#and that's why we should all be joined in the purpose of endlessly making fun of him

[tokusaatsus]

CARD GAMES

ft. amagi hiiro

© tokusaatsus 2022

warnings: none

On the days leading up to his birthday, Hiiro becomes a little more…sullen, though that’s not the word you would use to describe it. Maybe melancholy is a better fit? It hurts you, to see the normally bright leader of Alkaloid so dull and sad, and you can tell Aira feels the same.

That’s why you decide to do something about it.

Coming from a rural village, Hiiro is quite unused to the modern-day world. He’s assimilated well, mostly due to everyone’s combined efforts to teach him more about the world beyond his village. But there are some things ES has that his village doesn’t, and that leaves him out of his depth. This includes–but is not limited to–technology, cuisine and, most importantly, card games.

You think it’s a little funny, how the leader of an idol unit based on a deck of playing cards has never played any card games.

Of course, this just means more opportunities to teach Hiiro about the wonders of modernity.

You and Aira, chief co-conspirators, decide to hold a game night for Alkaloid. Despite you not being an idol, you are (you hope!) an honorary member of Alkaloid, at the very least. You recruit the help of Oogami-senpai, as well as Suou from Knights–both of whom have a wide repertoire of knowledge when it comes to games, especially those of the card variety, which you find rather adorable.

(You make a mental note to invite them over one day, after Hiiro has learnt how to play, so you can hold a tournament.)

You start with the basics: Uno. The ultimate classic that the majority of people must have played as a child, the game that can bring people together…or tear them apart. Hiiro, bless him, begins to look worried, and you rush to convince him it’s in a purely metaphorical sense. No tearing apart happening here, nope, nothing at all.

Tatsumi-senpai and Mayoi-senpai team up, leaving you, Aira, and Hiiro as the opposition, much to Aira’s very vocal displeasure (“I’m going to be the awkward 3rd wheel! No, no, the awkward 5th wheel! That’s even worse!”).

Unsurprisingly, Hiiro picks up on the rules incredibly fast, much to your chagrin. (“So, this card means reverse, and this card means skip, and this card means change colour?”) There’s not much to teach him then, is there?

It turns out, however, that Tatsumi-senpai is incredibly competitive, which means you three younger ones have your work cut out for you, what with the mint-haired man’s brutal strategies. You’re certain he must be cheating, but he only says that it can be attributed to having a lucky clover at his side. Mayoi-senpai turns red.

At this point, Hiiro is the only thing keeping your team afloat. You and Aira bicker endlessly about strategies, though it seems nothing turns out the way you’d hoped.

After a total of seven games, with six in favour of Tatsumi-senpai (your one win was purely incidental, but you staunchly assure both Aira and Hiiro, the former skeptical and the latter trusting, that it was entirely on purpose), the three of you finally choose to put aside your differences–though it’s mostly you and Aira–and give it your all to defeat the final boss that is the diamond of Alkaloid.

Twenty minutes pass, and you manage to scrape up another two wins. This leaves you with a measly three whilst Tatsumi-senpai boasts his seven.

You fall backwards onto the carpeted flooring with an exhale. “We lost,” You say, mournfully. Aira joins you in solidarity, linking your hands together. Hiiro’s bright head appears in your field of vision, eyes sparkling.

“Umu! That was so fun! We should do it again!”

You and Aira exchange a look. There’s the Hiiro you both know and love. You smile at him. “Glad you had fun. Happy birthday, Hiiro.”

notes!

WC: 637 words

reze txt happy birthday hiiro! we love you, our spade of cards! keep shining brightly in this new year <3

[simkjrs]

why does anyone think mukuro rokudo is anything remotely resembling cool

mukuro is a dumbass and the indisputable proof is right there in mukuro’s introduction arc

1. looks like a dumbass?

this is the very first picture of mukuro you get to see. some dumbass with badly parted hair and a fucking camo long-sleeve on under his fancy collared coat. how does  someone have a sense of fashion this bad and this tacky? it’s unbelievable. he’s only 15. he’s 15 and he’s dressing himself like this. someone help him 

you don’t find this out until later but he’s wearing a school uniform

he stole a school uniform, gyakuran and all, and put a non-school-compliant camo long-sleeve shirt on under it. for the aesthetic. for his really specifically ugly aesthetic. i physically can’t describe the visceral emotion this inspires in me. just look at him. would you be able to take him seriously if he tried to kill you? he could walk up to me and say “i’m going to take your life” and i’d just be like “haha yeah okay, is that what you were thinking when you were parting your hair this morning” and then i would laugh and he would skewer me in half with his pitchfork. 

2. an incredibly bad actor, unbelievably so

mukuro wants to possess tsuna or something and has the brilliant idea to waltz up to tsuna in the middle of a creepy forest by an abandoned amusement park, pretending he’s one of the poor innocent victims of that terrible criminal mukuro rokudo, while smiling and being friendly and not acting the least bit like a cowed or angry victim at all. he spends the entire time being creepy. he tells tsuna that he’s been taken advantage of by that horrible, awful mukuro, but his overwhelmingly creepy vibe completely negates any sympathy that story might have inspired in tsuna and instead prompts tsuna to think “this guy is really creepy!” and leave. 

like look at this screenshot from when mukuro is trying to “subtly” ask tsuna what he knows about mukuro:

important takeaways: 

mukuro can’t even keep up the charade for a full two minutes. he just doesn’t have the patience! he’s a terrible actor!!! 

mukuro is an impulsive, straightforwardly violent person who is only capable of posturing and rudimentary mind games as long as he doesn't get impatient with them

mukuro is a mist flame user whose ENTIRE GIG is being able to USE ILLUSIONS but he can’t even cover up his own weird eye. is it because it never occurred to him to do so? did he forget? did he know his eye would be noticeable, but he thought it would be cool so he elected to ignore common sense & subterfuge in favor of another brief intimidation tactic that doesn’t do anything to tsuna except make him think mukuro is weirder than ever?? DID HE JUST  THINK HE WOULD LOOK COOLER AS HE IS??? 

mukuro’s a DUMBASS and a DISASTER and he doesn’t know how to interact with anyone  else in any capacity at all, either as a spy, or as a friend / non-suspicious stranger, or as an enemy who could have USED THIS ENTIRE OPPORTUNITY TO TAKE TSUNA THE FUCK OUT 

mukuro: i’m going to possess the next heir to the vongola...  and destroy the mafia... NOTHING matters more to me than tearing down the ugly, sinful world in which we crawl...!!!! also mukuro: [corners heir to the vongola, alone in a forest where no one would notice them, and proceeds to do nothing except be exceedingly weird for absolutely no reason tsuna would notice or even care to comprehend] 

he’s so dumb it makes me cry 

3. important reminder

at this point in the story mukuro and his gang have been living in kokuyo park and eating garbage for like the past three weeks. he has NO right to be looking as good, self-assured, groomed, or confident as he does. AND YET HERE HE IS, shining in his full magnificent bastardly glory. something that would shame or embarrass anyone else rolls off mukuro like water rolls off of wax. he’s just absolutely immune to self-consciousness and i think that’s incredible. 

4. impractically dramatic

mukuro sets up his final confrontation with tsuna in a large, abandoned, empty room in one of the abandoned theme park buildings. that is, it’s empty except for the large, ornate throne that mukuro has set up and seated himself on so that he’s dramatically hidden in the shadows when tsuna enters the room. he had to set that all up himself. who puts that much time and effort into their presentation to their enemy, but not to actually defeating their enemy??? mukuro, that’s who.

5. laughably inept at his own professed expertise, manipulation and controlling others

tsuna enters the scene of the final confrontation, still thinking that mukuro is just that weird creepy kid he met in the woods and not... you  know.... mukuro himself.... and mukuro gives away the same in about ten seconds. he just couldn’t resist the impulse to crow about his masterful deception in tsuna’s face and revel in tsuna’s shock... at the fact... that he was mukuro all along!!

this has almost no impact on tsuna beyond “oh no, the guy is creepy AND also the guy i have to defeat.” if mukuro had put more work and buildup into the facade, but ohhh nooo, mukuro “i crave instant gratification and i want it NOW” rokudo has to have the payoff immediately. what did you even accomplish with this deception, you dumbass? you idiot. you fool 

6. the posturing

mukuro is an overeager fifteen year old who is murderous and violent but also wants to be incredibly cool. look at his face when someone asks him “what do you think people even are, you asshole?!” 

he looks so fucking pleased with himself for delivering this line, like it’s one of the slyest and cleverest things he’s ever said. he’s so proud of himself for flaunting how immoral, horrifying, and terrible he is in front of everyone’s faces. fear him... this is SO funny, especially in light of how horrible he is at manipulating others. mukuro you’re doing great

5. doesn’t fucking know what a flame is

mukuro: my incredible fighting prowess comes from this purple flame i can summon sometimes...!!! also mukuro: [has no fucking clue what the flame is, only that it makes him fight good and thats the important part, obviously]

he’s been through like, at least 2 entire mafia families, and has possibly killed more. the sheer power of mukuro’s ignorance to the existence of dying will flames is astoundingly powerful, and enough to knock out lesser men at close ranges

 6. can’t resist the impulse to give away all his cards so he can gloat over his enemies

you know the part where he pretends to shoot himself in the head but actually possesses one of tsuna’s friends? and then proceeds to give away his possession almost IMMEDIATELY by a) not changing his mannerisms in the slightest and behaving exactly like himself, b) attacking tsuna (and not even right! he misses! he was too impatient to actually wait for a good opportunity?????) c) just straight-up telling tsuna what he did

how does anyone take him seriously beyond the fact that he can fight good. he’s so dumb i cry every time i think about all the stupid shit he does. he’s a baby

7. this isn’t really evidence of mukuro being a dumbass, but i do want everyone to know, that mukuro’s persona is so aggravatingly conceited that he changed tsuna’s motivation from “i want to stop mukuro from hurting my friends” to “i  want to beat in mukuro’s entire face because he’s a fucking asshole” and i think that’s incredible

8. impractically dramatic

i already put this one down but it bears repeating because of the scene where mukuro is possessing ~6 bodies, and tsuna is knocked prone on the ground completely unmoving. tsuna has an ENTIRE conversation with reborn and mukuro doesn’t do anything except stand to the side with his 6 possessed super-fighter bodies and watch. what are you doing you fool

like i can't even comprehend what's going on in mukuro's head the only thing i can think is that he's impulsive and he LOVES entertainment so he can't help but do stupid shit like this as long as it's for the sake of more drama. if it adds drama he has to let it happen. 

this entire battle is just mukuro’s dramatics? he's spent so much time posturing and the only reason anyone is going to pay attention to the stupid shit he says is because occasionally he actually follows up on it and does terrible awful things. otherwise no one would care. mukuro needs actual friends and people who care about him, which he's going to make difficult because he physically can't stand not having control over someone else

categories of people, according to mukuro: 

enemies 

under his control

???

which means if you have a situation like this:

someone: i like you as a friend mukuro:  mukuro: mukuro: i have to possess them now

exhibit a: lancia. mukuro is so fucking bad at people it’s hilarious

9. has no sense of shame but an acute sense of embarrassment so he’ll do anything in pursuit of his goals but as soon as you remotely insinuate it doesn’t look cool he has to kill you

exhibit a: mukuro does this thing where he very dramatically stabs out his eye, and when removes his fingers somehow the eye is still there except it’s bleeding now and looks very cool. then he monologues to tsuna about his powerup for a while. tsuna... doesn’t give a single shit. the resulting dynamic looks a little bit like this:

mukuro: postures tsuna: you're a disappointment to me mukuro: mukuro, internally panicking:

mukuro is working very hard to look cool and intimidating right now! tsuna thinks he’s an idiot. out of all the things mukuro has to be stressed out about right now, i.e. being chased by deadly mafia enforcers, it really says something that it’s someone else thinking he looks stupid that makes him sweat. it’s hilarious is what it is. 

tsuna: [no longer affected by mukuro's bulshit] mukuro: s...shit... [continues to issue bullshit, except harder and more than before. also he's more stressed]

or as @micronecro so succinctly put it:

tsuna can perceive the extent of mukuro’s bullshit, which leads to some absolutely incredible moments, such as this:

mukuro: im going to kill you. im going to clown you tsuna: makes this face

i love that within 10 minutes of battle tsuna has divined mukuro’s exact nature and is no longer fazed by any of mukuro’s bullshit, and really can’t do anything except be completely fed up with it at this point. just go home mukuro. just stop while you’re still ahead. it’s okay. 

naturally it wouldn’t be mukuro if he didn’t follow his series of ill-advised decisions all the way to the very end, issuing bullshit the whole way. but  that’s  why we love him; for his endless potential and comedic entertainment

ANOTHER VERY GOOD MOMENT:

tsuna: [punches him once] mukuro:

mukuro: [feeling helpless, and thus resorting wholly to dramatics] kill me tsuna: [walking away] don't draw me into your bullshit, actually mukuro: [IMMEDIATELY SEIZES THE OPPORTUNITY TO ATTACK TSUNA] YOU FOOL, THIS WAS MY PLAN THE WHOLE TIME

mukuro is so shameless he’ll do literally anything to get the drop on his enemy but he can’t even do it well. he’s trying. he’s really bad at it. i don’t know why anyone would ever think  that mukuro is cool. 

in conclusion: i think mukuro possiby has no sense of shame, only embarrassment, so if someone pointed out the fact that this entire sequence of events is INCREDIBLY funny exclusively because of the ridiculousness of mukuro’s decisions it would go like this

tsuna: it was kind of embarrassing to witness actually mukuro: mukuro: mukuro: Die

tl;dr mukuro is a dumb baby who should not be allowed to live by himself. that concludes my ted talk. thanks for coming

[stxphxn-strange]

spun sugar (written for the ironstrange fanfic challenge)

Summary: He didn’t feel like going out, but he needed a distraction. Nothing would be able to take his mind off of the phone call he was waiting for, the call he knew would never come. Not even a double date to the carnival with Anthony, Hope, and Christine kept him focused today, and he was actually starting to need a distraction from his distraction. 

a/n: just a heads up that this fic is on the heavier side of angsty so please be careful and safe! tw: for homophobia/mentioned use of slurs, outing, death (drowning), and family issues, and i think that’s it

Today felt like the world’s longest deja vu episode. It felt like standing in line at a carnival for hours, only to spin endlessly on one of those teacup rides. Everything was an unbreakable cycle of doubt, confusion, anger, and the old familiar self loathing. So for Stephen, it was just Thursday. 

She didn’t forget. 

She probably forgot! 

She didn’t forget. She didn’t call on purpose. 

She knows what today is. 

She doesn’t want to talk to me. 

I don’t want to talk to her either, and yet I still wish she’d call. Maybe then I could pretend that things are sort of okay. 

Stephen sighed, completely tuning out his professor. He hadn’t been paying attention all class and wasn’t going to start now. There were more important things to be thinking about, like the nap he was going to take when he got home, or the fact that it was Victor’s birthday. 

It was Victor’s birthday, and Stephen wanted to plan some sort of surprise call and later invite his brother to visit him in the city. Eugene immediately took to the idea and offered to help plan it and reach out to more of the family, but there was a catch. Of course Beverly had to be involved in some capacity. Even if she didn’t want to be associated with her older son, her younger one was near and dear to her heart and she wouldn’t hesitate to do anything for him. Except this, apparently, because that would involve speaking to Stephen. The med student didn’t expect to hear back from his mother and truthfully never expected a lot from her generally, but his hopes were still up. 

Waste of time. She doesn’t need me. 

She doesn’t even want me. 

Stephen checked the time again. His lecture would be over in 15 minutes, and the next one started in half an hour. That gave him enough time to grab a coffee and call his dad on the walk across campus, and to make the time pass now he’d organize his inbox. 

Most of his messages weren’t surprising (they were mainly just calendar invites and the occasional email from Anthony with an article Stephen might like) or even worth reading, but Stephen was a bit surprised when Eugene called him first. He had a solid relationship with his dad, but it was still unfamiliar for Stephen to have his family approach him first. Usually it went the other way around. 

“I was just about to call you,” he said. “What’s going on? Mom never told me when the family call is” 

“That’s the bad news,” Eugene replied. “Your mom changed the plan.” 

“So she shut me out? Again? Is that what I’m supposed to understand?” Stephen asked, his voice cracking like the thinnest sheet of winter ice under heavy footfalls. “I didn’t do anything.” 

Eugene sighed. “I’m sorry.” That was all the confirmation Stephen needed. 

“What happened?” He asked. “She would do anything to make Victor happy, even if it means acknowledging me as part of the family.”

“Which you are,” Eugene argued. 

“Not according to Mom, and you know that,” Stephen replied. “Please just tell me what happened, my next class starts soon.” 

“Your aunt called to wish Victor a happy birthday and then was chatting with your mom about the family, as they do. I think she asked your mom how you were doing and how your love life in school was going, but at that point I wasn’t really listening. You know that your aunt is one of my few in-laws I actually tolerate, maybe even like, and today she proved exactly why. Claudia said something about you, and based on your mom’s reaction it wasn’t what she wanted to hear,” Eugene explained. “She knows you’re gay and is really happy for you, against your mom’s expectations and wishes that she’d be ashamed.”

“That was the first time they’ve talked about my sexuality, right? Because I never came out to her. I assume Maxwell brought it up for some reason because I came out to him years ago. Why he’d bring it up now, I don’t know,” Stephen replied. 

“As far as I know, this is the first time Claudia brought it up. I assume if they’d talked about it before, your mother would’ve gotten angry or cut her off. She wasn’t happy today,” Eugene said bluntly. It wouldn’t do any good to sugarcoat the truth when Stephen already knew all of this. 

“Great! Mom’s already mad enough at me for coming out and being proud of myself. I bet I ruined her relationship with Aunt Claudia because I blabbed and Maxwell clearly takes after Mom since he outed me for no reason!” Stephen snapped. He took a deep breath, his head spinning. “Sorry for yelling, Dad.” 

“I don’t need you to apologize. You have every right to be hurt, for a lot of reasons,” Eugene said. “But to make a long story short, she told me flat out that she wouldn’t be talking to you today and then left for work at the same time she always does.” 

“Can I talk to Victor at least? I don’t care if she doesn’t want to talk to me, but I can’t ignore him,” Stephen pleaded. “I can’t not be there for him on his birthday, that’s cruel!”

“I know you want to be there for your brother, it’s okay. That’s the good news and why I called you. Give me a minute,” Eugene replied. 

Stephen mumbled some kind of response, slowly but impatiently shifting his weight from side to side. He was thinking about blowing off the rest of his classes for the day, emotional exhaustion overtaking him. He could usually power through things like this, as he was used to his mother steadfastly refusing to accept him. Today she and her hatred actively prevented Stephen from wishing his little brother a happy birthday, and that was too damn much. The fact that his cousin suddenly outed him almost three years after Stephen came out was only making him angrier. Stephen always tried to do the best that he could for his family, especially his younger sibling(s), and was even more protective of Victor in the wake of Donna’s death. All he wanted was to look after everyone he cared about, and his sexuality didn’t negatively affect his protective oldest child instincts. If anything it made them stronger because Stephen always wanted to be an ally for his siblings. He would always stand up for them when they needed. 

Sometimes he felt like he failed Donna, despite his best efforts to keep her safe and make her happy. Stephen couldn’t fail Victor and let their mother’s actions come between them. He wouldn’t. He looked at his phone to distract himself, editing his coffee order to include a latte for Anthony. He was usually home around this time and would more than likely appreciate the surprise coffee. 

Thinking of his boyfriend, the love of his life and his person, made Stephen smile just enough to prevent him from sobbing in the middle of Starbucks. 

Two (2) minutes that felt like an eternity later, Victor came to the phone. “Hello?” 

“Happy birthday Vic!” Stephen forced a smile, hoping some cheer could be detected in his voice. 

“Thank you,” Victor replied with an emotion that Stephen couldn’t place.

“Sorry I couldn’t be there today or join the family call. I wanted to be part of the call at least, but…”

“It’s okay. I know you care, and I know you wouldn’t forget my birthday just because you’re busy.”

“Right… busy!” Stephen’s laugh was forced. “I would never miss your birthday, and not just because I have a flawless memory.” 

“I was just starting to miss you until you said that. Damn shame.” 

“Not only is today your birthday, it’s apparently also the start of you acting like the smartass you‘ve grown up to be,” Stephen quipped. Eugene’s noisy laughter could be heard even over the phone. 

“I didn’t come into this world as a smartass like you. I had to learn from you, unfortunately,” Victor replied. “And I’m glad to see you’re amused, Dad!” 

“I taught you everything I know, and this is how you thank me?” Stephen asked. 

The barista called out Stephen’s order. 

“Hey I have to get going, but you and Dad should come visit me in New York sometime soon,” Stephen offered. 

“That sounds nice, but you can also just call me. Contrary to popular belief I do want to talk to you on days that aren’t holidays,” Victor replied. “But New York sounds fun.” 

I wish we could talk whenever, like we used to when I was welcome under her roof. 

“I want to go to the city, I’m sick of the neighbors,” Eugene added. “We’ll have to plan a trip, but for now we’ll let you get ready for class.” 

“Thanks Dad. Love you both, and I hope you have a great birthday, Vic!” Stephen hung up before they could reply, grabbed his coffees, and dragged his feet the rest of the way home. 

++++

Anthony was in the kitchen, serenely flipping through a magazine and eating lunch when Stephen trudged in. He paid no mind to the door opening at first, dipping his grilled cheese into the steaming cup of soup beside him and continuing to peruse the pages. 

Stephen smiled fondly at the sight of him, the tiniest bit of joy finding its way to his heart. 

“I got you a latte,” Stephen said, setting both drinks on the counter. 

Anthony gasped, curiously ignoring the coffee completely and standing up to hug Stephen. “Thank you cuore mio.” 

“I figured I’d surprise you since I’m home early,” Stephen replied. He relaxed into the hug, slouching in Anthony’s arms. 

“I appreciate that, but I’m much happier to see you. We both left at weird times this morning so we didn’t get to talk and get ready for the day together like we usually do,” Anthony said, a little pout on his face. 

“Well we’re both home now, and I’m really tired.” Stephen was beyond tired and beyond annoyed, swaying a bit in Anthony’s arms.

Anthony hugged him closer and tighter to steady him. “Let’s go sit. Did you have lunch?” 

“No, I just got coffee and came right home,” Stephen replied. 

Anthony handed over the other half of his sandwich. “Take this then, I just made it. There’s tomato soup too, since Bucky made me go to Panera with him earlier.” 

Stephen was about to object, stopping himself only when he saw the mirthful light in Anthony’s eyes. “What?”

“I mean I don’t mind either way, but I’m giving this to you so you don’t swipe it from me like the mischievous, overgrown British shorthair you are,” Anthony teased. “You’re not subtle.”

“If I was a cat, we both know I’d be a calico,” Stephen replied. 

“I disagree. What are you doing for the rest of the afternoon?” Anthony asked. 

Stephen shrugged. “I kind of want to nap. Preferably with you, under a blanket, and in front of the fireplace.” 

“That sounds nice,” Anthony murmured, reaching up to softly caress Stephen’s cheek. “Let’s go, then.” 

As soon as they were settled, Stephen rested his head on Anthony’s shoulder and practically melted into his side. 

They made idle chatter and finished their lunch, Stephen glancing at his phone every now and then. 

It’s stupid to hope something will change. 

He knew his mom wasn’t going to call him, and that still stung no matter how much he tried to move past it. Stephen also knew she wouldn’t ever accept him again, and she’d continue to use his identity against the rest of the family who he loved and who loved him in return. Be it immediate family or the most distant relatives, Beverly was determined to exile him completely, erasing her oldest son from the family story. 

Victor probably suffered the most from this, aside from obviously Stephen himself. Contrary to what their mother thought, Victor deserved to talk to whoever he wanted on his birthday, including Stephen. Being the middle child, Victor was the link between cautious Stephen and carefree Donna. The three siblings were incredibly close growing up, and their sister’s death took as much of a toll on Victor as it did on Stephen. Stephen almost left home for good a few days after Donna’s funeral, almost leaving his little brother behind. It was impossible to forget anything about that day. 

Stephen knocked on his brother’s door. 

“It’s open!” Victor was sitting on the floor building a Lego castle. 

Stephen sat on the floor across from him. “This looks really good, Vic!” 

“Do you want to help me finish it?” Victor asked. 

“I can’t today. I actually came in to tell you that I might be leaving home for a little bit,” Stephen replied. He rested his head on one of his hands. 

“When do you leave?” Victor asked, still not looking at him. 

“Tonight or early tomorrow. I’m going to New York to help Anthony move,” Stephen said, making up a reason as he finished answering. It was true that he was going to New York to see Anthony, but he couldn’t tell Victor the real reason why. He’d already been through enough the past few days, he didn’t need to know that Stephen and Beverly weren’t on speaking terms as of today. He didn’t need to know that their mother was trying to kick Stephen out. 

Victor just sat quietly and nodded, not registering his brother’s distress. “So you have time to help me build then. Can you hand me that brick, please?” 

Stephen smiled sadly and obliged. 

They were quiet, just working together like nothing was wrong until an overwhelming clamor filled the farmhouse. 

“Dad’s home,” Stephen remarked. 

“Are he and mom arguing?” Victor asked. “Why?”

Stephen knew why, but he held his tongue and just shrugged. “I’m not sure.” 

Victor nodded and went back to building. “Make sure you follow the directions, I want this to be perfect.”

They continued to work diligently, not saying much to each other but listening to the argument from the kitchen. It wasn’t easy to make out what Mr. and Mrs. Strange were saying, but their mutual anger hung in the air long after the conversation ended. The whole house felt different, its welcoming energy replaced with something sinister. 

And then someone knocked on the door. “Boys?” 

“Hi Dad!” Victor said. “You can come in, Stephen is helping me build the castle set that you gave me!”

Eugene walked in, standing in the doorway and watching his sons work for a minute. “Stephen, can I talk with you for a minute? Sorry to tear you away from your building, but you can finish up later. I also brought home dinner. Victor, go eat with Mom before it gets cold.” 

“Cool, thanks Dad!” Victor stepped cautiously over his castle and headed downstairs. 

Stephen was still on the floor, Eugene sitting at Victor’s desk. He didn’t know what this conversation was going to be like, and fear made him snatch the first words without giving them much thought.“Dad, I fucked up.” 

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t see it that way,” Eugene said. 

Stephen had been staring at the carpet until then, looking sharply up at his father. “What?” 

“I said I don’t see it that way. You didn’t mess up,” Eugene repeated himself. 

“Mom wants me to go,” Stephen mumbled. He hung his head again, looking at the carpet. Victor’s room was the only carpeted one in the house, and no one knew why. 

“Your mother also wants me to stop leaving my computer in the dining room since that’s apparently ‘her space,’ but last I checked this is our home and she doesn’t have a monopoly on that room,” Eugene replied. 

Stephen was quiet for a minute. “She says it’s not my home. Not anymore, anyway.” 

“That’s what we were arguing about,” Eugene said. “I came home from work and she told me what you talked about and how she felt. I don’t agree with her.” 

“I wanted to tell you myself,” Stephen muttered. “She had no right to tell you, that’s not what you’re supposed to do!” 

Eugene didn’t say anything, unsure of what he  could say to make this better. 

“I didn’t time this well, I know, and I’m sorry. I should’ve given Mom more time to process losing Donna, and—”

“Stephen, I think your mother would’ve responded the same way if your sister was here. It’s nothing to do with the circumstances and everything to do with her,” Eugene said. 

Stephen nodded slowly. “Are you upset with me Dad?” 

“No I’m not, and I don’t think you should go,” Eugene replied. 

“I probably should, for a few days,” Stephen said. “Anthony’s in New York, and I know I just saw him but I wanted to go visit again before he leaves for boarding school.” 

Eugene nodded. “As long as you’re back at least a day before your school year starts.” 

“Mom isn’t going to want me to come back, but I don’t want to leave Victor! I can’t abandon him!” Stephen said. 

Eugene shook his head. “It’s not up to her. You’re our son, mine and hers equally, and I want you to be home with us while you finish high school. Besides, you and Victor need each other especially now. Your mom isn’t the only one who decides what family means. You are both our sons, and though our family might be a little smaller, we’re still family.” Eugene grabbed a box of tissues from Victor’s desk, handing them to Stephen as he began to cry. 

“Thanks Dad.”

“It’s going to be okay. What day are you planning on going to New York?” 

“I booked a flight for early tomorrow morning, Ant said anytime in the afternoon he’d be around.” 

“And are you going to finally stop pining for each other and tell him how you feel while you’re there?” 

“Dad!” Stephen hesitated before continuing. This was unfamiliar territory, discussing his love life with his father. Eugene knew Anthony and could obviously tell how Stephen felt, but it was weird to talk about this. Still, curiosity got the better of him. “Do you think I should?” 

To make a long story short, that’s how they ended up here, in the apartment they shared with three of their friends while Anthony repeatedly nudged Stephen with his elbow. 

“What do you want?” Stephen muttered, failing to even pretend like he was annoyed. 

“Scoot over so I can go to the kitchen!” Anthony said, the slightest hint of a whine in his voice. 

Stephen shifted and grumbled a little protest as he stood up. 

Anthony smiled and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll be right back, then you can cling to me as much as you want.” 

Stephen sighed, half in teasing exasperation, and looked at his phone again. He was staring daggers at it when Anthony returned, letting it go when he was pulled into a hug. 

“Did you hear back from her yet? What time is the call?” Anthony asked gently, beginning to stroke Stephen’s hair. 

“She hasn’t called yet.” That wasn’t a lie, but Stephen was too upset to give Anthony more details right now. 

Anthony hummed, kissing his head again. “She will.” 

“I don’t— yeah. She will,” Stephen mumbled. Also not a lie, as he was still clinging to the thinnest shred of hope that his mom would change her mind. 

She won’t. 

It doesn’t matter how much she loves Victor and values his happiness, I’m dead to her and that’s final. 

“How was your day?” Stephen asked, eager if not desperate to change the subject. “Did you present the business plan you were telling me about? How did it go?” 

“I did! Honestly it went really well, I wasn’t nervous like I usually am,” Anthony replied. 

Stephen yawned. “I’m so happy for you. Every time you practiced presenting it to me, you were amazing.” He was physically and mentally weary, exhaustion dragging him into a midnight blue haze, but he was never too tired to give Anthony the praise he deserved. 

“Thank you,” Anthony murmured. His eyes were closed, but Stephen could practically hear Anthony’s soft smile. 

“I mean it,” Stephen said. “Love you.” 

He was surrendering to the exhaustion, to the warmth of the fire and the blanket and Anthony’s embrace. Sometimes knowing that Anthony loved him and feeling the manifestations of his love made Stephen feel a little better. This was reprieve, and he was going to revel in it until reality came back to kick his ass. 

Anthony still sounded like he was smiling. “I love you too. Get some rest sleepyhead.” 

++++

Anthony woke up first, his phone ringing loudly from the carpet below. He was going to just ignore it, mistaking the notification for an alarm, until he came to his senses a little more and realized Christine was calling. 

“Your boyfriend is bad at answering his phone,” she’d said. 

“Hello to you too, Christine. He’s sleeping,” Anthony replied. “We both were, actually.” 

“So sorry to have interrupted your mid afternoon nap,” Christine drawled. “But I’m glad you were resting. Stephen seemed really off today during class, and as much as I hate to admit it I was a bit worried.” 

“You’re too much of a helicopter parent friend to pretend like you’re not concerned,” Anthony said. “I can see right through that.” 

Christine just laughed. “Anyway, I know you could talk about Stephen for probably years but I called for a reason.”

“What’s up?” Anthony asked. Stephen was still asleep in his arms, and Anthony tried his best not to disturb him. “Everything okay?”

“Oh yeah I’m fine! I was just gonna ask if you two wanted to go on a double date with me and Hope later? It’s the first night of the carnival,” Christine said. “Sam and Bucky aren’t planning on going until tomorrow because they’re boring, and we want an adventure.” 

“Going out on a Thursday night counts as an adventure?” Anthony asked. 

“Why wouldn’t it?!” Christine protested. “Let me know what you decide to do and just text me or Hope, we can plan to meet up later. I take it Stephen isn’t going to class but I am, so I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Sounds good, bye Christine!” Anthony rolled his eyes in amusement, opening a game on his phone and holding Stephen closer. 

It wasn’t more than twenty minutes later when he woke up, checking his phone and trying to hide his disappointment when his mom didn’t call. 

What did I expect? She made up her mind. 

She doesn’t want to talk to me. 

Why am I pretending she cares, hoping she’ll call? 

Stephen huffed out a sigh, more angry with himself than anything else. 

“Nothing yet?” Anthony asked gently. 

“No,” Stephen replied. He felt anger boiling in his system, unease taking over as he continued to lie and hope that something would change. 

“I’m sorry,” Anthony said. “The day is still young.” 

“I guess that’s true.” Stephen didn’t know if going along with what Anthony said was helping or hurting at this point. “I have a ton of missed calls from Christine though.” 

“Oh yeah, she invited us on a double date with her and Hope since it’s the first night of the carnival,” Anthony replied. “You in?” 

“Not really.” Stephen answered without even giving it much thought. 

“Okay.” Anthony was always so amenable, sensitive, and empathetic, even at the expense of what he wanted. Sometimes Stephen’s heart ached at how selfless Anthony was and how much he cared for people. It was a privilege to be someone Anthony loved, but Stephen had to remind him constantly that relationships were a give and take. He didn’t want to drain Anthony’s kindness, not the way people in his past did. He wanted and tried to be as giving and loving to Anthony as Anthony was to him. 

He didn’t even sound upset about not going out, but Stephen’s anxiety kicked in and convinced him otherwise. “Well wait Ant, what do you want to do?” 

“It might be fun, but—”

“Why not go, then?” 

Anthony was stunned by how fast Stephen changed his mind, trying to read his face for things his words left unsaid. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine… just a little jittery waiting for this stupid call. A distraction might help, and you’re right! It probably will be fun. Plus I don’t want to selfishly keep you from being out with friends, that’s not fair to you.”

“Nope, you stop that right now,” Anthony admonished gently. “If I wanted to go with our friends, I would. I want to spend time with you tonight, whatever that looks like, and we’re both allowed to want things. They don’t have to be the same thing, and you’re not selfish or controlling for disagreeing with me. Believe me?” 

“I wish I could, because I know you mean it. I just feel like a failure since I can’t be there for Victor the way I want,” Stephen replied. “And I know it’s not my fault, but…”

“But it still hurts.” Anthony gently cupped his face and leaned in to kiss him. “Right?” 

Stephen nodded, whispering a pained “yes,” into the kiss. It hurt more than Anthony knew, more than he was ready to discuss. 

“You’re not a failure. You’re just trying to make everyone happy even when the most fucked up circumstances  get in the way. It’s not a bad thing to prioritize yourself, and in fact it’s a good thing to give yourself the kindness you give to others. You have to,” Anthony said, protectively wrapping his arms around Stephen.

“I’m glad you listen to my advice enough to repeat it back to me, at the very least,” Stephen quipped. 

“Yeah yeah, I know I sound like a hypocrite since I—”

“Since you’re not nice to yourself, even though you deserve to be,” Stephen finished his sentence. “I just want to be able to make someone happy today. I want to make you happy.” 

Anthony smiled sadly and kissed him again. “I love you so much, you idiot. You always make me happy, and I’m always here for you.” 

“I know you are. I love you too,” Stephen replied. “A distraction honestly might help me deal with the waiting game, though.” 

“It could!” Anthony nodded, playfully adding, “I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Oh yeah? How?” Stephen played along. 

“We can start by getting your favorite sushi,” Anthony offered. 

Stephen genuinely smiled at that, attempting to hide it by burying his head in Anthony’s shoulder. “Really?” 

“Why not?” Anthony replied. “It’s been awhile since we went to that restaurant anyway.” 

“It’s been too long,” Stephen corrected him. “I’m not sure if I’m feeling up to being out for dinner and then going out later, though. I feel bad because you’re trying so hard to plan something fun, and—”

“You don’t have to feel bad. It’s not a problem, we can just order in and stay home until later. That’s what I was planning anyway,” Anthony said. “And if you don’t feel like going out tonight, we really don’t have to.” 

“I want to, but I also don’t,” Stephen said. “You know what I mean?” 

Anthony nodded. “Yeah, I do. I’m fine with whatever though, it’s up to you.” 

“Let’s go then. I’m still kind of on the fence, but I’m leaning towards yes.” 

++++

He was just being himself, but Anthony was making good on his little teasing promise to make the fair worth Stephen’s while. He had some magical effect where his smile made anyone’s heart sing, and his spell was especially powerful on Stephen. He was truly having fun, for the most part. His motion sickness didn’t flare up at any point, which meant he could spin a bit faster than normal on the teacups ride. It was exhilarating and just dizzying enough that he leaned slightly into Anthony’s shoulder while the group decided what to do next. Stephen found he was oddly at peace with himself and the evening, probably because of Anthony’s spell. 

“Okay, here’s what I want to know: what the hell is a hall of mirrors?” Anthony asked. 

“How do you not know?” Christine replied, her eyebrows racing up towards her hairline. 

“Never in my life have I been exposed to anything that would entail being in a hall of mirrors,” Anthony muttered. 

“Surely you’ve been to a carnival before, right?” Hope asked. 

“Yes, and amusement parks! But again, I have no idea what it actually is,” Anthony said. “I’ve never seen one until right now.” 

“It’s just as it sounds, Ant. It’s a room full of mirrors, almost like a maze I think, and some of the mirrors are distorted. It’s hard to explain without seeing it, but it’s kind of funny,” Stephen replied. “You’re the only person in life who ever gives me an answer,” Anthony half-joked, linking arms with Stephen. “The only person.” 

“Rude, didn’t I just tell you the other day about—”

“Hope I love you but I made my point very clear,” Anthony teased. “I need to see these mirrors.” 

Stephen smiled. Anthony was so full of an almost childlike wonder, he was kind of like the human equivalent of a ferris wheel… somehow… the comparison made more sense in his head. “This is going to be adorable.” 

“Can we go?” Anthony was almost bubbly with excitement. 

Stephen couldn’t say no to him, and right now he didn’t want to. “Yeah, come on.” 

“It’s this way, let’s go!” Christine pointed vaguely to her left and led the way. 

Stephen didn’t know what Anthony expected to see in a room that was literally just Full Of Mirrors, but his every reaction to it was more endearing than the last. 

“Could you imagine decorating an entire house like this?” He asked, looking around the room. 

“You mean you haven’t?” Christine teased. 

Stephen rolled his eyes. “I can barely stand to look at myself for five minutes, this is like hell on earth. Don’t give Ant any ideas about redecorating our apartment, Christine.” 

“She doesn’t need to, I wouldn’t do it,” Anthony replied. “Even I don’t need to see this much of myself.” 

Christine laughed at their antics before chasing after Hope and giving them a moment alone. There weren’t many other people around, so Stephen had an unobstructed view of several of his reflections checking their phones. 

Anthony was still standing beside him, taking everything in. “You okay?” 

Stephen (and all of his clones) nodded. “Yeah, I guess. Still no updates though.” 

I can’t even be honest with him. I can barely be honest with myself at this point. 

“I’m sorry Steph.”

“It’s okay! I’m probably more anxious than I need to be, it’s really fine.” 

Anthony frowned slightly but didn’t push him. “I feel like there should be at least one control variable, just a basic full body mirror at the beginning and/or end of these things.” 

“There usually is at the end,” Stephen replied. “At least I think. It’s like when you leave home and take another glance at yourself to make sure you look decent. You’re the one who can, and you do, spend five minutes in front of any mirror, so—”

“That’s absolutely not true and you know it. The longest I’ve looked at myself in the front hallway mirror specifically is three minutes tops” 

Stephen rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, babe.” 

They continued their walk around the winding hallways, coming to a stop at a standard mirror just in front of the exits. 

Christine and Hope were chattering outside, looking at a map of the fairground that they’d found somewhere (Stephen hadn’t a clue where, seeing as he wasn’t paying attention at the time). 

“We look cute,” Anthony remarked. 

“You do, I don’t,” Stephen said. 

“No, we both do!” Anthony’s stubbornness was coming out to play, it seemed. “I mean I know you only keep me around because I’m adorable, but I’m probably the luckiest guy in the world to be yours.” 

Stephen blushed and looked at his shoes. “Yeah, I’m only with you because you’re hot and not at all because you’re my best friend who I happen to be madly in love with.” 

“Aww.” Anthony smiled and squeezed Stephen’s hand, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I love you too, you asshole.” 

Stephen looked up, staring at their reflections and different expressions. His smile was tired and clearly forced, while Anthony’s was genuine and bright. He couldn’t help but sigh, disappointed in himself for not matching his boyfriend’s energy.

“You sure you’re okay?” Anthony asked. 

“I’m trying to be,” Stephen replied. “That’s the best answer I have, and it may not seem like I’m trying very hard, but I am.” 

“I know. Stress and anxiety don’t just go away when you ignore them, unfortunately,” Anthony reminded him. “Attention whores that they are.” 

Stephen laughed, surprised as always by Anthony’s sudden dry delivery and humor. “I feel like you’re what ‘sugar and spice and everything nice’ means, you can go from sweet and calming to making me laugh within the same breath.” He shuffled forward a bit, dropping his head on Anthony’s shoulder. 

“Well I don’t like the implication that I’m nice,” Anthony huffed jokingly. 

“I didn’t really imply it, I’m telling you that you’re nice,” Stephen replied. 

Anthony just rolled his eyes. “That’s your opinion.” 

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, you know I don’t like lying,” Stephen said. 

Except for the fact that I’m so in denial about Mom not calling that I actually am lying to Anthony. He doesn’t deserve that. 

Anthony just shrugged as Stephen looked up at him again. “So when you said that I’m not good at carnival games, that was—”

“That was me trying to encourage you, and while you clearly needed it I don’t think it helped,” Stephen quipped. 

“Rude but true. At least there weren’t a lot of people—”

“Move!” A boisterous group of children who couldn’t be older than 13 ran past, shoving past them on their way to the door. 

Stephen stumbled and fell back against Anthony, which caused one of the group to say something particularly rude. 

Anthony glared at the instigator. “What?” 

“Don’t, it’s not worth it,” Stephen said. 

The same kid laughed, having the audacity to repeat himself before catching up with the rest of the bullies. 

“I don’t know where someone who looks like they’re barely eleven years old learns to talk like that, but they can fuck right off,” Anthony said. 

“You’re right. Honestly I would be more upset if worse things hadn’t happened today, but it’s all relative,” Stephen replied. “I’ll tell you about it later, we should go find Hope and Christine.” 

Anthony nodded, a scowl still on his face when they found and rejoined their friends. 

“Are you self-obsessed idiots done looking at yourselves?” Christine teased. 

“You literally heard me say I can’t stand looking at my reflection for more than five minutes. We were just talking,” Stephen said. 

“Why do people have to be so goddamn ignorant?” Anthony muttered, kicking the dirt in front of him. 

“What happened?” Hope asked. 

“Really nothing, just some middle schoolers being stupid,” Stephen replied. “It’s not a big deal. What are we thinking about doing now?” 

“I want a snack, I think,” Christine said. “Does anyone want cotton candy?” 

“We should get cotton candy!” 

Donna had boundless energy, a zest for life, and a fun-loving mischief about her.  She ran into each day like it was a new adventure, sometimes reckless but always under the protective watch of her brothers. 

“If that’s what you want, Donna, I’ll buy you some.” 

“What about me?” 

Victor didn’t come into the world with a smartass attitude, but he quickly adopted some of Stephen’s mannerisms. He learned how to assert himself and how to be fair, which meant he knew when and how to argue on his own behalf.

“Of course Vic, I’ll get you some too.”

“I want the bubblegum flavor!” 

It was the end of summer, and the Strange family was spending an afternoon at the zoo. Donna loved animals more than almost anything in the world, and all she’d wanted was to spend the day with her family sharing random animal facts and learning as much as she could. Stephen was the one to plan the excursion, the trip occurring the day after he returned from California. He was visiting Anthony for just under two (2) weeks then, that summer their last as ‘just friends.’

Donna was elated when Stephen came home, her little face lighting up when he announced the family outing. 

Outing was an interesting choice of words. 

That day trip was the last time the Strange family was whole. That day was the last day Stephen was worth something in his mom’s eyes, the last time he read his sister a bedtime story after pretending that he didn’t want to. All Stephen did was plan a surprise afternoon for Donna and buy her cotton candy, and she was the happiest he’d ever seen her. It was, in the most tragic sense, the perfect last day. She drowned in the lake the next morning, and Stephen felt like he lost control of his life. Desperate to take it back, and against his better judgement, he came out a few days later. He hoped his mom would be supportive, understanding, and maybe even encouraging, but he was as good as disowned by her that day. 

“Hey… Earth to Steph.” Anthony softly caressed his face. “Stephen?” 

He snapped out of his flashback, probably looking like a deer in the headlights when his eyes met Anthony’s. “Sorry.” 

“I thought you were gonna pass out for a minute,” Anthony said. 

“I’m good. I just zoned out,” Stephen replied. “It’s not even motion sickness, I genuinely stopped listening to whatever you guys were talking about.” 

“So you didn’t hear me ask if any of you wanted cotton candy?” Christine asked. 

“That I did hear.” Stephen heard the sudden brittleness in his voice and steeled himself, subconsciously reaching for Anthony’s hand. 

“I forgot you don’t like sweets that much, sorry man,” Christine replied. 

“That isn’t the problem,” Stephen said. “And that’s not even true.” 

Christine just shrugged. “Alright.” 

Stephen sighed, ignoring the confused look Christine gave him and running his free hand through his hair. He sighed again. “Sorry Christine.” 

“You’re forgiven, Stephen. It’s fine, and sometimes you just have a bad day,” Christine replied. “It’s not like I’ve never gone off on you before.” 

“I wouldn’t call that going off, I’ve used all of my self restraint today,” Stephen said. “But thanks.” 

He sighed for the third time and leaned against Anthony’s shoulder. 

“You okay?” Anthony asked gently. 

Stephen looked at his phone again. “Still no updates.”

Anthony frowned, concern and understanding written all over his face. “That’s shitty.” 

“You’re right about that,” Stephen replied, laughing despite himself at how direct Anthony’s delivery was. “Rollercoaster?” 

“Damnit, I thought I was enough of a thrill for you,” Anthony teased. 

Stephen rolled his eyes. “You are, you dumbass. I just thought it’d be fun.” 

“I’m not disagreeing! I’m in,” Anthony replied. 

“The line isn’t too long, y’all should go now,” Hope said. “We’re getting popcorn, and then we can ride the teacups again before leaving if you guys want?” 

“Sure,” Anthony said. 

Stephen just nodded. He’d had a good time, but honestly just wanted to go home and pretend like today didn’t happen. 

“We can hold your shit too, if you want,” Christine offered. 

“Thank you for not bringing up the Great Adventure mishap,” Anthony replied, handing Christine his bag. 

“Not sure if I’d call forgetting to take off your sunglasses a mishap,” Stephen quipped, also handing over his bag. 

Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll have called by the time we’re back. 

If I asked a magic 8 ball what the chances were of that happening, I think it’d tell me to go fuck myself. 

“What would you call it, then?” Anthony asked indignantly. 

“Unfortunate, and a consequence of you not listening to me when I said not to wear them,” Stephen replied. 

“You’re both wrong, that’s just Ant’s smooth brain energy hard at work,” Hope said. 

Anthony rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry that wearing sunglasses is such a big part of my personal brand! Whatever, see you two in a bit!” 

Hope and Christine probably rolled their eyes as Stephen and Anthony went on their way, but all in good fun. 

Stephen was starting to feel a little better while they queued for the rollercoaster. He’d always liked them and they never made him dizzy which really helped. Coasters were sort of like a spontaneous thought process in his mind. There were digressions, breakthroughs and thoughts that were best left alone, and something to look forward to at every corner. Stephen felt like there was less time for self loathing on a rollercoaster, less time to hone in on certain things while he was moving so fast. He definitely preferred rollercoasters to tilt-a-whirl type things, even though he didn’t hate the spinning teacup ride they ended the night with. There was just more sitting still involved somehow, which meant more opportunities for self loathing. The pattern of the ride mirrored the circular thought process he slipped into, almost like he was cycling through stages of grief. Stephen wasn’t sure if he was angrier with Beverly for how she treated him or with himself for hoping she’d call, and he hadn’t even made it out of the denial stage. To his expected disappointment, there were no calls from his mom when he checked his phone on the ride home. 

I don’t know what I expected. 

I keep telling myself that I’m dead to her and it doesn’t seem to sink in. 

I know it’s true, and all of this might hurt less if I just accept that. 

Christine and Hope were bickering about something in the front of their car, and Stephen didn’t have a clue what it was. He’d tuned them out again, despondently resting his head on Anthony’s shoulder as Christine navigated the traffic. 

“Ant?” Stephen’s voice was hushed and straining as he tried not to cry. 

Anthony hummed. “That’s me.”

Stephen smiled sadly. “She’s not going to call, Anthony.”

“The night is still—”

“No! No, I mean she’s… I’ll tell you when we get home.” Stephen was trembling now, overwhelmed with everything that he was feeling. 

“Okay,” Anthony murmured, softly kissing his head. His heart broke as Stephen  started crying into his shoulder. “I love you.” 

Stephen barely fought back a sob. Sometimes he needed reminders that people loved and cared about him, but he was always ashamed to ask. He was getting slowly better at asking for affection, but verbal reassurance was a completely separate beast. When it came to dealing with his mother, he needed to hear that he was loved and valued for who he was to try and combat the self loathing that followed their conversations. He needed help getting his confidence and self assurance back. He didn’t like to be so vulnerable, but Stephen couldn’t deny that sometimes he just wanted to feel loved and safe. Anthony, affectionate and protective and caring and sweet, always knew when Stephen needed these loving affirmations and always provided them. “I love you too.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon, mia vita,” Anthony soothed. He reached for one of Stephen’s hands, holding it in both of his own. “Ti amo con tutto ciò che sono e con tutto ciò che sarò.”

He loves me… 

++++

There was always something sweet about coming home to a loud house. The noise could be jarring, a pleasant consequence of 5 relatively loud friends living together, but it served as a welcoming of sorts. Today it was even louder when Stephen and Anthony got home, thanks mostly to an argument between Sam and Wong. Standing between them, Bruce was acting like a moderator of sorts. 

“The lovebirds are back!” Wong announced, interrupting what looked like a heated rebuttal from Sam. “How was the carnival?”

“It was good! I tried to win one of those balloon dart games,” Anthony replied. 

“Keyword is ‘tried,’ guys,” Stephen added. 

“I was too busy thinking about what prize to win since I wanted to give Steph something cute, but it didn’t really go to plan,” Anthony said. 

“Next time babe, I believe in you!” Stephen cheered as brightly as he could. He was tired of faking a smile, tired of hoping his mom would come around. 

She’s never going to change her mind. 

“Maybe we should’ve gone tonight, I feel like it’s going to be more crowded tomorrow,” Sam said. 

“I think it depends on when you go,” Anthony replied. “Speaking of going places, you know your man dragged me to Panera with him earlier.”

“I told you! Nothing comes between Bucky and a bread bowl,” Sam said, rolling his eyes. “What time do you think is the best to go tomorrow night?” 

Stephen shrugged. “Probably 8? I don’t know. Most of the lines move relatively fast so you should be fine.” 

“Don’t worry Sam, if the grumpiest boy on the Eastern seaboard says you’ll be fine, you’ll definitely be good,” Wong teased.

“That’s rich coming from you.” Stephen turned on his heel and left, retreating to the comfort of his bedroom. 

“Did I upset him?” Wong asked, mostly addressing Anthony. “I didn’t mean to.” 

“Something is bothering him,” Anthony replied. It wasn’t his business to go into detail, nor was he the gatekeeper of what problems Stephen chose to share with their friends. “He should be okay, but I’m gonna go keep him company.” 

Anthony headed for his bedroom, bringing the conversation to a halt. Stephen had closed the door, which wasn’t unusual but Anthony still didn’t want to just open it in case Stephen wanted to be completely alone. 

He knocked quietly yet audibly to avoid startling Stephen. “Hey, it’s just me. Can I come in?” 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Stephen mumbled. He was curled up on their bed, trembling as he looked up at the ceiling. 

It was warm in their room as per usual, so Anthony knew Stephen wasn’t shivering from cold. 

Stephen felt the bed dip as his boyfriend sat beside him, and he closed his eyes as Anthony began to gently massage his scalp. 

“Wong and Christine are probably angry with me,” Stephen said after a while. 

“Wong didn’t mean to upset you,” Anthony replied. “Neither did Christine. And I think they understand that you’re not purposefully antagonizing them.” 

Stephen sat up, the intense mix of emotion in eyes burning a hole in the ceiling as he leaned against the headboard and a pile of throw pillows. 

Anthony shifted just enough to rest his head on Stephen’s shoulder, silently reminding him that he wasn’t alone. He offered one of his hands, Stephen holding it gently. He drew figure eights on Anthony’s upturned palm as he thought, the motion soothing as he started talking. 

“Before I came home today, when I went to Starbucks, I got a call from my dad,” Stephen began. “Mom changed the plan for today, he said. I don’t know what she did specifically but all that matters is that she rearranged the family call so I couldn’t join. That was her way of telling me she’s mad at me without having to burden herself by speaking with me.” 

Anthony shifted to straddle him, comfortingly resting his hands on Stephen’s arms. Stephen didn’t meet his concerned gaze.“I’m sorry.” 

“It gets worse. When I said earlier that I’ve dealt with worse things today than some homophobic children, all of this is what I mean.” Stephen was still staring upwards, as if their ceiling had an answer he didn’t. “I got to talk to Vic, which was most important to me. We didn’t talk for very long since I was planning on going to my next class at that point, but I got to wish him a happy birthday and apologize for not being able to join the call. He wasn’t upset with me, he understood and we left things on the same good terms. I didn’t tell him why I couldn’t join, but I’m sure he knows. I’m sure he’s figured out why Mom and I don’t talk, he knows enough of the story to figure it out.” 

He was crying now, all of his emotions boiling over. He was livid, devastated, and afraid for some reason, hiding his face in his hands. 

Anthony was silent, taking both of Stephen’s hands and letting him cry until he’d somewhat calmed down. 

“Sorry,” Stephen mumbled. He rested their joined hands in his lap and turned his teary gaze on Anthony. “I've not even finished the story and I’m already a mess.”

“It’s okay Steph, you don’t have to be.” Anthony brushed a few stray tears off Stephen’s face. 

Stephen sighed. “I knew by the time I got home that she wasn’t going to call me. That’s why I came back, honestly. I didn’t want to sit through my classes thinking about it, thinking about how I’m… thinking about how she wouldn’t call. I tried to make myself tell you earlier, but I can barely come to terms with all of this in my own head. I wasn’t trying to lie to you when you said she might call, I promise. I was just holding onto the smallest wisp of hope that maybe she’d change her mind.” 

“I don’t feel like you lied to me,” Anthony replied, one of his hands again finding its way to playing with Stephen’s hair. “I’m sorry I was so insistent in saying she’d call. I was trying to reassure you.”

“I know,” Stephen said. “It helped a little, especially since I was trying to convince myself that she’d end up calling. But she never did, Anthony, and she won’t. Dad said she told him directly that she wasn’t going to talk to me, so why am I such a fool and still hoping she’ll come around? I’m dead to her and I should be able to understand that!” 

“I imagine you’re trying to make yourself accept it so you can move on, right?” Anthony asked. 

Stephen nodded frantically, his eyes shut tight as he began to cry again. “I know that’s not the best way to deal with things, but I don’t know what to do. I don’t expect her to accept me anytime soon, and I know my family isn’t going to ever feel whole again. But I ruined Victor’s birthday by not showing up for him with the rest of the family! I would’ve joined the call if she wasn’t mad at me, and I didn’t even fucking do anything!” 

Stephen was crying more out of anger than sadness, resting his head on Anthony’s shoulder and subconsciously pinching his forearm. 

Anthony hugged him, both to reassure Stephen and to keep him from hurting himself in anger. “You haven’t failed him. You did what you could and made the best out of an awful, fucked up situation.” 

Stephen just nodded, hearing Anthony’s message but not fully listening “Speaking of fucked up, and this is actually probably the thing I’m most upset about, you know my cousin Maxwell?”

"Yeah.”

 “He took a page out of my mom’s book and outed me to my aunt.” 

“Jesus Christ.” Now Anthony looked as angry as Stephen felt, a storm brewing in his eyes. 

“I’m lucky because my aunt Claudia is great, and she’s really accepting but that obviously pissed my mom off so now she’s mad at her sister and at me,” Stephen said.

“That’s good about your aunt, but why the fuck would your cousin do that?” Anthony asked. 

“He might have thought she already knew, I don’t know. It’s not okay that he did it, but it’s a relief to know that at least she took it well. I was worried she’d make fun of me since she always likes to prank and make me the butt of the joke, and even that would be fine compared to my mom’s response,” Stephen replied. “If I got over this faster I wouldn’t have taken all the fun out of tonight.” 

“Hey, stop that,” Anthony murmured. “You didn’t! I like being around you no matter what mood you’re in, and I’m always here for you. That includes when things aren’t going well, by the way. My love for you isn’t conditional.” 

Stephen looked up enough just to see Anthony’s face. “Do you think she’s ever going to come around? And not just today, but in general?” 

“I hope so,” Anthony replied. “You don’t deserve to deal with this from her, or from anyone but least of all your own mother, and I hope she understands that sooner rather than later. But I can’t say with certainty what she’s going to do.” 

“I just want today to be over,” Stephen said with a sigh. “I mean I did have fun tonight, but spending the entire day attached to my phone and trying to ignore what I already know wasn’t really nice.” 

Anthony nodded. “Why don’t we get ready for bed then? We can put it all behind us and start over tomorrow.” 

“That sounds good,” Stephen whispered. “I know I won’t ever forget this, but just for now I want to set it aside.” 

++++

The day should’ve ended there, with slight banter and falling into bed with the person Stephen loved most in the world. But of course it didn’t, of course the powers that controlled his life had to have the last laugh. He’d just closed his eyes and was starting to slip away, content as Anthony pulled up one of their nighttime playlists and hummed along to whatever song was playing. Stephen was the little spoon tonight, feeling loved and secure and safe in the dark of their bedroom and Anthony’s arms. He was finally starting to relax, and then the phone rang.  

He didn’t expect it and was annoyed when he heard the first notes of his ringtone, but he answered anyway thinking it was one of their friends. Thor especially had a tendency to call people earlier in the morning or later at night. “Hello?”

Despite having called him, the person on the other end of the line responded with a hasty “I must’ve misdialed. Don’t call back.”  

Oh my god. 

The cold, familiar voice ringing out over the speakerphone made Stephen’s heart stop. 

SHE CALLED! 

“No Mom, wait! I didn’t think you were going to call.” 

“I don’t consider you my son, I don’t know why you keep calling me your mother,” Beverly replied. “I told you, I misdialed. I wouldn’t go out of my way to speak with you, not after you continuously cast shame onto my family.” 

“Not even today? On Victor’s birthday?” Stephen asked. 

Beverly scoffed. “No, and don’t even say his name! You and Victor aren’t brothers anymore, you decided that for yourself, and I’ll not have any outside influences corrupting my only son!” She hung up before Stephen could defend himself, the dial tone uncomfortably loud. 

Stephen wasn’t sure what to do. A sharp, stabbing numbness seized his body and he curled in on himself to escape the onslaught of emotion hanging over his head. He turned onto his other side, burying his head in Anthony’s chest and failing to keep himself from crying. 

“None of what she told you is true,” Anthony said. “Not a damn thing. You—”

Stephen shook his head. “Anthony, don't talk. Please, I’m sorry, I love you and I love your voice but I can’t… it’s too much…” 

Anthony shushed him softly, carding his hand through Stephen’s hair again. He wanted to say something, to tell Stephen that he didn’t have to apologize, but that wouldn’t do any good. Instead, he just hugged Stephen tighter and gave him a soft kiss. Sometimes love was best conveyed in actions. 

This is just like when I left after the funeral, when we hid from the outside world together. No one makes me feel at home the way Anthony does. 

Stephen was too used to crying in Anthony’s arms because of things his mother… because of things Beverly told him. He knew he could run and hide from this or any problem with Anthony, and he’d always be safe and accepted and home. The thought was comforting, especially to the part of Stephen’s mind that was loath and afraid to confront the truth. 

Eventually I’m going to have to process this fully and give myself the time to do it. I know myself, and I’m not going to change for anyone. Why should I have to? 

Stephen shifted closer to Anthony, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend. He rested his head on Anthony’s shoulder, the tiniest smile on his face. 

How does he already have bedhead? Adorable. 

Despite saying that he wasn’t tired, Anthony was already falling asleep. “Need anything?” 

Stephen shook his head and softly kissed Anthony’s cheek. “I’ll be fine. I’m just as tired as you, if not more.” 

“Doubtful.”

“I’m going to ignore the fact that you just scoffed at me.” 

“I didn’t!” 

Stephen rolled his eyes and leaned up to kiss Anthony’s cheek. “I love you. Thank you.” 

“I didn’t do anything, really, and I love you too,” Anthony replied with a yawn. 

“You’ve done more for me than you realize, and I think you know it,” Stephen murmured. 

Already falling asleep, Anthony didn’t respond verbally. He just hugged Stephen closer, again saying much more than words ever could. 

tags: @stark-strange-love2 @taruyison @kitkatfat15 @katninjagirl97 @spookywizardboy @ocforeverything @ironstrange-chaos @chocopiggy @lokis-leah @majesticnerdynerd @maya-custodios-dionach @thespacecryptid @kiwidino @doctorstephenvincentstarkstrange 

[enthusiasticsobrietyabuse]

Re-post from r/MeehanSurvivors Reddit Community. An Enthusiastic Sobriety Counselor Survivor Story.

TW: References to child pornography, conversion therapy, homophobia, masturbation, and sex.

I would love nothing more than to preserve my admiration for the program, if only for the reason that it would be easier to do so, but after years of being deceived, I find it utterly absurd to disregard any contempt on the basis of the misplaced gratitude that it saved my life. While the program undoubtedly contributed to my success in a number of ways, it has nevertheless become clear that I’ve walked away with trauma that, even after all of this time, I fail to wholly understand. What I do know, however, is that my disillusionment with enthusiastic sobriety is heavily rooted in how I was treated, as the people who claimed to love me evidently made it their mission to eradicate who I was and, likewise, transform me into a duller, lesser version of themselves. I will never know who I could’ve been had they honored the parts of myself that needed nurturing, only who I am today and the damage I’ve since been left with.

From the moment I joined the program, I knew exactly what its expectations were. It was made abundantly clear throughout the treatment process, where I was bombarded with endless conversations about what it meant to be a winner - a concept given context far beyond a sober individual working the twelve steps. I was not only told how to behave, but what to believe about every area of my life. It did not matter if those areas were deeply personal, as evidenced by the countless discussions related to sex; in fact, I would not only learn who we could and could not fantasize about while masturbating, but what we could and could not do sexually - as if we could not be trusted to determine for ourselves the actions we take in our own bedrooms. I also found myself on the receiving end of many conversations revolving around whether or not it was acceptable to shave one’s own pubic region, as was a commonly held belief that a shaved pubic region was not only unnecessary, but a product of one’s own vanity that, incidentally, mimics child pornography. Perhaps more disturbing, however, was the ideology surrounding pornography, in general, that we were ordinarily subjected to. We were first told that no self-respecting woman would want to be with a man who’s actively watching porn; then, we were told that it alters a man’s behavior so much that women will be able to recognize whether or not they watch it. The possibility of romance was used as a weapon against us by the counselors, as well as group members, to conform to their principles, rather than allowing us to establish our own and when that didn’t work, personal attacks were their next best option. I remember being asked if I really wanted to be the guy who’s strung out on porn the rest of his life, as if it was some kind of crippling addiction that would keep me from getting anything I ever wanted out of life. Even more importantly, however, it was through these frequent exchanges that I became familiarized with “Pavlov’s Dog Theory,” a scientific study so bastardized by the counselors that it existed solely to explain away the possibility of any non-heterosexual orientation. Being insecure with my own sexuality, it was of course music to my ears to discover that my attraction to the same sex, a perversion as I then recognized it, was the result of watching too much porn and could be easily resolved by the work outlined by the program. For the next few years, I would work endlessly to alter my sexual orientation back to “normal” and apparently did so well enough that I was eventually asked to attend the Meehan Institute of Counselor Training.

When I was in counselor training, most of what we discussed had very little to do with counseling; in fact, the information required to pass the state-mandated test was tossed aside in exchange for the radically inappropriate teachings that came directly from the program itself. Examples of this, of course, include the explanation that non-heterosexual orientations were not only “unnatural” but an expression of one’s perverse desire for instant gratification, usually resulting from either their addiction to porn, as I had already learned in outpatient, or their unresolved childhood trauma. It was also reasoned that an attraction to the same sex was often a natural consequence of being in an abusive relationship with a member of the opposite sex, a belief supported only by the theory that the person, in question, had unlikely resolved their own fear of getting hurt again. Some people were just “pussies” that had decided to seek the “easier, softer way,” an almost comical assumption given that there is nothing “easier” or “softer” about being queer. I would actually be referred to as a “pussy” while sharing to one of the program's many directors that I had sexual thoughts about other men. His solution for me was that since “there is nothing romantic about two men butt fucking each other,” I should spend the time wasted fantasizing about that on where I would like to take a girl on a date. It’s these ways of thinking that we, who’s families spend $5,600 to send us to counselor training, learn for the three months that we’re there. It’s these three months, where we are taught that absurdity is a natural substitute for science, that earn us the right to then counsel others, many of whom are children. I never could've imagined the abuse that would follow, despite the seeds that had been sown throughout the better part of my recovery.

A few weeks after I graduated from counselor training, when I was working the Step One shift, a couple of the program's directors took me away from it to smoke cigars with them. It was there that they talked to me about how I needed to work on developing more masculine qualities, perhaps by engaging in a hobby that was, according to them, “outside of my comfort zone.” Later on, one of my coworkers would lecture me for the way I had reached out to a girl in the group, explaining that she, along with others, might think that I’m gay for agreeing to watch a “chick flick” with her. Another coworker would make fun of me for crying to a song that reminded me of my dead parent, for the reason that it was, according to her, a “gay” thing to do. In one of the monthly purpose meetings, the director made jokes about me being “inside” of another male counselor - something that was received only with laughter. Bob Meehan himself would even tell the training class following my own that while I deserved the upmost respect for taking everyone’s shit, I was probably gay. When I would share how I felt, in reference to these incidents, I was told that my options were either to “change it” or to “own it.” I began to internalize all of this and, due to my own desire to be accepted, I began working even harder to change these qualities that had been deemed unacceptable by those around me. I would later be celebrated in a purpose for denouncing a dramatic television show for the reason that when I watched it, it made me feel like a “faggot;” however, even that wouldn’t satisfy those around me, as my sponsor, who was also my coworker, would suggest that I stop watching Friends, as well, due to the fact that it was the kind of show his wife watched. I would experience similar criticism from yet another coworker who suggested that I only liked “girly shit” for “shock value” and that it was nothing more than my ego attempting to differentiate myself from everyone else. If by now you’re wondering why I even participated in these conversations, all I can say is that it was always in pursuit of becoming a better man and I trusted that the staff had those answers. I couldn't have been more wrong, as I can't help but notice today that what I was subjected to is in direct opposition of the very laws that protect employees from this kind of treatment by their employers; however, in the program, what’s illegal is classified as “spiritual.”

For years, I felt relegated to a subclass of human existence and for what reason? I spent years working on the things that made my life unmanageable primarily because the people around me decided that it was. Furthermore, I was promised that if I stopped watching porn, which I did for years, my brain would rewire itself and I would no longer be attracted to men. As stupid as that sounds now, why wouldn’t I, as an 18 year old, believe what I was hearing from who I only presumed to be trained professionals? I trusted them and really worked hard to take their every suggestion, going as far as becoming a member of Sexaholics Anonymous, despite the fact that I had never even had sex at that point. It was nothing if not incredibly painful to do the same thing over and over again, only to be told to get up and try again by the very people who would describe that as insanity in any other case. I was never once told that what I was doing wasn’t working for me; instead, I was told to try harder. In all of the time I spent in the program, I was never even given the option to try something different until after quitting, when someone told me that my sexual orientation, whatever it may be, was perfectly acceptable and far from a determining factor in my ability to effectively work a program. It took years to hear that, the majority of which were spent somewhere that I definitely should have. That is not only unacceptable but they should be absolutely ashamed of themselves.

Alas, the problem I have with the program is not necessarily that they’ll never apologize to me, but that they lack the self-awareness to even consider it. When I shared my concerns about the program with one of their counselors, he dismissed them with the statement that it’s a perfect program ran by imperfect people and that I should judge them not by their actions, but by their intentions, which coincidentally, contradicts the program’s reliance on a quote from the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous that states exactly the opposite. He also told me that I was angry and resentful, despite the fact that I was neither. When I shared my concerns with another counselor, he dismissed them with the suggestion that perhaps the counseling I received, in regards to my sexual orientation, resulted from how I presented it to the staff. His feedback was not only highly insulting, but a complete bastardization of the facts. Not only was I brutally honest about that area of my life, so much that it's all I spoke of, but I was the client and it was far from my role to ensure that the counselors did their job. I was little more than a child at the time; nevertheless, the implication that my negative experiences were all my fault only served as evidence that any attempt to cooperate with the program, and convince them of the ways in which I was harmed, is futile. Why would I want to, anyway, after years of watching any criticism of the program be rationalized as the delusions of “bailed kids” or “disgruntled ex-staff?” The only answer would be to prevent it from happening again, although to think that outcome is even a possibility appears naïve at best. They’ve made it abundantly clear where they stand, that they’re right, everyone else is wrong, and there’s no reason for them to change anything - lest of course it threatens their credibility, which in that case they only become more insidious in their transgressions.

TLDR: The program not only intrusively dictates the sex lives of their clients, but has proven itself to be particularly unloving toward those who are LGBTQIA+. It is a cultural issue that can not be reduced to a few examples of bad counseling. It is clear that they see no reason whatsoever to change this.

[cutieodonoghue]

the edge of hope (5/9)

summary: canon divergent au; when Din left Sorgan to protect the Child, he left the woman he’d fallen in love with, not knowing he’d also left behind something else. Or, Omera and Winta join Mando and Grogu on their season 2 adventures. Mandomera!

Catch up here: 1, 2, 3, 4

Fifth chapter below the cut or on AO3!

The Siege

The Razor Crest felt full. 

Omera and Winta provided a constant soundtrack to the otherwise relatively quiet ship, talking back and forth about any and all things. Inside Winta’s mind, there seemed to be an endless pool of questions that she could ask about literally anything at all. Her favorite one, regardless of topic, seemed to be, “Why?”

In the past, Din might have gotten annoyed. He might have sequestered himself away from all of the questions and conversation, but instead, he noticed himself becoming more invested in what Winta wondered about.

They sat in the cockpit together while they traveled. Winta liked the chairs because they were “bouncy and fun”, but Din preferred it because it kept the endlessly curious children out of trouble in the cargo hold.

The Child sat in Omera’s lap, as he had for much of the journey already toward Nevarro. While Winta asked another question, Din focused on Omera.

Something had changed. On Trask, they’d become closer, with lingering touches and heart-to-heart discussions murmured in the quiet room at the inn. Now, when he caught her looking at him, there was a feeling in the very pit of his belly that felt like fire.

Part of him wished that they could be alone, so that they could have a few minutes to talk about what would happen after they found the Jedi, but there was a special comfort in sharing time together with the children.

“Din, do you think I could go down into the cargo hold?” Winta wondered. “I think it’s time to stretch my legs.”

Din looked at the girl and nodded. “Just don’t get into anything.”

Winta grinned. She hopped up out of her chair and swiftly made her way out of the cockpit, down the ladder, and into the hold below.

Omera met his gaze. She smiled a little at him. “I’m sorry for the endless questions. Winta’s at an age of wanting to learn about everything she can.”

“It’s okay. We have time to kill.”

She hummed and looked down at the Child in her lap. She took his fingers when he extended them outward to her. Then, looking back up at Din, she asked, “Are you hungry? I can make us something to eat.”

“You don’t have to do that. I can-”

Both of them stood at the same time, practically standing on top of each other. Omera laughed, peering up at him with softness in her gaze.

Din’s heart skipped a beat. He swallowed.

“Uh… I can go make sure Winta doesn’t get into my weapons… if you...”

She nodded minutely. “Okay.”

They continued to stand there, toe-to-toe, unwilling to move. He heard the Child make a noise, but didn’t look at him when Omera did.

“Do you want to help me?” she asked the boy. “When Winta was a baby, I had a piece of fabric I used to swaddle her against me so that I could work.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t get the vision out of his head. Omera and a baby Winta. 

“I have something you can use.” 

Omera smiled and her eyes brightened. “That’s right. You do. I saw it on Tatooine.”

Din nodded. “I’ll go get it. Wait here.”

Swiftly, he made his way out of the cockpit and dropped down to the hold below. Instantly, he saw Winta sitting on the floor with an opened crate, plucking things out and examining them with twisted lips and a curious lifted brow.

“What’s this?” she asked him.

It seemed she’d found his crate of useless odds and ends. Some of it was junk given to him along his travels. Some of it once had a purpose.

Winta held in her hands a glowrod. She flipped it on, the light nearly blinding her. In surprise, she shut it off again.

“It’s a flashlight. You use it when it’s dark.”

She tilted her head as she studied it. “Cool.”

He smiled a little as he went to snag the fabric he used as a sling for the Child. As he stepped back toward the ladder, he said, “Careful. There’s some sharp stuff in there.”

“I’m being careful.”

He sighed softly. “Just making sure.”

With practice, he quickly scaled the ladder and returned to the cockpit. Omera still stood with the Child in her arms, scrunching up her nose as she made faces at him. At Din’s arrival, she turned and grinned at him.

“Did you find it?”

He held out the fabric for her to take. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” Omera thoughtfully pulled the fabric away from him. 

She carefully wrapped the Child within it before she slipped it on over her head and allowed it to hang over one shoulder, then tied off the excess fabric at her side.

“There we go.” She lifted a hand to the Child’s back and faced Din. “What do you think?”

There were a few things that came to mind right away. A few things that he might be embarrassed to admit thinking about, like the vision he had of Omera with a baby in her wrap that wasn’t the Child or Winta.

“Looks… good.”

Omera laughed at the awkwardness of his answer. She stepped closer to him. “We’ll go make something to eat.”

“The galley is…”

“I’m well acquainted.” Omera teased. Before he could feel stupid for trying to give her directions, she pushed up onto her toes and kissed the cheek of his helmet. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

She shook her head. “You’ve made the journey so far very easy. As hard as it’s been. I just wish… maybe we could spend more time together alone.”

He nodded in agreement. “Not a lot of room to be alone on the Crest.”

“Not with the kids.” Omera smiled. She reached up and soothed one of the Child’s ears between two fingers. “Maybe we’ll have the chance soon.”

His heart skipped a beat even at the thought of spending time alone with her. Maybe then he could ask her about the secret he knew she was keeping from him. Maybe then he could tell her that he wanted them to stay together when this journey was finished.

“I would like that.”

Omera laughed gently and bit down on her lip, lifting her eyebrows. “The last time we were alone…”

Din laughed with her. “Yeah.” 

They stared at one another for a beat. The Child cooed, reminding each of them of the task at hand.

“I should go. I doubt it will take very long.”

Din tilted his head toward the door. “Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on Winta.”

Omera smiled at that, lingering for a second like she had something else she wanted to say, but she turned away instead. With Omera in the galley, Din dropped down below once more to see what Winta was up to.

She still sat on the floor, but now more pieces of junk were on the ground at her side as she analyzed each one thoughtfully. He folded his arms to his chest as he slowly approached her.

Winta didn’t look up right away, but when she did, she smiled. “I haven’t hurt myself. I’m being careful.”

“What are you doing with all of that?”

She looked at the junk on the ground. “I’m trying to make a game.”

“A game?”

Winta bobbed her head and went back to searching the crate at her side. “I’m looking for more flat things first.”

Din watched her cautiously, but refused to sit. He didn’t want her to hurt herself by accident.

Over the course of their journey together, he and Winta had become almost friends, if it were possible. He was constantly unsure of how to treat her, but she didn’t seem to care. She knew exactly how to treat him: with kindness, just like her mother did.

After a few minutes of analysis, accompanied by a song hummed beneath her breath, Winta looked up at him again.

“Din, what are these?” She held out in her palm a pair of dice.

He tilted his head. “You’ve never seen dice before?”

Winta shook her head innocently. She looked at the dice in her palm. “What do you do with them?”

Din shrugged. “They’re used in games. Sometimes people bet credits on them.”

The girl considered his words. “Why?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted when Omera landed on the lower level with the meal she’d prepared in her arm. 

“Anyone hungry?”

The Child, from his perch in the fabric wrapped around her, cooed, and Winta bounced up onto her feet. Quickly, she went to help Omera, abandoning the open crate and the trinkets on the floor.

“What did you make?” Winta asked.

“It’s just broth. Not very many ingredients to get creative.” Omera smiled at her daughter. “But it will fill us up.”

Once the broth was ladled out between all four bowls, Din took the Child to sit opposite Winta and Omera. The bowl was warm in his hands and smelled appetizing, but he wouldn’t drink it yet. He’d wait for them to return to the cockpit before indulging his hunger.

Sitting like they were, gathered together for a meal, he couldn’t help thinking about the future again. It was a comforting thought to have that they might get to share many more meals together.

“What have you been doing down here?” Omera asked. She looked down at the floor, where Winta had discarded the game she’d made.

“I was playing a game.” Winta smiled. “Din told me about dice.” She held the pair of dice up for Omera to see. “He said people bet credits on them sometimes.”

Omera hummed in confirmation. “We don’t gamble in our village. It might be fun if you had nothing better to do, but I’ve never been brave enough.” She gestured for Winta’s bowl. “Drink up. Din can’t eat if we keep talking so much.”

Winta sipped her broth just briefly. Her eyes twinkled. “I can’t wait until we get home. I’ll have so many stories to tell my friends. Like about the dragon on Tatooine, or the Frog Lady…”

“I’m sure your friends will love to hear all about our adventures.” Omera smiled fondly. “But-”

“But I need to drink my broth first.” Winta sighed. “I know…”

Omera laughed while the girl smiled into her bowl of broth. Beside Din, the Child giggled. He wasn’t sure if it was because Omera and Winta were laughing, or if it was because he found what Winta said to be funny.

“Din, do you have any stories about your adventures?” Winta asked, cocking her head to the side.

He couldn’t help but smile at the girl’s ferocious appetite for conversation. “Erm… I don’t know…”

“Aww...” Winta pouted. “But you have to have good stories to tell. That’s the number one rule for being a dad.”

Omera just about choked on her broth, her eyes growing wide. “Winta.”

Winta shrugged her shoulders playfully. “What will he tell the Child when he’s older?”

Sighing softly, Omera shook her head. “I’m sure when the Child is older, Din will have plenty of stories.”

For a moment, mother and daughter stared at one another. Winta quirked an eyebrow and bit down on her lower lip. Omera glared back at her, skilled at keeping the girl’s mouth shut with just one look.

“Mama has something to tell you,” Winta blurted out. She giggled and turned to Din. Her eyes were bright with a secret untold. 

Din cocked his head to the side as his stomach flipped in surprise. He knew she did. But hearing Winta say so surprised him. 

“She does?”

Winta bobbed her head. She hopped up onto her feet and rushed away, fleeing the scene and Omera’s mildly frustrated glare in lieu of going back up to the cockpit.

Din looked down at his bowl of broth, then at the Child, who hadn’t touched his broth either. 

With a wry smirk, Din finally looked at Omera. “Do you really have something to tell me, or was Winta just saying so to get out of having to drink her broth?”

Omera laughed through her nose. She hesitated for a moment with her thoughts, her smile softening substantially, then nodded.

“I do have something to tell you, but I don’t think right now is the best time.”

His eyes narrowed. Was she talking about the secret he’d seen hiding in her eyes? Or something different? Did it have something to do with what Winta had been crying about the other night?

“When would be the best time?”

She took a deep breath and sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”

Din nodded. “We should be arriving to Nevarro soon. Once we get everything squared away with the ship, maybe we can ask someone to watch the kids. We could spend some time alone. Maybe… you could tell me then?”

Omera didn’t respond right away, clearly made nervous by the idea, but smiled at him anyway. 

“Okay.”

With a frown, Din lamented how unsure she seemed. Was it about him? Maybe she was sick, or dying. Maybe she had moved on with someone else, and being here with him on the Crest was her way of trying to close out their chapter in her life. Maybe it was simpler than that: maybe she did love him.

The thoughts were enough to drive him up a wall, so he stuffed them away. 

Omera stood and left without another word, leaving him with the Child and a full bowl of broth.

Turning to the boy, he lifted his bowl upwards. The Child echoed the movement. 

Curious, he tilted his helmet up slightly, just enough to eat, and swallowed a sip of the broth. The Child did the same, peering up at him with those big eyes of his.

Din laughed through his nose. Seemed like the kid just wanted to play with him. He didn’t mind. As long as he wasn’t fully exposing his face, he still kept his creed. 

A deep fondness for the Child washed over him as he lowered the bowl away, having just enjoyed another taste of the broth. The kid’s ears quirked and he stared back at him: curious, happy.

A forbidden thought entered his mind not for the first time since starting on this journey. Maybe it would be best for the Child to stay with him. Maybe they would be a clan of two and he could raise him in the Way. Maybe he didn’t have to become a Jedi.

Sorrow followed the thought, dampening the way his heart soared with warmth at the companionship he shared with the small boy.

He was his father, and he always would be. That would have to be enough.

-

When the Razor Crest landed on the planet of Nevarro, it was with some difficulty. The ship had been patched together, but only just, and it struggled to make the landing as smooth as it had in the past. 

The ramp they used to step off of the ship and down onto the planet’s surface deployed only halfway. Winta giggled when the ramp wouldn’t lower any further. Omera held her hand, following after Din and the Child.

“It’s really broken, Mama.”

Omera smiled. “I don’t think the Mandalorian would appreciate you laughing about his ship being broken.”

Din glanced over his shoulder at them. “I can hear every word you’re saying.”

Winta winced and recoiled, curling into Omera just slightly. “Sorry!”

Omera couldn’t help but laugh when Din gave a responding chuckle. She squeezed on her daughter's hand.

“He’s teasing us, my love.” 

Winta relaxed instantly with a relieved sigh.

Just ahead of them on the ground stood one familiar face and an unfamiliar one. It was a surprise to see Cara Dune, the former shock trooper, with her tattoos and tough exterior, who had helped liberate their village from the raiders.

They’d spent a fair amount of time together on Sorgan, over cups of spotchka in the evenings and stories exchanged about their lives long ago. 

The man standing beside Cara spoke to Din, “Looks like someone could use some repairs.”

Din got to the edge of the fully outward extended ramp and dropped down on it to slide off. Once on the ground, he stood waiting for them to reach him.

Winta went first, jumping into Din’s open arms with Omera’s help. He grunted at the brunt of her weight, a little dramatically so that Winta would laugh again, and Omera waited to take his hand on her way down.

His hands were warm and strong, two things she’d come to define Din as, and she thanked him with a smile once she stood on flat earth.

Finally on the ground, the party of four approached the duo that Din appeared to be friendly with. He approached the man and offered him a handshake.

“How’s my credit around here?”

The man, whose beard was a white-gray, shrugged, glancing over at Cara. “I think something could be arranged. Isn’t that right, Marshal?”

“I’m sure we can work somethin’ out.” Cara looked from Din to Omera and Winta. A smile spread on her face quickly. 

“I’ll get my best people on it.” The man turned to a couple of repairmen working nearby. “Hey, fellas! Let’s fix this man’s ship! I want it as good as new.”

Looking at them again, the man finally seemed to take notice of Omera and Winta.

“Where are my manners? Greef Karga. Magistrate of Nevarro. And this is-”

“We’ve met,” Cara cut him off. “On Sorgan. Couple of months back. It’s good to see you again, Omera. Winta, too.”

“Sorgan,” Greef repeated, lifting an eyebrow in surprise. “How’d you end up on the Razor Crest with the Mandalorian?”

Omera glanced up at Din, trying to decide how much to share. She wasn’t sure what he’d told his friends about her, or about what he was on a mission to do.

“She’s helping me on my path to find a Jedi,” Din explained. 

“Ah.” Greef nodded. “And how is the little one?” He stepped toward Din and pulled the Child from his arms as if they were old friends. He chuckled when the Child grinned at the man. “Has Mando been taking good care of you, huh?”

The Child babbled and Greef beamed from ear-to-ear. “Yeah? Yeah! He said ‘yeah!’ Oh, yeah.”

Omera held back laughter at the sight of the man, who had once seemed somewhat intimidating, having turned himself into a grandfather-figure for the boy. 

Din walked on ahead with Winta bouncing and bubbly at his side, following the Magistrate to an undiscussed location. The Mandalorian and Winta had very quickly become close. Omera was glad that her daughter had taken a liking to Din, but part of her worried that if things between she and Din didn’t end favorably, Winta might be just as hurt as Omera would be.

Things wouldn’t end poorly, though. She had faith they would make this work. If she could just be bold enough to tell him about the baby, they could decide what their next steps would be from there.

Staying behind the rest of the group, Omera lingered back with Cara. 

“It’s been a while. How are you?”

Cara smiled at her, lifting a teasing brow. “I could ask you the same thing. You and Mando… what’s going on there? Somehow I doubt you’re actually just traveling buddies.”

Omera felt her cheeks get hot. She laughed under her breath, embarrassed, and shook her head as she gazed after Din. He held onto Winta’s hand as he chatted with her, gesturing outward to the town’s landscape.

She felt content with the fact that they were traveling together just because they wanted to. It hadn’t been a mistake to join Din on this journey. In fact, they’d grown closer because of it.

If nothing else would come of this journey, she and Winta would have plenty of stories of adventure to tell for years to come.

“He came to Sorgan and asked if we would come with him. I agreed.” She met Cara’s gaze. “I thought Winta would like the adventure, and she has. So far.”

Cara eyed her briefly, a smirk resting on her lips. For a second, Omera wondered if Cara had figured the whole thing out without needing a second glance. 

“And does he know about your pregnancy?”

Her eyes widened in surprise and she felt herself reach to cover her middle, as if it would do her any good at all. “How did you-?”

“Relax,” Cara kept her voice low, “it’s not exactly obvious, but… you’re glowing. You have a little bump. You’re traveling with that hunk of a man. I took a chance.” She paused. “He doesn’t know?”

Omera shook her head. “If he did, I don’t think we would be here.”

Cara hummed thoughtfully. She looked on ahead, at the Mandalorian’s figure. “Look at him. He’s got the whole dad thing down already.”

“You assume it’s his,” Omera retorted, quirking an eyebrow in defense.

Her companion shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, well, the timeline adds up. I saw the way you were together on Sorgan. I get it. Tough to picture him taking any of that off, but… hey, I won’t judge.”

Omera rolled her eyes, her cheeks now fully inflamed. She watched the Mandalorian with her daughter. Winta giggled at something Din must have said and swung his hand back and forth.

“I need to tell him. I just haven’t found the right moment.”

“Trust me, Omera. Just tell him. Doesn’t matter when, or how. He’ll find his way through. Might shock him, but he won’t have a complete meltdown. Not who he is.”

Nodding, Omera smiled in thanks. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to about this other than Winta, so… thank you. It’s nice to hear another perspective.”

“No problem.” Cara offered her a grin. “Congratulations. I’m sure you’re excited.”

Omera’s heart lifted. It felt so good to share her news with someone- a friend- who genuinely cared. It was different with Winta. Winta was eager to be a big sister, and could have cared less about nuances.

“I am.” She felt herself grinning wider. “I keep thinking it’s a dream… I never thought I’d have a second.” 

“And with Mando, no less. How’s that part of this going?”

Omera laughed and gave her head a shake. “We’ve hardly had any time together on our own. I almost wish we’d have the chance to leave the children somewhere safe for a little while so we could have a few minutes without worrying about them.”

Din turned, looking over his shoulder. He seemed to be begging for her help with Winta without needing to say or do a thing. Omera nodded at him in understanding.

“We should probably catch up with them before they think we’re up to something.”

When Omera and Cara caught up with the rest of the group, it was just in time for them to slow to a stop in front of a sealed door. Greef punched a code into the keypad. He still held the Child, whose ears were floppy as he tilted his head.

“I’m surprised to see this place is still standing,” Din said. “Are we sure we should be bringing the children into a bar?”

Greef shook his head. “Just wait till you see inside.”

Stepping in from the heat of the dry Nevarro desert, Omera’s eyes briefly needed to adjust to the lighting indoors. Soon, she realized that it was a school.

A protocol droid stood at the head of the class while rows of young children occupied desks, listening as best they could to the lesson. 

Omera couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Growing up, she’d been taught in schools just like this. Her heart yearned for Winta to be allowed to sit in a classroom and learn, even if she did love her school back home in the village. 

“A school?” Din kept his voice low.

“Things have changed a lot around here,” Cara replied coolly.

“We’ll leave the young ones here so we can talk business,” Greef said, nodding toward Winta at Din’s side. 

The Magistrate still held the Child in his hands, so he needed only to walk away, into the classroom with him in order to have his way. 

It made Omera a little wary that they’d leave the children in a school to talk business. Would there be any chance for she and Din to share time together at all?

Winta looked at Omera, silently asking what she should do. 

Omera nodded back at her. “Stay. Try to learn something new.”

Her daughter smiled and followed after Greef.

“Wait.” Din tried to stop the Magistrate. There was worry in his voice unmistakable, “Wherever I go, he goes.”

“Mando, please. Where we’re going, you don’t wanna take a child. Trust me.” 

Greef placed the Child into Winta’s arms at the only empty desk in the classroom. Winta settled in easily, smiling over at the children around her while she swung her feet just above the floor.

“They’ll both be fine here,” Cara said, addressing both Din and Omera. “You have my word.”

Din sighed, relenting to whatever it was that his friends wanted from him. As they walked out of the school and back into the sun, he said, “Winta, keep an eye on him.”

Winta bobbed her head and waved at them, content with the chance to sit and learn for a little while. Omera waved back, smiling at her daughter with excitement.

She walked alongside Din as Cara and Greef guided them along to a nearby building, away from the school. 

The Mandalorian gave out a sigh, one only audible to Omera. Very gently, she reached for his hand at his side, giving it a squeeze before she released him.

He snapped his focus onto her like she’d surprised him.

“He’ll be okay.”

Din sighed again. He tilted his head toward Greef, who remained within earshot. “I’m not worried about the kid.”

They were led into a building off of the main road of the Nevarro town, an unspoken plan for the Mandalorian guiding the pair’s deliberate actions. Whatever it was that Greef Karga wanted, she had the feeling that Din would now have no reason to decline. 

The office was small, with a pair of desks that were covered in equipment. Against the back wall, there were lockers and crates.

“I believe you two have met.” The Magistrate gestured to a Mythrol sitting at a desk in front of the door with eyes set on Din.

Almost instantly at the sight of the Mandalorian, the Mythrol expelled a blue mist from his head that settled like grains of sand on everything around him. 

“I’m surprised to see you here.” Din settled his hands over his belt in a way Omera thought was meant to be intimidating.

“Right back at ya.”

“Mythrol here’s taken care of my books since he was a pollywog,” Greef Karga explained. “But then he disappeared one day after a bit of ‘creative accounting.’”

“Magistrate Karga was generous enough to let me work off my debt.”

“Well, if he runs off on you again, let me know.” The Mandalorian sounded more than willing to round this particular individual up over and over again.

“Can we talk business?” Cara interrupted, walking over to a desk on the opposing wall.

Din shook his head in confusion. He glimpsed over at Omera. “We’re only here for repairs.”

“Which’ll take a while,” Greef said. “Means you’ll have free time on your hands, right? And we could really use your help.” 

Cara glanced between Omera and Din. “Both of you.”

“Help how?” the Mandalorian asked on their behalf.

Cara flipped a switch, powering on a holo map of the planet. “This is Nevarro. We’re here. This entire area’s a green zone. Completely safe." The map revealed a red area, far enough from the green zone to not interfere with day-to-day life. "But over on this side is the problem.”

“It’s an old Imperial base,” Greef supplied.

“It’s where all those troops came from when we defeated Moff Gideon,” Cara added. 

It occurred to Omera then that Moff Gideon must have been part of the fight that Din had encountered on Nevarro. He’d said he’d almost died at the hands of stormtroopers on this very planet. She wondered how it felt for him to be back again.

“This base has been here since the Imperial expansion,” Cara continued. “It’s got a skeleton crew, but for some reason, it hasn’t been abandoned.”

“There’s a lot o’ heavy weaponry in that place the black market would love to dismantle and get their hands on.”

“And you wanna mop up the last of the Imperial force before they do,” Din finished for his companions.

“Mando, I just want them off my planet,” Greef said, sounding a little irritated. “If we could take out that one last base, Nevarro would be completely safe. We could be a trade anchor for the entire sector.”

“And the planet would finally be free,” Cara added with a hint of optimism.

Cara seemed to have straightened out her priorities since the last time they saw one another. Last Omera knew, she was fighting for pay in a bar on Sorgan.

For just a few seconds as he contemplated the problem his friends faced, Din looked at Omera. 

“What do you think?”

Omera met Cara’s eyes from across the desk. They exchanged knowing smiles. “What’s our plan?”

-

The journey to the Imperial base was made in the Mythrol’s landspeeder. Din sat at her side behind Cara and Greef, and for the most part, they all kept to themselves.

She knew it was a bit reckless to go into a potentially dangerous situation like this one, but from what they’d said, the base had been mostly abandoned. With four of them armed and capable, it should be a breeze to get the job done.

There was something exciting about the idea that she was on an adventure with the Mandalorian, not having to worry about the children. She knew they worked well together. This would be another opportunity to see just how well they complemented each other.

As the Imperial base loomed closer, Omera felt Din’s fingers over her knee. Her attention turned to him and she smiled softly as she enclosed her hand over his.

She knew that he would only need a word from her to know that the situation was uncomfortable. He would take her into his arms and bring her to safety if she asked.

“Alright. Door coming up,” Cara announced. “Let’s just get in and get this done.”

Once the landspeeder slowed to a stop at the door, they all climbed out. Cara took the lead to the controls that would open the door. She groaned almost instantly.

“They’re melted. Imperial trash.”

“Probably not rated for lava,” Greef remarked, shaking his head. “I think there’s a flange cutter in the landspeeder. We could try using that.”

“Hold tight.” Din’s focus was on a landing platform just above. He took off with his jetpack and they heard the sounds of gunfire before a stormtrooper fell to the ground in front of them.

Omera looked up as the door beeped and slid open. On the landing, Din stood, waving at her. She laughed softly to herself and waved back at him.

“Well, that solved it,” Cara muttered under her breath. She gestured for Omera to follow. 

Soon, they were all in a turbolift going up, coming to a stop on the same level Din had flown up to. Omera gripped her gun a little tighter when she realized he hadn’t just had to take out one stormtrooper, but three.

“Empty base, huh?” Din asked, his voice a little tight.

They now stood on what appeared to be a landing pad for Imperial craft that led into their base. A few vehicles and crates sat covered and waiting, but there were no enemies remaining.

“The reactor should be set in the heat shaft,” Greef explained. “If we drain the cooling lines, this whole base will go up in a matter of minutes.”

Cara paused to look at one of the vehicles, half covered in a tarp, parked at the edge of the landing pad. 

“A Trexler Marauder. Might come in handy if we need to make a quick getaway.”

“It’s gonna get vaporized like the rest of this base,” Din said. He tipped his head toward the nearby entrance to the base. “Let’s go.”

They were careful, standing in pairs on each side of the blast door that led into the base. When it opened, there were no enemies standing by. They hadn’t been alerted of their arrival. It was a good sign. Maybe this would be a simple task after all.

The command room was one of the first they encountered, where one Imperial officer sat manning a security station. Cara took the lead, moving quietly toward the Imperial from behind as he tried to communicate with the shuttle bay.

Swiftly, Cara took out the officer with just one arm around his neck, dragging his unconscious body to the floor with a thud. After her, the Mandalorian went to search the security station while Greef leaned in over the body. He pulled something off of him and held it up.

“A code cylinder. This will be useful getting us into that heat shaft.”

Omera noticed Din shutting off the security camera feeds to buy their intrepid team some time as they made their way through the base to blow it up. 

Turning to them, Din said, “I found the heat shaft. Let’s go.”

All of them kept their guns drawn and their eyes and ears open as they followed Din’s lead through the corridors of the Imperial base. 

They encountered a pair of stormtroopers crossing a parallel hallway on their way to answer a call, but remained undetected when they ducked back behind the wall beyond the opening that otherwise would have revealed their crew.

“So much for getting some time alone,” Din told Omera quietly.

She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I kind of like this.”

As a unit, they snuck through the opening that led to the parallel corridor and toward a locked door that laid just beyond.

They were able to enter via the code cylinder plucked off of the security officer, and once they stepped past one final door, there was the heat shaft. Beneath grated flooring, hot, smoldering lava sat fiery and untamed at the bottom. 

Omera turned to Greef once she spotted the reactor controls. They were built into a tower with a thin walkway that wrapped around it. 

“I’ll drain the cooling lines. Give me the cylinder.”

Greef didn’t argue, rather seeming impressed instead as he settled the tool into her hand. 

She used caution to maneuver around the walkway. The space was tight. Her belly flipped with anxiety when she glanced down at the lava below, but she grit her teeth and made it work on behalf of the team.

“Mando, where did you find this one?” Greef asked. The trio standing by the door kept watch, and Din was the most careful, standing in the doorway with his gun at the ready. “Not only is she beautiful, but she’s absolutely fearless.”

“She’s spoken for, too, so why don’t you keep the compliments to yourself?” Cara asked, clearly teasing everyone in the lava chamber. “Isn’t that right, Mando?”

Din made a noise, something between an annoyed sigh and a scoff, completely non-committal in the face of everything his friends teased him about. 

Omera inserted the code cylinder then and focused her attention on getting the cooling lines drained.

“Well, if you’re not interested...” Greef jabbed. 

“You should’ve seen him on Sorgan. I’m pretty sure he is.”

Greef clicked his tongue against his cheek and laughed. “Oh, does Mando have a crush?”

“I’d say so,” Cara replied. “Look at him. He’s so defensive.”

“I’m not defensive…”

Even though they were still on guard, both of his friends chuckled at the awkward nature of his voice. 

Omera glanced at them briefly, unable to help from smiling just a little. The Mandalorian’s attention was on the hallway ahead of him, clearly trying to avoid the conversation. 

As quickly as she could, she finished her task at the console and removed the cylinder. She made her way back to the group on the landing and nodded at them.

“I’ll let you know if the Mandalorian decides to seal the deal, but for now… the base is set to explode, so we need to get out of here.”

Greef Karga laughed once. “Cool under pressure, too. Kriff, Mando. You better lock it in.”

Din shot Greef a deeply annoyed glare noticeable even without seeing his eyes. 

Omera rejoined them in the entrance to the shaft and they took off, rushing toward the main corridor once more to try and find their way out in under ten minutes.

An alarm blared as the base alerted the Imperials of its impending destruction, and when they found an opening to take, Din peered around it, slowing with his fist in the air to get the rest of them to stop.

She could hear stormtroopers. It seemed they were on the lookout for trespassers. Her belly flipped anxiously. Time was limited and she very much wanted to get off of the base in one piece.

Din turned around, gesturing instead to the hall behind them. Omera nodded and followed his lead. When they rounded a corner, they discovered two Imperials standing behind a console.

The men drew guns when they noticed their arrival, seeming flustered, shooting both at them and at the console itself.

Omera acted quickly, firing her weapon with the rest of the group. She shot at the Imperial to the left and he keeled over instantly. Din shot at the Imperial to the right and he suffered a similar fate.

“Okay, now you’re both just rubbing it in,” Karga joked lightly.

Omera smirked in Din’s direction, proud to have been of some help, but his focus had already turned to the wall ahead of the officers, to a series of figures in cylindrical tubes full of liquid.

“I thought you said this was a forward operating base,” Cara said to Greef.

“I thought it was.” Greef’s tone had shifted significantly. 

Worry settled over the group and Omera took a step toward the console, gentle to remove the body of a fallen Imperial so she could see what they had been working on. Much of the console had been destroyed in the gunfire, but she was able to bypass some of the damage.

“No, this isn’t a military operation,” Cara said thoughtfully. “This is a lab.”

Omera uncovered a transmission, the last to be sent from the terminal, and switched it on. The holo of an unfamiliar man in white appeared on the top of the console. 

“Unfortunately, we have exhausted our initial supply of blood. The Child is small, and I was only able to harvest a limited amount without killing him.” 

Omera met Din’s gaze. These were the ones who had been searching for the Child, and it seemed they had done something to him. 

“If these experiments are to continue as requested, we would again require access to the donor. I will not disappoint you again, Moff Gideon.”

There was that name again. Gideon. Omera knew nothing of him, but nothing but dread filled her hearing his name.

“This must be an old transmission.” Din shook his head in denial. “Moff Gideon is dead.” 

“No.” Omera frowned worriedly. “This recording is three days old.” 

“If Gideon’s alive then…”

Suddenly, the sound of enemy stormtrooper footsteps came to the open door they’d entered from. A few stormtroopers with guns pointed in on them gathered and Omera sprung to action with the rest of her companions.

Swiftly, they brought them down, but Omera knew there were more in the waiting. They really needed to get out before the base blew up.

“I need to get the kid.” Din’s voice was laden with worry. 

If Moff Gideon was after the Child, any lingering stay would put a greater target on him. That much she could understand.

Omera’s heart ached. They’d barely been able to find the location of a Jedi. Now, the Mandalorian would have to stave off the Empire while he tried to deliver the Child to one of his kind.

“Jet back,” Cara told Din. “You’re faster that way. We’ll head to the speeder and meet you in town.”

Din hesitated, turning his attention to Omera. 

She smiled and nodded at him. She didn’t want him to worry about her. “I’ll be fine. Just go get the kids.”

Even still, the Mandalorian stared at her silently. It was like he was frozen, wanting to keep her safe while also knowing he needed to be there for his son.

Omera put one hand against his helmet and gave him a firm nod. “It’s okay. Go. We’ll make it.”

“Come on!” Karga called out from behind. “Let’s go!”

With one final nod to each other, she and Din took off in opposite directions.

Soon, Omera found herself in a gunfight with several stormtroopers on the landing dock. Hiding behind a couple of crates, she, Cara, and Greef fired back at the troopers, but the main concern was getting the hell off of the base in time to escape the explosion.

Omera caught Cara looking over at the Trexler Marauder she’d noticed before. Omera nodded at her. “Go get it. We’ll cover you.”

Focused solely on the task at hand, Omera heard Karga beside her chuckle. “I'm glad Mando wanted to bring you along.”

“We’re not out of this yet.” Omera glanced over her shoulder when the Marauder pulled in beside them, the door open. “Get in. I’ll keep cover.”

She shot at a stormtrooper, knocking him onto his back, and carefully maneuvered herself into the vehicle. As soon as she was inside, she closed the door and climbed into the seat beside Cara while Greef lingered back.

“Go, now.”

Cara had her sight set on a door directly ahead, wide open and just big enough to fit them through, but just as soon as they reached the entrance, it sealed shut. 

On a growl, Cara reversed the craft, swinging them around again. Omera couldn’t help but get dizzy, her stomach lurching as a wave of nausea found her. 

Before she could ask Cara what she was doing, they were sent careening off the side of the landing pad. They all screamed for their lives until they crashed directly on top of the Mythrol’s landspeeder, crushing it entirely.

The Marauder bounced violently, jolting each passenger as it settled on the ground. 

“Sorry about that, Omera,” Cara apologized, shifting the Marauder into gear.

Omera shook her head. “I’m just glad we’re off of the base.”

They were off, quickly putting distance between them and the base, as the Imperials sent waves of speeder bikes after them.

“Man the guns, Karga,” Cara called over her shoulder.

“Already on it.”

Omera’s eyes were wide as she watched out the windows, trying her hardest to see what danger might lie ahead.

The blast of the cannon attached to the vessel deployed as Greef set his sights on the enemy at their back.

“One down.”

She heard two bikes on them, both coming alongside them on each side of the vessel. The Imperial at Cara’s immediate right fired in on them. Without ceremony, Cara slammed the Marauder into the canyon wall, crushing the enemy in a fiery explosion.

“There’s one more,” Omera warned. She listened out, realizing that he must’ve climbed on top of them. “Spin around. He’s on top of us.”

Doing as he was told, Greef pivoted and instantly blasted the enemy. He laughed. “Whoo! Now that’s some good tactical work.”

Moments later, from far beyond, the entire base exploded, a blast so loud that it was unmistakable. They all laughed in celebration. They’d accomplished their goal and escaped with their lives.

Omera smiled wide at Cara. “We did it.”

Cara nodded her head. Looking briefly over her shoulder at Greef, she said, “Headed home, boss.”

The Marauder picked up speed as a few tie fighters began flying overhead, firing on them in an attempt to pick them off from the sky where they would be less equipped to fight back.

Omera’s heart dropped. They were officially outgunned.

-

When Din landed in town, his mind felt clouded. 

Moff Gideon hadn’t died. Moff Gideon was alive and would be after the kid. It was only a matter of time before they found him again.

On top of his fears for the Child, he found himself even more fearful for Omera. He’d left her with two capable fighters, and she was quite capable herself, but they hadn’t exactly gone into a friendly fight. He’d seen what the Imperials could do.

There was really only one choice: he needed to get the kids, get back to the Crest, and do what he could to help. He just really hoped she would make it out of that base in time.

He entered the school through the side door. The instant the seal opened, he saw Winta and the Child right where he’d left them. 

“Winta.”

She turned, her eyes bright. “Is it time to go?”

Din nodded his head. He came up to the children and took the Child into his arms. Winta had accumulated a few things while he’d been away. A packet of cookies and a flat piece of metal scrap sat on her desk.

“Come on. Gotta hurry, kid.”

Winta understood. She gathered everything as quickly as she could. As he led the girl out of the school, he heard her say, “Bye!”

“Bye Winta!”

Apparently, Winta had made fast friends of the kids in the school. Once they were outside, he took her by the hand and guided her toward the Razor Crest.

“Where’s Mama?”

Din wasn’t sure how to answer Winta’s question. He kept his focus on getting them to the ship.

“She’s fine. We just… got into a little trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Winta sounded nervous.

“Don’t worry about it. We’re gonna help. Okay? When we get on the Crest, both of you need to buckle in while I start flight prep.”

“Okay.”

Luckily, Winta had no further questions for him as they approached the ship. He wasn’t sure how much had been repaired while they’d been away, but at the very least, the ramp was extended fully.

Once he had the kids in the cockpit, Din let his next biggest concern overwhelm him: Omera.

“You guys strapped in?” he asked without looking over his shoulder.

“Yep!”

“Might get a little scary. Don’t know what to expect. Just trust me. It’s gonna be okay.”

They took off and he brought the Razor Crest around, going toward the base. In the distance, he could see smoke, which meant they’d succeeded in blowing the base. But, he also saw three TIE fighters on the tail of a speeding Trexler Marauder.

Cara, Greef, and Omera must’ve used it to get off of the base. 

The fighters fired on the Marauder. It was three to one, and it seemed the Marauder had lost its guns.

Din clenched his teeth. Omera was on board that vehicle. He knew she was.

They hadn’t had the time they needed to be alone. He knew she wanted to tell him something, but he now desperately realized that he needed to tell her something as well: that he wanted them to stay together.

He wouldn’t get the opportunity to do anything if the fighters were able to fire upon the Marauder much more.

As soon as the Crest was close enough, he fired upon one of the fighters. It exploded with a satisfying cloud of flame and smoke. There were just two left now.

“Hang on back there.”

He brought the Crest higher and with the increase in altitude, he heard both the Child and Winta giggling excitedly.

He fired on the fighter ahead of him. Another down. One left.

Turning around to face off against the final TIE, Winta and the Child both laughed, full-bellied. Din smiled to himself with a small shake of his head.

The fighter was far enough away that he engaged the engines, then rolled the ship as they dove toward it. 

Behind him, Winta screamed with surprise and delight. “Whoa!”

“You okay?”

“Yeah!”

He set his sights on the final fighter as it fired at them. Took the shot. It exploded. It was almost child's play.

Finally, he felt as if he could breathe again. Omera would be alright. Greef and Cara had got what they wanted. Turning to check on the kids, he looked first at the Child.

“Not too bad, huh, kid?”

The Child, who gripped one of the blue cookies he must've procured in class, spit up over the front of his clothes.

“Eww!” Winta giggled.

“Oh, boy.” Din reached back to dab at the throw up with his cape, careful as he brought the Crest back toward town. 

“Where’s Mama, Din?”

He glanced over his shoulder at Winta. “We’ll go get her now.”

-

Safe on the ground outside of town, Omera waited alongside Cara and Greef while the Razor Crest made its descent back to the ground again. 

Watching him fight off the fighters with his ship had been nothing short of impressive, and she had the feeling that the children must’ve had the time of their lives just being along for the ride.

The ship seemed to have been repaired well enough to perform above average, so instinct said that Din would want to be off and on their way as quickly as they could, especially knowing that Moff Gideon was still alive, hunting for the Child.

“Omera,” Greef said her name with a smile, “you are welcome back to Nevarro anytime. Mando is lucky to have you.”

She couldn’t help but blush, laughing as she shook his extended hand. “Thank you.” 

Pausing, she turned at the sound of the ramp of the Crest lowering. The Mandalorian climbed down alone. 

“That was some pretty impressive flying, Mando. What do I owe ya?”

Din joined them where they stood gathered together at the base of the Crest. Almost naturally drawn in close, he found her side. 

“With the repairs, let’s call it even.”

Greef looked between them. “Can I at least buy you a drink? Perhaps you could stay the night at my finest inn, in one of my finest suites.”

“Sorry. I have some onboard maintenance I gotta take care of.” Din gestured up toward the interior of the ship with his head. “Then we gotta hit the road before Gideon catches wise.”

“Well, it was good to see you again, old friend.” Greef presented Din a hand to shake. He took it, gripping his forearm.

Omera took a moment to give Cara a smile. The Marshal of Nevarro smirked back at her. “You kicked some serious ass today, Omera. Could use some help rounding up mercs around here.”

She nodded, her gaze going to Din again. “Maybe once his mission is seen through, we’ll come back.”

Cara bowed her head, pleased with her reaction. “Good luck. Stay safe out there.”

“You too.”

The Mandalorian turned away from Greef, looking at her instead. “You ready to go?”

Omera smiled at him. “Yes.”

They climbed up into the Razor Crest together, and once they stood in the privacy of the cargo hold with the ramp sealed shut, Omera was surprised by the feeling of his hand on her wrist, turning her towards him.

Instantly, he lowered the crown of his head to hers. A feeling of warmth spread within her and she smiled. Settling her fingers over his helmet, she listened to the sound of his breathing. 

The intensity of the embrace reminded her of the night on Sorgan, a desperation in the way they touched like it could be the last chance they’d have.

“You okay?” Omera asked quietly.

“Just… glad you are,” Din replied. “Could’ve lost you out there.”

She shook her head, still pressed to Din’s. “We had it handled. You did the right thing, going back for him.”

When he finally pulled away, his hand slid down her wrist to meet her fingers. It was so natural that it almost felt like they’d always held hands like this. 

It was so natural that it almost felt like they’d always been together like this.

“After we find the Jedi, we should talk about settling down somewhere safe.”

Omera’s heart jumped and she narrowed her eyes slightly as a smile spread across her face. She was cautious to feel joy at the words he’d spoken, too nervous that it would be taken from her.

“You want to stay together?”

Din nodded. “We never had the chance to be alone today, and I wanted to talk to you about it then.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t really have any idea how this is supposed to work, but I know I don’t want to go back to the way things were before. Do you…?”

She laughed, breathless, and wrapped her arms around his neck, causing him to stumble slightly as he settled his arms around her middle. 

“Yes. Of course I want us to stay together.”

Omera pulled away slightly, enough to press her forehead into his, and shut her eyes as tightly as she could. Breathing in deeply, she had only one thing on her mind: telling him the secret that had plagued her for months now.

“Din, I was going to tell you something.”

Her fingers found his chest and she took a step away from him, his hands lingering on her lower back. He studied her, silent, and she wished for the strength she needed.

“What is it?” He sounded a little nervous. 

Omera stared at him, her chest heaving for breath as tears found her eyes. It was overwhelming to think that this secret, this private thing she’d held onto for so long, would finally be shared with the one who her heart trusted the most.

She shook her head, smiling to keep him from worrying. “I…”

“Mama!” Winta’s voice interrupted, breaking them apart. “We did flips and the Child threw up and it was so fun!”

She smiled at her daughter, kneeling so that she could wrap her arms around her tightly in a warm embrace. “How was school?”

“Good.” Winta bobbed her head. She pulled away from the hug. “I learned about some new planets and I made friends. The teacher said I did a good job.”

Omera smiled, pleased that she’d had at least a little fun while she could. “I’m glad you had a good time in school.”

Suddenly, Winta hurried off, going to the little cubby where Din told them he usually slept while on long space journeys. The girl plucked up a piece of flat metal and brought it to Omera. She held it up, pointing to a series of figures she’d etched into the scrap.

“I made all of us.” Winta beamed. “Din, the Child, you, and me!”

Omera couldn’t help but smile back at the effort she’d put in crafting the picture of the four of them, all standing in a line holding hands. 

“It’s beautiful, my love.” 

Winta smiled kindly and peered up at Din. “I made it for you, Din.”

Din knelt beside Omera to look at the obscure artwork. He chuckled. “I love it. Thank you, Winta.”

“Maybe one day… I can add more to it.” Winta teased with a little shrug.

Omera shot her a dry look, silently insisting that she keep her mouth shut about their new addition. It had been a close call before as they shared broth. A second attempt was just asking for trouble.

“What kinds of things would you add?” Din asked, genuinely curious.

“Maybe… a baby?”

Din scoffed. He stood, taking the picture with him. “Do you even know where babies come from?”

Omera slowly rose to her own feet and watched Din carefully.

“Yes,” Winta said, trying to sound like she did. “They come from mothers.”

The Mandalorian huffed. “Babies need fathers, too. Human ones, at least.”

Winta hummed thoughtfully. She made direct, purposeful eye contact with Omera, as if trying to figure out right then and there how Omera had been given the child that grew within her. 

“Mama, is that true?” 

Winta knew this already. Of course she did. Children in the village had fathers. She herself had a father, one she’d been told about time and again in stories spoken in whispers at bedtime. She even knew that her unborn sibling had a father. 

This was just her daughter trying to get an answer out of her that she wasn’t going to give her just yet. Once Din knew about the baby, Omera would feel right enough to tell Winta. Until then, the father of her child would remain private.

“Yes, Winta. It’s true.”

It was getting harder to keep this a secret, wasn’t it? She’d almost been able to tell him, but now with Winta in the room it seemed she would never have the opportunity to tell him in the way he needed to hear it.

Din put Winta’s picture in the little sleeping nook again. Turning around, he cocked his head to the side. 

“If this is about wondering where the Child comes from… I don’t have any idea.”

Winta met Omera’s eyes. She smirked at her as if she were ready to say something incriminating. 

“Go get strapped in, please. We’re getting ready to leave.” Omera said before her daughter could manage to spoil this for everyone.

Winta bobbed her head and spun on her heel, moving swiftly up to the cockpit. Omera waited for the door to seal before she turned her attention to Din.

Swallowing at the lump that had formed in the back of her throat, Omera closed the space between her and Din slowly.

“We should go. To Corvus.”

Din nodded in agreement. “Did you have something you wanted to tell me?”

Omera took a deep breath. Yes. But it wasn’t the time. Not anymore. “I’ll tell you when we find the Jedi. We need to keep moving. You said it yourself… Gideon’s still out there. I don’t know what he did, but I have to believe he means harm to your boy after what we saw on the transmission.”

He hesitated for a second. “Omera… if Gideon is still after the kid, I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe with me. He’s the reason I almost died on Nevarro.”

Omera’s heart plunged into her belly. She knew there was a reason she didn’t feel right about Gideon. If he had been nearly strong enough to take out the Mandalorian, he was capable of a lot worse.

She frowned. “Do you think he knows where you are?”

“There’s no way of knowing. He could have eyes anywhere.” He sighed. “What do you want to do?”

Omera tilted her head, considering him. It would be so easy to walk away now, but after everything they’d seen and been through together, she wanted to see it through to the end. She could handle herself and protect their children, should the fight come to them.

“We’ve come this far,” she replied. “I think it would be a shame to walk away before the end of your mission.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Corvus is under the radar enough. We should be fine if we keep moving.”

Omera put her hand on his arm when he tried to step past her toward the ladder up to the cockpit. 

Their gazes locked. She felt her stomach flip.

“What I have to tell you isn’t bad.”

Din gently touched her hand on his arm. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

How had she gotten so lucky to find him? He was so patient with her that it almost felt unfair. What she needed to tell him was something so impatient. There was very little time left for her to tell him without difficult consequences.

“Din…”

He nodded his head at her. “We have time. Right?”

Her heart leapt. They’d decided to stay together. 

It was already a bad idea in retrospect. She shouldn’t have allowed him to suggest it, not without all of the information he needed to make that decision. It was nice to think they could stay together, but if he didn’t want to raise the baby with her, that would change things.

Omera nodded back at him. “Right.”

The Mandalorian stepped past her to go up to the cockpit, leaving her down below with the weight of a dozen boulders on her shoulders. She sighed heavily and lowered a hand to cover her middle.

“Omera?” Din called from up above.

She turned around. “Yes?”

“The kid, uh... got a little messy. Think you can grab a wet cloth for me?”

Omera smiled to herself. She stepped toward the privy just behind the ladder and found a cloth she could wet in the sink. “Of course.”

When she climbed up to join the rest of the crew in the cockpit, she found Din crouched on the ground in front of the chair where the Child sat, his clothes covered in blue spit up.

“Uh oh…” Omera teased. She knelt on the floor beside Din. “Did you have too much fun today?”

“He had a snack.” Din held a package of blue cookies in his hand.

Omera hummed. She reached up with the cloth to wipe at the fabric of the Child’s shirt. She’d dealt with this many times with Winta as a baby. Soon, she’d have to do it all over again with a new baby.

"He got them with his special powers,” Winta shared. “They went ziiiip right into his hand.”

Omera glanced over at her daughter, then looked at the boy. He seemed so innocent, canting his head to the side while she rubbed his shirt clean. “Well, I think he enjoyed them.”

“A little too much,” Din agreed.

Both she and Winta laughed. Finally finished cleaning up the mess, Omera lowered the cloth into her lap.

“There we go.” She smiled. “All clean.”

Looking over at Din, she found his attention on her already. “Thanks.”

“No problem at all.”

It was then, sitting on the floor of the cockpit with the Mandalorian and his boy, that she made up her mind. For better or worse, whether she had the words or not, she would tell Din her secret as soon as they found the Jedi.

[boykisserbuckley]

BUCK + TRAPPED UNDER RUBBLE PLS 💕

love that you’re the first to send a prompt :) this is 100% designed to hurt you specifically. have fun!!

(we’re playing fanfic bingo if anybody wants to join in)

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. It happens every time; the moment he lets himself think that things are going to work out for him, for the team, it all goes to shit immediately. It’s like the universe is listening, waiting to show him just how much bad luck a person can have in their life. He’s getting pretty tired of it. But, endlessly optimistic as he always tries to be, he lets himself hope things will work out anyway. Yeah, maybe it’s a little bit out of spite. Suck it, universe.

Of course, that just makes the universe hit him harder, because it doesn’t like being insulted, apparently. He’s out on a call with the team this time. They’d had a minor earthquake, much smaller than the one they’d had when Eddie was still a rookie, but it was enough to cause some structural damage and put a couple of people in need of rescuing. No big deal, right? That’s Buck’s specialty.

The house they pull up to is a nice one. Three stories, old and elegant; it’s one of the few Victorian-style mansions still left in this area of the city—which was designated as a historic preservation zone in 1983, Buck announces, even if Chim laughs and teases that they didn’t ask—but it doesn’t look like it’ll be standing much longer. The roof has caved in over the wrap-around porch, making it a bit of a challenge to reach the door, and Buck can tell the upper levels are beginning to strain. Dispatch had informed them that there were two people on the second floor, where a doorway had collapsed and trapped them in their bedroom.

Buck and Eddie head in, picking their way over the wreckage of the porch. Buck eyes the ceiling warily when they make it past the door, noting one of the larger cracks that’s opened up in a corner. The house might be mostly in one piece, but it’s definitely not stable. They’ll have to be quick.

“Looks like the stairs are still viable,” Eddie says, testing his weight on the lowest few steps. They hold.

“Convenient,” Buck says. He follows Eddie up, and they find the issue, clear as day. Just like dispatch had said, the doorway of the bedroom had collapsed, and parts of the third floor had come down on top of it, making the whole front section of the room impassable. Unless, of course, you’re a firefighter with heavy equipment designed specifically for this purpose.

Buck gets himself set up to start shifting debris while Eddie calls out to the couple, trying to gauge how far they are from the wreckage, or if there are any injuries. Thankfully, it seems like they’d managed to get themselves out of the way; they’re unhurt, and huddled in the corner of the room that still has a ceiling.

They get the couple out in record time, and Buck feels lucky for the first time in a while. Eddie leads the way back down the stairs while Buck follows, keeping the couple between them. It’s easy. No one’s hurt this time. They’ve had simple calls all day, and they’re nearing the end of their shift with nothing major having gone down at all. It’s probably the first time in months that they’ve had a relatively relaxed shift, and it’s almost nice.

Just then, the ground rumbles. Buck steadies himself on a wall as the aftershock ripples underneath them, setting the house trembling all over again. He can hear the old wood creaking ominously.

They’re so close to the door. Eddie is nearly there already, kicking out debris to make room to get the couple safely outside. Buck rights himself and moves, herding his charges towards the opening Eddie has just created. He can feel the aftershock fading, but they don’t want to waste any time, because that crack he’d spotted earlier is larger than before and no one wants to get caught when this building comes down.

It’s just as he helps the man they’d rescued through the doorway and gets ready to climb out himself that Buck realizes he’s done it again; the universe hates him, and he’d had the audacity to think this was going to be easy. The walls groan loudly, and he makes the mistake of looking up, just in time to see the fissure in the ceiling widening further. Oh, shit, he thinks.

Buck scrambles desperately for the doorway, but he only makes it far enough to catch Eddie’s wide eyed expression for a split second before the ground shifts, tilts, and the walls come tumbling inwards.

~~~

Buck comes back to himself in a haze of pain. It’s everywhere, a whole body ache that won’t let up. So this is what a house feels like, he muses, and then frowns when he realizes that doesn’t make any sense. His mind feels sluggish, like it hasn’t quite caught up to what’s happening, and he can’t bring himself to focus on anything past the fact that everything hurts.

He tries to shift, and the pain flares harshly, slamming him the rest of the way into consciousness as he tries to breathe through it. He blinks his eyes open to darkness, the faint shapes of wooden beams above him, and plaster dust coating everything in a fine layer of white. There’s noise coming from somewhere by his ear, and it takes him a moment too long to realize that it’s his radio, still clipped to his uniform. It clicks again and Buck’s head lolls to the right, trying to listen.

“Buckley!” Bobby’s voice crackles through, sounding like this isn’t the first time he’s tried to call for him. How long had Buck been out? His head aches too much to try to think, so he lets it go. It doesn’t matter anyway.

He feels like he should answer. His captain is calling for him, so he should respond, right? He can’t ignore Bobby. He doesn’t want to get fired again.

Buck tries to reach for his radio, only to pull up short when his left arm won’t move. Why won’t it move? He rolls his head over to his other side, blinking slowly, and—oh. It’s stuck. It’s stretched out past the little pocket of space he’s found himself in, meaning it wasn’t protected by the larger beams that are holding the rest of the debris up from crushing him completely.

Without thinking, Buck tugs on it, trying to get it free. His mind doesn’t register how bad that idea was until his vision nearly whites out, agony lancing up the limb all the way to his shoulder. He’s panting by the time it fades back to a slightly-less-debilitating ache, and he decides that he’s definitely not going to try that again. Instead, he reaches for his radio with his right arm, which seems mostly fine. His team is still calling for him, and he wants to respond, but the best he can manage when he fumbles for the button is a low whine. The clamoring voices all stop, briefly, and then—

“Buck?” Bobby again, more tentative than Buck has ever heard him.

“Bobby,” he groans, finally getting his voice to work.

“Oh, thank god,” Bobby says. “Just hold on, son, we’ll get you out of there.”

Buck feels himself drift for a second. Everything feels a little fuzzy, but he can’t find it in himself to worry, not when he knows his team is coming for him. They’ll get him out.

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie’s voice from the radio brings him back, just barely. “You still with us, buddy?”

Buck hums affirmatively.

“Gotta give me more than that, man,” Eddie chastises. “You know the drill. Stay awake, keep talking. How about you tell me how you’re feeling, so we know what we’re lookin’ at when we get you out of there?”

“Mmm, yeah,” Buck murmurs. He blinks languidly. “Head hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” Eddie says. “You were out for a bit.”

“Think I fucked up my ribs,” Buck continues, “an’ my arm. It’s stuck.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle, and he sounds sympathetic when he prompts, “Anything else?”

“Don’t think so,” Buck says. He blinks again, eyelids feeling heavier than before. Why is he so tired? “Gettin’ sleepy down here, Eds.”

“None of that, bud,” Eddie responds, “How about I tell you what Christopher is doing for his history project? He’s learning about dinosaurs.”

Buck knows Eddie is just trying to keep him awake, but he actually does want to know what Christopher is learning, so he agrees. Eddie launches into the dinosaur spiel easily. Buck just listens as he talks, letting his arm fall across his midsection now that he doesn’t need it to press the button on his radio.

Belatedly, he recognizes that his side is wetter than it should be. He hadn’t even registered it amidst all the pain from his arm, but now that he’s got his hand pressed up against it, he can feel the warmth seeping out against his fingers.

Huh, he thinks, bringing his hand up to look at it. He can’t make out much in the dark, but it’s definitely dripping with something.

“Eddie,” he calls into the radio, trying not to let it slip out of his slick fingers. Eddie stops in the middle of his sentence, but before he can ask, Buck mutters, “Think ‘m bleeding.”

“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, mostly to himself, it seems. Buck can hear him call out to Bobby, before he’s back again. “We’re almost there, Buck, don’t worry. We got you.”

“I jinxed it,” Buck says quietly. He thinks he should put pressure on the wound, or something, but his body feels heavy and he can’t bring himself to move his good hand. He wants to keep talking to Eddie.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“I jinxed it,” Buck repeats, his words coming out a little slurred. “Thought we were gonna make it. But th’ universe hates me. Made me fall.”

He thinks Eddie responds, but he can’t really be sure. He feels like he’s underwater. The sounds of shifting rubble are distorted and distant, and he’s losing his precarious grip on consciousness again.

“Buck luck,” he snorts, half out of it. His hand slips off the radio. He dimly registers someone calling to him, from somewhere close, but his energy is spent. He lets himself fade out, and hopes his team gets through to him in time.

~~~

Buck really needs to stop jinxing things. This is, what, the fifth time he’s ended up in the hospital? Sixth? That’s too many. He’s so tired of hospitals. At least this time, they’ve got him on the good painkillers, so he doesn’t feel quite as shitty as he did when he was stuck under two floors worth of rubble.

He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and gives himself a moment to focus, letting his eyes adjust to the dimmed lights of the room. He takes stock: left arm in a heavy cast from wrist to elbow. Side and chest wrapped up, head still aching like a bitch but better now that there’s a pillow under it rather than a pile of stone foundation. Right hand being held by someone else. What?

Buck frowns and looks down at his hand, where it’s grasped between both of Eddie’s, who is fast asleep and spread out across two hospital chairs. Buck stares at him for a moment, debating whether or not to wake him. Ultimately he decides not to, because he doesn’t really want him to wake up and decide to take his hand back. Near-death experiences call for a little hand-holding, right? So Buck is just going to let himself enjoy this for a minute. He sighs and settles back, still tired enough that he wants to fall straight back into sleep. After another moment of studying the way Eddie’s hands are clutching his, even in sleep, Buck closes his eyes again. His last thought as he drifts off is, maybe my luck isn't so bad, after all.

(posting the card again here so ppl know which prompts have been claimed!!)

[yodawgiherd]

Red flag

>>> AO3 <<<

ye, just creating random scenarios instead of sleeping, that's how we roll

“Don’t get into cars with strangers.“

That’s what her mother told her back when she was a child, and that was the rule she lived by. Until tonight. Because tonight, Mikasa was leading a complete unknown out of the bar, not nearly as drunk as she wanted to be when she came. Why? Because her last exam was done, which meant that now she had a glorious month of no university work, no assignments, no nothing, just free time to do whatever she wished. Which meant getting roped in with Sasha and following her bestie out of the dorms and into the welcoming embrace of the city’s busy nightlife.

With a clear intent in mind, to get as drunk as possible and finally let go for once. School was kicking her ass lately, so much that she had to cut down on her Muay Thai classes, a fact that had her brother scowling endlessly. Mikasa shook her head. She didn’t want to think about her brother today, or school, or workouts. Tonight, she wanted to drink and have a good time with Sasha. Tonight, her brain was on party mode.

The plan was great at the start. She and Sasha met some other schoolmates at the first bar, doing the exact same thing, and they joined forces. When Sasha grew bored, they changed establishments for another bar where they met yet another group, and once again bundled together. Her brown-haired friend just had that effect on people, Sasha was so friendly that it was infectious in a way. Now surrounded by a rather large group, Mikasa could finally feel the fact that her finals are done making its way to her brain. For the first time in months, she felt herself relaxing, truly enjoying the moment. Raising her glass, she emptied it, feeling the burn of alcohol in her throat. Everything was going great, she was getting wasted at exactly the preferred rate, and her life didn’t seem so gloom for a moment.

And then he walked in.

Brown hair in a ponytail, green emeralds for eyes, a confident stride of someone who is attractive and damn well knows it. Not paying attention left or right, he beelined to the bar, nodding at the bartender who almost immediately served him something in a tall glass. A regular then.

“Hey, Miks…”

Torn from her trance, she turned her head to the left to see Sasha gripping her shoulder, an ear to ear grin on her face.

“You’re staring.”

A faint blush crept up Mikasa’s features and she vehemently shook her head.

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I haven’t seen you like this since you saw that new motorbike model.”, turning on shaky legs, Sasha observed the new guy down the glass in one smooth go, “Well, I can see why you’re gawking like that. This looks like a fun ride too.”

It took a second before Mikasa understood the double-meaning in Sasha’s words, which made her blush even harder.

“It’s not like that…”

“Why not?”

“H-Huh?”

“You’re a grown woman Miks, just go talk to the guy, see where the night takes you.”

“B-But..”

“Hey, I won’t force you.”, Sasha calmed her, “But I don’t see what’s wrong in you having some fun once in your life. C’mon, what’s the worst thing that can happen? If he’s a creep or something, just knock him on his ass.”

Mikasa opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again, but nothing came out.

“Welp, if you want to just sit here and make fish-faces at me, that’s fine too, but I’m getting another drink. You have fun now, you hear?”

Done with her free advice class, Sasha let go of Mikasa’s shoulder and made her way back towards the bar. Turning the words inside her head, she tapped her fingers against the glass. Have fun, Sasha said. But she was having fun, damn it, before this guy walked in. Now all she could think of was how nicely his forearms looked when he flexed his fingers and….

Oh god, was she seriously admiring his forearms? How far had she fallen.

Then again, Sasha was right, there was nothing wrong with enjoying yourself once in a while. In the worst-case scenario, Mikasa was more than able to defend herself, Levi took care of that years ago. Finishing her next shot, Mikasa made a decision, standing up swiftly without even wobbling on her feet. Unlike Sasha, she was very far from being hammered, and the lack of alcohol in her system was making this thing just that much harder. A deep breath later, she made her way towards where the guy was sitting, wondering how the hell one started a conversation with a complete stranger.

In high school, Mikasa was often told that she has the attitude of ice queen – she didn’t care what people thought about her, and she didn’t think much about anyone herself. As queen of the ice, she should be good at breaking it, right? Yet apparently it didn’t work that way, because she found herself standing next to the stranger’s barstool while drawing a complete blank in her brain. Words were just impossible, and she cursed whoever invented English because he had to make the language so hard on purpose. Just as she was about to turn and walk/run away in shame, the stranger took notice of her, turning towards Mikasa with a raised eyebrow.

“Can I help you?”

Damn, even his voice was sexy. He asked her a question, answer. Answer. Answer….

“I…. Huh…”

For some reason, he found that amusing, the corner of his mouth turning upwards. Pointing at the stool next to him, he continued himself.

“Would you like to sit?”

Saved from answering, she plopped down on the offered seat, her cheeks flaming red. This wouldn’t work, she was just making a fool of herself. And the stranger was keen on torturing her with more completely basic questions that any other human being would have no problem answering.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

A nod was the best she could manage.

“Any preferences?”

“H-Huh…”

She could hear the grin in his voice.

“I’ll pick for you then if that’s okay.”

Another nod.

Leaning over the counter, he ordered her something, sitting back after. Determined to stop acting like a five-year-old, Mikasa raised her eyes, meeting the inquisitive green gaze. She could get lost in those eyes no problem….

“Can I at least know your name? Please.”

All right, she can give him this, come on.

“M-Mikasa.”

Good job!

“Mikasa.”, it rolled off his tongue naturally, “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

He paused there, probably waiting for a response, but got nothing.

“I’m Eren. Nice to meet you.”

She nodded at him. Again. Luckily, the bartender picked just that moment to clink her drink down, and Mikasa could hide her face behind glass for a moment. Whatever Eren ordered her was fruity and fresh, with just a small hint of alcohol. It would appear that he wasn’t trying to get her wasted, which gave him a few good guy points in her book.

“So… Mikasa…”

Oh shit, he was talking again.

“How are you doing this evening? All good?”

If she came here of her own volition, that meant that she wanted to talk to the guy so, please... Nope, nothing came out.

“Well, they say silence is golden right?”

For whatever reason, Eren looked like he was having a blast in this one-sided dialogue, instead of being weirded out. Why? And he still went on.

“Since you are such a great conversation partner, I could bounce some of my ideas off you, what do you say? Nothing? Good. Ok, so….”

Sometimes, she wished that she was more like Sasha. While in the ring Mikasa could take on anyone or anything, in social situations she was helpless. On the other hand, Sasha could very well have a great talk with a rock and somehow befriend it. Mikasa should know, as she was the rock at the start of their friendship, it was completely Sasha’s doing that they were roommates now. But even with that giant social blocker in her brain, Mikasa could see that she completely sunk whatever chance she had here, and now was left with only one thing. Exit. Gritting her teeth, she stood up straight, interrupting Eren’s monologue about the economic situation of the middle class.

“I’m sorry, but this is not working.”, to ease her speech, she kept her eyes on the floor, “I made an ass of myself, so I’ll just cut my losses and leave. Feel free to laugh.”

Resolutely, she began to turn, only to be stopped by his voice.

“Please don’t.”

Raising her eyes from the floor, she saw that Eren’s face was completely serious, he wasn’t making fun of her.

“Huh?”

“Mikasa, please don’t go.”, he repeated, “I do enjoy your company.”

“The company of a silent creep?”

“Creep? No... I think it’s cute.”

The blush that was present on her face for this whole time had now spread everywhere.

“W-What?”

“Yea. I know that this is pretty shallow of me, but I think that you are really pretty, and I would like to get to know you better.”,  a crooked smile appeared, “If you will finally talk to me, that is.”

This was completely out of her character. She had never done this before. She never even thought about doing it before. But this is how Sasha did it, right? This is how.. normal people did it. This was….

But she liked this guy, really really liked how he looked, he was basically what she imagined her type to be if it was a person, liked how he talked. Plus there was that strange gut feeling Mikasa got once she moved closer to him. Like she knew him already, like they already talked before or something. That had to be fake, as this was the first time her eyes saw him because she wouldn’t forget someone like this. Yet the feeling remained, only growing stronger.

So Mikasa collected all that was left of her courage, hot-glued it together, and made a sentence.

“How about we skip the talking and head out?”

Eren’s eyes widened, and Mikasa didn’t blame him. How does one react when the girl that couldn’t complete a sentence is now asking you out, just like that.

“You sure?”, the wariness was clear in his voice.

Scared that her voice will betray her again, Mikasa just nodded, her favorite head movement for the evening.

“All right then.”

Eren finished his drink, fished out some money and placed them on the counter before standing up. His eyes were still confused, but he gestured towards the exit in the classic “ladies first” move. Dude was probably still half-sure that Mikasa was making fun of him. Shooting a last look towards her group, her eyes met Sasha’s who gave her encouraging thumbs up. And then they were out, standing awkwardly in front of the bar.

“Is there a place you want to go?”, Eren asked, either dense as hell or the perfect gentleman, giving her an out if she wanted it.

Judging from his face, it was probably the latter, but Mikasa was still riding high on that bravery wave, determined to push through to the final goal.

“How about your place?” she offered.

To her surprise, Eren leaned closer, and Mikasa’s fist tensed on its own, ready to defend herself if the need arose. But all he did was look her in the eyes, studying her face for a moment.

“You’re hardly even drunk.”, he finally concluded, pulling back.

“That an issue?”

“It would be an issue if you were hammered.”, Eren corrected her, “I have no interest in that.”

“Well, I’m just slightly buzzed, so how about you get us a ride?”

“Do you really want me to?”

“I wouldn’t be asking otherwise.”

Finally convinced that Mikasa was in her senses and wanting this, Eren was quick to grab them a taxi. Not that long after, they were standing in front of his flat’s door while he fumbled with the keys a bit before finding the right one. Cracking the door open, he stepped aside, letting Mikasa go in first.

“Welcome to my kingdom.”, he said, “Make yourself at home.”

It was a very nice flat, much better than her dorm. Pretty big too, Mikasa noted, making her wonder if he was living here on his own.

“Take your shoes off please,” a polite request from behind her, “I like to keep things clean.”

Her brother would be happy. After complying, Mikasa walked into something which was probably a living room, dominated by a large couch and a flat-screened TV. Following Eren’s wish of making herself at home, she sat down, eyes wandering. The room was very neat and organized, but it lacked personal items, those small trinkets that people collected through their lives and that could be used to get a bit of an insight into their personality. Even in his home, Eren remained a mystery.

The couch dipped, announcing his arrival. Turning to face him, Mikasa was once again hit by that beautiful green gaze, somehow making her feel all warm and tingly inside.

“So, what do we do now?”, Eren asked, smiling once more, “Something in mind?”

In rare moments like these, Mikasa usually asked herself a question. What would Sasha do? Well…

“Just one.”

Luckily, he sat close enough that when she moved in for the kiss, she didn’t have to go far. It still caught him a bit off guard, but Eren had quick reactions and was kissing her back before she could truly get irritated at the lack of response. And damn, he was good. She could say that he was experienced, because the movements of his tongue and lips were short but calculated, drawing gasps much faster than Mikasa thought was possible. He liked to take control too, as she found herself on her back very quickly, with Eren hovering over her, pressing her down into the soft material. The way he kissed was addicting, and with each one, Mikasa was more at peace with her reckless decision to come here. When he dropped his mouth down on her neck, the sharp bite made her moan, the realization that she will have a dark mark tomorrow flying out of the window. Her body acted on its own, turned on so efficiently, she didn’t even realize that her hips rubbed against him, against that hardness that was forming in Eren’s pants. Dropping a hand between them, she palmed that impressive length, earning a groan against the skin on her neck. Yet for some reason, it was that touch that broke the spell. She was enjoying this, he was, judging from the sounds he was making, too, so when Eren suddenly pulled back without saying anything Mikasa did not understand it at all.

Opening her eyes that she closed in her bliss before, Mikasa saw that Eren was sitting a bit away from her, watching her with a strange glint in his gaze.

“What’s wrong?”, she asked, more than hoping that he will continue.

Instead, he shook his head.

“I can’t do this.”

“Huh?”

Bullshit. Unless Eren was keeping a large flashlight in his boxers, he most definitely could do it. Question was, why didn’t he want to? He did say that she is pretty, right?

“I can’t…. Uhm... It’s hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

“I think it would be better to show you. Wait here? Please.”

Again so polite. Mikasa nodded, watching him give her a tight smile before he stood up and disappeared somewhere inside the flat. At least it gave her time to sit up and fix her ruffled dress, calming her horny mind for a moment. It didn’t feel nice to be so violently yanked from such a pleasant kiss, but Eren had something to get off his chest and if she wanted the night to go on, she had to deal with it first. Such is life, no good thing comes without baggage.

Eren was back before she could think about whatever the problem was. He looked the same, the only change being that his face was wet, most likely from a splash of cold water, and he was holding something in his hands. Sitting back, he offered the item to Mikasa for inspection, making her brows furrow. It was a rope. Reaching out, she took it, feeling it in her own hands, still having no idea what this had to do with Eren giving her the proverbial blue balls.

“It’s soft.”, she said out of nowhere, breaking the silence.

“It’s a special kind, doesn’t give burns or marks easily.”, Eren quickly supplied.

All right, that’s cool, but still….

“I don’t get it.”, she finally surrendered, looking up from the rope.

“The thing is, I don’t really have a normal sex.”

“Why?”

“Professional deformation.”

“H-Huh?”

“That’s a story for another day. Now, since you are apparently willing to continue, I have to ask you.”, Eren took the rope from her hands, flexing it between his fingers, “Would it be okay if I tied you up first?”

Talk about a giant red flag. The stranger not only had her in his home, he also wanted to tie her up as the first thing. Normally, Mikasa would immediately say no and leave. But then again, normal Mikasa would never find herself here in the first place. Normal Mikasa would never talk to strangers at a bar and ask them out. Normal Mikasa…….. was on vacation today.

“I don’t know, I’ve never tried it.”, she confessed.

“That’s fine, let’s start small, see if you can handle it.”, Eren immediately answered, “Hold out your hand.”

Following the command, Mikasa did so, watching when he looped the rope once around her wrist, tightening it with very practiced movements. This was not his first time, that was for sure.

“First a rule, if I do something you don’t like and you want me to stop immediately, just say red, okay?”

She nodded. That was easy enough.

“Good. Now close your eyes.”, Eren went on, “Tell me how you feel.”

She did so, surrendering to the darkness. The touch at her wrist was something new, but not unpleasant, the rope was indeed very soft. It hugged her close, like a bracelet, sliding over her skin with a hushed whisper that promised so much more, if she is willing.

“It’s… good. Good.”

“Okay, let’s try something harder. Can I have your other hand? Oh, and keep your eyes closed.”

When she offered it, Eren gently pushed her hands together and after a moment her hands were tied at the wrist.

“What now?”

Mikasa breathed in, breathed out, focused on that sensation. At first, it was fine, but then….

The memories, the blood, the darkness. And she was helpless to defend herself, she couldn’t do anything, because her hands were tied, she couldn’t….

Her breathing became ragged, heartbeat accelerating but not in a good way, and suddenly it was very, very cold in the room. Panic was choking her, rising into her throat and she had to get away, get free, now, now, NOW.

“Red red red red.”, Mikasa screamed those words out.

There was a kiss of something cold on her wrists but then the rope was gone and she was free, scooting away from her assailant on the sofa as far as it would let her. Finally opening her eyes, she saw Eren looking at her, with the cut rope in one hand and a knife in the other. Sensing her urgency, he probably decided to just cut the bindings instead of taking his time with undoing the knots. He also saw just how distressed Mikasa was and didn’t try to move closer, giving her all the space she wanted. Rubbing her wrists, calming her breathing and realizing that nothing happened, Mikasa slowly got her body back into control.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do it after all.”, she finally said, earning a sad smile from him.

“Of course, I understand.”

Her reaction was violent and over the top, but it was clear to see that whatever plagued Mikasa was not something she was willing to share, and Eren did not press the issue. Smart guy.

“I should go.”

“Let me call you a cab.”, he offered immediately, grabbing his phone before Mikasa could protest.

Sitting in silence, she listened as he got her a ride, gallant as ever.

“He will be here soon.”

A nod. Good enough.

“Listen, Mikasa.”, she looked up from her lap, eyes shining with unshed tears.

Eren wanted to hug her then but held himself back because he could say that physical contact was something very far down on her priority list right now.

“Can I give you my number?”

She blinked at him, not understanding why he would ever want something to do with her again.

“I meant what I said at the bar,“ Eren continued, “I would like to get to know you. How about you give me a call and we meet someday. I’ll treat you to lunch or something.”

She was still on the fence, though, this humiliating evening left her ashamed enough that meeting the guy who saw her at her lowest was not exactly appealing.

“I’ll just give you my number, you don’t have to give me yours.”, he offered, “So If you don’t want to see me again, just don’t call. I promise I won’t stalk you.”

Finally, thank heavens, she caved in. Must have been the promise of free food.

“All right.”

So one one-sided number exchange later, Mikasa said her goodbyes and was gone, leaving Eren alone with a faint ember of hope in his chest. It was strange since she said about two to three full sentences that evening, but Eren could not shake that pleasant feeling that he had in her presence. And what was that spine tingle that tried to tell him that he met her before? No way, a girl like that he would remember. Why? Because she was exactly his type.

[beerecordings]

Umm is it possible to ask for different ipliers/septic egos accidently walking in on a Jim Jim religion meeting?

hahaha okay okay a goofy piece for a funny prompt. credit to the anon who suggested that the Jim twins would think JJ stood for Jim Jim, an idea which then progressed into us all joking about the twins starting a JJ-based religion (posts about it are tagged Jim Jim Jameson lol). so here’s a slightly crack fic but still a funny and sometimes cute look at the way the Jims interact with the others. a quick piece, slightly ridiculous hahaha <3

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

“Burgers? Who wants burgers and who wants hot dogs? Cheese? Who wants cheese? You know what, Derekson, just get me a list of everybody and what they want.”

“Wilford, sir, that’s not a spatula.”

“No? Then what is it, my dear boy?”

“Looks like somebody’s Wall-E DVD, Wil.”

Chase chokes on his soda and tries not to laugh aloud, though all he ends up doing is spitting Dr. Pepper out of his nose.

“Chase!” gripes Marvin, shoving his lawn chair away. “Gross!”

“He’s out of his fucking mind,” wheezes Chase, trying to keep it down.

“They all are,” hisses back Marvin, but he’s laughing too. Chase can see it in the shine in his eyes.

“Hey, shut up, man,” laughs Bing.

“You shut up,” shoots back Marvin.

“No, you.”

“You are two to one here, Bing-a-ling,” teases Chase, grinning.

“Aw, come off it,” chuckles the robot, sitting back. “Pass me a beer, will you?”

“You can’t drink liquids, Bing.”

“I like the aesthetic!”

“Wilford!” Edward is boxing Wilford away from the grill, trying to keep him from using Eric’s glasses as his second impromptu spatula. “I am grilling, you are absolutely one hundred percent banned from anything involving fire.”

“Now, see here, Bim,” growls Wilford.

“I’m Edward, Wilford. Google, tell Wilford he’s not allowed on the grill!”

On the other side of the space between the three houses, a head with shining black hair turns only slightly, and a smooth voice sounds.

“Wilford,” calls Google. “I have yet to see the darkness. Do you think he is in pain, stuck in his room?”

Wilford’s eyes flicker, distracted, even a little unnerved. He puffs himself up after a moment, dropping Eric’s glasses into the grass as if they were never in his hand to begin with. “What, my blackbird, stuck in his bedroom? I shall carry him if I have to. And we will sit on the grass and drink this cocaine soda everyone is always raving about!”

“For the last time,” groans Edward. “There’s no cocaine in Coca-Cola anymore!”

But Wilford is already hurrying off towards the house behind the peach trees, whistling to himself as he goes.

“Thank you, Google,” calls Ippy, sighing deeply, and across the yard the android raises a hand in silent acquiescence, his attention still on Jameson’s rapid signing. Something about American tea, as far as Chase can tell. He laughs and sits back against Bing’s legs, sprawling his own boots out in front of him and finishing his soda with a quiet sigh. There’s beer for his brothers but, like the residents of these three houses, he won’t have any. He’s supposed to be happy while they’re visiting this mess of a – would you call it a family? – and he won’t let old habits get in the way. He casts his eyes quietly around the yard, almost sleepy with the comforting laziness of the little vacation. Jackie is the center of Shep and Host’s attention, telling an enthusiastic story about a burning building that turned out to be a drug front he busted back in Brighton, Henrik is exchanging a birdie back and forth with Bim as they wait for Ippy and Eric to come back for doubles, and Marvin is right here, kicking Chase’s foot for fun while Google discusses Earl Grey in a monotone behind them.

“This is weird,” says Chase.

“Yeah,” says Bing.

“But not so much in a bad way,” adds Marvin, and they exchange grins over sodas and beers, warm in the sun and the scratchy California grass.

“Okay, I got everybody’s order, right?” calls Ippy, flipping a burger. “Host, you – oh, no, here you are. The twins, where are the twins? Hey, who knows what the twins want? Where are they?”

“I saw them going down into that little, uh, door?” says Chase, pointing at a pair of wooden doors sticking out of the earth by the third house.

“Oh, yeah, an old shelter,” sighs Ippy. “They hang out down there sometimes. I should get them, maybe, uh – ”

“Aw, no sweat, doc,” says Chase, clambering to his feet. “I’ll see what they want. You focus on getting the meat just right.”

“Thanks, Brody.”

Chase tweaks Marvin’s ear teasingly as he passes and steps towards the doors across the way, setting his feet and pulling them gently open. He steps down into the concrete basement and finds that it’s actually been decorated quite nicely for an underground bomb shelter – thick rugs are layered across the floor, leaving a little patch of space in the corner for a heater, and a pair of electric camping lanterns surround the twins where they’re sitting in the middle of the shelter, working on –

“Um,” says Chase. “Is that Jamie?”

Both twins let out shrieks of surprise and the first leans hurriedly down to blow out the candle of his lantern. It is, however, still electric. He groans in despair and flops down onto the rug, hiding the papers and pictures that litter the floor in his arms.

“Intruder!” wails the second, covering his eyes with his hands. “Jim’s fortress is breached!”

Chase is too distracted to reply by the pictures of his brother, which he now sees are not just littering the floor, but also covering the walls. Some of them are hand-drawn, hurried stick figures with mustaches and black hats, while others have been printed off from the internet, showing Jamie’s smiling face in sepia brown or grey and white.

“Uhhhhhh,” says Chase. “I, uh. What is this?”

“Nothing,” promise both twins, grabbing each other for support.

“Chase! Chase!” Feet patter down the stairs, bringing wild laughter with them, and Jackie and Shep appear with Jackie’s hands wrapped around the biggest toad Chase has ever seen, struggling in his hands. “Look at this fucking toad!”

“He just snatched it right off the ground,” howls Shep, who has always found anything Jackie did to be hilariously funny.

“I thought you’d appreciate more than Henrik, who slapped me for trying to make him pet it,” giggles Jackie, shoving it into Chase’s face. “He’s perfect and he – what the hell is all this?”

Shep and Jackie go just as quiet as Chase did, staring around the walls.

“Did you marker a mustache onto your puppy?” asks Shep, pointing at the stuffed animal in one of the Jims’ arms.

“Why does your computer have a livefeed of Jamie eating a hot dog?” asks Jackie a little more dangerously.

“Okay, fine, you have caught Jim!” cries the first one. “Jim is celebrating the great Jim Jim with knick-knacks and cute pictures.”

“His name – ” Shep pauses to sigh and smack his own forehead. “Boys. We have talked about some of these obsessions. The last thing you ‘celebrated’ was that three toed-sloth you saw on Planet Earth.”

“She was perfect!” howl both twins in sync. “Perfect, she was perfect! She just wanted a mate, Silver Jim, she just wanted a husband! She could swim, Silver Jim! She was a sloth with three toes!”

“Are they going to like, uh. Hurt and/or kidnap Jameson?” asks Jackie, touching Shep’s arm.

“What, the twins? No. They’re harmless. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. Well, not on purpose. They once tied a string around one and then it died because they didn’t know how to feed it and they cried until Eric brought them popsicles, but that’s just the twins.”

Jackie steps politely over the babbling twins and carefully turns off the livefeed of Jamie.

“Jim likes JimJim!”

“Why is he leaving tomorrow?”

“Freedom of worship, Silver Jim! America!”

“Okay, okay,” cries Silver, waving his hands to quiet them. “Sh, boys, it’s okay, hey. Don’t fuss. Look, Jackie found a toad!”

The twins sniffle and turn their attention to the toad, instantly excited again.

“Oh! Like in Frog and Toad!”

“Like in Rango!”

“Like in the Princess and the Frog! But a toad! Can Jim have it, Mr. not-quite Jim Jim, please?”

Jackie shrugs and hands them the toad. “What are you going to call it?”

“Jameson!” cry both twins at once, happily petting the toad’s head as it croaks.

Jackie, Chase, and Shep exchange glances.

“Well, we’re heading out tomorrow,” says Chase.

“And I’m driving back to my apartment in the city,” adds Shep.

“Pretend we never saw this?” Jackie suggests.

“Yep,” answer Shep and Chase together, and the three of them turn and head right back up the stairs, passing a confused Ippy with two plates of hot dogs, who gives them one odd look and then continues down.

“Boys!” he hollers a moment later, and Chase, Jackie, and Silver all burst into laughter and hurry away, sitting down around Jameson, who wants to know what exactly is so funny?

“Nothing,” they all promise, ignoring Google’s eyeroll and Jamie’s indulgent smile. “Just another obsession of the Jims, haha.”

“Well, they go through three of those a week,” sighs Google. “Don’t get too excited. Whatever it is, they’ll be over it in a couple days.”

Perhaps that is usually true.

But not this time.

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

“Okay,” says Ippy, surveying the room besides the kitchen, blinking slowly. “This has officially gone too far.”

Host laughs rich and low, covering his mouth and leaning against the doorway, apparently endlessly amused by this newest interest of the cameramen’s. Eric giggles weakly, glancing around, but there’s a light of alarm in his eyes too, and it only makes Host laugh harder when he senses it, halfway collapsing against the doorway.

“Why is typewriter Jim laughing?” complains the second Jim, pasting another picture in a scrapbook labeled ‘the greatness of JimJim.’

“Is this a fucking cult?” asks Host. “I’ve seen worse but this one is certainly the cutest.”

“Jim is not cute!” protests the second Jim, while the first asks, “Oh, Jim, would you like to join Jim?”

“No, honey,” laughs Host, striding away. “I leave more patient men than I to deal with this.”

“Host,” grumbles Ippy, before sighing and turning his attention back to the Jims. “Boys, this isn’t a cult, right?”

“What’s a cult?” asks the second.

“Jim thinks the word doctor Jim is looking for is religion,” pipes up the first helpfully.

Edward turns around so he can swear without them hearing. Eric laughs again, relaxing the more he looks around and stepping over to sit down with the twins.

“Come on, Ippy. They’re just having fun.”

“Worshipping Jameson is not an appropriate way to have fun,” protests Edward.

“They’re scrap-booking.” Eric holds up the little book, which is, admittedly, rather well-made for a Jim project.

“And making a documentary!” exclaims Jim, holding his computer out to Eric, where iMovie is open to several very shaky shots of Jameson sitting on the couch or talking with the others or, on one screen, cooking omelets and turning occasionally to smile at the eagerly narrating twins.

“And making a documentary,” repeats Eric fondly, ruffling his hair. “It’s just arts and crafts.”

“There’s a poster of Jameson made out of sticky notes on the wall!”

“And look how good they did at putting the notes together!”

“Thank you, sweater Jim,” say both the twins politely, smiling.

“Eric, it’s creepy. They don’t need to learn to be obsessing over other people.”

“You let them stalk Mark for two months.”

“Oh, yeah, cause that was hilarious,” laughs Ippy, throwing his head back. “He was so confused. Fuck Mark!”

“Fuck Mark,” repeat the twins eagerly.

“No! Don’t swear, guys, I know you’ll start doing it at work if I let you do it at home,” sighs Ippy.

“Jim would never swear in front of the petting zoo animals!” cries the first Jim.

“And Jim would never swear while helping with the news!” adds the second, indignant.

“See how responsible they are! Ip, let them be. I’ll make sure it doesn’t get too creepy. Like, uh. The hairs in this scrapbook aren’t actually Jameson’s, are they?”

“Yes, from Jim Jim’s mustache,” answer both twins, beaming.

“Well, why don’t you let me have that,” suggests Eric, carefully unstapling the plastic bag with a few stray dark hairs at the bottom.

“You two will be the death of me,” says Ippy, shaking his head.

But they do look damn sweet when they’re smiling that big.

“Okay, but no filming Jameson when he’s not looking anymore.”

“Okay, doctor Jim,” promise the twins.

“Jim will do it when Jim Jim and doctor Jim are both not looking,” whispers the second.

“They’ll never suspect it,” agrees the first in a hush. Eric laughs, tidying their scrapbook materials a little.

“You could even learn BSL like Jamie, maybe,” he suggests.

The twins light up like fireworks.

“BSL!” repeats the first one, clapping his hands together.

“JIM CAN SPEAK AS THE GREAT JIM SPEAKS,” screams the second at the top of his lungs, and this is enough to startle Bing, who was about to ride his skateboard down the stairs. He yelps in alarm as his board slips beneath him, and a moment later he comes crashing hard down the stairs and lands in a heap of sparking parts at Ippy’s feet.

“The death of me!” repeats the doctor furiously, waving his finger around accusingly. “All of you! This whole house! This whole clearing! I’ll die at thirty-four! You’ll have to bury me! Have fun with my funeral expenses, you complete bastards.”

“Bastards!” repeat the twins.

“Look bastards up in BSL!”

“Look Jim up in BSL!”

“Look everything up in BSL!”

Ippy has the distinct feeling he’s being made fun of, just a little, but even Bing is laughing, and all he can do is try not to smile as he heads back out the door.

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

“Can’t you move a body a little more quietly?”

Wilford hauls the heavy tarp across the pathway and grunts, flicking a little blood off his fingers. “Well, you could help!”

“Why would I do that when I have you to do it for me?” purrs back Dark, following him down the pathway towards the car.

“You just like to feel like you’re manipulating something,” scolds Wilford, pausing just to boop Dark’s nose. In protest, Dark vanishes back into the void and leaves Wilford with nothing but a sulking shadow drifting around his feet.

“And now you’re a smoke kitty,” coos Wilford, dragging the body farther down the path.

“Just hurry,” says Dark, re-appearing in a masculine form this time. “You know I prefer for the twins to stay sheltered and I don’t want them catching us again.”

“Catching what?” asks Jim, standing in the trees with his camera.

Wilford swears colorfully and Dark dissipates back into shadow on instinct, spitting out curses of his own.

“Now, see here, Iplier,” says Wilford. “It’s quite rude to be sneaking up on a fellow.”

“That’s Jim, Wil.”

“Oh. What in the name of Burt Reynolds are you two doing out here so late at night?”

“Oh! We’re filming for a documentary for Jim Jim.”

“They mean Jameson,” Dark tells Wil.

“Who’s Jameson?” whispers Wilford.

Dark sighs very deeply.

“He is the great Jim!” cries the second Jim, rising from the bushes like a Peanuts character on Halloween.

“The great Jim,” repeats the first Jim solemnly.

“He’s that little old-fashioned…” Dark waves his hand, trying to find the right word. “Jackson. You’ve met him.”

“Oh, I know who you mean. The British chap with the truly excellent mustache. But he’s not even out here, what are you filming?”

“Well, he is not here. But Jim has heard is very fond of hedgehogs. So Jim is trying to find some!”

“Are there hedgehogs in America?” whispers Wilford.

“Fuck if I know,” answers Dark irritably.

“Would you like to join Jim in the search for hedgehogs and ultimately the eternal worship of the great Jim Jim?”

“Don’t look so hopeful, you little miscreant, you know I avoid engaging with you at all costs,” growls Dark, but the twins just giggle.

“They used to be afraid of you,” teases Wilford.

“Shut up,” snipes Dark. “I could make them afraid in about two seconds.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“But you won’t.”

“The real question,” interrupts one of them – Dark can’t tell them apart. “Is what are Dark and pink Jim doing out in the forest late at night? Jim is a very good reporter, you know. Jim uncovers mysteriousnesses.”

“I think you mean mysteries,” says Dark. “And we’re, uh.”

Wil and Dark glance at the body in between them.

“Returning a lamp to the store,” finishes Wil.

Dark closes his eyes. His exasperation has set in so deep he can feel it in his broken spine. He’s going to kill Wilford. But then again, he thinks that about three times a day and never seems to make good on his threat.

“A lamp,” says Jim.

“A lamp,” repeats his brother.

They stare down at the wrapped corpse.

“That checks out,” says the first.

“Jim is an investigative journalist so Jim can tell,” agrees the second.

“Just get out of my sight,” snaps Dark, advancing on them with shadow cloaking his set shoulders, and the twins shriek in equal parts fear and excitement and go darting back into the underbrush.

“You’re it, Mr. Dark!”

“Run, Jim! Run!”

Dark crosses his arms over his chest and turns to glare at Wilford.

“I could scare them if I wanted to.”

Wilford just smiles and picks up the body again, pausing only to give Dark a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I know you could, little ghost. Hey, should we be worried they appear to be worshipping Jacksepticeye?”

“Should I be concerned you told me you worshipped the Pillsbury dough boy while you were drunk last week?”

“Oh, no, the body is slipping! Let me just – ” He picks it up and slings it over his shoulder, sprinting towards the car and away from any further questions. Dark rolls his eyes and drifts back into the shadows, following peaceably after him.

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

Google blinks awake to a pair of eyes staring back at him.

Check that. Two pairs of eyes.

“Boys,” he says levelly. “I’m charging. This had better be an emergency.”

Jim and Jim exchange looks.

Carefully, they push a crumpled pamphlet with Jameson’s face drawn on it in crayon beneath his nose.

“Join our religion?”

Google gets out of bed in one swooping motion, drags them both out of the house, and, ignoring the shrill cries of “why, cruel computer Jim?” and “persecution! Persecution! Persecution!” dumps them both bodily into the lake.

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

Everybody gets to hear about it at one point or another. The Jims’ amicability for JJ, taken a little too far, is occasionally annoying, but nevertheless remains largely harmless. In the name of the great JJ, they pick up more than one of his hobbies – taking care of injured animals, painting with watercolors, dressing in black and white – and develop rudimentary BSL that actually turns out to be really helpful on the days when the twins are distressed and won’t talk out loud. Most of them learn to tolerate it with amusement, though Host never stops thinking it’s one of the funniest things they’ve ever done and Google makes sure they learn the consequences of being too irritating. Bing and Eric bring them craft supplies and trinkets from the store that remind them of JJ, while Ippy entices them to eat their vegetables and sit still through examinations with made-up stories about how tough and healthy Jameson is. On Christmas Eve, as a reward for being good all year, Ippy asks Jameson to Skype with them for a little while, and he’d never seen the twins so excited and yet so well-mannered at the same time, even managing to use first-person pronouns for themselves once or twice, eager to impress JJ.

“Good signing,” he congratulates them, looking soft and snuggly in the Christmas Eve pajamas he and his brothers all exchanged for the night.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” sign the twins eagerly, and Ippy chuckles, blowing on their hot chocolate to cool it before he brings it to them.

“You must have been dedicated,” says Jameson, and when they don’t understand, he substitutes the word “good.”

“Good!” chirps Jim, clapping his hands together. “Good! We have! We have!”

“You will tell Santa to bring us gifts, then?” asks his brother eagerly. Ippy smiles and takes a sip of the chocolate, checking the temperature carefully.

JJ laughs. “How will I tell him? Did you write letters?”

“Yes, we did. But I bet he will believe it if Jim Jim puts in a good word for us!”

“That’s sweet,” chuckles JJ, keeping his hands slow. “But I think he will listen to you too! I’m just little old me.”

“Yeah,” says Jim cheerfully. “God.”

Ippy spits the hot chocolate out and races over to slam shut the computer before he can see Jameson’s reaction.

“Boys!” he hollers. “Too far!”

Iplier hears a thud as, up the stairs and narrating this story to himself, Host laughs so hard he tumbles right out of his bed.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Crimson Shadows 2

Jercy Vampire AU: Percy

masterlist; information post for fic

I was debating whether i should change traditional things like greetings but then i realised this is my fic and im writing it for purely self indulgent purposes so like i could if i wanted. Thanks for joining in on my hedonism! Please enjoy.

Perseus steps onto the creaky wooden floor of his ostentatious 16th century mansion and mentally reminds himself for the two-hundredth time that he needs to get someone in to fix it. The worst thing about being immortal, he has come to learn, is that he procrastinates everything ten times harder. At least his teenage self would be impressed with his tactics, even if his mother was rolling in her grave.

The house is unusually quiet for an Orion morning and he strains his already sonic hearing to catch the sounds of silent footfalls and bustling bodies. But the wind rushes through the space and there are no other noises. A flutter gives in his chest as he steps into the kitchen to find breakfast waiting for him and a note folded neatly next to it.

Hey Doc,

Twins have gone to Bharatanatyam class and Hoku went to the beach. I’m just picking stuff up at the grocer, be home in a jiff.

- Keeya

He releases a breath and sits down at the table with a smile. The delicious smell of eggs and blood hit him as he takes off the cover to reveal a plate of eggs benedict, hash-browns and a small glass of ichor. He shoots down the blood, content to let it work through him as he gobbles down the heavenly breakfast. He knows Keeya cooked because she was always experimenting with food, always in here creating dishes and making them beg to eat whatever is giving off that sublime smell. Just as he cuts into a hash brown he hears the door shut and hurried footsteps rushing towards him.

“To the Sun,” Keeya flurries into the kitchen, face blocked by brown paper bags stuffed to the brim with what he’s sure to be her latest concoction.

“Amongst the Stars,” His lips twitch in amusement, “Early morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep so i-” Her voice muffles as she busies herself packing items in the pantry, “-thought I’d start on breakfast but while i was looking for an eggs benny recipe i came across this golden cake and-” Her head pops out of the pantry, black eyes flashing with excitement, “Doc when i tell you i almost died right there, it sounded so good. Anyway of course i had to leave immediately to get all the things we didn’t have.” She finally collapses onto a stool across from him and takes a breath.

He hides a laugh and waits for the rest of the story, because with Keeya there is always more. 

“Anyway i get to the shop-” She starts. He covers his inescapable laugh with a cough. “And they don’t have desiccated coconut. Can you believe that? I mean it’s the main ingredient in the damn cake. So I was panicking a little because it’s the closest shop open at that time, the others I'd have to take a train for which is so inconvenient?” She gives him an incredulous look. He nods seriously; inside he is fighting off giggles. “But they found some in the back, thank the stars, and then I just grabbed a few things because it’s ‘make your own pizza’ night and I think some people from the Araw house are joining us.”

“Sounds fun, is Elouan going to be here?” He pops the last bit of poached egg in his mouth and looks at her expectantly.

She makes a disapproving face, “No, he’s off with his new partner. I don’t trust them at all.”

“Why?” Perseus is on guard immediately, fingers curling, hair sensitive, and gums stinging with the need to unsheathe his fangs. 

“Their vibe is off,” Her nose scrunches up, “Like they’re used to getting into trouble and bailing out.”

“I’ll tell Elly to be careful but maybe go with him next time Kee,” He suggests, a tentative look in his eyes as her own widen.

“All we’ll do is argue, and besides, he hates me hanging out with his friends.”

“Ever asked him why?” He has a feeling about it but he’ll never voice it. No, the two can come to their own conclusions. After all, they had forever to figure it out.

“I don’t care why. He’s a dick and I'm not interested in anything he has to say.”

He shrugs but leaves the conversation, and the kitchen, so Keeya can do her thing. He has some admin to do anyway; a dreary task but one that must be done all the same. Besides without the twins and Hoku the house is absurdly silent, so he needs something to occupy himself.

His study is actually a little desk situated in their library. It’s his favourite room in the house for the opulent fireplace that stays lit through Baridi and serves as a soot-slide in Caldu, and of course the books which although he doesn't read many of, remind him of his mother. He has been alive for almost three hundred years and there is hardly a day that goes by when he doesn’t think of her. For every part of him that isn’t human, there’s a part of her that makes him so. He stares up at the portrait of her hanging near the doorway, painted by a friend long gone and with a loving smile gets to work.

He sorts, and signs, and stamps, and notes in an endless cycle until finally his finances are in order, his donations are chequed and his letters are sealed. He’s sure Hoku will groan endlessly about receiving yet another letter under their pillow and try to explain that email is much more convenient and faster for everyone. Perseus tilts his head to the ceiling and watches the stars dance as he plays out the conversation in his head.

“Doc, I really appreciate the effort you put into sending us letters but this is not the eighteenth century, just use email.”

“Hoku i like the letters, they’re personal and calming to write.”

“Doc, emails are more convenient and i can take them anywhere.”

“Okay I’ll stop giving you letters. I’ll just give the others.”

“What? No? That’s a terrible idea. I still want my letters.”

And they would have the conversation every month without fail. It is a rather amusing part of the routine and sometimes Perseus purposefully makes Hoku’s letters a little longer, just to bother them. A secret best kept as such, but funny nonetheless.

“DOC!” A voice screams through the house, shattering his ear drums.

The twins.

He steps out of the library, and half jogs to the source of the noise, which he discovers is coming from the entertainment room. 

“To the Sun, you two.”

Serafina looks up first, her brown eyes shining with never-ending energy. The anklets on her feet jingle as she runs towards him and slams her body into his. He holds firm as he catches her and wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“Amongst the Stars,” She mumbles, face buried in his shirt.

“How was Bharatanatyam?”

She gasps, stepping out of his embrace and squealing with delight. “Doc we have to show you what we learnt! Aaru come!” Her dark eyebrows knit together as she focuses on her brother.

“Tusa Aarush.” Perseus smiles, squatting down so he’s level with the boy. A little hand, the colour of cherry wood, reaches up to give him a high-five. A standard greeting for the quiet brother; a complete opposite to his outgoing sister.

“Aaru are you ready?” Serafina comes to stand beside them, after setting up the sound system.

He nods and moves so they’re in the middle of the room. Quickly they do the opening prayer before Serafina bounces to the sound bar and presses play. The sweet, sturdy music fills the room and then they're going through a whole routine. Stamping their feet in a rhythm that matches the beat perfectly. Aarush pinches his fingers and fans them out. A closed flower opening, he recognises. They do a series of moves all impressive and beautiful, before the music fades and they pose, breathless with exertion and excitement. 

He claps enthusiastically and opens his arms for hugs. “You did wonderfully!” Serafina slams into him. Aarush gives him another high-five. “When is the performance?”

“Not for a long time Doc.” The little girl says, as if he should know this. She heads off to fiddle with the speakers. 

“In two months,” Aaru answers. His voice is clear and even. He is quiet but not soft. “In Pluto.”

“Ah, I'll make sure I have it down in the calendar.” The little boy's face lights up like a stadium and Perseus’ heart clenches with love. The twins had only been living with him for half a century but within the first year they had him completely wrapped around his fingers. Their claimed age is ten but their true age is one hundred and two. He found them shivering behind a dumpster in Orman, their skin stretched across their bones and that rabid look of underfed vampire in their eyes. He had taken them in and given them blood and a bed for the night, which turned into a week, and then a month. Before he knew it he was bringing them to this house in Roshani where they had immediately fallen in love with the city and made it their home.

“Fina, i’m going to shower.” Aarush states and without further flurry he leaves.

“Is everything okay with classes? All of them, not just Bharatanatyam.” Perseus asks the talkative twin.

“Yes,” She nods, unclipping her anklets. Her voice lowers, serious bleeding in. It is hard to forget their age, true or claimed, when this happens. Because suddenly their bubbly little girl who flits around the house and talks your ear off and throws herself into everything with the vivacity of a ten year old, disappears. In her place is the century old girl who has experienced more of life’s pleasures and hardships than most of the world can only begin to imagine.

“We’re covered for everything. And Aaru starts teaching a new linguistics course on Monday so he’ll have some cash to fling around. Although,” She rolls her eyes, “We all know he’ll just put it in his account and let it sit like a fat cat.”

He laughs, flicking her nose at her distaste for her brother’s complete lack of spending. “He likes to invest in stocks and give it away. You know he doesn’t hoard.”

“I know i know,” She grumbles, scrunching her nose, “I just wish he’d spend some on himself.”

“I think he thinks you spoil him enough.”

“I don’t spoil him nearly enough. Most times I try to buy him something and he just shuts it down. Like last Draco i tried to buy him that new puzzle he was talking about and he just slammed my laptop shut.”

She looks so put out he can't help but giggle, and when she scowls at him for it he pulls her in for a hug and kisses her head. “He likes to do things with you. Maybe try getting things you guys can do together.” She brightens at that, and he can see the gears turning in her sharp mind. “Alternatively, save up all the buying for special occasions like Birthdays or Turning or Koro day.” She hums in acknowledgement but her thoughts are still going a mile a minute so he steps out and lets her work it through.

The house is alive again: Keeya is still in the kitchen, and by the sounds of it Hoku too, begging for something. Elouan still isn’t in and he cannot stop the trinkle of worry that falls between his ribs. Trying to keep it out of his mind he walks towards the noise and is greeted by the site of countertops covered in dishes filled with all sorts of delights. The smell is enough to put him in a coma. And Hoku sits on the counter, pale blue eyes puppy-wide with pleading. He glances to their wrist and sees the sunshine yellow band. She/her today then. It gets exhausting, she had told them, to continuously have to announce yourself to the world, especially when you didn’t know how the world would react. 

“Hoku,” Keeya sighs, “I am not giving you the poli until you go and change. You smell like seaweed.” The coconut-stuffed pastry pockets sit on the counter, still piping hot from the oil they had just been fried in. 

“Awww come on Kee, i just need one. I’ll pass out in the shower if i don’t get it and then it’ll be all your fault.”

Keeya’s eyes roll so far back he’s worried she’ll get them stuck behind her sockets. But they roll forward and give Hoku a very pointed glare.

“Get your ass out of my kitchen and go and shower, you irritation!” She scolds; rendered a little ineffective by the flour smeared across her cheek which is a startling contrast to her brown-scapolite skin.

“You are the absolute worst.” Hoku sulks as she slides off the stool and trudges to the entrance. "Tusa Doc.” The sigh is heavy and he struggles to keep in the laughter threatening to spill past his lips. It is never a dull moment in the Aarde House. Perseus collapses onto the stool Hoku had just vacated and lets loose the smile he had been trying to hide. Keeya returns it with one of her own and then launches into a conversation about her latest creations.

Hours later they had moved from food talk, which made him unfathomably hungry, to her teaching, to his own escapades and ideas. She laughed as he recounted the night out he had some weeks ago and the beautiful blue-haired person he had taken a bodyshot on. But soon the sun is sinking to the city floor and the people in the house emerge from their various rooms to congregate in the kitchen, which serves as the house hangout spot. Keeya had packed most of the food away, save for a loaf of fresh bread and the poli Hoku had been begging for. She puts the kettle on and starts up the coffee machine, chattering away as she did. 

Aarush shuffles into the room and immediately takes up a spot next to Perseus. Serafina and Hoku walk in next talking about knee pains and sore feet.

“Did you guys bother to put ice packs or kinaesthetic tape on?” Keeya raises an eyebrow. They both stick their tongues out at her, and move to sit on the opposite side of the table.

“Hoku,” Aaru settles his brown eyes on her, “Will you teach me how to do the splits? My Bharatanatyam teacher says i need to learn to be more flexible.”

Hoku is already nodding enthusiastically, “Of course A, i can absolutely teach you. But you should know flexibility doesn’t come from doing the splits it comes from muscle control and ligament manipulation.”

“I read up about it but i don't feel confident enough to try on my own.”

A gleam enters Hoku’s blue eyes, “You should come with me to a ballet class. Elouan is doing piano for us next week in preparation for our concert coming up. We’ll be able to get the studio to ourselves for a little while.”

“Sure,” Aru shrugs, “Sounds fun.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for help?” Serafina tugs her twin's sleeve, looking at him with hurt in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to bother you, and besides Hoku teaches ballet I figured she’d be the best bet for me.”

Serafina looks like she’s going to say something, argue maybe, but then the last of their little household walks in and conversation drifts.

“Past the Moon, Elouan,” Perseus smiles at the oldest of the group, save for him.

A floppy smile transforms a pasty face. As he hobbles towards them, leaning heavily on his walking stick, he mumbles a round of greetings.

“How are you?” Keeya asks once he’s settled into a chair next to her.

“I could do with some food and maybe some blood but otherwise just peachy.” His moonlight white curls fall into his face and he pushes them back absentmindedly.

“Can we finally have the poli now?” Hoku glares at their baker, rebellion already flashing in her blue eyes.

“Dig in you little heathen,” Keeya shoves the plate towards her and they all descend. 

Tea and coffee are passed around as well as small glasses of blood for any of them that need it. Perseus and the twins refrain, having had their fill at some point during the day but they happily dig into the coconut pastry and drink copious amounts of coffee.

“So,” Elouan says around a mouthful of poli, “Who’s coming with me to the Red Queen tomorrow?”

“Me!” Hoku shouts immediately. Ever the party animal.

“I’d love to.” Keeya mumbles behind her tea, suddenly shy.

“No thanks.” Aarush pulls a face and goes back to stacking the knives into a precarious tower.

“Fina? Doc?”

“I have to work on stuff for varsity but maybe next time.” Serafina shrugs a shoulder, her brown eyes glazing over as her mind goes back to working a mile a minute.

“I’ll let you know after our dinner tonight. I think some of the Houses want to call a meeting tomorrow to discuss funding and housing in a few cities.”

“You should invite them along,” His white eyebrows knit together in thought, “You guys should invite anyone you want.”

“What’s got you so friendly?” Keeya gives a suspicious look.

“Arrow said they wanted to meet you.”

Her face pulls into something resembling horror, “Uh never mind i think i have stuff to do, maybe next time.”

Elouan pins his honey eyes on her and they look more like the sting of the bee than the gold of the nectar. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“I don’t trust them.” She bites out, setting her mug down with a hard crack.

“You don’t even know them. You’re just being judgmental because they’ve turned a few innocents.”

“It’s not just that Elouan,” Where he is the sky, Keeya is the earth. “They are leading you to the dens and soon you’ll be following in their footsteps.”

Perseus was content to ignore their argument and continue talking to everyone else or eating his way through the feast, but that angered whisper steals his attention. “You’ve been going to the dens?”

“I went twice and i didn't even do anything.” He rolls his eyes.

“It’s not about what you do El,” Keeya’s voice is lethal with fury, and worry. “It’s about what gets done in there.” 

“It’s not safe Elouan. Not only for you but if something happens you put a target on all of our backs. And I will not have you endangering anyone in this house just to look cool for your new partner.” There is no compromise in Perseus’ hard green eyes.

The younger vamp sees this and nods once. “I won’t go to the dens again, Doc.”

“Right now that we have that sorted,” He leaves no room for further say on the topic, “What do you need us to do for dinner before the Araw House gets here, Kee?”

He sees her hide the emotions still burning in her eyes before she claps her hands and puts them to work. And when the members of the Araw house arrive there is no lingering anger suffocating the kitchen. It is bright and loud and messy. It is home.

“Tamo, tamo, everyone!” Musical greetings come from the front of the house and a few seconds later Drew Tanaka and Charles Beckendorf appear in the doorway, as radiant and deadly as always.

Drew looks devastating in a blood red jumpsuit and a gold choker glittering at her neck. Charles has a hand wrapped around her and looks just as sinful in an emerald green suit lined with the most startling azure. His wedding band glints in the soft yellow lights of the kitchen and the two rubies encrusted in it match the band around Drew’s finger.

“Towards the Moon, old man,” Drew sits down with the grace of a dancer who has been perfecting their art for centuries. 

“Who are you calling old man?” Perseus scoffs, “I’m only one month older than you. Besides Charlie is the old man.” 

The subject in question rolls his eyes and shoves both their shoulders, flashing his fangs. His wife just laughs waggling perfectly sculpted eyebrows that suggest more than any of them are willing to interpret.

“Where’s the rest of your chaotic crew?” He motions to the lack of people that usually surrounded them.

“They’re all busy tonight, something about the Safe Haven Sound.” Charlie shrugs, “I’m actually surprised none of you guys went. It was apparently some big event.”

Hoku makes a face that means trouble. Nobody stops her. “It’s mostly for new vamps trying to enter the world. There’s a lot that can go wrong. We tend to stay away.”

Drew turns to her sharply, “Who runs it?”

“The Underboss.” Hoku makes another, more disgusted face.

“Actually,” Keeya says quietly, “It’s the Underboss’ lackey that runs it. The Underboss just owns it.”

“Ugh i hate that slimy little shit more than my ex.”

“Hoku,” Serafina frowns, “Give Luke some credit. At least he was hot.”

Perseus lets a smile loose at that. “Octavian is not ugly, he’s just ghaunt.”

“Doc,” Elouan raises a brow, “He is a ghost.”

“Literally? Aarush frowns, the first thing he’s said since their guests arrived.

“No,” Drew has a contemplative look on her face, “At least i don’t think so.”

“He was part of the Trials.” Charlie adds “That’s what i’ve heard anyway.”

Perseus shudders inwardly as he remembers those dark times. Power-hungry people, people who had no right to participate in their world, had taken it upon themselves to try and create their own supernatural creatures. It was a horrible, terrifying time for humans and duniyarall alike. They had stopped it before it had become the war it intended to be but it was deemed unethical to kill the products of those experiments. So, even today, a century and a half later, there are still Triallers- as they had been so creatively named- roaming, existing, living. For the most part they seem to be peaceful, despite being created for violence, but there are some like the Underboss’ lackey that still give an off-vibe; like feral is just around the corner, one blink away.

“How about we make some pizzas?” Keeya interrupts their conversation before they dive into what will inevitably become a two hour discussion.

“Let’s!” Serafina claps her hands, and Hoku matches her as they hop up and dive towards the fridge where cut and readied ingredients sit.

The evening is chaotic, and bright and full of laughter. They discover that between all their years of life, none of them had ever learnt how to toss pizza dough. Charlie and Keeya make a deal to go to Italy and learn before the decade is out. Drew sees the trip as a chance to get a tan in the beautiful Italian heat, and be fed delicious food straight from her husband’s hands. They make the most of the evening, a rare and peaceful one that recharges the energy in them like bolts of lightning. Perseus hasn’t felt this content in many many moons. 

Soon enough, however, it is just Elouan, Charlie, and Drew sitting on the velvet couches of their lounging area, chatting quietly as they sip various expensive liquor.

He looks at his friends, the gentle glow of the chandelier striking their features. They are beautiful. It is a warm kind of beauty, noticeable in the softness of an expression, or the happiness of a moment. They’re angelic.

“Doc?” Elouan drags him out of his quiet admiration.

“Sorry?”

“Drew and Charlie were just discussing what to do about the hotel on Palace road,” The moonlight caught in his hair ripples as he speaks. “They wanted to find out if you’d be okay with extraction?”

Perseus nods, considering the angles, the necessities

“I don’t feel it’s right to go in armed.” Charlie looks around the room, that composed intensity washing over them. “They’re children, and they’re probably scared.”

The frown between Drew’s perfect brows deepens. “I heard there’s cubs and sangrinos inside.”

“Who’s getting them food? How do they leave? What’s keeping them there?”

A loud ding sounds from someone in the room, and Elouan scrambles to reach his phone. The screen is bright in the dimly lit space and he has to blink hard to adjust his eyes, but then he lets out a curse and rushes towards the door, leaning deeply into stick as the anger worsens his limp.

“Everything okay El?”

“Just Arrow.” He waves it off, “I’ll be back before sun.”

Perseus just nods, watching as the large wooden doors slam shut behind the vampire. When he hears the front door bang, he stands, bowing to his guest in a sign of quick return and steps out of the room in search of members of their household.

“Keeya, Aaru.” He calls from the parlor.

They arrive within seconds, her with a face mask on and her dressing gown half tied, and him with charcoal smudges on his cheeks, and a loose paper in his hand.

‘Doc?” Keeya frowns, sensing the urgency in his aura.

“Elouan just stepped out to help Arrow. Please will you two trace him, make sure he isn’t going to the dens. Don’t make yourself known until you know it’s safe.”

“Armed?” The steel reflecting in Aarush’s dark eyes calm Perseus’ nerves.

“No.” He doesn’t need to cause trouble with the Underboss. “Just make sure Elouan is okay. No violent blood is spilled tonight at your hands.” The volatile expression on the little vampire’s face lessens only a fraction. They both nod at him and disappear into their rooms to ready themselves.

He goes back to the lounge, and continues his discussion with his friends. When he hears the front door close, the quiet click echoing in his mind like a drum, he tells Charlie and Drew what is happening.

Drew, ever the mother, is immediately righteous, demanding she send out some of her pack as scouts. Charlie just holds her hand and looks to him with that expression that so often graces his face: how can we help?

Perseus smiles at Drew and her anger, understanding how she feels. “It is okay Tanaka,” He reassures her. “I’ve got it covered. We should talk about the children.”

She growls, and he can hear the wolf in her throat. “You will let us know if you need help Perseus.”

“Yes,” Even Charlie looks adamant, unstoppable. “We will not be in the dark again. Not when it comes to our own.”

He breathes, and it has taken two centuries to get here. To this moment. “I will ask for help if the time comes.”

“The Underboss is holding them in the hotel, and bribing them with food to join her army.” Just like that they move onto the next problem. The next call for help.

“Well then,” Perseus grins, and it looks like the first signs of destruction, “i guess we’ll be paying the Queen a visit.”

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

Elouan my love what are you doing????? Also: Who do you think the Queen is? *sus eyes*

Tags (if you want to be added to/taken off the tag list all my channels of communication are open):

@msdrpreist; @sparkythunderstorm; @aalikun; @crazy-stupid-bean; @queen-of-demons-and-hell; @pjo-hp-things; @nishlicious-01; @spoopylucy; @larrikin-is-a-himbo; @cyra04​; @leydiangelo​; @elecsinnerz​

[georgescatcafe]

gonna be around

rating: t warning/s: blood mention, and an unconscious person is kissed pairing/s: dreamnotfound genres/tags: realistic minecraft au, potions, bad ideas word count: 4603 summary: In which Dream and George do not listen to Sapnap, a run-in with a witch goes wrong, and what the heck is ree-tuh-velo? (Or is it reh-too-velo?)

+ao3

;;

For all intents and purposes, it should be easy. All they have to do is cross a swamp biome to get to the stronghold containing the End portal, and voila! They’re done. And it is easy, for a time. George ignores the weight-gain of his jeans as the ends of them fill with water, and Dream ignores the tiring of his arm from holding his shield for so long. Sapnap ignores the squelch of his leather boots in the mud. They’re fine. It’s all easy; it’s all good.

And then Dream comes to an abrupt stop, leaving George to run into him, and Sapnap to almost stumble if it weren’t for how firmly his feet were in the mud. “What?” George asks, as the trio stare ahead of them. “What is it?”

Dream points a finger directly ahead. “There’s a witch’s hut over there.”

Sapnap sighs. “See, we should’ve just gone around. Maybe if you two listened to me more often—”

“Do you think there’s anything in it?” George asks, turning to Dream with wide eyes hidden behind his sunglasses.

Shoving down his irritation at getting cut off, Sapnap crosses his arms over his chest. “Everybody knows there’s nothing useful in there, just trouble. So why don’t we just keep going, keep our heads down, no one gets hurt, no one gets killed—”

“Maybe,” Dream says, and with that, the two take off towards the hut, leaving Sapnap to follow, though he finds himself stuck in the mud. With wide eyes, he watches as Dream and George head further into the swamp. Concern inflates like a balloon in his chest, but until he’s out of the mud, out of his boots maybe, he’s unable to help. His gaze drops to his feet, though he can’t even see them, so covered in gunk they are. He’s sunken a fair amount, and when he tries to move, he swears he only gets deeper. He gets his hands around a leg and pulls, trying his best to make some progress in getting unstuck.

“Seriously,” he grumbles to himself as nothing seems to work, “they really couldn’t’ve thought for one minute. One minute. Like, hey, maybe we shouldn’t go inside the scary witch’s house that literally everyone knows only has a little table and mushroom in it? I don’t know. Just an idea. But hey! I’m sure that days-old water is great! So refreshing!” He’s still muttering to himself, working on getting his other leg free, when he hears the sound of footsteps, and sees Dream running towards him at a near-full sprint. Honestly, forget whatever monsters they’ve fought. Having Dream running straight at him full-speed might be one of the most terrifying things he’s seen.

His shield is obviously banged up now, and it shines with some unknown substance that drips down it and onto the ground below, though some flies off behind Dream while he runs. What is also flying off, apparently, is his mask. Sapnap, out of strange respect (he’s really not sure), finds himself looking away from the other’s face, however, to instead inspect the rest of his person. He’s got red staining his front, and Sapnap is pretty sure some of it spreads onto his back too, from his shoulder. His hands, too, are bloodied, but Sapnap doesn’t care when they get a grip around his arms to help pull him the rest of the way out of the mud.

“George,” Dream is saying when Sapnap is finally out of the mud, the name choppy with how hard Dream is breathing, “left him, he—”

This is the most panicked Sapnap has ever heard Dream, and he reaches out a hand to steady his friend when the other turns to go back towards the hut and stumbles. When Dream looks back at him, Sapnap accidentally gets a clear look at his face, and it’s almost his turn to stumble at the sheer fear on it.

“What happened?” Sapnap asks, brows furrowing, that concern from before back in full, no, doubled, tripled now, as Dream falls into an explanation, something about a fight with the witch, it using some kind of potion on George, one Dream’s never seen (one Sapnap has definitely never seen), then using a basic harming one on Dream, resulting in his current state, Dream having managed to only hurt himself worse when on his way to Sapnap.

“So George is still back at the hut?” Sapnap asks, all caution thrown out the window out of worry for his friend, ready to turn and run into danger himself.

Dream nods. “The witch, it’s gone. It—”

“Not an invisibility potion,” Sapnap groans, looking back to Dream with wide eyes.

Dream only shakes his head, and Sapnap is ready to sigh in relief, though also that means a witch still has George , but then Dream continues: “I killed it.”

Dread fills Sapnap whole. “What?”

“I was panicked; I wasn’t thinking; I was dumb,” Dream looks at Sapnap, one hand with its knuckles turning white from how tight it grips the end of his sword, “we need to go back.”

“Uh, yeah,” Sapnap agrees, finally deciding to just say fuck it and head off in the direction of the witch’s hut. “So the witch is really gone?”

Dream makes an affirmative noise from behind him, and Sapnap sighs, continuing on through tall grass and murky water.

When they reach the hut, the sun has started to set, and Sapnap’s muscles burn as he pulls himself up onto the porch of the hut. He bites back a wince of sympathy when Dream makes a small noise as he follows, and Sapnap is fully able to see the blood that’s begun to stain his shirt down the back. Unable to fight the caring instincts he has, Sapnap kneels down to help Dream get fully on the porch and catch his breath. “Come on, big guy,” he says, placing what he hopes is a comforting hand on the other’s uninjured shoulder, “we’ve got a George to save.”

He’s about to turn and go in when Dream’s hand on his wrist stops him. “Wait,” Dream gets out, “George is—”

“Are you sure George isn’t dead?” Sapnap can’t help the way his voice pitches as he stares at the eldest’s body laid out on the ground, looking definitely worse for the wear, his glasses no longer even on his face, instead lenses-down on the ground next to him.

“He’s not dead,” Dream says, and this time the voice comes from slightly above Sapnap, so he knows the other has managed to push himself up to stand. “He’s breathing.”

“Must be pretty barely,” Sapnap murmurs, moving to go inspect George. His eyes are shut, and ignoring the rest of his body, bruised and slightly bloody, probably from the fight and him falling to the floor, he almost looks peaceful, expression blank, brows relaxed. “What did that potion do to him, dude?”

There’s the sound of scraping and then the hut brightens, making the mottled marks on George’s skin more obvious, the lack of color in his face definitely moreso. But it also makes the slight rise and fall of his chest visible too. “Yup,” Sapnap says, “still breathing.” There’s a soft thunk as Dream sets down the lantern on the crafting table before he’s coming to sit next to Sapnap.

“There’s got to be some notes here or something,” he tells the other. “There’s no way that potion’s been used before. That witch made it, I know it.”

Sapnap looks around at the mostly barren room. True to what he thought, it’s just got the crafting table and a cauldron, and when he glances to one of the windows, there sits a flower pot with just a single mushroom in it. There doesn’t seem to be any secret room, no place to hide any confidential information. It’s just an empty hut, its original owner and all their knowledge now gone.

“Okay,” Sapnap says more to himself than anyone else, though the only other people there are an unconscious man and a desperate man frantically tugging at rotting wood planks, “this is fine. We can handle this. This is fine.”

“Not fine,” Dream says, making Sapnap look over at him. “Come on, dude, we need to search for something.”

Sapnap nods before looking down at George just one more time; his face is still relaxed, his body still awkwardly bent from his fall. Sapnap, for as much as he pokes fun and does his best to annoy the other, doesn’t actually dislike him, so he readjusts George, making it to where he’s laying there flat on his back, arms over his chest, legs stretched out pointing towards the door, minimizing the possibility of unnecessary soreness.

When Sapnap rises, Dream is paused, staring down at George. “Dude,” he says, “don’t make him look dead.”

“He’s going to be more comfortable this way,” Sapnap argues. “Have you found anything?”

Dream flashes him his empty palms, and Sapnap grits his teeth, joining the other in the search. When he can’t find anything either, Sapnap glances up only to see Dream looking over at George. His mask, which had fallen off completely some time on their way back to the hut, Sapnap spies shoved haphazardly into his pocket, as if Dream couldn’t be bothered to put it back on, as if he couldn’t care less if it were to fall out either. This is the most open Sapnap has seen Dream, and he’s not sure he likes it.

Considering their friend is lying unconscious on the floor, the pair of them with zero certainty that he’ll ever wake up again, Sapnap becomes sure he doesn’t like it.

“I’ll check outside,” Sapnap tells the other, making Dream look away from George. His eyes glint in the candlelight, and Sapnap swallows, turning away as he heads to the door. When he pokes his head out, he sees no threat, despite the sun being down, so he makes his careful way out of the hut.

He gives a small grunt when he lands on the ground in front of the hut, the impact worse than it should be because of how tired he is. Nevertheless, he continues the search. It is when he’s starting to fear that he’s walked too far that Sapnap smells sulphur and burning. Dream had killed the witch around here. Sapnap looks around, though the swamp is full of shadows that stretch endlessly no matter which way he looks, even with the dim light coming from the hut, even with the pale moonlight that tries to break through the trees.

Despite this, he pushes forward, reaching out to see if he can feel anything the witch might’ve dropped that Dream didn’t pick up. With the way Dream had been when he reached Sapnap, he doubts Dream picked anything up at all.

Sapnap pauses. Dream is usually the type to roll with the punches, his brain faster than anyone’s Sapnap has ever met, having solved the problem before he’s even faced it—a quality Sapnap has always admired him for. He’d never throw it all out if he weren’t truly afraid. Sapnap’s hand catches on something lodged in the mud. He gives a tug.

A notebook, muddied, maybe, likely, probably illegible. But a notebook no less.

He’s quick to get back to the hut.

When he gets back inside, it’s to find Dream sitting with his back against the wall, the window with the flower pot above his head. He’s got his eyes shut, but Sapnap spies his sword flat on the ground next to him, his hand covering the hilt, ready to wrap around it and spring into action if necessary.

“I found it,” Sapnap says. “You really weren’t thinking today, huh?” It’s supposed to be a joke, meant to lighten the mood, but it falls flat as he tosses Dream, who’s now got his eyes open and on him, the notebook.

“Didn’t know what to do,” Dream replies. “Thanks, man.”

“It’s fine. It’s George,” he says. “I’d do it for you too.”

To that, Dream just hums, working on peeling the pages apart.

“So?” Sapnap asks when a minute has passed and Dream has managed to flip through most of it. “Anything?”

Dream begins to shake his head, and Sapnap’s hands curl into fists at his side, anger rising in him—at Dream, for being so reckless; at the witch, for doing this to George; at himself, for not stopping them; at George, for being the one to suggest such a stupid thing anyway—the anger turns to hate at the last one. But this time, it’s all directed at himself. He’s ready for… something, a fight, a rest, a fucking break, maybe, but then Dream gives a shout, and Sapnap turns to him faster than lightning.

“What is it?” he asks.

Dream shoves the notebook out towards him, and Sapnap steps around George to take it from him, moving closer to the candlelight to better see what’s written.

Base + [Ghast tear + Phantom membrane + Blaze Powder] = RETUVELO

Underneath that, there’s something else, but even with the lamp right there, it’s still hard to read.

Sapnap frowns. “Uh… great. But what is ree-tuh-velo?”

Dream gives a shrug, though it’s distracted, and Sapnap allows himself a smile hidden behind the notebook. Distracted is good. Distracted means he’s thinking. Distracted means he’s thinking the way he normally does.

“A Ghast tear added is regeneration,” he says, making Sapnap lower the notebook. “Membrane, slows down falling.”

“Blaze powder is strength.”

“So what do those combined do?” Dream asks it aloud, but Sapnap knows he’s talking more to himself than him.

That doesn’t mean Sapnap doesn’t have an idea though. “Well,” he says, “the Ghast tear might be what makes him… like this,” he gives a pathetic wave towards George. Dream nods, fingers drumming against the floor.

“What about the strength? When he wakes up will he be like a golem or something?” Dream’s got his eyes locked on George’s face now, staring at it like it’ll somehow hold the answers.

“He doesn’t look any stronger,” Sapnap says. He chews his lip before looking at the notebook again. “Were you able to read whatever is underneath that? What if it’s like… some fine print?” At Dream’s furrowed brow, Sapnap hands the notebook back to him.

“I tried, but…,” he holds up the notebook, making a sputtering noise, lips pursed, cheeks puffed. It’d be funny if it weren’t so pathetic.

“Give me that,” Sapnap orders, taking the notebook back, sick of not having anything. Even with the recipe, it’s like they’re no closer than they were an hour ago. He holds it as close as he can to the flames without it burning and squints, doing his best to read the words. Then his eyes drift back up to the name of the potion, and he gives it another good stare, and then he looks at the ingredients, and looks at the name, and the ingredients, and the name, and then he looks over his shoulder at Dream and George, then he looks at the page as a whole, and oh.

Oh.

“So…,” Sapnap says, “I think I know what the problem is. And also that that witch is braver than all three of us combined. It was still fighting a losing battle, though. And it lost. I guess we’re just that good.” He gives the notebook back to Dream. After he does, he makes his way over to Dream under the pretence of looking out the window. When he turns around to lean against the wall, standing while Dream is sitting, he glances down at the other. “You can thank me later for this, by the way. You’re going to hate me at first, though.”

“Why?” Dream asks. “What’re you—”

Sapnap puts his hand on the other’s head.

“Dude, stop. What the f—”

“Only know that I’m doing this because I care deeply about you both, and that I think this will be better for all of us. Also, I’m doing this because if I tell you to, you’ll say no.”

“Do what?”

“Dream,” Sapnap says, “kiss him.”

“What? No!”

“See?” Sapnap cries. “I knew you’d say that.”

“He’s unconscious, man! That’s weird.”

“I should’ve gone with my original plan,” Sapnap mutters. “Okay, then I’ll do—”

“Your original plan?” Dream stares up at Sapnap with wide eyes. “Dude, what are you thinking? And, wait, don’t get closer, stop!” Sapnap, who had gotten on his knees to sit next to George, moves in closer, glancing at Dream innocently. “No,” Dream says. “Whatever. Fine. I’ll do it.”

Sapnap bites back the yes he wants to give, instead simply scooting back so Dream can instead be the one to hover over George. He’s sure Dream’s about to do it, their faces barely an inch apart, when Dream sits back up and looks over at Sapnap.

“Why?”

Sapnap holds back a groan. “Because it’s the only way to wake him up, idiot!” He stretches to get the notebook off where he left it on the table. He points at RETUVELO. “True love!”

Dream gives him an incredulous look. “How do you know?”

“Okay,” Sapnap begins, and Dream straightens, “look. No. I know what I’m talking about. At first, I wasn’t sure, yeah, but then I saw ‘reciprocated,’ see?” He points at one of the words beneath the recipe. “Here. And it, like, clicked.”

“You were going to kiss him,” Dream says, accusatory.

Sapnap could bang his head on the table then and there. Maybe the cauldron, even. “Because I know it’d make you do it instead! I love George, but not like that!”

“Then how’d you know I—”

They stare at each other, Dream’s hands have come up to cover his mouth.

“Ignoring the fact that I’ve known you eight years,” Sapnap says, the bitterness in his words (mostly) playful, “it’s kind of obvious. Your mask came off and you didn’t even care.”

“You’ve seen my face,” Dream replies, as if he hadn’t put the mask on one day and just… never took it off. As if the one time Sapnap saw him without it after that moment Dream hadn’t immediately slapped it back up against his face until Sapnap turned back around.

“You didn’t think, man,” Sapnap says.

“I thought my friend had died!” Dream argues.

“Uh-huh,” Sapnap says, “like you’d be half as frantic if it were me.”

“I would,” Dream frowns, “seriously. I love you too, man.”

“Not the way you love Goerge,” Sapnap sing-songs. And then he gets tired of this because the information given on the potion was still really bare bones so for all they know George could actually be actively dying and not just… in a coma. “Just… don’t believe me? Fine. Do it and prove me wrong.”

Dream stares at Sapnap, gaze piercing even in the dim candlelight. Sapnap stares back, refusing to back down on this. He’s had his dumb moments, sure, but this is one thing he’s certain of. Not to mention (and not to brag), but Sapnap has always been the best out of all of them with the potions. Just saying.

“Fine,” Dream says, and then he’s ducking down to press perhaps the most pathetic kiss Sapnap has ever seen onto George’s lips, sitting back up less than a second later, eyes wild, cheeks flushed in a way Sapnap’s never gotten to see with the way he’s always wearing his mask. “There,” he continues, “I did it.” And then he looks at Sapnap, almost smugly, which is funny because that means he’d be smug about not curing George.

And then George gasps.

“You’ve got to be joking me,” Dream groans, while Sapnap lets out a yes! that was probably most definitely louder than necessary.

“I told you,” Sapnap says. “I told you.”

“Told him what?” George’s voice is hoarse, and he winces with every word.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dream snaps before Sapnap can get a word in. “How’re you feeling?”

“Like I’ve fallen down a ravine,” George replies, not even trying to get off the ground. Granted, there’s nowhere much else he could go. Not while it’s night and he’s still weak from the potion. Dream feels round his pockets then, and both Sapnap and George watch as he pulls out a new potion, one that glows a hot pink.

“The witch dropped it,” he says. “Here.”

When George doesn’t take the potion, Sapnap is about to take it from him, but then both he and Dream seem to realize why he’s not taking it.

“Your mask,” George says. It comes out like a whisper. Sapnap looks over Dream’s head out the window. It's night, sure, but it’ll be morning soon. The shadows dance on the wall as George places a hand on Dream’s face; Sapnap considers sitting out on the porch. “Should’ve kept it on,” George suddenly continues. “You look like trash.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” George’s hand falls from Dream’s face as Dream ducks his head to laugh. George is smiling as he finally takes the potion. Sapnap steadies him when he tries to sit up to take it.

“I tried it on you earlier,” Dream admits. “It didn’t work.”

George is slightly flushed with the effects of the potion working their way through him, and his eyes are bright even in the darkness as he looks up at Dream, who’s still hovering just slightly over him. “What was that stuff?”

Dream looks over at Sapnap, who looks back before dropping his gaze to George. He still feels Dream’s eyes on him, but he doesn’t say anything. What can he even say? The truth will have to come out some time, but it shouldn’t be him to say it.

“Potion,” he says anyway, just to… get the ball rolling, that’s all. “Something new.”

“When I killed the witch,” Dream continues, “it dropped a healing potion. I managed to catch it and come back, see if it worked, before going to get Sap.”

“It didn’t work,” George repeats.

“You were out cold,” Dream replies. “Sapnap thought you died.”

“For, like, a second,” Sapnap cuts in, leaning back on his heels and crossing his arms. “It’s a fair assumption. You were just… laying there.”

“I was unconscious!” George replies. “I can’t exactly get comfortable.” His voice is still scratchy, though less so. Even then, Sapnap’s hand is back on George’s shoulder, and Dream is reaching for the potion, though George shrugs off Sapnap’s hand and smacks away Dream’s. “‘M fine.” He takes a breath then sits up properly, the shadows on his face changing as he moves, though his eyes still shine from the potion. “Is the potion all it dropped?” he asks Dream.

Sapnap should go now. He really should go now.

“A notebook,” Dream answers. “Sapnap went back and found it.”

“You didn’t get it right away? I could’ve been awake a lot sooner!”

“You’re awake now,” Dream snaps back, brow furrowing, “isn’t that enough?”

“I was in fucking limbo, man!”

“You—”

George glares at Dream, and Sapnap bites back a laugh. “I’m the one who was unconscious, me, so don’t even—,” and then his free hand comes up to his face and his eyes widen as when they touch the skin beneath his eyes and not the plastic of his sunglasses.

Sapnap shakes his head as he picks up George’s glasses and hands them to him. “They’re probably all scratched up now,” he tells the other. “Sorry, dude.”

“It’s,” George slides them on, “whatever. Thanks.”

Sapnap gives him a smile before glancing back out the window, where it’s definitely either close to sunrise or the sun is already over the horizon. He pushes himself up off the ground. “Well, I’m going to go look for something we can eat. Don’t forget to tell him about ree-tuh-velo, Dream.” Because knowing them, they’d probably get distracted and end up having that conversation when Sapnap is in a room with them with no quick escape route. At least now he has the excuse of doing something. He gives the pair a wave as he heads out the door, not bothering to look back and instead looking out into the swamp, hoping for just about anything other than mushrooms.

By the time he’s done, he is covered in a new layer of mud, though he’s got a bucket of clean water with him to wash that off this time, and the mess is worth it, if the raw pork he carries with him is anything to go by. When he reaches the foot of the hut, he pauses at the sound of voices.

“... was a dud,” George is saying. “It can’t detect emotion.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” Dream replies. “I tried the healing potion on you at first, and absolutely nothing happened.”

“Because that reh-too-velo shit overpowered it!” George argues.

“You saw the recipe!” The sound of paper. Sapnap leans against one of the posts holding the hut up. “None of that stuff should’ve hurt you.”

A pause.

“Why can’t you just admit it?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“On your side maybe.”

“Dream, what—”

Sapnap looks at the cloth he wrapped the pork in. He’ll need to start a fire. Best not to do it in a wooden hut. He focuses on Dream and George’s conversation one more time. Just to be safe.

“—you!”

“Since when?”

“Since—I don’t know! I just kind of… noticed!”

“Like I believe that—”

“Well, what about you?”

“I—”

Setting the bucket down then readjusting his grip on the pork, Sapnap moves away from the post, deciding to find somewhere else to start a fire. Hopefully they’ll have figured it all out before he gets back.

Returning to the hut what should be a conversation later with cooked pork chops, Sapnap is happy to find his bucket has remained untouched, and he sets it up onto the porch before following.

“Hey, guys,” he says as he enters, showing off the pork, “I got food.”

“You didn’t mention Dream having to kiss me!” George immediately shouts, near causing Sapnap to drop the pork.

“Uh,” he says, and then, “nope. Figured it’d be better if he did. Since he’s the one that… y’know. Kissed you and all.”

“I can’t believe this,” George says, though he accepts the pork chop Sapnap offers him.

“He wouldn’t have had to if y’all had just listened to me,” Sapnap replies, unable to help it. He’s right, anyway. They could have avoided this whole fiasco if Dream and George had just… not gone to the witch’s hut. Simple as.

“Dude,” Dream says.

“Like you were going to confess anytime soon.” Sapnap raises his brows as he takes a bite of his own pork chop. Dream makes a face and that’s when Sapnap realizes—“You’re still not wearing your mask.”

Dream looks down to where it’s still stuffed in his pocket. He gives a shrug. “Don’t really need it right now.”

Sapnap takes another bite of his pork chop before leaning his head back against the wall. “Guess not.” And then he muffles a laugh behind another bite. “So does this mean I need to look for another room when we stay in villages?”

“Oh my God,” Dream laughs while George just throws his hands in the air, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“Didn’t even have to,” Sapnap replies. “I’m just that good.” And also he’s willing to eavesdrop just a little. But still. Considering he’s the one who figured out the Retuvelo potion, he’s pretty good.

“But seriously. Am I going to have to stay in another room?”

[yeojaa]

TO THE MOON AND BACK - ft. ???

You feel winded and you're not sure why.  Like you'd been walking on cloud nine and were now falling through the atmosphere, plummeting toward the ground at incredible speeds.  When you speak, it doesn't really sound like you.  "Yes."  Because he was exactly right - you were a hopeless romantic.  Always had been.  It was hard not to be when your parents were childhood sweethearts and love was the thing you'd been chasing your whole life.

alt summary.  You use your one brain cell for love.  It doesn’t always end well.

pairing.  who knows, honestly.  the obvious ones are kim taehyung and jeon jungkook, though.  

tags.  blind date, strangers, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, getting to know each other, alternate universe, alternate universe - modern setting, romantic comedy.

rating.  general (for now?)

word count.  ~4000

chapter 5.  

By the time you've finished dinner, tumbling through the doorway like two giddy school children, you feel like you've known Taehyung for a lifetime.

He'd told you all about his family, his little brother and sister that he loved dearly.  You'd sensed that same wistful longing from the interview, a sadness that presented itself in the way their names fell from his lips.  You were the younger sister of a relatively nuclear family, so you didn't know what it was that coloured his words or turned his blood to battery acid.  You could never understand.  Instead, you'd held his hand, offering comfort in the form of coiled fingers and a gentle squeeze.  You weren't sure if it'd had any effect but by the effort he'd put into his smile, you'd felt it had.

He'd brought up photos of his beloved Yeontan on his phone, swiping through albums and albums of the little black and tan Pomeranian.  You'd squealed with each new revelation, hands clapping with mirth at a particularly cute video of he and Tannie curled up in his bed.  You'd even been so bold as to ask him to send you a photo, insisting you needed one for his contact profile.  (He'd obliged, all too happily.)

You'd talked about your passions, your current internship and enrolment in composition.  You'd poured your heart out to him, hoping to convey everything it made you feel.  How it was your first love - guiding you through the best of times and holding you in the worst.  You'd felt like you'd lost him a couple times, only to have him repeat your words back like they were the single most interesting thing he'd ever heard.  

You'd admitted your short comings, providing a few brief tales of sordid affairs that hadn't ended well.  He'd laughed when you'd included your kindergarten crush, detailing the way Jeong Jisung had broken your heart when he'd kissed your cheek one day and ignored you the next.  You blended self-deprecation and otherworldly self-awareness so well, like a character breaking the fourth wall.

Together, you'd swept dust from old books, flipping through pages of memories together and baring secrets open for the other to see.

He'd made connections where he could, filling the missing gaps in your knowledge like golden thread in kintsugi.  He'd been friends with the same group of men since he was sixteen - the ones you'd met at breakfast, sans one important member.  Modelling had been something he'd thought to pursue, straight out of university, but he'd found comfort behind the lens rather than in front of it.  What a shame.  He was a curator at a gallery and still dabbled in art himself, finding beauty within the tiny square of his viewfinder.  Neon pink had painted every edge of his skin when you'd compared him to a Caravaggio.

"Thank you for dinner.  I ate so well."  Words are driven home by the way you're sluggish and soft beside him, a glutton for food (and for love).

Taehyung beams like you've done him the biggest favour.  "You're welcome.  Did you have fun?"

You meet his stare and your heart trips on itself, nearly lodging itself in your throat.  You swallow thickly, trying to find the words when you're about two seconds way from ruining everything with your over-enthusiasm.  It's impossible to think straight when he's so close and the streetlight above you is casting a makeshift halo around his head.  He's straight out of your wildest dreams - heaven sent. 

"Can I kiss you?"  Whether he's whispered it, you're not sure.  It hardly registers, dull behind the pounding of blood against your eardrums.  

Still, you nod dumbly, in case you hadn't just pulled the question out of thin air.

It's otherworldly.  That's the only way you can describe the way he kisses you, with hands cradling the slope of your jaw.  His touch is tender as he tilts your head to meet his, his mouth soft and dry, lips barely parted with the chaste peck.  It's over far too soon and you chase the ghost of him, ever eager for more.  You think he's like the first day of winter when the cold sinks into your skin and suffocates you.  It's piercing, digging into every fibre of your being and making you tingle like frostbite. 

He laughs again and the sound is breathless, like somehow you're the one that's stolen the air from his lungs and not the other way around.  

"Can I kiss you again?" 

You're ready this time and you meet his half-lidded gaze boldly.  "Please."

The feeling of his lips on yours again kicks your heartbeat into overdrive, a hummingbird come to life within the cavity of your chest.  He moves with such languid purpose, slanting his mouth sweetly.  He's never rushed, taking in the subtle taste of you and your bubble gum-flavoured lip balm as his palm adjusts, trails heat over the line of your neck and fits itself comfortably against your pulse.  Fingers tangle, gentle as a lover's touch, in the inky strands, and you hum a noise that borders on a whimper.

You feel him smirk against your lips.  You want to rebuff him, warmth spiking across your cheeks.  You're not sure whether it's embarrassment or all-encompassing want that turns your insides to jelly. 

When his tongue glides over your bottom lip, you know it's the latter.

That same half-whimper escapes you, swallowed whole by the cavern of his mouth as he coaxes you open with careful ministrations.  It feels so good and you're breathless, lost in the feeling of his exploring tongue, drawing your own to his in an intoxicating game of cat and mouse.  It doesn't even matter that you've known each other for all of five minutes and that you're crowded under an awning in the middle of Hongdae. 

To you, it feels like the beginning of a fairy tale. 

"I should probably get you home."  It's the best parts of him that have him drawing away from you, allowing you to regain your breath.  His hands have fallen from your neck, trailing affectionately over the royal blue wool of your cardigan until he's found your hands.  Your head is still swimming and you're grateful for the way he anchors you there, fingers interlocked.

"Probably,"  you answer, reluctant.  You're like a child whose favourite toy has been taken away, pouty and petulant despite your best efforts to appear as nonchalant as possible.  It's endlessly clear in the way your cheeks puff, fill with air you won't release;  your shuffling of feet, rubber toe of your sneakers dragging through a line of gravel.  It rolls off you in discontented waves and he's smiling, twisting your joined fingers until you're flush against him once more, your hands trapped in the space between you.

"We have lots of time."  He's reassurance in the form of another kiss, one that just barely grazes skin.  

You know he doesn't mean to tease you but you can't help chase the feel of him as if there's a string connecting you two.  A single red ribbon that spans his lips to yours, knotted in a noose around the thing that palpitates heavy in your chest.  You're greedy for another taste and you know he is too when he doesn't manoeuvre out of your way, instead revelling in the way your mouth finds purchase against the underside of his jaw.  You can taste his pulse there, just beneath the thin membrane of skin, and you think how easy it would be to go too far - to dive headfirst into the siren song of his heartbeat.

Instead, you withdraw, hoping against all hope that fate will reward you for your patience tonight. 

"I know,"  you breathe, still a little morose and all the more endearing.  When you meet his stare, it's coquettish and sly, narrowed behind thickly layered lashes.  "Take me home."  You trace the words like they're a treat, mouth shaping around the last word to drag it into debauchery.  

He knows you'll be the death of him.  He thinks he wouldn't mind.  "Lead the way."

You walk together like you've done it a hundred times, falling into comfortable silence as your feet mirror one another's.  His hand remains steadfast within yours, your cheek pressed to the soft wool of his coat as you amble along.  He hums a tune you don't recognize and you do your best to join in, dipping into your own music box when he trails off.  You sneak glances at him when he isn't looking and yet somehow, always meet his playfully patient stare, colour burning intensely across your cheeks when he meets you with no shame.

"Who would have thought,"  Taehyung muses when he catches you staring for the third time, tongue swiping across his bottom lip in that way you've come to recognize.  

"What?"  You're tilting your head, studying him closely.  You can already see the words that are weaving through his mind, coaxing others out of their hiding spots and slotting into place.  

"That we'd connect like this."  

The sincerity is a little too much, so you do what you're best at - pretend like it's nothing.  "You didn't think you'd meet someone as incredible as me?  On a random YouTube segment?"  A scoff to drive the point home, eyes twinkling merrily, though perhaps a bit too brightly for the guarded tone that wedges itself between your teeth.

"I thought it would be fun."  He's undeterred by your indifference and he continues, an unstoppable force.  Fitting.  "Jungkookie said it would be too good of an experience to pass up - that I would have nothing to lose."  Whether he notices the way you stiffen at his side, you're not sure.  He seems completely lost in his own thoughts, spying patterns in the sky above your heads, and you're grateful.  You don't want to think about him right now. 

"Well, he was right."  There's a casual lack of concern in your voice, a subtle steering of the conversation.  "But you've also only known me for like, a day."  You wiggle your eyebrows before remembering the fact that you're really quite terrible at it, and settle for opening your eyes as wide as possible.  You're sure you look ridiculous but Taehyung doesn't laugh directly at you, instead having the decency to hide his amusement behind a tight-lipped smile that threatens to blow open.  "You hardly even know me.  What if you end up hating the way I eat or the fact that I drink six coffees a day?"

"I've seen you eat and it's cute - and that just means more cafe dates."  Perhaps your examples were poor or maybe he can just read you that well.  You're not sure which it is and that scares you more than you want to admit.  "But even if I don't know you well..."  He's looking at you with those impossibly dark eyes, ones that threaten to pull you underwater and drown you in their depths.  "I feel like I already know you better than most people do."

You hate that he's somehow always so right.  It's infuriating and terrifying all at once.

Because he knew things even your so-called friends didn't, had you offering up your secrets like they were casual hello's.  He'd seen your lovesick heart and offered it a home, a quiet place to lay its head and in doing so, he'd swept into your life like a hurricane, uprooting all of your carefully constructed contingency plans.  He'd torn the excuses right from your mouth, taken your hands captive like they belonged with his.  You, who'd always kept everyone at arm's length out of fear for falling and shattering into a million tiny pieces. 

So you say nothing, letting your silence speak instead.  He seems completely fine with this, a self-satisfied settling over his face like it belongs there.

"This is me."  You've reached your block in no time at all and you can't help the disappointment that colours you when you pull to the side of the street, bringing him with you.  

"Goodnight then,"  He says sweetly with the tiniest edge of teasing.  He's about to move away, leave you high and dry, and you're doing your best not to hold too tightly, unfurling your fingers from his.  He's right - you had all the time in the world.  You repeat that in your head when the weight of his hand is gone and arrange a megawatt smile on your face, ready to wish him goodbye.  You don't expect him so close, however, his eyes lit up like the sky above you, full of promise.  It's easy to get lost in them.  "You didn't think I'd leave without a kiss, did you?"

When your lips meet again, tentative and lingering, you're not sure whether it's his laughter or yours that bubbles into the air.

You're on cloud nine when you swan into your apartment, gently nudging the door closed with the heel of your foot.  You sweep your tiny furry roommate into your arms, nuzzling your face into his soft slate coat and you beam at the way he returns your affections, like he's keenly aware anything else would be a mortal offence.  You don't even bat an eye at the mess you'd left behind this morning, the unfolded blanket hanging haphazardly across the loveseat, your laptop half-shut on the table beside a cup of forgotten tea.

"I had such a nice date, Po." 

You stare expectantly at your feline friend, cradling him under his front legs in a position very reminiscent of a certain Disney film.  He mewls what you think is understanding and you laugh, the sound breathless and sweet, dipped in fairy floss.  You settle onto the couch, legs tangling in your throw as you settle among the cushions.  Upo takes a front row seat, resting his paws upon your chest like a regal prince.  A low rumble starts, quiet at first and then louder, filling the small spaces between you.  You beam, stroking feather light over the turn of his chin, the sensitive spot behind his ears.  You're overflowing with love, like a balloon about to burst.  

"He's the one from filming, with the big boxy smile."  Speaking the words draws a picture in your mind, charcoal shading the contours of his cheeks and the sharp line of his nose.  It tries to mimic the kindness in his eyes, the way his cheeks grow ten sizes when he smiles, the full swell of his lips.  Your imagination is feeble in comparison to the real thing.  "I really like him,"  you relent in hushed tones, as if you're admitting a shameful secret.

Upo doesn't react beyond a flick of his left ear and a nudge of your now-stilled hand, a silent demand for more.  He's seen you through enough heartbreak - often by your own hand - that he takes everything you say with a grain of salt.  

At least, that's what you think as you resume the gentle scritching around his skull.  He's not very talkative.  "You'll get to meet him soon, I'm sure,"  you muse, aloud.  There's a drop of hope in the turn of consonants, softening the way they fall from your lips.  "I wonder if he likes cats."  You think back to his adorable dog, all black and brown and as endearing as his owner.  "Would you like to meet Tannie, Po?"  

It seems your companion has tired of your wishful crooning.  He rises, the soft beans of his toes kneading you like bread once, twice, before he hops off of you.  He doesn't even glance back as he disappears down the hallway, tail held aloft.  You can't help but snicker to yourself.  Normally, you'd be dragging him back against you, ignoring his yowls of complaint and only releasing him when he'd dug his politely sheathed claws into your flesh. 

Today, you were satisfied.  Full.

It's a nice feeling.  Not unfamiliar, but different.  Tinged a specific shade of rose that reminds you of Taehyung.

He's not sure what had possessed him to dig through his belongings, rummaging through school work he'd neglected to shred or burn when he'd graduated.  All he knew is that he wanted to find it. 

It, being the external hard drive he'd used for the duration of his four years in undergrad.

So, there Jungkook was, legs tucked beneath him as he pulled box after box from under his bed.  He rifles through each one with deft fingers, narrowly avoiding collections of paper cuts across his inked fingers and hissing through bared teeth when he manages to get an even worse cardboard cut along the slope of his palm.

He knew it was somewhere.  But where?

Frustration presents itself in something that more closely resembles a whine than a huff, the sound breaking the relative silence of his apartment and joining the constant stream coming from the far corner of his bedroom.  It's repetitive and loud, punctuated with expletives and directives that don't hugely make sense out of context.  He's streaming Overwatch, of course.

When his palm brushes something cold and heavy, he nearly upends the crate he's currently elbow deep in, fingers curling around the root of all of his troubles.  He hoists it into the air like it's buried treasure, glittering diamonds and rubies rather than a piece of hardware covered with a comically drawn sticker. 

He tells himself he'll put the boxes back later - a lie - and crosses to his computer in four long strides.  Even in his sweatpants, worn black and terribly soft from years of wear, he's all leg.  

The hard drive is connected and booted up almost before his butt sinks into the seat, his top of the line model-O mouse sweeping deftly across his gaming mouse pad.  He navigates through neatly labelled folders, clicking in and out of them like he's on a mission.  The irony that his electronic files are so perfectly kept - near obsessively, in fact - when it took him the better part of a half an hour to find the drive isn't lost on him.  Priorities, he thinks.

Once he's found the file, he pulls his headset over his ears and after a brief hesitation, he opens it.

Black swallows the screen and then you're there, reflected in the mirror beside him.  You're both in black - he in an too-big hooded sweater that swallows him whole and you in a leather coat.  There are passports fuzzy in the replication, two dark green covers gripped tightly in your hand.  He's grinning at himself - or you, it's impossible to tell - and you're bouncing from foot to foot like a kid on their first day of school.

It cuts to the airport and there are people milling around you, nearly swallowing you whole.  You dance past them, quick on your feet, and toss a cheery smile over your shoulder.  Then you're at the ticket counter and you're stepping past the gate agent as Jungkook's own tattooed hand comes into view, accepting his passport back as the ambient noise of the terminal fills his ears.  He follows you down the panelled glass hallway and the focus never cuts from the back of your head, midnight curtain spilling across your back and over your shoulder.

You make a noise when you're nearing the gate, turning to wiggle your eyebrows - or really, widen those pretty dark eyes of yours - at him.  He'd cut his laugh but he remembers it now, filling the enclosed space as you began swinging your arms back and forth like a chicken.  You stop right before you reach the aircraft door, flailing arms slackening to fall at your sides, the picture of normalcy.  If he hadn't known better, he would've thought you were crazy.  

There's a shot of his boots - combat leather with laces running up the front.  You'd made fun of him about them, insisting comfort was key as you'd wiggled your toes in your own yellow suede Vans with dirt marking the soles.

Music pours in from the headphones and it's a montage. 

Shots out the window of the plane, blue sky stretching far and wide above cumulus clouds.  The front seat of a taxi cab, unfamiliar Japanese characters shining back beneath the revolving door of lights that filtering through the windshield.  Your profile, crowded in shadow as you take in the sights, the characteristic little cars and city lights.  A single elevator button lit up beneath your finger, then all of them by his as he drags his hands down the cold metal.  The briefest flash of your face, mouth wide open before you double over in laughter and shove him;  the camera shakes.

Your figure again, draped in a soft flannel that stands in stark contrast to the denim of your jeans.  Your long hair sits pretty down your back, two space buns knotted on the top of your head and held in place with soft-looking grey pompoms.  The video follows you out of a hotel and into the backseat of a taxi, cutting from you taking a halfhearted selfie - he's reflected in your phone screen, though largely obscured by the lens of his camera - to you walking down the sidewalk, hands raised above your head as you wiggle your fingers like they've got minds of their own. 

He tracks you like his life depends on it, catching all of the little expressions that make his heart skip in his chest.

Your occasional look back, just to make sure he's still there and within reach, no more than five feet between you.  The way you spin in awe when you cross Shibuya Crossing, child-like wonder written into every line of your smile.  Excitement in a hall of infinity mirrors because it's not just a perfect photo opportunity but because you love Yayoi Kusama and you've been talking about it all day.  The track overlay steals your words but he reads the movement of your lips. 

"It's so beautiful."  He couldn't agree more.

More of you.  Some, up close, with you waving your fingers in your face as if to rebuff the attention.  Others, further away as you window shop, passing by gorgeous storefronts.  A long continuous shot of you finally finding the place you'd decided on for dinner - a kaisendon restaurant - and your grace as you'd skipped down the steps and inserted bills into the automated ticket machine.  Flashes of you shovelling rice into your mouth and his own portion growing smaller and smaller with each transition.

Tokyo's sprawling streets, lit up at every corner.  Hazy outlines of the people you roll by.  Then darkness, again, before it's you, jumping frantically in front of the Tokyo Disney Resort sign.  You look a little spastic, trying to land the perfect pose despite the fact that it's video.  You don't really care.

He can practically hear your laughter through his monitors, the giant Minnie Mouse ears askew on your head as you spin together in a teacup.  You'd had to do most of the work, with his filming and all, and you're out of breath, exhilaration staining your cheeks bright enough that he can make it out beneath the level  adjustments he'd done.  It's like every dream he's ever had come to life in the shape of your mouth, your delighted grin when you let the centrifugal motion carry you through the rest of the ride.

His heart stops, trips and hardly has time to right itself, when he catches sight of your intertwined hands.  They're there, just barely in frame as you drag him around the happiest place on Earth.

Your face is suddenly illuminated, by lampposts and further away and dim, the fireworks that are going off above your heads.  The aperture focuses on them briefly before returning to you.  You've got your phone up and you're on the balls of your feet, swaying to and fro as you try to capture the moment in your hands.  Then, all at once, you're turning to him and his line of sight is obscured, jumbled with lights and darkness.  It centres just in time to catch your faces, his cheek pressed to your hair, one of Minnie's ears scratching his eyebrow, and your teeth blinding around a smile. 

Then there's his name and the year - 2018 - flashing across his screen. 

As his wallpaper returns, Discord and Twitch maximizing to full size once again, Jungkook wonders where it all went wrong. 

notes.  yes, i put the "G.C.F. in tokyo" video into words and every minute of doing so was excruciating.

[wrightiverse]

Chrysanthemums

When he was drunk and maudlin, Bill Close had a phrase he used to explain why he’d never become a star: timing is everything. If he hadn’t done a certain audition right before lunch, when people were hungry and distracted. If he’d been playing the night the agent was in the bar, instead of at home babysitting. If he’d been five minutes earlier here, two hours later there, a few seconds in either direction, he’d have the life he was actually supposed to have. Bad timing. Good timing. Didn’t quite pull off the timing. Timing is everything. Glenn buys all that as a kid, but he eventually realizes that Bill only had it half right. It’s not just the bad stuff that comes down to being in the right place at the right moment. Sometimes, everything aligns to give you much more than you deserve. (Posted this on AO3 originally but we’re all in sad Close boys hours this week anyway so I may as well bring it over here. Full version below cut has references to a car accident, pregnancy, and a certain canonical death that I’m sure you can guess. It was also written before we realized that Wrightiverse Nick was trans but fuck it, why go back and have Glenn and Morgan misgender baby Nick when I don’t have to. Nick is much younger when Morgan passes in this than in the show’s canon now but canon is optional, free your mind.) 

When he was drunk and maudlin, Bill Close had a phrase he used to explain why he’d never become a star: timing is everything. If he hadn’t done a certain audition right before lunch, when people were hungry and distracted. If he’d been playing the night the agent was in the bar, instead of at home babysitting. If he’d been five minutes earlier here, two hours later there, a few seconds in either direction, he’d have the life he was actually supposed to have. Bad timing. Good timing. Didn’t quite pull off the timing. Timing is everything. Glenn buys all that as a kid, but he eventually realizes that Bill only had it half right. It’s not just the bad stuff that comes down to being in the right place at the right moment. Sometimes, everything aligns to give you much more than you deserve. *** It’s not exactly a fairytale love story. They literally meet in a dumpster.

It’s been most of a year since he told his parents to go shove their advice and their money up their respective asses, three months since the semester ended and he lost access to the dorm room and meal plan, a week since he ran out of cash, and at least 24 hours since he ate anything. Couch-surfing is keeping a roof over his head, and his friends are generous with food and booze and weed when they have any to spare, but that only goes so far. One year of college courses under his belt, no idea how to make a resume, no work history even if he did, no permanent address. The job offers aren’t exactly flooding in.

But to hell with it, Glenn Close isn’t gonna just lay down and die. He’s already cased a bakery a few blocks away and he knows they usually throw out the stuff too stale to sell around 11 p.m. He’d hoped not to have to use that info, but whatever. Someday this will make a great anecdote for his episode of Behind The Music.

Glenn hovers across the street until he sees a silhouetted figure toss a bag into the dumpster in the alley, then casually strolls over once the figure goes back inside. The sides of the dumpster are taller and have fewer handholds than he’d pictured, but he drags over some pallets and manages to climb in. It’s half empty and the bag has landed right on top, safe from the nasty trash juices that are soaking the cuffs of his jeans.

The first thing he sees when he tears the bag open is a plain bagel, and the first bite he takes is so good that he almost passes out. He’s so busy wolfing it down that he doesn’t notice the approaching steps from outside until another bag of trash flies over the top of the dumpster and bounces off his head.  

“Watch it,” he says reflexively. Then he freezes, not even chewing as he strains to listen for movement outside. Nothing. Maybe they just tossed the bag and walked back inside. He might get away with this.

“Yo, Templeton,” a voice says from outside the dumpster. “You gonna quit pretending you’re not in there, or should I close the lid?”

Glenn considers his options for a moment, but now that he comes to think of it… “Yeah, I’m realizing I don’t have anything to stand on in here. Little help?”

That’s the first time he hears her laugh. Even knowing he was the butt of the joke, he wants to hear it again. He gets his chance seconds later, when her head pops above the wall of the dumpster.

“Would you look at that? Somebody threw away a perfectly good dumbass.” Then that laugh rings out for the second time

Even his innate panache can’t overcome being hungry, chest-high in trash bags, and covered with flour. He’s humbled, and she’s amused, and that somehow turns into a connection that surprises both of them with how deep it gets and how fast.

If Glenn meets her at any other moment than that, he blows it by trying to be cool and charming. He lucked out. It’s perfect timing.

Morgan’s too good for him on any level you can name. Too cool for him, too smart, too tough, too beautiful. A better musician than him, both with the actual music and the business side. She’s the one who teaches him how to scrounge and hustle, how to read a contract’s fine print and argue with a booking agent who doesn’t want to pay up. Sometimes it feels like every other living soul on earth is elbow-to-elbow with them, fighting for the same scraps that they are, but it’s clear that Morgan’s the one in a million who’s going to make it. And he’s along for the ride, feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch alive every single damn day.    ***

***

Seven years hearing her laugh every day. Seven years getting to be the one who makes her laugh, sometimes even on purpose.

“I think we should get married,” he says one day, and she laughs in his face.

“You still think it’s more legit if the government knows about it, huh?” But she softens, because she knows what he’s actually trying to say, because of course she does. “I get it, baby. This is the real deal. In sickness and health, for better or for worse, and so forth. I’m not signing any paperwork, but you know we throw a good party. Let’s just do the fun parts. You down?”

It’s a very good party, and afterward she calls him “my husband” and they make plans to get rings. Later, if she’s tipsy and feels like teasing him, she calls him “my first husband,” and she laughs. Then she squeezes his face in her hands and gives him a kiss to make sure he understands that she’s only joking. He always knows she’s joking. He always lets her kiss him anyway.

***

Morgan spends a few days thinking she’s got food poisoning before realizing a stowaway has outwitted their precautions. Glenn’s always counted that as very good timing by Nicholas -  if that tricky little bastard shows up any earlier than he does, there’s no way Glenn even considers becoming a parent. But once they decide to go for it, it’s more fun than they’d have ever imagined. They build a lot of castles in the air together while they’re waiting to meet Nick. Glenn says he wants enough kids for a Partridge Family style band, and Morgan agrees as long as nobody plays the tambourine.

They discuss it endlessly, but finally decide a percussionist is the first priority. The closer the due date gets, the more it seems like their new bandmate agrees. Morgan grabs Glenn’s hand and puts it on her belly so he can feel the urgent kicks. “Check out this sick drum solo.”

Nick inherits his parents’ knack for knowing how to make an entrance. He’s so fashionably late that Morgan decides they should just party without him. It’s like ditching the friend who’s taking too long to get ready, except for the part where they can’t actually leave him behind. She and Glenn hit up their favorite venue that very night. The music thumps through their bodies like a pulse. The energy of the crowd makes them forget how long they’ve been waiting. And if anybody has any concerns about seeing a ridiculously pregnant woman dancing her heart out until her hair sticks to her face with sweat, they’re smart enough to keep their mouths shut.

Fear of missing out is apparently hardwired, and Nick graciously deigns to join them a few days later. Everything changes. Three a.m. feels a lot different when you know you’ll be awake again at 4:30, and 5, and probably 7, and maybe 8 for good measure, and…

“This new guy can’t hang,” Morgan mutters. She’s standing beside the bed, Nick tucked against her shoulder, patting his back and swaying. Glenn’s sitting up in bed, trying to stay awake out of solidarity, losing the battle.

“New guy is a lightweight,” he says. “And he’s pretty nasty. That dude does not know what a toilet is for.”

“Come on, man, get it together,” Morgan says softly to the fussing figure in her arms. “We can’t take you anywhere.” Baby Nick finally burps and spits up a little onto Morgan’s shirt. A few additional angry hiccups are all he can manage before he falls asleep.

“Did you hear that?” Morgan murmurs as she lowers him into the crib. “He said he was gonna fight me. Slow your roll, new guy, you aren’t ready for this heat.”

She collapses back onto the bed next to Glenn. “I’m bluffing. He’s kicking my ass.”

“Me too,” Glenn says, “but at least we outnumber him.” ***

***

Not long after Nick’s second birthday, Morgan notices that she’s a couple of days late. It’s not a big deal, it usually doesn’t mean anything. Glenn makes a joke about the Close Family Quartet, and Morgan says she’ll grab a test when she gets groceries that weekend. But whether their lead guitarist was about to debut or still waiting in the wings, she made an amateur mistake and left things a little too late. The band broke up first. That’s show business for you.

People always want to know what happened. Glenn never gets into details. They must make up their own pictures in their head: a rain-slick curve taken too fast, a semi truck jack-knifing across the highway. It makes more sense for something like that to happen when you already know you’re in danger.

It’s the middle of the day. He’s going maybe five over the speed limit, keeping pace with traffic. He’s not high or drunk or tired or even distracted. They’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. A dog runs into the road, someone swerves to miss it, someone else tries to get out of their way. Barely a fender-bender, except that their car gets just enough of a push to end up in the intersection.

Early on, he thinks a lot about how a few seconds here and there could change things.

The dog runs into the street a little later, and then the oncoming traffic isn't trying to beat a yellow light.

The dog runs into the street a little earlier, and they drive home with a scraped bumper.

But that’s Bill’s half-assed way of thinking about it, and Glenn knows better. It’s true, it could have been different. It could have been much worse.

He drives a split second slower, and the other car meets theirs with a direct hit, crumpling the back seat as well as the front with far more force than Nick’s booster seat can deflect.

He drives a split second faster, and the clipped bumper spins them into the next lane, and he never makes it to the hospital at all, and Nick doesn’t have anybody left.

Glenn knows now what his dad was talking about in those grumbling laments. It’s like trying to put together two tracks that are just slightly out of sync. Where do you snip out a piece to make things fit right again? What if you’re already balanced on that tipping point with the fewest misfortunes and the most lucky breaks? What happens if you start messing with that?

He can’t second-guess. It happened the way it happened, and he’s still here, and Nick’s still here, so he still has a job to do. He’s going to be there for Nick the whole way, along for the ride, feeling like the luckiest son of a bitch alive because he gets to be here at all. It could have gone another way. Timing is everything.

[fieryanmitsu]

The Heart-Pounding Sunrise Trek of Bonding | A3! | “Take the Stage” Fanzine

I am very honoured to announce that I am one of the contributors for the recently released A3! Take the Stage Fanzine! It was such a great experience working with so many talented artists and writers! Everyone's pieces turned out AMAZING, and I would highly recommend to check out the full zine! The fanzine can be downloaded for free here!

And, now that the zine has dropped, I'm able to share my piece with you all here! This story is based on the "Campfire Bonds" event and stars Muku and Citron as the focal characters!

Please enjoy~!

THE HEART-POUNDING SUNRISE TREK OF BONDING

THEME: “Campfire Bonds” event

CHARACTERS: Muku Sakisaka, Citron, Sakuya Sakuma, Masumi Usui, Tsuzuru Minagi, Itaru Chigasaki, Tenma Sumeragi, Yuki Rurikawa, Misumi Ikaruga, Kazunari Miyoshi & Izumi Tachibana

My fanfic masterpost: Here

AO3: Link in my Blog Menu

Muku stared intensely at his phone as he checked for the umpteenth time that he had set his alarm properly. Seeing that the numbers really did read ‘3:00am’, he locked his phone and placed it beside his pillow. 

“Ugh. I swear I can still taste the tabasco in my mouth even though I brushed my teeth,” Tenma groaned as he entered the tent.

“Did anyone get a normal chocolate for the s’mores?” asked Kazunari, looking up from his phone. 

“Izumi liked hers!” Misumi chimed in.

“That’s just because she’s a crazy Currian! No one would normally like a curry-flavoured chocolate,” Yuki snapped back.

“Anyway, everyone’s here, right? I’m gonna turn off the lights,” Tenma announced. “We have to get up early tomorrow, so we should sleep now.”

A flurry of mumbled goodnights flew around the tent as their leader turned off the lamp. Before long, the air was filled with the sounds of heavy breathing and light snoring. 

However, sleep continued to elude Muku as he stared fretfully at the ceiling of the tent—his brain whirring with his anxieties. Though the Summer Troupe’s first two plays had gone well, deep down, Muku felt that he had barely squeaked by with his performances. He knew that he was still the weakest link, and was terrified of dragging everyone else down. 

Just once, Muku wished he could give back to the ones who continually helped him so much. But, he didn’t even have any special skills—like Yuki or Kazunari—that he could put to use for the Summer Troupe or the Mankai Company. 

So, when Izumi had first announced this training camp, Muku had immediately volunteered to be one of the organizers, even though he had never taken on such a role before. At the time, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove himself and be helpful to the others. Surely, even someone as untalented as him could manage to do this much.

Inspired by a scene out of a shoujo manga, Muku had manically researched to formulate a grand plan. First, they would strengthen their bonds as they hiked side-by-side through bountiful nature. Then, they would share a heart-racing special moment together as the rising sun etched its image into their memories. Plus, with the fresh mountain air, he was sure they would get more mileage out of their vocal exercises. 

However, when they had gathered to discuss the itinerary, his excitement had quickly been extinguished when his plan had been met with unenthusiastic faces. Some of the Company members hadn’t seemed interested in witnessing the sunrise, and many others had groaned about the early start time. 

After the meeting, Citron had clapped him on the shoulders, looked him in the eyes with a mysterious, all-knowing smile and said: “Do not worry, Muku! Your idea is most wonderful! Everyone will be super duper happy when they see the sun grating them! I will make sure of it—trust me!”

Though his brain continued to worry and fret, Muku clung to the words and reassuring grin that the Zahran man had given him that day and allowed the darkness to finally lull him to sleep…

The next morning, with much struggle—along with Citron banging some pots and pans together—the two organizers managed to wake up their fellow troupe members and line them up outside of their tents. Though, they may as well have still been laying in their sleeping bags. Masumi was draped on top of Tsuzuru’s back, fast asleep. Itaru was crouched on the ground, muttering to himself with a half-dead expression on his face. Even the ever-chipper Kazunari had his chin propped on Misumi’s shoulder, both of them nodding off despite being on their feet.

Citron came to stand beside Muku and nudged him gently. With a gulp, the pink-haired boy mustered all of his courage and stood up as straight and tall as he could manage.

“G-Good morning, everyone! Thanks for waking up so early to join us for the first item on our itinerary today: the ‘Heart-Pounding Sunrise Trek of Bonding!’” Muku announced. “I know that it’s silly to want to follow someone who’s more annoying than the itchiest bite from a mosquito that arrived earlier than the usual mosquito season—”

“Muku, literally no one said that,” Yuki interrupted with a sigh. “Just lead the way.”

“O-Oh right! S-Sorry!” Muku responded, snapping out of his rant. “P-please follow me and watch your step!”

As Muku led the way to the forest trail, with the others shuffling groggily behind him, he couldn’t help but cringe as he heard someone yawn loudly and another person let out a groan.

“Ugh, this sucks…” 

“Masumi, stop it! The Director wouldn’t be happy to hear you say that,” Sakuya protested in a hushed tone. “Look! She’s enjoying herself, so you should copy her.”

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all… Muku thought to himself, worrying at his bottom lip.

“Muku, why don’t you tell everyone about the path?” Citron suddenly said from behind him. “Did you not do lots of the research?”

“Really, Mukkun?” Kazunari asked, perking up and looking more awake than earlier. 

“O-Oh, yes! Apparently, this path dates back to the Sengoku era. Monks used it as part of a pilgrimage route and this campsite actually used to be an aesthetic training ground,” Muku explained.

“That’s actually really cool,” Tsuzuru remarked. “Who knew that there was so much history in a place like this!”

“Ah! That signpost there marks the quarter-way point! We can take a quick rest here!” Muku explained, noticing that they had lost a few members. 

“I-I can’t go on…” Itaru wheezed as he finally caught up to the others several minutes later.

“C’mon Itaru, we’re almost there! You can do it!” Izumi chirped encouragingly, passing the salaryman a bottle of water.

“It’s okay, Itaru! You will soon have your senses delighted by a surprise up ahead! Tell them about it, Muku,” Citron implored.

“Y-Yes! Ummm… Just down this path is a beautiful waterfall that the monks used as part of their training,” Muku responded, taking the older man’s cue. “I… I actually purposely picked this path because it would take us by the waterfall. Legend says that, if you make a wish there, your deepest desires will come true! So, I thought that you would really like to see that, Itaru! Maybe it’ll help with your next gacha pull in your games!!”

“Seriously? Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.”

Muku felt his heart flutter as the others started chattering excitedly about what wishes they would make. With this renewed vigour, their group continued on their hike, making a stop at the wish-granting waterfall on the way. 

Then, almost an hour after they had left their campsite, Muku spotted the sign marking their final destination.

“We’re here, everyone!”

There was a collective sigh of relief as the members of the Mankai Company cleared the last steps and planted their feet on the plateau. However, their mutters quickly died in their throats as they came face-to-face with the view before them. A forest of trees spread out endlessly ahead, surrounded on both sides by jagged cliffs. The sun peeked above the horizon of the valley and the sky was dyed a gorgeous blend of soft oranges, pinks and straggling blues.

“Amazing!” Sakuya breathed softly. “This is beautiful, Muku!”

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it!!” Kazunari added, immediately taking out his phone.

“You did good, Muku. Here’s a triangle!” Misumi said with a smile, handing the pink-haired boy a smooth and shiny triangular-shaped rock.

“Yeah… It made waking up worth it,” Masumi murmured, showing a rare smile.

“This was great, Muku. Thanks for planning this for us,” Tenma said, punching him lightly in the arm.

“Yeah, seriously! I’m so glad that someone was able to plan a normal activity for this training camp. Unlike a certain someone’s crazy ‘Russian Roulette S’mores’ idea,” Tsuzuru said with a sigh, throwing a baleful glare at Citron.

“Oh, Tsuzuru! You wound me! I put so much thought into making an unforgiveable event for everyone!”

“I think you mean ‘unforgettable’,” Itaru piped in.

“Look here, it’s not ‘Russian Roulette’ if all of the options are weird!” Tsuzuru exclaimed in exasperation.

“No kidding! I can’t believe I had to eat that awful wasabi chocolate because of you! I thought my mouth was on fire!” Yuki added, jabbing a finger into Citron’s chest angrily. “You’re lucky this sunrise made up for that atrocious game!”

As Citron dramatically crumpled to the ground from Yuki’s attack, a hand clutched over his heart, he turned his head towards Muku and shot him a wink.

At that moment, Muku felt a rush of warmth surge out of his chest and envelope the rest of his body. As he suppressed the tears prickling behind his eyes, Muku thought that he could now truly understand the meaning behind all of those times his shojo manga had compared someone’s smile to the brightness of the sun.

Writing this story was such a fun challenge for me! I had to work with a word count restriction, but I also wanted to make sure I somehow included every other character from the event — so it was definitely a juggling act, haha! It was also my first time writing about both Muku and Citron, so that was a new challenge in itself. Especially since I wanted to make sure I did two of my favourite characters justice!! In the end, I'm really happy I had the opportunity to write this and am so thankful that I was able to be part of this zine! Again, do check out the full zine if you have a chance!|

As always, thank you for reading and feel free to leave a comment if you have any thoughts!! Any reblogs are always appreciated!!

-Anmitsu

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 26 – Hand of Icarus

Once his decision was made, 3rd Elder could reach the rendezvous in no time.

Or rather, he managed to near the rendezvous.

Or rather, his decision was on standby for a final revision.

Here he was, to meet the Union agent whose allegiance shared the same goal as that of Helga.

However, as his destination drew closer, he could not define his own heart. He could not define his own heart’s desire.

What am I doing here?

Why am I here?

What is it that I really want?

When he was composing a list of potential cleaner running a shutdown tour of Crombell’s facilities, as requested by Lunark, he intentionally omitted Helga’s name.

He figured he would be able to plan Union’s come-back with her, if she had terminated her loyalty to Crombell (given that he would be able to reason with her to join forces).

As the orange-haired agent pointed out during their actual encounter, it has been a while since he had last donned the cloak of a Union elder.

But that did not mean he had forgotten Union’s purpose and his own identity.

When he was typing up the list in his room, he could swear he did not feel like giving up on Union at all.

However, as he was half-forced to regularly supply organic resources to Frankenstein’s island, he could feel shifts in his world, his view, and his thoughts.

Union. Elder. Modified human.

Those had long become his identities – replacements of his birth name.

As he came to walk among ordinary humans in ordinary world, however, he could feel his values melting away.

Experiment. Body modification. Apex of the world.

The very values he oh-so-dogmatically believed to be the stairway to the rise of mankind melted away like salt dipped in water.

He has scolded himself to snap out of it a number of times.

To his dismay, the dam of his heart was long cracked, and the one question that sprinkled through his broken dam ultimately flooded his entire heart.

What if......?

His body perhaps affected by a complex concoction of questions and doubts, 3rd Elder could realize a tad later that he got sidetracked, far from the point he wanted himself to be at.

He found himself in midst of busy streets, teeming with people despite the hours.

A couple that could at last make some time to enjoy a date, after endless studies and part-timing.

A group of teenagers who ditched tomorrow’s quizzes and exams just for once to have some fun.

A middle-aged man, as fatigued as he could be with overnight shifts, who was nonetheless delighted as he was heading home holding a doll that his daughter had been whining about.

Everyone was wearing those faces plastered upon every single visitor of the mart he had been just before running into Helga: etched and weathered by the weight and challenges of life, but nevertheless happy.

Their faces hinted not a chance for Union to dare butt into their lives.

No, their faces hinted that they had no need of Union in the first place.

They were just too busy and happy being faithful to their own lives.

Now that he has seen for himself yet again, the question drowning his heart raised a huge wave of distress, which caused a pregnant resonation of self-questioning with an inaudible splash.

What if......?

What if the very purpose and existence of Union are vain?

What if the Union’s objective to elevate mankind is a self-chosen blindfold to enslave itself to greed and avarice distorted from Union’s founding mission?

What if the world does not need Union any longer? What if the only thing left for Union to do is to disappear from the world?

That was when 3rd Elder violently shook his head in vicious gut reaction.

‘What are you thinking...?! You are the elder of the Union – the only elder of the Union!’

His eyes were shut so tight he could almost feel tears erupting from his eyelids.

In fact, he felt like breaking down in tears. He was terribly perplexed, addled, and confused.

Ever since he moved into Frankenstein’s island, and until he encountered Helga, he has trodden the world of ordinary people full of ordinary life.

And the said world did not let him walk without getting anything in return; it showered him with misty pieces of ordinary life.

And now he realized the ghostly downpour has become a deluge, his lower body engulfed by water heaving and boiling with ordinariness.

Now he could not tell where his heart belonged – the underwater world holding his legs fastened, or the dry and airy world above.

‘Is it too late to go back...?’

The white-haired man halted in his steps. He has never felt so hesitant, so lost.

Should I just go back to Frankenstein’s island?

Should I just pretend nothing ever happened and cross back the sea?

Should I just forget about Helga’s offer and return to my daily life?

Daily life.

That was when awkwardness hit his head like an angry rhinoceros, and 3rd Elder mockingly snickered at himself.

‘Since when did you ever get to identify an ordinary life as your daily life? You are an elder of the Union. Your daily life is nothing like those of these people. It is far from peaceful and plain, but instead full of experiments, body modification, combat, and struggle.’

His self-admonishment refreshed his memories about the reason why he ever sought Korea, and 3rd Elder started to move.

He had a slimmer of hope that once he gets to the rendezvous, reality will snap into him.

And thus he made it to the coordinates where Union had lost 8th Elder, Zarga, and Urokai.

The location looked much cleaner than the last time 3rd Elder had witnessed through a picture, perhaps because KSA ran recovery procedures in the meantime.

Though it was now basically a desolate, barren desert of concrete and cement, at least millions of years away from regaining its original features.

A perfect antipode for 3rd Elder’s heart, tossing and turning and twisting in agonized questions even a second before his arrival.

No, he was still tossing and turning and twisting and agonized questions.

He had hoped his heart will be correctly calibrated once he reaches his destination, but he still could not sort out what direction he should take.

‘If I say yes to Helga’s offer, then I...’

I what?

He retorted to himself, with no answer echoing back.

He could not figure out what was holding him back, yet he could swear that before downfall of Union, he would have made his choice without a second of delay.

Yet here he was, with the ordinary life he had seen and heard and weaved so far churning and constricting and calling him.

‘But if I give up on this opportunity, I...!’

I what? What now?

Again, there was not a syllable he could summon to spell out what was in his head.

Feeling attachment and uncertainty for both choices, 3rd Elder grit his teeth with a bony screech and clenched his fists dead-tight.

That was when a voice interrupted his reverie of pain and panic.

“I’ve been waiting for you, sir.”

He did not expect he would hear her voice, which was why he could not hide his flinch as he turned his head.

“...I had no idea you will be waiting for me.”

“For some reason, I had a feeling you will find this place today, so I opted to switch with the agent that was stationed here. And lo and behold, look what Lady Luck brought in my path. I guess she is real.”

Helga stage-rejoiced, her face visibly smug.

An indisputable sign that she was already certain he was here to take her hand.

“At last the time has come. It is time to show those insolent insects that had dared to fling a fishing net to drown the sun the meaning of retaliation! And with you on our side, we will prove without a doubt that our rise back to glory and vengeance is more than just a dream.”

Smiling fully in confidence, Helga struck out her right hand, which 3rd Elder gaped at wordlessly.

Her hand was silently but pressingly inviting him to come out of water now. It was telling him playtime is over.

Not surprisingly, he could not grab it outwardly.

He had been a buoy precariously rocking and lurching in the storm; he had yet to recover and realize what he was faced with.

Helga added in a clearer voice, perhaps because she could not detect resolution from her audience.

“You’re not going to turn my labor in this trip, my agent’s contribution in his duties, and time and effort from all the bodies and souls consisting Union into nothing, are you?”

And just like that, Helga’s words brought a gruesomely effective influence upon the man.

For he finally was given the answer for what would become of him if he were to delete Helga’s offer from his head and return to Frankenstein’s island.

He was reminded of the faithful applicants for experiments he had coordinated in the past, assigned for body modification project that was basically a suicide mission. He recalled how they nevertheless firmly believed their sacrifice will serve as basis for Union to make bigger attributes to mankind’s welfare and growth. He regretted – in fact, he is still regretting – how they had not a single chance to be appropriately rewarded for their sacrifice.

He was also reminded of his personal followers, who had run endlessly in promiseless toils for mankind, full of pure sense of responsibility and passion.

And he was reminded of how he had to struggle to shake off his own tears so he could keep forward, even as he watched with his own eyes how terrible such martyrs’ ends were.

And he will turn everything into nothing.

He will deny himself, deny them, and deny everyone if he were to turn down Helga’s offer, just because he had been dwelling in ordinary world for a few weeks.

Having finished his projection in a speed of light, 3rd Elder moved his arm and held Helga’s hand.

“Welcome back, sir. Now we will show them that the world is ours. The world belongs to Union. And we are still here. We are not fire. We are the sun. We are merely taking refuge under the horizon. We will prevail once again, and we will never fade or fall. A sun does not fade or fall.”

As he watched how Helga was piercing the air with her nose, 3rd Elder for some reason was reminded of the story of Icarus – a boy with wings forged with feathers and wax who coveted the sun’s position and was severely punished with a permanent, lethal plummet towards the nether depths of the sea.

And for some reason, he felt like he was watching Icarus inviting him with a hand to a deadly race towards the sun.

But he had already held the said hand, which already pulled him out of the waters.

Now it is too late to go back, even if it would later turn out Helga really was Icarus.

The only thing he could do was to make sure he would not let the abyss below take over him along with the owner of the hand.

But what if I’m wrong? Whispered a teeny-tiny voice in his head.

‘No. I’m being psychotic here. I mean, Icarus’s hand? Give me a break. That’s not happening. I won’t let it happen.’

Their sacrifices, our labors, and my tears are not wrong.

They are not wrong.

We are not wrong.

I am not wrong.

Hence the 3rd Elder muffled his wariness and a bit of guilt, screaming from within until the very last moment of his self-navigation of heart.

(next chapter)

I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, but at the same time I had a lot of trouble, especially with parts that describe 3rd Elder’s anguish and shifts in thoughts. I wanted to make an allusion to the story of Icarus from Greek myth, and I think I did a fair job of it lol. And thus you have seen 3rd Elder joining forces with remaining agents of the Union. Stay tuned to find out what will happen as a result!

[nalufever]

As You Wish Ch. 1 Life is a Highway

I’m massively late (a chronic state of being for myself) for Day 7: free theme ~ which I’ve chosen to write as a Road Trip fic for this year’s Snowells week 2020. 

Eobard picks Frost's car to jack and joins her road trip which is all fun and giggles until a line gets crossed. Eobard learns Frost still has ties with her previous life and if he wants to claim a spot in her current life, he will have a far-reaching decision to make.

Read on AO3 <<here>> more chapters to soon follow! Comments welcomed ;)

Swinging the last minute bag of important provisions (okay, it was all junk food - but very necessary), Frost approached the passenger side of the black boxy vehicle she had decided to use and yanked the handle. The door and her mouth were wide open and then she lunged inside, slamming the door shut after herself.

Despite the need to keep a low profile, icy mist formed, swirling inside the car. “What in frozen hell do you think you're doing?” Frost yeeted her supplies into the backseat. She smacked the man in the middle of stealing her car - landing a solid blow to the back of Eobard’s head. “Seriously? It’s not enough you pull all the big jobs in Central City, you’ve lowered yourself to petty crimes too?”

“Hey!” Eobard pulled his head out from under the steering wheel and let go of the ignition wires in his hands. “Petty? Grand theft auto more like.” He grimaced and rubbed the rising bump on his skull. “What did I ever do to you that you felt the need to try to smash my brain into spaghetti?”

“How much time do you have?” Killer Frost sat back and crossed her arms, starting her tirade off with an ominous glare. “At the beginning of fall, you ruined my favourite leather jacket. Last November, you emptied the bank vault at Central City Bank of the Union before I could! You tore my next best jacket at Christmas time! And -”

No longer willing to be harangued, Eobard sighed and interrupted Frost. “That was rhetorical, as if I pay any attention to what I may have done to others.” Many of the shoppers loading their cars were craning their necks watching himself and Frost, no doubt hoping for talk-show level action. “Do me a solid and lower your volume from fishwife to fish.”

Frost gasped. “Oh. No. You. Didn’t.” She grabbed hold of his arm and wondered why Eobard hadn’t tried to yank her spine out with his speed. Actually, why wasn’t he using any of his power for evil purposes? Why was he trying to jack her car? Or any car for that matter? Oh. A shrewd grin on her face, Frost snorted. “Oh no, you can’t.”

“What?”

“As in, you somehow lost your speed.” Frost could feel maniacal laughter bubbling up, waiting to be released. She needed to get rid of this jackass and get going. “Beat it.” For fun, she raised her voice. “Get out of my car!”

“Darling, but what about the kids?” Eobard moved a bit closer and playfully tugged on a tendril of Frost’s hair. Whispering, he said, “Do you want all these people making a police report if we start a fight?”

“Shut up and drive, dear.” Frost wished she’d gotten more chocolate. Dealing with Mr. Reverse Flash was very much a fudge situation.

“Got keys? I don’t want another braining.” Eobard gave Frost a sideways glance. “I’m sure me fussing with the ignition wires is too much temptation.”

“Pfft.” Frost threw the keyfob at her new chauffeur. “I need to get out of town, now. Head east.”

“Yes’m, Miz Daisy.” Eobard tugged at a non-existent hat and gave the woman a truculent smirk.

Much more relaxed as the distance between herself and certain others increased, Frost found herself starting to enjoy being driven; up until Eobard blew a very stale yellow. “Hey! Did you get your license out of a gumball machine?”

“Don’t you mean cracker jack box?” This time the cheese doodle thrown at his head didn’t startle Eobard. “What are the kids saying these days, anyway?”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Frost made sure to drawl her words to get her sarcasm across to the big bad speedster. “You’re a dinosaur and out of touch with the pulse of current society.”

“You wound me, now I’ll have to take you off my Christmas card list.”

“Exactly! Nobody sends Christmas cards!” Frost ate another handful of cheese doodles and then rummaged at the bottom of the bag for her second chocolate bar. Good thing being evil burned calories - but right now it was self-medication. Eobard was an unknown quantity. Being this close to him was worrisome - who knew when he’d revert to his vibrating hands trick? The one that crushed a person’s heart before they could regret not eating more chocolate? So many things that man could vibrate in a good way but all he wanted to do was cause harm? Rude.

“Then why don’t you educate me on current society?” Eobard hoped he’d said that cooly. Not as a joke about hanging out with Killer Frost - but because he actually meant what he’d asked. It would be nice to have a somewhat proper colleague to exchange thoughts with while he needed to keep a low profile. Once his plan was in motion he’d have to return to centre stage in Central City.

“As fun as that sounds, I’d rather accidentally chop my head off while shaving.”

“Or perhaps stab yourself in the stomach while giving yourself a haircut?” Eobard laughed and took a fast left onto the road leading out of town. “Don’t be too surprised, we have classic TV in the future too.”

“I’m not surprised, Black Adder should be immortalized endlessly as far as I’m concerned.” Frost held onto the inside door handle as the car’s wheels squealed, her voice rising in irritation. “Can you not kill us?”

“And why would I kill us both?” Eobard gave the vehicle more gas, passed a minivan full of presumably screaming children and a set of stoic parents, blowing past them.

“You’re missing your speed, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Frost didn’t even attempt to hide her smirk. “So, what happened to your speed? Why oh why does Mr. Reverse Flash need a car all the sudden?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What is it? You don’t know what I’m talking about or you don’t want to talk about it? Because -”

Eobard shot Frost a side-glance that was only too easy for her to imagine limned in electric glowing red. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Talk. About. It.”

Frost considered pushing the point and decided she’d prefer to live another day. She took solace in the fact she could call her little chauffeur all kinds of names in her head - starting with bitch and not ending until she got to the phrase show-pony. “Just so you know, it might be a good idea to keep under the speed limit. It’s only sixty here.”

“Hmmph.”

“I love icing a cop as much as the next criminal, but you’re in no condition to do evil as per usual, are you?”

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

“Fine, fine!” Frost waved her hand dismissively and shook her head. “I read you loud and clear. You don’t wanna talk about it.” She adjusted her car seat to recline and placed her booted heels onto the dash. “Wake me when we reach a decent coffee shop in the next town over, ‘kay?”

“As you wish.”

Frost had to hand it to ole Eobard, he did know his classic TV and movie quotes.

><><><>< 

Frost sniffed once, twice and let out an outrageously satisfied sigh. The coffee aromas were fricking amazing. She shuddered and her eyes snapped open. Eobard was still driving but now in pride of place in the car’s cup holders were two coffees.

“Um, nice job paying for a drink for me, but there was totally another reason why I wanted to stop.” She sucked air over her teeth and gave Eobard her best disgusted look. The one that would make a normal man grovel for a good ten minutes. It didn’t work on him but it felt good to try. “I’m nowhere near common but I do have the need to stretch my legs and use certain facilities.”

“Who says this second coffee is yours?” Eobard had the audacity to snort. “I have my own personal caffeine needs to meet.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child.” Frost shook her head and smiled brilliantly. She snagged the unopened drink and raised it to her lips, inhaling the delectable scent and then delicately sipping. Savouring it, she said, “You’d better find another coffee shop or hole-in-the-wall diner. Or else, there’s gonna be a little less happiness inside this vehicle.”

“What do I care how happy you are?”

“You’re gonna care.” Frost took another sip and looked at her handsome chauffeur through slitted eyes. “Unless you somehow enjoy the smell of pee? Is that your kink? I would never have guessed. Huh, weird.”

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll stop at the very next place.” Eobard stifled the urge to laugh. Frost wouldn’t appreciate the other rambling thoughts in his head at all. It was oddly satisfying to be here on this road trip with her - even if his powers were out of commission and he had no intention of letting her know exactly why. This situation, it was almost charming. How long had it been since he’d felt challenged? Eons.

“Excellent. I’ll downgrade you to the next slightly less creepy level of weirdo.”

“I don’t care what you do.” Eobard spotted a sign and took the next exit, his high speed making the van squeal its tires. “As long as you hold it for another five minutes, yeah?”

><><><>< 

Frost ambled out of the restroom, only mildly surprised Eobard was still sitting at the booth of the restaurant. Mmm, could it be his superspeed was making a comeback and he needed to fuel his powers with food? Why did she care? If he was anywhere near recovered, he’d be gone - in a flash. She snorted.

“This place has decent poutine, so let’s fuel our bodies.”

Dropping into the seat opposite her travelling companion, Frost picked up the plastic coated menu and gave it a cursory reading. “Just because it says ‘world famous poutine’ doesn’t make it the truth.”

“Well, good to know your sarcasm is at full power.” He rolled his eyes. “But I know for a personal fact this place makes good poutine.”

“Oh, well, then let’s indulge.” Frost dropped the menu like it had third grade cooties. “Far be it from me to disagree with such a smart and well-travelled man.”

“Are you seriously making me tell you to chill?” Eobard rolled his eyes and managed to project a lot of self-assured chutzpah. “And thanks for such heart-felt assurances. I do know my way around this burg.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man.”

“As if. You’re technically older than I.” Eobard flicks his electric blue eyes up and down Frost’s body. “But when you’re right, you’re right.” He smiled at the waitress and ordered food for them both; one large poutine, an order of coleslaw and two burgers.

Frost only gave minimal thought to arguing. It was one measly meal, not worth fighting over. But later, if Eobard was going to continue playing lord and master...well, he’d have one hell of a fight coming. As an alpha female, she knew exactly when to pick her battles.

><><><>< 

Eobard clutched his stomach, partly in fear of the heavy load of poutine escaping. The other reason was Frost was a much more of a rules-schmules type of driver. She’d deftly pick-pocketed the keys from his coat after they finished their meal and gleefully took over driving duties. He’d had to relinquish or lose face. That woman had called him a coward - not in so many words, but she was casting much too much shade on his manhood.

“Aw, is the big bad man scared of my driving?” Frost pressed down on the accelerator and grinned maniacally. “I, at least, learned how to in my own time.”

“You tell me that, but I haven’t seen any evidence.” Eobard considered lowering the window. If push came to shove with his stomach contents, it would be less smelly if he barfed into the wind. Ew but no - he should spew and let the wind carry the barf away. Frost had addled his brains entirely too much.

His general interest in the woman had become too strong. What else would he find himself doing just to curry this bewitching female’s favour? Eobard chuckled. He knew what he wanted even if he couldn’t bring himself to put it into words. It was part and parcel of the reason why he’d used her personal trip to escape Central City after his failed experiment. He laughed and clutched his stomach harder. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

“How flattering.” Frost mashed her foot down and passed the twin of the vehicle she was driving, although the other one contained a harried mom, a shouting dad and four children. “I happened to actually take lessons unlike yourself.”

“You take that back!”

Frost didn’t know if Eobard was trying to flirt poorly or was just deluded into defending his piss-poor driving - but in either case, she decided to give the superbad man enough rope to hang himself. “Okay, you don’t drive like you’re clueless.” She put extra oomph into her fake laugh - and even if she had to say it herself, it was perfection. This was the laugh that screamed, ‘oh no you didn’t’ - in the highest of registers.

“Maybe I was a little hasty.” Eobard grabbed the holy hell bar and held tight, his otherwise handsome face squinched up into a massive rictus of fear. “Can you maybe just keep it to fifteen over the limit?”

“Wow. The speedster with the mostest is begging me to take it easy?” Frost scoffed, “I’ve got a schedule to keep ya know. Actually, do you know? Pfft. I don’t think such a criminal mastermind would have any idea about us little common-folk.”

Eobard only knew he felt exposed...and horribly mortal without his full powers. He’d be playing into Frost’s hands if he let any of that slip and so he kept playing the one card that had never let him down. “Go nuts if you want nightmares over what I do to whatever unlucky cop tries to pull us over.”

Almost instantly the van lost speed and Frost started to follow each and every proscribed rule of the road. The next twenty miles passed without conversation until the light started failing and it was obvious a motel room was going to be necessary.

><><>< 

“Wow, you actually planned to stay in a shithole like this?” Eobard had the grace to wait to ask this after they got the key from the old and massively overweight motel owner; he’d pretended to be as much of a normie as he could - only unleashing his snark once they stood in the middle of the stuck in the seventies decorated room. The room was an unholy mixture of harvest orange, fruit heavy wallpaper and gold fringed bedspread; safe to say it was a decorator’s nightmare.

“Let me give you my official apology.” Frost bowed, letting her head hang low and then stood upright with a snap. “If only I’d’a known you were gonna tag along and be my personal burden, I could’ve planned a nicer getaway for you.”

“Let that be a lesson to you.” Deciding an imperious tone was his best armour, Eobard charged forward with his ridiculous words. “You’re very lucky I’ve chosen you, d’you know?”

“I’m starting to realize.” Frost hoped her ironic tone wasn’t lost on Eobard. “I’m ever so blessed.”

“Excellent that we’re in agreement.” Eobard sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. “You should go and check and see if the tub is clean enough for you.”

“Clean? Tub? What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m too much of a gentleman to sleep with you of course - you’ll feel better sleeping in the tub, I’m sure.”

“Mmmmmm.” Frost considered freezing Eobard into one solid mass and then slapping the shit out of his damn rude mouth. Just in case he was only pretending to be at a handicap, she decided to hold off on that - but it was rapidly rising on her list of things to do. “It’s early yet, yeah? Let’s grab some grub and we can decide who’s sleeping in ceramic glory after.”

“As if it’s not a forgone conclusion, but yeah, let’s go find something good to eat.”

[maddiethebull]

Hello sweetie, can I request prompt #15 with Luci, I don't know if I can add something else, but I would like it to be with MC who sings opera! Thank you!!

Hi! I’m not very familiar with opera singing so its a little vague, but I tried to incorporate it as much as i could, I hope you enjoy!! Thanks for making a request

Lucifer (Obey Me!) - Prompt #15 - “You’re sparkling like the sun.”

You were taking a peaceful shower after a long day at R.A.D. and you had a tendency to sing in said shower, so today, like plenty other days, you were. You sang your favorite song, loud and proud because the walls were thick and you were already so close to the brothers that it didn’t matter to you if they heard. You sang opera with all your heart (and lungs lol that shit’s hard) into the loofah, substituting for a microphone. You imagined you were on the stage at the Devildom’s yearly talent show, you were seriously considering signing up, but you didn’t know if you could. You wouldn’t want to get nervous and just mess the whole thing up, at least you could imagine everyone cheering you on, though. 

Meanwhile, in the next room over, Lucifer needed to find the jewel off of Diavlo’s crown that Mammon stole, ‘What an idiot.’ he thought. As he rummaged through Mammon’s room - basically a dumpster of clothes and random stolen items - he searched under his bed. 

When he couldn’t find anything, he sighed and sat down on the bed. Without the focus on getting back what was Diavlo’s, he heard you. He turned his head from looking down to looking at the wall which connected the two rooms. A smirk grew on his lips, he’d heard this song many times before as he was an opera fan as well, and you sang it so lively. He chuckled to himself and stood, putting his hand on the wall and leaning his forehead to touch it. He closed his eyes and just listened, he had too much shit going on that day and this moment provided such solace to him. Mimicking movements over piano keys accompanying the song, his fingers even began moving. 

“GET OUTTA MY ROOM LUCIFER!” A pillow came flying across the room, missing Lucifer completely, on purpose as Mammon would’ve said, but not really.  

“Ugh, Mammon.” Lucifer winced and raised his head, ‘of course this moment had to be ruined’ he thought. What a day he’d had. He let out a heavy sigh and proceeded to interrogate the demon on where the jewel was. While Mammon gave lengthy explanations of how he lost it, Lucifer’s attention kept being stolen by you. Feeling more lenient than normal, and seeing how he could just get another one to replace it, Lucifer simply gave Mammon a slap on the wrist and left. He headed to your room, for he didn’t want to stop hearing you. 

He leaned onto your bedroom door, listening to only his breath and a sweet voice still going strong. That was until you were finished in the shower and, unbeknownst to him, you were singing even after you’d gotten out. You got dressed and wanted to get some tea, so you turned the door knob and FLUMP, Lucifer was on the floor. You let out a shriek,

“I can fight you!” You put your fists up but then noticed who it was, 

“Wait, Lucifer?”

Playing it ice cool, he simply stood up and brushed himself off,

“Hmm?” he said with a calm expression. 

What do you mean hmm?? You didn’t particularly know how to respond, you opened your mouth several times trying to think of what to ask him but in the end it was futile. You decided to just ask if he wanted any tea since you were going to make it anyway. He agreed and followed you to the kitchen.

As you made the tea he had continued to hold his calm face, even though he was so extremely embarrassed. Pretty much all he was thinking was,  ‘Fuuckcufuckfuckfuuuuuuunkc I FELL OVER IN FRONT OF HER???’ You formulated a question in the time it took to make the tea and sat down with the two cups, handing him one. 

“So……. Why were you at my door?”

Lucifer almost choked on his tea, he really wanted this moment to be over, but he may as well tell the truth. 

“You were singing and I- well, I thought it was rather beautiful so I, um, listened to you.”

Now you were the one choking on your tea, he was listening to you? And he thought it was good? After the tea had gone down, you spoke, 

“Y-you thought it was good then?”

“Of course, if it were bad I would’ve told you. I imagine you already knew that.”

He was such a stiff person, and hearing compliments from him was a rare occasion, so even though you felt awkward asking him more, you wanted to hear more praise from the demon you were crushing on hard.

“So, it was really that good that you listened to me?”

He chuckled, “I believe I answered this question already, but yes. I found it to be a wonderful singing voice.”

You chuckled right back, “thank you,” you hesitated on what you wanted to say next, “you know, I was even thinking of signing up for the talent show, but I’m not sure, I probably won’t.”

He looked at you quizzically, “what’s there not to be sure about? You would make an excellent act to watch.”

You sighed and explained, “W-well. I just don’t know if I’m good enough. I’m scared of joining and people thinking I sound bad. And they would remember me from an embarrassing moment, you know?”

His smile faded, he hated when you talked yourself down like this. He couldn’t understand why you would even think that. You routinely did this to yourself, it was a bad habit to talk yourself down saying things like ‘oh I’m not that attractive’ and ‘I’m not smart enough to do this.’ Saying things he knew were completely wrong. You were, at least to him, extremely attractive, and you were also objectively smart. You were the most amazing person he’d ever met and here you were, being wrong about yourself yet again. He cleared his throat,

“You are good enough, surely. If anyone were to even think of making fun of you I would punish them accordingly for being dead wrong about you.”

You blushed, “Geez, Lucifer, you sure know how to talk sweetly for someone so intense.”

He snickered at your comment, “Thank you, I guess?”

You laughed, being with him made you feel so much less nervous about the whole thing. 

“You’re welcome,” you said with a gentle smile. 

That night you mulled it over endlessly, should you sign up? Was Lucifer just being nice? You tossed and turned the entire night thinking about being in front of a crows, you’d never done that before. You kept thinking about what he said to you, you loved seeing it when he spoke softly to you. Soon your focus shifted from the talent show to Lucifer. With calming thoughts of the times you’ve spent together, you eventually fell into a peaceful sleep. 

The next morning at breakfast, Lucifer revealed to you that he had taken it upon himself to sign you up.

“WHAT?” you shouted. 

After the commotion of you chasing Lucifer down and yelling at him faded, you realized that you had to get ready. The show was going to be next week after all, so you didn’t have much time. You rummaged through your clothes deciding what you should wear until Asmo came in and helped you pick out a dress to wear the next day. The brothers were being so kind about the whole ordeal. They were all excited to see you sing, Belphie even promised not to sleep during your performance!

“Hmmm,” said Asmo, “what about this one?” He held up a beautiful golden, floor length dress. It was the present Lucifer had given to you on your birthday that year and you never thought you’d get any use out of it so it was under a pile of clothes on your closet floor. It was perfect! You decided to wear that dress and Asmo helped with what shoes to wear as well. Day faded into night as you chose what song to sing and practiced and practiced and practiced. You wanted it to be perfect if you were going to do this. Even though it was nerve wracking, the week finally passed and it was the day of your performance. You got ready and headed to R.A.D. The brothers wished you good luck and Beel gave you a fortune cookie so you cracked it open and the fortune read, ‘Failure is an opportunity in disguse.’ Haaaaah. Okay. Beel repeatedly said sorry and Belphie couldn’t stop laughing. You decided to take it lightly, it was just a piece of paper so you laughed along with him and thanked everyone for their encouragement. With that, you left. 

At the show, the brothers were all in their seats. While Satan, Mammon, Beel, and Asmo watched every act in enjoyment, Levi, Belphie, and definitely Lucifer were only here for one person, you. The act before you came on. Lucifer sat in anticipation, he wished he could be there to comfort you since he knew how nervous you were about this. The act finished and your name was called. You walked on to the stage and stood rigidly. You looked in the crowd and immediately saw the brothers, you saw Lucifer, smiling at you. You took a deep breath. 

For any performers, we all know about the silence before beginning, its serene yet holds a certain amount of unsease. You felt all the eyes on you, staring, determining only by appearance, what your performance held. Was it going to be good, or would it be the opposite? You stole a breath to break the silence and, slowly, the piano music started in the background. It felt as if you could see the notes flying away off of the piano, like leaves in autumn. With your eyes closed shut, you began. Your voice trembled at first, but as the words and notes mixed together, you got lost in the feeling and began to really sing from heart. Lucifer looked at you on the stage, you were brilliant. He could picture you as an angel in Heaven, you certainly looked like one. The glimmer from your dress gave you a warm glow as you let out what Lucifer thought to be the most beautiful voice he’d ever heard. He leaned forward, almost as if he were unconsciously trying to get closer to you, to touch the angelic figure on the stage. In awe, he whispered,

“You’re sparkling like the sun.”

“SHH STUPID!” scream whispered Mammon. Lucifer didn’t even want to take his eyes off of you, he wouldn’t dare to stop listening, he was fixed on you, completely fixed on you. 

When you had finished, you got a standing ovation, started by Lucifer of course. You stood there on the stage, so happy that you could cry. It had been a wonderful performance, and in the end, you had nothing to worry about, not with the help of the brothers and especially the encouragement of one (very hot and secretly loving) demon in particular.

—————————————————————————————————-

My prompt requests are open, so feel free to leave an ask