#alluding to his treatment when he was at the house of hope | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ncji · 2 years

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YESS i’d be so curious to see your thoughts on gai x neji

[ Lemme just write too damn much again. I'm unfocused, so it's going to be the same as the two before, not pretty. Lol.

...

Gai has had his team for a few months, not even a year, but he seems pensive. He and Kakashi grab a drink together to numb the emotions, but we all know what alcohol really does. It loosens the lips, and loose lips expose ships. Gai alludes to something he never would have without a drink. Cupping his shot glass in his hands and staring down into the liquid, he asks, "Hey, Kakashi...What do you think of my team?"

Kakashi, a good friend, tells him they're going to be strong, especially Lee.

"What do you think of Neji?" Gai asks him.

"He would be cute if he wasn't such a spitfire," he chuckles.

"He is cute," Gai tells him. There's a pause, then a bit more liquid truth serum down Gai's throat. He stares into the empty glass. "He's...pretty..."

Kakashi waits for the descriptor. He's pretty what? Pretty mean? But it doesn't come. He has to accept Gai just called his student attractive. His male student. His twelve-year-old male student. "Gai..."

Gai nods to acknowledge he's listening, waiting for a harsh reality check.

"Lee needs you...Don't do anything that will take you away from him..."

All Gai does is hum his agreement. He understands.

...

Ok, so jump to the Chuunin Exams. Neji almost takes Hinata out before her time, and every adult in the room leaps into action to save her. Except Gai. Neji remarks about the Main House's special treatment, but it's followed by a question to Gai. "They shouldn't be interfering, should they, Gai-sensei?"

Gai stutters because he wants to tell him they weren't just saving Hinata, they were saving Neji from himself, but, eventually, he just settles with a, "No..."

Of course, that earns a suspicious glare from Kakashi because what? He confronts him between the matches to ask him what he was thinking, but he's not satisfied by Gai's answer.

"I don't want to upset him."

"You should be worried about him ruining his own life. Gai, you need to protect him from himself."

Gai agrees while sheepishly rubbing the back of his own neck. He tells him he'll be a better sensei, for Neji's sake.

Unbeknownst to the two, Neji was observing the conversation, and he didn't like the look of Kakashi scolding Gai. He knows it was about him. When Gai rejoins his team, Neji tells him, "Gai-sensei...I don't like the way Kakashi-sensei looks at me."

Gai blinks. "Looks at you? How does he look at you?"

"The way you look at me. I don't like it when he does it. It makes my skin crawl..."

Kakashi is baffled by the glare he receives from Gai.

Lee has his fight, Gai protects his baby, and Neji's next fight starts.

Watching the fight between Naruto and Neji, Kakashi listens to Neji and wonders if that's why Gai is so protective of him, his little caged bird. He understands him a little better.

Neji ends up in the infirmary, the way he did in canon, and Hiashi comes in with a certain letter. He never gives it to Neji, though, because, upon entering, he finds Neji seated on the bed with Gai kneeling in front of him, his arms wrapped around his middle. That would have been fine in itself, just a hug from a worried sensei, but...they're kissing. It's a small kiss, but no male sensei kisses his thirteen-year-old male student like that. It's just not a thing. Neji's not young enough for it to be like a daddy kissing his baby sort of deal. He's a teenager, and a grown man is kissing him on the mouth.

THWOOM! Gai flies to the far end of the infirmary, tossed aside by a massive blast of chakra, and Hiashi orders him to leave. Gai considers trying to make an excuse, he tries to think of a lie, but he's in too much of a panic to think of anything. Hoping it will somehow make the situation better, he gets up to leave.

Neji reaches out for him, though. "Gai-sensei...Please don't go."

Gai ignores his better judgment and returns to Neji, wrapping his arms around him and hugging his head to his core. He'll never abandon Neji when he wants him.

Hiashi, of course, is disgusted. He orders Gai to get away from his nephew. He tells him he's never to contact him again. Hiashi will not allow some pervert to have access to his nephew!

Neji tells him he doesn't want Gai to go, that he feels safe with him. It's true, he does. He wants Gai there because he's afraid of what Hiashi will do to him for exposing the Hyuuga clan's secrets to the stadium. He needs his protector.

That's when Hiashi leaves to get the officials. Other jounin? Anbu? Who acts as the police when there's no Uchiha around? Hopefully someone who could handle Maito fucking Gai...but who would that be? Kakashi? It's not Kakashi.

Anyway, nin come for Gai, and Hiashi explains what he saw. Neji insists Hiashi is lying, that he's trying to strip away Neji's social defenses so he can punish him for what he did during the fight without anyone ever seeing the damage. Gai is escorted out, but he's released as soon as they're out of the infirmary because of Neji's statement. So he's not like...under arrest or anything. They just tell him to back off Neji until Hiashi cools down.

Kakashi is called to meet with the hokage, who asks him why Gai was just caught kissing his student. While Kakashi has the memory of Gai calling Neji pretty, he adamantly denies he would do something like that. The Third then asks him about Neji's claim. Kakashi says it's more likely. Just in case, Hiruzen tells Kakashi to check on Neji, then talk to Gai. He says he can protect Gai if he kissed his student, but he'll be the one to bring his body in if he touches him. Branding children with a torture seal? Fine. Touching those children? Absolutely not fine.

Neji is on a balcony above the stadium. He just wants to be apart from everyone and everything, because life has just gotten really complicated.

Kakashi leans against the entrance behind him. "He's hurting you."

Eyes narrowed, Neji curses all parties for letting news of the incident get out. "Gai-sensei protects me," he insists.

"He kissed you."

Again, Neji insists, "No, he didn't."

"I know, Neji..."

And Neji knows Kakashi isn't agreeing with him. He knows something he's not supposed to know. Kakashi can't see the hateful look he's giving him, and Neji turns it off masterfully when he turns towards Kakashi. All he shows is the face of a bird with broken wings, hopeless, desperate..."He would never hurt me..."

"If he's kissing you, he is hurting you," Kakashi tries to reason, but he receives a furious shake of the head for his efforts.

"No! Gai-sensei...Gai-sensei would never--" Tears gather in his pearlescent eyes. "He protects me from the people who do hurt me..."

It's so convincing that it makes the Copy Ninja want blood. Kakashi approaches and reaches out to take Neji's hand to hopefully gain his trust. "Who's hurting you?"

Neji wants blood too. "Anyone who would try to tear us apart," he bites out. Then, the Hyuuga stumbles against Kakashi, looks up like he was just pulled to him, like he's scared, and shouts, "GAI-SENSEI!" After feigning a small struggle, he shoves Kakashi back.

Through the shock, Kakashi is able to piece together what just happened and raise his arms before a foot collides with the ulna barrier he just created. "Gai, wait!" Neji just unleashed Gai on him like a human summon, he can't believe it.

He's lucky Gai decides to protect Neji over attacking him. He's not sure he's ever felt killing intent radiating off of Gai like that before.

Neji clings to his sensei. "I told you he was looking at me weird!"

There's a giant, 'What!?' on Kakashi's face. He thought he had all of the pieces to this puzzle, but he keeps finding more. The big picture is looking worse and worse!

"How could you, Kakashi? My precious rival...I should have known..." Don't let the words fool you. He's got murder in his tone. "...when you told me to stay away from him..."

Kakashi wants to argue and expose Neji for the manipulative little shit he is, but they're all distracted by Tenten and Lee shouting for their sensei to see if everything is alright. Of course, they notice a small section of the crowd looking too. Luckily, they only would have heard Neji shouting for Gai. Kakashi decides to take his leave and avoid further confrontation with Gai. He won't listen to him while he's feeling protective anyway. All he cares about is protecting that boy.

"Sensei!?" Tenten shouts again.

Gai snaps out of murder mode. "I-it's nothing! We're coming down!"

Kakashi has already disappeared by the time they step into the corridor. It's empty, so Neji stops Gai. He tells him he's sorry for getting him in trouble with Hiashi, and Gai tells Neji he's sorry for leaving him alone and not protecting him. They kiss.

Genma, who rounds a corner at that moment (even the ref needs a potty break), bites down on his senbon when he sees the kiss. During his fight, he grew fond of the little Hyuuga, so he's a little protective of him himself. He doesn't say anything, though. He's going to bring it up with Kakashi and seek his input.

Neji and Gai never notice him. They join their team to see the rest of the exams.

Suna. Orochimaru. Sasuke. The shitstorm blows over...

The Sasuke Recovery Mission happens. At the end of Neji's fight, Gai-sensei rescues him before he's almost killed. He then tries to rescue Lee, but Gaara's got him covered. Does he push onward to retrieve Sasuke? No. Sasuke still slips away.

...

Time goes by. Suspicions about Gai's relationship with Neji have mostly died down. Not Hiashi's or Genma's suspicions, but everyone else is pretty chill about the whole thing. They've never witnessed anything out of the ordinary after all. Well, except...Team Gai shenanigans. That's normal for them, though. Kakashi and Gai aren't back to what they used to be, but at least Kakashi isn't bringing the relationship up with Gai anymore. He's mostly accepted that Gai is wrapped around Neji's little finger and no amount of reason will penetrate the spell Neji has him under. Not that he thinks Neji is the guilty party. He thinks the Hyuuga is a vulnerable teenager in a difficult situation that is just desperate for protection, he thinks Neji is protecting himself by getting Gai to protect him the only way he can think of.

The relationship between Gai and Neji is going strong, though, and Neji is a better shinobi for it. He gets a lot more of Gai's attention, even during training. Another bonus is he doesn't have to go home as often. Hiashi usually sends someone to retrieve him from training, but, over the past couple of years, those Hyuuga haven't seen anything suspicious from them. So he's let him stay longer and longer. Neji can usually be found at the training grounds, or at Gai's home.

Which is were he currently is. Neji, sixteen, is underneath his sensei, gripping his hair with both hands to hold him down in the kiss that's muffling his shameful sounds. Gai has Neji's pleasure down to a science. He can make the normally reserved Hyuuga sing his praises to the heavens. If he's the only man Neji will ever know, he's going to make sure he'll never regret it. Neji can't imagine better, nor does he care to. It would be too much. Overwhelming. If there's better than Gai, he wouldn't survive it, he's sure.

Neji spreads his legs further, even though Gai can thrust no deeper. It's not a request for deeper, though, it's consent to cum inside of him. Gai has learned this over the years. It brings him close to the edge as fast as he would rush in to save his precious student.

"You're about to have company."

The voice startles the two, who turn to look at the window. It's Kakashi. He might not approve, but he sure as Hell isn't going to subject them to Hiashi's wrath if he can help it.

"Hyuuga company!"

They don't even look at each other before they tear apart and hurriedly pull on their clothes. Gai is faster because he doesn't put as much care in his appearance, so he's able to help Neji with his hair. In only a minute, Neji is pristine, he's beautiful, he's...still hard. Gai, trying to be helpful, reaches into Neji's pants to adjust him, but the touch pulls the lewdest of moans out of the teen.

"He heard that," Kakashi announces.

The two improvise. There's hurried footsteps and a knock on the door. Neji whimpers, "Gai-sensei, please!" Kou bursts into the home and catches Neji doing angled sit-ups on Gai's back while Gai does push-ups. Gai pushes up, Neji lifts his upper body to his knees.

"Seven hundred more to go, Neji!"

Kou blinks at the bizarre workout.

"Kooou," Neji whines, pretending to struggle through the workout and making the sounds to fit. "Tell him he's crazy!"

Kou offers him a relieved smile, but, intrigued, he won't stop them for a few more counts.

Once Neji has left with Kou, Gai pounds Kakashi's fist. What a bro.

...

Neji's arrival back at the compound is met with a suspicious glare from Hiashi. He will never believe Gai wasn't at least being inappropriate with Neji in the past. He just wants the truth.

As Neji is preparing to wash up, Kou tells Hiashi about the heart-stopping moment he heard Neji moan. Hiashi listens to the whole story, but it doesn't sit right with him. He storms into the bathroom and tells Neji to be honest with him. If he would just tell him the truth, he could help him!

Neji was in the middle of pushing his pants down when Hiashi barged in, so he pulls them back up. "I told you already, nothing is happening between me and Gai-sensei," he drones off. They've been doing this for years now.

Unfortunately for Neji, all Hyuuga are very perceptive. Hiashi noticed the red marks on his hips. Convinced he has enough evidence to search him, Hiashi grapples with Neji and pushes his pants down. All the while, Neji repeatedly tells him to stop. He pushes at him, yells for help, and basically does everything he can short of fighting. Hiashi isn't deterred, and he finds what he's looking for. After sliding his fingers into Neji's body, he has proof the boy has had a man inside of him recently. There's lubricant inside of him and he's stretched.

Neji, being forcibly penetrated, lashes out and slaps the ancestors' blessings out of Hiashi. He then yells, "GET OFF OF ME, YOU PERVERT!"

Hiashi, attacked and, in his eyes, slandered, activates Neji's seal. It's only for a second, but it still causes his clan's prodigy to scream and sob. It was just reflex, so he stops immediately once he realizes what he's doing and tries to apologize, but Neji won't hear it. He pulls his pants up and runs, pushing past Kou, who witnessed it all.

Gai is rekindling a lifelong friendship through janken when his lover runs up to him half-dressed, in tears, and with a bit of blood crusted under his nose. "Neji! What happened to you? Are you ok!?"

Neji tells him through sobs, "Hiashi...Hiashi forced himself inside of me...then activated my seal when I called him a pervert!"

Gai's mouth hangs open, he's stunned. Then, he's mad, but Kakashi's hand on his shoulder makes him stop and listen.

"We'll report this to the Godaime. She'll take care of Hiashi. You take care of Neji. He needs you right now."

But Neji wants his protector to do his fucking job! "Th-that was the second time he activated it. It's deadly after the first time!" Yes, he is one hundred percent aware he's manipulating Gai.

Kakashi knows Neji is doing it again, sicking Gai on someone. He tightens his grip on Gai, but Gai goes from listening to reason to a few gates opened in one second flat. He's on his way to the compound in the next breath. You can't stop Maito Gai when he thinks a man just raped and tried to kill his lover. Kakashi can try, though! He runs after him.

Neji follows them at a leisurely pace, his face contorted into a vicious smirk. He hopes Hiashi is dead by the time he arrives.

Gai knocks a decade off of Hiashi's life before Hiashi can register his door has just exploded off its tracks. The Hyuuga head limply tears through two walls and lands in the kitchen. There's no time to register what's happening, though, not before Gai kicks a painful crack into his jawbone.

"Hiashi-sama!" Kou shouts.

But Gai doesn't hear him. All he hears is the sobs that shook Neji's voice, all he sees is the red drying under his nose. "You raped him," he growls. He smells blood, a consequence of opening the fourth gate, but he feels closer to Neji for it. They're both in pain, they're both bleeding. Gai goes for Hiashi again.

But Kakashi blocks his fist. "Stop this, Gai!"

"He raped Neji!" Gai shouts, but it sounds oddly like, 'You betrayed me!' for standing in his way.

Hiashi finally pulls himself to his feet. "I won't allow you to slander my name in front of my people." His byakugan comes alive, and he's ready to fight.

Meanwhile, Kou recognizes when he's no help, so he bolts to find help.

Hiashi manages to survive the onslaught of Gai's punches and kicks with Kakashi's help. It buys him enough time for Tsunade to intervene.

She tosses the two away from each other easily and demands an explanation. Gai, of course, claims Hiashi raped Neji and activated his seal. Hiashi stupidly tells the truth, that he was "checking" Neji because Gai is the one raping Neji. He understands he did a very bad thing when literally everyone there is staring at him with the same horrified look on their faces.

"I had no proof! I needed proof! He has my nephew brainwashed, so he protects the pervert who's molesting him!" he explains.

"That doesn't give you the right to stick your fingers in your underage nephew's rectum!" Tsunade snaps, but, then, she turns her ire to Gai. "Is it true you're touching that child?"

Gai looks like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Maito Gai is a good man. He would never touch one of his students. They're all like his own children to him." Kakashi to the rescue! Even though he's beaten up and catching his breath because he was caught between Gai and Hiashi in a serious fight.

Gai smiles at him.

"It's Hiashi who forced himself inside of me." Neji's finally arrived. He's a little unsteady, dealing with a splitting headache from the seal activation, but he's doing his best to stand strong. "That's what the main house does. They take what they want from the branch house...Our freedom. Our labor. And our bodies. When we tell them no, they put us back in our place by activating our seals. Hiashi raped me."

Hiashi holds back the urge to shut him up. "You know what I was trying to do! I was checking you because Kou heard you moaning. You have lube inside of you, Neji! Stop defending your abuser!"

"I never defended you!" The usually strong Hyuuga prodigy quakes, then cries. "You forced yourself inside of me. Sexually. Why can't you see you raped me?"

Maybe it's seeing his nephew so roughed up by him, his hair a mess, his nose bleeding, his eyes squinting in pain, or maybe it's because the simple definition of rape is undeniable, but Hiashi swallows his pride. "I...shouldn't have done that to you, Neji. I'm so sorry...I just wanted the truth to come out...The lubricant--"

Tsunade looks to Neji, who explains it away in five words.

"I had sex with Lee..."

Gai swallows the pang in his chest at hearing those words from Neji's mouth. He knows he's lying, he slicked him up himself, but it's still painful to hear. He's always been insecure about being older than Neji, always worried he'll find someone his own age.

"My teammate," Neji explains to Tsunade, who doesn't know the younger generation well. "He's my age...That's why I'm so close to Gai-sensei. Lee is a son to him and my...future spouse. He's important to both of us. It's a strong thing to bond over...We're family through him..."

"No...No." Part of Hiashi doesn't want to believe it because that means he's the only adult who has abused his nephew, but the other part of him remembers what he saw. "I saw him kissing you!"

"You saw me kissing him! I-I was feeling vulnerable...Lee was broken...It didn't mean anything. It was just my sad attempt at comforting myself. We've talked about it since, all of us. It was wrong of me to do, but Lee, Gai, and I have all moved on, so why can't you?"

It's the perfect cover story, and Hiashi is struck by it like a final blow. All of his defensiveness is gone. He's defeated. "I'm...so sorry, Neji...I'm so sorry."

Neji shakes his head and turns to leave. "Sensei..." he beckons.

"Wait, where are you going?" Hiashi calls.

"I'm not staying here, not after what you did."

"You can't--" It's a weak protest.

"It sounds like a reasonable solution right now," Tsunade interjects, patting her hands together like she's the one who sorted it all out. "Let your nephew go where he feels safe. I'll expect you in my office tomorrow. Tonight, everyone get some rest, especially you, Neji..."

"I will, Hokage-sama..." He, Gai, and Kakashi depart.

As Tsunade walks away, she gestures to a following Anbu, who approaches. "Watch the boy. Make sure I didn't just send him home with a predator."

...

Hyuuga are very perceptive. Not just with their Byakugan, but definitely because of it. Their eyesight is limited when they're not using it, so they make up for their limited range by taking in more of their surroundings. It doesn't take long for him to notice the Anbu tailing them.

Kakashi breaks away to head home, after making sure Gai understands he wasn't protecting Hiashi, he was protecting Gai from committing a murderer. Then, Neji stops. "I'll see you tomorrow, Gai-sensei...Goodnight." He pulls his confused sensei into a hug and angles his head so his lips cannot be read when he whispers as quietly as he can about the Anbu following them. Gai, understanding, hugs him and lets him go. He knows where he's going. He just hopes he can trust Neji.

Neji knocks on Lee's door, who answers in his pajamas. (Early to bed, early to rise!) Lee sees the condition he's in and gets worried as can be, but Neji stops Lee's racing thoughts with a kiss.

It's a risky strategy. Neji has to silence any of Lee's confusion or questions before they can be voiced, and he has to be convincing to both Lee and the spy. The Anbu seems satisfied when Lee is finally inside of Neji, disappearing into the night. When they're alone, though, and Neji is staring down into Lee's adoring eyes, he can't stop what's likely to be his first time. So he rides his best friend to completion and falls asleep in his arms.

It was Lee's first time, and he's always had a crush on his best friend. That's why he cries when Neji tells him the morning after the real reason he had sex with him. It hurts. He's even a little bit angry. But he won't tell a soul. For Neji. And for Gai.

Neji cries when he tells Gai about his infidelity, and he cries harder when Gai cries and selflessly tells him it's ok if he wants to be with Lee. He doesn't want to be with Lee, though. He's with the person he wants to be with. Gai forgives him. Of course he forgives him! And they agree to remain a couple.

They don't have sex for a while, because Neji feels like used goods, no matter how much Gai tries to reassure him he's no different than how he was before Hiashi touched him. It's not what happened with Hiashi that bothers him, though. It's when he willingly opened his legs for someone else. It doesn't matter to him that he did it to protect Gai.

...

When they do finally have sex, it's exactly what they both remember. Better than coming out on top in a really close fight! Neji's in Gai's lap, arms wrapped around his neck as he breathes out soft moans against his jaw, and Gai is moving Neji's hips over his dick like he's weightless. It's bliss.

They're both so lost in the pleasure, the intimacy, that they don't notice their one man audience. By the time Neji's moans rise an octave and he's crying out Gai's name, Genma is leaning against the side of the building where he can't be seen. It takes minutes more for Gai to finish, after laying Neji back and angling his hips up so he can thrust down into his tight body. Gai never sounds so serious as he does when he's saying Neji's name. He says it with conviction, he says it with love. It makes Genma sick.

Neji wants to see what Hinata is up to that afternoon, so he heads out after kissing Gai goodbye. Genma catches up to him. Neji will forever remember the words Genma offered him at the Chuunin Exams, so he smiles when he recognizes him. "It's been too long, Genma-san," he greets politely.

The two of them start off with comfortable small talk, then transition into something mutually friendly. It's natural. They're close after their first meeting it seems. Both of them care about each other, even though they've only had a couple of opportunities to talk. Neji wants to go on a mission with Genma, so Genma tells him he'll keep that in mind. It's an implied promise that excites the Hyuuga. He'll get to show him how much he's grown since the fight with Naruto!

Then, it gets serious. "You deserve better than the cards you've been dealt, Neji." Genma affectionately uses the 'kun' honorific when speaking to him.

It reminds Neji of Kakashi, the sensei he had to push away because he got in the way. Kakashi hasn't trusted him since. It's nice to hear a mentor call him that again without seeming cautious. "Trust me, I know," he answers.

"A seal you'll have for the rest of your life, emotional scars you'll have to cope with, and a sensei that hasn't kept his hands off of you since I've known you."

Neji's eyes widen as he looks to Genma, who stops walking to meet his gaze. "I don't know what you heard, but it's not true."

"I just saw what he did to you."

The words were so soft, meant to be calming, but Neji's heart is racing. He's still only sixteen, not yet an adult in Konoha, and Gai is his sensei. It's dangerous for anyone to know about them, especially when they have Genma's opinion on the subject. He swallows. "He protects me..."

"You can rely on plenty of adults in your life to protect you without asking for sex in return..."

Neji feels the panic swell up in him. He glances from right to left. "Will you protect me...Genma?"

...

Kakashi slides onto the barstool beside Genma, who's playing eeny, meeny, miny, moe with two shot glasses. One is holding something clear, while the other is holding something caramel in color. "What's the damage?"

Genma settles on the darker shot and slams it back. It's his sixth shot that evening. "Do you know what Gai has been doing to Neji?"

Kakashi steals the other shot, letting it slide over his tongue so he knows what he's getting into. It's just sake. Good. "Yeah..."

"Of course you do," Genma grumbles. He slaps his hand down on the bar to get the tender's attention. With a sigh the man pours him two new shots and goes back to cleaning glasses. "I should say what his student has been doing to him."

The makes Kakashi raise a brow. He doesn't have to ask, though.

"My whole life, I've never even looked at a teenager, never wanted to...Then, that little honeypot looked at me with those big white eyes and asked me to protect him..." Genma throws back the clear shot. He wants to get hammered and he doesn't want it to feel good.

Kakashi doesn't want to mix his alcohols, because he doesn't want to punish himself, so he just leaves the other shot to Genma. Besides, he does believe Genma needs to be punished. "You...slept with him," he confirms.

"We went two rounds. I gave him the line about training my tongue with my senbon. I--" He drops his face in his hands. "I'm a pervert...I screwed a teenager, Kakashi..."

Kakashi has half a mind to give him a black eye for Gai, but he can hear the pain in Genma's voice. He's known about his feelings for Neji since the Chuunin Exams. The poor man fell for Neji the moment he heard him, not like a fairy tale romance, but the same way a prospective parent feels when they see the child they know is for them. He loved him. Kakashi rubs his back. "How did it happen? I know you didn't want it to happen..."

"I was stupid. I fell into his trap...He asked me to protect him, and I wanted to. I asked him who he needed to be protected from, and he told me he didn't feel comfortable telling me in public. So I took him home...to my place..." Even though there are no tears, Genma wipes a hand down his face, then takes his other shot. "He wanted to go to the bedroom...Why would a kid want to go to a man's bedroom? I didn't ask myself that, though. I just showed him inside and watched him sit down on my bed. Then, he fed me his sob story...Who even knows if that was real?"

From what Kakashi saw at the compound, he figures the sob story was probably real at least. Neji doesn't have to lie for sympathy.

"Hook, line, and sinker...He had me. I don't know how it happened. One minute, I was listening to him from the doorway, and, the next, I was sitting on my bed with his head in my lap, combing my fingers through his hair while he poured his heart out to me. I cried with him, Kakashi...Then, I spelled my name on his prostate with my tongue..."

Kakashi's eyebrows nearly climb into his hairline. Wow.

Genma gives the bartended a pleading look, and the man brings him the sake bottle and two cups for the pair. He's a good tender, never listens to a thing that's said by his patrons and won't let them hurt themselves. Genma turns that look to Kakashi.

"Alright, alright." He pours the two servings and slides both cups to Genma, who downs them eagerly. Kakashi understands that, the desperation to forget. "So you gave him the Genma Special..."

That earns him a snort. "He said I was better for him than Gai." Idly, he nudges one cup into the other, making a tiny clink sound. "The manipulative little peacock was mocking me because I told him I would protect him and I wouldn't hurt him like Gai did, that I would be better for him...I just wanted him to feel safe enough to turn him in..."

"Genma," comes a flat call from aforementioned manipulative little peacock. Kakashi greets him with a perked brow. "I need to talk to you."

"What, are you going to blackmail me now?" Genma grits out.

Neji's brow furrows, and he looks from Genma to Kakashi. Kakashi is not as curious as he should be about the exchange. "You told him..."

"Yeah. I told him." He probably would've cared more if he wasn't drunk.

"Well, don't tell anyone else. That's what I came here to tell you."

Genma glares over his shoulder. "Or what? You'll tell everyone to keep their kids away from me?"

"Or you'll hurt Gai, you idiot..."

Kakashi can't keep it to himself. "If you don't want to hurt Gai, why did you sleep with his teammate?"

Again, Neji seems confused. "I seduced Genma so he wouldn't tell anyone about Gai. He would be a hypocrite if he did."

"You know, for the person who says he needs to be protected, you do a lot of protecting," Kakashi points out.

The Hyuuga nods, but he's focused on the rude look he's getting from Genma. "Hey, Kakashi-sensei, what would you do if someone you weren't interested in tried to seduce you?"

Genma turns back to the bar and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows what Neji is implying, that he was interested all along.

"I wouldn't sleep with them."

Neji smirks at the back of Genma's head.

"Unless they were someone that I cared about and they emotionally manipulated me into thinking sleeping with them would comfort them."

That wipes the smirk off of Neji's face. When he puts it like that, he sees what he did was a little lot worse than seduction.

Genma's had enough. He stands, stays there for a minute to steady himself, then sets his money on the bar. It's all of his money currently, but the bartender can be trusted. He'll take what he's owed and hand the rest to Kakashi, which he knows is Genma's friend. "Don't fall into his trap, Kakashi..." He doesn't look at Neji when he walks past him.

Kakashi watches Neji's face, watches how he opens his mouth to say something to Genma, but closes it when he realizes it won't be good enough. He watches the young jounin slide onto the warm abandoned seat and eye the sake bottle. Kakashi pulls it away. "You're too young."

"I've killed, I've had sex..."

"Why do you resort to sex?" he asks.

Neji picks up one of the cups and sniffs it. It stinks, of course. "It works."

"Other methods work."

"Not like sex does." Gently, he nudges the cup over to Kakashi. "It's supposed to make the pain go away, isn't it?"

You're too young to have that kind of pain. Kakashi hesitates, but, in the end, he pours a cup for him.

Neji swallows it before the bartender can catch him drinking. After a minute of Kakashi watching him, he realizes he's supposed to say something. "Genma hates me..."

Kakashi sighs. "He doesn't hate you."

"I saw how he looked at me."

"He's hurt. Apologize to him and give him some time. He'll go back to looking at you like you have all the potential in the world."

Neji pushes his cup from side to side. It's tiny, kind of cute. It's at least a tiny bit of joy when he feels so depressed. "Sex works...It worked on Gai when nothing else would," he murmurs.

Oh. Kakashi could see where it came from then.

"I either had to be Lee, or I had to be sexy. Those were my options. I wanted his attention...so I tried to be sexy." His face colors as he recalls his attempts. "I wasn't very good at it. He didn't really notice until I didn't wear underwear one day and asked him to check my sandal. I angled myself so he had a clear line of vision. When he looked up, he got really red and awkward." That makes him smile.

Kakashi, seeing the opportunity, fills another cup and offers it to Neji.

Neji drinks it without a second thought. "Then, there was that time I told him to help me stretch. We were sitting, and I laid back and put my ankles on his shoulders. I think I saw him swallow. I told him to lean towards me, and, when he got close enough, I whined his name. He gasped."

It's interesting to Kakashi, to see how proud Neji is of seducing his sensei at the age of twelve. It's strangely innocent, like he earned his attention.

"Finally, I thought I could do it, you know? I snuck into his home and crawled into his bed at night. He woke up and asked me if I was alright. Of course I was. I was with him, safe in his arms. Then, he just...held me." It's a precious memory for him, one that he smiles warmly at. "That was the best sleep I'd had since I was four...The next night, I did the same thing, but naked."

Again, Kakashi's brows almost become intimately acquainted with his hairline. People are bold today! "And he...took advantage of that?"

Neji shook his head. "Gai wouldn't take advantage of me. He pretended to be asleep while I moved his hands over my body. He's not very good at pretending to be asleep, though. I guess he couldn't resist moving his fingers against my hole...The thrill I felt when I realized he was really interested...He wanted me. Gai-sensei wanted me..."

It's depressing to hear, so much that Kakashi pours himself a drink and downs it. Not only was Neji so desperate to be chosen by Gai, because of his blatant favoritism towards Lee, that he subjected himself to sexual abuse, but Gai isn't the man he thought he was. He should have stopped Neji, but he selfishly indulged in a love-starved 12-year-old.

"After that, our relationship grew stronger, and Gai fell for me so hard he was willing to do anything for me...Sex works for me."

"I'm sorry it works for you. It shouldn't...At least not with older men." He wonders how many adults can fail one boy. It seems like a lot.

"I'm sorry I did what I did to you and didn't seduce you too," Neji replies, amusement in his eyes. "I hear I'm your type."

Kakashi's exposed eye slits at him. He's not going to fall for his manipulation.

"Well, I was your type when I had the chance to do it. I think I'm too old now."

No. "What are you talking about?" he challenges. Neji feels too pleasantly fuzzy from the alcohol to catch the threat, so he mouths the three syllables Kakashi dreads.

I. Ta. Chi.

Gai was supposed to take that to his grave. Kakashi feels exposed. He also feels like Neji just wanted to remind him about his hypocrisy. He's a vicious kid. "Gai told you..."

"Mhm. He wanted me to know why you were so against our relationship. When he told me, he said it was because you thought an adult man sleeping with me would make me snap and commit genocide. I told him it's because I'm your type and you wanted me for yourself. Not that I'm that bad," he snorts.

It's such a sore spot for Kakashi that he considers leaving. They were both wrong. He's against their relationship because it's between an adult and a minor, and Gai is a closet pervert while Neji is a manipulator. They're bad for each other, they make each other worse.

"Well, I shouldn't say that...I've considered it..."

The PTSD hits hard, but Kakashi is able to feign indifference, even though he feels like his lungs won't fill. He grabs the bottle and takes a few large gulps.

"Not anymore, though...I don't have any reason to. I'm free. I'm safe..."

Damnit. Is he manipulating him? No, he can't be that good. He can't be. Kakashi will allow anything that will keep the next Itachi from doing what he did, even support an ephebophile and his puppeteer boy toy. "Yeah...You're safe now." He needs to change the subject. "What did you do to me?"

"Hm? What do you mean?" Neji's eyelids feel a little heavy, but he likes it.

"You said you're sorry you did what you did to me. What did you do?"

"Oh. I planted a seed."

It's vague, so Kakashi just stares, willing him to elaborate.

"I can't tell you. I don't want you to kill it. I still water it every now and then, in case I need to use it."

Oh no. Neji is that good. He began a plan against Kakashi back when he was as young as Itachi during that time, and he was keeping it viable incase Kakashi stepped out of line. That's...terrifying. "Have you considered joining T&I?"

Neji laughs, really laughs, and the bartender squints at him. "Do they have honeypots?" Evidently, he heard Genma's little name for him.

Then, something falls over the Hyuuga. His eyes become unfocused, staring into a darkness Kakashi knows all too well. Guilt. As much as he's sure Neji is going to grow into even more trouble than he is now, he hates to see that look on a young face. "He doesn't hate--"

"Maybe not, but I hate myself..." He folds an arm over the bar and lays on it. "Gai deserves better than me."

Kakashi snorts. "No, he doesn't." It's an inside joke between himself and...himself, because they're both problematic, but he's fine with Neji believing he's comforting him.

That's exactly what Neji believes, so he smiles. "Next time, I'll seduce you, Kakashi-sensei."

No, you won't. Kakashi won't let himself fall for the little broken bird, even if he grows up to be the most beautiful creature on the planet. He's still ugly deep down, filled with so much rage and hate.

"Since I'm a whore."

And pain. With a sigh, Kakashi stands and helps Neji out of his seat. "Let's get you back to Gai's." He doesn't correct him, but it's not true in his opinion. Neji's just found a weapon that works for him, so he keeps using it, even though it backfires on his own heart.

...

Kakashi takes Neji home, where Neji immediately confesses to Gai. He's a witness to the drama that is Gai and Neji's toxic relationship. Crying, begging, literally.

Gai falls to his knees and begs Neji to tell him what he needs him to do so Neji will be satisfied and won't stray from the relationship. He even offers to let Neji do what he wants with others if he'll just stop telling him, because his heart can't take it.

Neji explains his reasoning behind what he did with Genma, but he's double-teamed by Gai and Kakashi about his chosen method. He's obviously smart, so why can't he figure out another way to accomplish his goals?

Neji's first reaction is, "I didn't want to kill him, so--"

So Kakashi stops him and tells him he's a safe person to turn to. If Neji ever needs help figuring out how to keep their relationship a secret, Kakashi will help him come up with ideas. He won't have to sacrifice his body or a literal life.

When Kakashi finally leaves, Gai is still crying on his knees, clutching onto Neji, and Neji is combing his fingers through his hair and telling him he deserves better.

They're both broken, they're both horrible.

That's the end. That's the moral of the story. :| They're toxic. Gai isn't innocent. He was interested in Neji at twelve. Neji is highly manipulative, but he's also just...broken. He loves Gai, but he also uses him. And he's not going to let go of him because Gai is powerful as fuck and that makes him feel safe. Meanwhile, their social circle is narrowing because people are being sacrificed for their relationship. ]

#outofthecage ( ooc )#[ Did I mention my favorite genre is angst? ]

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lordofhunger47 · 3 years

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The Owl House successed where Gravity Falls failed:

Don't get wrong,this isn't a hate message toward Gravity Falls,I'm not trying to say which show is better and I consider Gravity Falls to be a masterpiece but a flawed one,and I'm going to talk how The Owl House sucessed in which Gravity Falls failed(be civil):

1-Blame Game:In Gravity Falls the narration shown Ford to be the one to blame only, although it is true that he is faulty,so as Stan.

sure he didn't mean to destroy Ford's project but he didn't told him in order to fix it either because he secretly hope that his accident would make Ford stay,he was petty in weirdmaggedon and while Ford is arrogant with messiah complex, Stan is implusive with victim complex and at least Ford TRIES to take responsibilty while stan only did take responsibility when he tries to keep Mabel and Dipper out of this by FAVORITISM and HUMILIATION the fact that he do so after his father the water downed-american-ozai wannable only makes it worse(lets be honest if Dipper was gay,bi or trans everyone in media would scream for blood after seeing Dipper vs Manliness).

Besides,how would you feel if one of your relatives steal your identity,ruin your name and make a mockery out of your life's work?sure he was trying to have enough money to return you but what part of "stealing your name and mock your job" was necessary?even a simple merch shop makes as much money as a tourist trap.

The Owl House on the other hand,Doesn't play "sacepegoat" in Eda and Lilith case,instead it address both of their faults without choosing sides(Lilith for cursing Eda and Eda for letting her insecurities to push everyone away).

2-Protagonist:what makes them hard to write them is that if you are not be careful either they will end up as plot armor or being punished for anything in every turn and Dipper and Mabel examplified it.

Dipper:I get that his character arc pretty much amounts to: "Stop being a pretentious twit, stop trying to act older than you are, enjoy being a kid while you can." The problem is that the show eventually starts beating on Dipper for wanting ANYTHING at all, and that he must always put Mabel first, even if she's in the wrong. The show seems to say that Dipper should take Mabel's approach to life, and although that might make him happier, he's just not Mabel. Instead of learning to pursue his goals in a less reckless way, he is dis-alluded from having goals period, and that can get frustrating to watch,I don't have a sibiling but I do know that pleasing one in sacrifice of your dreams and everything that makes you you is NOT how healthy family relationships works in fact it is toxic.

Mabel:Now now I don't hate Mabel(the only characters in GF that I genuienly hate are Robbie and Pacifica's parents) and I oppose the idea that Mabel should be completely miserable like a CERTAIN AU,but there is no denying that her character suffers lack of change,all her antics is played for laughs only,unlike other characters she never face her consequences and she learns the same repeative lesson and yet never learns(I'm aware of Lost Legends but thats a comic not part of the show so it doesn't change this fatal flaw in the show and even if it was an episode it would still be repeative and only be in "words" not "action").

What makes Luz special?people most of the time forget that it is not her sexuality that makes her unique(sure being the first LGBT Disney protagonist is a big deal but thats just the perk not the character) is that she is balanced between two extrems,not so perfect that it is bland and unrelateable(like rey from sequel trilogy) or only exist to be the punching bag or being idiotic to feel pity(like morty from rick and morty) or despicable(like the protagonist from revenge of nerds who technically committed rape), just human(hence why me a boy who is straight as narrow and is more into sci-fi than fantasy finds her more endearing and relateable than Dipper and Mabel).

3-Ships:The Owl House unlike GF didn't reduce love interests as stereotypical(like Wendy),they didn't made a bigger deal about crushes than it needs to be,didn't fell for tropes(like Pacifica) and take time.

for instance, if you think about it lumity and dipacifica are basically alike except lumity took time,develop,didn't came out of nowhere in one episode and didn't fell for "I hate you but now I love you despite the major differences" cliché trope.

4-The line between friendly tease and humilation:it is true that GF mostly play tease for laughs but sometimes it goes too far.

Take Dipper vs Manliness for example,Stan and Mabel publicaly humiliated Dipper for his insecurities toward masculanity which is just cruel,it is like mocking a tom-boy girl for being too "boyish" and not "girly" enough.

While it is true that Eda and King sometimes mock Luz,I hardly compare those banterings with Stan forcing Dipper into being a furry stripper or giving the ozai treatment to "tough him up" and as I recall Luz and the Blight twins were condemned by the narration for invading Amity's privacy unlike Mabel's invading of privacy.

(Alex once said he didn't mean to make Pacifica's parents look abusive despite the fact that they trained Pacifica to follow the bell LIKE A PET,as much as I admire Alex I sometimes wonder if he underestimates what abuse is)

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wendimydarling · 3 years

Text

Cover the Mirrors

Summary: Amber is earning a masters degree in mythology and folklore; when a handsome stranger sweeps her off her feet, she’s left wondering how, and struggles to keep up with his lifestyle.

Pairing: Vampire!August Walker x OFC (first person reader)

Word Count: 6826

Warnings: Alright, we ready to get into the menu of delights we will be reading today? Okay but seriously, if you are triggered by anything on this list, it is your responsibility to not read this work of fiction. The warnings are as follows: manipulation, subtle exhibitionism, fingering, penetrative sex, mention of oral (male receiving), biting, clawing, choking, blood, male violence, gore, non-con, rape, spitting, fear play, primal play, breeding, mention of death, torture, and potentially cannibalism, if you squint.

A/N: Okay so this story is based off of this thread where @killjoy-assbutt-1112 gave me a fic title, but I added another twist to it that I’d been brewing for months; I was excited about it but now I’m not. Whatever, I’ll give it to you anyway. Sources for my vampire lore came from here and here. Cover art was made by me; August was drawn by the amazingly talented @cheyentjj and has been used with her permission. Thank you so much to everyone who brainstormed with me, and a special thanks to @agniavateira for betaing!

“If you look at the Slavic region, vampire folklore runs rampant. One especially interesting specimen is the Pijavica. The Pijavica (translated “leech”, or “drinker”) was a rare species of vampire— traditionally male, and a powerfully strong, cold-blooded killer. The potential for conception is most commonly believed to be through the incest of the deceased with his mother during his life, though some believe that one can be created through the exceptionally malicious and evil acts of the deceased before his death.

The birth of a Pijavica is attributed to many different causes, including suffering an “unnatural” or untimely death such as suicide, excommunication, improper burial rituals, or even simple causes such as an animal jumping or bird flying over either the corpse or the empty grave, being conceived on certain days, or being born with a caul, teeth, or tail.”

I paused my typing, fingers leaving the keyboard in order to brush loose strands of hair from my face. Around me, the baristas of my favorite coffee shop were buzzing like worker bees in an old hive; they were gearing up for the lunch rush, and I realized I’d been here four hours already.

This place had long been my go-to study zone. It was small; there was just enough hustle and bustle to keep me from descending too deep into the abyss of studying and yet, it had the respect of the patrons that a library does. The owner, Fred, made sure that conversations were kept in hushed tones, courteous to those of us who needed to work in noise instead of quiet.

“If ya wanna be loud, go sit at a Starbucks!” He’d huff at those who didn’t heed his warning.

My eyes took in the familiar surroundings as I stretched. An oversized wood-burning fireplace filled the wall next to the vintage cash register; it was sandwiched between two built-in bookcases housing stories of all kinds that were meant to be read and enjoyed. The old stone clackling ran all the way up the wall, and a custom mantle made from an old oak tree that had fallen in Fred’s backyard sat delicately above the firebox. Yes, this shop was magical. It held a special place in my heart, and I’d visited so often that old Fred had deemed the table I sat at as “my table”. It was always kept reserved for me.

I reached for my coffee without looking; my brain needed more caffeine. I’d spent months on this master thesis, and yet for some reason, the notion of vampires was such a struggle. I didn’t understand the fear of those who lived back then. The origins of bloodsuckers were chaotic, the “treatments” laughable and still, people were willing to kill their own offspring over such nonsensical superstitions. Cold drops of stale roast hit my lips in a harsh reminder that I’d finished my previous dose. I sighed heavily and dropped the cup to the wooden surface of my table. Eyes closed, I laced my fingers around my neck and drew my elbows together to stretch my spine. Coffee. I need more coffee.

“Having trouble?”

A man’s baritone, smooth as whiskey interrupted my thoughts. My body jolted at his leisurely tone, and I nearly tumbled off the chair as my eyes snapped open to view the intruder. Sitting across from me was anything but a man; I was in the presence of divine artistry, two breathtaking orbs of gray-washed sky centered below auburn curls that adorned his perfectly symmetrical face. A sharp nose pointed to his strong jaw, while an amused smirk tugged at the corner of lips that I’m certain could send even a nun to her bedroom for self-maintenance. He wore a crisp, pinstripe suit, the buttons of his dress shirt undone sinfully low, revealing a smattering of additional curls.

My oversized turtleneck sweater and leggings suddenly felt subpar.

“The name’s Walker,” he mused further, gesturing a large hand toward the empty paper tumbler that was now lying on its side. “What were you drinking?”

“I--I um,” I fumbled with my words, embarrassed by my sudden inability to form a proper sentence. “I had a flat white? With two extra shots of espresso.”

The man named Walker had the cup in his hand and was out of his chair before I could blink; he was already ordering another coffee by the time I managed to process his intentions. I watched him hand the barista a bill I couldn’t see, but by the shocked expression on her face at the man’s declination of the change, it must have been a sizable amount. He sat down at the table again and stared at my chest unabashedly, making it clear he wasn’t just looking but imagining as well.

I should have been offended or felt objectified, but instead I felt drawn into his gaze.

“Having trouble?” He asked again, gesturing this time at my laptop.

“How long were you sitting there?” I blurted out, still too flummoxed to answer his question. Walker laughed and I swear, time stood still. Never in my life had I heard something so beautiful.

“Long enough.”

His reply was short and cryptic, a dismissal of my burgeoning curiosity. The barista chose that moment to bring two orders of coffee to the table, offering both of them to Walker by mistake. I took in her awestruck countenance, and there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that if my face matched hers I’d sink to the floor and die of shame. That notion shook me from my stupor and I was finally able to address his question.

“It’s my master thesis,” I explained, taking a sip of the scalding liquid he handed me. “I’m a History major, with an emphasis in mythology and folklore.”

I took another sip and tapped my phone, large numbers greeting me on the screen. Numbers that told me I was extremely late.

“Oh my god I have to go, I’m so sorry!” I apologized, scrambling to pack my things. In my haste I knocked my drink off the table. Resignation sunk in deep, submission to the knowledge of further humiliation at the impending spill. None came however, as Walker caught the drink in his hand before it crashed to the dark tiles.

“Thank you,” I murmured, gawking at him in bewilderment. Who was this man?

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, standing to help me collect the remainder of my books. “I’m interested in your thesis, could we perhaps discuss it over dinner? I don’t want to keep you from your next engagement.”

“I—” I stared at him, his face open and inviting. I’d been asked out before, but never this abruptly, and never by someone who looked and behaved like him. It sounded like an adventure…or a good story to tell on girls’ night at least.

“You know what, sure. Why not?”

I scribbled my number onto a napkin and slid it his way, grabbing the rest of my gear and heading toward the door. As I pushed against the hard metal, Walker’s large fingers caught my wrist, wrapping around it like ivy wraps around a lamppost. They were cool to the touch and yet somehow, my entire body immediately felt heated.

“We forgot first names,” he chuckled, “I’m August.”

I grinned sheepishly, pulling my arm from his surprisingly firm grip. The clank of the metal door handle resonated with the introduction I threw over my shoulder as I left the warmth of the shop and the handsome man behind.

“Amber.”

It took August a full week to call me. I felt like a fool; Did I leave on a poor note? Had I offended him somehow? Did he simply decide to change his fucking mind? I was kicking myself for saying yes; how could I have agreed to go on a date with a complete stranger? Now that I was no longer in his flustering presence, I began to see reason again. I knew nothing more than this man’s name, and the fact that he was more than likely rich. He could be a cold-blooded killer for all I knew, and I had every intention of telling him off.

I was in my apartment when he called. Still stuck on my thesis, I was currently unable to determine how best to explain the theory behind the sexual appeal of vampires. In my frustration, I hung upside down over the side of my bed, reading a book that discussed the many different works of literature revolving around vampirical romanticism and hoping the blood rushing to my brain would help me ascertain how to go about my explanation. The book was written by two authors who essentially argue the whole time, one of them convinced that the human fascination with vampires stems from the cannibalistic nature of bloodsucking or that it alluded to other bodily fluids such as semen, whereas the other stood firm in his belief that it held a much simpler cause; it was nothing more than the presence of oral fixation and sadism that caused the fantasy to plant its seed.

My phone vibrated but I ignored it, too engrossed in my book to be bothered with answering. I was so close… the answer was right there, it just continued to escape me. It wasn’t until my phone vibrated a second time to notify me of a voicemail that I put the pages down and picked up the electronic device.

The moment I heard August excusing his delay in calling to a work emergency, I immediately sat up and hit redial. There was something in his voice that made my heart quicken and my pulse race; it made the hair on my arms stand on end. I regretted sitting up so fast as it rang, the blood surrounding my brain draining quickly into the rest of my body. August answered on the second ring.

“Hi, Amber.”

“I—hi.”

I rolled my eyes then flinched in pain, congratulating myself sarcastically on how pathetic that response sounded with a slap of my palm to my forehead.

“Please, allow me to apologize again for waiting so long to call,” August insisted, seemingly unphased by my lack of vocabulary. “I still intend to take you to dinner, that is if you haven’t written me off completely.”

“No it’s fine, I totally get it,” I assured him. I had completely forgotten my earlier annoyance. He had explained it after all, and it could happen to anyone.

“Perfect. I’ll send a car tonight then, at seven. Wear something revealing please, I wasn’t able to see that pretty little neck of yours last time.”

My insides shook with an unexpected pang of shocked arousal at August’s request. The sexual confidence saturating his tone had me instantly reduced to nothing more than a deep desire for him to drag me to my knees by my hair. Why I wasn’t offended by the dominantly abrupt way this man spoke to me, I’ll never know. I put on the best flirty air I could manage in my stupor.

“I think I can manage that. Might have to charge you though.”

August laughed for the second time since I’d known him and I smiled, proud that I’d caused such a melodious sound to grace this earth.

“I like your spirit; you’re gonna be fun. I’ll see you tonight.”

“I—okay bye,” I managed to say before he hung up. I stared at my phone stupidly, as though I thought he was going to call again. Instead, the large clock face glared up at me like it always does, an ever present reminder that I live on a different plane of time than the rest of the world. I fell back on the bed, thinking about the man named August.

He likes my spirit? I hadn’t really shown him much, I’d been unable to do anything but stammer and trip over my words like a schoolgirl would when confronted by the cutest jock at school. What could he possibly see in me? The woman I truly was, the one I knew was underneath the bumbling idiot finally answered me. You’ve got three hours, Amber. Show him what you’re made of.

Resolve set in, and I bounced off the bed and walked toward my closet. For whatever reason, he’d chosen me, so I was going to let my confidence in that thought override all the self-doubt that was threatening to surface. I pulled my favorite dress from the hanger and set out to work. He wanted revealing? Then revealing is what he’d get, but I was going to do it my way.

The car was punctual, though I was less so. I scrambled to put diamond studs in my ears while being driven to some unknown location, my nerves making my hands shake. Once again, the notion that I could be driving to my death crept up my spine, but I brushed it off. Rich men send cars, it’s what they do. And I am an intelligent woman, I wouldn’t let myself be put in that situation.

Would I?

Touching the final stroke of Red Wine lipstick on my lips, I pulled my loose curls over my shoulder to expose my neck and put my things in my vintage black clutch, staring out the window at the ancient building that housed the most expensive club in town. I was suddenly grateful I’d chosen such a fancy dress. I fidgeted with the soft hem of the sleeve at my wrist, drawing it back and forth between my fingers while I waited for the driver to come to a stop.

I saw August there waiting, looking sharp as ever in another expensive three-piece suit, buttons undone just as low as the first time. This time however, I felt much better matched to his attire, and my confidence rose right next to my excitement. August came down the steps to open the door and I took his hand, hiking the burgundy velvet up to my thigh so that I could exit the car smoothly. The heavy fabric dropped to the ground the moment I freed it from my grasp, allowing August to study how I’d chosen to honor his request.

August drank in my covered form, taking in the way my dress hugged my curves and accentuated what it needed to. His eyes darkened as they lingered on the single large triangular section of bare skin that started at my shoulders and came to a point between my breasts, and I watched his tongue dart out of his mouth softly. He looked downright hungry. August stepped closer, fingertips grazing the flesh on my collarbone before he fastened his grip onto my nape and inhaled the hair at my temple deeply, pressing his lips to my ear.

“You are simply mouthwatering,” he growled, low and possessive. His hand released my neck and slid down to the small of my back, sending a shiver down my spine. My insides quivered at his touch, fragrant drops of dew pooling rapidly in the flimsy lace that guarded my mound from potential intruders.

“You wanted to see my ‘pretty little neck’,” I teased his earlier arrogance, lifting my skirt to traverse the steps leading inside, “I thought I’d frame her for you, give her the spotlight.”

August cocked an eyebrow at me in amusement, sensing my challenge. His fingers dug into my hip a little harder than necessary as he guided me through the establishment with nothing more than a nod to the hostesses. Apparent jealousy marred the face of one, and I thought I saw a hint of worry on the other. We were gone before the emotion could register in my mind.

I was escorted to a private booth in the upstairs of the establishment. While the first floor was crowded and full of people, the second floor was empty; August had requested it for our use alone. I could hear the hum of nightlife below, the haunting, non-lyrical melody of a soft alto wafting over the balcony as we walked past, the whispered promise of an enchanting night. A few tables and chairs were strategically placed on the floor, hugged by back-to-back rounded booths on either wall. Light ethereal curtains hung on either side of them, offering privacy from the guests who would typically sit in the next box over. August led me to the corner booth nearest the balcony so that we could look upon the stage if we chose.

“Our table, milady,” he joked, leaving a wet kiss on the back of my hand. Though the charade was seemingly in jest, it could not have been farther from it. His piercing eyes never left mine and I gasped at the feel of his brazen tongue on my skin. The suggestion of what he could do with it hung thick in his gaze, lacing the air with the succulent first tendrils of decadent tension. Playing along, I took a sharp breath and curtsied. I stayed low as August stood to show him the appeal of my figure at this angle, tilting just my head to look up at him. He stood there, head held high like a king, and the smile I received at my display was downright sinful.

“What a treat you are,” he murmured, cupping my chin briefly. My breasts swelled as I stood, consenting August the claim to chivalry by way of settling me into the alcove. He swept my hair over my shoulder again, trailing a single finger down my neck in admiration before taking his own seat. My insides were nothing but a pile of kindling, and every touch he gave was a spark that threatened to ignite the dry leaves into a burning flame of need.

The courses came and went just like those moments, every phrase emphasized with physical intimacy of some kind, whether it be just a gossamer brush of his fingers on my ear or an intentional grasping of my hand. He went as far as to boldly stroke the back of his knuckle along my cleavage, making me dizzy with desire. Each touch was avaricious—like he owned me—and I had zero qualms about letting him.

We ate our fill, but August made no move to leave the comfort of our small corner. With the noise of people below dulled by the far reaches of our seclusion, it was easy to converse. I told him more about my master thesis and the Pijavica, how they could read minds and enjoyed the power of persuasion, how they were impervious to all but decapitation, and how only their offspring could kill them. He listened intently, sharing tales of his own career. It was how I discovered that he was a doctor.

“I don’t practice anymore though, I prefer to study and learn. Specifically, I’m attracted to tears.”

“Tears?” That struck me as odd; it wasn’t often you came across someone who had such a unique field of study. “Why tears?”

August swirled the whiskey in his glass and downed it abruptly. He subtly indicated to our attendant for another before continuing his explanation.

“I’ve always had a fascination for the small things, things that people don’t seem to think matter; the mind-body connection, you know? For example,” he brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, “Did you know that the cellular structure of tears looks different based on the type of tear?”

August cupped my neck with both of his hands, tilting my head this way and that, his calm features set in measured focus as he spoke.

“Basal, reflexive, emotional... they all look different.”

I closed my eyes, letting him caress my skin. August’s touch was intoxicating, addicting. Even his scent was an aphrodisiac to my senses. I couldn’t get enough of it, lured ever closer to his sturdy frame, letting him manipulate my body how he saw fit. He nuzzled my hair, his soft spoken words dripping with lust into my ear.

“In fact,” he went on, “Even among those categories they differ, dependent on the stimuli.”

I could feel his breath on my neck, his lips surrounding the pulsepoint in my veins as he spoke, my jaw his destination. A hand snuck under my skirt, skimming along my trembling skin toward the seeping treasure that awaited him at the end of his journey. I spread my legs willingly, inviting him into my deepest of secrets. August hummed as he went on, sending spirals of tingling vibrations through my chest.

“The sting of onions, the sadness of grief… the satisfaction of overwhelming pleasure.”

“August…” I breathed, but my voice was severed as August simultaneously laid claim to my mouth and my womb. Thick fingers penetrated me in the same moment as his probing tongue, and it was in that moment I knew I was lost; August Walker could pull everything from me and I wouldn’t care; I’d want it, need it. He had spent all night teasing me, testing me, manipulating me and filling me with nothing but a desire for more, leaving me empty and wanting. He had succeeded, I now craved him above all else in this world.

August lifted my skirts, hoisting me with little effort to straddle his lap and I cried out in shock. The sound of my sudden impalement on the thick steel of his manhood was camouflaged by the crowd of people below; no one heard the echo of carnal awakening that sang through the air. When had he undressed? I bit my lip as he sank deeper into my core until the salty bitterness of copper and iron stung my chin. August’s eyes fell to the red droplet, darkening until the only color left in his pale irises was the very absence of light. With a hideous growl he ravaged my mouth, tasting every inch of my bruised lips with the hunger of an animal that’s been caged for far too long.

Thrill and terror tangled themselves in my mind, weaving an intricate web of wanton desire inside of me as August took me right there in the booth. Time itself seemed to halt, the room disappeared. Were we still in the club? Was it still the dead of night? Did I still require oxygen to breathe? Or was my life source now August’s touch, the light in my very soul dependent upon his kiss?

I didn’t notice when we left, nor when we arrived at a house that overlooked the city. I didn’t notice the lock on the basement door, or the fresh garden in the yard. I didn’t notice the continual rising and setting of the sun. I didn’t notice when I grew hungry, nor when I grew tired. I didn’t notice, not anything but passion, need, and desperation.

I didn’t notice.

Sleep drained from my limbs slowly. I awoke to black silk caressing my skin, dim sunlight shining through the wall, diffused by a covering of clouds that hung in the sky. It confused me that it was coming through the entire wall, until I realized that said wall was simply one large window, and the room I found myself in was built into the rock of an obsidian cliff overlooking the city. The room was minimally decorated in dark tones that coordinated with the nature outside, save for a striking, golden painting of a woman crying on the far wall. I clearly wasn’t home, and last night’s events slowly returned to the forefront of my mind.

August.

August was, without a doubt, the most attentive lover I’d ever had. Memories of his lips, his scent, his god-like physique that was surely carved from marble entertained my thoughts, returning my mind to the pleasure I’d never experienced in my life. Chills ran up and down my skin, alighting in wonder as my hand drifted to my sex. My fingers found my petals, swollen from overuse, aching in the dull agony of satisfaction. I stroked them gently, soothing the pleasant tenderness, moaning softly as the blood rushed to swell my clit once more, my other hand slipping beneath the silk to join in the heavenly edging torment.

A sharp, sudden sting at the brush of my inner thigh caused me to cry out, my hands snatching away from their play. I sat up, peering beneath the sheets to discover a semi-circle of divots cut into my leg. Is that a… a bite mark? I pulled at the skin and felt the dried blood crack, a small pinprick of new red seeping through the scab. I lunged from the bed to stand in front of the full-length mirror in the corner and look for other signs or markings, but what I found made me gasp.

Bruises peppered my neck, chest, hips and thighs. A few other crescents were scattered amongst them, standing out against the dark patches that shaded my skin. I took a physical inventory then, feeling the soreness in my jaw from being stretched by his cock, the ache of my neck from having my hair pulled, the shaky feeling of muscular fatigue in my legs from being tensed by orgasm after orgasm. I thought I detected a slight sheen on my skin, but I couldn’t tell if that was from the tremulous bliss of a satisfying fuck, or if it was the sweat and oil caused by said satisfying fuck. Either way, I looked happy and content. I grabbed August’s dress shirt from the floor and threw it on as I left the room to explore.

The bedroom led to a hallway, the wall to my left still nothing but expansive glass that showed off the impressive view. On the other side were large, black and white abstract prints, hung evenly spaced against dark panels. To the left of each was a shadow box with an ornate glass vial inside; each bottle was thin, no longer than my palm and differing in design from the others. Tiny, intricate patterns were painted on the outsides in white, blue, and gold, and gold stoppers sealed each one. When I entered the main room, I discovered a curio cabinet that housed at least a hundred of them, and I leaned in to look at how varied each one was.

“Victorian tear catchers,” August’s voice was suddenly behind me and I whirled sharply, startled. He chuckled at my alarm and I laughed with him, enjoying that glorious sound.

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured, turning back to look at the delicate glass. August pulled me against his naked chest, nosing my hair and kissing my neck.

“Yes you are,” he whispered, earning an eye roll from me. August chuckled and opened the cabinet.

“Would you like one?”

“Really?”

I looked at him, stunned. He simply nodded his head in the direction of the vials and I examined them, selecting one that had a white pattern on it that looked like lace.

“Mmm, a good choice. Perhaps I can collect tears of ecstasy for you,” August whispered. The thrill of what he was implying awakened my senses, and I let him lead us slowly back toward the bedroom. I felt like teasing him, so I delayed a bit by asking about the art on the wall.

“What are those?” I pointed to the first print, a cross-hatching pattern that looked like it was made of sewing pins.

“Those are tears of grief,” he stated, stopping in front of each as he walked me gradually down the hall.

“A yawn,” he said of the next, a white background with dark, fern-looking splatters. August traced his mouth along my jaw, his hand dipping beneath the button of his shirt to play with the sensitive nipples he had rediscovered. I keened as he continued shifting us toward the kitchen, struggling to keep my composure. The next print was a much darker gray, and it looked like it was covered in snowflakes.

“Any guesses?” August asked, mouthing my earlobe in tandem with the flick of his thumbs over my hardened nubs. I whimpered, my knees weak in his lustful embrace.

“Uhm… cold air?” I rasped as he sucked on my neck. August chuckled through his nose, the vibrations of his voice rippling through my chest to connect with his teasing fingers.

“Onions.”

“Yeah okay.”

I tilted my head so that I could kiss him, but suddenly the thought of onions turned my stomach. I lurched, pulling away and gagging slightly. Instead of concern, August smiled knowingly, seemingly unbothered by my retching.

“I see morning sickness has set in. It’s a little early and I had hoped you’d be able to avoid it, but alas, that’s not the case.”

My head swam suddenly, confusion mutilating all thought. I backed away from him.

“Morning what? What are you talking about?”

August took a step toward me, placing a hand on my belly and lacing his fingers in the hair at my nape.

“Women always taste better after they’ve conceived. And I can keep them longer; they make much more blood when they’re host to a fetus.”

I pushed against him, turning away and vainly attempting to process his words. Pregnant? Taste better? Blood? My eyes focused on a card I hadn’t noticed earlier in the shadow box, a single word printed on it.

Bridgette

“Isn’t it ironic,” August mused, tracing my collarbone with a thick finger, “That five weeks ago, you had a chance encounter with the very thing you’ve been studying for months, and now you carry his child.”

The room spun. I couldn’t think; my brain refused to process the nonsense he spoke.

“Five—five weeks?! No that’s not possible, our date was last night!”

“It’s more than possible, sweet morsel. Think about it.”

Bile rose thick and acrid in my throat then, threatening to spill. Memories and time started filtering into my mind, replacing the fog with everything I’d lost. The last puzzle piece clicked into place, confusion all but disappeared and I was left with nothing but the cold, terrifying truth. Pijavica. Vampire. Monster.

I’d fallen into the clutches of a monster.

I did the only thing I could think of; I slapped him as hard as I could and took off through the house, ignoring the sharp pain of a chunk of hair remaining in his hand. My heart pounded in my chest, desperate to be free of this sudden nightmare. I slammed into the front door and grabbed the handle, a strangled sob catching in my throat when it wouldn’t open.

I rattled the door knob, panic consuming every fiber of my being. Suddenly, it wasn’t just my life I was fighting for; apparently there was a life inside of me that needed protecting. The child of a Pijavica that was depending on me to escape, so that he could come back and kill his father. I have to get out. I gave up on the door in anger, spinning around and looking for another way.

“Do you know why I chose you?”

I heard August’s voice again, but he was nowhere to be seen. His voice came louder, penetrating my mind. I have to keep moving.

“It was because of your name; they match your eyes.”

I whimpered at his words, sneaking my head around a corner to survey the living space for some form of an exit.

“Amber has a historical application, you see,” he went on, louder. I dashed over the floor, desperate to be gone from him. Door after door remained locked, and my terror grew with each attempt. Every now and then I could hear August, whether it be a rustle of fabric or the knock of his foot on the wooden floor. The scholar in me knew that it was on purpose, that he was luring his prey, giving chase to his food, and yet my rational mind refused to take charge. I was being led by my flight response, and his jarring monologue wasn’t helping.

“Throughout history, whenever a goddess cried it was typically tears of amber, save for the goddess Freya, who cried gold. You met her in the bedroom.”

His laughter echoed through the dark walls of his lair, and chilled me to my core. It was no longer a beautiful sound, but grating and horrible. I was nothing but a petty human to play with, some toy that he could eat when he tired of me. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I came to the last door. Dear God, please let this one open. To my utter relief, the door swung wide and I was met with stairs. Stairs went down, and we were on a cliff. Down was good. Down meant freedom.

I clambered down the steps and flung open the door at the bottom, stumbling into the room and falling to the floor in horror and fear. There in front of me, was nothing but mirrors. A maze of mirrors, each one showing me my trembling features, mocking me, letting me know just how fucked I was. I turned back, intending to go back up the stairs and try another way, but August’s silhouette stood at the top, preventing me from going back into the house. I heard a scream and realized it was my own.

Scrambling off the floor, I took off into the maze, blinded by my tears.

“Each of those girls made it this far you know,” August taunted. I heard the slam of the door and nearly choked as I ran. “You’ll die in this room, just like they did.”

His nonchalance, his continual unconcern about chasing me, his arrogance that he would no doubt catch me made me so angry. I raced from path to path, growing ever more frantic every time I reached a dead end. I didn’t even know if this room had an exit, I just knew I had to keep moving. I tripped over something as I rounded a corner, screaming when I saw what it was.

“I see you found Bridgette,” August chuckled, and I looked up from the skeleton to see his hideous face marred with a sinful sneer. I gasped and took off again, turning this way and that. Hitting another dead end, I doubled back and ran smack into August’s broad torso. He caught me and held me close as I screamed, ripping his shirt from my body. He spun me around, pinning my wrists between my back and his belly, trailing his fingers languidly over my naked frame in an inspection of his handiwork. My jaw was gripped in an iron vice and August forced my gaze to the mirror.

“Do you see what I see?” he mocked. I could only stare in horror, for nothing but my own terrified expression stared back at me.

August had no reflection.

“Out of all the patterns in the world, do you know which tears are my favorite?” August continued to torment. He inhaled my hair deeply, snaking his tongue along the length of my cheek, tasting the stains my tears had left in their wake.

“Fear.”

I heard August growl as I fought against him, his iron grasp caging me against his cool skin, more of the cursed moisture pooling in my eyes. Glassy drops fell, retracing a new path toward my chin but August just kissed them away, shoving me to the floor when my knees buckled of their own accord. He let go of my hands to fidget with his slacks, pulling me back toward him every time I tried to crawl away as a parent would to a petulant child. On the third attempt he snapped my knee, a scream tearing from my throat in my woeful submission to his desire.

Finally free of his clothes, August lifted my hips, lining his rigid cock up against my sweat-soaked folds. He dove into my treasure without care, forcing his way into the depths of my belly, stretching and tearing my walls until he was fully sheathed. Strong arms wrapped around me again, and I felt two sharp points prick the junction of my neck and shoulder. I cried out and thrashed in fierce protest, knowing that small pinch was just a warning of oncoming pain.

August’s teeth punctured my skin easily, shredding muscle and sinew until they hit bone. I howled in pain as I watched blood drip from the wound, a familiar crescent shape joining its brothers on my body. Searing heat shot through my neck with his first draw of thick plasma; the violent removal of blood causing an intense burn that I felt all the way down to my injured leg. August released my neck and I clapped a hand over the fresh wound.

I looked over my shoulder at him; his head was tilted down, mouth still full of my blood; the lack of a reflection behind him unsettling to my senses. August opened his wicked maw slowly, dark scarlet trickling from his lips onto the junction where my hips met his, run through by his sword. He looked up at me with a nasty grin, bloodstained fangs curdling my stomach. I closed my eyes and turned away as he swiped a hand through the mess. His fingers penetrated my core alongside his cock, deaf to my sobbing objections.

“You’d better open your eyes, pet… This needy little cunt is dripping, I’d hate for you to miss it.”

August emphasized his sick joke by grasping my hair, shoving my head to the floor, forcing me to look once more into the polished glass. My desperate wails for mercy were all that kept me grounded as I watched him thrust, my battered hole be stretched beyond capacity. Nothing but empty space plundered my core, crimson air bruising the very place within me that only just last night had been treated with such tenderness and care. Not last night. His slick fingers found my mouth and violated it effortlessly; no amount of pressure I could apply would break through his tough skin.

“God, you look so beautiful.”

August pulled me up and took to my neck with fervor, latching onto the broken sliver of skin like a leech. The more he drank, the weaker I became, until there was no resistance left within me. I could see the color drain from my bloody face, I could see black slowly creep into my vision, but I was powerless to stop it. August was in charge, he held my entire existence in his hands, and he intended to extinguish it. I closed my eyes again, accepting my fate.

I was going to die.

One of my favorite places to visit is a small outdoor cafe, very near the coffee shop where I met Amber. Mmmm. Amber. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of that tantalizing woman.

She lasted so much longer than all the others, you know. I was able to feed off of her nearly three full months as she hung there in my basement, until the last drop of her tantalizing nectar was finally extracted. She smelled of carraway and saffron, tasted of sweet mulled wine, and with the rich, heady, piquancy of her fertile womb seasoning each sinew, every inch of her opulent flesh begged to be consumed. I must admit, I should have dispatched of her sooner, but fascination overtook my curious mind as her own was consumed by insanity.

First it was freedom she asked for, and then death. Sometimes she would beg to speak to her mother one last time. But by the end, she only asked for one thing.

“Please,” she would whisper, “Please… Cover the mirrors. Just cover the mirrors.”

She asked so nicely, but how on earth could I hide such beauty? Her tears were just as rare, you see. They hold a beauty unmatched by any of the others that hang on my walls. I’ve never seen such a fear pattern like hers; it is more exquisite than the dawn of a misty spring day in the countryside, more beautiful than a woman at the height of euphoria. And they way they sparkled against her skin, lustrous tracks that wound down her temples and through her hair, glinting in the mirrors with each slow rotation of her inverted body... well, it was as if I was living among the stars. Adding her ashes to my garden was such a shame.

I sat at that little cafe, eyes closed, viewing the world through my enhanced scent. Each drop of bitter coffee, the pollen of a nearby bee, the oil in the bike chains of two clumsy humans as they rolled past; each note and fragrance alerting me to its owner. A familiar scent reached my nose and I turned my head sharply, focusing on it.

Carraway… Saffron.

I smiled softly, opening my eyes to greet the woman that now sat at my table. The honey irises that had intrigued me all those months ago met mine and I chuckled low.

“Amber.”

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#august walker #august walker fanfic #august walker fan fiction #august walker fanfiction #august walker fan fic #august walker smut #vampire!august #non-con tw

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a-secret-bolton-vampire · 3 years

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Been wanting to do this one for a long while. Thinking a lot about Fire and Blood because House of the Dragon is coming up, and there are quite a lot of parallels between the Dance of the Dragons and the main ASOIAF series. More below...

The Dance of the Dragons happened, in part, because the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's children was in question. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey (how fitting, two bastard children named Joffrey) had brown hair instead of the typical silver-blonde hair of Targaryen and Velaryon children, and their father was not Laenor Velaryon, but rather Harwin Strong. Because of this, Rhaenyra's claim to the Iron Throne was contested, since her heirs would be bastards.

Not too dissimilar to the beginning of the War of the Five Kings, where Cersei, the beautiful queen of King Robert, fathered three bastard children in secret with her brother Jaime, all of them with the golden blond hair of the Lannisters. Then when Robert died, Joffrey ascended the throne, and Ned backed Stannis, who was in truth the rightful heir to the throne... we all know how that went of course. Also, while Rhaenyra's Joffrey was the youngest of the three, Cersei's Joffrey was the oldest of the three.

Rhaenyra and Cersei are very strong parallels. Rhaenyra was secretly involved in an affair with a family member (her uncle Daemon) whilst Cersei was involved in a secret affair with her own family member (brother Jaime). The difference, of course, being that Rhaenyra ended up marrying Daemon because Targs do Targ things, and Cersei just kept her affair with Jaime secret because they weren't Targs. In addition, Rhaenyra ended up losing all three of her children, becoming more and more bitter and distraught, becoming prone to paranoia.

Meanwhile, Cersei has thus far only lost Joffrey, but the valonqar prophecy states she will lose all three of her children. Like Rhaenyra, though, after the death of Joffrey, she does become more prone to paranoia and is increasingly bitter. Rhaenyra was eventually fed to Sunfyre by her half-brother Aegon. If Jaime is truly the valonqar, then Cersei might end up being killed by her brother as well. Eventually, Rhaenyra did end up becoming estranged from Daemon, and currently Cersei is estranged from Jaime.

However, a better Dance parallel with Cersei and Jaime is Rhaenyra and Criston Cole. They were lovers, a future queen with a member of the Kingsguard. They later suffered some sort of estrangement (the nature of which is a source of conflict in terms of what is real) that led to Criston eventually siding with the greens over the blacks during the Dance. Criston also was made Hand of the King, while Cersei presses for Jaime to be made Hand, but he refuses the position.

However, Rhaenyra isn't the only Cersei parallel. Alicent Hightower is another. Like Cersei, she supports her eldest son in claiming the throne against its lawful heir, and is the dowager queen of the former king... And she is the daughter of the Hand of the King, who is a member of one of the richest, most powerful families in the kingdoms. However, Rh

But the parallels run even deeper than that. It shocked me to see how far these go. The story of Aegon III and Viserys II as children is not too dissimilar to both the story of Daenerys and Viserys after Robert's Rebellion and some of the Stark children. Like Dany and Viserys, Viserys II ended up spending a lot of time in the Free Cities, specifically Lys, although he was captured in battle and returned as a hostage, whereas Dany and Viserys spent time in Illyrio's mansion as guests. Arya also went to Braavos, a Free City, but that's about where the similarities end so that isn't very intentional, I think.

Nonetheless, both Aegon and Viserys spent the majority of the war separated from each other and only reunited after it ended. Likewise, the Stark children were separated from each other for the majority of the war as well, and seem poised to reunite after the initial War of the Five Kings is over. And speaking of Starks, Aegon III does have a slight parallel with Bran.

As confirmed by George, Bran will be the King of Westeros by the end of the books, and there is a moniker given to him in the show that actually does appear in the books, of Bran the Broken. Meanwhile, at the end of the Dance, Aegon is now the King, and he is known as the Broken King, because of his extreme PTSD and depression from his traumatic experiences during the war.

Doesn't even end there. Now we get into some of, in my opinion, the biggest parallels with the Dance and ASOIAF proper. We all know about R+L=J, and the Dance has not one, but two big nods to this. First is the story told by Mushroom of when Jacaerys visited Winterfell. Supposedly, he fell in love with Cregan's bastard half-sister Sara Snow, and the two secretly wed before the Winterfell heart tree. Regardless of the validity of the story, Cregan and Jace did end up agreeing to what was called the Pact of Ice and Fire, wherein Jace's firstborn daughter would marry Cregan's son Rickon... son of a Targaryen king marrying the daughter of Lord Stark? Hmmm....

However, the other one is a lot more significant, to me anyways, and that would be the relationship between Crown Prince Aemond One-Eye and Alys Rivers. During the Dance, when Aemond took over Harrenhal, he took Alys Rivers as his paramour. The mysterious Alys was said to be a witch who was a bastard of House Strong, a House that has strong ties to the First Men. So, Valyrian crown prince and a First Man woman in love... but don't worry, it gets extremely apparent afterwards.

Aemond impregnates Alys and leaves her in a tower to go fight Daemon, during which Aemond is killed, leaving Alys all alone. Rhaegar impregnates Lyanna and leaves her in a tower to go fight Robert, during which Rhaegar is killed and leaves Alys all alone... then, years later, during winter, the Hand of the King Tyland Lannister tries to get together a force to retake Harrenhal, as it is held by brigands and thieves and broken men, only to find Alys there... with a young child she calls her and Aemond's trueborn son, and the rightful King of Westeros.

If that isn't enough for you, there is a very distinct similarity in the armour of Rhaegar and Aemond. Rhaegar's armour is mentioned to have been;

Seventeen and new to knighthood, Rhaegar Targaryen had worn black plate over golden ringmail when he cantered onto the lists.

And:

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate.

Compare this to Aemond's own armour.

Vhagar had come at last, and on her back rode the one-eyed Prince Aemond Targaryen, clad in nightblack armor chased with gold.

It seems clear to me that George is trying to tell us something. I think Aemond and Alys are a sort of dark mirror to Rhaegar and Lyanna. Rhaegar was considered a very noble, chivalrous prince who was well loved by the smallfolk, and Lyanna had a strong sense of Stark justice (as seen in the Knight of the Laughing Tree story). Meanwhile, Aemond was a narcissistic, psychopathic mass murderer who seems almost Ramsay-esque in his demeanour. And Alys seems more power hungry and eventually took over Harrenhal as its witch queen. But the fact they have what Alys claims to be their trueborn child and true king of Westeros does strongly suggest Rhaegar and Lyanna did eventually marry and Jon is their trueborn son, not a bastard.

I hoped I would be done by now, but there is still even more parallels. Cregan Stark and Eddard Stark are parallels and foils. Ned becomes Hand of the King and travels south to uncover who poisoned the previous Hand of the King, before the War of the Five Kings starts. Meanwhile, Cregan travels south and arrives at King's Landing after the Dance was over, then becomes Hand of the King to uncover who poisoned the previous king (Aegon II). However, while Ned was cautious and not really a big player of the game of thrones, Cregan was ambitious and knew what he was doing, even if his actions weren't always the best (attacking Storm's End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock after the war was essentially over? Not a good idea, Stark).

The Regency of Aegon III in and of itself is a metacommentary to the writing process of ASOIAF. Originally, after GRRM finished ASOS, he decided to do a 5-year gap between that and what was to be ADWD. However, that ended up not working out, so he scrapped it all together. During that time, Tommen would've remained king, and his reign would be under a regency. So thus, Aegon III having a 5-year regency (from 131 to 136 AC) during that time alludes to that.

And then you get to Unwin Peake, my least favourite character in Fire and Blood. He appears to be a combination of Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly. Personality wise, he is very much like Randyll. He is a very outspoken misogynist, a very proud man, and a noted warrior wielding a Valyrian steel blade (that he likely stole from Tumbleton since Orphan-Maker was from House Roxton originally). He also changed out Aegon III's master-at-arms to be Gareth Long, who was a very harsh taskmaster, who routinely engaged in abusive tactics with the boys he trained when they didn't meet his expectations, including days without sleep, doused in tubs of ice water, being beat, and having their heads shaved, which is very reminiscent of Randyll's abuse of Sam as a child.

Unwin and Randyll also dealt with lawful punishment in very harsh ways, as seen by Randyll's treatment of those who break the law at Maidenpool, and Unwin's clearing the Red Keep cells during the Feast of Our Father Above. However, Unwin has a lot of similarities with Mace Tyrell as well. Mace is on the small council, and has routinely tried to engage in nepotism by implanting allies and family members of his into positions at the council and at King's Landing, including marrying Margaery to the king, becoming Hand of the King, having Paxter Redwyne be the lord admiral and Randyll Tarly the lord justiciar, try to bring his uncle Garth to become the new master of coin, and Garth's bastard sons to join the gold cloaks, not to mention the Conclave nearly sending his uncle Gormon to become the new Grand Maester (something Mace will surely approve of), Mace having his son Loras join the Kingsguard, and even try to betroth his heir Willas to Myrcella.

Meanwhile, Unwin engaged in much more rampant and unchecked nepotism. He was Hand of the King and Lord Regent, had Ser Gareth as master-at-arms at the Red Keep, since he was master-at-arms at Starpike, while his widowed aunt Clarice Osgrey was put in charge of Queen Jaehaera's household, Lord George Graceford (a member of the Caltrops that Peake himself was involved in) was appointed as the Lord Confessor, and Ser Victor Risley, the other surviving member of the Caltrops, was appointed to the position of the King's Justice.

He even dismissed Septon Eustace and replaced him with Septon Bernard, another relative of his. He also had his nephew Amaury and his bastard half-brother Ser Mervyn Flowers put onto the Kingsguard, while his uncle Gedmund was made the master of ships. Not to mention his attempted marriage between his daughter Myrielle and Aegon III. So basically the Peakes are the Tyrells of their day, trying to take control of the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne.

And that is all that I can remember! I'm sure there is a lot more, but it's striking to see just how many parallels there are between the Dance and ASOIAF itself.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #dance of the dragons #fire and blood #war of the five kings #asoiaf parallels

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bigfan-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Satinalia Tree

For Day 4 of the Smut Coven’s 12 Days of Satinalia!

“Ser Cullen, please! We demand there to be decorum!”

The Revered Mother had been chattering his ear off for hours and Cullen truly had no idea what she was referring to. “You are going to have to be more specific, Mother. I have war preparations to prepare, and this had better be a good use of my time.”

She looked highly offended for a moment before narrowing her eyes and pointing off into the distance, as though he could see anything through the stone walls of his office. “Ser Cullen, as a good Andrastian, surely you can see my plight? That... monstrosity in the gardens, is an affront to those who go there as a sanctuary of piety.”

“Mon- Revered Mother, please be as plain as you possibly can.” Cullen growled, holding the bridge of his nose.

“The tree! The Inquisitor has invited the elves to pursue their heathen traditions just outside the house of the Maker!”

The Revered Mother would not rest until she had claimed Cullen’s attention, so he finally acquiesced and followed her to the gardens. In his customary manner, Tash had alluded to “big plans” for the place, which generally meant a series of large headaches for Cullen but an overall increase in morale.

And in the gardens just outside the main keep, in easy walking distance of the small refugee city quickly growing into permanent residences, was a tree that could be nothing other than an alienage tree. Cullen struggled to remember the city elf term - vhenadahl. The tree had not only been hung with handcrafted decorations, but Tash had used one of his spells to set the whole thing alight with color, the branches glittering with threads of silver, the leaves dusted in shades of blue, as if every color of the sky and ocean were contained within its boughs. It was beautiful. Tash himself was there, his bodyguard keeping watch behind him, eagerly chattering as a few older city elves showed him how to make their own festival food, and there were even groups of younger elves performing dances and playing games. Magic torches decorated with perfumed garlands kept away the chilly air. Cullen gave a small nod to Josephine, who was smiling at the festivities and drifted closer.

“You see?” the Revered Mother hissed, as if revealing a blood magic ritual. “Sacrilege.”

Josephine’s smile faded, and she glared coldly. Cullen wondered how she could make her eyes so icy. “Revered Mother, I do hope you have not wasted the Commander’s time with this nonsense. The Inquisitor has made it quite clear that the elves and their traditions are to be respected and protected by the Inquisition. The laws allowing the poor treatment of elves are disregarded here.”

"Ambassador Montilyet, this is absurd! I-”

“As I recall, Mother Selina, you had your lay-sisters drag a statue of Andraste into a storeroom here in the gardens when a Chantry has already been appointed just outside the refugee camp. I doubt that the Grand Clerics at Val Royeaux would approve of such mishandling of an image of the Lady. I do hope you have not spread your vitriol beyond myself and Ser Cullen.”

Mother Selina gave a small nod. “I... I shall ensure my flock understands the situation. Good day.”

Josephine sighed as the Mother scurried off. Cullen looked after her. “What was that about?”

“Tash wishes to change things. He befriended one of the refugees, a city elf boy. Elaridrin of Wycome Alienage, his name was, I believe. Tash learned that whenever the city elves attempted to plant a new vhenadahl for their traditions, it would be defaced or cut down. So he offered them the use of the gardens instead.”

Cullen smiled softly as he spotted Tash now playing some sort of game with a young elf boy with a shock of brown hair and a grin, a few of the Tal-Vashoth and Dalish children having followed up from the camp to play as well. Some of the Valo-Kas had arrived and joined in the fun, Shokrakar refereeing as a stocky elf wrestled one of the Qunari to the delight of the spectating crowd.

Josephine smiled. “Elari sometimes works as a runner for me. He said all were welcome at the celebration. I myself owe the boy a dance. Will you join me, Ser Cullen? I believe it would mean a lot to everyone involved.”

Cullen spotted a few humans arriving at the festival, elves darting out of the crowd to greet them and introduce them. He smiled. “I have many papers to go through... but I suppose it would not hurt to wait until the next bell to return.”

Tash grinned, darting through the crowd. “Cullen, Cullen! I’m so glad you’re here! Do you like the tree? I helped them decorate it a little. Come on, I want you to meet my friend Elari!”

Cullen smiled at Josephine as Tash darted off again, looking truly like a child for the first time since he had met him. “Ambassador?”

“Commander.” Josephine smiled, leading Cullen into the warmth and festivities.

#dragon age #12daysofSatinalia #my writing #tash adaar #cullen #josephine #city elves #skyhold decoration ideas #skyhold #my ocs #elari of wycome

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crystalirises · 3 years

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Into A Cold Embrace

In which orphan Fundy gets a strange visitor.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/76365689

TW: TW: Delusional Wilbur Soot and the Antarctic Empire... being a power-hungry empire (not mentioned or alluded to in the fic but that's a background detail to note, also this is obviously not canon pls don’t kill me).

His mother had called his father a bastard. A man left to the sands of her past and to the dark corners of her mind. She had brought him here when he was but a baby, to this newly budding country where peace reigned and no conflict ever arose. His mother had done everything for him, raised him and loved him to the best of her ability. He knew it hadn’t been easy to raise him, recalling faintly the faded scratch marks on the stone walls of their little burrow. They had lived within a hole, the only place she could afford with her meager salary as a fisherwoman, but they had made it work and he hadn’t minded the silence that came with living underground. She was everything to him, and he was everything to her. But she had been gone for years now. He’d long since moved on from the tragedy, but he remembered her. He remembered her voice and smile…

He hadn’t known who his father was, content to listen to his mother’s short rambles about how Fundy deserved more than to ever know him. He was perfectly fine with never knowing, accepting his mother’s choice though he wished he had been told what had caused their fallout. He knew his mother loved his father despite the hatred in her voice, at least, it was her eyes that conveyed a pain that seemed much different than that of her tone. She had died with the secret of his father’s identity. Fundy hadn’t dared to ask who he was on her deathbed. He didn’t care to.

Now he wishes he’d been told a single clue as to who his father was, maybe then he wouldn’t be in this predicament. Fundy stared, eyes narrowed at the man who stood before him. The man had curly brown hair that nearly concealed his dark eyes. There was a smile on the man’s face, a look of adoration in his gaze that made Fundy wince back. He didn’t know who this man was at all.

He could only let out a sigh of relief as the man’s attention turned towards Dream - the ruler of the Essempy who had escorted whoever the fuck this stranger was to his house. Fundy’s hands curled into fists, tail wrapping around his waist as he tried not to whimper. There was an elegant carriage at the front of his home and this man who was dressed in princely attire had looked at him as if he was a long lost treasure finally reclaimed. After years of living by his lonesome, he wished for his mom. He didn’t know what to do. Even if he tried to run, he was sure Dream would chase him down and drag him back. He dared not fight in case he had guessed wrong and the man decided to kill him where he stood. All he could do was watch as the two monarchs talked between the two of them. They spoke in whispers, as if they didn’t want Fundy to hear.

His tail bristled, growling when the two ceased their conversation. Their eyes bore into his skull, enough so that he wanted nothing more than to go inside his burrow and pretend they weren’t there. He wanted to hide underneath his bed and pray to the gods that they’d leave him alone.

“Take him and leave, we don’t want any trouble.” The masked man nodded at him, a nearly apologetic tone in his voice before he turned on his heel and left, leaving him alone with the stranger. The man smiled brightly at him, not even hesitating to close the gap. Fundy flinched, trying to move back but the man had already pulled him into his arms. He shrieked, feet leaving the ground as the man carried him up. Fundy couldn’t help but growl at the childish treatment.

“Oh, my little champion! You’ve grown so much!” He yelped, holding on for his dear life as the man spun around. He hated him already. “Did you miss me? Papa missed you a lot, you know?”

The man hugged him closer, cooing even as Fundy growled and began to hit him on the shoulder. His instincts screamed for him to get away, to claw his way out, but the man’s dark gaze turned towards him the moment his claws unsheathed themselves. “Don’t try that with me, Fundy.”

He whimpered, backing off as the man ran a hand through his hair. It was demeaning. He wasn’t a baby anymore, and he didn’t feel like a child either despite being twelve. He didn’t know who this man was, but the stranger seemed to know him. From the way he had called himself, Fundy could only assume that the man was his father. But Fundy didn’t like him. His fox instincts screamed at him to run, but he couldn’t wriggle his way out of the man’s unrelenting grip.

“You’re confused, I suppose. But don’t worry, you won’t have to live on your own anymore…” A brief flash of agony crossed the man’s eyes, his smile dropping to a wince. Fundy raised a brow, pulling his tail closer to himself. He didn’t like that look in the man’s eyes. It reminded him too much of his mother’s pain at the thought of his father. “I’ve been looking all over for your mother and you. I’m honestly relieved to find that at least one of you is still alive… but I promise, my little champion, you won’t have to worry about anything anymore. Papa’s here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” His temper rose, a warning growl escaping his throat, but the man only tsked. A finger tapped his nose, the man chuckling before he suddenly began to move. Fundy felt panic rise in his chest. They were moving away from the burrow, the man was taking him away from his home. He pushed against the man’s shoulders, little sobs breaking through the anger and fury that he’d initially felt for the horrible stranger. He didn’t want to go with them. He wanted to stay even if it meant having to live his life alone in the burrow his mother had worked so hard to acquire for them. The man didn’t even glance at him, reaching out to pull the carriage door open before slipping inside. He placed Fundy on one of the seats, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The man frowned, finally noticing his tears. A hand tried to cup his cheek, but Fundy curled deeper into the soft seat of the carriage. “Fuck off! I don’t fucking need you, let me go!”

“You’ll get along well with Tommy.” Fundy frowned, eyes darting towards the door before a hand reached out to pull him to the opposite seat. The carriage moved forward at the same time, forcing him to the ground. He glared up, the man pulling him to sit next to him as an arm wrapped around his shoulders. “You’ll be home soon, son. I’m sure you granza and uncles will be thrilled to meet you. OH! The kingdom is going to be so happy to hear you’ve been found.”

As the man continued to ramble, Fundy chose to tune him out.

He didn’t want to hear the delusions of a mad man.

The stranger hadn’t even acknowledged what he’d said. Fundy didn’t want to leave.

“You’ll be a prince! Prince Fundy Soot of the Antarctic Empire! My son. My little champion.”

He curled his lips in distaste. Prince Fundy Soot…

He hopes the carriage crashes on the way.

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Also just to explain: Sally moved to the SMP because Antarctic Empire bad and Dream - who is here briefly - allows Wilbur to take Fundy because he doesn't want his country to go to war with the Antarctic Empire. Okay bye.

#fundy #wilbur soot #mcyt

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phebia · 4 years

Text

Making Family, Chapter One

I still feel like I’m not the best at capturing these character’s personalities so I apologize if anyone is too OOC.

Also, formatting might be weird because I’m transferring this off of Wattpad and I’m too lazy to fix it hehe.

Tags(?): @khearts14

"Selina! Mija, can you get the door?" Geny's voice rang out from somewhere inside the house, momentarily distracting me from coating my lips in the mauve colour I had picked out for orientation this morning. "Yeah!" I shouted back, pursing my lips and taking one last lingering look in the mirror before making my way to the front door. I opened the door just enough to peak out, remembering Ruby's "Lessons of Freeridge" presentation. He gave an updated version every time he saw me, the most recent of which came last night after everyone had cleared out. There was a slightly familiar girl stood on the front porch, but it took me a minute to recognize her. The boys had told me stories upon stories of Monse and there had even been a brief, slightly awkward, group FaceTime call more than a few weeks back. While I was trying to figure out where I knew her from, she was seemingly also confused about my identity. "Monse, right?" I raised my eyebrows and nervously chewed at my lower lip, praying that my confidence was just and she was in fact who I thought she was. A moment later a flash of realization moved through her dark chocolate eyes and then she was smiling at me. "Selina." She pointed a finger at me and nodded, her answer pulling a relieved smile from me. "It's nice to finally meet you. The boys talk about you a lot." I spoke shyly and opened the door wider so that she could step inside. "Likewise." We stood in the doorway for a few awkward seconds, a silence enveloping us until I couldn't take anymore. I awkwardly cleared my throat and looked down at my Jordan's before vaguely gesturing behind me to Ruby's new room. I let Monse lead the way, not wanting to disrupt the reunion about to occur after an entire summer apart and mentally smacking myself for my momentary loss of social skills. "I'm back." Monse sung, clearing her throat and smiling widely as she crossed the threshold into the room. Ruby turned to her, not blinking, instead his eyes moved from her to his end table multiple times. "Can you move that side table?" I arched an eyebrow at the lack of enthusiasm the girl's arrival received. The big talk around the house was that this was supposed to be the reunion of the century, but what I was witnessing was far from that. The boy's effort was lacklustre and underwhelming. Frankly, I had given the girl a better welcome than her two best friends. "No, seriously don't make such a fuss." Monse's smile fell into a sneer and she had no problem displaying her displeasure with the boys. "I've only been gone all summer, but really, it's no big deal." She wandered further into the room, stopping to stand directly in front of her sad little welcome party, eyes narrowed into a glare. Ruby shrugged, a slight nod acknowledging his fuck up while Jamal just smiled by his side. "How was camp?" My cousin's eyes were empty and bored, Ruby surely unimpressed with having to take a break from his big bedroom plans. "Camp was fine. Notice anything new?" A smile of my own appeared on my face as Monse grinned widely, showing off her perfectly straight smile in hopes of a compliment or two. "You got boobs." Both boys spoke simultaneously, their stares never leaving her face and their answers causing Monse's smile to slip off her face. Mine followed soon after, my eyes flashing between the group of three in slight disbelief, not missing the way the younger girl crossed her arms over her chest. "You guys are shit friends." I spoke up for the first time, leaning in the doorway snickering. "She got her braces off." My laughing stopped and I stared directly at the boys, clearly unimpressed at the fact that they didn't seem to realize they were making their friend uncomfortable. All three young teenagers turned towards me; Ruby and Jamal blinking in surprise and Monse shooting me a shy and thankful smile. "We knew that." Jamal nodded, casually waving me off as if they were about to mention that next and hadn't completely missed it. "How did you even know that?" Ruby narrowed his eyes at me, irate as he often was when things weren't going his way. A tiny smirk played on my lips and I took a moment to look him up and down. "Try thinking with your brain instead." I raised my filled in brows for emphasis, the corner of my lips quirking up when Monse thanked me for noticing. "You can wait for Cesar to help." She turned back to the boys and just like her that her frustrated awkward attitude was back. I had better things to focus on now though, my ears perking up at the name. Cesar Diaz had alluded me for far too long and he was one mystery I was dying to know more about. That was most likely because Ruby was so tight lipped about whatever had went down between them. All I knew was that he used to be best friends with the three kids in front of me, but something changed that. Ruby had even gone as far as to prohibit Jamal from telling me what their old friend looked like, just in case I ended up seeing him around town. Despite the boy's best efforts, there was no hiding the fact that something had gone down. Although I was surprised Monse, someone so close to the source, had no idea what had happened either, the immature part of me was just happy I wasn't the only one out of the loop. "Then we'll be waiting a really long time." Jamal revealed as he sat back on his chair and Ruby brushed past Monse with an eye roll. "Why? Where's Cesar?" Monse continued her questioning. "We're not talking to him." The girl either missed the irritated looks Ruby was shooting at her or she simply didn't care. And, based on what I knew about the girl, I'd say it was the latter. "You in a fight?" Her eyes briefly flit to me for a possible answer but all I could do was shrug, just as in the dark as she was. "Well, it wasn't really a fight. It was more like a-" "We're not getting into it." Ruby caught Jamal off, his voice harsh as he shot his friend a pointed look and then turned back to Monse. "Trust us, Cesar's not cool." There was a brief moment where his firm eyes flashed in my direction. His silent attempt at scolding me as well earned him an unimpressed scowl and had me wondering who the fuck he thought he was. "I don't know, I heard he's pretty cool." I hummed, simply commenting to annoy my cousin even further. Ruby snapped his head in my direction and pointed his finger at me, spitting a few words in Spanish at me before humphing and returning to his half made bed. My features melted into confusion at the foreign language. A part of me was glad I wasn't very familiar with it at all so that his words just rolled off of me but the other part of me wanted to be able to sass him right back. Maybe I could at least get Mario to teach me some not-so-nice phrases long distance. "Well, I'm not cool not being cool. And why aren't you at football?" Monse had clearly mastered the art of ignoring Ruby years ago, which was something I was envious of after only a day of living with him. The mention of the sport made Jamal look up from the book he was reading, eyes wide yet refusing to meet anyone's gaze. "We should really get to orientation before those lines get too long." He stood up, his words rushed. "Yeah, I don't want to be too sweaty for my ID. Like Mario said, "It's all about the right first impression." It was slightly impressive how well they changed the subject, neither of them closing their mouths long enough for anyone else to get a word in. "And sticking together!" Then again, Monse seemed to have no problem talking over them. "You're totally deflecting this whole Cesar sitch. So stop being bitches and tell me." I looked on with eager eyes but just when it looked like she was about to break them, Geny's voice once again interrupted things. This time my aunt had the intention of making sure we weren't late to orientation and the boy's used the distraction to start pulling Monse and I out of the house, barely giving me enough time to grab my sunglasses and place them on my head. We were only a few steps down the sidewalk when the shortest of the bunch began complaining about having to walk everywhere and pestering me about when my car would arrive from Waterdown. If I was being honest with myself, I was dreading the entire orientation process and couldn't decide if it would've been better to have the journey take more or less time. Chances were that I'd be the only upperclassman around and if that didn't draw enough attention to me, my size would do the rest. People loved to notice me, and not for the right reasons. The snickers were rarely muffled and the comments were never quiet enough, because nobody really cares if you hear them. The only thing keeping you together is the fact that you've heard it all before. Said it to yourself before, because if you hurt yourself no one else can. But it's only a matter of time before someone gets a little creative and you have another thing to think of when you look into the mirror. After years of ridicule there were countless hateful things lingering in my mind, just begging for a weak moment to escape and push tears out of my eyes. But just thinking about them almost made the tears well up, so instead I focused on the argument Monse was still valiantly keeping alive as I walked between Jamal and Ruby. The boys had taken to staying silent, refusing to even indulge her with argumentative words anymore. The silent treatment was smart, but I wasn't sure it would be enough to deter the fiery girl next to Ruby. "He's the glue of our crew." Despite the lack of responses, she was still trying to force answers out of them. Ruby had previously told me that once you get Monse going there's no stopping her, but I had had doubts. I had always wondered why it was so important to Ruby that I know that, but as I witnessed her grilling the boy's I was very certain it was a warning. Needless to say, all my doubts were gone and I had no intention of being on the receiving end of the Afro-Latino's rage. "That was then, and this is now." Jamal insisted, breaking the stretch of silence much more politely than Ruby could have ever hoped to do so. "Yeah, Cesar ain't shit." As if only to prove my point my baby cousin chimed in as well. The group of kids took a sharp turn into an alleyway and Ruby had to grab me by my elbow to keep me with them. "What?" I asked lowly when he shot me a look. "I don't know where the hell we're going." With a simple shake of his head Ruby was back to staring straight ahead, avoiding Monse's gaze until something he saw made him froze. "Shit, Prophets." The words made me flinch and my heart rate quickly began to pick up. Throughout all my visits to Freeridge I had surprisingly not encountered a Prophet nor a Santo, but everyone made sure I understood who they were and what they were capable. As I watched the trio decked out in green and yellow it wasn't hard to decide I would've much preferred to see a group of Santos as we rounded the corner. They'd be less likely to kill me because I lived on their block. (Another wonderful tip from Lessons of Freeridge). "Be cool." "Ditch your colours." Waterdown wasn't the safest place on Earth but it might as well have been a safe haven compared to Freeridge. I had never been involved in the violent side of Waterdown but moving to Freeridge had thrown me into the middle of a gang war and I very obviously didn't know what to do in this situation. The kids on the other hand were clearly well versed in the danger. Ruby didn't hesitate to pull his hoodie over his head and then proceed to ask if he had ruined his hair after we passed the gang affiliated teenagers. His nonchalant attitude shocked me but I didn't say anything about it. My life before wasn't all sunshine and daisy's, but I was well aware it was better than most people's here and privilege was a tense subject here. I wasn't about to advertise mine. "Yeah." I scrunched my nose up, exaggerating the damage done to his beloved locks, grinning as he pulled out his phone to play with his hair. "Code dread. Code dread. Approaching on your six." My eyebrows furrowed in confusion and I was much less discrete about looking behind me than the others were, fully turning my body to see who was approaching. Recognition flooded me and I did my best to smile at Jasmine but memories of her... lively personality at my welcome party played through my mind. "Yo! You guys going to orientation?" I stayed put, waiting for her to catch up, only for two hands to grab at me and start pulling me away. "Hey, you know my cousin Berto, the fine one, hey?" I was still facing Jasmine, doing my best to listen to her and not fall as my ass at the same time. "His daughter Letty said it ain't nothing, unless your stupid and you can't spell your name. And then you hold up the line and then people get mad." The pace we were moving kept increasing much to my chagrin. The longer this went on the more likely I was to fall and twist an ankle or something, despite my flat shoes. Grace was something I did not have much of. Jasmine frowned as she too noticed that this was no leisurely stroll. "Hey, why are you guys walking so fast? You know I can't keep up. I have asthma." A frown pulled at my features and for a moment my heart hurt, a pit instantly forming in my stomach. I knew what it was like to be that girl. Trying so hard to be friends with people who don't want anything to do you, and then realizing when it's too late. It sucked. Before I knew what was happening I was stopping, my emotions not allowing me to do Jasmine dirty in the same way that so many girls had done me before. "Selina!" Ruby turned and returned to my side when he realized he no longer had a hold on me, whisper yelling at me and shooting me a pleading look. I pouted at him but that didn't do anything, his stare remaining steady and frantic. With a pitiful sigh I turned, keeping pace with the group as they began walking once more. "Sorry, Jasmine, we're having a private convo. Real sensitive stuff. Catch you next time." Monse looped her arm in mine and called out to the other girl, not even bothering to turn her head. The tiny whine that came from behind made my eyes widen and my frown deepen but the others gave me no time to dwell on it as they continued their brisk pace. "That's what you always say." Her voice was steadily fading until all of a sudden her footsteps were fast approaching. A quick glance behind showed Jasmine running towards us, a look of determination on her face. "Is it really that big of a deal?" I turned to where Ruby used to be only to find him and the others running ahead. Out of instinct my legs began to move faster, my head moving between the small squad and the lone girl, my jog light. "Monse, this isn't nice." I scolded the teen closest to me, my words making her turn her head to look at me incredulously. "If you don't run now, you're never gonna get out." Her words made me groan but with one last sorry look back I began sprinting to catch up with the others. Jasmine seemed like a nice enough girl but the last thing I wanted was to get suckered into hanging out with a 14 year old that wasn't a relative or friend of said relative. My cousin and his best friends were bad enough. Besides, I could always get Ruby, Jamal, and Monse to befriend her. As I ran a part of me was unravelling with insecure thoughts about what I looked like running, but a larger part of me was just desperate to keep up with the kids. I would be lost without them, literally. And the last thing I wanted was to be stumbling through Freeridge streets alone. Yet, despite the slight urgency of the situation, I couldn't help but slow down to smile and wave at a woman and her baby as I passed them. However, a moment later I was cursing my baby fever when I heard Jasmine scream my name. A few more blocks passed and I had finally managed to escape Jasmine and catch up with my three original companions. "Man, she is relentless." Jamal gasped as I stopped behind them, placing my hands on my knees as I caught my breath. It had been a long time since I had run at all, let alone ran with that much intensity for that distance. Once my lungs stopped screaming and I no longer felt like I might vomit I straightened out and joined the ranks once more, pulling my sunglasses off the top of my head to untangle them from my crimped hair. "That was mean, guys." I sighed, torn between not being impressed by the childish actions but also being the slightest bit amused. "Come on, Selina. It was a nice save." Jamal shot me his cheesiest smile and I knew I had lost that debate already. "Oh, you're not safe." Monse disagreed, back onto the Cesar issue as if Jasmine had never made an appearance. "Your threats aren't penetrating, okay?" I placed my tinted shades back on my head, allowing them to push back some of the hair that normally framed my face, doing my best to fix my appearance without a mirror. "I'm not telling you what Cesar said." My head shot up at Jamal's slip up, my hands momentarily stopping their adjustment of my cleavage. "Ah ha! So he said something!" Monse had also caught the admission and she had turned around before I could even remove my hands from my bra. "Jamal! Do you need a muzzle?" Ruby growled at Jamal, who had his hand clasped over his mouth, before turning to his other longtime friend. "Monse, no offence, but you're a loose cannon." Although his tone was soft for Ruby, my cousin was digging himself into a deep hole and I instinctively moved to walk in between the two. I wouldn't put it past Monse to jump on his ass, not that she would've been unprovoked. "We're telling you for your own protection." His next words had my jaw dropping and my eyes narrowing. "My own protection?" Monse scoffed, seemingly just as shocked and offended as I was. "Eat a dick." I whirled around and stepped in front of Ruby, getting in his face with my resting bitch face in full effect. If we were being real, Monse had every right to know what caused the rift in the group and Ruby's ignorance and way of handling it was quickly becoming tiresome to me. "Thank you!" Monse exclaimed, nodding at me and turning on her heel to continue walking away from the boys. "Okay, you just made our case in point." Ruby swirled his finger in my face as I backed up and left him and Jamal behind to walk with Monse. "You don't even know, and you're already at Defcon Solange." His matter of fact tone made glare at the stop sign further down the road and run my tongue over my teeth. "Look, I may be nosy about the Cesar thing, but that's all it is. Nosiness. But, don't you ever pull shit like this and tell a girl you're doing it to protect her. That's a dick move, Ruby. Okay?" Upon being met with my fiery glare the Latino swallowed thickly and nodded, but before he could speak grunting filled the street. My eyes immediately moved to find the source of the noise, my pace subconsciously slowing as I saw a group of guys kicking the shit out of someone in front of a dumpster. I gasped quietly as Jamal and Ruby were suddenly squishing me between them, doing their best to block my view of the beating. "Don't look. Keep walking." Jamal scolded me, as if I didn't have the Freeridge street knowledge of a toddler and should know better by now. We silently walked past the alleyway and as hard as I tried I couldn't resist sneaking a few looks over my shoulder. "Why would anyone want to get jumped into 19th street? If it were me, I'd join first street, only one second of pain." Jamal voiced his judgements once we had cleared the side street and no one would be able to hear his lowered voice. "Agreed. And who wants a lifetime commitment at our age?" Ruby nodded in agreement, his voice even lower than Jamal's. A lifetime commitment at 14 might've sounded like a lot to a normal person, but I've been dying for one since I was around that age. My parents were gone the majority of the time, and although they were assholes when they were around, there was nothing I wanted more than to have them with me. Eventually I gave up on that and tried to find a significant bond in my friendships. But, when you're friends with the pretty girls and there's never more than a month where they're single there's too many guys trying to get close just to get into their panties. Flashbacks of fake flirting only to ask about my girlfriends made me shiver. It was the unfortunate reality of being the fat, ugly friend and it was also the story of my life. This time it wasn't the arguing friends to pull me from my thoughts, but the sound of rap music and the rumble of a car approaching. I couldn't stop my head from turning, eyes eager to see what was coming. I also couldn't stop myself from biting my lower lip when I saw the cherry red Impala cruising down the street. "That's hot." I hummed lowly, eyes remaining trained on the vintage Chevy despite the groans my praise received from the boys. My fingers pushed my gold glasses further up my nose as I continued to stare, it was the first nice car I'd seen in Freeridge and the sight of it practically made my toes curl in excitement. "We can't tell you what Cesar said." I looked away from the Impala long enough to see Ruby shake his head in one final plea, that went ignored by Monse. "Fine. Then I'll ask myself." With that she boldly stepped out into the street, forcing the driver of the car to slam on the brakes. "Hey, you crazy?" My view of the driver was obscured even when he yelled out the window at Monse, but his deep voice sent a small shiver up my spine. I found myself shifting closer to the edge of the sidewalk, doing my best to sneak a peak at him and get a better view of the car. A hand grabbed at my wrist to stop me but I yanked away from the touch immediately, turning to look at Ruby who was watching me worriedly. "You know who owns that car?" He gulped and looked at his shoes, avoiding my eyes and refusing to answer my question. When he met my gaze a few moments later I arched an eyebrow at him, silently questioning if he was going to answer me or not. "That's Cesar's older brother, Spooky." My interest was officially through the roof with that answer. I stepped off the curb without hesitation but all my confidence faded as soon as I was stood in the road and I remained a couple meters in front of the car. Monse was looking though the window but I didn't pay her much mind, distracting myself from my anxiety by admiring the vibrant paint and gleaming chrome. It was only when I felt eyes on me that I looked up and glanced through the windshield. A blush quickly warmed my cheeks and I felt a lump forming in my throat when I found that I had gotten caught staring by Cesar's older brother. He tilted his head at me, dark eyes drinking in my appearance, making me insecurely cross my arms over my stomach. Monse glanced in my direction as well, and it was Ruby and Jamal's quiet cursing that was the clue that told me I now had to go join the younger girl. "Selina, you don't have to go." Ruby's whispers came from behind me and I knew he was trying to reassure me. He had witnessed me have a breakdown courtesy of my social anxiety once before and I was sure he would do anything to avoid another one right now. I knew I had to go though, and despite my intimidation and sudden rampant insecurity, something inside of me wanted to get closer to the unfamiliar man anyways. I bit the inside of my cheek and let my arms fall to my sides, clenching my clammy hands into fists and shuffling my way to Monse. By the time I had joined her side and leaned down to see into the car, Cesar's brother was speaking to her again. "It's all good. You just look a little different. What is it?" The sound of his voice made me shiver and I hated to admit that he was undeniably hot. Probably too attractive for his own good. As he waited for a response from Monse his attention turned to me. He shamelessly looked me up and down, his eyes particularly focused on my exposed cleavage. I was sure that by now the small bit of attention had turned me the same shade of red that his car was and when he looked back up and met my stare, it was a surprise that my knees didn't buckle. I shifted my weight around, getting antsy under his gaze, but unable to stop myself from mimicking his actions when he licked his lips. He chuckled at that, the discovery of his dimples making me nibble on my lower lip. "My boobs." For a moment I had forgotten that Monse was there, but I was thankful for her blatant answer. It gave me a chance to shake away the tingles that had been buzzing around my body. "Nah, you got your braces off." Spooky nodded at her, raising an eyebrow as his eyes drifted to check out the assets she was newly sporting. The ever familiar pit of disappointment settled in my gut until a laugh rumbled from his chest. "Let me know when you look that." He tilted his chin towards me and I couldn't stop my face from morphing into one of shock. However, it wasn't long before a shy smile was pulling at my lips and I looked to the ground coyly, not missing the smirk stretching across his face. Most girls might've been uncomfortable under his intruding stare and bold words but the only thing making me queasy was the flashes of hope and insecurity tightening my stomach. I might've stood there and let him talk to me like that for hours if it wasn't for the affronted look Monse shot us both. I met the girl's gaze, instantly seeing her desire to leave in her shining eyes. "You're tripping." I looked back at the cholo behind the wheel and shook my head, doing my best to keep my voice steady. "Nice '63." I patted the bottom of the open window and pursed my lips into a smile as I began to stand up straight. His eyebrows furrowed and he huffed, looking at me as if I had just confused him, but his cocky smile never faltered. I followed Monse back towards the boys, missing the way that Spooky craned his neck to get a better look at my retreating form. "Hey!" His voice stopped me in my tracks, and it took me only a second to turn around and see him leaning out his window again. "I'll see you around princesa." He kissed his teeth and gave me one last once over before ducking back into the car and beginning to drive off, his chuckles barely reaching my ears over the loud rap music and sound of my heart racing. My brain was a muddled mess of thoughts, the excited and happy buzz clashing with the negative realism that always lingered in my head. I stood in the street, the warm feeling lingering in my stomach despite the fact that I was reminding myself that guys like him don't go for girls like me. Caroline would've called that thought a personal attack, but in my eyes it was just a simple fact. He could have any girl he wanted on her knees in front of him with a single smile. That didn't match up with my rolls and squishy bits, which pushed people away. The more I got lost in my thoughts the more stupid I felt about how easily I had gotten my hopes up. Apparently I had learned nothing from my past experience with boys. "Selina." Jamal's voice shattered through my spiralling thoughts, making me realize that I had been watching the car disappear down the street. I mumbled an apology as I rejoined the group, shaking my head to rid myself of the possibly impending breakdown. Ruby appeared behind me and tossed his sweater over my chest as we all waited for Monse to say something. "When did Oscar get out?" The faintest hints of a smile pulled at my lips at the revelation of his real name. "Six weeks ago." Ruby admitted, hovering over me as if I had just been assaulted and wasn't simply trying to get rid of the butterflies swirling around my stomach. "Now it makes sense. Whatever Cesar said, he said to impress Oscar. Cesar's terrified of his brother." Monse had fizzled out a bit after her interaction with Spooky, but the determination in her voice never wavered. "Along with everyone else." Jamal piped up from behind us all. His words made me furrow my eyebrows and I couldn't keep myself silent. "Why?" Sure, there had been something about the man that made me freeze up but I put that onto my anxiety. The look the younger boy was shooting me said that there was something else going on, though. "Oscar's the leader of the Santos." He explained and suddenly the tattoos and Spooky made sense. The naive part of my brain said that just made him hotter but I refused to be that dumb. Stupid thoughts like that would get you killed in Freeridge. As the others bickered I came to the realisation that I hadn't even glanced at Cesar during the entire ordeal and I still had no clue what the shunned squad member looked like. I didn't dwell on it for very long though, distracted by a sound coming from behind us. "Tax time, bitches!" "Shit, Latrelle." I froze in place and shakily turned around with the others, but most of the intimidation factor was lost the second I landed eyes on the scrawny kid behind us. The only keeping me weary was Ruby's countless tales of Freeridge muggings. "Hands up, money out." I was surprised at how quickly the squad's hands shot up, and despite my urge to say something I bit my tongue as I raised mine. "How can we take money out with our hands up?" Ruby rambled from his spot next to me, his comment making me shift uneasily. "I know you bookheads got that back to school gwop." He sneered at Ruby before meeting my wide eyes and I was suddenly glad for the black hoodie tied around my shoulders. "It's orientation day. So technically, we're neither back to school nor out of school. We're-" I slowly reached over and clamped a hand over Monse's mouth before she could say anything else. "We don't have any money." Ruby shook his head, but it didn't take more than a glare from Latrelle for Jamal to mention the $20 Geny had slipped Ruby before we left the house. "Really?" I hissed, reaching over and smacking Jamal on the back of the head as Latrelle walked off with the money. "At least you have your own room." He swatted my hand away and grinned at a fuming Ruby, the change of subject luckily enough to distract him.

My plans for after orientation had been to go home, avoid all mirrors and drown my feelings in ice cream. Maybe let my thoughts wander to a certain cholo for bit. They had not been to walk Jamal and Monse home. But when the girl looked up at me with wide eyes and an even wider smile, I couldn't say no. I should've said no. I realized that as soon as we stopped across the street from a house with a multitude of Santos outside of it. Most of them were spread out drinking or playing cards. My eyes moved over a younger boy sitting on a couch who I assumed to be Cesar, before they finally settled on Oscar who was sat on a crate next to his brother. My tongue peaked out of my mouth as I watched him lift a weight over his head, the veins in his arms and the way his face scrunched up with effort distracting me from Jamal and Monse's persistent bickering. "Selina, if someone breaks up with you over text, is it official?" The question caught me off guard and forced me to pay attention to the teenagers once more. "Uh, yeah." I answered, not following where he was going with the question. "Then consider me the text." I chuckled, surprised at his metaphor. "You've been dumped!" Monse rolled her eyes and grabbed my wrist, turning towards the house, clearly done with Jamal's antics. A flash of panic flooded through me at the thought of accompanying her to the front yard, not jumping at the idea of standing in front of the intimidating group. "Wait, please don't go." Jamal grabbed her one again, relief washing over me when she turned back to him. "Please, you're... You're not safe." Suddenly my anxiety was no longer my biggest concern. "Why?" Monse and I both questioned at the same time, earning us an exasperated look from Jamal. "Because you've... blossomed." He didn't even bother looking at me, all his focus directly on Monse. "Blossomed?" A small smirk appeared on my face at the stupid euphemism, but Monse hadn't caught on yet. Much to Jamal's chagrin. "Popped. Busted out. Puffed your party pillows. Whatever you want to call your new cha-cha-bingos. These new homies he's hanging with, they're thirsty." All I could do was blink at the rambled outburst. Jamal was something special, and I wasn't sure if I'd ever get used to him. With one last glance at Monse's chest he shoved his sweater into her arms, earning a giggle from me which was quickly silenced by Monse's next words. "That's why I'm bringing Selina." My jaw dropped and I whipped my head towards her. It was one thing to stand across the street and make sure she was okay, but I had no business strutting up there with her. "Mine don't have anything on hers." I smiled for a moment at her words, my face quickly falling when I remembered what her plans for me were. "Besides, Oscar was practically foaming at the mouth for her." I spluttered and smacked her hands away as she reached to perch my boobs up higher. "He doesn't give a shit about me." I urgently whispered, wildly pointing at the gang leader who now had a beer in his hand. Both kids ignored me in favour of continuing their staring contest until Jamal broke. "I hate when you're right." He muttered as I rolled my eyes and swallowed the lump in throat, coming to terms with the fact that I was going whether I liked it or not. I shifted my weight around anxiously as I appeased Monse by emphasizing my cleavage a bit more. "Okay! Don't worry, girls! I got your back... from right here." Jamal's voice faded away as we approached the house together. "Why did I have to come?" My words were practically a whimper and I found myself clasping my hands together in front of me, nervously picking at my nails as we got closer. "Shh, it'll be fine." Having a 14 year old shush me made me blink and look around, embarrassment warming my face a bit. As much as I wanted to trail behind, I remained in step with Monse and when she came to a stop in front of Cesar I just so happened to stop in front of his big brother. Spooky's eyes met mine as he peered at me and took a long sip from his Corona, my eyes following his movements when he ran his hand down his face and wiped the lingering drops of alcohol away from his mouth. "I need to talk to you." As Monse spoke, my eyes flit around the yard and I anxiously shifted my shoulders, noticing all the eyes on us for the first time. "I'm listening." I arched an eyebrow at Cesar's response, very aware of how out of place he looked amongst the Santos. No matter how hard he tried to appear, his act was anything but convincing. "Privately?" Monse pushed, her request making Cesar sigh and look away from her. I could still feel Oscar's gaze on me but I clenched my jaw and continued to focus on the kids. "Yeah, we can go inside." Cesar nodded but almost seemed reluctant to say the words, still looking anywhere but Monse. Spooky's heavy stare was suddenly no longer on me and he was clearing his throat loudly, his actions causing both his brother and I to look in his direction. He looked up at me as he took a sip from his beer, the eye contact causing my stomach to clench. As he lowered his drink he nodded his head at me, shooting me the same grin from our earlier interaction. I tilted my head towards the ground to hide my red cheeks and pursed my lips to fight off a smile. "But, uh, if you wanna sit on my face, you gotta put that mouth on pause so I can concentrate." Cesar's words made my head snap up and my jaw drop, my shocked stare drilling into the side of his face. The guys around the yard all began to laugh at the comment and our reactions, and before I knew it Monse was gone. "Monse!" My head turned and I called out for her retreating form but she never looked back, and I couldn't even blame her for abandoning me there. If it were me in her position I probably would've ended up crying in front of the gang members. Earlier, all I had wanted was to be as far away from this place as possible but now that I had my chance to leave something was holding me there. Monse had spent the entire day defending Cesar and I'd be damned if I let him disrespect her without a care in the world. With Monse gone all eyes were on me, but I ignored the other Santos in favour for bending over to be face with face with the boy stretched out on the couch. I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes at him, too angry to notice Oscar leaning over for a better view of my ass. "You might wanna start using your fucking brain if you want to stop jerking it to pictures of Ruby's Abuelita and get some real pussy." His brown eyes widened with every word I spoke and flashed to my hand when I momentarily jerked it along to my words. Murmurs and laughter came from the onlookers but I never took my attention off of the teenager in front of me. A part of me expected some sort of response from him, but all he could do was stare at me, proving for a fact that he was far from hard. I dragged my eyes over his form, visibly unimpressed and humphed, standing back up and turning to leave. "Hey mami, you're more than welcome to stay." I hadn't gotten more than a few feet away when Spooky's voice froze me in place and had my heart climbing into my throat. I shakily turned back around, eyes starting on him before moving across the other Santos. "Looks pretty packed." I ignored the empty spots next to Cesar and licked my lips nervously, not missing the way Oscar's eyes followed my actions. "I got a spot for you right here." As Spooky patted his lap, his friends whistled and jeered but all I could do was leer at him in embarrassment. My arms instinctively crossed over my stomach in an attempt to make myself smaller and as he pursed his mouth into a self-satisfied smirk I had to look away, before I ended up perching myself on his lap. "Where'd all that spice go, hyna?" Oscar called out to me again but I couldn't hold his stare for long and soon I was rushing away, not bothering to wait for Jamal or Monse. "Selina? Are you okay?" The two of them were hurrying to catch up with me, and even though we were well down the street from the house my pace didn't slow. "What did they do to you?" I finally stopped and whirled around to face them, throwing my arms out to the side and shrugging. "Nothing." I admitted, hating how easily flustered I became around people. All it took was a few suggestive comments and I turned into a useless pile of mush. Maybe my anxiety was to blame, or my lack of experience with boys. The guys in Waterdown would never even bat an eye at me, let alone waste their time flirting. It was strange to be seen. Scary to be seen. And yet, I wanted him to see me. "Look, I'll catch you guys later." The friends stared at me with concerned eyes before sharing a look between them. "You're good from here, right?" They were much safer on Freeridge streets than I was currently, but I still found myself asking. Jamal looked like he was going to protest but Monse spoke before he could. "Yeah. We're good." She smiled. "You know how to get back to Ruby's from here, right?" I nodded, forcing a smile onto my face before saying goodbye and starting the short walk home.

When I got back to the house I decided not to mention the short visit to Cesar's house to Ruby, not knowing how'd he react or what he'd have to say. There wasn't much to say anyways, nothing had really happened between Oscar and I, and I was sure that Monse was looking forward to telling Ruby about what an asshole Cesar had been herself. I was glad I chose to keep my mouth shut because the moment I entered the house I was affronted by a glowering Ruby. I listened to him whine and complain about his new living situation while helping him move Abuelita's things into his room. But the moment he suggested bunking with me I was out, telling him that I had promised his mom I would take the twins to the park. That had been a complete lie, but I would've done anything to get out of that situation. It took me a while to wrangle the twins but eventually we were ready to go and Geny had given me the okay to take them. As we were stepping out the door a hand clamped down on my shoulder making me jump. "What?!" I cried, half expecting to see Ruby or the boogeyman behind me. However, spinning around showed Abuelita, the keys to her Station Wagon in her hand and a knowing glimmer in her eyes. "Thanks." I smiled as I reached out for the keys, pleasantly surprised that she trusted me to take her car even though I might as well have still been a stranger. "You have your license, right?" She pulled the keys back momentarily, her voice laced with suspicion. "Yes, Abuelita. I'll let you laugh at the picture when we get back." I sighed, rolling my eyes softly. "Good. Have fun, mija." My promise returned the smile to her face and she handed the keys over without another problem. If getting the twins out of the house had been hard, getting them into the car was near impossible. I managed though, and within a few minutes we were pulling away fro the house. We had hit our first red light by the time I realized I had no clue where the nearest park was, much to the twins amusement. Luis was ready to tell me the moment I offered to buy them juice at the park, but Luisa made him hold off until I made the promise of ice cream, then they were more than happy to shout out directions to me. When we arrived I forced them to run around for a bit before buying them both a Popsicle off of the slightly unnerving ice cream man. I sat down on a bench facing the play structure and opened their ice cream for them, letting them run wild and wincing at the thought of how sticky they'd be when they returned to me. A couple hours passed and I spent most of my time closely watching the twins, paranoid that something might happen to them. Luckily for me they had worn themselves out before sunset and I had them home in time to take a bath before supper. After dinner I helped Geny wash up and tidy the house, despite her assurance that she was perfectly fine doing it alone, and on my way to my bedroom I dropped my drivers license into Abuelita's lap, smiling tiredly when I heard her laugh of victory. The sun had dipped below the horizon a while ago and that made me feel a bit better about how tired I was. I shamelessly swapped out my proper clothing with an oversized t-shirt and pair of panties, crawling under the blankets after scrubbing my makeup off my face. Just as I closed my eyes my phone buzzed from it's place on my side table, a text from Ruby lighting up the screen. Cesar thing explained tomorrow.

Next Day*

"And then Cesar said that he smashed Monse!" Ruby finished his long explanation with a gasp for breath, filling his lungs with air after ranting without a breath for a solid five minutes. He had dragged me out of bed at noon and sat on the toilet as I did my makeup, obviously ready to relieve himself of his secrets. His final outburst made me pause, my orange lipstick hovering over my pouted lips. "And did he?" I prompted, chancing a glance at the boy to my left. My casual tone and question left him bewildered, almost offended at even the simple suggestion. "Definitely not." Ruby shook his head with a scoff, both of us rolling our eyes at each other. I mumbled out an apology simply for the sake of moving on with the conversation, smacking my lips together and leaving the bathroom with Ruby trailing behind me. The twins barrelled past in a storm of chaotic energy, forcing me to stop in my tracks and causing Ruby to run into me. The two of us shared a tired look, continuing to the kitchen where I began rummaging around for some sort of breakfast. Ruby sat at the table, his head in his hands and his mouth finally still, allowing me to pour myself a bowl of cereal with some peace and quiet. "Mijo, I need your help with something." "Can't Selina help you?" I paused my hunt through the fridge when I heard my name, eyes finally landing on the milk as I kept my head in the fridge and waited for Abuelita's response. "No. She's eating." Ruby's groan of defeat meant that I was in the safe. I slowly pulled my head out of the fridge, spoon hanging out of my mouth and wide eyes finding what I had escaped from. "Heh, my bad." I chortled, sarcasm leaking from my fake sympathy as I spotted the sewing kit and bright pink fabric. The spoon muffled my words but my cousin had heard them loud and clear and I could feel his glare on me as I sat at the table. His cold stare barely wavered as I ate my cereal and he was forced to stand on Abuelita's small pedestal. I shot him a teasing wink as I stood and placed my dishes in the sink, eagerly making my way to the living room to get a better view of the show. I dropped down onto the empty sofa with a slight bounce, tucking my legs to my chest and resting my chin on my knees. The longer we sat there the more the dress came together and the better things got. At some point I had pulled out my phone and hadn't stopped taking Snapchats since, my distracting laugh the soundtrack to most of the videos. We were meant to meet Jamal and Monse a while ago to discuss the Cesar issue but now that I knew the big secret, I didn't really care all that much. While Ruby begged to leave I remained content on the couch, shifting around every so often to get another angle of him in his princess dress. His phone had been stolen by Abuelita, so it wasn't that surprising when Monse burst through the front door wondering what the hold up was. "What's going on?" She asked, annoyed eyes taking in the sight before her. I sat up and aimed my phone at the irate girl for a moment before focusing back on Ruby. "I think it's pretty obvious." "Something wonderful." Ruby wallowed in self pity while I laughed, probably enjoying his misery a bit too much. "Great. So, walk me through the moment Cesar said what he said." My eyebrows raised and my lips puckered when I realized Monse had come over for the information I had been told this morning. "Don't worry about it." Ruby's refusal to tell the girl anything wasn't making any sense. Monse already knew what Cesar said, what was the point of trying to hide anymore from her? The kid was making things unnecessarily hard on himself. "There you again." Monse scoffed, back to square one with Ruby. "There you go again what?" The short boy snapped back at, looking more like a sassy princess than anything else at the moment. "Keeping things from me. You gotta stop withholding, God damn it!" I sighed, already tired of the argument. With my mood deflating by the second I rubbed the bridge of my nose and put my phone down as Monse apologized to Abuelita for her language. "You should just tell her." I suggested, throwing my hands up exasperatedly when I became the target of Ruby's short temper. Before I could bite back Monse was pulling Ruby out the front door, leaving me to squeeze my eyes shut groan loudly to myself. "He's a puto sometimes, you know that?" I opened my eyes and looked to Abuelita, sliding myself forward to sit on the edge of the couch and try to catch a glimpse of the duo on the front porch. "Si." Abuelita's casual tone and solemn nod made me stare at her for a few seconds before a loud laugh burst out of my chest. "Bravo." We both leaned in and winked at each other, but our laughter came to a halt when Ruby came running in yelling about Monse was on her way to kill Cesar. He fumbled trying to get the quince dress off his body and I stood up to help, not getting any time to brag about how I had used a Spanish term correctly all on my own. I waited at the door and texted Jamal while Ruby rushed to his room to change, following after him when he ran out the door. Albeit my pace was much more relaxed than his, a part of me hoping that Monse would at least land a solid hit before someone broke things up. We met Jamal on the way and I made sure to stay relatively close to the boys, not wanting to get lost in the dark streets alone. I slowed down as we approached Cesar's house, letting the boys break through the crowd of Santos to reach Monse. I lingered behind, a proud smile pulling at my features when I saw that she had gotten her hands on Cesar. Ruby and Jamal pulled her slender form off of their old friend and I crossed the lawn as they continued to tug her backwards. I didn't even spare a glance at the barking men behind me, too invested in the struggle going on. I stood off to the side, hands slid comfortably into my back pockets, unable to hide my wince when the boys told Monse she was being crazy. "Crazy? I'm crazy?" As expected she pulled herself out of their arms and turned her anger onto them. "Calm down. Breathe." I shot Ruby a pitiful look and groaned through my teeth, his words only making Monse's fury burn hotter. "Don't you patronize me! I don't need you! Any of you!" She pushed Jamal out of her way, her actions making me tilt my head in surprise. It was obvious she was pissed off, but she was about to cross a line. "I was just trying to keep our crew together, but since I'm the only one who cares, you're all dead to me! I'll survive on my own!" Her fiery eyes met mine and a second later she was gone, her angry tirade of hurtful words having silenced everyone. "God damn, you guys pissed her off." I broke the silence after a few seconds, a smile of disbelief turning my lips upwards even though the situation was far from funny. Both boys turned their shell shocked stares onto me but I had already turned and began walking away. "Yeah, and what are we supposed to do about it?" Ruby yelled after me, frustration and worry lacing his voice. I threw my arms out to the side and shook my head. The last thing I right now wanted was to play therapist or life coach. "Not my problem." I called over my shoulder, not bothering to look back at the defeated friends. As I continued my casual stroll down the street my eyes flashed around the darkness and it didn't take long for the shadows to put me on edge. Walking around Freeridge alone, at night, was not a smart thing to do. So, I quickly turned around, slight panic setting in when I saw that Ruby and Jamal had already started down the opposite end of the street. "Hey, wait though! I'm gonna walk back with you guys!" I called out to them, the darkness sending a shiver up my spine and pushing me to lightly jog to catch up. I breezed past the house where all the Santos still stood, chancing a quick glance at them and catching Spooky's eye from where he sent on a ledge. I shot him a quick grin before turning back to the boys, my light jog turning into more of a sprint until I caught up to them. "You know, I've ran more during my two days in Freeridge than I did in two years in Waterdown."

Next Day*

The next day Monse had spent her morning across the street at Jasmine's house in an act of rebellion against the boys, and I been peer pressured into going over there and trying to get her to forgive them. I had meandered over there in a pair of grey sweatpants and a cropped Coca Cola t-shirt, white sandals on my feet and sunglasses covering my tired eyes. "What's good?" I yawned as I entered the front yard, ignoring the suspicious look Monse shot me and stretching out on the steps next to her. Jasmine accepted me eagerly, talking excitedly about we were all going to join dance together. To conserve her joy I remained silent, eyes admiring my white pedicure and not mentioning the fact that I would most certainly not be joining dance. Or any other extra curricular activity for that matter. I just wanted to get this stupid fifth year over with. I had been so close to graduating back home, but when things started to go down the drain school was my last priority. Which left me here, doing an extra year of high school, which was far from common in the US as Ruby had pointed out to me. Despite my refusal to join dance at school, I couldn't help myself from standing up when Jasmine added music to her awkward moves. I bopped over to her, an ear splitting smile lighting up her face as I joined her dancing, not particularly caring if anyone currently around saw me. As I twisted my hips I saw Monse wandering towards the boys out of the corner of my eye. "Damn Selina, you gotta teach me that." Jasmine had suddenly grabbed my arms, her eyes flashing between my face and my hips, effectively preventing me from watching whatever would happen between the three across the street. I smiled sheepishly at her, unsure about how to tell her I didn't know how to each her because it wasn't something I could explain, I just did it naturally. Despite that, I still ended up spending most of my dad attempting to teach the young Latina how to move her hips to the music. By the time I got home Ruby, Jamal, and Monse had made up and I had worked up a sweat. I knew that Ruby would take control over the bathroom tomorrow morning so I did as much preparation for tomorrow as I could before going to bed, ready to fight the short boy in the morning if I had too.

Next Day*

"Selina, let's go!" I clenched my jaw at Ruby's shout, releasing the last section of my hair from Geny's curling iron and quickly unplugging the heated tool before rushing out of the bathroom. If Ruby hadn't taken 45 minutes to perfect his hair this morning I would've been done ages ago, so it was technically his fault we were running late. I slung my backpack over my shoulder and followed Ruby out the door, both of us calling a goodbye over our shoulders. We eventually met up with Jamal and Monse, the kids abnormally silent until Monse slowed to a stop across from Cesar's house. She stared, as if she was waiting for said boy to make an appearance. She'd wanted to kill him the other night and yet here she was waiting on him, and I was reminded that I couldn't keep up with freshman drama anymore. "He's not coming with us." "And why would you want him to?" I remained silent as the boys spoke in defeated tones, disappointed to be going into high school without Cesar even if they had been the ones to kick him from the group in the first place. Monse ignored them both and crossed the street, Jamal calling out to her and the three of us watching her go. "See, bitches be bonkers." Jamal turned to Ruby as he began to follow Monse, his comment earning him an offended look from me. "And boys ain't shit." I retorted, crossing the street as well. The three of them gathered at the end of the walkway while I stayed further back, leaning against a tree and noting the Impala was missing from the driveway. After a few tense moments of waiting the front door opened, the sight of Cesar making me stand up a bit straighter. Surprise flooded my body at his appearance. I watched him walk towards the group, a small grin appearing on my face. The four of them turned and started down the sidewalk again, Monse and Cesar walking behind Ruby and Jamal. I trailed behind, watching Monse and Cesar with a knowing glimmer in my eyes. Something had happened. "I can't do this. I can't keep a secret." Jamal broke the group silence. "It's gonna make me implode. I don't know why anybody keeps secrets." The stress of his false football career had been driving the boy insane, and if I were to guess I'd say he didn't have much pretending left in him. "There's something I need to tell you." My eyebrows raised in interest when Monse shared a nervous look with Cesar. Whatever she was going to say though was disrupted by the sound of gunshots ringing through the air. The noise made me jump and look around in a panic, looking to the kids in disbelief when they didn't even flinch. ".44!" They all called, laughing meanwhile my heart had jumped into my throat and my hands were suddenly clammy. In all my days spent in Freeridge I hadn't heard or seen a gun, and that was shown in my reaction. I knew I'd have to get used to it, I just hoped it happened quickly. I didn't want to spend forever on edge. "Cesar." A voice that always sent shivers down my spine came from our right, and sure enough there was Oscar in his red Impala. He nodded his head at him and we all came to a stop at the same time the car did. An expectant purse of my lips was the only reaction I had to the boy backing up and immediately getting into his brother's car. Spooky eyed the others for a second and took one last lingering look back at me before slowly driving off. I remained on the sidewalk while the others traversed into the road, all of us watching the car disappear. "What were you gonna say?" "Cesar... we need to save him."

#spooky x reader #spooky imagine #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz imagine #on my block #on my block imagine #plus size fic #plus size imagine #plus size reader #oscar diaz #spooky

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alex51324 · 4 years

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Thomas and the Island of the Gays, rough draft, first section

Several people have mentioned how excited they are for this, and honestly I could use a dopamine hit, so I thought I’d try something I haven’t done for a while and post what I have so far. (Way back in the days of LJ, I used to call this “Is this anything?”)

For those who didn’t see the previous post, this is an AU where Thomas ends up in a very unusual treatment program for his homosexuality. Will eventually include just about every gay OC from every Thomas story I’ve ever written. Thomas/Happiness (slow burn).

Content notes: The first part of this is a bit dark, because Thomas was in a much less fun “treatment” program before the one that the story is really about. Also, this whole section is pretty much exposition and worldbuilding porn.

Content warnings: conversion therapy, mention of suicide, period-typical homophobia, brief period-typical racism.

And I hope to God my Readmore works, because otherwise this is gonna kill people’s dashes.

Thomas stood blinking in the bright light. Bright to his eyes, anyway—he hadn’t stepped foot outside The Clinic for…God, how long had it been? Hadn’t worn his own clothes, either; it felt strange to be wearing shoes with laces in them.

They watched you when you shaved, too, and counted the razors after you were done. One bloke had managed it anyway—bedsheet twisted into a rope and looped around a doorknob. That had to take some balls. Thomas knew he couldn’t have managed it. Maybe if he’d had a chance, after they told him he was going…wherever it was he was going.

“—Tanner, and that one’s Barrow,” the guard—orderly—was saying. “You want to watch out for that one. Took a swing at me mate earlier this morning.”

“Goodness,” said a more educated voice. Doctor…L, something. He’d been to examine Thomas, and a couple of the others, some time ago. If Thomas had known what it was about, he’d have lied more. Doctor L. went on talking, something about not giving any further trouble. It ended with a, “Will you, Mr. Barrow?”

Thomas hadn’t been paying enough attention to tell whether the question warranted a “yes” or a “no,” so he just said, “Sir.”

A few more remarks, and a quantity of paperwork, passed between Dr. L. and the Clinic man, and then Thomas and Tanner were herded into a waiting motor-taxi, the guard getting into the front with the driver. There was another gentleman in there, but none of the rough sorts that The Clinic employed as orderlies. Bit strange, that, when they were transporting two such dangerous incurables.

Doctor L. introduced the other gentleman as Doctor something-or-other, but Thomas didn’t catch it. As the cab lurched into motion, Dr. L. began questioning Tanner about his history before The Clinic. Thomas had, deliberately, taken as little notice as possible of his fellow inmate-patients, but he had a vague idea that Tanner had been talkative, at first—and he’d apparently learned nothing from his stay at The Clinic, because it took very little prompting to get him chattering like a magpie.

He went on until they fetched up at a railway station—Thomas didn’t notice which one—and were herded through the sparse midmorning crowd to a second-class compartment. The guard took the seat nearest the door, then the two gentlemen, and their charges next to the windows. Worn out from the short walk, Thomas let his head slump against the glass.

The respite didn’t last long. Dr. L. started talking again, and Thomas belatedly realized he should have summoned up the wherewithal to pay attention, when whatever he’d been saying finished up with a, “Mr. Barrow?”

Thomas glanced over at Tanner, hoping for some sort of hint as to what he was expected to say, but none was forthcoming. “Sir?” he essayed.

“You were employed as a valet, prior to your time at The Clinic?” Dr. L. repeated, peering at Thomas over his spectacles.

Oh. “Yes, sir.”

“And before that, a footman, and RAMC in the war,” he went on, consulting a document folder that was open on his lap. “We’ll be spoilt for choice, when it comes to finding a place for you.”

Was that sarcasm? It had to be. Thomas attempted to take umbrage, but gave it up as too much work. “Sir,” he said flatly.

“Once you’ve settled in, of course,” the other doctor added quickly. “Where were you stationed?”

That one, Thomas had to think about, the place-names hovering just out of his grasp. Finally, he said, “France. Sir.”

“Hospital work, or in trenches?”

Thomas knew that one. “Yes, sir.”

The second doctor shot a sideways glance at Dr. R, and Thomas realized that his answer hadn’t precisely been enlightening. “Bit of both.” There was more to it than that—hospital work first, then his time at the Front, then hospital again, back in England. But explaining seemed like too much effort.

Another sideways look at Dr. L., this one more obvious, and the other doctor asked in an undertone, “Is he drugged?”

Thomas said, “Yes, sir,” at the same time that Dr. L. said, “He shouldn’t be.”

There was a longish stretch of silence, and Tanner chipped in, “It was after he hit that orderly.”

Thomas could have done without everybody being reminded of that, but at least they pretty much left him alone, after that. Dr. L. spoke at some length to the guard, and when he’d finished with that, Tanner went on talking nineteen to the dozen, but Thomas just drifted, settling back against the window and letting the scenery pass in front of his eyes.

He’d only had the sedative, this time, so it wasn’t unpleasant. He was vaguely aware that, by not listening to anything the two doctors were saying, he was missing a lot of valuable information about where he was headed—but he couldn’t quite manage to care.

He’d been full of plans on his way to The Clinic. Them at Downton had arranged for him to be sent. After that disastrous midnight kiss, Jimmy had wanted him sacked without a reference, but somebody—Thomas still wasn’t sure who—had heard of a place that claimed to be able to fix men like him. Thomas knew it had to be nonsense, but with the offer of a decent character after, had agreed to take the cure, figuring that he could always pretend it had worked.

The brief spell of unemployment while he’d received medical treatment of an unspecified nature would take some explaining, he had thought, but if he alluded to the war, no one would ask many questions—a case of shell-shock was considerably more respectable than the truth, but still not something anyone wanted to discuss at a job interview.

But, like so many of Thomas’s plans, it hadn’t turned out that way. If he’d known what he was getting himself in for, he’d have taken sacking-without-a-reference like a shot. Not only was the “treatment” more horrific than he could have possibly imagined—the vast majority of the men subjected to it were there as a condition of release from prison—but they had an utterly indecent apparatus for determining whether or not it was working.

Which, of course, it hadn’t. And if that was how they treated you when they still had some hope for you…well, Thomas really didn’t want to know what they did with the incurable cases.

He was, unfortunately, going to find out.

The journey lasted…well, Thomas wasn’t sure, but at one point sandwiches appeared. Thomas looked at his with undisguised loathing, and the orderly made a few threatening moves in his direction, but Dr. L. said something to him, and he subsided without actually making Thomas eat it.

They wound up somewhere near the sea, and it wasn’t until he’d been herded onto some sort of boat or ferry that Thomas realized they’d left the orderly behind at the railway station. There might have been a chance to escape, somewhere in there, but if there was, Thomas had missed it.

Decking that guard had probably been a mistake.

Boarding the boat, Thomas had a vague impression of fairly substantial size, and thought idly of, perhaps, separating himself from his keepers in a crowd, but they four appeared to be the only passengers. The two doctors showed him and Tanner into a place like a waiting room at a very small railway station, with hanging lamps and wooden benches, and passed around tea and biscuits.

The tea was welcome, and the biscuit marginally less unappealing than the sandwiches earlier, so Thomas nibbled at it experimentally. His stomach lurched, and nobody said anything when he abandoned it on the saucer.

Thomas attempted, and nearly managed, to maintain some awareness of his surroundings, but the only even halfway useful thing he learned was that the journey was a short one. That might have been worth knowing, in terms of escape plans, if Thomas had the slightest idea of how to operate a boat, but he didn’t.

The boat fetched up at a small, rocky island with a tiny village clinging to one side of it, and they disembarked onto a quay, or wharf, or whatever you called it, where were gathered a dozen or so men, and a couple of carts with ponies hitched to them. Everyone, apart from the ponies, eyed Thomas and Tanner with evident curiosity. Thomas wondered just how much they knew about the purpose of the sanitarium. If it was of any size at all, it had to employ at least half the village, so how much of a secret could it be?

Most of the men began unloading cargo from the boat, but Dr. L. gestured to one of them, who trotted over. “These the new arrivals?”

Dr. L. nodded. “Sylvester Tanner, and Thomas Barrow,” he said, indicating them. “Gentlemen, Theo will show you up to the main house and get you settled in.”

Theo was medium-sized and inoffensive-looking. Thomas probably could have taken him—but what would be the point? Theo said something Thomas didn’t catch, to which Tanner replied brightly—flirtatiously, even –“I’m sure we’ll be in good hands.”

Any of the orderlies at The Clinic would have smacked him, but Theo just smiled, and Dr. L. said, “Indeed.” To the one called Theo, he added, “You can give Mr. Tanner the grand tour, but Mr. Barrow has been sedated, so there won’t be much point showing him anything but the essentials. Bring him to my office tomorrow at eleven. He’s excused from everything until then, but do try to get him to eat something.”

Apparently he’d noticed about the biscuit, after all.

Theo led them through the village. Thomas noted a pub and a tobacconist, not that either was likely to do him much good, before becoming too weary to bother seeing things. Of the sanitarium itself, he had only a vague impression of a stone pile. Up a staircase, down a corridor, and they wound up in a sort of ward, unoccupied at this time of day. Theo pointed him at one of the cots, and Thomas collapsed onto it and fell promptly and deeply asleep.

He had the sort of vivid and incoherent dreams that you got when you’d been drugged insensible, and woke with a head full of disjointed and rapidly-fading images, a tongue that felt like shoe leather in his mouth, and a chatter of overlapping voices.

The rest of the ward’s inmates were back now, a half-dozen or so of them, and they all seemed to be talking at once, as they shaved or changed their shirts or combed their hair. It reminded Thomas a bit of a barracks in the war, and not at all of The Clinic, where making any kind of sound was more or less inviting the orderlies to come and shut you up.

“He wakes!” said a familiarly irritating voice. Tanner, and he must’ve changed his clothes since getting here; Thomas couldn’t imagine The Clinic letting him out on the street in a tie like that. It almost looked like a ladies silk scarf.

“You feeling all right?” asked Theo.

Thomas sort of grunted, and Theo pointed him at the W.C. After splashing some cold water on his face, Thomas felt marginally more human. He emerged from that sanctuary to find that much of the crowd had departed, leaving Theo, Tanner, and a couple of others. “We’re just going down to dinner, if you feel up to it,” Theo told him. “I’d have told the rest of that lot to keep it down a bit, except I was halfway thinking I ought to wake you up for it anyway.”

He must, Thomas thought, be a patient, some sort of trustee, rather than an employee. The Clinic had had a few of those, and as a rule, they’d been worse than the orderlies, but this Theo didn’t seem to have put much of a damper on Tanner. As they started back down the stairs, Thomas essayed a question. “What do they do to you here, if you don’t eat?”

Stopping halfway down the staircase, Theo glanced over his shoulder and up at Thomas. “Nothing much,” he said, with a hint of pity that made Thomas want to kick him. “Did they give you a treatment before you left that place this morning?”

“No,” Thomas said.

Theo continued walking. “Sometimes it takes a bit for your appetite to come back,” he said. “But the food here’s not bad, usually.”

Thomas was dubious about that—the slop they shoved at you at The Clinic was barely edible even if you weren’t heaving your guts up two or three times a day. But the dining room that Theo led them to had, if anything, even less in common with The Clinic than the ward had. It looked more like the dining room of an hotel that had come down in the world a bit—wainscoting, chipped; lamps, numerous but sooty and tarnished; tablecloths, white linen, but stained and mended in places. There were about half a dozen tables, each seating six or eight. It was about as loud as an Army mess of comparable size, but without the shoving and swearing.

He, Tanner, and Theo sat at a table with four others. Theo introduced them, but Thomas didn’t catch the names. One of them asked him something, and he blinked stupidly.

“Thomas had a bit of a rough morning,” Theo said delicately. “I’m not sure he’s feeling quite himself yet.”

The others all made sympathetic noises, and before long, another bloke arrived, carrying a large, heavily-laden tray. The ones nearest him helped unload it, and then the newcomer sat in their table’s remaining chair.

That, too, reminded him a bit of the Army. The mess tins held enough for six, and usually one man was dispatched to queue up for it. But, as Theo had intimated, the food looked to be quite a bit better than Army rations, with meat that had clearly never seen the inside of a tin, roasted potatoes that were still crisp, and fresh bread. The dishes were passed around the table, and as each one came to him, Thomas warily helped himself to a few bites’ worth of everything.

He didn’t do much more than pick at it, but no one seemed to take any notice. There was a great deal of conversation, mostly about people Thomas didn’t know. From various bits and pieces, he gradually gathered that several of the men were, in fact, employed in the village, so perhaps Dr. L. hadn’t entirely been taking the piss—though it was difficult to imagine anyone in such a remote place needing a valet, much less one who was an incurable homosexual.

When the dishes were cleared, the bloke sitting next to Thomas offered him a cigarette, which Thomas was happy to accept. He lit it for Thomas, too, which caused him to raise a mental eyebrow, but was perhaps just as well—Thomas didn’t have the faintest idea what had happened to his lighter. “Thanks,” he said, and groped for the man’s name.

“Richard,” he supplied, adding, “This place is…a lot to take in.”

“You said it,” Thomas muttered.

“I’d invite you to come find me if you need a native guide, but we’re not allowed in each others’ rooms. For obvious reasons.”

“No,” Thomas agreed. He didn’t suppose they would be.

“You’ll be all right, once your head stops spinning,” Richard added.

“Yeah?” Thomas asked.

“Yeah,” Richard said, with a warm smile.

Worn out from the exertion of dinner, Thomas slept fairly well…at first. Somewhere in the small hours, he woke again, jittery and ill at ease. At The Clinic, they didn’t want you getting out of bed until they told you do, but no one stopped him, when he ventured to the W.C. for another restorative splash of cold water. Emboldened by this success, he stood for a while at a window—open, and unbarred—wishing he had a cigarette.

He thought he might be in for it when Theo, who slept in the ward with them, stirred, but he only said, in a whisper, “You all right, Barrow?”

“Yes,” he whispered back. “Just—awake.”

Theo made a sleepy sort of sound, and fumbled in the bedside table, producing a watch, which he peered at in the moonlight. “It’ll be at least three hours before anyone’s up,” he said, with a yawn. “But if you’re still up then, I’ll show you around before breakfast.”

It was very difficult to tell, Thomas reflected, whether that was meant as a treat or a threat, but whatever it was, he was still up some hours later, when the watery light of dawn crept through the curtains. He gradually realized that the large shape at the foot of his bunk was, in fact, the trunk he’d packed with all his things before going to The Clinic, and hadn’t seen since. He was itching to check if any of his things had been pinched, but stayed where he was, feigning sleep as a man came into the ward and shook one of the others awake.

The other man had a rummage through his own trunk, suggesting that this was an authorized morning activity, so once he had dressed and gone, Thomas sat up slowly and eased open the clasps on his.

On top was his overcoat, under that his good suit, and hidden away at the very bottom were the dozen packs of cigarettes he’d laid in for his “treatment.” They might be pretty stale now, but infinitely better than nothing. He stuck one pack in the pocket of his pyjamas, and two more under the mattress, in case his trunk disappeared again.

The latter, while a sensible precaution, had the unintended side effect of waking up Theo, who glared at him balefully for a moment before grabbing a sponge bag and stumbling off toward the W.C.

He emerged a few minutes later, freshly shaven and looking marginally more awake. He caught Thomas’s eye and tilted his head in the direction where he’d been, and mouthed, “All yours.”

So Thomas collected his own things from his trunk, and enjoyed his first unsupervised shave (et cetera) in some months. His face in the mirror was pale and haggard, but when he’d emerged, dressed, and met Theo in the corridor, Theo said, “You look a bit less ghastly than you did last night.”

“Thanks,” Thomas said, dryly.

“I meant, I hope you feel less ghastly.”

“I suppose,” Thomas admitted.

“Good,” Theo said, and launched into the tour. The ward they’d just left, he explained, was for new arrivals. Once they thought you could be trusted to behave yourself, you were allowed your own bedroom—in which, he echoed Richard from the previous night, you were not permitted to entertain callers. The rest of the corridor was bedrooms, and so, apparently, were the two floors above.

If they were laid out the same as this one, Thomas calculated that meant bedrooms for about thirty patients. A bit fewer, he thought, than had been at dinner the night before.

Perhaps there was somewhere else they sent you, after the Arrivals Ward, if you couldn’t be trusted to behave yourself.

“There isn’t really anything to see up here, so we’ll go downstairs,” Theo said.

They took the same route as they had to go down to dinner, but the night before, Thomas had not had the wherewithal to notice that it was a wide staircase, with carved banisters that were now considerably scuffed, but had once been fairly good.

Not, in other words, the servants’ stairs.

They emerged into a front hall. “Post gets left on that table,” Theo said. “But it only comes once a week, when the boat comes with our supplies. You remember where the dining room is?” At Thomas’s nod, he continued, “Next to it’s the meeting room.” He opened the door briefly, revealing a glimpse of a circle of ill-assorted chairs, arranged under a lozenge that had probably once held a chandelier. “And over on this side, there’s the library—don’t expect too much of it, but it’s quiet—smoking room, big parlour, small parlour.”

These rooms, too, showed traces of past grandeur. Theo let them out onto a rather chilly veranda, where he lit a cigarette, offering one to Thomas. “Stable and outbuildings are over there—I don’t imagine you’re much interested in those?”

“Not particularly,” Thomas admitted.

Nodding, Theo gestured back toward the house, to a small wing jutting out to the left. “That bit’s Dr. L.’s domain—consulting rooms on the ground floor, and he lives above the shop, so to speak. You can get to him from inside, but the door’s in an awkward spot, so unless it’s really bucketing down, it’s actually easier to go around this way.”

“I see,” Thomas said, though he wasn’t sure he did.

“The place was built as an hotel,” Theo explained. “That wing was the private quarters of the family that owned it—or ran it, something like that. I expect they didn’t want paying guests blundering in there, demanding hot water and extra towels.”

The floor plan was not precisely the part that left Thomas confused, but he only said, “I thought it looked like an hotel.”

“Never a very successful one, I gather,” Theo said. “I believe they envisioned it as a rival to Bognor, but, well, the place gets barely a dozen sunny days a year, and half of those it’s too cold to step outside without a coat. They got a few visitors for the fishing and shooting, but not much. Then an uncle of Dr. L.’s had a go at running it as a tuberculosis sanitarium, but the climate’s not any more suited for that than it is for a seaside resort. Dr. L. took it over around the turn of the century, and, well, third time lucky, I suppose.”

“Not like the current clientele is in a position to be choosy,” Thomas pointed out.

“There is that,” Theo agreed, tapping ash from his cigarette. “Not everyone comes here from the same place—most of the ones who work for a living, yeah, but Dr. L. has arrangements with a private clinic or two, and some Harley Street specialists. But there isn’t another place like this they could go.”

“I see,” Thomas repeated, once again without complete honesty.

“He does insist that they’ve attempted the cure somewhere,” Theo added. “Dr. L. does, I mean. And that they ‘demonstrate commitment to the community’ by spending whacking great sums on fifty-year leaseholds. Which is more or less the way he manages to keep the place running for the rest of us, so….” He shrugged. “Which is all just to say, if you liked being a valet, we haven’t got any earls, but we’ve got one’s younger son. Lord Gerald—he lives up there.” Theo gestured in the direction of the only other substantially-sized building in view, a stone house, looking considerably older than the hotel, which Thomas wouldn’t have hesitated to call a smallish manor, if it had been located anywhere other than a few miles west of nowhere.

“…huh,” Thomas said.

“He’s nice,” Theo added. “If it was a butler he was looking for, I’d be tempted to take it myself, but he’s got one of those, some chap who came with him from the ancestral pile. And I like the job I have now.”

“What’s that?” Thomas asked.

“This,” he said. “Looking after the new fellows. I used to—well, never mind.” He tossed away his cigarette and led the way back inside. Showing Thomas through a very battered green baize door, he explained that all of the “residents,” as the patients seemed to be called, pitched in with various chores, on a rotating basis—Dave, the one who’d been woken up a bit earlier was taking his turn as cook’s helper this week—but a few, Theo among them, were employed for particular jobs.

“You’ll be assigned something to do in a day or two,” Theo added. “Nothing complicated, to start with. You were a footman, before you were a valet?”

“Yes.”

“It’ll be something you can just about do with your eyes closed and one hand tied behind your back.”

Downstairs were all of the usual domestic offices—a slightly bigger kitchen than Thomas would have expected in a private house of this size, but the only really striking difference was that the workers were all men.

Over breakfast, Thomas mulled over Theo’s suggestion that he might valet the resident lord, and all that it implied. If gentlemen—and even a peer’s son—paid to be here, it really couldn’t be very much like The Clinic, as Thomas’s own observations had already suggested. But Theo’s offhand statement about the gentlemen paying to keep the rest of them pointed to another sinister possibility. Toffs treating the working class as their own personal brothel wasn’t precisely new, although a house full of working-class queers on a remote island was a more extreme version of the concept than Thomas had ever encountered.

If that was how it was, he could think of worse fates than being under the protection of the “nice” Lord Gerald.

After breakfast was something called the “morning meeting,” which Thomas was, Theo reminded him, not strictly required to attend, since he was “excused from everything” until his appointment with Dr. L. later that morning, but, lacking any notion of what he might do instead, Thomas followed the rest into the meeting room.

From the name, he vaguely imagined some sort of Nonconformist religious service, and this impression was not dispelled when the man in charge, a sprightly gent of about fifty, introduced himself as “Father Timothy.” Nor when the meeting began with a prayer, during which they were all required to hold hands.

After that, though, the meeting moved on to secular matters. First, Thomas and Tanner—“call me Syl”—were introduced to the rest of the group, and then there was a rather lengthy—and somewhat contentious—discussion of the task roster for the coming week. Thomas and Syl, who it turned out had also been a footman before the war, were assigned to tidying the smoking room and library. (Theo said he would “show them the ropes,” but Thomas quite agreed with his earlier assessment of the difficulty of the assignment.)

Following that was a short homily on the theme of Respecting Others in the Common Areas—Thomas could hear the capital letters—which mostly had to do with not leaving one’s things lying about, and the smoking room and large parlour being the approved locations for “lively activity,” while the library and small parlour were reserved for quiet pastimes.

The final item of business was a series of notices about what Father Timothy termed “community events.” He and someone called Mr. Bracewood were leading a nature walk on Saturday afternoon, the amateur dramatics group were doing a concert in a few nights’ time, and so on—the sort of wholesome claptrap they made you do at rest camps during the war. The meeting concluded with a hymn—no hand-holding this time, fortunately—and about half of the group hurried off to their day’s work, while those who had nothing in particular to do next stood around chatting in small groups.

“Call me Syl” dragged Theo over to the priest to find out more about the amateur dramatics—he was, apparently, a chanteuse—leaving Thomas to stand awkwardly by the door and wait for something to happen.

He wasn’t left waiting long. “You’re looking a bit less grim,” said Richard, from last night, approaching with a lugubrious-looking fellow who was trailed by a dingy heap of rags that Thomas eventually concluded was a dog of some sort.

Thomas nodded, unsure what to say.

“This is Morrow—Ben Morrow—and Wilberforce,” Richard went on.

The probable-dog raised his head from his paws at the mention of his name.

“Barrow,” Thomas said, even though the entire assemblage had been told his name not a half-hour earlier.

Morrow made a vague sound of acknowledgement.

“So, ah,” Richard said, “what are your plans for the day?”

Plans? “I’m supposed to see Dr. L. at eleven,” Thomas said. “And I suppose I’m tidying the library and smoking room at some point. Apart from that, I don’t know.”

Richard seemed about to say something, but Morrow jumped in. “He’ll probably make you go to Group,” he said grimly.

Again, Thomas heard the capital letter. He wondered if Group was anything like Treatment.

“He probably will,” Richard agreed, adding, “It’s not too bad. You just sit around and talk about your neuroses for an hour.”

Thinking that he just might prefer a Clinic Treatment over that—though it would be a tough call—Thomas shared a look of mutual understanding with Morrow. “What if you haven’t got any neuroses?” he asked, momentarily forgetting that they all had at least one, in common.

But Richard said, “Then you don’t have to go to Group. Well, except Newcomers’ Group. Everybody has to do that one.” Before Thomas could angle for more details about Newcomers’ Group, he went on, “Apart from Group, there isn’t a whole lot of psychiatry that goes on, here. You have a chat with Dr. L. once in a while, so he can see how you’re getting on, but really, it’s a lot like being in a rest camp, back in the Army. Except they don’t make you carry ammunition up to the Front.”

Covering his surprise at hearing his own thoughts echoed, Thomas said, “But do they make you play football?”

Richard chuckled. “There’s football, but it isn’t mandatory. Not a sportsman, are you?”

“I’m all right at cricket,” Thomas answered.

“That’ll make you popular,” Richard noted. “The cricket crowd’s always looking for more players. But none of the leisure activities are mandatory.”

“So they say,” Morrow muttered darkly.

Richard turned his eyes heavenward. “If you won’t do anything, Dr. L. gets shirty about ‘taking part in the spirit of the community.’ But as long as you aren’t a grump who hates everything, you should be fine.”

Morrow said, “I don’t hate Wilberforce,” and Thomas privately resolved to find out exactly how much “taking part” you had to do in order to be left in peace.

About then, Theo and Call-me-Syl collected him, and Theo showed them around the grounds a bit—vegetable patch here, chickens there, and so on. Thomas didn’t really take in much of it, though, because he wasn’t at all interested in vegetables and chickens.

And maybe just a little bit because, with each bit of agriculture Theo pointed out, Thomas’s appointment with Dr. L. was drawing nearer.

It would be crucial, he knew, to tell the man in charge what he wanted to hear—but what, in God’s name, was that? If only Thomas had been able to pay more attention yesterday, when Dr. L. had been talking to Syl, he’d at least have some idea what kind of questions to expect.

Theo probably knew—hell, even Syl could fill him in to some degree—but Thomas couldn’t think of a way to get them on the subject, short of coming right out and asking. So he just followed the others around, attempting to feign interest in cows and things, until the appointed hour came.

The doctor’s lair was, at least, reassuringly carpeted—not at all the sort of thing you’d want people being sick on. (He couldn’t think of a reason Richard would have misled him about them doing Treatments here, but he couldn’t rule it out.)

Dr. L. sat behind a large desk, and there was an analyst’s couch against one wall, just like in the comic papers, but to Thomas’s relief, he was gestured into an armchair opposite the desk, instead.

“Feeling better?” Dr. L. asked.

That was an easy one, at least. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, good.” He opened a document folder on the desk. “Let’s see, the Clinic did the usual course of treatment with you—perfunctory attempt at talk therapy…doesn’t look like you gave them much?”

Of course he bloody well hadn’t. “Sir.”

“Hypnosis—you were a difficult subject there, as well, and then a rather protracted course of aversion therapy.”

With a manful effort, Thomas managed to repress a shudder. “Yes, sir.”

“What did you think of it?”

What he thought, when he hadn’t been heaving his guts out, was that the pornography they showed you was filthier and more lurid than anything Thomas had even imagined existed. The French postcard with the girl and the donkey had nothing on it. “Sir?”

Dr. L. raised an eyebrow. “Did you feel as though it was doing you any good?”

How the hell was he meant to answer that? “Well,” he said slowly. Following it up with a “sir”—always a safe bet—bought him another fraction of a second to think. “It certainly wasn’t pleasant.” It wasn’t meant to be, so that should be safe, too. “And it didn’t work, so….” He trailed off.

Thomas thought this a fairly neat piece of diplomacy, under the circumstances, but Dr. L. didn’t looked impressed. “Let me put it another way,” he said. “Before The Clinic, did you feel that you were ill?”

Why would he ask a thing like that? “I knew I wasn’t like everyone else, if that’s what you mean.” It came out more sharply than he intended. “Sir.”

“Of course,” said Dr. L. “But did it—this is difficult to express. Did you truly feel that there was something wrong with you? That these…behaviors were unnatural?”

For an instant, Thomas was back in Carson’s pantry, before the hell that was The Clinic, saying, I’m not the same as you, but I’m not foul. He knew what he was meant to say, and if he’d been drugged up to his eyeballs and so sick he couldn’t stand upright, he’d have said it. But now, in this peaceful room, after nearly 24 hours in which nothing abjectly awful had happened…he got as far as forming the lie in his mind—yes, of course, sir, dreadful affliction, and it would have all been worth it if only they’d been able to fix me—but he couldn’t force it out.

A long silence stretched, Dr. L. regarding him with a pleasantly expectant expression.

Thomas remembered striking his lighter and holding his hand up above the parapet. His hand ached. “No,” he said flatly. “Sir. I can’t really say as I do.”

Then he waited for hell to break loose—and nearly jumped out of his skin when Dr. L. leaned forward, smacking the desk with the flat of his hand. “Precisely.” Settling back in his chair and taking out a pipe, the doctor continued, “You see, in some cases—perhaps the majority of those that come to the attention of the police—homosexuality is an acquired vice. Men—often those in whom the sex impulse is unusually strong—turn to it in the absence of women, or out of a desire for novelty, or simply because the opportunity presents itself. If the act is successful, the man naturally becomes more willing to try it again—the principle being essentially the same as that behind the aversion treatment, except that the stimulus of the male body is connected with the pleasurable sensation of climax—and it can eventually become an engrained habit, and even overtake the normal sexual impulse. Do you understand?”

That blokes messed about with other blokes because it felt good? “I believe so, sir.”

“That type of case—pseudo-homosexuality—is very treatable. Sometimes even resolves on its own, if before it’s become too engrained, the man returns to mixed-sex society, or has a narrow escape from the police, say, and is shocked into reconsidering his behavior. But I knew as soon as I read your case notes that you weren’t one of those.”

What was that supposed to mean? “Sir?”

“The pseudo-homosexual’s interest in other men is nearly always carnal in emphasis. Simple lust. They don’t romanticize it. But you—” He picked up the file, with the hand that wasn’t holding the pipe. “You kissed your footman because, you told The Clinic doctors, you were leaving your place of employment and wanted him to know how you felt?”

Damn it. Thomas had said that, back at the very beginning. “Yes, sir.”

“And because this lady’s maid—his aunt?—said that he reciprocated your affections.”

“She was the other footman’s aunt,” Thomas said. Not that it was at all important. “Sir.”

Dr. L. made a note on the file. “This emphasis on feeling, in your account, is what tells the tale. You see, in the genuine homosexual, the entirety of the sexual impulse, both the physical and the emotional, is directed toward the same sex. He desires not just physical release, but psychic communion with another man.”

The funny thing was, Dr. L. didn’t sound as though he was speaking of something loathsome, at all. Thomas nodded, and the doctor went on.

“And in nearly every case, a close analysis of the individual’s history reveals that the sexual impulse has been directed in this way since before pubescence—that is to say, before any experiences which could have perverted the impulse into this direction. That being the case, any treatment which has its basis in re-directing the sexual impulse back into its natural channel will be ineffective—because for him, the homosexual impulse is natural.”

What. “Sir,” Thomas said, doubtfully.

“Yes?”

Quickly reviewing what the doctor had said, Thomas found a question he could reasonably ask. “You said that, ah, it—I—can’t be cured through…the way they tried at The Clinic. Is there some other way, then?” He wasn’t sure whether he hoped there was or wasn’t. It probably wouldn’t work either, anyway.

“There is a treatment,” Dr. L. said. “Not a cure. A born homosexual, like yourself, cannot be cured, any more than a Negro can be cured of his skin color, because it isn’t a pathology, but rather an innate part of his organism.”

Thomas wasn’t entirely sure he liked being compared to a Negro—but he supposed the Negro might find the comparison even more offensive.

“An abnormal part, to be sure,” the doctor continued. “Like colour-blindness, it’s a disadvantage, but one that is exacerbated by its rarity. The colour-blind man struggles with traffic signal-lights, and coloured advertisements where the text appears to him to be the same shade as the ground. Much of art is inaccessible to him, and clothing and wallpaper that appear pleasant to him may be ugly to the rest of the world, and vice-versa. But if half the world were colour-blind, signal-lights and advertisements would be designed so that both halves could read them, and the colour-blind man would find art that reflects the way he sees the world, and clothing and wallpaper that is intended for him.” He paused. “Incidentally, you aren’t colour-blind, are you?”

“No, sir,” Thomas said.

“It doesn’t seem to be any more common among homosexuals than anyone else. Left-handedness might be.” He made another note, presumably of the fact that Thomas was not colour-blind. “The case of the homosexual is even worse than that of the colour-blind man, because society is not merely indifferent to his needs, but actively persecutes him. He is denied any respectable outlet for his natural impulses, and his seeking a dis-respectable outlet makes him a danger to the public health, because he encourages the pseudo-homosexual in his vices. And often receives little satisfaction himself, in the encounter, because of the absence of the psychic element.”

Thomas thought of Phillip Crowborough, burning his love letters and then suggesting Thomas stay for a tumble.

The doctor puffed at his pipe and, finding it had gone out, re-lit it. “Does that, ah, sound like something you’ve experienced?”

A direct question, he more-or-less had to answer it. “Yes. Sir.”

“Ah.” The pipe successfully lit, he puffed for a moment. “I thought you might have.” He did not, thank God, demand details. “Have you any questions, at this point?”

Thomas did have one, and after a moment’s consideration, decided to ask it. “The treatment, sir?” He really did want to know what he was in for.

“The treatment, yes. I was getting to it. The goal of our treatment method is not to change your nature, but to enable you to live with it. In this way, the born homosexual can live a life as healthy and as satisfying as anyone else’s.”

So it was the cold baths and wheat-bran cure, then. That explained the cricket. Well, it was probably an improvement over the more lurid scenario Thomas had thought of that morning, and definitely an improvement over The Clinic. He was used to long stretches of celibacy, and with Treatments still fresh in his mind, he didn’t particularly want to even look at a cock any time soon.

Thomas assumed an expression of slightly confused interest, and, as he had hoped, the doctor went on.

“There is, often, some degree of neuroticism—either innate, or acquired through the stresses of living in a world that does not welcome him. Or, lately, from the War. And the experience of The Clinic doesn’t help, either. For these difficulties, we prescribe the same treatments as for anyone else—sound nutrition, healthy exercise, fresh air, productive work that is suited as possible to the man’s nature, and a bit of talk therapy.” With a glance at the analyst’s couch, which Thomas had been studiously avoiding looking at, he added, “Formal psychoanalysis is reserved for the most serious cases. Most of the men are seen in groups, led by myself or my assistant, which, in addition to being more efficient, provides an element of mutual support. There are several groups, for different needs, but you’ll start off in Newcomer’s Group, which focuses on understanding and accepting your condition, developing self-restraint and self-respect, and adjusting to our community.”

That didn’t sound too dire—and once he’d had a chance to think a bit about everything Dr. L. had told him, he’d likely be able to figure out what sort of stuff they wanted to hear. If he played his cards right, he might be able to avoid any of the other Groups.

“And that community is, of course, an important part of the treatment as well. Many of our residents have struggled with…expressing themselves, forming friendships, because their nature is at odds with the expectations of the larger world, and because of the strain of keeping a shameful and dangerous secret. But here, you are, in effect, normal.”

From his expression, Thomas could tell that Dr. L. expected some reaction to this bit of news, but he couldn’t figure out what. He settled on, “I see, sir.”

“Do you?” The doctor sounded skeptical. “In many ways, we’re a village like any other. We have people from all walks of life, sport and entertainments such as you might find anywhere in Britain, a church and a pub…just with one rather significant difference.”

He paused for effect, and Thomas blurted out, “Wait, do you mean the whole village is—” Hearing himself, he promptly shut up.

“Yes. Well, except for Mrs. Williams who runs the laundry. She worked for both of this place’s previous incarnations, and when I explained to her the nature of what I meant to do here, she said that at least what we have isn’t catching, and that she’d been born here, and we’d have to carry her off feet first. She’s a bit of a character,” he added, with a smile. “But everyone else, yes.”

“I see, sir.” Well, that was interesting.

Dr. L. regarded him with a pleasantly expectant expression for a moment, then went on, “In addition to the unique environment, we also approach the issue of homosexuality or sexual inversion in a different way to most other, ah, experts in the topic. Rather than reducing it to a series of base urges, we identify and cultivate the higher, spiritual side, much as the larger world encourages heterosexual—that is, normal—men to do with their sex impulses.”

Another expectant look, this time more pointed. “Sir?” Thomas asked.

“From an early age, the heterosexual learns, from the example of the men around him, how the sex impulse is to be managed—as, indeed, does the woman, although she is more often encouraged to deny or repress her sex impulse. In adolescence, the sex impulse is best directed into other pursuits—success in school, or on the playing field, in friendship—adolescent friendship in both sexes often has a romantic character—into hobbies, and so on. Some continue this process of sublimation into a celibate adulthood; indeed, a great deal of artistic and intellectual achievement can be attributed to homosexuals who have more-or-less successfully sublimated their sex instinct.”

And that explained the amateur theatricals, as well. Well, if the good doctor thought that giving Thomas enough to do would stop him wanting to have it off with other blokes, he wasn’t going to argue—it couldn’t hurt, and might help. He nodded understanding.

“But more usually, in adulthood, the normal sex impulse is integrated into everyday life, through the ideals of marital fidelity and commitment. The carnal element is tamed, as it were, by entwining it with the higher element, and channeling it into a form which emphasizes affection, mutual cherishing, and a shared life, while maintaining the carnal as a small but important part that supports the rest.”

Thomas blinked. He couldn’t possibly be saying what Thomas thought he was saying.

“In short, while we encourage our residents to consider the merits of a celibate life, we say, as Saint Paul said to the Corinthians, that is it better to marry than to burn.”

That was what he was saying. Unless there was another hotel full of Sapphic women on the other side of the island, and he’d been lying about not wanting to change Thomas’s nature. “Sir,” he said, skeptically.

“These are not, I stress, mock marriages like those carried out in the molly houses of the last century,” Dr. L. added. “They are, of course, not recognized outside of our community, but within it, they have the full force of custom, if not of law. Promiscuity is no more acceptable here than it is in the larger world. Couples wishing to embark upon a conjugal life are counseled, together and separately, to be sure that neither is making a hasty choice, and then they make a public expression of commitment—usually in church—and from then on, enjoy the privacy and privileges of an ordinary married couple.”

No hotel full of women, then. Thomas wished ardently for an opportunity to absorb this information—and to figure out the catch—without an audience, but it was not to be. Dr. L. watched him patiently for a long moment, and finally Thomas nodded.

Bestowing a kindly smile on him, the doctor said, “It is quite a lot to take in. That’s why we pay so much attention to newcomers’ adjustment to the community—why we have Newcomer’s Group, why you begin by living communally in the main house, and takes part in daily meetings, and so on. There is, you may have noticed, a certain element of surveillance, which is gradually decreased as you make your adjustment. We don’t want the place turning into a den of vice.”

“Of course, sir,” said Thomas, politely and automatically. He could see how that would be a problem.

“You are welcome, and indeed encouraged, to associate with whomever you wish, but while you are in Newcomer’s Group, we use a sort of chaperonage system. You may participate freely in organized activities, accept any invitations from respectable and well-established members of the community, and use the common areas in and around the main house. If you wish to go into the village, or to explore the rest of the island, you’ll need to consult with Theo about your plans, and go either alone or in a party of three or more. It’s a bit of an inconvenience, I know,” he added apologetically.

“It’s—fine, sir.” Until he ran out of cigarettes, he had no particular reason to go to the village, anyway. And Theo seemed reasonable enough.

“Newcomers always live in the main house, and those without private means usually work there, as well. That is, everyone who lives in the main house is expected to pitch in—I believe you were already given an assignment at Morning Meeting?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. We have everyone take part, whether they’ve means or not, as a way of fostering a sense of community, but there’s paid work for those who want it, once you’ve settled in a bit.”

That was good to know—after he ran out of cigarettes, Thomas’s next problem would be running out of money to buy more. He did wonder, however, where Theo’s suggestion that he might valet the nice Lord Gerald came in.

There was another long pause and expectant look, and finally the doctor said, “Have you any questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well. Once you’ve finished with Newcomer’s Group, you’ll be able to come and go as you please, but we still encourage going out in parties of three or more—especially if you intend to go somewhere out of public view. At that point, you’re also permitted to make your own living arrangements if you wish, but those without private means usually stay in the main house.”

Dr. L. looked at him expectantly again, and this time Thomas came up with a question. “How long does the, ah, Newcomer’s Group last?”

“It varies, depending on your progress. If you make a good adjustment, two or three months, but some men are in Newcomer’s Group considerably longer.”

So that was how they got you to play along with what they wanted. Fair enough, Thomas supposed.

“Is there anything else that you’d like to ask me?”

Like what? “Sir?”

The smile was slightly strained this time. “How does all this sound to you?”

Well, since he was asking, it sounded barking mad. Not bad, but absolutely bonkers. “Fine. Sir.”

Dr. L. sat back and did some more fiddling with his pipe. “Very well. Let’s talk again next week, all right?”

Thomas wondered what would happen if he said “no.” “Yes, sir.”

***

That’s all, folks! I am super-interested in hearing what people think, and if you wish to materially encourage this nonsense, you can do that here.

#Thomas Barrow #fic #thomas and the village of the queers #it is both a village and an island

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beesandbooks1 · 3 years

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Discussion: The Surprising Sexuality of Bella Swan

To read this post on my blog instead, click here!

Blanket warning: This post will be discussing sex and sexual activity. Bella Swan is a minor in the beginning of the Twilight Saga, and thus this discussion concerns the sexuality of teenagers.

Bella Swan and her sexual awakening

When we first meet Bella in Twilight, she can be described as a pretty sexless and anti-romantic person. We find out through her experiences in the Twilight Saga that she’s never gone on dates, never had anyone express explicit attraction to her, and that Edward Cullen is her first real crush and love interest. She seems pretty analytical, all things considered, discussing her mother’s relationships with her father and stepfather pretty distantly. While she can almost understand attraction–pointing out that when her parents were young and more attractive she can almost understand why they rushed into marriage–she doesn’t openly acknowledge attraction as a motivation for anything until dealing with Edward.

Bella Swan has a very clear sexual awakening in Twilight. The first time she kisses Edward, she describes herself as burning up and suddenly losing control. In fact, throughout the rest of the series this is a common theme. Edward is constantly having to keep their kissing as chaste as possible to protect Bella from his dangerous venom (and his bloodlust) while Bella regularly describes herself as latching onto him, pushing him to go further. Bella experiences tangible sexual desire for Edward and continually tries to act on it, despite Edward’s fears and trepidation. We like to make memes and joke about how dedicated Bella was to having sex with him in Breaking Dawn, but that was just the culmination of a lot of encounters in which Bella’s desire and lust drive their physical interactions.

Bella’s autonomy versus Edward’s

This was an interesting and occasionally disconcerting aspect of the treatment of sex in the Saga. Edward asserts repeatedly that it’s too dangerous to do more than kiss and that he won’t risk it with Bella. He also later on asserts his desire to wait for marriage, placing his sexual autonomy in the way of Bella’s desires. This is actually surprising in a lot of ways. First and most obvious is the subversion of expectations. A lot of YA and New Adult fiction places women in the shoes of the autonomy debate, putting their desire to wait for marriage, love, or another important milestone before having sex for the first time (or just the first time with their partner) out as the obstacle that the man they are seeing must respect. While I don’t think it was Meyer’s intention to comment on the particularly distasteful way society ignores male sexual autonomy and the right of men to say no to sex, it’s still an unusual subversion of societal expectation.

The next reason I find Bella’s sexual desire and lack of care for marriage interesting is because of Meyer’s background. Stephenie Meyer is a Mormon, and the Mormon culture generally encourages waiting until marriage for women and has strict rules regulating sexuality for all young people in general. We see in other parts of Meyer’s writing where the Mormon values come into play, so it’s ultimately very surprising that the main POV character, Bella, who is largely portrayed as mature and wiser than her peers should be pushing for premarital sex against a man’s wishes. She ends up only agreeing to marry Edward because she wants to sleep with him, and a little bit because she wants to be with him forever. She figures their relationship will continue regardless of marriage but his conditions for sex are what finally convince her to marry at all. This is again a subversion of the usual expectations.

I also find Edward’s sexual autonomy interesting in the face of the almost sex positive Bella. Edward Cullen is a man that repeatedly says ‘no’ to sex with a willing partner because of his own values, regardless of which of those values are more powerfully motivating. He has no reason to fear being overpowered when Bella is a human, so he can and frequently does exercise his right to say “no” without fear of repercussions. After all, the biggest reason people will consent to a sexual encounter they don’t want is to avoid the potential consequences of saying otherwise. Edward resists Bella’s attempts to coerce or seduce him in part because he knows she cannot overpower him, as he is a vampire and can absolutely physically stop her if need be. Bella dances dangerously close to interfering with his autonomy by pushing him towards physical encounters he expresses discomfort with. And from Bella’s perspective, she doesn’t seem to be aware that she’s coming close to violating his consent. Again, I don’t think it was Meyer’s intention to point out that women are just as capable of violating sexual trust as men, but an interesting point nonetheless.

Sexuality in the rest of the cast

Sex is absolutely alluded to and explicitly discussed on occasion with regards to the rest of the cast–usually to reaffirm relationships. In particular, Rosalie and Emmett’s relationship is associated with implied sex and Jacob’s perspective in Breaking Dawn references implied sex as well. Unsurprisingly, outside of Bella and Edward’s direct discussions and engagements in sexual activity, sex is discussed without actually being discussed–probably due to the age of the intended audience and Meyer’s thoughts on premarital sex.

Rosalie and Emmett have a tempestuous and loving relationship, which Edward describes as having destroyed houses through sex. Rosalie and Emmett are the most conventionally attractive of the Cullens, and often come across as a heartbreakingly perfect couple. They love one another very much and go on elaborate honeymoon trips, frequently living separate from the rest of the Cullens as a married couple. Additionally, Rosalie’s story involves her assault leading to her death and her desire to have a family, specifically her wish for children. In many ways, Rosalie’s story is more grown up than the rest of the series in is tragedy and in her metaphorical struggle with infertility. It’s not wholly surprising for her character that she and her husband are the most clearly sexual of the characters, but it does stick out as unusually mature against the rest of the series.

Jacob’s perspective also reveals some implied discussions of sex. The first example comes when he himself goes to a park to deliberately attempt to find someone he can get over Bella with. The implication is pretty obvious: he intends to have a one nigh stand. That he doesn’t succeed can’t erase what seems pretty obvious. Thus we have a character without the hangups on premarital sex that Edward–the only other male character that expresses any degree of sexuality–has. Also, since much of the exposition relating to Imprinting is given by Jacob, Jacob does have to discuss sex to a certain degree.

Contradictory messages?

I’d say that as a YA author, having your eighteen-year-old protagonist marry straight out of high school and avoid premarital sex is making a pretty firm moral statement. I don’t know for certain if Meyer set out from the beginning to build a relationship with Bella and Edward that she hoped young girls would aspire to, or if she just couldn’t bring herself to put something she didn’t believe in into her books. From the commentary on the movie, I do know she was at least a little uncomfortable with Bella being sexualized as she was one of the people protesting how “sexy” Kristen Stewart looked during the scene where Edward kisses Bella in her bedroom. Despite this, Meyer wrote a pretty convincing sexual awakening for Bella’s character.

Up until Forks, Bella’s character motivation doesn’t include sex or relationships. She is pretty single-minded about taking care of her mother, and then a little bit about being a good kid. The implication is that before remarrying, Renee wasn’t very good about consistently paying bills and providing food, so Bella honestly had far more important things to worry about than boys (or girls). Her sexual awakening with Edward is actually a pretty interesting idea, then, because in Forks is the first time Bella has time to think about boys, relationships, and sex. And then Bella is repeatedly shut down in these urges by her partner, seemingly in an attempt to protect her. There are plenty of issues with Edward as a partner, we all know this (and I haven’t even read Midnight Sun yet), but I found his desire to save himself until marriage the least problematic thing about him.

How interesting is it that for three books we have the narrative of “Edward desires Bella but is scared of hurting her” before finally having “Edward’s personal choice for his sexuality is to save himself until marriage?” I would have much preferred if that had been out in the open, since without the discussion that takes place at the end of Eclipse, Bella seems to be the victim of being teased by Edward’s allure without ever being granted the payoff of more than a kiss–whatever vampiric danger reasons there are for not going further. Instead, we get the fact that Edward has been struggling with his preference for having sex after marriage without sharing this with Bella, who clearly was willing to respect that as she marries him for this reason. If Meyer was trying to portray premarital sex as a bad thing, she never really got around to it. Bella isn’t even considering sex until Eclipse, despite her growing sexuality, and the discussions she and Edward do have about it isn’t very respectful to the thoughts of either side of the issue.

Final thoughts

I know that it seems awfully pointless to discuss a niche topic in the context of a book series people aren’t enamored with, especially when it’s pretty clear the mos interesting parts of this were not the author’s intentions. I don’t think Stephenie Meyer intended for the Twilight craze to happen at all, especially when you look at the backlash that happened. While there are legitimate issues in the series–capitalizing on the Quileute tribe’s existence while also doing some pretty problematic things with the Quileute characters comes to mind–one thing that cannot be attributed to the series is the hatred of teenage girls that drove the hatred for the series. The vast majority of criticisms for this series came from people whose deep seated hatred of teenage girls led them to find every fault possible (except for the majority of the series’ actual faults). Needles to say, this backlash affected me in a number of ways as I was a teenage girl who initially liked Twilight.

This was not a conscious thought I had upon first reading, but I want us to consider being a teenage girl in a confusing world where half of popular media says relationships and making out and even sex are important and cool parts of being a teenager, while another half of popular media condemns teenage girls for exploring their sexuality however they may be comfortable. As a teenage girl, saving yourself is worthy of mockery and having sex regardless of the context is worthy of slut-shaming. To have a romance series endorsed by mothers as well as teenagers in which the teenage girl explores feeling sexual desire is pretty interesting. She’s not shamed for desiring Edward, it’s only natural after all. And the questions of consent and autonomy are danced around with his desire to save himself for marriage–an unintentional reminder that women are capable of sexual assault as well and that everyone deserves the safety to say “no.”

Do I think it’s revolutionary for Twilight to have included some of Bella’s sexual awakening? No. In fact, I think it’s one of the things that could have been improved if Meyer was a better writer or better re-writer to make a more impressive series. But I do think that Twilight is more notable for the deep hatred it inspired than its writing. I think it’s important to continue to discuss Twilight in the context of what it gave teenage girls and who opposed teenage girls having it. Edward wasn’t a great love interest, but one thing we can say for him is he never forced sex on Bella. He never pressured her, he wanted to wait for marriage. As a result, Bella’s sexual awakening is slower and paced out with her own growing desires and wants. She never has to rush through things because she isn’t having sex. And I think it’s good for teenage girls to have a character whose desires awaken in the first book but isn’t having sex until later, has sex with someone she stays together with and gets to grow with, and is never pressured into the sex.

#Twilight #Twilight Saga #Bella Swan

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sunmoonandeddie · 5 years

Text

yellow lights

pairing: steve rogers x stark!reader

word count: 7,116

summary: Steve struggles with his decision to keep you safe, and you never get to tell him you love him.

prompt: ‘yellow lights’ by harry hudson

warnings: swearing, violence, alludes to sex

a/n: This was written for @youngmoneymilla‘s 5K Writing Challenge! Congrats on the milestone, and I hope you enjoy! I’ll probably end up writing a sequel. Let me know what you think!

“Steve?”

The blond man in question grunted, but he didn’t turn around. His eyes were locked on the sky in front of him, his hands clutching onto the controls of the quinjet even though it was in autopilot. It gave him some sense of control, which he hadn’t had in a long time. In fact, he’s pretty sure the last time he had complete control of his life was before the, before he went in the ice.

“Steve?”

“What?” He could see his best friend in the reflection of the window, staring at him with a kind of concern that comes from knowing someone inside and out. He stared out at the million of lights in front of him, illuminating the night sky of whatever city they were currently flying over. He thought they might be over Spain, but he couldn’t be sure.

They reminded him of you, and of a conversation that felt like it was from another lifetime even if it had only been a few days before.

Bucky took a moment before sliding into the copilot seat. The brunet let out a sigh as he glanced over at his best friend. “You miss her.”

“I—”

“No,” Bucky said, huffing. “You miss her. And it’s okay to miss her.”

Steve’s grip on the controls tightened. He was trying so desperately to push thoughts of you out of his head, and Bucky wasn’t helping. “I left her.”

“You did what you thought was right,” he insisted.

“He can’t leave her in there, right?” He asked, finally looking over at his best friend. His eyes were puffy from crying and his cheeks red after having spent the past four days crying his eyes out. He’d been hiding away in the cockpit of the plane, keeping away from the prying eyes of his teammates. He knew that he needed to face them, needed to figure out their next move, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back and face them.

Especially not after they’d watched him abandon you.

Bucky propped his feet up on the dash, despite the glare that Steve shot his way. “I doubt he’d let them keep her in that hellhole.” He snuck another glance at the blond. “I mean, it is his daughter.”

“He already left her there once,” he argued. He was just feeling worse and worse by the second. He had half a mind to turn the plane around, though he knew that it wouldn’t go over well. They’d have already upped security and, hopefully, Tony would’ve gotten you.

Bucky stared at him for a long moment, not sure how far to go. Eventually, he decided to give him a little bit of tough love. “He thought you’d take her with you.” Before the blond could reply, he continues, “Tony isn’t stupid. He knew that you would eventually break everyone out, and he knew there was something going on between you, even if he didn’t want to believe it.”

Steve stood up suddenly, his fingers running through his dirty, greasy hair as he paced the floor. “The way she looked at me, though, Buck. I…” He bit his knuckles as he felt another onslaught of tears coming on.

And fuck, if that didn’t break his heart. He’d seen his friend at a lot of low points. He’d seen Steve when he was a scrappy little punk in the forties, when he could barely go outside without getting in a fight or catching a cold. He’d seen him in the war, crying when he thought no one was watching because he was leading men into battle—sometimes to their deaths—and he still felt like that tiny punk from Brooklyn. He’d seen him when they first reunited after Bucky broke out of HYDRA, and saw how his shoulder’s drooped, the pressure of the name Captain America weighing him down. And now, he was seeing him losing his mind because he’d fallen in love with the one person that was off limits.

A person who’d chosen him, and he’d subsequently left behind.

Bucky reached out to the super soldier, his hand clasping on his shoulder. “Steve, you were trying to protect her. She’s gotta know that.” He sighed as his grip tightened for just a second. “Even if she didn’t realize it then, she knows you. She’ll see your side sooner or later.”

“I think this time might’ve been it, Buck,” he croaked.

You bit your lip as you leaned your head back against the wall of your cell, the stiff fabric of the uniforms they had put you and your team in scratching against your skin. The cell around you was completely silent, and it was more than a little unnerving. Not even the air conditioner made any noise.

“Hey, Y/N, I don’t think your daddy’s too happy with us,” Clint shouted from where his cell was across the room, and you just rolled your eyes. “Think you’ll lose your inheritance?”

“Hey, shut up, Barton,” Sam snapped, hands pressed against the glass of his cell. Everyone was starting to get cabin fever and it was clearly not going to end well.

Clint laughed, the sound coming out harsh and distorted. “We all know that she’s not really a prisoner. This is nothing but a resting stop before daddy comes and whisks her away back to her tower.” He glowered at you darkly. “Ain’t that right, princess?”

Scott’s cell was in between theirs, and he seemed just as annoyed. “Give her a break, Barton.”

“Who are you again?” The older man asked, head turning to the wall that separated them. “Some B-Team member?”

“Clint,” you said sharply, effectively catching everyone’s attention. Scott still looked as though he was ready to throw something back in the other man’s face, but you knew that it wouldn’t end well. “Leave him alone. Your problem is with me.”

He smirked, a glint in his eyes that you didn’t like. You’d known Clint for years and had never see him act like such an asshole. He’d been an uncle figure for you over the years and had even gone as far as giving you archery lessons, even if you’d never been as good as you were with hand-to-hand. “Yeah, it fucking is. Because we all know that you’re getting out of here will the rest of us wither away in the middle of the fuckin’ ocean.”

“I betrayed my dad, Clint,” you said, your voice quiet as you stared at where your legs were stretched out in front of you. You hadn’t moved in at least two hours. It just seemed pointless. “I doubt he’s getting me out of here.”

“Yeah, okay, princess,” he muttered, turning away from you. You could see the beginning signs of guilt taking over him as he sat down on the little bed that was coming out from the wall. “You’ll still have your shiny tower when you get out of here. And we,” he motioned to the different cells, “get house arrest at best.”

You looked up as you heard the door open with a whoosh, followed by the sound of familiar footsteps. Your father didn’t even look at you as he observed the room around him. In all honesty, you weren’t sure whether you wanted him to look at you or not. It wasn’t like you’d been on good terms the last time you’d seen him.

“The futurist, gentlemen! The futurist is here!” Clint stood back up, anger radiating from him. “He sees all! He knows what’s best for you, whether you like it or not!”

“Give me a break, Barton,” Tony said coldly, his hands flexing at his sides. He was in one of his nice suits, all sharp lines and angles. “I had no idea they’d put you in here. Come on.”

“Yeah, well, you knew they’d put us somewhere, Tony.”

Your father walked over to his cell, his posture stiff. “Yeah, but not some super max floating ocean pokey. You know, this place is for maniacs.” His eyes drifted over the dark walls and thick bars, the glass separating everyone. “This is a place for—”

“Criminals?” Clint looked like he was ready to break the glass and beat the older man’s ass. “Criminals, Tony. I think that’s the word you’re looking for, right?” He nodded towards the other cells, his eyes eventually landing on your dejected form. “It ain’t used to mean me, or Sam, or Wanda, or your fucking daughter. But here we are.”

Tony tensed up even more, if that was even possible. He was purposefully not looking back at you, even though you knew he knew you were there. “’Cause you broke the law.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t make you.”

“The law. The law,” Clint mused as he began to pace his cell, his brows furrowed.

Tony leaned his hand against the frame of the cell, staring in at the man that he was certain was going mad. “You read it, you broke it.”

“The law. The law. The law.”

He rolled his eyes, a perfect reflection of the eyeroll you’d done earlier. “Alright, you’re all grown ups. You got a wife and kids. I don’t understand.” He scoffed as his hands dropped and clapped against his legs. “Why didn’t you think about them before you chose the wrong side?”

“Just like you thought of your daughter when you let them lock her in here?”

You narrowed your eyes at Clint, shaking your head. Baiting your father would only make things worse. And it also pissed you off that he was flipping back and forth on whether you were getting special treatment or not for being a Stark.

But Tony’s jaw just clenched as he gritted his teeth. He began to move on and Clint called out, trying to get one last word, “You better watch your back on this guy. Chances are he’s going to break it.”

“Hank Pym always said, ‘You can never trust a Stark,’” Scott said, his eyes narrowed. But you knew him and knew he wasn’t as tough as he was trying to seem. He caught the way your glare fixed on him and he at least had enough decency to look a little bit sorry.

“Who are you?”

The man sighed deeply as he let his head hang, Tony moving past him to stand in front of Sam’s cell. “Come on, man.”

“How’s Rhodes?” Sam asked, his voice quiet. It broke your heart, knowing how guilty the man felt about his friend’s injury. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t his fault. You knew he’d be feeling that guilt for a long time.

“We’re flying him to Colombia tomorrow. So… fingers crossed,” he said after a long pause. His eyes roamed over the man’s face, taking it all in. “What do you need? They feed you yet?”

At the mention of food, your stomach grumbled, though you hoped no one heard it. They hadn’t fed you since getting there a day ago, and you highly doubted you’d get much after your father left. It was a prison, after all.

“You’re the good cop now?” Sam mused, shaking his head as he turned away.

Tony stepped closer to the bars. “I’m just a guy who needs to know where Steve went.”

You perked up at the sound of your… well, whatever-he-was’s name. Sam’s eyes flickered over to you, his heart dropping at how desperate you were for any word on the man. “Well, you better go get a bad cop, because you would have to go Mark ‘Terminal’ on my ass to get information out of me.”

Your father looked down at his watch, bringing it up so the other man could see. “Oh, I just knocked the ‘A’ out of their ‘AV.’ We got about thirty seconds before they realize it’s not their equipment.” He shoved the watch closer, pointing at something on the screen. You got to your feet, hoping to hear something, anything, of use. “Just look. Because this is the fellow who was supposed to interrogate Barnes. Clearly, I made a mistake.” He took in a deep breath, the air in the room suddenly a lot heavier. “Sam, I was wrong.”

“That’s a first.”

“Cap is definitely off the reservation and he’s about to need all the help he can get.”

You pressed your hands against the glass, your e/c eyes wide.

“We don’t know each other very well,” Tony said slowly, his voice low. “You don’t have to—”

“Hey. It’s alright,” Sam said, effectively shutting the other man up. His eyes met yours against the room and he nodded slightly. “Look, I will tell you. But you have to go alone and as a friend.”

“Easy.”

Their conversation went even quieter, leaving you to wonder what was being said. No matter how much you strained, you couldn’t catch more than a few broken phrases. More than once, Sam would peek over your father’s shoulder to look at you, as though he was trying to encourage you, reassure you that it was going to be okay.

Tony finally nodded and stepped away. He walked by Wanda’s cell slowly, but when she glared at him he just kept moving, coming to a stop at yours. His hands were folded behind his back and you knew he was trying to remain stoic and unbothered, but the shaky breath he took in said otherwise.

You looked up at him, your hands trembling nervously. “Got myself in some trouble, dad,” you muttered, blinking back tears as you looked down.

“You’re a Stark,” he said after a long moment. His voice was soft, fond, even. “And I raised you to think for yourself…” The laugh that came from him felt choked, teary. “Even if it goes against me.” You looked up at him in surprise, but he just continued, “Though I would like to know when you and Cap became a thing. That would’ve been nice to know.”

“We’re not,” you said, turning away once again. But your mind was filled with memories of shitty hotel rooms and holding each other until the sun rose.

“Y/N,” he said, placing his hand against the glass through the bars. He took in how worn down you seemed, how tired. “He almost died because he didn’t want to leave you. That’s not nothing.”

“Do you really want to talk about boys? Now?” You countered, a little confused as to why the hell he was trying to bring all of this up. And also, why it had to be in front of some of the nosiest people you’d ever met?

Tony sighed as he glanced down at the ground. “Guess not.” He bit his lip as you placed your hand against the glass where his was. “You’re not getting out of this, you know. Just because you’re my kid doesn’t mean you can break the law.”

“Wasn’t expecting to.”

He leaned his forehead against the bars, and you could see the way he was shaking. When he finally opened his eyes a few moments later, he took one last look at you before letting his hand drop. “I’ll see what I can do about getting all of you out of here,” he said. The room went completely silent as the door shut behind him, leaving you all alone once again.

You let yourself sink down against the wall, leaning your head back. “Hey, Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think I’m getting out of time out.”

You smiled up at the ceiling as you heard his familiar chuckle, knowing that things between you and the older man were okay. “Shut up.”

You weren’t sure how long you sat there for. It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been days. Time passed differently when there was no natural light or clocks. All you had was the LEDs shining down on you, not even turning off for you to sleep.

Most of the time you spent lying on your bunk and staring up at the wall. The mattress was hard a lumpy, making it impossible to get comfortable, let alone sleep.

Sometimes one of the others would say something, and that would initiate a conversation for a few minutes, but it always eventually died out. On what you thought was the second day, Scott finally spoke up.

“So, uh, what is going on between you and Captain America?” He asked, and the men in the cells on either side of him lost their shit laughing. Sam had his head thrown back and Clint was doubled over, his face going red. Scott raised his eyebrows at the others before turning back to you. “Seriously. I’ve been wondering since Tony came and… you know.”

“Nothing is going on between us,” you said insistently, though your cheeks went a dark red.

Wanda laughed weakly from the cell next to yours. “I don’t have to read your thoughts to know that that’s a lie, dragă.”

“We’re just friends,” you said, but even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. You and Steve Rogers had been dancing around each other for three years. From the second you’d gotten back from college, there’d been a sort of raw energy between you. It felt dangerous and forbidden—your dad would’ve killed you if anything happened.

Sam chuckled as he leaned against the glass, looking out at you. His arms were grossed over his chest and his lips pulled up in a smirk. “Babygirl, I’ve seen a lot of things in the world, and I can tell you that man looks at you like you created the universe.”

“There’s nothing going on between us,” you said. A blatant lie. You were pretty sure you still had a hickey on your chest to prove it, too.

“Are you trying to convince us or yourself?” Clint asked, and you couldn’t help but sigh.

You didn’t reply, just choosing to let them think whatever they were going to. It’s not like you could change their minds or whatever. Because the truth was, you didn’t even know what you were. It had been three years of nothing only for everything to come to a head when you went on the run. And now… back to nothing. You had no certainty, no answers.

You felt like a stupid little girl with a stupid little crush, only it was much more than a crush.

You looked up in surprise as the door opened for the first time in days, a familiar figure coming through the door. Everyone immediately got to their feet, the tension in the air palpable.

“Long time, no see,” Steve said as he came to a stop in front of Sam’s cell.

Your mouth went dry as you saw the man that had been occupying your thoughts for days. You drank him in, your eyes running over him. He hadn’t shaved, which you were grateful for since you were a big fan of the stubble that was starting to coat his jaw. But the bags under his eyes worried you.

The man inside just smirked, shaking his head in amusement. “’Bout time you got here.”

“You’re breaking us out?” Scott asked, his forehead pressed to the glass.

“Well, I didn’t come here just to visit,” the blond said as he began typing into the passcode for Sam’s cell. It opened with a soft hiss, and the men embraced each other. “Buck is waiting in the quinjet. We gotta get everyone out.”

The others were out within two minutes, and the only one left was you. He’d even gotten the collar around Wanda’s neck off.

But he began to head for the exit without so much as a glance in your direction.

“Steve!” You shouted, confusion on your face as you banged on the glass. There was no way he’d just forget you, right? You were right there. “Steve, get me out of here!”

He stopped in his tracks, his head hanging low as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’re not coming with us, Y/N.”

Everyone else froze, staring at him in shock.

“What… What do you mean?” You stammered, your heart pounding. Your fingers squeaked against the glass.

“Cap, we can’t just leave her,” Clint said, sounding just as confused as you felt. All the anger towards you from earlier had disappeared. You knew it was just because he needed someone to blame and you shared a name with the man who’d put you in the Raft.

Your e/c eyes desperately flicked over his face, trying to read him. “Steve, let me out of here.”

“You’re safer here. With your dad,” he said, a tone of finality in his voice that made your blood run cold.

“Steve—” Sam stopped, closing his mouth as his best friend shot him a look.

Wanda and Scott were looking between the two of you, not exactly sure what was going on or what to say. On one hand, they wanted to bring you with them. On the other, you were sort of the baby of the group and the urge to protect them was causing them to lean towards Steve’s side.

“Steve, come on,” you said, your voice cracking. You didn’t want to beg but you weren’t above it. “Please. Steve, let me out of here.” He didn’t say anything, his fists clenching at his sides as he stared straight ahead towards the exit. Hot tears were coursing down your cheeks. “Would you at least fucking look at me, you—you coward?!”

Steve finally turned to look at you, his heart clenching inside his chest. He wanted nothing more than to punch in the code for your cell and bring you with him, but he knew that it wasn’t the right choice. He couldn’t steal you away from your father in the dead of night. Couldn’t subject you to a life on the run, unable to contact anyone from your life before, just because he…

He shook his head, willing himself to not cry. “This is for your own good,” he said, before turning and walking out. The others trailed behind him, glancing back at you uncertainly.

The last thing he heard before the doors closed was your sobs, your broken voice calling out his name and begging for him to come back.

Natasha hummed as she stood up from the co-pilot seat on the quinjet, heading towards the back. “Want anything to eat?” She called back as she opened the fridge, pulling out two bottles of beer.

“’M Fine.”

She opened up the small cabinet and winced. All they had was a few cans of tomato soup, a half-gone box of popcorn, and two things of Ramen. Yeah, they’d definitely have to get groceries next time they stopped.

The redhead moved back up to the cockpit, being careful not to wake up Wanda, Vision, and Sam, who were all sleeping further in the back. She collapsed back in her chair and held out a beer for him, but he shook his head.

“What’s the point?” Steve asked, raising his eyebrows as he eyed the beer. “Not like I can get drunk.”

“It’s the idea of it,” she said with an exaggerated eyeroll. She popped open the cap and took a long swig. “And besides, you can get drunk off of Thor’s Asgardian shit.”

The blond laughed a little as he took the extra bottle, despite the fact that it wouldn’t do anything. “Well, we don’t have any of Thor’s mead, so I guess this’ll just have to do.”

“Atta boy.”

He finished off half the bottle in one gulp before slamming it back down beside him. The beer inside sloshed around, a few drops landing on the sleek controls.

“Hey!” Nat chided, wiping away the little bit of alcohol. “This is the only quinjet we’ve got, we gotta take care of it best we can.”

He didn’t say anything for a few minutes, choosing instead to sip on the beer. It’d been a long few months since he’d broken everyone out of the Raft, and it hadn’t been easy being on the run, especially after he’d left Bucky in Wakanda. His thoughts had never left you for a moment, always going back and forth between regretting leaving you and knowing it was the best thing for you. He still wondered everyday how you were doing, if you hated him.

He’d started a million letters to you, but never had the courage to send them. He knew that Natasha called Tony a few times, only talking long enough to let him know that everyone was okay. He hadn’t had the courage to ask how you were doing, terrified that the assassin would say you hated him and never wanted to see him again.

Which was ridiculous, but his anxiety was never logical.

They settled back into their silence, staring out at the night sky in front of them. They were flying over ocean and without the light pollution of cities, they could see what seemed like a million stars laid about in front of them. Natasha nursed her beer, Steve having finished his within minutes.

“Are we ever gonna talk about her?”

“What?”

She sighed, swirling the amber liquid around in the bottle. “Y/N. Are we ever going to talk about Y/N?”

Steve suddenly really, really wished he had more of that Asgardian mead. He knew that this conversation would come up eventually with her, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. “What about it?”

“Steve,” she said tentatively. She was doing her best to choose her words carefully. “Would you please talk to me? What happened between you two?”

“We, uh…” He shook his head, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “When we went on the run, we would, uh… We’d stay in the same bed. A lot. And the night before Berlin…”

“The night before Berlin?” Natasha prodded, growing a little frustrated as the man trailed off.

He had the decency to look a little ashamed, his cheeks heating up as he look down at his lap. “We… You know.”

“Steve, if you can’t even say that you had sex, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

“We didn’t mean for it to happen!” His fingers ran through his hair, gripping the now-shaggy strands. “It just… I don’t know.”

Nat stood up and moved to grab another few beers, knowing that this was going to be a long night. “And by ‘I don’t know’ you mean that you two finally acted on three years of disgusting, pent up feelings?”

He stared straight ahead determinedly, gripping the controls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t try that shit with me, Rogers.” Natasha slid back into her seat, popping open yet another beer. “You two did nothing but stare at each other with big ass heart eyes and pine after one another like the rest of us couldn’t see you.” She tipped her bottle towards him, starting to feel some of the effects. “You two…” She smiled down at her bottle as she thought back on the times when everyone had been together, everyone had been happy. “You’d always make her coffee in the morning after your morning run, and she’d always make sure Tony’s assistant got that natural, organic peanut butter you like. You two always gravitated towards each other, like magnets. If you two were in the same room, you were always next to each other.” She pulled her knees up to her chest. “Not to mention how protective you are.”

Steve chuckled, fond memories flashing through his head. “Yeah, I, uh… Didn’t do a very good job at hiding it, huh?”

“So why’d you fight it for so long?”

“You mean other than the fact that she’s Tony’s kid?” He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The redhead rolled her eyes, shoving him. “Yes. Because I always thought you two were stupid to not act on it.”

“To be honest with you,” he said, feeling his shoulders droop a little, “I thought I was going to ruin her.”

“Ruin her?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, Rogers, what the fuck does that mean?”

Steve glared at her, though there was no real heat behind it. “Natasha, she was twenty-one when she got back from college, and I’m a hundred years old. You can’t tell me that’s not weird.”

She took another sip of her beer. “Y/N’s a Stark, she’s grown up around weird. Plus, she’s dealt with her dad almost dying enough times that I’m pretty sure she’s mentally fifty by now, so you’re good on that front.”

“Really, though, Nat,” he said, relaxing back in his seat. “She’s got her whole life ahead of her. I didn’t want to weigh her down.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “And even though I was going to the VA about my PTSD, I couldn’t saddle her with that. She deserved to live her life.” He opened his eyes again, a little teary. “And then I ended up stealing her away from her dad and ruining her life anyway.”

“Steve, you didn’t steal her away or ruin her life,” she said, a look in her eyes that clearly said, ‘Why do I have to live my life dealing with dramatic ass superheroes?’ “She made that decision for her own. You know, because she’s a grown ass woman.” Natasha looked at the now empty bottle of beer and sighed. “Alright, so what happened when you guys went on the run?”

“Hey.”

Steve looked up, smiling faintly as he saw you standing in the open door. You were in his t-shirt, looking absolutely delicious, and it took everything in him to not drag you back into the hotel room that you’d just come from. “Hey.”

You bit your lip as you watched him turn back, watching the skyline. It was a little chilly out, not that you minded, but you were worried about him. “You okay?” You asked as you timidly walked over to him. You stood far enough away that you two wouldn’t be touching, just in case.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching out for you. He pulled you over to stand in front of him, his arms around your waist, and you weren’t sure if he did it on instinct or choice. Either way, you weren’t complaining. The super soldier was like a heater and you relished in the warmth that came from his embrace. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

“I woke up and you weren’t in bed,” you said, closing your eyes as you relished in the feel of having him close. Who knew that all it took for something to happen between you was betraying your father and becoming a fugitive? “Got cold.”

His arms tightened around you as he brushed his lips over your shoulder. He was a little surprised at how much he loved seeing you in his clothes, but then again, he’d realized that three years ago when you’d started stealing his hoodies. But this was different. Intimate in a way that neither of you had experienced yet.

You stared out at the city with a soft smile, watching the little yellow lights flickered in the darkness. “Reminds me of home,” you said quietly, your fingers interlacing with his. “Growing up in the city, I could never see the night sky unless there was a blackout. And when you live in Stark Tower, those don’t happen. Ever.” His thumb gently rubbed against the back of your hand. “So the city lights became my stars instead.”

And that caused a pang in Steve’s chest, because once again, he was reminded that you had run away from home for him. You’d left your father, your work as an Avenger, and everything else behind. And he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t because of him, because you’d straight up said when you got on the quinjet, “I’d follow you anywhere.”

“Let’s go back inside, sugar,” he whispered against your neck. He shut the glass door behind the two of you with a soft click and couldn’t help but blush.

Sex still hung in the air, scenting everything around them.

But you didn’t seem to notice or care as you crawled under the covers and peeked up at him with those stunning e/c eyes. The ones that always got him to do whatever you wanted. “You just gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come keep me warm?”

And even though you’re literally asking him to join you in bed, he took a long moment to just take it in. Your hair was mussed from sleep, a red line on your cheek from the pillow. Your eyes were blinking sleepily at him and you just looked soft. It was a truly beautiful sight and he wished he had his sketchpad.

“You coming?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, moving to crawl into the bed next to you. “I’m coming, sugar.”

And curling up against you feels so good that it almost hurts. You’re tucked into his chest, his hand having slipped under the shirt to trace your back. He bit his lip as his mind wanders, going back to what you two had been doing in this bed just a few hours before. Images of your mouth in a soft ‘o’ and your eyes rolling back, the little whimpers that drove him crazy falling from his lips.

In all his days, he’d never imagined getting to have this, even if it’s just for a moment.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re staring.”

His lips pulled up in a soft smile as your legs tangled with his. “Am I not allowed to?”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, watching him with narrowed eyes. “You’re thinking. And we’re supposed to be sleeping.” But when you saw the look in his eyes, you dropped the teasing and sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“Promise me,” he said, barely audible. “Promise me that no matter what happens tomorrow, you’ll stay safe. You won’t put yourself into any unnecessary danger.”

“Only if you don’t,” you said, your fingers running through his hair soothingly.

He rested his head on your chest as you leaned against the headboard. The steady beat of your heart helped to soothe him, despite all of his anxiety about what would be happening when the sun rose. He could feel the weight of his team’s lives on his shoulders. His team that was spread out in the hotel that was way too nice for them to be staying in while they were on the run. “You know I can’t do that, sugar.”

“Then I can’t promise either.”

“Y/N.”

“Steve.”

He turned his head to look up at you, his fingers intertwining with yours. “Y/N, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” you said, with a matter-of-fact tone that reminded the blond of your father.

He pulled away, sitting up so he could look you in the eyes. Taking in a deep breath, he took your hands in his. “I need to know that you’re going to be careful out there. You can’t die. If you get hurt, I…” His grip on your hands tightened. “I can’t lose you.”

Your eyes softened as you swallowed around the lump that had formed in your throat. “I promise. I promise I’ll be careful,” you stammered, allowing him to pull you close to his chest. “But you have to promise me, too.”

“Yeah,” he whispered, his fingers running through your hair as he kissed your forehead. “I promise.”

“She’s here,” Steve said, his heart pounding as he looked at Bucky for some kind of guidance. They’d just gotten to Wakanda a few hours before, other Avengers joining them for the battle that was to come.

Bucky looked at his best friend with an incredulous look. “After all this time, you still have no idea how to talk to women,” he said with a harsh laugh. The time he’d spent recovering had done him good. With Shuri’s help, he’d been able to undo HYDRA’s programming, meaning he’d never become the Soldier ever again.

He rapidly shook his head, all composure going out the window. “I didn’t know she’d be here.”

The brunet couldn’t help but smirk down at his hands. “She showed up here about two months ago. Her and Princess Shuri get along great.”

And well, if that wasn’t just fucking dandy.

“When were you going to tell me this?” He demanded, his eyes locked on where you were talking with Shuri in the lab. You had a new suit, something he was sure was highly upgraded from what you’d had before. Your hair was pulled up in a messy bun and you looked so serious but you were just as beautiful as the day he’d left you in the Raft.

“It wasn’t like there was a number I could call you at, Steve,” Bucky reminded him, rolling his eyes.

“Does she…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, finding his mouth suddenly dry. “Does she hate me?”

“No, she doesn’t hate you, punk,” the other man said. He was just about ready to beat his best friend’s ass for being such an idiot. You two had spent a lot of time together over the past two months and gotten rather close. You treated him like a normal guy, and it made him not feel so much like a monster. You were kind, compassionate, funny, and one of the smartest people he’d ever met. He could see why Steve was so crazy for you.

But he’d also seen how much he had hurt you when he left you behind.

You’d forgiven him, of course, because you weren’t cruel and you knew his intentions were good, but he still caught you crying when you thought no one was looking. You’d be curled up in a ball, sitting on one of the hills overlooking the village, or on the windowsill in your room, and you’d just cry. And it hurt him, knowing how devastated you were.

Steve practically jumped out of skin as he heard Natasha’s voice behind him. “I don’t know if now’s the right time to have a reunion, but we are about to go into battle.” She fixed the blond with a steely look. “I’d suggest talking to her.”

But he shook his head, turning towards the ground. “No. Like you said. There’s a fight coming.”

Both of the assassins watched him walk off, sighing and having the same thought.

He’s a god damn idiot.

“Nat!”

The now-blonde turned and a wide grin spread across her face as you launched yourself into her arms. “I’ve missed you,” she said, holding you tightly.

“I’ve missed you more,” you said, the sound muffled as your head was buried in the crook of her neck.

The rest of your reunions with your teammates were just as sweet, but you didn’t fail to notice that one person in general was avoiding you.

“Is he really not going to talk to me?” You asked Bucky, your hands on your hips as you watched the man in question speak with the king.

“I told you, whenever you’re tired of him being a dumbass, my arms are wide open,” he teased, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

A giggle erupted from your lips, though you missed the way the object of your affections turned to look at you with big blue puppy eyes. “Buck, we both know that the world would burn if we ever dated.”

“A man can dream, can’t he?” He teased, throwing a knowing smirk towards his best friend. He knew the other man would get jealous, and he was hoping it’d be enough to cause him to fucking talk to you.

But it was to no avail, as Steve just gritted his teeth and turned back to T’Challa.

Before you knew it, the battle was raging around you. You barely had time to think as you fought off the weird alien creatures that tore across the beautiful fields of Wakanda. It seemed to go on and on and on as the creatures just kept coming. You’d almost gotten your ass handed to you multiple times, and if it hadn’t been for Natasha and Okoye, you wouldn’t be breathing.

But a conversation you’d had with Steve about a year before kept coming back to mind, his words ringing in your ears.

You can’t die.

As you offed one particular alien that had been giving you trouble, you whirled around, looking for your teammates. Some of the fight had bled into the surrounding forest and you began to run in that direction.

You had gotten fairly knocked up in the fight, blood caked on your forehead and bruises littering your body. You were sure that you’d broken at least one finger in your body, but that didn’t matter.

You had to get to your team. You had to make sure they were okay.

You slowed down as you saw Thor standing in a clearing, staring down at his axe. You stood at the edge of the forest as a feeling of dread seeped it’s way into your bones. Something wasn’t right. Something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.

Before you could say anything, Steve ran up, frantically scanning the clearing. “Where’d he go? Thor. Where’d he go?” He was looking everywhere for Thanos, but he’d disappeared.

“Steve?”

All three of you turned to see Bucky turn into ash. Your heart twisted inside your chest and all you wanted to do was scream, but nothing came out.

Everything felt fuzzy. Like when that staticy feeling when your foot falls asleep, only it was everywhere.

“Steve?” You called out, though it sounded muffled and distorted. “What’s happening?”

If it weren’t for them turning towards you, realizing you were there, you wouldn’t have thought anything had actually come out.

“Y/N,” he said, running towards you. Tears were already staining his cheeks. At his horrific look, you knew. You knew your fate had been sealed. His hands cradled your face and you relished in the feeling, despite knowing that was about to happen to you. “Y/N, stay with me.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so sorry,” You stammered, your hands moving up to hold his face. As the two of you held each other, you began to panic. You felt it before you saw it. The sensation of feeling your lover’s beard against your skin disappeared, and then about five seconds later, your hands started to disintegrate.

You were turning to ash.

All you could think about was how you’d promised him that you wouldn’t die and you were breaking that promise and fuck, you’d never gotten to tell him you love him. “St—"

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x you #steve x reader #steve rogers fic #eliza's 5k challenge

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fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years

Text

Fraxus Anastasia au #6

With every chapter, we travel further and further away from Anastasia lmaooo. Anyway mdudes, here’s the ao3-link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23144866/chapters/58558978

Summary: Once Evergreen lays eyes upon a sign adorned with a quaint little symbol of a needle and thread, her gaze clears up and she enthusiastically points at it. "Look Laxus, isn't this exciting?" He frowns. "A clothes shop?" he asks and Evergreen gasps in offense. "Not just a clothes shop you dunce. This is one of the best tailors around!"

"Nice, but I'm pretty sure we can't afford that." He isn't trying to put a damper on her mood, but he's realistic. "We can't, but our glucose father over there can", she says, puts on a friendly smile and waves at Freed who's out of earshot. Unable to hear their previous conversation, he waves back with a smile that's just as gentle and friendly. "Two weeks ago he couldn't afford breakfast and traintickets. There's no way he can shop at one of the best tailors now."

Chapter below the cut!

A few days later, Laxus is back on his feet and fit for being dragged around (or so Freed rules). The first thing that happens to him after an awesome breakfast is Evergreen clamping his arm tightly and hauling him through the streets of the town they're in. By the way her eyes are scanning the building it's clear she's searching for something in particular, but because he has no idea what she's looking for, he quietly awaits his fate.

Once Evergreen lays eyes upon a sign adorned with a quaint little symbol of a needle and thread, her gaze clears up and she enthusiastically points at it. "Look Laxus, isn't this exciting?" He frowns. "A clothes shop?" he asks and Evergreen gasps in offense. "Not just a clothes shop you dunce. This is one of the best tailors around!"

Evergreen shrugs. "Freed said that there was something wrong with the bank in the previous town, but he doesn't have the same issue here. I'm not going to question it, I'll run when it's time to run", she explains and Laxus has the feeling that the three of them have definitely done that before. "And who am I to complain?" she asks, twirling around and it's then that Laxus notices her new dress and jacket. It looks good on her and he tells her so. "Flatterer", she grins coyly, "You should try those charms on someone else."

Before he can ask on who he should use his "charms", she enters the tailor's, beckoning him to follow. The inside of the shop is very cosy, materials strewn about in an organised chaos. In the distance he can hear the rattling of a sewing machine and the rustling of fabric, coming together in a cacaphony of noises that isn't unpleasant to the ear. A smell reminiscent of the cosy type of dust (the smell of one's old aunties house) hangs in the shop and the entirety of the shop makes Laxus feel comfortable.

Then Evergreen strides over to an old lady in the back of the room, talking to her while gesturing in his direction. The older dame approaches him after Ever's finished her explanation, giving him a thourough once-over. "We could make something out of this", the old lady croons and after that a few dizzying hours follow.

Under Evergreen's watchful eye, as neither Bickslow nor Freed entered the tailor's with them, he's measured, pattern is formed, fitted, amended and fitted again. Evergreen and the old lady talk about patterns, fabrics, silhouettes and other things Laxus knows jack shit about. The whole ordeal is befitting of a royal he thinks, realising he is one and then coming to the conclusion that he feels unworthy of the treatment. He feels like a streetrat getting dolled up to enter a poodle competition. He isn't supposed to be here, these two will notice soon enough and there's no way that Laxus would ever convince anyone that he was a prince. To be honest, he doesn't know if he believes it himself.

"Are you nervous?" Evergreen asks when the old lady is fetching something in the back, eyes and voice piercing through his worries. At first he entertains the thought to lie to her, to tell her he isn't nervous at all. But something tells him that Evergreen wouldn't take kindly to being deceived and more importantly, that she'd see right through it. "Yes", he admits. "It'll only be so long before I meet my grandfather. We'll meet and then he'll see me for the dirt poor fraud of an orphan I am. The thought of meeting him makes me nauseous."

Evergreen's mouth falls open in a small, surprised 'o' and then her expression softens, a smile gracing her lips. "Silly." is all she says, before turning her attention back to her magazine. It's the bare minimum, but the certainty in her voice does a good job of warding of his worries. It's as though the idea of him not being the crown prince is entirely ridiculous to her, an absolute joke of an idea. She too, is an incredibly smart person and so he thinks he'll make the gamble. He'll trust her judgement. After all, Freed alluded to him that he and Ever used to be close. He hopes he can regain that bond, because he finds himself respecting her.

He wonders if he should tell Evergreen this and bravely ends up trying to. However, the words sound clumsy to his own ears and he winces through it. When he's done awkwardly putting his feelings out there in the cluttered, dusty tailor's shop, Evergreen merely stares at him. "Well that was an experience", she dryly states and Laxus hides his face in his hands. Then she throws her arms around him, giving him a hug. Because of her small stature, she's completely buried into Laxus chest. So understandably he has a bit of a hard time making out her words. "God, you're stupid", she says, words muffled. "You big oaf, I loved you when you were an insecure little thing, I'll learn to love you as this tree of a guy. Don't worry about our friendship being lost, it's still there. We'll continue were we left off and build something stronger."

"I'd like that", he says, voice surprisingly rough as he blinks away tears. In the back of his mind, he can sense the edges of memories. Almost smells the little bits of tangerine stuck underneath fingernails on sunny days, almost feels the past fussing over clothes and almost hears the reluctance in her voice while waking him up. Those moments are long gone though and his mind has seemingly erased them, leaving him chasing fragments and pieces now.

Evergreen retracts from the hug and smooths out the worried wrinkles in his forehead. "Don't dwell on the past too much, live in the present for a bit." Laxus mulls it over before shaking his head. "Aren't we all chasing my past together? You three seem to know my past self better than I do. I think I'm entitled to that knowledge too."

The mixture of sadness and fondness on her face morphs into an expression that Laxus can't quite place, but she tells him not to worry about it. "Well your royal highness, let's reunite you with that past then! And to do that, we'll put you in some nicer clothes because God knows no one will allow you to meet with the tsar otherwise."

Finally, they're done. As they exit the tailor's, Laxus notices that neither of them has the clothes that were made for him. Confused, he asks Evergreen about them and Evergreen giggles. "They aren't finished yet, masterpieces like that take a few days. But no worries, we'll be hitting up more shops today. You won't be returning to the hotel with empty hands."

He cringes at those words. "I don't want anything really, I'd even be more comfortable if you didn't spend a single penny on me." Evergreen shrugs. "Too late for that." Then she glares at him and he winces, wondering what he did wrong. "Laxus, that attitude won't do!" she suddenly yells, attracting the attention of quite a few people in the streets. With hands that are none too careful, she turns him around so he's looking straight into a shop window. "What do you see?" she forcibly demands and he cringes as he takes a proper gander at his mirror image.

"A dirty young man, looks like he hasn't slept in years even though he did, someone who sticks out like a sore thumb, a guy who looks like he scavenges trash cans for food (not a pleasant experience, he recalls) and well, someone who looks like they've got a terrible character. The sort of person who'd bully kids for money, you know?"

The more he talks, the angrier Evergreen looks and so he just stops talking. "Sorry", he mumbles and Evergreen vehemently shakes her head. "No! You don't have to be sorry for a thing! It's hard to shake thoughts like those off." She takes a deep breath before going off again and Laxus wonders if she's had worries like his before.

"Laxus look at yourself again", she commands and so he does. "Straighten your back and put your chin up. I'm going to tell you something and I'll keep saying it until you believe it. You are Laxus Ivanov Dreyar, future tsar of Russia. You have the right to the throne and you have the right to look the part."

That part of the speech doesn't do anything but heighten his anxiety. Unaware of his rising turmoil, Evergreen continues. "But more importantly, you're genuinely a nice person. You're kind, honest and funny. You won't take shit from the most annoying of people, so please don't allow shit from yourself either. You're a good person and you're allowed to be proud of that. You have the right to be proud of just being you. I know you're feeling a lot of pressure to be someone high and mighty, like how you think a royal should act. But rest assured, the person you're travelling to meet knows you and has no such expectations for you. He merely wants his grandson back and he'll recognise you without a doubt. Please be kind to the self you think of as inadequate. You, Laxus, are a person worth of love of both other people and yourself."

She gives him a pat on the shoulder, firm and reassuring. Blinking away stubborn tears he nods. "I'll try to erhm, work on it", he says, because that's all he's got for now. "I'll beat it into your skull", Evergreen gently threatens, holding up a fist. "I look forward to it", he jokes and she shakes her head in amusement. "I'll hold you to it."

They continue their walk through the streets, hopping into shops that seem significantly less expensive than the taylor's and it makes Laxus feel more at ease. Comfortable with the reasonable pricing, he doesn't feel quite as ashamed browsing through items, scanning them with his eyes. "You can try them on, you know", Evergreen says with a light tone, holding a pink dress in front of her own body. "You think this colour suits me?" she asks, involving him more in the process. "Dunno", he says honestly, aware of his own... interesting sense of fashion.

"What do you think would look pretty on me?" Completely out of his depth, Laxus scans the store before pointing at a red dress with a leopard print and a furry neck- and bottomline. It is adorned with a studded purple belt with yellow details. It's colourful, he thinks and the yellow of the belt and the leopard print complement each other, right? Because leopards are yellow and all that.

"I wanted to buy whatever you pointed at to erase your awkwardness about buying things, but there's no way I will even look at that monstrousity for a second longer." Dejected, he pouts a bit. Surely it wasn't that bad?

It's then that he lays eyes on the biggest, clunkiest, warmest-looking jacket he's ever seen in his life. When he rubs the fabric between his fingers, he's ninety percent sure that it's real leather. That stuff lasts ages and honestly, he'd kill for a jacket that'd last him longer than a few weeks. He's had to brace enough winters without jackets because they simply were too worn-out when the cold really started to appear.

When she catches him staring, Evergreen moves over to look at what exactly he's looking at. Laying eyes on the jacket, she lets out a little pleased hum. "You know what? That's actually not terrible, take it." Aware of his lingering hesitation, she rolls her eyes and pulls it off the rack. Holding it in front of his body, she squints her eyes. "This'll fit fine, I'm going to pay for it." Just like that, she moves to the cashregister and before Laxus knows it, he has a bag with a new jacket in it. As they exit the store, Laxus notices that Evergreen has also donned a similar jacket. "It's comfortable!" she defends herself and Laxus shoots her a smug look. "Sure, whatever you say. I won't judge you if you admit to me having a superior sense of fashion."

"Never in a million years", she shoots back and he gives her a firm headpat, messing up her updo. "Sure, sure", he says as she squeaks in indignation. They run into Bickslow and Freed as they round a corner and immediately Evergreen throws her arms around Freed, whining about how she's being bullied. Freed gives her a pat on the back. "To quote a wise woman: With the way you're acting, you deserve to be", he says cheekily and laughs as Evergreen sputters. "You're supposed to take my side", she pouts. "Don't worry, I'm not taking the other guy's side either. I'm a completely neutral force." At that, Bickslow snorts. "Freed, you haven't been neutral, ever."

"Maybe there's some semblance of truth in that", he says before turning his attention to Laxus. "So, how did the shopping trip go?" Clumsily, Laxus retrieves the jacket from the bag and shows it to Bickslow and Freed. Under Freed's scrutinising gaze, he feels the need to explain himself. "It's warm."

"Why don't you put it on then?" Freed asks, "We can't have you being sick again." As Laxus does so, Freed momentarily takes the bag from him. As soon as the bag is deposited in his hands, Freed frowns and looks inside. "You guys really didn't buy anything but a jacket. Where are the casual pants, shoes and shirts? Gloves and a scarf for when it gets colder? A lighter jacket?"

Evergreen winces. "We we're getting there", she retorts and Freed raises one eyebrow. "You've been walking around for six hours." Handing the empty bag back to Laxus, he tells them to go get some food. "I'll handle the rest of it", he sighs, "because I truly do not think you guys will be able to put together a few outfits in the few hours that remain of this day. Go eat and have some fun instead. We'll be leaving this town soon, after all."

At first, Laxus's a bit miffed that Freed is treating him like a child, but then he's halfway through a really good local dish and he thinks it's alright. The stress of prices probably would've prohibited him from actually buying anything and from what he's seen, Freed knows how to dress well. Bickslow also said that they all should try one of the hotsprings the town has to offer. Because he's never been to one before, Laxus is pretty excited to try it. He's having fun, he realises as he watches Bickslow and Evergreen bicker over the shape of a potatoe.

After dinner, they lounge in their hotelrooms for a bit, waiting for Freed to return. When he eventually does, he as a few bags, a suitcase and a box with him. On the box Laxus recognises the same design as the one he saw on the tailor's sign. "She finished it early, because she was very enthusiastic about the project." Setting all the materials on the floor, Freed opens the sturdy leather suitcase.

"This will last you a while", he explains as he neatly folds the clothes and puts them in the suitcase. From what Laxus can see, there's more colour in there than he expected, but he'll trust Freed's judgement. They continue to peacefully exist beside each other until Bickslow throws himself onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"I can't take this anymore!" he yells, "it's tubby time!" Freed blinks owlishly, packing up the last clothes as Bickslow rolls off the bed, demanding attention by depositing his head in Freed's lap. "I demand that we visit the hotsprings."

"Do you now? We'll be leaving early in the morning, I think it's better if we go to bed instead." That makes sense, but it does make Laxus deflate a little bit. He had been looking forward to it after all. When he decides to stop moping and looks up, he catches Freed looking at him with an expression that could almost be fondness. "I won't be held accountable for your tiredness tomorrow", Freed says as he gets up from the floor and Evergreen and Bickslow cheer in unison.

They have to walk a little while to get to that specific hot spring, but Laxus doesn't mind. The night has coloured the sky dark, but the skies are clear so a million stars can be spotted. It's breathtaking. He thinks he's never felt more at peace in his whole life.

The sound of heels clacking on the cobblestone catches both his and Freed's attention. He doesn't recognise the woman looking at them, but the shift in Freed's expression tells Laxus that the other man definitely does. "Whatever happens, just play along", he hisses loud enough so Evergreen and Bickslow can hear it too. Unsure of what's happening, Laxus nods.

"Al, my dear boy is that you?" the woman asks, slowly stepping closer. A streetlantern catches her in its glow and Laxus is caught off guard by the smooth green hair that falls oh so daintily over her shoulders, combined with the striking blue of her eyes. This woman is one of wealth, she seems like the epitome of nobility. Freed gives the woman a curtsy and motions behind his back for them to do the same. "Lady mother", he politely greets her back.

#fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Evergreen fairy tail #Bickslow #freedxlaxus #raijinshuu #Anastasia au #TheFairyWrites

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