#he also hates blue fruit and pop fruit which is too bad for him since thats a good 95% of our diet

[arolesbianism]

Ive finally started playing rainworld for the first time and while perhaps modding the hell out of it for my first playthrough was a bad idea my idiot son who I only feed food that he hates would surely disagree

[rumblelibrary]

I'm not sure if you have already done something like this before, and if you did, please let me know, I'd love to read it, BUT I was wondering if you could do a little thing, maybe with Sebastian Zöllner, where he is like totally behind on every fucking deadline, work is just piling up, he got into stress with his ex, the dishes are not done, he should go take out the trash, you know, everything is just piling up and he just cracks under the pressure, severely doubting his worth as a person. And his friend, the reader, gotta try their best to build him up again, telling him all the things they love about him, and it slowly turns into a love confession without them noticing.

Is this too elaborate, does that make sense for Seb? Idk. To me it does? Like he's always very...Seb around other people, but deep down I feel like he's always under this pressure to live up to his own and others expectations, wanting to be big and famous and perfect in a way.

I'm so sorry, brain go brrr.

Never Enough [Sebastian Zöllner x Reader]

Word Count: 4k Warnings: bad habits (heavy smoking and drinking), self deprecation, depression and some fluff in the end. A/N: I loved this prompt, I love to write Sebastian so thanks to you once more for giving me this opportunity

He should have probably realised something was wrong when the ashtray was vomiting cigarettes out from its dooming position beside the laptop.

He nervously used the left part of the one he just ended to scavenge some space and just pressed it along the others.

Or maybe when after another sip of the same cold coffee mixed with cheap gin he felt the walls of his stomach revolting and stirring against him, threatening a much bigger damage.

Or, again, when he felt like calling back Elke because he was so alone and he was hungry and tired, and she might hate him but he could pull some puppy eyes and maybe it would work. It usually did.

The truth was that he shouldn’t have taken up so many jobs, but the bank account was crying and he needed them, he needed the money.

But again: writing about the umpteenth girl- artist performing naked on a famous historic location?

Or do we have to talk about the way somebody splashed some colour here and there  on a canvas saying it is the catharsis of his young mind against the social construct?

Please, may God spare him from the man calling himself landscape artist because he takes pictures of naked girls on a field.

Charged up with this amount of nothingness, he could just write and delete, write and delete, words count going quickly up to 400 only to go back at 0 in a snap of his fingers over the buttons, because he couldn’t just tear them down. He had to give them some hope, a glimpse of potential he couldn’t see and he wasn’t even aware it existed. Each of them disgusted him, but he was specifically asked to be entertaining and not a killer with his words.

So he kept swiping up videos and photos of these artists, trying to find one thing, one holy grail to get attached to and finally write one good optimistic line in the middle of the words he had to pull up to keep a moderate tone.

He rubbed his temple running over his hairline, which by the way was perfectly fine, before his hand reached down and he touched his t-shirt pulling on the neckline to gather some air, he was wearing his pyjama still, white stained shirt on blue tartan pants. He raised up the shirt and bowed his head down giving in a long inhale from the inside and just cringed to himself.

He looked around as he couldn’t stand up, if he did then he will get only more distracted and these articles needed to be ready for tomorrow.

He noticed the spray against the mosquitos on the floor, those little bastards always hiding under his desk to bite his ankles, he picked it up and sprayed it over himself like it was perfume hoping to ignore the need of a shower for few more hours.

His eyes scanned the small studio flat he was living now: the dishes sticking out of the sink, the noisy fridge buzzing. The one table that was also his work desk filled with used mugs, stained plates covered in cigarettes and leftovers, empty packages of his favourite brand discarded everywhere: from the bathroom up to the couch and to the small bed he owned. Damn, if he run out of cigarette it will be hard to ignore how he also run out of food.

The space was dark and gloomy, some of his stuff still packed up, the fake pop art panting of him and Elke staring at him reminding him of his other loss.

He didn’t touch the bed in days, he just slept on the seat or on the couch.

His attention was attracted by his phone buzzing.

He sat up straight as it was her, it was Elke.

Did she sense his discomfort? 

“Elke” he picked up the call in a second.

“Wow, a quick answer, did you have your phone already in your hand or it happens just so late at night?”

Her sarcasm did’t go past him, but he just thought how long it was since he heard a human voice and not the recording of some idiot calling himself artist.

“No, I was thinking of you”

“Yes, sure, look I have sent you an email with the bills of the time you were here, the ones you have left to pay and it is only fair that you pay at least half of them”

“Sure” he just said it because he wanted to go past the point of money, he wanted her back. Maybe he could crush at her place, feel her hands through his hair, shower, sleep some good sleep and the articles will come around in few types “Elke, I was thinking we might…”

“I just called you for the bills”

“I know, but maybe we could have” his eyes darted at the top right of his laptop screen to see the time “a drink together?”

She huffed a laughter as he frowned lightly “I know you Seb, if it is money or sex what you’re looking for that door is closed and it has been for a long time”

“I know” he murmured as he let out a breathy sigh, a dooming sense of loneliness creeping over him like a giant spider ready to wrap him up and eat him “I just hoped…”

“Don’t hope Sebastian, you’re already an hopeless cause”

She hung up on him and he was left there, he kept that same pose with his phone against his ear. His eyes trailing once again over the empty page of his document on the screen, on the chaos surrounding him.

He nibbled on his bottom lip before running his tongue over the pained area.

He pushed the phone back down on the table with a tremble of his jaw and a shaky hand.

She was right.

What he did of his life anyway? He lost most of his occasions in life, he was now in his thirties and he concluded nothing of what he hoped to be, he failed in all the departments both as an artist and as a critic.

A jack of all trades is a master of none, and maybe only the first type of the famous quote could be applied to him.

He couldn’t even take the trash out or he couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that was vaguely resembling of fruits or vegetables. It is all good when you imagine yourself as a bohemian rooting against the world, when you convince yourself that’s only the proof you needed to know you are fighting well against a system of art that privileges banality and marketing over real artistic value and that, one day, all your struggles will be worth it.

Even Picasso was poor for a long time in Paris.

Damn, maybe to be in a situation like this in Paris would sound more romantic.

But the truth was: he never imagined to have to do it alone, that life would feel so overwhelming, that there wouldn’t be anything but extreme struggle, anger, loneliness and a terrible diet.

For a moment he wished to be a baby again, to be the bright boy he was and let mommy take care of his needs and his dirty shirt and empty stomach. He wished that maybe somebody noticed him before, that somebody saw his talent and helped him to pull it out instead of leaving him to do it on his own only to come late to every step.

And now it is too late, he is lost in the sea of terrible paid jobs and anguishing relationships, let’s not forget maybe he indeed had a receding hairline and he was doomed to get bold .

He squeezed his eyes as a soft sob took over his lip, hand running over his forehead as he pulled on his hair justifying his tears with some physical pain. He shook his head as he tried to gain back some composure, hand flung over to pick up his coffee mug and giving in a long gulp of the coffee, the same one he swore before to not touch again, only to almost choke on it, couching it out only to pick up the bottom hem of his shirt to clean his laptop screen.

He fucking hated to write on a computer, the old typewriters inspired him but that damn ink was too expensive now for his sore pockets.

He smirked to himself as he kept doing it, finding good excuses to call himself off any responsibility. But maybe Elke was right, well she surely was, she had two degrees, maybe he was really a lot cause. He frowned as he wiped slowly the screen with his already stained shirt, the wetness sticking then against his skin as soon as he let it go giving him another shiver.

He didn’t have even the strength to cry, he could only accept it was over.

The curse that he shouted out loud when he heard knocking at the door, smashing him out of his thought spiral, generated an immediate anger reaction from him.

“Fuck, shit, if it is the fucking neighbour, I swear I will kill her cat or that rat she has as cat, fucking hell”

He grumbled as he stood up moving across the table not caring about his state, he only wanted to crawl back into a ball and maybe nuzzle a bit somewhere.

When his death glare appeared after the door opened in a powerful swing his eyebrows lifted immediately finding you on the other side.

He blinked, one of those sleepy blinks where somebody closes his eyes and then opens them really wide to make sure it is not made up in their brain, that one.

His eyebrows furrowed as he stared at you 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“You should wash your mouth with holy water Sebastian” you said shaking your head raising your arms to show him some paper bags “I am bringing food and body shower”

He shook his head “Are you calling me stinky?”

“I am” You quickly replied moving past him into his place ignoring his groan.

He stood by the door slowly closing it, he was sure that old bitch was looking through her peephole, only then he stared at you try to make your way into the filthy kitchen. He was really embarrassed about his antics, but surely this time he exceeded some record.

“I am speechless Seb, I helped you with the moving and this place seems to have taken over you” you said as you knew he was in some rut when he kept such a long phone silence.

He was usually always texting, sending memes or one sentence texts.

You cared about him, deeply, you knew he was full of flaws and little quirks, but that’s what made him special. Nevertheless, you were worried about the state of the place, how it showed the way he let himself get dragged through the days. So he observed you, better to say, your back, the way you moved around opening the window to let fresh air inside, turning on a lamp to make some light that wasn’t just the blue one of the screen. Pulling out commodities and food from your magic bags like some sort of Mary Poppins of struggling writers. How you poured soap in the dirty load of dishes and pans, the way you marched securely to his desk to pick up that filthy mug and you frowned just sniffing at it.

“Is that poison?”

“Rat poison” he corrected you.

You shook your head as you cleaned a glass and filled it with water and among the groceries you pulled out a banana.

“Have this now, it will help” you said and he took the glass with one hand and the banana with the other like his brain was shut down.

He stared at you as you leaned your head slightly on side, he went through bad times after the break up but you had never seen him in such a helpless state.

He was chaotic but he always loved to keep up his appearance, to give that handsome and damned kind of vibe.

“Sebastian” you called him as his eyes spaced out and now where back on you “Are you alright?”

He observed you, he stared at your face like he was trying to recognise you, truth it was he kept pushing himself to say yes, say yes, say it is all good, make a joke, a remark, keep it up. You don’t need his burden, you don’t need to hate him like Elke and others do.

Just say yes.

“No” he said as his lips trembled and you watched his ironic mask fall right in front of you as he looked away hiding his tears, real tears, not the ones he can play out whenever he needs.

Just as quickly as you gave him the banana and the water you took them off his hands afraid he might hurt himself by dropping the glass in particular.

"Seb" you called his attention as he sobbed moving like a bird trying to hide his face against his own shoulder.

You took his now empty hands dragging him toward the couch and kicking off the pile of dirty clothes and discarded books on top of it to make him sit down with you.

"Talk to me"

He didn't, the man that was never out of words, even in the times he should have been, was now silent as a tombstone staring away from you as you gave a gentle squeeze to his hands. It pained you to see him in such a state.

So weak, so helpless like a lost child.

"I can't help you if you don't talk"

Sebastian shook his head still staring at the wall.

"You can't help me"

"Is it about writing? I can proof read you, it will be a moment"

He shook his head again making, hair bouncing from side to side.

"No, it is not important if I write or not"

You frowned at that comment.

"What the hell?" you just blurted out "Seb you're a talented writer, you're passionate, funny, witty, why shouldn't it be important?"

He looked up at you shaking his head "I can't write, I can't put together two sentences"

Your eyes travelled onto his side profile, truth to be told he looked worn out but he was still handsome like only Sebastian Zöllner could be. He had that chaotic charm, even with a wrinkled suit he was fearless, strong, poignant. You couldn't avoid him, he owned every place he stepped in and you could feel his gaze run through your bloodstream.

When he asks a question, he meant it, it was a test run into your bones and you loved every second of it.

His lips tightened as he diverted his gaze finally to you. You knew his relationship with Elke was important, he cared about others even if he didn't show it daily like most people do.

"Is it Elke?"

"No, she was just right"

"About what?"

He gulped, his throat dry as he pulled his bottom lip in his mouth grinding his teeth over it like playing something through that gesture.

"About me"

"Breakups are always shit, don't you even.."

"No Y/N" he interrupted you, he was serious, maybe his voice trembled but he wasn't lying or playing some role "I am really a lost cause, I mean look at his place"

His hand waved around the small flat like a drunk orchestra director.

"It is pure trash, I haven't finished unpacking, I didn't have food until you came, I am unable to look after myself, to look after the people that I care about. I worked so hard to be an artist and then I became a critic and now I am so knee deep into my own shit that I have more debts than entries, more failures than successes, more haters than friends"

He gulped down, the waterline of his eyes dangerously red and he sniffled up as he let out a little weak whisper "I just wish I could disappear"

"No"

It came out of you like a lighting bolt, it surged out of you before you could even elaborate. Like an order. A command.

"Seb, you're now in a rough patch of life, but you have always worked hard and well as a writer"

"I am a writer because I failed as an artist"

"You're a writer because you know of what you're talking about, because you're able to see the difference between marketing and passion, between hard work and laziness, because you respect that profession and it makes you the best critic"

"I just want to destroy them all because I am envious, Elke always said I am fuelled by my own envy”

"I have read pieces of yours only encouraging the rightful and bringing down the real frauds"

He shook his head as he was just fixating on the wrong, on the flaws, on the problems.

You huffed cupping his cheeks to force him to look at your eyes.

"Look at me" you said not admitting replies "you are talented in what you do, you are one of the best in your field and you're not on some big magazine only because they know they will have to put up with your shit: with the fact you always meet the people, you look at art pieces in presence, you touch them, you research the colours, you scrutinise everything to the bone"

He took your hands hating to be held like that but he squeezed them in his owns.

"And yes, you're allergic to ironing clothes and washing dishes is your personal nightmare, and yes, you give out many temper tantrums and have a terribly dark sense of humour, you are a failure at time and money management, you love filthy rich stuff and smoke like your life depends on it"

He stared at you, he listened quietly as you knew him from so long and many people, Elke included, wondered what you gained from helping him or just being around him that much. He often teased his ex about being jealous of you and she always said that it was like being jealous of a mortgage.

"So you agree?"

 "I agree to say you are flawed like all of us, that you are just the perfect balance to your writing, you're what you write. You're passionate, you give out the two hundred percent of what you can give, you are like this, you go all-in in everything you do, there's no compromise, no mid way, no foreseeable change of direction, you speed up into the darkness and don't look back. You are bold, you take risks, you let people hate you because you do not compromise with who is son of who or who is the director of what gallery, you judge people over their real qualities. Because you talk to them in their face, because you don't hide that yes, you want to be great, because you're handsome and charming and smart, nobody can outsmart you in your field, not even that idiot you hate that much"

"Golo Fucking Moser" he murmured

"Golo Fucking Moser" you repeated with a chuckle "you don't have anything to envy to him beside the bruises he probably has on his knees for bending down to anyone"

He chuckled at that comment.

"And also, you're more attractive, that pisses off Seb, it is unfair to the poor man”

He leaned his head on side as you wouldn't normally shower him in compliments, he had enough ego for that, but you had never seen him like this and you wished to never see him again in such a state.

"You find me attractive?"

"Well for sure you're an eye candy" you joked

"I mean it"

You rolled your eyes blushing a bit and huffing a chuckle "I do, alight? It is universal knowledge"

He looked at you as he still held your hands in his, his thumbs making soft shapes over the back of your hand.

"That I am attractive or that you find me attractive?"

You groaned looking away with an embarrassed giggle “okay, okay, I see you're back in yourself, let's eat now"

You moved to stand up but he didn't do the same remaining sat in his spot.

"Tell me"

"I pumped your self esteem enough, now let me go"

He chuckled softly, he never really thought you'd be interested. He usually shows off so many bad traits that he has to tone himself down and really try hard to attract someone. It is all an effort on his part to appear better or at least less quirky.

And then now look at you, appreciating even his shit show.

"Y/N" he murmured giving you a soft squeeze. You kept silent not daring now to meet his gaze. He bowed his head trying to reach for your eyes with his gaze and he looked up at you, a smile that wasn't provocative over his lips.

You pulled back yanking your wrists off his grip to move straight into the kitchen corner.

You begun pulling ut some fresh vegetables and bread, you also got some cheese knowing he loves it, wanting him to have a good dinner.

He followed you almost immediately and soon you found his arms grasping you once more in a hug, his chest pressed against your back, his forehead on your shoulder.

"Seb, you..."

"I know, I stink, just give me a moment" he said and you obliged him gently caressing his arms around you.

You hated to be in the friend zone, but you wouldn't be able to survive to lose him forever or to have him joke about it.

Now he was quiet, tender like a hurt pup.

"Thank you, you know you can count on me too, right? For anything” he said and you chuckled softly “I know, you’re my favourite avenger”

He nodded brushing his crisp beard against your cheek and after few minutes stuck in that hug he dropped a kiss on your neck "love you”

He pulled back giving you a smile as he picked the shower gel you left on the counter bringing it with himself to the bathroom with a soft hum.

You smiled a bit bitterly to yourself as you guessed it was meant in a friendly way, but today it was alright. You could endure it. Also that kiss, he always did it when he was drunk, at parties or in the taxi back home after a viewing. It was his cuddly way to say things without saying them, without rambling, and you appreciated that silent language. 

Maybe now he was drunk over his own feelings.

Just like you.

Tagged @cazzyimagines @lieutenantn @handmaiden-of-mischief @thesunflowersutra @zemomybeloved @fictionlandslanddreams @charistory @greeneyedblondie44 @apparrio @hb8301 @whatawildone @rhymerhymerhyme  @thehuiabird @lilith-blackrose @unbeatablecurlgirl @obsidianlaszlo @alindeluce @zemosimp05 @baronesszemo-blackwood @nocapesdahling @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @archangelproperty

[poptod]

Hey, I have an ask for Elliot struggling with disordered eating. Love you for keeping up with the gender neutral fics, not too many of those around.

notes: this was a little harder for me because i currently struggle with a disorder like that and at first i didnt want to do it, but i think itll be good for me WC: 1.3k

Warning: Obviously, this has eating disorders and general bad stuff going on. Read at your own risk, you know the deal.

+

Every now and then, just every now and then, the signs start to pop up. They worry you incessantly for about a week, but they go away fast. Things return to normal. He shows no remembrance of his strange behavior, or at least he denies his behavior was strange in the first place. It keeps coming up though––he'll stop eating, stops dead and claims he's too busy to remember. He stretches his hands towards the ceiling and his sweatshirt rides up, and you can't help but to notice the visibility of his ribcage. The accent of his collar bones. Usually the sight of them has you yearning to kiss him––now though, sickness wells in your stomach, and it feels as though you're taking on his hunger so he won't have to experience it. A buffer between Elliot and the real world.

You can't really take him to a doctor though. It's not a diagnosable problem, it's just––it worries you. Elliot maintains a pretty standard form of body throughout these waves of eating habits, so there shouldn't be an issue. He has it under control, according to him, but sometimes it gets bad, and you have no idea why. Does he have body issues? Is he legitimately just forgetting to eat?

The knife in your hands––freshly sharpened that morning––easily peels away the skin of the round pear, large in your outstretched palm. Generally you try to stay away from knives, as you have a nasty habit of frequently slipping up and cutting yourself, but your strokes are slow and methodical. A long line of yellow peel falls from the pear in one, curly stroke that you maintain for the whole of the fruit. When you cut it into slices juice runs down your fingers. You lick it away and clean everything up, only then taking the plate to Elliot, who is typing furiously on the computer.

Not once have you ever known what the hell it is he does on his computer all day. He even talks about it, but you just don't understand all the tech jargon, and he's surprisingly alright with that. To him, it means he can talk and talk about everything and you'll never leave for the horrid things he's done.

"Not hungry," he says, and his unused voice is barely audible above the clicking keyboard.

"You also haven't eaten in two days," you say softly, pushing the plate ever so slightly closer to him.

Two days––you counted, watched him carefully, but he didn't notice. He never does.

He says nothing and doesn't take any of the fruit. They're special, too––you had to go down to the Asian market to get them, and that's an hour drive in the city traffic. More than anything you feel useless––useless to help him, to understand him, useless to him. You could cry, but you don't. Not in front of him. He's never seen you cry and you're not about to let him see.

Instead you leave him there with the plate, lock yourself in the bathroom for about five minutes, and come back out.

Still hasn't taken one, you think to yourself, counting the number of slices on the plate.

Fourty-two minute TV episode later, there's still twelve slices. Sneaking out of his apartment to return to your own, still twelve slices, beginning to yellow. Your teeth grind yet you do nothing, which is what you usually do, which is what you hate yourself for.

Next time you bake chocolate chip cookies. He has a single bite of one but you nearly cry (again) with the amount of relief you feel. So the next time you make sugar cookies, cut them into fun shapes and decorate them with colored, homemade icing. You give him the heart colored red and blue––he eats the whole thing. Granted, it is one of the smallest cookies, but he ate the whole thing.

You grin like a maniac while mixing up a batch of banana bread, the mildly sour-yet-sweet scent reaching you as you hum. If you can find the right baking pan in your bag, you can make it into a cake, with sweet frosting you're sure he'll love.

"What are you doing," he asks in a monotone voice. You whirl around, finding him on the other side of the small kitchen.

"Banana cake, or bread, depending on if I can make the icing," you say.

"... why."

He doesn't even say it as a question. He says it as a statement.

"I don't have anything better to do," you lie. Actually, you're skipping out on a lot of work, all of which you will have to make up on your vacation days. Telling him straight out why you're baking all these things will only make him stop eating, you know that. 

After that he returns to his computer. Later that night you serve up the banana cake––which you manage to make a great frosting for––and the two of you watch an old 50's movie on sex education. He doesn't eat the whole slice, but he eats about half and that satisfies you.

"My cupboard is getting full," he notices one day, talking to you from across the kitchen. His head is stuck in the cupboard while you continue to stir the mix in your metal bowl.

Since the bowl is in your hands, you scooch over to him, looking over his shoulder. The four levels are mostly empty except the presence of plastic containers, all of which containing your various creations. You hadn't checked, but none of them are smaller, an indicator that he still hasn't eaten without you watching him.

"You should take your stuff home," he suggests.

"I think you need it more than I do," you say, and he has no rebuttal. He straightens his back and scans the cupboard once more before looking to you.

"You're a good baker," he says, "but I don't like cookies."

"Good thing I'm making pie then."

He eats half of the slice you give him, and none of the Chinese food you order for takeout, much like all the previous nights. You kiss his cheek before you leave and he lets you––stands still as you lean forward, doesn't flinch when you touch.

"At least keep drinking water," you say, desperate to reach him in some way.

"I know," he says, and shuts the door.

Your spine is pressed tight against the outer wall of his apartment, knees beginning to ache as they're held fierce to your chest. The stinging sensation in your nose reaches your eyes, forming tears that you despise, ones that come in big, fat rolls that mess up the fabric of your sweatshirt. He won't ever listen, will he? He won't ever take care of himself. Why doesn't he care about himself?

Probably because he's too worried about the world. There are things he does that you will never understand––both on computer and within the mind, and despite how many times he's talked about it, you don't get just how much effort he puts into helping the world. All that strength, all that fierceness, it pours into his work and leaves nothing left for himself but sickness in his stomach.

So why doesn't he care about himself?

He doesn't have the energy. It's spent, used on the world, on the poor, on the needy, on the desperate, on those clawing their way through a world that hates them, and on you.

You're so busy trying to take care of him you don't notice the little things he does––buying new ingredients for your creations, cleaning up the spots you miss, paying your parking tickets when you forget, washing the clothes you accidentally leave at his apartment. You don't need someone looking after you, but it's so nice you hardly notice it. Those little weights are off your mind, and the clarity shows just how thin Elliot is spread across everything he can't bear to leave to fend for itself.

There's not enough time in the world for him to help everyone, so he excludes himself. That's alright to him. That's logical to him, it's normal, it's all he can think of being right.

You just wish he'd let himself be taken care of.

[wordynerdygurl]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Author’s Note:  Well hello my friends!  Since hitting 1000 Followers in July (WHAT?!  STILL UNBELIEVABLE!!!) I’ve been working on the requests sent in by my amazing troop of readers!  This is another one of those stories which I’m pleased to share.   As always, help my unending need for validation but re-blogging or liking the story!  Also, you can send asks, make your own request, follow me, or be added to my tag-list! Last, @sammy-jo1977 is my beta... and my ride or die home girl!  Thanks lady! Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader, appearances from most of the Avengers

Summary/ Request:  @queenofmischief asked for a story where “Loki and you guys are friends growing up and you realize you like him and try to hide it but somehow at a party or something or another, maybe Seven Minutes in Heaven is involved, it comes out and really hot smut ensues?”

I used some of the ideas you gave me, dear reader, but made it a little more mature, so I sincerely hope you enjoy!

Warnings:  Lots of 80′s references... music, movies, clothes, etc.  References of smut, heavy petting and kissing

ENJOY!

"But, like, I really don't want to go."  Your cellphone, pinned between your ear and shoulder, pushed your earring into the tender flesh behind your lobe.  It probably didn't help that the jewelry in question was a pair of huge hoops, fluorescent in color and hard plastic.

You heard Wanda sigh, "Yea… I know.  It's just, we all are… and you know it'll be worse if you don't show up."

"I really hate it."  Using a sing-song voice didn't change the feelings behind your words.  Going up to the main floor of The Avengers Tower for a theme party was not a thrilling idea.

"I know you do-", pulling open the door between your room and hers, you palmed your phone, frowning at your friend, "-But you look great!"

"Radical… or wicked… or tubular would be more 80's appropriate."  Still, her compliment made you smile.  It really was a great outfit, totally encapsulating the MTV generation's vibe, complete with hot lime colored leg warmers. 

 Your cropped REO Speedwagon t-shirt was cut off at the neck, dripping low enough to expose one whole shoulder, and a wide stripe of the magenta colored tank top underneath.  Having tucked the camisole into your acid washed denim micro miniskirt, you finished the ensemble with a pair of black pumps, and the obligatory scrunchie of cheap yellow satin.  It pulled your hair into a low, side ponytail.

For makeup you'd painted your eye-shadow on, bright turquoise with pink under your brows.  Lipstick in a shimmery rosy hue brought extra attention to your lips.  And you stored your cell phone, lip gloss and keys in your iridescent fanny pack.

Wanda couldn't help giggling at the sight of you and your collection of clashing colors.  For her look tonight she'd dawned a pair of skin tight leggings, an over-sized button down shirt with a stretchy black belt that was about four inches wide.  Ballet flats, teased out hair and stark makeup had Wanda looking like a video vixen.  It was impressive.

"See, you went sexy… and I went silly."  Pouting now, you flopped onto your bed, "Can I just not?"

Sitting down next to you, patting your knee, "You don’t look silly, but you do look like you could be a hair band groupie!  That’s sexy!” Shrugging your shoulders, unconvinced, Wanda added, “Besides, tonight… It may be fun.  And, worse case?  You get blitzed like a teenager on prom night."

"No… that's not the worst case.  Worst case?  He's there."

Sighing, Wanda shook her head, "He does still rub you the wrong way, huh?  And, yes, he may be there… but-" standing, taking you with her, "-it would be a shame to waste all your wicked cool work!"

Hearing her use the dated vernacular made you grin.  She was right.  Tonight could be a blast, if you were able to get out of your head.  Jumping off the bed, unsettling one of those fashionable leg warmers, you hugged your friend tightly.  You could do this.  You wouldn't be alone.  And if Loki was there, he'd just have to get over it.  You weren't going to pay him any attention.

---

"Mr. Loki… can we please go?  We're already stupid late."  

Bending to straighten his red suspenders, Loki smirked at himself, "Greed is good."

Sighing, exasperated and edging into anger, Peter pulled open the front door, "I don't know what that means, but you look… greasy."

"Like I could steal your company in a corporate take over?  Maybe steal your woman too", Loki questioned, excited at the idea.

Crossing his arms over the red puffy vest he had bought specifically for tonight, Peter grunted, "Uh… I… I guess.  I meant more like one of the assholes in Wolf of Wall Street."

God, you had better be there tonight.  Loki was putting a lot of hope on Stark’s little shindig and he wanted to make sure that all of the little details were absolutely perfect, giving him every advantage.  Standing now, slicking back his long dark hair, "That, my young spider friend, is exactly what I am going for… Evil 80′s CEO."

"Great."

Loki heard the frustration in the young man’s voice.  Someday he would understand, Loki thought, turning to the youthful Avenger beside him, "You certainly make a dashing Marty McFly, Peter.  Truly."

"Aw!  Really, Mr. Loki?  Ya mean it?"  That made the Spider Boy preen, popping his collar, and standing a little straighter.

"I do!  Now-" flashing a rakish smile to his reflection as he passed, "-let's get upstairs and see how everyone else is doing!"

---

Everyone else was ready to party.  The last mission, a particularly difficult one, involved Hydra agents banging it out against our heroes along the rough terrain of the polar ice cap.  Draining the physical and emotional resources of everyone, including you and Loki, Tony had planned a little party to kick off a period of rest and relaxation.

As soon as the elevator opened you knew it was going to be an insane night.  Everything was brightly lit.  Paper streamers were strung up haphazardly along the walls and ceiling.  Big plastic buckets of chips and cheese curls were put out on the counter along with a huge punch bowl that reeked of rum and sugary fruit juice.  On the floor in the kitchenette was a garbage can, freezing, full of ice, only the keg tap visible.  A stack of red plastic cups was at the ready.

Someone had ordered pizza.  Well, dozens of pizzas.  The boxes were piled along the table already crammed with pretzel bags and Doritos.  

Steve was being instructed on the basics of Beer Pong and, you decided, definitely being hustled by Sam.  Bucky looked on with curiosity, quietly sneaking closer to the chips and dip, hoping no one would notice.  Rhodey was watching them both through the reflective lenses of his aviator shades, doing a great job of looking like a Top Gun cadet, including the tight jeans and broken-in bomber jacket.  Grinning as he drank down a bottle of beer, Rhodes shouted, "Hey Stank!  Is all of this really necessary?"

"Don't come for me Rhodey!"  Wearing a pair of neon leopard spotted knit pants, a green polo shirt and white sneakers, Tony was clutching a glass bowl filled with little slips of paper to his chest.  No one had managed to figure out what they were or why he held them.  Drinking two beers from his plastic, can holding helmet, Tony would answer only with a slightly slurred, "It's my trashy 80′s party and I do what I want!"

And Tony had thought of everything.  Sounding like a mixed tape pulled from the radio, the tunes didn't let up!  Ratt, Foreigner, Cindi Lauper, Madonna and Tom Petty all took turns blasting through the room.  So many hits from the past pumped through the sound system, getting people on their feet and keeping them there.  You were swinging and swaying along, having a blast, but when Bon Jovi hit the group of Intergalactic Warriors went wild.

Clint, rocking a mullet wig and a vest with no shirt, jumped onto a table making the motions of an air guitar champion.  Singing into a beer bottle like it was his microphone, "Whoooooaaaa we're halfway there…"

Guffawing, you hid behind your Bud Light filled cup, already red cheeked from the non-stop laughing and alcohol in your system.  At some point you had given up Wanda to Vision in a varsity jacket, doing his best jerk-off jock impression, and not quite pulling it off.  It wasn't his fault that he was too polite to put people down in the way of Eighties movie bad guys. Alone, feeling flushed, but happy, you needed a break and some quiet.  Flinging yourself onto the soft sofa, watching the frat house style antics unfold all around, you couldn’t help laughing.  Tony always found a way to knock the group out of their post mission funk.  Sometimes that meant week long Caribbean vacations and sometimes that meant dressing up in retro attire and scream singing with a cold beer in your hands.  Either way, it seemed to bring everyone closer together, and the pictures were certainly worth framing. The couch dipped as someone joined you.  Swiveling, not quite drunk but not quite sober, you couldn’t help the groan that left you.  “Oh.  It’s you.”

Not exactly the response Loki wanted, he was just grateful that you spoke to him at all.  Lately you seemed to flee any room he entered, a hurt and heavy sigh escaping you before you'd make your exit, never looking back.  Loki couldn't understand why.

After all, it had been two months since that night.  The one where he'd stumbled on you, glowing blue in the light of the television set, alone and in the darkness.  You asked him to join you, he had accepted.

The movie was called "Say Anything" and Loki had to admit, as far as romance on film went, this story was very moving.  But that was an unexpected bonus to being so near to you.  Before the credits rolled, you had burrowed against him, snuggled under his arm with your head on his chest.  

Stroking your hair, Loki pressed a kiss to your forehead, thoughtlessly, naturally.  Pushing away, looking up at him through hooded lashes, "You… you kissed me?"

Words failed the silver tongued devil, something he still pondered all these weeks later, so a nod was all you got for a response.  Kneeling, your sleep shirt riding over your thighs, Loki watched your small hand rising to cup his cheek.  Feeling your lips against his own was the beginning of the best night of his life.

And then, nothing.  It was like a switch had been thrown and no matter how many ways he tried to reach out for you, Loki wasn't able to connect.  Not like that night.

So, he was going against his nature tonight.  Joining the group, drinking a bit of his brother's mead, wearing a dated but pristine business suit.  All done in the vain hope that something would shift in his favor.

He had already lost too many nights to memories of you.  Soft, full skin under his broad palms.  The tiny moan you exhaled when Loki’s tongue met your own.  How your wet, willing body accepted him, without question or stipulation.  And in the afterglow, when your head rested in the crook of his neck and your cherry cola scented breath circled him, you let Loki hold you close.

But he buried it all.  Tonight he was the embodiment of all things slick.  Nothing could stick to him; not when he had a goal in mind and this much gel in his hair.  Loki Odinson would be taking you home tonight, come hell or high water. Wolfish, Loki’s grin was wicked, “Yes.  Your dream has come true.”  Sitting back, he crossed his designer suit covered knee at the ankle, exposing socks with little golfers on them.  He let his right arm rest along the back of the sofa, not around you… not yet, but inching closer. “What is that cologne you’re wearing?” “Don’t you like it?  I’m told Drakkar Noir was quite the scent of the 80′s.  I did my research.” Twisting, you looked him over, impressed despite yourself.  The suit was totally of its time.  Black, pinstriped and you were sure the jacket that came with it was draped somewhere safe.  His shirt was shiny but soft and bright, blinding white.  Suspenders of red matched the tie that draped down the center of his chest. With his hair combed straight back and held in place with some kind of product, Loki looked like he was capable of eating a six course lunch at Sardi’s, complete with dirty martinis, then jetting back to the office in time to defraud a corporate spending account.  The kind of executive that blackmails a co-worker with pictures of a mistress.  The kind of douche bag that tries to take over a rec center to build a mall.  In short, an avarice little asshole.  So, why was it so hot? “It’s… overpowering.”, boy, was that an understatement.  Loki’s whole aesthetic was overpowering right now.  And, was he moving closer? His bent knee brushed against your own as he leaned near enough to be heard at a whisper, “You look adorable, you know that?” Scrunching into the corner of the couch, eyeing him suspiciously, “Oh?  Really?” “Really.”, his hand brushed over your exposed shoulder, making you jump at his touch.

Uh uh.  No way.  You would not be so easy to seduce this time around.  Even if those wide hands sent goosebumps growing all over your body, Loki would not charm his way into your panties again.  Not like last time.

It had been spontaneous.  Genuine, at least for you.  And in the moment, it felt like Loki had given you a little piece of himself, a tenderness that no one else ever saw in the far flung Frost Giant.  

Maybe that's why Clint's words hurt so much.  He had told you so casually, holding up a spoonful of Cheerios, "Loki said his last girl was a drag.  Basic bitch?  Is that what the kids say?"

Thinking about it now made your heart hurt.  You had given yourself to someone who thought you were beneath him.  Loki couldn't want you.  You would never be good enough.

But that night haunted you.  His soulful kisses that stole your breath.  The drag of Loki’s hands over the swell of your bottom as you straddled his hips.  His solid chest under your own hands, dark head curved against the couch cushion, but those burning eyes never leaving your face.  “I thought you said I was plain.  Simple.  Boring.”  

Leveling his own words back at him made Loki straighten in his seat.  How could you think that?  Unbalanced, stammering, “Uh… I… I’d never…” “Never expected me to find out?  I believe that.  And, let me tell you this-”  Pushing yourself up with the help of the couch’s arm, you rose on unsteady legs, “-I’m not nearly drunk enough to fall into your arms again.”  Spinning away, you made a dash towards the people in the kitchen, without looking back. Watching you go, Loki could do nothing but stare after your retreating form, flummoxed.

“That was… painful.”

He knew that voice well enough, frustrated, confused and unfit for company, “Go away, Tony.”

“I don’t think I will.  In fact-” sitting down in your empty spot, patting Loki’s knee, “-I’m going to make myself comfortable.  Now, tell Uncle Tony all about it.”

Rolling his eyes, unable to find you in the crowd, Loki risked a sideways glance at his replacement companion.  Was he really going to indulge in this?  Tell his almost friend about you… about your one night together?  Loki raked his hands through the pomade in his hair, growling low, “If you breathe a word of it Tony, I’ll-” Lowering his wrap around sunglasses, peering at Loki, Tony smiled, “Your secret is safe with me.” ---

Thinking less and less about Loki as the night went on should have been a relief but it seemed like the scent of him followed you everywhere.  Unable to get free of him, you busied yourself with drinks, dancing, and munching like you were a kid again.  Anything to keep your mind from wandering.

It's not like the party was boring.  Not at all!  There was plenty to distract you and you let it.  Natasha made you her partner for beer pong and somehow you successfully won against Rhodey and Sam.  

Next, Wanda needed you, which is how you wound up sitting on the bathroom sink listening to her go on about Vision in that wistful, loving way that made your own heart ache.  Being a little drunk, you had to fight the urge to cry because you were lonely and hurting. “I saw you talking to Loki… what was that about?”  She was reapplying ruby red lipstick, studying herself in the mirror, not looking directly at you.  

Wanda's voice cut through your self doubt spiral though, something you were thankful for, and with a casual tone you countered, “He was trying to get something started, I think.” Eyebrows lifting, Wanda’s interested piqued,  “Really?  Loki was hitting on you?” “Yea… I mean, I think so.  Was coming on awfully strong too.  But… he’s been a jerk, right?”  

Wanda cleaned up her eye make-up taking a minute, after washing her hands she looked at you, “I mean, he is here.” “So?” “So, you know he’s not really a joiner.  More of a lone wolf.  In fact, I think this may be the first of these little parties he’s come to.  Maybe he’s changed… grown a bit?  And, honestly, you never asked him about-”

Hopping off the counter, cutting her off, more than a little huffy at her good sense, “No, I didn’t and I don’t plan to.  Loki thinks I’m a bore?  Too basic for him?  Fine.  I have better things to do with my time.” Laying her hand on your shoulder, Wanda stopped you, eyeing you in the mirror once more, “I know his words hurt… but you’re going to have to clear the air eventually.  Especially if we’re all going to work together.”

Shrugging, you offered your friend a small smile.  There was truth in her sentiment, even if your slightly drunken brain rebelled against hearing it, “Yea, you're right… plus-” looking around the small washroom, just to make sure no one could hear the pair of you, “- he looks really hot tonight!”

Giggling, Wanda hugged you close, “I didn’t want to say anything, but… yea he does!” The pair of you were still laughing together, standing at the back of the crowd as Tony turned down the music, announcing, “Gather round children, Uncle Tony needs your attention!”  There were a few groans, mostly from the beer pong table, as apparently Bucky was unhappy about forfeiting his winning match.  Everyone else, in all their high haired glory, were congregating near their host, curious and more than a little drunk.

“Tony, what the hell, man?  You killed the tunes!”, Clint shouted, spilling Bud Light foam as he joined the tightening circle. “Patience, my drunk friend.  You all remember this?”  From the table nearby, Tony picked up his glass bowl, triumphant, “Our Destiny!”

Pepper, sighing with a smile, “So dramatic!” Shaking the bowl in her direction Tony smirked, “Ok smarty, then you pick first.  Go on… Pick!” There were oohs and ahhs from the assembled Avengers.  Rolling her eyes, Pepper reached in, grabbing the first slip her fingers found.  Pulling it free, she grinned, eyeing Tony, “It says ‘Loki’...” Hearing his name, Loki snapped his head up, surprise registering on his face, “Excuse me?” Holding it up for his examination, Pepper waved the slip under the regal nose of the junior Odinson, “See… your name.” “Yes, but why?”

Butting in, Tony snatched the scrap from the hand of his lovely fiance, practically dancing with glee.  Turning to Loki, “Now you, Gordon Gecko, pull a slip.” Aware of all eyes locked on him, Loki reached into the jar, digging around a little more than necessary.  Finally satisfied, the thin paper pinched between his fingers, Loki opened the folded note.  When his fierce gaze met yours, you knew without a doubt.  It was your name he had grabbed. Throwing a thick arm across Loki’s broad shoulders, Tony hugged him close, “Well?  What’s it say?” It all made sense in that moment.  The tacky costumes, flat beer and endless music.  A drunken moment of clarity had descended.  Tony, waving his arms, eating up the crowd’s reactions, heads turning to gauge your response.  Swallowing hard, your hearing failing you, you just faked a smile. You and Loki were going into the closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven. Only there was no way you were going to do that.  Not after what he’d said.  Not after your one night together, right?  But you felt a gentle hand pushing your forward, into the center of your circle of friends and for some reason, your feet followed.  

Refusing didn't enter your mind.  With everyone ogling you and Loki, making a scene would only cause more speculation, something you weren't keen to do.  Instead, you stepped next to Tony, outwardly eager to play along.  

You just shouldn't have dared to look at your proposed make out partner.  Laser focused, Loki’s lusty look hadn’t wavered.  No, the light in those thundering blue eyes was carnal, darker than you had ever seen, matching your own.  Against your better judgement, you wanted Loki, too.

Whatever Tony was saying was a blur, merely sounds, because you were utterly stunned by the nearness of Loki.  The roaring laughs of the rest of the group were drowned out by your pounding heart.  A door opened to a dim room, the pantry maybe?  You didn’t know and in that moment you didn’t really care. 

With a small smile, Loki ducked into the cupboard, lacing his fingers with yours, offering a bit of his strength.  Dragging you inside, your body pinned between a shelf of snacks and the hard body of your frenemy, a whimper of want passed your lips.  Loki still smelled so good and now he was so close.  “Have fun you two!”, Tony’s words were accompanied by the door shutting you and Loki inside, in the dark.  Surrounded by silence, Loki’s sharp pants were the only sound louder than your racing pulse, which was saying something. Afraid to move, afraid of spooking you, Loki struggled to search your stare in the low light.  He had already experienced your angry dismissal of his attention tonight.  It wasn't something he wanted to relive, not when you were so close with sweet and speedy breath, your chest brushing against his own at each exhale.

Lifting a hand, grazing over your uncovered shoulder, Loki's touch was electric.  You moved towards it, towards him, needing more of his energy.  Craving it.

Bold in the dark, you grabbed at Loki’s suspenders, tugging him closer.  Rising on your toes, covering some of the distance between your mouth and his, you pressed a hot kiss to those soft, pink lips.  Under your fluttering fingers Loki shivered, "Darling-"

"Shut up.  I… I don't care."

"But I never…"

"I told you.  I don't care.  Now kiss me like you mean it, because we only have about six more minutes!"

Not needing any more encouragement, Loki found the flare of your hips in the shadows, molding your curves to the rigid planes of his body.  Desperate, needy, you felt his tongue move against your own.  Want, plain and simple, led your own fingers to the collar of Loki’s starched shirt and the tangle of his raven hair. Fisting it, tugging against those luscious locks, you couldn’t seem to get close enough to the tall God sharing your cupboard.  Whining, his name on your lips, you drew Loki tight enough that the press of your breasts was edging towards pain.  Demanding, true to your word, with every pass of Loki’s magical mouth over your own the last few weeks were forgotten. Hungry for more, Loki roughly squeezed the flesh of your ass, grinding you against his wool blend covered crotch.  Stuttering, his arousal was so stiff, for a minute Loki worried about making a mess.  But that feeling was replaced with unbridled ecstasy when your lips found the tender skin below his ear.  

A nip, enough to make Loki hiss, was soon soothed by your sucking on the same spot.  Resting your butt on the nearest shelf, you didn’t have to stand on tip-toe to reach the soft, sweet sections of Loki where you longed to lavish attention.  He took advantage of your new position by sliding a free hand along the swell of your separated thighs.  “I just need to feel you, dove.  I need to know that you want me as much as I want you.”  It was a husky whisper, directly into your ear, and it sent an arc of icy fire to your core.  When his long fingers skimmed over the silky slick of your panties you moaned in unison, bucking into Loki’s touch, lost in the moment. Stepping between your legs, Loki took one of your hands into each of his own, pinning you wide open against the boxes of cereal and granola bars that lined the pantry walls.  Devouring you slowly, Loki kissed along the column of muscles at your throat, across the exposed line of your clavicle.  You could do little more than take his delicious torment as more and more of your sweat dappled skin was serviced by his silver tongue. “Yes… Loki…”, tumbling out of you, just like the night when you first came together, you crooned his name in delight.  Breathless, boneless and broken with need. CLICK!  The sound made you both freeze.  Snapping swiftly, Loki’s head swung towards the door where the bright light and noisy crowd of the party was intruding into your private pantry. “WHOA, WHOA, WHOA!  What do we have here?”  Swinging into the tight space, Tony’s shrewd look took in the scene in seconds, “What were you two doing in here?  It was a very quiet seven minutes!” Straightening to standing, Loki stood, blocking you from sight as you readjusted your clothes.  Smoothing down his tangled strands, sarcasm dripping, “Talking.  Very quietly.”  When he was sure you were decent, Loki offered you his hand, and blinking you stepped back into the wild and raucous party still in full swing.  Tony, flashing a knowing grin your way, nodded, “I hope you didn’t smush the chips!  We still need those!” Giggling, you locked onto Loki’s arm, letting him lead you towards the keg and away from the shouted questions of your friends.  You knew there was no mystery about what happened in those seven minutes.  Hair mused, makeup smudged, lips swollen and shirts twisted, the pair of you were walking neon signs for getting to third base.

Silently Loki poured you a beer, taking a small glass of Asgardian mead for himself, before raising his glass your way.  Returning his gesture, you downed the frothy ale fast, feeling a little parched after your spit swapping time in the hall closet.  Boring into you, his eyes followed each of your movements, searching for a sign of your feelings. Dropping your empty cup on the counter, you turned and jumped onto the marble ledge, feet dangling.  “Loki?” Placing his own glass down gently, Loki took his position between your bent knees, looking down at your darling face, “Yes?” “Did you say those things?  That I was… boring?  Basic?” Shaking his dark waves no, Loki bit into his bottom lip, “Never.  What I said was, my last girl, ages ago, was those things… but my new lady-” tracing along your jaw, tipping your chin his way, “-she is everything I could ever want.”

“Am I… am I your new lady, then?” With a fierce flicker of fire in his eyes, Loki nodded yes this time, “Absolutely.” Leaning into him, arms around his neck, you tugged him down to meet your waiting lips.  “Good.  Good to know.  Because I think I’m going to watch a movie tonight.” “Really?  I recall really enjoying the last one.” “Hmm… me too.”  Sliding off the counter, ducking under Loki’s long arms, you turned back to face him, “My room… say, an hour?”

Snapping his suspenders, smirking, “I’ll be there.”  Watching you skip away made Loki’s pulse pound in anticipation.  Pouring himself another glass of clear liquor, he chuckled, amazed at the change seven minutes had created.  

“You’re welcome.” “Ah!  Yes, many thanks Tony.”  

Leaning against the counter, Tony knocked into Loki’s shoulder, “You’re cute together, Rock of Ages, but don’t make me regret helping you tonight!  Treat her right.”

“Of course.  I... truly, thank you.”, sincerity seeped from Loki at the favor from Tony. “No worries!  No worries!”  Waving away any additional gratitude, Tony looked over the group of half cocked, and totally cocked heroes before him, “Of course the real bitch was getting Pepper to pull your name from the bowl…”

My Marvelous Minxes tag-list:  @queenofmischief @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @iamverity @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @wolfsmom1 @procrastinatinglikeabitch @mizfit2 @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @jessiejunebug @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @thenatalie @sammy-jo1977 @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @is-it-madness @jenjen8675309 @alexakeyloveloki @poetic-fiasco​

[voidstilesplease]

Swords and Arrows

or That Summer When The Ares and Athena Cabins Finally Allied For Capture The Flag part 1 of 3

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

(A Steo Demigod AU) || For @anonymous's prompt: "Scott as a Roman demigod instead of Greek" || word count: 2,647 || The Entire Demigod Series -> [AO3][Tumblr] (it's finally a working link tfg)

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

I.

"Why the long face, little brother?" Tara asks cheerfully, wedging herself on the bench between Theo and one of their half-siblings, and placing down her tray brimming with colorful food as opposed to Theo's bleak and half-empty one. She grins at Theo, but he's not in the mood to return the goodwill.

Theo pokes half-heartedly at the contents of his tray: a lonely sealed bag with a couple squares of ambrosia inside - the food of the gods - some cheese and two slices of wheat bread. "Don't call me little brother," he mutters with little heat, leaning to the table to whisper a request to his goblet, which immediately fills up with sparkling water.

Tara looks over Theo's head at Fred, their Head Counselor, sitting on Theo's other side. "He's not back yet?"

Fred shakes his head, wiping the bbq sauce at the side of his mouth. "Nope," he replies, popping the 'p' and catching on to the question without much elaboration. By now, there's only one 'he' that reduces Theo to a brooding and sulky man-child. "He hasn't answered Theo's last IM, too."

"Try the last five Iris Messages," Theo grumbles in annoyance. He turns to Tara, face contorted in a sour expression. "I mean, how difficult is it to take my call? He always has drachmas in his pocket exactly for this reason."

"He's probably busy disintegrating monsters," Fred says reasonably. Which, of course, makes sense. Monsters make the most infuriating and persistent roadblock of all. They make any journey twice as long for demigods - if they don't manage to kill you, that is. "Or, you know," Fred adds, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "maybe he's being an accomodating companion to the Son of Jupiter."

Theo grinds his teeth hard and fixes his head counselor with a death glare. Fred only shrugs at Theo's reaction, obviously aiming for the exact response, and chuckling through a bite of ambrosia. Theo has half a mind to punch him in the jugular. He doesn't need a reminder of who Stiles is with, thanks. Spitefully, he harshly impales a piece of grape from Fred's tray with the tines of his fork and shoves it to his mouth in the most menacing manner he can project.

It only makes Fred guffaw, spraying bits of food onto the table. The campers across from him slide their trays away protectively, shrieking an indignant chorus of "Fred!" as they make sure no stray bits made it into their platters. Fred raps at his chest as he reaches for his goblet, still laughing his dumb ass off while trying to wave his hand in apology.

Their neighbors also share their opinion on the appalling table manners of the Ares brood - spitting out food may slightly be a common scene from their lot, unfortunately.

Brett from the Apollo cabin throws corn kernels at Fred, a strange display of solidarity if you can believe it, while Ara, the half-Korean junior counselor of Athena cabin, gives the Ares and Apollo tables a look of disapproval. She's a pretty terrifying 15 years old, which is why Stiles is extremely fond of her. With Stiles gone to New Rome the first week back to camp, Ara is doing a kickass job taking over the head counselor duty. (But, to Hades with it, Theo would much prefer Stiles to be scowling at their table.)

"Okay, first of all," Tara says over the little chaos. "Fred, you're disgusting. Second," she holds Theo's chin to compel him to look at her, then smirks, "Stealing a piece of fruit is not a cabin 5-worthy intimidation tactic."

Theo opens his mouth for his scathing retort, but at the same time, one of Stiles's younger siblings points in the direction of the cabins. "Hey, it's Stiles!"

Many heads look up, but Theo springs to his feet instantly, scanning the area for Stiles. He catches sight of him almost immediately, bounding to the Mess Hall in his orange shirt, face bright under the camp's enchanted borders, as radiant as the last time Theo saw him four long months ago. Without much thought, Theo finds himself carried by his feet towards Stiles.

Stiles sees him coming too, and his smile broaden. Theo sprints, forgetting himself and where they are. They meet halfway, by the entrance of the Mess Hall, with Theo knocking into Stiles's open arms strong enough that it's a surprise they're still upright on the ground.

Theo squeezes him to make sure his mind did not conjure a Spectre to appease his longing. Stiles feels solid under his hands, if a little sweaty, and he smells as if he was run over by monsters. But underneath the grime, he catches the scent of Stiles's favorite body wash. He feels himself sagging in satisfaction.

Stiles pulls back, "I was going to ask if you missed me," he says, face flushed and beaming. "But it appears I don't need to."

"You never need to."

Theo doesn't know how long they stood just smiling at each other, but they break apart at Chiron's pointed clearing of the throat. It's not even in Theo's head to be embarrassed by his actions despite the cackling and many leering faces of the other demigods. Mr. D merely raises an unimpressed eyebrow, though the twinkle in his eyes can only be from amusement.

Chiron is sitting on his wheelchair today, hiding his horse's ass behind the illusion of human legs - why he still does it is a wonder - and rolls forward to them.

"Stiles Stilinski," he greets merrily, the lines of his eyes crinkling when he smiles. "Welcome back." Chiron gazes a little behind them, then, nodding kindly towards another boy Theo only notices, is standing patiently at a distance.

The boy, Scott McCall, son of Jupiter and a praetor of the Roman demigods' army, the Twelfth Legion Fulminata, steps forward to bow his head in respect of the centaur. "Chiron," he also acknowledges Mr. D who didn't bother to get up from the head table. "Lord Bacchus."

"Hm," Mr. D hums without correcting the demigod, sipping on his diet coke dismissively.

Theo doesn't hate Scott, but he also doesn't like him - strongly, irrationally, dislikes him. Instinctively, he shuffles closer to Stiles as if his boyfriend is going to dissolve into the Mist if he isn't close enough to pull him back.

Theo's been agitated since Stiles told him, a week prior, that he was flying to New Rome in California where Camp Jupiter is, the Roman camp, for a 'friendly' visit. Everyone's allowed to cross borders, but no one has really done so just to tour around. After all, the camps are on opposing sides of the country and monsters don't pause to consider not killing vacationing demigods.

A couple of times before last week, when Theo visited Stiles in his Manhattan apartment, he'd, out of the blue, mentioned the varied courses and scholarships that New Rome University offered, as Theo laid his head on Stiles's lap while the latter read. Theo hadn't minded it at the time, as Stiles quickly dropped the subject. But another month passed and Stiles mentioned it again, randomly, during one of their IMs, adding that he might check into the enrollment requisites. Theo started to worry, then.

If Stiles goes to New Rome for college, Theo can't follow him. He never even got to finish eighth grade. And Scott, he's one of the Romans, their leader, and grudging as he is to admit, one of Stiles's friends now the more he visits Camp Half-Blood. He will eagerly encourage Stiles, telling him of the countless perks that Camp Jupiter has. He will be as big a hero there as he is in Camp Half-Blood, and he can rise to praetorship alongside Scott if the Legion so wishes it.

Scott is not a bad person per se, but he wears the color and insignia of the place Theo might lose Stiles to. And if Theo blinks the wrong way, he might not see quick enough that Stiles is being whisked away to the other side of the coast, leading a life without him.

⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹

After officially welcoming the son of Jupiter to the camp, feeding him, and getting him settled in Cabin One, the campers go about their daily routine of training.

The blade vibrates when it hits the shooting log, right on the marked spot. Then it disappears into thin air and reappears in Theo's hand only to be thrown back to the same spot. He does it repeatedly, unrelentingly, until Tara aims with his bow and hits his blade with an arrow to send both weapons clanging to the ground, a few meters away.

Theo heaves; he doesn't even know he's breathless just from throwing until then. Wiping beads of sweat from his forehead, he nods appreciatively at the bow in Tara's hands when his sister stands beside him with a smile. "If we aren't siblings, I'd mistake you for a daughter of Apollo."

"Please," she laughs, opening her palm, gesturing at the fallen weapons. Both her arrow and Theo's blade fly to her hands in a matter of seconds. "I don't want to light up like a glow stick while waxing poetry during a fight." Children of Apollo don't actually do those in the middle of a fight, but they do glow when they're healing, and they can make others speak in rhymes just for fun. Tara offers the knife back to his brother. "Also, we're children of Ares. By birthright alone, we should know to wield any weapon of war."

Theo takes the knife and snorts, "And yet, I suck at archery."

"I can't summon weapons out of thin air," She points out, grinning at him as she puts the arrow back to its sheaf. "I guess we just can't have it all or Zeus would be zapping us one by one."

Theo scoffs, leaning into position to begin throwing again.

"Speaking of Zeus," Tara says, a playful tone in her words. "Where's your favorite son of the Sky God?"

Theo spares her a glare before flinging his knife and burying it onto the battered practice log. He purses his lips before answering, "He's at the Big House with Chiron, Mr. D, Stiles, and the other head counselors." He clenches his fingers around the blade's hilt when it returns to his hands. "They're talking about a little orientation on New Rome University's scholarships and handing brochures and study guide for the DSTOMP." Theo doesn't bother hiding the acid in his voice from his sister. She'll recognize it anyway, even if he masks it with neutrality. He can't mask it with neutrality.

She quirks a brow, "You don't sound too eager," she notes. "Are you still jealous of Scott, little brother?"

"I'm not jealous of Scott," he says, gritting his teeth. "And don't call me little brother."

"Why are you so strung up, then, if you're not baselessly jealous?"

He finds his reply being interrupted for the second time that day, this time by a distant rumbling coming from the sky. All activities on the ground cease as everyone turns to the increasing volume of an invisible running engine. Theo scans the space above them, at first not grasping anything in motion, until a burst of light reveals a flying, glowing red bus coming down fast to the ground.

🏹⚔️🏹⚔️🏹⚔️

Someone goes to alert Chiron as the rest of them scamper to the landing site by the amphitheater. The bus landed surprisingly smooth, despite its breakneck descent.

"Is that a Ferrari bus?" One of the campers points out.

Sure enough, the logo at the front of the vehicle, a black prancing horse on a yellow background, is of the famous luxury sports brand. But why would there be a flying Ferrari bus at Camp Half-Blood?

"Oh gods," Lori gasps somewhere on Theo's left. "Is that dad's sun chariot?"

As if on cue, the bus door opens, and a teenager who looks about Theo's age exits, wearing what he can only describe as a hipster look. He flashes a blinding grin - and quite literally at that, since they have to shield their eyes momentarily from the glimmer of his teeth - clears his throat dramatically, and announces:

"Hello demigods

The sun landed on your grounds

I am so awesome."

There's silence at first, then a series of enthusiastic applause from Brett and the rest of cabin seven comes next. The teenager bows theatrically, although Theo finds nothing extraordinary about what he just said. But soon, the others join in with half-hearted claps, recognizing the powerful aura suddenly seeping into their skins that could only mean there's a god among them - well, another god, aside from Dionysus, their Camp Director. And with the terrible haiku, there will be no mistaking who graced their camp today. The last time Theo had seen him, during the almost war on his first year at camp, the god had worn the body of a muscular mid-20's blond man. Now, it seems he favors to look even younger despite his four thousand years.

"Lord Apollo," Chiron's voice drowns out the applaud as he trots forward, now in his form as a white stallion from the waist down. "It's a pleasant surprise. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood."

Mr. D isn't as warm. He snorts, rolling his eyes. "Oh, bother, what brought you here now?"

Apollo's bright persona doesn't falter as he gestures at the bus - that is apparently his sun chariot. Theo remembers the time when he almost drove Apollo's chariot, if the Hermes cabin did not snitch it from under their noses, and thus putting three cabins grounded after a severe prank war. He had to take Liam's dish duties and pay him just so his present for Stiles could be delivered in time for Christmas.

"I'm here at the request of my little sister." The god says proudly, as the door opens again, this time with grumbling teenage and prepubescent girls coming out from the bus. All dressed in the same outfit: silver jackets, silver camo pants, and black combat boots, and they carry at their backs a quiver of sharp silver arrows. They glance at Apollo with apparent distrust, standing as far away from him as possible, as the god continues, "To deliver her hunters safely while she's away on a personal errand."

Several demigods groan in displeasure at the news, and even Chiron's lips form a thin line, though he tries to smile through the tension. Mr. D seems to be delighted now, though, happier to see the strange, vicious-looking ladies than his own brother. Personally, it feels like an omen of danger. Mr. D is never happy unless something perilous is about to descend upon his campers - even if his own daughter, Malia, is among them.

"Thank you, Lord Apollo." One of the hunters says albeit she looks physically pained by her words. She stands at the front of the group, a silver ring headwear around her head, with bouncing black curls, a pointed nose, and a strong chin. The other hunters also look at her when she speaks. It's easy to recognize her as the group's leader. "And thank you, Lord Dionysus, Chiron, for accomodating the hunters of Lady Artemis."

Chiron nods at the girl, eyes softening with kindness born out of familiarity, "You're always welcome, Allison."

Mr. D laughs boisterously, then. Like his punishment has just been lifted and he can go back to Olympus and away from the brats, celebrating by getting drunk on wine after years of prohibition. "Well, at least, Capture the Flag this Friday seems more enticing now, don't you think so, Chiron?" He gives a wicked grin at his campers, not waiting for a reply, his change in demeanor promising a torturous next few days for the demigods. "Ready to lose the Camp Half-Blood banner to these little girls for the 58th time in a row?"

~•~

[yukipri]

On Thatch & Marco - A One Piece Mermaid AU Text Headcanon/Story

So I’ve gotten quite a few asks regarding Marco and the Whitebeards, and while this isn’t a response to a specific ask, here’s a little story on them!

~~

It's only been a few weeks since they've left Dawn Island, and they're still in East Blue but they've somehow already more than doubled the number of brats on board. And while the Moby Dick is far from boring, Thatch has had more adventures in this short timespan than he's had in years, and he's thriving.

Sure, he still feels little twinges of guilt for basically ditching his duties, but he's growing, in ways that the stability of an established Yonko crew hadn't allowed, and he knows that he'll be a better, more useful man to Pops and the others by the time they've caught up in the New World. Honestly, he's wondering if he should suggest these kinds of experiences for all the commanders, and wonders how Pops would feel about that.

But it's on one of these days and brief moments of calm when Thatch is daydreaming about his family in the New World when he spots a blue seagull circling far above them. It's weirdly shiny, and Thatch immediately recognizes it as a species native to an island in Pops' territory, and one that is unusual all the way here in East Blue.

Which means only one thing: Marco's checking in.

A quiet whistle from Thatch is all it takes for the seagull to come spiraling down, and Thatch remembers to take a quick glance around deck to make sure Luffy hasn't spotted it; he's learned the hard way what it means for a bird to land on deck when the ever-hungry mermaid is feeling a bit peckish.

But the bird lands safely on the rail close to Thatch's arm. It's by no means nearly as brilliant a blue as Marco, but certainly more beautiful than most birds you can find out at sea. Thatch still remembers the first time he found Marco making friends with the things, remembers laughing hysterically and making all sorts of bird jokes as Marco, then still a teen, looked more and more like the constipated old man he eventually grows up to be.

Well, jokes aside, the birds are now incredibly useful, serving as Marco's personal messengers to their allies across the world. Which, huh, Thatch supposes that includes him now, which is kind of an odd feeling.

And while Thatch wants to feel flattered that Marco's checking up on his favorite Thatch, he also knows that Marco's checking up on their littlest little brother, and the little brother of that little brother (baby brother^2, Thatch and Marco had fondly dubbed her, when Ace first told them about her). Because while Thatch's definitely accompanying Ace and co for his own selfish reasons (and he also swears it's not just so he could encounter the love of his life, darling Luffy), he also knows that Marco and Pops had ulterior motives for letting Thatch go, beyond just allowing Thatch to stretch his legs.

When Ace had asked, uncharacteristically shy, if he could still be one of Whitebeard's sons without formally joining his crew, and when Whitebeard responded with an affirmative--Thatch wonders if Ace really understands what that meant. A good parent, a good father is definitely a foreign concept to him (and unfortunately for Luffy too, Thatch has found, and knows that Pops will adopt her the moment he meets her if he hasn't already). And the Whitebeard pirates don't take the bonds of family lightly.

So while yes, Thatch is here for his own adventures, he's also very aware of what he represents, both to his family and to the world. For his family, his presence on board maintains the connection between the Whitebeards and Ace. Ace is still so very new to their family, and while no one doubts his competence, he still has much to go in terms of learning to rely on them, on learning that the Whitebeard pirates will ALWAYS have his back. And well, East Blue is kinda far away, too far for a shout to be heard on the Moby. So Thatch is here acting as their representative, and he couldn't be more honored to have the role. He is, if nothing else, excellent at being a nagging older brother, and it's the role he's easily found himself fitting into here.

But the other reason is that Thatch is the Fourth Division Commander of the Whitebeards, and no one who knows anything about pirates would fail to recognize him, and the weight of his presence. He knows people won't immediately make the connection that this crew has already been adopted, or even what that means because it's not quite the same as ally, but Thatch's presence establishes an undeniable connection between them and one of the Four Emperors. Thatch knows that when he makes eye contact with the marines and they balk, it's not just him they see: it's the huge, looming shadow of Whitebeard himself. And until the world learns to see that shadow behind Ace, behind all of the ASL pirates, well, Thatch will stay right here.

The blue gull on the rail looks at Thatch expectantly, and Thatch lets it perch on his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen. Sanji glances up in surprise and squints at the bird, but doesn't say anything as he returns to preparing dessert for the ladies (it's a reminder that Thatch should be doing that too, or else the snot-nosed cook will one up him in earning the favor of Luffy, or at least her stomach). Thatch decides to make this quick, and grabs two cookies from the hidden cookie jar, as well as some parchment and a writing utensil.

Thatch knows Marco wants to know how they're doing, but well, the timing of the gull is awfully convenient, so he's taking advantage.

Dear Blue Chicken Sauteed in Pineapple Sauce, Thatch writes, taking advantage of the opportunity to write in "code," despite the lack of confidential information and low risk of one of Marco's blue gulls being stopped. He'll take every opportunity to tease, thank you.

The stove on this ship works great, and the fish is beautiful. Thatch's pen moves before he really thinks about what's coming out. She's stolen my heart, I think I want to marry her. Thatch pauses...huh, well, honestly he's not exaggerating, is he? He'll let Marco guess how serious he is. (he's suddenly uncomfortable because he's not sure how serious he is himself, but that's a thought for another time)

And now, the most important part of the letter: PS - I dropped my hair wax in the ocean. Can you send me an extra from my room?

Because, tragically, Thatch had--and now his beautiful pompadour is a sad mess that's tumbling down his shoulders. Thatch knows he could pick up another tub of hair wax on any of the islands they’ve stopped at, but he has standards, and he needs his special wax that he’s used for decades, which is unfortunately only found in the New World.

Which makes his current situation stuck in East Blue quite tragic, except it isn't quite as heart-breaking as Thatch had thought it'd be, once he realized how much Luffy likes playing with his loose locks, and the sheer number of times Thatch has been finding himself overboard recently would have made putting his hair up again after every time a pain--but well. It'd still be nice to have the familiar weight of his hair wax in his pocket again.

Thatch decides to omit the major change with himself since he last saw Marco that resulted in the hair wax being lost in the first place: the fact that he's eaten a devil fruit. Because that's a surprise. Thatch wants to see Marco's face when he realizes how badass Thatch has become, controlling Darkness of all things. (well, Thatch has to actually get good at it first, and stop almost drowning. It's coming along)

Thatch wraps one cookie in the letter, tying it into a neat parcel, and feeds the other to the bird as thanks for his services. The bird takes off as soon as Thatch opens the door.

Well, now Thatch has a lovely mermaid to feed, and a baby cook to outclass.

~~

Thatch sees the next blue gull a week later, damn those things are fast. It's carrying a parcel this time, and Thatch reaches out gleefully, because he doesn't remember the last time he's had his hair down for this long and he can't wait to have his signature hair style once more.

The bird doesn't stick around this time, and instead just drops the parcel into Thatch's hands before wheeling back the way it came.

And...huh. The parcel's not the right size, or weight to be Thatch's hair wax.

Thatch squints suspiciously, as Ace comes to stand by him, staring after the gull. "Marco?" he asks, and Thatch grunts, already feeling grumpy and just knowing he's not gonna be thrilled by whatever Marco sent.

He opens the parcel, and inside is a little blue bauble, wrapped in Marco's infuriatingly precise, fancy shmancy handwriting.

Dear Soggy Bread, congratulations on graduating from a baguette. May you evolve into a better bread next time. PS - The stone's for baby brother^2.

Ace ignores Thatch's enraged yowl and plucks up the stone--before cursing and dropping it. Thatch's reflexes manage to catch it before it hits the deck--and he immediately knows why Ace dropped it in the first place.

The stone immediately feels weird, not necessarily in a bad way, but in a way that distinctively reminds Thatch of the sea. He's familiar with what the stone is, but not how it feels, and is reminded once again of his relatively new status as a devil fruit user. At Ace's questioning (and wary) look, Thatch explains, as a good older brother should.

It's a special stone made on Fishman island. There's a piece of seastone at its core, and then it's wrapped in a mix of glass and crystal. It's a luxury trinket popular with a lot of young mermaids, because it's pretty, but also feels like the essence of the ocean is in it, which can be immensely comforting to most merfolk and fishmen.

While not the purpose, the glass and crystal casing also ensures that devil fruit users can touch it without feeling weakened, though they can still sense the sea from it, hence why it feels weird.

Thatch hates, hates to admit it, but it's a ridiculously thoughtful (and expensive) gift for a mermaid devil fruit user who can't enjoy the sea directly, damn Marco for thinking of it first! The bastard's definitely teasing Thatch by trying to woo his crush from half a world away. Marco hasn't even met her, this is just a game to him, but Thatch's serious, damnit!!!

Thatch wishes he could be petty enough to lie and say the bauble is a gift from Thatch, but he can't, because as much of an asshole as Marco can be, Thatch still loves him. Sigh.

Luffy chooses that moment to slide across the deck to them like a playful sea lion, slamming into Ace's legs and snaking up him in a split second to peer over his shoulder at whatever her brother's looking at in Thatch's hand. Ace isn't fazed and doesn't even twitch.

Thatch sighs dramatically. Adorable little brothers and their adorable little brother^2s, damnit.

Thatch dutifully presents the little stone to Luffy, as Ace warns her not to drop it, it's gonna feel a bit weird ok. Thatch lets Ace take over rattling off the information he'd just conveyed, doing his own duty as Older Brother, and is instead transfixed by the way Luffy's eyes widen in wonder as she rolls the shiny thing from one hand to the other.

While Luffy's not really the type for jewelry or trinkets, it's clear she's enthralled by the stone, the way she is with few inanimate objects other than food. Thatch belatedly notices that the stone's a brilliant crystal teal, with shards of gold obscuring the dark seastone center, the same color as someone's Zoan form. Bastard.

"Who's it from?" Luffy asks, and Thatch knows he's told her about his crew before, but she's unlikely to have remembered any names.

He may not lie about who the gift's from, but it doesn't mean he can't take revenge.

"A pineapple man who can turn into a burning chicken," he says with a straight face, ignoring Ace's frantic gestures to abort.

Thatch finds out why moments later, as Luffy's eyes widen impossibly more, and he belatedly realizes that to Luffy (and probably only Luffy), he'd just made Marco sound like the coolest person on earth.

Thatch meets Ace's furious eyes apologetically even as Luffy's COOOOOL!!!!!! rips across deck, and they both sigh.

They're not looking forward to Luffy meeting Marco

~~

~~

Hope you enjoyed! As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated and encourage me to create more for this AU! ^ ^

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 2

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[sugargliderowl]

Thoughts About Remus' Playlist

So as usual, this is my first reaction/rant/analysis about the playlist! This time, it’s Remus’ Playlist. I think it’s going to be cursed. But a... good cursed, if that’s a thing. As usual, feel free to add on to this! It’s good to share thoughts and talk about meanings, even making predictions about the future! 

General Overview Before Listening: I love Yugen_sama ‘s artwork; her style makes me happy! Also, Remus doing that? TOTALLY HIM. Just looking at the choice of songs does mirror Roman’s playlist in a way with their own anthems, Tenacious D, maybe an etc. We’ll have to see on that. His explanation with all the emojis is definitely him, and I think that’s all I can say. Just look at it.

Reminder: Before we go on, a little reminder for your safety. The songs can be quite... a handful. If you know about Remus’ personality and interests but still wanna read the overall analysis, go to the TL:DR at the way bottom without reading the specific song analysis. If you remember the TW from the video, that really applies here. Stay safe. 

Song Analysis:

This Devil’s Workday: Genius told me that this is about a criminal going mad. Yeah. The blazing trumpets and the really radio-like voice in the song is kinda creepy, but that goes with Remus as intrusive thoughts! He’s very obtrusive, and he’s everywhere without any filter. It’s a good intro to his character. The poor sack of puppies in this song goes back to his theme’s lyric, “your pet dog stuffed into a sausage” Also, the repetition of “All the people that you know / Floating on the river are logs” is like what he does to Thomas (repetitively reminding him about the bad things). The  “Oh I am my own da[ng] God” goes along with all the biblical references he makes in his theme (and just the dark sides in general). All in all, this song/introduction just is him screeching, “HI, I’M YOUR INTRUSIVE THOUGHT WITHOUT THE UGH.” 

Forbidden Fruit (the Duke’s Theme): If you are a Fander, you definitely are singing/screaming this on top of your lungs as you listen to this. I did that, and I love that. This song itself has a lot of good analysis online, so check them out! It was the intro song of the Duke with all his motives, thoughts, and everything beyond that, so it’s definitely on here. Also, it mirrors A Gay Disney Prince from Roman’s playlist by both being their own “I want” songs as well as their character role songs. The Creativitwins strike here once.

Double Team: Tenacious D! The Creativitwins strike here again! Wonderboy was on Roman’s playlist, which is also a Tenacious D song, so you can definitely say there are some mirroring going on here (also! YES the artist choice seems like a definite factor in choosing these songs). So this song is about having sex. Okay. And having a threesome. Okay, Remus. This song, even though it’s from the same artist as Roman, has a really different theme. If the Tenacious D selection is about the twins, would this mean that Roman wants them to be a really good team who, even though are opposites, can get along, while Remus wants them both to lose the filter and have fun? Overall, it could mean that the twins both want to get along, just in different ways which contradict one another. I’m not going into the lyric details because oof.

Man: I just noticed that Yeah Yeah Yeahs was on Patton’s and Virgil’s playlists. On Remus? I didn’t really expect that, but that’s a pleasant surprise. This song is really interesting because it’s not like the other two. This song, for me, is about someone who is obsessed with a man who would make her do anything, and she’s just hooking up with him or something. Also, the whole, “You're all gonna burn in hell / I said we're all gonna burn in hell” goes back to the biblical references that the Dark Sides make as well as the lyric of “Cause your head's not in the gutter, pal / It's in Hell.” Who is the man? Thomas, probably. This probably directs back to Remus convincing Thomas to drop the filter.

Freeee: “When man becomes possessor of the knowledge of himself, he becomes the master of his environment“ in the beginning of the song is Remus telling Thomas to learn about himself by possibly accepting Remus. The lyrics “One day they hate you / Next day they love you / I'm still yellin' "F[*]ck 'em" / I could never trust—” show how Remus doesn’t trust the society like Janus, and that’s just one of the main core of the dark sides. They don’t trust people that much. This does include Virgil since he is anxiety, so he can’t trust everything immediately. They all have different ways of showing the distrust. For Remus, it’s the layback, “frick it” attitude. “I don’t feel pain anymore” and “nothin’ hurts me anymore” seems to be a potential for Remus angst of being rejected from all the sides and being the “Evil Twin”. Does he care or not care? No one knows yet.

In The Room Where You Sleep: Sleep from the shorts and Virgil will both react really strongly to this song. Why? “There's something in the shadows / In the corner of your room / A dark heart is beating / And waiting for you” (Telltale Heart reference-). Yeah. Remus listening to this would go back to that end card of Remus being creepy (and eating deodorant). Also, it possibly demonstrates Virgil and Remus’ relationship; Remus scared Virgil because of his thoughts and conjectures. The repetition of “You better run / You better hide” would also contribute to this thought, definitely. But then again, that melancholy keyboard... Why that montage at the end?

No Reason Boner: The song is very catchy and funny. But ASDKLFAJSD. This is definitely Remus’ type of song. That means that the sexual information is given control to Remus, and he probably uses the information for his jokes and intrusive thoughts. This song is what Remus' personality is: goofy yet NSFW. This intrusive thought without the ugh is probably lovable in this fandom because of that. Also, I don’t know why, but he can have that naivete even though he’s the one in charge of stuff like that. A nice juxtaposition right there.

I Told You I Was Freaky: This playlist is a RIDE. VERY MUCH A RIDE. Just all the sexual references in this song are just 1000% Remus. The song itself is quite whispery, and I guess that goes with Remus because he whispers the dirty stuff into Thomas’ ears. Well, whisper is very much an understatement. But I have to admit, if you listen to the lyrics, there are some very creative ways that people don’t think of. It’s usually a bed, a car, or in a club or party, but the lyrics are more than that. Then, we can assume how capable and skilled Remus is as the Dark Creativity; he’s as good as Roman, just in a different category. 

Queef: If you don’t know what a queef is, I didn’t too. I just looked it up while I was typing this. Wait, isn’t Awkwafina in like a movie? This, like that last song, is basically him going off on his creativity and wordplay. In future episodes, I would love to see how Remus can go off with his wordplay because if Roman’s good at all the nicknames, and if Remus is basically him but darker, that means he’s good. Like really good. This song is also very, very catchy, and I kinda jammed through it because of the beat.

Manners: According to genius, this song is a "sexually-charged bad b[*]tch anthem on which Ashnikko displays her “IDGAF”-attitude.” Basically, the vine, “I’M A BAD B*TCH YOU CAN’T KILL ME” would equate to Remus as well as the meme, “Aren’t you tired of being nice? Don’t you want to go APESH*T-.” This might connect with his facade in a way because he seems to be naive and goofy at times (although NSFW), but when he drops it, he drops it fast, and he drops it hard. For example, his facade drops when he threatened Logan in DWIT, and his facade can be picked back up quickly, too. This song also has the element of “Frick this world” attitude, which Remus showed in the previous songs, and I stan him. As the fandom did an edit once, he would definitely wear acrylic nails if he wants to. A thing that I did notice though is the lyric “Fight or flight, I’m fighting for my life.” HI VIRGIL!

Ben Bernanke: I don’t know who Spencer is, but a big OOF for him. This song’s structure is really unique because I have no clue where it’s going, and it’s going with Remus’ personality of just randomness and intrusivity (is that a word?). ALSO, the continuing snakes in these songs. So is Spencer Janus in our context? If so, Remus is quite mad at Janus. I do see why though, after that last video implying that he’s the Evil Twin. “Do you think you can mock me, Spencer? / Do you think you can capture my essence / And throw it back at me with / Humor and rhetorical devices?” Gosh, Janus and Remus could have beef with one another. Also, that “Avada Kedavra” and “I’m... a furious magician” could definitely foreshadow something in the future. Additionally, “You're the architect of my dreams, Spencer / You plan them, and build them on blue paper / And hand them to me / And then I dream them, Spencer.” 

Worldwide Torture: “I never come second place / Always been a big disgrace Smell the fear, I know you see / High achiever (Yeah, that's me!)” Welcome to Remus’ angst that we do not know much about yet. It’s great. It’s just like Roman, but in a more “I’m a disappointment” way! However, what’s quite different is that Remus is pissed. Beyond pissed about it, so he acts up unlike Roman who tries to mask it. Because he knows that he’s not regarded nicely with any of the sides, he wants to molest them and destroy the world, shown by the lyrics “A pure violation of God's great creation / It’s an infestation, it’s world domination.” I think this issue might pop up more frequently as more episodes come out, but for now, this is my assumption. Out of context, “The highest score” goes with that last episode, since Remus was present as the 80085. 

Na Na Na (Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na): I DIDN’T EXPECT THIS TO BE HERE, BUT I LOVE IT. THANK YOU. WOOOOOO YASSSS. This is actually one of the “pump me up” songs. First, “Eight legs to the wall, hit the gas, kill them all” is, obviously, a spider in the song, but in our context, we can also call it an octopus because Remus’ animal is an octopus, which has 8 tentacles (6 legs and 2 arms). Second, Remus is PISSED. He definitely has a punk aesthetic, shown by all the songs about flipping the world. The lyrics “I’d rather to to Hell / Than be in purgatory” definitely shows his determination of doing so since he’s saying that he won’t sit back. Somehow, for me it’s a growth from the beginning of “I don’t care” to “I actually care, and I’m fighting for that sh*t”. Pissed off Remus is scary Remus.

Trash People: Trash rat boiiiii. But this song is more than that. It’s showing that trash people aren’t really... trash people. “ Art is love and love is sloppy / Nothing is all pure / Nothing is all dirty” really shows the whole duality aspect in the entire series. Everything is gray. And that’s what Roman and Remus need to work on since they were divided by the black and white mentality. If Remus is okay with the gray morality, then who would be the one that he’s directing this song to? Roman. “Wearing a smile and a heart on my sleeve” though. I don’t get this lyric, but then again, tell me what you guys think! Does this mean that Remus is actually trying to be like this, or is he mocking Roman... The “no time to start over” also sounds really ominous.

Tranz: Gorillaz! Same album as Roma-OKAY THIS IS GETTING REAL. The last one with this artist had the lyrics, “I’m the lonely twin, the left hand... I don’t want this isolation.” People were screaming about this because, of course, this refers to Remus, but who knew that this was going to pop up again! That’s why I loved the artist connections during these analysis. Anyways, this goes back to the twin duality, but more of an angry tune. Take a look at this: “Do you look like me? Do you feel like me? / Do you turn into your effigy? / Do you dance like this forever?” Remember Roman’s whole monologue about Remus as someone he sees in the mirror with all the things he doesn’t want to be? This song is Remus asking Roman about that statement. Keep in mind that effigy is a sculpture that is usually used to mock or burn and is used as a negative connotation (thank you my English teacher). Remus doesn’t like that comparison at all, and I’m more concerned for him now than I was ever before after Janus saying that too. 

Death as a Fetish: Wow, this is sad. “And I will never be good enough, quietly / And you will never be good enough, just like me.” If the twins have the time to reconcile, this is probably the first thing they need to help out on each other. Remus knows more about his twin than we all thought, and he knows that both of them have problems about that. On the other hand, this song, when I looked at some of the annotations on genius, has a sad connotation. Life is so short, and it ends, and you know for sure that death is there at all times with that repetition of “death as a fetish” after everything we find positive. For Remus, I guess he knows about this. He’s a deeper character than we credit him as.

Don’t Stop Me Now: TONIIIIGHT IM GONNA HAVE MYSEEEELF A GOOD TIIME- okay. This song is something I scream my lyrics to. I also didn’t expect this, but in a calmer manner (because I wasn’t calm when this was on), yes please. Basically, DON’T STOP ME NOWWW! I don’t know how to explain this in a deeper way. Yeah. I LOVE THIS SONG THOUGH!

Things I Don’t Remember: “Things I don't remember / How the hell'd we get here? / How the hell did we get here?” This can be interpreted in a lot of ways. It could either be how all the sides came to be, how Roman and Remus came to be by both having the role of creativity, or just where Thomas is mentally since they are all Thomas. I think that’s depending on how you want to go about it. The last point is the strongest for me because of this one phrase of  “There were endless conversations / No one's mouths were really moving” maybe referring to the sides’ conversations around Thomas’ dilemmas. They sometimes only make it worse until someone has to kick in to change the viewpoint around, and that’s the reason why it feels like nobody’s mouths were really moving. Also, dressed up alligators? Okay, Remus.

F*ck It!: (Censored by yours truly with her notecard of “note your language”) The album name of taxidermy... fitting. Back to the song. “Why abstain? Why jump in line?” and “They say don't take the risk you're sure to fail... But what's the worst that could happen, end up in a coffin? / Isn't that where we're all headed anyway?” really highlights Remus’ spontaneity, which is a big factor in intrusive thoughts. This is back to the “frick this”, but more a “frick it I’m doing that sh*t, and I don’t care about the consequences” (going back to Na Na Na on that). Also, “'Cause it's easier to lie to yourself than to face reality” reminded me of Janus, but does this also apply to Remus in a way? Or does this apply to all the sides who are lying to themselves, especially Roman? Anyways, Remus’ spontaneity is something to kinda look up to at times. Not... not all the time. 

fReAkY 4 Life: Dorian Electra... the one behind Flamboyant from ROMAN’S PLAYLIST! The Creativitwins music solidarity number I-forgot-to-count. To the lyrics! “They just don't understand me / I'm not like them, I'm freaky” does go to all the other sides and Thomas because Remus really stands out from all the other sides. Silly yet NSFW, weird, and very new. Also, he seems to want some attention from all the sides with “ I like to be in the spotlight / Step on the scene ’cause it feels right / I freakin' scream, baby, all night / I do it, I do it, do it all the time,” but is it a distraction or legitimate attention? I love how this song is the finale because this song is the fireworks that says Remus. All the lyrics really match him, and especially with the “I hear what they call me / I hear what they say / I'm not very cool, yeah / But I'll never change,” it cements how Remus thinks. 

TL:DR: 

Remus is a character deeper than we already know him as. There are a lot of him that hasn’t been introduced to us since he’s pretty new. He has been on for about 2-3 episodes (only 1 with his full participation), and he never really interacted with Roman nor Janus, both who has a history with our little gremlin. Yes, Remus is the Duke of Dark Creativity and intrusive thoughts; there are so many references that are R-rated in this playlist, but in the end, he is another side. He more than the trash boi who gleefully talks about sensitive topics. 

He still has a connection with Roman with all the overlaps in their insecurities and artists, and he’s probably the one who’s more knowledgeable about their relationship as a twin. He could even want to reconcile with his twin, but in a way that Roman would not approve. That doesn’t mean that Remus is kinda mad at Roman. A fun house mirror.

Next, He doesn’t want to change himself in the sake of others although he knows that the others hate him for being him, and he’s actively going against it, not caring about the consequences. That’s what drives him to be really good at his job. He’s as good as Roman on doing his job. Along with that, he wants Thomas to embrace him as one of the sides and come over to the dark side of creativity. It’s one of Remus’ biggest dreams: acceptance. I want to see how this plays out with him and especially him.

Finally, he’s pissed. Very pissed. After all the berating at his back from all the other sides, including Janus, he’s PISSED. He’s ready to throw hands and wreck the world. I’m starting to be worried for how his character would develop. If he goes apesh*t, I’m getting popcorn and coke. Maybe drink every time we see him go feral. Eat a popcorn every time someone is disgusted by Remus. 

Overall, I love him more than I ever did because of this playlist since music is the window to the soul. It’s like knowing a person and learning about them. Also, by doing this, it really develops the character and lets the people look inside the character’s deepest thoughts and desires. I don’t know if there will be any additions to these, but if not, I really want to thank the entire group who made this happen! I found some songs that I really love now, and it’s such a good way for the fanders to have fun! (also, the content inspired from this is going to be very interesting)(the ANGST) 

Thanks for reading if you came til here, and feel free to add on to this! I would love to see how you guys think about this playlist!

[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #5 Persimmon (Extra Credit)

Picking fruit was not exactly tiring work. It’s not hard on the limbs, it does not ask much of your muscles, and it isn’t going to make you run malms upon malms. What it is, though, is time consuming. Little actions, over and over, in the heat of a summer sun for bells on end will wear anyone down. It does not matter how tall, how wide, how thick or how lithe you are. It will wear you down eventually. The grate of bark on your fingers will become cutting, the weight on the straps will pull down harder on your shoulders, the sensation of sweat trickling down your neck, back and between unmentionables will awaken a chafing you couldn’t imagine. This sun Charlette was reminded of that fact and the nostalgic shine of it would reveal itself to be almost completely untarnished by it. Almost.

“Twelve above, I could drown someone in the sweat collecting in my linens. Are persimmons really worth this much toil? Is old Lodden unwittingly guilty of torture and callous mistreatment of the young? Of child labour? You used to pick his crops when you were young, right Charlette?” Maxim’s whining had been noise in the background, another buzzing pair of wings to join the chorus of summer hatchlings finding their nectar. Hearing her name though, brought it roaring back into her ears sadly. “When I was young, Maxim? You are two twelvemoons older than me.” The Wildwood was leaning against the trunk of a particularly bent tree, lounging really, in the crook formed by the winding body of the old growth. He waved a hand at Charlette, swatting away her words like flies. “Yes, yes. You know what I meant. When you were a child! I bet you were a dhalmel back then already. Is that why Lodden took you on? Could you reach all the way to the top even in your tenth season?” Charlette tossed an over-ripe persimmon at him, it missed, hit the tree and squirted its fermented juices far enough to stain a sleeve. Maxim was quick to escape his perch, holding the drenched fabric from his arm and scowling at the stink now stuck to him. “Aww! C’mon! That’s going to stain! Not that it matters, but it smells too! And I was not even wrong, was I!” but Charlette had returned to her picking, not even paying him the slightest bit of attention. Well, not obviously. Fat, heavy, ripe Persimmons were being dropped into the woven baskets that sat at the base of each tree. Baskets that would be hauled back by chocobo cart once they reached this section. The fuller the collection, the more pride Charlette felt. It was simple work, and she felt drenched to the hind quarters, weary with the repetition, but just so simply satisfied with a visible measure of progress. It was so good, beholding the burgeoning baskets, for the moment it was allowed before Maxim whipped his sleeve against Charlette’s cheek. “Ack! Maxim!” “I’m sharing.” “It stinks! Oh- hurrk!” Charlette gagged, a hand shooting up to wipe the sticky leavings away. But nothing will remove that smell from the inside of her nose, nothing but time and retching. “Oh don’t be so dramatic. You’ve smelled worse in the green houses, hells you’ve probably tasted worse too! How does it compare to mite ichor?” The reminder of that only made her turn away, the dirty look she was shooting ruined by the sudden flex of her throat and loud “Guurh!” that escaped her. His reminder of that foul taste, and texture, only made the entire moment that much harder to handle. “Shut up! You deserved that.” “I don’t think so. I think you deserved that. To wear my new scent, ‘Essence of Orchid Garbage’. I think it’ll be big in Ishgard.” He struck a pose, hip cocked out, hand on waist, the other holding his stained sleeve out with a pinky raised. He looked cultured, in a stupid kind of way. She hated that it made her laugh, partly because she gagged in the middle and tasted acid in her mouth. Maxim took a deep sniff of his new cologne, noise raising up in such a lordly manner you’d think he was King of the Gabage Grove, and joined Charlette in her tortured choking. “Woof! Oh dear, huurp! That’s a stench! Hah!” His enjoyment of the process, though, irritated her. She was  leaning on fence post and trying to pull in deep breaths of fresh, summer air when a voice called out. “Still can’t handle it, can she?” Charlette had not heard that tone in so long. The comforting pitch, the annoying confidence, the cocksure suggestion that it belonged to someone who just knew her, and knew what had happened to her. “Nope!” Maxim responded with far too much glee, the shit. “But she did ask for it, so don’t feel bad, or try to help. It’s not how penance is supposed to work. Instead, tell me how you’ve been Chloe.” Charlette’s sister was a few ilms shorter in height, white in hair, several shades darker in skin, and inhabited all the self-assured confidence someone needed to both be incredibly likable, and hateable, at the same time. Maxim had already draped his arm around her, Chloe equipped in her best picking overalls, which is to say she wore the same blue, worn, badly-fitting but sturdy kind that Charlette and Maxim did. Borrowed from Lodden, and smelling of one thing: farm. “Penance? Oh good, I’m glad the eldest still gets to spend time doing her favourite thing.” Charlette looked to Chloe, and made a hand-gesture that made Maxim gasp, and Chloe smile. It was very out of character. “I thought you weren’t going to make it this season. Weren’t you in Limsa? Or Doma?” She stepped to them and drew herself to full height, Charlette let the two shorter Elezen look up to her. No need for sharp words when she literally always had the high ground. “Yes! And I made a special effort to come through this season. I’d heard you were back home, and I missed you so very much I just had to come and see you again.” Maxim’s face turned between the two, his mouth drawn tight and remaining shut, a rarity for the man. “Mmhm. Well if you are done lying, we were about to start on the next tree. Come along.” and Charlette turned in a sweep, her nose held high in the air, long and determined steps carrying her away from the two. “She’s happy to see me.” Chloe said as she followed from behind. “That so? Did I just witness a pair of Bellamy’s hugging? Y’know, if I think about it, that makes sense. It’s very polite, cold enough to ice tea, and no one would have any idea it’d happened unless told.” A very fake scoff had left Chloe as she pantomimed offense. In all the years Charlette had known her sister, she knew she was incapable of two things: Shame, and seriousness. “How dare you! What you describe is far more intimate than a hug, to suggest my dear sister and I would embrace in such a way in public is positively scandalous.” Charlette glared back over her shoulder at the pair, but they couldn’t see it. Chloe and Maxim had started up a series of bows to each other. Maxim with one hand behind his back and bending low at the waist as far as he could while they walked. “My deepest apologies Lady Bellamy!” Chloe gripped the baggy edges of her overalls and pulled them out in a shallow curtsey. “Fret not Ser Flowerman, all is forgiven for such a gentleman of culture!” Maxim’s chuckle was loud, hearty, his smooth tone a little bit of a liar in its suggestion that he’s a smooth man. “Ser Flowerman, that’s going on my headstone when I pop off this mortal coil.” “You’re very welcome. It suits you.” They couldn’t reach that next tree soon enough. Charlette picked her harvest in silence while the other two continued to cajole each other into further impressions and comedic takes on, well, just about everything. It was very distracting, Charlette thought. But it was also very nice, as it reminded her of a similar time, out here in this old orchid. The three of them younger, nevermind what Maxim thinks. Only it was not with Maxim. No, back then it was Frederick who was helping distract Chloe and the others. Who was her sister’s companion in gently teasing her, or tossing the fallen, rotted persimmons at the others. He always managed to get poor Alistair on the back of the head, knew just when Brianne had him distracted enough to… “Charlette? Yoohoo, you there?” a charcoal-skinned hand waved in front of Charlette’s face, the sudden silence that had been lost on her came back. Maxim had stepped away, or perhaps been sent away? Why? Charlette looked down at Chloe’s face, which was suddenly serious. What a surprise. “I thought you couldn’t do that.” She asked. “Do what?” Chloe looked confused, perhaps even worried. How dare she. “Nothing. Did you need something?” “I asked if you are okay. You didn’t say anything, you were off with your books again I think. Dreaming of the library?” just a little curl of her lips came out. Hah! See, not a serious bone in Chloe’s body. Charlette looked at her little sister, perhaps staring for a bit too long. Then reached out, pulled her into a gentle hug that Chloe returned as easily as slipping into fresh sheets on a newly made bed. “No. No I’m not okay.” And just then, for the first time since Charlette had been pulled back home, it felt okay to be that way. Goodness, picking fruit was tiring work.

[pickalilywrites]

hi everyone!!! here’s the eretra au that a few of you might remember from my wip posts a few months (?) ago! i’m really excited about it, so i hope you guys like it. it’s very loosely based off a kdrama called big, although there aren’t very many similarities. i hope you guys enjoy it :) 

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My First Love Come Back to Me

Eretra. Big AU. 

I’ll Love You in the Rain or Shine Series: Chapter 1

12788 words. 

Read on Ao3!

Eren stands in the deli section of the grocery store staring down at the premade sandwiches that have, judging by the wilting lettuce and stiff-looking squares of cheese stuffed between dry bread buns, been sitting there all day after being passed over by other customers for more enticing premade meals like the colorful, little sushis in their plastic containers or the burritos so stuffed with filling that beans are practically spilling out of the tortilla wraps meant to contain them. He looks at one particularly sad-looking sandwich. Turkey chunks and droopy lettuce leaves are shoved inside a stale bread loaf. Tomato juice from the poor fruit that was cut to make this depressing sub bleeds out from the bun, dripping onto the plastic wrap that can hardly hold the thing together. A strange assortment of veggies also poke out from the bread - bright yellow bell peppers, chunky strips of carrots, and slices of onions - but they look as though someone has carelessly dropped them into the sandwich because they’re not even evenly dispersed through the sub. It is, Eren thinks, the most wretched sandwich he’d ever laid eyes on. 

It’s a little sad, the fact that Eren is spending so much time picking out something to bring to a family dinner that he would claim, if anyone bothered to ask, to not give a single shit about. And, really, he doesn’t, but it makes him feel slightly better about going to those miserable gatherings if he’s able to bring something he knows his stepmom will hate. Except she’s not really his stepmom. To be more precise, the woman is his father’s first and only wife - the bastard having never married Eren’s mother - and his half-brother’s mother. In all honesty, Eren can completely understand why the woman hates him. He is, after all, a constant reminder of his father’s infidelity. It’s not like Eren likes her either and, with all of the snide comments about his upbringing and disappointing career path (although Eren has no idea why that is any of her business), she hasn’t given Eren any reason to. 

Eren looks down at the sandwich again, leaning towards not getting it. As much as he would love to purchase it and slap it down on the dinner table with a cheerful smile, there are only so many times he can buy disgusting sandwiches for his family dinners. He really outdid himself last time with a self-made sandwich with all sorts of odd ingredients (blue cheese, coriander, tuna, onions, cherry tomatoes, the works) that had no business being slapped between the same two buns. He even remembered not to toast the bread buns. Apparently, the only thing his father’s wife hates more than sandwiches are untoasted sandwiches, but not everyone can afford a $300 panini press like she can. Apparently, any panini press with a smaller price tag can’t be called a real panini press. Eren only half-regretted his decision to bring the disgusting thing to his father’s house an hour later when he sprinted out of the house and biked half a block away to empty the contents of his stomach on the edge of a poor neighbor's sidewalk. No, a normal deli sandwich would be a step down from his previous contribution to family dinner, Eren decides. 

He walks up and down the aisle of the grocery store, taking his time even though he’s already a half-hour late for dinner. (He’s doing them a favor. Nobody in their right mind should be having dinner at five when the sun is still high in the sky.) His green eyes glaze over tubs of soup and plastic bins filled with salad. For a moment, he wonders if he should walk through the shelves of chips on the other side or maybe into the frozen food section so he can haul a tub of melting ice cream to his father’s house, but he wonders if that’s too petty. It’s probably best not to, Eren thinks with a grimace. He doesn’t want to ruin junk food for himself forever. 

In the end, Eren purchases a little tub of potato salad, hoping that it’ll be enough to piss off his Disney-esque sort-of stepmother. It’s not perfect, but he supposes it will do. It’s probably not as grotesque as the stuff he’s brought before, but he likes how simple it is. That woman’s definitely going to be miffed that Eren bought potato salad as if he cared so little that he couldn’t be bothered to spend a few minutes in the kitchen to make the same dish. He’s really going to enjoy seeing the vein on her forehead pulse when she sees him standing at the door with the potato salad. 

Eren thanks the cashier for ringing up his purchase, sliding two dollars into the charity box next to the register, and walks away with his tub of potato salad, whistling as he practically skips out of the grocery store. He hadn’t taken as long as he would have liked; there are still fifteen minutes before six and he had hoped he would burn enough time to arrive at six-thirty, but maybe he can take a roundabout way to his dad’s house, Eren thinks as he drops the tub carelessly into the front basket of his bicycle. He unlocks his bike with a click and pulls it off the bike rack before mounting it and pedaling away. 

Taking the direct route would be too quick. Eren quickly pedals across the road as soon as the road is clear and finds his way to the creek that cuts across the suburbs. It’s the same creek Eren used to play beside when he was a child. He fell in there once trying to catch a frog and his mom scolded him for being so reckless. It’s also the same creek that he frequented during the spring of his sophomore year of highschool when he was assigned to do a bug project, which Eren hated especially when the same project was no longer mandatory after his school cut the science department’s funding the year after. Eren doesn’t think he’s visited the creek ever since he graduated from high school. He blames it on college and summer internships taking up all his time and never really allowing him to return to his youth, but the truth is that Eren wouldn’t have sought out his childhood even if he had the time. 

It’s not that Eren had a terrible childhood. In fact, Eren would say that he had a fairly happy childhood. True, he grew up in a (mostly) single-parent household, but his mother was always patient and attentive to him even though he was a pain the ass about 75 percent of the time. Nothing incredibly significant happened. He didn’t win any awards and he never made the honor roll, but his mother was fine with it as long as he did his best. It was strange, but he got a lot more shit about his grades from his sort-of stepmom than he did from his own mother. He’s not particularly sure what his father thought about it. Eren’s father never said much of anything to defend him, but his father hardly said anything to him at all. It was kind of like not having a father at all, so it wasn’t really that surprising when Eren found a way to avoid his old neighborhood completely after his mother passed away after his senior year of high school. 

Eren hadn’t planned on returning so soon. Actually, he hadn’t planned on returning at all after he had left for college. He only came back the summer after freshman year, but he bummed it at his best friend Armin’s house and only ventured as far as Armin’s front lawn. The following summers he crashed at his ex-boyfriend’s house - an art student-turned-tattoo artist who somehow ended up setting up a shop in the city Eren and Armin grew up in - or Armin’s dorm when they were both working at their internships. Somehow, they ended up landing jobs back in their hometown because evidently the big city did not want them and they were too young and broke to go up against the universe. Maybe another day. 

It’s not that bad. Despite renting an apartment near his neighborhood, Eren hasn’t run into any childhood friends that might still remember all the embarrassing things he did as a teenager. He’s bumped into a few parents at the grocery store that would smile up at him and talk about how nicely he’s grown while reaching up to ruffle his hair. Other than a few childhood friends and the “family” he feels obligated to meet due to the biological bond he unwillingly shares with his father, Eren has successfully avoided most of his past. 

He pedals past his old middle school, zooming past the gates and grimacing as he remembers the less pleasant parts of his past - struggling with algebra, running a mile at seven AM, and the terrible school uniforms they forced on everyone in a strange attempt to boost standardized test scores. He’s happier when he crosses the street and is greeted with the lit-up shops - the convenience store where he’d happily slurp down slushies with Armin after school, the Chinese restaurant that his class would frequent every year for Lunar New Year’s, and the bakery store that always smelled of freshly baked tarts and pies. Eren’s pedaling slows as he approaches the bakery and he inhales deeply, his lungs filling with the scent of buttery baguettes and chocolate tarts. The aroma is so distractingly sweet. His mouth begins to water at just the thought of them, and Eren wonders why he hadn’t bothered stepping foot in the bakery since coming back. He’s about to stop his bike and pop in for a brownie or a lemon bar only to realize that he’s biking far too fast and about to crash into someone. 

“Shit!” Eren’s bike screeches as he swerves out of the way and he crashes into a pole so hard that he can feel his teeth rattle. He topples to the ground with a hard thud, groaning as he rolls over onto his side that didn’t get smashed violently against a pole. When he opens his eyes, he sees stars as well as the face of an old man that he had last seen a decade ago. Eren tries to sit up, but his side is throbbing and he can only clutch at his side, trying his best to suppress a groan so as to not startle the man he had nearly collided with. He gives the man a weak smile. “Hey, Mr. Ral. I haven’t seen you in a while.” 

The old man’s mouth, which was already open to begin with after seeing Eren’s embarrassing bicycle collision, falls open a bit wider. “A-are you … okay?” he asks after a while, squinting a bit as he looks at Eren’s face and tries to place a name to it. Eren doesn’t really blame him for not remembering who he is. It’s been quite a while since they’ve seen each other and Eren has grown up a lot since then.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a little bump,” Eren says, laughing it off. He manages to sit up and pushes himself off the ground, standing up and brushing off the little pebbles that have managed to stick to his face and clothing. He picks up his bike, leaning it against the pole before turning to the man again. “It’s Eren, by the way.” He pauses, observing Mr. Ral’s expression. When he sees that the man doesn’t recognize him, Eren politely adds, “Eren Kruger. I’m Zeke Jaeger’s younger brother.” 

A spark of recognition finally lights up in the old man’s eyes at the mention of Zeke’s name. Eren’s not going to lie, but it kind of hurts. “Ah, Zeke,” Mr. Ral says fondly. Eren shifts from feeling hurt to feeling slightly jealous. “How could I ever forget him? And you, of course. You two used to play with my dear Petra back in the day.” 

Petra, a name that Eren hasn’t heard in years, and yet hearing it still makes him blush like a young schoolboy. He ducks his head, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck, and he prays that Mr. Ral doesn’t notice the sudden flush of his cheeks. “Yeah, it’s been a while. How is, ah, Petra doing?” he asks. He had meant to ask the question casually, but he stumbles over the words a little too quickly. 

“Petra? She’s well,” Mr. Ral answers with a smile. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his laughter lines deepen. He doesn’t seem to notice how flustered Eren is. “She just started teaching at the same university that Zeke is teaching at.” 

That’s certainly news to Eren. Zeke hadn’t mentioned that at any of the family dinners Eren had attended recently. It could just be because Zeke hadn’t run into her yet or it had simply slipped his mind, but Eren kind of doubts it. If Petra’s father knew, then it’s highly unlikely that Zeke didn’t know. As much as Eren wants to frown, he fights the urge to turn the edges of his mouth downward and gives Mr. Ral a thin but polite smile. “That’s great to hear. What does she teach?” 

“English,” Mr. Ral replies, his chest puffed out proudly. It’s endearing how much he adores his daughter. “She teaches some upper-division classes on creative writing and a few classes for freshmen on critical reading and writing.” 

Eren’s smile is more genuine now, more fond as he listens to Mr. Ral speak about his daughter. “Yeah, that sounds like her. She was always really good with words.” He remembers lazy summer afternoons lying underneath the shade of a tree and pretending he was sleeping so that he could listen to Petra talk to Zeke on the front porch. It wasn’t even that he wanted to eavesdrop. He just liked the sound of her voice. Eren wonders if it’s still as wonderfully soothing and soft as he remembers. 

“And what about you?” Mr. Ral asks, snapping Eren out of his reverie. The old man seems to ask out of polite obligation. It figures that he isn’t really interested in Eren’s life. After all, he hadn’t remembered that Eren existed until five minutes ago. 

“I just graduated a few months ago. I majored in child education,” Eren replies. He looks down feeling slightly embarrassed although he’s not sure why. It feels like a step down from Petra’s accomplishments. His sort-of stepmom would certainly agree. She enjoys rubbing Zeke’s doctorate in Eren’s face whenever she gets the chance. Eren clears his throat and adds, “I’ve been working at Liberio Daycare. It’s near Shiganshina Elementary.” 

It’s unclear whether or not Mr. Ral recognizes the name but he nods and reaches over to give Eren a pat on the arm, a grin on his face as if the old man is actually proud of him. “That’s good! Your parents must be proud.” He doesn’t notice the way Eren flinches and carries on. “It’s good to hear that you’ve been well.” 

“Likewise,” Eren says. His eyes wander towards the bakery. It hadn’t occurred to him to look for Petra before, but now that he knows she’s back in town he can’t imagine doing anything else. He half hopes that she’ll be inside, maybe clearing the display for the night or wiping down the countertops, but all he sees is a girl his age at the register munching on some lavender bars that hadn’t sold. Before he can stop himself, Eren finds himself asking, “Is Petra in?” 

“Petra?” Mr. Ral asks with his eyebrows raised. Maybe it does seem out of the blue that Eren’s asking. Petra was always more Zeke’s friend than Eren’s. Mr. Ral gives Eren an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. “I’m afraid not. She told me she was eating dinner at a friend’s house. I’ll let her know you stopped by. Maybe you two can catch up sometime.” 

Eren shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but he can feel himself deflating at Mr. Ral’s words. He really doubts Petra would want to meet up with him. It’s not as if they were incredibly close before. Still, he gives Mr. Ral a gracious smile and says, “That would be great! I should probably get going. I have to, ah, eat dinner…” His voice trails off and he looks to bike only to find the front basket empty. Eyes straying further, he finds that his tub of potato salad had rolled out of his bike basket and onto the ground where it lay pitifully. Thankfully, the tub hasn’t broken and the potato salad hasn’t spilled out, but somehow the salad looks even more pathetic than it did when Eren purchased it. It’s something Eren would have been happy about fifteen minutes ago, but it’s embarrassing now. Quickly, he goes to pick it up and drop it into his bike basket with the slim hope that Mr. Ral wouldn’t think much about it, but Eren has never been that lucky. 

Mr. Ral must find him pitiful because he asks, “Why don’t you take some dessert home?” He’s already heading back into the bakery, gesturing for Eren to follow him despite Eren’s protests. “If you don’t, they’ll just go to waste. Or into my employee’s stomach, and goodness knows that she’s already eaten enough desserts today already.” 

“Thank you so much, sir,” Eren says, humbly bowing his head. 

“Sasha,” Mr. Ral calls the girl at the register. “Could you ring up a few things for Eren?” 

The girl’s head snaps up at the call of her name, her cheeks filled with pastry and crumbs all over her mouth. “Sure thing,” Sasha says, gulping down the last of her lavender bar and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She walks over to the side, Eren following her on the other side of the counter, and washes her hands hastily. As she wipes her hands dry with the hand towel, she looks at Eren brightly and asks in a chipper voice, “Do you have anything you want in particular?” 

Eren’s eyes scan over the display, but he doesn’t really look at anything in particular. He just wants to get out of this situation as quickly as possible. He’s embarrassed himself quite enough for today. “Just … whatever you’d recommend,” 

“Alright-y,” the girl hums, taking a bag and stuffing it full with little tarts and tea cakes and croissants. Eren looks at her briefly, realizing that he doesn’t recognize her. She must have moved here sometime during the past six years when he wasn’t around. 

As Sasha finishes preparing the bag, Eren walks over to the register and gets ready to pull his wallet out but Mr. Ral walks over, shaking his head. “No need to pay for it,” Mr. Ral says. He reaches over the counter and takes the bag from Sasha, presenting it to Eren with a smile. “Consider it a treat. Really, you’d be doing me a favor just taking it. They would have gone to waste otherwise.” 

“Ah, thank you,” Eren says, his face flushing once more. He takes the bag from Mr. Ral with a small bow of his head. “It was great seeing you again, Mr. Ral.” 

“Likewise,” Mr. Ral says with that same crinkly smile. He walks Eren to the door, watching as Eren packs the desserts alongside his potato salad. “Take good care of yourself, Eren, and tell your brother I said hi.” He waves as Eren assures him he’ll do just that, returning to the shop only once Eren has biked away. 

This is not how the night was supposed to go. Eren was supposed to be wandering around the neighborhood with his potato salad before waltzing into his father’s house an hour late, his sort-of stepmother silently fuming at the dinner table while the family sat and waited for him. He hadn’t planned on bumping into his childhood crush’s father, and he certainly hadn’t planned on looking so incredibly pathetic in front of Mr. Ral. He can only imagine what Mr. Ral will tell Petra when she sees her dad tonight. Maybe something about how he grew up to be such a loser even though his half-brother managed to graduate with a Ph.D. and is now a successful anthropology professor at the local university. It’s not something that usually gets Eren down, but thinking about it now is making him feel especially miserable. 

Eren’s not sure why the thought of Petra knowing how his life is so embarrassing. He hasn’t spoken to her in years, so her opinion of him shouldn’t matter. And even if she did have an opinion of him, he’s sure it wouldn’t be unkind. Petra had always been nice to him even when he was a kid and just being an annoying third wheel to her and Zeke. When his childish admiration of her turned into puppy love and eventually evolved into a full-fledged crush, she never brushed him off or thought him annoying, although there was a chance that she just never noticed. He couldn’t blame her for that when Zeke, honor roll student and valedictorian Zeke, was always standing right in front of her. He wasn’t even surprised when they started dating. It was inevitable. And when they eventually broke up for some reason that Eren still isn’t quite sure about, Eren knew he’d never be able to compare so he never tried to pursue her. It’s not surprising that he and Petra ended up losing touch. 

As much as he would love to blame Zeke for it (and it would be incredibly easy for him to blame Zeke), he can’t. Maybe it’s strange that he doesn’t harbor a deep hatred for his half-brother. Their relationship has all the makings of a classic sibling rivalry - a complicated family history, stark differences in accomplishments, and affections for the same girl - but Eren could never bring himself to hate Zeke. Even if Zeke’s mother liked to hold all of her son’s accomplishments over Eren’s head, Zeke himself never bragged about them. In fact, he was quite humble and would even offer to help his younger half-brother if he was struggling with something in school. Oftentimes he would invite Eren to hang out with his friends even though their age gap made it a little awkward. He even remembered Eren’s favorite snacks and would make sure they were in supply whenever Eren came over to visit. If Zeke’s mother was an evil Disney stepmother come to life, Zeke was that one fairytale sibling that was kind to the tragic main character, so Eren had no choice but to like Zeke. Even when Zeke broke up with Petra and Eren couldn’t understand why, when Zeke told Eren that it “just happened,” Eren kind of left it at that and accepted that because he couldn’t imagine Zeke doing anything wrong. 

Could Eren be classified with an inferiority complex with regards to his brother? Probably, but most siblings can. Eren would have to challenge whether or not someone with inferiority complexes would admire their brother as much as he does, but they might in a weird way. Eren’s sure that he and Zeke’s relationship would still be complicated even if they didn’t have all the weird history with Eren and Zeke’s parents. 

Eren sighs as he flies down a dip in the road, letting gravity carry him down instead of pedaling. He really doesn’t feel like he’s in the right headspace for this family dinner. Usually, he lets all of that woman’s snide comments ricochet, but his armor has grown weak and he can just imagine her landing the right thinly-veiled insult, her words burying into his skin and hitting right where it hurts. For a moment, Eren considers calling the dinner off with an excuse that will be sure to piss his stepmother off — probably something about how he has to restructure his lesson plan for the upcoming week — but he glances down at the potato salad and bag of baked goods in his bike basket and realizes that he really doesn’t want to eat them all by himself. If he’s going to suffer, he might as well make the rest of his family suffer alongside him. And besides, he’s pretty much already at their house anyway. 

His bike slows as he approaches the white-picket fenced house. He takes the potato salad tub and the bag of baked goods before leaving his bike on the driveway, not bothering to chain it to the fence because nobody would want to steal the old thing he bought from a garage sale anyway. The sight of it lying in front of the house instead of properly locked up will be sure to piss off that woman too, which is just an added bonus. With a sigh, Eren marches up the front steps, shifting the food all on one arm so he can ring the doorbell. The familiar chime rings out, muted from behind the wooden door. A muffled voice mumbles something Eren can’t hear, but he already knows that the speaker has nothing good to say about him. 

The door is thrown open and Eren looks down to see his stepmother glowering up at him, blue eyes a raging storm. “You’re late,” she hisses. She doesn’t even give him a greeting; she just stands there in front of him silently fuming. Behind her stands Eren’s father. As expected, he says nothing to defend his son’s tardiness. The man just stands there, uncomfortable as he quietly observes. 

“Sorry, Dina,” Eren says, squeezing past his stepmother who makes an indignant noise. He dangles the food he brought in front of her face, rolling his eyes when she snatches the bag from him only to wrinkle her nose in disgust when she sees the potato salad. “I brought dessert, too. Do you want me to put it somewhere …?” 

Dina snatches the bag of desserts from him too, still huffing. “We have a guest tonight too. Do you know how rude you’re being?” she says, continuing to nag at him even though Eren has stopped listening to her years ago. 

Eren’s father gently grabs Eren by the elbow, subtly ushering him inside to avoid any more conflict but Eren yanks his arm away. 

“Well, maybe if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have showed up on time,” Eren snaps. He sounds angry as he says it, but he really does mean it. It’s one thing to be rude to his stepmother, but it’s another thing entirely to be rude to a guest he doesn’t know. He’d at least wait for introductions before deciding whether or not to show any manners. 

Before his stepmother can say anything more, Eren stomps off into the dining room where Zeke and the guest are waiting. He keeps his head down, cheeks burning, as he pulls out his chair - the one furthest from everyone - and slumps down into it. “Sorry, I’m late,” Eren mumbles, still looking down. 

“Eren,” says a deep voice that Eren recognizes as Zeke’s. Hearing the voice of someone other than his stepmother’s makes Eren relax a bit and he rests with his back against his chair, a little more at ease now. He can hear Zeke’s small smile as his half-brother asks, “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke who sits across from him, and then at the guest. He looks so quickly at first that he doesn’t register exactly who he’s seeing until he does a double-take, his green eyes widening as they take in the woman sitting there. It’s someone he hadn’t expected to see ever again, much less sitting at his family’s dining table, and he’s so surprised that he almost chokes. For a moment, he thinks it might just be a doppelganger, but there’s no mistaking the soft dimples that appear in her cheeks as her lips curl in a smile. “...Petra?” 

“Hi, Eren.” Petra’s voice is still as gentle and soothing as Eren remembers, the sound of it so honey-sweet that he feels his cheeks bloom a soft pink. There’s so much about her that’s different, but there’s so much more that’s the same. Her hair is shorter now, no longer falling right at her shoulder, but curling right under her chin in a short bob. It’s the same shade of ginger it was when he was a kid. If it’s under the right light, it would probably burn a fiery gold. Her doe eyes are the same pretty amber, sweet and dangerously entrancing at the same time. She’s even dressed differently, her button-up blouse and slick gray trousers such a departure from the casual jeans and t-shirts she wore ten years ago when Eren was still in high school. Eren feels horribly underdressed - his ratty university sweatshirt over a thin cotton tee and his ripped jeans are so shabby in comparison - but a glimmer of silver on Petra’s wrist attracts Eren’s attention to the charm bracelet she wears, jangling with charms that Eren remembers her collecting in her high school days, and he feels a little less like he’s meeting a stranger and more like he’s reuniting with an old friend. 

“How are you?” Eren asks shyly, his smile bashful. 

“I’m well,” she answers, and Eren feels himself melting into her voice the same way he did when he was thirteen. When she smiles, her head tilts ever so slightly to the right just the way it did when he first met her and her dimples deepen into her cheeks. “How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers because he doesn’t trust himself to string together more than a word or two at a time. He wonders if she realizes how he’s unraveling at the sound of her voice or if she’s as oblivious as she was the last time. 

“I’m glad,” Petra says, and the warm look Petra gives Eren reignites a flame in the pit of his belly that he had thought he extinguished long ago. Her head tilts a little bit more to the side, her eyes twinkling. “I missed you,” Petra tells him, and Eren finds himself in love once more. 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

There are rules to dealing with your ex-boyfriend after you’ve broken up, Petra knows, but it’s been ten years and she figures that these rules can be bent. So what if the last time she saw Zeke she was broken-hearted, crying in the rain as he turned his back on her? She was younger then, her feelings out of control for someone who didn’t care for her nearly as much as she cared for him. And, sure, maybe it’s terrible that she never received the closure that she deserves, but she can’t hold a grudge against him forever. They work in the same university and cowering behind the nearest trashcan every time they meet doesn’t seem to be a viable option. Petra’s older now and so is Zeke. They’re mature. They can be friends like adults are after they’ve broken up, so the universe should be able to understand her accepting Zeke’s dinner request that evening even if her friends couldn’t. 

She only started to regret her decision when Zeke offered to drive her there after his classes ended - saving gas and the planet, he explained - and she agreed. Although Petra repeatedly told herself that it was a simple family dinner and that such an invitation was extended to Zeke’s other friends on occasion, she found herself sitting impatiently in her office, biting her nails down so close to the quick that her fingers started to bleed. Having to bandage her fingers as she waited did absolutely nothing to soothe her nerves. 

“I don’t see why you’re so nervous,” Levi tells her over the phone. He taught in the mathematics department, but they had met after Petra had nervously stumbled into the wrong building and into his office on her first day at the university. The man has a perpetual scowl on his face, and that very same expression had nearly sent Petra running until she weakly explained that she must have gotten lost and he kindly redirected her to the building her office was located in. She thought that was going to be the end of their interaction until he emailed her shortly after asking if she had gotten to her office alright. Finding him a kindred spirit, he had become her first (and sadly only) companion at the university aside from Zeke. “If you’re friends with him, it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.” 

“Well, it’s just that I haven’t really seen him since we, you know, broke up,” Petra explains, but she doubts that Levi understands. She had told him her history with Zeke a few weeks ago after he asked her why she was so jittery at the faculty luncheon, but he didn’t have much of a reaction. It was sort of nice having someone to talk to that wasn’t as hyperbolically reactive as the rest of her friends, but it was also painfully difficult when Levi didn’t show her any sympathy. 

“You saw him last week when you were at the library to look for reference books,” he reminds her as if it were the same thing. “I don’t know why this dinner has you in a panic. You left me nearly a hundred messages while I was teaching class.” He hadn’t even replied to her texts, the bastard. He had simply left her on read until midnight before sending her a thumbs-up emoji to let her know that he had read her messages, which was not exactly the response Petra was waiting for. 

“This is different!” Petra insists, but she knows Levi will never see it that way. 

“You’re making this a much bigger deal than it needs to be,” Levi says. She can hear him scribbling something on the other end, probably correcting exams for his differential equations classes and marking a poor student’s paper in an abundance of red. “Either cancel or just go to dinner with him. You’ve had family dinners with him even before you guys got together right?” 

“Yeah, but that was back when we were kids,” Petra mumbles, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. 

“Then you’ll be fine,” he tells her. 

“You’re horribly unsympathetic sometimes,” she sighs. 

“If you wanted sympathy, you shouldn’t have called me,” Levi says with a cluck of his tongue, but he chuckles when he hears her groan on the other end. “Really, it’ll be fine. You’re just overthinking it. I’m sure it’ll be fine. And you said the kid will be there, right? His brother, so it’s not as if you’ll be alone with Zeke and his parents.” 

Petra lays with her head on her desk, her phone pressed against her cheek. “Yeah, you’re right,” she mumbles, but her lower lip still sticks out in a pout. The thought of Eren being there, sweet little Eren with his eager puppy eyes and wide smile, does make her feel better if only a little. She probably hasn’t seen him since she broke up with Zeke. She wonders if he’s changed very much. He’d be in college now? Or maybe he graduated. “I haven’t seen him in awhile though. What if he hates me now?” 

“You’re overthinking again,” Levi says. He sighs on the other end. If Petra didn’t know him very well, she would think she was bothering him, but he’s always like this. “Are you going to be okay?” 

“Yes. No. Maybe,” Petra sniffs. She looks sadly at her bandaged fingers and picks at the ends of one of them. “Should I just cancel? Maybe I can tell him I fell down the stairs and had to go to the hospital or something -” Someone knocks at the door and Petra lets out a startled yelp, nearly falling out of her chair because she’s so surprised. When she looks at the door, she sees Zeke’s silhouette against the frosted glass pane. The sight of it makes her want to hide behind her desk. “God, he’s here already!” 

“Too late for you to run then,” Levi says, not even bothering to hide his snickering. He’s such a sadist that Petra doesn’t even know why she’s friends with him sometimes. “Have fun at your absolutely normal dinner with your friend and his family.” Click!

“Asshole,” Petra mutters under her breath before shoving her phone in her bag. There’s another knock at the door — the same long, slow knocks that are a signature of Zeke’s —  and she hastily shouts, “I’ll be right there!” before shoving her papers in her bag and stumbling out of the door, nearly tripping over her own feet in the process. She must look like a mess because Zeke raises an eyebrow at her when she emerges from her office. Petra catches a glimpse of her reflection in the window and winces at her frumpled shirt and the hair falling out of her bun. She mumbles an apology as she pulls the hair ties out of her bun, her hair falling in loose curls around her face. 

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Zeke asks. 

“No! God, no,” Petra says, inwardly cringing at every word that comes out of her mouth. Even she can tell how awkward her responses sound, a little too quick and desperate. What is she being so anxious for? It’s just dinner with a friend —  an ex-boyfriend, but a friend nonetheless. Petra clears her throat and asks as casually as she can manage, “How are your parents?” 

“Hmm? They’re well, I suppose,” he answers. Everything about him is familiar. He’s grown just a bit taller since Petra last saw him, his shoulders a bit broader and his jawline a bit sharper, but he still wears the same double-bridge glasses and the right corner of his mouth still quirks upward just the slightest bit when he speaks. He even walks the same way, his strides a little too long and quick, and Petra finds that she still has to struggle a bit to keep up. If Zeke notices the same thing about her - how she still wears the same shade of lipstick, how she still has that habit of wrapping her hair around her finger when she’s nervous like she’s doing now, how she bites her lip when she’s not sure what to say next - he doesn’t mention it. “My father’s still working at the hospital with my grandfather. He’s been promoted to director of the orthopedics department.” 

“Oh, congrats!” 

“And you know my mother has been at the hospital now that she doesn’t have to worry about me anymore,” Zeke says. It’s strange how casually he says this, as if he doesn’t remember that the last time he spoke about his mother to Petra was when they were still together. “She really missed being in the OR. Says she’d rather be doing surgeries all day than taking care of me.” 

“It’s nice that she can go back to it.” She nearly stumbles over a step but catches the railing before she can. When she looks up again, Zeke is already on the sidewalk and she hurries after him, a little breathless. “And Eren?” 

“Eren?” Zeke seems a little surprised by the question although Petra doesn’t know why. He leads her to a car - a slick Mercedes with a shining blue exterior and tinted windows that don’t quite match Zeke’s academic profession —  and opens the car doors with a click. 

“Your brother,” she clarifies as Zeke walks over to the driver’s side and slips into the car. She opens the passenger car and slides into the seat beside Zeke, setting her bag down next to her feet. The door swings shut behind her. “He’s coming to the dinner too, right?” 

Zeke turns on the engine and the car comes to life with a pleasant hum. “Most likely,” Zeke says as he checks the side and rearview mirrors before pulling out of the parking space. He even drives the same way, his arm resting on the side with his hand tapping against the door while one hand is on the wheel. Just watching him makes Petra’s chest feel tight. 

“Ah, that’s good. I haven’t seen him in so long,” Petra says. For some reason, knowing that Eren will also be there makes her feel a little more relaxed about the dinner. “Is he still in college? I think he should have graduated by now.” 

“He graduated a little while ago. He’s teaching now. Still on probation, but he says his colleagues like him so he’s not too worried about getting tenure after the probationary period is over.” He slows the car to a stop at an intersection and leans over, fiddling with the radio dial. He sets it to the jazz station and the sound of smooth brass and relaxed percussion fills the car. 

Somehow, driving down the streets with Zeke is far more nostalgic than it ever was when Petra drove on her own. Some nights Petra drove home by herself, and all it ever felt was lonely. Maybe it’s the familiarity of having Zeke beside her like when they were teenagers, driving back home after watching a movie downtown or returning from a basketball game at their high school. 

Petra doesn’t ask any more questions about Zeke’s family. She figures she can catch up with the rest of the Jaegers when she sees them at dinner. Instead, she asks Zeke about his classes and finds that conversation with him comes more easily after she stops stumbling over her words. He tells her a little bit about teaching anthropology (“Far less painful than you think it would be, at least when the kids aren’t just taking it to fulfill their core classes,” he says), his plans for the upcoming week (“It’s midterms, but the students should be fine if they actually look at the study guide.”), and the butterfly exhibit opening up at the museum downtown (“I’m thinking of putting it up as extra credit. Who knows, they might actually look at the other exhibits while they’re wandering around.”). Petra also fills him in on her own life, mumbling about how she still has to make the answer key to her own midterm and expressing interest in the butterfly exhibit Zeke mentions. 

They pull up next to Zeke’s house, the very same one he grew up with. Not much has changed from the outside. The white picket fence is a little worn and the rose bushes have been replaced with peonies. The house is still the same shade of cream, but Petra is sure that the Jaegers had it repainted over the summer like they usually do. She looks up at the second-story window where Zeke’s room should be and vaguely wonders if it’s still his room or if he’s moved out and hasn’t mentioned it yet. 

Walking up the brick steps to the door is a bit surreal. Petra doesn’t realize just how silent she’s been until the chime of the doorbell startles her and Mrs. Jaeger opens the door. As with most of Zeke’s family members, Petra hasn’t seen Mrs. Jaeger since she broke up with Zeke, but she had an amicable relationship with her. She can’t recall Mrs. Jaeger ever being angry, so she’s surprised when Zeke’s mother opens the door with a terrible scowl on her face. 

“Mom, you remember Petra,” Zeke says, moving aside so that Petra can enter first. 

The scowl quickly slips from Mrs. Jaeger’s face, replaced with a smile that Petra is more familiar with. “Petra, of course! I haven’t seen you in ages,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her voice strained. She waves Petra and Zeke in, shutting the door gently behind them. “It’s nice to see you again.” 

“Likewise,” Petra mumbles. She looks at the kitchen doorway where Zeke’s father leans and gives him an awkward wave. The man, just as silent as he was when Petra was young, gives her a polite smile and a nod in acknowledgment. 

“Sorry, we’re a bit late,” Zeke apologizes as he shrugs off his coat. He walks over to the dining room, Petra and his mother trailing behind him. “A student wanted to talk to me and it took a bit longer than I thought it would.” 

“No need to apologize! Eren hasn’t arrived yet anyway. He’ll probably be late. Again.” There’s a harsh tone in Mrs. Jaeger’s voice that Petra hasn't heard before. When she looks up, she sees Zeke’s mother hovering around the table and arranging dishes, the same polite smile on her face as she does so. “Your brother, of course, didn’t bother to send a text to notify us that he’d be late.” 

Petra wonders if Mrs. Jaeger usually speaks about Eren with such disappointment in her voice. Maybe she had always spoken about Eren like this and Petra had never been around to witness it or maybe it’s something that developed while Petra was away. Whatever it is, Zeke and his father seem used to it. Zeke merely shrugs, pulling out his phone to flip through his phone while his mother continues to mutter about how disrespectful her stepson is. Mr. Jaeger continues to stand at the doorway, not bothering to join them at the dining table, his eyes fixed on the carpet. He doesn’t bother to defend his son. 

“Maybe he’s busy,” Petra says, interrupting Mrs. Jaeger mid-rant. She feels rude for speaking while Mrs. Jaeger is talking, but sitting in silence while Zeke’s mother speaks ill of Eren doesn’t feel right either. All eyes are on her now - Mrs. Jaeger a little surprised, Zeke with an eyebrow quirked upward as if in amusement, and his father with a look that’s almost relieved. Petra clears her throat and continues. “He’s a teacher, right? It must be difficult teaching so many children every day — making the lesson plan and everything. Maybe texting slipped his mind. He’ll probably be here soon.” 

God, she hopes Eren will be here soon. Her cheeks are starting to burn bright red and she’s thinking that perhaps speaking up might not have been the best decision. 

“Ah, you’re probably right.” Mrs. Jaeger seems a little more composed now, perhaps remembering that they have company over. She settles down in the chair across from Zeke and flashes a pleasant smile at Petra. “He can be quite forgetful of these things. Of course, you’d never worry your father like this. You’ve always been so responsible.” 

Has talking with Zeke’s mother always been this difficult? Petra’s head is starting to spin, unsure of what response would be appropriate. She feels as if she should defend Eren, but she doesn’t want to make things awkward either. In the end, she smiles awkwardly at Mrs. Jaeger as if accepting the woman’s compliment and reaches out for the glass of water in front of her, raising it to her lips before she can say anything else that she might regret. 

“Dear, come sit next to me,” Mrs. Jaeger calls. She gestures for her husband to join them at the table and Mr. Jaeger stiffly walks over from the doorway before taking a seat at the head of the table. Mrs. Jaeger folds her hands on the table, her gaze still on Petra. “How have you been, Petra? We haven’t heard from you in a while. How long have you been back?” 

The series of questions leave Petra tongue-tied and unsure of how to answer. It’s so strange how casual the Jaegers can be about asking after her, like she hadn’t been such a large part of their lives — or at least Zeke’s life — ten years ago before disappearing completely. As if they didn’t know the real reason she hadn’t kept in touch. She’s not sure if she’ll ever be able to act as oblivious as them. 

“Er, I’ve been back for a while now,” she replies. She bites her lip when she sees the look of surprise on Mrs. Jaeger’s face. When she glances over at Zeke, he doesn’t look back at her. He’s returned his gaze to his phone screen, ignoring her. Nervously, she laughs. “I guess Zeke didn’t tell you, but I’m teaching at the same university he is. A few undergraduate English classes and then a graduate course on nature and romantic poetry.” Petra doesn’t know why she feels a lump at the back of her throat or the sting of tears at the corner of her eyes. She nibbles at her lip again, looking down at her lap so that she doesn’t have to look at Zeke or his family. She doesn’t have a reason to feel hurt or upset. Maybe Zeke was busy and didn’t have the chance to mention it to his parents or maybe it just slipped his mind. It isn’t a big deal. 

“Oh, that must be nice!  Who knew you two would be working together after all these years?” Mrs. Jaeger says. She subtly pushes the cheese plate on the table towards Petra, gesturing for her to take one. 

“Mmm,” Petra says, nodding as if she agrees with Mrs. Jaeger. It’s not as if she’s wrong. Petra certainly didn’t know any of this would happen. She knew some of it would — getting her degree, teaching at a university, eating dinner with Zeke’s parents — she just hadn’t predicted other things like Zeke breaking up with her, not speaking with him for ten years after knowing him her entire life, or having to pretend that she’s okay. 

Petra reaches for a cracker and a spread of raspberry goat cheese and shoves the entire thing in her mouth, hoping that she won’t have to answer any more questions. 

“The university is nice,” Zeke’s father murmurs. It’s the first time he’s spoken all night. The sound of his voice startles Petra, but the other Jaegers don’t seem too surprised. “It’s near the museum too. Very convenient.” 

“Ah, the museum!” Mrs. Jaeger clasps her hands together and looks at Petra expectantly. Petra nearly chokes on her cracker out of nervousness. “Have you been there yet?” 

“Er, not yet,” Petra says hastily, wincing at the pain in her throat. She takes a quick sip of her water to relieve it. “I haven’t really found the time, I guess.” 

“Oh, you should absolutely go!” says Mrs. Jaeger brightly. Petra had never thought Mrs. Jaeger was one to love museums, but there’s probably a lot about the woman that Petra doesn’t know now. All Petra really remembers about the woman is that she stayed at home during the daytime and worked at the hospital at night. She’s bound to have found other ways to occupy her time now that she doesn’t have to worry about Zeke anymore. 

“You sound as if you really enjoy it.” Petra nibbles at another cracker. She feels as if she should smile right now, but she’s not sure if she’s able to. “Are there any exhibits you would recommend?” 

“Oh, they’re all good! The staff especially …,” Mrs. Jaeger gushes, but her voice begins to trail off. Her eyes flicker over to Zeke as if waiting for a sign to proceed, but her son pays no attention to her. He simply reaches over for an almond on the cheese plate and pops it into his mouth. His mother’s smile tightens and she continues, “The butterfly exhibit that’s opening soon should be exquisite!” 

Petra looks from Zeke to Mrs. Jaeger. Aside from Mrs. Jaeger’s forced smile, Petra really can’t tell what’s wrong, so she puts on a false smile of her own and nods. “I know. Zeke was telling me about it on the ride here.” 

There’s a long and awkward silence. Zeke puts no effort in speaking and neither does his father, who still sits and stares at his lap. Only Mrs. Jaeger and Petra seem to be putting in any effort to pick up the conversation, both trying to appear calm as they search for some common ground to work with. Instead, the doorbell rings and Petra swears she hears a sigh of relief escape Mrs. Jaeger’s lips. 

“It seems Eren has finally arrived,” Mrs. Jaeger says, her chair scraping across the floor as she gets up from the table. As she turns to leave, she flashes Petra an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry you had to wait so long.” Petra is about to tell her that it wasn’t a problem, that she didn’t mind waiting (even if it was a lie), but Zeke’s mother has already disappeared into the next room with Zeke’s father following silently behind her. 

For a moment, Petra wonders if she should try to talk to Zeke so more. It’s not that the quiet bothers her, but she’s never felt comfortable sitting silently next to others unless she was completely comfortable with them. Ten years ago this would have been fine, but now sitting with Zeke beside her without saying a word is making her skin crawl and her throat dry. She glances at him from the corner of her eye, trying to gauge his interest. 

Zeke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the silence at all. He’s still scrolling through his phone, occasionally reaching out to pluck a cracker or another almond from the cheese plate. If he’s fine without any conversation, Petra figures she shouldn’t bother him. She settles down with her back against her chair rather unhappily and tries to occupy herself another way. 

Petra tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation going on in the other room. First, she stares down at the lace tablecloth, gazing at the delicate pattern until the floral designs are burned into her corneas. Mrs. Jaeger’s voice begins to drift into the dining room, her tone just as cold and harsh as it was when she spoke about Eren earlier this evening. Another voice floats into the room as well, a voice like Eren’s but a bit deeper and rougher than Petra remembers. As the two continue to talk, Petra finds herself straining to listen to the conversation, but she can’t quite make out the words. The words exchanged don’t sound incredibly pleasant though. 

“...if you told me we were having a guest beforehand I would have shown up on time,” Eren hisses as he walks into the room. He’s taller than he was when Petra had seen him last — probably as tall as his brother if not taller — but he walks with his head down and doesn’t seem to notice Petra seated at the table even as he pulls out a chair to sit down. Without looking up, Eren mumbles, “Sorry, I’m late.” 

Zeke looks up, his expression amused. “Eren,” he says, setting down his phone for once. He rests his chin in his hand, mouth quirked upward in a smile. “Aren’t you going to say hi to our guest?” 

“Uh, yeah. Hi,” Eren says, mumbling into his lap. His eyes flicker upward, first at Zeke and then Petra, but he doesn’t really register who Petra is until he takes another glance. His eyes are huge like a doe’s. He’s always had big eyes even when he was a child, large and green like gemstones. He’s grown into them more since the last time Petra has seen him, but they’re still enormous, growing wider as he recognizes her. His mouth falls open in surprise. “... Petra?” 

She can feel her lips curling in a smile. “Hi, Eren.” 

Eren smiles back at her, a little nervous but a lot more relaxed than he was when he first arrived. He’s still shy when he smiles, looking up at her before glancing down at his lap again. “How are you?” He sits up straighter in his seat, no longer slouching. 

“I’m well. How are you?” 

“Good,” Eren answers.

“I’m glad. I missed you,” Petra tells him, and she means it. 

His smile is a little wider now and Petra feels the most relaxed than she’s been the entire night. It’s nice to know that, despite everything, at least Eren hasn’t changed and she feels less awkward being at a Jaeger family dinner after ten years of estrangement. 

Mrs. Jaeger puts down a tub of what looks like a potato salad on the table, opening the container with a frown. “At least you didn’t come empty-handed,” she comments wryly. 

Eren winces but doesn’t say anything. 

Petra sits up. “It looks, um, delicious.” It doesn’t. It looks like a pile of mush and not at all like anything edible, but Petra begins to spoon some on her plate anyway out of politeness despite the look of alarm on Eren’s face. “Eren, your brother told me you started teaching recently. Where do you teach?” 

“Just, um, down the street. Not really elementary … it’s a daycare,” he says distractedly as he watches her help herself to his potato salad. Eren hesitates for a moment before taking the spoon from Petra and switching their plates. He does it absentmindedly, almost as if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until he notices everyone looking at him peculiarly. Flustered, he explains, “It’s not, ah, I don’t think it’s very good. So.” As if to prove his point, he puts a heaping spoonful of it into his mouth, gagging on it as he swallows it down, and scrunches his face up in disgust. 

Mrs. Jaeger looks rather smug as Eren chokes. “I’ll just put this away then,” she says, removing the tub of potato salad from the table. She gestures for Petra to help herself to the other food on the table. “Help yourself to everything else, Petra.” 

“Er, thank you,” Petra says. She does feel bad about not eating the potato salad, but Eren looks pretty relieved. Because she’s talked Zeke’s ear off in the car and doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation with the Jaeger parents, she decides to continue her conversation with Eren. “Daycare seems like it would suit you. I bet you’re great with kids.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren mumbles as he pushes the potatoes back and forth on his plate, but he’s hiding a smile on his face, secretly pleased. He’s never been that good at hiding his emotions, which Petra thinks is an endearing trait. “Teaching at a university is probably harder.” He freezes for a moment and then hurriedly adds, “Your dad told me you work as a professor now. I ran into him before coming here. He mentioned that you taught English …?” 

She doesn’t say anything for a moment, casting a side glance at Zeke. She thought Zeke would have mentioned that they were working at the same university, but maybe it never came up in conversation between the brothers or they just weren’t as close as they were before. Forcing a smile on her face, she nods, “Yeah, I teach English, but I wouldn’t say teaching university is more or less difficult than handling a daycare. They have their own challenges, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eren replies, voice soft. His smile grows wider and, after Petra asks him about what it’s like teaching at the daycare, starts animatedly talking about his students. He seems very endeared towards a young girl named Gabi, a very mischievous but sweet troublemaker, and her companion Falco, a young boy that often has no choice but to be dragged into all of Gabi’s shenanigans. 

Talking to Eren makes the rest of the dinner go by easily. He’s always been easy to talk to even when they were teenagers and she was dating Zeke. Sometimes she would wait at the Jaeger house and talk with Eren while they waited for Zeke to come back from baseball practice. Eren was always so animated when he talked, using his hands and sometimes bouncing up and down his seat when he got excited. He still does that now as he talks about his work at the daycare, listening intently whenever Petra or even Zeke exchange their own stories about teaching. It makes her feel as if the past ten years hadn’t really happened, like Zeke and Eren had been a part of her life the entire time. 

“Oh, I brought dessert,” Eren says brightly. Before Mrs. Jaeger can say anything, he gets up to collect the paper bag on the kitchen counter and plops it on the dining table. He pushes it closer to Petra. “Your dad gave me some while he was closing up his shop.” 

She laughs. “I eat too many of these as it is,” Petra says, but she plucks an almond cookie from the bag. Her teeth sink into the cookie, savoring its subtle nutty flavor on her tongue, and sighs. “Don’t tell my dad. He won’t let me eat anymore when I get home.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me,” Eren grins. 

Petra peers into the bag. “Did he give you any chocolate croissants?” She looks over at Eren. “Those are still your favorites, right?” 

Eren looks surprised. “Ah, yeah,” he replies, blinking. “You remember?” 

“Of course, I remember,” she snorts. She manages to find a pain au chocolat and places it delicately on Eren’s plate. It’s a little smooshed from the ride here, chocolate spilling out of its side, but Eren still looks at it hungrily. “Why wouldn’t I?” 

Zeke leans forward. “I like the lemon bars. Let me know if there are any in there.” 

She laughs and actually does manage to find one, but it’s a lemon-lavender bar. Zeke assures her it’s fine, picking off the little bits of lavender that are on the top of the bar. They eat like that for a moment and Petra feels an overwhelming wave of nostalgia. It’s probably unhealthy to yearn for the past, but Petra wouldn’t mind if things somehow ended up the way they were before. 

When their dishes are scraped clean and the conversations begin to fade away, Zeke pats down the corner of his mouth with a napkin before announcing that they should stop for the night. He has papers to grade tonight, he explains to his parents who nod understandingly. The wooden legs of his chair scrape against the carpet as he gets up from the table and Petra slides out of her own seat, ready to follow him. 

“Ah, Petra,” Zeke says, pausing like he’s just remembered. He looks at her, head tilting slightly. He’s stopped by the door to the living room, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Do you mind calling an Uber to pick you up? I’d drive you home myself but …” 

“I …” Petra blinks, feeling like a deer in headlights. If she looked around, she would see that the rest of the Jaeger family has a similar expression. She’s not sure why she feels so surprised. Maybe it’s because she had expected him to drive her home, but maybe that was too much to ask of him after he had taken the trouble to drive her here in the first place. It’s not even that far of a drive to her house, but it’s probably too cumbersome for Zeke, who’s busy with grading papers and preparing for tomorrow’s lectures. There’s an awful lump in her throat like she had swallowed an egg whole, but Petra forces a smile on her face as she begins, “Sure, let me just call my dad -” 

“I’ll take you home,” a voice says suddenly. Everyone turns to see Eren standing up from his chair. At first glance he looks angry, but Petra blinks again and there’s only concern on his face as he collects his jacket and walks over to Petra. He shrugs it on and smiles down at her, his expression a little apologetic. “Er, you don’t mind riding on a bike, do you?” 

Petra has to lift her head to look at Eren and she wonders when he had gotten so tall. It must have been after she left for college. “No, that’s fine,” she replies numbly, too shocked to really think about it. She shuffles silently after Eren, mumbling a brief “thank you” when he helps her into her coat. 

“It was lovely having you over again, dear,” Mrs. Jaeger says to Petra, a smile pasted on the woman’s face as she saw the two out. She doesn’t say anything about Zeke not offering Petra a ride back. “Do come again sometime.” 

“Of course,” Petra says, although the promise feels empty. She’s not sure if Mrs. Jaeger notices or even cares because the woman shuts the door in her face before Eren and Petra are even out in the driveway. It’s not a cold gesture, but it’s a change from the days when Mrs. Jaeger would wait until Petra was almost out of sight before shutting the door and disappearing into the house. 

Petra shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and follows Eren down the driveway, watching as he runs to the bike he had carelessly discarded on the ground before entering the house earlier. Embarrassed, Eren hastily picks up the bike, brushing it off and mumbling something about how he had been in too much of a hurry earlier to properly lock up his bike. Petra assures him it’s fine. She’s only half-listening anyway. 

“You can just sit here,” Eren says, patting a padded seat on the back of his bike. He throws a leg over his bike easily and looks at Petra, waiting expectantly. 

She hadn’t objected to the ride home before, but now she looks at Eren’s vehicle of choice skeptically. “Are you sure you’ll be able to pedal with me on it? I’m a whole other person.” Petra hovers beside the bike, but she doesn’t get on. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. It was fine when my boyfriends were riding in the back, and they’re a lot heavier than you,” Eren replies. It takes him a moment to register what he just said and then his face begins to color, cheeks glowing pink even in the dim moonlight. “I mean my ex-boyfriends. I rode around with my ex-girlfriend too, but she was really tiny too. She was …” He probably would have babbled on and on if Petra hadn’t sat down. 

“Your exes?” Petra asks, eyebrow raised. She hadn’t really thought about Eren dating, but it’s funny to think about now. She doesn’t remember if he ever dated anyone when he was in high school. She probably shouldn’t tease, but she can’t resist grinning at the boy and saying, “It looks like you were busy in college.” 

“Not that busy. Just … probably as busy as your average college student,” Eren mumbles under his breath, face still flushed. He gestures at Petra’s hands and then makes a motion around his waist. “You can … around me if, you know, you’re comfortable with it.” 

“Oh, right.” She leans forward and wraps her arms around Eren’s waist and wonders briefly how someone so tall can have such a thin waist. “Do you remember the way to my house?” she asks. 

“Of course,” Eren says. “It’s not that far from here.” 

For some reason, the way Eren answers makes Petra feel warm. Maybe it’s just the heat transfer from resting her cheek on his back. She closes her eyes, feeling the wind rush around her as Eren bikes her back home. 

It feels so comfortable, clinging onto someone so familiar and breathing in Eren’s scent, something like pinewood and a little bit of peppermint. He feels strong too, sturdy like a redwood tree. Petra doesn’t know why she doubted his ability to bike with her additional weight. He’d probably be fine having someone twice her weight in tow. She experimentally gives Eren’s waist a little squeeze. It must have been too sudden of a squeeze because they come to a screeching stop, Petra’s face slamming against Eren’s back and the two of them nearly go flying. 

“Oh, ouch,” Petra says. One arm is still wrapped around Eren’s lithe waist, but she raises a hand to rub her stinging face. “That hurts.” 

“S-sorry!” Eren stammers. He twists around to get a good look at Petra, forehead wrinkling. “I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly I was just … surprised.” He brings his hand down to where Petra’s arm is hooked around his waist, but he snatches his hand away as soon as their skin brushes as if he’s been burned. “Sorry!”

“It’s fine,” Petra assures him. Her nose is throbbing dully, but it’s not bleeding. “It’s my fault anyway. I was just surprised. You’re a lot bigger than you were the last time I saw you.” 

“I’m alright,” Eren says with a shy laugh. He pushes off on the bike and starts for home again, pedaling easily despite Petra’s weight. He doesn’t startle when Petra leans against him again, her cheek rubbing against the cotton of his hoodie. His breath hitches a little when Petra wraps her arms a little tighter around his waist, but it goes unnoticed by her. 

“Were they nice?” she asks. Eren makes a confused noise, and she can’t help but smile. Clarifying, she says, “Your exes. Were they nice?” 

Eren pedals in silence for a while before responding. “Yeah. They were nice.” 

“That’s good.” Petra sighs against his back, not noticing the way he shivers as if he can feel her breath on his skin. “You deserve to date nice people.” 

Petra might have imagined it, but she thinks she hears Eren say something in reply. He says it quietly, though, and the wind carries it away too quickly for her to hear. She straightens her back, lifting her head from where it rests against Eren’s back, but he doesn’t repeat himself and she doesn’t ask. Maybe it’s just one of those things that are meant to be spoken aloud but not heard by anyone. 

They don’t speak much the rest of the way home. Petra figures Eren is having enough trouble biking with two people and holding a conversation would only tire him out more. She just lets herself rest against him, watching as they pass streetlight after streetlight. It probably would have been more convenient to call a Lyft or an Uber, but Petra thinks accepting Eren’s bike ride isn’t bad either. It saved her from having to wait awkwardly for her driver to find the house while Zeke’s parents waited for her to leave. 

She wonders if she should have gone to dinner in the first place. Maybe Zeke had only invited her out of politeness, but she had taken it to mean more than it did. She’s stupid to think that arriving at the Jaeger house meant that things could go back to the way things were. It was noticeably tense in the house. At first, Petra thought it was because of the strained relationship between Mrs. Jaeger and Eren, but now she’s not so sure. It’s not as if Mr. and Mrs. Jaeger had met her with open arms. They hadn’t been hostile, but they were polite in the way that people were polite to house guests and not in the way they would be to a childhood friend of their son. God, she’s so stupid. She should have just declined Zeke’s offer politely and never spoken to him again since he was obviously content with not speaking with her for ten years. 

Burying her face in Eren’s hoodie, Petra gives him another squeeze. Eren doesn’t brake this time. He just lets out a surprised “oh!” and falters for a bit, bike slowing, before picking his pace back up and continuing on their way. 

“We’re almost there,” Eren tells her. As he approaches Petra’s house, the bike begins to slow before stopping completely in front of the driveway. When Petra lifts her head, Eren is looking at her, smiling. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Petra nods. She gets off the bike and pats down her windswept hair, brushing some stray locks out of her face. She manages to smile back at Eren. “Thanks for the ride back. I hope it wasn’t too out of your way.” 

“It’s fine.” Eren sits at his bike, his smile a little lopsided. He looks as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. It’s only when Petra turns around towards her house that he opens his mouth. “Hey, Petra?” 

Petra’s hand rests on the gate of her wooden fence, just about to open it. She looks at Eren, watching as he fidgets with the handle of his bike. “Yeah?” 

“Did Zeke …?” His voice trails off and Eren’s looking everywhere except at her face. He nibbles on his bottom lip and Petra wonders what he’s so nervous about. His expression looks pained as if he’s scared whatever he has to say will hurt her, but Petra’s not sure why it would. After a moment, Eren swallows and forces a smile on his face. “Did Zeke tell you that … I work near your university?” 

“You do?” 

Eren nods. He looks a lot less nervous now, his shoulders relaxed. “Well, it’s not that far by bike.” 

“Really?” Petra hums. “I should come visit you some time then.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to -” 

“Or you could visit me?” she suggests. 

He blinks. “I can?” Eren asks. “Is that really okay?” 

Petra almost laughs. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? You should just let me know beforehand if you’re coming,” she tells him. She walks over, pulling her phone out of her purse and handing it to him so he can add his number. “Text me or call me. I might not respond right away because I might have a faculty meeting or a lecture, but I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.” 

“Oh, alright then,” Eren says. He types away on her phone, handing it back to her as soon as he’s finished. He watches with wide green eyes as Petra sends him an emoji — a simple “Hi, Eren! It’s Petra 😊” — and looks back at her with a grin. “I’ll come visit sometime.” 

“That’d be great,” Petra says, and she really means it. “Thanks again for the ride, Eren. I really appreciate it.” 

“It was no problem,” Eren tells her. He waves as walks through the gate and up the steps of her porch. He’s still waving when she opens the door and turns around, his smile a little goofy but cute at the same time. “Have a good night!” 

“You too,” Petra says before shutting the door gently behind her. She takes a peek out the window and sees Eren still on the sidewalk with the bike. He stands there with a pensive look on his face before pushing off his bike and riding off into the night. Petra watches until he’s a tiny speck down the road. When she blinks, he’s gone. 

Petra finds her dad waiting for her in the living room, sleeping because he can’t stay awake for very long after dinner. In his lap sits a half-finished crossword puzzle. Petra smiles affectionately at her father before pressing a soft kiss on the old man’s brow. 

“I’m home,” she whispers as her father begins to stir. 

“Ah, Petra,” says her father. He looks at her, eyes still bleary with sleep, and gives her a drowsy smile. With a hand, he pushes up the glasses that were slipping off his nose during sleep. “Did Zeke drive you home?” 

Her lips press into a thin line. “No. He was busy,” Petra replies, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “Eren took me home instead.” 

“Eren?” her father repeats, not seeming to remember the name. 

“Zeke’s younger brother,” Petra reminds him. She leans against the back of her father’s armchair as she tries to describe the half-brother. “He was a few years younger than me. Brown hair, big green eyes, kind of gangly.” 

“Oh, Eren,” her father says, nodding. Petra’s not sure if he actually remembers or if he’s just being polite, but then he suddenly says, “I saw him earlier this evening before I was closing up shop. He’s very polite. He’s a nice boy.” 

Petra leans over to rest her head on her father’s shoulder while her arms lay folded on the back of the armchair. She thinks about her ride home, how it could have been cold and miserable and lonely. And maybe her thoughts were all of those things, but the ride wasn’t. She can still feel the warmth Eren emanated from underneath his hoodie, how comforting it was to have someone to hold.

“Yeah. He’s a nice guy,” Petra says softly. 

[goldeneyedgirl]

TwiFicMas20 Day 11: Hybrid, once again

It’s so late and I’ve had a day of... futility, so I’m pulling out some Hybrid, which is just the biggest fic I’ve ever attempted and makes me feel slightly woozy. This is a selection of scenes I’ve worked on, with the first one following on from last year’s snippet, for context

A lot of this is set-up to how Alice actually becomes friends with the Cullens and the lead up to her relationship with Jasper. I also love Alice and Cynthia and their gay dads. A lot of this will be changed or rewritten for the Official Version, so I figure it deserves to be immortalised before I start my tear-down. 

Have a great day, I’m off to bed <3 

NSFW NSFW NSFW. (The most graphic section is marked, but there are implications dotted throughout. Use your best judgement.)

Trigger warnings for body dysphoria (minor)

(AU in which Alice is the daughter of a vampire-human hybrid, who was raised in an abusive home, and ends up in the care of her father and his husband in Forks. Hybrid biology is a little different - or rather, expanded - from canon. This was basically my attempt at expanding the Twilight universe beyond vampires and werewolves and examine the idea that humans are really the worst. At this point in the story, Alice has arrived in Forks, had a less than welcoming experience with the Cullen kids and met Dr Cullen in a professional capacity.)

--

It took me the best part of an hour to walk home from the Cullens. My head was still soupy, the Cullens’ home was outside of town, and I had no idea where I was going.

Oh, and it was dark.

And then I had to lie, and tell Dad and Simon some guy had mugged me, since they were freaking out. I had been gone two hours in an unfamiliar town, and had come home with blood on my clothes. Thank god, my hoodie managed to cover up most of the bandage on my neck.

They had promptly freaked out even more, and called the Chief of Police to report the incident I completely faked, whilst I went upstairs for a shower, peeling off the bandages to get a load of the wound. Angry black sutures ran from an inch or so below my ear, to where my neck joined my shoulder in an uneven line. It made me feel a little woozy, in all honesty. And it would be almost impossible to hide from everyone.  Maybe I could wear a scarf, and claim I wasn’t used to the cold?

And the bruise on my back was impressive, even for me. It was already darkening, and I had no doubt that it would only get worse overnight. An experimental jab to my ribs made the room spin, which made me want to cry. If there was one thing I hated more than anything on the planet, it was broken ribs.

I somehow managed to shower and change into a pair of loose pyjamas that covered all evidence of my injuries without blacking out. My head wouldn’t clear, and when Simon brought up something for me to eat, I could hear the slur in my voice. Dr Cullen must have drugged me.

It took forever for me to find a tolerable position in bed, and I ended up sleeping on my stomach, my arm cradling my ribs. My dreams – thankfully, just dreams – were soupy horror replays of Jasper’s attack; the scrape of his teeth, the tearing, the warmth of my own blood…

… how good it had felt.

When my alarm finally went off after what felt like an hour, I was sleep deprived, grumpy, and in complete agony. I could barely clamber out of bed. I wriggled out of my pajamas, and stared at myself in the mirror. The bruising covered my side was varying shades of black and blue, spread over my shoulder, ribs and back, down to the base of my spine and hip. There was a little swelling, but nothing really worth mentioning.

I ended up finding a button-up dress that I could get into with minimal discomfort, that covered up the bruises, and some of the stitches. Adding a sweater covered the rest up, and I spent nearly half an hour layering concealer and foundation over my pinched and pale face. I swallowed a handful of Advil to help the pain, before I limped downstairs.

Other than a quick reassurance that I was fine, Dad and Simon didn’t bring up last night’s ‘mugging’, and within an hour, I was limping awkward across the Forks High car park, in what felt like a new adventure in pain.

My ribs were probably fractured. God, I was kidding myself. They were definitely fractured. I just needed some decent pain-killer and medical tape, and I’d feel better. This wasn’t exactly a new experience, but it didn’t mean that they were any less uncomfortable, or I was any less miserable.

Luckily, everyone seemed to have lost interest in me as ‘the new girl’, so I limped through the halls without being stared at, or interrupted. Swinging open my locker, I gratefully shoved my bag inside – even carrying it by hand put too much weight on my back and ribs. I’d have to swap books after each class so I could carry them comfortably. Another cherry on top of my awful, hideous day.

Suddenly, there was another person beside me, staring intently. If my nerves weren’t already made of adamantium, I probably would have jumped or shrieked in surprised.

“Good morning,” Edward said.

“Morning,” I said, turning from digging through my books, trying to disguise the stiffness of my movements.

“Did you sleep okay?” he asked politely, and I wanted to laugh at his slightly-creepy attempts at small talk. That isn’t a question you normally ask someone you just met, out of nowhere. Did they just not socialize with anyone who didn’t consider A Positive a main course?

“Sure.”

“You should sit with us at lunch,” Edward said in a flat tone, watching me with the sort of look my doctors had always used. It had unnerved me then, and it irritated me now; made me feel like an experiment all over again. If I hadn’t been wounded, I would have accepted the inevitable dislocated fingers and slapped him.

Dislocated fingers are easy to pop back into place.

“Can’t wait,” I said dismissively, mentally praising myself for taking the higher ground, and turned back to my locker, hoping Edward hadn’t noticed how awkwardly I was moving.

Edward watched me rifle through my locker before sighing and walking away, looking pained. I had to resist the urge to stick my tongue out at him, instead slamming my locker and shuffling to my first class.

--

Lunch was bad. I got a sandwich, and limped to the Cullens’ table, where they all stared as I sat. Quite frankly, every time I took a seat, the world around me swam before my eyes.

I took a seat at the end of the table, ignoring the glances that the Cullens were shooting me as I opened my soda, and unwrapped the sandwich.

“Is that for our benefit?” Rosalie asked boredly, nodding towards the sandwich, with a vague sneer of disgust on her face.

I shook my head. “Only for mine,” I said dully, studying my food. It hadn’t occurred to me that my lunch would smell terrible to them, only that I needed to eat so I could take some more painkiller. I hadn’t even really paid attention to their trays – I could see now that they were dotted with cans of soda, fruit, and packaged snacks. Nothing that would smell especially offensive to them – Mom had once told me that it was the preservatives and ingredients mixed together that were the worst to vampire sense; that, and that they could smell decay much faster than humans.

Lunch passed slowly – Edward and Bella chatted quietly, and every so often one of the other Cullens would make a comment, but mostly we sat in silence. I picked at my lunch, and felt my back throb in pain, before the bell finally rung, and they all moved to collect their trays and bags.

I was irritated – why invite me to eat at their table for lunch, when it had been awkward, uncomfortable, and no one had talked?

Whatever. I struggled to my feet and silently left, pausing only to dump my tray, and headed to the library to hide out until the end of the day.

//

Bella was staring at me as I changed out of my gym clothes, the two of us the last ones in the locker room.

“Is that where Jasper…?” she asked as I tugged my shirt on, my jacket following. My back was a rainbow of black, purple and green; so bad that I’d been forced to wear dark colours – you could see the marks through lighter-coloured fabric.

“Uh huh,” I said. “Brick wall, meet spine.”

“They’re pretty worried about you,” Bella said as I carefully shouldered my bag. “Carlisle and Esme want to see you again.”

“They don’t have to worry about me,” I shrugged and winced, regretting the movement. So, I didn’t quite have my full-range of movement back just yet. “I’m fine.”

Bella watched as I gathered my stuff. “They still need an explanation.”

“They’ll be waiting awhile – they clearly told you everything,” I said flatly. It was unspoken, but they clearly expected me not to say anything about them and their secrets, yet they were blabbing my secrets around.  

“You owe it to them, you know everything,” she informed me snootily.

I whipped around, enough for the pain in my back to flare hotly, which just made me madder. “I owe them nothing,” I snapped at her. “They clearly can’t keep their mouths shut when they don’t know anything, so why would I tell them more? And don’t sit there, all high-and-mighty, Bella Swan. You know nothing.”

And I stormed off.

--

Bella clearly ran and tattled on me to Edward, because after school, I saw the Cullens glaring at me as I walked towards the bus. Well, Edward was giving me Death Glares

//

Dr Cullen finally cornered me for a physical, telling Simon to bring me over on Saturday morning. I nearly threw a fit, even though my dreams the night before had made it clear that I wouldn’t be getting out of it easily.

My dreams about Jasper were getting more and more vivid, and the idea of physical contact was so unbearable, I was jumping and flinching when Simon and Dad were getting too close to me. Which was a problem, since Simon was a hugger.

I was sick to my stomach when Simon took me over, clutching the smoothie he’d made me for breakfast. I was wearing loose yoga pants and a t shirt under a sweatshirt to keep everything covered.

Dr Cullen hissed as he saw me in my underwear – the webbing over my chest, the bites on my throat and arms, the angry scar at the back of my left leg, the angry marks on my rib cages.

“What on earth happened to you, Alice?” he asked.

“Hard life,” I shrugged, crossing my arms over my chest. “Can we get this over with?”

“Of course,” Dr Cullen nodded.

—

More than one morning, I’d woken up from my dreams about Jasper with my hand between my legs, sweaty and panting and absolutely ashamed – even sick to my stomach.

All of the Cullen children had made it clear I was their friend out of necessity, rather than interest, and that Rose and Edward barely tolerated me. The idea of a genuine friendship with Jasper was a pipe-dream, let alone an opportunity to recreate my dreams.

Even as my inner-voice pointed out that they weren’t dreams.

And besides, sex was something that was not a good idea. At all. I wasn’t a virgin and I hadn’t been in years. I still had terrors and flashbacks to those terrible, monstrous experiences, I couldn’t imagine it being good, let alone as pleasurable as my brain claimed it would be. In the harsh light of day, I didn’t want anybody touching me.

And who would even want to, with my skinny, scarred body. The curves I had were easily hidden by my clothing.  Short hair. Sour disposition. I’d be alone forever.

It was raining, which suited my mood perfectly when I arrived at school. With the Cullens’ tentative acceptance of me, at least at lunch, I had isolated myself even more from the rest of the student body.

There had been entire days when answering roll call and greeting the Cullens at lunch where the only words I spoke. My personal best was eight words.

I drifted from class to class, finally getting to the cafeteria and claiming my lunch. A soda, an apple and a brownie – there was no way I was going to even pretend to eat the runny tuna salad or the luminous orange mac and cheese.

I hadn’t said anything to Dr Cullen, but I knew my physiology was not coping with my current diet. I was tired and sluggish, eating just two meals a day. In the hospital, I’d had free access to as much milk and as many snacks as I needed. Now, I had to pretend I was normal, and was failing kind of badly, since Simon found the amount of food I packed away at meal times ridiculous.

“Hey,” Emmett nodded at me as I arrived at the table.

“Hey,” I said, taking a seat next to Bella, and opened my soda, and pulled my homework out.

It was the most painless way to fill in the lunch hour – reading was rude, and no one wanted to talk. So, schoolwork.

“You going to eat that?” Rosalie interrupted me.

I looked up. I’d drunk half the soda – revolting diet raspberry had been the only flavor left – and picked at the brownie over the half an hour, but none of it held any interest.

“Probably not,” I said, turning back to my math homework.

“You should.”

Why was Rosalie still talking to me?

“It’s pretty gross,” I said, not looking up. “I’ll eat at home.”

“Bella eats it,” Rosalie said, gesturing at Bella’s empty tray.

“Rosalie,” Edward scowled, as Bella blushed prettily at being the center of attention.

“Bella clearly has a less discerning palate,” I said, closing my books and standing up. “If it’s so important to you, you can eat it, Rosalie.”

And I flounced off.

//

For some unholy reason, Simon and Dad had decided to have a pre-Thanksgiving cocktail party for their co-workers and friends. I stayed out of the planning and decorating, spending my time buried in my homework and ignoring everything around me.

Why Simon decided to invite the entire Cullen clan and Bella and her father, I have no idea. Maybe some misguided attempt to help me socialize. God, I hoped not.

But that meant, the afternoon before Thanksgiving I put on one of the dresses Simon had bought me – with tights – and went downstairs to help set up.

The Cullen kids seemed less than enthused to see me, though Edward was clearly pleased to see Bella.

“I’d apologise, but it wasn’t my idea,” I said as I walked past Emmett and Rosalie with a tray of glasses.

“This will be fun,” Emmett said cheerfully. “We never get to see humans in their natural habitat.”

—

Jasper found me sitting in the kitchen, staring out at the backyard.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied, standing up. “Do you need something?”

“No. It just gets a bit much, so many people in one place, with alcohol. Overwhelming,” he shrugged.

“I get it,” I said. “I mean, I can’t imagine what it’s like for your gift. But I get being overwhelmed.”

He offered me a crooked smile. I smiled shyly back, and began stacking dirty glasses. What to say?

“Carlisle is worried about you.”

Apparently, the topic at hand was me.

“He shouldn’t,” I said, as I began to pack the dishwasher. “I’m okay.”

“Esme too – she’s desperate for you to come over to our place so she can attempt to mother you to death,” he continued.

I thought of Mrs Cullen almost longingly for a moment – how sweet and kind she was. Nothing like Mom – Mom had never been warm and fuzzy. Mrs Cullen seemed like she’d be a good mom.

“She’s sweet, but I’m okay, really.”

“Don’t lie to an empath, Alice. I know exactly how you feel.” The ghost of a smirk played at his mouth and I turned to finish gathering up dirty cutlery.

“So how do I feel?” I asked, looking over my shoulder.

Jasper met my gaze. “Like starlight – bright and beautiful, but distant. There’s sadness and longing, ferocity and loyalty, all hidden behind a very tall wall.”

//

Within fifteen minutes, I was being pressed into the couch, with the delicious weight of Jasper on top of me. Somehow, I was down to my tank top, and I was nearly positive the first few buttons of my jeans had been undone. Jasper’s mouth moved down my jaw, to my throat, and I sighed in delight. My hands slipped down, fumbling to get underneath. As my fingers grazed the hard flesh of his stomach, I heard him moan against my throat and I smiled.

“We should stop,” he murmured in my ear.

“Why?” I asked, choosing that moment to shift, aligning our hips, and hitching my knees up. He groaned, pressing me even harder into the couch, one hand tangling in my hair as he pulled me into a scorching kiss.

The sound of the back door opening was very distant, and it didn’t register properly until Simon’s cheerful voice broke the moment.

“Having some good, wholesome fun, kids?” he said.

Jasper only just barely managed to climb off me at human speed, and I half fell off the couch.

Simon was standing there, clutching a bag of groceries, looking amused. Cynthia was standing beside him, her jaw on the floor. Mostly likely because one of the famous Cullens was in her house, making out with her sister.

--

When Dad roped me into helping with the washing up, I knew he and Simon were going to corner me. And they did.

“Alice,” Dad said carefully, as I started wrapping up the leftovers. “Simon told me about how he found you and Jasper Hale this afternoon, and we wanted to chat with you.”

“It won’t happen again,” I said, my eyes firmly on the bowl of leftover couscous.

“That’s not what we’re worried about, sweetheart,” Simon said. “Though, yes, we might need to make some rules about boys in the house. But Alice… how long have you known this boy?”

I frowned, and looked over my shoulder. How did I explain that I knew Jasper, had known him for years? That with our gifts, the second we had met, this had been inevitable.

“Since I met him at school,” I said carefully. “It kind of happened.”

“You’re smart, Alice, and … we’re only saying this because we love you and we don’t want you to get hurt. But it’s only be a couple of weeks, and what I saw this afternoon looked very serious,” Simon continued, giving my father a Look.

“Honey, with the horrible things that happened to you, we just don’t want you to rush into sex and a physical relationship,” Dad finished. “Sometimes it can seem like it might make the hurt and the fear go away, but it doesn’t if you rush into it.”

Oh god. This was horrifying. “Jasper and I weren’t… we aren’t…” I managed, before taking a deep breath. “We aren’t having sex. We aren’t planning on sex yet. He knows I have issues.”

Simon and Dad exchanged looks. “Okay,” Dad said finally

//

NSFW

//

I was trembling slightly as Jasper settled between my thighs, kissing me softly. I was aware of everything – my nudity, Jasper’s nudity, the scent of flowers and fabric softener from my bedding. The coil of warmth in my lower stomach, the circles Jasper was gently tracing on my hip.

“How are you feeling?” he murmured. I could feel him, cool and impossibly hard against my thigh, and I let out a shuddering breath.

“I’m okay,” I managed. “Just nervous. It’s going to hurt.”

“Oh darlin’,” he pressed a kiss to my lips. “If it hurts, I’ll stop. If you want me to, I’ll stop.”

I nodded. “Can you help me a little?” I whispered. “Just a little.”

“If you’re sure?” he said and I nodded. He kissed me deeply, one hand sliding down my thigh to guide my leg around his waist. The warmth in my stomach spread, and the fear seemed to fade. I found myself rocking against him slightly, making indecent sounds.

It didn’t hurt too badly; not like the other times, but I didn’t want to think about those. Proportionately, it was always going to be slightly awkward and uncomfortable the first time around. I knew it would get better, I had seen how good at this we’d become.

That thought just made me press closer to him.

“You’re so warm,” he groaned in my ear, kissing a trail to my neck. I gripped his shoulders, smirking to myself as he began to lick and suck at the juncture of my neck; a vampire with a neck fetish.

//

As I came back down to earth, panting and loose-limbed, Jasper moved about me, carefully but more erratically than before, his eyes darkening to pitch black. And without warning, he flung himself away from me, standing halfway across the room in less than a second.

“I need a moment,” he rasped, panting, his gaze firmly on me. Fuck. He looked like a god, standing there, his blackened gaze firmly on me. I wasn’t sure if it was his gift, the way he looked, but the warmth was building in my stomach again.

//

My mother always talked about vampire mating practices, and made it sound monstrous. Brutal sex, a violent bite to mark each other, and the bond settling over you, like invisible manacles. Cold and vicious, it was meant to be the ultimate unbreakable claim.  

In reality, it was nothing like that; his fingers stroking me, his arm around my waist, and then his mouth on my breast, his teeth biting down as I came apart in his arms, and then the soft lap of his tongue as he closed the wound.

//

Jasper slipped out before dawn with a deep kiss that I felt in my toes, his gaze glued to the throw I had hastily wrapped around myself, so that the neighbours wouldn’t catch me hanging out of my window naked.

“Dad and Simon won’t be home for hours,” I murmured as I leant in for another kiss. “Stay.”

“Alice,” he groaned, nuzzling my cheek. “Don’t tempt me. You need some sleep – and if I stay, there won’t be any sleep. I’ll see you later.”

I scowled but nodded, kissing him one last time. “Go.”

He jumped from my window, and I turned around. I needed clean sheets, a shower, and some sleep.

I just couldn’t stop smiling.

Jasper’s bite stood out on the side of my left breast, raised and pink, though it was already healing. It would fade into my skin over the next day, little more than a shadow against my skin until I touched it and felt the ridges of his teeth-marks. Finally, a bite mark that didn’t make me feel disfigured, or one that would be awkward to cover up. The memory of his teeth in my skin made me shiver; how his teeth were so sharp that it didn’t hurt, and his soft growling purrs, as he licked the wound; the slight sting of the vemon, his lips and fingers grazing the closed wound with such gentle love…

I tumbled back into my bed, with clean sheets and wet hair. I did feel different. I felt peaceful, secure, and loved. I felt human for the first time in a long time.

And I slept without nightmares.

I dreamt, as well, of Jasper getting home and Emmett’s whoop of amusement, and subsequent teasing. Of Edward losing his shit over the idea of a vampire having sex with a human. Of Carlisle being vaguely concerned, Esme looking amused, and Rosalie pissed off that they’d acquired another human pet. She’d be even more of a delight after this, I knew it.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!” I jerked awake to Simon knocking on my door.

//

[tardytothepardy]

Fruits Basket - Vol 19

Compared to the last few books, this one was actually pretty mild in subject matter. Nothing too heavy, which was a pretty nice break. The heavy stuff is fine, don't get me wrong, but you need a break from it, y'know? These characters certainly need a break.

In this book, we got a lot of backstory on Kakeru, which was pretty interesting. He seems kinda weird, the more we learn about him. Something's off about his ability to emote. Idk.

In the first section (which honestly is pretty heavy), it continues right where vol 18 left off: Tohru saying that they gotta find a way to break the curse soon, for everyone's sake, but especially for Kyo's sake. This seems to throw Tohru into a tiny crisis, because she had promised herself, after her mom died, that she would never place anyone above her mom, that her mom would always be the most important person to her. But she's realizing that is starting to fade away.

When Izusu first asked her what was most important to her, Tohru couldn't answer. She wanted to say her mom, of course her mom was the most important thing to her, but there clearly was another thing that was rivaling for that first place. She made the promise to always keep her mom in mind, to always have her be the most important, so that she would never fade away. It was right after she died, and Tohru had cleared everything out of their apartment, and even then, Tohru felt like Kyoko's memory was fading away.

As she was walking home, caught up in all these memories and thoughts, Shigure pops up, and says that she's heading to the main Sohma house, which is weird. On the way back to their house (should I phrase it as Shigure's house? I dunno), Shigure mentions how both she and Izusu have made it clear that they're trying to break the curse, and Tohru asks if he knew that the curse was already breaking. He said he didn't, it was just a hunch. Apparently, there has never been a time when all 13 members of the Juunishi have been alive, there's always been one missing. Because of this, Shigure thinks that the time for the curse to break is coming near, that it's the "final banquet". Not to mention, things have been watered down a lot through the generations, like Hatori being possessed by the dragon, but he turns into a sea horse. No offense Hatori, but that is kinda underwhelming. Additionally, Kureno's living proof that something is happening, with the way that the curse just,, randomly broke for him, and he wasn't doing anything to trigger that.

Shigure then brings up Kyo, and how time is cutting close for him, and it won't be long before he'll be taken away (something that Tohru is very aware of). He also says that the reason that the Cat has always been hated, is because it's just kinda the most convenient. I mean, the Cat is the only one that has a "dark form", which is all gross and etc., and it's easier to pick on that, than to really sit with yourself and think about how you're a fuckin weirdo who can turn into an animal, not even by choice, it's just something that happens that mostly out of your control, and because of that, it causes you to distance yourself from everyone. It's a burden, it's really just a curse. He really just keeps hammering down on the point that everyone knows that Kyo's the worst of them all, and they use that to feel better about themselves, that at least they're not like that, a disgusting creature. Personally, idk why he's doing this, but it makes Tohru pretty upset. She was upset to begin with, and now he's just putting salt in the wound with an oddly calm demeanor. After she makes him stop saying all that, he asks her if she does love him, and that sends her right back into her initial crisis.

Kyo shows up soon after, and Shigure just says she's upset because she got in a fight with Izusu, and not to worry about it. Kyo tries to console her about this "fight", which only makes Tohru feel worse. She says she doesn't know what to do, and he said that in situations like that, it's best to not do anything. I swear to goodness, these two are just kinda hopeless.

Anyway, the next chapter continues (as it is wont to do), and it's been another year since Tohru's mom died. Kyo didn't go with Tohru and her friends, clearly it all brings up a separate bunch of bad memories for him. Mostly involving when his own mom died, and the shit his dad said to him at the funeral. The stupid thing is, that after his dad said, "You can't get close [to the headstone] because you feel guilty, don't you?" Kazuma said that isn't something you say to a child, and Kyo's dad doubled down and said that's why he said it, because he wouldn't.

Unsurprisingly, Kyo did understand, because ✨news flash✨ kids aren't stupid. They can understand what you're saying, it's not like an adult's words are all garbled like in Peanuts. Especially when they're looking you dead in the eye, accusing you of killing their wife and your mother. They understand. He understood. (Why couldn't have kicked Kyo's dad in the throat he just,, he deserves it)

Anyway, while that particular thing in sitting around in his head, he runs into Tohru's grandfather, who's just kinda sitting there, chilling. He recognizes Kyo, which is what Kyo gets for having bright orange hair (he didn't do it on purpose but he has to understand the consequences of being a main character: he's recognizable) While they're talking, Kyo notices that Tohru's grandfather keeps calling Tohru "Kyoko", and Kyo asks about it. Tohru's grandfather (he doesn't really get a name, but this is also really clumsy ;-;) says it's to remember Kyoko, and shortly after Kyoko died, it was partially for Tohru's sake. He then asks Kyo if he knows why Tohru asks the way she does. I would imagine that if Kyo did think about it at all, he'd just figure it's because that's how she is, but Tohru's grandfather says it's an imitation of her father, Katsuya. This is mostly because after Katsuya died, some relatives started saying that Tohru wasn't anything like Katsuya, are you sure she's his daughter? Disgusting shit like that. Tohru's grandfather mused that they probably said it because they didn't think Tohru would understand them, which kinda makes Kyo go "!!" because holy crap, he was just thinking about that! how crazy!, and Tohru's grandfather says that, if nothing else, a kid can understand if a comment is nice or mean, but they are usually pretty good at understanding things.

After that, Kyo went home and saw Tohru taking down the laundry (do they not have a dryer or was it just more poetic to have her hanging them on a line and having them flutter around in the breeze?), and was thinking about the things that Tohru's grandfather said, along with some times that he was with Kyoko. Apparently, Kyo had seen (not really met) Tohru before they met in the beginning of the series. One time Kyoko was fretting about having to stay overtime at work, and how Tohru would be alone at home for a while, and so I guess Kyo decided that he'd check up on Tohru, and she was just sitting at the table, eating dinner, and he thought she looked pretty lonely.

Jump back to current events, Kyo's just been standing there, thinking about all this stuff while Tohru was folding laundry, and she finally noticed him. Ack! Startlements. Out of the blue, Kyo asked Tohru about her dad, and she froze up. She then said that they didn't really, but according to her mom, they acted the same. Then she retracted that statement, and revealed that she used to think her dad was a bad man, mostly just because as child, she used to fear that he would take Kyoko away from her, despite remembering that he was a kind and caring person. When he heard that, Kyo thought it was stupid, but it was most likely just from her trying to cope with her dad's death, and how her mom reacted so severely to it, and by thinking of her dad as a bad man, it was easier for her? Personally, I don't really follow the train of thought, I've read it a couple times, I'm just kinda confused by it, but it's mostly that she told herself a story that helped her, and it might have made her seem unaware of things (I hesitate to say "stupid"), so that she could push down her pain enough to seem happy on the outside. Tohru felt guilty about it, but Kyo told her that Kyoko probably knew what Tohru was doing, but it was okay, because Tohru helped Kyoko through a really tough time in her life (and he knows that for certain because Kyoko told him that).

Oh also the reason why there was all the billowing sheets and everything turned out to be kinda useful. Reassurance becomes awkward when you go to hug someone and you turn into a cat. So, stupid earlier question out of the way.

After all that, there is some unmistakably painful awkwardness between Kyo and Tohru, they're just stumbling over each other. Having to sit by and watch them is too much to bear for Yuki, so he flies off, to anywhere, because anywhere is better than that. And I mean, I've never been in that situation (because I'm generally not around people) but it's awkward enough just reading it, I think I would wither away or slam my head on a table/wall if I had to be around it, so I don't blame Yuki whatsoever. While he's wandering around, a woman comes up to him, asking if he's Ayame. Hm,, I wonder who this mysterious woman is??

(But first, a short peek back to the house and-- oh of course Kyo and Tohru are still struggling to exist around each other cool cool, and oh! Tohru just said something very cute and endearing and Kyo had a heart attack nice move my dude, and off in the distance, Hanajima senses their struggles and general pain)

Okay, back to Yuki. He went to Ayame's store to ask about that woman, and Ayame tells him that she was someone that he went to school with. He was the student body president, and he came to be friends with (or at least, he was friendly, there's a difference) another president from an all-girls school. Unbeknownst to him, she had fallen in love with him, but when he was younger, he didn't really seem to give a shit about people. Like, he seemed to be a raging asshole, not even on purpose. He just never took the time to consider and understand other people's feelings, and was just flippant to everything. So when this girl confessed her feelings to Ayame, he was decently surprised (kinda. If he was anywhere as popular as Yuki is in school, he probably had people confessing to him all the time, but unlike Yuki, Ayame probably just used that to boost his ego. What I'm saying is that it wouldn't really be a surprise to him; I have a feeling that he'd heard it a lot throughout high school), gave a "Oh, that's nice. What's your name again?" which was a huge blow to the girl. They'd been friends for a while, which she said. He then proceeded to say, "Oh, well then I guess your personality was so dull that I couldn't be bothered to remember!" Holy fuck. This is just getting worse and worse. Never mind the fact that Shigure and Hatori were there too, this wasn't just Ayame and the girl, and Shigure was snickering and poorly attempting to hide it. Hatori finally made them stop while the girl ran off, and Ayame had the gall to ask why. Dude. Wow.

It took him a while to fully understand what had happened, and how acting that way can really hurt someone, until he met Mine, the girl who works with him in the costume shop. (She's pretty distinctive in that she's always wearing a maid costume. She's enthusiastic about costumes) Yuki asked if Mine was Ayame's girlfriend, and Ayame said that she was, though they didn't make the biggest deal out of it. After going through his few minutes of Intense Retrospective, Ayame said (dramatically, you know him) that he hopes that moment hasn't traumatized her or affected her poorly, and Yuki said that she actually seemed pretty happy, if anything she was embarrassed, but it seemed like she had a husband and kid, so it could be guessed that she moved on from that incident. Yuki then tried to ask if Mine knows about the curse, but Ayame skillfully swerved around that by entirely ignoring the question, and Mine had come back from the store, so that conversation was over. But, when she came back, another followed, none other than Kakeru, who apparently is pretty friendly with Mine and Ayame, since the two of them came to the school during the "Sorta Cinderella" play to provide costumes.

While Kakeru was there, he briefly brought up Machi, and so she was brought over as well. That's only significant because she saw something she liked, and it pops up again later. Slightly later in this book, but more later in the series. It's a whole thing.

We also get a short little peek at what Kyo and Tohru are doing at the end of the chapter. I guess they just went out for shopping and stuff, and came across a place with lots of cats, who were quite excited to see Kyo. (Kyo was less excited to see the cats, it's probably for the better that they're separated by glass.)

The next chapter starts with Shigure at the main Sohma house, where apparently Akito has been stuck in her room for so long, asking if she thinks the world will change around her if she just stays in there long enough. He then leaves, and Akito says, "Fine! I don't care anymore!" (which, statistically speaking, almost always means that they still care), but Shigure doesn't bother with it. Being stubborn in this situation isn't going to help anything, but it's just not worth arguing over.

The scene jumps to school, and apparently Momiji's gotten a hell of a growth spurt, now he's all tall and tall, and he doesn't wear as much cutesy stuff. It also looks like he got a crush on Tohru, but Tohru would most likely quietly tuck Momiji into the friendzone like, so fast. I honestly doubt Momiji would actually try anything to get Tohru's attention, but later in the book he taunts Kyo a little bit, basically saying, "You better figure out your situation with Tohru bc I also l-l-like her lots <3" (After which Kyo has a mild crisis like "Holy shit does everyone know?? What the fuck??")

Tohru and Momiji run into Yuki and Haru at school, and for some reason they're all gonna go back home and get ice cream. Idk why, I guess they just felt like it.

Back at home itself, Kyo walks in and just finds Kisa sitting at the table. She flustered, he's confused ("why tf is she here what's going on?"), and Hiro pops out of nowhere to defuse a situation that wasn't occurring. Anyway, Kyo starts to walk off before Kisa says Hello!, and he's just like, "...hi. Anyway." and I'm just saying any of this bc it was so fuckin funny to me, idk why Kisa was acting like that, that might just be how she is, I've forgotten, but yeah.

Swerving back momentarily to the main Sohma house, Hatori's asking Shigure why he's always so mean to Akito. Would it really be so bad to just be nice for once? Shigure's pretty indifferent to it, especially when he said that Hatori's niceness or Kureno's niceness are more genuine, but he just can't fake that stuff, he doesn't care. He knows he's an annoying lil shit, and he doesn't seem to want to take any steps towards fixing that. After all, it's not his job to make Akito happy. (seriously though what's up with this whiplash between here and Tohru and Co. it's kinda weird.)

Let's just switch over to the last main chunk of the book, because I don't want to repeat myself too many times. This is the one that focuses on Kakeru, and his general weirdness. So he has a girlfriend, her name is Komaki Nakao. Just,, keep that in mind, I guess, so that I'm not saying "Kakeru's girlfriend" far too many times.

Anyway, Kakeru and Yuki head to the student council room, and Yuki gives Machi a little apology gift for having to deal with Ayame and Mine at the costume shop. Kimi complains about not getting something, which Naohito is irritated by (I think he lives to be irritated). She nabs the bag, opens it, and what is inside but a little Mogeta paper weight dude, a smaller version of the Mogeta doll that Ayame had in his shop that she was interested in (see I told you it was relevant), and she likes it a lot. Yuki can somehow tell by her waving it around in the air, idk how but he knows her better than I do. (Seeing as they're all in their fictional universe and I, it turns out, am not)

We also got a mini backstory into why Kimi is the way she is. It's because one time in middle school, a group of girls went up to her and said, "You think you can just float on by just because you're pretty and popular with boys?" and Kimi heartedly agreed, and just,,, didn't change. In case you were wondering.

Moving onto the part specifically about Kakeru, he used to have a thing against Tohru, a while back. When Kyoko got hit by that car, it turns out that the driver died as well, and that driver was Komaki's dad. So when Tohru and Kakeru ran into each other at the graveyard place, he basically was like, "Don't you dare think you can be the most sad in this situation, because someone else got hurt, so that means you can't be in as much pain as they are," completely out of the blue. Of course, Tohru didn't say anything against it, she wouldn't do that normally, and at the time she was still heavily mourning the death of her mother. He told Komaki of what he said to Tohru, reasoning that, like he said, she can't be the one most sad here, someone else has died. He saw her go about school, smiling and laughing, clearly she has to be faking her misery (rather than,, idk,, coping,,, and trying to get through life as a sudden orphan,,, idk,,), but Komaki didn't take it well, saying that you can't make a competition of something like being sad, or mourning. Him going out of his way to say that to Tohru did not help. That confused Kakeru initially, because he thought they were both on the same page. He did apologize, when they ran into each other later, completely owning up to his shit, which is nice. It's nice when people are accountable for their actions.

Back to Yuki and Machi for a second, Machi didn't have a chance to thank Yuki for the tiny Mogeta after she first got it, but she did like the gift. She tried to ask for what Yuki wanted, but all he said was self-confidence and fertilizer. (Does she know that he has a garden? I don't think she knows, that would probably seem very odd out of context.)

I think I'm gonna end that there. I have four more books left, so it's ending soon, but given how infrequently I actually sit down and write these, I just hope I'll be able to finish before they have to be taken back to the library.

[talietikasero]

Aria of the Sol

So, this is a preview (with brief context before each scene) for something I’ve been working on for a while. This is a “what if" scenario following the "Aria was revived” ending (/ original implication?). Set in the three-week gap between Revelator and Strive.

[Check it out on AO3]

Scene 1 (Chapter 1): Aria wakes up in the hospital and meets her daughter and son-in-law. [Inspired by “Ch’io mi scordi di te?” by rex101111]

[November 25. Illyrian Royal Medical Center, Patient Room 107. 11:02 am] Approximately five days had passed since she was checked in as a patient. If only she knew the collective shock from the medical staff and those who were waiting to visit their family members when they saw her unconscious form being brought into the facility by Sol nearly kicking the doors off, who had Ky and Sin trailing right behind. Those standing outside were treated to the sight of the Gullinkambi Dark acting as the group's transport, with Daryl's fleet right behind as they were all returning to Eastern Illyria.

“She gonna be alright?”

“Let’s hope so.”

“You’re good to go, Johnny. Thanks for the lift.”

“Anytime.”

“Daryl, drop the girls at my home. Dizzy will be waiting outside.”

“Understood.”

Inside her head, memories of who she was started flooding in from two clashing sources. Source A had recent memories about her days figuring out what it’s like to be human. People tracking her down, one annoyed she got away, another insisting she take off the mask so he could see her face. Source B saw nothing but death and destruction, whether it was from her hands or not. Humanity hated her for this, but she didn’t care. Those foolish “knights" who dared oppose her. That grumpy old man who, against all odds, survived fighting her on seventeen different occasions. Out of those eleven brave souls who participated in the tournament that led to her release, one stood above the rest. When she saw him, it was then that she remembered herself —who they were – before taking her final breath.

“H… How could I have forgotten you? If only we could have talked one last time… Just the three of us…”

“…Justice…? That’s right… The man who created us… our boss! I won’t rest until you lie writhing in agony before me!!”

Vision hazy, she stood alone in a void that seemed all too familiar before seeing two others in front of her. This strange woman with a halo and a pumpkin motif who mirrored her in physical appearance down to the face simply smiled, where the armored monster who she admittedly was frightened by stood idly and stared before nodding. They faced each other, joining their hands before merging as one. She saw her own reflection, still dressed in her researcher clothes. Her identity became clear.

She is Aria Hale, one of the key researchers assigned to the Gear Project.

Various figures and faces she couldn’t put names to appear one by one, two of which appeared to be her old colleagues still dressed in their white lab coats. She wanted to call out to them before refraining as they changed into strange attire. One was covered from head to toe in a hooded robe that looked more like a straitjacket than anything, where the other was clad in red, black, and white, and was the reason for her demise seven years prior. Was this truly how they were in her absence? Everything suddenly went blinding white.

Aria had regained consciousness. Nose crinkling at the sterile "lemon" scent, her eyes slowly opened to see the dimmed fluorescent light above.   "Nnnngh, where am I?"   Her sudden awakening startled the nurse who was doing her hourly check-in, causing her to rush out the door and call for one of the main physicians. Whoops. Curious about her surroundings, she saw that she was dressed in a light blue hospital gown and had been hooked up to a system that tracked her life signs. This wasn’t the project complex infirmary. Where exactly was she?

When the nurse returned following a doctor, Aria apologized for the unintended scare, to which the latter understood and said she overreacted. After a series of questions regarding any possible issues and if she had any dietary restrictions, the doctor had another staff member bring her something to eat and drink. She wasn’t listening to what they were discussing but did catch “well now that she’s up, please contact his majesty.”

[1:15 pm]

“That was unexpected.” The breakfast she ate wasn’t the subpar hospital food she recalled from back then. Rather, she was given a bowl of freshly chopped fruits, some toast and berry cream cheese, and a mug of coffee with sweet cinnamon cream and sugar mixed in. As an afternoon treat, she was also left a fruit tart, along with a kettle of hot water, a small assortment of tea, and two cups.

Aria was passing time with a copy of the local newspaper in hand while the radio played music, trying to wrap her head around what she was reading. The main story reported that there was this worldwide battle ranging from Illyria to the Japanese Colony. The article detailed various heroes fighting against someone named Ariels's forces; assassins, pirates, a doctor (with a paper bag on his head? What in the hell), some soldiers (oh my god just how large is that man with the helm?), and... is that a girl with wings? What exactly did she miss? Despite not knowing who this blue-haired girl was, she couldn't help but feel a little proud of her, reading the positive things the people were saying. "She saved my life!"

"She refused to abandon us."

"She's like an angel! No, a goddess!”

“If she were Queen, she’d make a perfect match for King Ky.” The hospital's usual noise of medical staff chatting or yelling life-saving orders, wheels on carts and beds rolling, and footsteps were present, but she heard what sounded like a group of people headed towards her room. She folded the paper and placed it on the table next to her bedside, figuring she'd finish reading it later. If there was something that caught her attention, it was the weekly news recap radio broadcast stating that the Gear Maker has turned himself in.

“The ‘Gear Maker’… Asuka’s been arrested?”

"Ah, here we are."

"Thank you."

"Thanks, doc."

"This is exciting! I can't wait to meet her." Was her head playing tricks on her? Those muffled voices on the other side of the door sound familiar yet entirely foreign. Still listening, she saw herself in the mirror the nurse had left earlier. "Well, if they come in here, I can't look disheveled." She lowly muttered as she touched up her appearance; it wasn't too bad, just a light sign of tiredness (she wanted a haircut too.) “…When did my hair become… two-tone…?”

First, she heard a soft, feminine voice. "I think it'd be best if she saw you first. I don't want to scare her. D-don't give me that look, Dad!" Scare her? How could that happen when she'd already seen the worst horrors imaginable?

"Dizzy, look at me. You're not scary. But I see what you're getting at." Whoever the second person in this conversation was, she could sense they were reassuring her of something. It sounded like they were together in some way. "I think she'd be happy to see you." Her eyes widened as the third voice caught her off guard. Is that who she thinks it is? Is it really ---?   "Incredible, Sol. Your soft side is showing." "Shut it, Ky." Dizzy? Sol? Ky? Who are these people? "I'd say it's normal to forget someone from before, but you know all three of them. Or at least I did. ~" Who the hell was that? Now there's a voice in her head? Great. She just wanted to sleep again and tell those three to come back later. Now was not the time for having to get answers for every question that may pop up. "Heh. Doctor, could you do the honor?" "Oh, of course." There was a gentle knock on the door. "Ma'am?" "Y-yes?" Aria put the mirror away and adjusted her blanket. "You have a couple of visitors. Is it okay to come in?" "Yes. Please enter." The sound of the door slowly creaking open was harsh compared to the steady beeps of her vitals monitors. She wondered who would step in first but kept her hopes at bay. A blond young man dressed in blue and white was the first to enter. Had she seen him somewhere before? He was older now but lacked the fierce and determined gaze she remembered. Neutral bordering on welcoming, this man bowed as he introduced himself. "Good afternoon, madam. My name is Ky Kiske. I'm the King of Illyria." Oh god, what did she do? How was she supposed to greet royalty, let alone the man who's in charge of everything? Unsure of how to do so, she politely nodded and smiled. "Pleased to meet you, your highness. To what do I owe the honor of a visit?" "It's been a few days but what a relief it is to see you're awake. I hope you don’t mind as my wife wanted to come along, and we brought an old ‘friend’ of yours." "I appreciate the concern." "We're sorry to show up unannounced, but we came as soon as we could." Dizzy was the second to enter the room, taking a seat close to her. "I know this may come off as a shock, but it's nice to finally meet you, Mom." Aria took a moment to study Dizzy's appearance. Features remarkably like her own, mainly in the eyes and face shape. Long blue hair tied with yellow ribbons, a tail, red eyes, and wings. The realization hit her like a freight train as this was who she had just read about. This heroine, the queen, was her daughter. How the child of two stressed-out scientists from over one hundred and seventy years ago ended up as one of the most powerful women on Earth is an answer for another time. For now, she was trying to think of a conversation starter. “Nice to meet you too.”

//

“It wasn’t until our college years that I met your father.”

“You two weren’t high school sweethearts?”

“If we knew each other back then, something might’ve come out of it. He is two years older than I am.”

“Oh. So, with that if you were a sophomore, he was a senior?” Dizzy may have the mind of a woman in her mid- to late-twenties, but she never had the chance to attend an actual school. She did have an idea about how education systems worked.

“Precisely, though I might’ve been bumped up to the same student standing now that I think about it. Though that would’ve been unlikely as I earned my PhD in my late teens. Our studies differed, with my focus on cytology, and his in magic particle physics, but the two of us were recruited to work for the same project group after graduating. He was confused as to how I could be interested in someone like him – an extrovert and an introvert, respectively. Aside from me and our mutual colleague, he didn’t have very many friends – if any at all.” Aria noticed the expression on Ky’s face, indicating that he already knew about her partner’s lack of social skills. “I guess he wanted to be around me so much that he asked to be transferred to the team I was with, rather than work on his original assignment. All jokes aside, it was really because of how much significance the project held. I think he was tasked on researching some powerful spell. Saint Oratorio, I believe it was called.”

Dizzy turned to Ky, asking something that popped into her head. “Isn’t that what they fired that day?” Ky nodded, remembering the argument on if another energy blast should’ve been used or not. Aria noticed the couple sneaking in a quick glance at the door, then exchanging a knowing look at each other.

“Excuse me for a second.” Ky rose from his seat and headed out the door. “Get in here and talk to her, you moron!”

“I told you I’d go in when I was ready!”

“And when would that be, huh?”

“When you and Dizzy left! Let go of me! AGH!”

The door swung open with Ky dragging a familiar face into the room by the lapel of his jacket. Dark brown hair, olive skin, and those bold rectangular eyes she vividly remembers. The world knew him by a nom de guerre – Sol Badguy. His real identity wasn’t common knowledge, only being known by a handful of individuals – Asuka, Paradigm, presumably Ky, Leo, and the Valentines, and her. He displayed no significant signs of aging despite the time that passed since she last saw him, still appearing to be in his mid-twenties. Aria’s grip on the blanket tightened as she murmured his name. “…Frederick?”

____________________________________

Scene 2: After being discharged from the hospital, Dizzy takes Aria out on a shopping trip. Aria meets a friendly time traveler. 

[December 2. Downtown Shopping District. 12:15 pm]

“Let’s get going. There’s more shops to browse."

Although the public started to trust her, Dizzy and Aria went out with two members of the Convict Hammer team as their escort. Thankfully, the citizens were nice enough to give the Queen her space and greeted her whenever she passed by. There were some who gave her “thank you” gifts, ranging from goody baskets filled with sweets and teas to flowers and handmade trinkets, all of which were given to their escorts to carry.

Weather today was a cool 60 degrees Fahrenheit, slightly overcast with scattered clouds. Aria recalled something regarding her accessory choice on a past date. “You gotta be some kind of eccentric to wear a hat on a day like today.” The promenade was bustling with the usual crowds, some people were getting ideas for what gifts to buy for those special in their lives as Christmas was approaching. Aria noticed a family of three walking past a toy store, seeing the child point out what was in the window to their parents. Glancing at Dizzy, who was busy meeting and greeting the people she protected during the recent attacks, she thought to herself “if only I – no, we were there for you back then. That could’ve been the three of us.” It made her chuckle that their escort had to explain everyone needed to wait their turn to speak with her daughter – she is technically a celebrity.

Aria couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. She stood still, noticing everything froze similarly to that fateful day. Out of nowhere, a man with long blond hair, wearing a blue shirt, black pants, a varsity jacket, and a black bandana appeared next to her. His sudden presence nearly made her jump out of her skin. Just like Ky, Aria vaguely remembers seeing him before too. He simply smiled and waved in a friendly manner. “You have nothin’ to worry about. Name’s Axl. I’m a friend of Fre—I mean, Sol’s.” One more person to add to the list of who knows his real name. “He asked me to check on you today. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

Aria blinked at him owlishly. “I’m sorry but did you just say check on me?”

“Yeah, he’s got other business to attend to – can’t say exactly what it is either.” He shrugged, giving her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “He told me to tell you he’s sorry for being gone, but he did add something about making it up to you. We’ll meet again sometime.” Axl raised his right hand, making a peace sign. “See ya ‘round, Ari.”

“W-wait!” Time resumed, leaving her standing in the middle of the sidewalk confused about what she just heard. She tried to find Axl, her head turning to all possible directions, and no trace of him was to be seen as if he vanished into thin air. Her motions bordered on frantic as some passersby gave her puzzled looks. “He doesn’t have the decency to see me in person, yet he sends a friend to say hi and watch over me. Sometimes, I just don’t understand you, Frederick…”

“Madam Hale, is everything alright?” One Convict Hammer asked regarding her wellbeing. “You seem like something's troubling you.”

“I’m fine, really. I spaced out for a bit.” Aria rubbed the back of her neck in attempt to brush aside what just happened. “Sorry.”

____________________________________

Scene 3: Ky takes Aria to the castle. She meets the other Kings and has something to ask one of them.

[December 3. Illyria Castle War Room, 9:45 am]

“The last time I saw this many people staring at screens and tapping away at keys was during a project crunch.” Coffee cup in hand, Aria commented on the operator crew stationed around what looked like a throne on the lower floor. “It was either from a sooner deadline or everyone just decided to make last minute changes on their data. It wasn’t odd to see at least one or two people running down the complex’s halls with a sizeable stack of papers.”

“Not too different from the crew here, but what can you do? We’re only human. Normally, civilians aren’t allowed in here, but I’ll make an exception.”

“He’s right about the ‘no civilian' policy.” A boisterous voice came from the burly man that approached them. “Ky, who is this?”

“Aria, this is Leo Whitefang, the Second King. Leo, this is Aria Hale. You know, my mother-in-law and you-know-who’s partner.”

She nervously smiled at him. “Hi?” Fitting name considering he has a hairstyle reminiscent of a lion’s mane. He towered over them, standing with a sturdy frame at six feet and five inches. She noticed the difference in the two kings’ fashion choices; Ky wore lighter clothes with his jacket placed over his shoulders, where Leo had a heavy coat with a furry lining.

“Oh, my apologies.” Leo apologizing wasn’t something anyone saw often. He gave Ky a side-eyed glare. “A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“One of the few times I decide to drop by, and the God of War's better half is here.” A man who looked to be exactly the midpoint of Ky and Leo's age gap approached the three, briefly bowing as he stood near them. “Good morning, Ms. Hale.”

"Daryl?" Kiske and Whitefang asked in unison. “What are you doing here?”

“With the G4 summit next week, I thought I’d at least consult with you two in person before I go. It’d be a terrible idea if all three of us went, wouldn’t you agree?”

Aria wondered what the Three Kings had for a planned course of action regarding the conference. At the moment, she remembered what she and Ky had discussed on the trip to the castle. She tapped his shoulder and leaned in to whisper “did you forget my idea?”

“Ah, right. That’s one of the reasons why I brought you here. Leo, Aria has something to ask.”

“And that would be?” She didn’t speak, only bumping her fists together. “You want us to do what now?" Leo asked as he crossed his arms. He had an idea of what she meant but would rather hear it from her. "Teach me how to fight. I can't be reliant on others to defend me." "Okay." Ky chimed in. "Okay!?! You're telling me that the woman who used to be Just--- OW!" Aria punched Leo in the stomach as hard as she could. "Don't call me that."

“AUGH! Was that necessary!?” Ky couldn't help but laugh at Leo's expense. "And we're off to a good start. Look at it this way, it's not like we’re placing her in a big role like Ramlethal."

"Dammit, bambino! You have a point. Fine. Report back here at 0900 tomorrow. Your training will begin then." Leo’s communicator went active. Holding a finger up to his ear, he answered and looked towards the hallway. “Hm? Yeah. Alright, I’ll be right there. I’ll get you access.” Click. “That was Ram. Did you not authorize her entry to the armory?” Ky shook his head – the task referred to was Leo’s job. “Before I go, what’s your preferred style? Sword? Shield? Bare hands?”

“You’ll find out when you start teaching me.” Aria replied with a hint of playful snark.

“You really are Sol’s girlfriend.” As Leo walked away, Aria turned to see what looked to be a girl wearing a white body-length cape with red bandages on her left limbs waiting for him. The mysterious girl seemed to be hovering a few inches off the ground and was accompanied by two small flying creatures.

“He’s a bit of a hardass, but you learn to tolerate it.”

“I heard that! There’s a multitude of reasons you’re not as popular as us and that’s one of them!”

“See what I mean. Also, this is for you.“ Daryl handed Aria a medium sized gift bag with pink and purple tissue paper sticking out. Printed with an art nouveau floral pattern, there was a sun emblem on the lower right corner, not-so subtly hinting at who dropped it off. “I didn’t know which flavor you’d like, so I put both chocolate and strawberry desserts inside, on top of your actual gift. Don’t worry, I didn’t look.”

[Kiske Residence, Aria’s room. 5:15 pm]

“If you ever stop by, I hope you like what I picked out…” Aria placed the folded bag in the drawer and slid it shut. She looked to the closet where the other clothing she bought was stored, including a dress and hat like what she owned in the past. Hopefully, she’ll be able to wear it sometime.

“Ram, are you sure about this? We haven’t introduced ourselves yet! She might think we’re being rude.”

“I’m certain, El. At least let me try and speak with her. I’m only the messenger here.”

“Hey, are ya talking about Sol’s gal? Ya know, I was the first Valentine’s companion.”

“Ugh, stay out of this, you big balloon creep!”

“Lucifero. Self-destruct. Why must you follow me everywhere?”

“You’re getting better at this whole showing emotion thing, but you’re terrible at small talk! …okay. I’ll be waiting in our room until you’re done.”

Following the fading footsteps, a rhythmic knock-knock-knock preceded a monotone voice. “Miss Aria? May I come in?”

“It's unlocked.” Her attention was turned to the same young girl from this morning standing in the doorway. She wore a dark blue and white sailor dress with a mint green bow, had amber eyes, brown skin, and cream white hair. “I don’t think we’ve met before, but you’re Ramlethal, right?”

“Of course you two have met! Just not like this! ~”

“Correct. As you may have learned, I am a Valentine, and as such my sister and I were created from you.”

“’Valentine'? Created… from… me?”

“Mother used you as a template for our existence. I can see why now but telling you this isn’t why I’m here.”

“Then why are you? Do you… want to chat? You look like you could use someone to talk to.”

Ramlethal's blank expression shifted to a soft smile. “Perhaps another time, but there’s something I have to do first.” She walked up to Aria and hugged her. “This is from him. Thank you for returning. Sol is much happier than he was before.” She let go and left, gently closing the door behind her.

Aria stood there dumbfounded at what had just occurred. “He’s… happier?”

She took a seat at the desk where she placed her gift from earlier. Her curiosity got the best of her, and she decided to open it. “I know it’s from you, but what exactly did you get me?” Removing the tissue paper and the extra gift desserts, she pulled out a black box. Placed inside was a brown teddy bear dressed as Sol – removable headband included – holding a heart and rose, along with a card that had “to Aria” written on it. Opening it, she read the message.

“Cute plushie, isn’t he? I got this custom made just for you. Even comes with a change of clothes: a purple shirt, black slacks, and a lab coat. Hope you’re not too worried about me. I promise I’ll see you soon. Okay? 🖤”

Aria finally has friends and family, yet without Frederick, she felt alone. Opening the container with the strawberry pudding, she picked up a spoon, and placed a scoop of the sweet in her mouth. “I’ll hold you to that… Really wanted to share this with you too.”

____________________________________

Scene 4: Aria meets her other genetic copy and her grandson. Song used: “Pirates” by Caravan Palace.

[December 5. 6:30 pm]

Reorganizing her belongings, the soft melody from the song currently playing on the phonograph filled the room.

Do me, beauty. Rock me up, yup go once again. Hug me, beauty. Oop, the way this life is clearing into my brains. Fool me, beauty. Let me think of home once again. Hear me, beauty. You gotta hide away the secret of your low bone this man.

“Miss Aria. It’s me, Ram. Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

“I hope I’m not intruding on anything.” Ramlethal was carrying her puppy in her arms to keep it from barging in.

“You weren’t. I was just cleaning up. What brings you to my room?”

“I, uh, wanted to tell you I think your skills are developing nicely.” She chose her words carefully, trying not to sound off-putting. Holding a conversation is something she’s still working on. “I had some downtime and observed again.”

Aria's training today consisted of testing her agility and competence to read and react to opponents. During a brief cooldown period, she did notice the small group of people watching included more. “Who were those two standing next to you, Dizzy, and the others?”

“My younger sister and your grandson. They’re,” Ram paused for a second, “actually waiting outside because they would like to talk to you as well.”

 Aria's attention went to the open door, seeing a grey-haired girl and a blond boy with an eyepatch sticking their heads in. “Come on in, you two.”

Elphelt and Sin entered, both taking note of how grand the royal residence's guest room was designed. The younger Valentine was nowhere near as reserved as her sister when it came to talking about something – the first thing that came out of her mouth after seeing Hale was “oh, she’s even prettier in person! I see where Miss Dizzy got her looks from! And by extension, me!”

“Like looking into a mirror, isn’t it? Even more so since you got a new hairdo. ~”

“Weirdly familiar, like I’ve seen you before.” Sin poked his chin, trying to recall. “I remember now, there was the first one with the winged hat who tried to kill the Old Man! She had a freaky Gear form and managed to brainwash me for a bit too. But I can tell you aren’t her since she’s gone.” He was jabbed in the arms by the sisters. “Ouch, what was that for!?”

“You had a brain to begin with, you dope?!”

“El, don’t be rude!”

As the three were fighting amongst themselves, Aria found herself thinking “what in the hell happened.”

[7:43 pm]

“I’m glad I had the chance to speak with you. Is this what is referred to as ‘therapy'?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it that, but let’s say yes for the time being. Hey, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“N-no. It wasn’t. You just seem more like a mother to me than my ‘actual' one. I am aware I’m not human, and she created me as an emotionless doll she threw away when I had no further use.” Ramlethal tried to soothe herself by smoothing out her bandages. Part of her wanted to tell Aria about what happened in Scandiva, yet she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Her magehound started snuggling next to her, sensing the mood drop. “She… she called me a failure.”

Aria grabbed a tissue and wiped the tear that ran down Ram's cheek. After disposing of it – and picking up the Sol bear – she kneeled in front of the Valentine, holding the plush in front of her own face. Using one of the bear's limbs to tap her knee, she had her attention. “Listen to me. She’s the failure, not you.”

Peeking up from behind the toy, Aria was treated to the sight of her genetic copy struggling to keep herself from giggling.

____________________________________

Scene 5 (Chapter 2): Day trip date. Aria brings up a very sensitive subject later that night. (Note: this was written with the game’s implication of a pregnancy. Also, I did some level of research and figured the stage I picked is approximately where Italy's Amalfi Coast is.)

[December 9. L'oro di Illyria. 5:45 pm]

A few hours later, they went for a leisurely trip down south, dressed in their best attempts at incognito clothing. Emphasis on attempt as the suppressor was a dead giveaway (it was worth a shot). Aria was wearing that dress and hat she purchased a week prior, paired with leggings, fuzzy boots, and a warm winter coat. A callback to how he dressed himself in the past, Frederick was wearing a black button-up shirt with a tank top underneath, dark blue jeans, and a pair of Chelsea boots. He also had a mid-long jacket that she brought along just in case, placed under the sidecar’s seat.

“Oh, I remember this place! Heaven’s Edge! It’s where we met for the first time after I left the Sanctuary to get some fresh air. Ah, memories. ~ Or am I remembering wrong? Those sword monoliths look very familiar.”

There’s that childlike voice again. It changed to a mature tone mid-sentence.

“Just who are you? And how can your voice change like that!?”

“Oops, I’m sorry. You see, I’m the previous owner of your current body. My name is J—”

Before this disembodied voice could say her name, Aria’s attention went elsewhere. “You alright?”

“Uh, yeah. This isn’t what I thought you meant by going out, but at least the trip here was fun.” The highway they took was through inner Italy and had passed through numerous towns, of which contained convenience shops to obtain refreshments here and there. “Built that bike yourself, didn’t you?”

“Designed for one so that’s why I made a sidecar for you.”

“Can it turn into a minibike if I wanted it to?”

“What? You’re psychic now? I’m still working on that part.”

“Hey, chief! Ari!”

“Axl? What are you doing here?”

“I was in the area. Thought I’d drop by and say ‘ello. Almost didn’t recognize the two of ya.” He wasn’t used to seeing Frederick, let alone anybody, in anything so casual. Aria, on the other hand, wore that dress nicely. He couldn’t help but feel a slight hint of sadness, as the last woman he saw in a similar clothing article was M— he mentally shook his head and put on a smile. “That outfit looks lovely. Ain’t you a lucky guy?”

“Thank you. Nice to see you in real time and not during a time freeze.”

“Ah, yeah. I wanted to avoid trying to talk in a crowd. My bad if you were annoyed by my choice.” Axl had the power to jump to any point in time and any dimension, yet he’s been frequently visiting for some reason only he knows. “I got something to tell you.”

“I could use a quick snack.” Aria wasn’t paying attention to Low and spotted the outdoor marketplace, noticing the large ship cruising by. “I’ll be over by that fruit vendor. Don’t be too long, alright?”

As Aria left, the two men watched her reach into her purse, taking out a few W$ to purchase an apple. It amused them as she tried to fight the kind vendor about giving her a free apple, insisting that she pay for it as it’s only fair for business. Not only did she end up with a free fruit, but she was also given a bag containing two additional and a bottle of cream soda with a straw. She didn’t look back at them; her attention went to admiring the colorful cliffside residential buildings.

“Do you think I could get a free piece of fruit and a drink too or is she a special case?”

“You might scare the living daylight out of him.”

[9:15 pm]

"So, um, about Dizzy." Aria clasped her hands together and twiddled her thumbs, avoiding eye contact while staring at the paved stone walkway.   "I was trying not to bring her up, but what about her?"   "I..." She took a deep breath and collected her thoughts. "I didn't know how to tell you." She didn't hear a response, worrying her about what Frederick was thinking. A moment later, she felt a hand rubbing her back, taking this as a sign that he's listening while trying to soothe her. "I already experienced how you reacted when I told you I was sick with that infection, but I didn't want to make that worse by telling you you're going to be a father. I don’t recall how far along I was, but you shouldn’t have had to live with knowing you’ll never see your unborn after I was gone either."   He remained quiet a bit longer before reaching to wrap his arm around and pull her closer. Not too suddenly as he didn't want to give off the wrong idea, but once he saw her ease into him, he placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Do you remember your birthday where I showed you that programming ‘error'?”

“You mean the ring? Of course I do. I didn’t mind that you didn’t have the real one because your method was so cute. It was so… you. If neither of us killed the mood, I would’ve told you I was looking forward to changing my name to Aria Bulsara.”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn't occasionally think of some alternate time where we truly settled down. We were still scientists and met under the same circumstances, but there was no Gear project or magic, and you didn't have an illness. Or at least one you didn't tell me about near your last days."   "Wha--... really?"   "Yeah. Then all this shit happened." His voice was deceptively calm, yet she could sense the rage beneath it all. "My conversion and the resulting amnesia, your conveniently timed 'disappearance', and the destruction of the complex with countless deaths were the beginning."   "Then decades later I lost control of my mind and body and waged war against the world. That stubborn geezer never quit, but then Ky and you showed up to seal 'me' away. I don't think I felt it, but during my imprisonment, that's when I gave birth?"   "Sounds about right. We're living in one of those stories I used to read when I was bored. The reader turns out to be the hero, where someone very close to them was used as a twist villain."

____________________________________

Scene 6 (Chapter 3): Aria takes up the offer of becoming a bounty hunter, taking up the alias “Luna". Her new outfit is a blue, black, and white version of Sol's, with a pair of blue goggles in place of a headband. Song used: “Seven Seas of Rhye” by Queen.

[December 10. Somewhere in the Illyrian outskirts. Midday.]

“No targets today, so do you wanna just relax? I think there’s a beach just up ahead.”

“We’ve been on the road for a few hours, so a rest period at a beach sounds perfect right now.” She noticed what song was currently playing, having already passed the bridge. “Oh, I know this one! It’s one of my favorites.” Clearing her throat, she began singing along. “Storm the master-marathon, I’ll fly through.”

He couldn’t help but smile and continue. “By flash and thunder-fire and I'll survive (I'll survive, I'll survive).”

“Then I'll defy the laws of nature and come out alive,” she pointed a finger at him. “Then I'll get you!”

“Be gone with you, you shod and shady senators.”

“Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries.”

He clenched his fist and held it up. “I challenge the mighty Titan and his troubadours.”

She placed her index fingers at the ends of her mouth. “And with a smile.”

He pointed towards the shore of the Tyrrhenian Sea as they sang the last line together. “I'll take you to the Seven Seas of Rhye!”

//

[Nighttime.]

A cool 55 degrees, the night sky was clear as the stars strewn throughout were in full display. They sat by a bonfire, sharing drinks and leaning back against the Firewheel Mk.2, enjoying the other's company. There was a brief squabble on whether they should find an actual motel room to stay in for the night, with Aria winning as she convinced Frederick to sleep in a bed as opposed to the ground.

Fire crackling paired with sounds from the nearby wildlife, she thought of a conversation topic. “Hey, do you wanna hear something weird?”

“Shoot.”

“Before I woke up, I saw myself, Justice, and someone else.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It was unnerving. She looked just like me but had a halo and her hair was the inverse of mine. My first day at Ky and Dizzy's, I scrounged around and found a cracked one that looked just like what I saw. Along with an iron mask, a crux ansata, black heels and gloves, and a white jumpsuit. It all fit me perfectly! I was considering wearing that instead of this.”

“Jack-O.”

“Huh?”

He took a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out before continuing. “To bring you back, a special Valentine was made that contained the other half of your soul. Her name was Jack-O.” He butted the cigarette before tossing it into the fire. “Ram, Sin, and I chased her down before any additional damage could've been done. Then a few days later, she reappeared with Asuka, and struck a deal with us. Said something like ‘if you can get me close enough, I can fuse with Justice to revive, well, you.’ I thought they were full of it. Turned out they were telling the truth.”

“He's right! ~ I took off my mask and told him I was literally half of you. Nearly lost his mind right there. Sorry about the forced mind override, but you refused to accept it, and he wasn’t going to back down. ~”

“That explains the voice in my head. I wonder how her stuff got into my room though.”

“She’s still in there?” He gently poked her forehead. “I can imagine when you wear these, she also sees life through blue tinted lenses.”

“You’ve got puns now? I knew I should’ve gone with a pink color scheme.”

“Blue’s more your color.”

[98prilla]

Abductions, Past and Present

Previous

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AO3

Bit of a lighter chapter, this time, but the next one is gonna be a bit rough. I’m real low on motivation right now, so long term projects like this one are just hard to write at the moment. It’s gonna be slow, folks! One shots are easier for my brain, so expect those while I procrastinate. 

...

He jolts awake, shaking off the tail end of a nightmare, heart racing as he tries to place where he is, eyes locking on the bed, on the form of Roman sleeping peacefully, and his chest knots tighter.

 “hey kiddo.” He tenses a bit at the voice, eyes shooting up to Feathers', flinching back a bit. “it's ok, bud. Can you drink something for me?” his throat feels like it’s closing up, but he nods, letting Feathers hand him a cup. He doesn’t know what's in it, why he's still here, but he's not going back on his deal. So he steels himself and takes a swig of the liquid.

 His eyes widen. It's… water. Cool, fresh, sweet, water. He closes his eyes, taking another, slower drink. God, it’s amazing, he hadn't realized he'd forgotten what actual water tastes like, but it's somehow the most beautiful thing in the world.

 “easy, buddy. Too fast and you'll get sick.” He opens his eyes at hands gently taking back the mostly empty cup. He keeps his eyes down, hands in his lap.

 “Can we get some food in you, kiddo?” He nods again, letting Feathers guide him off the cot he'd been asleep on, barely wincing at the touch, biting back a hiss. The whole time his eyes never leave Roman.

 They settle on the other side of the room, a small table and three chairs around it, which makes him stiffen even as he slides into the seat.

 “I brought breakfast. Is he awake?” His eyes fly to the door. It's Naga. “ah, he is.” Naga answers himself, a small smile flitting across his face, coming to sit at the table, sliding a bowl in front of him and Feathers, before he sits down with his own bowl.

 It smells like oatmeal of some kind, slightly cinnamon and sugary, and he can see fruit mixed in. Fruit. Just the thought nearly makes his mouth water, but he holds back, waiting for permission as the others begin to eat. He doesn’t know if this is another test, he won’t fail so easily if it is.

“Go on, kiddo. Eat up!” Feathers voice is light and cheery, and that's all the invitation he needs. He doesn’t care if it's poisoned, he decides with the first mouthful, nearly crying at the taste of sweet, warm, actual food. The next bite has a pop of sweet citrus and he can’t help letting out a small sound as he savors the flavor. It seems all too soon the bowl is empty, and despite being full he wishes for more.

 Full. The ever present gnawing of hunger that he had nearly gotten used to is absent, he feels almost strange, without the ever present pangs of emptiness.

 “Feeling better?” he nods again, eyes locked on Roman, missing the small frown exchanged between the two beings.

 “kiddo… you can go see him.” Before the words are fully out of Patton's mouth, the human has vaulted out of his chair and is perched on the edge of the bed, hand entwined with Roman's, the other stroking his hair, murmuring softly.

 Janus clears his throat, and instantly, the human freezes, an expression of pure fear on his face as he pulls away from his brother, sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap, eyes downcast. Patton lets out a soft breath, looking to Janus for guidance.

 He doesn’t look up at the sound of wood being pulled across the floor, seeing Naga out of the corner of his eyes, settling in the chair from the table, about a foot away from him.

 “My name is Janus. I’m a Naga. My home planet is Chaemera. I was taken when I was six. My venom is very potent, you see, and gold scales very rare. Individually, they’re not all that strong. But when crafted together on fabric, mimicking their natural placement on my skin they are nearly impenetrable. I’m told they also make fine jewelry. They’d pluck them. Then wait for them to grow back in, and do it again. It hurt, obviously, but I thought this was normal. Just how things go. Until the ship was boarded. And I was freed, taken in and helped to heal in all manners of the word, by Logan. He made a mistake, keeping you two apart, not telling you what was happening, but he means well. He isn’t the most socially adept. He never meant to cause you the fear and pain and stress you underwent at being kept apart. And I am swearing to you now on every scar on my body and soul, that you are safe and I will fight to the death anyone who tries to put you back into that fucking cell.”

 Remus stares at Naga, Janus, with suspicion and hesitancy, searching his face for any sign of a lie, for any sign of cold cunning or icy curiosity, finding none. He can’t decide if that puts him more or less at ease. He wants so badly to believe him, but he can't. He can’t because if he believes it and he’s wrong he will do something he'll regret, something that leaves Roman all alone.

 “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. You’ve been hurt really bad. We want to give you whatever it is you need to help start healing. It doesn’t matter if that means you ask us to leave right now and not come back, or if you want to talk. We won’t be angry, we won’t push you for anything, this is all at your pace. You control this. You can come and go as you please, we can drop you off somewhere, if that's what you want, you are free to wander the ship. Nothing here, none of us here, will hurt you.” He looks at Feathers, whose blue eyes are wide and filled with warmth and sadness and kindness, and he lets himself let out a ragged breath, pulling his knees to his chest and shaking, rocking back and forth, relieved, breathy sobs escaping his lips.

 “oh, kiddo. Can… can I hug you?” Feathers asks hesitantly, and before he can second guess himself he nods. He barely flinches, his innate response to touch, but Feathers immediately pulls back at the small sign of discomfort. Which, really, convinces him more than anything else has, because none of his captors would ever have the empathy to playact a motion so innately kind.

 “no… don't… please…” he heaves out, and instantly, those arms are back around him, wings wrapping him in warmth and sky blue softness, and he folds into the embrace.

 “There we go, buddy. It's ok, let it all out, it's ok.” The touch burns at his skin, it feels too hot and too much and too close, the pressure around his back, where the palms rub circles feel aflame and his brain can't process this because touch equals pain, but this is so gentle it's agonizing in an entirely new way that he never wants to end.

 “M-my name is Remus. His is R-Roman. I tr-tried to k-keep him safe, it w-w-was never en-ough I was n-ever enough…”

 “Shh, baby no, you did so good. You did. You kept him safe. You kept him alive, you did it, you did it, baby. You’re out, you got him out. You’re so brave.” Feathers lets go as he shifts away after several long minutes, tear streaked, but lighter, so much lighter, than he can ever remember being.

 “I can… I can stay, with him?”

 “Yes. Of course, yes.” Janus answers, the thought of separating them again causing a flash of pain across his face.

 “ok.” He whispers, voice hoarse, careful as he slips under the covers, curling tight around Roman, so he can feel every inhale and exhale, can feel the steady beat of Roman's heart. He smiles as he feels Roman let out a soft sound, melting into him.

 He's exhausted. He hasn’t slept, really slept, in days. He feels the covers being gently tucked tighter around him, the warmth and heady sense of safety impossible to resist as his eyes slip shut.

 “sleep well, Remus. We'll be in and out to check on you two, ok? If you need anything, just call. If you’re up for it, I'll give you a tour of the ship later, so you know your way around.” He nods, mumbles something affirmative.

 “thanks, Feathers.” He mumbles, slipping into a restful, soothing sleep.

 Patton turns to Janus, eyes aglow, a bursting smile on his face.

 “He called me feathers! That's adorable!” Janus sighs good naturedly, steering Patton out the door.

 “I heard… Feathers." He laughs at Patton's squeal, rolling his eyes but letting himself be drawn into a hug.

 “Are you okay?” Patton asks, pulling away, not missing the flash of something across Janus's face before his mask of smooth confidence slips back on.

 “Of course, darling. I’ve had years to move on, it’s certainly fine.” He dismisses, walking away down the corridor.

 “Jan. I know it must bring back unpleasant memories-"

 “It's fine, Patton. I’m certainly not reminded of my own fragile state when looking at them, I definitely don’t hate playing the spy to get on board those ships, and I’m certainly looking forwards to doing it again!” He shouts, regretting it instantly as he slaps a hand over his mouth, stumbling back against the wall.

 “Janus-" Patton hates the cool mask of calm that slips back on, eyes going dim and distant, looking past him as he straightens.

 “As I said. Everything is just fine.” Then Janus has slipped inside his room and locks it tight, something he only does when he's getting stressed, usually after night terrors or a triggering encounter.

 “Jan? It’s alright to be not alright. I’m leaving you alone now, since you want space, but if you wanna talk ever, my door'll be open.” He hesitates a moment, as he hears a slide and thump, no doubt Janus sliding down the wall, sitting on the floor. “and I know you'll over think it, so I'll say it now, I’m not mad, or hurt, that you yelled. I love you.” He pulls away from the door, slowly, staring at it a moment longer before shaking his head, heading to the common area. Maybe Virgil would be there. He was likely wound up, too, and they could both use some company.

 He didn’t hear the very faint, very whispered “I love you too" that escaped Janus's lips at the sound of his retreating footsteps.

…

He's surprised to find Logan in the common room instead, the distant look in his eyes telling Patton that he was deep in his mind, a form of meditation, almost, that helps the Straevion organize his thoughts and information. But Logan should have been sleeping, not delving through his memory.

 Well, there was nothing to do but wait. Startling him out of it was more damaging and disorienting than nearly anything else, and it was a sign of great trust in his companions that Logan felt safe enough to do this in the living space, where anyone could stumble upon him, completely defenseless and vulnerable. It warmed his heart, how much faith Logan had in them all, and his feathers fluffed up before resettling. A small shuffling from the couch alerts him to Logan ‘waking’, and he smiles softly as Logan lets out a soft breath of air, silver eyes dilating and meeting his.

 “hey.” He says softly, noting Logan’s ramrod straight posture, his hands steepled in his lap.

 “Greetings, Patton. How may I be of assistance?” Whew, if Logan was falling back into his purely formal mode, he must really be upset. His race were generally stoic and formal, showing emotion a sign of weakness, but Logan had long since opened up, though it was still difficult sometimes for him to find the words to express what, exactly, he was feeling. But Patton is more than patient, and more than willing to help Logan express himself, lighting up at any small shred of emotion Logan shows, knowing how much trust it takes for him to share any sign of feeling, every twitch of the lips, any small snort of laughter, any tears or twinge of pain, each one was a tiny gift.

 “Preen me?” He asks, instead of any of the other questions he wants to pepper Logan with, knowing he won’t answer any of them honestly if he’s this wound up. Logan hesitates, but nods minutely after a moment. Patton smiles, settling on the floor, wings stretched out behind him. After a moment, he hears Logan follow suit, and he shivers at the gentle touch on his feathers, closing his eyes and letting out a happy hum at the ever gentle, careful contact.

 “If you’re out here, I’m assuming everything went adequately when he awoke?” Logan asks, voice still even, hands not hesitating in their careful straightening of his feathers, but Patton can sense the tension underneath.

 “They did. He’s sleeping now, real sleep, poor thing. He trusts that he’s free, too, though that may come and go. His name is Remus. The other is Roman.” He feels Logan nod, absorbing the information. He let the silence linger, letting Logan organize his thoughts.

 “I hurt them.” He says finally, his hands never stopping their steady motion, voice still dangerously flat. “I made a grave miscalculation in my ministration of care and failed to recognize the obvious signs of stress and grief acting upon Remus. I failed to see his signs of aggression as anything other than just that, when it is quite obvious that he was, in fact, in pain. At the very least I should have updated him on Roman’s condition and seen how he reacted.”

 “You could have. But we both know that being kept like that for as long as he was can easily lead to madness. It was perfectly reasonable to be warry, given his behavior. He hadn’t even spoken, we didn’t even know if he was cognizant. I wouldn’t have thought he was, until his outburst at me.”  

 “Do you know what it was he said, before Virgil burst in?” His voice is strained now, on the edge of cracking, and Patton softens, tilting his head back to look at Logan’s face.

 “I don’t, Lo. I’d hoped you’d tell me, once you were ready.” He sees that small twitch of Logan’s lips, and he smiles, drawing his wings in and turning so he’s kneeling face to face with Logan.

 “he said that keeping them apart, letting him think that roman was dead, was the cruelest thing that’s ever been done to him. and the worst part is… I think he’s right.” Instantly, he’s wrapping his arms around Logan, pulling him closer with his wings, as he feels his stoic friend shaking.

 “you can cry, Lo. You know I won’t tell anyone, if you do. You know it’s ok.” He murmurs.

 “I don’t deserve to let myself feel, after what I did.”

 “No, Logan, no. That’s not how this works. You are entitled to your feelings. The fact that you feel guilty and miserable now proves that you understand you did wrong, that you didn’t mean to hurt anyone, and I know you will do everything you can to earn their trust. To prove to Remus you deserve his. I know you have mine, Logan. Always, always, you have mine, plumana.” He replies, using a term of endearment native to his people. Logan relaxes against him, finally, his tears quiet and slow against Patton’s chest.

 “Have you been up, this whole time? It’s been nearly two days since Remus passed out.”

 “Couldn’t sleep. I… tried but without physical touch I found myself unable to relax enough for my mind to settle.”

 “Awww, Lo, that’s so sweet!” He can feel Logan blushing, his entire skin faintly glowing with it. “now, let’s get you to bed, Plumana mine.” He whispers, brushing back Logan’s dark hair, softly kissing his forehead.

 “You don’t mind staying? Just until I fall asleep.” Logan asks as Patton gets to his feet, helping pull Logan to his.

 “I’ll stay as long as you want, Lo.”

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 5 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Since we’re on a roll and impatient as fuck, we decided to up our posting rate! Hope you enjoy! Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Violet gave Trixie a heads-up about Fame’s dislike of the new collection, and moved into her new apartment--where she found some very welcoming neighbors.

This Chapter: All hands on deck as Fame demands a complete reconceptualization of their Spring collection.

***

Fame swept into the office on Monday, all business, barely looking Violet in the eye as she rattled off a waterfall of orders.

Fame pulled off her coat and dropped it, nearly letting it fall on the floor before Violet dove forward to catch it.

“Have you taken care of the messages I left you over the weekend?”

Fame seemed almost frantic, her energy all over the place.

“I’m almost done Miss,” Violet folded her coat over her arm, holding out her hand for Fame’s bag. “I just need to confirm wit-”

“Good.” Fame hung her bag on Violet’s wrist, the weight almost toppling Violet over if it hadn’t been for her hours at the gym. “Have you ordered the new fabrics I talked about?”

Violet nodded. “They are on their wa-”

“And what about my new assistant?”

“Yes-” Violet reached for her desk, a stack of resumes already printed out. “I’m starting the pre-interviews tomorrow-”

“Wonderful.” Fame completely ignored Violet and the papers she was holding out, instead walking towards her office. Violet quickly disposed of Fame’s coat and bag, putting both down on her desk so she could grab Fame’s coffee and the letters for the day before she followed her.

“Remember, only perfection is accepted,” Fame instructed, settling down at her desk.

“Yes, Miss.” Violet handed her the coffee, which Fame took a single sip of before she scrunched her nose and handed it back to Violet.

“I’d like a new latte and a medium fruit salad, no pineapple.”

“Yes Miss.”

“Is that the schedule for the day?”

Violet nodded and handed her the paper.

“Also, before you go. Get Raja up here. I need to discuss the collection. That’s all,” Fame said, turning to her computer.

It wasn’t for a few minutes that Violet realized how serious Fame was about the collection change. She was standing in line at the coffee shop, checking her email, when she saw that Fame had sent one to the entire senior management team.

Subject: URGENT

All hands on deck meeting at 3 pm today to discuss a complete re-conceptualization of our Spring collection. Bring your best ideas, ready to discuss, along with samples and visual aids. Be prepared to work late.  

Violet gulped, forwarding the email to all of the applicable assistants, when another one ticked in.

Subject: Violet - Get me Pearl

***

“This is interesting, try to get a sample of the skirt done ASAP and then spruce up the sketch,” Trixie said.

Trixie had been walking around the busy design floor, checking out what his team had come up with over the weekend. Ever since getting Violet’s text last Friday, he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that Fame was about to bring down a hammer, and so they needed to be prepared with new ideas.

Half of the team was working on changes and additions to their current collection. Half of them were working on entirely new concepts and ideas.

‘Remember guys,’ he’d said before they left on Friday. ‘This is a spaghetti against the wall situation. No bad ideas, time to explore everything. If it’s unique and innovative, that’s a plus. Pull out your passion projects.’

The truth was, Trixie had no idea what to expect. Fame had been silent all weekend, which made him even more nervous. Usually she’d send at least a few texts or emails. Ideas that popped into her head. A doodle on a notepad. Image references. But now, when she was allegedly questioning their whole collection? Nada.

Trixie walked over to where April was draping out an ornate sample dress in multiple shades of blue, telling her to carry on. Then he moved on to Alexis, scrutinizing the sketches on her desk with a critical eye.

“Some of these shapes are interesting, but I need you to redo them with different colors and fabrics,” he told her. “Remember, the color story is apparently the thing she’s most ambivalent about.”

“Got it,” Alexis said with a good-natured sigh, picking up a fresh pad.

“Um, Trixie?” Kandy looked up, a terrified look on her face as she hung up the phone.

“Yes?”

“Raja says to check your emails, don’t panic, and that she’s coming down to fill you in,” Kandy said.

Trixie pulled out his phone, stomach lurching as he read the email from Miss Fame, face going pale.

His worst fear had just come true: they were facing a complete reconceptualization. He looked up, forcing a smile in order to not terrify the design team even more.

“Okay,” he said, attempting to keep his voice light. “New plan...Blu, Jovan, Gia? Forget about the adjustments you were working on. We’re looking for fresh ideas, anything that you think could be a new signature piece. Everyone: the deadline is today at 3 pm.”

A small gasp rippled through the team as they realized how soon that was.

“Three pm?” Blu asked, the Irish designer looking like she might burst into tears.

“Yeah.” Trixie scanned the room again, hating the anxiety that he saw on everyone’s face, which he knew full well was not conducive to innovation. “And try to have fun. Remember, this is fashion, not heart surgery. No one’s gonna die.”  

“We might die,” Jovan muttered under his breath, ripping his current piece out of a sewing machine and tossing it onto the ground.

“It’ll be okay,” Trixie put a hand on Jovan’s shoulder. He was his oddest worker, the wrinkly brain he had coming up with the most beautiful, crazy, intricate ideas when he was left to his own devices. “I promise.” Trixie squeezed, trying to put as much conviction behind his words as he could. “Just do your best.”

***

Pearl had just settled into her chair, ready to see if anything exciting had happened on Twitter while she had been by the design department to give Trixie his lunch.

It wasn’t something she normally did, but Katya had been near heartbroken when she saw that Trixie had forgotten the lunchbox she had made him that morning, and since Pearl was a pretty damn good roommate in her own opinion, she had volunteered to deliver it.

Katya had given her a kiss and a hug as thanks before she hurried out the door, two tote bags and canvas under both arms. If Pearl didn’t love her so much, she’d be almost disgusted with how good of a human being Katya was, spending her summer as a volunteer art teacher at a community center in the Bronx.

Her beating heart was however also the reason that Pearl hadn’t been kicked out of the apartment she shared with her Trixie when he and Katya had started dating, so who was she to complain?

A polite cough came from the door just as Pearl was catching up on Olivier Rousteing’s Instagram. She turned around and came face to face with Violet.

Pearl smiled; it was always a joy to see Violet, the other always a sight for sore eyes with her almost impeccable beauty.

It was always fun to see what Violet would wear, the woman almost vintage in her style.

“Is that Gabbana?”

“Of course it’s Gabbana” Violet smoothed down her skirt, and Pearl smiled. She was the only person who Pearl knew that could wear a button up, and still look like someone begging to get fucked.

“You’re late.”

“Am I?” Pearl smirked. Violet was fun to rile up, but Fame was her favorite, one of her very best days at work happening because she had agitated her boss on purpose.

“Is this about the collection? Trixie told me Fame has officially freaked.”

Violet didn’t say anything, and Pearl almost wanted to roll her eyes.

“I’ll take that silence as a yes.”  

Violet was an annoyingly good assistant, never saying a word against Fame, always holding her tongue even when it would have been more than fair to complain.

“She wants you in her office in 10.”

“So I’m not actually late?” Pearl turned around to her iMac, seeing that the small email icon on her screen was blinking red. “Ah.”

Pearl realized that Violet had just saved her from Fame’s disappointment, but there was no way she was going to let the other know of her gratitude.

It was too early in the game for that.

“Sorry for helping you.” Violet huffed, rolling her eyes. “Here-” Violet put a folder down on Pearl’s desk. “In case you want to actually prepare-”

“Thanks Vivi.”

“Don’t call me that.”

***

“Shit.” Trixie exhaled a groan of frustration as he dumped down in his chair. He had known the email was coming, but it had still felt like a punch to the gut when he’d actually seen it.

Raja had come straight from a meeting with Fame, and Trixie had known it was bad, real bad, when he had seen how Raja’s normally ice cold exterior was chipped.

Trixie sighed, burrowing his head in his hands for a minute. He hated having to push his designers, hated forcing them to deliver in extreme conditions. A few of them thrived on it, Betty always delivering excellent work, while Aiden almost always buckled when he didn’t have time to pay attention to his details.

Trixie reached into his mini-fridge, taking the lunch Pearl had stopped by to drop off for him. It was only 10:30, but he unpacked it anyway. Katya had packed two pieces of carrot cake, a can of diet coke and as Trixie opened the metal container, the lovely smell of Katya’s best mushroom and cheese blinis greeted him.

He opened his drawer, pulling out a fork as he turned his computer on, the promise of carrot cake the only thing getting him through the avalanche of worried emails he knew was waiting for him.

***

Raja heaved a sigh as she stepped off the elevator. She’d been trying to give Trixie a warning about Fame’s current state of mind without causing the EVP of Design to freak out, but couldn’t shake the notion that she’d failed, seeing the crease in his forehead deepen the more she spoke, until she’d finally just left him with a firm pat on the back. She entered her own suite, the rich fabrics and warm colors immediately soothing her, although her relief was short-lived, since Jaida was perched on Ivy’s desk, a stern look on her face.

“I need to talk to you.”

Jaida was the most recent addition to their management team. The bright, resourceful CFO joined them almost two years ago, when Patrick stepped away from the day to day financial management to focus on his own firm. She’d truly been a godsend—immediately understanding the need for creative flexibility in their budgets, and helping to streamline the company’s organization in a way that was incredibly effective even as they grew by leaps and bounds.

But now, Jaida’s beautiful face was about the last one that Raja wanted to see. She was well-aware that Fame’s email had caused mass panic, and Jaida’s mind was probably already spinning in 100 different directions, thinking about how their timelines would now completely change the budget for Fashion Week beyond the normal contingency plan.

Raja gestured to her office, resigned to have this conversation now, and Jaida immediately sailed in, settling on the forest green velvet couch that Raven had picked out. Raja turned to Ivy, requesting some herbal tea, before joining her.

“So, Jaida, what are you brightening my day with?”

“An entire reconceptualization, Raja?”

“I’m aware that-”

“Has she completely lost it? Can’t you talk to her?” Jaida implored.

“Fame has made up her mind.”

“Ughhh!” Jaida’s hand fell into her hands.

“What a mature response-”

Raja was cut off when Shangela burst into the office. One of their longest and most loyal employees, the Director of Operations usually never panicked, taking on every challenge with an almost annoying amount of enthusiastic joy.

It was possible, Raja supposed, that she was extra annoyed by Shangela because of their failed relationship, but she liked to tell herself that that was besides the point.

“There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Shangela exclaimed, taking a seat across from Jaida.

“I was stalking Ms. Gemini here.” Jaida pointed with her thumb.

“Shangela, you’re in my office-” Raja began.

“Listen. I just want to make sure everyone understands the situation at hand. Bendela is already asking to double the staff in the tailoring department through September, and Alyssa says that this is going to potentially triple the budget for the media campaigns, and-”

“I know! It’s a shit show!” Jaida exclaimed.

Raja closed her eyes. Where the fuck was Ivy with her tea?

“I hear your concerns, however, we haven’t even had the creative meeting yet, so don’t you think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“But Bendela says-”

“Of course she does, Shangela.” Raja sighed. Shangela was always so dramatic, but she was irritatingly good at her job.

“Bendela’s been requesting to hire more tailors for months now. That doesn’t mean that her estimate is accurate and if she truly sticks to her guns, Trixie just interviewed potential interns. I’m sure some of them can be assigned to tailoring.”

Ivy pushed her way through the door, a tray with coffee and tea for everyone in her hands.

“Right, okay, but what about-”

“We’re going to get through today, listen to what Fame has to say, what ideas everyone comes up with, and then reconvene tomorrow morning,” Raja said, gratefully accepting the tea that Ivy handed over.

“Fine,” Jaida said. “But if I were you, I’d convince Miss Fame that the current collection is brilliant.”

“You don’t think I tried that?” Raja laughed.

“Fair enough,” Jaida replied, finally letting a small giggle escape.

“Another day in paradise,” Shangela added, rising up from the couch.  

[aspiratixxn]

Hey Dollface

Summary: The best surprise after a really long, hard day at work. 

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 3086

Notes: For @bucky-smiles​ since they’ve had some hard times lately! It’s me, your Bucky anon haha. I just wanted to be really soft and writing Bucky for you really inspired me! I hope you like it :) 

Tagging: @holy-captain​

It’s a shit day. It’s a really, really shit day.

It all started with a burnt pancake, on Monday of all days. Pancakes are a Monday tradition you picked up from your mom, who always made them sprinkled with different fruits to give you a pick-me-up (because Mondays you know?). And you had never burned a pancake, not even the one you made alone at the tender age of seven.

You’re not the superstitious type, not really, but a burnt pancake spelled out trouble and you knew it. You were quick to toss the thing but not quick enough for the smoke detector. Its shrill shriek pierced the morning calm and you heard a clattering through the thin walls of your (mediocre on a good day) apartment. And you had winced when someone banged on your door, asking if you were okay. Of course, you had to answer them, meekly peeking from behind the door. Although they had taken it gracefully, it had already put a damper on your day, which really only got worse from there.

Cleaning the pancake and clearing the smoke detector debacle took up your morning, which meant you didn’t have breakfast. At all. Not even a grab and go banana. Instead, you went sprinting down and out, nearly running over your two floors down neighbor’s dog and getting a shouted earful about that. And of course it was drizzling, enough that an umbrella wasn’t going to keep you from getting uncomfortably damp. Your sneakers squish as you walk in the building, your co-workers wincing when they see you. Your best friend Wanda fusses over you for just a moment, trying to pat moisture out of your shirt.

“Really (Name), you’re such a mess today. I mean more than usual. Did someone get some,” She glances in both directions and whispers in your ear, “Action last night?”

You sputter, pushing her away gently. “Why would you think that?!” He’s not even home right now so it’s not like you could anyways.

She just giggles. “I’m kidding, kidding! Here.” You take the towel and try to dry your hair. You hate this because now you’re going to look like a puffball. “I made some of my famous soup today! For you and me and Natasha, so you’ll be warmed up before you know it.”

You heave a great sigh and drape yourself over her lap. “Oh Wanda, my love, what would I do without you?”

“Starve? Maybe suffer a soupless life?” You gasp, flinging your arm over your eyes. She just laughs again and pats you on the head before she sneaks back to her desk. You’re grateful she’s willing to suffer the wrath of the boss, who pushes productivity to the max.

You take a pause to check your phone before you move and light up when you see (1) message from Bucky.

BUCKY: Good morning beautiful BUCKY: Just wanted to remind you that you are the bestest, most awesome person in the world and you’re gonna rock your day!

You work a classic office job, the kind in weird half cubicles where the walls are too short to hide anything from anyone. Before you even start working you have to clear away all the sticky notes and remnants from last Friday when you had dragged yourself home after some overtime. When your workspace is adequately cleaned (or at least cleaned enough you aren’t knocking over things when you shift), you get to answering your emails.

Which of course, leads to another bad thing. The client was infuriated with the current status of the project. In his eyes, it should have been done a week and a half ago, when you know full well that this project isn’t going to be done for another week if not two. It’s an intense request that just takes time and you’re already doing your best, putting in the overtime to try and reach his ridiculous goals. Heinrich Zemo really needs someone to knock him down a peg and you might just be the person to do it if you ever meet him in person.

So begins the back and forth emailing between you two, filled to the brim with polite fuck you’s. And since he seems to zing back mail at the speed of light, you can’t even work on anything else you’re supposed to, like the design blueprints for Natasha or the business plan outline for Sam. And they’re shooting you little looks because they kind of need that stuff for the next steps of their own projects. Sympathetic looks but looks just the same. And it makes you burn with frustration because you want to get it done, you want to be productive but you just. Can’t.

In between your phone keeps pinging with messages from Bucky, which is the only reason why you survive this entire frustrating situation.

BUCKY: i love your fashion sense. It’s so chic and sleek and ugh, so perfect for you

BUCKY: can’t wait to dance with you again darling! Hope you’re ready to try some tango this time ;)

BUCKY: do you want s’mores pie or banana cream? i’m thinking s’mores because y’know, chocolate. marshmallows. what’s not to love?

BUCKY: next date at the flower garden? we can have a picnic!

BUCKY: holy shit I am so ready for blueberry season again. I know it’s a while away but ugh, I really want some right now :(

BUCKY: you got this babe! I believe in you!

BUCKY: do you want to get Chinese or Italian when I see you again? I’m feeling a strong Chinese vibe. YOU: Chinese BUCKY: that’s my girl

The morning is a blur of pent up anger that ends with you squishing the ever loving shit out of a pumpkin plush, a desk leftover from Halloween. You’re half surprised the thing doesn’t pop under the pressure but you feel bad, placing it back down and patting it. Finally Zemo shuts up and you’re left with fifteen minutes before lunch, which really isn’t time to start anything for work. Instead, you bring out your white bound planner, a bullet journal you’ve been steadily working on, and start to build the next month. End of the month means needing to prep all the pages for February, and you sigh as you stare lovingly at your collection of pens just for this. They’re all absolutely lovely, shades that you adore and a quality that can’t be beat. You mill briefly, deciding between a pastel and a hard pink. The pastel wins out of course and you smooth out the page, already covered in neat pen lines from last night. You begin to fill in banners and hearts and…

Just your goddamn luck your pen starts to fizzle out. Which really sucks because these puppies are not cheap in the slightest. You growl and thunk your head on the desk, making Sam snicker.

“Not your day?”

“Not now Wilson.”

“Aw, c’mon. I’m pretty sure there’s something good in your horoscope for today.” He’s teasing you now for sure. He’s not even into horoscopes, not even as a joke. You turn your head enough to give him your darkest stink eye, which just makes him grin wider. He pats your shoulder and slides over some chocolates, dark like you like it. You huff and your hands come up to open the blue foil, fumbling a bit before popping it in your mouth.

Your phone pings and you glance at it with dull eyes. Sam can visibly see them getting their spark back though and he can guess who’s messaged.

(1) message from Bucky

BUCKY: hey sweetheart, just wanted to tell you that you’re my favorite girl and it’s lunch time! I made myself a sandwich today, look! BUCKY: (1 photo attached)

YOU: why’s it so full? it’s practically bursting! YOU: if you take a bite you’re gonna spill everything out of the bread

BUCKY: hey! rude! >:( BUCKY: I’ll have you know I am a sandwich expert and it will not spill everywhere

YOU: sure it won’t babe ;)

BUCKY: >:T

“(Name)!!” Wanda comes bursting back in, holding up a thermos for you to see. It does brighten up your day, especially when Natasha pops up right after with a box of sandwiches from the best deli on the block. She even got you extra fries. God your friends are so good.

At least lunch passes without any scruples. You don’t spill any of Wanda’s spicy and absolutely delicious soup and you don’t drip any mayo on your blouse from the sandwich. There’s a close call with some ketchup for the fries but it lands next to your leg instead of on it.

“Absolutely not. How dare you even assume Eliza has a chance?” Natasha jabs a fry in your direction.

“Well it’s better than Martha! Did you see her bedroom eyes at him? And he just straight up ignored her!” Wanda throws her hands up in frustration. “Honestly, does this guy even like any of the contestants? It’s like he has the stiffest face in the world.”

You shrug, thoughtfully munching for a moment. “I just think Eliza’s nice y’know? She’s sweet and she’s not pushy, which I mean. It’s probably not great for ratings but Nick hasn’t eliminated her yet so that has to count for something right?”

“Nuh-uh! Angelica’s a favorite here. Did you see how he was laughing on their fake date? I can tell flirting when I see it. And she’s a real firecracker type, which means she’s definitely there to spice up his life if you know what I mean~” Natasha wiggles her eyebrows and you snort, nearly choking on your ice tea.

“Y’all are crazy! It’s definitely gotta be Delanie! Cute, small, hips fit real well.” Sam runs his hands in the same, also wiggling his eyebrows. “And did you see how he was watching her when she was talking about her family? How she wanted a cute little wedding like her parents? That’s a catch.”

You sigh and put your head in your hands. “It’s so artificial though. Like I know all this is scripted and framed and stuff so like, what does it matter? I’d want something real.”

“You sound really dreamy there (name). Got some embarrassing sappy things you want to say to us?” Wanda has her face pressed up to yours and you blush, pushing her away again. Wanda’s really dangerous like that, able to sniff out feelings and stories just like that.

“No! Shut your smug little faces.” All three have taken on that look that you know oh so well. You shovel another few fries in your face and then shut the empty container. Around a mouthful of the dry potatoes, you mumble, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some outlines and blueprints to work on.”

How is this day not already over? Honestly it feels like it’s been an eternity.

Your phone pings with a message. Steve, inviting you to a Monday movie night. Since movies are cheap as hell, Steve likes to visit the theaters often and see what the new thing is. Not surprising given his theatrical/acting/film study obsession.

STEVE: Movie night?

YOU: what movie?

STEVE: Cats (2019) STEVE: I know, I know I just really want to see it. It’s so interesting, the CGI work!

YOU: i dont really want to pay money to see that though YOU: like its YOU: so weird YOU: and like not YOU: i dunno i just don’t really want to see it

STEVE: :( STEVE: C’mon, it’ll be fun! We’ll get caramel corn.

YOU: ooooh tempting me YOU: but no i think imma go home and like wine night it YOU: its been a long day :/

STEVE: Ouch. Well it’s the same place as usual, 6 PM if you wanna come.

YOU: probs not but thanks anyways

STEVE: :)

You plug in your headphones and scroll through your music, settling for some chilled out tunes to slowly progress through the dense documents you have to read before you can properly plan out Sam’s thing. It sucks because you can already feel a headache starting to bud and you have to stop periodically to press on your eyes. You also frequently get up to get water, which means you’re also going to the bathroom a lot and today’s productivity has just slam dunked down the drain. To compensate for not doing literally any work in the morning (gee, thanks Zemo), you put in some overtime hours, which means you’re definitely movie night. You don’t even leave the office until your eyes are burning with the strain of staring at a screen for seven or so hours. You stumble out and rub your eyes, yawning and stretching, trying to get some of the tension out of your shoulders.

(1) message from Bucky

BUCKY: have you been at work this whole time? Damn girl BUCKY: the grind never stops💪

YOU: i wish it did YOU: ugh i’m so tired :(

BUCKY: well you’re almost home right? BUCKY: im sure there’s something good waiting for you at home BUCKY: like dinner! what are you thinking today?

You don’t even know what you’re going to do for dinner, but you’ll deal with that when you get home. At worst you have some cheap instant noodle thing that you can spice up with some eggs. It’s still dreary out and it feels like rain in your skin so you almost sprint home, sticking to the well-lit areas because you are not in the mood to punch a mugger in the nose.

You stop by the corner store though and buy yourself two bottles of wine. You buy something that’s nice, indulging a little. Or you try to anyways, when you discover you left your ID at home. You groan in frustration and instead grab some peach-mango juice and a bag of BBQ chips, hovering momentarily over the big blocks of cheese. You really could just use one to bite into, but you refrain, knowing you have shredded cheese at home, and you can just eat that with a spoon.

Trudging up the stairs, you nearly kick the dog again because it comes shooting around the corner of the stairs. As it is, you end up swerving and kicking the wall which makes you drop your grocery goods and you just.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You gather the groceries in your arms again and make it finally to your apartment, nearly staggering into the door. You fumble with the keys, missing the lock a few times before jamming it in and twisting. You’re ready to collapse on the couch and chug your juice straight from the gallon container but you don’t because when you lift your eyes up from the ground, you’re met with the bestest, sweetest, slightly crooked smile in the world.

“Bucky!” You drop everything and full body launch yourself at him, nearly tipping him over. Whatever he says about being strong and sturdy, you’re a force to be reckoned with and you snuggle your face up against his neck, breathing in the pine needle and wood smoke scent he has. “I thought you weren’t going to be back for another week!”

“Decided to surprise you doll face.” He peppers your cheeks with kisses, and you can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you. His lips are so warm against your chilled skin and you try your best to catch them against yours.

He hefts you up a bit so you’re almost sitting on his hip. He bends down to get the fallen chips and you squeal, tightening your hold on his neck. He fakes a choking sound and you loosen a little, feeling him smile against your cheeks.

“You’re so prickly.” Your fingers run along his jawline that’s covered in stubble.

You can feel his laugh, from his chest where you’re pressed. “Sorry pumpkin, I didn’t have a lot of time between there and here.” He stands back up again and you shriek again, burying your face at the sudden moment. “Sounds like you’re still full of energy though.”

“Noooo. I’m really tired Bucky, I had a hard day at work. I’ve had a hard day all dayyyyy.” You turn with a pout, which makes him kiss your puffed cheeks. His eyes sparkle with mirth and you feel like the entire day has completely melted away.

He carries you to the couch, depositing you in front of some of your favorite Chinese take-out. The smell alone makes you wanna drool and you lean forward to take a big, deep breath. “You are a god send.” He waives it out with another full belly laugh, handing you a pair of chopsticks. He got your favorite dumplings and sour-spicy soup and of course, shrimp lo mien. You practically inhale the food. “It’s so good babe, oh my god. I have been revived from the dead.” He flicks on the TV, finding some movie marathon. It sounds like Harry Potter but you’re way to invested in the food in front of you.

It makes you feel so overwhelmingly warm to have him home again after being away for so long. Soon enough, the empty cartons are abandoned on the table and you’re curled up against his side, exhaustion seeping into your warm, full body. Bucky’s got his arm around you, gently playing with the hair that curls by your neck. He’s telling a story, something about how he had found an adorable kitten at work who had clung to his shoulder all day.  His voice runs over you like honey tea, so warm and comforting. You have his other hand in your own hands, tracing the scars that lace over his knuckles and across his palm. Everyone your fingers cover, you follow with kisses.

“I love you.” You yawn in the middle, but he just leans over to kiss your forehead, simultaneously pulling over the blanket from the edge of the couch towards you. It’s your favorite blanket, and it definitely wasn’t on the couch this morning. God he’s so sweet.

“I love you too (name).” He gives you another forehead kiss and begins to play with your hair, which you almost purr at. This is it, this is peak comfort. You grip his shirt tightly, slightly worried this is just some fever dream you’re having at being so tired. “Tell me about your day. Don’t leave out a single detail!”

“Mm, well it started with a burnt pancake…”

[until-we-fall-in-love]

Into the Hush: Chapter One

Into the Hush Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes/Reader, Wanda Maximoff/Reader undertones

Summary: It's only ever been you and the rugged wilderness; both unkempt and undomesticated. Until it isn't anymore.

(1870s Cowboy AU. A/B/O AU. Gothic/horror.)

Warnings: Violence, gore, dark themes, A/B/O dynamics, smut in later chapters.

If you are under 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: howdy ya’ll lol don’t know how i came up with this one but it’s an A/B/O cowboy historical gothic au. it’s gonna get dark! also gonna be a real nasty slow burn lmaooo so mind the warnings, if you don’t do well with gore or violence, perhaps this isn’t the fic for you. also if you don’t like the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, this isn’t for you, either, though i will be taking some liberties with this and trying to give my own take on it because there are aspects of it that i don’t like lol. im not quite sure how long this series will be, but i have plans for it. that being said, saddle up pardner lol and pls let me know what you thought of this first chapter!!!!

---

 Wyoming, 1872

The early morning air is crisp with new spring, cold and a little damp, dew glistening on the grass and glinting gold in the morning sun. Your breath still comes out in soft puffs that curl into the air as you step out onto your creaking, front porch. It overlooks the barren dirt road that leads up to your humble and charming farmhouse; weathered by time and storm and pleasantly cluttered with life and home at every turn. Off to the left is the freshly tilled ground that has been planted in; herbs and fruits and vegetables that will take over in the warm summer months. Trees have shaken the snow from them and have turned green and budding and new again. 

You wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to gather more warmth from the worn cream, crochet wrap. You know once the sun rises higher into the afternoon, you’ll grow too warm for it, but now it’s needed. The wind curls around you, rustles your hair, lifts your skirts. It carries the promise of warmth, the reminder of winter. 

All is peaceful in the morning, before the day has broken over the hills. All that sings is the birds, lovely and bright and flitting from tree to tree. 

You lift your skirts, head over to the back porch, which wraps the entire way along your house. In the back is the barn, the pasture for the animals to graze when it’s warm. The creek towards the back, bubbling softly over the stones, crystal clear and cool. It’s perfect on a summer afternoon, but now would be too cold for you.

And you begin your day, head over to the shed where you ready the feed for the chickens, grab a basket for eggs. You enter the coop, greet the clucking hens with a coo, spreading food for them which they hurry to eagerly. As they eat, you gently reach for warm eggs in their nest, gather it into your basket and rush on to your other chores. 

Milk the cows, get them fresh water, fresh hay and in the afternoon, you’ll let them out in the pasture to warm in the sun. 

A few of them are round with calves, ready to give birth any day now. 

You tend to the single horse, only one now after your father’s male passed away last spring. The one left is yours; a dappled, brown mare you’ve affectionately called Clover. 

You’ll take her to town later, to sell extra eggs and milk, all the goods you can in exchange for bread or spices or money for the tax collector. By the time you’re finished with your chores, which is taking longer and longer as the farm extends and your father grows older and older, it’s around noon, the sun beginning to warm into pleasant rays of topaz and canary. 

Your father sits on the porch, in his old rocking chair, smoking a pipe. His knee has been bad since this past fall, has a harder and harder time helping you. Not that you mind; this farm has practically become yours, but he hates leaving you to it all alone. 

He’s been dying to set you up with an Alpha, find a good man to marry and help you with the farm. But none of the men from town pique your interest, few good Alphas in the small town of Longbrook, Wyoming. The train, not far from town, brings newcomers once and awhile, but it’s mostly quiet, tucked away in a valley, a river snaking its way through and out into the plains of wildflowers and fields. 

You know Longbrook’s secrets, the quiet, beautiful places that you run to when you have the time. Spend your evenings lazing in columbine and aster flowers, beneath old, crooked trees near quiet, turquoise lakes. Or on a bluff, looking high above the world, cool wind in your face and the fluttering of birds nearer to you than planted on the grounds below. 

You know where not to stray to, when the wilderness grows too rough and dangerous. Unrestrained in both it’s beauty and viciousness. 

So independent that you can’t quite imagine your life beside another, especially not beside an Alpha, with their combative, controlling natures. You can’t imagine a husband that wouldn’t mind you taking off, disappearing into the wilderness and returning when you fancy; like some feral cat, your father always remarks gruffly. 

He isn’t a fan of your disappearing acts, either. Alpha that he is, he’s kept careful and close watch on you since you discovered you were Omega, as irritating as it is. Controlling, but only because he means well. You manage to sate him by coming home before nightfall, when dusk is lavender and rose and the moon is only beginning to take the sun’s place. Besides, there’s not much he can do with his bad knee, can’t keep you cooped up the way he used to. 

Ever since your mother had passed, you had to step up around the farm, grow up a little too quick. Responsible and resourceful, you work hard for you and your father. But your father has grown rather overprotective, wary with the Alphas he let come around; well respected in the town, no one has dared disobey him. A few had tried; Brock Rumlow, the tax collector, was the most notable of them. Pushy and irksome, he’d tried to convince you to disobey, sway you to sneak out with him or let him come by but you always turned your nose up at him.

You have no interest in someone so aggressive, so controlling.

You aren’t one to roll over or lower your eyes submissively; many Omegas aren’t, in your opinion, but it’s expected. There’s no time for that, though, not for you. No use or desire for it. You have a farm to take care of, to keep running smoothly. You have a life to live, adventures to have, open sky to chase. 

And there’s  certainly nothing and no one that’s going to stop you. 

“Be careful goin’ into town,” Your father speaks up finally, smoke curling from his lips, voice rough and fogged, “Heard there was a few newcomers.” 

Your father is always wary of newcomers, prefers to assess them himself, rather than hear from others. 

“Yes, pa.” You respond, not particularly interested in them, nor sticking around for one of your father’s infamous lectures. You hurry on, grabbing all that you need, loading up Clover for the journey. You saddle her up, throw yourself over her with practiced ease, hitching your skirts up slightly and out of the way. 

“Be home by nightfall!” Your father hollers after you, but you’re already easing Clover onto the dirt path. 

“Of course!” You call back, just as you urge her into a faster pace, your voice carries on the wind, distant and as light as the new blossoms. 

You push her into a gallop; not because there’s a rush, but because it’s fun. Because the wind is in your hair and the sun is warm on your shoulders and Clover thunders across the ground, kicking up dirt and making a mess. 

You let a grin hitch onto the corner of your lips, lean forward, ease into the speed. The town is only a twenty minute ride, fifteen if you pushed, but you want to enjoy the ride. The landscape blurs past you in shades of olive and juniper, butter cream, robin’s egg blue. The pop of lily white, a sudden burst of dainty pink or blushing red. But it’s just you and the trees and the pounding of your heart along the beat of hooves against the solid ground. 

Free and open and bursting, you race away from home eagerly and into the wilderness.

You end up slowing Clover halfway through your journey, appreciating the spring air, new and linen clean, shadowed patterns falling over you beneath the trees. The wind tickles your cheeks, the distant sound of the river can be heard when you listen carefully, a soft rush of water. It’s soothing, like the creek by your house, the sloshing lake you visit often. You let it carry you into town, peaceful, lazily letting Clover step onto more worn dirt roads. 

Town people shout to you in greeting, wave as you pass by; you’re a familiar face to them. You give them smiles, holler back to some as you make your way to the grocers to sell your eggs and milk. You swing down from Clover, hopping easily onto your feet. 

You end up walking out of the grocer’s with some extra money and a few cans of preserved vegetables and fruits. You buy some bread at the bakery, a pastry to split with Wanda, who you’re hoping can join you for the afternoon. 

You catch sight of her outside the dress shop, peering at the finely made clothes through the window. She wears her own dress of dove grey, similar in fashion to yours rather than the ones she gazes at; your dresses are looser, easier to move and work and play in, aprons tied around your waists instead of the ruffles and frill of the dresses in the window. Her long curls cascade over her shoulders, near copper under the afternoon sun.

You call to her, watch as her features light up upon seeing you, before she picks her skirts up and bounds over to you. Her scent hits you; sweetly Omega, soft clary sage, warm rose, and damp patchouli. Mysterious and floral, she’s always been a little offbeat with her wide, wondering eyes that linger in darkness. 

Some of the elders call her a witch, little demon child, with her Eastern European ties and mischievous curl of her lips. But to you she is only Wanda, your dearest. 

Her fingers, nimble and quick, find yours, lock and lace together. “Hello, darling.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek in greeting, her voice melodic and smooth; velvet dark and sweet twilight. 

You let your cheek brush hers, lean into the touch eagerly, soft, rosy and warm skin against yours. “Hello, Wanda.” 

She pulls back with a flutter of her lashes, wide eyes finding yours. There’s a familiar glimmer in them, which makes your heart leap amorously, excited and playful. “Are we going to sneak off to the meadow today, still?” She asks, dropping her voice to a hush and stepping nearer. Your hands tighten over hers as you draw closer, duck your head so you catch another breeze of her scent in her hair, the nape of her neck.

“Yes,” You reply, an eager smile pulling at your lips, “I bought us a pastry to split and a book to read.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” She nearly purrs, bouncing lightly on her toes in excitement. You’re about to pull her along, drag her towards Clover when someone clears their throat behind you.

You both turn, fingers still interwoven, pressed to one another’s sides. Her warmth is welcome and comforting, especially as you both find Rumlow gazing back at the pair of you with depthless, cold eyes. His face, so marred and twisted, gleams pink and shiny with scarred and new skin under the afternoon light. The rays of white gold sunlight do nothing to lighten his features, nor the darkness of his gaze.

It pierces deep into you, as if he wants to pry and prod and pick you cleanly apart. It’s the gaze of a conqueror, you think, the gaze of someone who wants something that can never be theirs. It’s a disturbing hunger, the kind that sends a deep chill down your spine. 

Wanda squeezes your hand in comfort. So attuned to you, she perhaps can tell by body language or the dip in your scent that you’re frightened in some way, that Rumlow has caused you distress and he has yet to even open his jagged, scarred mouth. 

“Lovely afternoon for you ladies.” He says very coldly, as if he is not in fact concerned with the weather nor you both.

“Yes, it is.” Wanda replies for you, a dark, protective little gleam in her eyes. You can smell the shift of scent with her light aggression, the flare of sage that burns and tickles your nose. It sharpens and spices, makes you blink with it. 

“You’re both looking mighty fine, rich with spring. Omegas always were sweetest in spring. Isn’t that right?” He muses and it chills you to the bone, makes you press closer to Wanda’s side, as if you could fold into the safety of her body. 

There is old folklore; spring being associated with Omegas. It’s all about fertility and the new life that blossoms in spring, old wives’ tales of Omegas getting their strongest heats in the spring after long, dormant winters. Perhaps there is some truth to it, biologically, because winter can get so harsh and so sparse with food if one isn’t careful. Bearing children in winter would never be easy, but it’s something you don’t wish to linger on, particularly not with the way Rumlow is eyeing you.

Like ripening fruit to be picked. A flower blooming, awaiting the moment to pluck it from the earth.

Wanda grows uncomfortable now, too, you can feel it in the bunching of her slim shoulders. But she steps in front of you purposefully, a show of challenge to Rumlow, one of protection for you. 

“Isn’t that right, ladies?” Rumlow urges, taking a step forward and Wanda sharply takes a step back, forcing you back as well. You cling to the back of her skirts with tense, seeking fingers. 

“I sure hope you’re not botherin’ these girls.” Another voice speaks up, authoritative and strong and sure. The kind of voice that gives commands, ones you think many eagerly would follow. Not unkind, but unwavering. When you both turn to the source, it’s a blond man, broad shouldered and wide and tall. He’s dressed simply, the top few buttons of his shirt popped open to reveal a muscled chest. Pretty, light blue eyes. He has an honest face, a strong jaw, trustworthy and noble. 

His scent is distinctly Alpha, strong and commanding; cedar wood and leather. The soft notes of something gentler like cotton and the way your linen smells on a summer day fluttering in the breeze to be dry. It’s soothing, a deep comfort compared to the off-beat, metal tang and sour blood smell of Rumlow’s scent. 

Which, has become bitter and salty with his anger and aggression for this newcomer.  

“I wasn’t bothering them. Was I bothering you Omegas?” He asks sharply, prickling with agitation and it makes you grip Wanda’s skirts a little tighter. “And who are you, anyways?” He then almost growls, “Newcomer isn’t gonna tell me what to do.” 

You can tell Rumlow’s itching to pick a fight by the tightening of his shoulders and baring of his teeth. The air becomes charged with scent, territorial and angry and pungent. Wanda’s is still spiced and agitated, too, with the threat of Rumlow. Your own is dipped into distress, irritation, and the newcomer’s becomes stronger, cedar wood sharp. Rooted in place, he cocks his head slightly, challenging. 

“Why don’t you move along.” The newcomer says, and he’s not asking, he’s telling. It’s bold of him, with the way Rumlow’s face; twisted and angry, settles on him. No one challenges Rumlow in this town. He holds too much power, is too strong; both physically and socially. Even protected by the law by being a tax collector for Alexander Pierce. 

Another man steps up behind the blond, eyeing Rumlow with particularly cold and dark eyes; midnight blue, the evening sky bleary with stars, depthless and all consuming. His hair is longer, brushing the tops of his shoulders, half pulled back from his strong face--

When your eyes settle upon his features for the first time, it feels as if you’ve been struck; a blow of lightning, the sudden shock of cold water, the gasp you take when you resurface. It’s damning, you think, as if you’ve seen him in your dreams or in hazy, unknown past lives. As if you’ve known him your whole life, somehow, as if you recognize him now and wonder how you ever could’ve forgotten him.

He looks like the tragic heroes you read about; the ones that rise only to fall, crumble down after being so noble and wide-eyed. He is breathtaking and standing tall and strong against Rumlow’s piercing gaze. There’s a warning in his eyes, a half-dare, begging Rumlow to try something and see what happens now. Where the blond is golden-hearted and bright-eyed, he seems darker, more eclipsed. 

And surprisingly, it works, Rumlow eyes the pair of them, weighs his options, and then promptly steps down. He mutters something about leaving, about how this isn’t the end. But you can’t help the quirk of a smile, the hint of cruel amusement you get from watching him ease away. Slink off back into the hustle of town.

Wanda smiles wider than you, sharper, a little more mischievous, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Rumlow cower like that.” She says and turns towards the newcomers with a radiance that is hard to match. 

And the blond smiles, easy and gentle, “Glad we could help.” And then with deep courtesy, “Steve Rogers, by the way.” 

“Wanda Maximoff.” She pulls you back up to her side once more, offers your name to them, too.

Steve claps the other man on the shoulder, an ease is shared between them that is not unsimilar to you and Wanda. Steve adds, “James Buchanan. But we just call him Bucky.”

And Bucky nods, his eyes finally sliding over to you; his scent hits you at nearly the same time. Offbeat and pine, the sharp, cold smell of metal. There’s evergreen and winter, maybe the soft spice of juniper, the low cut of musk. It makes your eyes flutter, makes your head go soft and bleary with it. 

“Pleasure to meet you both.” Wanda says and her voice refocuses you, her fingers skimming yours to ground you. You flit your eyes away, but can feel Bucky’s suddenly sink over you the way the red sun will drop below the hills. 

You become keenly aware of your bare neck, hair pulled from your face and shoulders to reveal it to him. The cut of your dress suddenly seems both revealing and not revealing enough. Like it could constrict you, or maybe you’re showing too much skin.  

“What brings you here?” You ask, perhaps a little cooly, eyes seeking out the horizon rather than them. Anything but him. 

“Passing through. Looking for work for a few weeks.” Steve answers politely and his eyes glitter like the creek in the high summer. He’s pretty, you think, long lashes framing those eyes. 

“Oh!” Wanda exclaims and she loops her arm through yours solidly, her body warm and soft beside you, “You’re in luck! She needs help running her farm!” 

You almost choke. Throw Wanda a glare but she only meets you with that impish, precious smile you can’t stay mad at for very long. 

“I don’t--” You try to protest. 

“She does!” Wanda interjects, “Her father injured his knee awhile ago, been looking for someone to help out.” 

“Well, if that’s the case, then perhaps Buck and I will have to stop by.” Steve says easily, a half amused grin tugging at his lips as he gazes between you and Wanda. Almost as if he’s endeared by your antics. You bristle. 

“My father doesn’t take to newcomers very well.” You warn, as if that’ll scare these two Alphas away so easily after their little stunt with Rumlow. You worry that few things will scare these two off. 

Regardless you don’t need them on your farm, don’t need them trying to help or care for you or order you around. It’s always been you, and no one will change that. You’re not about to let them treat you like some soft, little creature who should be inside baking them pies and fetching them water. 

But you can feel Bucky’s eyes on your face still, as if he’s trying to burrow in there, make a home upon which he gazes. 

You grow even tenser, teeth grinding. No home to find inside you; just the unruliness of nature, the ever-changing seasons, or unforgivable storms. The river that churns too fast, dives between the mountains and the forests, the sly, sharp-toothed fox. 

You turn your nose up, “Besides,” You say, insolent and dry, “I don’t really need any help.” 

“‘Course.” Steve agrees and you aren’t sure if it’s to placate you or if he’s genuine, “But if you’re looking for an extra pair of hands to order around, we’re your guys.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” You say, though decidedly won’t. 

Daring yourself, you finally force your eyes to Bucky once more. His face is stern and closed off, reserved. He hasn’t spoken once, and stupidly, horribly, you long to hear his voice. You wonder what it sounds like, if it’s rough or smooth or everything at once. Does he speak loudly or softly? Will you have to lean in to hear him or will you step back at the crack of it? 

And yet, he hasn’t needed it once yet. His presence, formidable and strong and raw, is enough.

You blink, look away just as he glances back at you. This strange game of cat and mouse with eyes is making your fingers twitch and tighten in your skirts. 

“We should be off,” You tell Wanda, wishing to flee, to feel the wind on your face and Wanda’s body beside yours and the afternoon sun bursting on your skin. 

Steve wishes the pair of you well, gentlemanly and sweet. Tips his hat with a boyish sort of grin that perhaps would leave other’s swooning. 

And Bucky, gruffly, and with a sort of gentleness you aren’t expecting to find, says to you, “It was nice meeting you both.” 

Something warm settles into your chest, sliding down like molasses, dripping into your stomach and core, spreading throughout you like it owns you; settles deep into you like it won’t leave, real deep into the marrow of your bones. And you inhale, breathe as if this is your first real breath in the whole of your life.

You find yourself replying, almost as softly, “It was nice to meet you, too.” 

His lips twitch upwards in the barest hint of a smile, as if it’s the first time he’s smiled in a long, long time and he needs you to show him how again.

So you do, you give him your own smile that isn’t much bigger, but it’s much easier and sweet as honey, clever as a fox. Almost like you want him to chase you, follow that curve of your lips. 

Wanda giggles, before pulling you away and back towards Clover to begin your adventure for the day, but you think you can feel the dark of his eyes on the back of your neck still, the line of your shoulders. It lingers, until you ride off into the heather hills with her and disappear on the gauzy horizon. 

---

Wanda and you roll in the wild grass on the sloping hills. Laughing and chasing and playing like you’re girls again, half-savage and free and untempered. You tumble and shriek and hitch up your skirts, loosen your dresses and unbutton collars. The sun is a gold glow, warming the earth and your skin, shimmering dreamlike on the new green buds, the wheat yellow of the tall grass. You tip your face up to the sky eagerly, just as you let yourself flop back into the field, back hitting the ground that catches your fall, cradles you. Clouds pass overhead in cotton shapes, free and darling, and you’re still breathing a little hard from romping around with Wanda, feeling your heartbeat inside the cage of your chest. You feel flushed with life; ferocious and curious and excited. 

Wanda drops down by your feet, before slowly, languidly crawling atop you. She straddles your waist, her skirts spilling out over the two of you. You sit up on your elbows, jostle and try to dislodge her a little with another round with warm laughter, but she holds fast, nails digging into your shoulders. 

“I saw the way you were looking at Bucky.” She says and there’s too much mischief in her eyes, a clever glint that the sun turns amber and honey hazel. 

You roll your eyes at her, but even the mention of his name on her lips makes something inside of you stir. But you indulge her, leveling her with an unamused gaze, “And how was that, Wanda?” 

She leans over you, her fiery hair brushing your cheek, your shoulders. She fits herself closer, twines her arms around you all close and snug. 

 “Like you wanted to bare your throat to him right then and there.” She teases playfully, voice dipping into a warm, rumbling purr. Her nose drops, nuzzles lightly at the sensitive scent gland at your neck. It makes you squirm, your fingers tightening in the skirts of her dress. 

You allow her so close, allow lips and teeth and nose into the dips of your body because she’s so familiar to you. A piece of your heart is firmly in her small, warm hands. It blurs the thin, unsteady line between you two, though. Scenting at the neck is usually romantic in some way; often times sexual. Comforting, when it needs to be, but you’ve laid so many times with Wanda, gotten so close and tangled together that you often find your nose at her throat, the nape of her neck, tucking your face into the crooks of her body and she to you. You know her like a lover, you think, sink into her body beneath the sun and the moon and the open skies that spread out before you both. As if the whole world opens for you two. 

“Your scent got sweeter; milky lavender and dark jasmine.” Her lashes tickle your collar bones, her mouth warm and open against the skin there. It makes you flush deeply, sink into the earth beneath you, “Want him to bite you?” She jibes, flashes pearly teeth, her canine gleaming in that white sun. 

“Wanda!” You yelp, shoving at her and she throws her head back and laughs, “No!” And you begin to wrestle with her once more, pushing her off and sending you both tumbling down another hill. You shriek and peel with laughter, pulling and grabbing at each other until you roll apart.

She gets on her hands and knees, feigns a growl from an Alpha in her throat, the kind that rumbles out from deep within them, but the sound is a little muted, and too light in her mouth. She suddenly pounces for you again, playful and light, sending you belly up and onto your back, though. “You want him to tackle you like this,” She torments, grabbing at your wrists as you try and squirm and fight with her. 

With a grunt and all your strength, you roll her right onto her back now, hook your legs over her hips like she did. 

“You want to simper and cry under him,” She says and this time her voice gets soft and breathy and pouty and she is good at that. Her back arches beneath you and you push at her more, tighten your hands around her wrists, shove them down to the ground, feel her heaving chest and trace the curve of her smiling lips and rose touched cheeks with eager eyes. 

“I don’t!” You laugh, playfully bare your teeth at her and try and growl back the way she had. It’s better than hers, a little more bite to it, but it’s still too light and soft. She laughs with you at your attempt now, laughs and growls and yells with you until you’re both breathless because there is nothing and no one around to hear you but each other.

You howl and chase and fall into each other with giggles and wildflowers in your hair, get lost in her and the way the sun begins to fall from the sky and cast everything in a rosewood haze, slow and burning and beautiful. 

She lays her cheek on your back when you ride Clover back to her home, and she kisses you goodnight, lips at the corner of yours. Promises to see you tomorrow. 

And then you ride home, race fast and hard before the sun is swallowed by the moon, before the stars blink into existence and your father scolds you to all hell and back. 

------------------

Home seems eerie with the darkness that creeps around its edges, night drawing out all the creeks and aches and splinters in the old house. All the memories pushed towards the back of your mind rush forward like skittering spiders. The last sliver of light sits on the horizon, fighting, railing against that inky sky as you get home. 

And when you rush through the front door, shouting, “Pa, I’m home before the sun’s set!” You aren’t expecting to nearly run right into the broad chest of Steve Rogers.

You blink hard and he steadies you with a hushed, “Easy,” And his big hands on your shoulders. 

You look up at him in disbelief, brows furrowing, quickly lurching away from him, only to realize Bucky stands to his right. 

“What--” You start to snap, and this time your teeth are baring with aggression and irritation, gone is the lightness and playfulness you had with Wanda. Your eyes flash with the last cut of light that slashes through the old windows of your house. 

“There’s my feral cat of a daughter, fellas.” Your father says and your head whirls to him. 

He begins to introduce the three of you again, but you cut him off, “I met ‘em today, Pa.” 

“Oh, good.” He says dryly, unappreciative of your tone. You force back a wince, know you’ll get scolded for that one. “They’ll be helping you out on the farm for a few weeks.” 

You whip back to face Steve and Bucky, narrow your eyes at them, “Thought I told you both I don’t need any help?” You snap, unruly, wildflowers still caught in your hair that now slips free of what it’d been pulled back in earlier. You’re sure you look half-wild. 

Steve holds up his hands as if he means no harm, palms up to you and you see they’re rough and calloused and scarred. Used, working hands. Hands that have seen a lot. You glance at Bucky, notice that one of his hands is gloved, the other free. You try not to stare, flit your eyes back to Steve.

“In our defense, we didn’t know this was your farm. We were sent this way after inquiring in town for work.” Steve says calmly, and then puts his hand over his heart, “Honest.” 

You scoff lightly, turn back to your father, “I don’t need them, Pa.”

“No,” He agrees and pride swells in you, a small bubble of it for a heartbeat, “But they’d be a great help to you.” 

There’s no amount of arguing or protesting that’s gonna change your father’s mind once it’s been set. He seems settled on this, content and confident. You try not to pout, try not to stamp your feet or snap or glare them right out of your house. 

Final discussions are had; pay and what times they’ll arrive and leave. Your father, thankfully, warns them to listen to you, and if he finds differently, they’ll be kicked to the dirt as quickly as they’d gotten the job.

And then he warns them, quite frankly, to mind themselves around you and you can feel your cheeks deepen into crimson. Bucky and Steve dip their heads, though, say obedient and firm, yes sir’s, as if they expected it. 

Your father finishes with, “Alright, then. You two start tomorrow.” And then he looks to you, “Walk them out, will you?” 

You huff, but do so, walk them to the porch where the crickets and frogs have begun to chirp and croak and sing. The night crawls onward, the wind rattles this old house. A chill overcomes you, a little shudder. You think you can hear the far-off sound of baying coyotes, erie and high pitched in their frenzied yelping. 

“Suppose I’ll see you both bright and early in the morning, then.” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Suppose so.” Steve says, lowers his eyes a little, “I did mean it, we didn’t know this was your farm.” 

You eye him, “Nothin’ I can do about it now, is there?” You counter, unwilling to give an inch, no matter how sweetly he looks at you with those darling, blue eyes. You’re sure that boyish charm works everywhere else, but you refuse to let it here.

He has the good sense to dip his head submissively, nodding slightly, “We’ll get out of your hair for the night then, let you rest. Goodnight, ma’am.” He says respectfully, before easing down off the old wood that protests beneath his heavy steps. 

And for a heartbeat, it is only you and Bucky and the rattling tree branches and the croaking night. A moment frozen, as if you’d captured it in a bottle like a letter that you’ll throw into the sea. Just this sliver of time that makes the whole world stand still, as if it’s been waiting or fearing for your coming together. 

You have nothing to say, but he inclines his head, holds your eyes like he’s holding the world in his arms, and murmurs all low and rumbling, “Goodnight, miss.” 

Then turns his back on you, and hustles over to Steve, to their tethered horses. 

And this time it’s you that watches him, eyes glued to his muscled back, the nape of his neck, as he eventually is swarmed by the darkened, reaching horizon.

---

You fall into bed, feeling strange and wary, a little weary, perhaps a little hopeful, too. For what, you don’t know. You can feel the wind changing, coming with new spring. But there’s something else, something heavier; the pressure is building, as if there’s a storm brewing. The kind of spring storm that bring destruction and clamor and the kind of rain that threatens to sweep you away in their flood and ferocity. 

Your bed creeks, the shadows are tall and reaching in your room. The moon spills in, but instead of painting you with wonder or lovely, pearl light, it only makes the shadows that much darker. The night brings the cold, makes you pull tight and inwards. You curl up beneath your quilt, try and ward off all that presses in. 

Eventually, you sleep. 

And you dream. 

You dream in visions of phantom grey and oil slick black, syrupy red, and flesh pink. You step lightly in a graveyard, the earth freshly turned and dark. Stones jut out from the ground like jagged, crooked teeth. It swallows you whole. The fog is thick and evasive, surrounding you and gathering around you, a train to your skirts that murmur and brush against stones and dirt and the hollowed out ground. 

A grave with your father’s name grows from the earth, forces you to stop, stutter backwards. Your teeth begin chattering, the clanking of bone against bone. You can feel the whispers of wind, something so near. Your heart plummets as you read his name, as you see his grave, which you now see is besides your mother’s. 

The ground trembles. 

Their graves crack, splinter like a dropped glass, bursting outwards in a wave of skittering, flaming stone. 

Frantically, you drop to your knees, try to put them all back together, as if that will somehow help. As if that will fix anything. You curse and cry and there are tears-- there are tears that drop onto burning stone. It sizzles and smokes but you can’t put them back together. You are alone, and you can’t. 

Your hands begin to burn, flesh pink and blister white. Mud sucks at your legs and your knees and then you are sinking, sinking, sinking--

Oil drowns you, forces its way down your mouth and your throat and clogs your lungs. Seeps into every part of you. It’s invasive, forceful in it’s push and pull of you, it sucks at you and you are forced downward, kicking and screaming. Forced to swallow and take and be filled.

You twist, frantic. Try to fight back, but you are caught in the thick of it. It devours your screams and cries and pain.

And from above, there is a cut of silver, a star in the inky sky. A hand; metal and unnatural plunges in for you. And he pulls you clear out of the muck, the earth’s blood and into his arms.

When you emerge, it is as if you’re cleansed by the light. Gone is the slick oil, gone is the choking and drowning and thrashing. Bucky holds you to him now, crushes you to his chest where you can hear the live, thundering beat of his heart. 

“I’ve got you,” He murmurs, cradling your skull as if it’s precious, something to be protected. Your nose is pushed to his neck and you--

You cling to him, swallow down clean gulps of spring air and the juniper bright and metal sharp smell of him. Pine, there is pine and evergreen, too. Clean and fresh and dipping into musk. Your heart slows, lulls, with his voice in your ear; that voice you’d so desperately wanted to hear.

You feel as if you’ve heard it your whole life now, as if you can’t imagine going another day without hearing it. And he says your name, not Omega, just your name. And he breathes and is warm and alive beneath you. 

When you look around now, the earth is fertile and bright and warm. Spring damp roses and sweet, honeycomb sunshine. The fauna is in full bloom, an overabundance of life that leaves you inhaling the fragrant air. It’s so thick, almost cloying. 

And there is no breeze, you think. 

And Bucky’s lips are at your neck. 

And there is a stirring in your stomach but its--

It’s all wrong. 

He tries to lay you down. And you don’t protest because there’s something so tempting about it all, so safe, or so instinctual. There’s an ache and a burn and you want to shed your skin, you want to let him in and never let him out, bury his body in the ground with you. Become the earth and fertilize the flowers and feed the foxes you love so much. You wanna lie with him until the crow calls, until you’re nothing but him and you and the gem stones deep in the ground. 

But when his face lifts from your vulnerable neck, it is not him. 

Rumlow stares down at you, his scarred face so close and imploring. He croons Omega and you shriek, you try to get away, but it’s like the oil all over again; you trapped and thrashing and stuck. Rabbit in a snare. Fox in a trap. You scream, scream for Bucky or Wanda or even Steve or your father. You scream until it tapers off and burns into something ragged, shredding your voice. 

He is just heavy atop you, and his face is morphing and shifting, like he’s a new creature altogether. Blackened eyes that are too wide, too large and there is a gaping whole where his mouth should be--

You claw at him, scratch with nails, pull at pink flesh and cartilage and bone until he starts dripping blood and saliva, growling like a rabid dog. You twist his face away so sharply, so horribly, that there is a sickening crack and then the full of him collapses atop you.

You squirm and you are crying, choked sobs because it feels like you are burning, or aching. Lonesome and longing or horrified and fearful of everyone. You want to be held in equal measures that you want to run away and never see another face again. You are torn, split in two and unraveling. 

When you scramble away, deeper into the fragrant wild grass. You realize there is wetness, slick and warm and--

There is blood. So much blood coating your legs and it seeps through your skirts, stemming from between your legs. It pools beneath you, waters the flowers and seeps into the earth as if it belongs there. 

You howl like an animal, fingers squabbling in the dirt and the blood and your body as if you can put yourself back together again--  

You wake with a hard, sucking gasp. Blinking hard in the darkness. Your hands pull at your nightgown, shift to feel your skin, still warm and dry and clean beneath your heavy quilt. Reassuring, gulping breaths bring back cool air into your lungs. I’m safe, you tell yourself, it was just a dream. 

But the night is still dark and the bed still creaks and the wind still howls, almost the way you had when you’d found all that blood-- No. 

But now you’re just awake, in a lonely room. And there is no comfort, no warmth or forgiveness in the hollowness of it all. 

You rise in the morning, heavy bags beneath your eyes, and begin your day in hopes of a better one.