#fun fact she’s the one who got me my ao3 to begin with

[hinadori-chan]

okay but to all the earring wearers out there imagine you and keigo wearing each others pairs sometimes

like, you in his little red princess cuts and him wearing your favorite pair

[separatist-apologist]

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

For @elucienweekofficial | Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Oh god, oh god, oh god—Elain could barely breathe as she made her way across the inn barefoot and leaving a trail of water behind her. She shouldn’t have done that. She shouldn’t have kissed him, shouldn’t have let him touch her, should have told him no when he demanded she get into the bath. Elain knew better.

And yet she wanted him so badly it made her teeth ache. She knew he was just behind her, taking his time because he was the Emperor and supremely confident she would stay with him. It was all so, so bad because part of her wanted to. Every minute spent in his company weakened her resolve, even when she knew that he couldn’t give her anything Graysen wasn’t already offering.

She’d be his wife, broodmare, and otherwise trapped in his palace while he worked and she watched history pass her by, unable to even study it.

Elain had just closed the wooden door behind her when Lucien’s hand hit it, keeping it from latching completely. His eyes flashed a warning, scar stark against his otherwise perfect face. I know how you got that, she wanted to say. I know exactly how you felt—and I know that the man who gave it to you died of infection on the battlefield rather than a clean kill from your blade. 

Lucien shook his head back and forth, a towel hanging for dear life around his hips. 

“You need to go,” she said as he made his way toward her. Please. I can’t stay away. 

Brushing the wet mass of hair to one shoulder, Lucien murmured, “You know I can’t do that.”

“Lucien—”

“You know what I want,” he added, kissing just beneath her jaw. She could feel his fingers skim over her shoulders, still clad in the scratchy robe left out for them. 

“I can’t give you that,” she lied, because Elain was beginning to suspect she could give it to him underneath some heavy negotiating. 

“Then give me tonight,” he said, still standing behind her. What’s the harm, she swore he added. The harm, of course, was her crumbling resolve and the fact that Elain genuinely liked this man. Loved him, even, if it was possible to love someone you barely knew. It had taken her months and months to even consider the possibility with Gray—and longer even after his own confession while she tumbled the idea through her mind. 

But this felt natural, like an extension of herself. 

And that frightened Elain. 

Elain turned just in time for Lucien to capture his mouth with his own, hand cupping her face. She leaned into him, feeling the hardness of his cock jutting against her hip. Lucien tasted smoky, like woodfire and autumn weather—something a candle company would desperately try and bottle if they could. Elain couldn’t stop herself, not caring when he pulled open the flaps of her robe only to push them off her body so the fabric pooled at her feet. His body was warm, she suspected just naturally, and the feel of the hard muscles of his chest pressed against the softness of her own body made Elain’s knees tremble.

She wanted him. 

Elain offered no resistance when Lucien began walking her over the wood, nor did she fight him when he gently pressed her to the soft mattress. He followed behind, one powerful knee pushing her legs open so he could settle between them. There was no danger of pregnancy thanks to the little implant in her shoulder or Elain might have protested a little harder. Instead, Elain dragged her jagged nails along the skin of Lucien’s back. She could feel faint scars, which caused her to pull away in an attempt to look around his broad shoulders.

“What is this?” she breathed, rolling him off her so Lucien lay on his stomach, his golden skin wholly exposed. Elain tried to keep her eyes on his back and not his firm ass, but…well. She was only human, afterall, and Lucien had a perfect body. 

“The result of a life spent in the military,” he replied in that rumbling, husky voice. Elain had a vague memory of this—in his writings, he’d detailed being captured over the course of a few paragraphs. Nothing in depth, and yet Elain could see he’d suffered in enemy hands. 

“They whipped you.”

“They whipped me,” he repeated, looking over at her with a guarded expression. Running her fingers along the faded pink tissues, stark against the brown of his skin, Elain murmured, “They shouldn’t have done that.”

A smile split his face. “No,” he agreed, mocking solemnity. “Does it bother you?”

“The cruelty bothers me,” she murmured, thinking all of Rome was so casually cruel in ways she couldn’t even put into words. 

Lucien slowly rolled onto his back, revealing smaller scars nicked across his otherwise beautiful skin. The life he’d lived, with evidence of his military service and the illnesses he’d survived, were all there. 

She intended to climb into his lap. Elain was resolved, at least, to her present course of action. Lucien, though, had different ideas. When he saw her rise up on her knees a wicked look slid over his features and before she could blink, he’d pushed her back to the bed so her feet were where pillows ought to go and he was pushing apart her legs so he could stare between them.

“Lucien—”

“Let me,” he breathed, scrunching his large, muscular body between her pussy and the wall behind them. Elain tried to scoot away to give him more space, but Lucien merely dragged her back with ease, undeterred by the uncomfortable position he found himself in. 

It had been years since a man had wanted to do this for her—and longer still since he’d wanted to without her having to ask and plan it ahead of time. Graysen found the whole thing debasing and uncomfortable though he would agree after a lot of negotiating in which he always came out better. 

Elain hadn’t planned to ask Lucien—he’d already used his hand and she’d come, that seemed like enough. She would have been satisfied with it. Not this man, who occupied the highest seat of power in their current time. Elain understood that Lucien didn’t have to do anything at all. He could have ordered a dozen women to their knees and they likely would have complied gladly. 

And yet there he was on his knees, spreading her apart with a dazed look on his face. 

He didn’t wait for permission, nor did he give her any indication he was going to start. Elain had reclined back, staring up at the stone ceiling overhead as her mind raced and when she felt him take that first taste, she yelped softly, unprepared for the electric heat that would race through her.

Lucien merely groaned in response, fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips to keep her from escaping him. Not that she wanted to go anywhere. All Elain’s resolve evaporated right then, for whatever it said about her—what had once felt like iron will was now fluid like water. Who cared what happened next?

Not Elain—not when his tongue was wet and warm against her clit, licking in lazy, slow circles. He wasn’t in a hurry, which was a shame—she half was. Elain both wanted to prolong the pleasure and finish, and when she tried to roll her hips against his mouth, Lucien pushed her back to the bed with a steady hand.

Not yet, he seemed to say. Relax.

Elain’s anxiety began to ebb as Lucien made it clear he was enjoying himself. Every time she looked down she found him watching, gauging her reaction to see if what he was doing was working or if she liked it at all. And his hips…he was half fucking the sheets even as he licked, fingers teasing her opening without ever actually penetrating.

Elain was desperate, fisting the blankets in an attempt to keep herself from floating away. She was trying to hold herself back, but Lucien sped himself up, licking in the same spot over and over until Elain was panting his name.

“Please,” she whispered, well aware she was speaking English and he wouldn’t understand. He seemed to understand the gist, working his tongue faster as he pulled her closer until she was all but sitting on his face. 

Elain could scarcely breath, lost to the touch until finally—finally—she broke apart in pieces. Just like the bath before, Elain felt unmoored, adrift as wave after wave of pleasure charged electric through her veins. This time, though, panic didn’t supersede the pleasure, maybe because Elain was resolved to enjoy her evening with this man. 

By the time the black spots decorating Elain’s vision cleared, Lucien was over her, both hands running up and down her trembling thighs. Their eyes met and without saying a word, she offered him the permission he was seeking. 

His was an anomaly in this place, she decided, and for one sickening moment, she wished she could bring him back with her. She could introduce him to the modern world and…and what? Lucien had achieved something few men ever would and it seemed cruel to strip him of it so he could live a life of mediocrity with her. Still, as she brushed his long hair from his face, she wished she could.

She imagined him agreeing to go with a lightness in her stomach that frightened her. A whole life flashed before her eyes just before he notched the head of his cock against her still quivering pussy. Lucien looked down one last time, waiting for her to pull back. Elain wondered what would happen if she did.

He’d stop, she decided. Lucien waited the span of a breath for her to tell him no, pushing in only when she raked her nails lightly over his bicep.

All the remaining air punched from Elain’s lungs. She knew he was large—she’d had her hand wrapped around the thickness of him back in the bath. But to know it and to physically feel it as he bottomed out in one fluid stroke was a whole different thing. Lucien moaned, dropping his head between his shoulders as his eyes rolled upward. 

A stream of softly spoken latin curses punctuated the silence before his lips formed the first english word ever spoken by a Roman Emperor— “Please,” he whispered in her language, the vowels too rounded, the constants taking on a strange w-like sound.

“Did I use that right?” he asked her when she didn’t respond.

“It’s a plea,” she told him so he understood.

“Then I did,” he replied, clearly satisfied before punctuating his words with a rather rough thrust of his cock. Elain arched her back involuntarily, sighing softly. She could die like this, she decided. She wanted to. 

Lucien pressed himself against her, arms wrapping around her so he could hold her close. For a moment there was nothing but their shared breathing and the sound of skin meeting skin over and over. 

“Don’t leave me,” Lucien murmured into Elain’s hair when the silence was too much. She couldn’t say anything in return because Elain refused to make that promise, so she kissed him instead. The taste of herself mingled against his own masculine smell was enough to make Elain feel utterly undone—unmoored and untethered from the very world itself. 

Lucien kissed her back, whimpering softly when her teeth sank into his bottom lip. Elain couldn’t explain it, but she wanted to taste blood, too and when it flooded her mouth in a mix of copper and salt, she felt her entire body respond.

She was going to come like this. Again. Elain didn’t think she’d ever come more than once in a twenty-four hour period and in the span of an hour, she’d have come three times. Lucien had to know, his thrusting becoming more punctuated and desperate while his breathing became ragged. 

Elain came, just as she had in the water, mere seconds before he did. It was as if he held it just long enough to ensure he didn’t beat her.

With his head thrown back, eyes closed to the pleasure, Elain tried to commit the sight of him to memory. She knew she’d spend the rest of her life wishing to come back to this night. 

Lucien collapsed against her, face buried in her neck.

“Again?” she asked, not wanting to end the evening. 

“Let a man take a breath.” Elain could hear the smile in his voice. Running her fingers up and down his spine, Elain pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Take your time.”

He didn’t need much

LUCIEN:

Morning came all too soon. Lucien didn’t recall falling asleep, though he supposed they must have when Elain had begged for mercy sometime in the early morning hours. He’d intended to give her a few minutes and perhaps get himself up for some water, and the next thing he knew the sun was streaming through the window and it was time for them to go.

Elain knew it, too. When he blinked open his eyes, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed already dressed in pretty lavender, her eyes on her hands in her lap. Lucien swallowed the urge to beg her to stay. 

She didn’t belong.

One night hadn’t been enough to convince her of it, either. He could have simply refused, of course. Could have told her he was taking her home and informed her that he’d already drawn up all the necessary paperwork to make her his wife. 

What good was a wife that resented him? That was always trying to escape him? He doubted she’d welcome him warmly back to bed if he did that. He belonged to her—Lucien believed that fervently—but she did not belong to him.

And he had to let her go.

They ate quietly, making a few jokes over their fellow patrons before they were back on the road. He could still taste her in his throat, could still feel her clenched tight around his cock. It was all made especially worse given how she was nestled between his thighs and every jostle and bump of the horse drew them a little closer.

His estate came into view far too soon. What had begun as a slow drip of dread was now a torrential downpour. Elain slid from the saddle while Lucien stumbled after her, body shaking with fear. This wasn’t real, he decided as they made their way up the rolling, lush lawn. Statues of the gods silently watched as he trudged toward the entrance, ignoring the flurry of panic from servants that hadn’t expected him there.

“I won’t be staying,” he said to no one in particular. Once Elain was gone, Lucien doubted he’d ever come back to this place. It already felt heavy and haunted by the ghost of the woman before him, her fingers reaching for his as he led her back to his private bathing room.

She exhaled when she saw the mural of Chronos. Lucien’s heart stopped as he took it in, trying to remember why he’d commissioned this in the first place. As they crept forward, ignoring the steam wafting from the water, Lucien recalled that he’d given the artist free reign to do as he liked. Now it felt ominous—like a warning. 

He didn’t realize she’d outstretched her hand as Lucien stared at each tiny piece of tile, put together to create the larger image of the bearded man in vivid color. Fingers nearly skimming the steam gathered along the wall, Elain had been mere seconds from escaping him. Lucien panicked, snatching her wrist before he could think better of it as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her hard into his chest.

Elain gasped softly.

“Sorry,” Lucien breathed, his terror running a river through him. “I…” 

He didn’t know what he was going to say. I don’t want to lose you. I’m in love with you. He swallowed the urge to say both and instead released her hand so he could stretch out his own fingers. It was a different sort of fear that gripped him, though in the end it didn’t matter. Lucien pressed his palm flat against the wall as nothing happened. However Elain had come—whatever power allowed her to do so—was not extended to him. He would remain here. 

Lucien had to let her go. It was over. He’d tried his best but they were still here and Elain was staring at that mural glassy eyed with excitement. She wanted to leave. 

He had to let her go.

That revelation didn’t stop him from turning her around to kiss her. It was a desperate last attempt to convince her to say without saying the words he knew he ought to say. A better man would have told her the truth, if only to clear his own conscience and spare himself a lifetime of guilt. And Lucien knew if she stayed, he’d always wonder if he’d guilted her into it.

Better to let her go and live with his regrets. 

Cupping her face, Lucien pressed his forehead against hers. “I will miss you.” He didn’t wait for her to respond. Lucien let her go before he could talk himself out of it, and strode from the room without a look back. Jupiter above, but he wanted to look at her one last time, just to see if she was looking, too.

On his way out, Lucien instructed a servant not to bother her, but allow her to remain for as long as she liked. He couldn’t stay, though. Lucien knew he’d break down if he walked back into the bathhouse and found her gone. He needed to go back to Rome, besides, before some enterprising Senator got ideas of grandeur and had the coins to back up those plans. 

Dealing with the Empire would take his mind off Elain, if nothing else.

Lucien wasted time, though—just in case. He wasted it resetting his supplies and picking out a horse for the journey, and even had several swords brought to him to pick through even when he knew he liked the one he had just fine. 

Elain didn’t rejoin him. She was gone. Somehow he just knew it—the world felt different to him, the air heavier, the sun less bright. It was heartbreak like Jesminda all over again. Elain wasn’t dead, but she might as well have been. For him, she was. It was that thought that set Lucien to moving, reigns in his hands as he walked at a plodding pace with his horse. He planned to sleep on the road rather than back in the inn from the night before.

Seeing the bed, remade and cleaned after a perfect night with the perfect woman felt like too much to bare. 

There was nothing else to think about, so Lucien tried to think of nothing at all. He stared at the beauty of his home, drinking in the rolling hills dotted with swaying flowers that danced and sang everytime the wind rolled in. Thick clouds kept the worst of the sun from beating too heavily against his skin, though the threat of rain had Lucien reconsidering his plan to stay at the inn. 

When appreciating the beauty of the world couldn’t keep him focused, Lucien returned to some of the things Elain had told him about the future. He tried to figure out cars, turning the word over in his mind, his lips forming around the vowels as he spoke it aloud, mostly for his own amusement than anything else. A carriage that seemingly moved of its own accord, powered by the bodies of creatures dead thousands of years before he had even been thought of. 

By the time he’d bored himself of the future, the sun had begun setting in the distance and Lucien needed to make camp for the night. He chose an area just off the road so his horse could graze and otherwise rest while he set up a good fire and the tent he’d been carrying, among other things, on his back. He felt like a soldier conscripted in the army again, cooking his food over an open flame and sleeping in the grass again. 

It was nicer when he wasn’t surrounded by hundreds of other sweaty, exhausted men, too. There was just him, his horse, and the rapidly purpling sky overhead. Ignoring his crackling fire, Lucien laid back in the grass to stare upward at familiar constellations. Was Elain seeing them too, wherever she was? Was she thinking about him? 

Lucien could almost hear her voice. Lucien, she’d say in that sweet, exasperated way of hers. He liked the way she accented his name, making everything softer, rounder. Loo-Shen—like his name was something exotic, something ethereal. 

Something special.

Lucien sighed, closing his eyes. He should eat something before falling asleep, if only to keep his strength up for the walk into the city tomorrow. The problem was the taunting wind blowing around him—he swore he heard Elain’s voice. Lucien tried to block it out, which only made it louder.

Sitting up, he looked over his shoulder. There, coming just over a hill, was a stumbling figure in a lavender dress. He blinked—and when that didn’t banish the specter, he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

But no.

“Elain?” he called, certain he was losing his mind. 

“Lucien!”

She was running, he realized, and she was alone. Fuck.

Lucien was on his feet in an instant, making his way toward her breathlessly. Even with all the evidence to the contrary, he was certain he was going to reach her to find she’d evaporated into the mist and this had all been a dream.

Elain half collapsed against him, solid and warm and real. Her arms were around his neck as Lucien, half dazed, pressed his mouth against her scalp.

“You were supposed to go home,” he told her foolishly. 

“I know,” she said, pulling away with the wettest pair of eyes he’d ever seen. “I know—I tried. Lucien, I tried to but…” He couldn’t move, rooted in place. Say it, he wanted to beg. 

“I’m in love with you,” she whispered. Lucien couldn’t help the soft groan of relief that escaped him. Holding her face in his hand, he could only nod, swallowing hard to keep himself from giving in to emotion. 

“I don’t know what happens—”

“We should rest,” he said, because he knew what happened next. He’d marry her, make her Empress of Rome, and figure everything else out after. That seemed the most important thing, at least toward keeping her with him. 

It was only halfway back to camp that he realized he hadn’t said the words back to Elain. Halting so abruptly that she tripped over the hem of her dress, he blurted out, “I love you, too.”

A strange laugh escaped her—had he not seen the smile, Lucien would have thought it was a sob. Her eyes were still wet and as he stood there, hands gripping the tops of her arms, several tears slid down her cheek.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m happy and I’m sad,” Elain admitted, wiping them hastily with the back of her hand. “The thought of leaving Arina…of leaving you…but staying means I lose my life back home. My sisters. My dad…my friends—my job. And I’m sad about that, too.”

Lucien’s mind raced. “I can give you some of that back,” he offered, though truthfully he didn’t know how. His patricians would never accept his wife if she worked the way the common people did. And even if they would, Lucien had nothing to offer that made sense. “You’ll be Empress.”

Elain nodded, though something like a scoff punctuated the air between them. In her world, her terms, it wasn’t enough.

It made him curious all over about her world, her life, that he could offer her power and prestige and it felt like she was losing something. 

“I know,” she whispered, wiping her face on her sleeve again. “It’ll just be an adjustment.”

“Your sisters could always…” Lucien didn’t know what he was talking about. He wasn’t going to let her go back to that wall for her sisters, even if she swore she’d return. 

Elain shook her head. “It’s better this way, I think.They don’t need to know, and even if they did, they wouldn’t understand.”

Lucien barely understood. He hoped he never had to hear about that former life ever again, if he was truthful. Everything Elain had ever described sounded stressful and loud and worst of all, deeply disorganized. He wanted to see Elain happy within the gardens of his home, wanted his people to love her, and most importantly, wanted her to forget about where she came from.

Eris would be delighted when Lucien returned with strict instructions to keep Arina in Rome no matter the costs. Even if he had to chain her to the walls…even if she had to be married to a man she hated.

Though, he suspected his brother would graciously step up. Elain would get to keep her friend which would make her happy.

“Come sit with me,” Lucien murmured, nodding toward his little campsite. “Have you eaten?”

“No,” she whispered. She had no pack—she must have run out before anyone could help her. She was tough—he doubted many of the ladies back in Rome could have managed such a thing by themselves.

“And then what?”

“Then we go home.”

ARINA:

Snooping through Eris’s things was likely to get her banished to another jail cell somewhere far below the city. Somewhere infested with rats, certainly—and without the nice, warm bed she’d been languishing in for the last day. Elain still hadn’t returned, though Arina had discovered she’d only been asleep for a day. 

Still, it made her uneasy. Eris had sworn not to say anything to his brother—or anyone else for that matter—but that didn’t mean he would. Men lied all the time. If there was any constant across the shifting societies and changing worlds, it was that. For all she knew, Eris was about to burn the first witch in history and it would be her.

Though…realistically he probably wasn’t. She’d woken that morning to his cock utterly rigid and nestled against her spine. He’d extricated himself thinking she was asleep, unaware that as he’d carefully rolled himself out of bed, she’d been wondering if she should touch it or not.

She needed Elain—Arina didn’t know the social rules for women in ancient Rome. She knew columns, sculpture, stonework, and art. Some of that spoke to society, of course, but not the intricacies of if it was acceptable to stroke a man off who’d saved your life.

Perhaps men were simply men no matter where they were. She doubted he’d tell her no, though he could also brand her a whore and who knew what would happen if he did that? What Arina needed was leverage, and in order to get leverage, she needed to rifle through Eris’s things. 

It was all so boring.

Even his correspondence was boring. It was like reading Cicero all over again, except she wasn’t drunk or doing shots with Elain every time Cicero complained about some mythical golden age that had never existed. There was no poetry to his words—everything was perfunctory and to the point. 

Whatever secrets the Senator held, he didn’t keep them so readily available. It didn’t help that he happened to stroll in, casual in a blue embroidered chiton and his usual sandals. His eyes flicked from her to the desk before his lips set with disapproval.

“If you want to know something, you could just ask.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why are you here?”

“I thought you’d like to know Elain has returned with my brother. In tact,” he added, guessing her line of thought. 

“I’ll go see her,” Arina said, striding for the door. Eris threw his arm out, catching her before she could push past him.

“I wouldn’t,” he murmured, smelling of sunshine. “The doors were locked behind them.”

“Why?”

He merely arched a brow. Oh. Oh. Elain you idiot—

“This isn’t a great time,” she grumbled, frustrated she couldn’t even talk to her friend because she was too busy getting railed by the Emperor of Rome. He’d likely have her pregnant by the end of the month and then Elain would be waxing poetic about the beauty of an all natural birth in a place where no one understood germ theory. 

What was worse was her own indecision centered around the man currently keeping her in his bedroom. Never, in her entire life, had Arina ever made a decision based on a man. She always prioritized herself first even if that meant destroying a relationship she cared about. Now, though…now Eris was factoring in her choice to remain in the past. 

She’d tried to imagine going back. Sometimes it felt like a relief—she’d have bottled water again, and sunscreen, and all the conveniences she’d grown up with.

But she’d never see that look of disapproval on his face again. And she’d never feel his mouth against hers, hands in her hair while he kissed her with desperation. And Arina knew her mouth tasted bad because toothpaste was a fever dream in this place. Arina also knew if she angled her face just a little more, he’d kiss her again without hesitation.

“He’s going to marry her,” Eris informed Arina, pulling her from her thoughts. “Likely before the games begin.”

“Cristo Santo,” Arina swore softly. “She won’t say yes.”

“You didn’t see her,” Eris said casually as Arina stepped just out of his vicinity. “Or him, for that matter.”

“Spare me,” she mumbled, half turning to look toward the window. “So Elain marries the Roman Emperor and I just—”

“Marry me.”

Arina was certain she hadn’t heard that right. Frozen, she listened to the sound of leather softly smacking marble. He didn’t touch her which was smart—he was likely to lose a hand that way. He did stand in front of her, though, so she had to look at him. 

“Are you asking or are you telling me?” she questioned, knowing damn well Eris wasn’t asking her. He wasn’t going to get on one knee and beg the way men might in her own time period. There would be no rings, no declarations. He likely had a contract written up just waiting for his brother's signature. 

Il culo. 

Eris hesitated for just a moment. “Do you want me to ask?”

“Would you?”

He shrugged. “Not if you’re going to tell me no.”

Arina threw her hands up, exasperated. “Well it’s not a request if I can’t say no.”

“I’m not asking you,” Eris retorted hotly. “You were the one who wanted it formed as a question. I am telling you to marry me.”

“Or what?”

His face reddened with anger or embarrassment—Arina couldn’t be sure. “You’ll marry a different man you like even less and who will treat you much worse than I ever would.”

“I could leave—”

“You swore you’d stay,” Eris hissed, reminding her of the promise she’d made just the night before.

“Well, I lied!” she replied, stepping away from him in a pathetic attempt to clear her head. Eris merely followed behind, his frustration apparent. 

“I’m trying,” he hissed, running a hand through his neatly combed hair. “You make it impossible to do so. Tell me how men in your home take a wife and I’ll do it—”

“It can take years,” she said, spinning so quickly that Eris yielded a step to avoid knocking their faces together. “Do you even understand the concept of dating? Courting? Whatever it’s called here? Getting to know someone before you just demand they marry you.”

“I know enough,” Eris replied, his eyes alight again. “How much time does it take to know if you want a woman or not?”

“Two years?” Arina suggested.

Eris scoffed, turning his head as though the whole thing disturbed him. “Years?”

“Yeah, years while you get to know someone—”

“I don’t need years. I knew when I found you in the archive,” Eris informed her, watching as she began to pace back and forth. She knew how this went—she knew she stayed. If Elain stayed, Arina would, too. That didn’t mean she had to make it easy for him.

Eris ought to know that the rest of his life would be far more difficult for having her in it. Did love even factor into it? Elain would know. Surely humanity felt love even in this place, even if they didn’t marry for those reasons.

“You don’t know me at all.”

“I know enough,” Eris repeated, his mind clearly made up. “I know everything I need to know.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” she contradicted, heart thudding in her throat. Eris advanced, his patience clearly coming to an end. 

“I know I want you,” he said, and when she raised her hand to hit him, Eris caught her wrist easily. “See? Look at how well I know you.”

“You’ll get me, realize I’m not half as interesting as you imagined, and take a mistress. And I will not be humiliated by you.”

“Would you like me to ink it on paper?” Eris asked in that lethally soft voice. “You could take me to court. I’m sure my brother would assist you—he’d find the entire thing amusing.”

“I could just leave you,” Arina reminded him. “I don’t need a reason.”

“You could,” he agreed, creeping closer. “I won’t dispute it.”

“Liar,” she whispered, pressing her palm flat against his chest. “You’ll lock me up.”

“Or,” he murmured as he reached for a long lock of her hair, “you’ll find you like being married to me, too.”

“Wishful thinking.”

“Let me have it,” he murmured, lowering his face toward hers. “That’s the only thing I’m asking you for.”

“You’ll regret this,” she told him blithely, wanting to escape the intensity radiating from him. Eris caught her before she could walk away, spinning her back into his chest so he could kiss her. She let him, melting into his embrace. It was the easiest thing in the world. 

“I won’t,” he murmured when they broke apart. 

And though she hated herself for it, Arina believed him.

[wolfjackle-creates]

The Two Ghost Motel Chapter 4 (Final)

Finally finished the editing on this one!

Story Summary:

Danny is tired. Endless ghost fights with too many responsibilities and too little time; he barely passed sophomore year. When Ember visits town for a bit of fun, she mentions the Two Ghost Motel, a place of peace and refuge for restless ghosts who aren't ready to cross over. “I’m fine, Ember.” Danny’s got a home and friends. He’s fine, really. But when his parents begin experimenting with electricity to destabilize ghosts, it’s too much for Danny. Unfortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker can host him for the night and he’s left wandering in the night, alone. Then he sees it: The Two Ghost Motel. He checks in. “Welcome.”

AO3 Link

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings: Minor Original Character Death

-----

Danny ran, hand tight around Jay’s, ignoring his friend’s attempts to stop him.

He didn’t even slow when Jay yelled, “What happened? What was that ball that fell when Matt disappeared?”

All Danny knew was that they had to get away. So he kept going, dragging Jay with him. Within moments, they were at the sign. Only… Amity didn’t wait for them across the sidewalk.

Nothing waited for them at the edge of the parking lot. Just a thick fog that blocked sight of everything past the boundary of the motel property. His head spun, looking in all directions for some sort of break in the barrier, but there was none. Desperate, he shot an ectoblast at the fog, hoping the light would help him see what was past it, only for it to fizzle upon making contact.

His core thrummed in fear and he shot a more powerful blast, but the same thing happened.

“Phantom!” shouted Jay. “Answer me!”

“We’re trapped,” said Danny. Carefully, he reached out a hand. An invisible barrier stopped him from pushing into the fog. He could no more cross the boundary out of the motel than he could’ve walked through walls before his accident.

“What happened to Matt?”

“He— He was Ended, Jay.” Danny turned so he was facing his friend. He was glad the goggles hid the fact that he was tearing up, but they also prevented him from wiping them away. The world blurred around him. “This place, it’s sucking away the life force of ghosts. That’s probably why I’ve been so tired lately. It’s stealing my strength. Trying to wipe us out until there’s nothing left and we fade. Like Matt. And most likely Alan and Tom before him.”

Jay took a step back and glared at him. “Then what are we doing out here?”

“Getting out, of course! This place will kill us!”

“We’ve both been there, done that. And we can’t just leave everyone else here while we run off to save ourselves. We’ve got to save them all.”

Danny opened his mouth to protest. He wanted to go home. Jazz and his parents and Sam and Tucker would be worried sick. Jay needed to get out, too. He could come back with weapons, better prepared.

But if they got out, would he even be able to find his way back? Would escaping mean leaving all the ghosts he’d seen to their fate? His shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Of course you are. Sorry, seeing Matt’s core shatter like that… No. I won’t let it happen to anyone else if I can stop it.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “That was his core? The thing you told me about before?”

“Yeah…” Danny sighed and looked back towards the motel. He didn’t want to get a single step closer to the building, but it couldn’t be helped.

“How do you think it’s eating people?” asked Jay.

Danny held his hands out. “I don’t know. I’ve never heard of something like this before.”

Jay grinned at him. “Then I guess we’ll just have to figure that out. And we’ll stop it. Then we’ll free everyone. And then we can go home to the people who are waiting for us.”

Danny huffed out a laugh and slipped his hand into his pocket where he gripped the bouncy ball. “You make it sound so easy.”

Jay grabbed his wrist and pulled him back in the direction of the hotel. “Not easy, but it is simple. Now, let’s go check out the roof like we’d planned. Just, instead of looking for records, we’ll be looking for what makes this place tick. Once— Once we’ve got everyone out, then we can grieve for Alan and Matt and Tom.”

“You’re right. I’ll be okay. We have to get out first.”

Jay nodded, and the rest of the journey to the roof was made in silence. By unspoken agreement, they avoided the passage where Matt and Alan once played jacks and flew to the roof.

Once in position, Jay pointed to a vent. “This is what I used to crawl in. I can show you the passage that leads to the main office. I didn’t explore much beyond that, though.”

“Then we’ll start with the office before branching off to see where else they lead.”

Jay grinned at him and removed the grate. He was much more efficient and quiet at it than Danny would’ve been.

Without waiting, he dove in, leaving Danny to scrabble after him. He grit his teeth and bit back the scolding he wanted to give. Jay did know the way, so having him lead made sense. Mostly the vents looked like what he’d expect from movies, however thin, ectoplasm-green tendrils wound their way through the metal. Jay didn’t waste time, so Danny couldn’t examine them too closely, but it looked like they were almost part of the metal rather than something added to it.

In the end, they arrived at the grate near the ceiling of the main office in less than two minutes. The path had only branched twice and both times, they took the right passage.

Jay pushed himself to the side and Danny took advantage of his intangibility to squeeze in next to him. From the grate, they could see the receptionist frozen in her default position. Only one ghost was sitting on the couch, and another was standing by the vending machine.

The door would be set below them in the same wall to the left. It wouldn’t take more than a handful of steps to reach, but the receptionist would have to be incapacitated or distracted if they were to make it.

Danny caught Jay’s eyes and jerked his thumb back to indicate they should back up. This time, Danny took the lead. It gave him the chance to examine the green tendrils, but they seemed to be flush with the vent. With his gloves on, he could detect no difference in texture or temperature between the regular metal of the vent and the tendrils.

When they reached the point where the vents branched, Danny led them down the way they hadn’t gone before. However it was disappointing. It led along the the length of the motel and branched into the guest rooms. First floor rooms had outputs near the ceiling; second floor rooms had them near the floor.

They reached the end of the path without finding anything useful. Jay led them back, and the remaining branch of ventilation was a mirror of the first. By the time they had explored everything and returned to the roof, night had fully set in.

“We have to get past the receptionist, don’t we?” asked Jay.

“I can’t think of anything else to do,” admitted Danny.

Jay nodded. “So how do we do this?”

“I’ll go through the front door, you go through the vent.”

“Ugh, I never get to do the fun things.”

Danny bumped their shoulders. “If you had the proper training, I’d totally take you in guns blazing. But you don’t and we don’t have the weaponry available for you to make up for it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” Jay pouted, but continued, “So what next?”

“I’ll fight the receptionist. As soon as you get an opening, I want you to jump down from the vent and get through the door. Do not go further than you have to until I can join you, though.”

“Wish I could use powers like yours. Do you have any backup weapons for yourself?”

Danny waved him off. “I’ll be fine. And you need them more than I do.”

“You know, it’s a bad idea to rely on powers so much. What if something happens and you can’t use them?”

Danny shrugged. “I’ve always figured it out.”

“So far,” retorted Jay.

He sighed. “I’ll keep it in mind. Now, let’s split. Don’t do anything until I have the receptionist’s attention entirely on me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Worrywart.” Jay turned and retreated back into the vent.

Danny shook his head and flew off the side of the building to enter the office. This time, he didn’t pay any attention to the ghosts in the room. He stalked right up to the front desk and slammed his hand down with his key.

“I’m checking out.”

The receptionist didn’t respond. A glance up at the vent assured him Jay was in position.

“I said—” Danny picked up the key and slammed it down on top of the ledger “—that I’m checking out.”

Sure enough, touching her precious book was enough to wake the receptionist. Her from transformed once more: hair transforming into flames, eyes going red, and hands changing into claws.

“I told you before: You do. Not. Touch. My book!” The last words rose to an inhuman screech.

“Then let me leave!” yelled Danny back.

Smoke came out of her nose as her eyes narrowed. She leaned down, getting her face close to his. Her teeth were pointed and green not-ectoplasm dripped from them. “You will never leave,” she growled.

Danny rose into the air to even out their height difference. “Oh, you will regret trying to hold me captive. I’ve fought scarier things than you.” He shot a blast of ice at her and dove out of the way of her return fire.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jay phase through the vent grate and land in a silent crouch on the floor. For a moment, it looked like he had a yellow cape and a black mask over his eyes. Danny blinked and he was once again in jeans and a t-shirt and gripping the knife.

He couldn’t let himself get distracted. He took several running steps in the opposite direction to keep her attention on him.

“You might be on fire, but your aim sure isn’t!” he quipped as he ducked another attack. Danny shot an ectoblast at her face and immediately followed it up with a sharp spike of ice.

She dodged the ectoblast, but the ice pierced her chest. The receptionist let out a cry of pain as Danny laughed in celebration.

The door behind the receptionist banged shut as Jay succeeded in running past her. The noise caught the receptionist’s attention. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

The distraction was just enough. Danny pulled out his thermos and aimed. She was sucked in and Danny ran after his friend.

“You made it!” exclaimed Jay, lowering the knife as soon as he recognized Danny.

Danny grinned and spun the thermos. “Yep. She’s in soup time.”

Jay groaned. “That’s terrible. Is that really what you call it?”

“Damn right it is!” said Danny. He clipped it back on his hip. “So where are we now?” They were in at the top of a set of old, wooden stairs. A single bare light bulb illuminated the landing they were on, but the bottom of the stairs was cloaked in darkness. “Ready to see what’s down there?”

Jay bumped shoulders with him. “Let’s do this and then we can get home.”

Danny lit up his hand with ectoplasm just as he had earlier that day and took the first step. The wood groaned under him. He immediately rose up a few inches. “Fly. I don’t know if it’ll hold our weight,” said Danny.

The stairs went down farther and farther. A hand on the walls confirmed these were also warded against ghosts so they had no option but to continue on the path.

“How far down do you think these go?” asked Jay.

Danny shrugged. “We’ll find out, I suppose.”

Finally they reached the end. The floor was uneven cement and more not-ectoplasm dripped down the walls. A few feet in front of them stood a metal door.

“Do you think this one will open?” asked Danny quietly.

“Won’t know until we try it,” Jay whispered back.

“Get your knife out. And listen to me if it comes to a fight. I’m the one with experience in ghost fights.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say.”

Danny wanted to glare at him, but he knew from experience it was pointless with his suit. Only Sam, Tucker, and Jazz could reliably read his expressions as Phantom. Pure willpower was the only thing that kept his hand steady as he reached for the handle.

To his surprise, it turned easily under his hand. The door squeaked loudly as it opened.

A large basement room sat behind the door. In the middle, possibly growing from the floor or else sunk into it, sat a giant ectoplasm-green, pulsating mass. From it sprouted what looked like roots that were sunk into the very foundation of the motel. Some were thin, barely thicker than a pencil, but others were as thick as a tree trunk.

“This is what those things in the vents were,” breathed Danny. Something about the mass drew him closer and he took a step forward.

Jay grabbed his arm to hold him back. “We don’t know what it is,” he hissed.

“This is only the second time one of my victims has learned about me,” a voice echoed through the room.

The sound reverberated through Danny’s bones and his core thrummed with it. He didn’t know if he wanted to run towards it or far, far away. “What are you?” demanded Danny. He rose into the air and took a fighting stance. Jay remained on the ground, but had the knife in his hand, blade out.

Discordant laughter rang through the room. “I am the motel. It’s buildings and grounds but an extension of me, just like the bit of me that you tried to contain in that device you carry.”

“The receptionist?” asked Jay. “Is that why she’s so creepy?”

“There is no ‘she’; there is only me. I chose this form to entice ghosts to come visit. And it has worked better than I could have ever dreamed.”

The reminder had Danny tensing. “I won’t let you end any more ghosts!”

The thing laughed again, louder this time; the entire room shook with it. Danny wanted to slam his hands over his ears but held his position. It spoke again, “I’ve been here since before you were born, let alone died. Do you really think you can stop me? No. The last ghost to figure out what I was made a deal with me and I let him go. If you can think of a good enough trade, perhaps I’ll let you go, too. But the rest are mine.”

Jay, just loud enough for Danny to hear, said, “I don’t think it can move from that spot.”

Danny turned his attention to the ground. It was true, the being bulged around the floor where it was positioned. And the tendrils had obviously not changed position since the floor and walls had been built.

“What are you?” asked Danny again.

“I am what happens when creatures are born between life and death.”

“Oooh-kay. Got it, dude. But, like, do you have a name?” Danny ignored the way Jay snickered at his question.

The creature spoke with a boy’s voice, “I’m Matt!” Then, in a different voice, said, “I’m Alan.” Its voice got deeper and older said, “I’m also Tom.” Then the names and voices came faster and faster. Too fast to understand with some male, some female, and in many different languages.

As the voices overlapped, they also became louder. Before Danny could think of anything to do, Jay slapped his hands over his ears and shouted, “Enough!”

The creature stopped. “You asked,” it said in its original inhuman voice.

“Something I regret, not gonna lie,” said Danny.

“You can make me a deal or you can join the ones you’re searching for now. It makes no difference to me.”

“What deal did you make last time?”

The thing laughed again and next to him Jay tensed. “Had he not also been born between worlds like me—like you—I would not have listened to him at all.”

“I’m nothing like you!” protested Danny.

“We were both created between Death and Life. We are more alike than you know.”

Jay growled next to him. “Yeah, but he gives a shit about people and you eat them. I think that matters more than whatever similarities you think you have.”

“Tiny ghost. You’re already more than half mine. Soon you will join the rest of them. I’ve taken so much from you already, so much you don’t remember.”

“The deal!” shouted Danny to bring its attention away from Jay. “What was it?”

“Yes, the deal. Plasmius has been a very good help to me. He promised to send other ghosts my way. I’ve never fed so well in my life. So many of my rooms are occupied now. I had to add on more just for all those that have found me thanks to him.”

Danny flew back a foot involuntarily. Vlad had helped this thing? Was Vlad the entire reason the motel had made it’s way to Amity in the first place?

He shook himself. It didn’t matter. He could deal with Vlad later. Right now, he had to get everyone away from this monster.

“If that’s what you’re after, we will never have a deal.”

“Then I’ll take your power. How much greater will I be if I gorged on a prince, I wonder?”

Before Danny could even question the statement, one of the creatures tentacles tore out of the floor under them, sending cement flying.

“Jay!” Danny called as he saw his friend get tossed up; but Jay caught himself mid-air and gave Danny a grin and a thumbs up.

Danny nodded back and shaped an ectoblast into a blade that he shot at the tentacle even as it raced towards him. The appendage was torn in two, spraying him with more of the not-ectoplasm. He was grateful his suit kept it from actually touching him. His mask even filtered out most of the smell, though not quite all.

Jay was far enough away that he avoided being splashed. “Dude, you reek. Can’t you get a shower down here or something?”

Danny laughed. “If the sprinkler system reached down here, would it release water or more of that rotten ectoplasm or whatever it is?”

With a wordless yell, another tentacle yanked free of its confines, sending concrete falling from the ceiling.

Danny dove at Jay, pushing them both just out of the way. He sent another ectoblade at it and this time they were both sprayed with its blood. Jay cried out in pain as it hit him.

“Shit, sorry!” Danny set Jay down. “Are you okay?”

Jay grit his teeth and nodded. “I’ll be fine. But I don’t think this knife is going to do much.”

Danny winced and threw up a shield as another tentacle pulled loose and a chunk of the ceiling nearly hit them. He formed an icicle and pinned the attacking appendage to the wall. Already he could feel himself getting tired and the fight had only just started.

“Can you make me a weapon out of ice?” asked Jay as he watched to make sure the pinned tentacle stayed trapped.

“Good idea!” Still maintaining the shield with one hand, Danny used the other to make an ice sword. He put extra focus into making the edge as sharp as he possibly could. “Will this do?”

Jay grinned at him and took it. “Fuck yeah!”

“Careful, blade’s sharp!”

The monster was clearly done letting them fool around. The floor shook as it pulled free two more large tentacles and hit the shield hard from both sides. Danny threw out his other hand and poured as much power as he could into maintaining the shield.

“I can’t keep this up for long,” he warned Jay through gritted teeth. “Hold onto me and I’ll drop the shield and fly us away.”

“Got it.” Jay wrapped his left arm around Danny’s stomach so they were facing opposite directions and held on tight. With his right hand, he held the sword out, ready to attack.

Another roar echoed, followed by a blast of flames.

Danny cursed and the double onslaught of flames and tentacles shattered his shield. He sent blasts of ice to block as much of the fire as he could, but he and Jay both screamed when they were burned by what he couldn’t stop.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he shot another ectoblade at a tentacle. This time, it only sliced halfway through before dissipating.

Jay had better luck and managed to cut the other one with his sword. Only to let out another yell when its blood splattered both of them.

Some landed on an area where the fire had burned through his suit and it felt like acid on the wound. Danny turned them both invisible and dragged Jay away, sending a wave of healing ice over both of their bodies to soothe the injuries.

“Thanks,” said Jay.

“We need to come up with a strategy,” said Danny.

“I think it’s sitting in something. A crack in the ground, looks like it’s filled with more of that green stuff.”

“What?” Danny turned to look, only to trip over one of the small tendrils.

“Found you!” yelled the creature as it pulled free another three larger tentacles.

Danny dropped the invisibility and focused on keeping the any debris from hitting them while Jay hacked at the tentacles with the sword. Danny used shields to block as much of the blood splatter as he could, though a few bursts of pain on areas where his suit was damaged and curses from Jay proved he wasn’t entirely successful.

The movement of the monster did allow Danny to see what Jay meant, however. The floor surrounding it was being torn up as much as everywhere else and, through the destruction, he could see the tell-tale swirling green of a portal.

“It’s sitting in a portal,” breathed Danny. “Half in this world, half in the zone.”

The moment’s distraction was all it needed, however. Danny yelled in surprise as a tentacle wrapped around him and lifted him high into the air.

“Phantom!” yelled Jay who rushed forward, sword raised, oblivious to the tentacle behind him.

“Behind you!” Danny shouted back.

Jay spun, slashing with his sword, but it was too late. He was captured, too. The weapon fell from his grasp as his arms were bound tight to his sides.

“Jay!” called Danny again. But the tentacle holding him rotated so he could no longer see his friend. Instead, he faced the giant mass that took up the center of the room.

In it opened a crack. Flames escaped the gap which widened as Danny was dragged closer. As it shifted, however, the ground cracked around it, making the portal more visible. Danny watched as it sunk a few inches.

“I’ve got you now, young prince! And a nice little bird for desert after.” The creature’s echoing laugh was going to feature in Danny’s nightmares, he just knew it.

Danny twisted and squirmed, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t shake loose. Not even his intangibility let him phase through the appendage holding him captive. He closed his eyes and reached for his core. His power levels were low, much lower than they should’ve been, but he pulled anyway and aimed through his feet.

The ectoblast hit the ground at the edge of the portal, sending chunks of cement and dirt falling into the Zone.

It laughed again. “How did you manage to win your position with aim that poor?”

Danny laughed. “Oh, you wish I’d missed.” He yanked on his core again and shot another ectoblast at the ground. More crumbled away and the creature sank a few feet into the portal.

The monster roared and every tentacle not holding onto it’s prisoners jammed into the walls and ceiling to hold itself steady. Chunks of the already damaged building fell all around them. Danny cried out as he was hit hard on the head with a slab of cement.

Cries that were echoed by Jay.

“You okay, birdie?” shouted Danny. His transformation threatened to wash over him, but he grit his teeth and pushed it back. He could do this. He needed to do this.

“Just peachy,” was the terse reply.

Danny didn’t bother replying, just closed his eyes, gathered as much power as he could, and let out one more ectoblast. This time, several feet of flooring broke apart and fell through the portal, destabilizing enough that the creature was relying on his anchors to the building to keep from falling through.

The tentacle holding Danny loosened its grip just enough to allow him to pull free. He turned to Jay only to find he’d also escaped.

“What have you done?” screamed the monster as the building shook above them. The tentacles that had been holding Jay and Danny also shot forth to dig into the ceiling, but that only succeeded in it destabilizing further.

Now the holes were big enough to see through and so much of the building was crumbling that the creature was clearly struggling to keep its grip. Every movement just pulled down more of the building around them.

“Come on!” called Jay. “There’s a door over there!”

Danny grabbed his hand and turned them both intangible to avoid as much of the collapsing building as possible. It didn’t entirely work—some of the pieces hit them despite their intangibility—but it kept them from being completely buried.

Jay reached for the handle and it didn’t turn. “Fuck,” he cried.

Without letting go of his hand, Danny pushed him behind him and thought back to the martial arts lessons his mom had given him when he was younger. He kicked the door.

It shook in its frame, but held solid.

He grit his teeth and tried again. He felt a pull coming from behind him and looked over his shoulder. What the creature wasn’t knocking into the portal with it’s struggles was being sucked in.

“Shit!” cried Danny. He kicked the door again. On the fourth try, it finally gave. Though that could’ve been because half the wall next to it also collapsed. Danny didn’t care and flew through, dragging Jay behind him.

Instantly, he recognized the hallway. It was the one he and Jay had explored earlier, and the door he’d broken down, the one they couldn’t get through. He pushed forward, though it was getting harder to fly against the pull of the portal.

“Hurry up!” cried Jay.

Danny didn’t turn to look, just kept going. They were at the stairs and he was going up. He didn’t slow as they approached the door, just flew right through it. Luckily it let them.

He veered right, making his way to the parking lot and the entrance to the motel property. They had to make it through this time. From the corner of his eye, he could see the motel collapsing into the portal, sucking everything in.

“What about the others?” yelled Jay.

“They’re being dragged into the Zone! They’ll be fine. Better’n here at least. But we want to go back to Earth. We can’t afford to be lost in the Zone if we’re going to return to our families!”

“Promise?”

The pull was getting harder to fight, but they were almost to the boundary of the parking lot. “Promise!”

And he hit the fog. This time, it didn’t feel like hitting a wall. Instead it felt like flying into water. It was heavy and slowed him down. So, so hard to fight through. But he thought about Jazz and Sam and Tucker. He remembered the good times with his parents and school and evenings at the Nasty Burger.

“You’re going the wrong way!” called Jay.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you are!”

“Trust me, birdie. This’ll get us home!”

Jay tugged on his hand, trying to pull him off course. Danny refused to budge and kept pushing forward.

And Jay let go.

Before Danny could cry out, before he could decide whether to go back or keep pushing forward, he was dropping out of the sky and landing hard on pavement. Completely drained, his transformation washed over him before he could even try and stop it.

“Jay? Birdie!” he called and looked around. He pushed himself up, only for his arms to give out. From what he could tell, he was in some alley between two buildings. Before he could figure out more than that, his vision spun and the world went black.

---

He heard voices. “…readings… nearby…”

Danny groaned. Whatever he was sleeping on was hard and his everything hurt. But he couldn’t muster up the strength to move.

“I think I heard something!” called a voice. A familiar voice.

“Mom?” moaned Danny. He forced his eyes opened and winced when a bright light shone in his face.

“Danny! Jack, Jack, come quick. It’s Danny!”

The light came closer and he pulled back. It turned off, and Danny could see him mom there, running towards him then kneeling in front of him. She peeled off a glove and ran her hands through his hair.

“Oh, sweetie. Your father and I have been worried sick. Where’ve you been? What happened?”

“Dan-o!” His dad sprinted around the corner and half collapsed to the ground right next to Danny. “You’re all bruised up! Was it a ghost? Where is it? It’ll regret the day it ever laid a hand on Jack Fenton’s boy!”

Danny huffed a laugh and pushed himself up until he was sitting. His dad immediately pulled him into a tight hug and Danny relaxed into it.

“I fought it off, dad. It’s not gonna come back.”

“That’s my boy!”

“Oh, but Danny,” said his mom. “You’re absolutely covered in bruises! And is that a burn? Let’s get you to a doctor, hun.”

“No!” Danny winced when his mom pulled back at his vehemence. “I mean… I just want to go home. Can’t I go home?”

“I don’t know, honey. I want to make sure you’re all right.”

Danny’s stomach growled. “Please, mom? I just want something to eat then to crawl into bed and not move for twenty four hours.”

“Come on, Mads! Boy’s a Fenton and we Fentons are tough. We’ll fill you up with ham and fudge, Dan-o.”

His mom sighed. “Oh, if you’re sure. And Jazz would kill us if we didn’t let her see Danny immediately.” Before Danny could do more than grin at her, she was continuing, “But I’ll be looking over your injuries and if anything looks out of place, we are going straight to the hospital. Got it, young man?”

“Yes, mom.”

Before Danny could pull away from his dad to push himself to his feet, he was being picked up. He relaxed into his dad’s chest and closed his eyes. He drifted, vaguely aware of his parents talking, of getting into the GAV, and of driving off.

Then he was being carried inside and he heard Mom calling for Jazz. He shifted, trying to force himself to wake up.

Dad set him down on the couch. “Waking up there, Danny-boy?”

From upstairs, he heard running footsteps and Jazz shouting “Danny!”

He pushed himself up so he was standing just in time to see Jazz practically fly down the stairs and tackle him in a hug that sent them both back into the couch cushions.

“Hey, Jazz.”

“Don’t you ever do that to me again, do you hear me? Never, Danny!”

Danny hugged her back tightly and tried to ignore how her weight pressed on the small rubber ball in his pocket. “I’ll do my best, Jazz. Promise.”

More quietly, she asked, “You’ll tell me everything, right?”

Danny nodded his agreement. “Tomorrow. I’ll want your help with something.”

“Jazz, let Danny up,” ordered their mom. Jazz obliged and shifted until they were sitting side-by-side. Mom nodded her approval and shifted closer to put a hand on his chin so she could examine his face. “What on earth did you get up to? It’s not just bruising, you’re bleeding, too! Jack, get the first aid kit.”

“You’ve got it, snookums!” And he ran out of the room, shaking the walls as he did.

“Mom, mom. It’s okay. I’m sure it looks worse than it is.”

“Daniel James Fenton, stop downplaying your injuries. All of this will have to be disinfected.”

And Dad was back, holding the kit above his head like a trophy. “One first aid kit coming up!” he exclaimed as he handed it to Mom.

“Thank you, Jackiepoo.”

Dad winked at Danny. “Now for the fudge! Nothing helps chase away pain like a large piece of fudge.”

Before Danny could reply, he was running back out of the room. He met Jazz’s eyes and they both broke out in giggles which made him mom tut and order him to remain still.

Danny was still worried about Jay and the other residents of the motel. But he’d look for them tomorrow. Tonight, he let himself relax with Jazz pressed up against his side and his mom fussing over him and his dad forcing a piece of fudge the size of his head on him.

He was finally home.

---

Hundreds of miles away, a boy opened his eyes only to find himself trapped in dark box. He banged on the top, but it didn’t budge move. His hands explored the space, looking for a knife. Or even anything sharp.

All he could find was his belt buckle. He pulled it out and used it to tear apart the wood of the box above him. Dirt greeted him on the other side, but he kept digging through it. Inch by inch for six feet.

When he pulled himself out of the ground, it was to come face-to-face with a gravestone.

For the first time in months, Jason Todd breathed.

-----

The End

Hope you enjoy! It's been so much fun working in a new genre.

[sequinsmile-x]

The Final Say

Emily wants to put the Christmas tree up in mid-November. Aaron does not.

It's a good thing Emily is an expert at getting her husband to see her point of view.

-x-

Hi friends!

This fic came from a conversation I was having with @cloudlessly-light, who after seeing my Christmas tree in the background of a photo of my cat, told me off for having it up so early haha

Naturally my brain went to 'imagine Aaron and Emily having differing views on when the tree should go up'...and that then turned into a smut fic.

I'm sure I say this every time I write smut, but I truly think this is the filthiest thing I've written so far.

Let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut, 18+ (oral sex, a smidge of dirty talk)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily loved Christmas. 

She always had, ever since she was a kid. It was something that had always been the same wherever she was in the world, a piece of home that followed her and her mother no matter where they lived. She knew it was for show, she’d known that even when she was young. The tree and the decorations weren’t for her, but for the parties her mother would host, for the dignitaries that would always seem to be in their house, but that never diminished her enjoyment of it. The sparkly lights and brightly coloured ornaments never failing to warm her from the inside out. 

She’d always hoped that one day she’d decorate a tree with her own family. Pulling the same ornaments and decorations from a box they stored in the attic every year, not new ones in every city, and placing them on a tree they picked out together, not one that seemingly appeared one morning. 

She loved Christmas, and that meant she felt the pull to put the decorations up as soon as the days ticked over into mid-November. She wanted to sit on the couch curled up with her children and her husband and look at the tree. She wanted to bathe in the warm light the string lights emitted, a hot chocolate with whiskey in her palms. 

She was even more excited this year than usual. It was Issac’s first Christmas, and even though she knew the 3-month-old would have no clue what was going on, she couldn’t wait to include him in all of the traditions they’d come up with since she’d moved in with Aaron and Jack. 

The only issue is, that no matter how much she loved Christmas, Aaron did not. 

It’s not that he hated it, far from it. As it got closer to the actual date he got involved in the festivities. He’d walk alongside her at the Christmas markets, one hand in hers and the other in Jack’s, letting them drag him from stall to stall. The debate about the Christmas tree would always begin as soon as she started to think about it, making sure she dropped not-so-subtle hints that would make him raise an eyebrow at her. 

It was during their first Christmas together, their relationship only a few months old at the time, when she realised she could use his inability to say no to her when she was naked for her own gain. She’d seduced him easily by walking into his bedroom with nothing more than his favourite lingerie on, and once he’d fucked her into the mattress he’d agreed to her putting the tree up whenever she wanted to. 

It had become a tradition in itself. A game between the two of them that would always end with her winning, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have some fun along the way. In fact, she’d just laid the evidence of last year's fun down for his afternoon nap in the nursery. 

Issac was asleep, Jack was at a friend's for a sleepover, and she had Aaron all to herself. 

She finds him in their bedroom, focused on putting away laundry, and she wraps her arms around him from behind. She kisses his shoulder through his shirt, and he stops what he’s doing to place his hands over hers on his stomach. 

“Did he go down okay?” 

She hums and nods, “He’s fast asleep,” she says, kissing his shoulder again before she encourages him to turn to face her, her hands on his hips, “Which means we have some time to ourselves,” she says, looking up at him through her lashes. 

“Oh really?” He asks, his hands skating over her waist before they land on her lower back, “What were you thinking?”

She pretends to think about it, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “We could…put up the tree?” 

He groans, shaking his head at her as if he hadn’t known this was coming, “Em, it’s too early.” 

She pulls him towards the loveseat they keep in the corner of their bedroom and she pushes him down onto it before she sits on top of him, placing her knees on either side of his hips. She pouts as she settles into his lap, purposely making a point of grinding against him as she does. She bites her lip when she feels his hands tighten on her hips almost involuntarily. 

“But it’s Christmas,” she complains as she frowns at him.

“It’s mid-November,” he quips, raising his eyebrow at her. He knew how this would end, that he’d end up giving in like he did every year, but it didn’t mean he was going to give in easily. Especially when it usually ended well for him. 

“The boys will be excited,” she says, cupping the back of his neck, making him shiver as she runs her fingers across his skin, “They love Christmas.”

“Jack is 8, he knows when Christmas actually is, and Issac is 12 weeks old, he isn’t even aware it’s Christmas. Or that he has feet.” He replies, watching as she attempts to suppress a smile, “The only things he’s aware of are your breasts and when it’s the most inconvenient time to wake up from his nap.” 

She leans in to stamp her kiss against his, smirking when he chases her as she pulls back. She cups the back of his head. “Well,” she says, kissing him again, “Then we’d better hurry up and make sure we don’t give him a chance to interrupt us.” 

Aaron groans when she rolls her hips against his again, and he grasps her waist, his thumbs pressing into the bottom of her ribcage. 

“We’re not putting the tree up,” he says, the challenge weak even to his ears, and she leans in, her lips against his ear as she responds. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

She kisses him fiercely, her tongue sweeping through his mouth as she tightens her hold on his head, her nails scratching at his scalp. He groans and his hands slip to her hips, holding them tightly as he pulls her closer. He pushes his hips up into hers and she whimpers at the feeling of him half hard under her. She only pulls away when she needs to, sucking in a breath before she sinks her teeth into his lower lip, tugging at it before she lets it go. 

“Let me convince you,” she says, kissing him quickly before she shifts back in his lap, her fingers reaching for his shirt. She unbuttons his shirt, kissing and nipping at his skin as she reveals it, paying close attention to his scars like she always did. It was something they’d done for each other since the beginning, lips and fingers delicately pressed against the raised skin. Neither of them ever forgetting to worship the other where they’d been stitched back together, proof of what they’d survived to make it to each other. 

She gets out of his lap and kneels in front of the loveseat, her hands reaching for his belt buckle and she looks up at him as she undoes it and his pants. He lifts his hips just long enough for her to pull his pants and boxers. She kneels in between his legs and takes his cock in her hand and clenches her thighs together, desperate for some friction, at the punched out groan that escapes him the moment she touches his heated skin. 

“Fuck, Em,” he grunts, his eyes fixed on her as she leans forward, maintaining eye contact with him as she licks the tip of him, a smile flashing across her face as his hips twitch towards her face. 

“Impatient,” she teases, slowly pumping him up and down, her breath skipping over him, her smile turning into a smirk as he all but growls at her. 

“Sweetheart-”

He’s cut off as she takes him in her mouth, his words lost to a moan as he feels himself hit the back of her throat, the sound of her gagging sparking a fire in his gut. He pushes his fingers through her hair, tightening them in the strands as she bobs up and down, using her mouth and hands in tandem. 

“Fuck, baby,” he says, “You’re so fucking good at that.” He says, and the praise makes her stomach flip, forcing her to once again press her thighs together. She takes him as far down her throat as she can, only spurred on as she chokes around him and he thrusts up into her mouth. He feels a familiar tug in his gut, and he stops her, gently tugging at her hair, smiling as she lifts her head and looks at him with a dazed look in her eyes, a line of spit trailing from her lower lip to his tip. 

He cups her chin and encourages her upwards, steadying her on her feet as he pulls her in to kiss him, groaning as he tastes himself on her lips. When he breaks the kiss he smiles at her.

“Take your clothes off and get on the bed,” he says, his voice low and raspy. She follows his instructions without really thinking about it, shedding her clothes with little fanfare as she watches him finish the job she’d started by taking off his clothes. 

He’s on her the second she’s on the bed, pressing her into the mattress by laying on top of her, finding his place in the cradle of her hips. She groans as he kisses down her chest, his touch turning gentle as he skates over her breasts, well aware that was his youngest son’s domain for now. He licks along the length of the scar beneath her ribcage, mapping out each line of it from where he’d memorised it long ago. The topography of her body his favourite thing, each hill and valley of her skin somewhere he could happily get lost in. Since she’d had Issac he’d taken the opportunity to learn the ways her body had changed, every part of her infinitely more beautiful to him now she’d carried their son and kept him safe. 

She’s squirming beneath him by the time he reaches her thighs, his hands surprisingly gentle as he pushes them apart. He feels pride swell in his chest at how wet she is already, how she glistens in the light of their bedroom, and he breathes her in. 

“So wet for me already, sweetheart,” he says, nipping the top of her thigh with his teeth before soothing it with a kiss, smiling when she bucks her hips, “I’ve barely touched you,” he says, turning his head to her other thigh and giving it the same treatment, “You like being on your knees for me, don’t you?”

She whimpers at his words, her heels finding their place on his shoulders, digging in as a silent form of warning, “Please.” 

As much as he enjoyed teasing her, he knew their time was limited. The baby would be up soon and he didn’t want this to finish before it had really got started. 

Aaron leans in and licks through her, his groan at the taste of her matching the one that escapes her at the pleasure that rushes through her. He pushes two thick fingers inside of her, curling them upwards as he does so, smirking against her skin when she rolls her hips just as he hits the right spot. 

“Oh god yes,” she says, trying to keep quiet, “Please don’t stop.” 

She pushes herself up onto her elbows to look down, to see his face buried in her, the tension in his arm as he moves his fingers in and out of her. The burning in her belly starts to build, crackling through her nerves as it’s ready to ignite. He looks up at her, and as their eyes meet she falls over the edge, the intimacy of it giving her the final shove she needs. 

He’s on her in a second, his lips against hers as he captures the moan that escapes her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, sharing the taste of herself with her. It’s only when she comes down from her high that she realises her legs are still over his shoulder. He’s bent in her half, something that a few short months ago she would have thought was a move that was now beyond her, and his cock notches over her sensitive and swollen clit. 

“I didn’t know I could still bend that far,” she says breathlessly, smiling when he grins at her, his eyes blown black with desire, “Thought I’d lost that ability around the time my hips got wider.” 

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” he grunts, pushing forward so he enters her, both of them groaning at the familiar stretch, “You’re fucking perfect.” 

She clenches around him, the angle, the fact she’d barely come down from her last orgasm, making everything seem more sensitive, closer than it usually did. He stills his hips, clearly trying to give her a moment, but she doesn’t need or want it.

All she needs is him.

“Move,” she insists, purposely clenching around him, the breath knocked out of her as he does so involuntarily, “Please move.” 

He never could say no to her, not really, so he does as he’s asked, his rhythm unforgiving as he thrusts in and out of her. She grasps his back, her hips matching the rhythm he has set, one she was as familiar with as she was with every inch of his body. Even back when they did this for the first time there had been a sense of familiarity about it, something that felt like coming home. 

She eventually feels the spark in her belly again, and she can tell he’s close too, his hips slowly becoming more sporadic. 

“I’m going to come,” she says, clenching around him again, “I’m so fucking close.”

“Me too, baby,” he replies, burying his face in her shoulder, his hand drifting down to her clit to draw soft but concise circles over her, “Let me feel it.” 

She comes, her teeth sinking into his neck to stop herself from screaming, and it triggers his orgasm, the feel of him coming deep inside of her making her sigh. They lay there for a moment before he pushes himself up on his hands, his palms on either side of her head before he leans down to kiss her. He sits up just enough that her legs slip off his shoulders, slumping against the bed in a way that made her feel as light as a feather and as if she was made of lead at the same time. She pats his chest as he lays back down next to her, still desperately trying to suck air back into her lungs. He kisses her cheek and then turns her head just enough to kiss him. She smiles as she pulls back, her hand on his cheek.

“Okay,” he says one of his hands trailing down her side, smiling as she shivers, “We can put the tree up.” 

She chuckles as she kisses him softly, a gentle press of her lips against his, “I always win, why do you even fight it?”

He shrugs, “Why would I when we have so much fun along the way?” He says, and she shakes her head at him as he waggles his eyebrows at her, and she presses her thumb into his lower lip, feeling the familiar plushness. 

“You better not have gotten me pregnant this year,” she jokes, well aware it wasn’t a possibility, that she was on her birth control and they weren’t actively trying like they had been last year, “We barely sleep as it is.” 

Aaron laughs and shakes his head at her, “No one can ever know Issac is the product of last year's Christmas tree debate.” 

She smiles as he kisses her thumb, but her response is cut off by a cry from down the hall, “Speaking of Santa’s little helper,” she quips, “He’s done with his nap.” 

“I’ll get him,” Aaron says, stamping one last kiss to her lips before he stands up and walks over to his dresser to get a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

“Good,” she replies, resting on her elbows to look at him, throwing him a wink from where she was still lying on the bed, “Because my legs still aren’t working.”

___

They have the team over for Thanksgiving. 

Everyone took turns hosting, even though Dave did most of the cooking every year, and this time it was decided it made the most sense for everyone to come to their house since they had the youngest kid. 

Emily smiles as she glances over at Aaron, Issac in his arms and Jack excitedly talking to his father and Dave, before she walks over to join JJ, Derek and Spencer who are all standing around the tree. Derek smiles curiously at her as she stands next to him.

“How did you convince Hotch to put up the tree, Princess?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looks back at it, “I thought he used to have a strict ‘not before December’ rule when it came to decorations.” 

JJ chuckles, cutting Emily off before she can reply, “You don’t want to know, Derek,” she says, taking a sip of her wine, “Penelope made the mistake of asking last year and she still hasn’t recovered,” she leans in closer as if they are conspiring, “Plus, Hotch has a hell of a hickey on his neck. Do the math yourself.” 

Emily feels her cheeks go red as everyone looks over at her husband, the bruise on his throat not quite covered by his shirt collar. 

“Oh, gross,” Derek says, and Emily rolls her eyes. 

“Oh come on, Aaron and I are married. We have a baby, it can’t be a surprise we have sex,” she shrugs, looking back over at her husband, smiling as he continues to talk to Dave whilst he bounces Issac in his arms, trying to soothe the slightly cranky baby, “Besides, I know how to get what I want. And what I want is the Christmas tree being put up on November 15th.” 

“So this happens…every year?” Spencer asks, the question escaping him before he really thinks it through, and she looks over at him, her eyebrow raised. 

“I’m sure I’ll regret asking this question,” she says, “But why do you want to know that?” 

“If you always put the tree up on November 15th that means you put it up 53 weeks ago,” Spencer says, and Emily’s eyes go wide as she realises what he’s figuring out, the maths pulling together in his head before she can stop him, “And you were pregnant for 39 weeks and 3 days, and Issac is about to turn 14 weeks old-”

“Okay,” she says, cutting him off with a glare and a raised hand, “That’s enough.” 

It’s too late, and she hears JJ laugh and Derek groan in disgust, “Oh God,” he says, scrunching his face up, “You’re telling me that Issac exists because you wanted the Christmas tree to go up in Nov-”

“Please don’t say anything to Aaron,” she says, almost begging. She knows JJ would never say anything, and that Spencer would be too afraid too, but Derek lived to wind her up, solidifying his place as the brother she never had or asked for, “He’ll never have sex with me again if he finds out you know.”

Derek raises an eyebrow at her, “Is that meant to deter me? If you never have sex again I never have to hear about it again.” 

“How about if you tell him I’ll kill you and no one will ever know it was me,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him, “We all know I’d get away with it.” 

Derek swallows thickly, clearly taking her seriously, and he nods, his silent agreement coming just in time as Aaron walks over and hands Issac to her. 

“Someone wants Mommy,” he says, looking back and forth between his wife and their friends as they all go deathly silent as he arrives. 

“Hi sweet boy,” Emily says, securing Issac to her chest and turning so he can see the tree, his face lighting up with a smile as he sees the lights. Aaron kisses her forehead and walks away as Dave calls for him, “You like the tree, huh?” She says to Issac, kissing the side of his head. 

“Just like his Mom,” Derek adds, hiding his smirk behind his glass as he takes a sip. She looks up at him, her glare firmly back in place.

“Derek I swear to God.” 

-x-

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[sunsetcorvid]

tell us about your agents

Anon you have unleashed the beast known as Autism (LONG POST I'M SERIOUS THE INFODUMP REALLY INFODUMPED)

Three Cuttlefish (Agent/Captain 3)

Repeating general info from the reference sheet for all of these! Also with some extra notes!

That's a They/Them right there.

Short squid haha 5'2" (157cm) ((they are only an inch shorter than me.))

Agender lesbian gayass who chose Three as their preferred name when Callie asked because they hadn't actually thought it out but thought "Hey, you know what they already call me Agent 3, why not just make it official." and they actually love the name now!

Hawaiian Bobtail Squid! Fun squid fact: Hawaiian Bobtails have a symbiotic relationship with bioluminescent bacteria which protects them from predators and also makes them sorta glow! Matches up with Three's scar a bit. (Look it up, the bioluminescence is pretty cool.)

Actually pretty nearsighted so they wear contacts most of the time. They found a pair that resemble Callie and Marie's pupil shape, so they got those to look more "Cuttlefish."

Not the best relationship with their bio family, pretty no-contact. I will most likely touch on this in my "Early Days of Agent 3" series on Ao3!

Sanitization scar fucked up their throat and vocal cords a bit, so it's pretty painful to talk. They could but they'd rather not anyways. Selective mute and uses sign to communicate!

Ambulatory cane user (Did some research, hope I used the first word right). Already had some body pains to begin with (One of them being the sanitization scar because that flares up sometimes.), but they messed up their back on a certain mission so they use a cane to walk sometimes.

Mains a Dynamo Roller. (They wield it like a Carbon....)

Banned from Turf Wars for "Using an illegally modified weapon." It wasn't illegal or modified they're just a beast with the Dynamo.

Legally got their name changed to "Three Cuttlefish" (Callie helped them.)

Four Cuttlefish (Agent 4)

looks at my icon. can you tell who my favorite agent is, lol.

Guys I think this is one of those She/They/Hes.... (real)

Grew a couple of inches from when he was 14 to now currently 19. 5'6" (167cm) to 5'8" (172cm)

Genderfluid panromantic gayass who chose Four as their name but not because it was a "Fuck it." moment, but because they genuinely liked being called Four at the time and they still do.

Never actually been in a relationship, but they're pretty sure they're polyamorous. (And might be on the aroace spectrum.)

A Clubhook Squid! So she has cool hooks on her tentacles. They are also a large species, so that's why Four's pretty tall. (For an inkling anyway.)

Also has a strained relationship with her bio family. Doesn't actually have Cuttlefish as her last name, but likes to introduce herself like that anyways because Marie is basically her mom now.

Always wears his Hero Jacket when he goes out. It's a comfort item to him. (Even if it's pretty torn up now and Marie has to force him to wash it every couple weeks.)

Started tying their back tentacles up when they were getting pretty long. Just did it one day because the hooks were bothering them and realized "Hey, I kind of look like Marie..." and kept doing it because it makes them feel better to share something with their mother-like figure.

Works part-time at Ammo Knights. Likes listening to Sheldon ramble about weapons.

She mains the Inkbrush! Very skilled, too. (Got some muscle from swinging it around.)

Looks at Three as an older sibling-like figure. (Technically, they could be cousins because Callie pretty much adopted Three and Marie pretty much adopted Four, sooo-)

The only one of the main four agents to have finished high school. Three dropped out to focus on agent work, Eight never really went, and Neo doesn't even know what the hell school is.

Absolutely terrified of salmonid. It's always just been a general phobia.

Eight Iida-Houzuki (Agent 8)

Yooo, one of those demigirl She/Theys, thats so poggers...

Tall... (5'11" 180cm, 6'1" 185cm in heels)

Down bad lesbian and in a relationship with Three!! (They hold hands!! Scandalous!!!)

Blue-Ringed Octopus! (And possibly something else because Blue-Rings are typically quite small.) Blue-Ringed Octopus are a highly venomous species (Though any recorded deaths are quite rare.). When they become agitated or defensive, their color will shift to a yellow and the blue rings appear. That's why the second ref is here, to show what the rings look like on Eight. While her ink color doesn't shift to a yellow, the rings are there and they have a slight yellow tint to them. Also blueish fingertips because funky fresh.

Doesn't remember much, if anything, from before Octo Expansion. Because of this, and being new to the surface, Marina pretty much put her under her name. So that's why she's "Eight Iida-Houzuki"! (The Houzuki is there because Pearlina canon source is me)

Leather jacket in their older design is a gift from Three! Though, it's a little torn up from some missions. They still wear it, though, because it's a huge comfort item now.

Has a bag in their older design as well for things! Weapon handling kit, first-aid kit, green towels for when Three's scar gets drippy while they're out, maybe a snack or two. Useful things!

Similar to Four, they started tying their back tentacles up because they were getting long.

Got a cool eyebrow nick to match Four's eyebrow scar. (The besties for real!!!)

Big scar on her back from being blown up a whole lot during Octo Expansion. Unlike Three's, however, it does not get drippy. Unfortunately, it is extra sensitive in place of that.

Also works part-time at Ammo Knights! Helps repair broken weapons and manages the shop when Sheldon is away somewhere for something.

Mains the E-Liter 4K or just any chargers in general! Watch out if you see her in Turf...

Worked at GrizzCo for like a week and noped the fuck outta there because man what is happening over there.

Neo/Junior (Cuttlefish) ((New Agent 3))

Another She/They that's so cool...

Still figuring herself out, but she's pretty sure she's bisexual and genderqueer.

5'4" (162cm) so like two inches taller than the Captain. (Everyone is taller than the Captain.)

You're probably wondering "Why are they 13 and not 14? They're not allowed to Turf and stuff until they're 14!" And my answer is: They lie about their age. They wander around the Splatlands, they've been doing it almost their whole life. Because of this, they look a little older than they are (They got out of their squish form pretty early.). Which is the main reason why Cuttlefish decided they were the New Agent 3. (He thought they were like 16-17 💀 He, and also Marie, already got a talk from Three about recruiting fresh squids/octos.)

Doesn't actually remember her name. Not because of amnesia or anything but because she just hasn't used it in years. Never really had a reason to. Soon, that memory faded because she never really saw it as important. The rest of the Splatoon either call her "Neo" or "Junior." (It started as a joke after Neo accidentally called Three her parent, but then it kind of caught on and even Three finds themself using it on her sometimes.)

Found Little Buddy as an egg a few years before Splat3 Story Mode happens. They have their own little language due to how long they've known each other and the fact that Buddy never grew up around other salmonid so he doesn't actually know whatever language salmonid use. He's also much more tame than you're usual Smallfry from being raised by Neo. Best friends forever, yo!

Magister Armhook Squid! Similar to Four with the hooks but she's a bit smaller.

They don't really main any weapon, they just kind of go with the flow. Hand them something and they'll figure it out pretty quickly. That doesn't mean they're good at everything, though. They do struggle with some weapons.

Looks at Three and Eight as parental figures and sees Four as a auncle (Aunt/Uncle) figure! Callie and Marie are like those cool aunts you have. (Got damn, Callie is grandma by 26! /hj)

Still learning sign, so this is why the Squid Sisters tell them what the Captain is saying. (And the Captain is still pretty shy.)

General Info on All!

They all share an apartment. Four originally wanted to stay with Three and Eight for a bit until she got a different apartment in Splatsville, and then Neo moved in because Three realized "Oh shit this kid is traumatized and homeless can't let them turn out like me lol" and so Four stays to help out with Neo.

All of them on the same team is a guaranteed loss for you. Sorry, you're not making it out alive. Three is a beast, Four is strategic and fast, Eight has terrifyingly good aim, and Neo can adapt to pretty much anything. You're fucked, lol.

Three is banned from playing Uno on Squidbeak Splatoon Game Night. They always win.

Group cuddle if any of them have nightmares.

Eight waking up in the middle of the night because her partner left the bed and finds the Threes in the dark kitchen munching on raw pasta for the crunch and it's like cats in the dark their eyes fuckin' glow and it scares the shit out of Eight before she turns the lights on and sees them clearly.

Four is both the number one hater and supporter of Eight and Three. (He will go on about how gross they are but he's the one who helped conspire the plan to get them together. He likes seeing his friends happy.)

Agent 24 headcanon thrown in here, teehee. Some nights, if Eight has a really bad nightmare, Three will hum or even sing Calamari Inkantation. It's off-pitch and rough because of their fucked up vocal cords, but it's enough to help Eight calm down. Three never regrets it, even when their throat feels like its been mauled the next morning. Eight appreciates this.

In order of most cuddly to least cuddly: Four, Three, Neo, and you may or may not find surprising Eight in last! Four is known to just lean against anyone in the Splatoon. Marie's there? Fuck yeah, let me get a hug. Three's on the couch? Just gonna lay on top of them if that's alright. Lovely platonic cuddles from Four! While Three is not very affectionate with the rest of the Splatoon, how clingy they are to Eight puts them in the number two spot. And they won't say no to a surprise cuddle from Four or Neo.

I think that's about it! Thank you for unleashing my autism demons I've been keeping this in since I got this ask because I need to draw their refs. I have a special interest in cephalopods now because of this. Thank you, I guess.

[imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese]

Remembrance of Summer

Link to Ao3 if you prefer to read it there

ACCESS: RESTRICTED DECRYPTION KEY: 9HLXY5M999$IKO-006 REP#: 74-EUROPA-REMOTE-AUDIO-DEVICE-MONITORING AGENT(S): AUN-326 SUBJ: VIP#1316 AND ERI-223 INTERACTIONS BETWEEN DARKNESS "LESSONS" - REMEMBRANCE OF SUMMER

[BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

"You'd think it'd be warmer."

"Why?"

"Because it's Summer."

"Seasons require a pronounced axial tilt in an orbiting body.  Europa does not experience Summer."

"But it is Summer on Earth right now."

"There is always somewhere on Earth experiencing Summer at all times. That is how seasons function."

"Fine, Moondust, but what I mean is it is currently Summer in the Tower."

"We are not in the Tower."

"What gave it away?  The blizzard?  Or maybe it's the knee deep snow?  Or or or... maybe the air so cold it feels like it's rippin' yer lungs out?  How do ya even breathe without somethin' coverin' your face?"

"The same way I can breathe while standing on the Moon."

"Magic?"

"Magic."

"Damn that wind is rough.  I hate ice planets.  Nothin' good ever come outta a ice planet."

"Europa is not a planet. Jupiter is a planet.  Europa is one of its moons."

"Whatever.  It's Summer in the Tower right now and we ain't there.  And if we were there it'd be warm and we'd have Solstice bonfires, an' street food, an' music, and fire dancers at night, and we ain't got none of that here."

"That sounds exhausting, except for the warmth."

"It's nice.  I'll take ya with me sometime if you'll let me.  It won't be exhausting."

"No. I do not like crowds."

"Lotsa spots up high you can go away from everyone and still enjoy it.  You were a Hunter, surely you had spots up high you could sit and brood all gloomy-like in the Tower."

"You think I am gloomy?"

"You think you ain't?"

"Tsch."

"That's not even a you thing.  That's just a Hunter thing that Hunters do.  They brood."

"Hunters are not the only ones who brood."

"Yeah but they do it more than anybody else."

"That is a reductive generalization."

"Uh huh, and you're avoidin' the question.  Back when you was a Hunter, did ya have spots up high in the Tower for broodin' or not?"

"That was another lifetime I can barely remember but... yes I did."

"I knew it!  We should go check 'em out together next time we're there.  See what's changed."

"Bold of you to assume I would be willing to accompany you anywhere."

"That's a great line coming from someone who's accompanying me right now."

"Ugh.  Regardless, the entire premise is foolish.  Unlike when I had my Light, I am now susceptible to falling to my death."

"I'd catch ya."

"Your statement does not fill me with confidence."

"We could tie ourselves together with rope."

"Or we could simply not do the inane activity at all."

"You're just allergic to fun."

"And you are allergic to focusing on the task at hand."

"It is freezin' fuckin' cold, Moondust.  And for reasons that have not been explained, Stranger insists we gotta keep a lookout out here while we wait for her to do... whatever the hell she's doin' in there which I'm pretty sure does not have anythin' to do with teachin' us Stasis, but whatever.  I ain't not focusin' on the task at hand.  In fact I am currently quite focused on the fact that I can't even feel any tasks in my hands because it is so damn cold!  Thinkin' about being warm is the closest thing we got to actually bein' warm right now.  Throw me a bone, here, would ya?  Surely you have some memory of Summer in the Tower."

"Hmmm... Very well.  There was a spot in the Vanguard library with a large window that looked out onto the Bazaar.  It had very comfortable cushions made of red velvet.  I would often sit on the ledge there with a book and the window open.  I remember the breeze on my face and the warmth of the sun."

"What'd it smell like?"

"Old paper and... spices."

"See, that's what I'm talkin' about.  What else you remember about Summer?"

"Mosquitoes."

"Ha! I hate those fuckers."

"There is... a plant.  It is an irritant to the skin and when one brushes against it, it causes blisters.  The itch is terrible and lasts for days.  The only way to soothe it is to use your ghost."

"Oh, I know that kinda plant.  There's a few like that but one is worse than all the others."

"Yes.  It was that one.  At one point, Eriana-3 and Wei Ning had a bet while the three of us were out on a week-long patrol in a heavily wooded area."

"A bet involving poison ivy?"

"That was what it was called!  Yes."

"Woah woah woah, go back to the betting part."

"The bet involved how long one could go without needing one's ghost to relieve the torment."

"Ha!  That's awful!  What kinda exposure-level we talkin' 'bout here?"

"A sleeping bag stuffed with it."

"Ooooh!  Damn!  Were you involved in this?"

"My involvement was that I advised against it."

"Smart.  Wait... Eriana-3 was a exo.  She didn't have human skin."

"Correct."

"That seems a little unfair."

"Wei Ning was never one to shy away from a mismatched battle."

"You're right.  She wasn't.  Drank like a fish, too."

"You have intuited correctly that the decision making process involved alcohol."

"Ha!  Did she win?"

"She did."

"At what cost?"

"Exactly.  It absolutely was not worth it."

"I wouldn't think so."

"I remember her vehement, colourful cursing.  Eriana, laughing.  The dappled light from the sun shifted in little spots of dark and light in the clearing we were in.  The patches of sun and shadow moved whenever the wind shifted the tree limbs above us.  Everything smelled of wet earth tinged with rotting wood.  There were birds.  One in particular was a woodpecker.  It was very loud.  We were being bitten constantly by mosquitoes.  Wei had not slept."

"Can't imagine why."

"She swore she would locate the bird and eat it for dinner as punishment for its failure to be silent."

"Did she ever find it?"

"No.  But she was very verbose in her multiple attempts. We were, all three of us, far too warm and sweaty.  The muggy heat made our clothing under our armour cling to our skin.  Insects biting us.  And Wei kept yelling profanity at the trees.  It was an uncomfortable and ridiculous morning, one I have not thought of in... over a century.  And yet...  despite being surrounded by snow... I can hear Wei Ning shouting at the woodpecker now.  I can hear Eriana-3 laughing at her.  And I am, even in this moment, stilling the urge to smack at mosquitoes which are no longer attempting to pierce my skin."

"You, Eriana, and Wei.  That's a Hunter, a Warlock and a Titan.  Got the full set for a fireteam.  One of each."

"Yes."

"You three must have got into so much trouble together."

"Hmmm... yes... I suppose we did."

"Oh hey!  Looks like Stranger's on her way back.  Time to pack up.  Can't wait to get outta this damn wind."

"Drifter."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"Happy Solstice, Three-Eyes."

"Happy Solstice."

[END TRANSCRIPT]

Be sure to check out the rest of the zine! It's full of art and writing from multiple people, including several pieces written by me!

[clatoera]

Picket Fence is Sharp as Knives Chapter 8: You Knew What You Wanted, and Boy You Got Her

Heeey besties sorry for yet another middle of the night fic drop. We are back and better than ever with some Clato content. This one and the next two are just all about them so! Live laugh clato era!. The next one..is in fact the one you have all been waiting for and I think this one gives the hint as to what that will be. Fun fact about this chapter, is this is the chapter i've been scheming for over a year. It is the reason I made the twins identical. All for this chapter to happen.

Masterpost

AO3

Title from Taylor Swift So High School, because this is like..referencing the uh..we'll just say readiness of her LOL. IDK it'll make sense when you read it.

As always let me tag my beloved @kentwells and @bodyelectric77 who literally listen to me do nothing but talk about this fic. I love u thank you for sticking around.

The first thing Clove does, every time she comes home, is kicks her shoes off without untying them. In the back of her mind she can hear her grandmother, telling her that's how she ruined them, by stepping on the feel with the opposite toe and yanking her foot out by the ankle. Later, she can hear Enobaria telling her at least she’s efficient and in all areas of her life she’s a quick girl. Now, she’s twenty three and even still, it is just so much simpler to slip her foot out of her shoes than take the time to untie them.

 She can always buy more. 

It’s one of the many things that, after the war that upended her life, has become part of new routine. It should shock noone that the kids who were raised in the strictest, highest level of training academy of District Two, grew into adults who craved some sort of order. Ones who especially craved it once every other aspect of the world around them changed. 

It was so simple, really. Clove goes on her little– little, being anywhere from four to twenty miles depending on how much her body could take– run. She comes home. She enters through the back door into the kitchen, because if she came in the front and Enobaria was home Cashmere would catch her on her way and talk to her for fifteen minutes. She took off her shoes, left then right, losing about an inch of height once the running shoes were off her feet. She takes approximately five steps to the island in the center of her kitchen, where she would take off her jacket if it were a cool day. On summer days like today, she pulls the elastic out of her hair and lets it tumble past her shoulders and to the middle of her back where it covers the exposed skin between the elastic bands of her workout clothes. Because it is the beginning of September and summer is threatening to close in on them anyday, she sometimes treats herself to the last of whatever seasonal fruit she has on hand. 

Today, though, she bypasses the snack as she glances at the clock above the stove. Six thirty. Something about the time brings her pause, as she cocks her head and strums her nails along the marble countertop. Six thirty. Early September. She just has this sense that she’s missing something. Were they supposed to be somewhere today?  

“Babe?” Clove calls out, distracted as she counts out something on her fingers. No. That wasn’t today. Nope, not that either. Nope, the trip to Four is next weekend. Enough seconds pass with no response that Cato either did not hear her or is not home, and at least if it’s the latter she can assume he remembered whatever she didn’t. She tries again, “Cato? Babe, are you home?” 

As she calls out she makes her way from the kitchen over towards her living room, still perplexed by whatever it is she apparently forgot to write down. She’s missing something. “Cato, I think we’re supposed to be doing something?” She tries again, but as she rounds the corner she is aggressively reminded of what she was supposed to be doing today. 

“Oh look, there’s your Aunt Clovey.” 

Clove stops short in the doorway, taken back by Cato standing not too far from the center of the room holding not one but two little blonde babies in either arm. Six months old, almost, and yet compared to the size of him they may as well have been six weeks. 

 God he’s fucking huge.

Focus, Clove, Focus.

Clove pauses, leaning her head on the doorframe for just the slightest of a second before she crosses the couple of steps to stand directly in front of Cato and the girls, who even still are all significantly above her eye level. “Cato..” Clove starts, an artificially sweet tone filling her voice as she reaches up to grab the hand of one of the twins, not entirely sure which is which yet. “Where did these babies come from?”

“Uh, Glimmer? I mean technically I guess they came from Marvel first but–” Cato shrugs, in doing so making both of the twins giggle as they’re lightly bounced in his arms. 

Early September. Six thirty. Three months after her wedding anniversary which is..Glimmer’s. 

“No shit, I know they came from Glimmer, Cato. I mean where is their dear mother?” Clove rolls her eyes at him, but holds her hands out to the baby he holds on his left, allowing her to lean her upper body into her hands and transfer into Clove’s awaiting arms. 

“She just left, literally minutes before you got home, you probably would have run into her if you came in the front.” Cato explains, though he doesn’t even spare a look in Clove’s direction. Instead he directs all of his words in the direction of the little blonde he still holds, gasping desperately for the baby’s attention. His efforts are rewarded as the baby reaches her little hand up to his face, grasping her little fingers at any part of his face she can find a grip in.

“I can’t believe she actually left them. I don’t think she can even sleep without holding them. I thought they’d be eighteen before she could step away.” Clove mumbles, running her own spare hand through the soft baby curls of whichever girl she holds. “Which one is this?”

“Oh, she didn’t want to leave them. She looked like she was going to cry so I just shut the door on her. I told her she needed to go have dinner or mediocre sex or something.” Cato waves off, peeling the baby’s hand off of his face before he flips her around to face Clove. In the same motion he settles her on his shoulders, little baby hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair in the meantime. He’s been built for a lifetime of discomfort, and so the grasp of a six month old was absolutely nothing on him. The silly smile does in fact start to fall from his face at Clove’s follow up question, and he narrows his eyes at the baby absolutely pulling at Clove’s free flowing hair. “You know, I didn’t get a chance to ask. She was grabbing their hands and I could see the tears and I just pushed her out.”

Clove raises a disbelieving eyebrow, taking the minute to narrow her eyes at her husband. “...you didn’t think to clarify which of the identical twins was which?”

“Well I would have, but I thought she was going to change her mind so. No. How about we’ll call this one Glimmer Two,” Cato holds up the baby’s arm and makes her wave at Clove, which earns an excited little babble in Clove’s direction. “And yours can be Glimmer Three.”

“She’s going to actually kill us if we mix them up. What happens when we switch them and then Stella spends her entire life thinking she’s her sister” Clove teases, but glances down at her own assigned baby who is fascinated by shoving fistfulls of dark hair into her mouth. 

“Stella?” She tries, looking between the two for a reaction. Both are too fascinated with the adult who holds them to notice, so she tries the alternative. “...Aurelia?” Again, neither grace her with any sort of attention or acknowledgement, and Clove huffs in impatience. “Now I know they know their damn names.”

“Yeah, and the superior twin likes me better, but they seem pretty unimpressed right now. Do you think there's a secret third?” Cato questions, trying to turn his head to glance up at his designated twin resting around his neck. “Are you Glimmer Two or Glimmer Four?”

“...I’m color coding them.” Clove determines, glancing around the room for the bag full of outfit changes Glimmer brings everywhere she goes. “Glimmer Two is in Pink, i’m putting this one in purple or something. Also you know if Glimmer hears you call one the superior twin she’s going to lose it.”

“Oh we all know you like Stella better, Clove.” Cato flips his baby back around, quite literally, and she lands in his arms with a squeal of delight. A smug smirk finds his face as he glances Clove over from her head to her toes. “I just like to bet on the littlest ones, you would know about that. Sometimes the runt can surprise you.”

“I don’t like Stella better, Stella just likes me better. Aurelia likes you, anyway.” Clove waves off, holding back her eye roll as she gently unravels the baby’s hand from her hair. She offers him a coy smirk, looking him up and down.  “Maybe I just take pity on the big ones. Especially the big dumb boys.” 

“She’s just saying that, she’s obsessed with me, kid.” He directs towards the baby (who, for what it’s worth is in fact Aurelia), managing to drape the entirety of her little body over the length of his forearm. “It can’t be that bad, they can’t be gone long anyway. I give ‘em two hours max.”

“Lucky for us they actually need their mother so they don’t starve, she’ll come back soon.” Clove assures herself more than anyone else. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the girls, quite the opposite actually. She’d even go as far as to say she adores them, but only to certain people who asked. Still, it wasn’t like she had any experience with being alone and responsible for entirely dependent human beings. Unless, of course, you count preteen Cato. At that thought she glanced around, her attention honing in on the haphazard collections of knives and other weapons around the general vicinity. “...watch her. I need a minute.”

Clove slides Stella down to the floor, and once she is sitting independently on the carpet, Clove goes to step away and collect the literal weapons out of their grasp. Almost instantly a high pitched whining comes from the baby, who immediately has her hands up in the air towards Clove, baby hands clenching into clingy little grasps for attention. Clove pauses, turning in place when she feels the little hands grabbing at her sock. “Seriously?”

The whining intensifies, turning desperate and higher in pitch as Clove glances down at the baby by her leg. She notices the pouty lower lip and almost immediately freezes. “No, no no no, no crying. Please. No crying.” Clove’s eyes immediately flit up to Cato, who’s still standing by her with the smuggest grin on his face. “A little help would be nice, Cato.”

“Fuck it, Clove. They can’t move anyway.” Cato points out, nodding his head towards the whining baby at her feet. “She’s probably literally never been put down in her life, just hold her.”

Clove audibly sighs, and exchanges the handful of metal for a handful of baby. It’s like she’s hit the metaphorical off switch, and the baby immediately stops her threat of tears. Stella settles right against Clove’s hip , laying her head down on her shoulder with not a threat of shedding a single tear. “Is this a joke? Are we going to have to hold them all night?”

“That has to be Stella. She liiikes you.” Cato decides, before he decides to kick back onto the couch with the twin he has deemed Aurelia. “Don’t act like the world’s ending, there’s worst things to be doing than holding cute babies, Clove.”

“They are cute.” Clove muses, resting her cheek on top of the little blonde head on her shoulder. “It’s fucking weird, they really do look just like Glimmer. It’s weird to be holding little versions of Glimmer.” 

“They’re just lucky they don’t look like Marvel.” Without much warning Cato reaches out and grabs Clove by the band of her sports bra, jerking her back towards the couch. As soon as her knees hit the edge he pulls her down and to his side, looping his free arm around her waist. 

It’s instinctive, the way she pulls her feet up and tucks them over his knee, angling her body towards him like the second nature that it is. “Isn’t it like..a weird thing to you? That our friends made these. Like..literally made them. Glimmer grew these hands.” She holds up Stella’s hand for emphasis, before it once again embeds in the lengths of her hair. 

“I feel like they should probably thank us for existing, I mean it was our wedding. It’s not typical that you need to ask your friends to watch your six month olds on your first anniversary.” Cato teases, before he pinches at Clove’s exposed skin. 

“Glimmer doesn’t appreciate the reminder of her shotgun wedding, you know that.” Clove flinches out of his grasp, letting out a yelp that startles one of the twins out of whatever little trance they seemed to be in. “She’s a good mom though. They’re lucky girls, to have ended up with her. I think she was born to be a mother.”

She misses the way Cato seems to be staring at her with something on his mind, as she has to once again pry her hair out of the death grip of a child. This time she has to also pull her strands of hair from Stella’s fist and mouth, only barely containing her disgust at moisture in her hair. “Do you think they’re hungry?”

“Huh?” He is only half paying attention, pulled from a daydream or something as Clove brings him back to their current reality. “What did you say?” “I said do you think they’re hungry, space cadet.” Clove teases, pushing herself back off of him so she could settle the baby in her lap. “She’s trying to eat my hair.”

“..can we even feed them anything in this house? Can babies…eat? I’m sure their parents fed them, Clove. Do they even have teeth?”

“Oh they have teeth, haven’t you heard Glimmer complain about it? Besides, babe, we go to their house three days a week so I can fill their fridge with baby and Marvel safe snacks. We’ve been doing it for two months.” She points out, before she’s off the couch and heading back towards the kitchen with one of the twins still tightly situated on her hip. 

Cato wastes no time following behind, albeit a little annoyed to be off the couch already after he had just started to get comfortable with her. “Are they even hungry?”

“I don’t know Cato, I just know I feel this urge to feed them, okay? Like it’s my job.” Clove waves off, flittering over to her usual side of the kitchen as Cato settles in across the island.

“Hmm..is it you who likes strawberries or are you the kiwi baby?” Clove asks the baby in her left arm, grabbing a handful of both out of the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. 

“I don’t think she’ll answer you.” Cato teases, sitting his twin on the island and holding her up against his chest. “I actually don’t know when babies talk.”

“I”m surprised these ones don’t already, considering their dad never shuts up.” She comments, holding her left hand firmly down on her twin’s arms and hands, so she cannot lunge for the knife in her right hand. “They like..babble at each other though. They’re probably telling each other we’re incompetent.” As if it’s nothing, Clove easily uses the knife to start cutting perfect heart shaped slices out of a strawberry with only one hand, the other still holding Stella (she thinks) back. She lets go of her hand to give her a single sliced heart, and immediately has to grab at her little baby hand once again. “No, baby, please don’t maim yourself. You have parents who could actually try to kill me.” She tilts her head when Stella crinkles her little nose, looking at Clove in confusion before resuming her babbling at her. “...are you the kiwi baby then?” 

She slides Cato the plate of strawberries for the other baby, before she resumes her one handed slicing and shaping. “How about we do Kiwi stars, since we have strawberry hearts?” Clove asks the babies, who simply continue their normal baby babbles at her and each other. 

She’s distracted by her knife work, handing pieces of fruit back and forth to both of the twins, each time emphasizing the fruit and the shape before she’d hand them a new slice. She feels the sticky kiwi covered hand on her collarbone and lets out an audible groan, “That's not very nice, baby blondie.” 

Clove glances up to see if Aurelia (maybe) is also covering Cato in the sugary handprints, and is instead met with Cato just staring at her with an adoring depth to his blue eyes. There's half a smile on his face, and he just looks lovestruck. Clove narrows her eyes back at him, shaking her head just a little. “What are you looking at?”

“Just you.” Cato muses, not even phased when a sticky piece of strawberry is shoved towards his mouth as he ducks out of the way. “I’m thinking, that's all. You just look really really good right now. With her.”

Clove hesitates, watching as Aurelia succeeds in shoving a now mushed strawberry into his unsuspecting mouth. Clove truly cannot help but laugh, nose scrunching up as she does so, and it must be infectious as little miss Stella laughs at Clove laughing at Cato.  

He clearly decides not to push his luck with whatever he’s thinking about (and Clove, for what it’s worth can connect the dots). “Can you make some big people food, too? I don’t think I can survive on star shaped strawberries.”

“Um Educate yourself, Cato, the strawberries are hearts and the kiwis are the stars.”

“My mistake, how about some triangle shaped steak?”

Clove does make the two of them adult dinner, too. Albeit it all ends up cut into finger foods, consisting of half moon shaped sweet potato slices, perfectly square carrot chips, and yes, even triangular shaped overcooked (“Intentionally Overcooked, you can’t give a baby rare steak, Cato”) slices of steak.

Later, Clove pawns both twins off on Cato so she can rinse the traces of smushed sweet potato and carrot, along with the sweat from her much earlier run, out of her hair and off of her skin. She wins the race to the shower with the simple reminder that she fed them so she gets to have ten minutes to wash handprints off of her skin. 

She comes back downstairs more than just ten minutes later, an oversized shirt she borrowed from Cato serving as a dress, wet hair wrapped in a towel atop her head and safely out of the grip of curious little babies. She’s halfway back down the staircase, when she is brought to a stop by the sound of Cato and his one sided conversation.

No, not one sided, but met with avid, nonsensical baby babbles in response. 

“See, you roll the ball and it comes back and you have to get it when it comes back, you have to catch it Glimmer Two..Three..Two…Whichever Mini Glimmer.” 

Clove peaks her head around the corner, to see Cato sitting  less than the length of his legs away from the wall, the twins situated side by side in front of him. He’s rolling a weighted ball into the wall, letting it slowly return and land at the feet of either twin. Once the ball hits one of their feet they squeal in delight, before they both turn back to look at him sets of wide green eyes waiting for him to push it back.

“You can use your legs! Come on, kick it.” Cato tries again, this time grabbing one of their little feet and nudging at the ball, earning delighted giggles from both of them. 

“Where did you learn how to do that?” Clove interrupts, breaking into a bemused smile as she settles down on the floor beside them. Almost instantly his hand comes up to rest on her knee, squeezing gently before he nudges the ball away. 

“This? I used to do this when Cora was little. I didn’t know how to play with her.” He explains, using his other hand to send the ball rolling back towards the baseboard again. “I still don’t know how, apparently.”

“They clearly love it.” She assures him, raising her eyebrows into a playful smile as the girls both lock in their gaze on her instead of the ball. One reaches little grabby hands towards her again, and she offers the baby her finger to hold to tie her over with Cato for just a little bit longer. “You’re good with them. Like…really really really good. You should probably do it more often.”

“I don’t think they’re going to be very athletic, which is kind of shocking considering who they came from..” Cato muses, nodding towards the baby that is so enamored with Clove. “I think they like you, Clovey.”

“They’re six months old, give them time to grow some coordination.” Her smile softens as she leans in and scoops up whoever it is, letting the baby snuggle directly into her arms. “Baby, which one of them is this?”

“I have to be honest Clove, I have no fucking idea.” 

“Glimmer will be back for them soon, anyway.” Clove shrugs, taking the opportunity to lay her head on Cato’s shoulder, stifling her own yawn as she watches one of the twins do the same. “This is weirdly exhausting. Not in a bad way. Just..I’m really fucking tired.”

“It’s probably easier if there's only one.” Cato shrugs, gently pushing the ball out of reach and settling the remaining twin in his own arm. “You’re right though. I don’t know how Glimmer is literally always bouncing off of a wall with them.”

“It’s ‘cause they’re all she’s ever wanted.” Clove slurs, stifling another yawn into his shoulder, leaving her forehead pressed into him for just a minute. “It’s like she’s living a dream.”

“I mean…I get it.” He admits, keeping his eyes focused on the baby who was rubbing adamantly at her little tired eyes. 

“Yeah?” Clove mumbles in response, resting more and more of her weight against Cato’s arm. 

“Yeah.” He reiterates, subconsciously moving his right arm containing the baby, lulling her closer to the sleep she clearly craved. “I think we should talk about-”

Before he can finish his sentence, he feels the bulk of weight sink into his left arm. He glances over to Clove, who has fully slipped to sleep against him, as has the baby who clings to her neck. 

“I guess we’ll talk about it later, huh Kiddo?” He whispers to the baby he holds, who is quickly falling asleep herself. Cato surveys between the three of them, and the tired smile he wears falls when he realizes he has more sleeping girls on his hands than he has arms.

It’s..God only knows..how long later when Clove is startled awake by a hand on her shoulder shaking her gently. “Clove..Clove, we’re back.” 

She’s jolted awake, really, disoriented and confused. Somehow (Cato) she ended up in the recliner, covered in a thick furry blanket with the baby sprawled out on top of her. Her hand almost instinctively comes to the baby’s head as she’s startled awake, just naturally trying to keep her calm and sleeping in her arms. “Huh, what, what time is it?”

“It’s nine thirty one.” Comes an amused, whispering tone from her left, where Marvel’s hand still rests on her shoulder from where he just shook her awake. “The lights were all off, we knew you had to be asleep. How were they?”

“Fuck, I thought it had to be like three in the morning, what do you mean it’s only nine thirty?” Cato mumbles from across the room, where he’s fully sprawled out on the couch with the other twin asleep on top of his chest. 

“We told you we’d only be a few hours..” Glimmer chimes in, the noise of sequins rustling against each other mixed with heels on hardwood announcing her entrance. “Where are my girls, I miss them!”

“Can you whisper, we just got to sleep.” Clove whines, forcing her eyes open as she feels the baby she holds beginning to move and wake at the sound of her parents. She peaks an eye open up at Marvel where he stands over her and can’t help but smirk at the ruffled hair and pink lipstick at the collar of his shirt and dipping underneath. “Looks like you had a good night.”

“Good for you, we didn’t watch them for nothing then. I’m proud of you, Marvel.” Cato mocks, though he doesn’t even bother to open his eyes to make fun of them. 

Glimmer’s eye roll may as well have been audible, as she is heard tossing her shoes to the side with an audible thunk as they hit the wall. “You two are the actual worst, now give me Stella. I need her first. We’re just staying here, by the way, it’s too late to take them on the train.”

“It’s nine fucking thirty? Too late, what happened to nights starting at nine thirty” Cato questions, finally forcing himself to a half sitting position so he can fully (playfully) berate their friends. 

“It’s fine, you can stay, that's..fine. Whatever.” Clove half heartedly waves a hand off in defeat. “Stella? Do you have a favorite? Is that why you need her first?”

“Don’t be silly, Clove. It’s the schedule. I feed Stella while Marvel gives Aurelia her little bath and gets her ready for bed, and then we switch before they go to sleep. It’s a little routine.” Glimmer explains, kneeling beside Clove with a tired smile. “Which one do you have?”

Cato and Clove freeze, eyes flitting towards the other just momentarily. 

“Uh..yeah..I have one of them.” Clove starts, before Cato cuts her off. 

“I have no idea, they’re literally identical. You didn’t color code them, how were we supposed to know?”

Marvel’s eyebrows scrunch together in real confusion, looking between their overly-tired friends. “What do you mean, they’re not identical?”

“The fuck do you mean-”

Marvel laughs, not even bothering to stay quiet for the sake of not waking the girls. It doesn’t hurt, though, because as soon as the baby in Clove’s arms hears him she is woken from her dead sleep. She lifts her little head, whipping it as fast as she can to find the source. As soon as she sees him, despite how tired she is, the widest smile breaks out on her baby face. It’s as if Clove is a stranger as soon as the baby sees her dad, when one baby hand comes up to reach for him. 

He wastes absolutely no time taking his girl, and if the baby seemed to snuggle into Clove before, she practically melts against Marvel as soon as she is in his arms. If a baby could hold stress she would have just released all of it, snuggling her face into the fabric of his shirt. She absolutely clings to him, babbling softly until she’s effectively nestled into him. “Hi angel baby,” He whispers to her, kissing the top of her curl covered head as she clings to her dad. “Did you miss us too?”

“He’s kidding. But, also, I didn’t think I needed to color code them. Their earrings are their initials.” Glimmer teases, reaching down to just scoop the still sleeping Stella off of Cato. “Stella also likes to talk more, and Aurelia likes to bite on her hands more. I think she’s getting another tooth. Can’t wait for that.” She deadpans, instantly pulling her little blonde baby to eye level and kissing all over her face. Stella giggles, wrapping her little hands around the top of Glimmer’s. “God I missed you, sunshine.”

“I swear they liked us!” Clove defends, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “I thought they did.” They had initialed earrings. Of course they did. 

“Of course they do, we’re just their parents.” Glimmer promises, before curling up at the end of the couch nearest Clove with Stella absolutely curled up against her. “They’ve never been away from us. They probably thought we were gone forever-”

“Glimmer not this again, please don’t cry-” Marvel pleads, subconsciously swaying back and forth with Aurelia in his arms. 

“I’m not crying. I’m just saying. They’ve never stayed with someone else before. Ever.”

“Not that we minded, but, wasn’t it a little freaky to leave them a District away? I thought you would have asked Cashmere, she’s right there?” Clove asks through a yawn, head resting in the palm of her hand as she rests her elbow on the armrest. “Like I said, not that we care but…”

Glimmer gives a tired smile herself, looking away from her daughter and up at Clove. She even spares a glance at Cato before letting out a little sigh. “We could have asked Cash or Gloss, sure. I dunno. They’re great. They would do everything for me. They would have said yes but…” 

“We talked about it a lot,” Marvel interjects, giving a little shrug. “We barely wanted to leave them at all.”

“We just…thought they’d be better with you two. We’ve never left them, but if something had happened to us and we never came home…we knew they’d be safe here. You’d take care of them. I dunno, it just felt right. We trust you, we felt the best leaving them with you two. You aren’t like..parents. But you could be.” 

“And Cato was going to force us out the door, we knew that too.”

“You’re welcome for that, you clearly benefited, Marvel.” Cato scoffs, but sits forward and digs his hands into his eyes to allow himself to stay awake. Not even ten and he’s fighting sleep, how the hell did he get here from the kid who won the Hunger Games?

“Oh. That's..oh.” Clove whispers, the gravity of their trust in her leaving her borderline speechless. They’ve seen what she was capable of and they still chose her, they still trusted her with the most important part of their lives. “..thank you…”

“At the end of the day, we love Cash and Enobaria but..when it comes to who’s going to do a better job at playing house with our babies..it’s an easy choice. It’s not even a question. You aren’t parents but you could be. Good ones, too.” Glimmer smiles, offering the words with genuine love for her friends. “And Clove knows how to cook, which is a plus too. Speaking of, honey, can you get me a snack?”

“Damn, you got Glimmer asking for food, good for you, you did something right today.” Cato practically jumps off the couch to grab Marvel by the shoulder. “I’m so proud of you. And I’d say thank you, Glimmer, but you’re right. We’ve actually never been less than perfect at anything we’ve ever done ever in our lives. We’re kind of flawless, if you didn’t know!”

“You’re the fucking worst, man.” Marvel mumbles, but does follow Cato’s guidance into the kitchen.

“He is the worst.” Glimmer tells Clove once the boys are gone, tucking her feet up into the couch with her before she shifts Stella in her arms. “Not entirely. I meant what I said. We trust you. And you would be good at it. I know you don’t want to, and I respect that. But you’d be good at it. The girls adore you.”

“...yeah, I know.” Clove admits, curling up on her side, pulling her blanket back up over her shoulder as she turns in her chair to face Glimmer. Before she thinks too long about the fluttery feeling she has in her chest, at the compliments but also just the idea of her own little blondes, she abruptly changes the conversation. “ You’re a good mom, Glimmer. The best, really. But I gotta say,I feel like it’s not the most romantic anniversary in the world, to sleep at your friends’ house with your babies.”

“Clove. I don’t know if we ever would have gotten back together if it weren’t for the girls. We would not be even having an anniversary, let alone married, if it were not for them. They are, quite literally, to thank for that.” Glimmer brushes her perfectly manicured nails over Stella’s curls, keeping her calm and comforted in the safety of her arms. “And you know, I gotta give it to them. You think you can’t love someone any more than you do, right? Like you think you’re living a dream but, Clove, it doesn’t even come close to how much I love him when I see him with the girls. There is nothing, in the entire world, better than waking up next to him with the girls between us. Nothing. It’s quite literally a dream come true. It’s better than a dream, Clove. You think you love someone..but then you make new people to love with them and it’s just…I can’t even describe it, Clove. I can’t describe it. I can only imagine that the reason I survived all of that…nightmare...was to be able to have this life, Clove. I know, it’s not my business, but I hope you get to feel it one day.  There is nothing in the world like it. It is so so so worth all of it. They are worth it.”

Clove pauses for a few seconds that to her feels like hours. She could hesitate, she could start listing off all the reasons she absolutely should not (could not), she could list off the million and one unknowns that she and her routines could not account for. Maybe it’s her exhaustion, or maybe it’s the permanent look of Cato giving her that lovestruck look burned into her brain, but she doesn’t offer a refute. 

“I believe you,” is all she offers instead.

[crushribbons]

20 q's for fic writers

tagged by the incomparable @strangethings-everywhere ty sweetness 🤍

How many works do you have on AO3? i am one hundred years old and have never made an ao3 account so i'll answer these abt my tumblr LOL i have 8 works on my masterlist currently

What's your total AO3 word count? brother i've no idea FJLDJSFD

What fandoms do you write for? oh so many, obvs primarily HL and TBITB right now but i'd love to get into writing GOT, Dune, and some nichier ones hehe

Top five fics by kudos? no idea of the other four but my fic Birdie seems to be That Girl

Do you respond to comments? always try to!! they make my entire life!!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? errr maybe my ominis gaunt arranged marriage fic where she DOESN'T run away with him at the end mwahaha

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? all the other ones DJAFLDKSFJL i am a happy ending truther 😭

Do you get hate on fics? in the past probably...definitely have gotten demands and way-too-detailed suggestions about fics but i have never and will never give people who are too afraid to create something the power to critique it :/ #writeityaself

Do you write smut? severus snape voice obviouslyyyyy

Craziest crossover? does brainstorming a crack threesome w @seasidesandstarscapes count JFLKSJFLSJF

Have you ever had a fic stolen? soo many, people have definitely taken advantage of the fact that i'm not on ao3 by yanking my stuff and putting it on there but i have opps everywhere so people usually let me know when that happens LMAO

Have you ever had a fic translated? i do not think so but would love to!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? yesss back in the day me and my girls would ALL the time and i think it is such an excellent exercise to build on what someone else starts!!

All time favorite ship ugh impossible...probably something dorky like macdennis

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? i have a newt scamander /squib!fOC fic sitting in the drafts that i can't seem to crack but i love the beginning very dearly 🥺

What are your writing strengths? if i find any i'll let y'all know

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? perfection when done correctly!! usually if i don't speak any of the language i won't do more than a word or two, though, to be safe.

First fandom you wrote in? oh my godly goodness....maybe genuinely like one direction or something like that when i was TEENY TINY do NAHT hold it against me

Favorite fic you've written? oh i had some i really loved from old fandoms but currently, probably my silly little garreth weasley bridgertonesque fic...she was so pretty and fun to write <3 also very sweet spot in my heart for my bobby moch fic fair game 🥺

anna said there's no 20th question so i'l just say i love you :)

zerooo pressure tags for @wedonthaveawhile @pluviowriting @myokk mes enfants 🤍

[erseac]

Venom

Explicit, Zoé/Marinette, a bit dub-con

“Okay, I’m sorry to put this on you, but I have a big secret to share”, said Zoé. Marinette looked up, interested.

“It’s a bit dangerous to know it, but Ladybug said it was okay, so… here goes. I am a superhero. Sometimes.”

Zoé let out a big sigh. Good to finally get it out there.

“Wow, that’s so cool! Which one?”, Marinette shouted excitedly. “Can you show me your suit?”

“Vesperia”, said Zoé. Okay, Marinette was taking this well. Ladybug had said that she probably would, but it was still a relief to hear it from her. She’d have expected at least a bit of doubt, but apparently not. Okay then, let’s give the lady what she wants. “Pollen, buzz on!”

The familiar yellow light filled Marinette’s room as the magic changed Zoé’s outfit. When she looked up, Marinette was staring at her with those big blue eyes.

“That’s amazing!”

“Thank you!”, said Zoé excitedly. “I still can’t believe Ladybug chose me.”

“Why not? You’re smart and brave and have a strong sense of justice. You’re a perfect hero.”

As usual, Zoé fell just a little bit more for Marinette. How could anybody not? The superhero suit made her feel strong, but Marinette made her feel powerful.

“So, there’s a reason I’m showing you this”, said Zoé, trying to think of the bullet points she practiced beforehand while Marinette’s smile was distracting her. “Ladybug is giving out the Miraculouses to various holders to practice their powers. That’s great, but my power is venom, I can’t practice that on my own. I need a human subject who is willing to get frozen. I know it’s a big ask, it’s super-scary, but Ladybug said that you would be the perfect-“

“I’ll do it!”

Read the rest on Ao3

As an author's note, I am posting this today to celebrate the second anniversary of @fuckyeahladybug's ML Kink Meme (so really this story is their fault).

This project was really the reason why I got into writing smut stories at all. I had been thinking about it before, for years in fact, but I always told myself I wasn't good enough and it was too scary. Reading the prompts on the ML Kink Meme and writing my own was very liberating. It made it clear to me that it was okay if stories were short, beginner-level, weird, wacky or self-indulgent, as long as I had fun. That was something I would have agreed with before, but that project really made me internalise it. I ended up mostly writing my own things directly, but I still love this project and want it to succeed.

It's no secret that it's still very much at the beginning, of course, but we can all change that by promoting it, writing prompts and most importantly writing prompt fills — not because we owe the ML Kink Meme anything, but because doing so and having it around is fun.

My specific suggestion here is to people who are thinking about writing erotica but are scared of actually doing it: Go there, look at the prompts, see if anything strikes your fancy. Maybe write some prompts of your own. Maybe fill a prompt that seems interesting, even if it's just with a hundred words (and even if it already has a story or its your own prompt, those are both okay). It doesn't have to be perfect, it can be weird and short. You are fully free.

And if you're worried about this being tied to a user name that people know, you can always do what I did and create an explicit-rated second account for this purpose.

[sohemotional]

That Don't Impress Me Much - A Brittana Fic

Summary: The blonde dancer totally knew the effect she had on her. It was so easy to rile the dark-haired woman up and as she beckoned her closer with a finger, Santana kept gazing at her lips, making it so obvious what she wanted.

She leaned closer, knowing that Santana would feel her breathing against her neck and as she expected, there was a sharp, aroused intake of breath from the Latina.

She even closed her eyes, puckering her lips as if Brittany was going to kiss her.

As if.

“My name is no. My sign is no. My number is no. You need to let it go.”

Or

Brittany is tired of being taken advantage of by selfish, egotistical jerks, so she makes a plan with her friend Tina that she can make some idiot fall for her and then ditch them after she has had her fun. Her plans backfire when she’s swept off her feet by arrogant yet surprisingly sweet celebrity Santana Lopez.

Rating: M

Read More on AO3

***This is a companion piece to my other Brittana AU fic, "My Name Is No (You Need To Let It Go),” which you can find here on tumblr or on AO3

Brittany had just about had enough of fuckboys and fuckgirls. 

There she was, sitting alone in a crummy little diner, all by her lonesome on Saturday night, her date nowhere to be found. Being the only hot, young blonde in fishnets, heels so high she was close to God, and a skirt so short it was probably illegal while surrounded by desperate bikers and hicks who licked their lips as they leered at her should have made her feel like she was walking through the valley of the shadow of death. Or maybe she should have felt the way those fish in her dad’s aquarium felt that time Lord Tubbington took up scuba diving as his new hobby. 

Instead, Brittany was unfazed. As she water-skied down the highway of life, she had seen it all. 

That one old Dolly Parton song her mother and Grandma Rose from St. Olaf used to like so much was playing in the background now. It made her pretty nostalgic for the good old days in the Pierce house. Sometimes Brittany felt this one should have been the soundtrack to her life, if she ever had to choose a replacement for “Candy” by Cameo.

Don't try to cry your way out of this

Don't try to lie or I'll catch you in it

Don't try to make me feel sorry for you

Just because I'm blonde

Don't think I'm dumb

Cause this dumb blonde ain't nobody's fool

When you left you thought I'd sit

An' you thought I'd wait

An' you thought I'd cry

You called me a dumb blonde

Ah, but somehow I lived through it

And you know if there's one thing this blonde has learned

Blondes have more fun

There was nothing Brittany loved more than sex and she knew she was the best. Hoeing was her hobby. If there were competitions for this, she would have won the Olympic Gold medal. In fact, she had won the kissing competition in Lima five years in a row easily, if that meant anything. 

Sure fuckboys and fuckgirls were kinda fun, especially when she got them in bed for the fucking part of things but a girl needed some romance in her life too. 

After the first few times, she was over them. No one could hold her interest and it seemed like she never held theirs. To them, she was always just stupid bimbo slut Brittany. Good for an easy lay but not for a relationship. 

Sure she knew she was hot but Brittany was beginning to wonder why she was never the girl who got flowers or love confessions and marriage proposals made to her. She was never the girl who got her happily ever after.  

All she wanted was a cowboy to ride her off into the sunset. 

“Tina, he just left me,” She sobbed into the phone as she heard Mike muttering something to his girlfriend in the background that vaguely sounded like him asking where Brittany was. “I’m at the Little Alien Inn!”

So now she was crying because she got ditched again. 

“Bad bitches don’t cry.” 

At least, that was what Tina told her when she and Mike stopped by to take her home but Brittany wasn’t so sure she was a bad bitch at that moment. 

Mike and Tina each grabbed one of her arms, all about dragging her out of the diner in her bra and skirt when she had started to take off her clothes and perform a strip show on top of a table as she often did. 

“You must think I’m such a mess.” Brittany sobbed, mascara running down her cheeks. Tina and Mike who were accustomed to picking up Brittany from sleazy bars and motels weren’t particularly surprised by any of this. 

“Oh Britt, it’s not you. It’s that vile idiot. You don’t need any of them! Just be your hot girl self. You’re an independent woman who don’t need no man or woman! Hot girl summer and all that.” 

Brittany wasn’t so sure about that at the moment. She felt like a codependent woman who was very much in need of a man or woman. 

“Maybe Room Temperature Girl Summer?” 

Tina shook her head, a long-suffering expression on her face, snorting out an incredulous, unladylike laugh as she passed another tissue to the blonde. She was so accustomed to Brittany’s oddball personality that she had come to expect comments like that from her. Apparently noticing that her tall, blonde friend was moping the night away on their couch with a pout on her face, she took pity on her. 

“Here’s an idea: make a game out of it. Make some fuckboy go all crazy for you next time and then you ditch them when you’ve had your fun and laugh in their face.” 

“Oh this, I’d pay to see.” Mike chimed in from across the room. 

A mischievous smile tugged at the corners of Brittany’s lips as she thought her friends were making a good point. 

That night, something hardened inside of her and changed for her.

Tina was right, it was time she had some more self-respect and Brittany began to realize how much more she was worth than just a quick lay in the backseat of someone’s car until they moved on to the next girl. 

——

She got her confidence back pretty quickly because if there was one thing about Brittany it was that she didn’t stay depressed for long.  

So the next week she was slinking around The Pussy Cat with feline-like confidence and agility, ignoring the men who gawked at her, hissing and cat-calling as she passed by. She didn’t have a care in the world. 

Who cared about girlfriends and boyfriends? She was just there to have fun with her friends. So that’s what she was going to do. 

She was having such a great time that she really did forget about her troubles.

Then she felt her burning gaze on her from across the room. The stranger in question was a Latina with black hair, equally dark eyes, glowing dark skin, and a very slim but toned build. Her long hair fell in perfectly tousled dark waves. 

She didn’t take her eyes off of Brittany once and had her jaw dropped as she took in the sight of the blonde. The blonde had never seen such a clear demonstration of “undressing someone with your eyes” in action.

Brittany couldn’t deny that the woman had this powerful, commanding aura about her. 

She paid absolutely no mind to it, humming to herself as she twirled around and rolled her body perfectly in time with the beat. Then she sauntered back to her friends, giggling to herself as she thought of something her cat had done the night before. 

Sugar tapped her on the shoulder. 

“Oh Britt, you’ve got another admirer. That one is checking you out so hard. She looks like she’s drooling. I can see her boner from over here… ” 

Brittany’s friends began to snicker obnoxiously. The blonde smirked and shrugged. It was super obvious that the painfully horny brunette was checking her out the entire time, muttering “Humina, humina,” but Brittany wasn’t bothered one way or another.

“Oh, okay. I just want to dance.” 

Tina, Sugar, Marley, and the others were gawking at her. Sugar eventually piped up.  

“Don’t you know who that is?! It’s Santana Lopez.”

“Who?”

“Brittany! How do you not know? She’s a celebrity! She was on Bad Girls Club.”

“Oh.”

“She’s openly lesbian too.”

“No duh. I could tell,” Brittany stated dryly, remembering how that woman had stared at her legs and ass. Come to think of it, Santana was still doing that. Brittany shook her head, rolling her eyes fondly at her friend. Sugar was always trying to matchmake her with someone and that girl knew everything about celebrities. She looked down at her nails, inspecting the pale pink polish on them while she knew Santana was checking her out again. “Uh, whatever. So not interested.” 

She definitely wasn’t looking for anyone that night but if she managed to torment them, then that was a bonus. Men and some women always seemed to assume that if Brittany was dancing, it meant she was looking for a partner. 

“What’s all that noise?” Brittany spoke up, hearing a bit of a commotion. “It’s kind of annoying.” 

It turned out that the woman who had been checking her out was being totally loud and obnoxious now. She laughed really loudly, banging her fist on the table and being a total show-off. She threw back drinks until she was visibly red in the face. Then she started to sing as she got up on the table, drawing a crowd until some short woman with a serious expression pulled her back down before she embarrassed herself. She clearly thought she was so desirable and hot. 

She probably thought that Brittany didn’t notice how she kept sneaking glances in her direction. A sly smirk came to Brittany’s lips. This woman was such a goofy dork and she was extremely obvious. Brittany had never seen someone who tried so, so hard and was so painfully lacking in self-awareness. 

It was almost cute. 

Brittany knew this woman’s type just from looking at her. She was also a little psychic. 

She could tell this stranger was such a stereotypical arrogant womanizer with an ego the size of a small planet and thought of women as nothing more than warm bodies. She was so vain, she probably looked at herself in every reflective surface she passed. She was so selfish and spoiled that she thought the world revolved around her. 

She was totally Brittany’s type. 

She didn’t need her though. She was done with playboys forever. 

At least that’s what she told herself when she followed her friends over to the bar. She taken a few sips from the strawberry daiquiri in her hand when she began to blink in confusion as a margarita was placed in front of her. 

“It’s from that lady over there. She sent this and she asked me to tell you that you’re stunning.” 

“Aw, that’s sweet. Tell her I’m so not interested.” Brittany quipped with a sassy flip of her long wavy hair. 

Brittany glanced over her shoulder to see Santana waving and giving her this smug smile that made these stupid, cute dimples deepen on both of her cheeks.

Tina and her other friends were just watching her with amusement as Brittany continued to ignore Santana. All of her friends clearly found this so hilarious, though they were supporting her in her decision to completely ignore all the perverts and fuckboys who were trying to get her. 

“Wow, Santana’s really going for it. Looks like someone’s dying for your attention.” Mike chuckled. 

“Ugh, here we go. I so don’t care. She’s just horny. Why do they always see a woman sitting alone and assume she wants a companion?” The sass was dripping from Brittany’s voice as she tossed her hair back over her shoulder and curled her lip, ignoring the drink Santana sent her. “Newsflash, no thanks.” 

Santana kept giving her the eye no matter how much Brittany made it clear that she wasn’t going to fall into her arms. Ugh, Brittany rolled her eyes with exasperation and amusement, couldn’t Ms. Egotistical take a hint?

Apparently not. 

“Oh don’t look now, here she comes. She got it bad.” Sugar snorted as everyone began to chuckle at the sight of Santana Lopez swaggering over with her shoulders thrown back.

Brittany had to hand it to her, the woman was the only one who had been brave enough to approach her like this all night. 

Too bad the blonde was so not in the mood. 

Brittany was feeling bitchy. She knew the routine by now. They all wanted to know her name, her number, her sign… Brittany was curious about whatever sleazy pick-up line Ms. Arrogant was going to give her and she didn’t disappoint. 

Santana had this stupid, cute cheesy smirk on her face and her teeth were gleaming white. 

She was so typical Hollywood sleaze.  

“Hi. You’re gorgeous,” Okay, she was starting off being a little charming with that opening line, Brittany had to admit but she just knew the sleaze would be coming next. “Dayum, Girl. Where’d you learn to dance like that? Who you dancing like that for looking all hot like that?”

Not for you, Jerk :) That’s for sure. 

“What I want to know is, what time them legs open?” 

Like I haven’t heard that one a million times before… 

It was so lame. Even though she was in stunned disbelief, Brittany couldn’t help but notice Santana now and she gave it back to her with a sassy comeback of her own. 

“Oh, is that supposed to be a pick up line?” 

Brittany was beginning to wonder if Santana had ever actually flirted with a woman before, far less managed to pick up one. There was a flash of lust in her dark eyes when Brittany said that and she looked as if she was about to combust on the spot. 

“So, you know, I’m on top of things. Would you like to be one of them?”

Brittany could barely hold back her laugh, cupping a hand over her mouth as she rolled her eyes. Santana continued to puff up her chest and peacock around her, as if she expected Brittany to be totally impressed. 

“Ooo, is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

She could not be for real. This was the great, powerful celebrity Santana Lopez her friends were in awe of? She really thought she was charming the dress off of Brittany with those corny lines.

Brittany couldn’t wait to tell Tina about this later. She knew her friend would be laughing about it forever. 

“Ooo, I’m in trouble.”

Santana as always, was unfazed by Brittany’s ice cold, dismissive attitude. The preppy blonde decided to tease her even more, getting close and poking her finger into Santana’s chest confidently. Brittany couldn’t deny that the way Santana’s eyebrows rose and her lips parted as if she was flustered by the blonde invading her personal space amused her to no end. 

“Oh that’s how it is, huh? What’s your name, Pretty Girl?” 

Anytime Brittany was snippy towards her, the woman looked at her with obvious arousal written all over her face. She was pushing back her dark hair, trying so, so hard to look all cool and suave but she had this stupid, goofy look of excitement on her face that made it difficult for Brittany not to start giggling. She had to cover her hand over her mouth as she laughed in her face. 

The more Brittany acted all aloof and mysterious, the more she turned on Ms. Egomaniac. She swore she saw the woman clenching her thighs together when Brittany gave another sassy response to her. 

Brittany had been one of the most popular cheerleaders at school and homecoming queen. She knew how to handle vain, uncouth Santana Lopez types. 

Except she had never met anyone quite as hot as Santana before. 

Now that she was so physically close to Santana, she couldn’t stop herself from checking the girl out, noticing that she was slightly shorter than her with a toned, slim build that the simple black dress she was wearing displayed so well. Brittany couldn’t help but notice the slight muscle tone in her arms and how radiant her brown skin was. 

Santana gave her another smug look, as if she could tell that Brittany liked what she saw. Whatever. If she thought Brittany was just going to give in to her, she had another thing coming. 

If there was one thing Brittany knew, it was flirting. 

She learned it straight from her blonde, buxom mother, the original harlot and heartbreaker of Lima in her day before she had settled down. If she wanted to, she could get this girl into bed, easy as ABC. 

Brittany didn’t even have to try and that’s exactly why she wasn’t gonna let her get what she wanted so easily. 

The blonde dancer totally knew the effect she had on her. It was so easy to rile the dark-haired woman up and as she beckoned her closer with a finger, Santana kept gazing at her lips, making it so obvious what she wanted. 

She leaned closer, knowing that Santana would feel her breathing against her neck and as she expected, there was a sharp, aroused intake of breath from the Latina.

She even closed her eyes, puckering her lips as if Brittany was going to kiss her. 

As if.

“My name is no. My sign is no. My number is no. You need to let it go.”

She couldn’t stop giggling at the sight of Santana frozen in place with her lips sticking out, clearly not expecting this turn of events as Brittany just sang that song to her. 

No kisses for you, Hot Shot, She smiled to herself. 

Talk about embarrassing. How was Ms. Big Shot Movie Star ever gonna recover from that one? 

Brittany was a professional dancer and she could easily outdo everyone in the club but that didn’t seem to stop Santana from trying to keep up with her. She began to dance beside her energetically as Temperature by Sean Paul played. 

“You’re cocky. That’s how you dance?” Brittany was in stunned disbelief yet again, amused by the way Santana was being so ridiculous. She was clearly trying so hard to impress her and it was having the opposite effect. Santana was being such a clown and people around them were starting to give them strange looks. 

“You like that, huh, Babe?” The woman was all up on her, her arm settling around her waist as she husked into her ear. “You want all up on this, don’t you? I’ll make you feel so good, Princess. Trust me. I’ll make you scream my name.” 

Santana’s voice was so hazy and raspy. Brittany felt heat rush to her face, right up her neck to her ears, shocked by what she heard… and kind of intrigued. Santana couldn’t really think Brittany would give in just from that locker room talk. She didn’t want Santana to see how affected she was by her comment but of course, Santana saw everything. 

Apparently the woman noticed the blush on Brittany’s face too and she was amused. 

“Is that so?” She challenged, making sure to flutter her eyelashes.

“You bet. I think we should get to know each other better. Preferably with way less clothes on.”

Was that the best Santana had? 

“Hmm, oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? What else?”

“Roses are red, violets are fine. You be a six and I’ll be a nine.”

Santana might have been the funniest person to ever exist. She couldn’t be for real. 

“Mm hm. Is that all?” 

The celebrity began to tell her all about what she wanted to do with her when she got her in bed, making her appreciation for Brittany’s ass obvious. She wasn’t expecting her to grind up on her like that. The feeling of Santana’s hips moving against hers and her husky voice against her ear made it kind of hard for her to remember that she wasn’t supposed to give in to her.

She was such a horny jerk and Brittany’s jaw dropped in disbelief at how crude she was being as the blush in her cheeks intensified.

Santana was just a little too excited, acting as if she was entitled to getting into Brittany’s pants and that just wouldn’t do. At least not until Brittany was ready for that. If she decided she wanted her. Brittany was gonna have to remind her to back off a little until she wined and dined her enough - if Brittany deigned to allow her to. 

She wagged a finger. 

“Nuh uh. I don’t think so.” 

She needed to extract herself from Santana’s arms. So she raised her knee the way she saw on a TV show about women defending themselves from muggers and got her right up in the area between her legs. 

Not in a fun way either. 

Santana’s eyes went comically wide in stunned disbelief and she took a tumble on her ass. 

“Did I do that? Oops! My Bad!” She giggled with faux-innocence, not meaning a word of it. 

Brittany walked back over to her friends victoriously as they clapped and cheered for her. In fact, almost the entire club had stopped to watch the whole spectacle as Santana struggled to regain her dignity. 

“Brittany, I am so proud of you. You are the ultimate boss, oh my God!” Tina congratulated her then turned back to her phone. “Santana Lopez getting clamslammed and kneed right in the vagina by a mystery woman is already trending on Twitter.” 

“You’re not leaving with her?” Sugar looked shocked when the blonde waltzed over, making her exit. Brittany not going home with someone, especially someone like Santana, was about as rare as a blue moon.  “This never happens. She’s just your type. She’s rich, super famous, good-looking, shallow, dumb…” 

“Not really. She’s gonna have to try harder if she wants all of this.” Brittany flipped her hair over her shoulder with complete confidence and sass, gesturing to the curves of her body. She knew Santana could hear her. Santana blinked at her stupidly a few times, apparently disoriented by her hotness. 

She turned just in time to see Santana limping over to her pathetically. 

Brittany was confused. Why was Santana gazing at her in fascination, as if Brittany was the most gorgeous, entrancing being she had ever encountered even though her groin and ego were in a world of hurt?

“What’s your name?”

Maybe it was because Santana was so cute but Brittany couldn’t help but flirt a little despite herself. Maybe she didn’t want their game to be over just yet. They were both sweaty and flushed, somewhat breathless from all the dancing. 

“You need to let it go,” She teased, watching Santana closely as the woman attempted to regain her composure and act like she was unaffected. “It’s Brittany.” 

____

That would be far from the last she saw of Ms. Can't Take No For An Answer, even if she had humiliated her. 

She had never met anyone quite as determined and persistent as Santana Lopez. 

Apparently, when the Empress of the Universe wanted something, she always got her way and she wasn’t accustomed to being told “No.” 

Apparently Santana was really into the whole prissy mean girl side of Brittany.

She was also the most obvious person on the face of the planet. Brittany snorted when Tina sent her a link to a new article. The headline was pretty interesting. 

Santana Lopez Dedicates New Hit Single to Mystery Blonde - Who is “Brittany from The Pussy Cat?”

A video of her giving Santana a swift knee upward to the vaginal area had gone viral as well. 

Even Santana’s hardcore fans were amused by it all. 

Brittany noticed that Santana had left a bunch of comments on her thirst traps, making it extremely clear what she thought of them. The internet was going crazy making fun of how lusty and obsessed Santana was being but that hadn’t seemed to deter the woman either, despite Brittany ignoring all of her attempts to hit on her. 

That Brittany S. Pierce must have some Grade A Prime Pussy for Santana to be simping this hard for her… 

“Jesus Christ, the thirst,” Tina chuckled as Mike, Marley and Sugar couldn’t stop giggling beside her on the couch in the blonde’s apartment when she showed them her phone screen. They read yet another private message the woman sent to Brittany that was strongly suggesting what she wanted to do with her. “Goddamn. She really wants you.” 

“She’s just horny for me. She’ll get over it.” 

I’m just another conquest for her… 

“Be honest, do you think she’s attractive?” Sugar asked, raising an eyebrow. “At all?” 

She had watched all of Santana’s scenes on Bad Girls Club several times, looked at a bunch of her magazine photoshoots - she figured she needed to do her research, after all - and she even loved her songs that flopped.  That didn’t mean anything though. Santana Lopez was just a silly pompous rich girl just like the rest of them. 

“I mean, if you’re into the whole disgruntled, awkward cat aesthetic maybe. Her upper lip kinda reminds me of a duck.” She deflected. 

Everyone laughed as she said this. 

“You definitely should stay away from her. I know Santana well and she’s a total arrogant jerk. She thinks of women as disposable objects.” 

“Oh, is she?” Brittany snorted sarcastically. “That’s a shocker. Don’t worry, Tina, believe me you don’t have to worry about me falling for her.” 

Brittany’s apartment was so very pink and decorated in such an eccentric way that most people were a little taken aback when they walked in for the first time.

Eventually, her entire living space became crowded with bouquets of pink flowers Santana had sent to her address. She sent ridiculously expensive jewellery, chocolates, and dresses. Brittany didn’t even know how she figured out all of Brittany’s favourite colours and things like that but she wasn’t about to get rid of them… she liked expensive gifts. 

She never responded to any of Santana’s gifts, knowing it would drive her insane. Santana got her number from Tina and Mike, who were their mutual friends. Truth be told, Tina had always found Santana annoying anyway and they were more like frenemies as that feeling was mutual, so she was happy to assist Brittany in her plan to troll Santana.

Brittany answered Santana’s calls just enough to toy with her and keep her guessing, then ignored her whenever she felt like it. 

It was all part of her plan. 

“What am I supposed to do with all of this stuff?” The blonde whined halfheartedly as Lord Tubbington knocked over the growing pile of chocolate boxes. 

“You could send it back if you really don’t want it.” Mike suggested with a shrug. 

“I would… but pink diamonds are really nice,” Brittany pouted. “I might need another dress too.”

“This almost sounds like one of those sugar daddy type of situations,” The man shook his head at her, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m not surprised, since it’s you after all.” 

“Except, she won’t be getting any sugar.” Britt winked. Tina smirked at her in agreement, giving her a high five. 

“You are the queen of manipulation. You’re really gonna get this woman to spend herself bankrupt, aren’t you? Yes, Girl. I say, use all the power you have to your advantage. Stress that fuckgirl out. Make her work for it, Britt. Make her suffer!” 

Sugar, Marley and Jake fell silent, taken aback by the short, gothic woman. Mike glanced over with a nervous expression as he heard Tina’s words, followed by her evil cackle. 

“You’re torturing the shit out of her! I love it. Get it, Girl.” 

Brittany felt proud. 

“Hey, if she wants all this she’s gonna have to work for it.” 

“Hey, Britt, I think there’s someone at your door. Must be another delivery from Ms. Egomaniac.” Sugar chimed in. 

The tall blonde just shrugged, traipsing over and eventually returning with a new parcel. Brittany blushed reddish pink up to her ears, gasping at a new, skimpy lingerie set that she unwrapped. She held up the light blue, lacy lingerie as her friends began to wolf whistle jokingly and some of them made gagging noises. 

Against her better judgment, she answered Santana’s call when that familiar number flashed on her phone a few minutes later. 

“You’ve got a lot of nerve sending this,” She sniffed, trying to sound bitchy and cold as she told her off. “Do you really think that’s appropriate? You horny bastard.” 

Santana was laughing down the line. She was actually laughing, that cheeky bitch. 

“You like it, Babe? Gonna put it on and model it just for me, Querida?”

“I am not your Querida.” 

She did like the lingerie a lot but Santana didn’t need to know that. If her ego got any bigger it would probably explode. 

She hung up before Santana could answer. Deep down, she knew Santana would love that response even more. 

****Read the rest of this story on AO3

[hyperfixatedonstuff]

Short Fic about Trans Fem Scout for @jaymi-and-their-shit

also on my AO3 -> Call your mother!! (1098 words) by hyperfixated_on_dumb_shit Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Scout & Spy (Team Fortress 2), Scout & Scout's Mother (Team Fortress 2) Characters: Scout (Team Fortress 2), Scout's Mother (Team Fortress 2), Spy (Team Fortress 2) Additional Tags: Trans Female Character, Trans Scout (Team Fortress 2), Trans Female Scout (Team Fortress 2), scout's name is Jamie Summary: Scout comes out to her mom with the help of Spy

Scout was nervous, her pacing around the phones revealed that. Today was Sunday, the weekly ceasefire and also the day she always called her Ma. Well, not always. Lately she had been neglecting calling home because she was terrified to talk to her mother. A few months ago she came out to her team as trans, it was a little scary but due to how open they were about being queer or accepting those who were she had managed it. But now she had an entirely new challenge, coming out to her mother. Her mother always said she would love her no matter what. But what if this was the exception? What if she got mad? Or was disappointed?

“Scout!” She nearly jumped out of her skin when a gloved hand materialized out of thin air and landed on her shoulder.

“What are you pacing about for? It’s distracting to those of us trying to use the phone.” Spy had removed his hand from her shoulder and crossed his arms to relay annoyance.

“N-nothing! I’ll get outta your way or whatever.” Scout begins to away from the phones but before she can even get a few steps in Spy sighs and speaks up.

“This is about your mother, isn’t it?” Her shoulders go stiff and she turns back, expecting to see a smug grin. Instead she sees Spy leaning against the wall with a cigarette, brows furrowed and staring at the ground.

“…How did you know?” Spy lets out a little chuckle but quickly explains himself when Scout glares at him.

“It’s my job to know things. You have obviously been stressed. It wasn’t a hard conclusion to reach.” At first she scrunches up her face in anger but then she sighs and takes a place against the wall next to him. After a few moments, she sinks to the floor and pulls her knees to her chest.

“You haven’t told her yet.”

“No.” Spy tries to speak again but is interrupted by Scout’s voiced overthinking. “What if she gets mad? And yells at me? And never lets me go home? What if my brothers make fun of me? Or if Ma ain’t angry but sad?”

“Scout.”

“What if she don’t want me as her kid anymore?”

“Scout!”

“I don’t know what I’ll do. I just shouldn’t tell her. She don’t need to deal with all of that. O’ course I’ll have to tell the guys not to-”

“Jamie!” Spy’s shouting finally reaches her ears and she looks up, slightly teary eyed.

“Your mother loves you. That won’t change no matter what you tell her.” There’s another pause before Spy kneels down and awkwardly pats her shoulder.

“But… how do you know?” She sniffles a bit and Spy sighs while drawing a handkerchief from his pocket.

“It’s my job to know things. And I know your mother is a good woman.” Jamie stares at him for a minute, despite the fact that Spy was an asshole, he was still convincing when he wanted to be. She sniffled again and he handed her the handkerchief. Spy watched as his expensive silk pocket square was coated in snot and tears, he grimaced in an exaggerated manner.

“I want that back by Monday. Cleaned.” She laughed as he stood up.

“Yeah, yeah, you got it old man.” Spy rolled his eyes and helped his daughter to her feet. He patted her shoulder one last time and turned to head back inside.

“Eh- thank you Spy.” He simply nodded before disappearing into a cloud of smoke.

Jamie sighed. She knew that Spy was right, as much as she hated even thinking that. She had to call her mother. So she dusted herself off, wiped the last of her tears away, and stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket.

She had called home every Sunday for years until the last few weeks. It was clear from the faded numbers that her mother’s number had been dialed most. Muscle memory moved her fingers over the buttons quickly as she fiddled with the cord with her free hand. She traced circles in the dirt with her foot while the phone rang.

‘ringggggg… ringggggg… ringggggg…rin-’

“Hello? Jeremy is that you? Where have you been? You haven’t called in three weeks!” Jamie instantly regrets her decision and nearly hangs up.

“Uh- yeah it’s me… l-look Ma I’m real sorry I haven’t called- but there’s something important I’ve been meaning to tell you!” The words came out of her mouth at an inhuman speed and she aggressively tapped her foot while waiting.

“Well? What is it? What’s so important you can’t call your mother!” Jamie swallows and takes a deep breath. This is it. The moment she’s been dreading for weeks.

“Ma… I’m transgender. Iknowitshardtohearbutitswhoiamandimnotgonnahideitanylongerivealwaysbeenagirlandijustneedtogetitoffmychest!” There’s a pause. Dread seeps into Jamie’s gut. Did she make a mistake? Did she just ruin her own life?

“So you’re a girl?” Scout lets out a breath she had been holding. She couldn’t read her mother’s tone very well but… she wasn’t yelling.

“Yes…is that okay?” Jamie asks meekly.

“Okay? Are you kidding me?” Here it comes. She thought, closing her eyes and getting ready to be chewed out. But instead of yelling or sobbing or anything of the sort, a laugh came through the phone. Not an angry laugh or a bitter one, but a genuinely happy laugh.

“I’ve always wanted a daughter! I mean- I never told you or your brothers that because I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t proud of you because I am! But it has been such a pain not having another woman around the house!” Jamie slowly opened her eyes, she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“You mean… you ain’t mad?” Again, more laughter plays through the phone.

“Why would I be mad? I thought you were gonna say you were in trouble or dying! You finding yourself is the least of my concerns!” There’s more laughter but this time half of it is Jamie’s.

“I’m so glad! I was so worried to tell ya’ that I hadn’t been callin’!”

“Well not so fast, you ain’t off the hook for not callin’ your own mother for 3 weeks! But before I chew you out for that. Do you have a new name yet? Oh- and who else have you told? D your brothers know? Your teammates? What about that doctor of yours? Has anyone given you trouble for it? You just tell me and I’ll deal with it!” Jamie smiled as her mother rambled on, things were back to normal again.

[ollieofthebeholder]

to find promise of peace (and the solace of rest): a TMA fanfic

Read from the beginning on Tumblr || AO3 || My Website There's a soundtrack to this one if you're interested

Chapter 105: March 2001

Gerry gets back into town with exactly two hours to spare. It isn’t exactly optimal, but at least he’s able to grab a shower before rushing off. He has to double back when he almost forgets something important, and his mother tries to waylay him, but he manages to get away from her and catch the train just before it closes its doors.

Still, he’s a bit later than he’d like, and he just hopes Melanie is being optimistic.

The auditorium is crowded with families, from babes in arms to elderly folks, and it takes Gerry a good bit of scanning before he spots who he’s looking for. He distractedly thanks the student usher who hands him the folded bits of paper that constitutes a program and makes his way down the aisle to some seats on the left side of the theater, about three rows back. He’s in luck—there’s a seat next to Melanie that’s empty except for a bouquet of roses. From the fact that they’re mixed red and yellow, he guesses she’s the one that brought them.

“Does this mean you’re saving a seat for me?” he asks.

“Gerry!” Melanie’s face lights up, and she leaps to her feet and hugs him tightly. “Jesus, I thought you were still in Switzerland!”

“Luxembourg. Got back a couple hours ago.” Gerry leans over to shake Uncle Roger’s hand, then picks up the bouquet. “So, can I sit with you?”

“Duh.” Melanie plops back down into her seat and bends over to retrieve her program. Gerry notices she’s wearing the stole Alastair gave her for her ninth birthday, thrown over her jumper and jeans, but doesn’t say anything about it.

Instead, he opens his own program and skims it. There are two choirs that are more or less open—the Junior Choir and the Senior Choir—plus a Young Men’s Chorus and Women’s Ensemble, both by audition only, made up of students eligible for the Senior Choir but with a better grasp of things like pitch, musicality, and not bobbing your head violently along with the beat. This is Martin’s last year in the Junior Choir, and Gerry knows he’s planning to try out for the Young Men’s Chorus when they open up again…or has he already?

“Did Martin ever do that audition?” he asks Melanie, who would be the first to know.

“It’s not until next term, I don’t think,” Melanie answers. “It starts in the fall, after all. Anyway, he hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

Gerry hums as he skims the list of songs the Junior Choir will be singing. Unsurprisingly for the Easter term, there are a couple of songs that look to be religious, or at least trending in that direction—he knows “Because He Lives” is definitely an Easter song, and “One Song (A Song of Peace)” is probably similar—plus a couple generic spring songs, some songs that seem to just be for fun, and a single song in a foreign language, French this term. Gerry mentally braces himself for the typical childish hacking through the language.

“I haven’t heard Martin practicing any of these,” Melanie murmurs, also looking over the list.

“Well, you know, your mother isn’t well,” Uncle Roger says absently. “Martin doesn’t practice in the house so much, so he doesn’t disturb her.”

“There is that,” Melanie admits. She glances at the opposite page. “Ooh, the Young Men’s Chorus is doing ‘Diu Diu Deng’!”

Gerry is about to ask her what that means when the lights in the auditorium dim and everybody—for the most part—quiets down. It’s not like a professional performance where people understand what they’re supposed to do; it’s an amateur production, quality notwithstanding, and some people don’t seem to care how loud the crowd noise is as long as it’s not their child on the stage.

The Junior Choir, all neatly dressed in black slacks or skirts and white tops, file onto the stage in ordered rows, filling the risers as they do so, to enthusiastic applause and a few good-natured cheers. Gerry scans the group coming in; Martin, as both one of the older and one of the taller boys in the choir, is usually one of the first ones out so he can climb up and get to his spot, and he wants to get a good look at him before all he can see is eyes and hair over the row of faces going from plump to angular as they begin to change from child to teen.

But there’s no sign of him.

Gerry blinks, and looks harder—like Martin would be difficult to miss. But no, it’s only girls filing out now and climbing the risers. Martin is nowhere to be found. As the last child takes her position, the director, a man Gerry knows well by now, comes out and bows to the audience, then turns to the choir, waiting for the applause to    die down so they can begin.

For his part, Gerry is having something akin to a mental breakdown. Could Martin have dropped out of chorus without telling them…or worse, been removed against his will? It’s likely he wouldn’t say anything; he wouldn’t want them to worry. But would he let it get this far—let them think he was going to be in the concert, knowing he’ll be found out? That’s not Martin’s style at all. He’s not the kind of person to put people out, and for them to show up expecting to cheer him on would be (at least in Martin’s mind) a huge inconvenience. He surely knows by now that they will come to all his concerts; Gerry might go out of town more often than he likes, but Melanie and Uncle Roger never miss.

So it must be something else. Something must have happened to him…but what? Surely he rode in with Uncle Roger and Melanie rather than walking himself, so something must have happened to him since they arrived, but—

Melanie slaps his arm urgently, not hard, just a frantic patting to silently get his attention. Gerry turns to face her as the choir begins a slightly clumsy but overall decent (to his ear at least, not that he’s paying a whole lot of attention) rendition of their first spring song. The question dies on his lips as she stabs her finger repeatedly at the back of the program. With the lights down, Gerry can’t read it from there, so he picks up his own program and turns it to the back, then holds it closer to his face. The back of the program is where all the members of the various choruses are listed, and his first reaction is to breathe a silent sigh of relief when he sees MARTIN BLACKWOOD right there on the page, immediately above ANDREW CARTWRIGHT.

It’s awfully low down on the page, though. The Junior Choir is usually right at the top…

Gerry’s eyes flick up, just a little, and he sees the word TENOR, which is also unusual, since the Junior Choir is only two parts as far as he knows—he remembers Martin saying once they don’t start really breaking them up until Senior Choir. Then his eyes widen as he realizes that Martin’s name is on the far right of the page…and the column is actually headed TENOR 1.

He looks again, and there it is—Martin’s name listed under the Young Men’s Chorus.

Gerry—there’s no other word for it—goggles. He knows you’re supposed to be thirteen to get into that group; Martin won’t be thirteen until August. Then there’s the fact that, according to Melanie, he’s not supposed to start in it until the fall. But yet…here he is.

During the applause for the latest song, Gerry leans over and whispers to Melanie, “He wasn’t in the Young Men’s Chorus at Christmas, was he?”

“No!” Melanie hisses back. “The most complicated piece they did was ‘Dona Nobis Pacem’, remember?”

Gerry does, but he’s been wondering if he misremembered. Still, Melanie wouldn’t have said Martin was still planning to audition if he had already been in.

He can hardly concentrate through the first half of the concert, barely manages to applaud at the appropriate times, but when the Senior Choir sits down and the director announces the Young Men’s Chorus, he leans forward, anxious and eager.

Bit odd to call them ‘men’ when they’re thirteen to sixteen, isn’t it? whispers a voice in the back of his mind, sounding amused, and Gerry has to admit that it is a bit odd even if they did append young to the front, but he supposes that if they’re referring to the Women’s Ensemble they can’t very well call it a Boys’ Chorus. His eyes flick back and forth along the line of boys, young men, whatever, as they file in. There are only about a dozen of them all together, and—ah, there he is. Third from the end, he’s the taller of the two Tenor Ones on the front row. Even from where he sits, Gerry can see that he’s visibly pale and nervous, only not fidgeting in his tuxedo jacket and bow tie because he’s too much the professional to do so. But as soon as Martin’s eyes lock on the director, a whole new demeanor takes its place. He’s still pale, but he’s calm and focused. Nothing will exist for him from here on out but the music.

And what music it is! Even Gerry, who really knows very little about music overall, is impressed. For such a small group—now that they’re all out, he can count sixteen, four to each part—they fill the space, and they sound wonderful. Maybe he’s a little biased because Martin is part of it, but he never felt this way about the Junior Choir, only that Martin was one of the few good parts of it, so they must actually be good.

They sing a classic song with a lot of “hallelujahs” in it, another song that invokes the stars, and a song that has Melanie sitting bolt upright and smiling from the very beginning. Gerry surmises this is the one she mentioned before the concert. It’s obviously a Chinese song, and just as obviously about a train—Gerry doesn’t speak it, but he gets that much—and from the bright look on all the boys’ faces, not just Martin’s, they’re obviously enjoying it. It gets the loudest round of applause of the evening so far.

Once the auditorium is quiet again, there’s a single note on the piano that dies away quickly. The director waves a few beats, and then the boys begin singing a slow, sonorous song that thrums in Gerry’s chest. “Brightly beams our Father’s mercy…from His lighthouse evermore…”

Gerry lets his eyes drift shut as he listens. The song is poignant and solemn, but somehow feels…important. It’s almost as though the song itself is a beacon calling to them; in fact, it gives him almost the same sensation as that song Melanie sang a couple years back to find Martin in the park, an incident he still shies away from thinking about too hard or often. It’s a song of hope, of steadfast faith, of assuring someone that you’ll be there for them, no matter what.

And then a single clear, pure voice rings out over the room. “Throw out the lifeline, throw out the lifeline, someone is drifting away…”

At that, Gerry’s eyes pop open wide, because he knows that voice. His lips part in shock as he stares at the stage. Martin, his eyes shining green all the way from out here as they fix on the director’s baton, sings the verses to the second half of what’s obviously a medley, alone and unaccompanied and unafraid. Martin, who is always nervous and afraid of putting himself out there, who stammers any time he’s put on the spot, sings with a confidence that’s no different than when it’s just the three of them in a park or on the river bank or on top of a hill, with the unfettered pleasure of someone doing what he’s always meant to do.

And Gerry, who has heard Martin sing a thousand times, who knows his voice is like this, is utterly entranced.

There’s a beat of silence when the whole choir finishes a reprise of the chorus of the first song, and then the audience nearly takes the roof off the auditorium with their applause. Martin’s cheeks turn faintly pink as the director gestures to him, but he doesn’t duck his head or back away, which is…honestly progress.

The boys do a fast, peppy song about putting bones together and taking them apart again, and then they end with an absolutely gorgeous song Gerry’s never heard before, but he recognizes the lyrics as being one of Martin’s favorite Byron poems, “She Walks In Beauty”. Gerry’s pretty sure he’s not the only one that tears up a little.

The Women’s Ensemble goes next, and in Gerry’s totally unbiased opinion, they should have gone before the Young Men’s Chorus, because they can’t hold up. The director calls everyone out for the final song, which they do at virtually every single concert, and then it’s over.

Melanie is beaming ear to ear as she turns to Gerry. “That’s the best one ever.”

Gerry can’t help but laugh at her. “You’re just saying that because Martin got a solo.”

“No, I’m saying it because it was amazing.” Melanie shifts the bouquet to one hand and punches Gerry with the other. “Come on. Let’s go find him so we can yell at him for not telling us.”

The lobby and halls are crowded with people finding and congratulating their respective students. Melanie greets and congratulates a couple of girls she evidently knows at least in passing—as usual, they act polite but not particularly enthusiastic—but it takes Gerry a bit before he spots Martin trying to edge his way around the crowd. He nudges Melanie and points. “Look, there he is!”

Melanie shoves the bouquet at Uncle Roger and immediately starts threading her way through the crowd. She’s always had a talent for this sort of thing, and she slides through the gaps like water sliding through cupped hands. Gerry glances over his shoulder at Uncle Roger, unable to hide his amusement. “Well, she’s going to get there first. Shall we?”

Uncle Roger gestures. “Lead the way.”

Gerry is not particularly large or intimidating, so he can’t exactly shove people out of his way, and he’s not as agile as Melanie. He squeezes through whatever gaps he can, Uncle Roger’s polite “excuse me”s following him, and makes it to Martin’s side well after Melanie has attacked him in a tight hug.

“You’re an absolute ass,” she says, the delight in her voice belying her words. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d got into the Young Men’s Chorus already?”

“It—it was a last-minute thing,” Martin says, his cheeks turning bright pink. The blush gets even deeper when he notices Gerry. “When—wh-when did you get back?”

“Just in time.” Gerry comes over and hugs Martin, too. “What do you mean, last-minute thing? That’s not something you can just learn at the last minute.”

“No, I—I mean, not—” Martin swallows nervously. “It, um, over the break at half-term, Joseph White had to have his tonsils taken out, and something went wrong, so he couldn’t sing anymore. He told Dr. Clayton to run the auditions early and pick someone to replace him, and…well, I-I guess I was the only person to audition who could hit Tenor One parts who did well enough to start now?”

Gerry doubts that, actually, but he’s not going to say as much. Instead, he says, “But then you got the solo?”

“Not originally. It was supposed to be Kent Phillips, but he missed his cue one day and I just, I kind of jumped in out of habit, and Dr. Clayton asked me to take over.” Martin ducks his head, obviously embarrassed. “I know I shouldn’t have, but…”

“Yeah, well, obviously Dr. Clayton doesn’t think so,” Melanie points out.

Uncle Roger finally makes it over to them, smiling broadly. He presents Martin with the bouquet. “Well done, son. It’s a shame your mother couldn’t make it, but if you’d told us you had a solo, I know she would have been here.”

Yeah, right, whispers that voice in Gerry’s head. Gerry grunts his agreement without thinking. Melanie scowls momentarily, but says nothing. Martin, for his part, manages a tentative smile that at least looks convincing as he accepts the bouquet, even though he doesn’t actually agree with his stepfather’s assessment. “Thanks, Dad. I’m glad you could make it, anyway.”

“Wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” Uncle Roger rumples Martin’s hair affectionately. “Come on. After that, I think you deserve ice cream. Gerard, care to join us?”

“I’d love to. Thanks, Uncle Roger.” Gerry smiles up at the man and throws an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “He’s right. Let’s go celebrate, yeah? Even if you think it was an accident, that was a damned good performance and you deserve to celebrate.”

Melanie slides her arm around Martin’s waist from the other side. Obviously unable to protest, he lets them drag him outside, Uncle Roger leading the way.

Okay, the voice in the back of Gerry’s head whispers. Why this? Why tonight?

Why not? Gerry asks the voice.

Sorry, Ger. Not talking to you right now, just trying to work some stuff out. We’ll talk later.

Gerry feels something inside him warm, for reasons he can’t explain. But since his brain has just informed him they’re not going to be on speaking terms for the rest of the night, apparently—he swears he can hear someone laughing at him all of a sudden—he decides that’s a problem for later. For now, he’s going to concentrate on his siblings, and on his Uncle Roger, and on ice cream.

He can worry later.

[chenfordspiral]

4, 6, 9, 26, 30, 35, 49 (for the [insert fic] ones, go with Little Bit of Love!) 😊

4. What detail in [Little bit of Love] are you really proud of? Mh, good question. Oh, omg. The fact that they found and agreed on a name for their baby in a car of all places. I didn’t intend for it to happen that way, but it did and now I can’t let go of the thought that, not only did they technically fall in love riding in the same car (*ahem* shop *ahem*) for hours every day, but they also named their first child riding side by side in a car. Maybe it’s just me who thinks that’s kind of cool and fitting lol

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [Little bit of Love] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself? Um, again, good question... maybe the fact that Lucy did actually officially keep Chen as part of her name (like a middle name), and that people at work call her both Chen and Bradford now. 

9. How do you find new fic to read? I usually scroll through the Chenford tag on AO3. If I’m not in the mood for that, or have little time to do it (like the last couple of weeks), then I just read the stories from the authors I’ve subscribed to (my inbox is glaring at me as we speak because I've got some serious catching up to do. I’m so behind… and thanks to a certain new blog, I now have even more reading to do.) 

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue? I think I’m gonna have to say no dialogue because without dialogue, there’s still ways to convey whatever message you wanna convey, but with only dialogue, some pieces are just going to be missing in the context. How are they actually feeling? Did they say it with a smile, or a frown? Where are they? Who’s actually talking? Are they sleepy, excited, sad? Etc, etc, etc…

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?  Um, writing that first piece of smut back in July for ChenfordWeek. I’ve written more since then, so I guess after getting that first one out of the way, so to speak, it made it a little less terrifying? I’m still nervous as all hell every time I’m about to hit that post button, but it’s getting better. 

35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life? Huh, ha. Most of it? If not all of it lol. But I guess that’s why it’s so much fun (as you said yourself as well!) 

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it! I’m always working on Little bit of Love (shocker, I know). So here’s a snippet of the beginning of the next chapter, which is proving to be more difficult to write than I anticipated...

He hums in agreement and closes the few feet of space between them to pull her into a loose hug. Her back is to his chest since she was looking around the room again, and she lets herself sink into his arms with a smile. He lets his hands wander over the sides of her belly and then down until he can clasp them together underneath and gently lift the weight of their baby. “Oh my god,” Lucy sobs in relief, tears welling up in her eyes because up until right this moment, she hadn’t realized how much she needed that. Her head falls back against Tim’s shoulder and her eyes flutter closed in pleasure. She can feel his little chuckle against her hair and sighs when he nuzzles his face into her neck and brushes his lips over the skin just below her ear. “This is how much weight you carry around every day in your belly alone?”

Thank youuu 🫶🏻

[starlit-dreaming]

[prologue] re: All in the Past

Fandom: Persona (3 & 4) Rating: M Major/Eventual Ships: Akihamu Minor Ships: Jundori, Minayuka AU: Twin Protags + Somebody Lives/Not Everybody Dies + Post-Canon AU Note: Cross-posted on AO3 under the same title.

Summary:

Kotone Shiomi might be an idiot. No, actually, she is undoubtedly an idiot, because no one in the right mind would choose to stick around in the same city that took her loved ones away, a place that had nothing for her. She knew that her parents loved this wretched place, that they often swung by to play concerts when they were alive. Her brother had loved this terrible place, enough to want to finish his schooling, enough to actually consider opening up that bakery she always joked about. Her brother made friends here, he even had a girlfriend (which, gross, someone actually thought her gloomy brother was attractive), and he was finally opening up his heart to people. On their phone calls, he had even asked Kotone questions of her life! Questions that he’s never bothered to ask before! And then he died. He died, leaving everything behind — money, his cosplay crap, the letters she sent him over the years, and… He left her a goodbye letter. //In which the aftermath of Minato's death affected those outside of SEES.

A/N:

I wrote a fanfic around 2014 on FFN under my first fanfic writing account (and I want no reminders of its existence, but if it gets found, just know I will scream and cry if you do find it). It was intended to be a one-shot, although it was very open-ended and I didn’t really want to think too deeply on it. Originally, this was meant to hype me up for P3: Reload, but I haven’t touched it yet because I’m still mourning over the fact that there’s no Female Protag. Hamuko is a nickname; Kotone Shiomi will be used as her full name! Also, I’ll be including Japanese suffixes to better portray relationships. Fun fact: The University is named “Hankyō” (反響) which means “echo” and “reverberation”, which I found to be poetic, because Hamuko’s following after the traces of her brother’s memory in order to solve the mystery of his death. @hwang-lucas because I'm posting this fic for you instead of letting it collect dust in my google docs LMAO

Chapters: [prologue] 1 | 2 | 3

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0. prologue

——————————

Beginning of March, 2011

Breathe in. Breathe out.

This will be the third time in her life that she visits the Iwatodai Graveyard, and she wishes that it never went beyond the first visit.

But that’s the thing about life.

Like it or not, you don’t always get what you want.

“Thank you for showing me the way,” she politely bowed at the handsome silver-haired young man.

“No problem, Shiomi-san,” Akihiko Sanada gave her a sympathetic smile as he hands over the bucket of water — for cleaning the graves, she idly reminds herself as her eyes linger on his muscles for just a second too long. “Will you be okay from here?”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Yeah, no worries,” she replied, smiling at the stranger despite the clenching of her fists. It was very hard not to grab his shoulders and shake him for answers about her brother, but she knew better than to do that.

Easy. Just take it easy. They don’t know you, and he might not be one of them.

It was, predictably, harder to watch him walk away without any answers to any question of hers.

When she first arrived in the area, she got lost — plain and simple, and flat out embarrassing. Her phone was dead, and she couldn’t contact anyone who might know something — not that she knew anyone in Iwatodai, much less Tatsumi Port Island, to begin with. Maybe Mitsuru Kirijo, the person who helped fund her brother’s funeral and arranged everything, but she’s not sure if that’s how she wants to get back into contact with her brother’s friend…

Anyway, that was how she became acquainted with Akihiko Sanada — she wound up finding the police station and asked for directions to the graveyard. The officer at the desk was a rather intimidating fellow, and maybe it was obvious that she was gradually getting more and more confused at the older man’s instructions as he mentioned the names of streets and buildings, that Akihiko Sanada, a handsome young man who had been in the room, had politely offered to show her the way.

Which, she supposes, has been the only good thing about the day for her.

Talking to Akihiko was easy, and maybe that was because he was easy on the eyes. As she glanced at their surroundings throughout the journey to the graveyard, he made it easy to feel as if she hadn’t been an outsider looking in. He made recommendations to some of the food places, she asked about things like the bookstores and cafés. Eventually, they touched on the topic of why she was visiting the graveyard, and he sympathized with her by mentioning his younger sister after she spoke of her brother.

His name sounded familiar enough, so chances are, Akihiko had been one of her brother’s friends. There was a brief mention of an Akihiko-senpai, and she had suspicions that they were one in the same. She would need to revisit the letters her brother sent her as well as the emails to be sure. Detective Shirogane was arriving next week, so the sooner she figures it all out, the better.

Still, it was clear that Akihiko managed to walk forward with his grief, even if it still hurts.

She wondered, then, that if it was her who left this world, would her brother mourn for her in the same way as Akihiko had done for his sister? Would he miss her, often, but still find the strength within him to still push forward?

Or would he be standing here, alone in a world that feels strange? Alone, and unwilling to let sleeping demons be, to touch upon matters that were best left behind as everyone had advised? The past is in the past, but would he let himself feel angry at the world? Would he get frustrated when things feel hopeless, despair when it starts to feel pointless? Would he deal with detective after detective, the constant confirmations that he’s in over his head, and that the only logical explanation ought to be drugs and a friend wanting to protect their reputation?

Oh, but she knows. She knows her brother better than anyone else in the world prior to his death. And, maybe, the only thing she never knew was the him before he died. He would wear his apathy to mask the painful aches, if he ever allowed himself to feel in those fleeting moments.

But, unlike her, Minato had friends that he could trust. Friends he could count on.

Her brother was strong, both physically and mentally.

And, more importantly, he isn’t her.

He’s not Kotone.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She won’t break down like this. She hasn’t cried in years, and she’s not gonna start now, when she knows absolutely nothing about the man her brother became. Oh, she certainly raged at his death, cursing the world for all that it’s taken from her, but she had yet to shed honest tears over his death.

And instead, she smiles. Smiles were a good thing. Smiles made people feel safe and reassured. Smiles made her likeable. Smiles hadn’t failed her, even when she’s alone and tired and sick of it all—

Eventually, she manages to find her brother’s grave, settled beside her parent’s gravestone. Her parents eloped and ran away from their respective families after marrying, but only her father was disowned by his family. The Shiomi Family was matriarchal, and because Kotone was the only girl born in her generation and was therefore the heiress — at least, until one of her cousins were born and Kotone was more than happy to pass on the hat, so to speak — she was accepted into the family with open arms after her parents died, even if they criticized her mother often.

So, it was a bit surprising to know that her parents didn’t have their gravestone in the Shiomi Family Graveyard. For Minato, it was probably thanks to his friend who likely argued in his favor. Did he ever talk to her about their maternal family? Or did he just leave the thought alone?

Vaguely, she recalls a blurry memory of her crouched down in front of their parent’s grave. She was just a little kid sobbing, her brother hugging her, traumatized and different because the adults said so, saying that he had been awake when the accident occurred.

(She woke up in the remnants of the accident, after their parents had passed, with her brother shaking her and trembling all the while, with an expressionless look on his face and tears falling down. In the midst of burning flames and blooming pain that looked almost like an ominous green, she was traumatized in a different way.

But that is neither here nor there.)

Kotone shakes her head, settling down and opening her yellow backpack for the cleaning rags and got to work cleaning her parent’s grave. Her brother’s grave was much cleaner and well-cared for, likely visited by his friends more than her parent’s have ever been. But, his stone sits beside them, like his cremated ashes placed beside their parents in her room.

Seeing his name engraved in the stone was a very jarring thing. It’s a strange sight, one that she never expected to see before she’s even considered a young adult. Like her brother, her name will also be carved in this place when she passes, and she hopes her family honors that request.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Kotone rinses out the cleaning rag and places the flowers for her parents.

Seventeen.

Minato died when they were both only seventeen.

And now here she was, eighteen and in a world without him.

Living in the same city where their parents died, the same city that traumatized him and left them both orphans. The same city that she recently moved to, just to cling onto the could-haves and should’ve-beens.

Eighteen and alone, when they promised to move in together so she can finally escape the Shiomi Family and he can finally live without them threatening to hold their parent’s inheritance against him.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

When she attended his funeral, her family — her mother’s side of the family, because father was disowned after he eloped with mother and adopted his own mother’s maiden name — was solemn and quiet, but all of them only showed up for appearances. Most inquired about possessions, and only some of them realized that she was still there. Everything went to her, except for certain boxes that he himself had set aside and noted for who it would go to. He drafted his own will, apparently, and left it with the same lawyer their parents used who looked at her with sympathy and pity.

All of his belongings had been neatly tucked and packaged away, as if to make it all easier.

Her brother had told her that his time was coming to a close, that he was tired. She thought he was joking when she first read that email, with him talking about graduation for his senpais. She thought that with how animated his letters and emails became after befriending his friends, that he was finally coming out of his shell. Maybe he had a flair for dramatics, something she never knew, and wouldn’t that have been nice to have in common with her brother?

She thought wrong, when she received that dreadful phone call from a stranger whose name she’s only known through her brother’s letters and emails.

It sickened her, really. She had months worth of letters and emails from him, and as his letters stopped, descending into short phone calls and even shorter emails, she thought nothing of it. He sounded tired, and she could only assume that he hadn’t been sleeping well again.

Final exams often did that to people. So what? He missed a few phone calls, and he sent her apology texts whenever he missed five. Whatever. He’s a busy guy.

How naïve of her. Did she really think it was normal?

She thought it was strange, maybe even suspicious at times. His first week there was odd when he emailed her about it, no matter how much the detectives justified it as delusions or just pure exhaustion. He even claimed it, but it still stood out to her.

Because apparently he was so exhausted and thought the city turned into some sort of deranged graveyard in greens, with blood oozing in places and the moon yellow. She even thought it was a dream of his, since he mentioned dozing off on the train at some point, and that maybe it’d be a great premise for a suspenseful horror story he wanted to write. At some point he mentioned his dorm mate-turned-friend-turned-girlfriend, Yukari Takeba, had pointed a gun at him. Granted, she supposes that having a gun was probably for the best safety-wise since only two girls and a guy lived at the dorms until her brother came along, as well as the others.

She wonders if this Yukari girl had known about her brother’s condition. Apparently, from what was told, the doctors claimed that her brother passed away in his sleep. How that was possible at such a young age, she hadn’t the slightest idea.

It was like one day, he was spirited away.

At one point in all their correspondence, he mentioned that his friend asked him to kill him, and that he felt horrified at the idea of it. She doesn’t blame him, but since she couldn’t even find a Facebook profile of this Ryoji guy, she wonders if her brother was… if he was talking about himself, rather than an actual friend. She hopes not — God, she really hopes not. How much was her brother struggling? Did he actually rely on his friends, or did he only tell her that so she’d feel at ease?

She… was too distraught at the funeral to take notice of them. His friends did show up, at least, she thinks they did, but they mostly didn’t approach her, and she kept to herself. A young woman, Mitsuru, had expressed her condolences to her directly, saying that she was her brother’s friend, and offered her phone number if she ever needed it.

But Kotone never called her. The number was saved on her phone, but… she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Her nails were digging into her skin painfully, and the pain quickly washes away when she immediately releases her clenched fists upon realizing this fact. She’s been staring at the bouquet of flowers resting before her brother’s gravestone — pinks and blues, seeming almost symbolic of something.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Vision is shaking, but that’s normal.

Right. She can think this over and over again a million times, and she will, but now she’s here visiting her brother’s… grave. What should she even say to him? Should she apologize for being unable to visit his grave because she hadn’t fully moved to Iwatodai yet, even though she prayed to him and their parents often? Should she tell him how exhausting it was to unpack everything by herself? That her university admissions made a mistake with her transfer paperwork, so she ended up wasting maybe an hour having to wait on getting that crap sorted out? Does she talk about the journey to the graveyard because she got hopelessly lost?

Does she talk about the detectives, all of the ones that rejected her case? Or what about the ones who threw insulting remarks about him or his friends, or the few believing that the Kirijo Group had some involvement? Not all of them were bad, she supposes.

But what does it say about all those full grown men, when it was a kid barely into his first year of high school who reached out to her first?

The same kid who asked her if she was still looking for someone to look into her case?

What the hell do normal people really talk about, anyway? What should someone say, despite the distant relationship they shared prior to them passing on?

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Hey,” she settles on a smile. “Sorry I couldn’t come sooner.”

Before he decided to attend Gekkoukan High School, they were only able to meet up a few times in a year if they were lucky. All of them had been for family gatherings, and Minato had been shoved into house to house among their relatives because none of them wanted to deal with the more traumatized twin.

They only stayed in contact through her sheer stubborn will, and she doubts her brother would agree to it if she hadn’t been intentionally annoying and nosy about his life. The letters were meant to be his reprieve from her constantly trying to contact him by phone.

(Maybe she should’ve tried harder.)

It was a good thing that she didn’t give up on staying in contact. She doubts that she would be excluded from it as his twin sister, but if she wasn’t one of his contacts, maybe she wouldn’t have even known about the funeral. Some of their relatives still didn’t find out until recently.

(And they were all disgustingly the same, murmuring feigned sorrow with greedy eyes as they reluctantly ask about whatever was left of their inheritance from their parents.

She knows they wish she were out of the picture, too.)

“I know you didn’t want to talk to me about a bunch of stuff, but what the hell, big bro?” she dryly laughed. “What’s up with all the money and cosplay crap?”

Part of her thinks that maybe he really did do some shady jobs — the money he left behind to her was enough to buy her several houses and live comfortably unemployed for years, and that didn’t include the inheritance from their parents and the royalties they still received from their music. If she was smart with her money and didn’t waste it, if she made a few investments, then she’d be set for life.

(One detective thought that maybe he sold raunchy cosplay pictures, a mental image that was, and still is, very much unwanted and unneeded and made zero sense with what she knew of her brother. It helps that the detective seemed just as uncomfortable with the thought as she was.

Another suggested it was from video game competitions, which sounded much more likely and vastly more doable and preferable.)

Similar to their parents, there were royalties coming in under his name. Maybe she ought to revisit those papers and figure out why that is. The past few months, she’s been more focused on graduating and planning what to do next, so she tried to avoid thinking about most of the unpleasant aspects that come after someone’s passing, which included those royalties.

Still, he really did leave behind a lot of stuff. Weapons, clothes, accessories, books, and a bunch of miscellaneous stuff. The few detectives willing to entertain her case before declining after hearing that the Kirijo Group was involved considered that maybe his school club was one of those Dungeons and Dragons thing, but was much more serious to the point that they’d embody their character. His phone’s background was also proof that he was really into gaming. It explained half the problems and nothing more.

So this whole green world thing from the first letter was maybe a mistake, which was possible. He might’ve been tired and started writing a scene and forgot that it was a letter to her. Debatable, questionable, but not impossible. The weapons thing felt odd, but her brother had never been very forthcoming about his interests other than music, so that left room for possibilities. Books were normal, but the random outfits and accessories made sense when lumped together as part of the cosplay stuff. He had an armband with “SEES” on it, which was apparently one of his after school clubs.

What concerned her was the random health stuff. 

He had a notebook. It mentioned the names of the items, the effects of it, the HP and SP — that was one of the tip offs that it must’ve just been a group game thing. Some were items were relatively harmless, but the more concerning items were what he noted to be “Rancid Gravy” and “Odd Morsel”.

She supposes that it was fortunate that Mitsuru Kirijo had offered to buy most of her brother’s things for her, even if she sent an assistant to handle the deal. Even if she was sure that the Kirijo Group covered up her brother’s cause of death, she did seem guilty about it. And ashamed, if the avoidance of a second in-person meeting was any indication.

One of the suggestions for her brother’s cause of death was overwork, despite being at the pinnacle of health. That was the official story, anyway.

(How the hell does the rising star of the track team die in his sleep, without an ounce of drugs in his blood?)

It was painful going through his belongings, and the whole thing felt rather ironic. She would want for nothing thanks to her brother’s passing, and yet him being alive was the only thing she wished for.

She crouches down, feeling so incredibly small and sad and angry at the world. It looked like the grave was well-maintained. His friends, she thinks, because their family hadn’t thought kindly of her and her brother, except for a few who were never able to care for them.

A passing thought flickers in her mind, wondering if her brother ever visited their parents while he was here.

Probably not.

He didn’t like reminiscing any more than she did.

She places an incense, a habit that’s become second nature since the death of their parents. Even if she doesn’t believe in an afterlife, she finds comfort in the gesture. It helps, knowing that if it really did exist despite her disbelief, then she could make her loved ones happy even if just for a short while.

“I don’t even know if melon bread is still your favourite,” she admits softly, placing the plastic wrapped bread on the grave as an offering. “I’d like to think it still is.”

It’d be devastating if she were ever told otherwise, but she likes to pretend that she still knows her brother well. Her brother would eat anything placed in front of him, but he had minor dislikes that popped up from time to time. When she first started learning how to cook back when they were younger and still lived together, she was absolutely terrible, but her brother never complained and simply made suggestions little by little. He sent her compliments when she sent him cookies every once in a while, and she promised to cook for him whenever she had the chance to see him.

Her brother was always the better chef, though. He was always sending her recipes, mentioning alterations he’s done. She didn’t really have the chance to show off when they reached high school, but she promised she would. Hell, he entertained the idea of a restaurant, purely because he had a senpai who was good at cooking.

And now, she’ll never have that chance to cook for her brother.

“You promised,” she muttered, feeling so horribly hurt and broken as she smiled with gritted teeth. “Did you remember? We were going to be grown-ups and open up our own bakery or restaurant. I’d deal with the customers, and you could stay in the kitchen cooking and baking all day, rocking out to music as much as you want, and then when we close up shop, we can just go upstairs and be at home relaxing in minutes.”

It was a what-if, a possible future plan, but she wanted to be with her brother because he was the only person left who understood. She wanted them to live an easy and simple life, because it was hard to move from place to place with no one to return home to.

And that’s what will happen now. Moving to a new place with no one to come home to.

Again.

“You liar,” she muttered, bitter and hateful, burying her face into the palm of her hands. Part of her wants to cry, but she won’t, and she hasn’t. This dreadful place doesn’t deserve her tears. She could smell the sandalwood incense, and yet again, she’s reminded of that time during their parent’s funeral.

How could he leave like this? Did she even cross his mind?

Ah, but she knows. She knows that whatever happened to him, he didn’t want to leave her.

It wasn’t said outright, but there was a chance that he’d be fine. That he was going to hang in there.

Something happened to him, but what ?

She clenched her fists, her nails once again digging into her skin.

It’s very easy for her, she thinks, to feel resentful about everything. Resentful of her brother, of his death, of herself — everything.

Between the two of them, she was always selfish, something that she didn’t mind until now, always wanting things to go her way. She was always more resentful, she knew hatred so intimately well that it made her feel bitter to her bones. Maybe that was why she knew that he’d tell her to leave it be, let bygones be bygones, and to not even try to look into his death.

But her brother was gone, so he can’t really tell her what to do. And she won’t take the imagined advice — not even if he were to rise from the dead to tell her himself.

She’ll damn well figure out why he died.

——————————

[Unsent Letter]

From: Minato Arisato

To: Kotone Shiomi

January – 2010

Dear Hamuko,

For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

I’m not sure if this letter will ever reach you, but if it has, then. Well, I’m gone, and the world hasn’t ended like we thought it would. This day came sooner than I thought, and it’s hard sometimes, but I think I get what you mean now. About rising above challenges as long as you’re with some friends, even if you were only talking about manga. I have a promise to keep to my friends, and I’ll die trying to achieve it.

Maybe in another life, or another world, you could understand what I’m going through. Or maybe we would live normal lives and build up that bakery you keep yapping on about.

I’m sorry for never really being present in your life. You always reach out to me, even when you get upset at me for something I’ve done. I do feel guilty about that, and I can’t make anyone happy here no matter what I choose to do. I know you’ll be okay, you always manage to bounce back up no matter what, but that doesn’t mean it won’t hurt.

I’d like to tell you I’m sorry in person, but if you received this letter, then I can’t do that.

My choices have brought me to this point, and I can’t say I regret anything about my life now that I understand what true relationships are like.

I do regret one thing, and that’s leaving you behind. I’m sorry, Hamuko, for breaking our promises. I won’t ask you to forgive me.

This is just another consequence of my actions, and I will bear it as my responsibility.

You will always be my little sister.

Goodbye,

Minato

——————————

‘Now what?’ She thinks, staring blankly at the gravestone. ‘I bought an old dormitory to renovate so I can feel less guilty for using brother's money one I start getting tenants  — I need to do some tidying up, but it’ll be a good place to rent out, so I can have a little extra money just to be safe. I don’t have a meeting with the detective until next weekend, and I need to wait to hear about my enrollment to University.’

She looks up into the sky, watching the clouds floating by amidst the sunset skies.

How long has she been standing here?

“Shiomi-san? You’re still here?” comes the familiar voice, surprise and a hint of concern in his voice. Looking up, she finds herself staring at the man she’s seen only several hours ago.

“Oh, Sanada-san,” she politely greeted after a moment of silence.

She knew that seeing him again was inevitable, considering that he was a student at the university she’s enrolling into, but it’s only been a few hours. And, unlike before, he wasn’t alone. Standing a little away was a group of young adults, with a teen, a dog, and a foreigner girl.

“I was actually just about done,” she smiled at him. “There’s been a lot on my mind, so it’s rather refreshing to get it off my chest.”

It wasn’t necessarily a lie — she really did feel better, even if she had a minor headache from all the things that she needed to deal with. Renovations. Paperwork. Meeting the detective. University.

Paperwork was no joke, but solving a mystery with almost no clues was the absolute worst.

Ah… so much to do.

“I see,” he looked at her, understanding in his eyes as he simply nodded.

“Well, I ought to get going before it starts getting dark out, Sanada-san,” she bowed to him, smiling politely. “Have a good evening.”

She walks past him, getting a better look at the group. What a colorful group, she thinks. Blue baseball cap guy, a lady in a pink sweater, a petite lady in green, a blonde foreigner, a teen in an orange sweater, and…

Kotone instinctively smiled, bowing politely at the group and glancing up at Mitsuru Kirijo, the most famous among the group. The heiress, or rather, the leader of the group. Wasn’t she her brother’s friend? If that’s the case, then everyone here must’ve been the group who showed up at her brother’s funeral.

So she was right. Akihiko Sanada was the same Akihiko-senpai her brother mentioned in passing.

“I take it that you and your friends have been taking care of my brother’s grave,” she bowed again. “Thank you for looking out for him even now.”

She bites her tongue, her mind cursing at them. How much did they contribute to her brother’s death? There’s been shady rumours of the Kirijo Group, they were wealthy and had more than enough influence to keep things hidden.

Kotone will never know.

Before they could say anything — surprise, shock, or just downright confusion written all across their faces — she takes her leave. Fists clenching, she bites her lip and wonders how she ought to go about this.

She can’t take any risks right now.

It was safe to assume that they were all dorm mates or or they were all part of the same club, otherwise they wouldn’t plan on visiting together with an almost carefree air to them.  It was also possible that they all happened to know her brother from separate instances and came together to grieve after his funeral. He’s mentioned quite a lot of names, so that’s her first step: rereading everything and writing down names and his relation to them. That’s already her plan for before the detective arrives.

She wasn’t going to demand answers from them. Not right now.

For starters, a cover-up was still in the realm of possibility with the Kirijo Group involved. And it was very obvious now that they might know something from how they acted at the funeral back then. They grieved for her brother, but it was different from all the other funerals that she’s been to. Back then, she thought nothing of it because her mind had blanked and she couldn’t focus.

But Kirijo recognized her after she thanked her, with a flash of guilt and understanding. Maybe she’s grasping at straws for something, but it doesn’t matter.

She will find out the truth.

[luvwich]

wip whenever

tagged by @merge-conflict @wistereia @ghostoffuturespast recently for a WIP whenevs~

i've been noodlin on a new fic (a sequel!) it'll be a while before i start posting it on ao3 as i'm still zeroing in on the broader plot, but for now i'm dicking around writing scenes like this one~

The candelabra's dancing flames hurled their light against the wall of the cramped booth. The penitent raised his head to regard his own shadow and, beyond it, the unseen face of salvation's ambassador.

“Forgive me, Father, for I’ve sinned.” Memories marched up the back of his neck, peeking ‘round dark neural corners, as he took to the confessional’s claustrophobic embrace. “Now, I dunno how you Valentinos do this confessin’ shit, but it was pretty laid-back at the church I used to go to in Watson.”

The priest, so far as he could tell through the screen, could have been any old Watson priest. “Proceed with your confession in the ways you’ve been taught, my son,” the man said.

“Well see, Father, it’s been…” Calendar pages fluttered through his mind; a counter spun its faces around digits zero through nine, sped up, faltered, and crashed. “…five thousand days or somethin’ since my last confession. You got a clear schedule this evening?”

“The Lord receives one of His flock who’s been astray for years with no less love and mercy than the others. For you, yes, I have time.”

“Okay, let’s just kick it off then, I guess. I’ve killed a few dozen people.” More fuzzy arithmetic floated behind his eyes in the cedar-scented darkness. “Maybe more’n a few dozen. Most of ‘em had it coming, though.”

The priest’s robes rustled from the other side of the grille. “That is for the Lord to judge only, my child.”

“Fine, fine, let him have it, let him have it. So, let’s see. I’ve drank to excess. And I’ve been bangin’ chicks left and right, if that’s still something God cares about. Haven’t really been keepin’ up to date on the rules.”

“God’s rules do not change with the times. They are the one thing that does not change. Please continue.”

The penitent drew a breath. It brought to him wafts of incense, resinous and heady, which attempted to mask aromas of less divine provenance: petrol, iron, sweet rotting garbage from the adjoining alley. He closed his eyes and traversed that dust-packed road of memory, seeking the ledger of his sins, his larks; all those moments of terrific damnation on which he’d built his name.

“Okay,” he said, “So. Since my last confession, I fingerbanged Mariah Sawyer under the bleachers. And I sucked face with Richie Greenwood — it was for a dare, but, uh, I also liked it. Does God still care about the homo stuff, too? Should I start another list just for that?”

The breaths and rustles from the other chamber of the booth were beginning to lose their patient cadence, and he thought he could make out the priest rubbing his forehead in silhouette. The answer came through lightly gritted teeth: “No, we can just fold the ‘homo stuff’ in all with the rest of it."

“Sure. Deal. Uh, I railed Kai Prestonson, and then I cheated on her with her older sister. That was a fun summer. Now, I’m gonna have some trouble rememberin' names after this point, so — yeah, let’s just round it up to like a hundred of this kinda thing.” He paused. “Do blowjobs count?”

“Yes. They are sodomy, in fact.”

He whistled. “Shit. Gonna be saying Hail Marys til my fuckin’ hair goes grey, then. Okay, add a couple hundred sodomies to my tab.”

“Alright. Continue.”

“And then I was railin’ Christine Markov for a while. So let’s say that’s another hundred or so railings and.. well, not as much sodomy as I’d prefer, if I’m bein’ honest. Never cheated on her, but she thought I did. And lately I’ve been doing absolute shitloads of premarital railin' with Vania Perez.” He paused, listening carefully for any reaction. “Been gettin’ a little sodomy in with her, too,” he added.

A holy silence emanated from the fragrant wood of the screen that divided the mercenary from the man of God. The priest’s voice was measured when he spoke again.

“You have sinned, it is true. Yet the mercy of our Lord is a jealous flame which cannot be extinguished. If your heart is repentant in the face of all you have done, He will welcome you in His heavenly house in the next life.”

“Killer. Thanks.”

“I'm not finished,” the priest grumbled.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Say three 'Our Fathers', three 'Hail Marys', and three 'Glory Bes.' Pray on this, reflect on the grace that's been given to you today, and carry your repentance forward into noble deeds.”

“Nova. Sure. That first part I can do.”

“Is there anything else on which you seek my counsel?”

Outside the booth, an altar boy whose face consisted of more chrome and ink than bare flesh began pacing fitfully.

“So,” the confessor ventured, “that last sin I mentioned. Vania Perez. Do you know her?”

The priestly silence prickled. “My child, I have given the sacrament here in Heywood for many years. I have heard confessions from a dozen Vanias Perez. Can you be more specific?”

“She’s about five foot one, smokin’ hot, curly hair.”

The priest sighed. “That narrows it down to five or six, my son.”

“Okay, well, she’s also got jade green Kiroshis, a hoity-toity accent, and a cuerpazo that could make a deacon slam his head through a fuckin’ stained glass portrait of the Santa Maria.”

The altar boy’s pacing continued.

“Ring any bells?”

Fifteen seconds and as many shuffles of spit-shined shoes trudged on before the priest answered: “Ah. Yes. That Vania Perez.”

[forabeatofadrum]

Just Some Guy (9/9) - COMPLETE

AO3

–

Epilogue

MATT

My mum is loaded, so I can afford to take a gap year to travel. I’m going to America with John and Leslie for a cross-country road trip for a couple of weeks. I will visit the Cordero family, of course. John bemoans that the city of Samwell doesn’t exist in this universe, or something, so we’re making a stop at Providence since that’s ‘the next best thing’ or whatever. Leslie really wants to see Ohio for some reason. Apart from that, we have no concrete plans.

What will I do afterwards? I don’t know. I can go to university, like Luis, Scott and Sam. I can try to find a place where I can enrol in February. Or I could look for a job, like Ryan and Arnold.

We’ve graduated. Our entire life is in front of us.

John tells me not to worry, since my story will be over anyway. That’s so weird, because I feel like I am only just at the beginning.

I tell him that.

“No, really, man, this fic will be over in a couple of paragraphs,” he says back, “Around 300 words left!”

As usual, I don’t know what he means. The two of us are walking up a flight of stairs. We’re visiting my mum. She moved to a new flat in Camberwell and there’s an extra room. I will move in here after I come back from my road trip, because I like the idea of living in London and I miss my mum.

We leave the stairwell and go through the door that leads to my mum’s floor when I see someone in front of one of the flat’s doors.

This guy is on his phone, leaning against the wall. He’s wearing a floral top and jeans. A large bag is slung over his shoulder and he’s holding a huge water bottle in his other hand.

I didn’t recognise him for a second, with his hair loose like that and with a casual look, but it’s Baz Pitch.

What the fuck? What is Baz Pitch doing in my mum’s hallway?

He hasn’t noticed us yet, too engrossed in whatever’s on his phone. We pass him without a word and quickly enter my mum’s flat before he can notice us.

“Mum?” I yell out.

My mum emerges from the kitchen. Her hands are covered in flour.

“Yes, dear?” she asks.

“Why is- I mean, there’s a guy loitering around at number 61!” I say. Does my mum even know that’s Baz Pitch, the Pitch Heir? Even I had troubles recognising him and I just spent 8 years in the same class as him.

“Oh, that handsome young man?” my mum laughs, “The neighbours joke that he haunts that door day and night! They should just give him a key already.”

“… They?” I ask, but I can already feel the dread building up.

“His boyfriend lives there,” my mum says lightly, “I haven’t actually seen him yet, since I am often at work, but I know that he lives there with a friend.”

Baz Pitch’s boyfriend.

That means…

Simon Snow.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

--

End notes:

Hey yo it's John Johnson here. The author told me I have the privilege to write the last author's note but also who are we kidding? We all know it's still the author putting the words in my metaphorical mouth. ANYWAY supes thanks for reading. Watching Matty grow up from a strapping young lad to a full-blown adult has been a real treat and I hope you liked seeing his story unfold as much as I did. Or maybe not. I mean, brah, I was part of it lol. (Can I make Matty meet Jack and Bitty? How does this work? I mean, I also already met Kurt Hummel in another fic of the author, so everything is possible.) But yeah thanks a lot for reading. I can tell you the author absolutely loved writing it and sharing it with you.

It's so funny, cause chapter 8 was the last one, but then Annie letraspal made some gorgeous fanart (which is linked in this chapter) and the author realised it'd be really fucking funny if Matt hadn't entirely gotten rid of Simon and Baz yet.

MCD's story is definitely over. I told him so myself. Yet, there are some small snippet of his future you might like to know. Like, don't spoil this for Matt yet, but he and Leslie won't last. Boo. Or fun fact, did you know I actually spoke to Baz regularly? LOL. Lmao even. Matt never knew, so neither did y'all, since it wasn't relevant to the plot. I did mention in a blog post on the author's blog that I think he's fit, but bet y'all didn't see coming I was friendly with him. And yeah, Simon and Matt (and Penny) are neighbours now, but no worries, Matt will continue his uneventful life in ignorance. The dude won't know Simon's moved out to Hackney Wick till idk a year after??? I might tell him sooner, but as I mentioned before, gaslighting my bestie for the narrative is a treat.

All this to say that the world of Carry On.... carries on, even without Matty giving you a glimpse into it. Apart from what I mentioned above, I have no fucking clue what's next for him and therefore neither does the author. Or is it the other way around??? Do I only not know because she doesn't know??? I should ask her. But even so, feel free to keep Matty Chris D. (thanks Dre for the name, I was gonna do a shout-out to you in the fic itself but it never fit oop) in your hearts. I definitely will. Stay 'swasome everyone and have a good day. - J.J.