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carewyncromwell · 3 years

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Another addition to the Peter Pan AU concept I’ve done some stuff for...this time with Wendy!Carewyn as a ten-year-old, when she first met the shadow belonging to the Boy Who Never Grew Up, Orion Amari.

It all started when back in Neverland, Orion was called out to a private meeting with a pirate solely called Jack, who deliberately kept the meeting quiet from both the Captain he served and the rest of his pirate crew. He was the youngest of Captain Hook’s crewmembers, and yet still far too much of an adult for Orion to ever take into his ranks -- but it was what the pirate requested that so intrigued the eternal 12-½-year old. It seemed that even though Neverland had done its work and made Jack forget just about all of his previous life, including his real name, there was someone outside of Neverland who Jack did still remember...and that person was someone he now implored Orion to protect.

“Her name is Wyn. Or, at least, that’s the name I have...I feel like there was more to that name, once. The rest of the crew calls her ‘Winnie’ sometimes, but I don’t think that’s fully it either. Regardless...I know Hook wants to capture her, like he did me, and I...I don’t want her here, with him. I don’t want her to become a pirate. But I don’t know where she is, except that she’s in London. And as long as I’m stuck with Hook, I...I can’t protect her. So I’m asking you to find her first. She’s younger than me -- much younger, with ginger hair -- small and sweet as a cherub. She’s brave and sharp and she sings like a bird. She’d fit right in with your sort -- no one would have any idea she has anything to do with me. Just...spirit her away, like Hook did me. Take her with you, and keep her safe here, in Neverland. She doesn’t need to know I’m here, or even why you took her, just...just keep her away from Hook. Please.”

Orion cocked his eyebrows.

“And what will you give me in return?”

The pirate called Jack looked lost for words. His hollowed-out blue eyes -- so like Captain Hook’s and skull-like, even upon such a pale, handsome face -- rippled with desperation.

“Anything,” he whispered. “Anything.”

Orion’s black eyes grew a little smaller, examining the pirate critically. He’d never heard anyone, let alone a pirate, express that amount of caring about another person before. He looked after his Lost Kids, of course, so long as they chose to not grow up -- led them on adventures and told them what to do...but not even the fairies who had first brought him to Neverland ever expressed such...well, selflessness, before. It intrigued Orion enough to decide that maybe he would look out for this “Wyn” -- maybe she could be something useful, if Hook had such interest in her. And if she were still a child, then maybe she’d make a decent Lost Kid.

Orion flew around London off-and-on for about an Earth year (which felt more like a week or so, in Neverland), keeping an eye open for this girl called Wyn. It was the ginger hair that helped, as one day a mane of ginger hair caught his eye, and he followed it home to an entire ginger-haired family -- a poor clan called the Weasleys.

The mane of ginger hair Orion had seen belonged to the eldest of the Weasley children, a twelve-year-old named Bill, who had just finished up with his job as a newsboy, making deliveries for a late-night newspaper route. After he bounced his infant sister Ginny up and down in his lap for a while to make her stop fussing, he immediately set about telling his younger brothers -- Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and Ron -- all about his (in Orion’s opinion) perfectly boring day. Orion took stock around the room and, after seeing nothing but boys, was about ready to give up and look somewhere else when Bill asked his brothers about where someone named “Carey” was. The second-eldest brother Charlie responded with a mischievous smile.

“Just give a listen, and you'll know.”

And when everyone quieted, Orion likewise saw what Charlie meant. A voice was singing from somewhere upstairs -- a song that Orion had never heard, and yet contained a word he never would’ve ever thought he’d hear in London --

“Neverland.”

Immediately interested, Orion flew up toward the upstairs window, which had been left ajar. Somewhere in the next room, he heard the little bird-like voice singing, only being able to make out some select words.

“When there’s a smile in your heart...there’s no better time to start...”

The voice was moving down the hall. Orion felt the urge to try to sneak inside the house, but the girl’s singing being interrupted by a woman’s more maternal speaking voice made Orion falter, hiding just out of sight beside the window. It was Mrs. Weasley, Bill’s mother, telling the girl -- Carewyn -- to go ahead and leave the rest of the mending for tomorrow, since it was almost time for supper.

Carewyn, Orion realized as he heard the little girl dash away down the stairs. The pirate called Jack had said there was more to the name he remembered, once. “Wyn” had to have once been “Carewyn.”

Unfortunately for Orion, although he himself was hidden beside the window, his shadow, cast in the light of the streetlamps down onto the window ledge, was not -- and Mrs. Weasley, startled at what looked like something peeking into their window, immediately rushed over and shut it. Orion, alarmed himself at the abrupt slamming of the window, tore off into the night -- leaving his shadow trapped between the closed window and the sill.

It wasn’t until that evening, when Carewyn, Charlie, and Bill were getting ready for bed that Carewyn caught an odd squeaking sound coming from the window of the bedroom she shared with Bill and Charlie. It was, as it turned out, Orion’s shadow, which -- after Mrs. Weasley had left -- had started contorting and writhing in an attempt to escape from its place trapped under the windowpane. Upon finding the window locked for some strange reason, Carewyn enlisted Bill’s help in undoing the latch -- as soon as the shadow was free, he catapulted around the room, flying all over the walls with reckless abandon and stumbling over the shadow of everything in the room, even slapping the walls as if looking for something. Charlie and Bill both tried to catch it before the noise it made could alert their parents or younger siblings -- Charlie finally managed to snag his ankle when he jumped up high enough on his bed and yanked the shadow down with all of his strength so that Bill could grab onto him too. Carewyn, who’d refrained from trying to grab the shadow largely out of the desire not to hurt it, instead tried to reassure him.

“It’s terrified, can’t you see that?” she cried at Charlie and Bill at one point. “Why, a shadow isn’t meant to be completely alone -- and in a house full of strangers, no less!”

“It was stuck in our window, Carey,” said Charlie rather dryly. “I reckon we’re past being ‘strangers.’”

“Well, I’ve certainly never seen him before, nor the person he belongs to!” huffed Carewyn.

Despite Carewyn’s instinct to coddle him, the Shadow Without an Owner was indeed too wild to be left to its own devices. Throughout that night and into the next morning, the shadow kept darting around the room, crashing into different shadows that in turn made the objects attached to them wobble or even fall over. At one point he even knocked over and almost broke the old table lamp by the armchair. It made all three children worry that the shadow was going to get them in a lot of trouble, when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley found it -- but at the same time, all three of them weren’t sure if they wanted to share him with the two adults in the house. The shadow seemed incredibly reluctant to be seen, disappearing completely from view whenever Mr. or Mrs. Weasley popped up.

“He’s afraid of them,” said Carewyn, her voice full of empathy and concern.

Bill tried to offer the shadow a reassuring smile. “Aw, now, you really don’t have to be...Mum and Dad are great! I’m sure they’d be happy to help you, if you -- ”

But the Shadow Without an Owner stubbornly crossed his arms and settled himself down on top of the shadow of Charlie’s headboard with his legs and arms both crossed. He was not going to accept help from any grown-ups.

It was soon decided that Carewyn would look after the shadow while Bill was on his newsboy route and Charlie was at the canning factory. Since Mr. Weasley would be at work and Mrs. Weasley would be largely kept busy with two-year-old Ron and one-year-old Ginny, it was generally Percy and Carewyn’s responsibility to look after Fred and George and help Mrs. Weasley with the chores. And since Carewyn knew there was a lot of mending still to do, she decided she could take all of it upstairs and work on it in her, Charlie, and Bill’s room so that she could keep an eye on the Shadow Without an Owner.

The shadow -- who Carewyn had started just calling “Shadow,” since she didn’t know its owner’s name -- was quite restless, being stuck in one room the whole day. It kept skipping across the tiny bedroom, fluttering from the windowsill to the wall and back. It was peculiar to Carewyn that this shadow seemed to have no sense of gravity -- she had heard plenty of stories from her mother about an island where people could fly with a single thought, but she was sensible enough of a child to presume they were only stories, meant to cheer people up where they were sad.

Eventually Carewyn felt enough pity for the restlessly fidgeting Shadow that she offered to sing him a song or two, to help pass the time.

“I like to sing whenever I’m doing my chores for Mrs. Weasley,” she explained. “I don’t know if you’ll like it, but...maybe it might cheer you up, since you’re stuck inside?”

To her surprise, Shadow seemed immediately interested. He skipped over the shadows of all three of the children’s beds over to the shadow of the armchair next to her. It hovered on the wall over the chair for a moment before it flopped down onto its stomach on top of the armchair’s shadow, its focus down toward her.

Smiling despite herself, Carewyn started to sing for Shadow.

“Think of a wonderful thought -- any merry little thought... Think of Christmas -- think of snow -- Think of sleigh bells...off you go, Like reindeer in the sky... You can fly! You can fly! You can fly!”

Shadow seemed captivated. He actually crossed his translucent arms and leaned his head down on them to listen, his feet absently kicking behind him, while Carewyn sang as she sewed. When Carewyn was done with one song, she’d start another, and Shadow would listen to all of them. The ones he seemed to like best, though, were the ones her mother Lane had taught her and Jacob, so long ago. The ones about that beautiful, make-believe land that had once captivated her and Jacob’s dreams.

Carewyn put down the blanket she’d finished patching up to look up at Shadow. His hands were clasped together as he watched her. Although he had no eyes or expression, Carewyn sensed he was considering her carefully.

“You like the songs about Neverland, don’t you?” she asked him at last.

Shadow nodded.

“My mum taught them to me,” Carewyn explained. “She used to sing them for my brother Jacob and me, when we were little...and then Jacob used to sing them for me, after Mum...”

The memory of her mother sick in the hospital, and of Jacob squeezing her tight in his shaking arms in a vain attempt to shield her from her grief, made Carewyn’s heart hurt. She brushed the end of her sentence away and put on her bravest face.

“Bill and Charlie like them too,” she said pleasantly. “Percy, Fred and George too, though Percy tries to act like they’re silly, sometimes. And Fred and George are kind of like you -- they’re more the sorts to want to get into mischief than just stay quietly indoors.”

She giggled behind her hand.

“Ginny likes them too... though I reckon it’s just because she likes attention, period, at the moment -- being a baby.”

Shadow seemed a little restless again. Carewyn surmised that he was losing interest -- but, she supposed, considering he couldn’t properly talk, conversations were bound to be less engaging for him.

“Mum had this pretty lullaby she used to sing for Jacob and me,” she offered. “She said she forgot the real words a long time ago, but the melody stayed with her enough that she sang it anyway. Do you want to hear it?”

Shadow’s head popped up, interested again, and he nodded. Carewyn took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Maybe if she dreamed hard enough, she could hear her mother’s voice, singing it too...

“Once upon a time and long ago, I heard someone singing soft and low. Now, when day is done and night is near, I recall a song I used to hear -- ‘My child, my very own, Don't be afraid -- you're not alone... Sleep until the dawn, for all is well.’ Long ago, this song was sung to me... Now it's just a distant melody, Somewhere from the past I used to know, Once upon a time and long ago...”

Shadow actually seemed to settle down, leaning his head down on his folded arms again. When she was finished, he stayed still for a long time -- so long, in fact, that she thought maybe he’d fallen asleep. After several minutes, though, Carewyn realized that Shadow was actually hugging himself tighter, hiding his face under his arms.

“Shadow?” said Carewyn, concerned.

Shadow raised his head, looking right at her. Once again Carewyn got the feeling he was examining her closely. Then, hovering weightlessly down off the armchair, it settled itself down on the wall behind her beside her shadow, crossing his legs and holding his own hands.

Carewyn tilted her head, looking over the shadow with pity in her eyes.

“...You feel lonely,” she murmured, “don’t you?”

Shadow didn’t answer. His focus was down on his clasped hands.

Taking the lack of response as good enough of one, Carewyn adjusted her knees under her, smoothing out the skirt of her one nice dress, and looked up at the ceiling.

“It’s okay if you do,” she said softly. “Everybody feels lonely sometimes. And...well, I s’pose being without your person must be very sad. I’ve never been without my shadow.”

Her eyes grew a little smaller and sadder.

“But...I do know what missing someone feels like...it feels awful.”

Shadow didn’t move. Considering her own shadow on the wall and then Shadow carefully, Carewyn tentatively brought a hand out so that her shadow’s hand ended up on top of Shadow’s clasped hands in his lap.

Shadow immediately bolted up off the ground in alarm, hovering in mid-air over her. It felt like he was staring. Carewyn likewise tensed up when he quickly retreated.

“I’m sorry!” she said at once. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Shadow put his hands on his hips, almost looking faintly offended by the suggestion. He wasn’t frightened. Startled, maybe, but not frightened.

Carewyn felt herself smiling wryly despite herself. “Well, you did kind of react like a scared cat, just now!”

Shadow’s hands clasped in front of him and he leaned forward, looking down upon the smaller girl with an almost snarky posture.

Carewyn giggled behind her hand again.

“I must wonder, Shadow -- is the person you belonged to as odd as you are?”

Despite the dryness of the question, her eyes betrayed some genuine fondness as she returned to her sewing.

“Tender shepherd, tender shepherd...let me help you count your sheep...”

Somehow Carewyn managed to entertain Shadow that entire day until Bill, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley returned from work that evening. Shadow even managed to stay a bit more subdued afterwards, only knocking over one table before Bill, Charlie, and Carewyn came up to bed for the night. When Mrs. Weasley came into the room to bid them goodnight (and Shadow hid behind the armchair to avoid being seen), she once again latched the window, instructing Bill to leave it closed that night. She hadn’t told Bill about the strange shape she’d seen at the open window the previous night, for fear of frightening him, Charlie and Carewyn -- a decision with some logic behind it, though she regretted it for quite a while afterwards.

Despite Mrs. Weasley’s words, however, Carewyn immediately got up and unlocked the window anyhow.

“Shadow’s owner might come back looking for him!” said Charlie when Bill tried to argue the point.

Carewyn nodded, shooting a look at Shadow, who had settled himself on the windowsill as if waiting.

“Your mum said to keep it closed,” she said stubbornly. “She never said we had to keep it locked.”

And so Shadow waited patiently by the window as the three ginger-haired children slowly fell off to sleep. It was just after midnight that there was movement outside the window again, and the Shadow Without an Owner leapt up seeing his other half -- the Boy Without a Shadow -- on the other side of the glass. Flying beside Orion was a pink-eyed pixie with yellowish-green wings bathed in sparkling gold light.

Orion fixed his shadow with a faintly resigned expression.

“You’re in a right pickle, aren’t you, my shadow?” he murmured.

Shadow’s shoulders fell noticeably as Merula shook her finger at him, her voice a huffy tinkling of bells.

“You’d better not have let anyone see you!” she scolded.

Orion reached out and gave the window a light pull. To his relief, it was unlocked, and he pulled it the rest of the way up so he and Merula could fly inside.

Merula at once set about exploring the room, landing on a pile of folded, patched-up clothes next to a modest stack of old stuffed animals.

“What a dump,” she scoffed.

She gave a light kick to one of the teddy bear’s noses. The kick, however light, nonetheless was enough to bring the teddy bear down on her, making the fairy jingle in frustration.

Orion idly lifted the teddy bear off of her without even looking at her, instead focusing on his shadow. Illuminated once again by the streetlamps outside the Weasley home, Shadow immediately darted further back into the room, hovering just over Carewyn’s bed and pointing frenetically.

"I know,” said Orion. “That would be the ‘Wyn.’ The one who sings like a bird.”

Shadow settled himself down on top of Carewyn’s headboard, looking down at her as she slept.

Orion frowned slightly upon his shadow.

“...You like her, then?” he asked lowly.

Shadow nodded.

Merula crossed her arms huffily, looking down at the girl with active disdain. “Look at her, though! She’s got the wrinkles -- those of knowing solemn things. She’s way too old to take...”

Orion took a few steps forward and considered the sleeping ginger-haired girl in the bed.

She was indeed as small as the pirate called Jack had said -- smaller than her age would suggest, Orion thought. She already had these little wrinkles kissing the corners of her lips, and yet they were a peculiar kind of wrinkles. They weren’t wrinkles of age, per say -- instead there was something almost warm, about them...like the kind of wrinkles a well-loved teddy bear has. It didn’t make her look tired or resigned like so many adults did, but rather oddly resilient. The girl wasn’t smiling in her sleep, and yet she still slept peacefully. Her dreams no doubt weren’t as carefree as Orion would like -- but they were not the dreams of a grown-up, either. There was still some weightlessness there, especially since this family she was with wasn’t even hers. She’d still likely be able to fly...

“...She’ll do,” Orion said at last.

“What?!” said Merula, taken aback.

Orion’s voice was very lackadaisical, but his eye remained on Shadow, who seemed oddly pleased by his decision. He even brought a translucent hand down and -- very tentatively -- patted the top of the girl’s own shadow’s head. It was a gesture that made Merula look at him with bewilderment.

“What are you doing, she’s not some little puppy dog for you to coddle!” she jingled at Shadow irritably.

“Come now, my shadow,” Orion said stridently. “Must work out how to restore our balance, before we set about making our proposition to this ‘Carewyn.’”

Shadow quickly bolted up and away from the sleeping Carewyn, looking almost sheepish. Orion glanced around the room, before his eyes settled on a drawer. Striding over, he opened it and ruffled through its contents until he found a bunch of sewing supplies, including a collection of buttons.

Aha. This might do.

Unfortunately buttons were indeed not what was needed, to properly restore a shadow. Orion tried to work them out several times, to no avail, but since the poor boy knew nothing about how buttons were fixed on to begin with, he couldn’t figure out how he could “button” his shadow to him the way two sides of a shirt could. Orion and Merula also tried several other things in the drawer, like some spare ribbon -- but since he naturally couldn’t tie his shadow securely enough to himself, he was left only with a bar of soap he found by the nearby basin, which he tried to use to stick his shadow on.

After about an half-hour of failures, Orion was starting to get anxious. What if he never got his shadow back on? Would he be stuck without a shadow forever? Would he have to chase after his shadow forever, the way his shadow used to for him? Would his shadow even be able to follow him back to Neverland, if there were no lights that would maintain his form? Would he be trapped here in London forever -- in this house forever?

“Orion?” Merula tinkled uncomfortably.

Orion actually found his eyes welling up with tears, though he tried to force them back.

He didn’t know what to do -- what was he supposed to do...?

A very quiet gasp from the bed caught Orion’s attention. Stiffening like a cat, he shot to his feet, his black eyes very wide.

Sitting up in bed was the little ginger-haired girl called Carewyn. Her eyes were very wide, almond-shaped and china blue -- the same shade, Orion realized, as those of the pirates back in Neverland.

The same shade as Captain Hook’s eyes...

And yet those eyes welled up with so much compassion upon meeting Orion’s.

“Oh,” she whispered, looking from the soap in his hand to up to his face. “Oh, please...please, boy, please don’t cry.”

#peter pan au #hphm #hogwarts mystery #orion amari #carewyn cromwell #my art #au #merula snyde #bill weasley #charlie weasley #molly weasley #jacob cromwell #lane cromwell #my writing

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darker-soft-starker · 4 years

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Starker High School AU Pt. 7 (1...6)

tw: general Howard Stark warning

----

So, here’s the thing.

Peter meant to ask May about the letter the night he got it back from Tony, He really did. But then everyone was in such a good mood, he couldn’t bring himself to shatter that to satisfy his own curiosity.

So then he meant to ask the next day.

And he tries, he really does.

But the letter feels as heavy as an anvil in his desk drawer and Peter is too nervous to ask about it. Something always comes up or he gets too scared to shatter the image of the good, obedient nephew he is, one who doesn’t go rifling through mail not addressed to him, prying into personal business.

So he flusters and stumbles pretty badly for the first couple attempts. He changes topic quickly, pretending like he was going to ask about something else, asking himself where exactly his business ends and where his curiosity begins.

Once during a gymnastics comp he stopped mid routine to check on a rival who had fallen from the rings and injured themselves. His coach asked when he was going to stop being a goddamn martyr.

He shakes the Magic 8-Ball on Monday morning and asks the universe if it’s an appropriate time to approach May.

Reply hazy, try again.

Well, that’s not what his flagging courage had hoped for. He shakes it again.

Ask again later.

One more time, harder.

Better not tell you now.

“What the hell,” he whispers, placing it haphazardly upon where he took it. “That’s bullshit.”

“What’s with the potty mouth,” May asks suddenly from behind him. He turns as she’s affixing some dangling earrings to her ears. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just - do you have a minute?”

She checks her watch. “I have about forty seconds. Is something wrong - are you okay?”

“No - I mean yes, I’m okay. Are...are you?”

“Top of the world, bubby,” she scoops her keys from the bowl, approaching him with a curious expression. “Why do you ask?”

There’s no easy way to ask without blatantly admitting to going through her things, and the last thing he wants her to think is that she can’t trust him.

“I just mean. If you weren’t. If there was something wrong, you would tell me, right?”

“Of course,” her face falls. “You’re acting strange, Pete.”

“I just worry, that’s all.”

You’re all I have left, is what loops over and over in his mind, but doesn’t say. She seems to hear it anyway, rushing forward and kissing his forehead, her perfume filling his nose.

“Everything is fine, bubs. The second it isn’t, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Okay.”

“I gotta go, but stop worrying okay? That’s my job. You have a good day.”

She hurries to scoop up her handbag and closes the door before he’s broken out of his thoughts long enough to reply. He sighs and shakes the stupid ball again before he leaves as well.

Cannot predict now.

Of course.

Just for once he’d like fate to be firmly on his side.

---

Something smells weird.

It’s sharp, chemical and not entirely unpleasant. Noticeable, however, sharp enough to cut through the usual musty smell of the library. It’s like apple cider, but overpowers the usual library smell of old books and dust and pencil shavings, a scent Peter has long associated with study, solitude, and the easing of his anxious heart from a gallop to a steady stride.

It’s not a bad smell, just misplaced.

And Tony’s been acting strange all study period. Like, weirder than normal - and his resting state of normal is already ineffably frenetic and bewildering, so this was an entirely different carton of eggs.

Peter doesn’t exactly want to bring it up, they’re kind of on a tenuously peaceful truce, a silent lay down of arms, so to speak.

Well, as peaceful as a truce can be while they call each other all sorts of names and rib each other over literally any sign of weakness, but still. They have some sort of an understanding now, and it’s all relatively innocent, good natured banter.

Mostly.

Peter for sure could have done without being called fuck-face-mcgee upon entering the library, but he’s willing to let it pass. He was late, after all.

“Anyway,” Peter says, sitting across the table from Tony, “so I think if we removed the monthly gym membership, we’d have an extra sixty per month that could go towards other stuff.”

“Like what?” Tony’s face pinches.

“I don’t know, like a college fund?”

“Ridiculous idea. I need that membership,” Tony rebukes, shrugging his leather jacket off, hooking it over the back of the chair. “When else am I supposed to get a reprieve from you and the cabbage patch?”

“When do I get a reprieve? I’m the money-maker. When do I get my break from work and childcare?”

“At work. What are you, like an art teacher or something? Your whole day is like a rich, white woman's vacation. Parents don’t get a lunch break.”

“Right. I’m sure watching Dora and burping an infant is as hard as teaching a class of thirty.”

“Wow. So dismissive. I mean, if you were a good spouse, you would give your withered and weary husband a break from screaming babies and shitty diapers.”

“Mhmm. That would mean I’d have to do something nice for you, and that doesn’t sound like me.”

Tony shakes his head. “We’re getting a divorce as soon as Molly is old enough to pick me as the superior parent,” he points to Peter’s papers. “Put that in the notes.”

Peter closes his eyes and sighs, willing himself not to lean over the table and smack the other boy.

“You are not the superior parent. You’re the deadbeat that forgets to pick her up from school and day drinks.”

“And yet, she loves me the most. You’re just the breadwinner who comes home grumpy every evening. I’m the cool dad.”

“Fine, keep your druglord baby. I never wanted kids anyway.”

“Fine. I’m keeping the car.”

“I’m keeping the apartment.”

“Good.”

“Great.”

They snicker quietly in a rare moment of camaraderie before a lightbulb goes off in Peter's head.

“What if we used the membership, but cut costs elsewhere, like, cutting our own hair and stuff. We could save for a yearly holiday, go to the beach or something.”

“Florida! Disney, roadtrip, yes,” Tony clicks his fingers towards Peter, smiling wide. “Look at you getting all savvy. Call the judge, the marriage is back on.”

“You can’t go to Disney for a few hundred dollars, dumbass, that’s barely the price of admission,” Peter scribbles on his pad, making note of their ideas. “You ever been?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Not even once.”

“That’s surprising. Isn’t that where all rich white people take their baby sociopaths to beat up their first mascot?”

“One, I was never a baby, I emerged fully grown, and two, could you imagine Howard Stark within a mile of the happiest place on earth? He’d have a fucking stroke,” his face changes like he’s had an epiphany. “Not a bad idea, actually.”

Peter doesn’t mention that he doesn’t personally know Howard Stark but is willing to take Tony’s assessment at face value. That being said, he can’t imagine Tony, now, voluntarily heading to Disney without coercion or the promise of copious quantities of alcohol. He’d probably smoke and cuss and scare away small children.

He mind lingers on that particular characterisation, and for a moment tries to picture what Tony looked like as a kid, if he was a chubby, toothless little brat, can’t help then imagining him with Mickey Mouse ears, gleefully running through his gigantic home, harried caretakers running after him.

He must have been the worst.

“I’ve never been further than Washington,” Peter offers, “but that was for AcDec, so it wasn’t like we got to see much.”

“You did Academic Decathlon?”

“Yep.”

“Ew, why would you do that to yourself.”

“I still do it. It looks good on college applications and it’s fun,” he shrugs. “I like it. I’m good at it.”

Tony’s hands cover his mouth, but it doesn’t stifle the rising apple of his cheeks or the mirth in his voice.

“I’m feeling so much second-hand embarrassment for you right now.”

“Shut up,” Peter huffs, kicking him under the table, satisfied when the other boy winces. He fails to smother his own wince when he gets a kick in return, right in the kneecap. “Nothing wrong with being an intellectual.”

“You’re a fucking nerd, four-eyes.”

“What about you?” Peter rolls his eyes, keen to change the subject. “Been outside New York?”

Tony shrugs, tapping his pen on the pad, looking anywhere but at him. “When I was younger I’d sometimes go on my dad's business trips to Europe or Japan or whatever. And we have a house in Malibu.”

“That sounds awesome.”

Tony snorts. He shuffles on his seat, sliding their notes over and making further amendments in quick strokes, the cheap pen spurting bright red ink over the paper like arterial spray.

“Oh yeah, it was a real blast.”

Spoiled brat.

“Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“With my family?” Tony looks up. “No, I’d rather stick my head up a turkey’s ass. You?”

Without warning, Peter’s hand flies to cover his mouth, unable to but snort at the imagery, He’s not sure if Tony just doesn’t get along with his family or if he’s still stuck in that churlish, ‘too cool to be around my parents’ stage of adolescence. It’s one the idiosyncrasies that would have annoyed Peter before, his ungratefulness of having a family that’s still alive would be just another thing for Peter to hate him for.

Now, he thinks, he’s beginning to parse out when Tony’s being sincere and when he’s hyperbolic, finally recognising the latter as a mechanism to throw someone off a topic that makes Tony uncomfortable. He sees it - the warning lights and stop signs in barbed coding, wrapped up in dry wit and sarcasm.

Peter is like that sometimes, too.

And what the hell would Peter know about having a normal family.

“Yeah, actually, for once,” he says softly. “My aunt - not May - and uncle have a holiday home up north, so we’re staying with them over the long weekend.”

“S’cool. May’s family?”

Peter shakes his head. “Sort of - they’re not actually related, but May and Margaret have been best friends since college, so.”

“Is Margaret a babe, too?”

Peter throw a chewed-up pencil at him that he catches easily.

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not,” he throws the pencil back, overshooting and hitting the shelves behind them. “What are we talking, on a scale of haggard to hottie.”

“I don’t know, man. You seem to have questionable taste in the people you are attracted to.”

Tony grins crookedly, eyes shining with something Peter can’t decipher. “Ain't that the truth.”

“What’s the supposed to --” he stops himself, suddenly recognising what the strange scent was that he’d been picking up. “Wait - dude, are you wearing cologne?”

Tony’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he responds. “No,” he denies, just as the bell rings. “Oh, look at that, time to get to class.”

Saved by the bell.

“So, this is it,” Tony nods, shutting the lid of his laptop as the bell signals the end of their free period. “We’re done. The assignment. That’s the last of it, right?”

Dazedly, he watches Tony stuffing his laptop and notes into his backpack, brow creasing as his mind catches up.

“Uh, yeah. I guess.”

“Send me your notes tonight, I’ll stitch them together with mine and send them back.”

“Okay,” he sluggishly collects his own notes, picking up the bag by his feet. “That’s - that’s good.”

“Well, Parker,” Tony slings his backpack on his shoulder, shuffling backwards, “we didn’t kill each other. I mean, not for a lack of wanting on my behalf.”

‘’Yeah, from Wednesday we’re free. We can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” Tony’s grin fades. They stare at each other for a long moment that could have been seconds or hours, he doesn’t know, until the second bell rings.

“Hey, um --”

“I’ll send you the notes later,” Tony interrupts, sotto voce. “I gotta get to class. See you around.”

Something in his stomach deflates, sadly and slowly, like a balloon with a pinprick, emptying itself until it’s an uncomfortably hard to digest crumpled mass at the base of his stomach. He pastes on a smile and looks out the window, hoping the feeling doesn’t show in his eyes.

That’s when he notices the leather jacket Tony has left behind, still slung over the back of the chair.

“You left your…” he trails off, turning back, but Tony is already long gone, probably already halfway to his next class. Like a bat out of hell, Peter thinks wryly, picking up the jacket, the leather smooth like butter under his touch, still warm around the collar where Tony’s had been leaning against it.

No good leaving it here to get stolen or be tossed into lost property. He decides to take it with him, folding it gently over his arm. He’ll give it back when he sees him again, maybe after school.

“Nice jacket, Parker,” Flash says approvingly when Peter bumps into him out in the hall.

At first he thinks he’s referring to Peter’s ratty hoodie, and it confounds him for a moment because it’s decidedly not nice, but then he realizes he’s referring to the leather in his arms.

“It’s not mine,” he replies a little too late, because Flash is already down the hall, out of earshot.

Peter sighs. It’s beginning to become a depressing theme.

---

The weird feeling in his chest doesn’t subside all afternoon, and into the evening Peter is starting to think maybe he just has indigestion, like acid reflux or something. Must be the chilli surprise from lunch. Maybe he’d missed his meds.

He sends his portion of the final notes to Tony’s email, turns off his computer and switches on Colbert.

---

It’s not until hours later, well after midnight and the infomercials are playing, only then does his phone buzz against his thigh with a response.

Figures that Tony would be a night owl like him.

> soz was distracted > youtube spiral

Peter shifts downwards on the bed, holding the phone over his face. < s’ok < what were you watching > say yes to the dress < lmao really > lol no > anyway, looks good. ur notes > will print off for u to sign tomorrow < is that a compliment or an admission u were wrong about me

> neither. One subject does not a genius make > unlike me, an actual genius

In your dreams, dipshit, he wants to type, but doesn’t, not really keen to provoke a muddy discussion on who is the smartest (it’s definitely Peter).

< u left ur jacket in the library btw, I have it, he texts instead, his pulse jumping when Tony replies with crying emoji’s.

Tony sends him a snap, unexpectedly, a sad face that makes Peter snort. His face seems distressed, the caption reads, thought i lost it for good.

Shifting down further on the bed, he’s feeling suddenly and inexplicably courageous, fire burning up from his belly button to his fingers.

Peter takes a silly photo of himself and sends it back. > didn’t want it to get stolen < aw u care

“I do not,” he whispers to himself. > i do not. come collect it after school tomorrow or im throwing it out. < u wouldn’t do that to me > there’s a lot of things i would do 2 u > .... > um > lol

Peter’s face flames at the implication. He reads over what he just so carelessly typed, stomach positively knotted with embarrassment. Oh god, that is not what he meant. His fingers fly over the screen at record speed as he types out a response. < NOT LIKE THAT < I MEANT IT IN A THREATENING WAY < I’M LITERALLY GAGGING > yikes > ur dirty talk needs work < no it DOESN’T bc we’re not sexting > sure jan > damn. didn’t kno u had it in u bubs < i don’t have it in me > not yet > ;)

Despite the deep blush still heating his face and his heart galloping in his chest, a laugh breaks out of him. The phone in his hand vibrates again. > jk jk, not ever > need to bleach my brain now

Slowly gliding back to earth he types out a response. < ikr me too < ugh.

He puts his phone down on the bed, looking up at the water-stained ceiling, amusement slowly fading. His pulse though, that doesn’t return to normal.

How could it when his mind suddenly runs away from him, evoking short-lived, but nonetheless strikingly vivid images of intertwined legs, planes of pale skin, and lush lips. How can the heat in his stomach escape when his thoughts conjure phantom sensations of a soft mouth sucking on his neck, the punishing grip of hands on his hips and the warmth and weight of another body on top of his own.

A forehead leaning against his, brown eyes that knocked his pulse off kilter.

The taste of nicotine.

Stop it.

That is dangerous territory right there. And a line he doesn’t want to cross.

Shaking his head, Peter swings his legs over the side of the bed and sits up, looking anywhere for a distraction; his window, the posters on his wall, his figurines on his shelves, anything to douse the low-burning fire in his gut.

Standing, he heads to the bathroom to get ready for bed, banging their crappy old heater with his fist to get it working again.

He takes a very cold shower.

----

It’s not that Peter doesn’t enjoy sex.

Not that he’s had it.

But he enjoys jerking off, at least. Like a regular amount, whatever that is for a teenage boy. He likes kissing. Likes thinking about one day being in a real relationship and exploring someone's body and he likes exploring what turns him on and what he doesn’t.

It’s just that he doesn’t let himself think of anyone he knows personally that way, no matter how conventionally attractive they are - not Thor, and especially not him.

Typically, his fantasies are people with vague features, sometimes with bodies like those he has seen in porn, all shapes and sizes. And that’s safe for him.

He doesn’t want to have to look anyone he knows in the eye and wonder what their lips would feel like pressed against his own. If they’re any good at kissing. If they’re the type to take control or cede it.

He does wonder, sometimes though. No matter how much he denies what or who he wants.

Because it doesn’t matter if it’s a person or a thing. Want is never superficial in his experience, it doesn’t feel good most of the time. It’s deep and sometimes dark, it sinks itself into him with its hooks and it tugs, and keeps tugging. It yields to craving and yearning.

Back in his bedroom, his eyes land on his wall-mounted mirror. It’s small. Like the Mona Lisa. Small enough that he doesn’t have to see his whole reflection if he doesn’t want to.

He doesn’t want to crave and yearn for anybody, because he knows it will always be one sided. He’s well aware that he isn’t exactly centrefold material.

Who is gonna look at his weird ears or thin lips, and think, shit, that’s the guy of my dreams. Not with his big glasses or the way his hair twists itself into frizzy, unruly curls once the gel wears off and he starts looking like an unkempt labradoodle.

Who would want to wake up next to him? No one.

So it’s better not to risk imagining anyone real. It’s only in his head that anyone could ever want him back.

His eyes go from the mirror to the jacket folded and placed on his desk. It was intended to be plain sight so he remembers to bring it in - out of sight, out of mind, is what Ben would say. He can still smell the cologne Tony denied wearing earlier.

Once he’s in bed, he turns to face the wall.

Out of sight, out of mind.

---

Maybe Tony subscribes to that mantra as well.

Peter forgets to bring the jacket in all week and Tony doesn’t ask.

---

Danvers wants him fit and ready to be harpooned into the mud by next week; that’s why she looks the other way when Thor and Peter take their informal training in the boundaries of the field, stretching out on the grass as the JV team runs their usual morning drills - drills Peter would have been a part of before his stupid injury and his stupid wrist-brace.

This school is stupid too. Now he has to pay to see a doctor so he can get medically cleared for a sport he doesn’t really care that much about.

Like he didn’t have enough medical bills to deal with.

In any case, he’s not really in a position to complain, because he has the opportunity now to run through his warm-up with Thor, who is taking his direction to spread his legs into a butterfly position so beautifully, even as his knees raise from the ground to make a v-shape, whereas Peter’s lie flat on the grass.

If the last few days had been different, he might have blushed and used the situation at hand as an opening to place his hands on Thor’s knees and applied pressure. But now he just smiles encouragingly and reminds himself that he has no chance - no place - and his hands do not belong anywhere but his own body.

And surprisingly enough, he’s okay about it all.

Thor was a good guy. Peter will never say no to having more friends.

It’s a dreadful, bitter morning. Icy cold, wind biting into his shirt, the grass below them is damp. He has to keep rubbing his hands together so he can restore feeling in his fingers.

To make things worse, Tony is back on the bleachers. White v-neck, jeans and dark sunglasses. Sprawled out over a set of steps, legs askew, arms behind his head, unmoving as if he were napping or sunbathing, appearing like a cocky main out of an eighties movie.

Or a king surveying his kingdom.

Rhodes and Potts slouch on either side of him, swapping phones over his idle figure, taking pictures and laughing amongst themselves.

“It burns,” Thor says lightly, hands on his thighs in an attempt to aim his knees to touch the ground.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees, despite the ease in which he can lean in. “It just takes practice, dude. Twenty minutes a day, warm up and don’t over-do it. You’ll be limber in no time.”

“You can do this better than I can,” Thor argues, accent thick as he tries to lie flat like Peter.

“And you can lift a hundred pounds better than I can,” he tries to rebut, even as they switch positions, hip flexors aching with old injuries.

While the stretches are like second nature, he doesn’t miss the pressure of training for competition. The eagerness to get into a flat butterfly or oversplit. There was no argument that he spent nights on crunches back then, and he was somewhat toned - but he was shit at weight training. He hated lifting. Reps were more boring, more tedious and difficult and the diet required to give them any value was frankly not worth giving up a great hotdog or a loaded sub from Delmars. He wouldn’t go back to it now.

None of that old heat is there when he inspects Thor’s form. That quick simmer, the call to be closer. That terrible thing, want. All but gone. awe is still there, as he suspects it always would be with someone as outstanding as Thor, but the butterflies have very much flown away.

As he suspected would be the case. He has someone and they’re happy. With the cat out of the bag Thor had shown Peter pictures of his boyfriend all morning. He’d gotten a puppy, apparently, which just tickled Thor. He was so happy it was almost sickening.

When is it gonna be him that sickens someone with photo’s of his partner?

“Hey, Parker,” Tony yells from the stands, “you suck!”

Looking over, the idiot is raised on his elbows and grinning, like he’s proud of himself for a spectacularly unoriginal insult.

Rolling his eyes, Peter gives him the finger and he gets one in return.

His stomach twists and he has to duck his head to conceal his smile.

“Your husband is somewhat rude,” Thor says, following Peter’s example and switching from a pike to a lunge.

Peter looks back over to the stands. A cigarette now dangles between Tony’s full lips, sunglasses slid to the tip of his nose.

That’s how Peter knows he’s looking at him too.

Even from afar his eyes are round and mirthful, framed with ridiculously long lashes like a cartoon mouse, far too outlandish for any real person to have.

“He’s the absolute worst,” Peter bites his bottom lip, quickly averting his gaze. “It was an arranged marriage, to be fair.”

---

Wednesday comes and goes.

Their assignment gets handed in, Peter signs it off to say he did his fair portion of the work and Miss Ahn beams at the both of them when she is handed the thick binder, looking all too pleased with herself.

They have a presentation of their work next week, after Thanksgiving, each pair expected to give five minutes of their life pretending that they’re passionate about schoolwork in front of their fellow students who don’t care.

After that they are completely unburdened. No study sessions, no car rides, and no fries dipped in milkshakes.

They’re embarrassingly hailed as a prime example of people working through their differences, as if they had come together and were now friends or something.

From the front row Tony sneaks a furtive glance at Peter when she applauds them to the class.

“See, kids,” she says, “it wasn’t so bad working together, was it?”

Their eyes meet briefly.

“Zero out of ten, would not do again,” Tony declares, brash and loud, kicking his combat boots onto his desk in a leisurely display.. “That guy is the human equivalent of watching paint dry. Awful.”

“Oh, come on,” she chides. “Be nice.”

Not one to be outdone, Peter lets his horse out of the gate too.

“Singular worst experience of my life. I once had a root canal without anaesthetic and it was less painful than working with him.”

“Alright, boys, that’s enough out of you,” Miss Ahn sighs deeply, walking to the front of the room. “Mr Lang, how did you find the assignment?”

“Very informative…”

From the front row Tony turns in his seat and winks at him.

----

“Thanksgiving plans?” Natasha asks, leaning beside his locker, smothering a smile as he struggles to get his locker open for the nth time that day with one functional hand.

“Visiting my Aunt and Uncle,” he says, finally prying the damn thing open. “They’ve got a place up at Otisco Lake, so. Probably watching old movies and swimming all weekend.”

“Oof,” his friend winces. “That’s a trip. Think the May-Mobile will make the distance?”

The May-Mobile of course to the ancient, ‘89 Volvo 240 that May has been driving ever since Peter was born. She adores it and refuses to trade in, despite the fact that it rarely gets driven, practically haemorrhages gas, and has cost more in repairs in the last five years than the actual value of the car. But May really loves it. It's sentimental. She says it was the car Ben and her picked out together.

“It better make it,” he dumps his books in, closing the locker. “I don’t want to spend the weekend waiting for AAA in the middle of nowhere. What’s your plans?”

She shrugs, walking with him down the hall.

“Probably go and annoy Yelena. Was supposed to spend it with Bucky and his mom, but that ain't happening.”

He bumps her shoulder sympathetically. “Do you think you two will get back together?”

“Probably. But he’s got a shitload of grovelling to do first.”

“Don’t maim him, please. We need him on the team.”

“No promises.”

“Speak of the devil,” Peter adjusts his glasses, spotting Bucky at the base of the stairs talking to somebody. He gets startled, heart jumping when Natasha grabs him by the waist, pushing him towards the wall and inching them closer to the stairs.

“What are you --”

“ -- Shh, I want to listen. Who is he talking to?”

Craning his head, he finds himself in for another surprise when he sees that the other person he’s talking to is --

“He’s… he’s talking to Stark - what...?”

She shushes him again and Peter listens, curious now too.

“... what do you want, Barnes?” Tony visibly grimaces, taking a cigarette from his pocket and tucking it behind his ear. “Make it quick. I got places to be and your noxious stench gives me headaches.”

An announcement goes off over the loudspeaker over their head, calling for Brendon Bennett, a dick of a senior, to move his car from where he has blocked a teacher from leaving. It would be funny at any other time, but as it goes, he misses a chunk of their conversation.

“...Rogers isn’t the boss of me.”

“Yes, he is, and I’m not getting suspended again because you’re a pussy and he has roid-rage.”

“I just need an ETA. C’mon, pal, I really need this.”

“I’m not your pal and I don’t give a flying fuck what you need.”

Ever the easy going guy, Bucky puts his hands up placatingly as a group of students file down the stairs, causing enough noise that Peter misses whatever is said next. As he strains to hear he tries to draw the line between the dots, but comes up short on exactly how these two are connected.

“That fucker,” Natasha mutters near his ear.

By the time the students clear, Tony’s descended the stairs and begun to walk away

“I have better things to do than to sit around and wait for you,” Bucky calls out, giving him the finger.”

“And yet you will.”

Not in any possible lifetime was Peter going to address that he was weirdly relieved that Tony didn’t flip him off in return, some part of him petulantly thinking that’s our thing, but that’s wrong - Peter and Tony are not friends and they do not have things, even when they do, it’s not like a thing thing.

Nat grips his hand and pulls him along when Bucky leaves as well, swiftly walking away to avoid being caught. His backpack jostles at the speed and he realizes he’s still clutching Tony's jacket from where he had retrieved it from his locker.

“What was that about?” He asks, struggling to keep up with his friend's furious pace as he’s led down the hall. “Tash?”

She drops his hand once they are outside, her disapproval near palpable, voice laden with fire and fury.

“That’s Bucky being a world class idiot, he’s gonna get himself expelled, I swear.”

Peter stops on the spot.

“Expelled?”

Something dark curls unpleasantly in his gut, heavy and not leaving.

“They have a thing,” she explains hotly, mouth turning down. “Bucky and Stark.”

“What?” Peter breathes, uncomfortably thinking back to the party and the way Bucky overtly complimented Tony’s body. “Like a.... like a sex thing? Did he cheat on you?”

“What? No.”

“Then what?”

Red strands whipping in the wind, his friend looks around to see if there is anyone nearby before leaning in to speak low. He leans in too, unabashedly curious.

“Do you remember when Bucky was having issues with his parents when school started?”

He nods, thinking back to the times Bucky slept over in the late days of summer and early weeks of the school year, once or twice a week to get away from the shouting in his own home.

Natasha continues.

“Don’t tell him I told you this, but he got really depressed and fell behind with his work and everything he was handing in was terrible. Danvers pulled him up and said if he didn’t get his grades up, he’d be risking his spot on the team. So Bucky paid Stark to write up a few assignments for him, apparently he was doing it for a few kids, like it was a thing.”

...Okay.

That was not good, and definitely disappointing, but -

“Rogers found out. He gave Bucky a warning, but with Stark he threatened to go to Fury.”

Peter thinks back to the fight between their captain and Stark and their fight not long ago. “That’s why they…”

“I’m told Stark snapped, but I don’t know. I found out about the whole paper thing after that and me and Buck fought about it. I just got so mad - he’s - he’s not stupid, you know?”

“I know.”

She exhales heavily through her nose. “He’s going to get himself kicked out of school and I’m so -- I could kill him. We’re supposed to graduate together and get away from our families and go to college, and then he does this.”

“I’m sorry, Tash, I didn’t know,” he hugs her, her body going stiff before relaxing in his hold. “That’s shitty. For both of you.”

“I’m sorry for thinking you were in on the loop.”

He smiles, self-deprecating.

“Nope, I’m as clueless as ever.”

“No, you’re just too good for that,” she shakes her head. “Look, I gotta go and blow off some steam. Please don’t tell anybody about all this.”

“I won't, I swear - but text me later, alright? Let me know you’re okay.”

She ruffles his hair before stepping back.

“You’re a bleeding heart, PP. Keep an eye on that, will you?”

Hearing a squeal of tyres, he whips his head around to the parking lot, the source of the noise. The Firebird squeals out of the lot and onto the road, the sound as angry, the glimpse Peter gets of Tony’s face, even angrier.

He turns back to Nat, but she’s already walked away. Which means she isn’t there to hear him mutter to himself.

“What are you getting into, Tony?”

----

His thumbs hover over his phone that night, as he writes i saw u with barnes today.

He quickly deletes that, not wanting Tony to think that he was following him or spying on him - or worse, thinking that Peter actually cares about what he does. He doesn’t. They’re not friends.

A dread settles in the spaces between his ribs, like thread trying to squeeze them together too tight, his lungs feeling compressed. Maybe it’s his asthma, or allergies.

It’s not and he knows it. He’s disappointed.

He rubs at his chest on his way home thinking about the scene they just saw and about what Natasha said. How is it that so many people in his orbit had this entire entanglement going on without Peter having any whiff of it? It really makes him wonder if they were they good at hiding it or was he just really fucking stupid. Stupid enough to think Bucky was doing okay, that Rogers wasn’t as sanctimonious as he appeared to be, and that Tony was --

Nevermind.

It’s none of his business and it’s not his place.

He knows better than to ask. It’s not as if he can forget all his own secrets that he clutches tightly to his chest, so tight it feels like he constantly walks through life with his fists clenched.

That and, like May, the real truth is that he can’t claim any entitlement to their trust. He eavesdropped in more ways than one these last two weeks. He tries to brush off that dry, sobering thought; it’s none of his business anyway and he has enough on his plate without getting involved.

When are you going to stop being such a goddamned martyr.

So then he thinks about the sheer fury on Tony’s face, how his - how he used to look at Peter the same way, and how Peter used to think that angry and bitter was Tony's default mood. That was that. The status quo.

Well, that wasn’t entirely fair, was it. It was easier to dislike Tony when he was distant enough that Peter could pigeon-hole him into a stereotype.

Because Tony got into fights, sure, countless and petty, but he was the guy who pet puppies and snuck them food under the table. Not the guy who kicked them.

He looked like the puppy that was kicked, though.

Not angry.

Wounded.

And that’s what confuses Peter. Turns out he doesn’t really know anything about his friends.

Or Tony, it would seem.

----

May closes the drivers-side door and throws a packet of snacks into Peter’s face.

“Pretzels.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he adjusts his glasses where they'd been knocked askew.

“Sorry, I thought your reflexes were better,” she says, and by way of apology, lobs a packet of sour gummies more gracefully on his lap. “Your favorite.”

“Apology accepted.”

From a plastic bag she fishes out two cokes and places them in the centre console, a bag of red licorice and crackers follow, also making their way onto his lap. She always buys too much food.

Then they’re turning back onto the highway that leads them out of where they paused at Monticello, the radio jacked up loud enough to be heard over the tiny droplets of raindrops sporadically hitting the windshield.

They’ve left early enough that it’s still dark.

Fog still hangs low on the roadside, intangible pale wisps that seem to disintegrate upon crossing, the road dotted with other travellers, but not too crowded, enough so they can easily cruise the speed limit and sometimes over. The Bangles play on a cassette tape and, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel, May looks so carefree, driving her sentimental car with the noisy engine, singing along to the same cassettes she’s had since she was his age.

Peter can’t bring himself to say what he wants to. About the letters. One in particular. He knows something isn't right but who is he to break the peace?

So, he doesn’t and they keep driving.

The fog lifts and the tunes continue, both of them singing familiar tunes from ABBA to George Michael and Peter let’s go of what he can’t control and loses himself in the buoyancy of nostalgia - neither of them can carry a tune for shit and it’s funny, and when he rolls his window down he sticks his hand out to feel the frigid air, it’s the most free he’s felt in a long time.

Football and his after-school duties and everything else just drifts away with the wind, at least for this moment.

It was like when he was a kid. The route itself is mostly dark and dull, and this time without Ben, but their usual car games of ‘dollar every time you spot a windmill’ and ‘how many minutes until the next town’ are fun and easily pass the time. This will be another memory that he will gloss over with fondness, how even the boring roads will seem like rapture.

When the sky starts to turn from black to grey they stop for early breakfast at a diner just slightly off their trail in Windsor, both of them famished despite the hoard of snacks and in dire need of coffee.

The car is beginning to emit pale plumes of smoke from under the hood as they arrive at Davis Grove, Otisco Lake in the early morning. The sun rises low over the horizon, a slow ascent that turns the sky grey and brushes wriggling streaks of color over the lake.

The house is exactly as Peter remembers it.

Panels painted slate blue, brown-tiled roof. Two-storeys with a wrap-around porch and a private dock only a short distance away from the entrance. A swinging chair on the lawn that comfortably fits three and a half people.

It looks exactly as it did when Peter first came here as a kid, plucked straight out of his memories in perfect form, like it was set in a liminal space that time refused to touch. A piece comes back to his being at this moment, something that he didn’t know was missing.

Aunt Margaret is already standing at the door when the pull up. She doesn’t look a day older than when Peter last saw her years ago.

“Oh, look at you,” she coos, wrapping Peter up in a tight hug, curls brushing his cheek, “my darling little Petey-pie.”

“Hey, Aunt Margaret,” he returns the hug.

“You’re so tall now, let me look at you,” she holds him at arm's length, warm eyes roving over his form. “Oh my goodness, haven’t you grown a handsome young man? Last time we met you only came up to my shoulders and had braces.” She turns her attention to May. “Isn’t he handsome?”

His aunt nods, smiling at them, both women gravitating into a tight embrace. “It’s good to see you, Peggy. Thanks for having us.”

“Our pleasure. You look even more beautiful than the last time.”

“Oh, stop,” May releases her, wiping at her eyes. “Look who’s talking.”

She tilts her head to the porch and takes May’s duffle from where she has dropped it to the ground. “Come on you two, inside. We’ve got the fire going and scrambled eggs on the table.”

Inside it smells like the best parts of his childhood. A burning fire and butterscotch and lingering musky-but-floral scent from the bowl of potpourri high on the mantel. Even the sounds are the same, the same coo of early birds in the burgeoning daylight, someone humming by the stove.

Margaret leads them into the living room, where her husband meets them halfway from the kitchen, oven mitts still on his hands when he spreads his arms wide to welcome them.

“My goodness,” he beams, “look what the cat dragged in.”

He wears a cravat at the same time he wears an apron, looking every bit the formal yet whimsical man Peter remembers him to be and a crushing wave of nostalgia comes over him so suddenly he can’t help but rush forward and embrace him.

“Welcome, Peter. It’s so good to have you here.”

“Thanks for having us, Uncle Ed.”

“What have you taught him,” he points his query to May as he releases Peter to hug her. “You know you can call me Jarvis.”

---

Margaret ‘Peggy’ Carter and Edwin Jarvis had been young twenty-somethings when they first met. Both were born in England before moving to the US, but it wasn’t until they met at Margaret’s first college that their paths crossed. They worked in different departments, Peter thinks Ed was an engineer or something and Margaret an analyst, but the universe pulled them together eventually.

Margaret asked Ed out first and then a year later, May was the maid-of-honor at their wedding and Ben was reportedly a teary guest in the squeaky church pews.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

A photo of that day sits framed upon the mantle. May and Margaret have their arms around each other, Uncle Ben and Ed standing awkwardly at the sides of the frame, holding up flutes of champagne.

They look so young. Happy.

Peter observes the photo, smiling. He would have been a baby back then. Before his parents and Ben had -- well.

His mind does these weird calculations sometimes. Like, the May in this photo is only nine or so years older than how old he is now, and this moment, suspended in time, makes them closer than they have ever been, even though in real life they are over twenty years apart.

Looking at this picture, it makes him wonder how many people he knows now will live full lives and die of old age. How many people his age will stay forever young, and who will be in the future looking back at their time now, wistfully staring at pictures of those who only exist suspended in that time.

It’s funny, being a teenager. His peers are too young to die so they assume they won't. Even in their twenties and thirties or forties, death seems like an elusive thing that doesn’t apply to anybody until it does. It’s for the decrepit, the sick.

But in Peter’s case death comes like poorly aimed darts, always landing badly and scoring low. In his pockets, his hands turn in fists. He hopes the three people left alive in this picture get to grow old.

He smells her perfume before he sees her. Margaret approaches, bumping their hips together.

“This was a nice day,” she says softly, wistful. “I wish we’d kept more contact over these last few years.”

“Me too,” he smiles sadly, her expression reflecting his. With a hand on his back she leads him to the couch.

“Come on, munchkin, come sit. Tell me how you have been.”

---

“We weren’t planning on the big dinner,” Uncle Ed says as he finishes peeling a potato, handing it to Peter once he’s done. “But we’re so glad you two joined us. Neither of us have a lot of family here, you know.”

“Us neither,” Peter runs the peeled potato under running water to rid it of dirty residue before chopping it into quarters. “It’s really nice to see you again, it’s been way too long.”

“You really have grown into such a nice young man,” the man smiles. “Ben would be proud. Your parent’s, too.”

“Thank you.”

They haven’t got together like this since Ben died a couple years back. It wasn’t really anyone’s fault. Shit happened and it got harder to try. May got busier with looking after Peter full time and working more - and Uncle Ed quit his job and opened up a garage and Margaret lost a baby - all at the same time.

It was a lot for everyone. Even college best friends moved apart when fate put up walls at every turn.

It seems everyone in his circle is just does their best to survive. Or maybe that’s just what growing up is.

The remainder of their morning is spent eyeing the oven and skedaddling while Margaret prepares her pecan pie, ejecting them out of the kitchen with a forceful shoo.

“May says you’re playing football,” Ed says, leading him out to the lounge, passing him a can of soda. “How’d that happen? Last I checked you were doing splits over a pommel horse.”

Peter shrugs, tapping his can with his fingernails, idly paying attention to the football on the old TV. “Needed an extra-curricular, there was an opening and for some reason they accepted me.”

“You were so good at gymnastics,” Margaret comments from the kitchen, whisking away at her bowl. “I’m sure you’re exemplary in anything you do. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, sculling back the rest of his drink, bubbles burning down his throat. “Looks good on college applications in any case.”

“This kid,” May points to him with her beer bottle. “He does it all, I don’t even know how. He’s brilliant.”

I could do more, he thinks. He wonders again in that moment what it is that makes him so deficient that May couldn’t rely on him to accept the truth about their situation, that maybe he was just too naive. But he’s not. He’d drop his after-school activities and get a job in a hot second if he thought it would help. And for just a split-second he’s mad about that, about being kept in the dark.

But then he sees the strain around her eyes, how the bottle in her hands trembles ever so slightly, how much she makes the hard world soft around them. And it’s easy for him to let that feeling go.

“You’re still freelancing?” Peter asks Margaret, momentarily distracted when Ed’s phone lights up with a call.

“Excuse me, terribly sorry,” he says suddenly, picking up the phone and answering it, rising to his feet to converse in the adjacent room.

“Yes,” Margaret says, eyes lingering over where her husband has gone, his voice carrying over the walls in worried, muffled tones. “Well, consulting. I can work from home, which makes it easier to take care of all my non-existent children,” she gestures to the empty room around them.

“You could go work with Jarvis,” May retrieves a new bottle, popping the cap. “Look after the books, help him replace tyres.”

“Tempting,” Margaret says dully, rolling her eyes. “Can’t understand why I haven’t done that yet.”

Jarvis re-enters minutes later, hands held out apologetically; whispering to Margaret first before he addresses the room.

“Um, we have another guest coming up for dinner, if that’s alright,” he winces at their blank faces. “He works for me. Has a difficult family arrangement and needs a bit of respite. You know how it gets over the holidays.”

Peter meets May’s eyes and shrugs. Anyone working under the business and is vouched for by his surrogate uncle is good by him.

“The more the merrier,” May raises her bottle.

After that, the kitchen needs his hands again.

---

The afternoon is spent preparing the sides, checking in on the truly gargantuan turkey and indulging their cat with nibbles and head scratches. May and Margaret spend the time drinking beer and cider, reminiscing their college years. It’s nice to hear the house full of laughter, given how somber the mood was when they were last all together.

“When did you get a cat?” Peter directs his question to Jarvis, accepting a peeler from him to attack the carrots.

The cat in question is completely black and delightfully plump, not overly so, but enough to indicate it’s decently fed but probably also a little lazy. Or maybe he just thinks that now that it lies tall on the peak on its scratching post, tail flicking idly while it watches them work tirelessly in the kitchen from above.

“Oh, about a year ago. Gives Peggy some company while I'm in the garage. She’s a sweetheart, this one.”

“What’s her name?”

“Friday the Thirteenth. Friday for short.”

“That’s, um, unique.”

“Was the day we adopted her,” Jarvis reaches up to scratch her. “And she’s a black cat, so, you know; spooky.”

Peter tilts his head to the side, considering it. “I like it.”

“Not bad, huh.”

“Yep. It’s a better name than Molly,” he mutters, shaking a slimy carrot shaving off his fingers.

Jarvis pauses. “As in Ringwald?”

Peter sighs and continues peeling.

----

“Did I ever tell you about the time May came to class in a bathing suit?”

“I don’t think they need to hear that --”

“So we have this exam,” Peggy says, ignoring May, “Super important. Fifty percent of our overall grade. She comes in late, dripping wet, the biggest hickey on her neck I have ever seen --”

“Peggy.”

“-- Only thing saving her modesty was Ben’s shirt over her shoulders. I had to lend her a pen so she could sit the exam.”

“Did you pass though,” Peter asks curiously, shovelling a large lump of mashed potato into his mouth.

“Top grades,” she winks at him.

“She sat there for two hours, dripping water onto the ground and got flying colors. Meanwhile I’m the idiot who studied for weeks and got marked down twenty points for --”

The end of her sentence gets cut off by the sound of a car approaching the property, headlights flashing through the windows.

Then, a knock at the door.

“Ah, that must be…” Ed trails off, wiping his hand on a napkin before standing. “Excuse me.”

He goes to answer the front door, Margaret continues her story albeit much more quietly until the voices of Ed and their guest filter through, becoming progressively louder.

“Sorry to intrude, I know it’s the holidays --”

Wait. That voice is familiar.

“Nonsense,” Ed interrupts, “you know you’re welcome anytime. You’re practically family, kid. Come in, we’re eating now, you’re just in time.”

Peter’s fork clangs loudly on his plate when he sees their visitor, unable to keep his grip on the utensil as his limbs start to tingle. He forgets how to breathe for a second, entire body going hot.

Ed’s arm is around Tony Stark and they’re approaching through the living room, heading right for them. There’s a fresh cut on his lip and an ugly, wreath of bruising around his jaw and neck, deeply purple, speckled spots of burst capillaries visible from even where he’s sitting.

The worst part isn’t the intrusion. It’s how Tony looks unlike himself; he looks small and skittish, gaze flicking nervously around the room, arms curled around his waist. Something in his chest starts to feel the closer he gets, weird, hot and unwieldy, burning, like a hot poker has been drawn across his sternum.

“You’re the best, Jar...vis,” Tony trails off when he spots the Parkers, eyes zeroing in on Peter.

“Um,” Peter says, sharing a surprised look with May, not knowing what else to say.

But then suddenly Tony is shaking his head, shrugging out of Ed’s embrace and backing up, the skittish look gone and replaced with anger.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No fucking way.”

Then he turns, and leaves.

----

tagging: @bylerboyfriends @ravens-starker-stuff, @starker-rays, @ironspiderstarker, @muse-of-gods, @notfor-temporaryuse, @tabbycat1220, @sugarfreecult, @rebel13lion39, @plueschpop, @spideravocados, @jellybbunny, @booktrashme, @elfkido, @mycatislickingmybedsheets, @queerghostboyo, @disneyprincessdominatrix, @cherrygoldlove @starkerflowers@starkeristheendgame @thewolffearsher @starkersugar , @starkerforlife6969, @css1992, @parkerrbitch, @fuckmemrstark, @blankblankityblank, @ilovemoreid, @blaquedecember, @killmylonelysoul, @notfor-temporaryuse, @arvaen, @chaos-with-a-pen, @notnormallaura, @portiamarie02, @bloodymisanthropist, @ser-no-tonin, @staticwhispersinthedark

#starker #tony stark x peter parker #ironspider #high school au

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 13

Chapters: 13/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan “Jon” Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can’t help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

If someone had asked Martin where he had least expected to be on the day after his thirtieth birthday, the veterinarian probably wouldn’t have been at the top of his list, but it definitely would have made the top ten.

Honestly, Martin didn’t think he had ever stepped foot into a vet clinic before in his life. He had never owned so much as a pet hamster, and now here he stood, clutching a tiny ball of mewling fluff and trying not to get distracted by the pet toys.

He felt positively inundated with new information on all sides. There were about a million different types of pet food lining the walls, and everything seemed to be a new bright colour to draw his distracted eyes. Warning signs that made very little sense to him filled the space, most memorably ‘Large birds must be kept leashed at all times inside the practice’, and ‘Reptiles need to be secured inside their travel enclosures.’

There was indeed an iguana in a massive glass enclosure sunning itself under a heat lamp, but it appeared to be a permanent resident, not a guest. Seemingly opposite to this was the massive tabby cat draped across the reception desk.

Martin begins to panic slightly.

He desperately wished he had allowed one of his lovers to accompany him, but he had sent Gerry back to bed to sleep and Jon had been shooed off to work, both quite thoroughly hung-over.

Now here he stands, alone with his new fluffy friend, and doesn't even know where to start. Neither of his partners have ever actually had a kitten before, but at least they had both owned cats before.

Gerry had been adopted by Saturn as a full-grown boy when he arrived at the window of his shitty little flat in Edinburgh and demanded to be let in. Gerry had confessed to a romantic feeling of instant affection for the fluffy beast and had taken Saturn in without a moment’s hesitation. They had moved together as he traveled the country, eventually settling together in London, where he had found Jon again.

Jon had been raised with several cats that had all been born before him and had liked them, but he had told Martin once that he heavily associated cats with his Grandmother and his slightly cold upbringing. That was all the pet experience he had until he met Saturn and fell in love with him as easily as they’d both fallen in love with Gerry. Like goth, like feline companion, apparently.

Nevertheless, Saturn did not appreciate being taken to the vet and had never gone once since Martin had met him.

"Can I help you, sir?" A kind-looking older lady sat at reception, and she beaconed Martin forward gently.

"I- I-" He started, stuttering badly. He closed his eyes and shook himself to dispel the unfortunate remnant of his childhood. “I found this kitten, and I was hoping the vet could check on it for me?”

“And will you be wanting to surrender it into our care?” She asks, tapping away at her keyboard.

“What?” Martin shies away, pulling the cat protectively even closer to his chest.

“You’re more than welcome to keep it, but we do also take in strays if you aren’t able to.” She smiles at him soothingly.

“Oh, I want to keep her please.” Martin flushes a bit. “I already gave her a name.”

The woman smiles at him knowingly. “The vet can see you in 15 minutes then.”

She takes his contact information, and they weigh Martin’s new friend. She guesses the kitten's age to be about 2 weeks and sends him off to sit close to the iguana.

An hour later, Martin stumbles out the door, armed with more supplies than he could ever have imagined he needed to raise one small animal. His head is spinning, alternating between fond adoration and complete anxiety over this new task that he has given himself. Luna meows at him supportively, happy to be clean and have a full belly.

Out on the street, he finds Jon. It’s raining slightly, and he’s wrapped in a long peacoat, with a scarf Martin is certain was once his.

“What are you doing here?” Martin demands, shocked. He stumbles over to his partner, and Jon reaches out to steady him. “I thought you were at the library."

Jon presses a quick kiss to his shocked mouth, before taking several things out of his overcrowded arms.

"I know you said that you were going to do this on your own, but I wanted to be nearby in case you needed me, so I called off." He shrugs a bit, "I reckoned that I had earned it, what with all the overtime I work and don't get paid for."

Martin is filled with warmth, eyes welling a bit. "Oh, Jon."

"Oh no, don't cry. I'm sorry." Jon's face pinches in concern. "I can go if you want me to."

"No, I'm so happy you're here. I was just wishing for you, and there you were. Thank you." Martin steps towards him as best he can, and they kiss softly for a few moments, out in the rain.

In time, the kitten, haphazardly clutched to Martin's chest, makes her displeasure at the soggy conditions known. Gripping hands tightly, Jon and Martin set off towards the bookstore, just a couple blocks over.

It’s quiet when they arrive, the morning pre-work rush over, and the student and lunch crowds far off yet. The two baristas and Tim descend upon them immediately when they see the small head poking out of Martin’s coat. There is much cooing and fuss over Luna, and Martin recounts the tale of discovering her in the back alley of Gerry’s bar.

Once they return to work, Jon and Martin settle on one of the sofas, a coffee table before them. They make up a small cat bed, which Luna explores for a few moments, before sitting at the edge and staring at Martin imploringly. He scopes her up and plops her inside, before placing the tiny bed right in his lap. She happily passes out after that, the wild adventures of the morning catching up with her little kitten body.

Deciding to truly have the day off, Jon does not take out his laptop and start working on it, instead ordering their tea, picking a book to read from the store, and bringing it all over to settle with his partner.

“Thank you for coming,” Martin tells him, a soft look on his face. He leans an elbow on the back of the couch, head resting on his fist. “I didn’t even realise how much I needed you until I saw you there.”

“I know,” Jon starts, frowning in concentration, “that I’m not always the best at sensing these things, that sometimes I can be too focused on myself and the things going on in my head. I do hope that I always manage to catch the important moments, and I trust that you’ll always let me know when I don’t.”

Jon pauses, and sighs, a self-deprecating smile lining his face. He continues, “I want to learn to be who you need me to be. I want to be for you, what you always are to me. I love you, Martin.”

“I love you too, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, before placing a sweet kiss in his palm. “You are exactly who I need you to be.”

It is a soft, hazy sort of day. The rain pours outside, and Jon lies against Martin and reads two books before lunchtime. Martin practices bottle-feeding Luna, every few hours, and Jon sits nearby watching nervously. He wonders vaguely if his partner is alarmed to be around an infant of any kind for a while, but on the third feeding, Jon seems to rouse himself and offers to give it a try.

Each time a new client comes in, there's a round of cooing and petting, and Martin worries that she’ll be spoiled rotten in no time. He imagines that if she spends much time here, he’ll have to sell cat treats and Luna will one day be as fat as a house.

At one point, Jon starts to read aloud, and Martin seems to fall asleep gently propped against his shoulder. He wakes to find Jon laughing softly and Luna learning to use him as a climbing frame.

"I think she likes you, love," Martin whispers into his hair.

"Well, I think I might like her too," Jon confesses, a world away from his scepticism of just this morning.

After lunchtime, Gerry flies into the store very manically, clutching a very strange backpack to his chest. It has a weird clear window, reminiscent of a ship’s porthole, and the rest of it is hard structured plastic.

He ducks down to kiss first Martin, then Jon, before thrusting the backpack into Martin's hands.

"What is this?" Martin asks, holding it away from himself as if it might bite.

"It's a cat backpack. Saturn has always preferred it to a normal cat basket, and I thought it might be useful if we need to take her to work with us and then back to various flats." Gerry walks around the table, bodily picking up Jon's legs and sitting beneath them. He looks like nothing so much as a large, damp bat, black trench coat flapping around him like over large wings. "I ordered her one of her own, but it won't be here for a few days, so I brought Saturn's in the meantime."

There's a beat of shocked silence, so Gerry adds, "Only if you want it, obviously."

"I- I do, thank you." Martin can feel himself blushing with odd pleasure.

He had made sure to ask them if they were okay with Martin keeping Luna, but he hadn't really expected them to embrace the situation with such gusto, and his heart burns with an odd intensity at their gestures of support.

It's almost-

It's almost like they love him, and care about all the things he cares about.

Martin sits, staring at a cat backpack, and allows the realisation to wash over him. It hits him like a tidal wave, despite the dozens and maybe hundreds of times they've said the words to him.

He feels very foolish, left floored by the fact that his lovers- well, that they love him!

Martin knows, understands even, that he has been left slightly broken by his father leaving, his mother hating him, the things that he chose to do to survive in his early adulthood. He does understand that, and yet he never realized that he was hearing Jon and Gerry say they love him and saying the words back, and yet subtly holding on to the (clearly mistaken) understanding that they don't really mean them.

It makes a sick kind of sense, clinging to the idea that they don't really care about him, so when they decide that they don't anymore, it doesn't leave him broken beyond repair.

Martin puts the cat bag down on the table, hands Luna to Gerry, and gets up. He waves at them reassuringly when they try to ask him what's wrong, before walking to the bathroom, locking the door, and sobbing like a child for several long moments.

As Luna grows, she spends time with each of them.

Gerry takes her most of the first nights, feeding her through the evenings and then handing her back to Martin as he leaves for the bookstore.

This means she spends quite a lot of her formative life in a bar, but when Martin goes in to check on them, he finds Gerry's plastered clientele just as enamored with the kitten as his own tea-drinking patrons.

Jon likes to have her in the late afternoons, keeping her at the library for a few sleepy hours before he leaves for the day. He tells Martin once that the children's reading group comes in during that time, and he likes to sit in with them and let Luna listen along.

The children, of course, adore her and Jon tells Martin very primly, "Listening comprehension is a very important skill in a developing infant."

Martin finds it hilarious and adorable and can't help but pull Jon into his arms and kiss him breathless, an unimpressed Luna trapped between them.

Saturn does not appreciate Luna at first, disappearing in a huff the first few times Martin brings her over to the studio.

"Don't worry about it, love." Gerry had waved away his concern casually. "He's just a jealous baby. He'll figure out that she wants to play with him eventually, and then they'll be the best of friends."

Indeed, Martin walks into the kitchen one morning to find the two cats curled together in a shaft of sunshine. Saturn is gently giving her a bath, and Luna purrs sweetly at the attention.

When Saturn notices him watching, he untangles himself, shows Martin his bum, and then disappears. He's reminded of nothing so much as Gerry himself, caught eating ice cream for breakfast, or smoking during the day, an activity he would insist is a nighttime pursuit only. The same drama is employed as a distraction technique, and Martin wonders whether the cat learnt it from the goth, or the goth learnt it from the cat.

Luna grows and settles, and Martin adores having her more than almost anything.

He takes the time, as they raise her, to force himself to accept his life for what it truly is. He puts aside the constant nagging fear that Jon and Gerry will lose interest in him one day and begins to notice all the ways they show him they love him, which makes the words all the more precious to him when they take the time to tell him.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #fic #also on ao3

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kaetastic · 4 years

Text

HISTORY UNFOLDS. 3/3

pairing: Finn Shelby x Reader, Luca Changretta x Reader, Deceased!John Shelby x Reader

summary: A favour that is pending to be fulfilled calls Y/N to Birmingham, from a very old friend. However, the youngest Shelby soon discovers her past with his deceased brother, John, and the one who had ordered the murdering, Luca Changretta.

word count: 17.4k

warning: all sorts of angst, mentions of death, war, mentions of violence, mentions of firearm, mentions of blood, smut, profanities, age gap (read note)

note: finally! it is the last part and I can finally finish my other works! thank you for reading! finn is 18, the reader is 37

Part 1 | Part 2

It had been nearly five weeks, some would call it few which passed by in a blink of an eye; however, it was not the same case for Y/N as she was forced to sit in the bed, tucked with puddling sweat in the sheets of her bed while she was being nurtured by her own employees. Even though the poor quivering doctors who had been ‘kidnapped’ (Dante liked to call it guiding) had said that it would be good to walk, she has to keep in mind to not push herself. The woman was not having any of it.

There were so many things to listen to, so many mouths babbling, so many feet dashing in and out of her room while she was in the bed, forever to be plastered over the surface by suffocating tight bandages. With that, she was caught scribbling in her book after three weeks. Dante had steam gushing out of his ears when he stumbled upon the sight, knowing the book resided in the living room. The only reason he was furious was due to the fact that the furthest distance he had strictly ordered to her was the only window in the bedroom, which was ten steps away from her bed. Three days after his hour-long lecture, she was found smoking and sipping on whiskey in the open kitchen, a newspaper splayed out on her lap.

Despite the words from other advisors, she waved it all off as if she was flipping away from the sports’ section of the newspaper. What made matters worse were she had been counting the days she had last seen or met up with Finn. Every time she would try to focus on the work that laid in front of her, to blind herself from the tremoring pain muffled by the bandage, much to her men’s dismay, her mind would revert to him and the night he had stayed with her. The oozing ink in the pen would dry off like clothing hung up in the snoring wind for the never-ending counting days.

The very unfortunate time Connor had barged through the front door he was met with a very bare man. It didn’t go so well with his boss. During her venting, three minutes in and Y/N was clutching on her waist. The woman insisted stubbornly that she was fine, however, the men knew better than to believe the lies she sputtered. In all honesty, she felt fine. Halfway through week four, she had tried to relieve the frustration of being strapped to the bed and pain from the wound by meeting other men. Some she had met while prancing down the street or strolling around the nearby park. To only end up alone in her room, sipping on whatever liquor was strong enough to haze the thought of Finn. None of them was like him. Their touches didn’t feel like his. Had she gone through all the trouble for a cuddling session?

So for days, she has been desperate for anything. Any chance or luck for someone to fall on her platter; she was starving, her mouth drooling to devour a meal, heck, she can even shove down a whole horse right at it. When she wasn’t scribbling on her books or worrying about her business in America, she had enough time to ponder. Even though she had these time to leisure, she wasted it all on trying to relieve the pent up frustration by going to places.

“Is there anything on my schedule today, Dante?” The woman quirked up, shaking her feet that were perched up on her wooden desk, a hair’s breadth away from her container of pens. One wrong kick and the floor would be an exercise to clean (not to her, of course). Her windows were cranked open, the wind blew whistles into the hotel room, breezing an infant tornado. However, the space between its frame and the window was minuscule. A faint odour of smoke and factories danced in the air, all the way from the industry side of Birmingham. With her body slouching lazily on her rotating chair, the seat let out a desperate squeak as she shifted sharply. Although it was the long-awaited day for the removal of the bandage, she had done what she was told not to do as soon as the bandage was removed, which was sitting in a manner that could make the wound worst. While her chin laid on her chest, a burgundy glass of wine swirled in her cup, dancing in a regular choreography. The surface of her tongue was coated with the sweet, intoxicating flavour.

The man lifted up the leather book, his raven hair swept down to curtain his eyes. As his fingers descended down the dates, the caress halted when it landed on the current date.

The Italian shook his head, “Today’s free day. Tomorrow, get ready to buy a bottle of whiskey. So… can I go to the pub?” Shooting a glinting smile, Dante hugged the book to his chest as if a little kid, pleading to his mother for a lemon sweet. Y/N let out a huff, her head was thrown back into the back of her chair.

“When have I stopped you?” He nodded, agreeing to her point.

Even though she had tried her hardest to get over with the work that had been piling on her desk, towering above her and nearly grazing over the ceiling, the thought of Finn somehow made way into her head- even when her task had nothing to do with the boy. To say the least, it frustrated her, especially with the fact that her efficiency in completing work has been declining. No matter how many papers she stuffed in her ears, nothing stopped his appearances in her head.

An exhale fell off her lips, slightly heavier than she thought it would’ve been.

“Anyways, good. I want to visit a friend today.” She mumbled, kicking her feet off before placing her cup on the table. Dante watched his boss as she paced around the room, a compass hovered over her head while she dashed left to the right. Her dress that rested below her knees danced in the air, slicing it in half with every sprint. After yanking her coat from the hanger with a swift tug, the clothing that was made for frigid weather let out a huff as it was thrown over the wooden table.

It was possible for her to visit Finn, entirely possible. There really was nothing stopping her from visiting him, except for the extensive list she had concocted for herself. It had killed her to why she hadn’t done so, a thought of her reverting the direction of the car to pay him a visit popped out in her head before it was poked with a pin. No, it was harder than it sounded.

Polly’s words swirled in her head, hovering around her mind as she would scribble against paper all day. Women like us. What had the lady meant? Every time she would dismiss that thought and not worry about the age gap since Finn was technically considered a man, she remembered that he was the younger brother of the man that had saved her. Heck, Finn was fresh out of the womb born when she was nineteen. That was a lot to digest. But a part of her clung onto the moments where it seemed he had returned back the same kind of affection.

If she could not fall asleep, all she had to think of was the night he pulled her out of her bedroom during the sobbing incident. He didn’t even ask after the night, leaving it in the past. Although a part of her had been slightly grateful since she wouldn’t be able to conjugate sentences if he were to ask, another part of her believed that he truly didn’t care, a faded idea was that she was just his host after all- he was just repaying back that deed. However, she had been slightly upset that he hadn’t bothered to prod in, he hadn’t insisted for her to open up. The woman herself was a frustrating mess. The road split into two, could she not go through the middle? Maybe it was for the best.

There were so many reasons that should’ve already been embedded into her head to why being around Finn wasn’t good for her or for the boy himself; however, looking back, she liked the aura he radiated when she was around him, she felt different. A good different.

“Where you goin’?” Dante inquired. He watched as his boss smoothly slides into her shoulder holster before stabbing her metal key into the lock, yanking open the drawers which sent quivering tremors throughout the container. Whatever had been chucked in the drawer had danced to the earthquake-like beat.

Bending, Y/N squinted her eyes for any sign of her pistol. Her fingers rapidly wrapped around the gun. She twirled it around, her eyes ran over the firearm for a quick inspection. When she made sure the safety pin was still intact, she tucked it safely in her holster, “Near the bridge.”

Dante bopped his head even though a part of him had been driven to confusion. Normally, she would either go to the club alone or at fortunate times, she would call the day off for everybody. He still remembered the joy radiated from Connor when he had heard the news. Only because Y/N had thrown one of the clients she could not tolerate due to his irritating voice. Everyone agreed with her opinion, the nasal tone was no different than rubbing a squeaky cloth on a window. His eyes followed her as he watched her slide into her coat in one swift, “Do you need me to fetch Connor to drive?”

Y/N shook her head, “There is no need.”

“You should take at least one of the boys, I’ll come.”

While she struggled to pick up the car key from her desk, she threw a glare at the man, “You stay here and watch over the boys. I know that last slice of pie was eaten by one of you. You keep your eyes out and tell them I’ll shoot a bullet through their forehead if they touch my last piece of cake, I’m sure they do not wish for a third eye to be a permanent tattoo.”

Without waiting for his response, she had left her room. The carpet caused her heels to sink into the bedding, she let out a huff at the factor that would slow her speed down.

Although it was a risky move to leave the hotel or leave the city overall, she knew that it would be impossible for the opposing side to know that she was involved in the situation. If they had found out, though, she would just applaud. She hoped that they hadn’t thought about inspecting each and every one of the garages since it was random and out of the blue. There, she would run into some trouble. No target had hovered above her forehead just yet. Tommy didn’t save her so she could prance on the street or take a tour around England while his family was held on strings by the mafia.

Inserting the keys in her car, she let it rest in place while she leaned back into the seat; her fingers subconsciously already ready with the flaming stick of cancer. While going down the elevator, she had noted the unrelenting eyes thrown at her as if she was a mere museum display. They weren’t even bothered to hide behind a cloth. Disgust prickled against her skin when it didn’t stop there. There were an abundant amount of judgmental people who would elevate their eyes to look run their eyes on her figure.

Sauntering down the street were white-haired men who waved their golden canes and women with their head held up so high that the flap of their head might just flip open. It was not quite like America. However, the amount of times eyes had gazed at her while she sat in the car alone had multiplied tenfold. They were probably wondering where the real owner of the car was. She chuckled, shaking her head before starting the heavy journey.

The ink from his pen smeared the paper, seeping into the sheet as he scribbled with confidence after he had read the line for the second time. Strokes of black lines finally set into the sheet of paper once he had given it time to rest. Raising it in the air, Tommy narrowed his eyes, squinting as he ran his orbs over the lines once again. Nothing wrong with rechecking. The man clicked his tongue when he spotted the unsatisfactory word.

As soon as the paper glided back down onto the wooden table, his fingers were agile to scribble over. The sheet was organized, neat and professional. That was until the intended marking he wanted to be a sophisticated dot was dragged to draw a line across the paper.

“Fucking hell, Finn,” Thomas let out a huff, creaking back into his seat as his eyes gazed at his youngest brother. Was his office a barging room now? Slight aggravation roared in the boss’s gut at the paper which seemed his son had plucked out for a quick drawing session. “What do you want?”

Resting the pen onto the table, Thomas pulled his glasses off. Finn gazed around the room before he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him with a creak, “I heard you were going to send Arthur to tell Y/N of the party.”

“So this’s about Y/N then?”

Thomas saw right through him like a beam through a badly-woven sheet of wool, cutting through the pores with an exhale. Finn cowered his true intention by a blush, although, he felt like Thomas already knew. Watching people be read by Thomas was amusing since they tried hard to stack bricks around them, thinking they had him on the other side. However, all Finn wanted was his older brother to lose that ability or power of doing so.

“Well, what do you want to know about it?” Yanking a fresh cig out of the metal case, Thomas rubbed the stick over his lips before flicking his lighter.

Finn pursed his lips before he made way towards his older brother, his strands of hair had curled out in peculiar angles, almost as if he was in a haste to meet Thomas. His fingers brushed over the bulging strands of cloth from his flat cap, “Could I be the one to tell her?”

Narrowing his eyes, Thomas leaned back against the back of his creaking chair. A swirl of smoke danced from his cigarette while he stared at the youngest Shelby. Just a little bit of digging and he might be able to find a treasure chest, “Is there any particular reason to why you would want to do such a simple task?”

The youngest chewed his bottom lip, eyes darted to the shadowy corner, “Not exactly… Could I just tell her?”

With the dangling stick resting between his fingers, Thomas raised the cup of whiskey. He took a quick sip before he tried to read his brother once again, “I was planning to just ring her a call, simple as that.”

“Well, I’ll do it, I’ll go meet her.”

A moment of silence squeezed in between the brothers before Thomas rapped the air with his huffing cig, “Shagged her yet?”

“Huh?” Eyes shooting wide open, Finn’s ajar mouth suddenly became parched, lost at words from his brother’s words.

“You stayed at her lodge, defended her against Polly and Ada. Now you want to be the one to invite her, personally, might I add. So, have you shagged her yet?”

Finn’s cheeks tainted red before he shook his head. The vapour swirled into his nose, warming his lungs, “Good, she was close to John,” Noticing the confused stare from the youngest of the Shelby, Thomas quirked his eyebrows. “Well then? Why you still here?”

Never had Finn sprint out of Thomas’ office as fast as he ever did.

As the breeze kissed her skin, she sported a smile that had not faltered or quivered. Nothing was there to threaten the curved line. When her eyes darted towards her left after she made sure that no objects were obstructing her way; that the vehicle was on the right path, she took in the view of the gentle and young stream of pure, nearly crystal-clear water. Beheaded flowers glided over the smooth stream as if a basket-worth of the unfortunate greeneries had been dumped, its white petals gave the flower equilibrium, floating. No matter how hard of an effort the flowers tried their best to close their arms, luck was not on their side. The sweet pollen was bare in the open as if it called for the blade ends of bees to suckle onto its treasury. While it floated over the water, it sang in falsetto. Amusing infant-like curls of waves nudged against the odd land, which curled and twirled in an almost peculiar way that mother nature herself would never act upon.

Even if one was to be shackled in gold chains towards their banks, their money would never be adequate; it wasn’t possible to have such an astonishing view in the cluster of bar-like buildings. Here, in the middle of nowhere, was a sea of colourless diamonds, with a tint of hazy blue which had labelled a price tag that would cause ones’ eyes to bulge out of its socket, and a tranquil melody, a song sung by no one, yet, clearer than the freshest record player on the market. In the midst of a city, weaving canals were the bloodstreams of death and feculent odours. It was humorous, a plot of land, ruled by the dominating creature was nothing to an open area- where there was no crown, no king. Just survival. Without a doubt, the only thing that could stand against the clarity of the stream in the fields would be the new batch of glass cups that would sooner or later be the wives of countless of lips; home for attentive liquor. The wind was a monitored road, heavily watching the children pass the street towards their school for education, the empty bags they had brought sacked the heaviness that sat on her shoulder for weeks on end. Not even liqueur, a close friend she had opened up to, can relief of the lively thoughts in her head.

There were no other disturbing noises, no other exhausts that had tainted the air (even though she wished she had just chosen to walk, the distance would’ve caused her to collapse like an emaciated horse), no yelling and no other reminder of the city life, other than her car which was her sole accompany. A smear of bleeding red jam against the white toast was the extensive field of bristles of grass whose heads stood erected like swords. Despite the bedding of blades, there were elegant heads of flowers that protruded in between the warriors. Her fingers drummed over the steering wheel, she began to hum, which was muffled by her throat as she imagined the life she had desired in the past.

A life in the forest, a family in a humble, little cottage in the middle of nowhere. Was it even possible? A man whose hands had been dipped in blood? It was forever to be stained. No matter the barrels of cleaning agent, no matter the intense concentration. How had she expected him to drop the empire he had ruled over for a fairy tale? Even though he was a speckle of dirt in the past, her broom swishing technique was not yet solid, despite it already being two years. Her mind swatted the thought away. It left her at awe how a sauntering thought could ruin her mood. That was until she had to force upon her head to ponder of joyful memories she had actually enjoyed.

Once a blur of what would normally be claustrophobic and grey, trickled in the corner of her eyes, her lips faltered to a tight line. The tree that hovered above the plot of land, protected the buried bodies under it like a parasol. Y/N let out a staggering exhale at what she was about to do. Was she even ready? It might’ve taken eight years for her to overcome, was it enough? While her brain chattered amongst its belief of how she had succeeded to wipe that part of her memory, her heart, in piercing shackles, disagreed. Although she wanted to turn the vehicle back into the deadly fumes of the city, the time had ticked short. The graveyard waited patiently as if it had expected her visit. Various shapes of standing blocks of stone stood out from the breathless view of nature which she’ll never be able to get tired of. A calm resting place for inanimate bodies. If she had the chance to choose where her body would be buried, it would be here.

After halting the exhaust, she hopped out of the vehicle, trying her hardest to fend off the hefty thoughts that would only chain her to the car, her only escape. Inhaling in the air, she noted that it was light, a twinge of sweetness swirled in the batch as if dripping honey. While her eyes were shut tight, she sucked it in as if she had been starved of it. Cleansing the fumes of city life in her lungs, the crisp strands made home in the warm organ, she made sure to cover every nook and crevice. The woman who wore a coat that was the colour a tone down of cigarette ashes lingered near the ton of metal before taking a hefty step. It reminded her of the unforgettable war, the heavy sludge of mud she had to trek into, to drag a wounded soldier to safety.

The air was truly one of a kind, it would be considered as an extinct species in the bustling life in the city with all its deadly vapours and feculent odours. If it was to be bottled up and released into the tainted air of the city, the existence of humans alone would cause it to shrink to death. Every step she took towards the location felt like it had been inching down, engulfed by the starving ground. The strings that held her beating heart snapped, after all the years it had to endure while she wore her heart low- the line was bound to wear off, it plunged the organ into the gurgling acid of her gut. The holster that she had been wearing daily ever since she had entered the risky business, suddenly felt like a hefty cargo hook. The feeling was uncanny to that of when she had been given her first shoulder holster, given by someone who had engraved ‘L’ on the front of the strap.

Finally, after what felt like ages, she stood in front of the tomb. The engraved letters that spelt out his name blared into her eyes. Seeing his name in her head was different than seeing it in reality. Her hands curled into a faint fist as thoughts bounced off the walls of her head. The woman squatted down, her knees brushed against the poking heads of the grass. The soft caress of flowers and the breezy wind was the only anchor wrapped around her ankles that kept her from floating away from reality.

Her mouth stood, gaped open, there were so many words she wanted to regurgitate out of her chest, yet, it had clogged in her throat, obstructing the path of air. The coat that draped over her shoulder felt like an awful whole load of weight sitting on her. Reluctantly, she pondered if removing her coat and her defence was a good idea, especially since she was out in the open, where she was vulnerable. Was she to risk her life in the field of grass over buried bodies? Yes, all in the name of respect and trust in those who watched over her. Tugging off her navy swing coat, her fingers brushed over the warm leather straps of her shoulder holster. A second passed; she hesitated before she slid them off. The ground muffled the thud of the metal with its thick layer of soil, the pair of her favourite firearms accompanied each other onto the grassy ground.

Fiddling with the hem of her sand-coloured skirt that stooped below her knees, she sat, pondering with lively thoughts in her head that milled around, the tranquillity of the air gave her the opportunity to think, which might not be pleasant since there was a chance for her to overthink. An offer the city could never be able to provide unless she had downed at least two rock glass worth of vodka, neat. Even though she was enjoying the memories that were played in her head, she had finally spoken up, “Wished I got here earlier, you could’ve shown me around Birmingham,” Y/N sent a smile at the carved name as her fingers brushed the blades of grass. The woman could imagine his face, his voice and his reaction. Eight years of nothing. “You wouldn’t have been underground.”

The smile she wore flew off her face, the wind fled from the scene with the joy it had just stolen. Wincing from the pinching ache in her leg muscles, she let out a huff before making herself a place on the ground, somewhat reluctantly, indenting the field; it took a long second to get used to as the blades pierced into her, mercilessly. Even shifting to find a more comfortable position was painful. After succeeding, her fingers played with the neck of the flowers. “Finally met your brother, saved him too,” She grinned at the thought of the youngest Shelby as she patted the head of the flower who let out an uncomfortable groan. Before it snapped its face away from her, not wanting to be assaulted, once she had let it go from her suffocating grip. “I remembered when I saved you.”

Her fingers halted, hovering above a neighbouring quivering daisy who danced to the tune of the air, “Blood covered you from head to toe, thought you were a mental man before Tommy came to me,” The poor flower was caressed by her finger. “Not a mental man,” Her eyes flickered towards the tombstone. “A good man.”

An ache twanged in her chest as she laid out the heavy words that had been piling up for eight torturous years, “What happened during the war was a mistake, I’m only quoting whatever you said,” She chuckled when she could practically hear his voice trickle in her ears, his chuckle felt nostalgic. The clarity was as if it was just a faint whisper from the night before. “It must’ve been rough after hearing the news that Martha had passed, she was a strong woman. I wouldn’t know how it’d feel if my husband left to fight for the country while I stay at home, a babe in me,” Y/N sent a glance at her belly before she darted her eyes towards the carved name. “Even though what we did was a mere… moment, I can’t forget about it,” She mumbled. “When I left for America, all I could think about was you, though for a period of time… it was suppressed. You said you were the kids will be looked after you, all by yourself, I remembered asking if you needed help… you said no. If only I had stayed... if only I had insisted.”

Beads of tears rested to glaze her eyes, a haze coated her vision, “I’d assume they’re doing fine with your new wife.”

“They are,” Her eyes snapped wide, the tears she held on her eyes splattered into the air, breezing through the wind to splash upon thirsty greeneries. As she hastily yanked her pistol from the holster, there were a series of tremors pulsing in her fingers. Y/N stared at the figure, elbow pierced into the ground while her lip quivered from her oppressed tears that sat behind a thin sheet of a dam. “Woah, woah, there’s no need for guns, hey...”

Behind her layer of salty tears, she could make out that it was Finn. His lanky height, his cut of a hair and the way his voice smeared against her ears. Squatting down to her level, he rested his hand above hers that gripped on the firearm. He pushed it down to point it at the ground, away from him. Although he had not experienced such a situation where a gun was so closely held for his head, his reaction was calm and collected. While staring deep in her glossy eyes, he swam through the endless barriers. Finn managed to gently remove the gun from her grip before he placed it back on her coat.

His face hovered over hers by a hair’s breadth, their eyes lingered as if locked. Y/N couldn’t believe this was the second time he would get to see her like this, frail and weak like a quivering doe. Before she had the chance to wipe the tears off, his hand rested on her cheeks as he took a casual seat, pulling her to do the same. As soon as his thumb pressed softly against her eyes, she let out a sob. His heart drummed against his ribs, had he poked her by accident? He had been extremely meticulous. What he didn’t expect was for her to bawl in his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a desperate hug. Without a thought, he shifted closer towards her, his hand laid behind her head as she let out bursts of tears.

It felt longer than it should’ve, but Finn was not complaining. The view of her against the atrocious field was a sight. The memories of her and John had overflowed her head, it was seeping out of the bucket to flood and concoct a puddle. The soothing caress of Finn’s fingers against her hair had placed her in a tranquil mood. When her sobbing had died down, a melody worth dancing to was sung by the stream of water and the rustling of the sole, lonely tree. Not a sorrowful tune. There was peace the place engulfed them in, more comforting than any blanket she had slept in. Although a thought flew by for Finn to pull away, the boy hadn’t bothered. Growing up in a family of violence and harm, the Peaky Blinder boy found the warmth of the place to be just like when he was a mere boy, cared for. Weaving through the locks of her hair, his fingers were wrapped as he prodded his digits into her roots. Finn sprung into the spotlight when he found the beats of the song to be catchy. The humming of a lullaby echoed from his throat, the muffled noise resounded down his chest and into the woman’s ears.

“I’m not a baby, I’m a man,” Fingers brushing over the drenched puddle of salty tears, which was worth a scandalous rumour, she chewed the bottom of her lips as she waited for his reaction. A loud cackle hurled into the air, a booming noise that awakened the slumbering flocks of birds. There was no doubt, it was not difficult to find his laughter pleasing and almost like a strum of an ethereal strum. It was contagious. The disease jumped into her before she knew it, she joined by letting out a chuckle. Although she would’ve liked for her head to remain on him, the cloth had become damp- slapped onto her face, a favourite method of Dante’s to wake the woman up from her sleep. Finally pulling away from his chest, the weight placed on his chest had been removed. “I’m sorry, I don’t easily cry… I don’t know what’s with me lately, it’s just…”

Finn gawked mockingly, “What? I make you sad?”

“No! no!” Y/N shouted, smacking his chest which caused him to let out an amused chuckle. “It’s just, I just let it all out when I’m with you.”

Finn watched the way the strands of her hair flew in the sky as she sprung her gaze towards the field. Taking note of the way her fingers were fiddling quite nervously, he dragged the mood up, “So I’m your doctor now, huh?”

Throwing her head back in laughter, the grin on her face hadn’t been wiped off as the moment felt surreal. A glint of sparkle twinkled in his eyes, “Yeah, you fix me.”

“Then, I must’ve done a good job.” A chuckle bounced off his cocky statement.

Gesturing her head towards his flooded stain on his suit, she mumbled under her breath, “I’m sorry about that.” The boy glanced down, words sprinted around his head as he tried to find the correct method of replying. Never had he had to deal with a woman bawling her eyes out on him.

Even though he hadn’t found the perfect way to reassure her, he threw the coin into the canal with fingers crossed, “Just a few hours in the wind and it’ll not even be there,” She nodded, the back of her palm swiped over the line of tears obstructing her vision from the gorgeous view. Although a part of him had brought up the idea of raising his voice to ask her what had been causing her such sorrow, in hopes of maybe lifting the weight off of her shoulders to ease her from the pain, he decided to revert the topic.

“Wait, how did you know I was here?”

“Oh, right, Tommy sent me to your hotel,” The half-lie and half-truth echoed into her ears. It was more truth than a lie, although, he had not bothered to interject the part where he had insisted, forced, his brother to send him, to deliver the message to the lady. How great of an actor the boy was. Y/N hummed at his reply, fingers rummaging through the pocket of her dress before pulling out a compact metal case. The engraved lines on the silver cigarette case were intricate as if a show plane had carved peculiar swirls in the air. “Asked around and Dante told me, so here I am, inviting you to a party.”

Finn gazed down at the open case, it had been full except for two, the lid clanked as she waited for him to take one, his nimble fingers accepted. As her stick rested on her lips, she flicked her lighter for him. While his cigarette was dying to flaking ashes, she lit hers, “Party?”

Finn hummed, body leaning back as he perched upon his hands, face coating by the warm rays of the sun, “Tommy decided to play truce before the war, called the guy and now we gonna have a drink with them.”

Driving herself to the brink of death by bottles of English liquor didn’t sound like a bad idea. Sadly, if she had known this activity was to happen during the vacation, she would’ve brought flasks of the finest her tongue had ever laid upon, all the way from home. Blinking from the most pathetic and ridiculous idea she had ever heard, she stared at him in disbelief, “You’re gonna drink with the man who murdered your brother?”

Finn let out a heavy sigh as he still could not figure out his brother, who was the leader of the business. Tommy was always like assembling a gun from the base, complex and evasive, “No one knows what’s going on in Tommy’s head, not sure why he’s doing this… It’s Tommy.”

“That’s Tommy, alright. When?”

“Next Friday, dusk.”

She let out another hum while she scribbled a not in her head, hoping that she would be able to remember to tell Dante to jot it down in her book. Finn chewed his bottom, lively words scurried around in his mind. Although he had wanted to propose the idea of her going to the party with him, doubts engulfed him, wholly, as if it had waited to starve itself. Surely she could’ve found someone else? Someone older? Someone who didn’t look like a babe? Cloudy vapour swirled out of her lips like that coming out of a chimney, the deadly fume was ready to sprint, dash out of the cave of her mouth, ready to evaporate into the free air. Except, only a strand fled with the breezy wind while the rest stirred into her nostrils.

“Michael can do that,” Yanked back into reality, she stared at him to continue. Someone had mentioned that name. “My cousin, Aunt Pol’s son, can do that smoke…thing.”

Her eyebrows clashed for a second as she tried to piece together what he was trying to inform. Realization kicked in when his finger wiggled at her cigarette.

“Didn’t see him at the meeting.”

“He’s recovering. Was shot at John’s house.”

Silence emitted from her lips. Another drag to cloud her thoughts, another pull to loosen her head and another inhale so she could meet the reaper who had taunted her. Specks of dirt crawled into his nails as if it found solace in the tight crevices, clumps and clusters chained their arms together to form brown streaks. As he took a drag of his cigarette, the other hand was occupied with another method of relieving the roaring nervousness. The lines of the Earth concocted a painting, a barrier formed when his fingers dug into the bedding of the grass, “Was wondering if you would like to… uh… maybe go with me?”

With high hopes, his fingers buried dead in the soil crossed, “Of course.”

Finn wore a goofy smile.

“Wear blue. Dark blue, you would look dashing in it,” Redness crept onto his pale cheeks at her compliment before he frowned, trying to recall the clothing in his closet. When the woman noticed his change in demeanour, an idea sprung into her head after she inhaled the smoke in. Ah, the wonders of cigarettes. “Alright then, upcoming Monday, come to my hotel and I’ll bring my finest tailor all the way from Paris.”

Finn’s eyes widened. Was she really willing to do all that for a party?

“Y/N, that’s like… grands.”

A chuckle fell off her lips at his reaction, “Isn’t that the point? We’ll be matching. Unless, of course, you don’t want that.”

It was as if he had been trapped in a corner, the clock above his head had sung a limited tone. He glanced at her quirked eyebrow, “No, no, I’d love that.”

When she glanced at the sky, the once blue became an ombre of yellow and purple, stirred in the middle of the two warm colours was a faint line of grey. The gradient was like an astounding backdrop of a painting, worth three grands at least. However, it wasn’t enough for a painter to take a glance before smearing his paint against the bleached canvas. The corners of her lips curled down as it was a sign of the approaching night, they would have to split up. The rustling of the surrounding trees indicated the pair that the flocks of birds have arrived at their homes, ready to slumber during the breezy night.

“Well then, that’s it for the day.” Y/N mumbled, pushing herself up before muttering a thanks to the Peaky Blinder for dusting her coat up, strands of grass sprung off the cloth. Taking a final drag, the stick let out a desperate cry as the fire began to deteriorate its top portion of its body. With a flick of her thumb, the stick met with the grass blades. Its death was painless and quick. To not disrespect the resting dead, she made sure to discard it elsewhere. Not to taint nature. As she put her shoulder holster back on, tucking the pistol she had used at Finn, back in, her arms slid into the cooling sleeves of her swing coat.

“Sadly.”

A minute of their eyes lingered onto one another when Y/N leaned in to place a chaste peck on his cheek. Oh, how Finn wished it would’ve lasted longer than a second. Pulling back, she grinned, “Thank you for staying, not a lot of men do that.”

Finn stood astonished, he watched as she got into her car. His eyes glued onto her, she waved him a soft bye before driving into the distance. His hand rested on his cheeks, a smile crept on his face as he played the memory on repeat. If only he had it recorded, he could play it on the pictures endlessly. The cigarette in his fingers rolled its eyes, the boy who seemed to be struck with love stared at the street she had faded away into. She had called him a man, Finn was a man.

As the familiar door swung open, the scent of perfume that reeked of money rammed into his nose. It had been a battle of floral against liquor. Finn’s lungs had been assaulted the Peaky Blinder was met with a man, who was dressed so freely, Finn was sure he would have been the walking-gawking figure if he was to step outside of the house. The two hooks at the end of his pointy moustache prodded in the air. Although Finn had tried his best to ignore the fact that the man had ran his eyes on his figure, judging him, the man’s eyes flickered back to the woman who stood on a circular wooden platform that rested in the middle of the living room, obstructing the path towards the kitchen. Well, if one could squeeze through the narrow alleys between the table and its wall.

The boy allowed his eyes to be fascinated by the beauty of the nude-coloured dress that sat perfectly on her. However, his cheeks flushed red when he was caught gazing upon her exposed arm, sleeveless with lace ending up to her shoulders. “Finn!” After a stretched out week, Y/N had been waiting for the time the Peaky Blinder would pay her a visit. It had finally approached. The woman sported a wide smile that ran from one cheek to another, her joyful mood had been lifted higher. “Glad you could make it, Finn, this’s my finest tailor from Paris.”

Victor rolled his eyes while he paced back towards his client. Finn who had been stranded made way to sit on the couch that possessed an unspoken memory. The word fine was of low standard, the compliment served no justice to his splendid talent, “Baby, I’m more than fine,” Y/N let out a giggle. Though, it was cut short when the French man had accidentally tugged a string a bit too tight. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Victor,” Roaming his eyes up and down the figure, Victor’s eyebrows clashed before he stood on his tiptoes so his mouth hovered over the lady’s ears. The additional height added from the platform caused her to be taller than him. “’Tis one looks young, is he underage?”

Y/N let out a scoff as she rolled her eyes. Finn, who had been the statue pointed at, threw perplexed glances at the figures. Were they talking about him? He was only right to assume as they kept darting rapidly towards him. Victor, who had been Y/N’s tailor for some time had been there for most of the guys she had gone through. Only those she had been serious with. As a tailor, a worker of art, he had remembered all of their faces as if it was just yesterday they had walked through his door for an outfit.

Although Victor was pleased with her way of enchanting customers towards his shop, Y/N wasn’t doing charity for the men. It was something he had yet to unfold. All of their faces had a streak of wrinkle, the person that had entered the room was a boy. No line of age. The French man recalled her visit to his shop with a Greek man. Victor’s heart was at ease when he had heard they pulled away, mutually. The chiselled jaw and the Adonis’ figure screamed for Victor.

“Come on, Finn, after this is your turn.” The guest nodded, his eyes attached to the woman’s figure, nothing can peel his eyes away from the ethereal sight.

“So, Mr Shelby, what’re your true intentions with our Y/N ‘ere?” Noting the awkward silence, the question buttered by Victor’s thick French accent smeared over Finn’s confused face. The corner of his lips curled up. Oh, the boy made the teasing so easy.

“Huh?” Finn blinked his eyes at the man.

“Victor!” Y/N threw a smack on his chest while he yanked a square piece of cloth from his blue-grey waistcoat. Letting out an entertained giggle, the 37-year-old man hovered the material over her skin, pondering if the tone was spectacular enough.

“I’ve seen all sorts of eyes on ‘er, what’s it you want from ‘er?”

Stammering, Finn squeezed out an answer, “Well, I want to go to the party with her.” The older man let out a huff from the disappointing reply even though he enjoyed the teasing game.

“Obviously. What is it? Money? Sex?” The blood vessels in the boy’s cheeks dilated, smearing crimson red across his face. He did not see that coming.

“What? I have to ask because I’ve seen those eyes before,” Although she was better at suppressing her tinting of cheeks, Finn could see a twinge of red. It was a less vibrant shade than his, though. “So what’s it, kid?”

“I’m not a kid.” Victor hummed, flicking out his measuring tape. The string of cloth sprung out of his chest pocket to bounce in the air, ready to be yanked for measurement.

Slow-paced days sauntered past, not by a blink of an eye, though. The countdown until the party had caused everyone to be pushed to the edge of their seat with tense shoulders. Well, Thomas especially since he had wanted everything to be top-notch. If he could describe the party in a phrase, it would surely be, without a doubt be reeked with gold. And reeked with gold it was. After overseeing the lavish bar, he had hurled the stacks of money for the place to be drowned with stacks of money that were once in his bank. He still hadn’t figured out why he had done so (wasting money that caused Polly to stumble); although, a part of him believed that he wanted to leave a mark on the Italian to the power that bled in him. The consequences of any side of the party to oppose the set punishments had been secured and agreed by both sides. Though, the Italian believed that the English should finally consume the right liquor, so, he had shipped his preferred liquor (that of his own company) to the social gathering.

Y/N let out the air she didn’t know she was even holding in. The dark blue flapper dress sparkled even under the faint light of the distant moon. It was embedded with slinking strands of jewels which draped down as if sagging curtain lines. Stars decorated and embellished her dress, it felt ethereal to have the whole galaxy plastered against the skirt, priceless. Twirling in front of the golden mirror, she wore a grin that peaked from one cheek to the other.

Lost in the specks of glitters, the knock on her hotel door peeled her attention from the enchanting sight. Victor had made dozens of her outfits if she was lucky to visit Paris. However, his style had always left her astounded.

On the other side of the door stood an incredibly nervous Finn. Drowning in sticky sweat from head to toe, Finn wondered how many more litres of the liquid his body could secrete despite the chilly night from the recent showering of rain. The palms of his hands were drenched with beads of sweat, the tie he wore was suddenly too tight despite the incessant amount of times he had adjusted it. Finn’s fingers unfurled over the tie as he remembered the conversation with his eldest brother.

“Whose petrol did you suck, huh, Finn?” Arthur cackled, hand smacking over the youngest back. Under the hazy light of their house in Watery Lane, Finn’s suit was a blur of rich blue. After running his fingers down the lavish-looking suit, the eldest couldn’t believe Finn was capable to enchant someone.

While Arthur was rummaging through the table of clanking glass bottles, Finn mumbled with a smile he couldn’t help but sport, “Y/N got it for me.”

The scavenger hunt for the whiskey bottle halted. Arthur’s calloused fingers hovered over the packed alcohol glass containers that called for him, “Y/N?”

Despite the buzzing in his ears, Finn’s hum as a reply made way to the eldest ears, “We’re going to the party together.”

Taking a second to realize his words, Arthur poured himself a cup of the liquor, “You and her close?”

The smooth cloth caressed against his fingers as he straightened the waistcoat for the hundredth time. Clicking his tongue, Finn replied, “Sure.”

Arthur nodded, chugging down the whiskey in a gulp. In the corner of his eyes, he could see the blur of the younger man, fondling with the pocket watch. Finn could not stay still. The youngest Shelby was rocking on his feet, fingers in and out of his pocket, hands straightening his waistcoat. There was only one viable solution to his nervousness.

Finn’s eyes brushed over the blue bottle. Relief engulfed his body at the sight. While tapping out a line of the white powder onto the wooden table, making sure it didn’t seep into the cracks, Arthur inquired, “D’you know their history?”

Midway of the line, Finn’s neck craned up to glance at his brother. Although Finn did not know the pair his eldest brother was talking about, he shook his head. Arthur proceeded, “We always thought John had the ring ready. Even Thomas heard bells singing in his sleep. The war was horror and yet, the two of them made it worth fighting for.”

The bottle in Finn’s hands shook, glass dancing to the tighter grip he held. His dead brother was in love with Y/N? Steadying the heaving of his chest, Finn breathed in the line. Finn shot up, shoulders rolling to pick up his date for the night. There were questions blaring in his mind that were in need of answers, desperately. But tonight, the drugs were his leash.

Before he had the chance to yank his tie and alter it, the door creaked open. His jaw grazed over the carpet floor. The dress she wore glittered under the hallway lighting, the hem had been sliced into dangling strands, brushing over her knees. Maybe Y/N should’ve taken a breather before opening the door, maybe then she had the time to compose herself.

“Y/N..,” Finn mumbled, still in awe. “You look fantastic.”

The woman pressed her lips at his compliment, her cheeks flushed crimson red, “Thank you, Finn, you don’t look bad yourself.”

The cheeky smile played on the boy before he extended his arm, to which she gladly took. During the car ride, Finn had made countless glances towards the woman who sat next to him. It was a miracle he did not crash the vehicle.

Once the car had stopped in front of the golden building, Finn mumbled a ‘wait’ before zooming out of the car, opening the door for her. A pleased smile crept onto the woman’s lips. While the pair sauntered towards the smeared light of the bar, a trio trailed behind them. Silently following their boss, the three men were dressed in uniform clothing, an oversized coat hung on their shoulders.

As they approached the elegant green door, the moonlight bounced off the golden doorknobs to shimmer the iridescent sparkles. The air outside of the club was hefty and still. There weren’t a lot of people capering on the street. There were only half a dozen men who had been moving about.

“So, when do you plan to visit me in America?” With her fingers caressing over his velvet suit, she hadn’t bothered to throw a glance at where she was even walking, placing all her trust in him to guide the two.

Finn chuckled. Although her face was hovering a hair’s breadth away from his, he didn’t muster the courage to change his gaze. If what had left him astonished and speechless, how could he react to her up close? The closeness between the two allowed him to sniff the strong yet chill scent of vanilla.

They were closer towards the bar, now. Their glass panes of the French door was hazy, it was smeared with a blur of plastered yellow paint, obstructing the passer-by’s ability to take a glance on who partook a glass of whiskey. However, the crying of the trumpet and chill jazz seeped out the crevices of the door, to play in the silent cry of the night. On the empty street, wandering mice could dance as they scour for food for the night.

Halting in front of the door, Finn turned his shoulders to face the woman. His fingers trailed from her arm that had wrapped around his to her bare fingers. Tingles trickled on the skin he had run over, despite the occasional singing of the wind.

Y/N’s eyes watched him in interest, where had he gain all this confidence? The question was hurled through the window as her head gone blurry. His warm lips pressed against her evening glove-covered knuckles. Flickering his eyes to meet hers’, Finn couldn’t help but sport a satisfied smirk once he spotted her cheeks flushing.

While his thumb brushed over the bumps of her knuckles, he mumbled, moving his body closer towards hers, “When this war’s over and I get to convince Tommy, I’ll go to America.”

“You need permission from your older brother?” An amused chuckle fell off her lips.

Nothing fell off Finn’s lips while the carefree song trickled into his ears, “Yes, he needs to know I won’t be coming back to Birmingham.”

Bloodshot up to her cheeks, before she had the chance to react, Finn interlaced his fingers with hers. Their digits weaved through one another as they stepped closer towards the bar. While Finn tried to suppress the smirk that had curled up on his lips, Y/N’s eyes never found the convenience to blink, had he meant what he said?

As soon as the door creaked, cracking a gap between its frame and the slab of wood, boisterous chatter and jazz fled into the night air. Gold sparkled into her eyes. It was an overwhelming amount of the precious metal. If the marble counter and silver sparkles weren’t enough to blind her, bodies that passed her blared their sparkling gold into her eyes. The incessant amount of gold prickling her vision made her ponder, was the night holding something grand?

They made only three steps into the bar when they were stopped.

“Weapons? We’ll have to pat you down,” Y/N’s eyebrows clashed in confusion. “Both of the parties ban weaponry.”

Finn nodded when he had recalled a smear of memory in the family meeting, though, he couldn’t remember it vividly because he had snoozed off. His fingers slithered into the inner pockets of his jacket, the frigid material caressed his skin before he had brushed against a freezing metal that clunk with his nail. Tugging the pistol out, it was soon out of his grasp. The doorman turned his gaze to the woman, although he was to walk away, Y/N let out a sigh.

“Finn, one second,” The Peaky Blinder’s eyebrows furrowed before he extended his arm which she graciously took. A tint of red was smeared against his and the doorman’s cheeks when her hand crept under her dress. “Here.”

The blushing doorman reluctantly grasped the firearm, “Oh, one second, just one more.”

Finn couldn’t even lay a glance on her, his crimson red cheeks had not yet cooled down when he had turned his gaze away to give respect to the woman. The air was sliced with a sharp blade. His mouth gaped open when his eyes landed on the weapon gripped in her hand.

“Take care of her, or else you won’t ever hear another trumpet.” The doorman vigorously nodded at the order before he paced away with the weapons.

Poking his inner cheek with his tongue, Finn looked at her, impressed to how she had brought two weapons, “What else you got under there?”

“Finn!” With a smack against his chest, the pair let out a series of laughter as they descended down the red carpet, their heads turned to gaze at the extravagant bar. Thomas had outdone himself. It must’ve cost stacks.

“Tommy booked the place, it’s only us,” Bopping her head, Y/N didn’t bother to inquire what was lingering behind the, ‘us’. “Thank you.”

The figure that weaved through bodies passed on flutes of champagne while a silver tray rested on his palm. Finn handed one to the woman of the night. After a nod of gratitude, the employee paced away to serve the customers.

“Y/N, this is my cousin that I told you about, Michael.”

Clasping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, Michael wore a large grin, “Talked about me? I’m honoured,” Finn’s smile dropped down when the Grey mussed his hair. Despite him being recently discharged out of the hospital, Michael’s strength would never abandon him, no matter the dose of morphine, “Glad to meet you.”

Once they shook their hands as a greeting, Michael’s figure faded into the crowd, either returning back to his mother or to tangle with a woman, “You’ve caught yourself a big fish there, Mr Shelby.”

The pair’s neck turned to face the voice, to be greeted by the father and son duo, “Mr Aberama Gold, Bonnie, this’s Y/N, she’s the ally providing us the guns.”

“Indeed, with that face of yours, no one’ll suspect a thing.” She didn’t know if she was to smile at his words. Soon, their figures were diluted in the crowd.

Her fingers dug deeper into Finn’s arm when her eyes landed on a familiar, too familiar man. Y/N’s eyes blinked rapidly, not knowing if she was hallucinating or if her champagne had been spiked. The caterpillar of a moustache that sat below his nose was just like it was three years ago. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Matteo’s eyes narrowed at the familiar group of men trailing behind the couple, which was met with the opposing Italians’. Then, it all clashed once a booming voice echoed through the bar, “Y/N!”

The woman’s eyes didn’t mean to graze upon the heads rotating to face who the eldest Shelby had called for… but, she did. As if he had been pulled away from an amusing conversation, the matchstick that rested on his lips nearly clashed against the marble floor. Arthur’s figure sprung out of his seat when he saw the lady of the night entered the bar.

Her gaze with her ex-fiancé remained. His aquiline nose pointed at her as if it had been surprised by her abrupt appearance. Surprised was an understatement for the Italian gangster. The red streak on his cheek had remained, a forever scar he would have to bear. As his hand descended to place the glass of liquor onto the table, the black ink flashed a smile towards the woman. The same tattoo artist had painted the same tattoo on the same spot for the two. What a fool she was, to think they would end up together. The memory of her nagging about his hairstyle seeped through her head. He stuck with the horrible slick back?

“Why’s he here?” Y/N whispered under her breath, too quiet as the band’s bustling noise filled the room.

“Hm?” Finn hummed, however, noticing her gaze towards the man who had killed his brother, Finn’s jaw clenched before replying, “Luca Changretta sent men to kill John.”

Just like that, the idea that the night would be one for her to enjoy had demolished into a rubble of bricks and dust. She tried her best to digest the new information, but it was too much. Her ex-fiancé had killed the first man she had loved?

Eyes watched as the Italian gangster rise from his seat, chattering died down with the suspenseful pace of the Italian towards the middle of the bar. Two pairs of eyes set upon his unexpected action like starving vultures, in need of the hidden truth. Even though Arthur had not seen his brother’s murderer stand up behind him, he gleefully sauntered towards the girl, to only be halted by Johnny.

“Y/N.” Luca breathed out, the name falling off his lips like the silk sheets they used to drape over their shoulders while their bodies connected as one. He had said the name multiple of times when she had not played a figure in his life anymore; it was nothing like her standing in the same room as him. Although his eyes flickered towards her arm wrapped around the youngest Shelby’s, his chest finally felt free. It wasn’t the same for her. Her chest tightened with every step they both took towards the middle of the bar. Finn’s hands were occupied with two cups, focus lingered on the pair. While Luca wore a faint smile, Y/N bore an unpleased frown.

Luca’s tongue raised from his bottom teeth, ready to mumble her name again. Silence weaved through the bar. His hand rested on his sizzling cheek, the spot she had slapped him was now throbbing with pain. A series of gasps echoed in the air once the noise of her hand meeting with his cheek trickled into their ears.

“Not as painful at the last one.” Luca chuckled it off as if to give a sense of clarity towards the prominent watchers, cracking his neck.

“What’re you doing here?” The venom dripped from her lips, her eyes narrowing on his dark eyes. Was he the mafia the Peaky Blinders were against?

Luca huffed, not liking that he was being watched while he was having a long-awaited conversation with her, “I could ask the same to you.”

“You lost that privilege years ago.” At the mention of why they had split apart, Luca’s jaw clenched. In the middle of a party, set by Thomas Shelby, the murderer of his father, his ex-lover was to converse to him about his mistaking past while they were being watched by strangers?

“We should talk in private, away from wandering eyes,” Luca mumbled, deeper as if he had not wanted any eavesdropping ears to hear him. “Amore.”

A scoff fell off her lips when he dared to call her the nickname he had given her when they were in love.

“Don’t call me that.” The Italian couldn’t help but pace back a couple of steps when her pointing finger prodded his chest, fingernails stabbing his sternum. His hands raised in surrender, gesturing to everyone he would not dare to lay a finger on the woman.

“Parliamo altrove.” (let’s talk elsewhere) The Italian words fell off his lips like a sharp dagger, embedding into her skin. The tone and words would’ve sent her knees to quiver, it used to but not now.

She rolled her eyes at his attempt to fade away from the crowd, was he trying to protect his reputation? “Fanculo!” (fuck that) She stomped closer, forcing his neck to crane down at her. “fuck you!”

Luca let out an exhausted huff, hand dragged upon his face at the uncooperative woman, “Se sei ancora arrabbiato-“ (If you’re still mad) He was cut off by her disbelief scoff.

“If I’m still mad? If I’m still mad?” The tone of her voice raised, she finally realized the silence from the band. “I saw my fiance in bed che abbiamo condiviso with another woman and you expect me to be fine?” (we shared)

“Tesoro-“ She cut him off again

“No!” Her index finger pointed at him, fumes of anger burst from her ears. “You go back to the whore you fucked e tu la chiami Tesoro,” (and you call her treasure). “Because Luca,” His name fell off her tongue like silk, he gazed at the beads of tears threatening to gush out. Her finger quivered at the amount of anger she had suppressed. “You love your treasures, not throw them away.”

He bit his inner cheeks at the remembrance of how the names he would call her fell off his tongue in a series of moans. Having had enough, Y/N spun back to face Finn who had watched the dispute with mouth hung open.

“Let’s go, Finn.” Without a thought, the Peaky Blinder placed the barely drunk cups onto the counter before trailing behind her out of the bar.

“Y/N!” Luca yelled at the fading figure, to only be halted behind the wall of the trio.

Cold air engulfed her. It was no longer still but the presence of the strong wind caused her exposed shoulders to shiver, quivering at the breeze. Finn who saw that she was quivering, not sure if it was because of the sudden drop of temperature or what had happened in the bar, moved his nimble fingers to tug off his coat, draping it over her wavering shoulders. Bitterness lingered on her tongue, a stir of emotions had been provoked out of her throat, tugged from the deepest over her chest. All she could hear was the coat singing as it lands on her shoulder, the rapid clicking of her heels and a pair of feet shuffling behind her, trying his hardest to keep up with her pace. Although she wanted to mumble a ‘thanks’ to the one who had gifted her warmth, she was afraid a sob would echo into the air. Two times she had allowed Finn to see her in such a broken state which was two more than enough.

A waver from the fire well confined in the walls of the gas lamp played a peculiar puppet show against the dark night. With her head craned downwards, her eyes had lingered on her fast-shuffling feet that wanted to flee away. The tightness of her ribs suffocated her lungs, holding the organ as a hostage. Before she could take another step, the familiar scent of cigarette filled her nose. Finn’s eyes faltered close as his chin rested on her head, his fingers weaved through the locks of her curled hair. Her fingers clutched on his jacket, nails digging into the lapels of his jacket as if to hold her body up. Blocked by the lingering odour of cigarette and salty tears, Y/N let out a sob once she had realized she was crying. Once the realization kicked in, the streams down her cheeks splashed onto the concrete as if a drizzle.

Finn’s arms wrapped around her head, covering all angels of her sobbing face. Had she digested it all? Doubts rammed in when she replayed what Finn had said about the Italian. An ugly cry echoed out of her throat. All she could see was the scatter of clothing, haphazardly thrown across the wooden-floored hallway. None of the female apparel was owned by her. Not the blue laced brassiere, not the drenched knickers. Was it easy? The question she had grown to live with ever since he had dragged a whore into the bed she and him had made love for countless of times. The question she had wanted to ask but feared her tears would be seen by him. Was it easy to fuck another woman who wasn’t her? Because Y/N could vividly see the first few months she had tried to get into a bed with someone who wasn’t him. It took four years for her to only want him.

She could hear the wanton sounds trickling into her ears as if to taunt her. Staggering moans stirred with groans. Not hers, it wasn’t her. Three years of their relationship and a year into their engagement. That was all it took for him to fuck another woman.

Footsteps approached Finn from his back. Although the man had wanted to twirl around to take a glance at who snuck up on him, he had a sobbing girl in his arms.

“We’re leaving, Tommy called for a meeting.” Arthur patted his youngest brother’s shoulders, glancing at the locks of the woman before sauntering away into the fading darkness.

The Peaky Blinder didn’t want to do it, but he pulled away, fingers trailed from the back of her head to her drenched cheeks. As his thumb wiped the stream away, her eyes were glossed with a layer of haze that sparkled under the moonlight. He mumbled in a tone as if he had a newly born kitten his grasp, “Never had I have to hold a beautiful lady cry in my arms three times.”

That was enough to pull a chuckle from her. Craning her neck back down to view the petite puddle of her bitter tears that would soon be engulfed by the occasional rain of England, Y/N bit the bottom of her lips at his jest. The corner of Finn’s lips curled up as he succeeded before gently pulling her face up by his hooked index finger, “He’s not worth it. He doesn’t deserve a jewel.”

His eyes flickered to her pursed lips. Before they knew it, their lips moulded into one another, fit into each other like a perfect puzzle piece. His hands trailed down towards her waist, softly pulling her to his body before one laid on her cheek. Her fingers were soon laid flat on his chest as their eyes shut tight. Y/N pulled back, inhaling the fresh air as the ones in her lung had been used up.

“So you deserve a jewel?” Finn threw his head back before pulling her into a long-awaited kiss. “Let’s see what shit Tommy has to say, eh?”

With his hand weighed on her shoulder, her fingers brushed over the bumpy hills of his knuckles. Finn and Y/N’s eyes watched as a ruckus spiralled out from the family. Arthur’s clenched jaw caused his neck veins to pop out (nearing to explosion), his body was seething with anger while a series of never-ending words hurl from his lips as if it was a catapult, all inclusively directed towards his only younger sister. The room was suffocating, particles of fury and red were stuffed in the walls that seemed to inch inwards, ready to strangle the irritating war. Scoffs and slamming of hands on the wooden table was the irregular tune made by the refuting family. It was prominent on who was on which side, it was clearly separated by the extensive table; splitting the two groups apart. Although the topic of the argument had started with Y/N’s connection that was correctly presumed by none other than Ada, it had somehow lead to their past mistakes as children. It went from ‘passing information to the enemy’ to ‘you sold my favourite hairclip for bread!’.

Fluttering petals of rosy red crawled up Ada’s neck, smearing her face. The woman was educated, intelligent and smart; however, her patience and will to live while arguing with her stubborn eldest brother was short. Arthur would mock her witted reply which enraged her. If she didn’t have the speck of maturity in her (and the reminder that she was a mother), Ada would’ve sprung onto the table and smack the man. It was like a bloodbath with the two, on the other hand, it wasn’t the same for the aunt and the nephew. They took casual puffs of their preferred cigarette, although, it seemed that Polly was the one who would spark a comment after lingering her eyes on her only niece.

Rummaging her fingers through the pockets of Finn’s single-breasted overcoat that was still draped over her shoulders, she pulled out the clanking chain of the pocket watch. It was twenty minutes past eleven. In the line of firearm business, late nights was an aspect she had to learn to adapt to. However, late nights was also the time she had had enough which is why doing business with the woman so late could only end up with a disastrous ending. Connor copied his boss’s actions before he pressed his lips, ready to watch the scene unfold before him. The three men threw knowing glances at each other as they have seen it first-hand, experienced to what a late hour can result in. Dante tried his best to not let the laugh fell off his lips when he recalled the time one of her clients ended up on his knees. Late nights call for a catastrophic boss.

In the corner of her eyes, puffs of migrating clouds peeked into her view. Although the room had practically reeked of the deadly fumes, the nearby scent provoked her to snatch one for herself. If she was to go through another minute of their hurling words, a cigarette would be the first good cause. However, it didn’t have the same promising results a bottle of good ol’ whiskey provided.

Craning her head as if she had been enchanted to, the mist called for her, whispering her name in a blurry yet choral tone. Dante’s orbs that were once set upon the family that seemed to be cracking like a fine China piece, darted towards the pair of eyes who had been ogling his cigarette. Although there was a slight argument to the presence of the Italian in the room, he was glad Thomas had won with a swerve just like that of a politician. As he passed her a cigarette, the Italian could feel a pair of eyes pierce onto his cheeks. The corners of his lips curl up like a mischievous serpent. Hovering his lips over her ears, blocking the boy’s view of the woman, Dante mumbled in a raspy voice he would use for whores, “Il ragazzo.” (the boy)

There was no need for her to inquire when she felt a tighter clench on her shoulder. Finn’s eyes seethed anger, a red coat of paint over the glass pane of vision. Y/N hummed, picking up the hints of what the Italian implied. Slightly amused by herself participating in the scheme, Y/N swam in the stream, ready to flow with the boat’s rocking. Dante wore the devil’s smile as he pulled one cigarette for his boss. A sigh of relief fell off Finn’s lips once he noticed she had just wanted a cig. The sense of jealousy gushed out of his skin.

Dante’s cigarette was dying alone in his other hand, its flaking ashes pierced into the carpet with a sizzle. So why was he rubbing another one over his lips? The Italian did not quiver his eyes away from the gawking Shelby as he dampened the unfiltered cigarette over his lips. Dante placed the cig on her lips, a colossal smirk sported on his lips. While her cigarette waited for the fire to burn its head, Y/N’s eyes batted like a curtain in a windy summer’s breeze as she gazed at Dante, the stick was now on fire with a flick of a lighter. There was a shimmer in her eyes, a plaster of sparkle. It was something Finn had wanted, all to himself.

Connor shook his head, slightly entertained by Dante’s wit and ability to piss people off with his sharp green eyes. Once her lungs were warmed by the intoxicating bonfire of fumes, she shot up from her seat, startling the pissed off Finn.

“Alright, listen, I’m going to make it short and simple. After I left England, I went to America. Met Luca, got engaged to him. He helped me build what I have today. Four years in our relationship, he was in bed with another woman. Now, it’s incredibly late at night and I’m sure your children are very much missing you at home. Goodnight.”

With a bop of appreciation for their understanding, her three men trailed behind their boss. Finn darted his eyes at the creaking door; impulsively, he dashed to run outside of the building. The wind whistled, breeze swirling around his body that was not protected by his coat.

“Finn… what’re you doing? It’s late. You should be getting some rest.” Patting her gloved hand over his red cheeks, she entered the car.

Noting her men was not around, he quirked up, “Where’re your men?”

Once she started the car, she turned to face him, “They needed to finish something.”

He gnawed on his shivering lips, contemplating on the idea, “Take me with you,” Before she had the chance to give a reaction, he proceeded. “I can protect you.”

Patting the indent of a pistol that was tucked in his trousers, Y/N narrowed her eyes if it was a good idea. Because the last time it was the two of them, the night had not gone so well; she could defend herself just fine. However, there were times you say fuck it, “Fine, get in.” Without a word, he hopped in.

“Have you ever touched a woman?” Heavy puffs of air grazed over her skin as her fingers brushed over the fuzz of his face. Finn’s eyes flickered to hers, away from the smeared paints of her lips. The grip he held on her waist loosened as the words began to swirl in his head. Was she going to walk away if he had said no?

Running his tongue to moisten his lips, the Peaky Blinder reluctantly shook his head. Strands of hair poked down to curtain his face, his brown locks blocking his eyes. With a finger hooked on his chin, Y/N gently pushed his face to meet hers. He gulped before saying the words, “No, I haven’t... touched a woman.”

It was a blurry haze. One second they were swimming deep in each other’s gazes, the next Y/N’s body hovered over his. Finn tugged her body as he laid down on the loveseat, her body laid in between his legs. A hair’s breadth away from his lips, she mumbled, “Then I’ll be your first.”

Finn nodded, fingers trailing from her arm to her cheeks, “I want you to be the first.”

As she urged him to stand, her fingers trailed to his forearms, pushing it to wrap around her waist. The tremoring pain in her toes had pinched as she tried to reach his lips. Their tongues danced with one another, puffs of heavy air gushing into each other.

“You can go lower.” A twitch played in his pants as the trousers began to feel tight and clamouring with heat. The breeze of her words brushed against his ears. With slight reluctance, his hands splayed down to rest lower. Although the corners of her lips had quirked up once he had listened to her words obediently, she let out a squeak when his fingers began to knead it.

“I know,” Finn mumbled on her lips as he tapped his fingers. “Overheard Arthur.”

Y/N let out a groan. Throwing her head back at his horrible interruption, she glared at him, “Finn, lesson one, you do not talk about family when you’re going to fuck.”

He giggled, pushing his face into her the crook of her neck, lips running over her collarbone with a brush of his skin. The scent of lingering vanilla trickled on her skin, swirling into his lungs as if an enchanting spell.

Her fingers trickled down his exposed chest, finger tugging his boxers. A wince slipped through his teeth at the smacking pain. Lost in the caress of her tongue, Finn didn’t bat an eye at her fingers that slipped through his boxers. An audible groan echoed, his thighs clenched at the hand around his tightness. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead as she caressed his length in a languid pace. With a smirk, she watched as he couldn’t find stability to stand properly. Breathless exhales fell off his lips, the puffs of air caressing her shoulders.

“Y/N…” Her staggering name stammered into her ears once her palm met with his dripping slit. Frustrated at her slow pace, his hips thrust into her hands, followed by a guttural groan from the man. Although she wanted to tease him, she guided him into the bedroom. Not without a whine echoing from his lips, though.

Nudging him onto the bed, Y/N’s bottom lip let out a cry when her teeth bit down onto it. Finn’s body bounced on the mattress before he pushed his back to lay on the wooden headboard. Although he still had his boxers on, Y/N could feel the rush of heat spurt through her veins. His eyes wavered on her running fingers. A twitch in the only layer left which covered the tent growing, caught Y/N’s eyes once her garter has snapped open. Without quivering from his eye contact, she hurled the lace bra to the side. It screeched on the wooden ground before halting. Finn gulped, his throat suddenly parched at the sight.

In a blink of an eye, his boxers were thrown without care; she was on him. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, whites covering the area that was once placed for her coloured iris. Pants and moans trickled between the two scorching hot bodies. Finn’s grip on her waist tightened once she had accidentally clenched around him tightly like a vice.

“Fuck…” Finn growled, heavy breathing coated over her pebbly nipples that bounced with her pace. The night dragged towards the bright morning, filled with relief.

Glistening light poked at her hefty eyelashes with a temper of an untrained dog who waited for his breakfast. Even though the sun was already hung high in the sky with warm rays radiating upon the city, the two slumbering bodies could not be bothered to pace with the world’s set speed nor did they bat an eye at the world’s attempt to yank them out of their comfort. Honks seeped into the crack of the window which was stuffed with the yelling of people. People who were sauntering side by side, however, the volume of their voices was as if the other had stood all the way on the other side of the road.

Lingering in the air was a barely traceable scent. The twinge residual of the perfume she sprayed the night before toned down. The overpowering scent of whiskey and cigarette springing off their coats fought an easy battle with the perfume. It was the first time she had slept without the excessive amount of perfume spraying.

Craning her neck up, the corners of her lips curled at the ethereal sight. With his eyes shut tight, chest heaving at a casual pace, Finn had looked peaceful, tranquil in his own sleep. As her eyes grazed upon the smearing of her kisses against his pale skin, her fingers brushed upon the red marks of her lipstick, tracing imaginary outlines along the marks, up to his jawline. Nuzzling her head into his arm, the drumming of his heart echoed into her ears. A song she could fall asleep to.

“Good morning.” Finn croaked out, body aching which urged him to stretch. Hands caressing the headboard, he dropped his arm to drape over her shoulders, pulling her closer to his warm body. Their bare legs weaved with one another. They scurried from the chilly edges of the bed to find solace in each other’s presence and warmth. With the addition of them slumbering late at night and their exhausting activity, the two had not bothered to cover themselves.

“Good morning to you, too.” The pair giggled, lips meeting. Bodies finally facing each other, Finn’s fingers caressed her cheeks; he swirled the loose strand of hair while their lips moulded into one another. Back arched for his teasing-paced fingers to plunge into her, a knock slashed the tension air. A huff fell off her lips; a giggle echoed from his at her disappointed in the interruption.

“I’ll get it.”

Toes already poking out of the sheets to be engulfed by the frigid breeze, a shiver crawled up his spine once the warmth of the covers was no longer defending him. Faint rustling from the door seeped through the cracks as if the person could not find a casual position.

“No, stay here. I’ll get it.” Although Finn was slightly reluctant, he nodded at the hand gripped around his wrist. Once his body submerged back into the pad of heat, his eyes lingered on her figure as she sauntered towards a robe, body bare for him to gaze upon. Running his tongue across his lips, he gnawed on the flesh until she was out of his sight. With a frigid weapon in her hands, Y/N moved like a cat, sneaking upon without producing a quiver of sound.

The pistol was useless. After a mumbling of ‘Room Service’, followed by haste shuffling of feet against the carpet, Y/N waited until the shadow faded; no presence of the person. Jumping quick on her feet, the woman yanked the trolley in before slamming the door shut as if she was being watched with a target hovered over hers. What was she to fear? She knew Luca was the enemy, what would he do? Stacked upon each other as if building blocks, pieces of freshly cut fruits sat as a tower, somehow still balanced. Surrounding the tower were plucked out leaves, thrown around it for decoration. An uneaten part. Almost as if hidden, a piercing corner of a card poked out from the plate, the rays of light bouncing off the material to shimmer in her eyes. A sigh brushed her lips.

‘Six-thirty. Inkberrow Hotel. Stratford-upon-Avon. Henley Street. Do not bring any of the fucking Shelbys. –L.C’

A noise that was midway of a scoff and a huff echoed in the air. The familiar handwriting was smeared with frantic scribbles, almost as if he had left to write the note last minute. A few more months and she would’ve had the same last name.

“Bed’s getting colder.” Her eyes faltered shut, hands raised to tangle her fingers with his hair after placing the gun on the tray. A pair of slithering arms wrapped around her waist, tugging her back to press against him. Pressing a chaste kiss on her exposed neck, a smacking noise played in the air, causing a giggle to trickle out of her. Although her fingers were nudging the paper into the pocket of her robe discreetly with invisible movements, Finn’s eyes brushed over it. However, he didn’t bother to prod as he had other ideas in mind.

Craning her neck to the side, her lips hovering a hair’s breadth distance away from his, Finn could feel the warm breeze when she mumbled, “Yeah? Let’s make it warm.”

A twitch stammered and she let out a squeal once his arms raised her in the air.

Even though Y/N held onto the hope that Finn would remain longer in her sheets, there was a minuscule part of her that knew he was to leave anyway. So, it did. A ring from Thomas and the youngest Shelby would obey without any refute. However, it didn’t mean she would give in without a fight. So while he suggested for them to shower, she had grounded him into the bed for a short while before he had trekked to the bathroom with her on his back, clinging onto him like a monkey. With the first phase of her plan gone to waste, she proceeded with the second phase, which was in the bathroom.

Although she had tried to linger the moment by brushing over his chest, it had only worked until he recalled the urgent call. Once they were out of the bath, Finn had only gawked at her before his bare body had been covered with his suit. How had she been infatuated by him? Finn was a spell, a dangerous one. A part of her had tugged on the time for him to leave because she had wanted him to stay longer, but she knew, underneath the bubbling surface was her tight chest had not been ready to meet the long-awaiting appointment. Despite three whole years. Were three years even enough?

Once Finn had left the hotel after countless of sights that urged him to stay, to which he had yanked away from, she was left on the edge of the bed with the crumpled note arched on the tips of her fingers.

As the door cried in the still air, Luca’s wrist halted, hovering over the sheets of paper with a pen whose ink had begun to dry. Although he was in the midst of scribbling vital information, the blaring lines had only smeared against his eyes, his brain was not able to process the moment he had been waiting for, for far too long. The air he had enjoyed with a twirl of breeze and a stitch of his whiskey had suddenly felt hefty on his shoulders. The pressure tightened around his chest like a whip. Fragments of his ribs cracked like china dinnerware that met the ground with a clash, floating in his chest cavity to pierce against his muscles. Once the door met with its frame; the shuffling of the maid had faded, Luca’s tongue swept over his pearly white teeth.

Y/N noticed there were no overpowering sounds trickling in the background. As his eyes grazed over the ink one more time, he pushed his back against the chair, shoulders squaring up. With a caress, the sleek, luxurious pen which must’ve cost more than an average one since it was embellished with gold and jewel of diamonds, the pen rolled over the wooden table to play a suspenseful tune. Finally, his eyes met hers. It felt like the night before. A voice in his head shook in disbelief as it implied its opinion. This is just his imagination, he had too much. Although he took years to compose himself, build himself back up, sometimes, time is not what one needs to start a decent conversation. Without a thought in his head, he blurted out, “You fucking the Shelby boy?”

The frog leapt out of the crevice of his mouth; the creature hopped onto the hovering lily pads in the air. Her eyebrows clashed in confusion at the brash accusation, “Three years and that’s the first thing you say? Be grateful that I’m giving you the privilege to even speak.”

A staggering breath sang out of Luca’s lips. With a gesture towards the guest seat on the desk, he popped in a matchstick into his mouth. Noting bad habits were pulled out, Y/N lit a cigarette, reluctantly plopping on the seat. Luca watched with furrowed eyebrows at the smoke dancing into her lungs. The Italian man hated the horrible habit she had during their relationship, always bugging her on how it would be the death of her. While his tongue danced with the wooden stick, his eyes lingered on her casually dragging the cig, “You still smoke that shit?”

“You still biting matchsticks?” Without a word, he nodded, tongue poking on his cheeks. There were countless thoughts in his head, yet, time felt so restricted. As he ran his eyes over her dress, he pushed himself off the table.

“What’re you doing here?” The air was an ocean. Sunk at the lowest level of water, the pressure sat on her shoulders. She was a fish roped to an abandoned ship, struggling to flee away from the sauntering sharks. Silence. Her fingers brushed over one another as she watched him pace towards the alcohol cart.

“Whiskey?” A hum played in his ears. His square back faced her as he refilled his own cup since what was about to happen clearly needs whiskey, and another cup for the guest. Placing a cup in front of her, he plopped back into his seat. “What’ve you heard?”

“A vendetta.”

Luca hummed, his eyes glued onto the swirling tornado in his cup just like when he had been told of the heart-breaking news by none other than his distraught mother, “They killed Angel and Father.”

Digging a grave in the shrivelled velvet purse, her fingers were engulfed by the warm stitching. Although the history between the pair was rough over rugged waves, memories will linger. Y/N will never forget the high admiration the Italian held for his father. To be groomed as the heir and the successor of the empire that Vicente has yanked out from the deepest of American soil, words murmured about Luca had been hurled around, an inevitable future everyone could see. Y/N remembered word-to-word. Feared for their quivering loyalty, the people who had even the minimal of ties with the Italian syndicate, had to learn their consequences first-hand if they were to step out of the boundary.

Despite him being portrayed as this painting of the devil in a cloth of black, there was an underlying layer, beneath the one he had coated himself in. Y/N got the privilege to meet that part of him. The Italian did not hover the façade of a mask in front of his family; in fact, the belief of blood being thicker than water was the reason they all had gotten along. Uplifting when surrounded by his blood relatives, Luca had been an excellent older brother. Everyone could claim so even with a glance. Y/N’s throat suddenly became parched in realization. Luca had lost the only brother he had, “Luca…”

Not tearing his eyes away from the cup of whiskey, he mumbled under his breath, “Mother misses you, wished you were home.” Before she even opened her mouth, he gulped down the whole drink.

Ever since Luca had courted the woman, it was definite for Y/N to be interrogated by the Italian. During the course of befriending his family, Audrey had taken a liking to the girl. Seeing the effects Y/N held on Luca, Vicente had peeled his wife’s overprotective layer, which soon caused her arms to wrap around the woman. The feeling of acceptance by the Italian mafia had been a foreign emotion. To be seen as one and not a threat built a tie with each member of the syndicate. Chewing on her inner cheek as if a stress-reliever, she took a sip to ease the pain, “Have you told her?”

“What do you take of me? Of course I told her,” Luca’s gnawing teeth sawed on the matchstick as if a blunt saw. Though, he was more of a beaver who had migrated elsewhere. Painfully recalling the moment he had cracked the reason to why his ex-fiancé had fled away, to his mother, a sorrow scowl sported on his lips. “Didn’t talk to me for two weeks. She heard that I was drowning in a bar, then she cooked up those pasta you liked.”

“Go home, Luca. Staying here is no good for you.”

Hurt layered his eyes as the strain his voice staggered down the steps, “Why should I? You won’t be there.” Luca’s head darted away. The sentence clogged in his throat. You won’t be at home. Deep down, Luca knew, no matter what he would do, nothing would bring back the scorching love the two had. Had, the past he should’ve already moved on from.

“No, I won’t be at home. But I know that Capone is singing in victory while you’re here.” The Italian let out a scoff while his towering figure shot up from the seat. The chair let out an ear-pitching screech, no different than that of a triggered explosive.

“It’s for Angel and Father!” Pain weaved through his words. With a slam on the table, flying sheets of paper danced in the air as the empty glass swung in place.

To be courted by the Italian had taught Y/N countless of things not many knew about him. After four years of being with the man himself, Y/N had concluded that he was as persistent and stubborn, “It is for Angel and your father, but you have to go back. Here, you’re vulnerable. Capone is King in your absence.”

“I was vulnerable when they died!”

Scoffing at his words, she too, shot up from her seat, her purse was slapped against the surface, letting out an echo, full of frustration, “I was vulnerable when I found my husband was fucking a whore!”

Taking a second to digest her words, Luca mumbled with a clench in his jaw, eyes narrowing, “So I leave their deaths in vain?”

“Going back to New York and staying there is not leaving their deaths in vain. You know I’m right, when have I ever been wrong? Go back Luca,” Splaying on his large hands that were once a source of warmth on her cheeks, Y/N’s hands pushed his palm onto his beating heart. “And remember them here. Their deaths will never be in vain.”

Eyes trailing from her hand to her eyes, Luca mumbled, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

A haze of misty smoke drowned the room. Dangling between his fingers was a huffing cigarette whose head has been flicked to a pile of cremated ashes. The faint sizzling echoed from the crystal ashtray, accompanying the only other present sound of paper turning. While his fingers glided over the sleek sheet, Thomas took a drag of his cig, pondering to the typed lines. Although it was nearing noon, he felt he needed a haste nap in his bed. Terribly. The lines of words squeezed into one another, clumping up into balls of black ink just like the period of time when he had not owned a pair of glasses. Except, this time he did (all to blame the immeasurable volumes of liquor he had chugged down). An unreadable tragedy. Letting out a frustrated sigh after his head could not digest the word, the warm vapour of his cig wrapped around his head as if a blanket. No matter how many cups of liquor he had refilled, the droopiness in his eyes was impeccably heavy.

Finally over with the uncooperative feeling, Thomas shifted the stick to his non-dominant hands. The frigid kiss of the pen bit into his palm, sending shivers up his arms. Even though he wanted this to be over; he wanted the day to end, the papers must be read thoroughly as any slipped lines could be the end of his empire. But, honestly, Thomas was nudged. Fuck it. Gliding over the surface in one swift movement, Thomas scribbled his signature. Somehow, the black strokes seemed as if he had pondered with great thought. The loop of contemplation between the ‘o’s concocted a circle, an orifice to the hole he was forever to be stuck in.

Boisterously, the crying door let out a pleading creak. Thomas’s eyes snapped away from the dozen sheets of paper he had gone through that sat on the top corner of his desk, even though a hefty stack rested on the left side, the glistening crown it wore blared into his eyes for hours. A slight furrow in his eyebrows played before he clicked back his pen, taking a sip of his drink, ready for what news the woman came in for, “Call it off.”

Without a word uttered, Thomas quirked his eyebrows at her statement. Shutting the door behind her, Y/N made way to lean against a wall, swirls flaming from her cig created a hazy mist around her. The battling of two cigarettes trickled in the air while the lingering odour of whiskey cowered in the corner, “I know when you’re planning and you’re planning something right now. So, call it off.”

Thomas blinked his eyes. The rays of sun danced through the cracks of the blinders, blaring into his eyes. Placing the vision-helper onto the surface, his fingers made way to massage the clenching that rested behind his eyes. If only he could pluck the orbs out to satisfy the itch. Glowing a minuscule orb, the light source sitting on his desk smeared a flickering green onto his face (a contribution to his sleepiness), “What the fuck are you saying?”

“Luca’s leaving.”

With a sweep against his ears, the clenching muscles in his lungs halted. The gears and spanners in his body did not creak a limb as his brain processed her words. Thomas wasn’t sure what to feel. A can of petrol regurgitating its contents into the bonfire he made from the vain death of his brother. It was a bitter scorch of fire, swirled in a cooling mint. Despite the refreshing drinks he had consumed, all of its effects wiped off once the words were stuffed into his throat, “What?”

“He’s going back to New York.” Y/N mumbled, fingers running over the velvet spines of books stuffed onto the bookshelves.

“And why the sudden change of mind?” There were so many ways he could react; Thomas Shelby didn’t know which one was appropriate with his current mood.

“Gave him an offer.” Quirking an eyebrow, the corners of Thomas’ lips curled up.

“Will I be invited to the wedding this time?”

“I’m not marrying him,” Y/N almost huffed out. “Said that I’d work with him.” Thomas hummed, fingers lacing into one another as the back of his mind began to calculate a plan. Well, plans. To kill or not to kill. Pondering to himself, Thomas branched out in the countless of ways of response. Was he to leave his brother’s death in vain?

“Good. Cause Finn would not shut up about how good you were.”

The smoke seeping down the column of her throat screeched to a halt, clogging the airway at his words. A tint of red smeared her cheeks at the prominent smirk the man wore. Oh, was the boy done for.

A layer of light glazed over the green-tint of water, grazing over the horizon in smears of blurs. The island her foot once rested upon faded in the distant, it became nothing but a haze of grey. Orbs of yellow embedded the vertically-placed cuboid buildings while a stroke of gold plastered across the city. Sinking into the vast, never-ending horizon of cerulean blue, the arms of the sun widened, radiating rays of warmth upon the night before it slumbered.

Crashing of waves sang into her ears, the overlapping of the warm grumble from the ships’ horn and the hasty shuffling of feet against the deck created a sense of adventure. With a lot of memories and experience in spending countless of days entrapped in the cabin over the migrating waves, Y/N had found herself accustomed to the smell which some people would found sickly. The twinge of salt and smeared breeze of the pure ocean trickled in the air, not an odour that a new traveller would find pleasant.

Chattering of overflying birds who wouldn’t find the need to rest their vocal cords played from above, raining upon the travellers as if series of bullets. With the kissing of wind engulfing her figure, Y/N stuffed her hands in the warmth of her coat pocket. The corners of her lips curled down at the memories she decided to reminiscent. People she won’t be seeing for quite some time; a grave she won’t be able to visit.

Other presence of people ebbed. Nauseated by the overpowering pungent of blocks of salts, the onlookers who had exited from the boat to the wooden deck to embrace the view shuffled back in. Only one remained. Y/N’s eyes never left the sacrificed, infant waves who rammed into the rusted metal sheets of the boat. Too lost in thought to realize the temperature of the air faltered, zipping down to bites of frost. Echoing from a great distance, which trickled closer to her proximity, a pair of feet rubbed against the beads of rain decorating the deck.

Seeping through the barrier of salt with a muffled slithering, the odour of freshly smoked cigarette battled with the ocean’s musk, “Let’s go back in, it’s cold out here.” Once the words fell off his chilling lips, her body tingled up the new change in temperature. Finn placed a chaste kiss of heat on her cheeks, despite frost cracking on his lips. Their gloved fingers tangled with one another, weaving like irritating locks of hair. Making their way to their designated cabin, warmth gushed through their pores. A heart can be mended back, you just need to find the right string.

Part 1 | Part 2

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jadekitty777 · 5 years

Text

What a Wonderful World

Some of you may read this and say “shouldn’t this have been for Day 3, Family?” And, okay so, hear me out... I ended up using that prompt too for tomorrow’s entry so, yes these stories could have gone either way (kind of like Qrow).

Day 2: Domestic

Dedicated to: @evebun/@evebun-primary

Rating: K+

Pairing: Qrow/Clover

Word Count: 6000

Ao3 Link: What a Wonderful World

Summary: After Salem's attack leaves Mantle and Atlas scrambling for an emergency evacuation, all of its former citizens are left misplaced and homeless, including 5-year-old Citrus and 6-month-old Mint. With no where else to go, the two are placed in Clover and Qrow's care, and Clover soon finds that the future he once envisioned him having with Qrow was changing in a way he could never of imagined... but could never regret.

The heat was stifling. Even aura had its limits, leaving his skin stinging and slick with sweat. The smoke that hung in the air choked at his throat and burned at his eyes until they watered. So, it was by pure luck he spotted her, wedged in the space between the wall and the couch.

“Found another!” Clover pulled his arm band down from his mouth long enough to shout over the roar of the fire. He gripped the leg of the heavy furniture, muscles straining as he lifted it up and angled it away from the wall so he could get to her.

As he gathered her limp form in his arms, he realized how small she was. Perhaps only 4 or 5. The youngest they’d found. Her face and little white dress with orange slices patterned across it were both covered in ash. Shakily, he looked for a pulse.

“Is she okay?!” Qrow hurried over, eyes bloodshot from the fire and cape tied around his face like a bandanna. Elm or Harriet must have gotten out the twins he had found trapped in the laundry room.

There it was, weak but steady. Tiny little beats under his fingertips.

He pulled his arm band over her own mouth, giving a relieved nod. Nearby, the stairs to the second floor collapsed, sending up sparks and the couch he’d just moved caught fire. The structure was creaking dangerously around them.

“I-” He started to say, only to start coughing as the smoke invaded his lungs.

Qrow lifted up one edge of his cape over his mouth to help him filter, his other hand encircling his bicep. “Time to go lucky.”

Too woozy to argue – and that probably wasn’t a good sign – he allowed the other huntsmen to guide him back to the front door. Elm came into view as they got close, gaze falling to the bundle in his arms.

Before Clover could hand her off, he felt the grip on his arm turn painful, Qrow’s nails digging in like claws. He gave a hiss, looking towards him – could only see his wide, terrified eyes – and then suddenly he was ripping away from him, running back into the firestorm with an order of, “Get them out of here!” yelled over his shoulder.

“Qrow-!” Clover turned around, trying to follow him, only to feel his own teammate’s arms encircle his waist, lifting him up effortlessly.

“You heard him captain!” He didn’t have it in him to struggle as the powerful woman dragged him out of the complex and set him down on the snow-covered streets of Mantle. His heat-burned skin begged for him to sink into the ground’s icy embrace, but he fought against the urge, eyes darting over the sea of little faces crowded on the other side of the street, Harriet zipping between them at an alarming rate as she tried to check and re-check each child for injury or signs of smoke inhalation.

He turned back to the burning building, the blaze lighting the area in a fiery orange and covering the sky in thick, black clouds. The past few minutes came back in a rush.

It had been awful. They had just been trying to clear the streets, looking for more survivors to bring back to the underground, when a stray shot from a manticore caught one of the building’s ablaze. They hadn’t expected it to be occupied. With no ice dust, they had to go in the old-fashioned way, quickly realizing by the number of toys and kids inside that the caretaker of the orphanage must have sheltered down with them while waiting for help.

They stumbled upon her and three of the kids dead in the kitchen where the blast had exploded the fire-dust infused oven.

Part of the roof collapsing yanked him back into the present and Clover found himself desperately staring at the front door and willing Qrow to walk out of it.

Elm’s hand clutched onto his shoulder. “Cap’n, you need to sit down. You’re swaying.”

“M’fine.” He declined, gritting his teeth as a window on the second floor exploded. They couldn’t wait for Qrow any longer. “Harriet-!”

The rest of his command fell away when the man himself came leaping out of the same window. He landed hard, falling to the snow on his knees. He curled around the bundle he held in his arms swathed in his cape.

Clover’s heart leapt to his throat – No. No way. – before he tore from Elm’s grip, crying out hoarsely, “Qrow!”

He stumbled just as he reached him, collapsing beside him, his grasp on the girl he still held tightening so the fall didn’t jostle her.

“S’okay. It’s okay.” Qrow gasped, pulling back one of the folds of the red cape.

Watery eyes the same shade as Clover’s own blinked back up at them both, before the little infant began to cry.

It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

He fell against his boyfriend’s shoulder, feeling like he could cry himself. He checked on his own charge, testing her pulse and breathing again. Still there, but the unconsciousness worried him. “Elm, what’s the status of our back-up?” He croaked out as she came over, probably intending to assist them to the other side of the road.

“May’s on her way with a transport truck now. Jaune’s with her.”

Good. That was good.

He shut his eyes a moment.

When he opened them again, he was in the truck, silvery white aura dancing across his vision. He focused on the young man hovering above him.

Jaune sighed in relief. “Oh good, you’re awake. I was beginning to think I needed to perform CPR.”

“I appreciate you sparing me.” He voiced roughly. He swallowed, flinching at the pain. His throat had never been so sore.

It felt like a smack in the face when he remembered how it got that way.

“Wait, the kids! You should be helping them.”

Jaune didn’t move, smiling reassuringly. “Only two people were in need of immediate care, yourself included. So, I’m multi-tasking.”

Clover furrowed his brow, about to question how that was possible, when a small tug on his lapel has him glancing down.

Years from now, Clover would tell Citrus this story – that the very first time he looked into her smiling face and honey brown eyes, he knew he loved her.

“Hey mister!” The little girl he’d rescued pulled at the badge on his chest once more. “I like your pin.”

“Oh yeah?” Admittedly, he hadn’t interacted much with really young kids, so he dd his best to mimic the way Elm would talk whenever her cousins came to visit. “I like it too. It’s my lucky charm.”

Her eyes went extra wide. “Is it really lucky?”

Clover couldn’t help his grin. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

A snort drew his attention to the left, the sight that greeted him warming his heart. Qrow was against the wall, looking run down yet calm as he rocked the slumbering infant. He looked so… natural, like that. As if he’d done it many times before.

Upon catching his gaze, Qrow offered him a smile, one Clover tiredly returned.

That night had been their last search-and-rescue mission. Not because the work was done, there had certainly been several zones in both Mantle and Atlas still left to cover, but because…

Well…

“Daddy, catch me!”

Clover felt all the air in his lungs leave him as Citrus divebombed him from the wardrobe he’d told her a thousand times not to climb. “What do you think you’re doing you little rascal?”

“I told you, I’ma kitty!” She said, making little claw movements with her hands.

“Well, that sounds bad for dad’s health.” He walked her over to her bed, setting her down on the plush duvet sporting happy faces of various cartoon dinosaurs.

“Daddy, you’re silly! Dad’s not an actual bird.” She explained patiently.

Clover snickered. One day, they’d tell her.

But that day was certainly not today. “Alright, what would the kitty cat like to wear this morning?”

“Plaid!”

“Again?” He asked, quirking a smile as she prowled around her bed like a tiny lion.

“Uh-huh. Mint likes to trace the lines.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you Trissy.”

As she hissed and bat her stuffed animals to the floor, he searched through her dresser for the requested pattern. A lot of what filled it were merely hand-me-downs of Ruby and Yang’s that’d been hiding up in Tai’s attic. The same was true for everything from her furniture and toys right down to the very room they stood in.

He had never considered kids as part of his future. It didn’t seem a possible concept when factoring in his particular interest in male-only lovers. So, to suddenly have two practically dropped into his lap, Clover had no issue accepting any help the more experienced father had to give, to say nothing of the paragraphs of advice he had to hand out at any given moment. He and Qrow certainly couldn’t thank him enough.

Well. He certainly couldn’t. Qrow, on the other hand, was all off-handed comments about how this was all ‘only fair payback’. Which, if Tai overheard, resulted in the two bickering like teenagers. It never got heated and no one ever stormed off upset, but it still baffled Clover that they couldn’t just talk it out.

But, puzzling out their seemingly crooked foundation of a friendship was just one thing too many for Clover to add to his ever-weighted plate of things to worry about.

Like how to convince Citrus to wear her shoes today. “Come on Trissy, you’re going to rip up your leggings again. How about just the left one?”

“No.” She plopped down on her rear, scooting away from him. “Don’t like ‘em. They make my feet hurt.”

“You haven’t even tried these ones before. And look! They have little stars on them.” He tried to cajole.

A picture of defiance, Citrus crossed her legs and held onto her feet, repeating firmly. “No!”

If his former subordinates ever found out he could be so effortlessly taken down by a child, they would never let him live it down. With a conceding sigh, he placed the sneakers back under her bed. “Alright, no shoes for now. Would you like to do your hair instead?”

“I want dad to do it.”

The gentle reminder that this was dad’s morning to help Mint get ready was right on the tip of his tongue – when another voice beat him to the punch.

“Good call squirt. I’m the one with all the fashion sense.” Qrow was standing in the doorway, somehow still able to look incredibly smug despite the fact he was a forty-four-year-old man currently rocking an infant.

Citrus raced over to him, clinging onto his leg. “Dad!”

“Need something?” He lifted his foot off the ground held it up high, letting her dangle from his shin – it was still a wonder to Clover how he managed to keep his balance.

She started to swing back and forth like a monkey. “Can you do my hair up in cherries like before?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Qrow made a big show of thinking it over really hard. “I believe there’s a magic word I need to hear first.”

“Please? Please, please, pleaaaase?” She stretched out the last one.

He chuckled, lowering her back to the floor. “Alright already squirt. No need to pull my leg.”

Clover turned away just so Qrow couldn’t see how that awful joke made him smile.

Thankfully, he was too preoccupied to notice. “Go sit at your spot for me.” As she hurried over to the little vanity desk with its nail-polish stained top, missing drawers and cracked mirror, Qrow approached him, handing off their son. “He’s not too fussy today.”

That had about a 60% chance of changing the moment Qrow left Mint’s line of sight.

A month into their not-quite official parenthood, Clover started to collect parenting guide books and every night, he would read a chapter or two before bed. One evening when he was thumbing through Infant Milestones and What to Look Out For, he came across the term “separation anxiety”. Apparently, it was a common in babies of Mint’s age – which they’d guesstimated to be 6 or 7 months. Despite the worrisome name, it was defined as a developmental period in which a child understood that things and people could leave and return, and they responded to this by wailing. The chapter went on to assure it was a temporary issue that would crop up in small bursts over time.

Eight months and some mild improvement later, it was still an issue laser-focused on Qrow.

But, if he were honest, it was one that went both ways. With such sudden unconditional love being given to him on a daily basis, Qrow had formed a paternal bond with the boy that became unshakable as the months went on. In fact, Clover suspected the other huntsman had decided on adoption well before he had.

For Clover, that moment came several months in.

Originally, Citrus and Mint’s care was to be temporary. Unlike the rest of the kids they’d saved from that fire, the two were much too young for Patch’s already over-crowded shelter to feel comfortable taking charge of them during the crisis. Not wanting the two to be lost to a hectic system or to just dump them on Tai who was already the lynchpin of the evacuation efforts’ portaling system, Clover and Qrow had unanimously agreed to foster the two children until things could calm and better arrangements for the two could be made.

At the time, they had just shrugged it off. How long could it possibly take, really? A few days? A week, at most?

When they passed the first month and the first groups of Atlesians were only just being ferried across to Vale to further the relief program, they realized they may have been just a little off on their prediction.

After the second, Mint had his name bestowed upon him accidentally when Qrow realized his eyes matched the mint chocolate chip ice cream the boy was trying to take out of his hand.

By the third, Clover had grown pretty used to reading Citrus fairytales before bed. He was just picking through an anthology for something new when it happened:

“So, are you my new daddy?”

The book almost fell out his grasp. He met the little girl’s unwavering gaze and felt more effortlessly pinned by it than any glare his superiors ever managed to dish out. “What makes you ask?”

“’Cause you do all the things a daddy is supposed to.” She picked up a stuffed rabbit. “You give me Mr. Cuddlesworth. And you read me stories. And make me brush my teeth before I go to bed. Which is yucky and we should have a vote on that.”

He may have laughed had his mind not been going a mile a minute.

It came to a complete stop when she looked at him and asked again. “So, are you?”

He didn’t end up giving her a definitive answer that night. Later, Clover found himself lying awake and staring at the ceiling until it eventually annoyed Qrow into rolling over.

“Alright, I can hear those cogs in your head struggling to turn. What’s wrong?”

He answered the question with one of his own. “Have you… ever wanted kids?”

“Always.” No pause, no doubt.

He looked at him. “Really?”

Qrow propped his head up in one hand. “That so hard to believe?”

“A little, yeah.” He admitted, suddenly feeling guilty over his own thoughts. There was still so much that was new between them – why was he trying to throw a wrench into that?

Even in the dark, he could tell Qrow was studying him. “You’ve been thinking about them too, eh?”

“It’s just – Citrus is starting to ask questions. She’s thinking this place is permanent. And Light knows Mint can’t go anywhere without you.” Clover rubbed a hand over his eyes. “What are we going to do?”

“Guess we just got to keep ‘em.” Over his incredulous spluttering, Qrow added, “What? That’s what you were trying to ask, right?”

“But it’s crazy. And stupid! And-And-”

“It’s far from the craziest or stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

He turned onto his side, facing him fully. “What about us? We haven’t even been together for half a year yet, Qrow. And this is a lifetime commitment.”

“Yeah, and?”

Did someone in this house have a personality switching semblance? Where was all this confidence coming from? “I kind of figured you’d be more concerned about this.”

Qrow hummed, resting his head. “Did I ever tell you I used to teach at Signal?”

“No.” He’d been in the primary combat school dozens of times by now. With the facility shutdown due to the disaster in Atlas, the classrooms had been repurposed for sleeping space for the thousands who’d been relocated. He had to wonder which of the many classrooms had been Qrow’s. “Seems an unusual choice for you.”

“Heh, you’re telling me. That’s because I didn’t take the position because I wanted to.” He swept a hand above them, as if encompassing the room around them. “I took it because I had to help out here. When Ruby’s mom died, Tai was a wreck and needed help with the girls. And I just, shelved everything else in my life to be here for them.”

“That’s an incredible thing to do.” The sentiment was genuine, but he couldn’t help the grin as Qrow tried to hide in his pillow.

“Point is, I’ve already had to make a decision like this before. Making it again isn’t so hard for me.” He reached out, tapping his chest. “Sounds to me it’s just you having doubts.”

He wasn’t wrong. Clover was feeling uncertain – but he couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t until the next day, when he mentioned his and Qrow’s conversation to Tai and shared his own confused misgivings, that he finally figured out why.

“Give me your scroll.”

Confused, he dropped the device into his hand, watching Tai pull something up, before handing it back. Clover looked down. His heart fell at the ‘Decommission of Huntsman Duty Request’ staring back at him. It seemed obvious when presented like that.

“Being a father means it comes first.” Tai clapped him on the shoulder. “When you can submit that, then you know it’s what you really want.”

“And if I can’t?”

“Then you can’t.” He echoed. “Starting a family isn’t about sacrificing happiness, it’s about creating it. There’s no shame in admitting that it’s not something you want.”

Clover sighed, running a hand through his hair. Laughter from outside had him looking up, seeing Qrow holding Citrus above his head as he strolled around the property. She had her arms held out in front of her, mimicking a superhero flying through the sky. What really captivated him was Qrow himself. The other man was not known for smiling big, if much at all – but right then, it had enough brightness to it to power the sun. The sight made his chest swell so much, it could burst.

“And if I can?” He whispered, like a secret that shouldn’t be told.

“Then you can.” Having been watching the two outside as well, Tai’s smile and eyes were distant. Perhaps his own girls on his mind. “And one day, you’ll look back at that moment and realize that even though you never saw your life going this way, it was the best decision you ever made.”

All his life, Clover had been certain he would die a huntsman. That he would fight and protect and fight some more until something finally got the better of him. If he was lucky, he’d go out heroically, sacrificing his own life to save even one last person. He never thought he needed anything else.

But as he watched the two play, filling the backyard with such innocent, simple joy, he wondered if he could truly leave this behind without regret.

“What do you think Qrow’ll do?” He asked.

“I think that’s a question you should ask him yourself.”

So, he did.

And now, five months later, here he was playing peek-a-boo with Mint while Qrow put hair ties with little red bobbles on them up in Citrus’ hair.

He hadn’t yet regretted a single day.

Raven was in the kitchen when they got downstairs.

Mint started to fuss immediately, and Clover didn’t put up a fight when Qrow reached out to take him.

“Brother.” She said around a sip of tea.

“Raven.” He returned, expression thunderous on their intruder.

If Tai and Qrow’s relationship was one that Clover didn’t have time to figure out, he didn’t even try to touch Qrow and Raven’s. It just had bad blood written all over it.

“Auntie Rae!” Citrus, still too young to really understand all the hostility in the air, skipped over to the woman with no hesitation.

Despite the fact there were three other huntsmen in the room, Qrow tensed up every time. Clover placed a hand on his back.

“Dad did my hair, isn’t it pretty?” The girl lowered her head, pointing to the ties.

“It’s, fine.” In an instant, Raven’s mask broke into something lost and confused. It was hilarious how one child could make her go from borderline threatening to uselessly awkward. “Why don’t you show Tai, I’m sure he’ll love it.”

“’Kay!” She chirped, running over to the counter where the man was preparing a stew that would be left to shimmer until supper.

The taunt muscles under his hand started to unwind. Clover rubbed the rest of the tension away, giving Qrow a kiss on the cheek. “Sit down. I got breakfast.”

Shooting him a grateful look, the other man did just that, addressing his sister, “I assume if you’re here, you’ve got news?”

“Do I come for any other reason?”

“Thankfully, no.”

Clover listened with one ear as he went about the motions. Warmed a bottle for Mint. Poured a cup of coffee for Qrow. Popped on the top of the sippy cup filled with apple juice for Citrus. As he lifted the fresh tea kettle for himself, he paused, giving Tai a suspicious glance when he realized it wasn’t filled with the usual Jasmine, but a dark, bitter Darjeeling.

The blond pointedly pretended to not notice, as if he hadn’t made his ex’s favorite tea despite the fact his relationship with the woman across the room was arguably worse than Qrow’s.

He was never going to understand this family, was he?

Clover set the kettle back, deciding to opt for coffee as well but drowned it in sugar. Delivered three of the four drinks to the table. Took sips of his own while he got down Citrus’ favorite cereal and made a few slices of buttered toast for himself and Qrow. Sliced some grapes into small pieces for Mint. On his second return to the table, the conversation had delved into an argument.

“I just don’t see why you can’t stay closer to them.”

“I’m staying as close as I need to. It’s bad enough they have one maiden in their group – what good would it do for me to be there?”

“You could train Penny, for one.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Raven snorted, reaching for her tea.

Clover spotted Citrus imitating her with her juice. He wasn’t sure if he liked her odd admiration of the older woman.

His own feelings on her were… mixed, at best. On one hand, it was obvious her stuck-up, selfish attitude and harsh nature had soured the relationships with the people around her. Most notably the one with her own daughter, who would either ignore her or leave the room entirely. If such a thing bothered Raven, she was too stubborn to admit it and too concerned with keeping up appearances to show it.

On the other, it was Raven they owed Atlas’ evacuation to. If not for her semblance, allowing for them to quickly and safely transport people by the hundreds from Mantle’s belly of underground mines to the safe island of Patch, he was positive the death count would have been much more severe. If not, a near total genocide. Salem’s seize had been all encompassing, entrapping the citizens of both cities within their own walls. With nowhere to go and no chance of surviving the tundra, the people had bunkered down in their homes and prayed for a miracle.

So, when Raven heeded her brother’s call and agreed to help, it felt like that prayer was being answered.

Qrow told him not to be fooled by her act of kindness – because that was exactly what it was. An act. He was positive his sister only stepped in to put herself in their good graces, so that when it was her life that was in danger, they would all but leap at her feet to protect her. While Clover couldn’t precisely refute that, it was certainly possible that was her aim, he also couldn’t help but point out that she already had the leverage she needed for that. After all, it wasn’t exactly like they’d allow Salem to just add another maiden’s powers to her growing entourage of followers.

It also didn’t explain why she was sticking around to be a glorified messenger bird, transporting information between their little family in Patch to Vale where the remaining members of the Aceops and the Beacon teachers were stationed, to Vacuo where Ruby and the various teams following her were keeping guard on the other relic.

Qrow blew that explanation off, just as he blew off Raven now, “How is it ridiculous to give our very important key player in this a fighting chance?”

“Oh please, don’t give me that drivel.” She snarled nastily. “You just want me to babysit those brats like you were doing.”

Before more could be said, Tai smacked the top cover of the pot down firmly and said, “If you two are going to go at each other’s throats, do it outside.”

The twins glared at one another, but Qrow was the first to back down, focusing back on Mint. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“As do I.” Raven got to her feet, setting her cup down on the table. “At least the tea was lovely. Can’t say the same for the company.”

Tai rolled his eyes. “Well thanks for coming.”

Like the tornado she was, the woman went sweeping out the back door, leaving everything behind in a disarray.

Clover exhaled slowly, studying the room. Tai had turned away to fetch a mug of tea for himself. If not for his brother-in-law’s sobriety, he may have looked for something stronger. What concerned him more was Qrow. His boyfriend was fighting a scowl, jaw locked like iron and lips pressed in a hard line of anger that seemed ready to explode out of him.

“Hey,” He started to say, reaching out towards the man beside him.

So preoccupied, none of them noticed until the back door shut a second time.

Head snapping around, Clover took one look at his daughter’s empty chair, before he was leaping up to chase after her. He was out the door and in the yard in seconds, the shout tearing out from his throat.

“CITRUS!”

The sight that awaited him had his heart turning to ice cold dread. Raven stood in front of one of her vortexes, awash with the bloody glow and sword poised above her like a guillotine. Underneath it, hanging helplessly by the back of her dress, was his daughter.

“Raven. Put her down. Now.” He said firmly, shaking fingers going for Kingfisher – only to find it wasn’t there. Red eyes met his, the surprise in them confusing him.

“I-” She started.

Vaguely, he recognized the sound of footsteps on the porch behind him, but his attention didn’t waver from the situation in front of him. So, he didn’t miss the way her expression steeled over once more.

“What are you doing?!” Qrow bellowed.

“Just making a point.” Raven tossed the girl through the air, right into Clover’s waiting arms. “Would have been a tragedy if I’d been an enemy, wouldn’t it of?”

With that parting gift, she walking through her portal and vanished in a blink.

The first lesson ever taught to him at the academy was no amount of preparation could plan for the unplannable.

With a snap, the book was closed, Clover tossing it onto the table in front of him with a scoff. He fell back against the couch cushions, raking agitated hands through his hair. With Tai having gone to town and Qrow and the kids upstairs, there was a rare bit of stillness to the home. Yet, the quiet only seemed to invite the echoes of his own shouts until they were the loudest thing in the room again.

“What were you thinking? You can’t just run after people with swords!”

“But, but dad has a sword!”

“I don’t care! You could have gotten hurt!”

“I-I just wanted to-”

“I don’t want to hear it! Go to your room, right now!”

Citrus’ tear-stained face as she ran up the stairs plagued him like an illness. He groaned miserably, pressing his palms against his eyes hard enough to see stars. Even with the many years leading the Aceops under his belt, he was never really a man known to shout. What had happened?

The stairs creaking had him looking up, seeing Qrow descending them. “Mint’s down for his nap.”

“And Trissy?”

“Still doesn’t want to come down.”

Who could blame her? Clover heaved a sigh. “I made an awful display of myself, huh?”

“Wouldn’t say that.” The other man joined him on the couch. “When Yang was about the same age, she took herself and Ruby out into the woods.” He paused, before snorting. “Trying to find Raven actually.”

Did this woman just attract danger by merely being in someone’s thoughts?

“So, of course they got attacked by Grimm out there. I barely got there in time.” Qrow ran a hand over the back of his head, smile sheepish. “You should have seen how I lost my head that day. And I was nothing compared to Tai. A volcano erupting would have been calmer.”

That managed to wretch a chuckle from him.

Qrow bumped their shoulders together with no more force than a pat. “Sometimes, kids are frustrating little tyrants that’ll make terrible decisions and drive you up a wall. Getting mad about it doesn’t mean the world ended, just means you care.”

“I know. I just,” He gestured to the forgotten book, Disciplining Positively, he’d tossed aside on the table, “I want to do things the right way for them.”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me there was a ‘How to do everything right’ guide? Coulda sold that to me ages ago.” He drawled sarcastically.

Clover curled an arm around him, pulling him closer. “Very funny. You know what I mean.”

“I do. And I’ll admit, you do better than most, but even you can mess up lucky charm. All you can do when that happens is roll with those punches. Citrus’ll come around. And if that fails,” His grin was downright devious, “Bribery always works.”

“Oh, stop!”

Qrow only laughed, not fighting the kisses Clover attacked his face with. He had almost made it to his mouth, when a pitter-patter from upstairs interrupted. A moment later, a small shadow stretched down the stairwell. Testing, a foot came into view, landing on the first step. When nothing ill happened, the other foot followed.

When she made it to the first landing, Qrow spoke, “Whatcha doing there, squirt?”

She had brought Mr. Cuddlesworth with her and was hugging him. “Can I come down now?”

“I think that one’s up to daddy.”

Clover gave the other an appreciative look, before smiling up at their daughter. “Of course you can, sweetheart.”

She came down the rest of the stairs, only to pause once she got to the carpet. “Are you still mad?”

He chose his next words carefully, “No, I’m not. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I was scared that Aunt Raven was going to hurt you, because she was holding her sword.”

She tugged idly on one of the rabbit’s long, floppy ears. “I think I scared her too.”

That had Qrow leaning forward, asking. “What do you mean?”

“She said a no-no word when I tried to run into her portal thing. That’s why she grabbed me. Then she snapped at me like daddy did.”

Clover frowned. He had a feeling he had another apology to give. “Trissy, why did you do that?”

“Because,” She twisted and untwisted the ear, tapping her little feet, “If I went with her, then she would have to bring me back.”

Oh. “You wanted to spend more time with her, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

He eyed his boyfriend carefully, seeing the confliction all over his face. He dropped a hand over his, giving it a small squeeze. This had to be hard for him. “Well sweetie, next time, we can just ask her if she can stay longer okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’m also sorry I made you upset and sad. Can you forgive me?”

Citrus nibbled on the end of the rabbit’s ear as she thought, before giving a slow nod.

Relief pushed out of him in a soft sigh. “Thank you.” He shifted back, sinking into the cushions more. “Hey, since Mint’s asleep, why don’t we all watch a Gleamworks movie?”

“Sounds good to me.” Qrow got to his feet. After all that, he was probably eager to just veg out for the next hour and a half. He lent down in front of the media center, pulling out one of the drawers. “Your pick squirt.”

“I like the one with the funny panda!”

“Funny panda it is.”

While Qrow got things set up Citrus came over and, to Clover’s surprise, climbed up right next to him. She held her bunny up at him, reporting matter-of-factly, “Mr. Cuddlesworth needs to be able to see too.”

“Okay.” He picked up the stuffed toy, setting it on her head. “What about here?”

“No, daddy! Somewhere higher!”

“Oh, got it.” He turned the rabbit around, setting it on the back of the couch. “How about this?”

She giggled behind her hands. “Noooo. That’s the wrong way. He can’t see out of his butt!”

“Are you sure?”

She gave him a look. “Can you see out of your butt?”

He winked. “Maybe that’s my semblance.”

“No, it’s not! Now do it right!”

He chuckled but did as asked, righting the toy. As Citrus snuggled up to him, he wrapped an arm around her. A moment later, he did the same with Qrow when he plopped back down beside him.

While the movie played, Clover had to wonder how his life had both become congruently simpler and harder at the same time. Sure, he no longer faced anything more dangerous than bruised knees from tripping over Mint’s toys and the most terrifying thing he had to confront was not a crazed Grimm Queen but Citrus trying to run after her criminal of an aunt. But now he had to contend with new difficulties, like learning how to deal with sleepless nights when Mint was teething, or adapting to the new developments and understanding as the kids grew, or just having long talks with Qrow about their plans for their future together and the one they hope to give to their children. Every new decision they made wasn’t the same as facing the end of the world, but at the same time it was.

Because, somewhere along the way, this family had become his new world.

In that, there was something that hadn’t changed – his resolve to protect that world with everything he had.

So that tomorrow, it could flourish and grow.

To his right, Citrus laughed as the panda went flying across the sky. To his left, Qrow yawned and rested his head against his shoulder for a nap of his own. Clover only smiled, arms still holding on, never intending to let go.

So that tomorrow, they all had something wonderful to wake up to.

#clover ebi #qrow branwen #fair game #fairgameweek2020 #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale

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beansiewritesstuff · 4 years

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Zagreus vs The Mortal Coil

Lmao okay so let me explain! So maybe five or so months ago I got really into the game Hades, and I did that thing I do where I immediately create like five thousand OCs and a new plotline for it because I love it so much. This is an idea that spawned from my thoughts on what shenanigans might find Zagreus once he starts exploring more of the surface in the time he has there. I also wanted to explore how he might interact with mortals, and what he thinks of them considering he’s only got what others tell him to go on. I decided a baby would be an interesting dynamic for him, and an opportunity for him to grow further beyond what the events of the game allow. Still debating whether to write the baby as a reader insert or a character of my own? Also I wanted to test out writing using 1st person so consider this an experiment. Next part will be from Zag’s PoV again, but I think I’ll write from the human’s PoV once I age them up a little more.

So with all that said, I just wanted to go ahead and tag @heckpuppyy because we’ve been talking recently and I like you. This isn’t quite the Aconite piece I have planned for you, but it is Hades so I hoped that you would still enjoy it! Happy reading everybody!

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Suppose this whole situation may be entirely my fault.

It’d been a good while since I last died on an attempt. Long enough that I started to get bored. Making it to the surface had become commonplace for me, and so I began exploring for the brief time I’m able to exist up there. I’d just pick a direction and walk. Which is how I stumbled into this. Perhaps father was right when he said my casual curiosity would get the better of me someday. I always sort of agreed with him; though I never expected something like this. Then again, who but the Fates would?

Mortal behaviour has always been strange, at least to me. Or foreign, I guess. Talking to willing Shades and reading stories of them does little to help expand my understanding. Still, as I think most Gods are, I can’t help but to be intrigued by them. There’s almost a bizarre beauty in their existence, short though it may be. Yet there are also things about them that confuse me to bitterness. Things that strike too close to my father’s behaviour for my liking. Such as, for instance, leaving children out in the mountains to succumb to Demeter’s Winter.

I really hadn’t been walking long before I heard the cries. At first, I thought it might have been an animal in pain. Though I’d heard as many instances of that as I had human infants crying, at the time. It was very odd, this immediate tug in my chest at the noise. Mother later called it “maternal instinct”, though I’m fairly sure that term only applies to mothers. Nevertheless, that feeling was what led me to the clearing in which the squalling creature lay. For a moment, I’ll admit, I was stupefied. Why would a mortal so helpless be so far out here? I thought to myself. And where are its caretakers? Surely it didn’t transport its self all the way up here from the human village. It took a particularly loud hiccupping cry from the child to snap me out of my frozen state, and I found my legs working of their own accord to move the rest of me closer to the small lump of cloth and reddened, tear-stained cheeks. It stared back up at me when I leaned over it, its next wail caught in its throat momentarily at the sight of me. I worry for a moment that I might be scaring it, before my chest tightens in a strange emotion when it whimpers pitifully and reaches out to me. Its chubby little fingers make grabbing motions, and the muscles in my arms flex with the temptation to pick it up. A searching glance around confirmed that no other humans were around, which meant it would be up to me to guide this infant to whatever fate had been written for it.

Perhaps that was too prideful of me? After all, had I thought a bit more thoroughly, I may have reminded myself of my considerable lack of child-rearing experience. This is addition to the predicament of surface dwellers being unable to survive in the Underworld, and me being unable to live on the surface for more than an hour or so.

Alas, thanks to my haste in accepting the self-ascribed responsibility, I gave only just enough thought to this fact to move the child to a small hollow near the doors to father’s realm. It had belonged to an animal at some point, but now laid barren and slightly unkempt. I had just enough time to check it the unpleasant eight-legged surface creatures I’ve heard tell of being poisonous, and to stash my new ward away safely from the elements, before the Styx took me back home. It was only upon emerging from the Pool that it struck me the weight of my decision. A baby. A human baby. One that would have simply died had I not intervened. One that now requires me to fight my way back up to ensure it’s survival. One that will need food and shelter and attention. One that… Now belongs to me.

“Blood and darkness!” Stygius slips slightly from my grip as it catches inside the Wretched Lout I just impaled. I readjust my hold and heave it out of the sickly yellow flesh, waving it slightly to flick some of the congealing black blood from it. I have no time to stop this run. I’ve boxed myself into such a situation I barely had time to check in with everybody before leaving. I neglected to share my secret just yet, both for a loss as to how exactly to do so, as well as the worry that they would try to talk me out of it. Forgetting this whole thing seems the logical thing to do, and part of me wishes I would. And yet there is another part, small but overwhelming, that screams You must hurry. You must return to it. You must protect it! And it would seem to be the part that’s winning.

The sound of a Boon echoes through the small chamber, though when I look to it, it’s one I’ve never seen before. A deeper blue than from Poseidon, with some kind of feather symbol. When I reach out to it, the sound of a baby’s laughter reverberates through my entire body it seems. “In the name of Hades, uhh… Hello?” The glowing orb expands and bursts in a cloud of feathers to reveal the visage of a beautiful woman. She dons the same colour of chiton as her blessing, with rich green and gold patterning. Her green eyes remind me of mother and Demeter. Mother… “Lady Hera. It’s… An honour.” The stoic looking woman extends her hand without speaking, three blue feathers appearing in front of me. These are different from the regular gifts I receive. It weighs on my mind that my decision will factor heavily into my care for the infant. Hera is the Goddess of childbirth and motherhood, now may be my opportunity to get the best advice possible. It does occur to me that she doesn’t seem the most talkative. But I don’t have much choice, I need to get the most out of this encounter, considering how out of my element caring for another being is. “Lady Hera, I apologise for my boldness, but I must beseech your assistance in the matter of- “

“I sense your predicament, young Prince. I ask you not request more of me than I volunteer, though I can say I am here to help. For now, choose a gift to help you with your ward, and be on your way.” Seems that would be our conversation over. I straighten my stance and properly look over the feathers, now adorned with golden etching in the shape of familiar yet foreign words. “Mother’s Intuition” “Fruits of Labor” “Calming Touch” All seem useful, but if Hera is truly planning to stick around to help me, I suppose my decision now doesn’t hold as much weight as my initial assumption. “Calming Touch” seems it would be the most useful to me as of now. As my fingers brush the barbs of the feather, the “eye” blinks at me, and the other two disappear in small clouds of bubbles. More childlike laughter sounds from them as they pop, and that feeling is back in my chest as I clutch the feather to my chest. The illusion of Hera nods her approval before it too dissipates in a bright flash that has me blinking away the spots in my vision as I stumble toward the next door. I fasten the feather to my tunic and continue on.

Tartarus passes in a whirlwind, my haste extending to Stygius, as if the infernal blade can sense the situation. Soon the river Phlegethon bubbles and hisses around me, the sulfur stinging my eyes. I leap over a steaming break in the land and carry the momentum through another Slamdancer. More Bloodless spawn behind me and I can only muster a sigh in response. Seems this repetition is starting to wear on my mind. Or perhaps it’s my impatience. Whatever it is, it continues to plague my mind with chilling images of the little creature I have stashed away, the hovel barely big enough to fit it. The idea of what might happen should I delay spurs me forward, not even paying attention to the Boon I accept. The orange-y glow makes me think Hermes, until a deep, rough voice booms above me. Acting on impulse I flinch back and bring Stygius in front of me. The man peering down at me with one eye under his brow scoffs and folds his arms across his chest. Feeling only a little silly, I clear my throat and lower the blade. “Apologies, Lord. I’m distracted by the heat of this place; I meant no offense.” This seems enough for the God and the jaded look to his eyes falls away to leave a particular type of exhaustion. He nods in understanding and lifts a large hand towards me. I notice something clenched in his scarred grip, and when his fingers uncurl to reveal parchment not unlike the House Contractor’s, with similar projects marked on it, a realization dawns on me. I take the paper, my eyes drawn to the blueprint labelled “Sturdy Cottage”. It seems my fears for the infant’s safety are unnecessary, seeing as I happen to have the four diamonds needed to purchase the construct. “I think this will be of much use, Lord Hephaestus. I greatly appreciate your generous assistance.” The God seems mildly taken aback by my thanks but retrieves the ledger and diamonds with a nod at my decision. Sparks fly as Hephaestus leaves, hopefully straight for the surface to begin building the cottage. It feels as if a deep shadow has been cleared from my mind, and my thoughts of the mortal are considerably lighter than before.

Elysium provides, as always, the most resistance to my journey up. The Exalted are ferocious in their desperation for battle, charging at me with no hesitation upon spawning. I’ve already taken several hits from those blasted Flamewheels by the time I reach the next chamber with something new. At first, I fretfully believe it to be a Trial of the Gods, but upon a closer look, it seems to be a joint blessing of some kind. I recognize the wheat symbol for a Boon of Demeter, but it overlaps a peacock feather. Are the Goddesses aware of this? I hesitantly accept, and the orb expands as any other. In an icy flash filled with children’s laughter, the likenesses two Goddesses stand before me. Demeter smiles down at me, and I might be tempted to call it warm. Whereas Hera stands tall and proud as she did on our first meeting. “Zagreus, I believe you’ve already met my sister. She’s come to me with an interesting proposition; one I believe you should be made privy to.” Demeter summons a true stalk of wheat, golden and shining, and allows me to take it. I twist the stalk between my fingers, watching the little barbs blur together as they spin. “Bury this where you wish. The snow and ice will melt from that place, and your child will be safe from the elements. I know not why you would waste pity on such a creature, but perhaps it will be of future use to you. Good luck, grandson.” I hold the wheat tightly to me as they leave, my heart pounding at the idea of bending the very rules Demeter herself has put in place for this one mortal infant. A very small part of my mind wonders if this is even worth it, but like all my doubts, it gets swept away at the prospect of knowing this creature will be safe. I pin the wheat next to the feather and wonder what my next gift may be as the door clunks shut behind me.

I’ve almost made it. Just need to get past father and I can get to work. He’s not making it easy, though he never does, and it’s especially frustrating this time. I almost lose my footing on the snow as I dodge another swing. Father scoffs and begins powering up for his stupid laser move. I thank the stone stump for the umpteenth time as I crouch behind it. On the bright side, father only needs a few more hits before the Styx overwhelms him. “You seem especially antsy this attempt, boy. What mischief are you plotting? What could possibly be so important up here?”

“Far be it for me to allow you to ruin my fun, father.” I smirk as Stygius makes contact and slices a deep black gash under the Underworld Lord’s second rib. Father grunts and smacks me away with the blunt end of his spear. The throb is dull and adds no more stress to my body. This may be one of our best fights, on my end anyway. “Come now father, surely you have more important paperwork than this?” I pause to charge up another Bloodstone, distantly registering the hiss of the disturbed snow under my feet. “Watch that tongue of yours, boy. You’ll still have to deal with the consequences when you inevitably return to my House!” My cast lands a hit square on his chest as he finishes his threat, and he falls to his knee. “Until then, father.” I’m not sure if he heard me over the rush of the Styx, but my hope that he did is tinged in bitterness. Turning away, I hurry to collect my Bloodstones and cross the threshold into Greece.

The mountain seems to be caught in a storm of some kind. The cruel winds howl and whistle past my ears, the sheets of snow all but completely ELEPHANT my vision. I hurry along the treeline, thankful the entrance hollow is facing the direction the wind is blowing. I wonder if Demeter chose this direction intentionally, or if she may have been attempting to wipe out the infant before I had the chance to truly commit to my task. I decide she isn’t that heartless, not now anyway, and kneel beside the hollow. The crying of the infant is still going strong, so I at least can be sure it’s alive. I adjust my tunic so that I can tuck the child close to my body and reach to scoop it up. As I hold it close, my eye catches on the glint of silver around its neck. A chain, specifically one of a necklace. The charm is familiar, but I can’t quite place its origin. A sphere overlapped at each side by two crescent moon shapes. Whatever it is, I’m fairly sure it has something to do with father. Why else would the infant be left so close to his realm? The mortal whimpers quietly, curling in on itself. I need to get it out of this storm. My fingers wrap around the wheat as I stand. Surely Hephaestus would have built the cottage close by, for his own convenience at the very least. I decide to move back closer to the doors, so I can at least avoid the worst of the storm. I must hurry if I’m to find the cottage before my time is up.

The trees seem to fall away off to the right, as the land dips toward a river that’s frozen over. Perhaps I can at least clear this spot for now with Demeter’s gift. The banks flatten out before rising high at the sides, shielding the small valley from the wind. If I look closely, I can see the water rushing underneath the ice layer. I’m just starting to reach for the wheat when I notice a dark shape looming from the opposite side of the river. The cottage! Well, less of a cottage and more of a large house. Praising Hephaestus, I stumble over the frozen river, eyeing the places where the ice sizzles. The hill proves easy to scale, even with the protesting infant at my breast, and the door to the building gives easily to my push, the wind whooshing through the doorway to paint the inner floor white. It’s considerably harder to fight the wind to get the door closed again, but once it is, I’m free to sit against it and bask in the slightly warmer temperature. Even my infantile ward seems more pleased with the new surroundings, though it still hiccups and whines unhappily at me. “Come now, surely a little gratitude’s been earned here?” The mortal cries in response and I can’t help the exasperated laugh that escapes me. Suppose it’s entitled to its opinion, considering the state it’s in. It spurs me to stand again, scanning the room for a place to rest the mortal until I get back. Hephaestus did quite the good job with the construct. Sturdy walls, a strong roof, and windows sealed shut with thick glass to keep out the chill. The room we’re in now is spacious, with an open doorway leading to what reminds me of the House kitchens, and an arched entrance with a step up to a section that might be a lounge? I can see other closed doors that I’ll have to explore later, but for now I move into the kitchen and readjust the infant’s swaddle so that it can lay comfortably. It watches me in what I think is curiosity, though it’s kind of hard to tell with the tears in its eyes. I need to figure out what it needs next. Food? Let’s go with food. What do humans eat? What do human babies eat? Perhaps Hera will have answers. The pull of the Styx is stronger now, and I know I don’t have much longer. I shouldn’t let it see this. I lean over the cocoon of snot and tears and cheeks. The cries quieten as two big brown eyes stare mournfully up at me. “Abahaa!” It babbles and tries to reach for me. I meet its little hand in-between us with a finger. It’s fingers barely wrap around mine. It’s an overwhelming feeling; how small this creature is. Small and helpless and fragile and mine. I carefully remove the infant’s hand and tuck it back in its wrappings so I can leave. I’m able to securely close the door behind me and take but a few steps forward before the Styx arrives. Crawling out of the river is getting easier with my new motivation.

“Don’t worry, little thing. I’ll be back soon.”

#Beansie Writes #HadesGame #Supergiant Games #Prince Zagreus #Hades #Queen Hera #Hephaestus #yeet first proper piece for this game #whoop whoop #Hera and Hephaestus don't appear in canon and it offends me #I also plan to bring up Hestia and a few others in the future because they're important to me

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sweetmemories2606 · 5 years

Text

Sunset (Gruvia + Chendy Fluff)

I have created this miracle for @kaca from Discord, my beautiful mamma, since today is her birthday.

Thanks for inspiring me to write fluff 😀 I do enjoy coming up with only soft ideas every once in a while.

Hope you'll enjoy the cuteness!

________________

Sunset

The sun was setting during their ride home, so they enjoyed watching the sky turn from light blue to orange.

The carriage they had rented had an open ceiling, offering the privilege of watching the sunset in its full beauty.

The baby in Chelia's arms had her eyes open, a curious expression once she looked up.

"Isn't it beautiful?" The god slayer asked, unable to keep the smile off her face.

"Her first sunset." Wendy whispered, moving closer to her wife, head resting against Chelia's shoulder.

"Do you want to hold her?" The latter asked, but the dragon slayer shook her head.

"I think she's very comfortable." Wendy smiled once the baby glanced at her. "Aren't you, little Jane?"

Six months old Jane looked similar to Fairy Tail's first master; Mavis; with the same green eyes and blonde hair. She had been found at Juvia's old orphanage in Oak Town, close to where the two of them had been taking a mission.

A few weeks before, the water mage had called them with the news that she had found the perfect baby for them to adopt. Excited to finally become parents, Chelia and Wendy had quickly arrived at the orphanage.

After spending some time with Jane, they had fallen in love with the infant. After Juvia's talk with the owner; when she convinced the older woman that they were the right choice, the couple was able to take Jane home.

"Jane. I love that name." Chelia commented, looking down at their daughter.

"Me too. It's the perfect name for our daughter." Our daughter. It was still surreal to realise that they were actually parents.

"I still can't believe that you two have a baby." They glanced at the other couple who sat in front of them.

Juvia was resting her head on Gray's shoulder, keeping both arms wrapped around their 7 years old son, Silver.

Meanwhile, Gray wrapped one arm around his wife and held their 11 months old daughter; Violet; with the other. Both children were fast asleep; exhausted after a long day.

"I was starting to think it would never happen." Chelia looked down at her daughter with adoration.

"Thanks for all your help." Wendy told the water mage, who smiled.

"You're welcome." Glancing at the infant, Juvia's smile brightened. "I'm happy to have helped this little one find a good family."

They understood the parallel between Jane and herself; seeing as both had come from the orphanage in Oak Town.

Sensing the sadness his wife was attempting to conceal, Gray gently squeezed her shoulder before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"I only hope we can be the family she needs." Wendy said, clearly in doubt. Chelia glanced at her; the same unsure look upon her face; before taking her hand and squeezing it gently.

"I get how you feel." Gray told them before glancing at his son. Juvia smiled upon noticing his loving look and tightened her arms around the young boy.

"Mamma." Silver whispered; still asleep; and his hold on her tightened as well.

Turning to the other couple, the water mage smiled reassuringly. "I'm sure you two will adjust to being new parents in no time."

"So, do you have any tips?" Chelia asked, helping Jane sit up. The baby briefly glanced at the two adults in front of her, offering a smile, before her gaze settled on Wendy.

Babbling something intelligible, she lifted her arms and the dragon slayer assumed this meant she wanted to be picked up.

Hearing no complaints once she took the infant into her arms, Wendy settled Jane comfortable; letting her head rest against her shoulder.

When the child's small arms wrapped around her neck, she tried to act unfazed, but Chelia noticed it and smiled softly.

"Well, I'm not sure what to say." Gray and Juvia shared a look.

"There's a lot we wish we had known before." The ice mage chuckled.

"Like what?" Chelia asked, raising a brow.

"For example, babies never sleep through the night." The water mage glanced at Violet. "No matter how tired they are."

"Usually she wakes up because she's hungry." Gray added.

"How do you know when she's hungry?" Wendy asked, starting to rub circles on Jane's back once she heard the baby yawn.

"Because of how she cries." Juvia explained. "In time you'll be able to figure out wether she's crying because she's hungry, tired or in pain."

"I hope so." Chelia said.

Just on cue, Violet suddenly started crying, startling the adults. Her hands fisted her father's shirt and he immediately understood.

"That's the hungry cry." Gray said while holding her with one arm so that Juvia could place Silver on his lap.

The young boy briefly woke up upon leaving the comfort of her arms, but as soon as Gray wrapped his free arm around him, Silver hugged his father and fell back asleep within seconds.

Once their son was comfortable, Gray passed the crying baby to Juvia, who tried to soothe Violet while prepping her to be fed.

"And what about this?" Wendy asked, worried once Jane removed her head from her shoulder and started crying as well.

"That's the 'let me sleep in peace' cry." The ice mage chuckled.

"Maybe you should continue rubbing circles on her back." Chelia suggested. "She seemed to like it."

"Okay, then." Wendy did so and was relieved when Jane's cries began to lessen.

"Good job, Wendy." Juvia praised.

"See? You're already getting the hang of it." Gray cheerfully told the younger couple.

"Now I wish that you guys could be with us all the time." Wendy admitted.

"Yeah, that would make things easier." Chelia agreed.

"I think you should count more on Sherry and Ren since they're closer." Gray told them.

Since Wendy had re-joined Lamia Scale a few years back, she wasn't not as close to her Fairy Tail friends as she would've liked. However, there was never doubt that this had been the right choice.

"We will." Wendy nodded, smiling sadly. "I just miss you guys."

"We miss you too, Wendy." Juvia told her while changing Violet's position to facilitate breastfeeding.

"We'll try to come around more often." Gray suggested.

"You should!" Chelia smiled. "Lyon said he misses you."

"How's he doing?" Juvia asked. "And Meredy?"

"They're having a hard time with Nora." Lyon and Meredy had recently adopted a young girl whom they found the East. The poor child had been the only survivor in the destruction of her home; reminding the sensory link mage of herself.

"That poor child." The water mage frowned.

"I'm sure she'll be fine." Gray smiled, passing his fingers through Silver's spiky hair. "Lyon's good with children, so she'll warm up to him shortly."

"Did you just compliment Lyon?" Juvia stared at her husband in fake astonishment.

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that." Chelia said, a teasing smile on her lips.

The ice mage narrowed his eyes. "Don't you dare."

Everyone laughed as they continued to tease him about it. In the next two hours of their ride, they chatted about their friends in Fairy Tail and wondered how they must all be doing.

Juvia pondered if Gajeel and Levy had finally managed to get the twins used to the idea of a new sibling; Gray remarked how Natsu and Lucy's daughter, Nashi, had made it clear she wanted to remain an only child; and Wendy pointed out how Jellal and Erza might be pregnant again.

Admist the adult's conversation, all the children slept.

That is, until suddenly the carriage stopped, startling everyone. The coachman's voice could be heard. "We have arrived at your destination."

Sharing brief glances, the four adults started getting ready to leave the vehicle. Chelia quickly put on her coat before taking Jane so that Wendy could do the same. The baby looked around in confusion, half awake.

"Did you have a nice sleep, Jane?" The god slayer softly talked to the baby, relieved as she seemed to fully wake up.

Juvia placed a grumpy Violet her on the ice basket that Gray had created. The infant complained at first, but soon her attention was caught by her favourite stuffed dragon which Natsu and Lucy had gifted her with.

While she happily hugged the toy, the water mage quickly put on her coat; watching as Gray gently awoke Silver. He was thoughtful, whispering something to the boy while rubbing circles on his back.

Eventually, Silver yawned loudly before getting out of his father's lap and glancing at his mother.

"Mamma." Juvia smiled, picking up his coat and handing it to him.

"How did you sleep, baby." He nodded, accepting it.

"Good. But I wanna sleep more." Both parents chuckled seeing the his pout, dark eyes glazed with tiredness.

"You can sleep after the party." Gray told him, putting on his own coat.

Luckily, Silver accepted this response without complaints, quickly dressing himself.

Once everyone was ready, they left the carriage one by one, taking in the beautiful scenery that was Lamia Scale's guildhall in the sunset. Wendy and Chelia smiled, happy to be back home, before glancing at the curious baby in the latter's arms.

"Are you ready to meet your family, Jane?" Jane once again babbled something intelligible which they took as a yes.

"Come on." Wendy took Chelia's hand as they stepped forward.

The other couple decided to wait for a bit, enjoying the sunset. A few minutes later, once the sky turned dark, they turned to Silver; who was frowning.

"What's wrong, darling?" Juvia worried.

"The sun is gone." The young boy replied, sadly.

"It will come back tomorrow." Gray reassured, struggling to keep hold of Violet as she tried to leave his arms.

Silver pondered his response. "I wanna watch the sunset again tomorrow."

Juvia smiled brightly. "Of course! Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes, mamma." He took her extended hand as they began approaching the guildhall. Meanwhile, Gray decided to settle Violet down and she stumbled to arrive at their destination.

Watching their daughter trip and fall; yet never giving up; they smiled knowing she would grow up to be just as determined and stubborn as her parents.

I hope everyone has a beautiful day 😉

#fanfic #gruvia #chendy #fluff #fairy tail #future au #family #happiness #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #wendy marvell #chelia blendy #silver fullbuster #violet fullbuster

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mbruben-stein · 5 years

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The Swan Princess: Takashi "Mori" Morinozuka x reader

A/N: If this is your first time reading a x reader FanFiction then I hope you enjoy it

(Y/N): Your name

(E/C): Eye color

(H/C): Hair color

(H/l): Hair length.

Chapter 1:

Once upon a time, there was a king named Tamaki Suoh who ruled a very large kingdom. But he was sad, for he was growing old and had no child to the throne. Then happily, a daughter was born and was given the name (y/n). Many kings and queens gathered from all over to offer gifts to the princess, and among them was the widowed queen Renge and her young son, Takashi "Mori" Morinozuka.

Mori walked up to the crib where (y/n) lay with a gold heart locket with a picture with a swan in flight in his hand. He dangled it into the crib where (y/n) tried to reach out for it and touched his hand. He was startled by this gesture, but he went along with it because (y/n) was merely an infant and was curious. He couldn't help but notice how beautiful her eyes were.

As Tamaki and Renge were watching their two children, they suddenly had a shared idea: If they could bring Mori and (y/n) together every summer, they might just fall in love and their kingdoms would be joined forever.

Unknown to all was a plan to destroy Tamaki Suoh's kingdom. The evil Chizuru Maihara was scheming to take everything Tamaki had away. Chizuru had been promised the right to the throne if Tamaki and Haruhi were childless. And she intended to keep it that way.

She had cursed the queen to lose her children every time she bared them and it mystified her that this one child had survived. But at a price; the queen lost her life giving birth to the girl and it made her curious as to what was so special about her. As curious as she was about her, she didn't pay much heed as she thought that the girl would perish along with her father when she made her assault with her magic. Before she could, Tamaki's forces attacked and plunged her powers into the darkness.

Despite calls for her death, the enchanters were merely banished from Tamaki's kingdom. But not before an ominous warning.

"When I get my power back, I promise you: Everything you own, everything you love, will be mine."

Many thought that King Tamaki was too kind. In time, the threat was forgotten. And all hopes turned to that not-too-distant summer when Mori and (y/n) would meet.

~Time skip~

"They're here! They're here! They're-" WHAM! Mitsukuni Haninozuka, the page, was a little too excited when he saw King Tamaki arrive with his men. He was spinning around the flagpole and when the King was in sight, he turned into the flagpole face first and was knocked to his back. "Oh, hehe hehe. A little too excited there." He cleared his throat as he stood up to salute and sounded his trumpet to greet the king.

(y/n) looked up to find the source of the trumpet and she was amazed at how tall everything was. It was much bigger than at home. She turned her head curiously around her father when she saw that they were leaving without their knights.

"Father, why aren't the knights coming with us?" (y/n) asked.

"We're going to meet with the queen and her little boy Mori. We don't want to scare him off now, do we?" He smiled and winked at his daughter in which she tried to wink back with not much success. She ended up blinking back at her father then had to hold one eye open and blinked with the other with earned her a laugh from her father.

Soon a woman and a boy were in sight as Tamaki and (y/n) stepped through an ivory stone arch. The woman had golden-brown hair that look kind of clothes to Tamaki hair and her green dress matched her vibrant kind eyes. And behind her was a grumpy looking boy that had short black hair and sky dark grey eyes.

"Ah, Queen Renge. As lovely as ever." Tamaki smiled as he greeted them. "And this strapping young lad must be Prince Mori."

"Welcome to our fair humble kingdom, dear Tamaki. And to you, young Princess (y/n)." Renge smiled at (y/n) as Tamaki lifted her off the saddle in front of him. (y/n) put her hands behind her shyly and looked up at her father. He smiled comfortingly at her and gave her a little nudge to move forward to say hello which she hesitantly followed.

Renge nudged mori in which he stubbornly didn't move and glared at his mother unwilling to meet (y/n). "Mother." He whined.

She glared back at him and he hung his head as he went up to meet her.

"Hello, Princess (y/n)." He turned his head away and scowled. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"Please to meet you, Prince Mori," (y/n) said happily as she raised her skirt high as she curtsied. Mori went back to his mother when (y/n)'s head was halfway to the ground. Renge pointed back to (y/n) just before Mori came back and he went back to her quickly and grabbed her hand.

(y/n) scowled at him as Mori cringed when he was raising her hand to his lips. He gave (y/n)'s hand a quick kiss and wiped his mouth in distaste. He folded his arms and glared at her.

``I can't believe I'm stuck with her all summer, I bet she doesn't even wrestle, hunt or box.' (y/n) put her fists up as if she were about to fight him which made him flinch. (y/n) lowered one and glared at Mori.

'He looks conceited.' She thought.

'What a total bummer.' Mori huffed as he crossed his arms. The children looked back to their parents who were silently urging them to continue talking and they got the message.

'If I get lucky I'll get chickenpox.' They both prayed.

"So happy you could come." Mori forced a smile on his face.

"So happy to be here." (y/n) bowed slightly with a small forced smile on her face as well.

'How I'd like to run!'

"This is not my idea…" (y/n) said quietly. "This isn't my idea of fun." The children turned their backs to each other and folded their arms. Later Mori and (y/n) were playing a game of knights with wooden toy swords on a set of stairs. (y/n) tripped Mori as he chased after her landing on his butt at the bottom of the stairs and (y/n) took the opportunity to pounce on him and beat him up. However, Mori wasn't going to let her. They were rolling together, giving and taking beatings and took turns being throttled.

()()()()()()()()()()()

"The children seem to get along quite nicely." Renge mused as she was walking with Tamaki. The children continued their fight out in the gardens until sunset and were not too far behind their parents.

"We'll join our lands if this arrangement clicks." Tamaki happily exclaimed.

"My dear King Tamaki, that's my point, precisely." She laughed as she walked to fingers on his shoulder.

"It's such good parenting."

"And politics. So happy we agree."

"I think we've got a deal." Tamaki shook hands with her and shared her smile.

"Mori's quite a catch.~" She chimed.

"This is my idea…"

"This is MY idea of a match!" The children stumbled upon their parents and were within striking distance of each other but Renge held back (y/n) and Tamaki held back mori while the children were both struggling to try to hit the other. Mori escaped Tamaki's grip but Tamaki was too quick and was able to hold him back.

Renge giggled at the two children. "They're so adorable together."

()()()()()()()

A few years had gone by and another dreaded summer was approaching. 11-year-old (y/n) watched from her balcony as her father's knights were packing up her belongings for the trip to meet Prince Mori. She folded her arms and scowled. WHY must she meet with that obnoxious brat every year?

"Good heavens child," Tamaki called her. "Don't dawdle. We can't keep Mori waiting."

"I haven't packed or washed my hair and father, I get seasick."

()()()()()()()()()

"They soon will be arriving." Renge came into Mori room to see him shoot arrows at a poorly drawn portrait of (y/n). "In that respect, you're showing?" She glared at him and tapped her foot.

"You make me kiss her hand again, I swear I'm gonna be sick."

()()()()()()()()()

King Tamaki immediately greeted queen Renge once the ship arrived but (y/n) stayed on the ship, sulking and not even looking at Mori. She didn't turn around until Mori's friend, Ritsu Kasanoda shot a tomato at her with a slingshot.

Later, (y/n), Mori, and Kasanoda were sliding down the banister in the castle like a slide.

'We tried all summer but we just can't lose her.' Mori wished that (y/n) would just stay away from them like she did when she just arrived at the beginning of the summer but now she won't leave them alone. He didn't quite understand why.

"Hey, wait up!" (y/n) called. She was trying to slow down because she was uneasy about going down the banister as fast as the boys.

"Quick, put on some speed!" Kasanoda whispered loudly to Mori as they leaned forward to slide faster. They jumped off at the perfect time at the bottom leaving poor (y/n) spinning around the post before she could get off.

()()()()()()()()

"When picking teams," Mori and Kasanoda went to their treehouse and pulled up their rope ladder before (y/n) could follow.

"For friends." Ritsu sniggered.

"I never choose her."

"You think she'd take a hint and learn to read." He pulled out a piece of paper outside the window that said 'NO GIRLS' which made her frown and stomp her foot.

"This isn't fair."

"We really couldn't care." The boys said in unison.

"Boys, it's all or none." She kicked the stand that was holding the treehouse up out of frustration and accidentally sent the whole thing down which earned her and the boys a few broken limbs and a black eye each.

"This is not my idea…" (y/n) sighed.

"This isn't my idea of fun." The boys said.

()()()()()()()()()()

The villagers were chatting vibrantly as (y/n), King Tamaki and the knights rode past them. They watched as (y/n) was riding her horse with a cast and most of them shook their heads knowing that this was yet again another unpleasant summer. They knew the agreement that King Tamaki and Queen Renge made a long time ago and they couldn't help but recall it in almost vivid detail.

Long before they met, Mori and (y/n) were destined to be wedded. However, anyone could see the only point on which they didn't disagree was that the very thought of summertime was dreaded. The peasants did support the idea of the kingdoms uniting but at the rate (y/n) and Mori were going at liking each other were not very high and they couldn't help but pity them. They would rather not have a forced marriage and an unhappy couple as King and Queen.

()()()()()()()()

Another few summers pass and like always, the greetings did not go well. Mori had climbed up a tree and his mother couldn't get him to come down with her nagging and (y/n) had anchored herself in her carriage and Tamaki was trying to pull her out by her ankles.

'She talks me into playing Dress Up,'

But after a while, they were able to play some games with (y/n)'s choice of Dress Up where she was a queen and Mori came in with a monster mask that made her flinch and swing at him with the scepter that she was holding.

'She's always flirting with the castle guards.'Later Mori and Kasanoda saw her having a lively conversation with Kaoru Hitachiin, the captain of Mori's knights. Mori scowled as Kaoru laughed and Mori's face was starting to turn red.

"Ahahaha! I think you're starting to like her, 'fess up." Kasanoda elbowed Mori teasingly. "Why else would you be jealous?"

"I am NOT jealous! But I would like her better if she loses at cards." Kasanoda was putting up two fingers then five while pointing down at (y/n)'s hand of cards.

Mori grinned smugly as he lay his hand down on the table. "Four sevens and a ten."

"Not so fast, I win again.~" (y/n) layout four aces and Mori stared at her in disbelief. He looked up at Kasanoda who shrugged. Mori made a mental note not to ask for his help with cards again.

"This is my idea…" (y/n) smiled at Mori as she rested her head in her hands.

"This isn't my idea of fun." Mori sank back in his chair.

()()()()()()()()()

Mori and (y/n) rode around in a carriage around town as per their parents' request. As (y/n) was waving kindly to the peasants as they passed by, Mori put up two fingers behind her head when her back was turned and when she turned to face him, he moved to the far side of the seat and started whistling.

"We need a royal wedding, I'd love to be invited." A few maidens sighed as the prince and princess rode by.

"At least we'll get a holiday to rest our plows and axes." A couple of farmers said.

"Someday, these two will marry." The maidens sang as Tamaki and (y/n) were boarding their ship. Renge was waving cheerfully at them while Mori was sulking and refused to look at them until (y/n) shot a tomato at him with a slingshot then threw it in the water as she was heading up the plank.

"Two lands will be united. And with some luck, their marriage may result in lower taxes."

()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Tamaki wrote to Renge expressing his doubts during the winter. (y/n) has displayed some interest in Mori but not enough to keep her attention. He noticed that a few other men have been captivated by her as she was growing more beautiful by the year.

'What if (y/n) doesn't go for the merger?'

'URGE her!' Renge replied.

~ Time skip ~

A few more summers pass, with (y/n) now 18 and Mori 21, and they still dread their meetings with each other. But they would do their duties and meet each other anyway, however painful it was.

'For as long as I can remember, we've been told we'd someday wed. Every June until September…'

"All their pushing and annoying hints…" Mori grumbled as his mother pushed him towards his castle's ballroom.

"I've got bruises with their fingerprints." (y/n) sighed as she was being carried to the castle by Tamaki and Kyoya Ootori, the castle's musician.

"I can do much better, I am sure," Mori said as his mother pushed him into the ballroom and locked the door.

"He's so immature." (y/n) had her shawl taken away before being pushed through the other ballroom door with her back turned from Mori.

Mori heard the door shut and he turned to see who it was, with some luck it was one of his servants, and he couldn't believe his eyes. (y/n) had turned to meet his gaze and he couldn't believe this beautiful girl, this goddess, was (y/n). He couldn't help but smile genuinely. Seeing Mori's real smile made (y/n)'s heart melt and feel warm

'I see him smiling and my knees start buckling. I see inside him and my doubts are gone.'

'She started as an ugly duckling. And somehow suddenly became a swan.' They started to walk towards each other, smiling at each other and never breaking their gaze on each other. They bowed and curtsied to each other before taking each other's hands.

"So happy to be here…" (y/n) said.

"'Til now I never knew…"Mori whispered as they were drawn closer to each other.

'It was you I've been dreaming of…'

'This is my idea…'

"What a good idea, such a charming and romantic notion." Tamaki and Renge burst into the ballroom in a tango like formation along with other servants in a celebration that Mori and (y/n) were finally falling in love with. Kyoya even got his band to start playing a piece of festive music as the servants started to come in, all eyes on Mori and (y/n) who had tuned them out and only saw each other. They started waltzing to their beat under the illuminated scene that was focused on them.

"This is my idea…" Mori and (y/n) sang softly in unison as they were drawn together for a kiss. "Of…" Their lips met each other as (y/n) placed one hand on Mori's chest.

"Love…" That one little word chimed throughout the ballroom and it felt so magical.

Mori took (y/n)'s hand and they faced their parents.

"Arrange the marriage." He announced proudly. Renge squealed in joy when Mori said that. Applause broke out in the hall and when (y/n) looked around, more people came in at some point. They were all nobles but they were delighted that Mori and (y/n) were finally in love.

(y/n) thought that this might be a little too quick. They've never really liked each other until now and Mori wanted to go with the marriage. Kyoya started playing music and (y/n) stopped the noise when she said "Wait!" and turned to Mori.

There was a tense atmosphere and everyone was holding their breath. They finally got them together like this but they were so nervous that this could all fall apart.

"What?" Mori turned to her. "You're all I've ever wanted. You're beautiful." Mori smiled at her.

"Thank you. But what else?" (y/n) tilted her head.

"What else?" Mori repeated, not expecting that and darting his eyes around the room nervously.

"Is beauty all that matters to you? (y/n) stared at him with her (e/c) eyes" Tamaki cleared his throat and shook his head for his daughter not to continue which she ignored. She was hoping Mori would be able to tell her honestly because the timing was a little too peculiar for him to finally love her.

"Mori," Renge spoke up. "What else?"

Mori looked back and forth between his mother and (y/n), unsure of what to say. He didn't know what kind of answer she was expecting and he didn't want to embarrass himself by not saying anything. "I-um… Uh… What else is there?"

Kyoya gave him a thumb down and made a buzzing sound. Renge gripped her hair in horror and started whimpering. (y/n)'s heart sank to her stomach as her worst fear was confirmed. Mori only loves her beauty.

()()()()()()()()

(y/n) and her father were just about ready to leave through the ivory stone arch for the last time.

"Well, we tried, dear Renge. We can't say we didn't try." Tamaki said as he was on his horse. (y/n)'s horse was next to his, not facing Mori. Renge's lip was quivering as she was trying her hardest not to cry. Mori stood beside her with his arms folded and his head turned away with remorse.

"Say goodbye, (y/n)."

"Goodbye." She said without turning around. She felt like she was going to cry her heart out if she saw Mori again.

"Goodbye?"

"Goodbye prince Takashi." She slightly turned her head and looked at him for the last time with her (e/c) eyes, and (h/l) (h/c) hair.

Renge elbowed Mori and hissed at him.

"Goodbye, Princess." He gritted his teeth as (y/n) rode off.

She spared one last glance before they vanished into the woods, meeting Mori's eyes once more before Mori broke their contact.

Renge started to walk back to the castle crying her eyes out. "All these years of planning… WASTED!" Her last word echoed off the stone walls.

Later that night, a horrible thunderstorm was approaching and Mori decided to play a game of chess with Kasanoda to pass the time. Unfortunately, Kyoya was there lecturing him as well.

"You are a fool! What else is there?" He mocked Mori's original tone while hitting himself in the head. "She says, 'Is beauty all that matters to you?' and all you can say 'What else is there?'" Mori turned his head to Kyoya to give a hesitant reply. While his head was turned, Kasanoda took the opportunity to swipe Mori's knight.

"I-I don't know… It came on too fast, what was I supposed to say? There should've been a manual or something if that question came up. It was dumb, I know."

"How about you write one?" Kyoya sneered. " 'How to Insult Women in Five Syllables or Less'. Sounds like a good start."

"Your turn, Prince Mori," Kasanoda smirked. Mori moved a chess piece and Kasanoda used his bishop and held Mori's queen between his fingers.

"You lost your queen, Mori." He smirked.

"That's twice in one day." Mori sighed.

"Think, boy. You must see something other than (y/n)'s beauty." Kyoya said.

"Of course I do, Kyoya. She's like… You know… How about… And then… Am I right?"

Kyoya raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'll prove it to her." Mori declared as he turned back to Kasanoda. "I'll prove my love to her. I'll show her that I care about more than her looks. Checkmate!" He slammed the chess piece onto the table which stupefied Kasanoda.

()()()()()()()()()()

Another clash of thunder sent a shudder down (y/n)'s spine. Even though the rain and the wind were drowning out the noises outside, she swore that she heard an eerie voice. "Today's the day, Tamaki Suoh. Everything you own, everything you love, will be MINE." (y/n) heard that voice faintly before… In a dream. And cold blue eyes were watching her and it frightened her. But it was all just a bad dream.

"I-I just don't understand…" Tamaki said. "What else did you want him to say?"

"Father… I need to know that he loves me, for just being me." (y/n) looked at her father with her (e/c) eyes that glistened with tears in her eyes, as she looked back at the window with sad look on her face ashy side quietly.

The carriage suddenly stopped and Tamaki stepped opened the door to see what was the matter. A hooded figure was in the middle of the path in the distance. He squinted and he realized in horror who that figure was.

"Father, what is it?" (y/n) was about to come out too but Tamaki pushed her back in.

"Stay inside, (y/n)." He hissed.

There was a flash of orange light like fire and (y/n) heard a roar. It frightened her, even more, to see her father terrified. He slammed the door shut and she could see his silhouette being pressed against the door. The horses were neighing and the knights were screaming in terror. Something attacked Tamaki and he tried to hold it back. (y/n) heard him drawing his sword and swinging at the thing. Whatever it was, was so powerful that it tipped the carriage over on its side.

(y/n) hit her head slightly as it fell over and she heard her father screamed her name. The door opened and she saw a creature with those blue eyes from that dream. It bared its teeth at her as if it were grinning. Its long claws grabbed her as it wrapped her within its wings and that was the last thing she saw.

()()()()()()

The doors of Mori's castle suddenly burst open as Kaoru, the captain of her guard stumbled through, struggling to stand up.

"King Tamaki's captain!" Mori rushed to his side and sat him up.

"Prince Mori, we were attacked." Mori's eyes widened when he heard that and his jaw dropped. "A great animal."

"(y/n)!" He ran out of the castle and mounted the nearest horse and ran to the woods as fast as he could. What he found were the bodies of the knights, the carriage trashed and left empty and several weapons lying around.

"(y/n)!" He cried her name. Something gold caught his eye on the ground and it was the golden locket with the swan he gave her when she was a baby. Just lying there in a puddle and covered with mud. He took it tenderly in his fingers as he whipped his head around. He found Tamaki on the ground, bloody and his clothes torn and gasping for air.

"King Tamaki!" Mori knelt next to him.

"Mori."

"Who did this?" He asked hoarsely.

"It came so quickly. A great… animal… My daughter… It took my little girl…" Tamaki coughed. He grasped Mori's shirt. "Listen to me, it's not… What it seems… It's not what it seems. Please…" His breathing was slowing down as he was tightening his grip as best as he could. "Save her… Take care of her… Tell her… I love her." His grip loosened as his body went. Tamaki's eyes looked to the skies.

“Haruhi "…" He uttered before he breathed his last. Mori cringed as tears were pouring out of his eyes. He stood up, took a few steps before collapsing to his knees and burst out into sobs.

"(y/n)!"

#the swan princess #Takashi Mori Morinozuka x reader #mori x reader #ouran high school host club fanfiction #Fanfiction #x reader love story #X reader #ouran high school host club #Ouran High School Host Club x reader

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365daysofsasuhina · 5 years

Text

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Two Hundred Ninety: Across the River ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Fugaku, Uchiha Mikoto ] [ SasuHina ] [ Verse: River Runs Deep ] [ AO3 Link ]

(This is a sequel to days 60, 77, 140, 165, and 189!)

For what is now the third time - and what may very well be the last - Uchiha Sasuke makes his way out of the fog and jagged peaks of the northern mountains. Beside him is his father, expression taut with thought and worry. They have come from the strange god-village hidden within the range, and have news to bear to their clan.

For weeks now, the Uchiha - whose line has long produced warriors and samurai to project their lord - have been on the run, with a new enemy on their heels. With their lord and master defeated, they were declared criminals under the new ruler, and were forced to flee their homes or face extermination.

They made it through the imposing mountains that lie along the northern edge of their old lands, hoping the terrain would slow or even stop their pursuers. It was then that - in the mist - Sasuke found himself lost...and stumbled upon a strange, almost ethereal valley. There, he met a miko who claimed to speak to a god. He was released and found his way to his people, only to be forced back into the peaks to chase down a traitor. Sasuke did so...and found himself face to face with the valley’s protector. She warned him of his trespass, but was held at bay by her miko, who suggested that it was his fate to find them.

And now, after bartering with the dragon god, Sasuke has been granted passage of his clan into the valley, to fall under the spirit’s protection. Itachi, who accompanied them, has stayed behind to be tended to for his persistent illness. The only question that remains is how to convince the others not only of the truth of their travel...but that their best chance for peace and survival is to join the other lost humans - abandoned by both men and gods alike - in the strange valley between the planes.

Fugaku, Sasuke is sure, is already trying to form the argument in his mind. Though Japan was long a land of kami and faith, the bonds between man and god have faded. Not many carry the old ways with them...and convincing some of their kin may be easier said than done.

But he knows that this is their best chance. The respite they’ve gotten past the mountains cannot be guaranteed to last. There may yet be hunters on their tail, seeking them past the border. And though they have mighty warriors among them, they are few, and weary. If they are to be safe...they must hide in a place where no one will ever find them.

“Your mother is going to have my hide when she realizes we left your brother there,” Fugaku eventually mutters, breaking the silence long held between them.

“She’ll soon know why. And I think of all of us...she’s the most faith left in her heart.”

“Even so...she’ll know no peace until she sees him again.”

“I’ll keep her calm.”

“The others may think us mad.”

“It’s a risk we have to take. You know the safety we’ve found is only temporary. But this...this will be forever.”

“...I hope you are right.”

They eventually find the camp among the bluffs, and any nearby eyes lift to behold them. Questions then flood as Uchiha surround them, eager to know where the patriarch and his sons have been.

But most demanding of all is the matriarch.

“Gods, I’ve had no rest with you gone!” she declares, parting the crowds to behold them. “Shisui would tell me nothing! Only that you’d granted him rank while you went back into those accursed mountains! Fugaku, what -?” Her eyes flicker to Sasuke. “...where is Itachi?”

“...Mikoto, I -”

“Where is my son?!”

“He’s safe,” Sasuke cuts in, gently taking his mother by the shoulders. “He was too weary, and is waiting for us.”

“Waiting? Waiting where? What is going on?”

“A moment’s peace, and I will explain,” Fugaku replies, tone tinged with exasperation. “...please.”

She quiets, jaw still firm.

“...when he was separated from us during our flight over the mountains, Sasuke stumbled upon a village within a large valley. A hidden, remote place. One I believe will house us, and hide us. The...matriarch of the village has granted us passage to join them, if we wish. But on one condition. Once we settle there...we cannot leave, and take its secret with us. I realize that some of you may not be...at ease with such an idea. And I understand. Therefore...I will take those of you who wish to go with me. The rest...I will release to forge your own paths. Renounce your name if you wish, to find peace.”

“You really trust a tiny mountain village to house us?” a man asks, brow furrowed.

“The valley is large, there is room for expansion. We will have to make our own way...but it would be so wherever we go. It’s a plentiful place - Sasuke has seen much of it with his own eyes.”

“What makes it so safe? If your boy found it without intending to, what’s to stop other marauders from doing the same?”

It’s then Fugaku hesitates, looking to his son for help. It’s now or never.

Stepping forward, Sasuke draws the eyes of his kin. “...this valley is not just a place where humans dwell. Within it is a mighty river...and in that river, protecting the people, is a mizuchi. A mighty dragon spirit named O-Suigin-sama. It was she who gave me protection, and allowed me to return.”

Murmurs immediately break out. “You claim you saw a god?” “Impossible! The gods have abandoned us!” “The boy’s lost his mind!”

“I, too, saw this divine beast,” Fugaku cuts in, begetting silence. “...as did Itachi. It is with she he remains to be cured of his illness. She is a spirit of health, and life. She takes those abandoned by the world, and shelters them. Cares for them. Sasuke has persuaded her that we, too, need her protection: abandoned by our lord and left for dead. If you choose not to believe...I cannot force you. Nor will I drag you there against your will. But I believe Sasuke is right. The mountains have bought us time...but not enough. Sooner or later, our enemies will find us. And they will outnumber us. But if we make our homes in this valley, with the protection of a god...we may at last find peace, and safety. And that...is what I want for my people. For my family. For my sons.”

“...we have been given time to make a decision,” Sasuke murmurs in the pervading silence. “And I ask you use it. Don’t jump to conclusions, or act on a whim. This is our future we’re debating. You may think us mad. You’ve every right to. But I give you my word, I know what I saw. And this place...it’s everything we need. Everything we could ever want. And I wish only for my people to be safe. To no longer have to run, or fear for our lives. Our home was lost to us...but we have a chance to forge a new one. Grander, and safer than ever before. When we are ready...the god’s messengers will guide us through the peaks.”

“We barely survived making it over the first time! We’ll surely perish if we go back!” a woman speaks up, anxiously clutching her infant.

“When we were running through these mountains, we were blind and afraid, in a foreign land. But this time we will be guided, with a god’s fortune. We will not be led astray.”

Glancing to his son, Fugaku murmurs, “...take time to think. Such decisions cannot be made lightly. When a consensus is reached...those who wish to accompany us will part from those who wish to leave. And a new path will begin.”

After an uncertain pause, the clan disperses, mutterings and mumblings loud in the air. Expression almost gaunt with worry, Mikoto asks, “...is this truly the right decision?”

“We can’t run forever,” her husband rumbles lowly. “Any other village may hold a threat. But here...I believe we will be safe.”

“Sasuke, you truly saw it? This village, and the god that guards it?”

“I did.” With his tongue no longer bound by secrecy, he tells her what he saw the day he returned: the houses, the shops, the bridges across the river...the clear air, the tall trees, and the beautiful shrine on the mountaintop.

“The dragon was the most fearsome and yet...graceful creature I’ve ever beheld. And her miko is a woman with eyes that can see into the plane of the gods. An all-seeing white eye, she called it.”

“...she claimed to be a Hyūga,” Fugaku offers quietly.

At that, Mikoto’s eyes widen. “...you’re sure?”

“Who are the Hyūga?” Sasuke interjects.

“They were another samurai clan, you could call them a rival of ours. But they were scattered as we were when another lord conquered their lands several decades ago. That there are still some about is...curious,” Mikoto replies. “And yet, in a way...I can understand why they would end up in such a place.”

“There was another, a man who looked near our age. He had the same eyes…”

“They were a very spiritually-devoted family. Perhaps they really could see gods…”

“Well...you can meet her when we return,” Fugaku offers.

“...then we will really go?”

“If you agree,” he replies.

“...I want my sons to be safe,” she whispers. “For that, I will do anything, go anywhere.”

“...then we shall go. But until the others are firm in their minds, we must wait.”

“The god is really attending to Itachi?”

Sasuke nods. “The miko claimed her talents lie in healing. The camphor trees that grow all over the mountains are medicinal.”

“The kami’s influence, maybe?”

“He’s in good hands. I’ll wager he’ll be fit when we see him again,” Fugaku offers gently. “But Sasuke and I should rest - the hike is tiring.”

“Will it be safe?”

“You need to be cautious, but it’s sound enough.” With that, Sasuke’s parents head toward their tent, speaking lowly to one another.

Watching them go, Sasuke startles a hair when a weight settles on his shoulder. One of the owls gives a soft screech of greeting.

“Here to keep watch?” he asks, receiving a gentle nibble on his ear in response. “I beg your patience. This is a big decision for them...we’ve already been so uprooted. How is my brother?”

Another nibble.

“...good. I think I’ll rest. Do as you will - until we have an answer...we’ll just have to wait.”

.oOo.

More kami verse! And more sort of...transitional stuff, my bad ^^; I thought I'd get a bit farther and have more HInata, but between some life stuff, it being late, and just...not wanting it to drag on too long, I thought I better stop where I did. NEXT TIME! lol Trying to convince your clan that you really DID see a dragon and you're NOT crazy and that you have to go BACK into the big scary mountains iiisn't easy. Hopefully between Sasuke and his dad, they'll get at least most of their people to take their word for it and head to the valley and live happily ever after*. But at least MIkoto is on board. The rest...we'll have to see. But yes, it's...very late, and I really need to sleep, so! Thanks for reading~

#sasuhina #uchiha sasuke #uchiha fugaku #uchiha mikoto #river runs deep [ au ]#365daysofsasuhina

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midwinter-fox · 5 years

Text

Son

While travelling through Velen, a place Dettlaff detested for its gassy swamps and excess necrophages, what he expected least of all was how many children were without families. War came with many horrid aftermaths, but so see how many homes had been torn apart brought him only aching.

"Liefje, why are we here? This place is filled with only misery and broken homes." They traveled by horseback only for the fact that Leonore was incapable of handling the speed with which he could travel while carrying her. It always brought about dizzying bouts of illness, so he had purchased a deep chestnut steed to ride alongside her beloved mare, Lola. Now, though, he wished he could make short work of their trip so he didn't have to bear witness to all of the destitution.

"To visit my family, love. They live in Novigrad, but they don't have the funds to come see me instead. Besides, I'd like to introduce you to each other. My grandmother might not approve of you immediately, but I know my sister and her children will adore you when we visit them after Gramma."

"Why would your grandmother disapprove..?"

"She's simply distrusting of men. Just call her 'grandma' and let her talk your ear off. It's the quickest way to her heart."

"Odd," he muttered, but she did not hear him over the clattering of hooves on cobblestone.

It was late when they approached the city, so there weren't so many people out in the streets, but Novigrad was a large city, and thus would always be busy. While there were no crowds, the occasional drunkard would stumble in front of either of their horses, making them have to maneuver around them, much to his irritation. He was decent when it came to riding, but he did it so infrequently that he had to try to relearn before setting off on their journey. Leonore, however, could very well be the Goddess of Equines with how skillfully she wove her steed through groups of people without bumping into a one. Admiration for his lover blossomed inside him, or it would if he could only keep up without having to tug the reins every few feet.

They entered the city through the Portside Gate, but had to travel all the way through the city to get to The Bits. Why they were given such unappealing names when there was also Glory Gate or even St. Gregory's Square was beyond the vampire's comprehension. Upon seeing the district in which Leonore's family resided, he immediately understood; the buildings were decrepit, the streets were filthy, and the homeless were everywhere. They couldn't ride more than a few paces without someone begging them for coin. As kind as he was despite appearance, Dettlaff only had so much to give and needed it for the journey back to Leonore's home in Brugge.

She rode on, not paying the misfortuned any mind whilst simultaneously managing to practically remain unnoticed. Yet, they asked him for his money when his mate was the first to stride past them. When he finally managed to catch up (though not before reluctantly parting with more crowns than he wished to), he inquired as to why this was.

"It's because you're a foreigner," she explained, "and usually foreigners mean plenty of money. Just politely decline and tell them you've not nearly as much money as they seem to think. I've gone through this before, too - they'll understand."

With that, she was off again, riding ahead as she searched for the derelict house her family called home. Left alone again, he sighed and watched her as she focused on trying to remember where her grandmother lived. There wasn't much else to look at other than her retreating form until something caught his attention. It was laughter, then a shrill cry, like someone was hurt and others watched in amusement. As loathe as he was to be there any longer than he needed to be, something in him brought him to a screeching halt. With a firm tug of the reins, he brought his horse to a stop and dismounted.

The chestnut stallion was secured to a post, and he inwardly hoped no one would steal his steed whilst his back was turned. His ears were tuned to the sound of the faint cries and notably childish laughter, but he did his best to also keep some of his focus on his unattended horse.

Down an alley, he found three dirty children standing around a crate - one crouched over it while the other two were blocking its contents from Dettlaff's view. As soon as he got too close, the children took notice of him and ran, no doubt leery of strangers thanks to living for so long on the streets. Part of him wanted to stop them, maybe even inquire after their parents and why they played in dark alleys unsupervised, but the soft cries brought his attention to the crate.

His heart stopped when he saw the tiny, dark-blue hands waving angrily from inside the wooden box, face red and voice raw from screaming. The infant laid in its own filth, a rag haphazardly draped across its malnourished body - perhaps a sign of remorse moreso than an attempt to keep it warm. Impulse took him, leading him to kneel beside the crate and lift the weak babe from the makeshift bed. It was barely big enough for him to need both hands to hold it. There were no clothes on its body, not even a cloth for its waste; the vampire felt the utmost pity and despair at seeing the baby boy discarded like this.

With the rag being the only thing to use, Dettlaff at the very least wrapped it around the child's lower half to prevent him from making even more of a mess of himself then proceeded to swaddle him in the trailing tail of his overcoat. Anger and distress welled up in him as he watched the baby go from starved and desperate screams to pained whimpers, the comfort of finally having something to warm him being the first sign of relief in who knew how long.

There was no time to try to find who dared leave an infant to die of hunger and cold in a filthy alley - Dettlaff ran back to his horse and mounted carefully. The jostling further upset the babe cradled protectively in his arms, but he couldn't do much to appease him when he was trying to ride with such precious cargo. Leonore had ridden so far ahead of him, he had to use his keen senses to try to find her. Her scent was very specific - rose, sugar, and lavender; it wasn't long before he'd caught up to her, this time in too much of a rush to care about whether his horse knocked into anyone along the way.

Her grandmother's home was, though barely, one of the nicer homes in the district. Lola was tied up outside with a pail of water set beside her as a makeshift trough. Before his horse could even make a full stop, he was dismounting and striding purposefully to the door, baby boy still trying to scream with a hoarse and weak voice. Whatever conversation was happening inside, it stopped abruptly as soon as he pushed open the door with his shoulder.

"Dettlaff?? Where have you been? Why the hell do you have a baby?!"

Leonore was on her feet and rushing to his side, but he refused to let her take the child from him, no matter that she was his mate.

"I am keeping him warm. He needs food and a bath - please, I will explain when he is cared for."

An elderly woman who was once sitting on a wooden chair off to one side of the room was standing and quickly hobbling to an adjacent room without a word. Leonore urged him to follow, so he did, but he did not expect for the old lady to be so speedy about fetching a rag and a jug of goat's milk. The cloth, though not the cleanest, was soaked in the milk then the corner pressed lightly to the babe's lips. Immediately, it latched on and began suckling. Relief flooded everyone in the room.

"Thank you," Dettlaff sighed, content now that he was able to feed the poor child. "I found him in a crate. A group of children appeared to have been attempting to play with him, but they fled when I arrived. He was barely covered in this and completely bare beneath it. I.. I could not leave him to die."

The two women exchanged a look, both cracking smiles that he was ignorant to - his focus was on the infant and ensuring it fed well.

"Gramma, do you still have the baby clothes my nieces wore?"

"Mhm, gimme a moment," the wizened woman uttered, and though she appeared feeble, she had a spring in her step that said she didn't feel nearly as old as she looked. Before too long, she had a box of clothes set before them.

While the women sifted through the children's clothing, Dettlaff couldn't seem to keep his eyes off of the baby he held. Dark, feathery soft hair covered his head in a thin layer, though whether it was black or a dark brown, it was too short to tell. His eyes never opened long enough for the vampire to tell what color they might be. The child was small, thin, and pale, all a direct result of malnourishment, but Dettlaff was pleased to see that holding him so close was making the blue in his small fingers and toes recede.

"Dettlaff? We're going to heat up some water to bathe it--"

"Him."

"Right, I'm sorry. We're going to draw him a bath. Will you be alright waiting?"

"Yes, but please, be quick. He is covered in filth." Though there was concern in his tone, Dettlaff was so preoccupied with feeding that he hadn't noticed the elderly woman approaching him from the side.

"Ya've got some nasty-lookin' claws on ya. Make sure t'keep those clean. Babies like clingin' n' suckin' on fingers." She reached forward and gently pressed a frail finger to the child's hand, and Dettlaff watched in silent awe as it closed around her finger as though on instinct.

"I will keep that in mind. Thank you." Granted, it was something he already knew, but the old lady was just trying to help. "I've never held an infant before today, but I will do my utmost to be careful."

"Never held a babe? Well, ya seem t'be doin' just fine. I've held plenty, so gimme a holler if ya need help."

"I will. Thank you, oma." His speech gave the woman pause, but she seemed to think twice about saying anything in favor of leaving to assist with making up a bath.

The baby continued to suckle on the milk-soaked rag for nearly half an hour, but when he was finally finished, he opened his mouth to begin crying anew. This time his screams were piercing, agitating the vampire's sensitive hearing and making him flinch. Now, he was at a loss of what to do. He only panicked for but a moment before Leonore came rushing in.

"Here, please allow me," she said over the harsh wails, and this time he let her take the child with no resistance. Carefully, she situated the baby at her shoulder and began patting his cloth-covered rear and humming softly; it was like she'd done this a hundred times before. Soon, there was an audible belch from the tiny body, then silence once again.

"You need to burp him after being fed or he'll get a tummy ache." Leonore handed him the baby once again, but now he was suddenly unsure of himself.

"How did you do that..?"

"You just put him up on your shoulder like this," she helped by rearranging the now fussing infant so that he was in the proper position in Dettlaff's hands, "then just firmly pat his back. Sometimes it helps to pat the rear, too. I've done this for my nieces, so I sort of know what I'm doing."

"This is the first time I've so much as touched an infant. I will need help," Dettlaff admitted.

"It's fine. Just be patient. I've found that if you pay close enough attention, you'll begin to hear a difference in cries. His hungry cry will sound very different compared to his hurt cry or his sleepy cry."

"I did not know this, thank you. Is the bath ready, liefje?"

"It is. It's why I came in here, that and to help get him calmed back down." She then led him into the adjacent room, a kitchen, and guided him to the bath.

Her grandmother stood with a handful of rags of varying degrees of cleanliness.

"Take your pick. Whatever ya don't use can be for diapering."

"Thank you, oma," he responded politely as he took one of the cloths and dipped it into the warm water.

While Dettlaff busied himself with tenderly cleaning away the dirt and refuse from the baby's body, Leonore left to grab something with which to clothe him. In the meantime, Leonore's grandmother stood and watched.

"I ain't well-versed in anything but Common, son. You'll have t'tell me what 'oma' means."

"It is Nazairi for grandma. I will call you something else if it bothers you." He only looked up when the old woman laughed, her aged eyes turned up in a wrinkled smile.

"Son, if it bugged me, ya'd know. I'm pleased t'see my grandbaby found someone with a good head on 'is shoulders. And a natural-born father t'boot."

The old woman's words made his heart soar. There were many times he'd let himself imagine having a family with his beloved, but the prospect of a vampiric child being born to a human woman wasn't a promising one. Such a pregnancy could kill her more surely than one with a mortal child, and that was if it was even possible. It was no secret that he yearned for his own children, but he'd much rather protect his mate than put her in such imminent danger, even if it meant she bore him no children.

"I've entertained the thought of having offspring," he stated simply.

"Well then get on it. Ya ain't gonna be young forever, and I'd like t'see some handsome great-grandbabies from my favorite 'fore I finally kick the bucket." Her crass way of speaking was a bit abrasive to him, but his stomach still twisted into knots just thinking about his lover's tummy swollen with his babe.

For a moment, he let himself imagine the now cleaned infant in his hands having Leonore's hazel eyes or even his own striking blue ones. It was a poor idea on his part, for it only left him getting even more attached to the small child. He was so small, so much so that the vampire feared he may slip between his fingers, though the very idea was absurd. The more he gazed at the weak little thing, the more his chest began to ache.

"What.. What will become of him..?" asked the vampire apprehensively, his voice low and full of concern.

"That," the crone replied, "is up t’you. Now, if you're done bathin' 'im, get some clothes on the poor thing. He'll freeze otherwise."

Dettlaff nodded briefly before returning to the other room, a dry rag in his hand now to properly clothe the baby. Leonore had laid out a number of little linen gowns to keep him warm, but she had to wait for her lover to return so she could see what size would fit the best. Nothing they had would fit very well with how tiny he was, but they made do with the smallest one they had. More fussing from the infant ensued, but once finally bundled up, the older woman instructed them both on how to properly swaddle him in a blanket. As soon as he was wrapped up, arms and legs secured in a cotton cocoon, the baby fell asleep. Pleased that he was finally resting, Dettlaff gently cradled and rocked the infant.

"Will you name him..?" Leonore asked tentatively, unsure if the man was even contemplating keeping the child or if he was going to try finding him a suitable home.

"Should I..?" It seemed even Dettlaff was unsure of what he'd planned to do. It was purely instinct and the desire to protect that drove him to bring the babe with him. He didn't think he'd actually be keeping him, but who else would he go to? "Are we to raise him..? I admit, I did not think this through."

"Well, I see no harm in doing so, though it’ll be a huge responsibility. If he was abandoned, I'd like nothing more than to ensure he has a good home. He’ll probably die otherwise. Besides, you've told me time and again how you want kids." There was only kindness and warmth in her gaze, and Dettlaff could not love this woman more than he did in that moment.

"And you would have me name him?" When she nodded, he paused in thought. It was another minute or so before he came to a decision. "Ezra."

"Ezra? You're certain?"

"I am. His name is Ezra."

"Any surname? I'm unsure of how the Nazairi go about that, but I know you go by 'van der Eretein.'"

"It signifies my place of origin. The Eretein valley in Nazair is where I once made my home. If I gave him a surname, it would best be 'van der Steeg' or 'van der Stad.'"

"What do they mean?"

"Steeg is alley. Stad is city."

"I'd rather call him Ezra of the city rather than of the alley."

"Ezra van der Stad," Dettlaff uttered to himself, then again with more confidence to test the sound of it. "Is this alright by you, liefje?"

"I like it," she smiled, then looked back at her grandmother for approval. The elder, standing silently to the side as she watched the unfolding scene, nodded. "It's settled. I'll see about gathering some extra clothing and the like to take home with us for him."

Mindlessly, Dettlaff nodded. He was in a state of euphoria. Though it was not how he'd intended for it to be, he now had a son, and he would do all in his power to give him all of the love and care he deserved.

"Ik hou van jou, mijn zoon," he whispered as he pressed his lips to the infant's forehead. The babe slept peacefully, blissfully unaware that he was now held and coddled by the man who would be his father.

#My Tales #Dettlaff #dettlaff van der eretein #fluff #I love you my son #my heart hurt thinking about this #betemorne posted a headcanon that gave me this idea #Ezra also means helper #ugh i might post more baby stuff

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 5 years

Text

Trying to write Eren being a good omega

Images. Memories. Emotions. Visions from someone else's point of view. Visions of him. Visions of travel. Visions of Hannes being pulled up by strong vines. Wings. Blood. Explosions. A frail woman with black hair giving a shuddering breath. A man in a trench coat walking away. Eren's mind was flooded with too much. Things he didn't know, and things he shouldn't know... all of it flooded through him as his body burned with fever. Levitating and spasming, Eren's body still burned with fever despite two days having passed, and despite Freya's attempts to shape and mould Eren's excess magic in order to bring it back under control. Dragged from the rubble of the ruined hotel, those who hadn't been fast enough had been turned to stone by Eren's uncontrollable magic, yet by some miracle Levi and Eren had been recovered. The pair of them protected by a black sphere of magic that prevented the approach of any of them on the night of the incident, when the spell broke, it shattered to reveal it was made of from the dozens of scales which had sat useless upon Eren's back. The morning after the night before had revealed the widespread damage of Eren's magic. Streets had crackled, turning into deep valleys where they'd collapsed into the sewers beneath. Facades had slid from buildings, fires had erupted across the city, not dulled by the widespread flooding that Eren's storm had brought. Steege had helped wherever he could, stabilising whatever he could, when he wasn't being followed around by Luca. The small dragon didn't understand what had happened, only that something had been wrong with his mother, so he'd taken his brother to the corner before waking their father. He didn't understand why he couldn't be by their side, or why everyone kept Viren from him. He'd been careful. He'd nosed his blanket around his brother before lifting it as carefully as he could. His mother was standing over his brother when woken, the sword raised in hands until he'd slunk between them, chirping his confusion at his mother. Reeling back, his mother's eyes were full of pain, stumbling away with the sword. Why wasn't his father awake? Why wasn't he helping his mother? He didn't understand, only that he didn't his mum would be sad if anything happened to the pup. He'd be a good big brother and protect him. He loved him... now Armin held Viren and none of the other humans would talk to him. He didn't know what he'd done wrong, but at least Steege let him come with him. He let him ride on his shoulder's like his mother did, even if it didn't feel as nice, at least Steege would speak to him. Luca just wanted his mum and his dad back. But no one was allowing him close to them... * Bouncing Viren as he paced, Armin didn't know to do. He didn't know how Eren had survived. There'd been so much blood. Freya had found no pulse when she'd checked, blood still soaking the floor beneath his best friend's limp body. Levi had... he'd never seen anything like it. Even the night of Eren's birthday party hadn't been this bad, as Eren had been able to call Levi back from... what he could only describe as insanity. The Levi in front of him had been like a wild beast. His eyes black eyes filled with bloodlust. His hair long and black, rippling under the extraordinary pressure of the magic winds in the room. His hands blackened, with sharp glistening claws. His terrifying visage completed with... Armin didn't even know what to call the black stuff running down the alpha's face. It wasn't Levi, yet it was... it'd been a few days and Armin was struggling with lingering mental images, unable to enter the room where Levi rested. Each time Levi grew close to Eren, Levi would grow restless. He'd growl and snarl in his sleep, twisting his still healing body tearing open his wounds as he searched out his omega, leaving them with no choice but to seperate the pair of them. Hanji and Moblit in charge of Levi's medical care, remaining tightlipped over it all. This whole situation was a nightmare. Gently hushing Viren, the boy wasn't happy. They'd tried to get him drinking warm diluted cows milk, as straight cows milk is bad for infants, but he wouldn't take it. They couldn't find a wet nurse with the state of chaos the city was in, leaving Armin fearing for the pup. As it was, the confines of the dungeons beneath the courthouse was less than ideal. Until they knew what had transpired both Levi and Eren were technically under arrest, with the world told the death of a dragon had caused such tragedy. Freya had spoken to the tribunal to assure them that this wasn't orchestrated, and that she felt strongly this was tied to the theft of Eren's personal papers and the destruction of Obsydin's sword. The remains of which were gathered by Freya, then submitted to the tribunal. Oddly, the female dragon rider refused to speak of it with the rest of the group. She'd simply stated she could not, and until further notice they were to act as if Eren and Levi were indeed dead. Luca to stay with Steege given he seemed most comfortable with him, while Armin looked after Viren. He would have done so, even without being asked. Eren wouldn't have wanted some stranger handling his boys... No. He wouldn't. He was still alive, despite everything, so Armin had to believe he would wake again... Eren couldn't keep floating. Freya would find a way to heal him. She'd heal him, and Levi... * Levi woke in pain. The alpha letting out a mournful howl as he curled into the sweat soaked single bed beneath him. He felt... empty. Eren was gone... his precious omega was gone... He'd held him as he died in his arms, scared and confused as to why he couldn't feel his body. Scared and confused as to why he couldn't control his body. If he'd just been faster. If he'd just tackled Eren for the sword... If he'd woken when Eren had climbed from his side. Or if he'd realised faster what Luca was trying to tell him... How did he tell his boy his mother was gone? And Viren... He didn't know how to look after a baby on his own. He knew nothing about making a family. Digging his hands into the wet lumpy mattress, tears flowed. The dampness between his fingers felt like Eren's blood... there'd been so much blood... "Levi, its Hanji. Can you understand me?" He didn't want to understand anyone. He was in so much pain. Not just emotionally, but physically, his body feeling like it was burning, while his heart felt like... it was racing so hard, as if trying to pump while shattered into a hundred pieces. He'd killed Eren. He'd pulled the blade from the wound, the blade that was stopping the bleeding... He could still feel the resistance in his hands "Levi?" Why did Hanji want to speak to him? He'd killed his mate... He'd killed other people... but they hadn't been the love of his life "Levi, can you understand me?" Speaking slower wasn't going to change his pain. Flinching as her hand came to his shoulder, he slapped it off with a snarl "Don't touch me!" Yelling was petty, yet there he was... "Oh, Levi..." And there was the pity "Leave me alone, Hanji!" "Levi..." "Leave me alone! Don't you fucking know... I... I fucking killed... I... Eren..." The words made him sick to his stomach. His omega. His whole world... gone... "What are you talking about? Levi, Eren isn't dead" Jolting back onto his knees, Levi glared coldly at Hanji. The woman's figure blurry through his tear filled eyes "Don't you dare fucking turn this into one of your jokes" "Levi..." "Don't! He's dead! He is fucking dead! I know he's dead! I felt the blade... the blood... He died right in front of me, Hanji" "Levi..." "Stop saying my fucking name! Stop it! "Then listen to me. Eren, by some miracle of god, he's alive. He wasn't breathing when I examined him, but when we found you two... He's sick. Very sick. Armin said he's only ever seen you bring him back under control when he's like this. He's not responding to Freya's magic" "Don't lie to me!" How could she play game like this? Act like Eren was simply in another room or something. Grabbing him by the arm, Hanji pulled him from the bed. Levi's legs too weak to support him, causing the alpha to fall to the dirty stone floor. The pain of skinning knees, didn't register, the world swaying in and out of focus nauseatingly "Hanji! What are you doing?! Levi, I'm so relieved you're awake. Half the city has been destroyed. Hanji's been by your side since we recovered you. Steege's been looking after Luca, but Armin is struggling with Viren. So much is happening, having you awake is one less issue to worry about" Moblit's words tumbled over himself in a rush, bringing with another wave of pain. Shamefully Levi was still on his knees, his tears dripping on the floor while Hanji continued to hold his arm "Let me die. You should have let me die... I can't be a parent without him" "Levi, Eren isn't dead" Why were they being so cruel? He'd... he'd felt Eren slipping away from him. He felt his mate leaving him behind. Everyone he loved left. His mother. His uncle. Erwin... Erwin was his best friend. His closest friend. The man was like a brother, but he too had left him behind. Everyone left him. He wasn't a good alpha. He wasn't a good mate. He wasn't even a good person... but when he'd been with Eren, he could believe he was. He could hold his head high and hope for a future with his mate. Eren had gone somewhere he couldn't follow. "Levi, do you want to see him?" Raising his head, he looked to Moblit. His silver eyes dull as he nodded mutely. Allowing himself to be pulled to his feet by Hanji, he swayed as his knees threaten to give out again. Looping an arm around his waist, Hanji took his weight. He couldn't bring Eren back. He couldn't, no matter how he tried. The other half of his soul had been torn from his body when his omega died, and now all that remained was an empty hollowness... and more pain than words could ever describe. Guided from the cell, it was a short walk to a plain door. Opening it for them Moblit soon sent the occupants from the space. Levi deaf to the words directed at him as they left. It was good. Eren's body hadn't been left alone. Eren wouldn't want to be alone down here. Wherever here was. Abandoned by Hanji at the doorway, he was propelled forward on shaking legs, the door slamming closed behind him. Unable to calm, Levi's breath fell on short pants as he forced his gaze from his feet. His palms coming to rub at his tear filled eyes, knowing Eren would hate to see him cry. He'd probably even hit him for being so sad. Letting out a low laugh, he shook his head. His lover was dead, and there he was, thinking of his feelings. It was so messed up. Out of everything he could be thinking of, he was remembering the way Eren would hit him for getting upset. No normal person would laugh... but what was normal anymore? Shuffling forward as he rubbed his eyes, he came to a stop a few shuffles in, forcing himself to look up. At first Levi thought he was hallucinating. Floating a few feet above the bed, green wings were wrapped around his mate as black markings slid across Eren's skin. It was... Eren wasn't even alive and he was causing trouble. He was a stubborn little shit... wobbling to the bed, Levi knelt on the edge as he reached for Eren. The alpha's fingers stopping just short of touching him. He could feel the fire rolling off of Eren, the tips of his fingers feeling as if they were wrapped against a warm teacup. Like the tiny fraction of distance was protective and insulating as the bone China of the finest teacup in the world, while Eren was just as fragile. Hesitation causing his hand to shake as he swallowed hard. Closing his eyes he grabbed Eren's arm. The omega dropping the distance to land against the bed with a solid thud. His wings sliding back to reveal his torn and bloodied nightshirt. To Levi it looked as if every inch of his lover's perfect sun kissed skin had been marred with dirt or blood. How had this happened? Eren said he couldn't control his body, but how did a thing like that happen? He was a fucking dragon. He had more magic than most people had in their lifetimes. Calling out to Obsydin, he was met with a great expanse of nothingness. Levi couldn't say if he was relieved or not. Biting his quivering bottom lip, Levi threw himself over his mate as he started to sob. He still felt so warm and soft. Under the blood. Under the mud. Under the stink of ash and filth, he found Eren's scent. The scent of a storm raging strong. The smell of rain against stone. The scent of home and safety on a cold winters night "E-Eren. I... I'm so sorry" Groping blindly, he found Eren's hand. Pulling it to his lips, he peppered kisses to the muddied skin as he nuzzled into it. This was his omega and he'd failed him. No wonder Obsydin refused to reply. He deserved to be alone. He'd promised Eren nothing would happen, only for him to break that promise. He just... he couldn't get over how warm Eren felt beneath him. Perhaps it was a dragon thing? Or maybe just an Eren thing? "Sweet boy... oh, sweet boy...I'm so sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry" Left alone for nearly an hour, Levi cried himself into a numb bubble. Exhausted beyond words, and lacking the will to move, Freya came to his side. Squatting down, the woman wrapped an arm around his shoulder "Levi, you need to rest" If he rested, Eren would be alone "I know you don't want to leave his side, and I won't ask you too. I need to examine him, but I need you to let me have some space to work" "Wh..." His tongue felt too heavy to form real words. Freya sighing softly as she took his hand from Eren's. Letting her take his hand, Freya placed it on Eren's chest "I know this is hard. I don't know how it happened, but I do know Eren is alive" Levi shook his head weakly, barely at all if he was honest "Levi, Eren is alive. You need to stop rejecting him" He wasn't rejecting his omega! He could feel Eren's warmth, yet he'd watch him die. "Freya, I don't think Levi can comprehend that Eren is alive. You saw what his pain transformed him into. He lost his mind thinking Eren was dead" Moblit's educated voice came from behind him. If Levi had had any semblance of his normal self, he would have huffed in indignation "Levi. I promise you that I am not lying to you. Close your eyes, and feel" Freya's magic blossomed into a gentle heat, beneath his palm started to pulse... no, pulse wasn't the right word. Beat. He could feel a weak beat "Can you feel it? I'm using my magic to amplify the feeling. He hasn't given up. You can't give up on him" "He..." "He's been like this for the last 3 and a half days. I wasn't able to reach him with my magic. His own was completely out of control. He's been burning with a fever, and these strange black marks have been sliding across his skin. I've never seen dragon wings on a dragon in human form, but the formed after the magic shield around you two fell" Levi's mind couldn't keep up. His heart soaring at the thought of Eren being alive, before his whole body felt as if ice water had been poured over him. It made no sense. The sword had run clean through his mate, then left a long gash down his stomach. It wasn't the kind of wound one survived. Perhaps a few hours, on the very outer edge of luck. But generally one would bleed out before the first signs of infection set in. That Eren would survive such trauma made no sense. No pulse meant no heartbeat. No heartbeat meant death. Hanji had pronounced Eren dead. Freya, with her super sense of hearing and magic, had thought Eren dead. He'd thought Eren dead. No. He was a seasoned soldier and people didn't survive being impaled as a general rule. All this thinking was starting to hurt his already throbbing head. His chains of thought tangled beyond comprehension in his current state. Reading his distress, Freya's magic crept through him. His body attempting to reject the substance as it wasn't Eren's, leaving him whining like an omega would "Levi. You need rest. You've been heavily wounded when the building collapsed. But I need to ask you something, something important. Can you answer me?" "Mmm?" That was hardly an answer, but it was enough for Freya to push "I need to know. Did you do this to Eren, or did someone else do this to Eren? If someone hurt him, I need to know" Now that his alpha knew their omega was alive, it'd decided it's instincts needed to make him growl at the woman, who was trying her damn hardest to help "They've arrested both you and Eren. They're going to want to talk to you, so I need to know. Do you know who did this?" Opening his eyes, the dim light of the glow stones stabbed at his vision like a thousand needles. Groaning, he quick to close them again "Levi?" "Eren... Eren said he couldn't control his body... he had... he couldn't stop himself from... but I killed him. I pulled the blade out. I... didn't think. I... panicked when I saw what had happened. I tried to call for you. He didn't want to, but he had no control" Freya swore softly, the shake of her head he didn't need to see to know it had happened "I understand. This was magic. Someone did this to him maliciously. This magic, needed something personal from Eren to be performed, but with the fall out, I highly doubt they will make a second attempt at Eren's life. That's provided they managed to keep their own" Levi simply wasn't able to keep up. Even kneeling with Freya's support was too much for him. He felt like a pup when the rider lifted him to man handle him down next to Eren. He didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to close his eyes and wake to find his omega really had passed and this was all some dream Obsydin had concocted in an attempt to gently ease him into the idea of Eren being dead. Twitching and shivering, his body and his mind weren't listening to him. Everything hurt like a bitch, especially his red rimmed eyes, but Eren... and Viren... and where was Luca? He wanted to ask. He needed to know. Eren would be so mad at him for... How would he tell him? Unwillingly and unwantingly, Levi passed out beside his fever-ridden mate, his own fever burning just as badly. * Eren's head felt as if it was about to burst. The dimmed light of the room he'd woken up in only agitated his aching head. His lungs felt heavy, as if filled with all the water in the world, leaving him with a cough that wouldn't pass. But that was nothing compared to the nausea he felt. His wounds externally healed, yet his muscles tender... though, apparently a building had fallen on both him and Levi which he could believe from the amount of pain he was in. He couldn't remember. He couldn't remember anything from that day. He'd been told he fainted in court, but had no recollection of it at all. Levi wasn't in much better condition. His wounds were taking longer to heal, his nails had lifted and cracked off, leaving his mate pained each time he tried to do much of anything. He was alive, yet... something was off. Eren himself felt off, it was hard to stay awake, but Levi was having a harder time. The alpha continually forgetting conversations, or struggling to keep up with them over the following few days. He kept telling himself that, that the strange emptiness inside of him was his body reacting to the trauma they'd both been through. With the stress of everything happening, Eren felt on the verge of heat... like he needed that on top of everything. He couldn't have his boys out of his sight, all three of them, and he couldn't have their friends in the room he and Levi were occupying for more than a few minutes because it turned him into a crying mess when they'd disturb anything. His alpha was hurt. He needed his protection. Luca was upset and Viren hadn't fed for days, leaving him snarling or growling if someone came close. He didn't mean to offend his friends, not when he shouldn't be pushing his body, or pushing them away. He simply... he simply couldn't process it function with them close. He couldn't stand anyone in his space, it felt like his nest he'd made before giving birth, like the only haven left for them when something catastrophic had happened outside the three metre by three metre room. The only way he could calm himself, and his omega, was to have everything carefully organised. Waking on the morning of the 8th day since the incident, Levi was curled into his side. The alpha crying softly, his tears having soaked the part of Eren's nightshirt his face was hidden against. Rolling carefully so as not to disturb Levi too much, Eren cupped Levi's face "Levi?" Levi was no monster. He felt things deeply if the truth be told, yet he wasn't quick to tears like Eren was. Seeing his mate cry sent Eren into a fresh fit of panic. The single bed they were sharing was hardly big enough for them both to fit, but with them both having nightmares it was safer for Viren and Luca to share the second bed that had brought in "Levi? You're ok... hey, can you look at me?" Forcing Levi to look at him, the alpha shook his head "You died..." Not this again. Yes. He had... he'd been told that repeatedly at this stage. Rubbing at Levi's cheek with the pad of his thumb, Eren gave his mate a sad smile "I'm here now" "I don't understand how" "I know. I don't know either" "You had no heartbeat. Hanji said you were dead..." "Shhhh... You're ok" "I killed you" Eren didn't need his memory to know that was impossible "No. Hey, no" "I do. I... didn't stop to think. Once Obsydin's sword... you died" "No..." "You died! Your magic was out of control...!" Levi was reduced to sobbing now. Tremors shaking his entire smaller frame "Levi, hey. I'm alive" "This could... this is a dream. You were gone. People don't come back" "Levi, if this was a dream I don't think either of us would be in so much pain" "You're in pain?" "Headache" "I have a headache" He knew. Levi's headaches were a constant cause of worry, especially with the mental confusion "I know, my master. I think we have some herbs" "What?" "Herbs, for the headache and the muscle pain" "Why hasn't Freya helped you?" Because everything that was wrong with them needed to heal naturally "My instincts are messed up" "You need someone to help you... to help with the children" They'd also had this conversation "I'm alright" "Freya?!" Eren cringed at the loudness of Levi's voice. He couldn't handle loud and the moment, Levi couldn't handle loud at the moment either "Levi..." "You're hurt. Why are you alone? You shouldn't be alone" "I can't handle... anyone else in our room" Coughing didn't help his protests "Eren?" Climbing off the bed, Eren turned his back as he covered his mouth. Coughing made him want to curl into a ball and die. Not literally die, but maybe take a week long nap where he'd wake up magically cured and all of this was a bad dream. Having crawled across the bed, Levi let out a heavy groan as he grabbed the back of Eren's nightshirt. His mate really shouldn't have been moving around. Tugging him hard, the alpha ended up with Eren falling u to his lap, both of them hissing in pain "You idiot. What did you do that for?" "You got off the bed" "Because I was coughing. I wasn't going anywhere" "You left my side..." Eren tense. Levi's scent growing murky with fear. Swallowing down his discomfort, and swallowing down the itch in his throat, Eren then sighed softly "I didn't leave your side. We both lost ourselves for a moment, but we're both alive" "My head feels wrong. I can't feel Obsydin" Yep. They'd had this conversation also. Levi was quite worked up over the amount of pain he was in "Try not to think of it. It's been a week since everything happened, and a few days since I woke up" Bringing his left hand up, Eren gently stroked his alpha's hair "You died in my arms..." "Shhh... I'm not dead now" "I can't live without you" Eren coughed again. The room didn't even have heating. Most of the scarce blankets were being used by the kids "You don't have to... I'm not going anywhere" "Every body does" "Levi, we're not going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere. I've got you, precious alpha" Nuzzling into his arm, Levi sighed heavily "My head really fucking hurts" "I know it does. I've got some herbs for that" "Where is everyone?" "At the trial. Luca and Viren are sleeping" "Why aren't we at the trial?" Eren closed his eyes. This was the longest Levi had lucid, even with the repeated questions they were usually on their second time through by now "My instincts are all over the place" "Why?" "Because you were fucking hurt. I was hurt. None of our friends will tell me what happened to either of us, only enough to make me know that there's more to this. Buildings don't just fall on people. Everyone thinks we're dead, Levi... and Luca... Luca is scared. He's started wetting the bed. He's scared to be alone, and doesn't want to leave the room. He cries in his sleep... I can't... I feel so sick and scared" "Eren..." "I can't help it. I don't know what's going on... your wounds aren't healing fast enough. My magic isn't good enough to help you. You can't remember... and we're both like this... and there's something wrong with both of us that I don't know how to fix" "Freya?" Opening his eyes again, Eren forced himself out of Levi's hold. His alpha's grey eyes tracking his jerky movements "She can't help. She's at the trial" "Oh..." "Let me get you something to drink, and something for the pain" "I feel like something is missing" "I know you do. But I've got you. I'm going to help you get through this" "You're the one who died... I should be here for you. I should be..." "Levi..." "I'm your alpha. God..." Going to stand, Levi barely rose before falling back. A bandaged hand clutching his side "Don't move. You'll open your wounds" "I wanted Luca... he woke me. He knew something was wrong" Levi hadn't said that before... he was proud of Luca, but Levi hadn't said that he'd woken him because he'd known something was wrong "You need to drink first. Then you need some more rest. Luca can cuddle with you, after you've had something to drink" He'd like to get Levi cleaned up, but Viren would be awake soon. And more importantly he needed the bathroom. Levi probably did too, yet didn't realise it.

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