recites, “‘for whither thou goest, I will go.’ I won’t let you do this—whatever it is—alone. If you want to fight, and bleed, and get hurt, I will be there with you.”

When Adora turns, she finds Catra touching her heart, her fingertips brushing against the tip of the rune that lies inked on both of their chests, the rune that binds them for life. She doesn’t smile when their gazes meet, but something in her face relaxes, and she nods. “Meet me outside in five minutes.” Thank you.

“I’ll be there in three.”

You’re welcome.

9. “Sleep over? Please?”

Catra decides that she is absolutely going to kill Adora’s new friends the first chance she gets. A little bit because they called her at 3am on a Tuesday night, and partially because they called her drunk out of their minds at 3am on a Tuesday night, and mostly because they had the nerve to tell her to come pick Adora up at 3am on a Tuesday night, as if everything between her and Adora is still okay.

She hadn’t even spoken to Adora, just to stupid fucking Shimmer, and in the background she could hear the sound of someone puking and a few voices yelling. Glitter said to hurry up in a very panicked voice, and then Catra hung up. For a moment, Catra lay in bed, phone tossed somewhere by her feet, and for a long, long few minutes, she contemplated staying in bed, going back to sleep, and having the quiet satisfaction in knowing that somewhere, Adora was puking her guts up after drinking too much.

And then those moments passed, and Catra swung herself out of bed, pulled on a jacket, and stomped outside.

And now here she is, waiting outside the Rebellion at 3:23 in the morning, waiting for stupid fucking Shimmer and stupid fucking Adora to come outside. They do, eventually; Bow is half-carrying, half-dragging Adora to Catra’s car, and he at least has the nerve to look apologetic. He struggles for a few minutes with the car door handle, and Catra only gets out to help him because she wants to get back to bed. Adora shoved inside the passenger seat, Catra turns to Bow and silently stares him down, sure her expression will convey how absolutely pissed she is.

“I am so sorry, it’s just—she’s really drunk, and—you—well,” quietly, head ducked in shame, Bow says, “none of us know where she lives.”

And oh, Catra is going to kill them. All she says though, is, “Give me gas money,” and turn on her heel when Bow digs out two wrinkled ten dollar bills. Catra waits for him to get back inside the bar and then turns to Adora, who sits quietly with her eyes closed and her head lolled back. For a moment, Catra wonders if she’s passed out, but then Adora’s eyes shoot open and she stares at Catra, dumbstruck.

“Catra! How’d you get here?” she questions. She leans forward and yelps as she loses control of her body, and she is so lucky Catra knows her well enough to have put out a hand to catch her.

Should’ve let her fall, Catra thinks, but she gently pushes Adora back and leans towards her to fasten her seatbelt. Only because she doesn’t want Adora to forget herself and fall over again while she’s driving, even if the image is pretty funny to imagine. When she finishes with the seatbelt and looks up, Catra finds Adora still staring at her, cheeks flushed and eyes dark. Her gaze is trained on Catras lips, and Catra can feel her body heat from how close they are, and for a moment, Catra is pulled back into Adora’s orbit, helpless as always to escape. But then she remembers herself, remembers how Adora so easily left her, and she tears herself away completely.

“Alright, princess,” she mutters, “let’s get you home.”

“Home!” Adora parrots happily, “we’re going home! Wait, where’s Glimmer? Where is everyone—Catra, we have to go back!”

“Why, did you leave them too? Funny, because I don’t remember you ever coming back for me.”

Adora stays quiet, and Catra glances at her out of the corner of her eye as she drives, startled to find a frown fixed on Adora’s face. Her voice is surprisingly steady when she whispers, “I never meant to leave you,” and Catra’s heart stutters, but then Adora’s head lolls to the side and she presses her hand against the window, humming off-key to herself.

Typical.

“Yeah, well. Just don’t puke in my car and we’re good.”

“I puked on Bow’s shoes,” Adora dutifully reports, “they were new, too.”

And honestly, that almost makes up for this shitty night.

“You’re still such a lightweight, Adora.”

Adora giggles in response and says something about kitty cats. Catra ignores this and fixes her eyes firmly on the road as she takes the achingly familiar path to Adora’s house. A year, she thinks, it’s been a year and she still hasn’t forgotten. Adora has carved her mark into Catra’s heart so deeply that she could find her way here blindfolded with no trouble after a whole year of avoiding her. And Adora’s new friends couldn’t even be bothered to figure out her address—

Catra takes a deep breath, and stiffens when she feels a warm, familiar hand high on her thigh. “Kitten,” Adora mumbles, “calm down.” It’s been a whole year, but Adora can still read her so easily, inebriated as she is. And it’s been a whole year, but Catra’s body still reacts to Adora’s touch, her shoulders relaxing and her heart unclenching as Adora rubs gentle circles against Catra’s thigh.

God, she’s pathetic.

“I’m fine, Adora. I don’t need you babying me, I never did.” Which is a lie, because Adora never babied her, only talked her down from countless anxiety attacks and fits of anger. But Catra doesn’t have Adora anymore, so she’s learned to take care of herself again. She doesn’t need Adora, never did.

But Adora’s hand stays there, warm even through Catra’s sweats, and Catra leaves it there.

When they pull up to Adora’s house, Adora whines and pouts and absolutely refuses to go in, even after Catra threatens to drag her by the hair. “You don’t even have a key,” she says triumphantly, and Catra just rolls her eyes, because Adora always keeps a spare taped underneath the mailbox, and besides.

She still has her key that Adora never took back, tucked safely (stupidly) away in the glove compartment.

“Come on, Adora. Jesus fuck, I’m exhausted, get up.”

And when Adora does not, Catra leans over her, unbuckles her seatbelt, and yanks her out of the car, ignoring Adora’s cry of surprise and pain when she is dragged out of the car and onto the ground. Catra’s never been as strong as Adora, but she’d hit the gym with Scorpia after the break up, and all those hours are clearly paying off, because it’s easier than Catra ever thought it would be to get Adora up and carry her up the walkway and to the front door. Adora whines when Catra finds the key and slides it home, and something in Catra’s heart stutters again when she makes her way inside again.

After a year, everything is still the same. There are pictures of them still up, and the couch is still where Catra loved and Adora hated, and—

Maybe, maybe, Adora still hurts too, the same way Catra does, deep inside where no one else knows. She just lets it show differently.

Catra shoves the thought away and kicks off her shoes, letting them fall messily onto the floor. Adora promptly slurs out a half-hearted protest, and it almost feels like it used to, when Catra would kick her shoes off because she was too lazy to keep them tidy, and Adora would protest, and Catra would shut her up with a gentle kiss. She’d always straighten her shoes after, just to see Adora’s sunny smile, but all she does now is drag Adora to her room and drop her none too gently against the bed. Adora groans and rolls over, and Catra watches in amusement as Adora fumbles for her pillow to smush her face into it.

“Gonna get you some water,” she says, mostly to herself. Adora groans again and Catra watches in the door for a moment to make sure she’s okay. Other than her shoes on the bed—Adora is going to freak out about that in the morning—she seems fine, so Catra leaves.

When she gets back, Adora has somehow managed to sit up, but her eyes are still closed and she startles when Catra knocks on the open door. She opens her eyes and smiles wide when she sees Catra, then she frowns. “Catra! Where’d you go?”

“I told you, I went to get you some water. You need to drink it, Adora.”

Adora’s petulant frown only deepens and she shakes her head. “Not thirsty.”

“I don’t care, drink it anyway.”

Eventually, Catra manages to make Adora take a few sips of the water before letting her lay down again. As Catra places the glass down on the side table, Adora catches her wrist and weakly tugs. “Are you leaving?”

“Yes, Adora, I’m leaving. I have work in the morning.”

Catra’s words only make Adora clutch at her tighter, and Catra makes the mistake of looking over at her and into her wide, sad eyes. “Sleep over? Please?” Adora asks, and her voice is quiet, all of her vulnerability laid bare for Catra to see.

And Catra could say no. It would be so easy to, to pull away and leave the house, but Catra has always been weak for Adora, and it’s always been so easy for Catra to fall back into Adora’s orbit.

So she stays. Just for tonight, she stays.

#she ra #shera #catradora #my writing #catradorians how we feelin #x.x i forgot to include the part with adora telling catra she got so drunk bc today wouldve been their 2 year anniversary ((catra forgot))#also we love shadowhunter aus if u read shadowhunters ur third eye is open just saying #NEITHER OF THESE WERE FLUFF I AM SO SORRYFSDJKHDGKJD #shadowhunter au #magic au

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meginoi-writes · 5 years

Text

Spotlights Will Guide You Home - Chapter 4

Summary: Eddie wakes up.

Pairing: Reddie

Words: 1675

The boy gasped, his chest heaving as he lurched forward. His stomach churned, sending him onto his knees as he dry heaved onto the ground. He sniffed, wiping the tears from his eyes as his stomach settled, giving him his first proper chance to take in his surroundings.

Where the hell was he?

Better question, who the hell was he?

He racked his brain, desperately searching for an answer. Yet, all he was met with was an inky blackness where his memories should have been. There was obviously a story to how he had ended up here, lying against a rock in… where even was he? A sewer? His hand instinctively went to his chest, fingers tracing the ragged outline of the tear in the fabric of his shirt.

He felt like the world's worst detective trying to piece together what little he did remember. It reminded him of that one time he tried to do a Rubik's cube blindfolded: impossible and frustrating. A flash of a memory crossed his mind before just as quickly disappearing.

Soft hands cupping his face, gently pulling down the blindfold he wore to come face to face with brown eyes, those big, beautiful brown eyes.

“That was a good attempt, Eds. Too bad you’ll never be as good as moi”

Ed’s, no, no. He didn’t like the sound of that. Eddie, however… that must be his name right? But who did that voice and those intoxicating eyes belong to?

He pushed himself up onto shaky legs, one hand braced against the wall for support. He needed to get out of this hellhole, despite only spending a short while conscious in the morbid cavern, he knew it was not a place he should linger.

There were people who would be worried about him, faces, some with names and some without, who would come looking for him eventually. His wife for one.

His wife?

Of course, fuck, his wife. Myra, was it?

He could remember their wedding, a day that felt stuffy and plastic, as though it would melt and burn away if placed under a hot flame. However, the months and years leading up to it were a blur of colours and numbness. He couldn’t actually remember falling for her.

And that’s when he realised.

He never actually had.

He staggered over to the large gap in the wall, what he assumed was hopefully the exit, at the other side of the cavern. His steps echoed as he sloshed through the water. It seeped through his socks and shoes, making him release a disgusted shudder.

The dim light in the cavern did little to aid him in his task. He stuck close to the wall, lest he should stumble into something he would rather avoid, something that would be better off fading into the inky blackness, never to be known again.

Eddie guessed that was almost where he ended up. And then where would he be? The people that knew him would forget about him eventually, his face would fade from their minds like leaves that decayed as they fell from the trees, slowly until nothing remained.

He would go out of the blue and into the black.

His footsteps echoed in the tunnels of the sewers, bouncing off the walls and down into dark places unknown, places that were probably better to stay that way. His feet moved automatically, guiding him down the twists and turns that he wasn’t even conscious of.

Yet, deep down he knew of their existence, as though he had travelled them before. Had he? And his feet had never forgotten the path, leading him out of that dark, desolate place and into the sunlight of Derry.

Yes, that’s definitely where he was, Derry, Maine. The streets were thankfully empty as he stumbled aimlessly along, the sun was just on the cusp of rising as people were not yet called from their beds. It was a blessing he should be thankful for, he cut an unnerving figure in his bloodstained shirt - whether it was his blood or another’s was an answer he was yet to find - and caked in dirt and grime from the sewers. Someone would surely notice something was wrong, and then where would he be? Taken away to some hospital to have test after test -

“You’re sick Eddie-bear! This will help you feel better!”

No. No tests. He knew he had visited enough hospitals in his lifetime to never set foot in one again, though the reason why still escaped him. Though who the shrill, piercing voice that reminded him of the fact belonged to still escaped him.

A three story townhouse came into view, a weather worn sign swung on its hinges outside, announcing it as ‘Derry Townhouse.’

The hotel, if you could call it that, was seemingly abandoned from the outside. Only one car was parked outside it, a large black SUV, one that Eddie immediately recognised as his own.

Wasn’t someone else supposed to be here? No, not just someone, multiple someones.

Nevertheless, here he was, standing on an empty street with fractured pieces of memories floating around in his head like pieces of debris from a particularly violent storm. He knew this car was his, and he knew he had drove all the way from New York to this sleepy little town for some reason.

But putting his finger on why seemed to be the problem.

He rooted through his pockets, fishing out a car key that had stayed surprisingly intact throughout the fight.

Wait, what fight? Had he fought someone?

Or something?

That was all his mind seemed willing to give at that moment though, so he unlocked the car with a loud beep and threw open the door.

Beep…

Beep Beep…

Beep Beep R-

‘BEEEEEEEEP’

“What the fuck?!” Eddie shouted, launching himself back out of the car, removing his shoulder from where it had subconsciously moved to rest against the horn. He slapped a hand against his chest, desperately wishing for his racing heart to return to it’s calm, almost sluggish you might say, pace.

He laughed to himself as the terror faded, the only rementants of it being a skittering feeling along the surface of his skin. He jumped back into the car, fingers wrapping around a little card that sat in the compartment that separated the driver and passenger seat. He turned it over in his hands, a picture of himself looking miserable greeting him on the other side. He squinted, eyes roaming over the information printed in block letters.

Edward Kaspbrack. So that was his name. He lived in New york? Why? It was chaotic and dirty and not his scene at all, he knew that much.

Sighing, he punched the address into the sat nav and turned the keys in the ignition, bringing the car roaring to life. The sooner he got out of Derry, the better.

—-

“Eddie, is that you? Where the hell have you been? You were supposed to be back- Oh my god,” The accusatory tone in Myra’s voice failed her as she hurried round the corner, coming face to face with her husband for the first time in a couple of weeks.

Eddie could understand her shock, after going radio silent for god knows how long it had been, now he turned up on their doorstep covered in dirt and grime from the sewers, it was bound to be disorientating.

But he couldn’t focus on that right now. He thought the feeling of needing to run would dissipate the further he got from Derry, yet it only became stronger, more panicked. He needed to go further, faster.

He barged past her into their apartment. Her footsteps echoed behind him as he rushed through to their bedroom.

“Eddie! Answer me! They told me you were-”

“I can’t stay here. I’ve got to go.” Eddie delved into the wardrobe, pulling out a large canvas bag identical to the two already sitting in the back of his car.

“Go? Go where?!”

“I don’t know. Anywhere that’s not here.”

“Eddie, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. I don’t understand!” Myra screeched, tears now spilling down her cheeks.

“You wanna know what’s going on? I just woke up in a goddamn sewer with no clue of how i ended up there. Now I've got to go, I don't know why, just something is pulling me. Telling me to get as far away from Derry as possible.”

“You sound crazy, you know that? So you’re just gonna come home, after supposedly being crushed to death, or at least that what they told me, and just jet off again. What about everything you’re leaving behind Eddie? What about me?! What about your wife?”

Eddie turned to where she stood in the doorway, the black pair of trousers he held dropping into a crumpled heap on the floor. He walked towards her, slipping off the gold band around his ring finger and pressing it into her shaking palm.

“It was never real for either of us. You know that,” Eddie whispered, staring at the ring that now lay in Myra’s hand. He instantly felt lighter, as though he had finally been unshackled for the first time in years. “Goodbye, Myra.”

He zipped up the canvas bag and carried it through the apartment, antsy to get out of that suffocating apartment. He knew what he was doing was harsh, but it was best for both of them, living a lie was pointless, and Eddie was done watching his fly by in a whirlwind of moments that held no deeper meaning.

The airport seemed like the best place to go, yes, jump on the first plane leaving, the visa he’d found tucked neatly beside his passport would cover most places. His poorly formed plan was rash and could fail spectacularly, but it was just the kind of adrenaline kick he needed.

And so, he jumped on a plane to London. Ready to start rebuilding a new life from the ashes of one he barely remembered.

#megan's words #Spotlights Will Guide You Home #reddie fic #reddie

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internationalrealestatenews · 9 months

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blackasteriia · 4 years

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Apparently it is a birthday. Apparently that means they must celebrate. (People are weird.) Kane will make her a cake. And Taker... well. He'll finish what he stared pre-burial. Surprise?

Hap Birth–

Three weeks ago Xion buried George Dalton. A middling-age tax accountant that died of terminal pancreatic cancer. When he was twenty-five he won a major cycling tour and never did anything interesting after. He had thinning white hair and his family wanted him dressed in a black suit. Except for having to trim his mustache, the man was unmemorable to Xion. Despite being afflicted with a boring life George was a man of generosity. The visitors at his viewing talked about him with genuine admiration, respect, and tears in their eyes. One-hundred-and-three people visited George Dalton before Xion stuck him in a box somewhere out in a Western plot of the yard. Shoulder-to-shoulder, chattering, eating the catering food while she did homework in the kitchen. It was the most alive the funeral home had been in months. In a few hours it was as hallow as George’s chest cavity.

Xion shouldered open the backdoor. She stomped-out the dust in her boots and emerged into the dark, empty kitchen. She had cleaned-out the signs of all those people weeks ago– trash in the garbage can, swept, disinfected, reorganized the furniture, and removed an orange juice stain from the carpet. The house settled on its frame with a low groan. Birds chirped outside the windows. No foot steps or distant voices. However, breakfast dishes piled beside the sink and there was a pan on the cold stove. A chair pulled-out from the kitchen table. Despite it just being her and the dead bodies in the fridge, it looked lived on. Xion washed the plate and pan, left both on the drying rack. She dried her hands on the dish towel and left the way she came.

Encouraged by the Spring rains, grass sprouted in the yard. Dandelions made a serious contention for flourishing despite the threat of the lawnmower. With a little extra water and warmer winds, the bushes flowered. Not a cloud in the sky and the arid scent of the sands promised a heated day. Xion walked along the side of the house, shoes dampened by the morning dew. The doors to the workshop were left open to let in light and fresh air. She shoved her hands in her pockets and stepped inside. Xion blinked as her vision adjusted to the low light.

“‘Taker?” She called, glancing over the power tools, tables, and bikes. Movement near the back drew her gaze. He knelt beside a bike, hair tied back, and hands covered in grease. Xion wandered into the workshop. “I’m going to Laredo today to run some errands and get those cosmetics you need for the Holler fami– Holy shit?!”

Xion’s train of thought derailed, crashed and burned. ‘Taker worked on a medium-size motorcycle with the repurposed and repainted frame of a Harley sportster. For the past two months Xion had ordered and scavenged the parts needed for the design. Stuff a sleek Harley design with a Japanese engine for more power and efficiency. Alter the wheel and chain for more torque. Lower the seat for better balance and control. Following the notes and ideas ‘Taker outlined before his death. Left on his night stand for her to find by accident. He never got to build it, so she might as well. It was a design too cool to never realize. And admittedly, in the excitement of ‘Taker-isn’t-dead-anymore’ she forgot about it.

The real twist was that ‘Taker got to finish it after all.

“When did you–” Xion circled around the bike. In her mind she compared the notes and the sketches to the real thing. Saw all the ways his vision differed from hers, how the idea never compared to the execution. “You built this in two weeks?”

“After I finally found the notes you stole,” ‘Taker pushed to his feet. He wiped the grease off his hands with a rag.

“I didn’t steal them, I found them and you weren’t there to stop me,” Xion muttered. She knelt beside the bike and inspected the engine. That was the part she was most uncertain of: making an entire bike out of spare parts. She’d have misplaced something and the damn thing wouldn’t start. Made her wish she was here to see him do it. Xion glanced-up, ‘Taker lifted an eyebrow. “Also you were dead and someone had to do your laundry. This looks incredible, I don’t know what to say.”

“You gonna try it our or what?” ‘Taker asked, he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t rush me when I’m admiring your handiwork,” Xion grumbled. She reached for the handle bars, leaning her balance on the front of the bike. Xion swung her leg over the back and settled into the seat. “I think the most impressive part is you were able to build this bike and get eight hours of sleep a night. That’s really impressive, daddy.”

“I took naps,” ‘Taker said. He smoothed his hand over his jaw. Contemplation read in the furrow of his brow.

“Dirt nap doesn’t count,” Xion quipped.

“You got taller,” he noted. Xion flashed him a grin, all teeth. ‘Taker knelt beside her right knee and fiddled with the pedal under her foot. “Length good? You can reach the ground alright?”

“I ain’t that short,” Xion drawled. It was his turn to grin, suppressed with a roll of his lip between his teeth. “It’s fine daddy– let’s go ahead and run it. I wanna hear what the engine sounds like.”

‘Taker unhooked a carabiner with a bike key looped through it from his front belt loop. Dangling off his finger he dropped the key into her waiting palm. Xion kicked the bike up into neutral and turned the ignition. The engine caught and then rolled to life. Low and clean, it purred; mirroring with the laughter building in her chest. Gentle and slow, she revved the engine, rolling back the throttle and feeding it a little gas. Quick and responsive, biting but not too loud. Xion put the brake on and removed the key to turn it back off.

“That good enough for you?” ‘Taker asked. He ruffled her hair, sliding his hand down between her shoulders.

“It’s perfect,” Xion said. “Better than I imagined, thank you--”

“Once you’ve tried it out proper, you can thank me and tell me how good it is,” ‘Taker cut her off. “It’s your bike, you can do whatever you like with it. After you ride to Laredo today we can make any adjustments you think it needs. Make sure it suits you like it should.”

“I was going to ask if you need anything besides the cosmetics,” Xion asked. She dismounted the bike. ‘Taker took one side of the handlebars and she the other. Together they pushed the bike out of the workshop. A brush of wind struck her cheeks and played with their hair.

“Nah, you just be careful,” ‘Taker told her. “Lemme know when you’re on your way back.”

“Will do,” Xion promised, she leaned over the bike to hug him. “See you in a couple hours.”

In twenty minutes Xion cruised down the highway just over the speed limit, headed West. Between gears Xion coasted down flattened hills and tested the acceleration on the straight-aways. Cows lifted their head as she passed their pastures and stared her down while she idled at stoplights. The horizon was a long line, broken by farm houses and stands of trees meeting with the sky. Strips of sand, palm trees, and risen desert outcrops dotted the landscape.

Laredo arose in the hills. A sprawling border city of concrete and asphalt cut in half by the Rio Grande. Sparse trees grew out of the concrete, the streets warmed with the cloistering of buildings and bodies. On a Monday morning few wandered the sidewalks. Xion ran her errands, picked-up the cosmetics from the beauty store and the few things Aeleus needed. As noon approached the sun arced overhead and wind rushed the city streets. The bell jingled as Xion entered the bookstore, hidden in the shade of a side street. The clerk procured the textbooks Xion ordered. After perusing the aisles but making no other purchases, Xion emerged back out onto the sidewalk.

She stepped off the curb and approached where she parked her bike beneath a popular tree. A small white box rested on the seat of the bike. Xion shifted her burden from her hands, securing the bags in the rear compartment. She picked-up the box, felt its weight. Xion popped the lid. Inside was a cake for one, covered in smooth white frosting, chocolate shavings, and adorned with a card.’Red velvet,’ it read. Xion looked-up and down the street. She closed the lid, corners of her mouth pulling into a grin.

Daddy built her bike and she got a cake for her birthday after all.

#deadmenanddemons #✰*✦ The face in the mirror⎧IC⎫#✰*✦ The Waking Hour⎧VERSE⎫#✰*✦ Strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet!⎧Asks⎫#theory that kane just bought the cake for her because they happened be in the city at the same time #because i know kane isn't back by the time her birthday rolls around.

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animegirl431 · 5 years

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Trifiesta June 15th (2019)-Free Prompt/ AU

List in hand, Kirishima put on his jacket as he his long strides carry him to the door. Yokozawa remains in the entranceway plans to see his lover off. Yokozawa would have preferred for him to stay home, but given the circumstances he knew it was necessary for him to go on this errand run. The two men owed it to their sweet daughter to make sure everything was prepared so she could relax and have a good time. She works hard and is a good kid, so this was the least they could do.

A few days ago Hiyori had adorably asked if she could invite a few friends over for a sleepover during the weekend. When Kirishima and Yokozawa has agreed, Hiyori told them that she planned to invite Her three closet friends: Yuki, Hinata and Amia. She had smiled brightly at them before she rushed off to call her friends. Both of the men had watched her fondly. They loved how agreeing to her request had made her so happy.

Yokozawa and Kirishima had exchanged doting parent looks as they got ready for bed. The next days had passed in a blur as both of them had ended up working over time. Likewise, Hiyori had been busy with her projects and her after school extra circulars. As a result, all three of them had missed the pathetic state of their fridge and cabinets.

As the time approached for the three girls to arrive, both Yokozawa and Kirishima came to an embarrassing realization. Nobody had been able to go shopping all this week. Currently, there was not enough food or drinks for the for the three days the girls would be over.

It occurred to the two men that they had an hour until the girls should be getting back from school. That would be long enough for the two to go shopping to restock so they were prepared for the sleepover. As Yokozawa had been about to skip on his shoes, the door clocked open.

Hiyori, Yuki, Hinata and Amia entered, smiles gracing their faces as they gave their various greetings. “I’m home.” “Pardoned the intrusion.” “Coming in.” “We are here.”

Hiyori instantly noticed that both her father and onii-chan had shoes on. “Are you two going out?”

Quickly removing his shoes, Yokozawa answered. “Only your father is. I, on the other hand, will be here if you need anything.”

Amused, Kirishima remains silent. It would probably be better if Yokozawa handles the shopping. It had been proved on more than one occasion that Kirishima could mess up getting the right things even when provided a list. Yet, Yokozawa had already made the announcement that he would be staying. For the moment, Kirishima figures he could wait to point out his opinion on the topic of who is more suited to go shopping versus be home with the kids.

Actually, the answer to both would be Yokozawa. However, Yokozawa couldn’t be two places at once. So, it was more of a decision of which of the two things would Kirishima be less likely to screw up. Allowing Kirishima to take over either of the tasks alone seemed like asking for a disaster to occur. At least if he was less the one left to watch the kids, Hiyori would be there to fix things if anything happened.

Briefly, Yokozawa regretted making the claim that he would stay home not trusting Kirishima to get the correct items from the grocery store. Masking this fear, Yokozawa observed as Hiyori nodded. Her friends seemed thrilled that Yokozawa would remain here. They wouldn’t say it out loud, but they thought Yokozawa onii-chan was cooler and more fun to be around than Kirishima.

“We are going to be in my room,” Hiyori said hesitating as something occurred to her. “Unless you want help cooking dinner?”

“I would like a chance to cook with you Yokozawa onii-chan. Hiyori constantly tells us about all the adventures you two have had in the kitchen. It sounds like a good time,” Yuki says causing Hiyori to blush.

“Me too. I want to assist you in cooking,” Amia adds joint the conversation.

“Can we?” Hinata asks eyes bright.

“I wouldn’t count on it. You see the kitchen is Yokozawa and Hiyori’s domain. They get possessive over it. Take from me, it’s a challenge getting permission to even get access when they are cooking. Actually being able to participate in cooking with them is impossible,” Kirishima teasingly says, smirking at them.

“Kirishima!””Father!” Yokozawa and Hiyori reproachingly yell as they both glare at him. Pink tint their faces as they don’t appreciate the appearance of the joking side of his personality.

The sound of Hiyori’s three friends chuckling saved Kirishima from the tongue lashing he was about to receive. Grinning, they brushed off Kirishima’s words. It always was entertaining being able to observe Yokozawa, Hiyori and Kirishima’s interactions.

“It works out in our favor if we don’t have to help with making dinner anyways,” Hinata says which earns her puzzled stares.

“Why is that?” Amia asks.

“I’m tired from carrying out today’s goals in my club. The idea of collapsing on the bean bag chair in Hiyori’s room wins out over my desire to cook,” Hinata explains and is met with sounds of agreement.

“You make a good point,” Yuki says shifting her eyes to Hiyori.

“Well....,” Hiyori doesn’t get far as Kirishima pipes up.

“The same goes for us. We just got done with work. How about we order food for pick up. On my home I can stop by to grab our order,” Kirishima suggests holding back a laugh at the enthusiastic yeses that immediately supported this idea.

A discussion took place about where to order from. When that was decided, the girls’ wrote down what they wanted to eat, then headed off to Hiyori’s room to play. Yokozawa took out his phone to place the order. He made sure to give Kirishima’s name when asked who the order was for.

Blinking, Yokozawa came back to reality. To being in charge of the four girls. The salesman focus had been stolen by the sound of the bedroom door closing. Pushing away his unease at having been distracted that he missed when his lover had passed by him. Yokozawa had been about to question why Kirishima was still there, but stopped when he sat the man slip his wallet and phone in his pocket.

Reasonably it would do Kirishima no good to leave without those items. Yokozawa silently watched as Kirishima went to finally leave.

Pausing with his hand in the door handle, Kirishima asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to be the one to go instead?”

“Why do you ask?” Yokozawa questions frowning.

“Oh it’s nothing.”

“What? Do you not trust me to be able to take care of children?”

“Of course I do. If...”

Yokozawa’s eyes narrow at Kirishima as he shrugs shaking his head. The editor’s lips twitch and Yokozawa’s gut reaction is too find out what information the guy seems to have. Yokozawa ends up ignoring that urge.

“Hurry up and go,” Yokozawa snapped not in the mood to deal with whatever scheme Kirishima was up to.

“Fine. Don’t underestimate them,” Kirishima warns as as he steps out closing the door behind him.

A shiver goes down Yokozawa’s back at this words. Gritting his teeth, Yokozawa refuses allow Kirishima’s words to make him paranoid.

“Asshole,” Yokozawa mutters quite enough that the the four little girls won’t overhear.

______________________

Four giggling girls entered the living room carrying a heavy looking case. They quickly traveled over to where. Yokozawa sat lounging in the couch. Curiously, Yokozawa raised an eyebrow as they stood lined up in front of him. Hiyori stood smiling sweetly in that way she did when she was going to request Yokozawa do something for her. Her three friends followed her lead.

A strong bad feeling welled up inside of Yokozawa foreshadowing that he wasn’t going to like what the girls had planned. Warily, Yokozawa gazed at the case and then back at the four girls hoping that for once that his suspicion of being led into something that would damage his pride would be wrong.

The moment Hiyo opened the case with shining eyes, Yokozawa swallowed harshly. He momentarily wonders if it would be possible to avoid what was coming next by pretending he needed to take a shower or make a phone call. As if sensing his desire to flee Amia and Yuki stand on one side while Hiyori and Hinata go to stand on the other. Thus, the four girls efficiently blocked his escape route.

Squashing back his panic, Yokozawa comforted himself by saying that maybe this situation would take a different direction than it appeared. Folding his hands together, Yokozawa created a calm facade.

“Yokozawa onii-chan, what are you up to?” Hiyori innocently inquires.

“I’m not really doing anything...why?” Yokozawa responds dread pooling in his stomach.

“We were wondering if you would play with us?” Hiyori answers shifting from foot to foot anxiously.

“I’m more than willing to hang out with you girls if you want,” Yokozawa says not an inch of hesitation in his voice.

“Yay!!” All four of the girls shout gleefully.

The girls focused intently on Yokozawa. He could practically see them racking their brains. Grimacing, Yokozawa could only think of one reason why they would be so contemplative.

“You can say no,” Hiyori explains although he can tell she desperately wants him to say yes.

“No need to be so shy. It’s me. Share the details of what you have in mind,” Yokozawa speaks up instantly getting the sinking feeling that he had dug his won grave.

“We want to give you a make over.” The four girls announce eyes sparkling with excitement.

“This would include styling your hair and taking care of your nails,” Hinata further explains.

“All the supplies necessary are in this box,” Amia says motion towards the open beauty case.

On closer inspection, Yokozawa sees that the case has more compartments than one would expect on its closed state. Each compartment has a different beauty supply neatly lined up organized by the different shades from the lightest color to the darkest. There is an area for blush, lipstick, nail polish, hair ties, and many other supplies. Yokozawa gulps at the mortofying situation had in front of him.

“So it’s okay with you if we give you a make over?” Yuki asks as all four of the girls gather around the case.

This is a futile effort, Yokozawa is certain, but he can’t accept defeat without having given his all to evade this.

“It’s such a waste to use this on me. Especially when there are four beautiful girls that it would look stunning on. Why don’t you do each other’s make up and nail? Then come show me how wonderful a job you did?”

Exchanging glances, Yokozawa saw that his words had elicited cute blushes and giggles from the group of friends. When they turned back to met his steely gray eyes, Yokozawa could tell that he had failed to persuade them to use the make for themselves.

“It won’t be as fun that way,” Hiyori said dismissively.

All four of the girls pouted and gave Yokozawa the saddest, most pitiful puppy dog eyes he had seen in his life. This went beyond not being fair. Anyone in his position would have bowed to all that was asked to them if they had been witness to this.

“Please Yokozawa onii-chan.” All the girls used their sweetest voices as they pleaded with the dark haired man.

All resistance Yokozawa’s pride had provided him with had faded. They had won. Shame rose in him at being dragged into this. Slumping back against the couch, Yokozawa lowered his head. Biting his lip, Yokozawa despairingly accepted his fate.

“Okay,” Yokozawa whispered his consent.

A shadow fell over Yokozawa. Upon looking up, Yokozawa shuddered in fright as the four girls descended on him each holding a different type of beauty supply.

___________________

‘How do I get myself into these situations?’ Regret has been an instant response the second that the lipstick tube touched his lips. Flinching, Yokozawa got scolded as Hiyori has to use a paper towel to wipe away the excess lipstick.

Thirty minutes had passed torturously slow as the four girls worked on what they had been assigned to do. Yuki took on the task of putting makeup on Yokozawa’s face, Hiyori had claimed the job of styling his hair, Amia took on Yokozawa’s fingernails, and Hinata took on Yokozawa’s toenails. It might have been tolerable if they had gone one at a time. Unfortunately, the four girls had chosen to work on ever part of the makeover at once.

Sabotaging them or making this difficult for the girls wasn’t his intention. Yokozawa found himself squirming and flinching. No matter how many lectures or glares he received, Yokozawa couldn’t remain still in this situation. Besides, it being humiliating to have makeup on him. There was something else more pressing making this situation worse.

Yokozawa cursed the fact that his feet were both a ticklish and sensitive area for him. Along with avoiding making a move that would lead to him being poked in the eye by an eyeliner pen, Yokozawa found himself in the precarious situation of having to hold back his sighted or gasps as Hinata worked on painting his toe nails.

Nothing in this world would allow him to live down making some strange noise while Hiyori’s friends were innocently going about giving him a new look.This put a strain on him the made him tense. His body would jerk earning him disapproval and annoyed sighs.

By some miracle, Yokozawa stuck it out for an hour straight. Yokozawa was currently sitting there letting his nails dry. Hiyori, Yuki, Hinata, and Amia day on the ground exhausted. Scanning over Yokozawa’s appearance, there was a sense of satisfaction that was shared among all four of them. It had been a hard fought battle to get the makeup, nail polish, and hair accessories on Yokozawa.

When fifteen more minutes had passed the four girls stood up. They each took a mirror in their hands. Yokozawa flinched as the part this is the part he had been fearing the most. No offense to the four precious girls who did the very best job to properly apply all the beauty supplies on Yokozawa. It’s just Yokozawa knew there was absolutely no fucking way in hell that makeup, nail polish or any accessory would fit his intimidating appearance.

“Close your eyes,” Hiyori had urged him.

Having already come this far, Yokozawa didn’t have the willpower to put up any fight or protest against anything they asked. He closed his eyes. He heard the group of friends shuffle forward.

“Okay, open your eyes.” All the girls gently encouraged the salesman.

Upon opening his eyes, Yokozawa sat stunned. They were far from professionals, but they had managed to get rid of any stray line of makeup or nail polish. The colors used for the nails on his face were far from being coordinated. The application of blush, eye shadow, and eyeliner had been too much. It ended up being the typical result you would expect from girls who had recently started exploring how to use makeup.

They used a dark, smoky gray eyeshadow, so much eyeliner that it had more of that unattractive raccoon look, dark glossy red for his lips, a blush that gave his cheeks a noticeable pink color, his finger nails had alternating orange and yellow and his toe nails were painted a shocking light pink with neon green stripes. His hair was now curly, had berets with sparkly gems, a few clip on bows one with red and white polka dots and one that was a light silver color and somehow they had even managed to get a ponytail in his hair.

It is on the edge of being terrifying to Yokozawa. His imagination did not do justice compared to reality. Yokozawa felt like he could have walked out of someone’s nightmare. If someone had asked who was scarier a clown or Yokozawa wearing makeup, Yokozawa would no doubt be the winner.

Raising his hand to pick at one of his curls, Yokozawa’s lips twitched. This situation felt unreal as he never would guess that life would take him down a path where he would be allowing twelve year olds to completely give him a makeover. The more he looked in the mirror the more amused and content he felt.

As bad as he may look, this had been proof how domesticated his life had become. It showed much he has changed as a person. It made him grateful for to Kirishima for pulling him into his pace and along for the ride. He would always treasure these changes to his personality, the ability to experience this silliness, and the close relationship he had to the Kirishimas as well as the people he met because of the Kirishimas.

“What do you think?” All four of the girls asked in unison all of them looking nervous.

“I look absolutely wonderful,” Yokozawa said, watching in delight as the girls give him a beaming smiles.

“Really?” All the girls asked, giving him a searching look.

“Yeah. Without you girls, I would have never known how much difference a little bit of makeup and changing up my hair would make,” Yokozawa said, watching the girls get flustered.

“Does that mean you would let us do this again?” Hiyori asks a hopefulness in her tone and expression.

“Yes,” Yokozawa sincerely answers which leads to all the girls cheering happily.

The four girls politely dismissed themselves to Hiyori’s room. Not without thanking Yokozawa for playing with them. They also told him how awesome he was. It flattered Yokozawa and made him embarrassed.

A silence filled the room as soon as the girls had left. This brought to Yokozawa’s attention that for some reason Kirishima had not returned home. It was worrisome to Yokozawa as the errand should not have taken more than an hour. Deciding to call Kirishima, Yokozawa had picked up his phone that was on the table closest to the entryway to the apartment.

At that exact moment the door swung open as Kirishima walked in. Jumping in fright, Yokozawa dropped his phone drawing Kirishima’s attention. The editor’s face went from looking pissed to his mouth gaping. Yokozawa’s face heated up at being able to get such a raw, non-sophisticated reaction.

“What the hell happen to you?” Kirishima asked, having regained his speaking ability. “You didn’t do this yourself did you?”

“Of course not, you idiot,” Yokozawa harshly hissed. “The girls did this!”

‘Shit.’ All of a sudden Kirishima’s warning came of ‘don’t underestimate them’ into his brain. Sometimes it would save home a lot of trouble if he took Kirishima’s words seriously. Yokozawa was starting to believe that he had become addicted to reaping the consequences that came from not listening to Kirishima.

The curving of Kirishima’s lips into a smirk caused a shiver to run down his spine. He knew that Kirishima had entered a full on teasing mood. Turning away, Yokozawa felt arms wrap around his waist not even allowing him to even begin to escape. A whimper left Yokozawa’s lips at the absolutely devilish look that spread across Kirishima’s face.

Tipping his head back, Kirishima captured the salesman’s lips in a kiss not bothered at all by the fact that makeup would get smeared on his own face. Body going numb, Yokozawa scratches at Kirishima’s arm as a moan rises in his throat. Kirishima releases Yokozawa from the kiss. He leans towards Yokozawa’s ear and lick the earlobe earning a jerk and a gasp from his red faced lover.

“As sex will have to wait until our house guests leave, that leaves free time for us to have a nice, long, pleasant chat about your appearance,” Kirishima whispers in his ear his playful voice promising no mercy in the teasing he was about to unleash.

@trifiesta

#trifiesta #yokozawa takafumi #kirishima zen #kirishima x yokozawa #hiyori #fluff #makeup #sleepover #it's not my best work

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sparrowrider · 6 years

Text

You’re Safe Now (Avengers x tiny!reader)

Well gee, guess who’s not dead?! :D I know I’ve been silent for awhile, since school and everything has been eating up my time—but I recently got a burst of creativity, and I decided to go through the prompts in my inbox. (Which, by the way, are still open if you have any ideas!) So here we are!

Note: The titles says Avengers, though it focuses on Tony and Steve!

Warnings: mild cursing; being trapped; panic/spiraling thoughts

Hope y’all enjoy!

>> @misfitsgalaxygt @obwjam

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You drummed your fingers carelessly against your knee, eyes pasted to the large, analog clock stuck onto the wall. It was exactly three minutes and 45 seconds—46, 47, 48 seconds—past when the scientists were supposed to show up.

It was supposed to happen every day at 3pm sharp. The scientists would approach your cell, white lab coats billowing out behind them and surgical masks covering their entire face (except their beady, lifeless eyes). They would punch in a code, open your door, and grab your entire body in one rubber-glove-clad hand before taking you to another box—one that was much bigger, and carpeted with fake grass. It was supposed to represent you exercise time, or at least that’s what you thought. Then, at 3:30, it was back to your cell.

But today, they were late. That had never happened before.

You shifted uncomfortably, hands pressed against the glass as you peered through the room. Other glass cells lined the room, though most of them were scaled for fully-sized humans—only what they contained were only vaguely humanoid. People with horns, with wings, with green skin and gills and tentacles were contained behind those cells—and just like you, they were trapped here.

Just like you, they were experiments. People who had gotten their entire lives snatched away just so a covert group of dubiously ethical scientists could bend the laws of biology and physics at the expense of people’s general well-being.

The others sensed something was up, too. The person in the cell next to you—a young, frail girl with a set of enormous, bright red wings—had pressed her face up against the glass. Two cells down, a boy with fangs and claws scratched impatiently against the walls. Routines were everything here—so a deviation meant something unusual was going on.

Then you heard it: the shouting, followed by a series of bangs and crashes. You heard heavy footsteps, unabashed cursing, and more crashes. Something was definitely going on.

Stomach turning with unease, you tucked yourself into one of the corners of your cell and waited. And waited. The sounds kept going: shouts and bangs and what sounded like miniature explosions. Then, after about ten minutes, they died down. All was quiet once more.

Then, more footsteps; only this time, it was a lone pair striding forward with purpose.

Your stomach twisted as you realized it was growing louder.

“I’ll check this room out,” a deep, businesslike voice rang out from behind the door. It was unfamiliar, which could only mean one thing: someone new was coming in.

The knob turned. The door swung open.

Standing in the doorway was a tall, well-muscled man with neatly combed red-brown hair. He was clad in a blue leather suit adorned with stars and stripes, and in his hand he clutched a large, metallic shield with a single star in the center. His eyes darted about the room, widening significantly as he took in its inhabitants—as he took in the unnatural configurations of nature that were my cellmates.

“Guys, you might want to come check this out,” he called out, taking a hesitant step forward toward one of the cells—this one contained a wiry girl with tentacles where her arms should have been.

Moments later, a second figure joined him. He donned red-and-yellow armor, and his dark brown hair was rumpled and stuck out at odd angles. A shadow of a smirk was evident on his face as he stepped through the door, but it vanished almost instantaneously.

“Holy shit,” he mumbled. “I knew these guys were into some unethical crap, but this…”

The blue man gestured towards the keypads next to the doors. “They’re locked in,” he muttered, his brow furrowing. The other man simply rolled his eyes.

“Give me about thirty seconds to hack the system,” he retorted. “They’ll be out in no time.”

“But…what do we do afterwards?”

The brown-haired man frowned, glancing around. “You guys got families?” he queried. “Relatives of any kind? Homes?”

No one knew quite how to respond.

“Huh. Well.” The metallic man huffed. “We’ll figure something out. They can stay with us until we figure out where to get them sorted—I’m sure Bruce can help with that.”

The blue man nodded. “Alright.” With a pointed glance at the metallic man, he added, “Would you do the honors?”

“Certainly.” The metallic man held out what appeared to be a tiny, black disk before sticking it onto the keypad on the nearest cell. “Friday, initiate hack.”

One second passed. Then two. A soft beeping sound filled the air, and as you glanced around, you could see the other glancing at the two strangers with bewildered looks in their eyes. You couldn’t quite believe what I was seeing and hearing; were they truly about to break you all out? Were they planning to take you somewhere else? Where would you go? Were their intentions good, or—

Suddenly, all seventeen doors flew open in unison. The metallic man snatched his disk back and placed it in a compartment in his suit.

“Alright, people,” he said loudly, eyes sweeping the room. “You’ve probably been stuck in there for awhile, but my friend and I here have come to rescue you. So if you wouldn’t mind coming with me, we can be on our way.”

One second passed. Then two. Then the girl with wings stepped out of her cell, hope shining in her eyes. After her came the others: the boy with claws, the girl with tentacles, the kid with gills. All of them stepped out of their cell, giddy with disbelief and excitement, as the metallic man ushered them forwards—all but you.

There was a small problem with that, after all.

Your cell was about the size of a breadbox, and was tucked into the corner at a height of about five feet—which to someone who is only three inches tall is a fatal fall. Your door was open, just like everyone else’s, but you was still trapped.

As the last boy trotted eagerly out of the room, the man in blue turned, preparing to leave. Your stomach tightened as you saw him stride toward the exit; he couldn’t leave without you. You couldn’t be trapped here. You couldn’t, you couldn’t, you couldn’t—

“Wait!”

The man froze.

You clapped my hands over my mouth, face reddening. The man turned, slowly, and his eyes finally locked onto your tiny, trembling form.

“Oh,” he said simply.

“Please don’t leave me,” you added, my voice quavering.

The man nodded, and stepped forward slowly, His shield had been transferred to his back, and it glinted in the dim fluorescent light. A heartbeat later, he was directly in front of you, stooped over slightly so that his billboard-size face was hovering directly outside your cell.

“Of course I wouldn’t leave you,” he said, softly, his eyebrows knitting together. “Do you, er…need a hand?”

You nodded, tremors racking your body. The man took a deep breath, but nodded, and slowly raised one blue-leather-clad hand up to your door. You pushed yourself to your feet, still shaking; you were accustomed to being grabbed, after all. Walking directly into a stranger’s open palm was nothing short of terrifying; but if he really was telling the truth, if he was the link to freedom you’d dreamed of for so long…

You took one step. Then another. Before long, you were stepping onto the man’s fingers, your feet sinking into the odd, yet soft, surface. The man stared down at you, his eyes wide as he took your very existence in.

“Ready?” he asked hesitantly.

You nodded.

“Alright.” And he began walking. His footsteps were long and low; luckily for you, this meant very little jostling. You instinctively grabbed onto his thumb as he continued making his way through the room, then paused—you could feel a faint, but steady, pulse thrumming through the skin.

“How you doing down there?”

“Alright,” you responded, tentative.

The man nodded, eyes darting between you and the path ahead. “Good. Good. I’m Steve, by the way.”

“Oh. Um. Nice to meet you, uh, Steve,” you responded, sneaking another glance up at his face.

Before long, he reached the others, who were clustered around the man in the red suit, along with several others. A woman with short, red hair stood beside a man toting a bow; beside them, an abnormally tall man with a blond ponytail and a massive hammer was chatting with a rather short man with curly, dark hair and a meek complexion.

“Tony,” Steve called out, his voice booming around you. “I got one more.”

The eyes of the man in the red suit—Tony—shot towards you immediately, and you found yourself studying your shoes intensely as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Damn,” Tony responded. “They really…they really didn’t have any inhibitions, did they?”

“Apparently not,” Steve mumbled, casting a cloudy gaze your way.

Tony bent over, his eyes peering intensely into yours. “You alright there?” he asked quietly. Drawing your arms tighter around yourself, you merely nodded, even though a thousand questions and remarks were crawling through your brain.

“Well, then,” Tony announced. “Let’s get you guys back to Avengers Tower, yeah?”

The other experiments nodded excitedly, whispering and chittering amongst themselves. You glanced up at Steve, who returned your gaze with a soft, tender smile.

“You’re safe now,” he reassured you. “It’s going to be okay from here on out.”

Your finger traced the grooves in his blue glove. “Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely, feeling the beginnings of an emotional supernova welling up inside of you.

“Of course.” Cupping his other hand protectively around your form, Steve started making his way towards the exit. His hand was warm and soft; his heartbeat pounded through you. You found yourself relaxing in this stranger’s hand.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, you felt safe and secure.

For the first time in as long as you could remember, things seemed like they would be okay after all.

#g/t writing #my writing #avengers #marvel #marvel g/t #avengers g/t #g/t #giant tiny #giant/tiny #giant!tony #giant!steve #yeet!!#iron man #captain america

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sirkkasnow · 5 years

Text

01 Let Trouble Come To You

Ao3 link

06/30/13 Sunday

Stan registered three things as he stepped out into the heavy summer sunshine:

First, there was an old square-sided station wagon smashed nose first into the side of the Shack.

Second, Ford had just wrenched open the driver’s door.

Third, the occupant of the wagon, a well-dressed woman, looked up – disoriented but conscious – eyes flicking to his twin, then to him.

Son of a bitch, thought Stan, pushing himself into a jog across the lawn. He hadn’t made it halfway before the woman in the wagon clapped both hands over her startled mouth and burst into tears. Ford winced, backing off with the penlight he’d been waving in her face. Stan put a hand on his brother’s shoulder and drew him back another step, leaning in.

“Hey. Hey, ma’am, you okay in there?”

He got a shaky nod that did nothing to interrupt a series of faint jagged sobs, the kind of tears you got when you were trying very hard not to cry. The driver curled in on herself, knees tucked up, a ball of misery he had no idea how to unravel.

Mabel popped out of the nearest door and skidded to a halt in open-mouthed surprise. Stan pointed her way. “Mabel! Pumpkin, go get a box of tissues and a cold washcloth, all right? Ford, what the hell?”

“I have no idea! I heard it just when you did. I was in the lab – “

Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“ – testing the new safety features I just installed on the magnet gun.” Ford looked over his shoulder in dawning horror. “Which must have pulled this victim of circumstance right into the house.” Mabel was already back, dashing to the driver’s side with tissues and washcloth in hand. Her bright voice rang out in greeting and got a muffled response.

“Sweet Moses, Ford, you’ve done it this time.” Stan pulled himself upright with a sigh, doing the mental math and eyeing the damage to the Shack’s shingling. The wagon had definitely gotten the worst of it, he decided with a twinge of relief. He noted a few details – Colorado plates, occupied bike rack, the clutter of an extended road trip jammed into the rear compartment. “Ma’am?”

The woman in the wagon had uncurled a bit, finally, pressing the washcloth to her face. She lowered it to reveal fine, sharp features, grey eyes pink at the edges. “Clary,” she said, thick-voiced, then cleared her throat. “Clary Merrick.”

Mabel was patting Clary’s knee. “She says she’s okay! Clary, these are my grunkles, you’ve met Ford and that’s Stan. Welcome to the Mystery Shack! I’m really sorry about all of this!” Her eyes tracked over to Ford, who was looking guiltier by the second.

“It’s all good, Mabel. Just an accident, right? We’ll get a tow truck out here for this poor unfortunate – “

“I’ll take care of it,” said Ford.

Stan bit back a laugh. “You, fix this mess?”

“I’ve figured out a few alien vehicles in my time – “

“You kiddin’ me?”

Stan turned away from the car, tugging Ford along with him. “You do see what kinda shape this thing is in, right? This was somewhere between vintage and decrepit before it got friendly with the Shack. I can probably get it runnin’ again, but unless you have an engine-repair gun hiding in that lab of yours, that’s gonna take time.”

“Stanley. This is my fault.” The corners of Ford’s eyes crinkled with distress and Stan swore internally.

“Look. Fine. We can let her stay here for the night and I’ll take a look in the mornin’, but you’re gonna modify that magnet gun to iron out body panels or we won’t get too far.” Behind them, a heavy click marked the release of the seat belt.

“A tow truck would be fine. I’d really hate to impose.” Clary stepped unsteadily out of the station wagon, pushing out behind her with a careless hand to close the door with a firm thunk.

The four of them watched as the S from the Shack sign wobbled, skittered with increasing speed down the roof and thudded with a deep crunch square into the center of the crumpled hood. A last hiss of steam welled, faded and died.

Clary laid a hand over her brow, drew a long, steadying breath and turned away. “I’d be happy to take you up on a spare room for the night. Thank you so much.”

Their guest – Stan had to keep reminding himself, guest and not expensive, potentially litigious annoyance – pulled a small overnight bag out of the back seat and trailed after the family to the house, pausing to swap phone contacts with Mabel on the way. Waddles trotted by to check out Clary’s ankles, prompting exclamations and explanations on the way inside. He couldn’t blame the lady. Few people expected to be accosted by a pet pig.

Clary spent five minutes in the washroom and emerged looking…polished. Eyes clear, tear blotching gone, hair tucked smoothly away into its twist. The jaunty little silk neckerchief wrapped snugly twice and knotted at her neck had been set straight. Her glance drifted across Stan’s without really sticking and she offered a careful smile, tagging along with Mabel for what sounded like a house tour.

Stan recruited Dipper as an assistant. Clearing the spare room went fairly quickly, boxes of old merchandise stacked off to one side. He fished out a marker and tagged a few for later discount – some of this stuff had to be six years out of date by now, not quite old enough for a retro sale.

“ – and here is your room! Which is now almost completely clear of terrifying cursed artifacts and where you are guaranteed to have a great night’s sleep!” Mabel burst through the door and tossed a heap of pillows on the almost-inflated air mattress, ignoring Dipper’s hey! of protest as he labored away at the foot pump.

Clary stuck her head in, then leaned through the doorframe just enough to drop off a pile of blankets, linens and a large stuffed blue whale. “The whale’s on loan,” she said, when Stan shot her a flat look of disbelief.

“We’ll make the bed,” Mabel sang. “You two go get acquainted!” She nudged Dipper aside and took over foot-pump duties with enthusiasm.

“Uh – yeah, I guess we’ll see you guys in a couple minutes?” Dipper scooped up the sheets. “We’ve got this.”

Stan found himself ejected into the hallway. Clary blinked up at him, expression softened by maybe a quarter smile. “Mabel is a force of nature.”

“You said it. C’mon, sounds like you already got a pretty good look at the joint.” Stan tipped a thumb over at the connecting door. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to the Mystery Shack before?”

“I’ve never been to Oregon before, but I know the name, at least. Saw a bumper sticker – “

“Ha!” Clary rocked back on her heels in surprise. “Hear that, Ford?” Stan yelled in the general direction of the kitchen. “Those bumper stickers were a good investment! And Sixer says they’re too ‘plain’ and ‘graphically simplistic’ and ‘don’t even have an address on them Stanley how is anyone supposed to find the place’ to attract customers.”

“Well, they are graphically simplistic!” Ford leaned over to call back through the kitchen doorway. “I don’t know how she found the place, let alone thought ‘What is the Mystery Shack’ was compelling.”

“No, no, I liked it. Very minimalist. What’s the point of advertising the Mystery Shack if there isn’t a little mystery to solve on the way? Besides,” her voice dropped into a barely-audible rumble, “I’d say it was the magnet gun that was really compelling.”

She’d said that in perfect deadpan, and Stan’s grin went wide. “I like you, Clary. How about I give you a tour sometime tomorrow, regular price.”

That got him a doubtful sidelong frown, and Stan laughed. “We’ll eat in like half an hour. Feel free to unpack or get interrogated by Mabel or whatever. Congratulations, you’re the most interestin’ thing to have happened here all summer.”

Twenty minutes later Ford had managed to pad out dinner with some odds and ends from the freezer. They swiped a kitchen chair to wedge in at the dining table. Clary now sported a Mabel scarf pinned across her chest, anchoring a dishtowel-wrapped bundle of what had to be frozen peas at her left shoulder. Stan reckoned she was anticipating a bruise from the seat belt. Smart. Mabel, bless her, led in with loud enthusiasm about the pleasures of summer in Gravity Falls, and a round of questions followed as he loaded up his plate.

“I’m a lawyer,” Clary said into a still moment. “I specialize in federal tax work.”

He hadn’t been tuned in to the conversation, but that particular combination of phrases was enough to both douse Stan’s nerves in ice water and trigger a regrettable reflex. He set an elbow on the table, leaned in, and said: “What’s the difference between a lady lawyer and a pitbull?”

Clary’s focus snapped to him. Stan raised an eyebrow.

The professional mask didn’t slip, but there was a spark of hot defiance at the back of her eyes. “Lipstick. Why did New Jersey get all the toxic waste and California get all the lawyers?”

Stan almost laughed – apparently there was something human in there after all. “Jersey got to pick first. What’s the difference between a dead skunk in the road and a dead lawyer in the road?”

“Skid marks in front of the skunk. What’s the difference between a lawyer and a boxing referee?” Clary relaxed with an arm draped along the back of her chair, looking at him with her chin cocked the slightest bit in challenge. Mabel had both hands over her mouth, stifling a giggle; Ford and Dipper both looked like they wanted to dive for cover.

“A boxin’ referee doesn’t get paid more for a longer fight.” He’d pinned down the accent now – she sounded like Ford, faint traces of a mid-Atlantic cadence all but buffed off by too much damn education. Not Southern enough for Virginia, so – “You’re a long way from home, Maryland.”

“Could say the same for you, Jersey,” she fired back, lips quirked, aware that she’d had the easier lift. “Long Branch?”

Shit, she had him within thirty miles. Stan rolled with it, slung her a finger-gun and a wink. “Close. Baltimore?”

Clary rolled her eyes in return. “There’s not much else in Maryland, but close enough, hon.”

That took some of the starch out, and the discussion relaxed a little. Clary chatted museums with Mabel and Dipper, displaying all the trademark enthusiasm of a hopeless nerd, which was probably going to make dinner even more exhausting than usual for the next few days.

Stan lobbed an occasional joke at Clary for the rest of the meal. She swatted them back with the easy contempt of a bored tennis pro. He was going to have to do some research, because she definitely knew more lousy lawyer cracks than he did.

They left the dishes for later. Ford perched atop the skull side table, Mabel made herself at home on one arm of Stan’s recliner, and Dipper helped pile up a mountain of pillows for himself and Clary. “Are you all caught up on Ducktective?” he asked as Stan got the TV going and started skimming through channels.

“Never seen it, I’m afraid.”

“You’ve never seen it?! Oh my gosh, there is so much going on this week! Listen up, I’ll explain the basics!” Dipper plopped onto a pillow next to Clary and managed to keep it more or less to a whisper, going squeaky as he got to the really good bits.

The whole room went tense and silent for that week’s reveal, then exploded in groans as Mabel waved a dismissive hand at the screen. “Oh, come on! DipDop called that twist like a month ago.”

Dipper puffed out his bony chest. “Well, Mabel, once you’ve seen real weird, mere fiction gets a lot easier to predict.”

“Uh huh. Those real dishes aren’t gonna do themselves.” Stan headed Dipper off at the pass with a brief glare of warning and hauled himself upright. “Clary, you mind helpin’ me round all that up?”

Ford gently shooed the kids up to bed as Stan and Clary cleared the table and headed for the kitchen. She tossed the bag of peas back into the freezer and headed over to join Stan at the sink, taking up a dishtowel, accepting clean glasses and swiping them dry as he passed them over. “That was an adventure.”

“There’s a ton to catch up on, there. Last season was pretty good. You gotta laptop or somethin’?”

“Mmhm. Not sure how much time I’ll have to spare for binge watching, though. What’s your read on the car?”

“Need to have a look under the hood for that. At least a couple days, and honestly, maybe a little more.” Stan watched her lips compress from the corner of one eye. “That thing’s a classic, if you wanna put it charitably.”

“You’re being charitable. I did have – “ Clary smiled briefly up at Ford as he joined them to start on put-away duty. “I did have some work done on it before I left just to make sure it wouldn’t break down. The plan was for a pretty long trip. Not that it matters much at this point.”

“What’s a girl from Maryland doing out in Oregon with a Colorado license plate?”

“I inherited the car. I’m driving to Seattle to scatter my mother’s ashes in the Pacific.”

And damn, what a way to kill a line of inquiry. She handed a dry plate off to Ford, who put it in the appropriate cupboard, looking a little lost. For a good thirty seconds it was nothing but running water and the clink of china.

“So – does the timin’ matter? We could get you on a bus, hook you up with a rental?” Stan was running the mental math again, and yeah, like it or not this one was going to be on him and his brother. Well, dammit.

“She’s dead, Stan, no one’s in a hurry. Least of all me.” A tiny, bitter twist pulled at one corner of her mouth, but she looked up to Ford and her tone was sincere. “Listen. This was an accident, I get it. A very weird accident. I was already planning to make a sort of travel holiday of this, and I’ve got no issue staying in Gravity Falls for a little while – I’ve got the bike and plenty to read. Can you recommend a hotel? A B&B maybe?”

Yes! thought Stan, then No! as Ford opened his mouth and started playing gracious host, of all things. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Clary. I know it’s crowded, but we already have a room set aside for you, and at the very least I can promise you won’t be bored. You’d be right at the center of activity here! I can suggest some hikes, we have lots of games, there’s the lake and the Shack itself of course. You should be able to reach almost anything with that bicycle.”

Stan did his level best to make please, no, come on already faces at Ford over Clary’s head, which was difficult because she was so damned tall. The twins only had about three inches on her. Ford was either missing the signals or being deliberately oblivious. Stan mentally wagered on the latter.

“I’m tempted,” Clary said carefully.

“Please, just sleep on it. I know it’s been a difficult day, and again, I’m so sorry to have put you in this predicament.” Ford lightly plucked the last glass from her fingers and reached up to set it into its place. “We’ll check on both the car and your shoulder.”

For a moment Clary’s lashes dipped down and her fingers twisted into the dishtowel. “All right. You’re very generous, Ford, Stan, thank you. We can go over it in the morning. I’m afraid you’re right, it’s been one hell of a day and I should get some rest. Good night, gentlemen.”

“Good night, Clary.”

“G’night.” Stan dropped a couple of ice cubes into a glass and lifted it in dismissive salute as she headed out towards the repurposed storage room, then gave Ford his very best ‘What the hell, Sixer’ look. What he got back was wide-eyed mock innocence and a shrug.

“Seriously?” Stan said, letting his brow smack lightly into the freezer door.

“I owe her,” Ford said with as much dignity as he could muster. “And it seems to me that she could use the company.”

Stan tapped his head against the freezer twice more before straightening with a groan.

“You were getting bored anyway.” Ford spared Stan a knowing glance.

“I have not been that bored.”

“You were bored enough to take another shot at Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons last week.”

“Yeah, that ended in flames. Let’s hope this doesn’t.”

“She’s interesting, that’s for certain! Perhaps we can make a few minor upgrades to the engine before we send her out again….”

“Ford. Do not.”

It was too late, of course, it had been too late well before Ford had voiced the idea, and he was already jotting notes in his spare pad as Stan watched him wander down the hallway. He’d be up until two in the morning, as usual.

Stan topped off his glass with water and shuffled off towards his own room. Bored. Pfft.

tumblr: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Ao3: [00][01][02][03][04][05][06][07][08][09][10][11][12]

Clary is talking to the others at the table, and you think you catch something about her doing federal tax law stuff. Yikes.

Crack a lousy lady driver joke.

Crack a lousy cryptid joke.

Crack a lousy lawyer joke.

#gravity falls #gfdatingsim #DDtMMW #swooning over stans #stanley pines #oclicious #fanfic

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duhhthor · 6 years

Text

Unprofessional Crush | Pt.4

Tom Holland x Celebrity! reader

Summary: Two celebrities with huge crushes on one another. They always tend to be unprofessional and embarrassing when it comes to the other.

Word Count: 4.1k (oops?)

Pairings: Tom Holland x reader ; PLATONIC!Harry Styles x reader

Warnings: cursing, switch of point of views, time skips, not edited

(Y/N)’s P.O.V.

“Could you please stop still, for I don’t know… a second? Or maybe just scooch over? Why do you have to be glued to me when there’s the other half of the couch, that no one’s laying on?” Harry huffs, lowering his phone to glance next to him, after I accidentally kick him again.

“You love it when we watch movies like this, stop being so grumpy!” I poke his side.

“Yeah I love it when we’re actually watching them! Not playing some sick game of ‘who kicks Harry the most?” He playfully glares at me. “Stop distracting me. Now, what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

I fiddle with my fingers. “I hate how you know me so well.” He squeezes my hands making me stop fidgeting. “I’m sorry, I’m just-” I sigh frustratedly. “Really nervous about the date and all. I’m getting this bad feeling about what I’ve got planned and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Hey, it’ll be fine.” He looks like he was going to say something else, but quickly looks down at his phone again. “(Y/N) wasn’t he going to be here by six?”

“Yeah, why?” I sit up. “Shit! What time is it?”

“(Y/N).” He sighs already preparing himself for the hurricane about to strike. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

I’m instantly throwing my body over Harry’s trying to get off the couch, ignoring his wailing and protests. That just ends with me flopping to the floor, because the blanket we had over us was now tangled up between my legs. I quickly recover and run for my room.

“You’ll figure this out, you always do!” He yells from behind me.

“Thank you Haribo!” I snicker once I hear his groan from the living room.

I enter my closet and quickly grab a short black silk dress, I won recently from one of my brand deals. Heading over the rack full of jackets and coats, my fingers instantly find my oversized denim jacket. At lightning speed I take off my flannel pants and tank top I use to sleep in. Putting on the dress, I run for the shoe compartment quickly looking for a pair of black heels. I sit myself on a small stool strapping them on, when the doorbell rings throughout our apartment.

“HARRY DON’T OPEN THE DOOR I’LL BE THERE IN A SECOND!”

“I wasn’t planning on getting up!” I roll my eyes at my lazy friend.

I grab the jacket and run for the door. Kicking a bunch of stuff in my way. “Ouch, ouch, fuck!”

When I open the door, I’m panting. Tom looks at me with a smile and chuckles. “Are you alright?”

“Yes! I just decided to kick every possible object in this house until I got to the door.” I chuckle lightly, looking down at myself and groan finding that I managed to rip the dress over my thigh, creating a dangerously high slit. I look at him with wide eyes only to notice that he has the same look on his face gulping and suddenly not daring to remove his eyes from my face.

“That’s it! That’s the final sign! Tom I’m sorry but I’m canceling the reservation!” His face falls and I want to groan feeling bad for the guy, he probably thinks I want to cancel.

“Oh! Uhm, okay I’ll just-”

“No! No! God that came out completely wrong! Come in! I’ll explain inside!” I quickly open the door, wider for him.

We start walking towards the living room “Okay, so Tom please don’t take this the wrong way! I had this gut feeling about the date and-” I glance behind me to find that he’s still got a gloomy look on and I just want to run up to him and hug him better. “Tom stop it with the adorable stray dog look! I’m not canceling! I really want to go out with you, I’m just going to-” I stop to look at him, explaining this with a soft voice. He instantly smiles when he hears that I’m not bailing on him.

“Okay, now stop it with that cute smile Holland! Are you planning on making my heart implode during the first few minutes of the night?” I ask him with a small smile and playful glare. He blushes and shakes his head, I grab his hand and continue pulling him to the living room. “Okay so anyways, we go on dates to get to know each other right?” I ask him with a raised brow, he slowly nods in confusion.

“Yes (Y/N) I think that’s what every normal human being thinks of when you ask them out.” Harry responds lifting his upper body from the couch, twisting himself so he can face us. “Hey, Tom!” He says with a bright smile that wasn’t there when I walked in.

“Hey Harry!”

“Ignore him he’s being an ass.” I grumble, continuing my explanation. “And I just don’t feel like going to a fancy restaurant will do that. So- Oh god! I’m about to say something you should never say to your date on the first one, or really just never, but here we are so.” I take a deep breath. How am I capable of ripping my dress and embarrassing myself in a total of fifteen minutes?

“We’re going to need to change clothes, as in the both of us?” I say sheepishly turning my head to the side with a wince. “I love your outfit I really do! But, for what I have in mind we need to be really casual.

“Harry I’m stealing some of your clothes!” He rolls his eyes.

“When don’t you?” He grumbles.

“Wait, is that okay with you?” I turn back around to face Tom.

“I mean yeah, if it’s okay with Harry?” He responds still completely confused at my actions.

“Of course it is!” I squeal, finally feeling that the night is on the right track.

“Okay, Harry go help Tom find something that fits him! I’ll be right back.” I run off to my room, thinking of what I’m going to change into.

Tom’s P.O.V.

I glance back at Harry, when (Y/N) leaves the room, he’s shaking his head at his friend.

“She’s weird but she’s amazing, trust me. And if she’s taking you where I think she is, you’re really lucky. It took her a couple of months to take me there. You must’ve really snuck yourself into her heart during those three hours at the VMA’s” He starts walking towards what I’m assuming is his room, so I just follow after him.

“Yeah, she must’ve done the same to me then. Because I’m already wrapped around her finger and we haven’t even gone to our first date.” Harry chuckles nodding his head.

“I was the same when I first met her. But, not in a romantical way just as friends, she’s just such an intriguing and funny person. She’s definitely not what you expect from one of Victoria’s Secret highly known models to be like, she’s so down to Earth. So really, I get you.” He has a small smile while talking about her.

“Okay, you can sit on my bed while I look for something that might fit you.” I nod and sit down waiting for him.

“I know you won’t do anything but I just- I’m really protective of (Y/N) like she is of me.” My eyes widen when Harry starts what I’m assuming is going to be the ‘you hurt her I hurt you’ kind of talk, I straighten my back. And thank everything that he’s looking for some clothes for me, instead of being able to gauge my expression.

“And she’s dated some really shitty guys, that were capable of making her unconfident and just- not the (Y/N) you’re seeing right now.” Harry says with a pained voice as if it hurts him to think about her like that.

“It took her awhile to get back to her normal self. So, just please take care of her and treat her like she deserves to be treated. I know you will because from the small amount of time that I’ve gotten to know you, you’re already my favorite out of all those jackasses. And I’m really hoping this works out for the both of you, so if you ever need help with anything, I swear you can text me and I’ll see what I can do.” He walks out of his closet holding a pair of black jeans, a black t-shirt and a moss green bomber jacket. “I’ll wait out here, you can go in there and try it out.”

I walk into his closet and start trying the clothes on. “Thank you, I’ll probably need it if thing work out today! And I promise you my intentions are nothing but good. I would never do anything to make her uncomfortable or worse.”

“That’s just what I wanted to hear.”

“Are you guys done? Harry! Where is he? Have you given him your stupid speech and scared him off?” I chuckle when I hear (Y/N)’s voice.

“Nope, he hasn’t managed to scare me off just yet.” I walk out of the closet with his clothes on.

“Oh yes! I didn’t know I needed this in my life, but I did!” She adorably squeals with an enormous smile on her face causing me to smile back sheepishly. She runs over to me and kneels down to fold the end of the jeans around my ankles. “Okay, there you go! That’s perfect, it’s just because of Harry’s long legs.”

“Hey! You’re just jealous of them.” He glances at her from his bed and scrunches his eyebrows. “That’s my shirt! I’ve been looking for it while I was on tour!” I look at (Y/N) and she’s wearing black skinny jeans and a large graphic t-shirt tied around her waist.

“Let me use it please!” She pouts, if she ever does that to me I’d give her whatever it is she wants.

“You’ve already got it on, just go to your date already.” He waves us away. She walks up to me and grabs my hand. I find it so adorable that she has the habit to grab on to someone’s hand and drag them behind her.

(Y/N)’s P.O.V.

“I’m sorry I made you change your clothes and I really hope you weren’t looking forward to eat at that restaurant, we’ll go there some next time.” I look at Tom, diverging my eyes from the road for a second to find his eyebrow raised with a teasing smile.

“Oh, so there’ll be a next time?” I nod looking ahead of me again with a smile.

“What? Did you really think this was a one time thing?” I answer, realizing we’re almost there. “Anyways, I just want to do something casual for a change and far from the prying eyes.”

“That’s actually great for me.” He nods in understanding.

“Aand we’re here come on!” I say excitedly.

We meet up in front of the car and the red neon lights are reflecting on his face making it look like he’s blushing. I instantly grab his hand, not missing the smile that graced his face as soon as I did.

“So, this is Nancy’s, my favorite place in LA.” I say squeezing his hand and quickly dragging us inside.

The bell on top of the door rings out as soon as we step in, I look at Tom’s face wanting to see his reaction to the small diner with checkered tiles, red booths and red counter, posters glued all over the walls.

“(Y/N)! You’re back and with-” I glance at the red head that I love with a smile on my face. Anna’s glued to the spot with wide eyes. She snaps out of it and rushes over, hugging me. “I mean, I saw the videos and all but I wasn’t expecting this! First you bring Harry and now him!” We chuckle at her reaction, I guess Tom heard her attempt at whispering as well.

“Tom this is Anna, she’s one of my good friends. Who’ll take us to our booth right now.” I say hinting at the girl in front of me.

“Right, yes she will.” She nods taking us to the booth I always sit at, right across of the jukebox.

We sit down. She hands us the menu and when she’s about to turn around she mouths the following frase. “You have to tell me everything about this afterwards!” I nod with a shy smile.

“Anna! Leave the girl alone and come help me with these orders!” I chuckle.

“Hey Linda!” I wave at the older woman, who’s leaning against the counter.

When Tom chuckles I glance back at him. “You must come here often.”

I instantly nod. “When I can eat junk food and run away from harper’s diets this is my place to come. And the people that come here are regulars so they never make a fuss of me eating here.” I gesture around us, all of the booths are full of families, elderly or young couples.

“I love it here, Linda’s father opened it during the 50’s, named it after his wife, Nancy. They had a fight and he was so afraid she’d leave him, so he named it after her to demonstrate his love for her. I find it adorable.” He nods with a smile when I gush.

“Yeah, this place is amazing, I feel like we time traveled.” I nod excitedly.

“Yes! that’s the other reason why I love it so much! I’m obsessed with the fifties, the war had just ended, teenagers start to explore their sexuality and then Rock’n’Roll was invented. I mean can you imagine being alive at the same time as Elvis?” I ramble breathlessly. I widen my eyes.

“Oh god! I’m so sorry I’m not letting you speak.” He chuckles shaking his head.

“It’s fine! I was actually enjoying myself with your rant about the 50’s.” I scrunch my eyebrows when I notice the silence in the diner, aside from the sound of people talking.

And then Anna’s back at our tables. “Have you guys decided what you’re going to eat?” I look at Tom with an apologetical smile.

“Nope, I wouldn’t shut up about the place, so he didn’t get to look at the menu.” He shakes his head. “Tom? Do you trust me enough to let me order for you? Harry did and he doesn’t regret it!” He instantly nods at me. “Okay then, Anna it’ll be two of what I usually get!” She nods and is about to turn around to place the order when I grab her wrist.

“Wait! Why isn’t the jukebox on?” I question with a pout, she chuckles at me.

“Well, we were waiting for you. Here you go!” She places the small token onto the table I smile widely and grab it.

“I’ll be back in a second!” Tom nods and chuckles once again. I must look like a kid inside of a toy store, I just love this diner so much. I walk over to the jukebox, inserting the token and start selecting the song I always do when I come here.

A huge smile takes over my face when the familiar tune of ‘Jailhouse Rock’ spreads itself throughout the diner. A few of the couples used to this, grab their dates and head to the middle of the diner. I practically skip my way back to the table, when I’m right in front of him I try to imitate Elvis’ famous moves from the videoclip causing him to laugh at my disastrous moves.

“Come on! We have to dance! I’ve seen your videos already and you can dance! And it’s about time someone teaches me how to do so. Anna’s toes would agree with me.” I wiggle my eyebrows at him while extending my hand for him.

He grabs onto it, we walk through the crowd of couples finding a spot for us and I instantly start making a fool of myself, causing him to laugh at my attempt of dancing.

We’ve been dancing for a couple of songs now, having so much fun, and laughing until we were breathless that we failed to notice a group of teenagers recording us.

“I’ve never had so much fun at a date before!” Tom exclaims, while laughing.

“I know right? Come on we should probably head back to our booth.” I grab his hand and start walking back to our designated seats. When I look out the window to find two black vans and a bunch of people holding cameras. “Fuck, someone must’ve tipped the paps. Come on, come on, come on! Anna will understand.” We quickly grab our stuff and once again I attach our hands with each other.

When we step out of the diner the flashes immediately start to go off and I feel horrible, because it’s my fault this is getting so much attention. Tom’s about to open my car’s door for me, when I shake my head and pull him behind me.

“Okay, this is going to sound crazy but just follow me and don’t let go of my hand.” He looks at me as if I were an alien that just landed on Earth.

“Okay? But what about your car?”

“I’ll take care of that tomorrow! Now come on!” I pull on his hand and we’re off. Most of the paparazzi follow behind us, yelling our names and ridiculous questions about us. The flashes continue, making it look like we’re at some kind of club.

After a couple of minutes of running, I still haven’t let go of his hand and look over my shoulder to discover that we’ve gained a good distance between them. But those assholes that don’t understand the meaning of privacy continue to follow us. I throw my head back and start laughing loudly.

Now, I’m sure I must look like some character that just had tea with the mad hatter himself. Tom looks at me with confusion, but my laughter must be contagious because he soon follows.

I’m laughing at the situation, at the face Harper’s going to make once she sees these pictures, at the fact that I’m on a date with a boy I’ve had a crush on, at Harry’s face once I tell him this story. I’m laughing like the too serious will always envy, they’ll never understand what a feeling this is. I’m laughing because Tom’s now doing it as well, I’m laughing because I’m happy and I never want this to stop.

I turn around the corner and we’re instantly met with a busy street full of stores, restaurants, workers, families, couples and perfect places to hide in.

We sprint until I spot our destination, a bench on the other side of the road. We quickly cross the street and I pull him so he’s sitting down, letting go of his hand only to securely wrap it around my shoulders. I cuddle into his chest desperately trying to hide my face, our backs to the street. We’re still quietly giggling not being able to contain the form of adrenaline wanting to express itself.

I hear the paparazzi’s yelling and asking around wondering if someone’s seen us. But, no one would think that the Victoria Secret model and the British actor, two young adults that have a reputation to keep, would be the couple that just passed by running and acting like two teenagers that can’t get enough of themselves and their only wish is that this night would last forever.

Even, when I’m sure they're gone, I can’t seem to remember how to move. Our laughter now gone, replaced by affectionate glances. Trying to remember every single detail of each others face. Terrified of the idea this might come to an end. My eyes stuck on Tom’s and he seems to be stuck just like myself. His gaze flutters down to my lips and once again I’m doing the same as he is. He squeezes my shoulder unconsciously pulling myself closer to him. And I’m so sad when my phone dings making me snap back to reality and stand up. I desperately want to rewind the last few seconds just so I can sit back down with my face so close to his.

I glance down at the damned thing. It’s Harry of course it’s him. “Just left the house and won’t be back til it’s late. be safe. luv u.”

I smile with an idea. “Come on, we still have to eat dinner!” Tom seems to be just as gloomy as I am when he stands up, quickly covering it with a small smile on his face.

“Of course we do!” he chuckles with a soft laugh.

…

“What are we doing here exactly?” He asks while pushing the cart behind me.

“We’re buying ingredients so we can try and cook!” I turn around, now walking backwards so I can face him. “Can you cook?”

“Uh- no..?” He says with a sheepish smile.

“Okay perfect!” I laugh at the confusion on plastered on his face. “I can’t either, so this will be hilarious!”

…

After we got all of the random ingredients that caught our eye and of course a couple of bottles of wine. We payed, he insisted we split the bill when I was having none of it since everything went wrongly because of me. I ended up giving in.

Now, we’re waiting for Harper so she can take us back to my apartment. I told Tom that Linda and Anna would look after my car and I’d pick it up tomorrow, not wanting to risk the chance of there being some paps waiting by my car and have them disrupt our date once again.

Harper’s black car pull up in front of the store and she quickly gets out, giving me one of her famous glares. I only respond by smiling, a huge one at that.

When her glare lands on the actor besides me, it’s like she’s another person completely. “Hi Tom, I’m Harper this child’s manager-”

“And best friend.” I intervene, she glares at me again.

“Yes, when I feel like it.” He chuckles at our interaction.

“Now, let me help you put these groceries away, so you guys can continue this date of yours. And honestly, (Y/N) let me find out what happened in the morning through headlines, I’m in a good mood.” I instantly nod opening the trunk.

…

After way too many attempts at cooking something that’s actually eatable without burning the building down, we settled with our wine, cereal and cupcakes I bought from the supermarket. Some would say it’s a disgusting combination, but at the moment it’s just perfect, and ours. No need to worry about other people’s expectations and prying eyes.

I’ve seriously never laughed like this in my entire life, we’re having so much fun. I seem to forget this is the second time we’ve ever seen eachother in person.

He’s telling me a story but I can’t seem to focus on his words. His cheeks are flushed because of the wine, lips plump and tempting me to pull him close, making the distance between us disappear.

I gasp from the couch we’re sitting on. “I’ve got an idea and I think it’s the stupidest yet!” I can hear his laugh but I’m already off.

I lean against the doorway holding up the game me and Harry love to partake when drunk or tipsy, like the both of us right now.

“Twister?!” He asks with an amused laugh. I swear I’ll never get used to that sound, it makes me so bubbly and happy and shit I’m not thinking straight. But, at this point I just don’t care, we’ve embarrassed ourselves countless times tonight. So I just eagerly nod and start opening the mat on the floor.

That’s how we ended up on the floor, at 4am on top of a colorful mat. A mess of limbs unable and not wanting to untangle ourselves from each other. My face hovering over his, dangerously close. He looks up at me as if I were the girl that hung up the Moon and all the stars around it. And honestly? I’m looking at him as he’s the one that put the Sun up there. Bringing so much warmth and happiness into my life in the last few hours.

The boy responsible for the Sun and the girl responsible for the Moon end up meeting and together they create dawn. And our lips connect.

A/N

GUYS I’M IN LOVE WITH THEM AND I LOVE THIS CHAPTER! Plz leave feedback in encourages me!

TAGS: (If you want to be removed or added to the list please let me know!)

@dreamer7black / @ferxaniti / @chil-ls / @day-zzed / @thelostherondales / @stevieboyharrington / @teeterparker / @martian-marti / @verycrazyfangirl / @superwholock-fangir1 / @my-dumb-blog-dot-com / @samredder / @tomhollandsniceass / @vogueworthy-barnes / @aliaisreal / @dreamingofbluehair / @johannalauraaa / @yourwonderbelle / @slytherin-princess-25273 / @feysand-trash / @trashandshook / @journeyiris / @miathefangirlwriter / @maricalradical / @awtozier / @iamthenerdqueen / @roseschnapp / @greenarrowhead / @baoxiii / @i-love-superhero / @escape-badlands / @beautifulfreakazoid / @calumhoodcakes / @shadowypenguinbear / @fangirl060403 / @itsivettee /

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spacebrick3 · 6 years

Text

The Malformation AU: Part 6

Tensions are high, and the stakes are higher. Talya’s here, she’s managed to catch up to Eris and the Malformation ( @writerofwriting‘s great evil sentient magic character), but will it be enough?

Chapter 6 (Talya):

She presses herself against the back of the train, breathing heavily. The City Warning System has been her enemy for years, on multiple occasions alerting the whole of Sapphire to her illicit activities, but right now she couldn’t be happier that it existed. Just when she’d though her gone forever, that piercing wail had split the air, and she could dare to hope again.

But only dare. For those shaky, blurry images transmitted over the CWS still hang in her head, scenes of horror and that poor, reckless guard who tried to stop her. That can’t be Anechoi. That can’t be, she tells herself. She wouldn’t- she - Talya can’t even bring herself to finish the sentence, because she knows it’s not true. She’s on this train because it is her, made the mad dash through the smoke-filled station precisely because it was her face in those images.

Clutching her two weapons, she ducks into the end coach of the train. It is a standard passenger liner, likely heading to one of the Six Cities before she rerouted it. Talya can’t fathom why either Eris or Anechoi would want to go to Aquamarine, but whatever their purpose is it cannot be good. She makes her way through the rows of seats, running a hand over the velvet fabric that covers each chair. What the hell are you doing, Anechoi?

A red light blinks on above her. Oh, shit. Of course this train would have security cameras. She reaches up and rips it from its covering, tearing the wires from their sockets, but not quickly enough. In fact, she realizes, she’s probably just made it worse by confirming Eris/Anechoi’s suspicions.

The entire train shudders, the sound of metal grinding on metal coming from beneath her. It takes only seconds to realize what is going on, but those are seconds she cannot afford to lose. Muttering a string of curses under her breath, she starts to sprint, bolting towards the front of the train.

Even in hyper-fast trains like this one, certain elements are preserved. Most notably the concept of train cars, such as this one which has just been uncoupled from the rest of the train. She dashes through the corridors, slamming through doors and wincing at the bruises which accumulate as she fails to avoid luggage racks and handles. Because even though the concept of separate cars has been preserved, the advancement of technology means that Martian trains are divided into very few compartments - each incredibly long.

She pushes through the final door, then yelps and skids to a stop just inches from the rushing track beneath. Even here, shielded on three sides from the buffeting wind, sand stings her eyes and face, and she pulls the goggles of her environmental suit down. After she’d lost Anechoi, she’d gone back to retrieve it, reasoning that there was no reason for her to stay in Sapphire. And she’d been right, though ‘stealing a train’ had been low on the list of probabilities.

Now, a gap of perhaps four meters separates the two cars, drifting further apart every instant. With run-up, she could likely make it, but even taking that time would drag the two far enough apart that she doesn’t like her chances. And if she falls - even uncoupled, this car is moving at three hundred kilometers per hour, and she would be crushed beneath the wheels. Ouch doesn’t begin to cover it.

She needs some way to keep them from moving further apart. Dammit. With a silent hope that she’s right about the range, and a not-so-silent tirade against both Eris and the train for the situation, she unclips the edges of the baton, spreading the two blocks of metal and the lines of Designer magic between them. Then she hurls one side over the gap.

It bounces down onto the edge of the car, disappearing behind the slight raised metal that marks the connector. But even then, the intangible blue lines reach between the two sides, connecting the one in her hand to the one on the other side. She places the other block down, wedging it into place, and at the limit of its range - about five meters - the blue lines begin to hiss and spark, locking the two sides into place. The cars grind and shift, the screech of metal complaining filling her ears, but they remain the same distance apart.

It is the one fundamental difference of Designer magic versus electricity. Carving the lines into space itself give them a unique quality that cannot be replicated, the spatial connection formed when the glimmering Designs are engraved. Instead of simply ceasing to exist like arcs of electricity, the connections lock into place at the limit of their range, physically refusing to let the lines be broken. It is not invulnerable, she notes as the connections begin to flare and burn away, but it will do.

Ducking back into the carriage, she eyes the gap between the two cars and runs for it, launching herself into the thin air that separates the two. She lands hard, one leg dangling precariously over the edge, but she pulls herself up onto the ledge at the back of the car. That…that might just be the most reckless thing I’ve ever done, she thinks as she wrenches the baton from where it’s stuck, letting the two ends snap back together.

This time, she takes care to avoid the gaze of the cameras, ducking under the baleful red eyes that line the walls and roof of the car. But as she enters a small compartment, wires and monitor screens carpeting the walls, she begins to hear a sound that fills her with equal parts hope and terror (well, more like 20% hope and 80% terror, she admits): The sound of footsteps, approaching.

She looks around frantically, searching for somewhere to hide. She dares not run, for fear that her pounding steps will give her away, but there is nothing in here. Pulling out the Designer gun - the LIMES, for Laser-Induced Magical Energy Stream - as her only weapon while the baton recharges, she presses herself into the dark corner near the door. Her breath is loud in her ears, but she can’t seem to quiet it.

The door slides open with a jet of air, and she looks into the face of Eris.

This is not Anechoi - she knows that immediately. A network of cracks and lines split her face and arms, the shifting glow of energy emanating from each. Her expression is cold and hard, the soft lines of her face twisted by the magic into something cruel and unnatural. Even though it is still her body, still her jacket and weapons, there is no trace of her - just Eris.

Her gaze meets Talya’s, and with a snarl of anger she flings a bolt of twisted magic at her, jagged edges burning into the wall behind her as she screams and ducks out of the way, sprinting back the way she came. At the door, she turns and fires off a burst from the LIMES, the vibrant blue lines of energy wrapping around the millisecond flash of the laser.

One connects, searing into her shoulder with an angry burst of light. Talya gasps, seeing the raw wound in her friend’s shoulder. Oh no. Oh no I’m so sorry, Anechoi, I’m so- Another crackle of malevolent energy slams into the wall next to her, aim thrown off only by Eris’ sheer fury at being wounded. Shit!

She pushes through the door, not pausing to see if Eris is following. Something rocks the entire train, sending her stumbling and falling into the nearest wall just as the heat of another bolt sears the sole from her shoe. The acrid smell of burning rubber and metal fills the air, and she keeps running.

She manages to get off a few shots from the LIMES, but the same property of magic that saved her before is now her enemy. The lines of magic reach just barely over two meters before fading away, making them useless at such a distance. Eris has no such limitations, and she winces at every sound that could be another burning flash of shattered magic.

Gasping for air, she slowly comes to a stop, at last looking back. She doesn’t see Eris, nor any deadly bolts winging their way towards her, and she frowns. There’s nowhere for her to have gone - this is a train, after all - unless she’s stopped pursuing her, but that doesn’t make any sense either. She takes a cautious step forwards, holding the weapon up in shaking hands.

A line of magic carves through the air from above her, searing down her arm and side. She lets out a strangled cry, pressing her hand to the blistering wound and the stabbing, burning pain there. Ow - fuck - why- It’s a stark contrast to the ghostly presence of Designer magic, where she can wave her hand through it and feel nothing.

Another beam slices in front of her, sending her reeling backwards. She can’t stay here. Eris is on the roof, somehow, impossibly, and she has to run. Waving away the smoke of holes burned in the train, she half-limps, half-sprints to where she can just make out the sound of rushing air. One of the emergency exits has been wrenched open, the howling gale of a Martian sandstorm whipping by overhead.

She can see no other way. Eris has her at a permanent disadvantage while she remains in the train, and so she has to equalize that. If that means climbing on top of a train in the middle of a sandstorm…so be it. She pulls down the goggles of the suit and struggles through the hole, gasping in pain as her side scrapes the edge of the hole.

Eris is there, stalking down the sleek body of the train with glittering, malevolent eyes. She isn’t wearing an environmental suit, and blood drips from a hundred tiny cuts already scored across her face. Tendrils of magic, shifting and fracturing as Eris works her influence on them, wrap around her arms, but they are weaker than before. She feels a glimmer of hope, because if Eris can be weakened then she can be killed.

When she is sure she is in range, she fires the LIMES just as Eris rips it from her hand, a flare of energy breaking it into two pieces as it tumbles from the train. Fuck. So much for that plan. She unclips the baton now, extending it to a manageable length even as the Design holding it together shakes and hisses in protest. It’s not even fully charged yet.

Eris stops just before the open hatch, looking her up and down with contempt. “You’re more inventive than I imagined,” she signs, movements jerky and sharp.

Talya doesn’t respond. How is she supposed to? Oh, yeah, thanks for the compliment, tangled snarl of corrupted and broken magic that’s taken over my friend?

“Of course, it won’t matter in the end.” Eris drops the charade, bands of magic slicing once again up her arms. But she is truly weakened now, and doesn’t - can’t - launch her magic at Talya now. She lunges instead, arm slicing through the air just inches from her face.

She moves to block the next strike with the baton, blue lines searing into Eris’ arm. The two magics twist together, sparks flying, but even an Eris sapped by the dust storm is more than a match for her hastily-constructed sigils. With a howl of pain as they continue to burn, she snaps the thin strands in two. Talya curses, discarding the now-useless ends of the baton and scrambling away from her, back towards the front of the train.

But Eris is faster; even without the influence of magic, Anechoi was always more athletic than Talya. The consequences of sitting around in a workshop rather than running through buildings full of people that want to kill you. She advances on Talya, despite her best efforts, and grabs her by the collar, lifting her off her feet. She tries to tear free, but the bands of jagged magic slide from her arms to wrap around Talya’s, serrated edges pinning them to her sides.

The rusty red ground whips past beneath, seeming much closer than before, and she regrets looking down. Eris grins, dragging her towards the front of the train. Oh no, no no no no no. She tries to dig in her heels, but the burned and charred soles do nothing but flake off against the metal of the train. No no no no no NO-

She dangles over the front of the train, the tracks rushing by below. If she falls now, if Eris chooses to drop her, then she is dead. Dead a thousand times over, beneath the rails of the train, and suddenly her collar feels very thin. “Anechoi, please,” she pleads, knowing she can’t hear her but unable to sign with her arms at her sides. “Anechoi, Eris, whoever - please, don’t-“

Eris hesitates. It’s small, something Talya can barely notice in her incoherent fear as she hangs just over the churning engine. “Please, please, please don’t - I can’t - you can’t- “ But Eris barely notices, consumed by her own internal chaos. For the first time, the light glistening from the cracks in her skin blinks, a hint of brown bleeding back into her irises for a fraction of a second.

That fraction of a second is enough, for Eris throws her off to the side of the train instead just as it slows in preparation for a curve. She snaps back, but Talya is already gone, slamming into a dune. There is enough presence of mind left to tuck and roll, sliding and skidding to a halt as the train rushes by.

She stands shakily, watching the last blink of silver disappear over the horizon. Her environmental suit is torn and bloody, shredded on contact with the sand. She is alive, yes, but she’s done nothing to stop Eris. Everything she brought, all that she could make in those few short hours, was nothing.

There could be a chance, though, and that’s what hurts. She saw Anechoi, there, before Eris took control again. She knows that she could reach her, if only she had the resources. If only she had the time and the means to face her - but she is stranded out here, shivering in the cold, hundreds of kilometers from anywhere.

Except. She needs a way to get through to Anechoi, truly, not just another fleeting glimpse. And she needs capital, some way to build something that will be able to stop Eris for long enough.

She might know someone who can provide both.

Ending on a hopeful note, perhaps, even though things themselves appear to be rather…less than hopeful.

Tag list (if you want to be added or removed, just let me know!):

@lady-redshield-writes, @no-url-ideas-tho, @ratracechronicler, @ken-kenwrites, @ravenpuffwriter, @cirianne, @lonelylibrary @maxbeewriting, @endlesshourglass, @thebloodstainedquill, @anip-ocs, @dreamwishing, @incandescent-creativity, @fatal-blow, @danafaithwriting, @wri-tten,

#malformation au #i am having fun with this #for whatever reason this au is just a lot of fun to write #and i'm loving it #anechoic #malformation #au #writerofwriting

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