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ollyandglitter · 1 year

Text

Bubble Bath

Words: 7.5k

Summary: In the Time of Covid-19, Simon and Baz return to Hampshire, reminisce about the past and look to the future. Plus some bubble bath scenes :)

Notes: thanks so much @twinkle-twinkle-up-above for the very profound beta and editing. You have a huge part in it.

Also, thank you so much for this stunning art 😍 go check it out!

The story on AO3

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March 2020

Baz

Daphne wouldn't let us in. It's a little odd even considering Snow is standing next to me all messy and dirty, and admittedly we also have landed a Canadian mountain dragon right into her lovely rose garden. She wouldn't even open the door, and through the glass I can see her waving her arms frantically and pointing in the opposite direction. I frown, look suspiciously around, and knock again, before my phone buzzes.

"Baz!" Daphne cries out.

"Daphne," I try not to sound irritated, but honestly, my patience is quite short today. Six hours of flight on a dragon over the North Atlantic is cold, shaky and very uncomfortable. For everyone's sake, she better let me in soon to a proper human house, throw a chunk of meat to the very hungry Asriel in her garden, and let me have a nice bubble bath. (Snow can join if he wants to.) (Frankly, he should wash more, and someone ought to take care of his health.)

I open my mouth, but before I manage to speak, Daphne squeals in my ear, "you can't come in!"

I move my phone away from my ear and glance uneasily at Snow again. He is immersed in a conversation with Asriel, brushing his wings and pointing to the sky enthusiastically.

"Look," I try to sound reasonable. And determined. "We'll get the mud off our shoes before we go in, all right? But we've had a long flight, and before that we were on a three-month quest all over the Canadian wilderness, nearly died several times if you don't mind me saying, so I would sincerely appreciate it if you please—"

"You can't come in!" she wails. "We're under quarantine!"

I frown. "What?"

"Didn't you go through the airport?" Daphne asks. "Didn't they explain the restrictions? Actually, I'm surprised they let you into the country..."

"What on earth are you talking about?" I'm starting to feel like something is terribly wrong here. Snow is spreading his wings, clearly getting ready to join Asriel for an afternoon flight.

"It's Swithin, I just took him to the park, he wanted to meet Louie, you know—Lady Millicent's grandson, you remember him, he was invited for the twins' birthday—"

"Daphne," I try to stop her. She's unstoppable.

"—So he got sick, and she was just about to get that knee surgery, but then they cancelled all the elective surgeries, so—"

I wonder if Daphne is having a stroke. A moment later I almost burst through the closed door when I realise she said Swithin was sick??

"Basilton," my father takes over the phone. "A pandemic broke out in the country. Louie got sick, and Swithin is under quarantine, to make sure he isn't sick himself so he won't infect others. Daphne thought it would be best if the whole family were under quarantine right now, so you can't come in." He pauses for a moment and continues, "You should also be under quarantine, according to the law."

"What? Which law?" Did we fall into a parallel universe accidentally? We should have listened to Shepard, who insisted that dragon flights may contain unexpected risks.

"How far did you wander out there in the wilderness?" he asks impatiently. "Check the news, for Crowley's sake!" he hangs up. I stare at my phone, puzzled, and then check the news.

Simon

Flying with Asriel is awesome. I fly underneath him, and he shields me from the wind. I really hope he'll stay for a while, though it's obvious that the woods surrounding the Grimms' hunting lodge are no match for his home in the Canadian Rockies. But it's just so nice to have someone to fly with.

My mood remains bright even when we land. Asriel is nibbling on a deer, and I lean on a wide tree trunk and listen to the birds until I fall asleep.

Baz

"Right, there are quarantine rules for all arrivals to the UK," Bunce announces nonchalantly over the phone. "Mum sneaked me in. Quarantine, Pfft. Honestly. As if she hadn't cast a protective spell on the whole family."

"Does it work?" I frown. Daphne's magic is a little weak, but my father's is all right, and I don't believe he would neglect his children that much.

"I'm not sure," Bunce admits. "Dad's still looking into it. It's a new disease and all that. Anyway, school is closed, and mum and dad are working from home, so they decided it would be all right if I just don't go outside."

Hmm. I'm not sure this would work with Daphne. She sounded utterly hysterical, as usual when her children are involved in something unpleasant. And this experimental spell the Bunces tried on themselves so recklessly wouldn't be acceptable to my father at all.

"Why don't you just go home?" Bunce suggests.

"To London? It won't be easy to land a dragon in our back alley." I think gloomily about my long-awaited lovely bubble bath. A global pandemic, seriously? Just when we got back from a long, dangerous, and filthy quest in the sheer Canadian wilderness? "Fuck," my heart sinks, "We'll have to sleep in the woods again."

Simon

I'm woken up by shouting. I hear a snatch of panicked voice before I even open my eyes, and immediately jump on my feet and draw out my sword.

"Simon!" It's Baz. Something's wrong. I start to run towards the sound of his voice, then instinctively rise up into the air. (My flying instincts got much better in the Canadian wilderness. We met a lot of weird things there.)

I find him easily from above. He's running into the forest, trying hastily to clear himself a path with magic. Baz still uses magic for everything. Sometimes it's useful, like when he decides we should clean the house. (And also sometimes on Saturday mornings, when I think I should get up already, and Baz spells a duvet so soft and warm over us that it drowns me like a puffy cloud, and with his cool arms around me, and his nose buried in the back of my neck, I can't even try to start moving. But I decide that's all right, eventually.)

"Simon," Baz gasps. "We need to set up camp."

"Huh?" I'm confused. Baz kept talking on and on about his precious bubble bath all the way back to England. He spent most of our flight in an endless monologue about all the different foams Daphne has.

He says something about a pandemic. I can only understand that his parents refuse to let us in. The idea itself doesn't surprise me that much—I've lived in more than one place that refused to let me in every now and then. Once I even slept in the backyard of the children's home the whole night. (I stayed in the kennel, the guard dog was always friendly to me.) (I would secretly give him some dried sausage sometimes. He just always seemed hungry.) But I thought Baz's parents were usually more hospitable than that.

I try to ask something, but Baz starts talking about quarantine rules. It annoys me a bit, reminds me of all the times the Mage tried to isolate me for my own protection.

"We can't go home," Baz says. "We can't leave Asriel alone here. So we'll have to sleep in the woods. Again." He looks so devastated. I have no choice but to think for both of us.

"We need an isolated place, right?" I try. "But comfortable. And with a forest big enough for Asriel. And a proper bath." Maybe Watford? Is it considered isolated? Maybe Agatha will spare us a room in the barn with the goats?

Baz looks at me. Looks around. Looks at me again "Maybe..." he says slowly. "My old home."

Baz

It's not like I haven't set foot in Hampshire since Snow turned the whole area into a giant dead spot. I got there once or twice to take some stuff. It just... feels suffocating. Like scuba diving under the sea—you know you have all the proper equipment, yet it's hard to shake off the feeling that there's just no air around. I've felt like that sometimes in the higher parts of the Canadian mountains, too. There was almost no magic there either. That's why we tried to stay close to moderately populated areas, even if they were miles away, and the magic was weak and unstable—because I just couldn't keep going without any magic at all for more than a day or two. My whole body starts to tingle, and I get restless, and also, I'm practically unable to do anything.

Snow looks at me. The emotions that show on his face chase one another: Fear. Guilt. Hesitation. Concern. Something soft, that almost makes me reach out for his hand. Guilt again.

"Baz," he mumbles, his head down. "There's no magic there."

"I know," I admit, a little uneasily.

"You hate things without magic."

"I don't hate you."

Simon's gaze jumps up. A sharp pain passes through him, and immediately melts into agonising self-doubt. He bites his lower lip. He still can't quite believe that it's possible to love him just the way he is, that magic doesn't mean that much to me, and nothing I say convinces him. And when I try to show him—well... it was difficult, up there in the Canadian mountains. A few hours without magic does indeed make my skin tingle restlessly, even if I try to hide it. And Simon feels it, and feels uncomfortable, and immediately rises up to try and find the nearest town on the horizon and head in its direction. Sometimes he would lift me up in the air, or force me to join a flight on Asriel, so we would get there sooner. And then, when I would immerse in the blissful reunion with my magic, he would become all quiet and distant, go fetch something and only return hours later. Or he would suddenly get tired and go to sleep. Usually, it passed away after a while (my magic duvet does wonders.) But it didn't exactly help convince him.

"Simon," I begin. He shakes his head violently.

"No, no. Let's just... rent an empty house or something. Some sort of an Airbnb. I'll pay."

"No, that's ridiculous." I don't want him to pay. I also don't want to sleep in a stranger's house. I've missed my bed so much that my heart aches.

"Then we'll get you back to London, Asriel and I. You stay there, and I'll take him to Epping Forest."

Pfft. He must be joking. As if I'll let him sleep in the woods cuddled with Asriel, while I'm stuck at home alone. Between this and spending a few quiet days with Snow without magic, I know my first choice.

"No," I say firmly. "I want to go to Hampshire. I... miss home." I manage to sound like I mean it at least a bit. I feel a kind of tremble deep down, that suggests I might actually mean it. I've never felt quite at home in Hampshire, not like in our room at Watford, but it's still the house I grew up in. Where all my siblings were born. The forest where I first learned how to hunt. I haven't thought about all this in years, but suddenly I can't shake off the thought of going back to Hampshire, and I feel a kind of anxious excitement. How would it feel, to be in my home without any magic in it?

Simon

I don't want to go back to Hampshire. I don't want to go back to Hampshire. I try to come up with a logical explanation that will convince Baz, but my mind is racing too fast and I can't quite speak.

Hampshire: The Humdrum throws a familiar red ball at me; a fire; fancy pyjamas covered in mud; wings. The memories strangle me like a thick fog. Baz's parents run outside screaming, and I fly away in a wild panic, navigating instinctively with the magic I stole from the world. I haven't been able to look Malcolm Grimm in the eye since, not that I had many opportunities. I'm not invited to visit often. Daphne is nicer, but sometimes she casually mentions something about her home, and I know how much she misses it. Baz also talks mindlessly about his home sometimes: the room he used to play in, the magnificent library, the ghost of some ancient uncle who lived in the woods and would occasionally help him find a wounded deer—Baz always felt better when he could put an animal out of its misery.

I stole all of that.

And yet the house remained in its place, as still and gloomy as a tombstone. Several other magickal families sold their houses to Normals and left their past behind, but not the Grimms. They would never give up their ancient family estate. But it's also very clear that it's no longer livable.

The burden of guilt settles on my chest and makes it hard to breathe. Faintly I mutter, "I don't want to go back to Hampshire." Because how will I be able to set a foot in this place and still look Baz in the eye, and believe that he is still capable of loving me, when he remembers everything I've done to the world? Everything I've done to him? Everything that I really am?

______________________________________________________________

Baz

I step carefully into the front hall of the place that used to be my childhood home, and is now a dark space full of covered furniture. We have a Normal housemaid who is supposed to come and clean up every couple of weeks, but I'm not certain she's doing a proper job. The windows are sealed, the floor creaks under my feet, and everything smells like dust. The house feels abandoned. I raise my wand to cast a few basic cleansing spells, and stop abruptly as realisation hits me. It's a dead spot. Huh.

Simon comes cautiously behind me. He's uncharacteristically quiet, his head is bowed and his shoulders are slumped as if he's trying to disappear inside himself. His wings are flattened against his back tightly, and even his golden curls look faded in the faint, dusty light.

He looks at the wand I'm still holding in my hand, and begins to say nervously, "Baz, I'm not sure that was a good idea—", and I just have to stop him before we find ourselves teetering in the wind again.

"Come on, Snow, we have a lot of work to do," I say with all the vigorous high spirit I can muster, throwing my wand aside. "Come and help to clean up."

Simon

Cleaning up takes forever, and I throw myself fully into it: I open the windows and sweep the floors and remove heavy, dark covers from rigid Victorian furniture. It's the least I can do. At first it's distressing, and I try not to look at Baz, who is trying to look enthusiastic and motivated rather than restless and grumpy. He walks through the rooms, grumbling to himself when he thinks I can't hear. But gradually, the monotonous physical work relaxes me. Then a vague feeling of familiarity starts nagging me, and I realise I've actually done all of this before.

I did a lot of housework in a lot of old Victorian houses that had been converted into public charity buildings, homes for the poor, neglected children. And even though It's been years since I last held a duster (our flat in London is regularly cleaned by magic, obviously), the well-practised movements from my childhood are woven naturally into my muscles, and I don't even have to think about it. The automatic movements feel right somehow, like a forgotten note of my true self, like meeting the Humdrum again and not fearing him anymore.

As time goes by, Baz tries less and less hard to fake enthusiasm, and dissolve into the familiar sour mood I’ve come to know all too well on our quest. Instead of drowning myself in guilt again, I decide to try to be productive, and turn to the bathroom. Baz isn't very skillful at Normal-style cleanings, but Merlin, I surely have more than enough adequate experience.

Baz

The bathroom is so warm and bright and clean and feels like home, that I almost forget to feel suffocated. I've spent so many hours here—soaking in the sudsy water, listening to violin and piano concerto records, and almost managing to push aside everything that was happening in my life: my father's disappointed looks, my aunt's mess, the blood I just drank in the forest. I've spent so many lovely summer evenings trying not to think about how Snow spends his time in his orphanage, and how at the beginning of each school year he returns too thin and too sad, and it takes Bunce at least a few days to cheer him up. So many hours I've spent in this luxurious bath, listening to Schubert's Ständchen, D 889 and dreaming up Snow wrapped in my arms, relaxed, satisfied, safe and happy.

I start the bath. Daphne gave us so much stuff before we left, that we barely managed to carry it all. ("We've got way too much anyway," she said. She also insisted that all the toilet paper in the supermarket had run out, but that surely was a joke.) With a happy sigh of delight, I open the bag and take out an ultra-soft exfoliating sponge, lavender bubble elixir, vanilla and patchouli body wash, white rose bath bombs, coconut bath oil, and milk and honey creamy foam. I hang the towels on the vintage copper hangers, choose some of my favourite soaps, and start filling the bath with hot, fragrant water.

Simon

I leave Baz in the bathroom and go handle the groceries in the kitchen. I haven't seen a kitchen this big in years, and I ease up into the routine work. I air out the cupboards and take the covers off the chairs, wipe the counters and put vegetables in the fridge, and suddenly I find myself singing.

In one of the children's homes, when I was maybe six or seven, Betsy the cook would sneak me biscuits when I helped her clean the oven, and let me watch her make lunch on Sundays. I pick up some potatoes and start peeling them absently, humming a nursery rhyme she used to sing. The notes dance around me as I once knew them: not as plain matter-of-factly magic spells, evidence of my constant failure, but as small drops of kindness that I've treasured in my childhood with yearning devotion. Precious moments of peace and warmth and attention that were gifted to me alone. I fry onions and ground beef and hum How Many Miles to Babylon, sinking into a foreign and unexpected feeling of almost-home. My old therapist asked me repeatedly about my childhood memories, and I always answered I don't remember anything; I really didn't. I didn't even know that I still had such memories hidden somewhere inside me.

I'm about to put the pie in the oven, singing loudly "If your heels are nimble and your toes are light, you may get there by candle-light", when Baz pops up behind me. He clears his throat, and I jerk and turn around. He stares at me.

"Are you trying to leave?"

"Huh?" I'm confused.

"It's a navigation spell," he sounds hurt.

I lean back on the counter. "Baz, it's a nursery rhyme," I say. And also, I don't have magic, and there is no magic here, and magic isn't everything there is to life, and where on earth could I possibly go—but that's all getting too much to say.

Baz nods. He's still scowling. I sigh and add, "I made a pie."

"You did?" Baz is surprised. I don't blame him. I don't cook much. There are so many pubs and bakeries and sandwich shops around us, Baz eats lunch at university or at work, and on Saturdays we're invited to Lady Ruth's, so I just don't see the point. But sometimes I think that maybe none of these is the actual issue—maybe there's just something too warm and domestic about home-cooked meals, that I don't feel entirely comfortable making it something I do. Something that's happening naturally in our house.

We don't talk about it much—about our place in London, which neither of us feels at home in, and there's still hardly any furniture in there even after three years. About our plans for the future, after Baz finishes his master's degree. About marriage and children. I know Baz wants a family, of course he does; He is the most domestic person I know. He won't admit it, but secretly he wants his father's life precisely: a beautiful home, a beautiful wedding and beautiful children, and a warm home-cooked family dinner at the end of each day.

We've never talked about it. Even after three years, I'm still uncomfortable with the idea of a family of my own, one that I fully belong to. I'm afraid to ruin everything for everyone again. Maybe if Baz would have asked... maybe I would try to deal with it somehow. But he never brings it up. He doesn't suggest that we buy a place that will feel truly ours. He doesn't even offer to cook. And he has no idea that I'm actually able to cook a bit, and may even enjoy it sometimes.

"Yes," I manage to say. "I made shepherd's pie."

Baz stares at me for a few more moments, then takes a step forward and reaches hesitantly at my hand. "Come to the bathtub."

Baz

Snow isn't used to baths. (Big surprise.) As I soak into the warm water and lean back blissfully, he curls up on the other side of the tub, his knees pulled up to his stomach, one hand swirling small cycles in the water and stirring the foam in a restless motion. I nudge his shin lightly with my foot, and he slides backwards instinctively until he's pressed against the wall of the tub, cowering like a trapped animal. I sigh and close my eyes, trying to dissolve into the peaceful inner space where I almost manage to forget about everything.

"How do you feel?" Snow's voice cuts through the steamy fog, small, almost inaudible. I open my eyes.

"Fine. What do you mean?"

"I just thought..." he hesitates. "About the... you know. Magic." He barely whispers the word, as if he's afraid to remind me.

I think about it. When I first stepped into the house, I felt the usual suffocation, but now—inside my homely-familiar soothing bubble bath—it doesn't feel quite as awful. I've missed home, I suddenly realise. I did not expect this. I never felt entirely comfortable in this house, but I guess I somewhat liked it nonetheless. "I feel all right," I say, and add carefully: "I think I missed home a little, maybe." One beat of silence passes, then two, and three, and then Simon's hushed voice cuts through: "I think I did, too."

Simon

I soften into the steamy mist. Everything smells sweet, clean, and soothing, and the water is a little too hot, but Baz's leg pressed against mine is cool enough to send a pleasant shiver through me. I see him watching me; his foot rubs against the bottom of my calf, pressing and loosening and pressing again. I look down at the small ripples my hand is swirling in the water, and dare to say, "Some memories came to me. From... before."

Baz says nothing. I can feel him tensing up. His foot lingers on my calf.

"They're… I don't know." I can't quite put it into words, and these memories are slippery and shaky. It's like trying to remember a smell, a touch. "There's just something about them."

"Something," Baz repeats.

"Something... not just bad."

Baz is quiet. He's waiting for me to continue, but I'm out of words. The air between us is strained like a string, and I can see him frown intently. A few achingly still moments pass, and I'm starting to think frantically about a change of subject, when he rises up suddenly. The water waves around him and splashes on the floor, and he doesn't even notice. "Wait a minute," he says hastily and hurries away.

Baz

I run back to the front hall, water dripping around me and my footsteps wetting the wooden floor, but I don't even think about a wiping spell. Lunging towards our bags still piled by the door, I pull out my violin, carefully wrapped in its case. I wipe my hands, pick it up carefully and run back to Snow, because I think I might be onto something. I might have found a new spell that no one has ever known before, that seemed utterly impossible up till now.

Simon

I manage to settle back into the fragrant bubbly water when Baz returns and pauses by the doorway, holding his violin. The door is half open, the air has cooled a little, and the water is now just the right temperature. He tucks the violin under his chin, lifts the bow and slides it gently over the strings. The opening notes rise up, then go down, and rise up again, in a melodic rhythm of a quiet stream:

"How many miles to Babylon? / Three score miles and ten / Can I get there by candle-light? / Yes, and back again."

The tender wave of music flows on, and on, and on. Baz's movements gradually relax and open up, dissolving into the melody, his eyes closed, his body sways absently from side to side. He is as beautiful as a black-and-white movie character, his pale skin shining like porcelain in the soft light of the bathroom, a dim glow surrounding him like a halo. The musical harmony echoes in the room and swirls around me. I relax into the water, immersed in warmth, comfort, and small drops of kindness that grow bigger and bigger until they become a trickle of rain, then a flood, then a river, then an ocean. The bath is a warm ocean on a golden summer day, and Baz's music is an endless flowing wave that rises and falls and rocks me tenderly, until I'm drifting away in a repetitive rhyme that feels like magic:

"Can I get there by candlelight? / Yes, and back again."

When Baz eventually stops, it feels like hours have passed by, and I realise that my eyes are wet and my breathing is deep. The air I exhale reaches my very bottom. When Baz slides back into the water, I shift towards him like he's gravity itself. I melt against his chest, my head's tilting back to rest on his shoulder, and my words begin to flow on their own.

Baz

Simon scatters incoherent fragments of stories that I don't even try to fully comprehend, and it's impossible anyway, no more than it's possible to line up the waves of the sea. Instead, I just hug him and rub his back over his wings. Tears run down from his eyes, and he doesn't wipe them away. I kiss his wet cheeks. When the flow of stories finally fades away, he curls up against my chest, his body limp, his eyes half closed, his head dropped back.

I'm starting to think he fell asleep when his gaze drifts towards me with an almost imperceptible shift, his breath fluttering against my cheek as he whispers, "Baz?"

"Hmm?" I murmur and kiss his shoulder.

"Do you want to buy a house together?" he asks in a low voice.

I close my eyes and pretend I didn't hear him. We had a long day, and Simon is tired, and his eyes are still swollen with tears. It would be hasty of me to dive into a conversation that he doesn't mean, that he'll do anything to forget about tomorrow morning. I kiss the side of his head, inhale the lavender scent of his hair and pretend to be immersed in a peaceful silence, until Simon squirms out of my embrace. I look up and my eyes meet his—very blue, very wide, and something like a hurt expectation spreads through them as he blinks rapidly a couple of times, but doesn't look away. "What do you think?" He whispers.

I pull him back into my arms and give myself a moment to calm down before the corners of my mouth curve up in a tentative smile. Simon is still looking at me. I'm not sure he's breathing. I'm not sure I'm breathing. I think of my home in Hampshire, of my home in Oxford, of my home at Watford, of Simon who has always been my home.

I let my full smile, wide and dazzled, slip out as I tighten my arms around him and my head tilts towards his. "When you're ready," I murmur into his ear, "you don't have to ask."

Simon laughs and kisses my neck, and even though the water is starting to cool down, my blood is boiling. Simon's wings spread over and wrap both of us in soft, warm leather. His tail slides and twists in the water around my thighs, teasing me. I let out a strangled breath and lean forward to kiss him. Simon smiles at me, puts a hand on the back of my neck and pulls me closer to him, and I can no longer separate teenage fantasies from reality -- and suddenly an unmistakable, loud ding cuts through the house.

Simon leans back with a frustrated groan. I grin at him as I get up and pull him outside, wrapping him in a big, fluffy towel so he doesn’t get cold. "Come on, Snow. Your pie is ready."

I allow myself to take a small, happy leap in the air when he goes in front of me and can't see. Then I grab his hand and walk with my back straight and a wide smile spread over my face—because today I'm the greatest mage who ever lived, and I discovered the hardest spell that ever was: the spell that will make Simon Snow feel at home.

______________________________________________________________

December 2022

Simon

I run into the house and throw the bags by the door. I don't have much time, and I need to get everything ready before Baz finishes his phone call. (He's immersed in a conversation with Penny about their final project. She called just in time, right before I parked, and the conversation can keep him busy for a while, but I better hurry still.) I grab one bag and run upstairs to the bathroom.

Somehow, even though Baz adores baths as much as Cleopatra herself, we haven't taken many of them together over the years. Our flat in London doesn't have a bath, and at first, I tried to suggest that we look at other places, but the prices just keep rising, and it didn't make sense to give it up. It's a lovely place just on the edge of the city, surrounded by lively green meadows, and nearby is a small forest where Baz can hunt. (It's not quite as remarkable as the woods in Hampshire, but at least he doesn't have to drink only rats anymore.) I like joining him there and spread my wings high above the trees when no one can see. (The neighbours got used to the wings—Penny told them I'm a particularly eccentric circus artist, and considering all the creepy guests she and Shepard bring over all the time, it doesn't seem to surprise them in the slightest. But they still don't know I can actually fly.)

We visit his parents on holidays, and Baz sometimes uses Daphne's well-equipped bath, but I don't feel comfortable joining him—because honestly, this is his parents' house. And I'm still not sure I actually like baths, all steamy and oily and so very still.

But I do love Baz, and despite what he believes, I am in fact capable of being romantic. I think.

And the oracle that Shepard met in the pub insisted that 2023 would be the most fortunate year ever known to mankind, so it's quite clear that now is the right time.

The bubbling water fills the tub. I know nothing about all those soaps and foams Agatha brought me, but Baz loves everything, so I reckon it doesn't matter. White thick bath cream mixes with rosy bath salts and pine-green foam, and I start handling the fairy lights and the roses (I'm not sure what to do with them, so I just put the bouquet in the sink.) The room starts to fog up in a sweet-fragranced cloud, just as Baz yells in irritation from the foot of the stairs: "You haven't even started unpacking?!"

Baz

I disconnect the phone call, and finally consume fully the sense of home. We returned from our quest to Edinburgh just the day before Christmas, and Simon would have stayed longer if I hadn't insisted that we can't miss Christmas eve with my family. We don't visit my parents much, but Christmas was settled years ago. My siblings love Simon—he flies the little ones over the lawns, tells adventure stories and plays football with them. Daphne makes an enormous amount of food, and fusses over us. (Simon never turns down an extra serving, and that wins her over every time.) Even my father got used to it eventually: he's still too formal with all of us, especially with him, but when he's settled in his armchair with a book while Simon plays with the children and Daphne chats cheerfully, he seems almost relaxed. Once or twice he even asked me about my "future plans" and glanced at Simon, which is as close to a pressure to settle down as he's probably capable of.

Still, when we returned from Edinburgh Simon insisted that we spend a night in Hampshire before going to Oxford. He said he wanted to "spend some alone time" with me. So we parted ways with Penny and Shepard at Southampton Airport, and rented a car for ourselves.

I'm still not sure how I feel about this house. We haven't been here much since the two weeks of the COVID quarantine, but occasionally when we pass through the area, we find ourselves staying for a few days. Simon feels strangely comfortable here, now that the entire area is a dead spot. He doesn't even have to think about magic. And I feel comfortable because Simon feels comfortable, and because I grew up here, and it will always feel like home to me at least a little. And also, because the silence between us here is both intimate and light. The house is large and spacious, and I can peacefully listen to music and play my violin for hours, without disturbing the neighbours like in our small city apartment. Simon wanders around in the woods (he's already befriended all the creatures in it), and flies miles away in every direction, until his cheeks are flushed and he can't stop smiling. When he comes back, we make dinner, and then he's soft and cuddly as we watch telly together. Honestly, what more could I ask.

I still have a hard time staying for too long in a completely non-magickal environment, but even I came to admit there's something to it. This Normal stillness brings out some sort of a new perspective. As Simon says, songs are just songs here, phrases are just phrases. We rediscover mundanity, and it's unexpectedly soothing at times. And when I look at Simon like that, I can see him as he probably sees himself most of the time: a Normal boy who grew up in a Normal environment and just wanted to belong somewhere. Not the greatest mage who ever lived, not a pool of overflowing and uncontrollable energy, not a weapon in a war that isn't his. Looking at him as he cooks and sings to himself mindlessly, I understand a little better his journey from being that Normal boy to The Mage's soldier and back, and how difficult it is for him to explain—even to himself—what he is now. In these moments I give up completely on explanations, solutions and interpretations, and just hug him or sing along with him for a while, and something about this homely warmth soothes us both. If only I had known before that this very place, which for years has made us both feel so anxious and detached, would give us a home.

Simon

I finish undressing when I hear Baz going up the stairs, carrying the bags. I look around one last time, take a deep breath and come out to the hallway.

"Do you mind helping...?" He starts, and I ignore it because I don’t have time for this right now. My heart is beating too fast. Baz frowns when I step closer and reach out for his hand. "What—" he starts, and I cut him off, "come on."

Baz drops the bags without taking his eyes off me. I pull him by the arm. "Come on, I prepared a bath."

Baz doesn't argue. (He never argues with a bath.) I open the door and the steam surrounds us immediately. Baz inhales sharply and stops in place, looking around at the fairy lights and the flowers and the rosy bubbly water. I pull him more urgently. "Come on, the water is getting cold." He's still staring around, so I start unbuttoning his shirt myself. He comes to his senses when I pull his shirt off completely, and finishes undressing on his own. Then he dips a cautious hand in the bath, lets out a blissful sigh, and slides inside. Step one—check, I think, and my heart is drumming in my chest like at the beginning of a quest.

"So, you finally felt like taking a bath?" Baz asks. He smiles, but I can hear the hesitation in his voice. He knows something is wrong. (I always argue with a bath.)

I clear my throat. I'm naked and shivering a little, though the room isn't cold. "Baz," I start. The steam is fogging up around me, so it's hard to see him, and it helps me to keep going. "Do you know what day it is?"

"Friday?" He furrows his eyebrows.

I let out a frustrated breath. "No! I mean, yes. It's Friday. But what else?"

"Um… the day before Christmas?"

"Right," I start fidgeting restlessly. "And also...?"

Baz leans back and settles lower in the water. He hums quietly for a moment before saying in a softened voice, "Why don't you tell me, Snow?"

"It's… um. Well. It's our anniversary."

Baz is silent for a couple of seconds. "We don't celebrate an anniversary."

"Right," I admit. "But that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"It doesn't?" Baz asks.

"No. I mean, it exists. It's today. It's this night, actually. Which isn't exactly today, but waiting for the night would have ruined the surprise, so..."

"Snow, what on earth are you talking about?" He's starting to get up, and I think he's about to do something very Baz—to take my hand, to hug me, to pull me into the bath—and I just can't let that happen. I inhale dizzily, like at the moment before I spread my wings and fly.

"Baz, wait," I say shakily. "Sit down for a moment. I need to say something."

He soaks back into the water. Through the steam, I can see him frowning and worrying at his lip. I don't have much time left. I grope for the sink, get stung by a rose thorn (who was the bloody idiot who decided roses were romantic), turn around, take a few steps forward and lean on the edge of the bath. It feels ridiculous, it feels insane, it feels like the first moment when I'm rising up in the air and the wind hits my wings.

"So," I start again. "It's our anniversary. Our seventh anniversary," I add.

Baz nods, "Okay."

"And seven is a magickal number," I say. Baz frowns again, so I quickly continue, "And we've been living together for a long time. And I love you."

"I love you too," Baz says softly.

"And someone has to say it already." It's not going the way I planned. Not at all. I feel like I'm wobbling in the air and drifting up and down and rolling over, and then suddenly my wings spread wide and I just fly. "here."

I push the box into his wet palm. It almost slips out of his grip and sinks into the water, and I almost leap into the bath to rescue it, and it's just about the most ridiculous romantic moment ever.

Baz tightens his fingers around the box. He doesn't open it. With one delicate finger, he strokes the black velvet. He looks at me. I rub the back of my neck nervously. "Come on, open it."

Baz opens the box. A white gold ring with a thin dark-violet centre stripe sparkles in the soft, misty light. Baz loves violet. And the contrast will match the colour of his skin. And this is an ancient ring I got from that elf whose village Shepard and I helped save. Baz loves ancient and magickal things.

He still doesn't say anything. He looks at me. Looks at the ring. Looks at me again.

"Well?" I choke out.

Baz puts the ring on his finger. It fits him perfectly, because Baz is perfect. (And also, Penny helped me to spell it to his size.) He reaches a hand out to me and says, "come to the bathtub, Snow."

Baz

I pull Simon to me, tighten my arms around his chest and kiss his neck. I kiss him, and kiss some more, until I'm so hot that my vision blurs. I bite his soft skin carefully and suck one drop of blood. It's an intimately familiar dance that we've perfected over our years together, and still my heart leaps anxiously and then excitedly every single time. Simon presses against me and drops his head back on my shoulder, exposing more of his neck. He rubs my cheek with his warm skin, which always smells like brown sugar and butter and summer. My head spins, and for a moment I lose myself in it, in how good it all is, in how good he is, in how good he is to me. I suck another drop of blood and inhale his sweetness. Simon lets out a strangled whimper and his tail curls and tightens around my thigh. Small, quick breaths emerge from his parted lips. His skin burns against me and he grips my palms tight. I almost start to drown in all of this goodness, but then a flash of light on our clasped hands catches my eye, and I suddenly remember that we still have a conversation to finish.

I let go of his neck and turn his face towards me until his beautiful blue eyes meet mine. Simon blinks as if waking from a dream.

I clear my throat. "So," I say and look at my hand, then back at him. "You were saying something?"

Simon smiles. He pokes my thigh with the pointed end of his tail. "Do I really have to say it?"

My lips curve up in an effort to imitate my old sneer. I'm failing shamefully, of course; A vague, affectionate shadow of a smirk hangs at the corners of my mouth as I raise up an eyebrow and say, "Use your words, Snow."

Simon lets out a wet laugh and buries his face in my shoulder. His muffled voice vibrates against my skin as he asks hoarsely, "Do you wanna marry me?"

Simon

It's the worst proposal in history. I know that. Baz absolutely knows that. I should have done everything differently, and now it's hopeless. Maybe we could just forget about it all, and he'll go back to drinking me.

Baz

It's the best proposal in history. And I mean in all five dimensions Bunce's parents are married in, and in all the other dimensions there are.

"Yes," I say. I lift our joint hands and kiss his knuckles. I run my fingers through his wet hair, stroke his cheek fondly with my thumb, and pull him for another kiss. Simon melts into me and a sigh of relief escapes him. He laughs and says, "Okay." I think he's wiping his eyes. His wings spread over my shoulders and wrap us both. I kiss him again, and again, and again, then slip back down the familiar path to his neck. "On one condition," I murmur against his skin, and kiss a mole there. "After the wedding, we're getting a new house, with a bath."

#simon snow #baz pitch #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #carry on #wayward son #simon snow trilogy #any way the wind blows #bubble bath #bite!#a little angst and lots of fluff #mentions of COVID-19 #my first one here #hello everyone

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kimtaegis · 1 year

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I hope you feel better soon 💗 Here’s something to make you smile 🥰

ah apryl, bad news – it got kind of worse? I had to go to the hospital today because I woke up and couldn’t hear on my right ear anymore and was in terrible pain 😭 so yeah, I’m celebrating New Year’s Eve in bed with a middle ear infection and on antibiotics 💀 December was very unkind to me health-wise, oh well. BUT omg that clip is so so cute, lifted my spirits again 🥺 thank you for sending that to me, you made me smile as always. I hope you’re spending nye in a more fun surrounding my love! May 2023 bring you only the best 🤍

#apryl💛#aprylynn #annie’s mail

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afieldinengland · 2 years

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Lover mine, I am so sorry about your ear! Perhaps the infection is closer to your sinuses than to your ear? Especially if those stabbing pains are accompanied by thumping not-sounds in your ear. Anyway, I am sure it's nothing serious although I know it's a miserable state to be in, so I hope you get out of it very soon!

I went shopping today and saw a bottle of wine I think I would love to drink with you, I don't even know what kind it was (only that it was red) but the label made me think of you, it was called Encantado and there was a picture of a forest clearing, with a hare, some toadstools, a deer, some fae, I think? And all of it covered in golden rays, made with some special, metallic ink, I believe. Must be some magical wine, I think, so drinking it and hoping for my boyfaun to get better soon might actually work quite well! - HWA

thank you, sweet one :( it’s been a pain all day, but i’m taking ibuprofen and paracetamol on a regular basis, and applying an ice pack to my ears every now and then, which seems to be relieving it a little. it could have something to do with my sinuses, you’re right. there isn’t any thumping sensation, i don’t think, but i’ll keep it in mind. my whole head feels like it’s under a lot of pressure, and it’s not the easiest sensation to cope with. i’m afraid i’ve been irritable all day because of the pain, which i feel terrible about— i just haven’t been able to have much patience, i suppose. oh, that wine does sound good, dearest love!! i’m not usually a fan of red wine, but i think i’d enjoy a glass in your company nonetheless 💓 what a beautiful label, yes, i think there must be some power in such an illustration. lover, would you really do such a thing for me, such a magic rite with my wellbeing on your mind? oh, i’d be honoured, i think that would go a long way to restoring me to health, yes!! thank you for being so kind, lover, i apologise if i sound out of it— hopefully it’ll subside in a day or so, knock on wood

#answered #thank you gentle one :(#herb wine anon

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tfwlawyers · 3 years

Note

Not me singlehandedly going through your entire parent trap au I’m so invested even though like half of the posts are from 2015 💀

THESE THINGS HAPPEN I get such a kick out of knowing this au is still making its rounds though 😭😭

and yk what just because I know I’m never going to do anything else with this, have a 3.5k attempted scramble of fic for this au I tried writing back also in 2015. i was even less of a writer back then than I am now so it’s absolutely terrible but have at thee

“Oh, wait...” Trucy winced and tapped her earring. Apollo’s eyes widened in realization. “Looks like we have one more thing to do tonight - it’ll be super quick, I promise.”

“Oh no,” Apollo said, visibly paling, “there’s no way you’re doing that to me-”

“Then cutting my hair was a total waste,” Trucy huffed, tugging at a newly shorn lock, “because there’s no way I can go to camp with pierced ears and come home without. Come on, Polly, where’s your sense of adventure? It’s just one little pinch!”

“Just one?” he asked hesitantly, eyes now trained on the sharp needle laying on the table.

Trucy paused. “Well... I guess it’s technically two. I really only wear the one earring, but both my ears are pierced.”

Apollo sighed. “Great.”

“Nah, I got this,” Trucy said, grinning toothily. “I went with Aunt Maya when she wanted to get hers pierced, even though she chickened out at the last second.” She picked up the needle and a book of matches from the table, eyes glinting. “I had to get mine repierced because of infection the first time too. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“Put that apple slice back,” Apollo said, narrowing his eyes at the piece of fruit in Trucy’s hands. “They’re acidic, I don’t need that anywhere near me and oh God you’re really going to shove a piece of metal into my ear, aren’t you-”

“You sure I look okay?” he asked, patting down the skirt. He squinted down at the stark white boots he’d thankfully fit into. “I’m terrified to walk in these, they look like death traps -”

“Which is why we’re practicing,” Trucy said primly, wiping her hands on a gel-stained rag. She still didn’t quite have a grasp on the correct ratio of product to actual hair, but she was much better than when they had started five weeks ago. “Now, walk towards me.”

“One last thing, I guess,” Apollo said, removing his bracelet and handing it to Trucy, watching as she carefully slid it on. He rubbed his now bare wrist absentmindedly, feeling strangely naked without it.

“So... this is really it. We’re really doing this.”

“We’re really doing this,” Trucy confirmed, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet. For all her apparent enthusiasm, she looked as nervous as he felt. The studs in her ears reflected the morning light.

“Give papa a hug for me,” he said, smiling weakly.

“Give daddy one for me too,” she said.

They hesitated a moment more before Trucy threw her arms around her brother’s shoulders. Apollo’s arms immediately snaked around her waist, drawing her in tight. They clung to each other, silently willing and praying this was somehow going to all work out - that they wouldn’t just to get to meet their other parent, that they wouldn’t only get a few short weeks with the other father they hadn’t even known had existed, but that they could find some way to reconcile the two, that they wouldn’t have to lose anyone across the wide expanse of the Atlantic ever again.

“You’ve had your ears pierced,” he said almost absently, cradling her head between his hands and gently turning her neck back and forth to better view the studs. He clicked his tongue. Trucy felt her heart sink.

“Do you... hate them?” she asked tentatively.

Edgeworth’s eyes snapped to hers. They were the same soft gray color as the paint Daddy always kept too much of around the house. “On the contrary - I find they suit you incredibly well. Please tell me you didn’t get an infection.”

Her face split into a wide smile.

Apollo thumbed through a stack of canvases that had been shoved into a corner. There was a thin layer of dust of them; if he had to guess, he’d say they hadn’t been disturbed for at least three months - not a particularly long stretch of time, all things considered. They were clearly less polished works, lacking the technical skill and attention to detail that made Phoenix Wright a name to be reckoned with in the art community, but they were still beautiful in their own way. Paintings of vineyards and what looked like London, towering skyscrapers and calm seas and -

His father.

Apollo blinked.

The portrait of Miles Edgeworth drawn in rich oils did not blink back. Nor did the three that followed.

“There were a lot of paintings of the same person in daddy’s works. Some guy with grey hair,” Apollo said, struggling for nonchalance.

Maya’s grip on the mixing bowl faltered. “Is that so,” she said carefully.

“Was he one of daddy’s favorite models or something he just never told me about?”

Maya pursed her lips and continued stirring with a newfound vigor. “You could say that.”

“You’re not Apollo?” he asked, voice thick. “You’re Trucy?”

She smiled weakly. “That would be correct.” One strand of hair fell lank across her forehead - how did I not notice, Apollo hasn’t used nearly that much gel in years - and he absentmindedly tucked it behind her ear. He felt her press into the warmth of his hand, as if she were afraid he might suddenly vanish across the Atlantic again.

“I hope you don’t - I hope you don’t hate me,” she said, voice beginning to waver, “it’s just that Polly and I met at the camp and the whole thing sort of just spilled out. I’ve wanted to see you for so long, and Polly felt exactly the same way about Daddy, so we sort of just - just switched lives and hoped it wouldn’t take you so soon to notice. I really hope you don’t hate me, because I’ve wanted to meet you basically my whole life and I hope that maybe one day you can love me for me and not Polly and -” (this is ALL from movie tho so mix this up)

Edgeworth’s left hand came to cradle the rest of Trucy’s face, cutting her off mid-sentence. “Oh, my dear,” he said, cautiously tugging her forward. She came willingly, all but sprawling across his chest, tucking her head underneath his chin and wrapping her arms around his middle. “I’ve loved you since the day you came to me,” he whispered into her hair, blinking away the beginnings of tears he felt gathering at the corner of his eyes. He felt her tighten her hold and he did the same.

He poured himself a thumbnail of scotch, perfectly content to pretend he didn’t have tickets to a plane back to a state he had vowed never to set foot in again departing in less than four hours. “He was rather handsome,” he found himself admitting, absentmindedly swirling the glass and taking a sip. He paused, staring at nothing and mumbling to himself, “...had the most crooked smile. Always made me weak at the knees.”

“What was that, sir?”

Edgeworth snapped his attention back to the other man; he’d nearly forgotten Gumshoe was even in the room. “Nothing, nothing, never mind, have you seen the tickets?”

Gumshoe shrugged. That was Trucy’s cue.

“Almost ready, papa?” she asked, stepping smoothly into the room from her hiding place behind the thick wooden door. Edgeworth looked just as wild-eyed as she’d been hoping.

“Yes, of course, I’m almost finished packing -”

She didn’t even have to look at his still mostly bare suitcase to know he was lying.

“ -and you did tell your father we were coming, didn’t you?” he finished, placing his drink on a nearby dresser and running his fingers shakily through his hair.

“Absolutely,” Trucy promised.

“Ah,” Edgeworth said, fiddling with his waistcoat buttons. They looked like they’d been polished recently.

“Liar,” Gumshoe leaned down to whisper. She shushed him.

“Might I suggest we continue this little gathering inside,” Maya said, already beginning to shepherd the twins - the twins, she was going to need another vacation just to process the fact that they were together again - into the room. She twisted back around to look at Edgeworth, still shoving Apollo (that was Apollo, right?) forward. “Hi,” she began again, offering a free hand, “you probably don’t remember me -”

“Maya!” he interrupted, smiling warmly and bending to kiss her chastely on the cheek. His breath was sour with vodka and his glasses clunked awkwardly against her face. As he turned and stepped fully into the room, Maya’s cheeks(rp) began to hurt from smiling so fiercely.

“I knew I always liked him,” she said to no one as she closed the door.

This was ridiculous. This resort was full of entirely too many people who favored the same sort of eccentric clothing that man had even fourteen years ago, a disproportionate amount of them with the same slate grey hair. He almost would have written that (awkward*) expression seen from across Dahlia’s shoulder/a hotel lobby as a figment of his overtaxed imagination had it not been so much realer than the stacks of canvases in his studio. Which meant Miles was here, but he’d swept the first level of the hotel twice already after begging Dahlia to take to her room for a bit, the pool area was as depressingly empty as the inside was, and -

There he was.

Across the pool, descending the steps carefully from the inside lounge area and walking on the balls of his feet like he always did when he’d had a bit too much to drink (and why did he still remember that) was, without a doubt, Miles Edgeworth.

Phoenix suddenly found it difficult to breathe.

Edgeworth was halfway down the opposite path before Phoenix realized he should probably do something.

“Excuse me,” he said, shouldering his way through the crowd. It would be rude and more than a little intrusive to just call out his ex-husband’s name in the middle of a resort, right? Perhaps not as rude as nearly shoving the poor bellboy into the shrubbery, but, well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He didn’t immediately notice the odd assortment of friends and family and a lumbering man in striped green swimming trunks perched on pool chairs as he stepped past, but they certainly noticed him.

“Daddy, are you okay?” Trucy asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said vaguely, refusing to take his eyes off Edgeworth. He was abruptly terrified he might vanish again if he did.

“Nick, watch out -”

“Hey, pal -”

“Daddy -”

With that, Phoenix collided into a passing service boy, arms pinwheeling wildly as he fell directly into the pool behind him.

“Hello Miles,” he said, smiling sheepishly and wringing out his tie. He fought the urge to rub the back of his neck and settled for clenching his hands into tight fists instead. “Or do you people call you Edgeworth now?”

“Miles is - Miles is fine,” Edgeworth said weakly, trying to look anywhere but Phoenix, as if this was a perfectly normal conversation they should be having for the first time after fifteen years. “My father still calls me Miles.”

Something warm coiled in his chest. It felt infinitely more dangerous than it had fifteen years ago.

“You always had a smart mouth,” he murmured, rubbing a swathe of cleaning ointment along the cut on Phoenix’s forehead. Phoenix hissed.

“So glad you remembered,” he bit through gritted teeth.

“Hush.”

Phoenix hmmed but stayed silent for a few more seconds, staring at Edgeworth as he dug back into the first aid kit. Edgeworth tried not to flush under the scrutiny.

Phoenix held his wrist in a loose grip. He should have felt clammy from the pool and the rapidly descending night, but he blazed oddly hot against Edgeworth’s skin.

“Miles, I-”

“Feenie? Who is this?”

“Dollie!” Phoenix said, shooting upright and wincing at the sudden dizziness.

Edgeworth’s burgundy coat was hung carefully over his arm, too thick for the warm California night. The buttons on his waistcoat glinted from a nearby streetlamp’s glow.

Phoenix swallowed.

“Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” Edgeworth asked, leaning in slightly. Phoenix’s (nose twitched? something about scent memory?) and he refused to let himself acknowledge that Miles’s choice of aftershave hadn’t changed since the day they’d met. He abruptly remembered the taste of cheap wine and overly sweet cake on his tongue, felt the ghost weight of a ring fifteen years gone.

He hastily turned away.

“No idea.”

“Grandfather chipped in a bit -”

“Apollo,” Edgeworth warned.

“Alright, so Grandfather chipped in a lot, whatever, we’re poor teenagers, the point is,” he said, emphasizing the final word by pulling the ship’s impressive doors open with a firm tug, “it’s ours for the night.”

Phoenix whistled shrilly in appreciation, instinctively reaching out to ruffle Apollo’s hair. It was a testament to how important the night was that Apollo merely batted Phoenix’s hand away. “Seriously, dad,” he mumbled. His scowl was clearly forced, however; he felt oddly warm that he was able to finally use that word at all.

“Subtle,” Phoenix remarked.

“Mm,” Edgeworth agreed. “I don’t suppose we should let their efforts, however misguided they may be, go to waste, should we?”

“You just want to know who else they roped into this ridiculous scheme of theirs.”

“Oh, because you don’t.”

“I,” Phoenix said, moving to the chilled champagne propped by the windowsill and popping its cork, “have a perfectly healthy level of curiosity. It does not involve wondering what’s going on in my kid’s head. Trucy is a teenager. That’s terrifying.” He carefully poured the sparkling drink into two glasses and offered one to Edgeworth.

“I find that somewhat difficult to believe,” Edgeworth said, striding forward and taking the proffered glass. He made certain their fingers did not brush. “Thank you.”

They waited until she had hastily bowed out of the room before turning their focus back to each other. “Miles, that’s why we came up with this arrangement in the first place,” Phoenix continued, nonplussed.

“Really?” Edgeworth carefully picked up his glass flute, trying to ignore the tremor he felt running through his hands. “I thought it was because we’d agreed to never see each other again.”

Phoenix’s heart clenched. “Not ‘we’, Miles,” he said slowly, spreading his hands on the tablecloth and feeling like if he missed a step here, he would risk something he couldn’t afford to lose again.

Edgeworth took a shaky draw of wine. “You know,” he said slowly, seemingly forcing himself to meet Phoenix’s eyes, “that part is unclear to me as well.”

“Oh, you don’t remember the day you packed?” Phoenix asked.

“No, I remember that day perfectly. Did I hurt you when I threw that - oh God, what was it -”

“It was Kamisar’s Modern Criminal Procedure. It left a dent in the wall from where it rebounded off my head.”

“Oh,” Edgeworth said, at least having the grace to look properly abashed. “Right. Sorry.”

Phoenix shrugged. “It’s not like I was making it that easy on you.

And....” Edgeworth trailed off, twisting a napkin between his fingers. “You didn’t chase after me.”

Phoenix felt (something) shift. “I didn’t know that you wanted me to.”

“A toast to -”

“Our children,” Edgeworth cut in. He ignored the tightening in his chest at the our.

“Our children,” Phoenix repeated slowly, as if the words didn’t quite match with what his mouth had wanted to say.

“We both got where we actually wanted to go.”

Phoenix’s eyes never wavered from his. “We did,” he said, voice strange.

They toasted again and finished their meal in silence.

“Apollo, what are you doing in those clothes? We’ve got a plane to catch.”

“We’re getting totally ripped off,” maybe-Trucy said. “Daddy said we’d get our camping trip and we want to go.”

“Wait, hang on,” Phoenix interrupted, “what camping trip?”

“The one Aunt Maya and I make you take us on every year before school starts,” almost-definitely-Trucy said. Phoenix began to lift his finger in triumph, sure he’d found his kid -

“ -the one behind the house that runs all the way up to Gourd Lake, remember when you fell in that one year,” I’m-not-too-sure-if-this-one-is-still-in-fact-Apollo finished.

Phoenix’s arm fell listlessly to his side. Edgeworth snorted.

Phoenix shot Edgeworth a look. Thanks for helping, one of these is yours. “This is entirely unfunny, you’re going to make your father miss his flight,” he said, shifting his attention back to the twins. Honestly, he was an Ivy University graduate and Miles was a world renowned defense attorney, how were they being duped by their own kids -

“Apollo -” Edgeworth began.

“Yes?” they both said in unison.

Edgeworth groaned. “They get this from you, I’m sure,” he said.

“It’s not my fault you’ve apparently been raising a devilishly deceptive teenager,” Phoenix quipped back, never taking his eyes off the twins. He could feel the beginnings of a migraine pound at the base of his neck. “He’s probably rubbed off on Trucy.”

The twins grinned.

Phoenix rubbed a hand over his eyes before stooping to their height once again. He stared hard at each of them, looking back and forth between their faces. “This one’s Trucy,” he said slowly, pointing a finger to the sibling in orange. “I’m positive.”

“You know, I hope you’re right, Daddy. You wouldn’t want to send the wrong kid all the way back to Germany - ”

“ - would you?”

How was any of this fair?

“Here’s our proposition. We go back to Daddy’s house, pack our stuff, and the four of us leave on the camping trip.”

“The four of us?” Edgeworth interjected. They ignored him.

“And when you bring us back,” maybe-Trucy-maybe-Apollo continued, “we’ll tell you who’s Trucy and who’s Apollo.”

“Or,” Edgeworth said, carefully stepping around and in front of Phoenix and crossing his arms firmly across his chest, tapping his finger rhythmically against his arm, “new plan. I take one of you back to Germany with me whether you like it or not.”

Two identical sets of eyes twinkled back at him.

(He felt a migraine beginning to pound in his left temple.)

“You can cook now?” Edgeworth asked.

“Oh yeah,” Phoenix said. “I can make pasta. And pasta. Probably more pasta, if you ask really nicely.”

“Hm,” Edgeworth said, eyebrows scrunched in mock thought, “pasta sounds good.”

Phoenix grinned, bumping Edgeworth’s shoulder. He was warm through the cotton. “Pasta it is.”

Edgeworth looked across the seat at Apollo. His glassy eyes reflected the flickering street lamps as the taxi sped down the empty street.

“Apollo, I -” he began, deflating as Apollo turned further away. It’s entirely justified, he thought despondently. I’d hate myself as well.

“Grandfather?” Apollo called, shrugging out of his heavy jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. The house was silent.

“I’ll check the study,” Edgeworth said, tugging his jabot loose. Apollo nodded and headed towards the direction of the kitchen, toeing off his shoes on the way. Pushing open the wide doors that led to the study, Edgeworth saw someone reading a paper at the desk. He cocked his hip against the door and crossed his arms. “Hello, father. We’re back.”

The newspaper lowered. It wasn’t Gregory.

“Hiya, papa,” Trucy said. The corners of her mouth were quirked despite her obvious attempts to reign in her expression. “Did you know the Concord gets you here in half the time?”

Edgeworth slipped against the doorframe. He felt the knob dig into his hip. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”

(Edgeworth was acutely aware of the doorknob digging into his hip from when he pressed against it. “I - yes, I’ve heard that.”)

Apollo walked into the room, drawn to the sound of voices. When he saw Trucy his face split into a blinding grin. “What are you doing here?”

Trucy neatly folded the newspaper on the desk and clasped her hands in front of her. “It took us about thirty seconds after you left that we decided we didn’t want to lose you two again,” she said, eyes crinkling.

Edgeworth swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “We?” he said, voice cracking.

“We,” a new voice agreed.

From the corner of his eye, Edgeworth noted Trucy moving to stand by the far wall of the study, giving the vaguest attempt of privacy. It didn’t matter. His eyes were trained on Phoenix, tracking his movement as he crossed the room.

Phoenix peppered his face in light kisses, smiling into the curve of his throat and pressing his lips to the thrumming heartbeat beneath his skin.

They eventually pulled back, desperate for air. Phoenix’s eyes crinkled - crow’s feet, Edgeworth thought wildly through his haze, he’s got crow’s feet now, I haven’t seen him this close up since - and he rested his forehead against Edgeworth’s.

“God, I’m never letting you go again,” he whispered, hands snaking around the other man’s back to pull him even closer.

“You want to toast with this? I’d have thought you might want to upgrade to something with a little more class.”

Phoenix smiled sloppily, pressing a chaste kiss to his temple. “You’re the only one I said I’d drink it with, remember?”

Edgeworth smiled back. He took the proffered bottle warmed by the weather and tugged his husband into a proper kiss, matching rings glinting in the dying sunlight.

#bluefaewren #replies #parent trap au #attempting to write tag

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voiceswithoutlips · 3 years

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Calico - Chapter One

— pairing: Hybrid ot7 x Human Reader (Female) — genre: hybrid AU , fluff, angst, slow burn (like real slow), eventual smut — word count: 1.8K — Rating: M — warnings: trauma, mention of past abuse.

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— chapter summary:

Y/N runs a animal shelter, Calico was built on a simple principle, to help those who were in need. What will Y/N do when her sanctuary is threatened by an unexpected hybrid?

— A/N: This is going to be a series, I’m just getting back to writing, so I’d really appreciate your input and feedback <3

Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 3.5 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6

“So do you like your new puppy?” I asked the little girl that was trying to hold a squirming golden retriever pup. She frantically nodded her head. How cute!

“Congratulations on the new addition to your family! We’ll send someone for an inspection soon but I don't see how there can be any problems,” I reassured the parents. They were proudly beaming at their daughter, I doubt they even heard what you said.

“I’m going to name him Bubbles!” Sana squeaked excitedly as the family left with their new pet. I suppressed a giggle, I was a sucker for cuteness.

Seeing one of our animals get adopted was the best feeling in the world. Running a shelter was not the easiest thing in the world, grumpy animals, grumpy humans and an abundance of body fluids to clean up but it was rewarding. Calico was a no-kill shelter, a privately owned animal shelter. The upside was that we didn’t have to rely on the government for funding, the downside was the paperwork. Every animal that came to the shelter had to be meticulously checked and catalogued.

The legalities were another headache. Most animals that came to Calico were rescues. We worked with several animal rights organizations that collected evidence and built cases against the owners. Sometimes we got rescues that weren’t exactly legal so we had to get the evidence and build the case ourselves. That’s why Calico had Song Hwa, a badass lawyer. She was just five feet tall but she could stare down men twice her size.

“One down, two to go,” Jason said as he plopped down on the couch in your office. He was the head veterinarian at Calico, overseeing the health of the animals. He was also my best friend.

“We have three potential families visiting tomorrow. How’s Hector doing?” I asked as I stretched in your chair.

“He’s good but I’m still against the name Hector. He looks more like a Raphael,” Jason said with a frown. Last week one of our animal handlers Shownu found a box near the shelter’s gate. There was a small turtle in it, the poor thing was injured. Jason had to amputate his left hind leg because it was infected.

“I’m not naming him after a mutant turtle. He’s a one legged turtle from the sea, he’s a pirate and nothing you say will change my mind,” I had named him after Hector Barbosa from Pirates of the Carribean movies after I won the rock paper scissors tournament against Jason.

“Dorks,” Hana scoffed from the corner. She was the one who dealt with the potential families, showing them around the shelter, doing background checks and whatnot. I was the one who sealed the deal and dealt with the paperwork. I was terrible at social niceties, somehow I always ended up saying the wrong thing and had the worst timing in the history of humanity.

Before Jason and I could retaliate Moonji burst through the door. “He’s back, Yonu is here,” he was breathless. He must’ve ran here all the way from the gates. Moonji was the other animal handler, he was a retired botanist with a wife and two daughters.

We all collectively sighed. Yonu was a proud member of Animal Liberation Front, an extremist group or as the government would like to call them “animal rights terrorists”. Once in a blue moon Yonu would drop by without a warning to drop off rescued lab animals, he had a thing against scientists. The problem was that they were illegally acquired so we had to lie on the paperwork. Every time Yonu visited Calico, it was a stress fest for everyone, well everyone except Yonu.

I reluctantly made my way to the exam room. Yonu was standing there bickering with Song Hwa with a box of rabbits.

“We are NOT taking in the rabbits unless you tell us where you got them!” Song Hwa put her foot down.

“It's classified,” Yonu said with a grin.

“Then take them back,” Song Hwa was staring daggers at him.

“Yonu, you know we need to clear the legal side of things,” I shook my head, he knew how things worked. Usually he would brag about his conquest, giving us in depth details about his adventures. Sometimes he brought back research and documents for evidence.Something didn’t sit right with me. Where did he get the rabbits? Why wouldn’t he tell us?

“Sorry sugar, can’t share the details this time,” I sighed at his nickname. One day Yonu discovered that I didn’t like sugar in my coffee and he decided to start calling me Sugar. He was one annoying bastard.

Jason was already weighing the rabbits and taking their temperature. No matter what methods Yonu used to ‘rescue’ the animals, we always took them in. Song Hwa always said I was too soft, she didn’t know how wrong she was.

There were seven rabbits in total. All white with long ears and pink noses. They were unusually small. “Yonu did you kidnap kittens?” I frowned as I leaned in to take a closer look.

“No they are all adult males,” Jason interjected. He was checking them one by one, taking their blood to run tests, checking their limbs for any injuries, it was a routine procedure.

“Aren’t they too small?” they were.

“Maybe they are like those toy poodles… toy bunnies?” Song Hwa suggested. It could be or maybe their growth was stunted. Either way, I didn’t like it, something was off about this, I just couldn’t put my finger on it.

Jason was running blood panels in the lab as I took over the paperwork. The rabbits were safely left in a hatch outside in the garden. Yonu had miraculously disappeared as soon as we turned our backs and I was starting to get a headache.

The rabbits barely showed any movement when they were being examined. They were practically limp in Jason’s hands. They had clearly been abused. I didn’t like the blank look in their eyes. Most of the time if the animal was scared it’d get defensive and lash out, it was a good sign, it meant that it still had its faculties. These rabbits didn’t make a squeak as they were moved to a new place, it was worrying. I just hoped they weren’t too far gone.

“We have a problem,” Jason said as soon as I entered the lab. He was sitting in front of the computer, double checking the results.

“This day just keeps getting better,” I murmured as I leaned in to see what he was looking at. Not that I could make any sense of it.

“One of the rabbits is a hybrid,” did I hear that right?

“Come again?” did he just say what I thought he said?

“We have a hybrid in our hatch,” my heart sank.

The presence of a hybrid posed a threat to Calico. Not because he was dangerous, but because he was stolen. The laws regarding hybrids were still primitive in most countries. They were basically slaves to the system, regarded as sub-human. Hybrids were considered as property, something to be owned. Rare animal hybrids were highly sought after by the wealthy to show off their status. So technically the rabbit hybrid in our hatch belonged to someone, we had no right to keep him here. If his owner found out, they would sue us. If the government found that we were keeping a stolen hybrid they’d shut us down.

“Let’s just send him to a hybrid shelter,” Shownu huffed. The staff was gathered in your office for an emergency meeting.

“Most of those shelters have terrible conditions. Why not just keep him here, we have license to house hybrids, it's not that big of a deal,” Jason said.

“Might I remind you that he is stolen. We can’t keep him here, we have a shelter inspection next week,” Song Hwa frowned.

Few months ago we had decided to expand Calico to accommodate hybrids too, we had enough room to do so. We had constructed a hybrid “enclosure” as per the government guidelines. They had sent us the requirements. … they wanted us to put people in cages. We all collectively agreed that no hybrid will ever be housed in that place. No matter what anyone said, they were still human.

“We can’t just abandon him, who knows what those lab people did to him,” Hana retaliated and an argument broke out. I knew they loved this place, they all wanted what’s good for the shelter. This wasn’t this first time we had to lie but having a hybrid was different. None of us had ever dealt with a hybrid before, even if we decided to keep him, what then? But I knew I couldn’t hand him over. Calico was built on a simple principle, to help those who were in need. And that rabbit hybrid needed our help.

“Enough. We took in the animals that Yonu had brought before because they needed help. We’ve lied on the documents and it’s no different this time. That hybrid needs our help, we just need to come up with a plan,” I passed the verdict. Not everyone liked it but I knew they’d never let me down.

After the stressful day all I wanted to do was curl up on the couch with Jason and watch TV. Our house was on the edge of the property, secluded in the forest. It was a country cottage with a private garden. YouI stopped by the rabbit hatch on my way back. The poor bunnies were all squished together in a corner, scared of the new environment and the open space outside.

I couldn’t tell which one was the hybrid as I leaned in to take a look. Looking for him was no use. Maybe talking would work. I sat down beside the hatch with a sigh.

“I know you’re there,” I said quietly. “It must’ve been scary huh? Being taken from the lab. Yonu, the man who brought you here, he’s a good person. He only wanted to help. His methods aren’t always ….well savory but his heart was in the right place. Do you know what this place is? It's called Calico, it's a shelter for animals. We take care of animals who need help and find them a new home.

“This is my sanctuary. Nobody will hurt you here. You don’t have to be scared. You are safe here, I’m going to keep you safe, okay?” One of the rabbits was looking at me, he quickly ducked his head as he caught my gaze. I smiled, he was listening.

“You must be hungry huh? Rabbits only get veggies and greens, don’t you want to eat pizza, and ice cream, and pancakes, maybe some sashimi…” I rambled on about food, about Calico and the staff, inside the hatch a bunny was listening intently to my stories.

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20moonchild21 · 3 years

Text

𝗦𝗲𝗵𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵𝘁 [𝗯𝘁𝘀]

⇉ 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 8

[pairings]

JK x female!oc, Bunny!JK x human!female!oc, Jin x female!oc, Leopard!Jin x human!female!oc, Jimin x female!oc, white Tiger!Jimin x human!female!oc, Taehyung x female!oc, black Tiger!Taehyung x human!female!oc, JK x Jin x Jimin x Taehyung x female!oc

[warnings]

Mentioned of an abusive past, mistrust, threatments, hardcore fluff

[words]

4.2k

[author]

Hey there, I hope you have had an amazing week so far! I am so excited to upload this chapter, because it has some really cute scenes. I am also sorry for making Tae so grumpy all the time. We all know that he is a real sweetheart💜

Below this chapter, I linked all my favorite authors that inspired me to write this story. My personal favorite is Inferiority complex written by @starlightauroras-writes. Please, check out her story and leave a lot of likes. She is the cutest!

Also, leave me a few likes or comments, if you liked this chapter or if you have any wishes or recommendations for me. You can also feel free to reblog, it makes me happy!

Stay healthy and safe!

Mꨄ

[chapter 7 ||| chapter 9]

„Jungkook, stop worrying.” The older boy said, as he watched his brother hitting his punching bag hard. “She said that she had much to do in the city. She will be okay.”

The younger one didn’t listen to his brother. He just kept punching his bag harder and harder, letting out all his frustration and worries. The girl had been gone for more than 3 hours, even thought she had said that she would be back within 2 hours.

It wasn’t that Jin wasn’t worried as well, but he tried to stay optimistic. Maybe there was terrible traffic in New York, or she met an old friend with who she had decided to drink a coffee. Jungkook was the complete opposite. He had walked up and down in front of the front door for 30 minutes, and Jin had to stop him when he had wanted to go out and look for her.

“What if – something happened – “ Jungkook hit his fists against the sack hard with each word. “What if – she is – hurt – or if – she needs – help?”

He threw one last punch in frustration and turned around to his brother, sitting down on the bed next to him. He pulled open the Velcro fasteners with his mouth and pushed them off of his hands, throwing them onto the floor.

“Don’t worry, Kook.” Jin tried to cheer him up by wrapping his arms around his younger brother, pulling both of them down on the bed. “She will be coming home soon.”

“Home.” Jungkook mumbled to himself, before he suddenly turned his head. “I am happy, Hyung.”

Jin smiled when he heard those words. This was everything he had ever wanted for this young boy.

“Me too, Kook.” He whispered, closing his eyes.

This was the first time, he actually admitted that he was happy to live with the girl. In the beginning, he tried to find something on her that would proof his opinion on human, but he couldn’t. Over all those days he had spent here, he had gained more and more trust in the girl. Hope had been nothing but nice to is brother and him, and never in his life had he felt such a warmth and luck. It was not only that the apartment itself felt warm, but also the girl’s whole personality. It was the way how she smiled and laughed, or how she listened to every detail she got told by him or Jungkook.

While the two boys kept talking on the bed for several minutes, when suddenly, the familiar clicking of the front door could be heard.

“See Jungkook. I told you that –“ Something was odd when he sniffed the air, Jungkook smelled it too.

Normally, the girl’s scent would fill out the apartment when she would return home. It was one of his favourite things to smell, because her scent always was so much stronger when she entered the apartment form outside. But this time, it wasn’t just her scent filling the space. There was someone else, and he didn’t like that this someone was another male Hybrid. Immediately, a strange feeling started spreading in his chest.

Jungkook beside him had smelled it, too. The younger one had shot up from the bed and was already running out of the room, over into the living room. Jin quickly followed after him. He didn’t know would expect him in the living room.

“What the –“ He heard Jungkook cursing, as he run up next to him.

In the middle of the living room, right were the sofa was placed, was Hope kneeling next to another male Hybrid. He had a really annoyed expression on his face, while he was holding his bandaged arm in front of his chest. On his other side stood a second Hybrid, but in contrary to the sitting male, he looked rather scared than dangerous. His white, fluffy ears were tightly pressed against his dark hair, while his striped tail was wrapped around his leg and his with his fingers he fiddled with the hem of his shirt

From on to the other second, Jin felt something snap inside of him. This apartment, even if he had only been living here for one and a half week, was his territory. The furniture were covered in his scent, that spot the grumpy Hybrid was sitting on was his spot, and the girl that was touching him belonged to his territory, as well as Jungkook of course.

By now, the Hybrid on the sofa had also noticed the two others. With an enormous speed, he pushed the shy looking male behind him, before he laid his black ears flat against his head, showing off his sharp fangs and growling loudly at him and Jungkook. Almost at the same time, Jin had pushed the bunny behind him, showing off his slightly smaller but not less sharp fangs as well.

“Hey, hey, hey.” The girl pushed herself off of the sofa, slowly walking up in Jin’s direction. “Jin, stop it. He is hurt. We need to help him.”

“Go away from them, Hope.” Jin quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her carefully away from the other two intruders. “They are dangerous.”

“No, they are not dangerous, Jin.” She squirmed out of his grip. “Please, stop growling at them. They are scared and injured.”

Jin looked from the girl over to the other two males. “Tae, stop.” He heard the smaller Hybrid whispering, as he laid his hands on the other one’s shoulders. The leopard was torn. On the one hand, he knew how it felt to be hurt and scared, but on the other hand, the one with the black ears looked dangerous, and he wanted to avoid that Hope or Jungkook would get hurt.

“I don’t trust them.” He whispered, not moving his eyes away from the males on the sofa.

“Me neither.” Jungkook piped in from behind.

“But you didn’t trust me either when I first took you in.” She took a step back to look both brothers into the eyes. “Jin, you wished for someone that would help Jungkook and keep him safe, and Jimin wants nothing more than for his brother to be healthy again. Please, let me help them.”

The two Hybrids weren’t convinced at all. They watched from a safe distance, but still close enough to step in if the grumpy one decided to hurt her, how Hope took of the bandage and carefully cleaned up the infected wound. Jin’s eyes fell on the smaller Hybrid – Jimin was his name – and somehow, he saw himself and Jungkook in them. He remembered how scared Jungkook was about him, as he had laid on that couch, covered in injures. Jimin was holding his brother’s hand tightly, and every time the other one would hiss in pain, Jin could see Jimin’s eyes tearing up.

“All done.” Hope said after about 10 minutes. She tossed all the utensils she had used away. “The infection should be gone within the next week, but only if we changed the bandage regularly. Will you wait a few minutes? I just want to speak with those two for a second.”

She walked over from the sofa and gestured for her two Hybrids to follow her into their room. Jin felt her heartbeat, as she closed the door behind her, turning around and looking at them with wide eyes.

“Hope, I don’t like them.” Jungkook didn’t even let her a second to open her mouth. “I don’t want them here. The one of them growled at you.”

“I know, Kookie.” She whispered, as she took his hand. “I know that you don’t like them staying here, and if you really don’t want this then I will not let them stay here. This is your apartment as well now. But I am begging you to just let them spend the night here. It is so cold outside.”

The girl had tears in her eyes as she talked about the two Hybrids. It was obvious that she didn’t want to kick them out at all, and that she really cared about their safety. Jin’s ears dropped when he imagined him and Jungkook in their position. What if Jungkook was laying there on the sofa, hurt and injured, and what if those two were telling Hope that they couldn’t stay?

How could he say that she had to throw them out, when Jungkook and him could be in their position?

“They will stay with us.” He said loudly, and suddenly the room fell in silence.

“What?!” Jungkook was clearly irritated by his brother’s sudden statement. “Hyung, are you crazy? They can’t stay with us. They don’t belong here with us and –“

“We didn’t belong her either, Jungkook.” Jin wasn’t screaming, but his voice was stern enough to make the bunny stop talking. “And yet, she let us stay. She didn’t throw us out when I laid there on her sofa, even though she had all right to. Show some respect, Jungkook. That could also be us.”

The bunny didn’t say anything. He just dropped his ear and nodded, whispering a quiet ‘sorry.’

“It’s okay, Kookie. I know that you are scared.” The girl took a step forward and wrapped her arms around Jungkook’s torso, he immediately hugged her back. “I am scared, too.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” Jimin bowed his head a thousand times, when the girl told him that him and his brother could stay with her until Taehyung was healthy again. “We won’t make any mess here. We will just keep sitting here.”

He had seen the way his brother’s condition had been going worse over the past days, and there was nothing he could have done to make him feel better. He also never meant to hurt the girl or to rob her, but he had been desperately trying to find something for his brother to eat, and when he had smelled the girl he hoped that she had something to eat in her purse.

But instead of beating him up or call someone who would do so, she had defended him in front of that other man earlier, and she had offered her help to make his brother feel better. His eyes fell on Taehyung, who was sitting on the soft sofa inside the girl’s house, pulling a face as if he was about to burst.

He knew his brother’s opinion on human and everything that was connected to them. He didn’t want to have to do anything with them at all, and Jimin really hoped that he would have his temper under control, because the girl was the only chance that Taehyung would get healthy again.

It also didn’t help that there were already two Hybrids living here with the human girl, because that only made them feel more uncomfortable to be here in their territory. He had smelled from the first step inside that the girl’s house was already marked by two other Hybrids. Their scents were all over the house: On the soft sofa, in the air an even at the girl, as she had pulled off her jacket.

“I want to leave.” He suddenly heard Taehyung growling under his breath, as he turned his head towards Jimin. “It smells like human here.”

“That’s because a human is living here, Tae.” Jimin chuckled slightly, as he squeezed his brother’s hand harder. “But please, they let us stay here until you are fine again. Let’s not mess this up, okay?”

Tae’s nose trails got wide, before he beathed out hardly and turned his head back to look at the wall. Jimin sighed. He knew that Tae was secretly thankful that they both had a safe place to sleep tonight. Tae cared deeply about him, he knew it. That was the reason why he acted that way.

Jimin moved his eyes away from his brother, just to meet two pressed together, angry looking eyes from the other corner of the room. While the older Hybrid had followed the girl into the kitchen, the bunny had sat down at the table, staring intimidatingly at him and his brother. Though bunnies usually didn’t have sharp teeth or even fangs, that boy definitely had some muscles, and in comparison to him he also was much taller.

He really seemed to be protective about that girl and the leopard Hybrid. Jimin wondered in what relation the three of them were in. Normally, he would expect humans to be dominate and aggressive towards Hybrids, but the both of them seemed to be free in what they were doing.

He watched the girl in the kitchen how she talked with the older boy quietly. She didn’t look like a person that was angry or abusive all the time. She rather looked really kind with her soft voice and her big, brown eyes.

“Don’t look at her like that.” He suddenly heard the voice of the bunny growling in his direction.

A slight shade of red spread over Jimin’s cheeks, as he quickly nodded and turned his head away. The last thing he wated right now was to start a fight. Tae had hear the bunny’s growl, too. He had turned his head into the other Hybrid’s direction and was now baring his teeth at him. Before Jimin had the chance to tell his brother to stop, the girl and the older boy were coming back from the kitchen.

“Jungkook, don’t growl at them. That’s not nice.” She said, as she pressed a quick kiss onto the bunny’s head, before she turned around. “Jimin, Taehyung, do you want to see your room? It’s just down the hallway.”

She pointed her finger down the corridor, as she gestured for them to follow her. Jimin’s eyes flickered to the older boy, who was now standing next to Jungkook, as the girl had called him. Somehow, the white tiger felt like he could trust him the most. He looked kind and respectful at him, not like Jungkook who seemed to stap him and his brother with his gaze. When Jimin’s eyes met Jin’s, the older one gave him small nod, encouraging him to follow the girl.

“Come on, Tae.” Jimin whispered towards his brother, as he tried to pull him up from the sofa.

Tae growled slightly, but eventually he took his brother’s hand and walked up behind him. Jimin tried to keep as much distance at Jungkook as possible when they passed him, not wanting to provoke him in some way. The hallway they were walking in was simply but inviting, with it’s white walls and brown floor. On either side were two doors and also at the end was another door. He wondered in which rooms all those doors would lead to.

“You can sleep in here.” The girl had stopped at the end of the hallway, pushing open the last door on the right side. “I don’t think you mind sharing with each other, do you?”

Jimin quickly nodded his head, pulling Taehyung after him and down the hallway until they reached the girl. The girl gestured for them to enter the room, and when Jimin was about to step in, he quickly bowed his head and thanked the girl again.

“This is your room.” She said calmy, not entering the room but staying in the doorway. “You can rest in here. It is safe. If you need anything, my room is just next to yours. The bathroom is behind the last door on the right side. You are free to go anywhere you like and anytime you like. Just – just don’t break anything, okay?”

She didn’t say anything else, she just turned around and closed the door carefully behind her.

“Who does this bunny think he is?” Tae said as soon as the door was closed. “Talking to you like that. He is lucky that I am injured or else he –“

“He did the same thing you are doing right now, Tae.” Jimin carefully let his fingers slide over the wooden drawer. “He just wanted to protect her.”

“Protect a human. Pah.” Tae hissed behind the white tiger. “This is the best joke I’ve heard so far. They don’t need protection, they bad creatures.”

Jimin looked around the room. It was decorated decent but lovely. On the left side, were placed a small drawer and a table, while on the right side he spotted a large king-sized bed, on which the both of them would definitely would fit together. The lamp hanging from the ceiling spread a warm, yellow light all over the room.

“I don’t know Tae.” Jimin whispered, as he carefully sat down on the soft duvet. “She is so small. How could she hurt someone. Plus, she gave us our own room and a bed to sleep in. Maybe she isn’t like other human. Maybe she is nice.”

“Jimin, listen to me.” Taehyung walked up towards his older brother with fast steps, before he kneeled down in front of him, looking deeply into his eyes. “Human aren’t nice. We need to be careful as long as we stay here. Human will never change. They will always be bad.”

Hope came back after Jungkook had literally force her to take a shower, washing away all of Taehyung’s scent that had stuck to her while she had threatened his injuries. She quickly left the bathroom and made her way back towards the living room, that was already filled with the delicious smell of whatever he was cooking. Jin was a really talented when it came to cooking.

When she set one step into the living room, Jungkook shot up from the sofa he was trying to re-cover with his scent. His floppy ears bounced up and down with each step he took, while his nose was already sniffing up in the air. When he reached the girl, he grabbed her shoulders, before sniffing her up and down, which caused a shade of red over her cheeks.

“Better?” She whispered and he immediately nodded his head, before he suddenly pulled the small girl into his arms. “Jungkook, you are not trying to cover me in you scent, aren’t you?”

“No.” He mumbled back, squeezing her a little bit tighter. “Just a tiny little bit.”

The girl chuckled at his words. She was glad that Jungkook wasn’t afraid to touch her anymore. He would hug her in the mornings and before bedtime, or sometimes when she would leave the house.

“Jungkook! Let go of Hope and help me set the table.” Jin had sticked his head out of the kitchen, waving with a wooden spoon in his hand.

The bunny pouted but listened to his older brother, waddling up into the kitchen while he kept muttering something under his breath. For a moment, Hope thought about the other two guests in her apartment. Should she actually ask them to join them for dinner? She didn’t know when there

was the last time the both of them had a proper meal, but then, she didn’t want to upset Jungkook more by just allowing them to sit on the table. Of course, it was her apartment, but she also wanted to respect that Jungkook and Jin were now living here as well. She didn’t want them to feel uncomfortable at their first day of officially living here.

Her head shot around. With all the trouble she had completely forgotten about the adoption paper that were still laying in her purse, as well as Jin’s note book. She walked over to the front door, where her purse was laying on the ground. She quickly pulled out the map that she had laid the papers in, before she made her way over to the kitchen. Jin was just about to turn off the stoven, while a grumpy Jungkook stood next to him.

“Boys.” She said happily, as she still his the papers behind her back. Both boys turned her attention towards the small girl. “I never got the chance to show you these.”

She pulled out the papers and held them in front of her chest. It took both Hybrids to actually arrive in the situation, but once they did, Jungkook sprinted forward and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you so much.” He whispered into her hair, before he let go, still smiling proudly.

Jin still wasn’t in the place to show her much physical affection, but she didn’t mind though. He bowed his head slightly, before grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. It was a first step into the right direction.

“I just want to prepare something small to eat for Jimin and Taehyung.” She announced, as the boys were about to sat down on the table. Jungkook had already opened his mouth, he kept shut when he caught Jin’s look. “They must be hungry.”

She quickly prepared some sandwiches which she placed on a small tray, before she added two water bottles and made her way over to the room she had placed the both Hybrids in. She slightly knocked her elbow against the door and waited until it was opened by Jimin. The tiger looked really confused, as he watched the girl holding the tray with food.

“I made you some sandwiches.” She lifted the tray a few inches. “You need something in your stomach.”

“Thank you very much, Miss.” Jimin bowed his head a few times, before he carefully took the tray out of the girl’s hands.

“We have never introduce ourselves properly. You can just call me Hope and this –“ She turned herself and pointed down the hallway, where Jungkook and Jin were still standing by the dining table. “This are Jungkook and Jin. If you need anything else, let me know, okay?”

Jimin quickly nodded again, before Hope and the boys left them alone in their room.

When the sun had set later that day, the night air was bright and clear that evening. Hope took a last deep breath, before she finally closed the window and made her way over to her bed. She wanted to be asleep a long time ago, but the star sparkled sky looked too amazing to not watch it for hours.

She sighed when the events of the day played along her head. How did she end up with taking in 4 Hybrids at the same time? She didn’t know. Since Jungkook had stumbled into her life, her life became a complete mess. But not only in a bad way.

A quite shuffling in front of her door caught her attention. The boys had said their goodnights a few hours ago, and she doubt that Jimin or Taehyung were strolling around her apartment at night. Carefully, stood up and made her way over to the door, where she pressed her ear against the wood. Indeed, someone was shuffling around in front of her door.

“Jungkook?” She whispered into the darkness, as she spotted the bunny sitting on the ground in front of her door, his duvet was wrapped around his body. “What are you doing?”

When Jungkook had noticed the girl, he quickly shot up from the ground. He rubbed his eyes, before his eyes flickered from the girl over to the door where the other two Hybrids were staying in.

“I –“ He started whispering, before he began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “I wanted to watch your door, because – because I don’t trust them. What if they try to hurt you while you were sleeping, or if they –“

“Jungkook.” The chuckled slightly, as she stepped forward and cupped his face with both of her hands. “No one wants to hurt me. Go back to bed, you look so tired.”

The bunny closed his eyes and rubbed his face against the girl’s hands, slightly humming as her soft fingers slide over his skin. She could tell from a distance of 10 miles that he was about to fall asleep every second.

“But I need to guard your door, though.” He mumbled against her fingers, before he yawned loudly. “I need to protect you.”

If he wasn’t so damn cute with his soft, floppy ears and his cheeks that were squeezed together by her hands, he would had hosed him away by now. But instead, she carefully slide her thumbs over the soft skin of his face, before she dropped her arms and grabbed his large hand.

“Come on, Kookie.” She carefully pulled him inside her room, while he was more waddling than walking with that thick blanket that was still wrapped around his body and his pillow squeezed under his arm. “If it makes you sleep better, you can sleep in my bed tonight. It’s big enough for the both of us.”

Jungkook didn’t put up any fight at all. He just waddled behind her until he reached the bed, before he let himself just fall forward onto the soft fabric. She watched him, as he took a deep breath of the soft fabric, before he pushed himself further up towards the headboard. He slide the pillow under his head and within seconds she could hear slightly snores leaving his parted lips.

She made herself comfortable on her side of the bed, before she leaned over and gave the bunny a last kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, Kookie.”

[taglist]

@lindsayjoy444 (I couldn’t find you, I am so sorry 🥺) @captainlanguage

[recommendations | inspirations]

@wishesunderthestars

@agustdakasuga

@ditttiii

@angelicyoongie

@starlightauroras-writes

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mister-supernova · 4 years

Text

This Isn’t Goodbye

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson x Reader

No one expected today to escalate the way it did. The Salvatore School had its fair share of chaos this entire year, and having a group of grown adults barge onto school grounds with guns and bark orders while treating supernatural kids like the scum of the Earth surprisingly wasn’t the worst thing that was going to happen to you today.

Without the ability to access your powers, none of the students could defend themselves and there was no one else around to protect any of you. The members of the triad were ruthless and especially dangerous with their Malivore mud bullets that could poison any student who crossed the line.

Unfortunately, you and Josie bit the end of one of those bullets. It wasn’t even supposed to hit you, but a shard managed to bounce off the floor and dig into your leg.

At first, you didn’t know you were hit until you could feel your energy escaping you with every minute that passed. You thought that maybe you were just dehydrated, then you looked down and noticed the blood seeping through your jeans--your blood.

Part of you didn’t know how you were able to stay on your feet while you, Hope, Lizzie, and Jo were forced to go into the werewolf holding cells in the basement. Lizzie was tending to Josie on one side of the cell on a cot while you and Hope were sat up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“You’re going to be okay, Y/n. I swear. Once we find a way to figure out what’s blocking our magic, we’ll get that out of you as quickly as possible.” Hope says, her voice wavering ever so slightly. It made you smile, hearing the big, brave, tribrid worry for you.

When you first met Hope, you weren’t sure that she had any interest in you once so ever. She was the mysterious, martyr-complex heroine trying to find her purpose in the world. She never let herself get too close to anyone because of her fear of losing them.

Like MG, you were Dr. Saltzman’s student assistant when it came to taming the out of control werewolves of the school, so you saw Hope more often than the other students did. It was probably two years ago--about a year after meeting Hope--that you guys spoke more than three words to each other.

You made yourself comfortable around Hope fairly quickly after becoming friends. She would never say that you two became friends so fast, but you believe otherwise.

Unlike the many other students who tried befriending Hope and ended up backing down on her due to the fact that she was very stubborn, you never gave up on her.

Instead, you continued to be your usual goofball self around her. You’d tell her one terrible joke every day and even though she acted like she loathed it, she always looked forward to hearing them.

Sometimes you would catch her sitting alone at one of the tables in the library either reading for one of your classes or studying for an exam. You’d pull up a chair and sit right beside her, nearly talking her ear off for half an hour while she pretended not to listen when really she was taking in every detail. You knew this because you’d notice her smile softly from behind her book.

The two of you grew close, but you never expected yourself to develop feelings for Hope that were deeper than friendship. You believe they started when she let herself really smile and laugh at your dumb jokes. Something about the way her eyes crinkled when she was really happy made your heart grow three sizes.

You’ve made it a point throughout your friendship to tease Hope anytime you saw her show concern for you and your friends.

“Is this the Hope Mikaelson worrying about someone?” Your voice was already starting to sound groggy and you could feel the poison spreading up your body at a painfully slow pace, “You sure you weren’t shot, too?” You ask, feeling her head with the back of your hand which she quickly removes with her own, “You’re cute when you’re worried, Mikaelson.”

“I can’t believe you're making a joke of this right now.” She tells you, not letting go of your hand.

“Sorry. Would you prefer that I act out the excruciating pain this Malivore bullet is making me feel, instead? I could also make a list of every body part that feels like it’s on fire if you have the time.” The serious look in her eyes only made you smile more. You never let your sense of humor falter, even in your possible last moments.

“Why do you always do that?” Hope wonders with a half-hearted chuckle as she shakes her head at you.

“Do what? Be unbelievably hilarious even though I’m on my way to my impending doom?” You hush your voice as low as possible so that Lizzie and Josie couldn’t hear you from the other side of the cell. As much as you enjoyed making a joke of this situation, you weren’t sure the twins would feel the same way.

“You just smile and act like everything is okay. Like you aren’t in any pain.”

You in fact were in the worst pain of your life, but the last thing you were going to do was let her see that. The infection of the bullet had made its way to your lower back at this point and it felt worse than any other sort of pain you’d ever felt prior to this moment.

Seriously, you’d rather shift into your werewolf form for the rest of the day than feel this bullet destroying you from the inside out.

“Well, maybe--let’s say this situation goes sour and we can’t figure out how to get the evil mud out of my body--I don’t want you to see me in absolute agony and I don’t want that to be the last thing you remember about me.”

Hope squeezes your hand, not even wanting to imagine how you must be feeling right now.

You squeeze hers back, “But I know with you here, I’ll be okay no matter what happens.”

Tears began to fill the bottom of her eyelids, making the usual spark in her blue eyes--that you also started to fall for--go dull. Seeing her on the verge of crying caused your smile to fade.

She had lost so many people she cared about because of her and she didn’t want you to be the next. The thought of that hadn’t crossed your mind until now.

“Hope, it’s going to be okay.” You tell her with the most assurance you could. You knew that the chances of you surviving this weren’t certain, but the last thing you wanted to see was Hope cry. The sight of that would be more painful than the bullet.

She nods silently before leaning her forehead against your shoulder and squeezing your hand with all the strength she could muster. You squeezed back, assuring her that you still had a good amount of your own strength left.

Then you pressed a kiss to the top of Hope’s head, “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper into her hair, “There isn’t anyone else I want listening to my stupid rants and laughing at my dumb jokes. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone else would.”

A small chuckle manages to escape the tribrid and when she looks back up at you, you can’t tell if she thinks you're the biggest idiot in the world or the greatest person to exist. You decided to go with the second one judging by the faint smile she was giving you.

It wasn’t until a few seconds passed that you realized how close her face was to yours. Her nose could practically touch yours if you were to slightly rotate your head to the right.

Super hearing or not, you were sure that everyone in the cell could hear how fast your heart was beating right now and it wasn’t because of the Malivore bullet.

You glanced down at her lips for less than a second and that was all you needed to do to know that you really wanted to kiss Hope Mikaelson. It wasn’t like you haven’t wanted to in the past, but in this moment you thought that this could be your last chance.

“Hope, I-”

The moment vanished at the sound of a familiar vampire running towards your cell--MG. Josie remained on the bed while you, Lizzie and Hope talked with him from behind the bars that he had now unlocked.

After being caught up on how his mother is an agent working for Triad and that there’s a terrifying bloody skull sculpture in the school tunnels that’s blocking off the witches’ magic, you looked over at Hope.

“Looks like that’s your cue,” she looks at you and Josie, who is looking a lot paler than earlier, “The school needs you and so does Landon. Go be a hero, Mikaelson.”

Hope gives you one last awed smile before taking a confident step towards you and gently pulling your neck down to meet her lips with yours. To catch yourself from falling forward in surprise, your hands find her waist and you let out a content sigh.

For a moment, the pain from the Malivore bullet was long forgotten and all you had to focus on was the beautiful woman in front of you. You couldn’t care less that Lizzie, Josie, and MG were witnessing your first kiss with the tribrid. In your mind, they weren’t even there. For all you knew, it was just you and Hope in the world.

The kiss didn’t last nearly as long as you wanted it to, but given that some of you were in a life or death situation, you thought maybe it was for the best. When Hope pulled away, she leaned her forehead against yours while her fingers still traced along the back of your neck.

“Now, you really better come back.” You say breathlessly, feeling another smile grow on your face.

“You better be here when I do,” she whispers with a hint of seriousness in her voice.

“Will I get another one of those if I am?”

She smiles, taking a small step away from you, “We’ll see.”

this is my first time posting an imagine like this, so i hope you guys like it ;) i’m making this a little mini series (idk how many parts yet) but part 2 will be coming very soon!

#hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson imagine #hope mikaelson x reader #legacies imagine #legacies #legacies cw

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sugoi-writes · 4 years

Note

Hope you're having a lovely day!! If its not too much, how do you think Fatgum, and Hawks would react to their s/o that has wings ( angel wings 😳) that got torn off in battle? Mm angst 🤩

OHM-- AGH?? OUCH??? Absolutely (also yeah the day has been good! Thank you so much! Safe from Hurricane Sally at least!)

Tw: Violence, body horror, gore... y e ah (slight yandere*?)

Premise: You were pinned to the ground, breathing ragged from your attempts to get free. There was a foot to the base of your spine, just beneath your ethereal wings.

You were going feral, your arms pulled behind your back to further hinder you as you thrashed violently. You were terrified, and praying for any help. And with one swift tug and a press of the heel… CRACK.

Your wings were dislocated violently, leaving you unable to fly, even if you could. You screamed in agony as your vision turned hazy from the pain. You struggled in vain, afraid of what would happen next. And as soon as it had started, your pain quadrupled.

A clean edged katana cut through your wings, right at the compromised base. You were now a flightless hero.... and this terrified you. Your screaming fell on deaf ears as you let out a slew of curses and pleas. This wasn’t real, right? You were dreaming, RIGHT?

Fatgum

The moment he heard you scream, he was on the verge of losing self control. He tripled his pace, but his speed is still TERRIBLE. He hustled anyway, praying that you could walk this off, whatever injury you had.

He heard your second scream, and immediately knew something was terribly wrong. He called for you by your hero’s name, and rounded the corner. And there you were... a broken, wingless hero.

If your wings weren’t severed, the look of you, folded on the ground weakly would have been almost beautiful. But this... this was something that brought along a feeling of fury and absolute horror.

How could this happen? How could he let this happen?

It didn’t take you long to black out from the pain, the sounds of Fatgum’s frenzied shouting filling your senses. You came in and out of consciousness, and feeling your body shift around before being lifted. No doubt, your wings were tenderly taken off of you, before you were gently draped over Fatgum’s shoulder (as to avoid touching your wounds).

By the time you wake up, you’re in a hospital, and you have the urge to stretch.

As you stretch your legs, straining as your toes popped from curling, but suddenly you wince in pain. You can’t stretch your back, let alone your... your...

Your eyes widen in realization, as you’re unable to feel your wings. You start to shake, your breath picking up. However, before you let your tears fall, you feel a hand rest on your shoulder,” Please... don’t move around too much. You need to rest.”

You look to see Taishiro next to you, in between his slim and fat form. By the number of takeout boxes, beer bottles, and snack wrappers... you could tell he was stress eating. You asked how long you’d been out, and you pale when he bites his lip.

“About... 3 days. They really did a number on you... and me, but... I’m not nearly as bad off.” You notice one of Taishiro’s arms are in a sling, and you want to throw yourself onto him, hugging him close. You know that with him being in this weaker form, with a broken arm... this was something that probably drove your partner crazy.

“Tai... I’m so sorry...”

Fatgum smiles sadly, cupping your cheek,” I should be the one to apologize to you... maybe... maybe if I had made it to you in time, I could have stopped this. Maybe... you could’ve... had your wings, still...”

You glance away, shaking your head,” This isn’t your fault... I rushed in without you, and... well, I faced the consequences.” You see Taishiro tense up at your words, and he immediately pulls you in for a hug, shuddering.

” D-Don’t... angel, don’t you ever blame yourself for this... Heroes like you and me know the dangers associated with our work, but... this... this wasn’t a rookie mistake. You were doing your job, and you actually managed to wear this asshole out. This... that villain was powerful. He could take out anyone if he tried... we were lucky to have subdued him... The fact that you lasted as long as you did, before I got there... it’s a miracle. I really... could have lost you...’you know that?”

Fatgum would continue to hold you, nearly crumbling as he recounts how scared he was when he found you, and how hard everyone fought to save you. It turns out you got a pretty horrible infection from your wound, and that was why you were out for as long as you were. You could have died in the fight, AND outside of it.

You had no idea... and, you were equally upset, knowing that Taishiro risked his ass to save you. But, you could hardly scold him, as he did save your life.

You both unload and unpack a lot from what happened that day, and end up in a pile of discarded chip bags and blankets. Fatgum would lay his head in your lap as you stroked his hair, since he couldn’t immediately cuddle you (even in his skinnier form).

There were tears and reflection. Confessions and promises. Fatgum still feels guilty, but you were able to help him understand that this wasn’t on him. He is grateful that you are alive, and promises to do whatever he can to help you physically and mentally recover.

And of course, you take FG’s word for it, as you’ll need all the support you could get to feel even a little bit normal again.

Hawks

On the scene, the both of you are doing a major number on the BBEG, until he gets a hold of you. He had managed to incapacitate Hawks, knocking him out momentarily as he did the unthinkable to you. As he came back to, he awoke to the sounds of your wails and curses. He can’t believe what he’s hearing.

And he goes. Absolutely. Ballistic.

He immediately turns ever single feather on his body into a sharp, pristine blade, and shows zero mercy. He had full intentions of taking this villain in, and having him reflect in jail for his crimes... but it was past the point of no return.

As you lay on the ground, your pleas for Keigo to stop fall on deaf ears. He was absolutely feral, and would not let this man walk away.

Once others arrived on the scene, you had immediately been picked up and rushed to the hospital. Hawks was still on the scene, blood splattering his hero’s uniform as his legs bounced, and his wings bowed up uncontrollably. He was shaking. He was absolutely blindsided by rage... but he knew that he needed to give a statement, and face his punishment for what he did to the villain. Murder is still murder.

When you do come to (suffering from the aforementioned infection), you didn’t see Hawks at first. This puzzled you, as you knew he was the one who saved you. Then, the weight of the situation hit you like a ton of bricks. When a doctor walks in to check on you, you gently ask about Hawks as you still reel from your new reality.

Luckily, the hero only get a firm slap on the wrist, and is currently on house arrest. He would have to take some training/classes to better process what he had done, and to manage the stress from the encounter... but he had no idea that you still did not have your wings. He had prayed that there was a chance they could be reattached.

When you facetimed him later, his heart shattered at the sight of you, without your beautiful wings. He would almost cover his face, shaking his head,” Babybird... I’m... I’m so sorry... this is... I shouldn’t have taken you with me...”

You try to talk Hawks down, but he can hardly listen to you, and you can hardly get through to him. Hawks will always harbor the blame on himself, and will go absolutely ballistic on any person who tries to hurt you or touch you. Despite him working on it, the event itself has made him hyper protective of you, to a fault.

When you get out of the hospital, you move in with him. You mutually take care of each other, and help each other heal. But the wounds that are left on Keigo’s heart are deep, and will take many years to heal.

Most nights, he will lovingly caress your back, and tell you how stunning and angelic you are. You can never see the glassy look in his eyes when he says this, his hands slowly tracing your scars.

When he finally gets off of house arrest, he makes it his personal, top priority mission to infiltrate, and track down the rest of this villain’s organization. This is the most vigilante/anti-hero he will go, but damn if he doesn’t do his best to make you happy when he’s “off work”.

He is a mess and a half, but will absolutely get revenge for what they did to his Babybird.

Thank you for this request, I hope it’s up to snazz! I am a little burnt out, hoduhdoudho

#fatgum x reader #hawks x reader #taishiro toyomistu x reader #bnha x reader #keigo takami x reader #mha x reader #tw: blood #tw: violence #tw: body horror #tw: hospitalization #tw: yandere #tw: near death experience #yeah this one is full of angst and I would love to do these as stand alones #but until I get the inspiration I hope this is up to snuff! hoduhdohd

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tarlos-spain · 3 years

Text

Sicktember Day 23 - Ear infection

You have to tell us your secret, really dad

Fandom: 9-1-1 Lone Star

Pairing: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand

Characters: Carlos Reyes, TK Strand, Owen Strand

TK and Carlos are desperate, their son has an ear infection and they don't know what to do to make him feel better. Thank goodness Owen is always available.

The third coffee of the evening kept TK from falling asleep on the couch. He had always wondered how long a sane person could go without sleep. It was his second night, his second shift in a row working and his second shift changing with Carlos to be at his son's bedside.

An ear infection the doctor had said, just an ear infection, a little medicine and in three or four days Patrick would be fine. It wasn't bad, that was for sure, but since the little four year old had woken up from his nap on Sunday screaming from the terrible pain drilling in his ear neither TK nor Carlos had been able to rest.

Two days had passed, they were entering their third without sleep and TK's phone vibrated. Owen had learned, since Patrick had been born, not to knock on the door and to knock directly on the phone.

"I'm at the door. I'm bringing you a liter of Starbucks coffee."

TK looked at the bed. Patrick was sleeping, it had been a few minutes since he had managed to get him to sleep. Normally it was easy, a couple of songs or a made up story and the boy slept soundly, but with the pain in his ear it didn't seem possible.

But there he was, as long as the child was, stretched out on the bed, mouth open, snoring even and TK smiled, got up and leaned over to deposit a kiss on his forehead.

He left the door ajar and very slowly walked down the stairs and opened the door.

"From the dark circles under your eyes, something tells me she just fell asleep." Owen said and TK nodded. "Take the opportunity to lie down for a bit now that I'm here."

TK yawned but shook his head.

"If he wakes up just before I touch his medicine, his ear will hurt like hell and he'll scream. Just sing to him..." "In case you don't remember, I'm your father, I held you in my arms when you were crying non-stop at four months old, when you had colic and when you teething. I assure you that if I survived that, I can survive my grandchild." "You've been through it, Dad! "Ah, ah, a father's job lasts a lifetime, keep that in mind. And as your father," Owen pushed TK over to the couch, "if you don't want to get into bed, at least you're going to lie down on the couch I'm going to cover you up with that horrible blanket Matthew made you and you're going to close your eyes."

TK let himself go, sat down on the couch and almost as if it was gravity's work he lay down. His eyes closed on their own, but as soon as he did, he heard Patrick start to cry upstairs.

"Sometimes I think he notices when I go to try to get some sleep." He tried to get up, but Owen pushed him back down without hardly using any force and he fell back onto the couch. "Dad I didn't ask you to come up here to be our babysitter." "Of course you didn't have to ask me. Patrick is my grandson and it's my duty to take care of my family always."

If he wasn't so tired, TK would try to nag his father some more, but Owen was already on his way to the stairs. He lay on the couch, just five minutes, he told himself and closed his eyes.

He was awakened by the sound of the door, he rolled over on the couch and almost rolled to the floor, but ended up sitting up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." Said Carlos dropped the backpack on the couch and took off his windbreaker." I didn't expect to find you asleep down here, what about Patrick?"

TK noticed that nothing could be heard from upstairs.

"My father has gone upstairs and I was going to rest for five minutes." "But you got fried." Carlos, smiling walked over to the couch and sat down next to his husband, massaged his back and TK rested his head on Carlos' shoulder. "Have you been able to get some rest?" "I was hoping not to actually, but apparently," TK looked at the time, the five minutes had turned into over two hours. "Apparently, yes, I have been able to rest and something tells me we need to get my dad to retire from the fire department and hire him full time as a babysitter for Patrick." "That doesn't sound like a bad idea." "Let's go see what's going on up there." Sighed TK and stood up helped by Carlos who grabbed his hand and pulled him up. "Are you hungry? Now when we get downstairs, I can fix you..." "About dinner don't worry and who says dinner, says pre-breakfast, I'll take care of it. Let's go see what the other two generations of Strand are doing upstairs."

Carlos took his hand and together they went upstairs. They could hear absolutely nothing until they approached the room. Then they heard Owen's voice, who at the same time was putting on different voices and was telling a story.

"Yes, the dragon isn't hiding far. Let's go get him." "Dragon?" whispered Carlos and TK shrugged.

The two approached the door and without opening it so as not to disturb them, they peeked out. Owen had Patrick in his arms, he himself was perfectly awake and laughed every time his grandfather went from one side of the room to the other chasing an invisible dragon or seducing a princess turned into a frog, anything was valid to make the child laugh.

"And now my young knight." Owen sat down on the bed and sat the boy next to him. "Time to take a nap and get your strength back for our big battle tomorrow." "Yes grandfather!"

The boy climbed into bed on his own and settled in.

"But first, the medicine." "And he takes it without protest." Said Carlos in surprise. "It's Captain Strand's power." TK replied.

They stepped aside as Owen approached the door and they heard him say goodnight to Patrick. They followed him back down the hallway and once downstairs Owen stretched his back.

"You have to tell us your secret, really dad." "There is no secret, boys. You guys are exhausted and I assure you the kids notice that. Don't worry, he'll sleep for a few hours now and you guys can do it too. But if you would be so kind as to prepare something to eat, Carlos. I came straight after shift and I'm starving."

"Of course, it's on the house."

Carlos left for the kitchen but TK stopped his father.

"Thank you very much indeed." "You don't have to thank me at all. He's my grandson, you're my son and I've already told you that job is the only one that lasts a lifetime. You will always have me here and he will always have me by his side."

TK hugged his father it had been a long time since he had done so and suddenly he felt protected again, like the child he had been, like the young man who had had problems of all kinds and had come out ahead thanks to his father.

"Come on let's eat you need to sleep and rest."

TK nodded and followed his father into the kitchen.

"Ok, I'm coming with you," Carlos said. "Come on."

#Sicktember 2021 #ear infection #Tarlos #911 lone star #family #son

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goldencorecrunches · 3 years

Text

(More LanLan rural vet AU) -- It had been a great idea.

"Look at it this way, at least you'll know we've gotten most of them," Luo Qingyang, their tiny clinic's only full-time nurse, told him. She was visibly trying to keep a straight face. Song Lan glared at her. He couldn't reply with words, because his hands were full of squirming, six-week old puppies. Also his arms, and his shoulders, and from the German Shepherd tugging at his scrub pants, soon his lap as well.

Song Lan had known, moving from the city to the rural countryside, that there would be some measure of culture shock. When one of the farmers had casually dropped that he didn't vaccinate his puppies, because there were, according to him, "Too many of 'em too fast to bother driving 'em out all that way, before you showed up," he had nearly broken his strict policy of sobriety during work hours.

"They're all going to die of distemper," he had told Wen Qing after the man had left, vaguely aware he was making his Strict Veterinarian Face (it was Lan Xichen who had given it a name, which made Song Lan warm all over, on top of the flush from anger) from the way his temples had started aching. "They're not even on heartworm medication. I'm surprised so many of them survive to get killed by the combine harvester." "Just 'combine,' you sound like you're city folk," Wen Qing had said, ignoring Song Lan's mouthed protestation that he was, which was why he was used to people who kept Lucky and Xiao mi's shots up to date. "Look, these people-- they don't have time, and they don't have money. They're going to focus on the livestock animals they need to keep themselves afloat. It's not cruelly meant. They're doing the best they can." "I know that," Song Lan said, somewhat abashed. He peeled his gloves into the bin by the sink and set about washing his hands as he thought. As always, he had to hunch over the sink, built for a much shorter DVM. Wen Qing's girlfriend had sent her some kind of fancy floral soap, and Wen Qing had delighted in placing it in both exam rooms and the surgery. It was a bit stronger to the nose that Song Lan would've preferred, but he wasn't going to argue with Wen Qing when it came to her girlfriend. The antiseptic covered it up, anyway. "What about a vaccination fair? Or just a day," he said when he had finished drying off. "We used to do them at my old clinic. Bring in your pets, get them up to date. Pass out flyers about common infections. Gets the kids involved, too." "Hm," Wen Qing had said. She'd begun gathering up the used sterile packaging and dumping it in the trash, neatly detouring the needles to the sharps container. "That's certainly an idea." She'd argued him down from all pets to just dogs, and had him separate out areas based on the weeks since puppy birth, to for the older dogs the year or the five-year mark. Song Lan had thought it overly complicated-- he could just ask the humans involved as they came up-- but had acquiesced so as not to cause trouble. He was still learning how to fit in, here. Country folk were a lot more standoffish than city folk, for all they were initially nicer.

He was very glad now that he'd listened.

"You look busy," said a cheerful voice from behind him. Song Lan finished administering the Bordetella shot to the Border Collie mix Luo Qingyang was holding, giving the pup a scratch behind the ears and juggling the bag of chicken jerky underneath his armpit to keep the mutt-who-definitely-had-Bulldog-in-there-somewhere who was crawling across his shoulders from snatching an unearned reward. He turned, stumbling as the German Shepherd shoved her nose enthusiastically into his muddy shoe laces, and tried to keep his scowl affixed for Lan Xichen's teasing. It was a pointless endeavor; as soon as he caught sight of Lan Xichen's face, glowing in the midday heat, he could feel his mouth pulling up at the corner. He occupied himself boosting the puppy under his left arm higher, propping his waggling tail on his hipbone, to keep his own dopey smile to a minimum. "Shh," he told the puppy, when he yipped and started trying to eat Song Lan's scrubs. The puppy looked up, top canine caught in the loop the brand name tag had once hung from, before Song Lan had cut it off. He was not helping the dopiness meter. "Mister Lan!" Luo Qingyang said, handing the Collie mix back to a child with worried arms outstretched (the dog, unperturbed, began licking every freckle on the child's face). "I'm glad you were able to make it! You brought us-- oh, you didn't have to, put that down. Here, you take this one." She plucked the heavy, stainless-steel carafe from his hand and replaced it with a black-and-tan puppy she summoned from nowhere. Automatically Lan Xichen brought his other hand up to support the puppy's hind legs. The puppy sniffed the pens in the crisply ironed breast pocket and did not find them suitable. Song Lan realized he'd been staring and shuffled his furry passengers away from the jerky again.

"I didn't think to make it cold. It's a warm day, I hope it won't be too hot for you," Lan Xichen was saying, apologetic. The edge of the shadow from the extremely garishly striped outdoor tent Song Lan and Wen Ning had set up cut him right across his handsome face, one eye in the shade, the other squinting into the sunlight. As a teenager, Song Lan had had a movie poster where the actor was highlighted in similar fashion. He had hung the poster on the ceiling above his bed. This is not the time for this was becoming a common repetition in Song Lan's inner monologue when it came to Lan Xichen. "If it has caffeine in it, we'll love you whatever temperature it is," Luo Qingyang assured him, passing Lan Xichen another puppy; nearly identical to the first, but with one black ear instead of two. "This is his sister, they're getting their ten week vaccinations. A bit late, but don't tell their mother that. Do you know how to hold them?" "I'm not entirely useless," Lan Xichen said dryly. He smiled at Song Lan. Song Lan nearly tripped over the German Shepherd again. "Ten weeks, that's...Influenza, Bordetella, Lyme…." "DHAPP," Luo Qingyang confirmed, ponytail bouncing as she nodded. "I'm going over to help Wen Qing with the older dogs, you stay and hold puppies for Doctor Song, yeah?" She patted the male puppy on the head, blew a kiss to the female, and leapt over the barricade of folding chairs to rush to the other side of the tent. A queue was already forming there as Wen Qing argued with a woman in overalls, gesturing angrily. Luo Qingyang slid neatly between them and took the three-legged hound from the woman's arms the same way she had taken charge of Lan Xichen's tea carafe. "You've got a criminal," Lan Xichen said pleasantly, pointing with his chin. Song Lan blinked, and then mentally swore, kneeling so he could free one hand to extricate the Pitbull mix from the open ziplock seal on OL' GRANDAD'S AUTHENTIC CHICKIN STRIPS (Reduced Fat). He pressed the hinge of the puppy's jaw to tug the pilfered treat free, tapping his nose when he tried to whine sadly. Song Lan hadn't gotten his certification yesterday. "Can you hold them while I give the injections?" he asked, waiting for Lan Xichen's acquiescence before struggling to his feet again. Half-way up he felt a pull at his knee. He looked down and saw the German Shepherd, tired of being ignored, had a mouthful of his pants. "No," Song Lan signed; but the dog hadn't been trained in sign language, so she growled playfully up at him, ears pricked. Song Lan reached to do the same trick he'd done on the Pitbull mutt, but he'd not accounted that the other set-down dogs would be investigating the other side of his newly-sniffable legs. With a grassy skid, and a very undignified shout, Song Lan went down. The dirt seemed a lot more solid when he was testing it with his nose and chin. Three of the puppies leapt on his face and began a series of scientific experiments as to whether he was dead or just playing. One slobbery tongue went into his ear. "Are you all right?" Lan Xichen's voice was above him: Song Lan was never, ever going to live this down. He groaned and rolled onto his back, throwing an arm across his eyes and letting the puppies pounce on his hair and ankles. The German Shepherd, looking delighted with herself, sat her ass down on Song Lan's stomach and examined his face, tongue lolling. Despite himself, Song Lan smiled and reached up to rub at her belly. She flopped onto her side (oof) and threw her front paws up so he could gain better access. Her tail beat wildly at the ground beside Song Lan's leg.

"Just…dangle them over my chest," Song Lan signed up at Lan Xichen's looming figure. He was tall. Was this what he looked like to everyone else at the clinic? "I'll do them like this."

"Of course, Doctor Song," Lan Xichen said, carefully solemn.

They looked at each other.

The girl puppy swatted her brother in the nose. Immediately he started crying.

"Shall I get you a cup of tea too, then?" Lan Xichen asked, and Song Lan couldn't help it; he laughed out loud.

"I suppose 'buried in dogs' isn't a terrible way to go," he signed, as Lan Xichen, finally abandoning his masterful attempt, let his grin take over his face. It was blinding. "Yes, if you've got a funnel to pour it through?"

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #song lan #lan xichen #song lan gets to laugh in this one!#and it's happier over all #the last one was like deep feelings vibes this one is just fluff #my fics #fic: lanlan rural vet au #lanlan rural vet au #song lan and wq were both speaking in sign in the flashback there if that wasn't clear #(EDIT: when will i catch a typo before i post. When. tell me w h y)#lanlan

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afieldinengland · 2 years

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Joy of my life, do not worry! You do not owe me anything, and besides, ear infections are quite terrible and I am quick to forgive being much more complaining than you are being right now when I know such an infection is at play. I experienced it both as the patient and the caretaker recently, I remember the misery of it all. I do hope you get better soon, though, for your own sake, and remember a little ibuprofen and going easy on AC goes a long way in such cases.

Oh, that's a relief then! I dream of carrying you then, I've enjoyed it with other lovers, but I must say carrying them was better than being carried, so it seems we're a good match in this regard too?

I'd love nothing better than to sit on your bedroom floor with you in my arms and listening to your CDs. I'd probably bring some myself: my two comfort albums are The Division Bell by Pink Floyd and Nivalis by Árstíđir - both were on repeat when I got sick during my last years of university when I was worried I would not be able to graduate, if only because I could not make it to class. Let me tell you, hearing the lines "I knew the moment had arrived/ for killing the past and coming back to life" felt very powerful while I was wandering the hospital halls. I do not know if you like this kind of music at all (no need to listen to it anyway if you do not like it btw!) but I guess it's my way of offering a tiny bit of myself to make up for my anonymity - HWA (please do not apologise for feeling under the weather - your lover is here, patient and loving whatever happens!)

dearest, sweetest one, i’m sorry i didn’t reply to this sooner— i’m afraid i fell asleep!! thank you for being so understanding, my love, that’s very kind of you 💓 haha, i’ll try not to mither much more than i am currently, but it’s a relief to hear you don’t mind a little complaining. i’m sorry to hear you had to go through the same thing recently. and thank you for the well wishes, i think i feel a little better just hearing that my lover’s on my side :) you’re right, ibuprofen is a big help in these circumstances!! gentlest, of course, please never worry about disappointing me simply by being who you are. your boyfaun would be endlessly fond of you no matter what. yes, oh, my, that is a happy coincidence!! well, then, it’d be an honour to be carried by you, honeyheart, knowing you are enjoying your part in it as much as i am mine 💓 sweet, lovely one, come and listen to my music with me, then!! i’m afraid i haven’t listened to those albums, but i can’t imagine a greater joy than to sit by the side of someone who loves them deeply while i hear them for the first time. heart, i’m so proud of you for making it through that illness in your last years of university, it sounds terrible— thank goodness you had such music in those troubled times. it’s a wonder, the way it’s always there for us as a healer, isn’t it? lines like that really can end up written on our hearts, i think. thank you for this little gift, my secret admirer, i’ll treasure it!! knowing that such music helped my forest-spirit of a worshipper survive such dark days truly makes it sacred. you never need to compensate for remaining anonymous, sweet one, but i completely understand the feeling of needing to 💓 well, i shall thank you with a gentle rain of kisses in this morning light, holding you close despite not feeling quite at my best— i am here for you, too, strongest one, no matter what!!

#answered #sweet one!!! sorry haha i fell asleep #herb wine anon

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

Text

unless you take your army back ch. 5

First - Previous - Next - Read on AO3!

yo once again giving you guys a chapter how’s everyone doing? My posting dates will never again be on tuesday lol expect wednesdays or fridays when possible <3

anyways other business if you see an A/N in here somewhere (it’ll be between brackets) lmk and I’ll edit it out

Enjoy :)

cw: food, eating disorders, discussion of injuries

Jack didn’t leave to sell papes the next morning, instead bringing a cup of coffee and some porridge to Crutchie, then settling in beside him with a real fancy sketchbook and a charcoal pencil.

The coffee wasn’t that great, but Crutchie drank it all, hoping the energy would distract him from the uncomfortable tightness of his fresh bandages. Only one of the cuts that had split open was one that had needed stitches (Katherine had snipped the thread and pulled it out three days ago), but they would all probably scar. At least he already liked to wear long shirts and pants.

The porridge was fine, but rich. After about four bites, Crutchie rested the bowl on the windowsill. Just weeks ago, he would’ve been able to scarf down twice that amount in a matter of minutes, but now he could barely handle eating enough to feed a baby. He was sure he’d get better faster if he’d just eat more, but he just--couldn’t.

This wasn’t even the first time Crutchie had seen kids have trouble eating. At least half the newsies who did a stint in the Refuge came back uneasy around food, too accustomed to there being too little to go around. A lot of food was a trick, just the right amount was too much to stomach, and the little bit that they felt they needed wasn’t enough to keep them going.

So Crutchie knew that what he was going through with his food aversion was normal--expected, even. The frustrating problem was that Crutchie knew how to fix it. He had seen the others go through this, had watched Jack and Race and Specs help others, had even guided Tommy Boy through recovery himself just a few months ago. He knew the signs, he knew how to work through it, and yet he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t snap himself out of it.

Just the thought of food made him queasy, scared, uncertain of what was to come. When the guards brought food, it meant the respite was over. It meant scraps shoved down his throat as quickly as possible, followed by a day of grueling, pointless work with no breaks. He didn’t have the time to finish this bowl of porridge. More than a few bites and he was going to be tardy, the guards were going to beat him and he would fall and he wouldn't be able to get back up, not again not again not again--

“Crutchie, you gonna finish that?”

Crutchie looked up from his lap to see Jack, concern creasing his brow. He shrugged, not sure if he could even pretend to smile. “I didn’t see you eat, wanted to save some for you.” He didn’t need anyone’s help. He knew how to handle this.

Jack frowned. “Nah, I ate on the way up, nicked a bun. Is there some . . . other . . . reason?”

Stupid Jack Kelly and his ‘subtle’ prodding. Crutchie stretched his arms out a bit, affecting a casual look. A bandage rubbed against a raw patch of his chest, but instead of burning, it . . . itched.

That meant he was starting to get better, right? Or was it infected or something? Whatever it meant, it was a good excuse.

“Not really, just been itchin’ all mornin’, so I ain't all that hungry,” he explained, scratching his stomach for emphasis. “Bit bothering, y’know?”

He was sure he didn’t quite have Jack convinced, but it was enough for him to drop the matter. After all, Jack was under the impression that Crutchie had eaten a whole apple the morning before, and he’d been fairly good at emptying bowls of soup all week (not necessarily into his mouth, but Jack didn’t need to know that).

After a moment’s hesitation, Jack smiled. “Hey, itchy, huh?” He lightly punched Crutchie’s knee, which also didn’t hurt like he expected. “That’s good, means stuff is startin’ ta close up and heal.”

Crutchie nodded, feeling something in his chest try to jump excitedly. Even after falling so badly last night, he was getting better. That meant that maybe soon, he could be right back out there, hawking headlines and getting enough pity from his regulars and strangers to make twice the amount he usually did.

Thinking of it-- “Jack, why ain’t you out sellin’?”

Jack looked away--ashamed? Guilty? What? Had he gotten in trouble with the bulls again already? Jack muttered something, then buried his face in his new sketchbook, the tips of his ears burning red.

“That ain’t gonna cut it,” Crutchie said incredulously. “Who d’ya think I am, Race? I ain’t distracted that easy.”

Jack huffed, but didn’t drop his sketchbook. In a barely audible voice, he said very quickly “I soaked the Delanceys yesterday and the fellas think I oughtta stay away from ‘em and maybe take a day off ta give ‘em time ta forget about it.”

Okay, but attacking the Delanceys was something Jack did on a weekly basis. The Delanceys weren’t bright enough to carry a grudge overnight, and they were in a constant state of goading Jack, so what was different about this time?

Then Crutchie remembered their argument last night, what Jack and Davey had told him about how Oscar and Morris had been talking.

“Have they, uh,” Crutchie started, quiet, “been talking about . . . uh, ‘bout me . . . all week?”

Jack stiffened from behind his sketchbook, but nodded jerkily. “Tha’s what Specs said, anyhow.”

“Right.” Crutchie swallowed, looking away out the window. Buttons was out there, looped around a fire escape, calling something through cupped hands. The Delanceys were somewhere out there too, and could be talking about him that very moment, maybe even making plans to come after him. There was no way he could stop them, no way anyone could stop them. After all, Jack couldn’t be here all the time, and Kloppman was old, wiry but feeble compared to Oscar and Morris. They could take the man down in no time, then be up here and Crutchie would have nowhere to go and no way to escape.

Crutchie was suddenly very glad that Jack was here.

There were a few moments of silence, during which Crutchie continued to watch Buttons. His grin was visible even from this distance, growing wider any time he managed to sell a paper or two. Buttons had been having trouble selling lately--he was a little timid, too shy when it counts--so it was nice to see him having some success.

The lady talking to him now seemed nice, by the way Buttons was nodding and had fully disentangled himself from the fire escape to converse with her. The lady turned slightly, her face visible under her sun hat, and--hey! That was one of Crutchie’s regulars! She bought a paper on her way to visit her mother-in-law every other day, and always passed Crutchie’s selling spot on purpose. It was nice to see her again, almost . . . sentimental. Crutchie never thought he would feel almost misty-eyed over some lady whom he briefly interacted with a handful of times a week, but here he was. More than miss her, he missed being out there, he supposed.

“Hey, Crutch?”

Crutchie startled out of his thoughts. The woman was no longer there, Buttons once again attaching himself to the fire escape. Jack was watching him, a carefully disguised look of something on his face. Crutchie raised his eyebrows.

“Uh, so, I missed a union thing, what with last night,” Jack said. “So I’m gonna hafta do it today sometime. That cool with you?”

“What sorta thing?” Crutchie asked suspiciously. If it involved reporters and pictures and all that, Crutchie was not going to allow it to happen in here.

Not that you could stop it, a nasty voice in the back of his mind whispered, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Jack could do anything to you right now. He was pretty angry last night, after all. You know what anger leads to.

Crutchie swallowed drily. He didn’t need to think about that.

“Oh, just a guy I gotta meet with,” Jack said, far too casually. He made a show of scratching his head. “He might bring another couple o’ fellas with him, so I’s just . . . lettin’ you know.”

Okay, so this wasn’t something he could stop. Great. That calmed him down so much. Crutchie gripped the blanket over him tightly, trying to not show that his hands had begun to tremble. He was fine, he didn’t need Jack getting all worried over nothing. It was just some . . . unknown guy. With bodyguards. Coming into the room to have a discussion with Jack.

“Hey. Hey.”

Crutchie pulled himself from his spiral to see Jack laying his hands over his. “It’s okay,” Jack said seriously. “I can chat with ‘em in another room, or outside. You don’t oughtta have guys in here that you ain’t know.”

Crutchie released his grip, more to assuage Jack than his nerves. He nodded, not sure what he was even expected to say. What if a fight broke out? And Jack was all alone, against three or four guys? He couldn’t let Jack be alone.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Crutchie said hoarsely. Wow, he needed something to drink. He hadn’t noticed his throat drying up. “I uh, I can be your second?”

The words were barely out of his mouth before he regretted them. Of course Jack didn’t want him as his second! He was just some stupid, useless, injured cripple, and Jackhad to still be mad at him for last night. He’d want Davey there, probably--Davey was one of the union heads too, right? And Davey was so good at talking things through and being all smart. All Crutchie could do was make people laugh or feel bad for him--great for selling papes and living on the street, terrible for union business.

“Would ya?” Jack asked. He almost looked a little bit relieved, which took Crutchie aback. “You know how I can get. It’s--it’s nice, havin’ somebody backin’ me up. ‘Specially you, Crutch, you’s real good at talkin’ to folks.”

The air left Crutchie’s lungs. Was he? He was pretty good at selling to just about anyone. Jack used to joke that he would be able to sell a pape to Pulitzer himself for a dollar, without the man even realizing it was his own paper or too high a price. Jack would say that to just about anyone who would listen, actually.

How had Crutchie forgotten that?

“Who’s these folks, then?” Crutchie asked, shifting a bit so that his head was almost level with Jack’s. He liked to think that he was pretty accustomed to the broken ribs at this point--they hurt, but he could now sit up without even breathing heavy. After the week he’d had, Crutchie counted that as a win.

Jack’s carefully casual air was back, clear in the stiff lines of his body and the forced half-grin on his lips. “Just some guys who got a say in newsie union stuff, y’know? From one o’ the other turfs.”

That made sense, actually. The Manhattan newsies weren’t the only ones in the union, after all. In fact, if what Elmer had excitedly told him was true, Davey had shook hands with Spot Conlon and led him straight to Pulitzer’s office, after Conlon had spoken at Davey’s rally--

Oh.

Oh no.

“You’s bringin’ Spot Conlon to the place we sleep?!”

“It was--”

“No no no, lemme get this straight,” Crutchie said, incredulous. “Spot Conlon, leader of the Brooklyn borough, is comin’ here. To Manhattan’s lodging house. Now I know that Brooklyn joined the strike, but there is no way we’s become friends with Brooklyn in the two weeks I ain’t been around, and ya don’t show allies where ya sleep.”

“They already knows where we sleep, there’s a huge sign on the buildin’!” Jack shot back. He dropped his work and gestured widely. “Manhattan newsboys lodgin’ house, in big ol’ letters, smack on the front! Was it s’posed ta be a secret? Or do ya think they just can’t read?”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Crutchie replied stubbornly. “Ya don’t invite them into your home, you hold ‘em at arm’s length for when they in’vitably scab!”

“Well, that ain’t no way ta treat your allies,” a voice said from the doorway.

Crutchie and Jack both looked up to see the man himself, an unimpressed Spot Conlon, with two lackeys--and also Racetrack. Race waved casually.

“Hey Jack, hey Crutch!” Race said. “Spot’s here ta meet with ya.”

Jack strode across the room, spat and shook with Spot, anxiously adjusting his hat with his other hand. “Nice ta see ya, Conlon,” he said, the geniality in his voice a stark contrast from his heated arguing moments before. Crutchie snorted. Jack shot him a glare.

“So, what’s sayin’ we get straight ta business, Kelly?” Spot suggested, walking further into the room without invitation. Race tipped his hat at them all, then stuck his cigar in his mouth and took off. “This here’s Hotshot, and the other’s Sharpshooter,” Spot threw out, gesturing at the two guys with him. They each nodded in turn.

“Right,” Jack said, “This is Crutchie, he’s my second.”

Spot turned a piercing gaze on Crutchie. Crutchie felt his face heat up as Spot’s sharp eyes took in the patchwork of yellow-brown bruises on his face and throat, the scabbed-over gash on his temple, the splint wrapping his left arm. Finally, he turned away to face Jack.

“You met with Joe of late?” Spot asked. Jack nodded.

“Saw ‘im yesterday. No complaints from his side--he’s sayin’ they’s already noticed circulation goin’ up. You’s been meetin’ with the Journal and the Sun, yeah?”

Spot gave an affirmative nod. “We got ‘em where we want ‘em,” he said with a chuckle. Crutchie waited for him to elaborate. He did not.

Jack seemed sort of disconcerted--Crutchie wondered if Spot could tell. This was all happening so suddenly. Moments ago, Crutchie hadn’t even known anyone was coming. Now there were three Brooklyn newsies standing over his bed, and he couldn’t do anything to defend himself or make them leave. Brooklyn was always angry, always jeering, doing nothing to strengthen the tentative peace they had come to a few months ago. Really, Crutchie had good reason to be wary. Brooklyn newsies had more than once kicked his crutch out from under him.

Spot and Jack were talking about something, but Crutchie couldn’t really pay attention to them. The one called Sharpshooter was staring him down, in a way that said both I’m-trying-to-intimidate-you and I-don’t-need-to-intimidate-you-weakling. Hotshot was doing the exact same thing to Jack, but Jack seemed unbothered. Crutchie was pretty sure he wasn’t pulling that off near as well. He hadn’t been stared at like that--like he was a piece of dirt that stubbornly remained as you scrubbed at a window--since he’d been . . . there. The Refuge.

Crutchie turned his gaze to the window. Buttons was out of sight, the fire escape likely blazing hot in the sun. There weren’t very many people visible whatsoever--it was stifling out, which was probably why Brooklyn was already here. Selling would have to be done in a very particular fashion today--morning, at the coolest, when everyone was headed for work, then around the lunch hours, then the last few in the evening. Crutchie felt bad for the likely sunburned newsies, frantically trying to sell all their papes in those short windows of time, clothes sticking to them with sweat and the hot air weighing them down.

“Hey, Crutch?”

Crutchie looked back to the conversation. Jack was watching him expectantly, as was Spot. Crutchie tried to not look clueless--he had really been zoning out, hadn’t he? How much time had passed? Why was everyone looking at him?

“D’you mind answerin’ any questions Spot has? I’m gettin’ us all some water.”

Crutchie nodded. It couldn’t be that hard, right? He had totally lost track of the conversation, but he knew a fair bit about what had happened and what was going to happen with the union, mostly from Jack rambling in the afternoons when the silence became too much for one of them.

“So,” Spot said brusquely as soon as the door closed behind Jack. “All that from the strike?”

Crutchie blinked. All what? He needed a bit more context. He should’ve been listening. He opened his mouth to ask, then saw Spot vaguely waving at his body. Oh.

“Nah,” Crutchie mumbled, uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “Some of it, yeah. Mostly the Refuge, though.”

Spot sucked a breath in through his teeth, and Hotshot turned away. “Looks like you was lucky to make it out alive.”

“Oh, yeah,” Crutchie said bitterly. He almost laughed. “By the end there I was ’lucinatin’ so bad I thought I’d been buried already. Probably I was hours from bein’ gone forever.”

Silence. He’d made it awkward, hadn’t he? Crutchie tried to come up with some useful purpose for Spot Conlon to know this, like maybe he’d get pity or sympathy or something and the Brooklyn newsies would leave him alone, but it honestly sounded worse than Conlon straight up hating him. Crutchie was tired of being pitied. He was tired of being a charity case.

“How long?” That was Sharpshooter, his voice pitched a lot higher than Crutchie expected. It didn’t quite match his height and dark eyes.“Was you there, I means.”

“A week, I think. It’s sorta blurry.”

Spot whistled. “Snyder musta had it out for ya. All that in just a week? I’s had boys in there for months come out lookin’ better.”

Again, Crutchie almost laughed. “Everybody has it out for the crip,” he said bluntly, his eyes on his hands as he twisted the blanket between his fingers. “Throw in my personal connection ta Jack Kelly union leader, and a week is a long time ta be lastin’.”

Crutchie looked up. Spot was giving him a strange look--it wasn't pity, like Crutchie expected. It wasn’t disgust. It wasn’t even shock that he was still alive. It was--he didn’t know. And then it was gone.

“Crutchie, right?” Spot asked, glancing out a window aloofly. Crutchie nodded. “You’s a good kid. If you ever finds you in some sorta trouble . . . you’s welcome in Brooklyn.”

What?

He understood that they were allies, but allies did not mean that anyone from either turf was allowed to just go wandering over. The only person who had ever been allowed to was Race, who sold in Brooklyn--why, Crutchie didn’t know. Crutchie didn’t think anyone knew. There were plenty of good spots in Manhattan--why did Race trek all the way to a hostile turf just to sell papes? The point was, this wasn’t something that just happened. Ever. Brooklyn and Manhattan had been on bad terms for as long as Crutchie had been a newsie, and before that as far as anyone could remember.

Crutchie didn’t have much more time to think about it, though, as Jack reentered the room, balancing three glasses of water carelessly enough that it made Crutchie tense up, as if ready to catch one when it dropped. One he handed to Spot, one to Crutchie, and the last to Hotshot. Sharpshooter rolled his eyes and swiped it, half-draining the glass before handing it back.

“Crutchie clear anything up?” Jack asked. Spot continued to stare at Crutchie, a slight crease between his brows.

“Yeah, a few things,” Spot answered absently. “A few.”

The discussions continued for another ten minutes or so, Jack eventually convincing Spot that they were not currently trying to lower the price even further (“I’ve already got Bill down ta fifty-two per hundred, why should I stop?”), and got him to agree to work closely with Davey when Jack wasn’t available. That seemed to be all they could resolve for the time being without attacking each other, which was probably the most that had ever been done by a Manhattan newsie and a Brooklyn newsie working together. When Spot went to leave, though, he turned to Crutchie.

“Ol’ Jack ever oversteps, ya know where ta find us,” he said with a firm nod. “Any guy from Brooklyn will bring ya to me, jus’ say the word.” With that, he was gone, Sharpshooter and Hotshot marching after him.

Jack froze, halfway to gathering the two glasses from where they’d been set on the floor, his mouth agape. “Wh--” he tried. Crutchie could have laughed. He didn’t. But he could’ve. “Did Spot Conlon jus’--” he whipped around to stare at Crutchie. “What’d you talk about?” he demanded. “How’d ya get Spot Conlon ta make you an honorary Brooklyn boy?”

Crutchie shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure what had passed between them himself, and he also wasn’t sure that he wanted to know. It wasn’t like he’d done anything. Spot barely knew who he was. The first time they met had been today.

“W-well, if you isn’t gonna eat that, hand it to me.”

The change in subject took Crutchie by surprise, but he passed the partly-eaten bowl of porridge to Jack, who gave him one last suspicious glance before leaving the room.

Crutchie hated being alone these days--the only things worth doing were sleeping and practicing walking. The second one was off the table after yesterday, and he was sick of sleeping, but when there was nobody around there was nothing to do but think. Nothing to do but fall deeper and deeper into a dark chasm that yawned open in his mind. Nothing to do but slowly become more and more paranoid. . . .

He wished he had asked Jack for some more water before he left. Not that Jack wasn’t coming back or anything, it just would’ve been nice to not force him to make another trip.

When Jack returned some ten minutes later, though, he was not alone. Holding his hand was Katherine, laughing at something Jack had said before they entered the room. Crutchie shrunk away. He didn’t want to see Katherine--she would try to pay for a doctor to come see him or insist on checking each of his wounds or something equally mortifying.

“Look who turned up!” Jack said brightly, and Crutchie tried not to frown too obviously.

“Hi, Katherine,” he said politely. “How’re you?”

“Oh, Crutchie, you look so much better!” Katherine exclaimed. Crutchie examined her face carefully. Mostly the truth, but something in her eyes told him that she was still worried about him. “Look at you, sitting up and everything!” a pause. “Have you, um, been eating well?”

There it was. Crutchie hadn’t seen himself in the mirror in a while--every time someone carried him to the washroom, he’d resolutely avoided it. He knew that his face was still multicolored from the various stages of healing his bruises were in, but he hadn’t even thought that he might look malnourished. Elmer’s bracelet was pretty loose on his wrist, now that he was thinking about it. His unwrapped elbow practically jutted out of his skin.

Great. He’d spent a week in the Refuge and had come out looking like the most pitiful creature ever. He was so weak--it had been such a short amount of time! And now he’d been in bed for just as long, when he should’ve been recovered by now!

“Been workin’ on it,” Crutchie managed, trying not to let his thoughts show too obviously. “Hard ta get back up ta where it’s s’posed ta be, y’know?”

“Yeah, he’s been eating less,” Jack added. “It happens, but he’s been tryin’ ta eat most everything I bring him.”

Crutchie resolutely did not blush or look away. There was no reason for Katherine to believe anything to the contrary. Still, she and Jack watched him carefully for a few moments, then exchanged a look. Was he supposed to say something?

“Jack said there was quite the scare last night,” continued Katherine. “Are you feeling okay after your fall?”

Crutchie nodded. He wasn’t lying, actually. He did feel better than he had all week, even if all of his injuries felt raw from falling. Nothing was hazy anymore, nor particularly sharp. It felt almost normal, if the pain could be ignored. He was getting better.

“Why’re you here, Kath?”

Katherine’s smile strained. “Can’t a girl check up on her best friend?”

Crutchie leveled a stare of his own at her. This was the first he’d heard of being best friends. She had to have some sort of ulterior motive--a doctor or a medicine or something stupid like that. He hated to think it, but couldn’t she just leave him alone?

“Okay, I came--of my own volition, by the way--to ask you if you’d be willing to be seen by my family doctor--”

“Nope, thanks,” Crutchie said loudly, glaring hard enough to bore a hole in Katherine’s head. “As you can see, I’s healin’ up just fine.”

“It wouldn’t cost anything, my father--”

“I won’t be botherin’ your father, if it’s all the same ta you,” Crutchie retorted. “Nor no one. I’m gonna be out there sellin’ again soon, an’ if I decides I need a doctor, I’ll save up the cost myself and see ‘im when I feel like it.”

Katherine and Jack exchanged another look, one that told Crutchie they thought he was being stubborn. And so what if he was? Stubbornness had kept him alive countless times. His particular brand of stubborn had been considered both adorable and inspiring in the past. Maybe he was being annoying, but so what? Was it why they wouldn’t listen to him? Did acting annoying really mean he was stripped of his worth to them, his autonomy?

After a long staring contest with Jack, Katherine huffed and rolled her eyes. “Boys,” she muttered, turning away from both of them. Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. The lines of Katherine’s shoulders were sharp and tight, radiating tension that was echoed in Jack’s nervous stance.

Crutchie picked at the blanket. Why did every conversation seem to turn into a fight lately? He just wanted people to respect his choices. Heck, maybe he would take Spot up on that offer. It sounded nice to be around people who had no history with him, a fresh slate, a new standard to set. He would get to prove he was strong to them, instead of being cooped up because they were too afraid of how broken he was.

“Well,” Katherine said, straightening her shoulders and facing them again, “take off your shirt, then.”

Crutchie choked. So did Jack. “Uh, what?” Jack sputtered.

“Buy me dinner first,” Crutchie managed.

Katherine rolled her eyes. “You want to be back out there, don’t you?” she asked Crutchie. He nodded, a little scared of where this was going. “I need to make sure you’re healing well enough, if you won’t see a doctor. Then I’ll tell you when you can continue to sell newspapers. And Jack? Get us something to drink.”

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