#either way he's the most glaring option when it comes to someone who was absent on the day in question

[kingdomoftyto]

WAIT, FRICK, I think I've got it

holy SHIT that's a well-played twist

[boneboughs]

Pretty, Handsome, Deadly.

It’s a beast with twin heads on a leash in a loop, in a cycle. Maybe it’s easy enough to consider it harmless, chained up the way it is, constantly chasing its tail.

What happens when the leash slackens? What happens when that two-headed hound no longer loves its chains?

A devil’s a devil, wrapped in silk or smoke, and a wolf is a wolf no matter the sheepskin it’s tucked itself beneath.

Perhaps it is time to pay mind to what’s holding its shackles.

“I grow tired of it.” He declares, boot-clad foot kicked up on the desk in front of him, leaning back in an expensive leather chair and absently turning a blade between two well-manicured fingers. “I’m tired of being treated as some absent-minded little boy when all I’ve ever wanted to do is make a change for the positive. It’s enough to drive a lesser man to madness, Molly.”

“Lesser man mad by now hm? What make you so sure?” The fae quirks a brow, eyes turned up from her work weighing and packing drugs in the sitting area of Wisteria’s clubhouse office. He’s got that look on his face again, the one that often precedes some kind of attack order- something messy and brutal brought against the men who saw fit to plant an explosive in the building that predated this one. “Perhaps you are mad and have not thought to check.”

“A lesser man would never be sat here working over the potential fallout of his wants and needs, he’d simply have followed them. And yet I sit here, thinking about many a thing, and the outcome of each of them.”

“Does one of them include finally telling council to shove it up their ass?” She knows the response she’s about to get- she’s asked him a number of times to let this council thing die- he’s the alpha of one of the most substantial packs in Faerune, and the head of the Sixth- She knows he’s smart, too- a pack of wolves beholden to his control, and a motley crew of former and current criminals with an undying respect for him, she knows the council seat is simply because he wanted to do things the right way, through paperwork and democracy. But she’s watched them rob him of options, time and again, give him the runaround on suggestions and lean perhaps on his kindness keeping him from snapping his maw shut around them. She knows he’s about to tell her no.

“Perhaps.”

That one’s new.

“Perhaps? Not a ‘no’ like every other time I ask you same question? You finally change mind?”

“I have been painted as a layabout and a sleeze by the media because every policy I’ve ever proposed to benefit my species is talked around, over, and then pushed aside. It could be something so simple as suggesting we have a dog park for wolves or something fucking obnoxious and saccharine like that and they’d find some way to use zoning laws and the need to discuss whatever bullshit someone else is dealing with to shut me up. And the single time I slip up? Oh, why, I’ve not yet heard the end of it. Everyone’s more than happy to talk about my sexual proclivities and the company I keep but the second it comes down to policy I’m an idiot child! I’m either old enough for a sex scandal, or I’m a little boy- I cannot be both. I’m a hound they’re glad to beat, and a patsy, and I’m sick and fucking TIRED-” His voice reaches a fever pitch, and he shifts suddenly, driving his knife down into his desk, sinking it clean through the thick wooden surface, metal fang bared as his teeth grit and lips yank back into a snarl. “Of being treated like I’m some circus display to gawk at and then ignore when it’s convenient.”

“So what do you do about this? Cannot tell council to fuck itself and leave, they find new councilman, probably Walker fellow. Bad news for Bloodboughs.” She reminds, taking a moment to weigh another portion of cocaine and sliding it off her scale. “And bad optics for you, look like you couldn’t handle stress of scandal, step down from position because made yourself look like a horny idiot.” Wisteria shoots her a glare, and she shrugs. “I am simply being realist about this.” He grips the handle of his knife, yanks it free from his desk. shiny black acrylics drumming absently against the corner now and foot in the floor.

“Walker and I will have discussion in due time. Soon, all things considered. If he wanted that council chair, he could have gone for it long before I took it nearing on two years ago, if he does want the position then he should have stepped up for it before I was brought on. I can’t imagine he’d be having a much easier time than me. Or maybe he would. He’s not bloodbough. He’s not Sixth.”

“Are you ashamed of what you are? Do you think if you were something else, more respect for you?”

“I know there’d be more respect on my position if I wasn’t alpha of a pack known for murder and control, or the leader of what a lovely newspaper reporter described as a ‘halfway house for supernatural, societal rejects.’ But I would sooner pick up slaughtering where Eowyn left off than pretend I want to be anything else. I am a Bloodbough, I am a Sixth. These were my families when I was lost in the lurch- I was given purpose under their banners, and I an exhausted, Molly, with being looked down on for the people who loved me and my blood when we were outsiders.” he sighs, blue eyes spacing out as he stares at a painting on the opposite wall. “All I’ve wanted was respect for my fellows. Work to be more accepting of hybrids- something my own pack fights me on. Familiars don’t even have a seat on the council and they make up much of the city and further than that, the Feywild. We talk in circles about things that don’t matter while tensions between packs and peoples raise by the day, I am a pretty, handsome, layabout. Eye candy in a council meeting ignored when he dares have a fucking thought.” He knows, logically, that Len and Reyna listen- that Elizabeth and Monty, perhaps, could be swayed. But he’s swept aside when he sees the cracks, the opportunity yanked away from his mouth like a meal from an emaciated dog.

He has sat quietly and allowed a cruel master to take food for quite some time now, he wonders if it would be so bad, to bite the hand that ‘feeds’ when all it does is starve.

“You want change they do not give you. You could have it if-”

“What do you think, Molly, I’ve been thinking about this whole time? Two massive factions of this city sit obedient at the edge of my fucking boot, and if I told them to jump they’d ask how high. The Bloodboughs don’t need a cause they want brutality. And I am the cause for the Sixth. It’s my fingers looped in your leashes, and oh are you all well trained dogs. I consider, you know, showing this city exactly how well trained my flocks are.”

“But you do not. Why?”

“Because if I shed blood in the name of ‘the greater good’ I’m no better than the motherfuckers who tried to off me at that stupid fucking casino night.”

“So you are a coward.”

“No, Molly. I’m a goddamned warden.”

[siriusmydeer]

ooo okay so a James Potter x reader soulmate au where they feel each others pain, and she has a suspicion he's her soulmate but it's confirmed when he falls off his broom, and she hates him being her soulmate because he's in love with lily, but he says that lily doesn't matter anymore blah blah, and she says she first thought it was him when he fell of a bench in the great hall or something after confessing his love for lily in front of the entire school (1)

‘all along that they were soulmates but she tells him its really inconsiderate for being so obvious about his love for lily when he knew he had a soulmate and he feels really guilty and tries to make it up for her and yeah fluff ending please :)’

the painful soulmate

james potter x fem!reader

summary: in a world where you can feel your soulmates pain; your soulmate happens to think someone else is his soulmate

word count: 2.2k

warning: swearing, mentions of verbally abusing someone, mentions of beating people up, injuries; falling in the air, cracked ribs, tripping, face planting. joking name calling, kissing, angst, soulmate au, insinuation of unrequited love, fluff ending

by the age of 16 you and every other witch along with wizard were given a particular... gift. you wouldn’t consider it a gift, more like your worse fucking nightmare but you could squeal and pretend to be all dainty and excited about meeting your soulmate.

i mean why not give someone a choice on who they wanted to love? this wasn’t a game of spin the bottle this was forever.

being the only female in your friend group, made all the boys amongst you ridiculously pry into your privacy. wanting to know who they had to verbally torture considering they would scoop up the ‘precious little baby-girl’ of the group.

coming directly from the drama queen himself; sirius black. it’s not like they could beat up your partner because you would be able to feel his or her pain as-well.

you were sat in the marauders dorm absently playing with your fingers while looking at each of your mates, sirius and remus attempted to finish their plans on a new prank for the newest defence against the dark arts teacher, james sat at his desk table writing up ways to ask lily more dramatically than the last and peter had been figuring out his transfiguration homework from a few days prior.

“prongs, if you know she’s gonna say no, then why ask?” remus questioned not even looked at the sapphire-eyed boy. his only logic being, ‘well ill turn her no into a yes.’ as if coercion was the way to go.

the brunette sat at the table swiftly turning his head in the lyncanthropes direction, his spectacles almost falling down his nose from the quick snap of his head. “well, lily-pad has always said, ‘not in a million years!’ but that means after a million years she’d go out with me.” finishing his speech with a small grin.

the rest of the group on the other hand looked at him dumbfounded. eyebrows either scrunched or furrowed, “james m’afraid that’s not how it works.” you spoke, trying to ease his feelings as if your words could stop his incessant pining.

“well, i’ll just make it work!” turning around and continuing his list, speaking as if he was godric gryffindor coming up with the best idea of the century. “ten galleons she says no again.” sirius quickly whispers in peters direction, the dirty blonde haired boy doing a quick nod then looking back at his parchment.

“i heard that!”

the next time there was a ramble of soulmate talk, which by the way you were getting exhausted from. why did everyone have to have a soulmate? why couldn’t you pick from your own free will? it’s not even like you could have a bloody crush because there was already someone supposedly out there for you!

one free period, ONE! and it’s spent over peter narrowing down his options on all the gryffindor girls he might be paired with. “it’s definitely not marls, peter.” sirius’ pearl irises glanced at peter than over to remus who was trying to teach you how to play wizards chess.

“moony, not to be offensive, but this game sucks arse.” you shrugged, glaring at your queen piece that looked like it wanted to yell at you. as you were twisting around the wood of your pieces, james got up from the bench catching a glimpse of red among the ravenclaw students. instead tripping on the stone of the bench and face planting into the freshly cut grass.

you felt a soreness at the fronts of your calves and an immense discomfort on your face. you grimaced while rubbing your knees trying to soothe the random shoot of exertion through your veins to the point where you almost had the urge to groan.

james quickly scrambled to his feet trying to brush out his hair that had sprinkles of green all over the front, you completely ignored the fact that james’ fall broken by the stone of the bench had caused you to have a twinge of pain into your system.

“none of you saw that.” he panted with slight embarrassment, directing his message to sirius who had his hand clenched into a fist over his lips attempting to cover up the small chortles that were threatening to escape his lips.

“don’t worry, we saw nothing.” you confirmed with an amused grin, putting your two fingers over your lips like a seal.

he grinned back at you twice as hard, your heart starting more of an upbeat frequency that you started to notice as he sat beside you moving a piece that could ruin remus’ chance at winning.

“you slimy git! you’re helping her cheat, you little slag!” remus whined, trying to analyze the board again.

after your recovery, from absolutely nothing. you were sprawled on the scarlet-couch waiting for the rest of your friends to come back from detention. you dazed into a book remus had recently given to you, an icepack laying on your foot as you were almost hypnotized by the pride and prejudice book in your hands.

“oi, m’lady!” sirius abruptly shouted while returning to his common room. you jumped from the stentorian voice, that sunk into the now not-solemn and peaceful common room.

you turned your head seeing the bespectacled boy limp onto the other vermillion couch and rest his leg onto the plush of the pillow, meanwhile, the fawn and dirty blonde haired boys sat in the gryffindor-red love seats tired from their detention.

“what’s wrong with him?” you asked, referring to james’ leg that was propped under the pillow.

“we don’t know, we were walking and he just picked up his foot in agony. who knows maybe lily stubbed her toe.” sirius amused to the rest of the group. but your eyes widened in concern, but you had— there’s absolutely and completely no way. more than one person can stub their toe in one day, not just— just one person.

almost like you were in a daze or hypnotized, as stealth as possible you grabbed the maroon coloured blanket that was rested on the arm rest of the couch you spread it over your legs covering the foot; that you had injured previously that day.

what the fuck. no seriously, what the fuck. there wasn’t— there couldn’t even be— that wouldn’t work. it’s not possible. the butterflies, the flushed face, the nervous ticks— fuck.

over the course of the next few days, you were very careful. you could’ve been mary friggin’ poppins i mean you didn’t want him to get suspicious if you were both injured at the same time. you also did not want to know if he— the boy pining over lily fucking evans since first year was possibly— no there’s no way.

the following week there was a slytherin and gryffindor quidditch game. which also happened to be incredibly nerve wracking not only for you but between both houses, as much as slytherin wanted to seem nonchalant there act was simply not going to work. this determined who would be playing in the quidditch house cup, slytherins also happened to not play the fairest in quidditch so extra gryffindor training was keen.

well now that following week, was today. the game was fine, great even. gryffindor was in the lead and james was about to score a quaffle in the hoop, that was until slytherin beater decided to bat a bludger right into james torso causing him to collapse off his broom twenty five feet into the air with nothing to break his fall. at the reflect of the bludger on james ribs you already groaned hunched over into your seat catches the attention of both peter and sirius.

dumbledore did all the spells he could in such a swiftly manner before james skidded on the muddy grass of the pitch. by then you couldn’t even hold in the moans and groans from his affliction with the hard iron bludger and the fall from the air.

both peter and sirius’ eyes widened and shared a look before taking concern to your arching figure. “m’god i didn’t think it hurt that bad!” you groaned into your hands that could almost be seen as trembling from the agony that you were in as james’ team mates brought him down to the infirmary to check for injuries which he did in-fact have.

after sirius had brought you to your dorm, attempting to do a spell to rid you of most-but not all of your pain he raced to healers wing, seeing james on the verge of unconsciousness as madam pomfrey tried to whip up a potion in a fast manner to heal the boy.

i guess it was true— james was your soulmate. your soulmate in love with another woman that is.

a few hours later james was ordered to stay the night for observation, while both sirius and peter decided to catch up remus along with james up on the other ‘things’ more, or less, that occurred during the quidditch match.

him, and lily.... weren’t soulmates? he thought maybe one day they would’ve ended up together, at some point. not his very best friend being the one he’s ‘destined’ with. but he was desperate to speak with you, how did you know? did you even know? how bad did it hurt? he had so many questions scattered around his brain, until he saw your face that was close to a grimace from pain.

“hi.” you whispered, catching his attention.

“hey.” he whispered back hoarsely, gulping at the sudden tension in the room.

“so we’re—“ “you’re my—“ you both spoke at the same time, following an humourless more-so nervous chuckle, from the both of you.

“how long— did you even know?” james started, looking at your figure as if you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

you sat down nervously, cracking your knuckles as you were unsure where to start. “i thought— i started wondering, that day me and rem were playing chess and you fell.” you cleared your throat while speaking, avoiding eye contact entirely. “my knees started to hurt, but i didn’t even notice it. the day that you came into the common room limping, was when i suspected it.” you wrung your fingers together nervously, then looking into his irises.

“you knew? why didn’t you—“ his anger already starting to get the best of him, you knew that you were his soulmate. you were right in-front of him, but you never told him; he almost felt betrayed.

“i didn’t know! only suspected. but you have to understand, james. you were incessantly pinning after lily, you claimed you were ‘in love with her’. you’re making it seem like it was gonna be so easy for me to tell you that ‘guess what, james! the girl you love actually isn’t your soulmate and it’s your best friend you have no interest in!’ prongs, m’fraud s’not that easy.” you mocked, proving your correct argument to him based on his actions.

he took a shaky breath, analyzing basically his whole life in-front of him. even though he might’ve ‘loved’ lily, you were still more important to him. soulmate or not, he would always go to you first. he could barely stand to fight with you, he couldn’t loose you over some silly crush that he had.

“it doesn’t matter— lily— she doesn’t matter. y/n it’s you, soulmate, not soulmate, who cares! lily or not lily, you’ve always been my go-to, my number one, i mean you’ve always been the most important!” he said drastically while punctuating his words, and flailing his arms in the air to prove his point to you.

you sighed looking at him, almost unsure of his words. he looked at you expectantly before speaking again, “i’ll get on my knees right now and beg to you. with broken— well now bruised but priory broken ribs. not to mention my stubbed toe.” he chuckled at last second trying to humour you.

“oh my g— get up!” you snickered at him, james potter was on his knees fighting all the pride in his system right in-front of you where you were sat. his hands grasped both sides of your thighs trying to soothe you into you forgiving him.

at the sight of him right infront of you, with the best sirius black puppy dog eyes he could muster with a pouted lip you immediately gave in. “fine.” you sighed, “fine, fine, fine.” you giggled.

both of his hands encasing your cheeks, a small pout on your lips. “can i kiss you?” he asked, his elbows resting on your thighs. you looked at him pretending to ponder off in thought; shrugging while you spoke, “hmmm, maybe. i gues—“ he quickly cut you off, kissing your pouted lips in the middle of a sentence.

you kissed back, holding his face between your agile fingers. your right hand resting on his squared jaw and the other in his fluffy and borderline-sweaty hair. your lips slotting together, he could feel the mint taste from the gum you have chewed earlier bleed onto his tastebuds; you on the other hand, not such a memorable taste.

you quickly pulled away, a dramatic whine escaping from his throat. “you remember when you face planted into the dirt earlier?” you giggled while asking him. he looked at you confused; why would... you... be asking if he remembered himself falling?

“erm, yeah i can recall.”

“yeah your mouth tastes like dirt.”

taglist: @fathermarty @kittykylax @ronweasleyluvr @aspiringsloth20 @dear-luna @famdomhideout @hufflepogue

if your username is crossed out that means you gave me the wrong username or your settings for public display tags are off!

[thewitchandtheassassin]

What Would An Angel Say, The Devil Wants to Know Part Four (Lena Luthor x Reader)

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Summary: Why can’t you learn to control your emotions?

Words: 1576

Warnings: Language, angst, talks of violence.

Taglist:  @natasharomanoffswife @natasha-danvers @aaron-despair @username23345 @xjiasx @nowthisisliving27 @higherfurther-romanova @summergeezburr @marvels-writings @onlyafewfindtheway @captain-josslett @hayleyokami​ @aznblossom​

A/N: So I did a thing. And here we are.

-X-

Planning a demise wasn't terribly time consuming when someone like Lockwood was helping. Dastardly and vile, his ideas were straight to the point as you discussed your options. While you couldn't outright end the human's life with your own hands, he was quick to point out the most effective options that even a great angel like Lena couldn't stop. Cars were too uncertain and, while the elevator had been a good touch, something like that was too preventable.

"You need quick. Abrupt. No possible room for survival," Ben advised, sunglasses obscuring his face despite having no need for them as he eyed the blonde strolling briskly past you, none the wiser of your existences.

"True, but we have to be smart," you added, glancing around in search of Lena's tell: her "heavenly" glimmer.

"Yes, yes, I know. Your little angel is cunning but I think you give her too much credit," Ben replied, his eyes undoubtedly rolling as he sneered at the humans walking along.

Snorting, you jabbed your dagger into his side, ignoring his hiss of pain or the way he swatted at your hand. "No, I'm just not arrogant enough to underestimate her."

Your eyes strayed back to Kara as she slipped back into her office building and then - only then - did you seem the shine of the angel that often haunted your thoughts. The cretins of the earth couldn't see her but you could, her dark locks fluttering in the wind as she gazed back at you pleadingly.

Pieces of you hated her. Truly. Deeply. You would bear marks for the rest of eternity because of her.

But in the same token, you couldn't deny that your memories with her often left your stomach twisted in knots as you reminisced over the smile that made your heart ache. It hurt, remembering how things had once been. Before you were forced to fight with her; fight for your life.

You could see Lena's expression shift the moment it dawned on her who was standing beside you. The way her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, defiantly glaring at the smug demon beside you.

"Uh oh. I think your little angel recognizes me," Ben cackled, fingers curled into a taunting wave.

Snarling your lip, you growled, "She's not my angel, you ass. Now shut up before I cut your fucking tongue out."

Ben clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Testy, testy, (Y/N). Such a killjoy."

Cutting your eyes at him, your grip tightened on your dagger. "Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

You glanced back over to the building, but Lena was nowhere to be seen.

-X-

Querl studied his ward curiously, occasionally reading whatever Nia was writing though his stare always returned to the woman he was sent to protect. She was so entrancing and for once in his existence, Querl wished to be human again. If only for a day.

So enthralled by Nia, he didn't notice Lena's presence until her voice startled him off the desk he'd been perched on.

"Gods, Lena, you scared me!" he yelped, clutching his chest as he stared at the openly bothered woman.

"Maybe if you had been paying attention to your surroundings and not gawking, you would've noticed me," Lena scolded, though her words held no real bite to them.

"You seem troubled." Querl's brows furrowed together worriedly. "Are you okay?"

Shaking her head, Lena snagged her bottom lip between her teeth before sighing. "No. Complications have arisen and I'm unsure of what's going to happen."

"What complications?"

Peering over at Kara's messy desk, her nostrils flared slightly. "It appears (Y/N) has been given a helper. Lockwood."

Inhaling sharply, Querl's eyes flitted between Nia and Kara. "What should we do?"

"Be watchful. And careful. (Y/N) might have once been a friend but with Lockwood here, we must be vigilant or they'll both be dead before we can stop it."

It was difficult, accepting your new role in her life. Mortal enemies instead of teasing rivals you'd once been. Friends no longer, especially if you were willing to work with him.

A monster in every sense of the word.

"If she's working with him, you need to be careful. This seems way more personal than just an assignment," Querl advised sagely. "I want to believe it isn't but I can't imagine Ben will let this finish without trying to end you. Or having her try to kill you, to prove herself."

Your punishment had been no secret, most of the guardians far too aware of what your friendship with Lena had left you with, the bad blood thick and the scars deep.

"(Y/N) wouldn't..."

"Maybe the old (Y/N) wouldn't but now? Everything is different, Lena. You must accept that. Putting too much faith in her could cost us everything."

Swallowing dryly, the angel nodded. He was right...

She just wished he wasn't.

-X-

"We could always send a helicopter crashing into the building," Ben mused, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "If that didn't kill the human, surely the building collapsing would."

"That would kill too many others," you argued, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. "We're supposed to be discreet. Dropping a building on a bunch of them definitely wouldn't be discreet."

Lockwood shrugged, completely unbothered by his suggestion. "The human must die. At least we'd know for sure she was dead. Plus Querl's little charge is up there. Two sad, pathetic birds. One mighty stone."

"Not a chance, Woody, pick a new idea."

Ben sneered. He hated that nickname and you knew it, only using it to get under his skin. "Fine."

Smirking at his obvious annoyance, you peered up at the sky absently, noting the darkening clouds. You couldn't remember life as a human (if you'd ever been one to begin with) but you almost wished you could if only to feel the rain on your skin. It seemed like such a peaceful experience, the water trickling over flesh, soaking into clothes instead of rolling off dark wings.

"I'm going to see if I can come up with a better plan," you jeered, heading for the building before he could reply.

Stretching your wings, you kicked off the ground and slowly maneuvered to the floor your mark resided on, eyeing the oblivious blonde through the window. You were well aware you'd be attracting unwanted attention but you couldn't stand being around Ben any longer. If you didn't get a few minutes of space, you were likely to ram your dagger into his throat and send him back to the underworld without his body.

The shift of the air was apparent and you smirked knowingly at Lena's reflection in the glass.

"Stop smirking at me," Lena demanded, arms crossed in frustration.

Snorting, you twisted to face her, brow arching in amusement. "Or what?"

"You're working with Lockwood now?" she questioned, ignoring the challenge hidden in your words. "You hate that spawn of Hell."

You shrugged nonchalantly, peering at the throngs of people below. "He's my ticket to survival."

"He's a slimy coward who wants you dead!"

"Clearly so do you!" you shouted, eyes narrowing into a venomous glare dripping with disdain. "At least he's trying to keep me alive a little longer."

"You're an idiot if you really believe that."

Rolling your eyes, you inched closer to the infuriated woman. "No, I was an idiot thinking you ever cared about me, Lena. At least Lockwood doesn't lie to my face and pretend to be my friend."

"I am your friend!" Lena screamed, the green of her irises dissolving as energy flowed through her. "I don't want you to die!"

As if sensing the tension, the sky went alight with lightning as rain began to flow, startling the humans and hurriedly soaking them to the bone. If only it could wash away the anguish and pain twisting your insides; silence the beasts banging around in your head.

"Bullshit! You pretend to be some pure, precious guardian but you're really just as manipulative and cruel as every other angel. You think that energy of yours makes you above everyone but you're no better than me! And I should've seen that instead of falling in love with some white-winged bitch!" You shoved her, hard, barely containing the want to strangle the guardian who'd ruined you.

Fury washed over you in waves, rendering you heedless of the unwitting admittance that had passed your parted lips, only the sounds of your enraged breathes ringing in your ears. A flurry of emotions crossed Lena's features but you didn't care, simply wanting to either bolt away from the angel or toss her into the sun.

Whichever was easier.

"Y-you're in love with me?" she whispered, the power draining away and leaving behind imploring emeralds that were glassy with something.

The blood drained from your face as you poured through your last words. You had never meant to say that. Because you weren't in love with her. Couldn't be. There was no love in your heart, especially for her.

"I..."

Lena's fingers twitched, the urge to reach out overwhelming as she silently begged you to stay. To help her understand.

"(Y/N)-"

Shaking your head violently, you jerked backward. "No! No, no, no. I don't - I can't - fuck!"

Red lips dipped open but you didn't stay long enough to hear what she had to stay.

Fire erupted...

And then you were gone.

[theatresweetheart]

“Stop squirming, I don’t want to drop you!” + “Let me go!” with borrower roman & human virgil?

Paint Water

Summary: Roman takes an accidental dip into Virgil’s paint water. Who knew a human could be so very annoying?

Warnings: Swearing, arguing.

Pairing: Platonic Prinxiety

Characters: Roman, Virgil

Word count: 1841 words

A/n: I’ve finally done something with this prompt! I’ve been wanting to use it for ages, but writer’s block said no >:(  Though, I have finally managed to get around it! 

                                         ——————————

The artist dipped the paintbrush into the dark blue he had pulled out, before pressing it onto the canvas and following along with the penciled-in lines he’d drawn out a couple days prior. Virgil had had trouble deciding at first if this painting was going to be worth all the time and effort. After fussing with the lines enough, nearly erasing everything and then redoing it, he had decided it wasn’t going to get any better.

Besides, if the creation was atrocious and he really hated it, he could hide it in the spare bedroom for when his relatives came to visit.

His eyes followed the line of paint, his free hand absently tapping his thigh in time with the music in his headphones. It wasn’t an uncommon sight, if someone were to walk in on him like this.

A mug of lukewarm coffee sat forgotten to his side. It was half empty anyway, and Virgil was pretty sure he’d accidentally dipped his brush into it instead of the cup of water he had designated for cleaning his brushes off. So he wasn’t willing, nor was he eager, to take the risk of getting a mouthful of cold coffee that probably tasted like acrylic paint.

He could just get up and make himself another mug if he really wanted to anyway, it wasn’t difficult.

Virgil pulled back after a moment, eyes flicking over the canvas, picking out small little flaws that only he would really notice. Asking someone if they thought the flower in the bottom corner of the painting looked odd, they would most likely respond with a vehement “no! Your artwork is astounding, there’s nothing wrong with any of it!” Which was nice, admittedly, but not helpful for advancing his career or perfecting his technique. Truth be told though, Virgil knew he was the hardest person to please when critiquing his own work.

He leaned over to the side, adjusting his spot on the stool for a moment, before dipping the brush off into the water—and he knew it was his water for a fact. He pulled the brush back before forcing the water out of the bristles against the side of his easel and wiping the excess off on his jeans. They were already stained with colours, so a little more never hurt anyone.

For his next colour, he went for a charcoal black aiming to use it for the sky above the landscape. The picture itself was of a garden at midnight. The moon was high in the night sky, stars surrounded it. The light, he was hoping, would eventually look like it was glinting off of the stone fountain in the centre of the piece. Virgil was a skilled artist, he took the least bit of pride in that, but getting those minuscule details could be difficult and frustrating. Not to mention, if they weren’t done right, could make the whole piece look ridiculous.

Just as he was leaning back in to the start on the corner of the canvas, a wet splash hit the outside of his leg and soaked into his jeans. He hadn’t bumped the table accidentally, had he?

Virgil turned to see the cause of the mess, only to see the water in the paint cup rippling. He knew for a fact that he hadn’t bumped the table when little air bubbles began to surface and pop.

The artist pulled his headphones out before letting them rest over his shoulders. Leaning forward on his knees, he tried to peer into the water that had taken on a colour of its own. Mixes of grey, blue, black and purple all in one. It was a pretty ugly colour.

Not a moment later a familiar face popped out of the water, treading it to the best of his ability and Virgil had to stifle a snort. The borrower in question coughed and used a hand to wipe the paint from his face.

“Swimming are we?” The human teased, blatantly amused. Which earned an indignant noise from the man currently stuck in the mug.

“Not on purpose!” Roman snipped back, trying to keep his head above the water’s surface.

Virgil set his paint brush down on the edge of the table, making sure that the fresh paint on the end wouldn’t drip onto the tabletop. He then reached over and grabbed the cup and brought it over. He kept his hand as steady as possible, not wanting to slosh the borrower around any more than he already was. “Need a hand?”

Roman only snorted in his direction, his head bobbing under the water for a moment. “I can get out just fine,” he huffed, “just put the cup back down on the tabletop and you’ll see!”

“You keep going under, that doesn’t exactly instill me with confidence that you can actually get out on your own.” Virgil lifted the cup a little higher, silently noting that the thing itself had to be about seven inches. Which was a good three inches taller than the man currently treading within its confines. There was actually no way he could get out on his own.

“If you’d stop moving the cup, I’d be absolutely fine.”

Virgil quirked a brow. “Sure.”

With that as an implied warning, he lowered the cup back down so it was resting comfortably on the top of his knee. He then reached into the cup and, Roman, seeing what was coming, ducked back down into the water.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” He fished after the borrower trying to evade him for only a moment. Thanks to the slippery texture of the paint coating Roman’s clothes and Virgil’s fingertips, said borrower was able to continuously manage to slip his grip a couple times.

Virgil’s brows furrowed in concentration and slight frustration. He eventually settled on scooping two fingers under Roman’s arms was the better option. It took a second before he finally managed to pull him out of the water. Before long, he had a sopping wet Roman glaring at him.

“Now, was that so hard?” Virgil remarked after a moment, watching as Roman swiped at the paint on his face as best as he could from his position.

“Don’t patronize me.” He kicked his legs, managing to fling some water into the artist’s face.

“Real mature.” Virgil scrunched his nose, eyes closed to prevent the water from getting in his eyes. He set the cup of water back onto the table before using the hem of his sleeve to wipe the droplets off. When he opened his eyes again, he saw the way Roman was smirking at him. As if he had won this battle.

Please, that was hardly a win.

“Now,” Roman said, as if this was nothing more than a slight hindrance in his nightly excursion, “let me go, you giant pain in the ass. I could have very easily have gotten out of that mess by myself!”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “No you couldn’t have.”

Roman scoffed, attempting to wrench himself free. Even though he was far enough from the ground that a fall like that would be lethal, the idiot. “I absolutely could have. You just don’t believe me because you don’t want to admit you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong,” Virgil told him. “You’re about this big—” He used his free hand to measure out Roman’s somewhat accurate height before putting that against the bottom of the paint water’s mug. “—and you’re about this big compared to the cup. So, I think I’m pretty safe in saying you couldn’t have gotten out.”

“You just have no faith in me,” he huffed, trying to feign ignorance. Roman then scowled, trying to budge himself again. This time making enough progress that Virgil quickly brought his second hand up as a safety net.

“Careful you little pocket prince.” The human artist could feel the way his heart rate had spiked slightly from the scare. “A fall from this height wouldn’t be good for you.”

“If you’d just put me down, we wouldn’t have to worry about that then would we?”

“If you would stop moping we wouldn’t have to worry about it either. Just stop moving.”

“I shouldn’t have to stop moving if you would just listen to me!”

“I am listening to you. I just don’t want you to die prematurely, you idiot.”

“No you’re not! If you were, you’d have put me down by now.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose as if trying to ward off an oncoming headache. All he had wanted to do was get at least halfway done on his painting and now, here he was, arguing with a person the size of a mouse. “Just stop squirming, I really don’t want to drop you. You’re soaking wet Roman, which, believe it or not, makes it really hard to keep a steady hold of you.” He then let out a sigh, pushing out the frustration that was welling inside him. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

That question seemed to catch Roman off guard, as he stopped trying to pull himself free and looked back at him. “What?”

“Christ help me,” Virgil mumbled under his breath, before addressing the man still in his hold. “You fell into my paint cup from who know’s how high up. Does anything on you hurt?”

Roman blinked brilliantly at him a moment, before shaking his head. “No.”

Virgil relaxed the slightest bit. “Good. Now,” he motioned back to the cup of water sitting harmlessly on the table. “Do you want to go back into the cup to prove that you can actually get out?”

When he started to move his hand over, Roman twitched away from it. “No! No, no, don’t you dare!”

“That’s what I thought.”

So, instead of the cup, Virgil let Roman off onto the table beside it. He was just about to go back to painting when he noticed the borrower beginning to shiver slightly in the cool air of the apartment. He quirked a brow, but didn’t say anything at first. Truth be told, the water was pretty cold when he’d scooped Roman out, so to have his entire body drenched like that mustn’t be comfortable either.

He wiped his hand off on his pants. “Are you cold?”

Roman’s arms tightened around himself. His shivering increased. “No.”

Virgil found a smirk creasing his features. “You’re a horrible liar,” he said, stretching to release some of the tension in his back. Sitting hunched over on a stool for hours on end probably wasn’t the best for his posture. He glanced the mug of forgotten coffee. “I was about to make myself a fresh cup of coffee anyway, you want some?”

Roman hesitated only a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

Virgil gave a nod to show he’d heard. Just as he was getting up to leave the room and get some extra clothes for the shivering borrower, he heard Roman’s voice speak up;

“Are you ever going to let me live this down?”

Virgil laughed, but it wasn’t mean. “Not a chance.”

[cutegirlmayra]

Here's a fun AU idea. I was thinking instead of tarot card reading Amy has vivid visions of the future. However whenever she gets a good vision dizzy spell when she gets a bad vision terrible sometimes debilitating headaches and she doesn't control what she sees. This makes her a person of interest to Eggman, G.U.N., and other world governments so they constantly try to capture her and use her power for their own gain. If she tries to force a vision it hurts her. Sonic is very protective of Amy

*feels tired today, just re-reading prompts to get ideas -sometimes new- or get excited about who’s next in line*

Thinking in my head, ‘I’m just not feeling well today, but I do have some ideas.’ The very next thought to encourage me, ‘You write your best when you’re tired.’

Me, directly after that thought, ‘...Darn it, you’re right.’ *proceeds to write all and every emotion in vivid detail* (lololol)

I know myself too well.

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN. No, you cannot beg nicely for me to take your prompt until they are open again, sorry love, them’s the rules. BI

Slightly gonna alter your request for the benefit of something I think may be a stronger storyline, I hope you still enjoy it, Precious Anon! \(:D)/

Prompt:

There was a rift in the chasm of space time, an unfathomable amount of power was being expelled and pulled, creating real and alternative timelines.

In order for Sonic and the gang to face these anomalies, Silver suggested that someone with the potential of mental abilities and the like should try and connect with the magnetizing force that keeps tugging and shoving on time, rewriting it and creating all these alternative realities continuously. Destroying and recreating decisions and parallel worlds would have a chaotic effect on the universe, but no one seemed to be able to connect to the unseen force, and Eggman didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight either.

Everyone was troubled... there was this silent fear that we’d be rewritten in seconds, that we’d cease to be who we really were in this very moment.

I stood by as my friends talked heatedly about their options, they each had tried but none had succeeded in connecting to that ‘force’.

I always felt I had magical properties to myself, if we could just connect to the dimension where this force started from, we may be able to help on our end.

I fidgeted, knowing Silver and Sonic were butting heads since Silver’s main priority was the future, while Sonic’s was the here and now.

Some found hope in this rewritten time, making Shadow and Eggman actually allies once again... Shadow hoping the past could be changed, and Eggman for his obvious reasons of defeating Sonic and taking over the world.

Both were absent and nowhere to be found.

As they continued to grow more and more harsh in how they spoke with one another, I felt the longing to end the conflict, and looked over to the Master Emerald.

It was the only thing that wasn’t being rewritten, some clue to connecting to the other dimensions...

Everyone had called out to it but nothing was working. I felt something swirl in me like an engine, seeing my beloved Sonic turning so angry and Silver ignoring him sent me into a rage myself, but I kept my lips in a fine line and held my fury back.

‘Friends shouldn’t talk to each other like this, or get in each other’s faces with such heavy glares...’ I knew in my heart that if I joined in, I wouldn’t part the two, but only get caught in their crossfire of differing ideals.

Both were stubborn, and both weren’t looking at the bigger picture.

Without a way to communicate with the alternative timelines, our decisions wouldn’t help us get any further to contacting the other dimension, and not just that... but we wouldn’t progress at all. We’d just be going around in circles...

“You can’t seriously think that sitting around waiting for some magical tether from the other dimensions is going to get us out of this time loop!” Sonic’s voice was full of presence and experience, he was a well-traveled hero, and knew the best options to weigh in moments like these... but Silver continued to fight back.

“If we advance unknowingly and without caution into the stream of time, we could easily be just as trapped in it’s nonsensical clutches as we were before! For some reason, the Master Emerald’s location is the only place in time where the effects of the rewritten world aren’t effected! If we give up this position, no one might be able to tell us what’s going on!” Silver swung an arm out, stepping up and going toe to toe with Sonic, refusing to back down from the argument. “I know you think charging into the time-stream might give us answers, but it’s a risk that holds so many unlimited possibilities that it’s fruitless to venture in! You’d just be trapped and the rest of us possibly waiting all eternity for you to choose the right path to even get out to another dimension!”

That part we knew was sound and right, that unless you pick the right choice every time, the time vortex would just pull you somewhere else. Without knowing the other dimension’s choices, we’d never be able to coordinate this... even Tails said something along the lines of a uniformed pathway that could get them all to the center of this strange force...

Otherwise, we’d be trapped... forever.

“You’re leaving us as sitting ducks to whatever’s happening! It’s going to put us all in danger!” Sonic was beyond listening to reason, however. My darling could never just sit by while we all feared for our lives and the world’s future.

The two stood so close, it looked as though their foreheads would touch, and I could tell Sonic was about to make a stand so great that Silver would be forced to let him go...

I couldn’t stand the thought of losing Sonic in a time-loop forever. In being stuck on Angel Island’s alter for the rest of eternity till someone figured out the correct choices...

I felt my whole being flood with tingles and expectations, with exactly what I was going to do and how my very soul wouldn’t allow me to watch as everyone would lose themselves diving into a puzzle that had no way of being solved without aid.

That was the last straw for me. Seeing Sonic pull himself away from Silver and walk over to the Master Emerald, “I’m done talking. Taking action is the only way we can succeed against this catastrophe.” He spoke so manner-of-factly... he was going to touch the Master Emerald and dive into the vortex... wasn’t he?

“No...” I held my hand out, seeing the Chaos Emeralds all glow as he was fusing with them to create the miracle known as Super Sonic... but I couldn’t- I couldn’t banish Sonic to an eternity of never-ending wandering through an unescapable maze!!!

“Soonniiccc!!!” I charged forward, making him flinch and pause a moment as he turned to look back at me, but by then, I had already reached forward and interfered with the Chaos Emeralds giving him power.

Instead of him turning Super, I felt my hand touch the Master Emerald, and all time seemed to freeze. I gripped the Master Emerald with my arms, widening the span of how far my arms could reach, and shook my head against it. “I can’t let everyone panic and waste away our precious friendships over this... this... whatever it is! Please, Master Emerald! Do I have the potential to set things right!?” I dipped my head down as the power overwhelmed me. Time slowly began again, as I was moving at normal speed, everyone around me started to move as though slowed considerably.

“Is this..?” I looked up to see Sonic’s hand slowly reaching for me, and his surprised expression at stopping him. “Chaos’s... power?”

I was shot back as my eye-sockets glowed a bright green, and through some vision or other, saw what looked like my younger self, also getting driven from the Master Emerald.

The original world... the first universe... Somehow, by the two of us acting and making a decision in unison, or maybe she had made it previously... I wasn’t sure, we were able to finally find a bond and connect in some magical way to where I could see that dimensions choices.

I felt my bare back slam against the graveled dirt of Angel Island and skid aggressively to a halt as it scratched my back and left me feeling weak.

Time returned to normal, I guess? As I heard my friends cry out my name and rush me.

I could numbly feel hands on me, shaking me as my eyes struggled to lift up, and were just waving open slightly.

My head hurt, I was dizzy and couldn’t see anything at first clearly. It was all a blur, before Silver’s and Sonic’s voices rang out the most.

“What happened!?” Sonic’s voice was full of authority, as though ready to take action if something need be done.

“She... I’m not sure, but the Master Emerald fused it’s time capabilities with her. You saw it, right? Her whole body was vibrating so quickly... like....” Silver was interrupted by Tails just then.

“Like she was merged into all the different dimensions... she was moving faster than the time strain!” Tails’s excitement meant only one thing...

“So... she had the potential then, out of all of us, to carry the connection.” Silver’s reserved tone must have meant that he felt validated in what he was so adamantly defending earlier. “Now that she can guide us through the time vortex, we might be able to reverse whatever’s happening, and return time and space to normal again.”

Sonic looked over at Silver, then down towards me as I still felt my breathing was low and drained, I couldn’t speak no matter how much my lips parted to try. It was like I was still adjusting to being in one dimension again, instead of flying through to see my other self’s choices.

“It didn’t need to come to this point...” Sonic spoke gravely, but it seemed to trigger and enrage Silver as he shot his head to look back at him, then stood up, defiantly.

“If you hadn’t acted the way you did, we may not have gotten this path. We have a real way to succeed and get through this now, Sonic! Why are you still so against me!?” He tightened his fists and thrust them forward, showing how much he was holding back his mixed emotions...

He was somewhat humble enough to admit that if Sonic didn’t rebel against him, that I wouldn’t have done what I did... but on the other hand, it still seemed like Sonic was opposed.

“I just meant that it didn’t need to be this way.” Sonic shook his head to Silver, remaining somewhat collected from his earlier clenched jaw demeanor. He put what felt like the warmest touch out of everyone’s onto my arm, and looked back to me, “It didn’t need to be so fueled...”

Somehow... I knew he was speaking to me.

He must have meant he wished it wasn’t so emotional to where I was put in a rough spot, choosing between losing the love of my life or sacrificing myself into the time vortex... I would have jumped, if Sonic jumped too... at least then, we could be trapped together. He wouldn’t have had to be alone in that endless maze...

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have thought those exact wordings of it, but... it did help to think he may have seen it as an act of true love.

I gained strength from his hand resting on my arm, and slowly began to wobble and lean myself up.

Everyone saw my arms gain strength again and push from under me, and immediately swarmed me again to help, perhaps unaware if I was conscious enough to have heard their discussion.

They called out to me, and I nodded, showing I was here and alert, but drained somewhat.

The pounding in my head subsided and I gripped it, “I... I saw her.” I stated, “I saw the original dimension this all happened in... I think I can do it again.”

Sadly, I couldn’t just ‘summon’ the answers. Something had to trigger it, which began another frustration as we all held one another’s hands and jumped into the void.

The first rewritten stories were perplexing. A shadowy figure that swarmed with dark matter looked strangely in the silhouette of Eggman, but instead of targeting Sonic like usual, he kept coming after me.

“U-wah!!” I leaped out of one of his dark matter missiles as everyone was getting scattered from me, as though this figure didn’t want me to receive any help.

“Amy!” Sonic called out, darting from the after-effects of the missiles, for when they landed and exploded, a space of black, glittering galaxy expanded out in a small radius and tried to suck us into another story to lose our progression.

He rolled and finally slid under the shadowy Eggman, confusing him as he pulled up on his Eggmobile and Sonic round-house kicked him away from me.

He reached to grab me, and as I went to reach for him as well, my eyes glowed again the color of the Master Emerald and I saw the other dimensional me.

She was young and looked like my younger years of first meeting Sonic. Sonic was younger too, and reached out in the same way Sonic was doing now. Was this... the corresponding choice?

Could I only see these moments when something unified happened? Were we making the same choices our other selves were or are making right this second?

I couldn’t tell, but I could see that after that Sonic and little me took the other’s hands, she summoned her hammer and spun to whack a younger looking Eggman away and send him flying, then everyone gathered and they took the right route... where it looked like the world was splitting apart and floating rapidly in a spinning and drifting away appearance.

When I came back, my head hurt and I looked to see that while unconscious, my friends were defending me from the shadowy figure of the Eggman lookalike.

“W-we have to take the right path!” I shouted out, my head pounding and debilitating me from summoning my hammer.

I had to though, if I didn’t, time would rewrite and we’d have to start with a new scenario and from scratch. Everyone was depending on me to guide them... I had to fight through the pain!

I struggled to lean up, feeling my body tense like cracking through uncooked spaghetti, but my arms finally cricked into position and I summoned my hammer.

“HAAA!!!” I grabbed Sonic’s hand which, when he noticed I was getting up, hurried to reach out to me again as I felt him pull me forward and swung my hammer into the momentum of his helpful pull.

The Shadowy Eggman went flying, and though Silver thought the left looked more safe from the twisting rapidly pieces of land in the galaxy on the right side, I urged him to trust me.

Sonic and I... we were so amped up in the moment... we didn’t realize that we never let go of one another’s hand...

G.U.N was in this memory or story, whichever it was, and they were after a shadowy figure of Shadow The Hedgehog.

However, Shadow seemed to be targeting me, as though wanting to destroy me.

This continued to baffle Tails and Silver, but Sonic was more protective than I’ve ever seen before, unselfishly throwing himself in the rippling blackness of Shadow’s silhouette, but was defenseless against how much more powerful this Shadow appeared to be.

It was reminding us all of when Shadow first awakened, and Knuckles tag-teamed with Sonic to give me enough time to try and trigger my memory.

I tried to do various things and put myself into situations to see if anything would trigger the correct course’s vision, but nothing was working and I was growing frustrated with myself.

Face it, there was a lot of pressure, and I felt that every minute I wasted was another second Sonic and Knuckles had to suffer under the fake G.U.N shadowy forms and the Shadow look-a-like.

Finally, I hit my head with a rock as a last resort but was quickly pulled away by Tails, “Amy!”

“Stop it, that isn’t helping!” Silver quickly intercepted too, yanking the rock out of my hands.

“I... I don’t know what else to do...” I admitted, feeling I was losing grip of my faith in myself... I may have been able to spare Sonic before, but now..?

Was this completely out of my control?

“Anytime now, fellas!” Knuckles called out as we both turned to see Sonic and Knuckles shoving themselves against Shadow’s dark, rippling body that almost looked like wavy flames under a watery scope. He was taking steps forward, which caused their feet to grind against the earth in an attempt to hold him back.

Then G.U.N appeared behind us, and we were surrounded... When the bullets began to fire, my eyes widened and the light of the Master Emerald grew from my eyes.

My other self was rescued once more by Sonic, but he was hit by those odd galaxy alternating bullets. He fell by her side and twitched, making her get up and cry over him as the bullets expanded holes in his form, and as he looked up at her, the holes overtook him and he turned into a rewritten, shadowy figure that reached for her.

She gasped and was pulled away by another, younger Knuckles with a cowboy hat on, who said something I couldn’t hear as my visions didn’t have sound, and threw her to a smaller Tails, who caught her and flew with her into another portal as the two left the other Knuckles behind with the shadowy images of Sonic, G.U.N, and Shadow...

“NOOO!!!” I came out of the vision and turned to where Sonic was coming at me, already having jumped and about to reach me.

I knew if I didn’t let these events happen, we’d be trapped, but every part of me wanted to jump into Sonic’s arms and push him back, let myself be the one that was swallowed up in the rewritten darkness.

But by then, I knew it wasn’t--and shouldn’t--be called a rewritten reality.

It was erasing reality! There seemed to be a hive-mind I picked up on, the force was controlling my friends and Eggman, G.U.N even! 

Not just that, but I didn’t know if we’d be able to save Sonic. I thought nothing could overcome Sonic... I was so torn, but as I focused on his eyes... so determined to get me out of harm’s way... I couldn’t find it in my heart to move.

He was shot and rolled along the ground with me as he I held him, tears spraying from my eyes in an army of resistance. I clung to him, crying out his name as he flinched and tried to fight against the erasing darkness that would soon overwhelm his being and turn him into a mindless drone to whatever force was trying to take over time and our known reality.

“Noo!!!” I screamed out as Sonic told Knuckles to take me from him, and as he turned to fight Shadow, was fully overcome and went limp. “SOOONNICCC!!!”

Knuckles had ripped me from him and threw me to Tails, instructing him that he’d stay behind to look after Sonic while Tails and Silver got through to the next part or stage of this timeline.

Silver had to grip my head and take my line of sight off of Sonic’s shadowy form as it turned almost like a zombie towards me, tilting it’s head as the drones somehow knew I carried the Master Emerald’s power to connect to the other dimension.

“Amy! Listen to me!” Silver began, but I felt I had died inside. My voice escaped my lungs and there was nothing left in me. I... had become motionless... I didn’t stop Sonic... I... I didn’t deserve him...

What kind of woman, who claimed to love her hero so full-heartedly, would have froze up when the time to save him drew near?

“I don’t deserve him...” My headache couldn’t match the absolute obliteration of my soul and heart from within me. Like those rapidly twirling away pieces of the world we had journeyed through moments before. “I... Sonic...!” I didn’t deserve to call myself Sonic’s destined love... if I couldn’t even protect him when I knew what was about to happen.

“He was too fast, Amy, there’s nothing you could have done.” Tails held me closer to him, seeing my shaking eyes and the pain in trying to speak when I felt my entire ribcage had collapsed and took the compartments of my lungs and lifeforce with it.

“Amy, please, remember, this can all be rewritten.” Silver had placed his two hands to the sides of my face, seeing how broken I was and failing to grasp this reality.

My head twitched up, but I was hollow inside.

“You have to tell us what to do. What did you see? Where do we go?!” He urged, trying to be kind, but... “We can’t save him now! He’ll be alright, you have to trust in your vision! Please, Amy! The more time you spend silent the more time Sonic has to suffer!”

What was the point..? Without Sonic... Without him, I-... I had no meaning to my life anymore. Sonic was everything to me... he was my whole world... a reality without Sonic... in a universe where I couldn’t see him smiling... couldn’t hear his laughter and teasing expression... A world without his warm touch...

My mind went back to when Sonic had placed his hand to my arm, his words... “It didn’t need to come to this point... It didn’t need to be so fueled...”

My eyes blazed with a new purpose. I wasn’t just going to save my dimension. I was going to save my Sonic!

I cried out and struggled to get Silver’s hands off my face, then pointed Tails to the portal that was opening behind us. “There! Go! Now!”

I saw and witnessed first hand the torment the other dimensional, more tender, younger and naïve me struggle to gain the strength to continue forward, till her and her friends found sanctuary at the end.

By this time, I had spent all of what I felt was in me, and fell to my knees as I had fought the dark entity known as World Keeper, who was polluted by the filth of negativity in all the worlds... that hive mind was just swallowing the world in despair, and without ever being hit by it, I felt it more than ever too.

Then it slashed it, and I felt the darkness swallowing me as my color turned black with the light glimmer of inky stars within it’s slick obsidian...

I fell back and couldn’t feel myself hit the ground, I couldn’t feel anything anymore but emptiness...

As it overtook me, I wondered with my last, conscious thoughts if the other dimensional me had saved Sonic... was this the end of our universe? Or just the entrapment of one dimension?

Then...

“Don’t give up!”

S...Sonic?

“You have what it takes, use the power of the Chaos Emeralds!”

S...Shadow?

“I didn’t blast this stupid filth out of the sky only to be controlled into an everlasting misery by it!!!”

Eggman..?

“I’m not staying stuck in this feeling forever! Come on, Amy! You can do this-grraaahh!!!”

Knuckles...

Drifting into the blackness of the void, I suddenly felt four strong hands trying to force me upwards towards the light.

It slowed my decent, until Silver and Tails were able to reach out and grab me, and my last vision surfaced with the dizzy spell.

Rosy... she was also drifting into despair before Robotnik and Sonic reached through their own controlled misery by the World Keeper and used the last of their hope to push her out...

I tried to strain as best as I could through the dizzy, blurry vision and move my hand up towards them.

Her vision and mine suddenly conjoined, and I saw younger Tails flash continuously between Silver and my dimension’s Tails too.

I spoke out to her... “We can still save everyone...” I encouraged, “We... can’t give in... to hopelessness!”

I felt our hearts merge into one, felt our power soar as though we were evolving into a new creature that had it’s life sparked into existence again.

Newly hatched into this feeling of easiness, peace, and strength beyond my understanding... I grabbed Tails and Silver’s hands and swung out, the darkness that was once overcoming me suddenly burst with light and the seven Chaos Emeralds floated around us.

“Ah! She didn’t fuse with them!” Silver blurted out, seeing them swarm both him and Tails too.

“She... was storing them!” Tails exclaimed.

I guess I had become somewhat of their server and carrier... there power was just kept safe in me... through the Master Emerald and my unique connection to the other me.

We fought and as we did, I touched the ground and brought my friends and all the dimensions who had succumb to the negativity out from the inky blanket of darkness and restored their light and hope through the power being expelled from me.

No longer was I a guide.

I was a redeeming light now.

Sonic, Shadow, and Silver all burst into Super form, and together--with all the other worlds we loved so dearly too--we put an end to World Keeper and with me and my other self touching his chest as he was about to fall back into the his own making of the void, he immediately returned to a smaller form of another being.

Sonic suddenly cried out, “Chip!” and darted into the void after him.

I waited... weeks and weeks did I wait for him...

I clung to my chest as though clinging to my heart, refusing to let it break, and keeping it all together again.

I didn’t have visions anymore, but I could feel something... Something like the despair of the void was created from that feeling of loss and loneliness when Chip’s essence left the core of the earth and became free roaming in space...

Tails said he had a theory, that Chip’s body was still with Dark Gaia, but his power had escaped in longing to reunite with Sonic, his friend, again.

Traveling through space and time without a body, it became depressed, and expelled it’s world-bending powers to try and find Sonic... ending up losing itself and taking all worlds and dimensions it was searching through down with it.

A comet of bright golden light shot down through the cosmos, and I eagerly dropped everything to race out my door and pursue it, I knew from the green, red, and white lights that covered the world that Chip’s soul and powers returned to their slumber... and brought back Sonic safely to us as well!

“Sonic..!” My heart could barely contain it’s joy as I raced over the hills to follow his light... before having it sink and my hands fling up to the sides of my face when I saw him hit the water off in the distance of the sea. “No, Sonic!!! You can’t swim!!”

The distance was too far, but I swam anyway, feeling my exhaustion from having traveled miles and miles already on land before seeing him fall into the ocean.

He was covered in a light I assumed was Chip’s planet power, and I held my breath and swam down to him, heard a voice in my mind calling to me...

“Sorry for all the trouble I caused, Amy... Take good care of Sonic from now on. I won’t be lonely without him anymore... I know I may never see him again, especially when I wake up many, many years from now... but even still, the moments I had with him in the void of space and time, and with our time facing Dark Gaia, will always be in my heart... Thank you for letting me see him, one last time...”

The floating ball of light around him slowly brought Sonic up to me, and when I entered it, I took a deep breath and fell limply over his body, floating with him up to the surface.

He opened his eyes and smiled at me, winking without a word but it still gave me so much comfort and peace.

It was as though he was saying everything would be alright now... and Chip’s remaining spatial power set us down on the shoreline... as the waves met us as we took a much deserved rest on the cool sands... the sun rose up and the sounds of helicopters and people were surrounding us, but we remained sleeping soundly next to one another...

Sonic’s warm hand... laying gently over my stomach...

Mine upon his heart.

G.U.N’s windy interruption causing us both to sneeze as Silver appeared and held out both his hands to stop them from investigating, explaining as we drifted off into our dreams~

[innately-pretentious]

Finally, I Found You. (Klaus Hargreeves x Reader)

Request: Hey! I looooved your Klaus headcanons and was wondering if you could write about when him and the reader are reunited in the 60s??? Totally fine if not, have a nice day!

A/N: Awh thank you so much, I hope this is alright dude! I am really tempted to turn this into a series tho... if you want that?? Even if this is really rough and kind of rushed. Kinda angsty? Kinda sad? Very fluffy. Enjoy!

Being spat out of a spinning vortex into a dingy alley was enough to stress anybody out, especially after a rather terrifying and life threatening encounter with your sister initiating the apocalypse. Navigating through the twenty first century was difficult enough, but being catapulted into a completely new decade with nothing but your bag and clothes you were wearing just about topped that.

Letting out a cry as you hit the ground and groaning as you rolled over and tried to get our bearings. Glancing around to see if you could locate any of your siblings whom you were with only a few minutes previously, you stood up and brushed yourself off, you began calling out their names. Sadly with no success, there was no response, you were alone.

You continued pacing along the pavement, trying to come up with a plan of action. Deciding you couldn’t improve your situation much from the alley, you emerged into a busy street and began wandering down the road. Progressing along the street, you could not help but take notice of the architecture and clothing surrounding you. Definitely not similar to the modern aesthetics you were used to. Flagging down an approachable looking woman and kid you asked what year it was, sharing peculiar look she confirmed your suspicions. It was July 24th 1962. Brilliant.

Trying hard not to think the worst of your situation, you mind wandered to Klaus. The two of you had hardly been apart for more than one night over the course of your year long relationship, your stomach dropped at the thought of him being isolated in a random time period, unable to contact anyone, nobody to help. A small part of you wished Ben was with him, but you were completely clueless as to how this whole time travel business worked. You attempted to brush that thought aside for the time being, first you had to find somewhere to stay. Sleeping rough with nothing but the clothes on your back did not sound appealing, luckily you had some spare cash in your bag for a room for a few days, giving you sometime to formulate a plan.

The first night was definitely the hardest. Deciding to find the cheapest hotel you could, you booked a room for the night, collecting the keys and collapsing on the mattress. As soon as you got into the uncomfortable bed you knew sleep would not come tonight, the double bed was not helping either. You spent the majority of the night on your side, laying there and glancing at the opposite side of the mattress, where he should be sleeping. It felt too empty without Klaus hogging the blanket. You couldn’t help the collection of memories the two of you shared popping into your mind. Lazy weekday nights, limbs draped absentmindedly over one another, Klaus’ hand tracing soft patterns into your shoulder as you talked about absolute nonsense for hours. Both dreading when the morning came as you would have to leave his arms. Growing up in Hargreeves’ mansion you would constantly sneak into his room, even before you were together. Your ability to turn invisible was a great help, coming to comfort him if your father pushed him too hard again was almost a nightly occurrence. You loved the way he would relax as soon as he felt you lift up the blanket and settle in next to him, knowing he wouldn’t have be alone.

You smiled at the thought of him, he always had to be close to you. Even in his sleep you caught him reaching for you sleepily or rolling his leg onto you in an attempt to pull you closer. You often wondered if he even knew he was doing it or if it was entirely subconscious. After everything he went through growing up it was no surprise he had clingy tendencies. You wouldn’t change him for anything, if he needed you close, you had no problem obliging him. If it made him feel safe you would do it.

It was at this point the tears started to fall. For someone who had been through so much to then be stuck somewhere, unable to reach you, made your heart ache. Tomorrow you would figure something out, however futile it may be, you were determined to at least try and make a life for yourself here.

3 Months Later:

The three months had not been easy, by any means. It had mainly consisted of you on the road, finding work pretty much wherever would take you. Getting the car you were currently driving was a feat in itself, stealing an automobile had never been on your bucket list. You never liked using your power to steal, however, it was your only mode of transport and occasional place to sleep. You always coaxed Klaus not to just take things, he would be shocked if he could see you now, the look on his face would be priceless! On the bright side, you could have picked a worse car, with five seats, a convertible roof and playable radio, you had risen in worse rides.

More memories surfaced in your mind, ones where you took Klaus out for a drive out of the city during the beginning of his sobriety. This started as an attempt to inject a new lust for life into him, show him there was more to the world than just powder in the back alleys. Soon your little road trip became a weekly occurrence, driving with Klaus and losing track of time, just each other for company. You loved him dearly but you both decided it would be more beneficial if you were the one behind the wheel, not that he cared, he was given full control of the music this way. He insisted on having the windows down and the music loud, staring at you with his pupils slightly dilated, feeling doped up on life rather than various pills. You loved how radiant he looked, you even let him get away with wailing along to the lyrics on the radio, at least for a while…

“Klaus, I love you, but I’m gonna need my eardrums in the future,”

“Yes, I’m aware. Why do you think I’m gracing them with my dulcet tones?”

You couldn’t help but jokingly glare at him. Once again he was never to far away from you, laughing and giving your thigh a squeeze as you watch the city disappear behind you, along with his worries.

Dragging yourself back to the present (well, 1962), you gripped the steering wheel, forcing yourself to focus on the road instead of the bittersweet memories you held. They were the only things you had left of him, and you hoped that wherever he was, he was safe.

You decided to return to the town where it all began, Dallas, Texas. You were in need of some new clothes and a quick bite to eat before you got back on the road, in search for another short-term job to earn some much needed cash. A second-hand shop would probably be the most budget friendly option for clothes, ringing the bell as you opened the door, you began to flick through the various fabrics and patterns of clothing. One of the things you loved about this decade was the flamboyant clothing, he would have thrived here. Gathering quite a large armful of clothes, you decided to go try a few on, just looking through your selection one last time before you committed to the changing room.

You were ripped from your thoughts by a loud thud on the window, resulting in you dropping the bundle of clothes you had accumulated during your browsing. Huffing and turning your attention to the window, ready for some kind of confrontation, although, nothing could be further from your assumption.

Your eyes met with the same hazel ones you had been gazing into for the last year, unmistakable hands with tattoos were firmly placed on the glass. His jaw was slack and his eyes were wide as he gawked through the glass. You began to shake as you drank in the sight of him, your chest tightened and you found it increasingly difficult to breathe. You wanted to run into his arms, but you weren’t sure if your legs would carry you. You couldn’t feel anything except the racing of you heart. Time seemed to still as you just stared at one another.

He was the first to break the gaze, tripping over himself in an attempt to reach the door. He forced the door open so forcefully that the bell nearly fell off, it didn’t stop him though. Running down the shopping aisle, pushing the racks aside as he continued towards you, knocking over a few clothing racks, not slowing down as he slammed into your open arms. The impact of the force sending the two of you tumbling to the ground, both of you gripping onto the other in fear they may disappear again. He could feel you shaking in his hold, overwhelmed with the entire situation, he kept his grip firm around you, letting you know that he is here and you are safe. He doesn’t plan on leaving you.

Finally managing to pull his face from the crook of your neck, you held his face in your hands, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. You weren’t aware you were crying until you felt his calloused hands brush away a stray tear from your cheek.

“It’s really you isn’t it?” You managed to choke out, you must have looked insane to the shopkeeper, both of you smiling and sobbing, curled up on his shop floor.

“Of course it’s me, nobody could recreate this amount of beauty and personality twice,” he joked and cracked a smile. That typical Klaus smile you missed so much. Even in a time like this, supposedly sentimental, he still had to get a wisecrack in.

“You’re such an idiot Klaus, only you could compliment yourself in a time like this,” you said, you weren’t sure if you were crying or laughing at this point, but you knew you were finally happy.

“I’ve had to do it myself for a while since you were absent,” he said, you couldn’t miss the subtle sadness that passed over his features.

“Come on then Y/N”, he groaned as he stood up, offering a hand to help you, “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

You glanced up at him before you accepted his hand, his hair was longer than before and he looked healthier, but he was undeniably still your Klaus. You placed you hand in his and let him drag you up, resting his arm around your waist, slightly tighter than he used to. You allowed your head to rest on his shoulder, re-familiarising yourself with his body. The two of you definitely had a long conversation ahead, you allowed him to drag you to the nearest diner, excited to unburden yourselves after finally finding each other.

[misskikuwrites]

Shattered Glass

Bederia Week 2021: Day 2 - First Date

Bede/Gloria (dressedinpinkshipping)

Tags: fluff, angst 

Words: 8,328

@bede-x-gloria

-

Gloria curled her legs beneath her on the wooden chair, holding the steaming mug of tea close for warmth. Spring had finally come to Galar, but the spacious Pokemon Lab in Wedgehurst carried a lingering chill in the air. That was probably part of the reason why Hop always wore his lab coat. Otherwise, it was the sense of pride and achievement that drove him to don it day after day- he wore it with his head high, sitting across from Gloria at the dining table nestled by the entrance to the lab. She couldn't begin to feel cold, or worry about it, with bigger things on her mind. 

 "What am I going to do, Hop?" she sighed. "The Gala is next week."

 He sipped at his coffee, unperturbed. "So? Do what you did last year- if you get asked to dance, turn them down. Simple." 

 "It's not simple. I got away with that last time because it was my first year as Champion. This time, I'm expected to socialise- and that means dancing. If I decline everyone who asks me, it'll be a serious… what's the word? Faux pas?"

 Hop's eyebrows lifted slightly. "Never thought you'd care about social expectations. Especially when it comes to rich, snobby expectations." 

 She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. "You don't understand- I'm the Champion. I have to care about these things now, I don't have a choice. It's either conform to their rules, or get eaten alive by the rich, snobby people and journalists alike. Also, those 'rich, snobby people' are the ones sponsoring the League. I have to appeal to them."

 Which meant dancing. Dancing and socialising with people who wouldn't have glanced at her twice if she wasn't the Champion.

 "I see your problem." Hop nodded slowly. "Guess I'm lucky that no one will be paying any attention to me. No one's going to ask the Pokemon Professor's assistant to dance." 

 "You'll have to dance with me at least once," she said. "But you're right. It's me they'll be looking at, not you." 

 Gloria sighed again. She stared down at her tea, the churning in her stomach sucking away her desire to drink it.

 "A week." She drummed her fingers against the ceramic mug, anxiously tapping away. "How am I going to learn to dance in a week?" 

 "A better question is who's going to teach you," Hop said. 

 "Who'll be willing to teach me and keep their mouth shut," Gloria added with a huff. "The last thing I want is an instructor blabbing to journalists about my inability to dance." 

 "What if you didn't go to an official instructor?" Hop asked. "What if, instead, you went to someone who knew how to dance themselves and could teach you? Someone we know isn't going to sell you out to the press." 

 "You know someone like that?" 

 He smiled. "We both do." 

 There was something about the twinkle in his eyes that unsettled her, something suspicious. 

 "Who?" Gloria asked. 

 "Bede." 

 She blinked at him. "Bede?" 

 Hop nodded, smile widening. "He's part of the Ballonlea Theatre- there's a lot of dancing in those plays. He's probably been taught to dance since he became the Fairy Gym Leader, and I bet he'd be willing to teach you." 

 She pursed her lips at that idea. Hop was right- most likely, Bede already knew how to dance. She couldn't remember much from the first League Gala she'd attended, it was all so much of a blur, of faces and names she couldn't remember, dazzled by the luxurious hall, the music, the food, the lights. She'd been swept away by the whole experience. She hadn't paid attention to anyone she knew save for Hop, who she'd managed to persuade to come as her date. 

 "Maybe…" she said, mulling it over. 

 "Maybe?" Hop gave her an unimpressed look. "You've got a week to learn how to dance well enough to fit in with people who've had years of practice. Who else is going to be willing to teach you on such short notice?" 

 Gloria grumbled in her throat. "I know, but…" 

 "But?" 

 How could she explain what she was feeling when even she didn't know herself? The jumble of emotions inside her was confusing enough without having to voice it to someone else. 

 "I guess you're right," she sighed. She had to face the facts one way or another. "I don't really have any other options, do I?" 

 "Not since you left it so late, you don't," Hop said. He nodded to her pointedly. "Come on, call him." 

 She blinked. "Now?"

 "Yes, now! The sooner, the better!" 

 It was too soon, too sudden, and her heart began to race in her chest. She froze for a second until Hop's stare spurred her to move, and she dug out her phone with fumbling fingers. 

 "Fine, fine. I'll call him," she huffed and clicked through her contacts for Bede's number. 

 Hop stood from his chair and hurried around the table and into the seat beside her. He grinned, leaning close. 

 "What are you doing?" Gloria leant away from him, discomforted by the delight on his face. Her thumb hovered over Bede's number. 

 "It was my idea," Hop said. 

 Gloria frowned. "That doesn't mean you get to eavesdrop." 

 "You're stalling," he said, and jabbed at her phone. His finger tapped the screen, tapped Bede's number, calling him. 

 "Hey!" She balked. She scoffed at Hop, a beat of panic rising in her chest, before she decided enough was enough. 

 It was time to bite the bullet. 

 Gloria swallowed her grumble and held her phone to her ear, sending a sharp look at Hop as he leant close again. 

 Whatever, she thought, slightly disgruntled. He can listen if he wants.

 The ringing of her phone stopped, and Bede's smooth voice sounded into her ear. 

 "Morning, Gloria," he said. "I trust you're not calling because you've gotten yourself into another predicament so soon?" 

 His voice carried a hint of amusement, and already Gloria felt her cheeks begin to warm. Hearing his voice so close, as if he was speaking right into her ear, had a strange affect on her. 

 "That depends on what you mean by predicament," she said. 

 She curled a lock of her hair around her finger absently as she spoke. The way her heart fluttered in her chest, she needed something to do with her free hand to calm her nerves. She glanced at Hop. He nodded at her, raising his eyebrows expectantly. 

 "Well, you know how the Gala is next week," Gloria began. "I was wondering if… by any chance you knew how to dance?" 

 "Of course I do. Who do you think you're asking?" Bede replied. 

 Hop rolled his eyes. Gloria sent him a hard look in return. Talking to Bede on the phone was difficult enough with her nerves on overdrive, she didn't need Hop's play-by-play reactions to everything. She resisted the urge to swat at him. 

 "That's what I was hoping," she said with a sheepish laugh, "see, I don't actually know how to dance. At all." A pause. "Would you be able to teach me?" 

 Gloria's cheeks burned as she forced that question out. It felt like it had taken all the air in her lungs just to ask, leaving her lightheaded and giddy. Anticipation seized her heart as a second of silence passed. 

 "I suppose I could clear up my schedule for you," Bede said. "Teaching you to dance sounds like it would be amusing, if not a decent way to pass the time. I can hardly leave you to stumble on the dance floor at the Gala and risk you denting the reputation of the League, can I?" 

 Gloria held her phone tighter. "Does that mean you'll teach me…?" 

 "I will," he said. "How does tomorrow morning sound? You've only got a week to learn, and I'd rather we start sooner than later. Although, with me as your teacher, I'll have you mastering the steps within a day or two, just you wait." 

 She turned her mind to tomorrow morning, quickly working through any plans she might have made. 

 "Tomorrow works for me," she said, nodding even though Bede couldn't see it. "I can come by the Gym at, say, nine o'clock?" 

 That'd give her enough time to wake up and prepare herself for the inevitable embarrassment she'd face in front of Bede. Although he's not one to make fun of her, she'd never danced in her life. 

 She heard the smile in Bede's voice when he replied. "It's a date," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

 "Okay!" Heart pounding, it came out as a squeak. "See you!" 

 A click sounded as Bede hung up, deafened by the drumming of her heart in her chest and the surging of blood between her ears. 

 A date. 

 She couldn't think. His words echoed in her mind. 

 It's a date. 

 It was when Gloria pulled her phone away from her ear, cheeks flushed, still feeling giddy and breathless, that she noticed the look Hop was giving her. He grinned from ear to ear, amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

 "What?" she asked, feeling her heart skip.

 "Your first date with Bede, huh?" Hop said, smirking. "I knew it was going to happen eventually, but-" 

 "It's not a date!" She cut him off as she flushed darker. Heat rose up her neck to pool across her face, embarrassment and indignation burning to the tips of her ears. 

 "He literally said, 'it's a date,' Gloria. It doesn't get more obvious than that," Hop said. 

 "It's just a phrase!" She folded her arms, meeting his smirk with a frustrated glare. "It doesn't mean anything- he doesn't like me like that, anyway!" 

 "Says who?"

 "Says me!" 

 Hop raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? Enough to bet on it?" 

 "Of course I'm sure!" Gloria huffed again. "Bede's not interested in someone like me." 

 That's right. The memory hit her square in the chest, winding her. A chill spread through her body, through her heart, as though she'd swallowed a block of ice. His type is someone so different to me, she remembered. The person Bede likes is… 

 Who? 

 Her stomach sank. She didn't want to think about that, about the person he'd described to her. Honest and diligent, the one Bede had spoken about seemed so far away from her, and she didn't know why it bothered her so much. 

 She didn't know why it bothered her at all. 

 Was there someone Bede would rather spend his time with? 

 "Ten thousand Poké," Hop said. He still wore his ridiculous grin, still taunting her. "I bet you ten thousand Poké that Bede has a crush on you." 

 Gloria frowned. The thought made her feel ill. "I don't want to bet on that," she said. 

 "Why? 'Cause you know I'm right?" 

 "Because I know you're wrong!" she huffed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "He already likes someone, and it isn't me, okay? I know because he told me."  

The smirk fell from Hop's face. "He told you that? When? Where? What did he say?" 

 "It doesn't matter," she said, turning away from him. 

 "Come on, Gloria. There's no way he likes someone else- trust me, I know for sure." 

 Hop placed a hand on her shoulder. It was meant to be a comforting gesture, but it only served to enrage the storm churning in her gut. Nausea rose up her throat, she tasted bile. Her heart, having fallen into her stomach, pounding heavily with slow, rhythmic panic. 

 "Don't-" she swatted his hand away, "-don't say that. He doesn't like me, okay? And I don't want him to. I don't want anyone to." 

 Something squeezed tight in her chest. Crushing. Heavy. It sucked all the air from her lungs, made it impossible to breathe. 

 I don't want that, she thought, clamping her eyes shut as a wave of pain, of grief, crashed over her. I don't want love. 

 Love hurt. It brought suffering and heartache. It destroyed, leaving nothing but pain in its wake and scars that never heal. She'd seen what it had done to her mother, felt an echo of it herself. A monster wearing the guise of hopes and dreams.

 Gloria breathed out shakily, opening her eyes. She felt cold. 

 "I thought you liked him," Hop said slowly.

 Her heart thumped. "I don't," she said. "Not like that." 

 The weight in her voice struck a chord with Hop. His expression fell, and he looked away from her as realisation filled his eyes. 

 "You still don't want anything to do with love?" he asked. "Even after all this time? Even with Bede?" 

 A sliver of ice dug into her heart. "What does Bede have to do with that?" 

 "I thought… with him, it might be different for you," Hop said. "That you might stop denying yourself happiness if it was Bede." 

 Gloria stood abruptly. Clinched her hands at her sides, affronted by Hop's suggestion. She turned to him, stared him down. 

 "I'm not denying myself anything. I'm protecting myself. From pain, from grief, from the kind of hurt you've never experienced," she said, her voice a whisper, a hiss in the silence. "I don't need love to be happy." 

 She stalked from the lab, leaving Hop and his questions, his naive hope, behind. 

 -

 The next day, Gloria stood in her bedroom and tried to quell the nerves building in her chest. After her conversation with Hop, after she'd stormed out on him, the things he'd said kept returning to her mind. The way he'd gloated about it being Gloria's first date with Bede. The way he'd brushed aside her determination not to fall in love, as though her promise was paper thin, the flimsy words of a child, as though he knew better. 

 He knew nothing. Nothing of pain, of heartache, of grief. He didn't know what it was like to have a third of his family taken in an instant, to have his word turned upside down in a split second. Hop didn't know what it was like to be the only one left for his grieving mother to hold onto. 

 Gloria was all her mother had left. She grit her teeth, forced away the pain. Hop didn't understand, but that didn't mean he didn't care. His words had come from a place of kindness. He hadn't meant the damage he'd caused, she'd seen the hurt reflected in his eyes when she'd stormed out, the regret he'd been unable to voice. She hadn't given him a chance to. 

 In a way, in the deepest recess of her heart, Gloria feared that Hop was right. There was some truth to his words- something had shifted inside her when it came to Bede. Her guard slipped. She found herself wanting to be with him more, to know him more. The space he occupied inside her mind had grown to proportions she hadn't imagined possible, and he took over her thoughts when she least expected it. The slightest of things reminded her of him. The scent of tea, cookbooks in store windows, Great Balls in the hands of young trainers. 

 And there in her wardrobe hung the beautiful dress she'd bought for the Gala. Hidden in it's black protective sleeve, the floor-length dress was beautiful with a delicate lace bodice and flowing chiffon skirt. It was gorgeous - and expensive, she'd winced at the price tag when she'd glanced at it - but she'd been drawn to it for more than it's design alone. 

 She knew why, now- for the dress was a stunning, deep violet. A colour that had quickly become her favourite for reasons she refused to ponder. Gloria refused to look at it. Refused to think about it or what others would assume when they saw it. Would anyone else - journalists, sponsors, her friends - make the connection?  

Would Bede? 

 Gloria clenched her jaw harder until it ached. There was no connection, no deeper meaning, to her choice of dress. It was a coincidence, nothing more. She shook off that thought as a needle of fear stabbed through her chest. Her hands trembled for a moment. She took a deep breath and collected the shoes she'd laid out by her bed the night before- barely a few inches high, the silver heels still daunted her- and stuffed them unceremoniously into her bag. She didn't have time for this. She had an appointment, a date as Bede had said, to attend. 

 No, it's not a date, Gloria reminded herself. He was just teasing you, like he always does. 

 A tiny part of her ached, knowing she was right. She quashed it before it could surface any further, driving it hard into the pit of her stomach like it was a revolting bug to crush beneath her heel. Stamp it out, grind it into dust. 

 Let nothing of it remain. 

 -

 The backstage of Ballonlea's Gym had transformed into a place of wonders. Costumes hung from racks, fantastical dresses and robes fit for kings strung up like garments in a store. Props sat atop boxes, shiny swords with ornate hilts next to thick books bound in leather, and Gloria might have believed she'd been transported to another time if it wasn't for the bluetooth speakers filling the room with an orchestral piece and the Rotom phones in the hands of actors on break. She stopped by the door to stare at painted murals slanted against the wall. They depicted different scenes, each exquisitely detailed, from the interiors of a castle to palace gardens. 

 Gobsmacked by the sight before her, Gloria remembered that the Ballonlea theatre was as highly regarded as the Gym. She'd never been backstage inbetween League Challenges, and as a result had never witnessed the inner workings of the theatre as they put together their plays. Actors were strewn throughout the large backstage area and into practice rooms on either side of the hall, memorising scripts, repeating lines and rehearsing scenes. Some were even in costume, clashing practice swords in a mock battle. As her eyes skipped from actor to actor, she saw someone turn in her direction. Her heart caught. 

 Bede. He stood tall, his lean figure accentuated by the form-fitting pants - or were they leggings? - that he wore, and he walked over to Gloria with subtle grace. She swallowed thickly and stopped her mouth from falling open as he drew closer. Her heart raced, she suddenly felt on edge. As if all eyes had turned on her, as if her nervous tells were obvious to the world, to Bede. He was dressed for theatre practice, wearing dark leggings and a thin turtleneck shirt, and Gloria chewed the inside of her cheek, cursing how attractive he managed to be in every situation. Coils of heat made their home on her cheeks when he stepped up to her. With a toss of his platinum blond curls, his lips pulled into a faint smile.  

It's a date, those words echoed in her head again. She shot them down quickly. It's just a phrase. He didn't mean anything by it. 

 "You're three minutes late," Bede said, tilting his head in amusement as he gazed down at her. "No matter. I'll work you harder in order to make up for it." 

 Gloria flushed. "Three minutes is barely late," she said. "Besides, I arrived in Ballonlea before nine." 

 His eyes twinkled with mirth. Violet. That soft colour striking her speechless. 

 "And yet, our agreed meeting time was nine, and you somehow missed it," Bede said. He smirked, turning on his heels and motioning for her to follow. "This way. I've reserved a room for us." 

 Gloria bit back her retort and skipped to follow Bede away from the bustle and commotion of the backstage crowd. He led her down the hall to a secluded room that had mirrors lining the back wall from floor to ceiling. There were speakers plugged in by a corner, a drink bottle beside them, and Bede walked over to it and set his phone on top. 

 "Put your bag down off to the side so it won't get in the way," Bede said. He busied himself with the speakers and his phone for a few seconds before standing. "Did you bring your heels like I asked?" 

 He turned to look at her, and she realised she hadn't moved an inch since she'd stepped into the room. 

 "Yes, of course!" Gloria said, startling and shucking off her bag. 

 She shoved her backpack into the corner of the room as she flushed. She'd been too busy watching Bede, too busy following his graceful movements with her eyes, too enraptured by how lean and fit he looked when he'd squatted by the speakers with ease. The leggings he wore were practical, giving Bede's legs a range of movement that other clothes would've restricted, but the sleek black fabric was form-fitting and accentuated the shape of his thighs and the curve of his backside that she wouldn't have noticed otherwise. 

 Arceus, Gloria! she chided herself as her heart lurched into her throat. She flushed with heat, nerves fluttering in her lungs. Get a hold of yourself! He's your friend, don't gawk at him like that. 

 It didn't matter how attractive Bede was, it wasn't right for her to ogle at him like a rabid, obsessed fan. It was shameful. She bit down a pang of disgust at herself and pulled her silver heels from her bag. 

 Bede nodded appreciatively at them. "Good. Leave them there for now, I'll have you practice with them later," he said. "First, let's run through the basics." 

 'The basics,' according to Bede, started with her jogging a few laps of the room and stretching in order to warm up. He then had her go through the steps facing the mirrors, following the movements Bede made as he ran through them beside her. She stepped when he did, quickly getting over her apprehension and the embarrassment of holding her arms up as though she were dancing with an invisible partner. Slow music trickled from the speakers and filled the room, Gloria's shoes clacking against the floor to the gentle rhythm. Bede's steps were silent and enviously more graceful than hers, but with him going through the same movements, she felt at ease. He called out each step before they took it, carefully watching her to make sure she got it right. Occasionally, their eyes met in the mirror. Bede gave her nods of approval or the hint of a smile. Always, his gaze held more than he let show in his expression, and it sparked something ablaze in Gloria's chest. She cut her attention away, catching herself before she stumbled or missed a step. 

She hadn't yet fallen on her face in front of Bede and was determined to keep it that way. Despite how distracting he was. 

 Soon enough, to the appreciation of Gloria's aching arms, Bede called for a break. She dropped her arms to her sides with a heavy sigh. 

 "People actually do this for fun?" Gloria huffed as she stalked over to her bag to retrieve her water bottle. She drank greedily, uncaring of the droplets cascading down her chin to slide beneath the front of her top. The water was cool and refreshing, and she would've tipped a bit more down her front if Bede wasn't with her. 

 He turned away from her stiffly and coughed into his hand. "Dancing at functions is an important Galarian tradition," Bede said. For a moment, it sounded like his voice was slightly strained. He drank from his water bottle, and when he spoke again, his voice was clearer. "These steps haven't changed for hundreds of years, and remain a constant fixture at events such as the League Gala. It's imperative that you learn, as being able to dance expertly is a symbol of status." 

 Right. Because Gloria cared about status. She stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She was more worried about making a fool of herself in front of all the people, the sponsors, the media, her friends, that would be at the Gala. Status, reputation, when she wasn't in the spotlight, it didn't matter to her. 

 "When did you learn how to dance?" Gloria asked, splashing some water on her face. 

 Bede's expression hardened for a split second, long enough for her to catch the twitch of his brow, the stiffening of his jaw, and the shadows that flickered behind his eyes. The darkness that overcame his face was gone in an instant. Had Gloria blinked, she would have missed it entirely. 

 "Years ago," Bede said, "as per Oleana's instructions, I had the steps drilled into me so that if such a time came where I would accompany the Chairman to functions, I wouldn't make a fool of myself and tarnish his image." 

 Of course. Gloria's heart sank. She should have known, shouldn't have asked. Prying into Bede's past, despite how much she longed to know more about him, hardly ever went well. The pain in his eyes was one she'd felt herself- the pain of dredging up old wounds. Even now, fragmented as it was, pieces of Rose's hold over Bede remained. Memories slowly faded like scars, never truly disappearing.

 "Turns out, he needn't have worried about me ruining his image- he managed that well enough himself," Bede said, his expression lifting. "Besides, now I'm skilled enough to dance at functions that require my attendance as a Gym Leader. Skilled enough to teach the Champion how to dance herself." 

 He turned to her as he said that last part, and the pride in his eyes, the satisfaction in his smile, eased a weight off Gloria's heart. She found herself smiling back at him. 

 "Guess I should be thanking Rose for his foresight," she said. 

 Bede scoffed. "Hardly." 

 Gloria stepped over to him. She was drawn to Bede's side by a firm tug on her heart, by the tender warmth pooling through her chest, and she smiled brighter. 

 "I'll settle for thanking you instead," Gloria said. 

 "As you should." He nodded, and walked back towards the wall of mirrors. "It's time you learn how to dance with a partner," Bede said. 

 He turned on his heels to face her, waiting in the centre of the room, and held his left hand out, palm up, with his right held behind his back. He eyed Gloria intently, and her heart skipped. She knew this would happen eventually, that she'd have to practice with Bede as her partner, but the sight of him there, waiting for her to approach, sent nerves skittering through her chest. She breathed in a deep, silent breath, and stepped up to him. Slowly, she placed her hand in his. 

 And he closed the distance between them. In a split second, his arm was around her. His chest was right in front of her face. She let out an undignified speak at the touch of his hand low on her back, jolting at the sensation. 

 "Ah, sorry," Bede said, dropping his hand from her back. "I didn't mean to startle you." 

 Gloria straightened, blushing at the embarrassing sound that had slipped from her lips. She shook her head hurriedly and peeked up at him. An echo of his touch lingered on her skin, the slightest pressure on the small of her back that tingled with warmth. 

 "That's- that's okay," she said. Her voice was strained. Tight. "I-I didn't realise we'd have to stand this close to dance." 

 It was difficult to speak with her face flooded with heat. Her eyes were at the level of his collarbones, and she could make out the threads of his turtleneck shirt at this distance. She took short, shallow breaths. They were so close, she was afraid to breathe too deeply lest her chest brush against his. 

 "You don't seem to mind getting closer than this to me when we hug," Bede said, quirking an eyebrow at her in amusement. 

 "That's different!" Gloria said. 

 Why was it different? Her protest didn't make sense. She stared straight at his chest, unable to lift her gaze to meet his eyes. Her heart thundered at a dizzying pace, and she was grateful for the music playing from the speakers- the pounding of her heart was deafening in her ears, she worried that Bede would be able to hear it in the silence. 

"Well, you'll have to get used to this if you want to learn how to dance properly," Bede said. "I'll take it slow for you, alright?" 

 His hand returned to the small of her back, and she sucked in a gasp at his touch. 

 "Don't tell me, you're ticklish here?" he asked, gently sweeping his fingers over the spot.  

A tingle shot down Gloria's spine. She jumped back, stifling a yelp in her throat. 

 "D-Don't do that!" she squeaked. She rubbed her back where he'd teased her, trying to remove the sensation of his touch. 

 Bede lifted a hand to his lips, covering up his smirk and his quiet breath of laughter. Gloria scowled at him, pouting. It wasn't fair that he could play her so easily like this. She wasn't ticklish on her back- not at all, but the touch of his fingers had sparked something across her skin, something that left her confused and indignant. 

 "My bad," Bede said. His voice was light with mirth, eyes twinkling at her. "I won't do that again." 

 Gloria narrowed her eyes slightly, pressing her lips together firmly as she watched him. He'd enjoyed her reaction so much, she wasn't sure she trusted him not to try that again. Bede's expression softened when she didn't budge, and he held out his hand with an apologetic smile. 

 "I promise," he said, and Gloria gave in. 

 How could she not, when he was looking at her like that? She stepped up to him and took his hand, holding her breath to steady herself when he set his right hand low on her back again. 

 "Place your hand on my shoulder," Bede said, directing her free hand so that it was resting lightly on his shoulder. 

 Gloria nodded, still staring at his chest. 

 "You realise your dance partner might take offense if you stare at their chest the whole time, right?" Bede said. "At the very least, you should try and meet their eyes." 

 "Sorry," Gloria said, and forced herself to look up. Her heart thumped heavily in her chest when their eyes met, and a renewed rush of warmth swept across her face. She fought the desire to look away. 

 The corner of Bede's mouth twitched with the hint of a smile as he nodded. "Good. Next, try not to look like a stunned Magikarp, and I'm sure you'll do fine."

 Gloria balked at him. "A stunned Magikarp?!"

 "There. That's much better," he said with a smirk. "You'll dance a lot finer if you just be yourself." 

 She blinked for a moment, realising what he'd done. Her heart still raced, she still felt flushed with heat, but no longer was her body stiff with nervous energy. Gloria could look Bede in the eyes without wishing to flee. He'd eased that all away with a simple jest. 

 "You're horrible," she said, shaking her head. She managed to smile, her voice soft with amusement.  

"Ah, but you're the one who came to me for lessons," Bede said. "Surely you knew what you were getting into."

 With that, he pulled her into the first steps of their dance. The time they'd spent practicing earlier came back to her after she stumbled for the first few seconds, almost kicking Bede's shin at one point, and before long, they were dancing smoothly in time to the music. Gloria repressed the urge to look at her feet, and instead found herself meeting Bede's smile with her own. A flicker of pride showed in his eyes. Pride, satisfaction, and something more that she couldn't place. With each step, her confidence grew. She relaxed further, following Bede through the motions of the dance as it came easier and easier for her. A smile broke across her face whenever their eyes met, a bubble of something sweet and tender blooming in her chest. 

 Dancing, as foreign as it had been when they'd first begun, soon felt natural. It felt natural to sway and step with Bede like this. To be so close, to share smiles and breaths of laughter. It was obvious to Gloria now why people danced, why it was a cemented Galarian tradition, for she felt so light, so carefree, she wouldn't have minded if the dance lasted forever. 

 Bede slowed, and Gloria came to an abrupt halt, stopping herself in time so she didn't continue and step right into him. She blinked as Bede dropped his hand from her back. 

 "You got the hang of it rather quickly," he said, releasing her hand. "Next, you need to be able to master the steps in your heels." 

 Oh. Gloria blanched, glancing to where her heels sat next to her bag. 

 "Have you worn them in yet?" Bede asked. 

 Gloria twisted her lips and trudged over to her shoes. "Not exactly…" 

 "Not exactly?" Bede echoed. Gloria suppressed a pout at the disapproval in his voice. "Have you worn them at all?" 

 She sat on the floor by her heels, pointedly focusing on taking her shoes off so she didn't have to suffer under the unimpressed look Bede was giving her. 

 "I tried them on in the store," Gloria said, her protest dying beneath her breath. She slid her feet into the sparkly silver heels, weaving the thin straps through the clasps.  

Bede sighed. "You really should be wearing them for a couple of minutes every day, in order to loosen them up and get yourself used to them," he said. "It won't matter how well you can dance in your regular shoes if you stumble in heels at the Gala."  

Gloria pursed her lips and stood. He was right, annoyingly so as always, but that didn't stop her from grumbling wordlessly at him as she found her balance. Bede raised an eyebrow at her, watching the way she stood with her legs stiff and taut. 

 "Walk the length of the room," he said. 

 She frowned for a moment before complying and walking towards the mirrors. Bede studied her as she passed him. Each step she took felt awkward, as though she were walking on stilts instead of heels a few inches high. The clack of her shoes made her even more self-conscious, and she wanted to shrink away at the noise. 

 "Stop." 

 Gloria froze. With a sigh, Bede stepped up beside her, their eyes meeting in the mirror. 

 "This is exactly why you need to practice walking in heels," he said. "You're walking like a baby Ponyta taking its first steps, not like the Champion of Galar." 

 Gloria pressed her lips firmly together. "Hey, it's harder than it looks! You're lucky you don't have to wear shoes like this- I'm terrified I'm going to roll my ankles if I'm not careful!" 

 "If walking in heels is as difficult as you make it out to be, no one would be wearing them," Bede said. He gave her an unimpressed look at her complaints. 

 "You're saying that because you've never worn high heels before," Gloria said with a huff. "I'd like to see you trot around in these without an issue." 

 She met his gaze in the mirror with defiance. Bede looked as though he was about to bark back at her, his brow furrowing slightly, eyes narrowing, but then he sighed and turned on his heels. 

 "Fine," Bede said, stalking towards the door. "Stay here. I'll be right back." 

 Gloria blinked at him, stunned into silence, and he whisked through the door and clicked it shut behind him. She stood there, confused, and shifted awkwardly on her feet. She definitely needed to get used to her heels. Barely five minutes into wearing them and she already wanted to kick them off. The looming Gala and the hours she'd have to spend on her feet seemed more daunting than ever before, and she hadn't even attempted to dance in her heels yet. She faced the mirror and practiced a few steps of the dance. Her movements were stiff, ankles wobbling as she tried to balance on her heels. She jumped when the door swung open. She whirled in shock, mouth dropping open, as Bede cut across the room towards her wearing a pair of sleek black high heels that looked straight out of Nessa's wardrobe. He walked with confidence, with his head held high, his steps smooth and graceful despite the pencil-thin heels that were taller than Gloria's. 

 Bede deposited his regular shoes by the wall, before stepping over to Gloria with a smirk.  

"What were you saying?" Bede said, "I've never worn heels before?" 

 Gloria gaped wordlessly, fumbling to find something, anything, to say. "You- How? When? Why?" She gestured wildly at him, at his high heels, and shook her head in disbelief. "Since when do you wear heels?!" 

 "Not of my own accord, I assure you," Bede said. He lifted an eyebrow at her, as though slightly put off by her shock. "Some of our plays require historically accurate attire, heels being a part of that. These are not mine, I simply borrowed them from an actress that has a shoe size close enough to mine." 

 "Right." Gloria nodded, trying to wrap her head around this. "I just… never expected you to actually… wear shoes like that. Willingly, at least." 

 "It will be easier to show you how to walk naturally in high heels if I demonstrate myself," Bede said, nonplussed. He turned towards the mirror, gesturing for her to do the same. "In order not to walk like a stilted Girafarig, you need to step toe-to-heel, rather than heel-to-toe." 

 Bede swept his leg forward, touching the front of his shoes to the ground as he said, the heel coming into contact with the floor a split second later. 

 "Don't exaggerate the movement," he continued, "the heel should hit right after, if not with, the front part of your shoe as you walk. Like so." 

 He turned and walked parallel to the mirrors, giving Gloria a side-on view of his gait. 

 "The length of your steps will naturally be reduced in heels. Compensate by taking small, but faster, steps than usual, in order to maintain a normal pace." 

 Bede reached the end of the mirrors and spun on his feet to face the opposite direction as deftly as a ballerina. He continued his walk, returning the way he'd come. 

 "You'll have a natural inclination to lean forward if you try to walk faster than your heels will allow, so lean back slightly to compensate," he said. "A sloppy posture will destroy your efforts to fit in, and put all the training I've given you to waste. Above all, do not slouch." 

 Gloria bit back a smile. "It sounds like you're trying to teach me etiquette," she said with the hint of a laugh. 

 He raised an eyebrow at her as he passed. "Am I not?" 

 "Maybe." 

 A bubble of amusement, of enjoyment, built in her chest. She clasped her hands behind her back as she watched Bede walk to the end of the mirrors again, the trepidation inside her having lifted. He turned around to face her, and she knew it was time for her to practice. 

 "Right. Now that you've seen what it should look like, I'll have you walk the length of these mirrors like I did," Bede said, and stepped over to her. 

 "Okay. I can do that," Gloria said, nodding to herself in order to cement a thread of confidence inside her. She turned side-on to the mirrors, and absently tucked a strand of her hair behind her ears as Bede's attention fixed on her. A different wave of nerves flooded her chest, and she straightened instinctively beneath his gaze.  

She took a deep breath, flexed her fingers at her sides, and stared at a single spot on the wall in front of her. 

 Pretend he's not watching you, she told herself. Just ignore him completely. 

 The thumping of her heart refused to slow. There was something about having Bede focus on her so intently that made her stomach flutter as though she'd swallowed a swarm of Combee. She warmed from the inside out, and struggled to recall his advice as she went to step forward. 

 What is wrong with me today? It's just Bede. Nothing's happened, nothing's changed. Gloria puzzled over her thoughts as she walked along the wall of mirrors. One foot in front of the other, toe first as Bede had advised her, she tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes on her. She kept thinking back to their phone call. To the phrase Bede had used. 

 This isn't a date, she reminded herself as she reached the wall and turned to walk back the other way. She stiffened when her eyes fell on Bede. He had a hand cupped over his mouth, watching her with a deep, thoughtful expression. His ardent concentration made her heart flop. She wobbled on her heels, and his eyes flicked up to her face with a beat of concern before she broke into a fast-paced walk to get past him as quickly as she could. 

 "Not bad, I suppose," Bede said. He turned to face her as she passed him. "Practice walking like this in front of a mirror every day until the Gala, and you should be fine." 

 Gloria slumped with a sigh of relief. 

 "Make sure you don't do that at the Gala," Bede said, muffling his laugh behind his hand. 

 She pouted at him, but it was sweet to hear him laugh, however brief it was. His violet eyes softened with his smile, and it made her heart soften in response. She loved having him be so genuine with her, comfortable enough to smile and laugh without a care. Comfortable enough to wear heels fit for a model to prove a point.  

"So, are we going to practice dancing with you in those heels, or-" Gloria cut herself off when Bede turned and marched towards his shoes by the wall. She was still suppressing her laughter when he walked back to her wearing his regular shoes. 

 "There's no point in having me practice dancing in heels," Bede said. "I have no desire to wear those unless strictly needed." 

 "Aw, but you look so graceful in them," Gloria teased. She blinked up at him coyly, taking his hand when he held it out for her. 

 Bede huffed, rolling his eyes. "Of course I do. I wouldn't be seen dead in them otherwise- too many people view men in heels as a comedy act, something to ridicule. I refuse to fumble about for anyone's entertainment, which means I can't settle for less than perfection in my gait. They can hardly laugh at me when I'm as skilled as - if not more than - any woman in heels." 

 Gloria blinked at Bede as he set his hand on her back, drawing her closer as they began to dance.  

"I didn't think about it that way," she said, surprised. "I guess a lot of people would see a guy wearing heels as some sort of joke." 

 "Exactly." 

 They fell back into the rhythm of their dance, one step following another, and Gloria quickly realised something was different. She was taller in heels, which meant she was no longer staring at Bede's collarbones but rather at the level of his shoulders. She was closer to his face, closer to him, now. The fluttering returned to her lungs. Strangely giddy, strangely warm, as though a simple change in height had shifted something inside her. It wasn't an unpleasant feeling- if anything, she wanted to bask in it. It was like a weird combination of delight and anxiety, swirling together in her stomach and flooding her veins. She was enjoying the moment, yet dreading it at the same time. With Bede, she felt comfortable. Light. Happy. And strange. Gloria glanced at his eyes, but quickly looked away before he noticed. 

 Why am I being so weird about this? she thought as she tried to swallow down the bundle of nerves building inside her. This is all Hop's fault for suggesting those things yesterday. For saying that Bede had a crush on me, that I had a crush on- 

 Gloria stopped. Her heart stopped. 

 No. 

 "Gloria?" 

 She shot away from him like she'd been zapped. Cold. She felt cold. Cold and numb and-  

Bede was looking at her in concern.

 "I-I just need a drink," Gloria said, whirling on her feet. Panic rose up her throat. Choking. Tight. The edges of her vision went dark. She stumbled over to her bag and snatched her water bottle off the floor, unscrewing the lid with trembling hands. 

 No.

 She drank quickly. Drank too much, forced the water past the lump in her throat. 

 This isn't- 

 She couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air in the room. Her heartbeat deafened her thoughts, pounding in her ears with creeping dread. Darkness fell over her mind. Gloria turned away from her bag, her stomach lurching as her eyes drew towards Bede. He stood still, stretching out his arms. Tall and elegant. Handsome yet beautiful, with a model's poise, as graceful as a prince. He was kind. Forgiving, understanding. He never pushed her harder than she could take, but made her want to strive to be something more. He was her friend. Her rival. She loved his smile, his determination. His wit. She loved that she could be herself around him. She loved his company, his rare but sweet laughter. Everything about him. Gloria loved- 

Bede looked to her with a start. Water sloshed over her feet. Her bottle lay on the floor, water trickling out, having slipped from her hands. 

 No.

 Her heart pounded. Concern worried his brow, he stepped towards her. 

 "Gloria? What's wrong?" 

 She stepped back into her bag. Panic as cold as ice shot through her veins. 

 No- 

 She couldn't move. Bede came closer, worried. Saying something she couldn't hear. 

Don't come over here! 

 Panic seized her. Gloria grabbed her bag, shoving her discarded shoes into it. Her heart boomed between her ears like an earth-shaking drum. 

 "I-" she choked on her words. "I need to go-" 

 Bede frowned with concern. She wanted to vomit. To scream. To cry. To protest-

 To flee. 

 Gloria ran. Out the way she'd come, the backstage a blur of colours, of people, of  costume racks she almost crashed into. She bolted, tripping on her heels. She stumbled. Lurched forward, caught herself before she could hit the ground. Her lungs burned. Her throat burned. 

 Tears burned in her eyes. 

 She shot out of the Gym, throwing a Pokeball to the ground in front of her. She leapt onto her Corviknight's back before the surge of light had faded, and called for her Pokemon to fly, to go, to get her away from here. 

 Away from the one calling her name.

 She didn't look back. She couldn't. Gloria buried her face in Corviknight's steel feathers as they took to the sky, and she shut everything out. She felt nothing, thought of nothing, until they landed in Wedgehurst. 

 Gloria stumbled off the back of her Corviknight and hit the ground hard. Her legs drove her forward. Through the pain, the fear, the panic, through the front doors of the Pokemon laboratory. She shoved them open with force, and they swung open to crash against the wall. She didn't care. Couldn't care. Hop saw her.  

And Gloria crumbled. She fell to the floor, legs buckling beneath her, and the look on her face was enough for Hop to know something was wrong. He was in front of her in an instant. 

 "Glo, what happened?!" Hop asked, reaching for her. 

 It was too much. Gloria collapsed into him with a broken wail. Everything she'd held back broke forth all at once, and she shattered. She screamed. She clung to him with desperation, nails clawing into his lab coat, face pressed to his shoulder. Hop wrapped his arms around her. 

 "It's okay, it's okay," Hop said, repeating those words again and again. "I'm here. you're alright, you're okay." 

 It hurt. Her lungs, her throat, her heart. She was in pieces. Fractured. Broken. All she felt was pain. 

 Guilt. 

 Gloria's sobs tore from her throat like daggers of ice. Her scream rose from her chest like bloodied thorns, tearing her skin, her lungs, leaving her bleeding. Raw. It ached.  

There was nothing left of her. 

 She couldn't hear Hop's whispers, couldn't feel his touch. Amidst her sobs were broken words. 

 "I don't-" 

 Gloria clung to Hop. Tighter, firmer, muffling her words into his coat. 

 "I don't want this-" 

 Why- 

 It hurt. 

 Why did this happen? 

 Hop held her tighter in return. "Oh, Gloria…" Understanding in his voice. 

 He knew. 

 "I don't want this…!" She shook her head, again and again, against his shoulder. Into his lab coat, smearing her tears across the stainless white. "I don't want this…!" 

 "I know," Hop said softly. Quietly. A gentle recognition that only she could hear. "I know…" 

 It was too late. Her guard had slipped, her walls had lowered too far. She'd thought she was safe. 

 She was a fool. Her heart, fractured and broken, lay in pieces in her hands. A million shattered pieces. She'd fallen from the precipice she'd danced around for so long, stepped too close to the edge one too many times, and this was the result. Her fate. Her punishment. 

 No, she'd slipped from that edge long ago, only realising when she'd hit the bottom. 

 Hop had been right all along. 

 Gloria was in love with Bede. 

[beccascribbles]

On your 18th birthday, control of your life got placed in the hands of your soulmate. To gain back control and to meet the one fate had deemed your ‘perfect match’, you must find your soulmate, using the choices you make for each other to guide you together.

warning - swearing

word count - 1.7k

There was one thing you knew for certain. Whoever your soulmate was, he was a little shit. Whenever you were forced to make a choice, be it a trivial matter or an important one, your soulmate was guaranteed to pick the one that would ultimately fuck you over. Since you turned 18, you were never on time to class, made a point of embarrassing your friends in public due to the stupid stunts you were forced to pull, and were depressing to be around. Truth be told, it was rare to see a genuine smile grace your features these days.

The week before you met your soulmate had started off in one of the worst ways possible, with a purchase of bright red hair dye. After watching a tiktoker dye their hair for a dare, you had begun to ponder what you would look like with a different hair colour. Then, against your better judgement, you had begun to picture yourself with different hair colours, could feel yourself being tempted to dye it. If you had been in control of your choices, you would have quickly discarded the thought of dying your hair, let along dying it any of the ridiculous colours you were picturing. You supposed you had to thank whoever it was for not choosing the neon green.

But, bright red wasn’t much better.

When you walked through the halls of Karasuno, you attracted the stares of pretty much everyone you walked past. You could feel their eyes on you. You could clearly see the way people would lean into each other as they whispered about your appearance. You weren’t stupid. Out of everyone, you were the most aware of how awfully this colour clashed with your skin tone. It made you cringe whenever you looked in the mirror.

At lunch, Sugawara could hardly look at you without snickering. He’d already used most of his witty comments over text the previous night when you had sent an image to the group chat along with the words ‘fuck my life’. Daichi wasn’t much better, taking every opportunity to tease you. Meanwhile, you would sometimes catch Asahi just staring at your vibrant locks. It was after one of those stares that you snapped.

“Take a picture if you’re that mystified by it,” you spat, fingers clenching around your chopsticks as you stabbed a piece of meat. He blushed, looking back down at his food. This interaction just made Sugawara chuckle more, snorting as he took a sip of his drink. Kiyoko, who had been noticeably absent from the teasing, placed a calming hand on your shoulder, shooting Sugawara a stern glare.

“It really doesn’t look that bad,” she reassured, her glance around the table indication that she was daring one of them to disagree. “Besides, at least this will make it easier for you to find your soulmate.”

“Oh yeah, can’t wait to meet the asshole whose made my life a living hell since my birthday,” you replied, sarcasm heavy in your tone.

Truth be told, your only motivation for meeting them was to end this hell that you were currently experiencing. Once you had met your soulmate, they stopped being able to make your choices for you. Already, you were missing the freedom of being in charge of your own life.

The next few days weren’t much better.

On Tuesday, you were forced to run through the heavy downpour to school, using only your flimsy bag as an umbrella due to your soulmate’s interference. If you fell deathly ill, it would be all their fault as they even prevented you from sharing Kiyoko’s umbrella on the walk back home, which had been your main reason for staying behind to help out with volleyball practice.

On Wednesday, due to your soulmate deciding that sleeping during class was perfectly acceptable, you missed a large chunk of the English lesson. This meant you had to beg your classmates to lend you their notes, and also put you in a terrible mood when you went to meet up with your friends. In retaliation, you prevented your soulmate from purchasing the next Shonen Jump, something you knew they were obsessed with as the choice occurred frequently. You also forced them to pay attention during class for a change, which you were sure would leave them exhausted as you had made sure they stayed up late the previous night.

On Thursday, you were indeed suffering from a cold. Though your soulmate had the heart to allow you access to medicine, you still had to make your way to school, head pounding and a stuffed nose to boot. You spent the morning huddled in your coat with a face mask on to stop others from catching it too. When your teacher said you could go home at lunch time, you almost let out a cheer.

Friday was unusually calm. You had recovered from your cold. Each choice your soulmate chose lacked their usual malice. The day was almost reminiscent of those before you had turned 18 until you received a message from Kiyoko asking if you were coming to the watch the final of the Spring Interhigh Qualifiers. Karasuno would be playing Shiratorizawa.

Originally, you had been planning on going to support your friends. However, after the week you had suffered through, you were painfully aware of all the work you had left to catch up on. You were stuck, unable to choose between the two options. Your head told you to not go, and eventually won you over when your gaze fell on the pile of school work you had yet to complete piled on your desk.

But, it was not your choice to make.

Against your will, you found your fingers tapping on the screen, confirming that you would be going to watch.

The next day, you were out of the house exactly on time, as punctual as if you were in control of your choices. It was this unusual punctuality that warned you of what might await you at Sendai Gymnasium.

Upon arrival, you sent a quick message to the group chat. Shockingly, it was Sugawara who was the first to reply, telling you that they were currently warming up on court. Clearly not everyone is entirely focused on warming up, you thought, quickly hurrying over to the court so you could wish your friends a quick good luck before making your way up to the cheering section.

Opening the door, you popped your head through, making eye contact with Kiyoko, who ushered you inside. You gave her a small wave before you made your way over to Asahi, Daichi and Sugawara, painfully aware of the stares coming from the other side of the court. You rubbed the back of your neck anxiously, feeling unsettled and nervous. Trying not to let that show on your face, you forced a smile, holding out your arms to embrace them in a hug.

“Good luck, boys,” you said. “You’ve got this.”

You shot them a thumbs up as you made your way over to Kiyoko to give her a quick hug and some words of encouragement. Before leaving the gym, you shouted over your shoulder to the rest of the team, “Good luck! Go Karasuno!”

There was a chorus of ‘thank you’ from the other members that almost masked the words uttered from the other side of the court, where Shiratorizawa were currently warming up.

“I think that might have been her.”

“Might have been who?”

“My soulmate, Wakatoshi.”

You couldn’t help yourself. Along with Yachi, you sprinted out of the stands and down towards the court. Karasuno had won. It felt surreal. You were giddy with the rush of pride you felt. Though not having played a role in their development as a team, you had been there to witness most of it and knew exactly how your fellow third years were probably feeling.

It was Kiyoko you spotted first, and you didn’t hesitate to pull her into a bone-crushing hug as you both jumped up and down. Next came your three friends on the team. You didn’t hesitate, running forward and launching yourself at them. It was at that moment, with your arms wrapped around your closest friends that you felt the tug of your soulmate’s needs. It was time for them to make a decision.

Go up to her or let her celebrate with her team.

A gasp escaped your lips as you pulled away from the embrace, glancing around trying to discern who may be waiting for you to make your choice. Without wasting another moment, you made the decision.

Go up to her.

It was at that moment that your gaze was drawn to the other side of the court where a tall figure with hair as red as yours was dyed was stood waiting. Almost against his will, as if he wasn’t expecting, he began to move towards you. His lips twitched at the corner, giving you a teasing smirk. He held out his hand to you, that smirk still twisting his mouth. You reached out and took his outstretched hand.

“Hi. I’m Tendou Satori.”

The moment your skin touched his, you felt it. That connection between you. Here he was. Your soulmate.

“You’re a fucking teasing piece of shit,” you spat. You couldn’t help yourself. The words slipped out, guided by the animosity you had been harbouring towards this individual for months now.

“But it was fun, no?”

“Fun?” you seethed. “Making someone dye their hair this shitty colour is not my definition of fun.”

“But, it was the reason we found each other, and you weren’t the nicest with your choices either,” he pointed out, probably remembering his sleepless nights and copies of Shonen Jump he had yet to purchase. “So, in return, let me take you out sometime. After all, fate has decreed that we are a perfect pair.”

You let out a huff, not able to argue with his logic. “As long as you pay.”

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: I’d love literally anything Flarrie, but I’d really like to see some Nick/Carrie friendship as well (I feel like however she’d come out, he’d be surprised but support her 1000000% and I never see fics featuring their friendship)

Anon, I’m not even joking, you might be my favourite person literally ever. Flarrie with a side of Carrie and Nick being best friends? Sign me the fuck up. I’ve had a serious case of writer’s block, so I can’t promise this is the best thing I’ve ever written, but I still love it. Also this is the first time I’ve ever written Nick, so it might be out of character, but I think I did pretty well. Thank you so much for suggesting this!

Title is from the Masterplan by Oasis because that song fits this fic beautifully.

Say It Loud and Sing It Proud

Carrie looked herself up and down in the mirror, certain she would find something amiss. Her hair was elegantly twirled into a braided crown, her makeup was all soft pinks and subtle glitter, and her dress fit her like a glove. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her appearance, and as far as she could think of there was nothing to be worried about for the night ahead at all, which made the hammering of her heart and the watering of her eyes all the more frustrating.

She had been so excited about tonight. It was Los Feliz’s school dance and everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks. Initially Carrie hadn’t been too bothered – just another party, just another dance, she had been to plenty of those in her lifetime. But then one thing had happened and Carrie had found herself more excited about the dance than she had ever thought possible. Now that same thing had her hands shaking and her breath hitching in her throat.

“Carrie?” Nick called from her bedroom. She had almost forgotten he was there. “Are you almost ready?”

She looked up into the mirror of her ensuite again, head tilted so that she could see the reflection of her bedroom behind her, the door thrown open wide between the two rooms. Nick was lying on her bed in his suave white suit, his shoes placed neatly at the end of the bed, scrolling through his phone in boredom. She didn’t blame him – he had been waiting for her to get ready for going on two hours and there were only so many apps a person could mindlessly switch between for hours on end.

She almost envied his boredom. She would have felt exactly the same had it not been for that one perfect, terrifying thing.

Carrie shook her head, steeled herself, took a deep breath. “Yeah, just give me another minute.”

There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry about. She repeated it in her head, a harsh mantra, one last desperate attempt to calm herself down. And with a final deep breath and glance in the mirror, she left the ensuite and perched herself primly on the end of her bed just beside Nick.

He looked up from his phone, sat up a little straighter and smiled at her. “You look great.”

Absently, Carrie remembered the days he used to say things like that in a romantic way. Compliments peppered here and there, usually followed by a kiss on the cheek or a gentle hug. She almost laughed – those days, thankfully, were far behind them and she was more happy being friends with Nick than she had ever been when they were dating.

“Thanks,” she said, trying for a smile. She wasn’t quite sure if she achieved one, but Nick made no comment so she took it as a win.

“So,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Are you ever going to tell me who your date is for tonight?”

Carrie looked anywhere but at Nick. Ever since she had told him she had a date for the dance, he had been enthusiastically trying to guess who it was or trying to wheedle the information out of her himself. It would have been fine, a fun little bit of banter between the two of them, and eventually she would have told him – it was just that she and her date had agreed not to tell anyone until they arrived at the dance, that way they could let everyone know together. No awkward one-on-one conversations, no hurt feelings because one person knew before somebody else. It would be simpler that way.

Simple, Carrie thought, but absolutely petrifying.

“Nope,” she said brightly, forcing a giggle. “I told you, you’ll have to wait and find out.”

“Can I keep guessing then?” Nick asked.

Ah. That was the worst of it. Again, Carrie wouldn’t have minded Nick guessing. A little bit of light-hearted conversation to pass the time, an inside joke to laugh over. But there was just one problem that made Carrie endlessly uncomfortable.

All of Nick’s guesses so far had been boys.

Her date was most certainly not one of those.

It had all started about ten months ago, late August or early September, the very beginning of the school year. Carrie had turned up to her science class and had seen, to her utter dismay, a new seating plan displayed on the board. Teacher-made seating plans never worked out; Carrie would always end up sat next to someone she either hated or never spoke to. In this case, it had been the first option.

She had stalked over to her seat at the back of the classroom, already furious, and slammed her things down on the table. Sitting down, she scooted her chair as far away from the person beside her as possible, glowering all the while. The person had sighed loudly and Carrie heard shuffling as they turned to face her.

“Look,” Flynn had said, voice flat and clearly unhappy. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. But it’s one class and if we refuse to even try and get along with each other we’re just going to make it worse for both of us. So stop glaring at the seating plan like it killed your whole family and grow up.”

Carrie had blinked and slowly turned to look at Flynn. Her expression was as empty as her tone of voice. In a weird sort of way, it was intimidating – Carrie felt her insides squirm. There had been nothing she could have said in response (in fact she wasn’t sure she could have spoken even if she tried) so she just nodded and sat up straight primly, attention focused on their teacher.

She had never liked Flynn. There was just something about her that didn’t sit right. Maybe it was how bold and loud she was all the time, how she was so free and comfortable with herself. Maybe it was how she had become friends with Julie Molina and ever since then Carrie and Julie had drifted apart. Maybe it was how every time Carrie looked at Flynn her breath caught in her throat and her mind wandered and her heart beat faster and she wanted so desperately just to smile, which she didn’t understand at all.

Carrie had not liked Flynn, but she couldn’t deny that she was right about the seating plan. It was better to try and get on than to simply simmer in stony silence.

So they had tried. And to Carrie’s surprise, they hadn’t even had to try very hard. Their first conversations started off awkward and forced as they tried to unnaturally spark some kind of civility between them. After about a month, they had found themselves talking a lot more freely to one another, less effort needed, and silences became more comfortable.

But it wasn’t until an experiment went wrong one lesson and Carrie had ended up drenched from head to toe in water, Flynn crying with laughter like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen, that Carrie realised that maybe they had finally become friends. Ordinarily she would have been furious at Flynn (or anyone for that matter) for laughing at her when she was embarrassed, but as Flynn howled, breathless and giddy, Carrie found herself beginning to laugh too.

Since that day it had become easy. Carrie had started hanging out with Flynn’s friends more, reigniting her friendship with Julie, and soon enough Nick had joined their group as well. Carrie found herself and Flynn sharing inside jokes, texting each other all night long, meeting up on weekends just for the sake of seeing each other. Flynn even gave Carrie a nickname, only used on rare occasion – Care Bear. It was ironic, made because Carrie’s response to one too many things had been ‘I don’t care’.

For a while, they had been friends and happy that way. Every time Carrie saw Flynn, she thought her heart might burst with the giddy joy that only Flynn could instil in her. She had let herself smile that wide and bright smile she always wanted to when Flynn was around because it was allowed now. So many things were allowed now that they were friends, things Carrie had hardly even realised she wanted to do – she could hug Flynn, link arms with her, hold her hand, fall asleep on her shoulder during their sleepovers.

In fact, it was on one of those sleepovers that Carrie realised that those things she wanted to do might not have been purely friendly.

She had woken up before Flynn, sprawled on the sofa in the fort they had built (as had become a tradition for their sleepovers – who didn’t love building pillow forts?). She had stretched and rolled over, burrowing a little further into the covers, and caught sight of Flynn fast asleep on the air mattress on the floor. She looked so peaceful, wrapped in two blankets, her chest gently rising and falling as she breathed, her hair spilled over her face. Carrie had smiled and tenderly reached down to move a braid away from Flynn’s face.

Without thinking, she gently ran her thumb along Flynn’s cheek, still smiling to herself. Then she had stopped because what on Earth was she doing? And in that one moment she re-evaluated every interaction she’d ever had with Flynn, played out every moment in her head over and over again and realised in no uncertain terms that–

“I’m in love with you,” she had whispered dumbfoundedly. She didn’t think, just shook Flynn awake, more forcefully than was probably necessary. Flynn grumbled, but sat up, probably thinking there was an emergency. Carrie didn’t let her ask whatever question she probably had lined up, just repeated again so that Flynn could hear her this time, “I’m in love with you.”

Flynn’s expression had morphed from sleepy urgency to utter bewilderment to dawning realisation to pure elation.

“Really?” she had said, wide awake all of a sudden.

Carrie had just nodded – she had used up all her words.

Flynn beamed and launched herself forward, wrapping Carrie in a tight hug that she responded to as if it was the most natural thing in the world, all the both of them had been born to do.

Flynn spoke in tandem with the rising sun as its light streamed through the window and illuminated the two of them, holding onto each other, just four simple words: “I love you too.”

That had been three months ago. They had done a lot since then – officially labelled themselves girlfriends, gone on their first dates, had their first kiss. But one thing they hadn’t done was tell anyone they were together. At first it was because they had wanted to wait and see it they ‘worked’. After that, the time had never felt right, and as time went on the whole prospect had become more and more daunting.

Which was where the school dance came in. Flynn had been disappointed when Carrie had told her that she wasn’t planning on going.

“Oh, come on,” Flynn had whined, her fingers trailing through Carrie’s hair, sending shivers down her spine, “it’ll be fun! We’ll get to spend the whole night dancing and hanging out with our friends! Plus, I’m DJing for about an hour near the start so you’ve got to come and watch me.”

Carrie had remained unconvinced. “It’s just a dance. There’ll be one next year and the year after, it’s not like I’ll be missing much.”

“I want you to be there with me,” Flynn had said.

That in itself had almost been enough for Carrie – she turned to face her Flynn, whose expression was open and honest and adoring. She realised in that moment how lucky she was to have Flynn, this beautiful girl who loved and understood her and wanted her to see her doing something she was proud of. Someone who wanted to spend time with her because she couldn’t imagine anything better. Flynn was a stroke of luck, more valuable and more rare than a lottery win, and Carrie had the privilege of calling herself her girlfriend.

But nobody else knew.

“Okay,” Carrie had said, “but we’ve got to make it worthwhile.”

“It will be,” Flynn insisted, beaming. “Julie and the guys are performing as well, so that’ll be great, and I’m pretty su–”

“No,” Carrie interrupted, “I mean I have something specific in mind.”

Flynn went quiet, said nothing, nodded encouragingly.

Carrie had taken a deep breath and said, “What if we told everyone about us? Just show up and tell our friends and dance together and spend the night as Carrie-and-Flynn rather than just Carrie and Flynn?”

“Woah,” Flynn had breathed. Carrie had instantly regretted saying anything at all – was it too soon still? Did Flynn not want to move that fast? Did she not want to tell their friends at all? “Really?”

“We don’t have to,” Carrie said, turning away. She felt Flynn link their fingers together but still didn’t look back at her. “If you don’t want to then I get it.”

“I do want to,” Flynn said. Carrie turned to face her then and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. “Of course I want to. As long as you’re ready then I think we should go for it.”

Everything in Carrie had screamed at her to backtrack, to wait a little longer, that this was a mistake. But she had gripped Flynn’s hand tighter, pressed a kiss to her lips, and smiled.

“I’m ready.”

Just like that, she had gone from indifferent about the dance, to ecstatic, and now – sat on her bed beside Nick, watching him expectantly wait for her to reply – she was utterly dreading it.

“Sure,” she said now, voice thick, “you can keep guessing.”

Nick frowned and leaned back, propping himself up with his hands behind his back. “It doesn’t sound like you want me to.”

Carrie tried to look him in the eye, but just couldn’t manage it. She felt like her chest was going to burst, like her head was full of TV static. She heard Nick sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “if you don’t want me to pry then I won’t.”

“It’s not that,” Carrie assured him, quiet. She took her time as she spoke, grasping for the words – all of them felt out of her reach. “I don’t mind the guessing.”

“Then what is it?”

She looked at him. She knew Nick, she’d known him practically her entire life, ever since they were toddlers. She had dated him for two years and now considered him her closest friend. His expression now was kind, gently nudging her to say what was on her mind.

Carrie and Flynn had agreed not to tell anyone at all before the dance, but if anyone could ease Carrie’s mind it was Nick, and if she didn’t calm down soon then she wouldn’t be going to the dance at all.

So she chose to tell him.

“Flynn and I are dating,” she said, looking at her duvet instead of at him, throwing the words out in one breath so she couldn’t hesitate or stop herself. “We have been for three months and we’re supposed to be telling everyone tonight, but I just feel so nervous about it and I don’t even know why. And I wasn’t meant to tell you because we said we’d tell everyone together, but at this rate I don’t even think I can make it out of this room.”

Nick was silent for a moment. All he did was reach out and take Carrie’s hand, stilling its movement – she hadn’t realised, but she had been restlessly picking at her duvet cover and had almost worn a hole in it. He held her hand softly in his and squeezed it ever so slightly, just enough to give Carrie the courage to meet his eye.

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “I promise you. Everything is okay.”

Somehow she believed it. She nodded mutedly.

“There’s nothing to worry about, right?” Nick continued, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on the back of her hand. The ticklish feeling was oddly grounding. “Are you and Flynn happy together?”

“Yes,” Carrie breathed.

“Does it matter what anyone else thinks of it?”

Carrie shrugged. “You. And the rest of our friends.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, so you don’t need to worry about that. And none of our friends have a problem with Alex and Willie – why would they have a problem with you and Flynn?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. A single tear slipped down her cheek and Nick pulled a fresh pack of tissues from his pocket. Gratefully, she took one and dabbed it away.

“It’s scary,” he said. “Of course it’s scary. But at the end of the day, it’s just you and the girl you care about being who you are. And that’s such a great thing. I guarantee that once you see Flynn tonight you’ll forget you were nervous at all in the first place.”

“You think so?” she asked weakly.

“I know so,” he replied, smiling.

There was a quiet pause in which Carrie wondered how she’d ever got lucky enough to have such wonderful people in her life.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Nick playfully punched her arm, lightening the mood just like that. “Don’t even mention it. And hey – thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

She nodded. Of course she knew that.

“So,” Nick continued, “you like girls?”

Carrie giggled, still dabbing at her eyes, now more focused on not ruining her makeup than not crying. “Yes, I like girls.”

“And boys?” Nick asked hesitantly. Carrie shook her head. “Did you know that when we were dating?”

“No,” Carrie said. “I only figured it out a few months ago. Because of Flynn.”

To Carrie’s surprise, Nick beamed. She had expected him to be a little put out for reasons she couldn’t quite place, but if anything he looked happy.

“I’m glad you get to be yourself now,” he said.

Carrie pushed him playfully because her two options were joke about the situation or burst into tears, and she knew which one she would rather do.

She checked the time and realised that they definitely needed to leave sooner rather than later, so stood up and slipped her shoes on, putting the final touches to her outfit as Nick asked careful questions about her and Flynn. It was nice, finally being able to gush about her girlfriend without the fear of accidentally outing herself. As she was talking to Nick, she realised she should probably have told Flynn that Nick knew.

She sent her a quick text: I was nervous so I told Nick about us, sorry if that ruins things? Xx

To her relief, Flynn replied almost instantly with: lol it’s fine, I told Julie xx

Carrie couldn’t help but laugh to herself, mingled with a sigh of relief. At least Flynn was seemingly nervous too.

Luckily, Carrie’s house wasn’t too far away from Los Feliz. She and Nick took the short walk there, easy banter flowing between them – most of Carrie’s nerves had subsided, but there was still a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that maybe this was all a mistake. She tried to distract from it by focusing on her chat with Nick, making herself laugh a little louder than was perhaps natural, forcing smiles too wide. As they neared the entrance to the school, she couldn’t keep the act up anymore and let her smile fall.

Nick softly laid his hand on her back and Carrie took a deep breath.

“You got this,” he said encouragingly, smiling gently. “You’re Carrie Wilson – you can do anything you put your mind to.”

Hardly realising she was doing it, Carrie slipped her hand into Nick’s, some old comforting reminder of the unbreakable bond they had. It grounded her, even if it didn’t still her nerves.

Together they entered the school and made their way towards the hall where the pulsing music rocked the building’s foundations, blue and pink lights streaked into the hallway, and the vibrant cheers and chatter from the students of Los Feliz echoed like thunder. In some last-ditch grab for calm, Carrie stepped in ahead of Nick.

The hall had been decorated marvellously, but Carrie hardly saw it. The second she had walked in, her eyes had trained on the stage where Flynn was stood behind the DJ set. She looked radiant, her hair pulled away from her face with butterfly clips, her dress every shade of the sunset glowing in the fluorescent lights, her smile bright and gleeful. She looked distracted though – Carrie watched as Flynn’s eyes scanned the room, searching for something.

Or someone.

Searching for Carrie.

Her nerves were suddenly long gone. Her hand fell from Nick’s and she pushed her way through the crowd, ending up in front of the stage, directly in front of Flynn. Their eyes met, and Carrie knew that the happiness in Flynn’s eyes was mirrored in her own. Nick had been right; just seeing Flynn being her beautiful self had melted Carrie’s worries away.

“You made it!” Flynn called, moving her headphones away from her ears, yelling over the music. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now I’m with you,” Carrie called back. She was aware of how soppy the line was, how cheesy and predictable, but it was true. Seeing Flynn had made everything feel alright.

“I’ll come and catch up with you after I finish my set,” Flynn told her. “The others are sat over there, I’ll be as quick as I can!”

Waving goodbye, Carrie hurried over to where Flynn had pointed. Julie and Luke were sat close beside each other in their matching outfits, Luke talking Julie’s ear off as she watched him with a fond expression; Alex and Willie were with each other, hands clasped firmly together, heads bowed in private conversation; Nick had joined Reggie and the two were already wrapped up in an animated conversation. Carrie smiled to herself and sat down beside Julie.

Julie turned away from Luke momentarily, just long enough to give Carrie a smile that said a thousand things in just one second. There was one overwhelming message in it though: I’m happy for you both.

Carrie gave a tiny smile back, then turned to watch as Flynn wrapped up her set and left the stage empty, bounding over to the group. It was at that moment that Carrie realised they hadn’t exactly worked out how they were going to reveal to their friends that they were an item – this whole thing could turn incredibly awkward very quickly if neither of them knew what they were doing.

Thankfully, it seemed Flynn wasn’t as worried.

She reached the group, ignored their friends exclamations of, “Nice job, Flynn,” and, “You killed it,” in favour of cupping Carrie’s face in her hands and pressing a firm but loving kiss to her lips. Out of surprise, Carrie didn’t react, but Flynn pulled away quickly anyway, an ecstatic smile on her face. She pulled a chair up, sat beside Carrie, and gripped her hand tightly.

“Did you like my set?” Flynn asked, clearly knowing the answer.

“It was amazing,” Carrie gushed, fiddling with Flynn’s fingers between her own. “You were amazing.”

Flynn smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder, proud of herself.

“Is this a thing now?”

Luke had interrupted their moment without a moment’s hesitation. He was leaned over the table past Julie (who was smirking knowingly), and it was only then that Carrie noticed she and Flynn had Alex, Willie, Reggie, and Nick’s eyes on them too. She looked in the only direction that felt safe – towards Flynn. Flynn smiled, pulled Carrie closer by her hand, and shrugged.

“Of course it’s a thing,” she said like it was obvious, like it was common knowledge.

There was no awkward pause, no judgemental looks, no hint that anyone might not have reacted positively. In fact, it was quite the opposite – Alex was out of his seat in a moment, catching Carrie in a hug and telling her in no uncertain terms that he was proud of her; Willie and Reggie reached over to Flynn and the three of them quickly performed the secret handshake they’d made a few months prior; Luke looked utterly dumbfounded, like he hadn’t seen this coming in the slightest, but he was grinning; and Julie and Nick were both watching Flynn and Carrie with private, kind smiles.

Carrie had never felt so loved.

The night flew past. It was a whirlwind of colour and smiles and laughter and dancing and food and drink and joy and love. Carrie had howled with laughter as Alex, Luke, and Reggie had attempted the lift from Dirty Dancing but failed miserably; she had danced along with Flynn, Willie, and Nick as Julie and the Phantoms performed their set; she pulled Flynn to sit in her lap when they both got too tired to carry on dancing.

Eventually, Carrie and Nick broke away from the group to get everyone drinks. While they were over at the refreshment table, Nick nudged Carrie with his shoulder.

“What?” she said.

He smiled and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of you. And I love you.”

She rolled her eyes, supressing a smile. “Shut up.”

A moment later though, she added a quiet, “I love you too.”

The night began to draw to a close and the final songs started playing. Carrie was brimming with giddy excitement still, but it had dulled as exhaustion began to weigh her down. The room felt hazy and dizzy as everyone grew tired, but still Carrie wanted to stay there forever, beside Flynn (who somehow still looked full of energy), holding her hand and simply existing with her.

Until a slow song began to play and couples flooded the dance floor.

Julie and Luke were the first of their group to gravitate towards the gathering crowd, Alex and Willie hot on their heels. Reggie tugged Nick to the dance floor, telling him he didn’t want to be left out and they could dance together even if they weren’t a couple. So Flynn and Carrie were left together, hand in hand by the edge of the dance floor.

Flynn looked to Carrie, something sentimental and sweet in her depthless brown eyes. Carrie thought that if she looked into them for too long she’d never be able to look away – Flynn had that effect on her, always pulling her closer, drawing her in. She loved it more than words could say.

“May I have this dance?” Flynn offered, tone light and joking. It didn’t mean that Carrie missed the underlying nerves – it seemed that this was the first thing all night to really rattle Flynn. Something as simple as a slow dance.

So Carrie decided to be brave.

“You never have to ask to dance with me,” she said, beaming, and pulled Flynn onto the dance floor.

They fell into a soft rhythm naturally, in the centre of the floor, swaying in tandem with each other. Flynn’s arms were linked around Carrie’s neck, and Carrie planted her hands gently on Flynn’s waist. For a while, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them too meaningful to be broken by anything other than the slow song that played in the background. But after a while, Flynn rested her head on Carrie’s shoulder. Carrie felt Flynn’s eyes flutter shut against her skin, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m glad we did this,” she whispered, her own eyes falling shut as they swayed together. She wasn’t taking any notice of what she was saying, but she knew she meant every word. “This feels right. I’m so happy I get to be with you – you mean everything to me.”

“I love you,” Flynn said, her breath warm on Carrie’s neck and collarbone.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

That night, Flynn stayed at Carrie’s house because it was just that little bit closer to school than her own. By the time they arrived there, Carrie’s dad had gone to bed and the house was quiet and calm, only lit by the light of the moon, washing in through the large windows. Carrie led Flynn upstairs to her bedroom – both of them were so tired that they fell into Carrie’s bed without bothering to put their pyjamas on or get ready for bed in any way.

Carrie shuffled about, folding herself around Flynn, her face tucked into Flynn’s hair. Not for the first time, she thought about how lucky she was to have Flynn, this wonderful girl who was all hers, who loved her and was loved by her in return.

“Hey,” she whispered, half asleep already, “thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you,” Flynn yawned, eyes opening just enough to look at Carrie, a small smile on her face. “You’re the one who made it special, Care Bear. I’m proud of us.”

Carrie kissed her, just once, gently. It was the kind of soft kiss that felt like it would shatter the Earth if it ever stopped, or like Carrie’s heart would stop beating if Flynn ever stopped touching her.

“I’m proud of us too,” she whispered.

It was impossible to imagine that it was in this very room just hours before that Carrie had been dreading going to the dance. Now she was glad she had gone because it hadn’t been just another party, just another dance, and there certainly wouldn’t be another one like it for as long as she lived.

[animeyanderelover]

Lets get started with all the Hunter x Hunter Hc’s now. Even though I’m still watching the Chimera Ant Arc and there are still some characters that will be introduced to me in the future.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, delusions, overprotectiveness, kidnapping, death, controlling Yandere

Heavens Arena Arc Hc’s

Zushi

🥋Zushi is the lovestruck and overprotective Yandere. He loves his darling more than anything and that’s the reason why he’s very protective over them. There is very little that this guy wouldn’t do for his darling. Probably even the tiniest bit delusional, seeing his s/o as his reason to go on and become stronger. If he would ever loose them it would be comparable to loosing all his motivation and his reason to continue training in order to become stronger.

🥋Also a bit on the desperate side. The experience with Gon and Killua made him realize that there are people out there who have way more talent than he does and that makes him a bit self-cautious when it comes to his darling. But if they tell him how strong and talented he is this guy will feel nothing, but pure joy.

🥋He’s a more impatient one, but his master taught him to have more patience so he can hold on for a little while, but only for a little. His jealousy is obvious. His whole face will twist into a very unpleasant expression and he’ll nearly drill wholes into the other person with his glare.

🥋Zushi is in my opinion not the type to kill someone. He was taught better than this. However, if someone really wounded his darling he won’t just stand there either. This guy can throw quite the punch and with one hit someone is already knocked out cold. That’s the only thing he’ll do and only if the s/o suffered badly. The person’s whole face is most likely ruined after a punch from him.

🥋Kidnapping? Nah, he doesn’t do that. He respects his darling’s freedom and would never kidnap them. If the s/o is in danger it’s more likely that Zushi will stay in their house in case something or someone could happen to them.

🥋The overall impression makes quite the harmless and better Yandere. He doesn’t kill anyone, he doesn’t kidnap you or hurt you and will give you very often here and there small gifts. I guess if we overlook his overprotectiveness you would be able to have an almost normal relationship with him.

Wing

🧑‍🏫Wing is in my opinion the aware and strict kind of Yandere. He’s knows very well that his feelings for the s/o aren’t supposed to be that passionate. It was shown that he can be pretty sternly with his students and the same counts for his darling. He really wishes that the public won’t find out about the forced relationship and if the behavior of his s/o increases the danger of others finding out he can get very strict.

🧑‍🏫He also possesses some tendencies for the manipulative type, but only if he has no other options left. Even though he’s sometimes very absent minded he’s very good in pretending and lying.

🧑‍🏫As a teacher he needs to have patience in order to not go crazy because of his students. So the s/o can have very much and long interactions with those around them, but Wing is as mentioned very strict and has most likely a couple of rules that the darling needs to follow in order to not make him jealous. If even one of the rules is broken from the darling or the other person gets a bit too close to them then he’ll step in. At first he’ll try to be polite with the other person, not wanting to make a scene, but if that person doesn’t get the message he’ll use Ren to scare them away.

🧑‍🏫He is the one who taught Zushi and just like him Wing would never kill, only if the other person would attack his darling and he would protect try to protect his s/o. But even that only happens if the person doesn’t peg away. Most of the time he can rely on threatening, bribing and blackmailing others.

🧑‍🏫If his darling would ever try to leave him he would most likely first of all try to manipulate them, trying to talk them out of it. If that doesn’t work he’ll get more forceful and will start to threaten and blackmailing them. If that still doesn’t work then he would go with kidnapping.

🧑‍🏫The manipulative types who are ready to bribe, threaten and blackmail you and those around you are never really pleasant and if we add the fact that he’s incredibly strict with you doesn’t help one bit. If you really act up against him he might even slap you. Not too hard, but still! I guess he doesn’t really know how to act with all the darker feelings he has for you and Biscuit even mentioned that Wing isn’t very talented with learning. Just try to follow his rules and he might become more soft with you.

[rq-s]

Title: Lucid Dreams - Chapter 1

Word Count: 2680

Warnings: Mingyu is featured heavily in the first few chapters and is directly involved in significant plot events. Due to recent events, I understand if reading these chapters may make you uncomfortable, but be aware that you’d be missing core story elements by skipping them. (Details)

Lucid Dreams Masterlist

Prologue | 

It was an hour after dawn, the streets were busy with students and workers on their commute. Yn gazed out of her apartment window, forlornly missing when she would do that. Why wasn’t I doing that? I should still be in college, worrying about scores and my social life.

She was still slowly waking up, with unfocused eyes and bad balance, as she sat at her desk. She shifted in her chair and faced her journal again, with two blank pages staring up at her.

It started as a school project, but it turned into a habit that Yn kept through her youth.

Yn stood and left it open without having written anything, frustrated with herself. If she had dreamt last night, it was long gone from her mind, and she had nothing else to write. There were more days like this lately. Update-less, absent days.

Eventually, Yn left the apartment complex with her phone and wallet and walked the familiar path. For weeks she had been going on walks around town, and she’d always somehow pass by the same peculiar store. She found herself lingering there, wanting to go in just to have her questions answered, but something within herself always stopped her. Online searches turned up very little. Just some patents, an under construction website, a local news article, and a few social media postings by previous customers. Everything she found only made her more curious.

The town seemed quiet, though it wasn’t ever busy. It made the journey to Dream Store a peaceful one, even as Yn's nervousness began to bubble.

She arrived a few hours before noon, the sunlight warm and shining brightly past the cartoonish and fluffy clouds. The well-tended potted plants, power washed sidewalk, and neon sign all had a strangely comforting feeling to them that welcomed her. Even the grey layered siding was sweet, despite how it clashed with the surrounding architecture. Yn stood on the sidewalk, facing the front patio, and hardened her resolve. Today would be her first time seeing what it was like inside; she refused to put it off anymore.

Yn approached the door in quick strides and read the print on the window before entering. “Dream Store | keeping hold of our hearts.”

Her breathing went still as soon as she pulled the door open. It was more spacious inside than the exterior led on, having a pastel pallet and being well lit. It felt like the door way was more then just the entrance to a business.

The first thing to see was the bar. A fairly long one, taking up most of the far wall, yet was still tucked in the corner. From the left wall towards the center were eight different taps, and on a counter behind the bar were two large blenders, a sink, and a small ice cream station with five flavors.  A small Bluetooth speaker on the end of the counter was playing instrumental lo-fi, and somehow the air itself felt light and bubbly against her skin. On the wall above the bar was a large LED menu with what appeared to all be beverages in narrow-necked glass bottles. On the little space that was left against the far wall was a freezer, decorated in stickers and notes. So it’s a juice bar? The tweets just mentioned ice cream. There was a hallway by the fridge, presumably leading to bathrooms and the staff area. In front of that and against the right wall were wood tables and chairs with mismatched cushions. There were similar tables meant for two on the left side, with what seemed to be medium sized square lockers, and two vending machines full of those same bottled drinks from the LED screen. It all felt surreal, it was too perfect.

“Excuse me?” Yn’s attention was brought back to reality by the voice of man, one she hadn’t even seen standing behind the bar until that moment. His fingers were intertwined and rested gently on the bar while he leaned forward, as if he’d been calling her for a while. Once he saw he had her attention, he stood upright and smiled sincerely.

“Welcome to our Dream Store!” It was as if the entire scenario was a prank, he was an actor and this business was a set. Everything was still and quiet, with nothing and nobody in existence but this store and the two of them.

Finally, Yn approached the bar.

Instead of a name tag, the name Mingyu was sewn onto the collar of his white dress shirt. He was very tall, and his uniform was clearly tailored for to fit him perfectly. His smile was kind and courteous as he spoke to her.

“Is this your first time here?” He asked gently, but with no less energy in his voice than before. Yn nodded.

“Gotcha, let’s find you a table then.” He chirped, and walked around from behind the bar, grabbing a physical menu from somewhere behind the register. “Do you like to sit by the window, or in the corner?”

“Anywhere that lets me see the exits, please.” She answered softly. Mingyu didn’t seem phased by her request and tapped his chin in thought while looking around. Only then did Yn notice one of the benches by the hallway was taken, where two teenage girls were fast asleep. It wasn’t uncommon to see college kids or overworked employees taking powernaps at cafés, but seeing them sleeping so peacefully while hunched over the table was something Yn found odd. Are those pillows matching the seat cushions?

Mingyu decided to seat her at one of the tables for two, the one closest to the taps on the bar. She could observe the whole store there, and had a clear view of the front door and the hallway, while sitting snugly in the corner by the vending machines. Yn sat down carefully as Mingyu set the menus in front of her. Sitting down brought her attention up, making her notice the peculiar ceiling with exposed beams, cords, pipes, and ducts, all painted white to match the ceiling itself. Something about the unconventional look of it was comforting for Yn, as if the establishment itself was being laid bare for her.

“First, thank you for coming in, we really appreciate your interest,” He smiled awkwardly for a moment before continuing, “I’m going to get someone from the back to watch the register for me, feel free to look at that menu in the meantime.” Mingyu lowered his head a tiny bit then swiftly headed down the hallway.

Thank you for visiting our Dream Store! All the staff here are proud of our beverages, passionate about our purpose, and excited to give you a safe, enjoyable experience when you spend time with us. We believe that we offer your community something special, not only with our drinks, but with our potential to give each visitor a unique and individualized experience.

Mingyu came back before she could read further, with another tall young man behind him, who promptly went behind the counter and washed his hands after smiling in acknowledgment to her. He seemed familiar, but she didn’t know why or how. Mingyu sat himself across from her with a sigh, feeling very nervous and struggling to act like he wasn’t.

“Alright, sorry about that. Did you get a chance to look at the menu?”

“Only the first paragraph.”

“Okay cool, the way the menu explains it is kind of weird, so it’s better that I do it.” Yn only grew more confused. She watched as Mingyu glanced over towards the other man, she wanted to look back to see what was going on, but didn’t. Instead, Yn watched as Mingyu squinted, shook his head in confusion, and then silently gasped in realization, all within a few moments. Mingyu swallowed and nodded to himself before redirecting his focus back to her.

“Is it alright if I know your name?”

“Uh, sure? It’s Yn.” He nodded formally and put on awkward smile.

“It's nice to meet you, I’m Mingyu. Like I said, thanks for coming in today.” He failed to fight the cringe on his own face and hurried past it.

“Essentially, we can offer you different kinds of drinks: juices, sodas, and smoothies. They’re all made by us, with our recipes, and you can either have them made for here or to go, or even from the coolers right here.” He leaned over and patted the cooler that had a variety of colored drinks in sturdy glass bottles.

“Why do you need to explain that to me?” She asked without thinking, having already picked up on the fact that this was a place that sold beverages. It was a selling point that they concoct them themselves, and that they can do all this seemingly without a big brand to fund them, but she doubted that it required introduction to every new customer. Yn heard the man behind the register chuckle, then try to hide it with a cough.

“I was getting there.” He stammered, his face flushing a soft red.

“If you’d like to have something here, there’s the option to make it a sleep aid. We call it a Sleepy. With those, we prepare the drink as we usually would, but instead of the liquid sugar we usually use, we use a mix of liquid sugar and drowsiness medicine. We’ve been able to use that in a low volume but effective dose to allow our customers to have a refreshing drink, followed by a recharging nap.” Yn watched him cringe again as he tried his best to explain it without making it sound as bizarre as it was. He continued as soon as she tried to comment, eager to get it the introduction over with.

“You don’t need to worry though! When a visitor picks one of our sleepy drinks, we give them a key to their corresponding table, and that key opens one of those lockers. You can put your things there beforehand so you know they’re safe while you sleep. We have cameras in here and outside, and there’s always at least one member of staff on duty who's trained to handle altercations of any kind, and all of us are trained in first aid and emergency procedures like CPR.” There was another chuckle from behind her, and he didn’t even try to hide it this time. Mingyu glared at him, and this gave Yn her opening to speak.

“So you take safety seriously, that’s good…” She was at a loss of what to say, having been bombarded with information, all of it outside of what she’d expected. She wasn't sure what the odds were leaning toward: him having a scripted yet speedy and thorough defense to any worries or questions she’d have, or that he’d flounder as soon as she asked for details.

“Of course we do. We know it’s a risk to just take a nap at a café. Especially one run but a bunch of young adult guys. But we’re trying something new that no one else in the world is doing, and we really believe in it.” Mingyu’s sudden sentiment was sincere, and his nervousness looked more like vulnerability now. Something compelled her to trust him. Maybe what he was saying about having something completely unique wasn’t true, Yn had no clue, but it might as well be for a town like theirs.

“You’ll notice that we have 13 distinct drink options available right now, each one named after a member of the staff.” Mingyu  opened the menu and flipped a few pages till Yn could see depictions of each of the drinks. They were colorful, and beautifully presented on the pages, with descriptions of each one. He stopped on a page of cool toned drinks.

“Let’s say you come in and decide to order a Sleepy Mingyu, that’s this one,” He pointed to the deep purple iced drink and tapped its picture fondly. “It’ll come in a medium glass bottle, with a straw and napkin of course, along with a locker key that corresponds to whatever table you pick. While we’re making it, you can put your stuff in the locker, and inside the locker will be a small pillow, but you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to. We switch the covers after every use and wash all of them each night, so don’t worry about that either. You can decide to keep the key with you, or give it to whoever’s at the register for safekeeping.” He began to ramble again, wracking his brain to make sure he mentioned everything Yn could possibly need to know while to keep himself from growing too embarrassed. She sat there patiently, listening as he helped her understand. He seemed to grow more uneasy with each word.

“You’ll probably want to wait at your table till the drink is done, it usually takes less than five minutes. We’ll bring it to you.”

Mingyu paused and took a deep breath, biting the inside of his cheek in thought, picking his words carefully. He hadn’t looked at her since his sentiment about safety and now it seemed like he was actively choosing not to look up at her.

“The Sleepys only come in medium because the drowsiness medicine is fast acting, and we try to make sure that you’ll have enough time to finish it all before you fall asleep.” He looked to the man behind the counter, and this time Yn dared to look at him too. But he only looked at Mingyu, giving his coworker an encouraging, albeit aggressive, thumbs up. Mingyu shook his head.

“This is really weird, Jun. How do you guys explain this kind of thing without seeming creepy?!” He seemed deeply upset, frustrated and on the verge of tears. It suddenly felt like Yn was intruding on something private.

“Take a breath, okay?” The man came around the counter and spoke gently to his colleague, kneeling to the ground like a father would when speaking to a child. He was close enough now that Yn could read the name on his collar as Junhui. He put his hand on Mingyu’s knee and squeezed it a few times, urging him to relax. Then he turned to Yn.

“Once you finish your drink, you’re gonna fall asleep, and we’ll watch over you while you do. You’ll have a great dream, and we’ll wake you up at whatever time you told us to when you ordered, or after you’ve been asleep for 2 hours.” Junhui stood back up, and patted Mingyu’s shoulder while still looking at Yn.

“Mingyu is a really great guy. He cares a lot about people and about what we're trying to do here. And if you ask me, his drink is one of the best.” Junhui’s smile was warm and his tone of voice was calming as he praised his friend. Mingyu still couldn’t look at her, facing away from her entirely and looking downtrodden. Yn didn’t know what to say and instead decided to read the blurb about Mingyu's concoction.

A sweetly rich concord grape flavored soda! Mingyu’s soda brings one’s imagination to life, while remaining proud and inspired.

“I’ll try it.” She spoke casually, trying to imagine what such a drink would taste like. It had been so long since she’d had a grape flavored drink of any kind, and something carbonated sounded great in that moment.

“You don’t have to.” Mingyu said pitifully, assuming she chose his drink to help him feel better.

“The picture looks really pretty, I wanna see if it really looks like that.” Her bluntness stunned him, and he wondered if she was bluffing. Even so, he resolved to grin and bare it, standing up from the table. Junhui stepped back and smiled, leaving silently as Mingyu went back behind the counter.

“Alright… Let’s get it ordered then!” He bolstered, ready to reaffirm himself in the form of a fancy looking grape juice.f

[goulets]

Heartland

Chapter: 1/8 Pairing: Jason Todd/Dick Grayson Additional Characters: Colin Wilkes, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake, Alfred Pennyworth Rating: T (for now) Case Fic/Kid Fic a03 link

Jason looks down at the baby, at watery brown eyes and tiny hands, fingers stretching out without knowing what they're reaching for. She yawns and makes a sucking noise, turning her head into his chest.

Damn it.

“We'll do shifts,” he says to Dick, making his tone as businesslike as possible. “I still have shit to do; I can't sit around playing house with you all day.”

Dick doesn't smile, but Jason can see that he wants to. “That sounds reasonable.”

“This is temporary. Just until we find the fuckers that want to take her out.”

“Sure it is.” Dick's all doe-eyed now, watching the baby settle down to sleep. “Welcome home, Jaybird.”

(colin)

It's a quarter past five and the first streams of daylight are curling over the horizon when Colin finally makes it back to the orphanage. He's down to his normal size, brass knuckles heavy in his pockets and slowing his already exhausted steps. It'll be at least three hours before the younger kids wake up; time enough to get one REM cycle in before he's got all those mouths to feed. Damian taught him about monitoring his REM cycles, how it's sometimes better to get three hours than four, how to stay sharp even when he's running on no sleep at all.

Even better, Dick once told him he's welcome at the manor anytime he needs to rest undisturbed, or a hot meal, or a 'flying lesson', whatever that means. Damian had thrown a batarang at his head when he'd suggested it, so Colin assumes it's some kind of inside joke. Regardless, he hasn't been back at the manor to take Dick up on his offer. Batman's back – the real Batman – and Colin would be the worst kind of liar if he said he wasn't a little bit terrified to face him, considering the circumstances of their first meeting.

A motion in the alley next to the orphanage catches his eye, and he stills. Vagrants don't usually start coming around until the soup kitchen opens, and all the thugs he's used to dealing with tend to wait until the kids are up to start messing with them. That's why Colin likes the walk back from patrol, despite his tiredness, despite the chill that rolls off the ever-present fog. The city's glow is muted at this hour, its inhabitants either just starting to stir or just turning in. He's alone with the smog and the molten aura of the streetlights, and there's a quiet about it all that makes even the bloodstains on his knuckles feel pure, purposeful.

That said, he really does need to invest in some gloves.

The figure in the alley is still moving, clumsy and hurried, and all at once Colin realizes what it is they're fumbling with. There's a sort of house-shaped capsule outside St. Aden's, a narrow chute with a small door that doesn't have a lock, and a weathered sign on the front that depicts the outline of an infant. It's a Safe Surrender site, a place where people can legally abandon their newborns, and someone is using it for the first time since Colin's been at the orphanage.

He creeps closer, keeping to the shadows.

The figure spends about five more seconds fumbling with something on the ground, then wrenches open the door to the capsule and deposits something inside. Colin's stomach twists; the blue light above the capsule illuminates, and he can hear a faint alarm going off in the nuns' office. He wonders if they'll even know what it's for. The figure startles at the light, hastily grabs what looks like an empty bag off the ground, and bolts.

Colin wants to follow, but finds himself unable to walk past the capsule without checking it, and once he sees what's inside, he knows there's no chance of him giving chase. The baby is sleeping, definitely not a newborn, but not more than a few months old. Its tiny body is wrapped in a dirty blanket, wisps of black hair sticking out from an unprotected head. Colin supposes he wouldn't have needed to pursue whoever dropped it off; for all intents and purposes, they might think they're doing the right thing. St. Aden's won't turn the baby away, and it's a better option than leaving it in a gutter or a dumpster, which, in Gotham, is not a thing unheard of.

The baby stirs as a stiff breeze swirls through the alley, making Colin shiver. The nuns will be dressed and out in five minutes, give or take. They'll at least put a hat on the baby, Colin thinks. He doesn't know much about babies, but he knows they need hats. The orphanage has baby hats, and diapers, and blankets, albeit thin ones, most with holes. They might even have a spare teddy bear for when the baby has nightmares. No one comforts you when you have nightmares at St. Aden's. The nuns aren't big on hugs, even the babies they hold as little as possible.

Colin may not know a lot about babies, but he knows what happens when you don't hold them. The kids at the orphanage who've been there since infancy are a testament to that. Colin shivers again, thinking of vacant eyes and hunched shoulders. Pale skin and raw voices. Underdeveloped, broken bodies, floating in the river.

The light in the nuns' office comes on. Less than a minute now. Before he can fully process what he's doing or why he's doing it, Colin scoops the baby out of the capsule and cradles it carefully in his arms, walking briskly out of the alley the way that he came. The fog feels damper; it clings to him like it means to shield him from view. As an afterthought, Colin takes off his own hat and uses it to cover the baby's head.

***

“What is so urgent,” Damian snarls, swinging into the garage and making Colin jump and almost topple over, “that it couldn't wait at six in the fucking morning?”

Moving past his initial alarm, Colin feels relief wash over him at seeing his friend. Damian is decked out in his Robin costume and, all things considered, no grumpier than usual. “I'm so glad you're here,” he says in a rush. “I think – I think I screwed up, and I don't know what to do. Um.”

He decides not to draw it out, and instead steps aside, gesturing to the side compartment of his motorcycle. The baby is still sound asleep; he's wrapped his jacket around it as well. He won't die from the cold, but he worries that the baby might.

“What the – ” Damian blinks at the sleeping infant, then points to Colin without looking away. “Explain.”

Colin does. “And I thought if I called you, you might know what to...because you and Batman have handled this kind of stuff, right? You know who to, um.” He pauses, and realizes that he doesn't actually know why his first instinct was to call Damian, aside from the fact that he really has no one else to call. He wraps his arms around himself and lets out a short breath. “What do we do?”

“There's no 'we',” Damian says automatically, just like Colin knew he would. “You can't take care of a baby. You're ten. You have to put it back.”

Colin doesn't move. He knows Damian is probably right. “I just,” he starts to say, searching for the words. He's so tired he can barely think straight. “I guess I wanted it to have a chance. You know? Kids at the orphanage...kids like me, we don't get a lot of choices. Everyone ends up being a bad guy or a victim.” He swallows. “We don't need any more of either in this town.”

Damian scowls and rubs at his mask absently. “You're not either one of those things.”

Colin look at his fist and squeezes it, concentrating. Within a minute, his forearm is as big around as his leg. “No, I'm not,” he says. Damian has gone very still. Colin closes his eyes and feels his way back to his normal size, flexing his hand once it's shrunk back down. “Not anymore.”

“I – ” Damian cuts himself off, clenching his jaw. “Fine. We'll take it back to the manor. We have to go now, before they realize I'm gone.”

Colin bites back a grin and scoops the baby up, cradling its head carefully against his chest. The baby's face isn't cold anymore, which gives him an unexpected surge of elation, and he practically skips to Damian's side, earning a severely reproachful look from his friend.

“How did you get here?”

“I swiped Father's keys,” Damian says dryly, holding them out and pressing a button. Brilliant headlights illuminate the alley outside the garage, and Colin's jaw drops as a sleek, two-door Batmobile pulls up in front of them.

“How did – ”

“Remote autopilot. It drives itself.”

“Whoa.”

Damian rolls his eyes and presses another button, making the roof retract halfway. He swings in over the door and says, “Don't scratch the interior.”

Colin slides in beside him, awestruck. He's in the freaking Batmobile. If everything under the sun goes wrong with this sort-of kidnapping, even if he winds up in jail, it'll be so worth it.

***

(jason)

Jason's not having a particularly good day.

Scratch that, it's nine in the morning, and Jason's already not having a particularly good day.

“Where did you say you heard this?” Bruce asks, frowning at his computer screen. Translation: which parts of this are you lying about, Jason?

“Oh, you know,” Jason says, not caring to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “Me and some of my League buddies were doing tapas over at Ocho, and you know how they get when the wine starts pouring.” Bruce glares at him, and he glares right back. “All I know is Shiva's overseas for the foreseeable future. Just thought I'd share, since I heard you were looking. But whatever you want her for, I'm telling you, she probably didn't do it. This time.”

Bruce stares at him, cold and still as a statue. Jason wants to hit himself. Idiot move, coming here. Not like the Great Bat Detective needs his legwork anyhow.

He squares his shoulders and says, “Hey, take it or leave it. Which, speaking of, I'm gonna go ahead and leave now.”

Bruce's silence follows him out, and Jason practices the tried-and-true strategy of stirring up old resentments to mask the hurt. Not like he'd expected old Batsy to fall all over himself with excitement on account of a visit from his fallen son, but there's a cold reception, and there's the patented Bruce Wayne Freeze-Out. If Jason had imagined their shared history of returning from the dead would bring them closer together, he'd been sorely mistaken.

“Will you be joining us for breakfast, Master Jason?” Alfred asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel as Jason attempts to hustle past the kitchen. Habit has him pausing, because you just don't blow off Alfred, and that small hesitation is all it takes for the smells wafting out of the kitchen to hit him head-on. And oh, do they hit him. Pancakes, eggs, bacon – turkey bacon, Jason's favorite, of course Alfred remembers that stupid little detail. He probably also remembers that Jason is pathologically incapable of refusing food. Bastard.

“I'm not really – ” he starts to say hungry, but his stomach picks that exact moment to let loose a traitorous growl that echoes down the hallway and probably wakes up any still-asleep inhabitants of the manor.

Alfred, to his everlasting credit, doesn't even flinch. Jason heaves a sigh. “Yeah, all right. Just a bite, I guess.”

“I'll set a place for you.” Like the old man hasn't already.

Jason tugs off his gloves and makes his way to the sink to wash up. No telling what's living under his nails these days, but it's probably better not to ingest it.

“This is really good, Alfie,” he says through a thick bite of pancake. “Damn. I hope the new kid knows how good he's got it.”

“I'm afraid I haven't met anyone quite as enthusiastic about my cooking as you, Master Jason. Except, on occasion – Master Richard!”

“Hey, Alfie! Man it smells good, what's the occasion?” A shirtless, pajama-pants clad Dick Grayson bounds into the kitchen, more golden retriever than man, and stops on one foot with his face six inches above the bacon pan, breathing in. “Hey, is that turkey bacon?” He whirls around. “Jason!”

“Um.” Jason goes very stiff in his seat, teeth locked together around a forkful of eggs. Chew, swallow. He hadn't know Dick was here; hadn't figured any of the bat clan would even be awake at this charming daylight hour, except Bruce, who Jason's convinced deprogrammed the biological need to sleep out of his system years ago. “Hey.”

Dick looks pleased to see him, but confused. He's still on one foot. Jason represses the childish urge to throw something at him; knock him over like a big stupid bowling pin. “What are you doing here?”

“Just came by to drop off some intel,” he shrugs, fidgeting with his napkin. “You know how it is. Spend enough time cracking skulls, more than brain tissue leaks out.”

When Dick doesn't react beyond placing both feet on the ground and pursing his lips disapprovingly, Jason puts on his best shit-eating grin. Ah, ruining family meals. Just like old times.

“Thanks for the grub, Alfie,” he calls, swinging his legs over the side of his chair. “Think I've overstayed my welcome now, so I'm just be on my way.” He deliberates for a moment before snatching the last piece of turkey bacon off his plate, then walks briskly out of the kitchen and towards the front door.

“Jason – wait up a second.” Dick's voice behind him, close behind him, practically a whisper. Jason turns and takes a deliberate step backward, putting space between them. He's fairly sure he can take Dick hand-to-hand, but he wants to be as close to the exit as possible when he does.

“What?” he demands, more roughly than he needs to. He shifts his hip to feel the handle of his knife pressing into it; the exact shape he'll mold his palm to if he needs to draw it.

Dick crosses his arms and stares him down steadily. It's a mistake to make eye contact with him, because Dick's stare isn't like Bruce's, shrewd and penetrating, it's not a gaze that takes any effort to hold. Quite the contrary – Jason's always had trouble breaking eye contact with Dick. Bruce's stare goes through him, turns him inside out, but Dick's grips him, surrounds him, takes the full measure of him without pulling everything ugly to the surface. It's unnerving. He'd rather face Bruce any day.

“You don't have to leave just because I walked into the room.”

He shouldn't be able to project so much earnestness in nothing but faded Superman sleep pants, Jason thinks. It defies human nature.

“It was more of a sashay,” he smirks, still not blinking. “And it's not on your account, don't worry. I just have shit to do.”

“You should come by more often,” Dick presses.

It's all Jason can do not to throw his head back and laugh. “Right,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “That's gonna happen over Bruce's dead body.”

There's a flash of pain on Dick's face, and Jason thinks his phrasing was probably ill-advised. Too soon and all. Oh well.

“That's not true,” Dick shakes his head, shaggy hair falling in front of his eyes. Jason feels a bizarre and fleeting urge to brush it away, makes it an immediate priority to repress desires like that as far down as they can possibly go. “Look, I know it hasn't always been easy – ”

Jason scoffs. “Oh, sure.”

“ – but if you'd just give him some time, I know he wants you back, Jason. You're family. And I think you know it too, or you wouldn't even be here.”

Defiant rage stirs in Jason's stomach, but this isn't the time or the place for that kind of reaction. He settles instead on indifference. “That's an old tune, Dickie. Might be time to learn some new ones.”

Dick's expression softens. Damnit. This is why he can't stand around talking to Dick, making fucking chitchat and this perverse, endless eye contact. They observe each other in circles, it's nearly impossible to hide, and Dick doesn't hide anything, which means Jason's at an automatic disadvantage. Every goddamn time.

It's pointless to bare his teeth in a grin and offer a sardonic wave, but Jason does it anyways. “It's been real, Boy Wonder. I'll catch you la – ”

“Shh.” Dick puts up a finger, frowning. He looks up the stairs. “Do you hear that?”

If this is another strategy to try and stall him, Jason's gonna start throwing punches. “Hear what?” he demands. He's about to tell Dick to go fuck himself – which, he probably can, fucking acrobat – no, bad visual, stop thinking about Dick naked, Jesus fucking Christ – when he hears it too.

It sounds like – “Is that a baby?” He looks sideways at Dick. “Bruce have a second love child already?”

Dick says, “I'll see you later, Jason,” and starts climbing the stairs.

Well, obviously Jason can't leave now.

They follow the cries down one of the many upstairs hallways, which, from the portraits and weaponry lining the walls, Jason figures must lead to Damian's room. Dick pauses outside a closed door, pressing his ear to it, and, curiosity getting the better of him, Jason follows suit.

“You have to get it to shut up! The whole mansion's probably heard it by now!”

“I'm trying!” an unfamiliar voice hisses, and there's the sound of a hiccup from a third unfamiliar voice. Presumably something babylike. “Do you think it's hungry?”

“How the hell should I know? This was your moronic idea, Colin, don't you know anything about babies?”

“Maybe we should google it.”

“I'm going to kill you. Actually, when Father finds out we kidnapped a fucking baby, he'll kill us both. I can't believe I let you talk me into this mess.”

The crying starts again. Dick looks at Jason and mouths, one, two, three, before pushing the door open and revealing their presence.

It's quite a scene. Damian's in half his costume, mask, boots, and cape discarded on the floor, and he's grinding his teeth at another boy, a redhead kid in a dirty checkered sweatshirt who looks to be around his age. The redhead kid looks horrified to see them standing there, first going furiously red, then white as a sheet. But the thing that really grabs Jason's attention is the baby – yep, a flesh-and-blood human infant – cradled awkwardly in the redhead kid's arms, screaming its tiny head off.

Dick looks between them, his eyes enormous. “Damian? Colin? What is this?”

It's a question, not an accusation. Jason has to hand it to him; Bruce would've had them sizzling on the grill the second the word 'kidnapped' reached his ears.

Colin says, “It's not what it looks like!”

Dick glances sideways at Jason. “Okay, but. I'll be honest, I'm not even sure what it looks like.”

Jason shrugs. “You kids abduct any babies lately?”

“We didn't abduct it,” Damian snarls. “Colin found it. Abandoned. It was my mistake to bring it here.”

The baby cries louder. It's a miracle Alfred hasn't come running yet.

“Someone dropped it at St. Aden's,” Colin says quickly, between bouts of screaming. “I just – I couldn't just leave it there, you don't know what it's like, growing up that way.” He clutches the baby to him fiercely, bitterness etched all over his face. “You might as well hand him over to the gangs right now, because that's where he'll end up.”

Dick looks horribly conflicted. Jason laughs out loud.

“So, what was your plan?” he asks incredulously. “Two ten year olds, teaming up to raise a baby? Which one of you's the mom?”

Dick's arm blocks Damian's sharp kick to Jason's face. “Thank you, Jason, that was helpful,” he says. “But, uh, what was the plan, exactly?”

Everyone looks to Colin, who shrinks visibly under their combined gaze. “I don't know,” he says in a small voice, nearly indecipherable beneath the baby's cries. “I hadn't really thought that far ahead. I just – I thought Batman could save him.”

It takes everything in Jason's face-saving book not to respond to that, but he barely manages to keep his mouth shut. Dick shoots him a look of gratitude, and he rolls his eyes. Obviously there are more pressing issues at hand than his lingering manpain; Jason's not that self-involved.

“Okay,” Dick says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Here's how we solve this. He – she? – we'll figure it out, whatever, is probably hungry. And wet. Did you two change its diaper?”

Damian and Colin look at each other and shrug helplessly. “Right.” Dick points one hand behind him. “I'm going to go to the kitchen; I know Alfred keeps formula in there somewhere. And we should have diapers in one of the emergency supply closets. I'll get that stuff. Jason, take the baby for a minute, would you? Colin looks like he's about to drop.”

Jason backs against the wall, saying, “Oh no, I don't – that's not a – ” but then the screaming bundle is being precariously extended towards him, and instinct has him reaching out to take it.

“Jesus,” he mutters, feeling the fragile weight of the baby in his arms. Can't be much more than ten pounds. He has handguns with more substance than this thing. “Where're you keeping those lungs, little guy?”

Silence falls over the room, and it takes Jason a minute to realize that he didn't spontaneously go deaf, the baby stopped crying. Its tiny eyes – brown, dark and wet – are blinking up at him like he's the most interesting thing in the world.

Oh, no.

This is a disaster.

He doesn't hear Dick's intake of breath so much as he feels it, which might be because he's holding his breath too, because the baby is looking at him, and damnit, this is the last fucking thing he needs in his life. “Go,” he says to Dick, inserting as much venom into his voice as possible, wrenching his eyes away from the baby's. “It's probably just going into shock or something.”

The baby farts.

“Okay, or that.”

Dick bites his lip hard, and ten different emotions of various intensities flash through Jason's gut. Then he's gone, cartwheeling down the staircase, knowing him.

Colin says, “Wow, it really likes you.”

Damian smirks. “I guess we know who the mom is.”

“Don't think because I've got a ten pound handicap I won't kick your ass, kid,” Jason snaps. It's an empty threat, and they all know it. For now anyways. Once the baby situation's dealt with, all bets are off.

Dick's back within five minutes, armed to the teeth with things more frightening to Jason than any weapon he can imagine. Diapers, wipes, blankets, bottles, even a tiny blue hat that looks handmade. Jason's heart thuds unevenly in his chest, recognizing Alfred's handiwork in the stitching; indisputable evidence that Bruce Wayne, Batman, was once a baby just like this one. It'd be hilarious, if he could push a laugh past the lump in his throat.

“Here.” Dick hands him a diaper. It has Mickey Mouse on it.

Jason shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. I didn't sign up for this shit. And I mean that in the literal sense; I did not put 'clean up baby shit' in my day planner today.” He thrusts the diaper back at Dick.

“Fine,” Dick snaps, holding his arms out expectantly. “Give me the baby. Damian, shake up this formula, will you?”

Damian snatches the bottle out of his hand and shakes it with the aggression of a paint mixer. Well, hey, at least he's dedicated.

The baby starts to fuss as it's transferred from Jason's arms to Dick's, and the lump in Jason's throat gets bigger. “Hey, hey,” Dick croons, settling the baby down on the rug and starting to unwrap its blanket. “You're okay, little guy. We got you – oh, I'm sorry,” he grins, glancing up at Jason. “Little girl, I'm guessing.”

Jason peers over his shoulder and sees that under the blanket, the baby is wearing tiny pink pajamas with little white and green flowers. Like the blanket, the pajamas are dirty. He wonders when the baby last had a bath.

Not your problem. He needs to get the hell out of here.

“Ooh, someone's got a full diaper,” Dick goes on. Jason wants to kick him in the back of the head. “Let's fix that, huh? Oh, yeah. We'll get someone on that right away.”

Jason jumps backward when Dick extends the dirty diaper to him, and Dick rolls his eyes. “It's just pee. Get over yourself, honestly.”

“Fuck you,” Jason growls. “I'm not part of this.”

Colin walks over with dogged footsteps and takes the diaper from Dick, folding it over until it's a tight little pocket that fits in the palm of his hand. He turns to Damian. “Where's the garbage?”

Damian jerks his head in the direction of the bathroom, and Dick glares at Jason as he refastens the baby's pajamas.

The baby's fussing turns into loud wails again, and Dick picks her – no, it, can't think of it as a person, damnit – up, rocking his arms gently. The baby cries, rubs its face on Dick's chest, and then turns its head and look directly at Jason.

“Aw, Jay. Looks like she's got a crush.”

“Please.” Jason rolls his eyes and tries to ignore the vise that's squeezing in his chest. He really, really needs to leave. Like, yesterday.

But then Dick starts feeding the baby, and Jason finds himself utterly rooted to the spot.

It figures that parenting is something that would come naturally to Dick. It seems like most things come naturally to him, particularly the things that terrify normal people, like leaping off tall buildings, running into the line of fire, taking on twenty armed goons with nothing but his stupid fucking escrima sticks. Dick cradles the baby with arms that've put hundreds of criminals on their asses, arms that are scarred all over, just like Jason's. He gazes down at the baby as it eats, murmuring praise, shifting slowly from foot to foot, and that damn thing won't stop looking at Jason, even while it's sucking enthusiastically at the bottle.

Footfalls behind him; a distinct step he'd know anywhere. “I took the liberty of digging up some clothes for our young guest,” Alfred says, as though nothing is out of the ordinary. “They're a bit dated, but I believe they should still be suitable.”

“Can we all get out of my room now?” Damian asks. “I'd like to change, and I'd prefer to do it without the entire household watching.”

Alfred nods. “Certainly, Master Damian. Master Richard, perhaps it would be prudent to bring this matter to Master Bruce at this time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dick says, heavily, shooting another look at Jason. Why does he keep doing that? “Let's just get her fed and changed really quick.”

“Of course.”

As soon as they're downstairs, the baby spits out the nipple and screws up its face like it's going to start howling again. Jason doesn't know what it is, some kind of long-buried impulse, a skill set he never thought he'd had to begin with, but he's stepping forward with his arms outstretched, palms open and flat, like he could do a damn thing to keep the baby quiet.

Dick pegs him with a curious look, and Jason freezes. “You wanna hold her?”

“What? No,” Jason says, shoving his arms down to his sides. “I just – I thought you were gonna drop it. Her.”

Dick doesn't say anything, and Jason feels a flush creeping up his neck. “You know what, it seems like you guys have this all handled. I'm just gonna...go.”

He turns, and the baby starts crying again.

Jesus Christ in a goddamn handbasket, this is bad.

“If you wouldn't mind,” Dick says, carefully, “We could use the help. Until we figure out what to do.”

“He can help,” Jason protests, pointing at Colin.

“I actually, um,” Colin looks vaguely terrified, glancing guiltily between them. “I have to go, my kids – there's kids at the orphanage, I have to be there. For them.”

Jason doesn't think about the time he spent on the streets, doesn't relive those fun childhood memories for any reason, but they're a scar on his psyche, forever etched in, and he can't exactly make them go away, either. He remembers the kids from the orphanages, how little and lost they were, better cared for but more unloved than any of the other street kids. He remembers standing up for them as much as he remembers knocking them over and stealing from them. No kids are worse equipped to protect themselves. Colin looks like he weighs eighty pounds soaking wet, but Jason reasons that he wouldn't be friends with Damian if he couldn't take a hit.

Colin probably takes a lot of hits on behalf of his kids. The thought turns Jason's stomach, and he knows he can't ask him to stay.

Dick frowns and starts to say, “I'm sure – ”

“Go,” Jason says quickly, giving Colin a short nod. “It's fine, whatever. My shit can wait a few hours.”

Everyone stares at him. The baby is still crying.

“Oh, for fuck's sake. Fine, give me the damn kid.” He sets his jaw and takes the baby from Dick, expressly avoiding Dick's eyes, or any part of his face, for that matter. The baby fusses for a minute, then seems to catch sight of Jason's face again, and settles down at once.

Shit, shit, shit.

***

“You're doing this completely wrong,” Jason tells the baby as they make their way down to the Batcave. “I'm sure as hell not taking you home with me, I'll tell you that much. No offense.”

The baby coughs, and Jason finds himself holding it a little tighter. It's all very unnerving, the way he's already used to the shape of its small form in his arms, the way its head fits snugly into the soft spot of flesh between his shoulder and his breastbone. Alfred threw out the ratty blanket it was wrapped in and gave them a new one, along with a pink cotton onesie with a stiff lace collar. Purchased forty odd years ago by Martha Wayne, on the off-chance that she was having a baby girl. A little piece of trivia that Jason is going to any lengths necessary not to think about.

“It fits with the intel I got last week,” Tim is saying, “Qurac is a big job; she wouldn't be doing it alone.”

“No,” Bruce agrees, hunched over in front of his massive screen. “Perhaps the League of Assassins isn't behind this at all.”

“So either someone's setting it up to look like they...” Tim trails off, catching sight of Jason, or more accurately, the wiggling bundle in his arms. “Is that a baby?”

Jason looks down and gasps. “Holy shit, how did that get there?”

Dick rolls his eyes. Tim says, “Wait, it's not – ”

“It's not mine, Replacement. Don't give yourself a stroke deducing over there.”

Bruce turns in his chair to face them, frowning deeply. His eyes take in Dick, Jason, and the baby. “Where's Damian?”

Dick steps forward. “He went with Alfred to take Colin ho – back to St. Aden's.”

“Ah.” Bruce nods. “So that's where he went this morning.” His gaze lands on the baby. “I take it the infant came from the orphanage as well.”

“She's really sweet, Bruce.” Dick adopts a pleading voice. “Colin thought he was doing the right thing.”

“Colin can look after her when she's returned to St. Aden's,” Bruce says firmly. “The Mansion is no place for a baby.” He stands and walks over to Jason. “May I?”

It takes Jason a moment to realize that Bruce is asking his permission to hold the baby. He doesn't know what's more surprising, the fact that Bruce is asking at all, or the fact that he wants to refuse, to take the baby and run as far away as possible, to an alternate universe where parents don't abandon their kids or sell them out, where they don't let psychopaths murder them, where they'd rather burn the world down than let any harm come to another child on their watch.

He thinks that Bruce can probably see his struggle painted on his face as he waits for his answer. And he is waiting, because the question wasn't a formality, it's a real uncertainty, and Bruce is asking Jason whether or not he trusts him to take this small life and protect it, even if it's just for a few moments.

Jason's reflexive answer is a harsh and unforgiving fuck no, but that's not the end of it. There's something deeper inside him, something that's been climbing toward the surface for a while now, no matter how hard he tries to bury it, that tells another story. A lot of other stories.

Rather than sift through them, he bites his tongue and hands the baby over. He tells himself he won't look at Bruce to see his reaction, but how often do you get to see Batman with a baby?

Jason will die again a hundred times before he ever admits it, but the vision of Bruce, half-suited up, broad and unyielding and Batman, folding his arms into a cradling position for the baby, is actually pretty fucking charming. He wouldn't've guessed that Bruce had a lot of experience with small children, but he doesn't look uncomfortable. The baby whines and stirs, little hands feebly reaching up to clutch at the bat symbol on his chest, and Jason thinks he actually sees Bruce's mouth quirk in a smile.

“I'm just going to scan her handprint,” he says, addressing Jason.

Jason shrugs. “Whatever.”

The whining stops as soon as he takes the baby over to the enormous computer screen, and Jason hopes that all the lights and flashing images don't fry the baby's brain. There are shots of crime scenes, bodies with blood spilled onto the street, rotating in the corner of the screen, and Jason hopes the baby's subconscious doesn't file those images away for night terrors down the road. Although, if it's going back to the orphanage, it'll see the real thing soon enough.

There's an uplifting thought.

“Danielle Leigh Torres,” Bruce says after a moment. “Born the sixteenth of January. Parents Linda Torres – deceased, and Mitchell Howard, also deceased.”

“Wait a minute.” Tim's gone still with his hand hovering over the keyboard. “Mitch Howard – that's Big Mouth Howard's real name.”

Big Mouth Howard. Jason's heard the name – some lowlife, maybe a bookie? He doesn't know why it'd be significant to any of them, but the way Tim and Bruce are looking at each other suggests that there's something fairly major he's missing. Jason glances at Dick, and is relieved to see that he looks just as out of the loop.

“You two wanna clue us in?” Jason demands, stepping closer to the screen. “Who the fuck is Big Mouth Howard?”

Bruce continues scowling unfathomably at the screen, and Tim lets out a long exhale. “There's been a lot of activity in the East End this past week,” he says. “You guys have probably noticed.”

“Yeah, bunch of dealers got capped,” Jason confirms, still not understanding why this should matter so much to Batman. “Turf wars. Big fucking deal.”

Tim shakes his head. “Not just dealers. Cy Reynolds was Intergang, they bought out the Dragons’ territory a few months ago and have been pulling in major product from Venezuela. His whole family was taken out, all his lieutenants, all their families.” He pulls up a mug shot of a sneering, overweight man with some serious dental issues. “Big Mouth was one of them.”

“So, you're thinking professional hits.”

“Reynolds had a lot of enemies. Guy dipped his pen in way too many wells. We thought Intergang might've taken him out themselves, because he was something of a liability, but why take out the lieutenants?”

“And the families,” Dick adds, frowning. “Someone wanted to send a message.”

“Exactly. He's gotten on the wrong side of the al Ghuls more than once, and this is their style,” Tim continues, pulling up more detailed shots of the bodies. “That one's Linda Torres. She wasn't even married to Big Mouth, but they still got her.”

“League's got bigger fish to fry,” Jason says dismissively. “They wouldn't bother.”

“Yeah, well, you would know,” Tim replies, raising an eyebrow. “Anyways, we're thinking it's a move against Intergang now, not just Reynolds. I have a couple hunches, but we need to examine the bodies more closely to know for sure.”

“Bruce,” Dick says, “if they're really sending a message, they're gonna be looking for Danielle.”

Tim opens his mouth and shuts it. No one speaks, and, as if on cue, the bundle in Bruce's arms starts wailing again.

Something is squeezing Jason's lungs, making it hard for him to breathe normally. Danielle. The baby has a name, it's a goddamn person and it's – she's – been in this world for three fucking months and she's already got a price on her head. God almighty, what a piece of shit world they live in.

Jason grinds his teeth. “No way she goes back to that orphanage.”

Everyone turns to look at him. He ignores them and steps forward, extending his arms towards Bruce, who slides Danielle over to him without protest.

“Jason – ”

“Forget it, Bruce. I don't know what paragraph of your moral code stipulates that you have to throw a fucking baby to the wolves instead of, oh, I don't know, protect her, but you can shove it up your ass. I'll fucking take her if it's that goddamn important to you. And if anyone comes for her, they die.”

“ – I was going to say, I think she should stay here. For the time being.”

Jason pauses. “Oh.”

“Provided, of course, that someone will be able to look after her. Other than Alfred.”

“I'll stay,” Dick volunteers. Of course he does. Fucking boy scout. “Jason?”

Jason looks down at Danielle, at watery brown eyes and tiny hands, fingers stretching out without knowing what they're reaching for. She yawns and makes a sucking noise, turning her head into his chest.

Damn it.

“We'll do shifts,” he says to Dick, making his tone as businesslike as possible. “I still have shit to do; I can't sit around playing house with you all day.”

Dick doesn't smile, but Jason can see that he wants to. “That sounds reasonable.”

“This is temporary. Just until we find the fuckers that want to take her out.”

“Sure it is.” Dick's all doe-eyed now, watching Danielle settle down to sleep. Idiot. “Welcome home, Jaybird.”

***

[angst-fairygodmother]

Idiot (Affectionate) ~ A Bad Samaritan Fic

CHAPTER TWO: FRIENDSHIP

Pairing: Derek Sandoval x Reader Word Count: 2839 Rating: T - racism, references to the plot of Bad Samaritan, mild language A/N: I’m trying to balance covering a lot of time so that this doesn’t end up 20 chapters of the same thing and I never get to canon events and also getting some good, specific moments in, so hopefully this works...

Previous Chapter | Masterlist

Time passed. You found yourself settling into a surprisingly easy friendship with Derek, though not one without it’s frustrations, and certainly not one that looked like friendship at all from the outside looking in. On more than one occasion, Sean had poked fun at each of you, though never in front of the other so they were aware, calling you out for flirting and playing hard to get. 

You hated him for being right and refused to admit that it was what you were doing. Your stupid schoolgirl crush on your cousin’s best friend wasn’t something you wanted to acknowledge.

~

Nino’s had been abuzz for weeks with the news that the restaurant had been booked out for a re-election campaign event for the mayor of Portland, and now that the night had arrived, excitement had turned to panic. Nino had fretted constantly about every detail, from the amount of food and wine available to their arrangements on the plates. He had forgone setting up a buffet table for the cocktail and hor d'oeuvres hour in favor of what he thought was the much more high-end system of servers circulating with trays. And now two of the servers had, at the last minute, called in sick. 

“There are not enough people!” Nino was exclaiming. “But I cannot set out a table now! We would have to rearrange the whole room!”

You had only just arrived, stepping into the chaos from the street like passing through an invisible barrier. One that at least part of you wanted to turn around and cross back over again. 

“You need servers more than valets tonight, why not ask those two boys to help?” one of the kitchen staff suggested.

“That’s really not how their contract works,” you muttered, even though you knew it didn’t really matter in the end.

Nino looked thoughtful and turned to you. “Do you think they’d do it?”

Sean and Derek weren’t even there yet, and wouldn’t be until almost opening, so it would be a gamble, unless Nino could get them to pick up the phone. Plus they didn’t have appropriate service uniforms to your knowledge. Which meant that Nino had to either change everyone’s outfits or hope he had spares somewhere in the restaurant. Not to mention, there was no guarantee they’d even be willing, and since they were hired as valets (technically Nino’s had an account with their business, but since it was the only one so far and they didn’t really seem to be actively searching for more, he may as well have hired them directly), they weren’t obligated to do anything other than park and retrieve cars.

You sighed. The only problem with working with family was that you were expected to be able to know Sean’s thoughts on things, as if you were some kind of mind reader or expert.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “But they both have a lot of respect for you, so it can’t hurt to ask.” 

That was a lie. It could hurt. Saying no would make things awkward, saying yes would cost them a night of tips and...extracurriculars which you chose to actively not acknowledge. But the latter was probably best, since pulling their usual tricks on the mayor, his donors, and his powerful friends would be asking to get caught and spend the rest of their lives in prison.

“Great!” Nino hurried off to the phone as if you had said they would help without a doubt.

~

“Where is your tie?” Nino asked, gesturing, appalled, at Derek’s bare collar. “I told them to find you a tie. You’re not dressed properly. I can’t let you be seen like that!”

The whole staff was gathered around in the lobby for some sort of pep-talk/debrief and assignments before the doors opened for the big event. Nino was checking every detail like a hawk, jittery with nerves. The kitchen guys were anxious, not sure why they’d been dragged from their stations to the front of house, acting like a crowd of kids that got called to the principal’s office. Everyone else was casual, mostly gossiping over who they thought would be there, hoping for a political scandal to break before their eyes. 

Derek held up a length of black silk. “You got any of them clip-on kind? I’ve never worn one before, so I don’t know what I’m doin.”

Nino sputtered. You rolled your eyes, stepping up beside him.

“I’ll take care of this, Nino,” you offered, gesturing at Derek’s entire self, and he had the nerve to look offended.

He nodded, turning away in a hurry, radiating nervous energy, looking for the next crisis. Finding none, he started in on his speech about how tonight was the most important night in the restaurant’s history, how he was proud to have such a dedicated staff. Then he dismissed everyone, listing off assignments as they scattered. You half listened, turning to deal with the problem of Derek’s tie. 

“Hey, thanks,” Derek said quietly, offering you a half smile.

“I’m not doing it for you,” you answered. “Nino’s a better boss than most are ever lucky enough to have. It’d be a damn shame for him to drop of an aneurysm because you don’t know how to dress yourself.”

“Sure,” he chuckled. “Well I guess that means I’m in your hands.”

You smirked at the idea, ignoring Sean’s waggled eyebrow out of your peripheral. Derek noticed, his cheeks coloring slightly.

“You’ve seriously never worn a tie before?” you asked, taking the garment from him.

“No. Why would I? I don’t exactly get invited to the kind of places you need one.”

“Right…” you sighed, stepping closer, throwing the material over your shoulder to free your hands. “Step one is fully close your dress shirt.”

Your fingers darted nimbly, closing the tiny white buttons, ghosting over his throat and making him swallow nervously. 

You continued to describe each step as you took it, looping the tie around his neck, trying to teach him what to do. But he couldn’t focus on your words, not with you standing so close that he could feel the heat radiating between your bodies. 

“And voila. Tie tied. And if someone really wanted to, you have an easy way of killing you around your neck for fashion,” you joked, brushing the fabric smooth. Your hand lingered against his chest for a moment, for reasons you couldn’t explain, before you stepped back.

Silence hung in the air.

“So I’m all set then?” he asked finally, blinking as if coming out of a daze.

“You’ve got to button your vest too, but I assume you can figure that one out for yourself.”

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, beaming at you. “I’ll give it a try.”

You laughed along with him, trying not to think about how handsome he looked, dressed up like this. Not that he wasn’t handsome all the time, even in baggy jeans and a hoodie, but the formal black and white uniform suited him. You frowned, annoyed with yourself for letting your thoughts stray down that path. 

He finished buttoning the garment and spread his arms, gesturing to himself. “How do I look? Pretty good right?”

“Not bad,” you said with a smirk and an effort to keep your voice casual. “Someone nicer might even say you clean up good.”

Suddenly his arm was around your shoulders and he leaned in to your side with a charming smirk of his own.

“Maybe they would, but you know I’ll take a ‘not bad’ from you over that any day,” he said with a laugh.

Before you could respond, he sauntered off, leaving you to glare and gape at his retreating back.

~

Derek couldn’t help himself. He was supposed to be walking around the room with this tray of shrimp puffs - or whatever rich people food Nino had assigned him, he was pretty sure it was shrimp puffs - and offering them to the guests. Instead, he was just standing in one spot, tray held out absently and teetering every time someone brushed past him, watching Y/N. She wove effortlessly through the clusters of men in pressed suits and women in silk dresses that rustled when they moved, smiling easily at them as she offered them champagne or wine. Even from a distance he could see the sparkle in her eye that made each person she spoke to feel like they were special, and as a result scored her numerous ones and fives left behind on her tray when they picked up a glass. His fingers itched to brush aside the piece of her hair that escaped its updo and danced across her temple, tucking it back into place behind her ear. 

He felt a quick flash of guilt as he traced the shape of her body in her uniform, the black vest hugging every line and curve. He shouldn’t be staring, he thought. After all, she was Sean’s cousin and Sean was his best friend. And she was a friend, these days; you don't ogle your friends. But damn if she wasn’t hot, if he didn’t want her. His mind wandered, and he was just starting to imagine what her lips on his might feel like, what she might taste like - she had smelled like apple pie earlier when she was standing so close to him, when he’d been too chicken to make a move while he had the chance, and part of him hoped kissing her would taste like it too - when fingers, covered in too many rings and jingling from the stack of bracelets on the attached wrist, snapped in front of his face, startling him and dragging him back to reality.

“Are you even listening to me?” the woman demanded before raising her voice and slowing her words, over-enunciating each syllable. “I said I want your vegetarian option.”

“Uh. All I got are these shrimp things,” said lamely. “But my buddy Sean is around here with some mushrooms, I think. With like spinach stuff inside?” 

She huffed, glaring and waiting and not saying anything. 

“I'm sorry. I'm not—” 

“Very intelligent. I can tell. I want you to bring me a plate with vegetarian appetizers. That means no meat. Nothing that was alive. And I want a selection, not just dumping all the same thing in a pile.” 

As her voice got louder and her words even slower, it started drawing stares from the rest of the guests. He bristled at her tone, feeling his neck get hot as embarrassment and anger mingled. He knew why she was speaking to him like that. She wasn't the first.

He took a slow, deep breath. Getting angry would just play into her hand and make things worse. Before he could say anything, like maybe some remark about how plants used to be alive too, they just never had faces, Y/N appeared at his elbow.

“Derek! There you are, I've been looking everywhere,” she exclaimed.

He raised an eyebrow, silently asking what she was up to, and tried to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the idea she’d been looking for him.

“Nino said there was a problem, with the...thing and unless we want the guests to just be eating tiny hors d'oeuvres all night, you have to go talk the chef down from quitting over it.”

“What?” his face scrunched in confusion as he turned to Y/N.

She rolled her eyes (he kind of loved how often she did that) and plucked the tray out of his hand smoothly, fingers brushing briefly against his, sparking under his skin like a hotwiring a car. 

“The thing. In the kitchen,” she said pointedly, like it meant anything. Then she turned to the woman, the largest, fakest smile he had ever seen on her face.

“Right...I’ll uh...get right on that…” he said helplessly. 

“Sorry about that ma’am,” she lied to the woman, voice sickly sweet as she led the woman off. “He’s a culinary genius, but Nino likes to shake things up and keep the staff on their toes.”

“Oh,” the woman said, seeming surprised by the shift. “I just assumed...because he was one of them.”

“One of who?” Y/N asked, feigning confusion now though he could see that her eyes were hard and ice cold. Her smile took on a knife-sharp edge and he found himself grateful that it wasn’t being turned on him.

“Well. You know…”

“I’m sure I don’t. Because I can only think of one thing you might be trying to say. And I know you wouldn’t be so blatantly racist,” her voice got just a little louder, pitched toward the people around them, not the woman she was talking to, “at an important event like this. Would you?”

Derek chuckled and tucked his hands in the pockets of his pants, making his way to the kitchen. It might have been a fake reason, but he figured he may as well take the few minutes break it gave him anyway.

~

“Hey,” you said, dropping into a chair next to Derek, finally catching a short rest while the guests transitioned from one part of the evening to the next and found their seats for speeches and dinner. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Yeah,” he said quickly, pretending that he had just been zoned out in order to cover for the fact that he was staring, again. “Just exhausted. Is this what it’s like for you every day?”

You chuckled. “It’s not usually quite this intense when we just have a few tables each to focus on. I think serving tables in a bit will be a better idea of that. But I meant about...you know...earlier.”

He made a face of confusion.

“The hag with the cheap perfume and the stupid attitude?” you offered.

“Oh that,” he shrugged. “I’m used to it. She was pretty tame, compared to some.”

“You know that’s the opposite of reassuring right? And not really an answer to the question.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly. “Probably for the best. She’s probably a senator or their wife or something, and something tells me bitchslapping a public figure is a negative on the Character and Fitness review.” 

You scratched the back of your head in a(n adorably) sheepish gesture.

“The what?”

“The thing where I spend all this time on a degree, and in the end it all comes down to one insane bullshit test and a review of my personal history. And a bunch of stuffy old men, and women these days, decide if I’m an acceptable fit for the esteemed legal profession.”

“Legal...I didn’t know you were trying to be a lawyer?!”

“Duh,” you rolled your eyes and dropped your voice. “Why do you think I keep telling you and Sean not to get caught yet. I’m useless to you for another year, at least.”

“You didn’t have to step in like that,” he said after a long pause. “I could have handled it.”

“I didn’t think you couldn’t.”

“Then why’d you get involved?”

“Just because you can handle it, doesn’t mean you should have to,” you shrugged. “I could tell you were uncomfortable. I thought I could help.” 

You let your thoughts race. Had you done something wrong in trying to divert the conversation and give him an out? Did you accidentally make things worse? Was there something else you should have done instead?

“I’m not mad,” he said reassuringly, noticing the nearly panicked expression that danced across your face. “I just don’t usually get people doing that for me.”

“Well, what else are friends for?”

There was the at word again, he thought. The thing he didn’t want to destroy, but that stood unnavigable between you. He didn’t know what he was doing. This was new territory for him. It didn’t help that the line was blurry. What was real flirting and what was joking? Sometimes you made him feel more confident than ever, and then seconds later you left him drowning, insecure and flustered. Maybe this was the moment to ask, you had left the door cracked open just enough for an opportunity.

Sean caught his attention, waving him over. He realized with a start that they hadn’t talked all night, for the first time in a long time. The door clicked shut, another chance lost. 

He turned to say something, and you waved him off.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said with a wink and a smile that made his heart flip. “I’m not interested in monopolizing your time. Besides, if I start now, I can probably pop in a quick 10 minute nap before we have to start running the first course.”

He watched you settle further, crossing your arms over your chest and close your eyes, either to continue the joke or to actually do what you said and shook his head fondly, before sauntering off to join Sean on the other side of the room.

[scarletosprey]

Fanfic

Harry finally becomes a true Weasley after marrying the love of his life-Ginny, well she is the only person who is suitable for him....or is she?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Who does he likes the most?

Ron stumbled into Burrow’s kitchen scowling. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen for breakfast. Bill was sitting beside Charlie. Mr Weasley had left early for ministry. Percy was also there who has returned after the public announcement of the resurrection of Voldemort. He had begged for forgiveness to his family. His parents had readily forgiven him, but the siblings were still sore to him sometimes. Mrs Weasley was busy making breakfast for everyone. Only Harry and Ginny was absent from the kitchen.

Ron groaned and flopped on a chair.

 “Oh you are up dear, What would you like for breakfast? ” Mrs Weasley asked him.

 “I don’t think I can eat anything right now.” said Ron in a disgruntled voice.

 Every single person’s head snapped at him at his statement.

 “Ron are you all right”, Hermione asked bewildered. Cause Ron can stop doing anything but eating.

 “Are you ok? You or not sick are you?” Mrs Weasley started fussing over him, checking his head for temperature.

 “Did you heard what I heard dear Georgie!” Fred exclaimed with a mock panicked look

 “Oh, surely Freddie” George replied, copying the look of his twin.

 “Dear Ronnikins denied the food…the food.” 

 “Next thing we know will be Malfoy kissing our shoes.” 

Everyone else would have laughed at twins banter if they weren’t busy deducing reason behind Ron’s denial for food.

 “Stop it you two. After seeing your best mate and sister eating each other’s face off –first thing in the morning, anyone will lose their appetite.” Ron said Scowling

 Harry and Ginny had got together after Harry arrived at Burrow two weeks ago. He had realized his feelings for her during the end of his fifth year. She helped him through his grief for the loss of Sirius. He has confessed his feelings to her before it would have been too late as she has mentioned something about Dean Thomas on a return train ride. Ginny waved his concern. She told him that she had said that to piss-off Ron because he was acting like a overprotective git. They were together since then. Everyone was happy for the couple. Except for Ron, as he was having difficulty accepting the fact that his best friend likes his younger sister in that way. He always made the gagging sound even if they just held hands. Ginny was getting irritated by his behaviour. And now he has seen his baby sister and best mate snogging first thing in the morning.

 Mrs Weasley heaved a sigh of relief after hearing that nothing was wrong with his health.

 Hermione rolled her eyes. She had had this conversation with Ron many times. Many times she had to distract Ron when an argument seemed rising between him and Ginny.

 “Honesty Ron you’re just overreacting.” She said throwing him an irritated look.

 But Weasley brother’s faces were contorted.

 “Well we’ll just have to accept this fact.” Bill said acting as mature big brother all though he didn’t like the mental image of his sister snogging Harry.

 “I knew she had a crush on him but never thought Ginny could date him. It was just silly fangirl crush actually.” Charlie said thoughtfully

 “True, but she matured.” Hermione said catching everyone’s attention

She continued, “Ginny initially had that fangirl crush but she grew out of that. she even dated one other guy, that’s when she started seeing the real harry. Harry needs someone who can see him as harry as a real person and not as some hero.

 Everyone just stared at her.

 Fred and George had to my comment after such thought-full explanation-so they did,

 “Besides he just loves Weasleys” said Fred.

 “Just can’t resist the Weasley charm.” George said, merrily tucking into his breakfast.

 Hermione rolled her eyes smiling fondly

 “And that’s why he doesn’t have any other options. There aren’t many Weasley girls. Ginny is the only girl born in seven generations in Weasley family.” Bill mused out loud.

 “He doesn’t have many options cause he is walking straight.” Fred huffed.

 “If only he swung another way he would have had six options to choose from.” said George.

 “And he would have chosen me seeing that I am his favourite.” Fred said and continued eating.

 “Excuse me we both are his favourite, so why would he choose only you?” George asked crossing his arms in front of his chest.

 “Because I am a most handsome twin, everyone knows that.” Fred said that as if stating obvious.

 George was about to restore but Bill cut in.

  Bill brushed his ponytail before looking up at them and saying, “If we are going on looks then sorry brothers I think I am most handsome Weasley. So he would have chosen me.” 

  “You see we are talking about a boy here and seeing that I am one who is into a boy, his natural choice should be me.” Charlie stated matter-of-factly.

 “But we are speaking hypothetically. It is not important whether you are gay or not.” Percy waved away Charlie’s argument.

 “Percy shut up if you don’t have any valid argument. And he would never choose you so shut up.” Charlie glaring at Percy.

 “Of course it is a valid argument and how would you know that he wouldn’t choose me,” Percy asked him.

 “Why dear brother”-Fred

 “Want to choose one all for yourself.”-George said smirking at Percy, causing him to sputter incoherently.

 “As if he has any chance.” It came from Ron, who was silent during the argument.

 Percy raised his eyebrow and said “why not? Then tell Ron who has a chance with Harry.”

 “Yes you are his best friend you will be able to judge precisely.”- Bill

 Ron stared at his brothers as if they are small children and he is teaching them two plus two is four and said “Of course it would be me. I am his best friend after all. I know him better than any of you. And if you had forgotten I am the one whom he had rescued from the black lake during the second task in Triwizard tournament which means I am the person whom he will miss the most.”

 Everyone was quiet for a minute. Then Charlie exclaimed suddenly “We need a fair judge.”  

 Everyone nodded in agreement.

Fred scanned the table. His eyes stopped on bushy-haired girl and his lips turned into an evil smile.

 “Dear Hermione you are looking magnificent today.” said Fred.

 “Yes absolutely gorgeous.” George continued knowing what Fred was trying to do.

 “Stunning”

 “Charming”

  “Ok ok shut up, I am not judging which Weasley boy has a chance with Harry Game.” Hermione said frowning at them.

 “Come on Hermione, you would be the perfect judge. You are his best friend and you are not competing either.” said Ron in an attempt to convince her, hoping that she would be partial to him..

 “Competing, honestly Ronald.” Hermione said exasperated.

  Harry and Ginny entered the kitchen. No one noticed them except Hermione as they had resumed their previous argument.

 “What’s going on?” Ginny asked piling food on her plate.

 “Ah! Just the man we wanted to see.” said Charlie looking happily at Harry.

 “Go on, tell them, Harry, you would choose me upon them any day,” Ron told Harry passing him the butter.

 Harry was confused as to what was going on and seeing at Ginny she was in the same state as him.

 “Ron don’t pressure him, let him decide for himself,” Bill told Ron glaring at him.

 “Harrykins just tell them I am most handsome and close the topic.”-Fred

 “First of all we look alike and why you when we have already decided that we both are his favourite.” George turned to Fred frowning.

  Charlie growled at them. “Will you just stop praising yourselves.” 

 “Everyone be silent. Let us ask Harry what he thinks.”-Percy said solemnly.

 Harry was now extremely confused. Were they fighting over him? No, they won’t do that, would they? Well, they were Weasleys and they can do absolutely anything. He had had the first-hand experience at that. He shot an enquiring look at Hermione. She was trying hard not to laugh at them ….or him.

 “Alright shut up and speak one by one.” Ginny said over the raised voices.

 “Ginny we were just wondering that who would Harry chose among us if he swung the other way,” Bill stated calmly

 Harry and Ginny kept staring at them until Ginny burst out laughing. That set Hermione on laughter fit. Harry can’t understand what they were finding amusing in this situation where he felt more and more uncomfortable by passing minute.

  “This is serious Ginny,” Ron said sending her irritated look.

 Still chuckling Ginny said, “Of course it is Ron.” Then she turned to Harry and asked him managing a straight look “What do you think Harry? Who would you dump me for?”

 Harry let his head fall on the table with a groan. Still, he could hear the boys arguing and girls laughing their heads off.

 Mrs Weasley entered the kitchen listening to the bickering of her children and honorary children.

 “What’s the racket?”

 “Mum…Your sons are trying to steal my boyfriend.” Ginny managed to tell between her laughs.

 “Boys leave the poor boy alone. I have told you not to threaten him.” Mrs Weasley scolded her son. 

 “We are doing nothing like that.”-Bill

 “Then what are you on about.” Mrs. Weasley asked narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

 All boys looked at each other, trying to come with reasons to tell their mother.

 “Mrs Weasley they were doing quite the opposite. They were fighting for…err…what can we say…Harry’s affection.” Hermione told her looking in amusement.

 In the meanwhile, Harry had gulped down his breakfast. He stood up thanked Molly and slowly walked towards the kitchen door.

  Ron saw him and said loudly ”Harry at least answer us.”

 But had leapt in the run towards backyard already.

 “I think he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone by choosing me.” Fred stated and started the argument once again.

[goodomensblog]

Afterward - Part 17

A Good Omens Choose Your Own Adventure Fic

Here’s how it works:

I’ll write a scene.

At the end of each scene, you’ll be presented with 2-3 options for what the characters will choose to do next.

Comment or reblog to vote for your choice. I’ll count all votes after the first 24 hours after each update is posted.

Read: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16

(#2 definitely won - but #4 was a pretty close second, so we’re doing the classic punch and run!)

Afterward - - - Part 17

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Entropy, rising up, tilts its head and smiles a wide, infinitely deep grin. Pale, ephemeral tendrils squirm where the creature’s head and neck are rapidly reconnecting.

Gabriel has picked up the sword and is twisting it up.

Beelzebub, however, beats him to the punch. Literally.

“Mine,” is all Beelzebub manages, a low, rasping shout. Pushing roughly in front of the archangel, Beelzebub winds a bloodied fist back and strikes.

Their knuckles smack between its eyes - and with a wet sounding squelch, the head which hadn’t yet fully re-attached, flies off Entropy’s shoulders.

This time, however, Entropy seems to retain consciousness, and the head screeches in outrage as it careens across the room.

“Shoo, bitch,” Beelzebub spits.

“My angels,” the head shrieks, rolling across the floor. “Your master commands you! Attack!”

From the top of the courtyard, where tiled roofs curve above stone carved archways, movement draws Beelzebub’s gaze up.

Angels line the tile rooftop, their formidable white wings spread wide. In the place where the angels’ eyes should be, dark, sunken pools hauntingly stare.

From behind Beelzebub, Gabriel makes a low noise of distress.

Beelzebub scans the faces. There are none they readily recognize - Michael and Uriel, at least, are absent. But surely most of the dark eyed angels are - or were - under Gabriel’s command.

“No…” the archangel breathes.

Forcibly ignoring the pain they feel radiating off Gabriel in cold, nauseating waves, Beelzebub shakes their head and, squeezing their hands into fists, cracks their knuckles one by one.

“What are they?” Aziraphale asks, horror lacing his words.

The first angel steps from the rooftop. Where it lands, stone splinters around its feet. From its eyes, black ichor drips, trailing like tears down its pure, celestial skin. It takes a second step, and the floor cracks anew.

“That,” Crowley says, speaking up from the back, “looks like an angel on steroids. Bloody evil steroids.”

Another angel drops. Then another. Gray dust from pulverized stone rises in an ominous cloud.

“I - I have to-” Gabriel is muttering, and Beelzebub can feel him moving behind them, probably making up his mind to do something stupid.

“Yeah,” Beelzebub says, surveying the hoard of freaky angels. “Fuck this noise.”

Turning right the hell around, Beelzebub grabs Gabriel roughly by the arm. 

When he doesn’t move - like the absolute asshole he is - Beelzebub grits their teeth and yanks, violently hauling the lead-limbed archangel with them. When they look up and see that Aziraphale and Crowley are still standing there, waiting, they yell, “Oi! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum! Fucking move!”

Crowley and Aziraphale retreat through the doorway, but go no further.

Beelzebub is panting, blood from a cut they didn’t even realize they had dripping into their eyes, and the room is tilting as a frankly annoying whine picks up in their ears - but this is no time to pass out, so Beelzebub doesn’t. 

At least Gabriel is finally moving; Beelzebub, all too happy to release him, shoves the archangel through the door. 

Upon crossing the threshold, Beelzebub is hastily elbowed out of the way by Crowley; Aziraphale, bracing a hand on the wall, traces glowing symbols on the floor.

“What’s-”

“That’s why we were waiting,” Crowley snaps.

Beelzebub reflects that if the room were spinning any less, they would have happily smacked that smug look off his face.

Instead, they crouch, bracing their hands on their knees.

Aziraphale straightens up with a satisfied nod. “That’ll do the trick.”

Then Crowley is swinging the door closed. Hand on the handle, he melts the lock. 

“If Aziraphale did what I think he did, we do not want to be here when they cross that threshold,” Crowley says.

“I did,” Aziraphale says with a grim smile.

Gabriel, who Beelzebub thinks is looking more like his usual insufferable self by the minute, claps his hands together. “Then let’s fucking go!”

“Right!” Crowley crows, pointing at Gabriel, “Your illicit sneaking out of Heaven door!”

Beelzebub and Aziraphale turn to look at Gabriel.

“Okay it’s really not as weird as he’s making it sound.”

 “It doesn’t matter-” Aziraphale says with a wave, but Beelzebub isn’t listening.

Blinking rapidly, they frown at the black dots blossoming across their vision. They immediately blink harder because they are not going to pass out; It is a fucking bad time for losing consciousness - and besides, they’d honestly rather die than look weak in front of these morons.

Crowley is turning, leading the way, and Beelzebub starts to step after him - when everything takes a sharp and sudden dip. 

And shit - Beelzebub thinks, consciousness slipping as a roaring white noise fills their ears. Blackness is spreading, sweeping across their vision.

They see outstretched, reaching hands - and then darkness swallows them whole.

Reality narrows to individual, isolated moments.

The press of fine, soft as silk fabric against their cheek.

A long hallway lit by a single flickering light.

Aziraphale, pale with purple bruises beneath his eyes, pulling a tapestry aside - pushing a doorway open.

Crowley’s hands cupped around that strange, blue flame.

Then white light - at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

Beelzebub stiffens, crying out in protest - because they know the saying about light and tunnels, and they straight up refuse to let that prick Death lay those frigid hands on them now.

This is followed by the soft, hesitant brush of fingers over their forehead and a whisper-soft murmur. “Don’t worry. It’s not that kind of tunnel.”

Again, darkness.

And then Crowley is exclaiming, shouting excitedly, and Beelzebub squints their eyes open to glaring sunlight - and a sleek black car, parked on what appears to be a random London street corner. 

When someone swings one of the rear doors open, Beelzebub has a sense of deja vu as they are laid down on black leather seats.

Voices drone, someone shifts beside them, and the car awakens with a reassuring purr; Beelzebub’s tired eyes close.

- - - 

Brushing his hands over the steering wheel, Crowley sits in the Bentley, taking a moment to enjoy the car’s energetic rumble. She doesn’t handle long periods of idleness very well. And though Crowley hasn’t been gone all that long, he imagines it must have been rather demoralizing to have been abandoned on a lonesome countryside road. He’ll have to make sure she’s still in working shape. 

“Just cause I gave you a little vacation,” Crowley says, tapping the dashboard admonishingly, “is no excuse for any slacking off, you understand?”

The car rumbles, and Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes. “See? I leave you for half a day and now I’m getting back talk.”

“Can we please just fucking go?” Gabriel snaps.

A glance in the rear-view mirror reveals the altogether unpleasant sight of Gabriel’s frowning face. 

The archangel is pressed up against the door, his large arms folded impractically in front of him. 

Beelzebub, in the few minutes after they’d been set down, had somehow completely rotated, and now they stretch out, arms flung out in either direction. Their booted feet are kicked up - one jabbing Gabriel’s side and the other shoved up against his face.

The archangel glowers.

From the passenger seat, Aziraphale clears his throat.

Crowley’s attention is immediately diverted.

Aziraphale is battered. Deep scratches scatter over the entirety of his person, and a bone deep exhaustion shows in his overall pallor and the bags like dark bruises gathering beneath his light eyes. 

Crowley has the impulse to stroke a thumb beneath that gentle gaze and burn a miracle to soothe some of the exhaustion marring his skin. 

He doesn’t.

Because he filled Aziraphale’s veins with demon blood, and Crowley isn’t entirely sure Aziraphale won’t come to resent him for it. 

The desperate transfusion had worked. Aziraphale is here. That is what matters. But the fact that the cost of this gamble - the cost of mixing that which was never meant to join - has yet to reveal itself, leaves Crowley deeply on edge. 

“Dear,” Aziraphale says, mercifully interrupting Crowley’s rapidly spiraling thoughts. “We fled the bookshop earlier because we believed we were dealing with a threat who knew us, personally. Entropy does not know us. And I presume that it does not know where I live.”

“...you want to go home, don’t you?”

“Yes I want to go home!” Aziraphale says in a rush, hands folded, his fingers twisting together. “It’s been a really long day.”

Crowley considers, drumming his fingers on the wheel. “I suppose we could ward the hell out of it.”

Aziraphale is eagerly nodding, “I already have a good few around the foundation as it is.”

“Is it defensible?” Gabriel asks.

“Better,” Aziraphale replies. “It’s hidden.”

“Though adding a few defenses wouldn’t hurt,” Crowley adds.

“As long as we get off the damned street,” Gabriel says with a weary sigh.

“That, we can do,” Crowley says, shifting the car into drive. 

“Wait!” Aziraphale says, grabbing Crowley’s arm. “First, we need food, Crowley.”

“....right this second?”

“As soon as possible. You do realize that we should avoid using powerful miracles at the moment, right?”

Crowley glances in the rear-view mirror, only somewhat mollified to see that Gabriel is also staring at Aziraphale with an expression of blatant confusion.

“Er - yes? I mean, we don’t want to go around putting beacons on our heads,” Crowley replies. “But what in the world does this have to do with food?”

Aziraphale is staring at him like he might be stupid - which he’s not. Right?

Crowley checks the rear-view mirror again.

Gabriel is squinting at Aziraphale. “Aziraphale. What are you talking about?”

Aziraphale looks between them, mouth agape.

From the backseat, Beelzebub groans. 

“Angel,” Beelzebub says, cracking an eye reluctantly open, “They’re both idiots. Don’t… strain their brains.”

Aziraphale glances back, relief evident. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“Of course I know what you’re talking about!” Beelzebub replies, and the other eye opens to a menacing slit. “Food strengthens your bloody corporation. You. Are. Living. In. It. So fucking feed it. The stronger your corporation is - the stronger you are.”

Aziraphale is nodding vigorously. “And we are all very injured. Beelzebub especially. A good meal will help kick start our angelic - and demonic - healing.”

“Ah,” is all Crowley manages.

“Honestly, dear. You really didn’t know that?”

Crowley, who will frankly never admit that he played hookie during the body orientation seminar to check out the strange angel he’d seen walking up on Eden’s wall, adjusts his glasses and shrugs. “I’m a demon. What’s the archangel’s excuse?”

“Corporeal bodies are not my department.”

Beelzebub blows a raspberry.

“Since you’re awake, your highness - mind moving your foot out of my face?”

Beelzebub’s only reply is a long, deep snore.

Crowley shuts both of them up by jerking the car into motion.

Food it is!” Crowley says, foot sinking satisfyingly down on the gas pedal. “And I know just where to take us.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The angels and demons have managed to escape Heaven and flee from Entropy. Before holing up at Aziraphale’s bookshop and deciding their next move - Aziraphale insists they get something to eat. Crowley decides the best place to get a couple of angels and demons lunch is….

The grocery store! Crowded around a single cart, they will shuffle round the aisles of the local grocery mart, exploring the strange wonders of fluorescent illuminated human cuisine. 

The Ritz! Sitting elbow to elbow around a pristine white tablecloth, they will be sipping at champagne and making awkward small talk. Probably nothing will catch fire.

The drive thru! Packed in the Bentley, Crowley will drive them all to the greasiest of fast food establishments. With all three speaking at once, Crowley will attempt to order.

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Part 18