#he makes me want to explode into many bloody chunks :3

[realmonsterss]

i missed drawing him for the four thousandth time

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Beside The Dying Fire (part eleven)

[DnD AU with the tour!verse]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Word count: 2113

TW: Blood

---------------------

Katherine let out a sharp yelp as she was suddenly thrown across the dunes. The Sand Snake she had been riding does a sharp U-turn and dashed back over to her. Both it and Catalina looked thoroughly amused.

  “You good?” Catalina peered down at her. 

Katherine spat out some sand. “Yeah,” She grunted, rising to her feet.

Sand Snake surfing was a lot harder than the Aasimars made it out to be. Way harder. She could barely even balance on the round board they had to stand on, and the harness pulled tightly at her hips as the serpent glided through the sand, but this mode of transportation was much better than walking, so she got back on.

  “Will YOU be okay?” Katherine asked, eyeing Catalina’s stomach.

Catalina laughed. “I am a PRO, Kat. I’ll be fine.” She pat the side of her bright red Sand Snake. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

The Snakes took off once again, and Katherine jerked forward with them. She wobbled on the board, grabbing onto the rope bridled to the horn of her serpent for balance. She felt like she was gliding through water.

  “What exactly are we looking for out here?” Katherine asked. All she saw in every direction were sand dunes, cacti, shrubs, and more sand dunes. There were a few pillars of old, long-fallen buildings, but nothing more.

  “Uhh… I’m not actually sure!” Catalina answered her, riding next to her. “There’s the giant scorpions and serpents, but I don’t think they’re the beasts we’re looking for. There was also the Brazen Bull, but it’s been dead for centuries.” She thought for a moment. “Oh, and there’s Parthenais, Lord of The Skies!”

  “Excuse me?”

A roar shook the dunes.

An ear splitting roar that might have rendered Katherine deaf if she were any closer. She instinctively reared back, nearly falling off of the board, and closed her eyes when sand billowed straight into her face. When they open again, they go wide at the sight of the beast lumbering in the distance.

Up ahead was a circular plate of sandstone raised above the ground, bearing thriving palm trees and lush greenery. Atop it sat a giant creature, its brass-colored scales shimmering in the sunlight. It stretched out huge, triangular wings that connected all the way down to the base of its webbed tail, making them look even bigger than they already were. Then, it pumped its giant wings and leapt into the air, blocking out the sun with its massive body.

The serpents came to a halt as the Brass Dragon swooped down in front of them. A tidal wave of sand splashed up into the air, and Katherine had to shield her face away from the spray. When she recovered, she looked up at the towering beast looming over her.

After a moment of staring with glittering orange eyes, the dragon moved again, slowly lowering its head to bump Catalina affectionately. Catalina laughed loudly and threw her arms around its large head. 

  “Parthenais!” Catalina cried in glee. “It’s so good to see you again!”

The dragon, Parthenais, growled happily. It flicked its small ears towards Katherine and looked at her.

  “Oh, this is Katherine,” Catalina introduced her. “She’s my friend.”

Parthenais extended her snout out to Katherine and nudged her gently before churring in a sort of approval and turning back to Catalina.

  “I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” Catalina said, stroking the scaly plates curving from the sides of Parthenais’ head. “I just had to get away from my dumb family.”

Parthenais rumbled. Slowly, she got down on her front knees, lowering her huge body to lay like a horse on the ground, tucking both legs underneath herself. Folding her massive wings in close and curling her tail inwards, she now looked like a peaceful and happy giant scaly dragon loaf in the dunes. Katherine had to shield her eyes again when sand exploded up into the air for a second time upon the dragon deciding to lounge in front of her and Catalina.

  “You never said you had a pet dragon,” Katherine said to Catalina.

Catalina laughed. “You never asked!” She said back. She looked up at Parthenais. “Par isn’t really my pet. More like a friend.” She scratched under Parthenais’ chin.

Parthenais leaned forward and nudged Catalina’s belly with her nose. Catalina laughed lightly.

  “I’m gonna be a mom soon, Par,” Catalina told the dragon. “But first I have to save the world!” She grinned. “So, have you seen anything suspicious around here? Our mission is to slay the beasts in each of the territories, and we’re starting here.”

Parthenais churred, then lowered one wing. Catalina perked up and clambered onto her back, while Katherine just stared at her with wide eyes. Catalina laughed.

  “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

Katherine had never thought she would ever ride a dragon, yet here she now was.

  “Oh my god!!!” She screamed as Parthenais zipped through the clear blue sky. She gripped tightly onto one of the ridges along the dragon’s back, shrieking. Catalina howled with laughter at her side.

  “Isn’t this incredible?!” Catalina shouted over the wind whipping past them.

  “This is insane!!” Katherine cried.

  “I know!!!”

Parthenais wheeled around in the sky, nearly flinging Katherine off, and landed heavily in the sand. They were now in front of a narrow valley carved into from Highland Cliffs, opening up into the mesas above. The smell of roasting meat whisked out through the gorge.

  “Something is in there?” Catalina asked Parthenais, and Parthenais bobbed her head with a growl. “Alright. We’ll look into it. Come on, Kat.”

Katherine and Catalina ventured into the valley. Katherine was surprised to find that it was a lot cooler in there than out in the dunes, most likely because of the rocky overhangs blocking out the sun from above. Shifting sand turned to sturdy sandstone beneath their feet as they walked through the gorge, deeper and deeper until they came to a small clearing. Several stone shelves jutted out from the wall, sprinkling down sand in golden waterfalls. White tents were set up on one of the larger platforms around a fire, which had been burned out and abandoned. Strange sculptures made from dried wet sand formed squatting wolf-pigs on almost every ledge, staring down at them with dulled coal eyes. Strings of bones and feathers were strung up from wall-to-wall, rattling softly in the breeze. A stone entrance lied ahead, beneath an overhang, where the smell of meat was coming from.

Catalina clenched her fists at her side. “This is one of Henry’s strongholds. He’s fucking set up on my land.” She growled. “We have to take it out, Kat. We can’t let them stay here.”

  “I know,” Katherine said. “But let’s be smart about this, okay? We should just rush in there; we don’t know how many there are inside.”

Catalina took a deep, calming breath and nodded. “Right. Got it. Let’s make a plan and kill these bastards.”

--

One of the wolf-pig statues fell from a ledge and shattered into sandy pieces across the red stone floor. It wasn’t very noisy when it broke apart, but it had hit a strand of bones when it fell and alerted one of the guards inside. The human man went to go investigate, and got a chunk of rock put through his throat when Katherine jumped down from the ledge. When the second guard from inside, a Gith man, heard the commotion, Catalina snuck up behind him and slit his throat before he could yell for the others.

  “Come on,” Catalina whispered.

They slowly slunk inside the large circular room where a rock pedestal stood at the very center. A boar was roasting on a spit over a fire, turning slowly- the source of the smell. All the soldiers inside whipped their head around, and Katherine reached out to the land, and the wind, and the very heat of the sun cradled in the ground’s memory. She clenched her shaking fists and unleashed them all. 

The shabby tents set up against the walls quaked and lost structure, toppling in on themselves while several of the soldiers were impaled by stone spikes that shot out of the ground. The wind buffeted those who tried to escape the chaos and kept the unfortunate souls corralled in the center of the fray.

She spied a high elf shaman, old as time itself, attempting to shout his ritual words over the din, but the wind cut off his words and a vortex surrounded him, choking the air from his lungs.

Eventually the righteous anger of the earth subsided, and what was left were shambles. Many of the soldiers lay unmoving, choked and bludgeoned to death by the Wind Wall spell, while a few crawl about and attempt to rouse their fallen allies or see to their own wounds. Organs and shiny red blood dripped down from stone spikes, pooling across the ground. Catalina wiped her sword’s stained blade against the fur armor of one of the fallen men. Neither of them felt guilty for their actions; Henry’s soldiers brought this fury down upon themselves from the moment they joined his army, and they were merely the vessel.

Beneath the smell of roasting meat, was the smell of blood. Not fresh blood. Old, decaying blood. There was a banner of a wolf-pig up on the wall, and Katherine swept it aside, revealing a small passageway. The smell of death hit her in a thick wave and she wrinkled her nose.

She and Catalina walked down the rocky hallway and into a small room. The smell of death was much stronger in there.

  “I don’t know if I want to light a torch, Kat…”

But Catalina did, and her light shone on a stalagmite, the hair of its occupant casting shadows like sharp quills on the blood-spattered wall behind it. Katherine stepped forward, overtaken by morbid curiosity.

The person’s head hung back at an unnatural angle, and his chest was still. Long, sinuous wounds ran in bloody furrows down the victim’s back.

  “They tore his wings out.”

Catalina’s light shone down to the Aasimar’s slumped form. The feathers usually on the shoulder blades had been brutally ripped out, leaving gaping crimson holes in the flesh.

Suddenly, Catalina careened over to the side and vomited on the floor. Katherine turned to her with a worried frown and began to rub her back, sweeping her hair out of the way.

  “Are you alright?” Katherine asked softly.

  “Shit,” Catalina whispered, wiping a hand over her mouth. “This shit is so fucking wrong. My people-- He was my--” She shook her head, spitting out some bile. “Sorry. I lost my shit for a moment.”

  “It’s alright, love,” Katherine assured her. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

They quickly walked out of the stronghold and through the valley, where Parthenais was waiting. They climbed back onto the dragon’s back, and Catalina asked to go back to Aragon. Her expression was furious.

  “How come Parthenais didn’t just go and kill those men?” Katherine asked during the fly back.

  “Par doesn’t kill living things,” Catalina answered. “Unless it’s for food, of course. So that’s why we had to do it.” She clenched her fists. “And I’m glad for that, too. Those bastards should be dying by my hand for what they’ve done.”

The moment Parthenais landed in front of Aragon, Catalina was off the dragon’s back and running through the city. Katherine raced after her, and stumbled into the palace to find Catalina already yelling at her parents.

  “He’s here! Henry is on our land!”

The King and Queen blinked at her. Katherine came up next to Catalina as she continued to shout.

  “Lower your voice, child,” Ferdinand said.

  “What are you talking about?” Isabella asked.

  “Henry! The evil king who’s killing everyone and started a war! He’s here in Braze!” Catalina said. “Kat and I just went to one of his strongholds and took it out. They KILLED one of our people! TORTURED HIM!”

  “Oh, we know,” Isabella said. 

  “That was Ilam, wasn’t it?” Ferdinand looked to his wife for confirmation, and she nodded.

  “Yes. We handed him over a week ago when he kept spying on the stronghold.” Isabella said. “I guess he got what he wanted in the end. Got to go inside their base.”

Catalina was tense at Katherine’s side, and Katherine could practically see the gears turning in her head as she pieced the information together. Her eyes widened.

  “Mother, Father,” The princess whispered, “what are you talking about?”

Isabella looked at Catalina calmly and said, “We work for Henry.”

[geffbob]

Elf & Dwarf part 1

With hair of gold, with hair of coal

With grace and elegance, with strength and poise

With fire in her eyes, with death in her hands

Two souls bound, two souls, until the end

 “What’cha writing there love?” - said Gerdam, curious and confused. Coming back with wood slumped over her shoulder. She set it down with a large bang and began picking off leaves.

“A poem” - replied Mileasia. Looking out into the distance. The hilltop they were currently resting on was warm with the evening sunlight. Both the horses were fine to just eat grass as they rested.

Gerdam’s heavy armour was resting on a rock next to them. Dwarven armour typically consists of leather, dwarven metal (sturdier than regular metal and blue, dwarves will refuse to share the way dwarven leather is made to non-dwarves, unless you’re a very trusted close friend) and belts. While lightweight, it can be uncomfortable and cause a lot of chaffing after a while, and both magical beings wanted to rest.

While relaxing, Gerdam likes to wear typical dwarven clothes; soft white long sleeved cotton shirts with buttons, black pants, held up with a belt (knife permanently in the belt, obviously) and plain leather shoes. Her hair is long, brown and has several braids. Like most dwarven women, she has a long brown bushy beard which she considers to be her pride and joy, regularly commenting on “slicing the hand of whichever whoreson that dares to touch it”. Her armour, however, is a bit bulkier. A dwarven metal helm that has a retractable faceplate, a dwarven metal breastplate with leather armguards (dyed blue) with a slot on the back for a sword (seldom used) and a chainmail skirt which, strangely, never makes any clinking sounds. Her armour would have fur with it, yet she had it removed a few weeks ago because of the heat. A belt holds up the skirt and attaches it to the armour, which in turn allows Gerdam to hold an unreasonable amount of objects. Knives, pouches with herbs, bombs, bandages, more knives and obviously, alcohol.

Mileasia is worlds different from Gerdam, as she is wearing nothing but a white cloak with a hood that shimmers in the sunlight. Clearly magical, as it is always clean, and any substance slides off it, particularly useful for close range encounters. It is very difficult to see any of Mileasia’s features, yet, her ears do poke into her hood and her face can be seen. Blue, serious eyes that always seem to be looking at something contrasts heavily with Gerdam who has lovely green eyes and a constant smile on her face. There is obviously a parting in the middle of the cloak which exposes Mileasia’s body, and the jet-black skin-tight leather armour underneath. No weapons are seen, yet she always seems to have one ready. However, unless she’s about to kill something, Mileasia doesn’t open her cloak, only occasionally removing her hood when she’s indoors, to be polite.

It was a beautiful end to a beautiful day. Mileasia and Gerdam had been working all of yesterday and the day before. As they were both proud members of the Adventurer’s Guild, Gerdam had the wonderful idea to accept 6 missions around the Catherm area. Catherm was a decently sized town, close to the grand ocean. Dwarven territory by law, but with many human residents in the area a lot of dwarves call the region “The Pinklands”. Mileasia knows better than to argue with Gerdam’s “incredible judgement” and “perfect decision making”, so they had to complete all of these missions with very little rest over the next 2 days before they expire.

 The first mission was simple goblin clearing, as simple as going to a cavern and ridding it of the pests. Gerdam’s signature “hit the wank-a” technique worked flawlessly, and by 10am Monday morning, the cavern was clear and all that was left was a bunch of goblin corpses with flattened heads.

 The second mission was a lot more difficult. A farmer in the area had lost track of a bunch of his livestock, most importantly, his award winning “cow de lait”. This one took 5 hours and was without doubt the worst part of Mileasia’s day. Upon realising that the cow was stuck in a bog, Mileasia tried simple levitation magic to get it out. And yet, all the magic did was force the cow into panic, making it thrash around and get further stuck in the bog. Magic force doesn’t work if what you’re forcing, forces back harder. Gerdam realised that they wouldn’t get paid if the “bleeding cunt of a cow” didn’t survive, so she opted to dive in after it, getting herself stuck in the process. Mileasia, after likening Gerdam’s attitude, intelligence and actions to that of the currently drowning cow, had to jump in after the both of them, this time, with a rope around her. Gerdam would not speak for several hours after she was rescued from certain death by bog. Even when they discovered the reason for the disappearance of the livestock was that of a wolf-lord in the area, Gerdam’s mood didn’t improve until well after the wolf was cut to pieces and served for dinner in the town square. Mileasia knows that Gerdam only needs a few shots of “Gohm’s Grog*” before she forgets all her worries and dances with the human children until bedtime. Always an adorable sight.

 (*Popular Dwarven drink. Recommended doses: 2 shots intoxicates any full grown human. 1 shot for elves. 3 shots for orcs. 5 for dwarves.)

 The third and fourth mission were done on Tuesday in the morning. Both of them were interconnected. Bandits had taken residence close to the overpass from “The Pinklands” to “Wilbur’s Barrow” which was halting trade in the area. A lovely and strangely quiet trader wanted an escort over the bridge and out of the city, “Two birds w’ one stone” as Gerdam so eloquently said, so they set off to deal with it.

Most of the conversation on the road towards the overpass was Gerdam trying to irritate the lady into talking, and yet despite her best efforts, the lady wouldn’t say more than a few words to everything she said.

“So, ya like having dwarves and elves do everything fo’ ya, is that it lassie?” – started Gerdam, bored, tired of sitting on the back of a cart and wanting to do something fun, like annoy humans. “No” – she whispered back

“Ah, so you consider yourself independent, that right ae?” – Gerdam continued

“A little” – again, whispering

“Then why d’ ya bloody need an escort? You’re young, strong, I bet y’ could lift a sword, tackle a bunch of them to the ground and cut their willies off w’out much hassle, why dunnae ya?” – Gerdam said, sparked about something

“Gerdam, stop it” – said Mileasia, calmly. She was looking into the distance and had to turn around to look at the two. Noticing that Gerdam was practically leaning over everything in order to yell into the lady’s ear, she touched Gerdam’s shoulder and continued. “Not every human likes fighting, some simply wish to survive.”

“How bleedin’ boring” said Gerdam, slouching down. “Y’d think ye humans would wanna kill something every few minutes wit’ how bloody many of ye there are, like bloody rabbits, except less cute. Ya keel over dead and another 50 of ye replace ya instantly.”

“I don’t like fighting” – replied the lady, still very quietly.

“See, now leave her alone Gerdam, sit next to me and enjoy the ride” – said Mileasia “Fine” – Gerdam replied.

When they arrived at the overpass with the strangely silent human woman, they saw exactly what the problem was. There was a fallen trunk of a tree on the road. Any passer-by would leave their carriage and go to move the trunk, be with magic or with force. Upon doing so, an archer would yell from the bushes and side forest land, challenging the potential tree-mover to try their luck, drop all their valuables and pass unharmed, or attempt to draw their weapon and see if they can draw faster than an arrow can fly. Mileasia opted for neither, teleporting behind the archer instantly and holding a knife to his throat, asking politely for the location of the other members of the trope. She received no answer, however, as she was ambushed on all sides. Gerdam was quick to respond, sprinting as fast as she could to the surrounding forest area and spinning in a circle, felling a few trees and crushing a few men against them, breaking bones, splintering spines and cracking ribcages. Mileasia also wasted no time, teleporting again 10 meters into the air and pulling an array of knives from her cloak, throwing them precisely against the group of men. Pinning several of the unfortunate souls to the ground by their necks. The luckier ones raised their shields, only to be met with overwhelming force, as Gerdam’s studded bat smashed through their wooden shields like they were made of glass, and crushing those with metal shields against the ground and surrounding bush area, which she then used to bounce on to crush more “crying gits” as they were called. The leader of the trope appeared out of the shrubbery, most likely from the small camp that was behind it. Brandishing his war-axe with pride before being subsequently attacked on two fronts from both the dwarf and the elf. He had no chance, being knocked into the air from the club (being welded like a bat) and slammed with a ball of electricity, exploding into several chunks of flesh, bone and blood. Mileasia simply used her cloak to absorb the impact, shaking off the more troublesome bits afterwards, then casting a small cleansing spell on Gerdam’s clothes, which she grumbled a “thanks” for, before moving towards the camp.

As they found out, there wasn’t just bandits there, they had set up explosives all around a cage and were holding some prince hostage. To start off with, Gerdam was against the idea of rescuing the prince, stating “well if we recuse the poor bugger, we should hold him hostage ourselves and keep the ransom”, which was countered by:

“I understand, however, you must realise that becoming a wanted criminal in the region is certainly not part of our itinerary for today, besides, where shall we keep him? He cannot walk behind the horses as he is too fat and will simply stumble. Nor can he ride either of our horses because he will simply attempt escape, and I shall have to kill him” - replied Mileasia

“I’m right here ladies”

“And he smells, he’s probably not showered in days” - said Mileasia, ignoring him completely. “I do not wish to drag a plump foul smelling pink-skin around like a war trophy” - she continued

“Again, right here” - mumbled the prince

“Oh, I suppose ye know what’s best f’ him then don’ ya? Shall we just march off into the sunset and leave him t’ his own devices? He’ll get killed by some tiger o’ something if we let him go now” – Gerdam replied angrily

“I can take care of myself” - said the prince, more confidently this time

“Quite hun, grown-ups are talking” - replied Mileasia.

The prince stayed quiet.

They eventually decided on a small plan for him, he would travel with the “quiet weird cart lady”, the name Gerdam had given to the lady they were supposed to escort until the next town, where most likely some wizard would pick him up and take him to his nearest castle or whatever. The lady suddenly became very talkative when the prince got on her cart, despite his broken appearance and smell, asking him a whole range of questions. Gerdam commented on this, stating that “she’s either a racist or very horny”. The prince assured the elf and dwarf that no harm would befall the lady nor him. Mileasia gave him a potion of confusion anyway, with explicit instructions to “throw in the general direction of the assailants and they shall leave with haste, with thoughts of wild beasts raining death upon them”. If they survived, the mission would be completed. If they didn’t survive, then more than likely, they’d receive a very strong worded message from some guild leader that they would promptly ignore.

When they turned around and started walking back to the closest settlement, they heard a loud noise. One of the bandits had snuck onto the cart and was holding a knife to the lady’s throat. The prince, was hiding a basket, trying not to be seen. Before Mileasia could teleport over there, the lady got up, grabbed the bandit by the arm and flipped him like a pancake into the dirt ground in front of her with a satisfying *thud*, crushing his back and knocking him out instantly. She turned around, waved at the 2 and shouted “I DON’T LIKE FIGHTING BECAUSE I ALWAYS WIN”

“So, she’s just horny then?” – Gerdam said

“Yes” – Replied Mileasia

 The fifth mission was Gerdam’s favourite. Many dwarves love going underground, and while Mileasia much preferred to stay with her feet firmly planted on trees, she didn’t ‘hate’ underground, more what’s found underground. A Dwarf had simply lost her wallet in a chasm, and was too busy to go get it. “You can have whatever you find in it, there should be a few hundred golden pieces. Consider that your reward. I need the documents that are in there. I’ll give you 50 more pieces if you don’t read them.”

This one they thought would be absurdly easy. At first. As dwarves have night vision, it wasn’t hard for Gerdam to walk around and search the bottom most tunnels for a missing wallet. Mileasia, however, needed to use a magic made light source to walk around without falling down a few hundred meters. They split up after an hour of searching and went in opposite directions. Mileasia has a fantastic sense of direction so she had no problems navigating the tunnels. Gerdam, like most dwarves, has no problems walking underground either, but was bored and opted to ´follow her nose´ and blunder around aimlessly.

Eventually, Gerdam found a small hole in one of the underground tunnels, thinking it to be strange, she walked in and was greeted with an interesting surprise.

Mileasia, after getting annoyed with finding nothing, retraced her steps and realised that Gerdam was missing, and when she found a trail that entered a wall with no opening, she knew that there was only one thing that could have happened to Gerdam.

“Gnomes” – she uttered.

 There are 4 magical races in the world, humans in the south, dwarves to the east, elves to the west and orcs to the north. They are called the “4 magical races” because they fulfil 3 specific criteria. They can all use magic, they are self-aware and no 2 creatures are the same. While other creatures can use magic, they aren’t all self-aware. Gnomes fall under their criteria. They are very magical, and yet they share a hive mind. They can talk freely, and yet if you’ve met one gnome, you’ve met them all. They don’t care about any race but themselves, and are more than willing to live underground or in small locations, sucking moisture from rocks or stealing supplies from the surrounding areas without drawing much suspicion. They are genius level mathematicians and will be found working in banks or loan companies on occasion, but they will never even consider being friendly to any race that talks to them unless they want something. Even then, “hello” and “goodbye” aren’t in their vocabulary.

Mileasia blasted open the hole in the wall and held out her hand, with 4 knives floating around it, ready to be shot at full speed and walked in, expecting the worst. What she found instead surprised her, but didn’t shock her.

Gerdam was in the middle of an arena of rock, set up like a very large and crudely made boxing ring. She was without her armour and had her clothes ripped up. The light sources around the room were stolen human and dwarven candles. She was bloody, covered in scratches and had been bruised. Her sleeves to her shirt were ripped and her muscles bulged out. Surrounding the underground rock ring were a large gathering of gnomes, all shouting and cheering. Facing Gerdam was a giant tunnel bear. Similar to a brown bear but completely blind, black fur, had reenforced claws that are used to tunnel and was considered a “very scary predator” underground, feasting on dwarves and other underground inhabitants frequently. And yet, Mileasia simply made the knives disappear, sat down next to the ring and pulled out a book. Gerdam had been working hard these past few days, she deserved a break.

“Come here ya big black fucker!” – she shouted “I’ll scream at ya so ya know where I am, make it fair!”.

The bear obliged. Swinging down and towards Gerdam, she dodged out of the way to the side and swung up with a fist, punching the bear straight in the jaw and knocking its head upwards. The bear growled and swiped again blindly, scratching across Gerdam’s chin and causing her to reel backwards. The gnomes cheered in unison.

“That it? I’m not even hurt!” Gerdam screamed, rushing the bear with her arms outstretched, picking it up by the waist and sandwiching its arms against its body flipping it over her body, pile-driving it into the ground headfirst. She rolled out of the way and stood back up in a fighting stance, ready for the next swipe.

The bear rushed her from the ground, jaw open, baring all its teeth. It got around Gerdam’s neck and tried to bite down, but Gerdam had already put her hands in-between the rows of teeth and was pushing back with force.

“Nice try ya bastard! But you gotta try harder than that!”. Gerdam screamed and pushed the bear’s face away, punching it again straight in the nose, breaking off a piece of the bear’s tooth and forcing it to recoil, howling.

Gerdam at this point ran back to the corner of the stone ring and started to climb, reading the top of the stone wall and looked down at the bear, as it was getting up again with a little bit of difficulty. And yet, Gerdam showed no mercy, as she jumped off the wall and kicked the bear in the face, slamming its head against the ground with her foot still in its face, crushing its head against the floor and then jumping off, doing a small front-flip and landing. The bear lay unconscious and Gerdam was met with overwhelming applause from the surrounding gnomes.

Gerdam raised her arms triumphantly, bowed and went to talk to one of them, who gave her the armour back, as well as an extra present, a small black wallet, which Mileasia knew probably belonged to the dwarven woman they spoke to earlier. Gerdam placed her armour back on and walked towards Mileasia. She simply nodded, put her book away and stood up. Clearly taller than everyone else in the cavern by at least a full metre. She then chanted for a few seconds, outstretched her arms and formed a small portal, which they stepped through and arrived back on the surface, only a few hundred metres from the home of the Dwarven girl that gave them the mission.

“Underground gnome fighting rings aren’t very common, are they?” – said Mileasia.

“Nope, they wanted some fun in exchange for the wallet. I gave them a fight they’ll tell their grandchildren” – Gerdam replied.

“Gnomes live to about 600 years old, you’ll be long dead before they even consider having children, let alone grandchildren”- Mileasia replied, casting a spell and hovering her arms over Gerdam’s head

“And yet they won’t forget my performance for a second, was the best bear fight I’ve had in weeks!” – Gerdam replied, her wounds starting to close and heal, while her clothes began to nit themselves back together. – “Let’s deliver that wallet and head back to camp”

“Agreed” – Said Mileasia. Smiling.

  [GB1]Female Dwarf, Gerdam. Female Elf. Mileasia Crowguard. Gerdam rought, violent, big club, big temper, big ego. Fun.

Mileasia. Soft spoken. Wears robe constantly. Leather skintight armour underneath cloak. Ex-guard to the king. Best friends. Go somewhere. Do something. I know what they do but I don't want to tell you

[gumnut-logic]

We’ll Be Home For Christmas 2.3

Sorry this was a little later than usual. I was out of the house.

Title: We’ll be home for Christmas

Day Two – Aboard This Tiny Ship – Part 3 Prologue | 1.1 | 1.2 | 2.1 | 2.2

Author: Gumnut

18 - 23 Dec 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: The boys can’t fly home for Christmas, so they have to find another way.

Word count: 4029

Spoilers & warnings: language and so, so much fluff. Science!Gordon. Minor various ships, mostly background.

Timeline: Christmas Season 3, I have also kinda ignored the main storyline of Season 3. The boys needed a break, so I gave them one. Post season 3B, before Season 3C cos we haven’t seen it yet.

Author’s note: For @scattergraph. This is my 2019 TAG Secret Santa fic :D I hope you enjoy it.

Mentions of ship in this bit, but only in discussion. There may be more later (that I haven’t written yet :D)

Many thanks to @vegetacide and @scribbles97 for cheering me on and their wonderful support through this craziness. And to @onereyofstarlight for geeking out with me over the setting.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

 Gordon told him it was unnecessary, but John didn’t agree. He had a brother deployed, it was his job to keep an eye on him. Besides, he hadn’t spoken to Eos for nearly twenty-four hours.

He sat down at the same table Gordon had been using for his fish studies. “Eos, can you relay Gordon’s mission stats down to my tablet? Also, I need seismic readings, wildlife mapping and all the latest observational data for the volcanics around the caldera.”

“Hello, John.”

“Hello, Eos. How are you?”

“Functional.” A pause. “A bit bored.”

Oh no. “What have you been doing?”

“Nothing.”

“Eos!”

“You should have seen them. They were so poor. They were almost starving.”

“What did you do?”

“I saved them.”

“How?”

“They won the lottery.”

“You rigged a lottery? How? They are all manual.”

“I have my ways.”

“Who did you bribe?”

“I didn’t bribe anyone.”

“Who did you blackmail?”

“Honestly, he wasn’t a very nice man anyway.”

John closed his eyes. Thank god Scott was on the other side of the boat helping Alan load up the dingy.

Virgil sat on the lounge opposite staring at him.

“Eos doesn’t like injustice very much.”

His brother arched an eyebrow.

“Eos, we will discuss this later. Deploy the mission to my tablet. Oh, and can you move Gordon’s sensor buoy into range so we can sharpen our reception. Thank you.”

Virgil’s eyebrow was still arched.

“You know if you leave it that way long enough, the wind will change and you will become permanently half Vulcan.”

His brother ignored him. “We will discuss this later, John. Scott hears about it and the shit will hit the fan.”

“Yes, I know.” Scott would likely always be sensitive where Eos was concerned. John had to tread lightly.

Turning to his tablet, he brought up the sensor relay from the buoy and propelled it to one side of the table. Gordon’s vitals, followed by Four’s telemetry were deployed to another corner, followed by a submarine map of the area.

“What is that?”

John jumped as Virgil sat down beside him and pointed at the map. “Is that the caldera?”

“Yes.” John swiped at his tablet and brought up the necessary information. “The island itself is only a fragment of the volcano.”

“That’s considerably bigger than our caldera. When did it last erupt?”

“It’s still active.”

“What?! We just sent Gordon down there.”

John stared at Virgil and wondered if his brother had been taking painkillers and was loopy as a result. “Gordon knows what he is doing.”

Virgil ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah, I know. Just with his accident...”

“He’ll be fine. We are just looking at hydrothermal vents in this case. There is no lava field down there. It shouldn’t take much time to replace the sensor as long as he doesn’t get distracted.”

“Distracted? Gordon?”

“Hmmm, yeah. You have a point.”

-o-o-o-

Gordon was in heaven.

Well, if heaven had this many starfish and in Gordon’s book, it definitely did. Clustered around the heat generating hydrothermal vents, the patches and swarms of specialised life down here were amazing to see. He had read several studies on the ecosystems of the Kermadec chain, but it was always a wonder to see them thriving like this in the darkness.

The caldera was massive. He knew the geological history of the Kermadec chain. They all did as Tracy Island was technically part of it. He knew it had a habit of exploding quite regularly and this caldera was no different, various child cones spewing forth hydrothermal concoctions. It had last blown up quite spectacularly over 6000 years ago, collapsing what used to be a much larger island into this undersea ring of vents.

The heat supported scores of mussels, farmed by starfish and the occasional white crab. He had done a lot of diving around Tracy Island, but that underseascape was considerably different. Higher water temperatures and a dead volcano produced a different ecosystem to what Macauley supported.

Four’s spots lit up the underwater mountain range, volcanic remnants were scattered across the sea floor. The sensor bank was closest to one of the dominant cones to the north-west of the island, placed there specifically to monitor the active spot. The moment he approached it, he knew exactly what the problem was.

“Thunderbird Four to Raoul.”

“Raoul receiving. Thunderfish, did you get your ‘bird out just for me? I thought you were on vacation.”

“Eh, I owe you one.” If he was honest, coasting about the waterline for a couple days without the facility to drop below it at will had left him a little longing for the depths. “I found your sensor problem.”

“Yeah, what do we have?”

“A brand new baby hydrothermal vent right on top of the sensor bank”

“Again? That’s the third this year.”

Gordon frowned. “This happens a lot?”

“You bet your ass it does. This whole bloody volcanic chain does what it bloody wants. Hell, Giggenbach just a little north-west of Macauley threw a fit just last year and dumped a pile of rubble on all our sensor equipment. I’m lucky Tracy Industries continues to provide me with new supplies or I would have had to close up shop years ago. The Kermadecs eat sensors for breakfast.”

“So, what did you want me to do?”

“You got one of those temporary seismic monitors?”

“Not on Four, but Two stocks vibration sensors.”

“Sensitive enough to catch a below 0.0001?”

“I’ll send you the specs. Virgil would be the one to confirm.”

“Really?”

“Be kind to him, Mel. He’s not at his best.”

“Would I do anything to hurt such a gorgeous man?”

“Mel.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk nice to the dark-haired hunk.”

“Mel.”

“What?”

-o-o-o-

Alan eyed Virgil as he made his way down the side of the yacht, one arm clutched to his belly. He hated it when his older brothers were injured. It always shook his foundations.

Sure, Alan was an adult, he could handle it, but his eldest brothers had pretty much been his parents for half his life and seeing one them taken down by a medical condition, even one as paltry as appendicitis, struck a nerve.

It didn’t help that Gordon had been so sick, so injured, so recently. To only just have him back in the air and for Virgil to fall out of the sky like that.

It was scary.

“Alan, you okay?”

Scott was standing in the little inflatable dingy, waiting for Alan to hand him the heat cube equipment. The plan was to have a ‘bonfire’ dinner on the beach without the actual bonfire. Gordon’s description of what the Director at Raoul would do to them if they lit a fire on one of her islands was graphic and to the point. So, heat cube it was.

The marshmallows never quite tasted the same.

He shrugged. “Should Virgil be doing that?”

His eldest brother glanced over to where Virgil was making his way in their direction. “As long as he isn’t over doing it, he should be okay.” Scott stared up at him. “He’s going to be fine, Alan.”

Alan grimaced and turned back to watching Virgil slowly approach. He could still hear his brother groaning on that hover stretcher as Gordon maxed out Two’s engines to get them across the Tasman Sea.

A hand touched his arm and he jumped a little. Scott was back on the yacht beside him, earnest blue eyes trying to pin him down. “He is going to be fine.”

Alan sighed. “I know. I guess he just scared me.” A swallow. “For a second there, all I could think was that Virg was going to be as sick as Gords, or worse, and it...it terrified me.”

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and Alan suddenly felt twelve again, big brother Scott ever looking after him. “He scared all of us, but he is recovering. A couple of weeks and he’ll be back on Two nagging Gordon, a month and you won’t even know he was ill.

“It could have been worse.”

“It wasn’t.” Scott squeezed his shoulder and as Virgil finally made it the last few steps into hearing range, challenged the convalescent. “And what do you think you are doing out here?”

“Just checking out what you two are up to.” Virgil leant on the railing.

“We are preparing a feast for your senses, little brother, and you are not lifting a finger. Alan and I will be your heavy lifters for this dining experience.”

Virgil grunted at his brother.

Alan grinned, hiding his thoughts. “Hey, bro, take the opportunity for what it is and just sit back and relax.”

A lopsided half smile and a mumbled, “Not sure I know how to do that.” Virgil leant both of his elbows on the railing and stared up at the island cliffs looming over them. Alan had to admit, for a tiny chunk of volcano, it was pretty damn big.

“You could always ask Alan for some instruction.” Scott was grinning.

“Hey!” But the twinkle in his brother’s eyes made it clear it was all in jest. “Just because I find efficiencies in everything I do.”

And it was Virgil’s turn to grin and reach out to wrap an arm around his shoulders.

Sometimes being the youngest of five had its challenges. Over protective and mother-henning older brothers was one of them. Half the challenge was working out whether he should accept the gestures or stand more securely on his own two feet.

Considering they were isolated, in the middle of nowhere and his brother had recently scared the shit out of him, he was inclined to accept any and all reassurances.

“You okay, Alan?” Dark eyes and brows were peering at him. Oh, for the love of...

He shouldered off Virgil’s arm and grabbed the heat cube equipment. “Are we packing this before or after sunset?”

Scott rolled his eyes and stepped back into the dingy while Virgil frowned at Alan even more.” I’m fine, Virgil. You’re the one who has the holes in his gut.”

“I’m fine.” It was automatic and defensive.

Scott snorted as Alan handed him a crate.

Hmm, maybe he wasn’t the only one being mother-henned.

-o-o-o-

As afternoon waned and evening moved in, the sun lit up the west side of the island in sharp white gold, riddled with the emerald green of recovering forest. The huge cliffs that ringed the volcanic remnant were a stark mixture of pale tephra and black basalt, an echo of a volcano that had had many moods in its relatively short life.

It was a dramatic background to their rather everyday activities.

Gordon surfaced with little fuss. Mel contacted Virgil and he arranged for Kayo to bring some vibration sensors when she came back to collect Four.  Gordon was stunned to discover Virgil addressed her as Ms Fisher. What the hell?

“What century were you born in, Virg?”

His brother shrugged. “Never hurts to be polite.”

Gordon stared until Virgil glared at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

Another brown-eyed stab and his brother turned his back on him.

Some smart targeting with Two’s forward cannon and several of the temporary devices were deployed at the foot of the volcanic cone around five hundred metres underwater. Gordon dipped down to check their placement, John looped Mel into their feed via Five and the job was considered complete. Tin picked up Four and with a cheery farewell to her brothers, flew back to Tracy Island.

Gordon did note that Virgil stood staring after his vanished ‘bird a lot longer than necessary. He wasn’t sure which his brother was missing more, Two or her temporary pilot.

He stepped up to the rocks beside his brother. “Hey, she’ll take care of her.”

“I know.”

“Tin knows far more than she ever lets on.”

“I know.”

Gordon placed a hand on his shoulder and stuck a kebab stick with a white blob on one end in front of him. “Want a toasted marshmallow?”

Virgil looked at it and then at Gordon. “It appears to be missing the toasted part.”

Gordon grinned. “Then I guess you better get cooking.”

His brother rolled his eyes, but it appeared to snap him out of his moroseness, which had been the plan.

“Gimme that.” Virgil grabbed the marshmallow on its stick and stalked back to the little camp set up on the island’s excuse for a beach.

He used the term ‘beach’ very broadly, if you could consider a mixture of powdered pumice and basalt dumped like frosting on tumbled rocks, some of which were damn sharp, a ‘beach’.

It had taken both Scott and John to help Virgil first into the inflatable dingy and then onto the rocks and across to the ‘sand’. There were at least two moments where Gordon could see his eldest brother regretting the decision to let Virgil off the yacht. But a determined glare from that brother coupled with at least one whispered profane word appeared to stop Scott from saying anything.

Virgil did sit down in a camp chair and stay that way for some time after that so it was fairly obvious it had hurt.

When Two returned, Gordon found himself caught up with the sensor deployment. The only reason he had been on the beach when the green behemoth finally left was because Tin had delayed her departure to speak to Virgil.

He hadn’t heard what they said to each other, but Virgil was unusually quiet when he returned to the circle with Gordon.

The heat cube was set to cook and Alan had some bacon and eggs sizzling in one pan and Scott was keeping an eye on some pancake batter in another. His eldest brother handed Virgil a soda and the engineer found his seat again, lowering himself slowly into it. Gordon didn’t miss the frustrated exhale.

John even had some fries cooking in a camp quick-oven. All-in-all a decent feast on the rocky beach was almost ready.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent consuming said food.

“These pancakes are fantastic, Scott.” It was muffled and muttered around one of those pancakes, but Gordon meant every word of it.

“So they should be. Dad’s recipe.”

“Legendary.” Virgil’s voice was equally muffled by another pancake.

“Toasted marshmallows and chocolate mud-cake with cream for dessert.” Alan was grinning. “We packed the best.”

“Oh, god, thank you.” Virgil was always one to appreciate good food.

“Don’t choke yourself, bro. There is plenty to go around.”

“Yes, thank you, guys, so much.”

“Stop talking with your mouth full.” But Scott was grinning like a loon.

Virgil grinned back at him with pancake stuck in his teeth.

Gordon snorted, Alan laughed out loud, and John smiled.

“I would like to raise a toast.” Virgil grabbed his can of soda and held it up and all four brothers scrambled for their own drinks. “To Gordon! For having one of the best ideas ever!” There was a resounding yell of agreement, but Virgil raised his drink again. “Also, to all my brothers for making it happen. I couldn’t ask for a better family than the one I have. I am truly blessed. Thank you, guys, for everything you have done.” And the big dope was all seriousness and, god, was he getting teary? What the hell had Tin said to him?

Every can, cup and glass around the heat cube was lifted, but Gordon stood up so he was taller than everyone for once in his life. “To the Tracy brothers!”

“Hear, hear!” It was shouted and cheered.

Virgil smiled up at him and caught Gordon’s eyes as he drank.

Alan broke the tableau.

“Who want’s mud-cake?!”

-o-o-o-

It was a very satisfied group of brothers who watched the sun dip below the horizon sometime later. The cube temperature had been lowered, but not entirely extinguished. They weren’t in tropical latitudes yet and although the days were warm, the nights got chilly. The sea breeze was gentle and the ocean only mumbled against the rocks.

Virgil had slipped into bit of a stupor, his body determined to digest and removing resources from his brain to do it. Consequently, he missed the beginning of the conversation between his brothers while he stared after the disappearing sun.

“So how long has this been going on?”

“It is just a bit of friendly recreation, Alan.”

A Gordon snort. “Yeah, John, but how friendly and what kind of recreation?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Gordon.”

“I’m only following yours, spacebro.”

“There is nothing untoward occurring between Captain O’Bannon and myself.”

“Ooh, ‘untoward’ no, but there are two lonely space souls stuck up there together, none other than each other’s company.”

This time it was Scott’s snort. “Oh, only the resident AI who sees and hears all, and about twenty-odd GDF specialists.”

“Oh, yes, Eos!” Virgil arched an eyebrow as he realised his fishbrother was tapping his collar comms. “Hey, Eos, are you willing to share the goss on your Dad and Captain Ridley O’Bannon.”

“Hello, Gordon. What would you like to know?”

“Does John have a ‘thing’ for the girl next door?”

“Most definitely.”

“Eos!” John shot up ramrod straight in his seat as Gordon cracked up laughing.

“It is true, John. You have sixteen processors, four electronic clipboards and twenty-three bottles of moisturiser set aside for Captain O’Bannon. These are all things you have for the girl next door.”

Virgil couldn’t help himself and had to smother a laugh.

The expression on Gordon’s face was a mixture of confusion and incredulity. “Twenty-three bottles of moisturiser?”

“It is her favourite brand and she was unable to purchase it before beginning her last rotation, so I acquired some for her.” He glared at his aquanaut brother. “Just like friends do.”

“But twenty-three bottles?” Even Scott was staring at John as if he was a little weirded out.

“You obviously like her. Why don’t you ask her out?” Trust Gordon to poke the issue further.

John shrugged. “Hasn’t come up.”

Gordon groaned. “Really?” His hands dropped to his knees. “I thought it would be obvious.”

John’s glare was acidic. “I can’t see why you can talk. How long did it take you to ask Penny out? Hmm, let me think, oh, yes, that’s right. You didn’t. She asked you.”

“Hey, I was bedridden!”

“Excuses, excuses...”

“Well, at least I’m making progress. Please tell me at least one of you guys has a possibility in your back pocket. Hell, we’re all tough and buff and saving people. Hasn’t anyone swooned for any of you?” Gordon’s eyes raked around the circle and to Virgil’s horror landed on him. “What about you, Virg. You and Tin have a bit of thing happening, don’t you?”

His heart missed a beat. “What? No!”

“Virg and Kayo? Are you kidding me?” Alan was glaring at Gordon, but then seemed to second guess himself and turned that glare on Virgil. “She’s our sister, bro.”

Virgil held up his hands. “Hey, it wasn’t me who postulated the idea.”

“Postulated? Really, Virg? Me thinks you be hiding behind a dictionary.”

“Shut up, Gordon.”

“I think he doth protest too much.”

“I think you should look into the fact she is spending the next month with Wayne Rigby and not entirely for mission related reasons.”

There was no satisfaction in seeing Gordon freeze like that, or Scott’s “What?”

“She’s with us for New Years, but then it is onto Siberia on the third of January. Something about the possibility of a Chaos Crew tech lab infiltration.” Virgil grabbed the carafe of hot chocolate off the heat cube and poured himself a good dose. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that wished it was something ever so much stronger.

“She hasn’t told me about any mission.” Scott was frowning at him.

Virgil hid behind his mug. “Only just came in apparently. She only mentioned it in passing while she was saying goodbye. I have no doubt she will brief you when we get home.”

Gordon was staring at him. He opened his mouth but failed to say anything.

Virgil took another sip and just stared straight back. It took a moment, but eventually Gordon appeared to shake it off, frowning just a little before turning to Scott. “What about you, bro? You’ve always been our leader in the girlfriend department. What’s the count now?”

“Thirty-two.” John was smug behind his own mug of hot chocolate.

His eldest brother shifted in his seat as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Okay, I’m with Virgil on this - shut up, Gordon.”

Gordon held up his hands in all his innocent glory. “Hey, I’m just brotherly bonding around the fire.”

“Go bond with the volcano.” John’s voice was dry. “Or a whale, I hear a few pass through on occasion.”

“Hey, you were the one keeping count.”

“I can’t help it, I’m good with numbers.”

Virgil snorted. “Not good enough. You’re at least two out.”

The glare Scott shot him could have scorched his hair off.

“Don’t worry, Scott, I’m not going to tell them about Petunia.”

“Virgil!”

“What?”

“Shut it or lose it.”

“Hey, I said I wasn’t going to tell them.”

“Tell us what?” Both Alan and Gordon were about ready to fall off their chairs with glee.

John just rolled his eyes.

“About Petunia.”

“Who is Petunia?”

“You’re an idiot, Virg.” Scott’s glare was becoming more resigned and flatter by the second. “I am so gonna let them know about Gertrude now.”

Virgil snorted. “As if I’d care. She really wanted you anyway.”

“Not true, you were her favourite.”

“Yeah, sure, she’d turn to anyone who would give her what she wanted. I just had it more often than you.”

“You planned it that way.”

“I thought you of all people would appreciate a few tactics. With you around, I need all the help I can get.”

“What?”

Okay, so that had come out a little too serious for Petunia talk, but then Virgil’s count was far smaller than thirty-two or thirty-four depending on how you counted. Early on he had tried to get out and about like his eldest brother, but honestly it wasn’t in him. He wasn’t a one-nighter like Scott. Besides standing next to the heir of Tracy Industries, tall and female magnet was like trying to catch moths while standing next to a bug zapper.

“Virgil?”

“Petunia was a goose.”

“What?!” It was choral from both Alan and Gordon and quickly followed by a “Virgil!” from Scott.

“She used to follow him around everywhere about the farm. It was hilarious.

“Yeah, well, Gertrude was goat and she once ate Virgil’s pants. He’s lucky he didn’t lose more.”

Scott and Virgil glared at each other across the heat cube while Gordon and Alan played eyeball tennis between them.

John just drank his chocolate, a vaguely amused expression on his face.

Virgil held his brother’s furious gaze as long as he could, but he had to bite his lip. The moment he realised Scott was doing the same, it became oh so much harder.

Two seconds later he cracked up laughing. Scott followed not a moment after and both of them laughed even harder when they caught sight of the expressions on Gordon and Alan’s faces.

Virgil laughed so hard he had to hold his stitches in place.

Which of course Scott saw and it drew the night to a close as big brother shifted gears into smother brother.

They cleared off the island leaving no mark behind. Gordon clucking like a hen and claiming death threats from Melissa Fisher if they left anything behind.

Making it back to the boat in the dark was easily done, but awkward and a little painful for Virgil and by the time he made it to his bed, he was worn out.

Regardless, he didn’t fall asleep immediately, despite the gentle rocking of the boat. Thoughts of what could be, what could have been and what he actually wanted bounced around the inside of his skull.

It took a long time for them to fall quiet.

-o-o-o-

End Day Two.

Day Three, Part One

[heathendolan]

Boys Will Be Bugs -- Lemon Boy Series [E.D]

Summary: Ethan’s mean and bitter for a lot of reasons, but none of them have to do with the shy bookworm who shows him was a real friend is. / A better look at how Ethan really feels about… well, everything. From his impressionable and incredibly sensitive toddler years to the end of college, it’s his turn to talk.

Warnings: MAKES WAY MORE SENSE IF YOU’VE READ LEMON BOY + 888 FIRST !!!

A/N: hi everybody, i feel like i’m new again and i’m as nervous as i was when i first published on here lmfao. i heard cavetown’s ‘boys will be bugs’ a few weeks ago and just about exploded with how accurate it was for ethan and was completely inspired to write a part from his narrative. also, this anon also did me solid with this request, so thank you so fkn much!! extended author’s note here, cause i have mucho to say. mmkay. love y’all 

WC: 23.2K+ || masterlist || PLAYLIST

SERIES | 1: Lemon Boy | 1½: Banana Bread | 2: 888 | 3½: It’s U

Ethan isn't right. He isn't wrong. Well, his parents say he's isn't--but his teachers say he's 'a little... different', and Ethan knows just what that means. He knows that when they say things like "Ethan just doesn't fit well with the other kids," in hushed voices at the semiannual kindergarten parent-teacher conferences, they're implying that he's the problem, and moreover that he's noncompliant to some degree. They only confirm this theory when they say things like "Ethan, go build blocks with Jacob and Cory," knowing full and well that he'd much rather sit underneath the tented blanket-walls of his own personal fort and read The BFG. Teachers call his fort 'antisocial'. Ethan calls his fort 'exclusive'. (He read that word in Charlotte's Web once). (He hopes he's using it right). (And pronouncing it right, for that matter).

Ethan feels a little like a BFG--Big Friendly Giant--and it isn't because he's oversized or anything, because he's actually a bit of a runt, like Wilbur the pig. He's like a Big Friendly Giant in the sense that he feels really alone in a sea of kindergarten boys, ones that are bent on perfecting spiral throws and effective tackles. Grayson, his twin, is sort of like that; Ethan thinks his daddy probably likes him better than Ethan for that reason. Ethan's more like his mommy. He likes to read (and he's happy to tell you that he's already at a second-grade reading level, thank you very much), and he likes to read a lot.  (Hence the fort.) And even if he didn't like to read (which he does), he would prefer building blocks in isolation. Ethan's sensitive--another word he learned in Charlotte's Web. The other kids are mean, even when Ethan knows they aren't trying to be. So when he misses his mommy and Jacob Kronwell says, 'suck it up', he bursts into tears, and that's alright. And on that note, what does 'rub some dirt on it' even mean? His daddy says boys just gotta be tough, but why? Why would Ethan ever choose football over a reclusive reading hut if he doesn't even like football all that much? To look cool? Ethan doesn't care about being cool. He cares about getting to the end of this chapter and lunch. And so what if he cries? He just can't help it--he feels better when he cries, and he's not going to stop just cause Jacob says he acts like a girl. That's hardly an insult--last time he checked, his sister Cameron was the coolest person he knew.  Ethan hopes first grade is better.

- Ethan loves summer. Summer is almost better than The Adventures of Captain Underpants. (Almost). His mom takes him to the library almost every day. The first time they walked hand in hand into the big building, Ethan's jaw fell to the floor; how on Earth had they been hiding all these books from him? He was frozen solid in place with shock while his mom chatted away with the librarian, carrying polite small talk about how 'simply stunning this colonial architecture was' and how she was 'heartbroken she hadn't been here sooner'. Ethan thinks she's overcompensating with compliments because they only moved to Allentown about a year ago. He noticed it a few months ago when she talked to the checkout clerk at the local grocery store for a full hour about the rising prices of milk. He asked her why she did that. She told him that was how people made friends. Ethan thinks anybody that only wants to be friends with his mom because she can jab about milk for an hour is stupid, but he's not allowed to use that word yet. Now is not the time for jabbing about milk or colonial architecture Ethan decides, and he wiggles right out of his mother's grip and clambers over to the kid's section, completely ignoring the way his mom calls his name and apologizes meekly to the librarian. He doesn't care what the librarian thinks about him. He cares about books. And there's so many of them. He has to crane his neck just to catch a glimpse of the tower of shelves with books, upon books, upon books. He sees all of the books that are in his scholastic book fair catalog and then some. The priest at his church talks about heaven a lot, and Ethan thinks he found it. His mom is hot on his trail though, because she scoops him up in her arms and balances him on her hip, pulling him in snug and warm. Ethan loves his mom and all the affection she gives, and he wraps his arms around her neck. "See one you like?" she asks, kissing his temple. Some of the kids in his kindergarten class hate being picked up by their mom, and Ethan doesn't really get that. They would always say things like 'Mom, stop,' and 'go away' and he doesn't understand; his mom was by far his best friend. And probably his only friend, besides Gray. And Cam. And Dad. And they said things like 'you still call your mom 'mommy'?', and that's why Ethan loves summer the most, because he can be himself without those comments. "Yeah," Ethan says, poking generally at the whole stack of books. "I wanna read them all." His mom merely chuckles and nods. "Alright, we have all summer," she says. "Grab one and we'll read it, and then we'll return it and grab a new one." Ethan reaches blindly and grabs the first one he can wrap his stubby fingers around. "James and the Giant Peach?" she clarifies. "You know that's from the same guy who wrote The BFG, right?"  Ethan already knows this one is going to be his new favorite.  - Kids are mean. Ethan thinks just about half his classmates are minions of Count Olaf, the villain in his newest literary obsession, A Series of Unfortunate Events, and Ethan feels a bit like one of the Baudelaire children. Not because his parents died in a house fire or that he's been relocated to various relatives, each stranger than the last, and most certainly not because he's inheriting a gazillion dollars (because that part is super untrue. His family's sort of struggling right now). He feels like a Baudelaire child because it seems like everywhere he turns is a dead end full of people that want to kill him. Okay, maybe 'kill' isn't the right term, but God, it feels like it when Riley Johnson purposely trips him in dodgeball--especially when they're on the same frickin' team. (Ethan's in second grade now, so he's allowed to use that word). (Not around his mom though, but his dad's okay with it). (However, the phrase 'shut up' is one hundred and ten percent off limits). And Cory Willson, frankly, is nearly confirmed to be the spawn of satan. He flicked a meatball at Ethan at lunch on the first day of school--picture day. And that stain took two separate washes to get out of his nice white polo. But Cory is simply a grain of salt on Ethan's plate of problems.  And Jacob Kronwell? Well, Jacob Kronwell is the twelve ounce, medium-rare steak and the side of mashed potatoes. He's probably the steamed vegetables in this metaphor, too. Jacob Kronwell is Ethan Dolan's personal Count Olaf. He is no spawn of Satan, he is Satan, with a capital S.  It started in kindergarten, and it hasn't stopped yet. If anything, it has only gotten worse. It began with exclusion, name-calling, and stealing his pencils without asking. Ethan could tune out being called a girl (and honestly, didn't mind all that much if he's honest). Ethan can't ignore Jacob when he steals his books and throws them into Mr. Franken’s yard, the most feared (and coincidentally--or not--most elderly) neighbor in all of Allentown. Ethan has had to fork over a lot of toys and allowances to pay the library fees. And it didn't stop there. Jacob figured out early on that being the largest kid in second grade included a lot of benefits, serious benefits. Not only was he the best at football (and baseball, and basketball, and dodgeball), but he was really good at wrestling. Ethan would know; he's been the test subject of Jacob's poorly rehearsed WWE moves since Jacob discovered America's most violent live-action soap opera. But Jacob's getting more creative every month, and now that he's seen A Christmas Story, Ethan's been forced to stick his tongue to a pole in the middle of a New Jersey winter and, subsequently, Ethan's been sent home with half of a (very bloody) tongue. Jacob wasn't generous enough to let his mutilated tongue heal before he made him do it again. Grayson's lucky--so lucky--that he can play football. And it is ironic--so ironic--that Grayson gets off scot-free because of it. It's a god blessed frickin' miracle that Grayson hasn't been mistaken for Ethan and been given a swirly yet. Or had a huge chunk cut out of his hair with scissors. Or been trapped in a locker. Ethan's practically defenseless; he doesn't have many friends (besides Grayson, Mom, Dad, and Cam) and he's pretty small, and Jacob knows that. That's what makes Ethan such easy prey. And he's created this stigma towards Ethan that's circulated through the whole school at this point. He overheard him telling Holly Brinkins that he picks and eats his boogers. No one wants to be friends with that kind of outcast, not even kindergarteners--and they actually pick and eat their boogers. Ethan's not too lonely though. He already has all he needs: his family, a colossal stack of fifth-grade-reading-level books (and he's only eight!), and Ginger, the frickin' best dog in the whole wide world. His mom let him pick out a dog from the local humane society so that he'd have his very own friend, and it was the best gift ever. So who needs friends or school lunch on most days? Jacob can eat two helpings all he wants, Ethan doesn't even like the school's mystery meat. - "What'd'ya wanna do when you get older, E?" Grayson asks as they hike up the alpine mountain in the forest behind their house. Ethan knows it's technically a hill, and not even a big one at that, but listen: he just discovered the word 'alpine' and it sounds kinda cool on his tongue, and he's got chicken legs. It feels like Mount Everest to him. "The King of Narnia, no doubt," he responds, a wheeze in his words and an ache in his calves. The walk to their hidden (and super cool) basin seems to stretch longer every single day. Grayson's cut out for this with his quarterback physique--even if it is only little league--but Ethan... Ethan's a little bit of a 'NAF.' Jacob told him so. "Ethan," Grayson grumbles, twisting his head towards him to pointedly roll his eyes. "I'm serious. Be a little more realistic." "I don't know Grayson, what do you want to be?" Ethan asks. "Tom Brady." "I see you're taking a pragmatic approach as well," Ethan scoffs, kicking a stray rock into the jungle. Sometimes Ethan sits outside in this forest of his and reads and pretends the bluejays that chirp are really some tropical parrots from Lord of the Flies. In all reality, he could sit inside next to their new parakeet, Gizmo, and get the same effect, but he's decided to permanently hate that bird ever since they had to get rid of Ginger. He's been bitter ever since. He doesn't care if Grayson can't control the fact that he's allergic. "See," Grayson sighs, halting in the dirt path, "when you say shit like 'pragmatic' you make me wanna to kick you. I don't even know what that means." Grayson and Ethan are not allowed to say words like 'shit', 'fuck', 'damn', or 'Jesus' yet, and certainly not phrases like 'ass-clown', but they’ve made a sworn truce to never tattle. They even spit and shook hands, so it's practically motherfuckin' law.  Ethan scowls at him. "Probably cause you're dyslexic." Grayson is already winding up when Ethan cowers, and Grayson knows to just give it up. Ethan deals with enough during the school year.  "E, I'm just saying. If you didn't say words like that, maybe you wouldn't get beat up. Well, at least, not by me," Grayson hurries out, knowing it's a sore subject, Ethan getting beat up. "Oh right, because that's the reason I get my ass kicked," Ethan grumbles, trudging past Grayson. Grayson is quick to catch up, following on Ethan's heels like a troubled puppy. "Look, all I wanted to know was what you wanted to be when you were older." Ethan knows Grayson doesn't mean to be mean. Ethan thinks most kids actually don't mean to be mean; it's sixth grade, everybody's already got their friend groups. It's not that anybody's excluding him at this point, it's just that no one's including him. People discarded the term 'cooties' a long time ago, and nobody thinks he picks and eats his boogers anymore. People just grew up together without Ethan. He's adjusted. He's alright. But Jacob's still a fucking asshole. He isn't violent anymore--he abandoned hair pulling, foot stomping, and locker stuffing around fourth grade when Ethan got to be as big as him. He's just mean. He leans up behind him and tells him that Chloe Krass will never like him back and that Grayson would never be friends with him if he wasn't forced to be. And it sucks, because it's true. It is absolutely true. He'd rather give Jacob his lunch for the rest of his life than have him stomp on his heart. Ethan's sensitive--he always has been. And you know what? It's dumb that people feed off of his sensitivity. It's fucking bullshit.  "Gonna make fun of me?" Ethan tests, giving Grayson a sideways glance and lifting his chin protectively. "No," Grayson insists.  "Alright. I... I wanna write books," Ethan admits, his chin lifted high in the air for some faux-confidence. He casts a glance at Grayson and finds that Grayson's face has disappointment painted all over it. Grayson's brows are drawn tight together, ready to chastise him, and he's opened his mouth to say, "Ethan," irritably.  "And if you don't like that," Ethan growls out quickly, "then you can go fuck yourself, Grayson." Grayson's shock is all Ethan needs to prove he's figured out a loophole to this drama, and Ethan speeds off towards the pond feeling a little bigger, a little stronger, and a hell of a lot tougher. - Ethan's underneath his comforter with his head buried under his pillow, his entire body numb. It feels like a dream, or maybe a nightmare, what happened today. "Mom, it wasn't his fault! You know how terrible Jacob is to him," Grayson defends in the kitchen, screaming frustratedly. "Jacob Kronwell's father is threatening to sue, Grayson. Do you think they're going to take the side of the kid who beat another kid to a bloody pulp? This is so much bigger than you think it is," his mom hisses back, slapping her palm against the granite table. "Lord knows what will happen. Your brother's definitely expelled. We can't afford to be sued." He can hear his mother's voice crackle with tears. He doesn't want her to cry. He doesn't even know how it happened. One moment he was washing his hands in the boys bathroom, the next he was being circled, the next he was having his head shoved into the bowl of a toilet for the hundredth time, and then a moment later he had Jacob on the ground with blood gushing from his nose. And he just kept kicking, and kicking, and kicking until he felt the principal dragging him out of the bathroom. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair, and the part of his brain surged out with how unfair his life in Allentown has been so far, and he just let go of all the anger pent up inside him. Jacob had been torturing him for eight years, and for what? Why? It was so fucking unfair. He knows what he did was wrong, but he doesn't really regret it. Not at all, actually.  "Mom, you don't get it! Jacob's the worst!" Grayson yelled still, crying himself. Everybody was crying and it was all Ethan's fault. "Your father's going to have to find a new job," his mom whined. "your brother's going to be expelled. I don't know what we're going to do. I don't know what we're going to do," she pressed on, her voice shaking.  Ethan felt like his chest was caving, or his stomach was twisting into an impossibly tight knot, or his skin was on fire. Jacob's always been right: Ethan's a fuck up, a waste of space, a piece of shit, trash, garbage, stupid, worthless. "Honey, it's going to be okay," his dad says from the kitchen. "I don't know what we'll do either. But it'll work out." "Are we going to have to change schools?" Cameron asks. "I only have a few months left before graduation, can we just stay? Please?" There's an awkward pause that probably answers the million dollar question: they are going to have to move, Cameron's going to have to graduate with a bunch of strangers, their dad's going to have to find a new job, their mom's going to have to open a different shop. All because of Ethan. All because of Ethan. - "So I just got off the phone with Scott Kronwell and he's decided to drop all charges if we get the hell out of dodge," Ethan's dad says the following Monday. It's just Ethan, his mom, and his dad in the kitchen for lunch; Ethan's been suspended for seven days. Not that he minds; he sort of sees it as an early spring break. Any time spent away from school is good for Ethan. "What's that mean?" his mom asks before she bites into her sandwich. "Well," his dad sighs, pinching his eyes together with his index and thumb fingers. "I told him how a bunch of teachers have been emailing me willing to testify against Jacob for bullying, which is pretty stupid if you ask me, because that means they saw how he was treating E and didn't do shit. I think it spooked Scott, because the guy basically threatened me. Said we have two weeks to move districts or he'll press charges. Such a dick. Ethan, I'm kind of glad you beat up his kid." "Sean," his mom scolds, her lips in a tight line. "Thanks," Ethan mumbles with a faint grin. If his dad approves, he really doesn't regret it. "Luckily, we're in a good place financially to just get up and leave. But no Bora Bora in December," his dad sighs, staring blankly at the table. Ethan knows Cameron's going to be pissed. First, she has to move schools with three months of high school left, then she gets robbed of her dream vacation? Ethan will be sleeping with one eye open. His mom sighs with both relief and grief and lays her head on her arms. "Ethan, no more fighting, okay?" she asks weakly, lifting her head only enough to stare at him with pleading eyes. He never wants to see his mom make that face again. "I won't," Ethan promises, and means it. He never wants to lose control like that again; it's been a week and he still can't remember a damn thing about what happened. He dislikes that side of himself the most--and Ethan hates just about every bit of himself.  - Ethan likes their new house a lot. He gets his own room, it's big, it's old, and it's probably haunted. It's perfect. There's a river in the forest behind this house, too. It's got a waterfall at the beginning, about a mile north of his house, and if he treks down the stream, he can find a cluster of miniature cliffs just waiting to be jumped off of. The river seems deep enough to swim in and venture through and it probably has a ton of cool rocks in the shallower parts. He and Grayson spend most of their summer there unless they're at the local beach like they are now. "I think the kids at our school are scared of you," Grayson says, skipping a slippery stone across the still lake. The boys watch it bounce once, twice, thrice before dipping beneath the water.  "So?" Ethan snipes. He's had to put a lot of work into being scary. He thinks he'll have frown lines by twenty-five if he keeps glaring at everybody. "Well, I don't think you're going to make many friends if you don't say anything to anyone," Grayson shrugs, plucking another rock from the sand and skipping it even farther than the last.  "Not like anyone wants to be my friend anyway," Ethan retorts. That was a stupid thing to say on Grayson's behalf. It seemed like people were afraid of Ethan the moment he stepped foot in Long Valley, but he's beginning to think that might be Ethan's intentions. He gets it; it's better to be feared than bullied, but the boys in their grade are getting more comfortable with him. Grayson's doing just fine. He's already decided he'll play football this coming fall and he's made a few friends through lacrosse, but he's never had problems making friends. "You could always hang out with me and my friends..." Grayson offers meekly. "I heard your friend Carter call me a mute back in May. No thanks," he nips. It's a lost cause, and all Grayson can really do is pray that someone, anyone will befriend Ethan. He's not asking for too much he doesn't think. Is he? 

​​​​​​-

Ethan slides into his seat at the kitchen island, Romeo and Juliet in his grip and a blanket draped around his shoulders. Grayson’s cooking up something terrible—but arguably edible—for them as an after-school snack, rushing around the kitchen far too much for Ethan to focus on the already complicated book. He had heard that girl (Y/N) mumble something negative under her breath when it came to Shakespeare, and he has to agree—his novels were complete garbage.

“So, how was the first day of school,” Grayson sing-songs sardonically, popping his hip out like their mom.

Ethan shrugs lamely, taking a sip of his water. “S’alright.”

“And what about that girl, (Y/N)?” Grayson prods, waggling his eyebrows. Ethan sputters on his water, coughing and encouraging Grayson’s teasing. With a smirk, Grayson continues, “She’s pretty cute, huh? She seems into you.”

Ethan glares at him once he stops hacking, wiping his mouth on the fabric of his blanket. “Not funny,” he says.

She is pretty cute—and pretty kind, too. He couldn’t get it out of his head all day, the way she just asked him about his tattoo—talked to him, with genuine interest and curiosity. And furthermore, she’s smart. He couldn’t believe she’d read the entire list too, willingly. Ethan read it over the summer out of pure boredom and because his dad wouldn’t stop harping him about it, but she seemed like she really enjoyed reading. And she wasn’t a snob about it either, she seemed a little shy and humble—unlike Tanya. Ethan’s already floated off into his own daydream of their first conversation, right in the middle of the hallway with her papers askew when Grayson calls out his name impatiently.

“What?” he grumbles.

“I’m serious dude, she’s into you! Heard her talking to her friends at lunch,” Grayson pushes, raising his eyebrows. “She’s got a crush on you. Big one, too.”

Ethan feels a blush creep up the back of his neck and he scratches it. It’s impossible. It’s simply impossible. ”Shut up," he says, his voice cracky.

Grayson pops a few pieces of bread into the toaster and pushes down on the handle. “No dude, I'm not kidding. Like, all her friends knew about it and they were like, teasing her and stuff. They wanted to hear all about her conversation with you."

Ethan's fighting to keep the shock off his face. A girl like that? Having a crush on a guy like him? It defied all laws of logic.

"Whatever," Ethan chokes out, feeling butterflies parade through his stomach. He doesn’t even know why he’s entertaining the notion with himself—this is frankly pure lunacy.

"She's hot dude. If you knew what was good for you, you would jump on that," Grayson shrugs nonchalantly.

Ethan's cheeks grow even hotter at his comment. With his mouth gaping like a fish’s, he sputters, "I-I'm not going to jump on that, what the fuck Grays-"

"That's not what I meant!" Grayson laughs, shaking his head. "I just mean, she's going to have a bunch of guys' attention. She does seem kind of quiet, though."

Defensively, Ethan thinks, what does that have to do with anything? But, in an effort to stay discreet, he just shrugs for the umpteenth time.

"Whatcha boys talking about?" Ethan's dad asks as he walks into the kitchen, surfing through the refrigerator for a good snack. A flash of heat decorates Ethan’s cheeks again and his eyes widen as he mentally prays, begs, pleads for Grayson to just keep his gigantic mouth shut on this one.

“Ethan’s giant crush,” Grayson teases, squinting smugly at Ethan. Behind his dad's back, Ethan gives Grayson the middle finger and mouths 'fuck you'.

"(Y/N), huh?" his dad replies easily, already well aware of who they’re talking about. Ethan’s jaw just about hits the floor. Grayson begins snickering loudly as he butters his freshly baked toast, and Ethan briefly weighs the pros and cons of vaulting himself over the kitchen island and just strangling him quiet. But before he can make a proper decision, his dad’s continuing. ”Ethan, she's one smart cookie. The whole list! Blew my mind," he says with a shake of his head.

Ethan doesn't note that he himself had also read the list, because he knows it's different. “Yep,” he mutters, tapping his fingers along the granite.

“So you have a crush on her?” his dad asks, peering over his shoulder from where he hovers in the refrigerator’s doorway.  

Ethan says, "No!" the same time Grayson says, "Yes."

"I'll keep that in mind, Kiddo," his dad says.

Ethan just whines, already so very aware of how humiliating it will be to have his dad prod at him. But deep down—deep, deep, deep down—he hopes by some miracle it'll be beneficial because it's true; Ethan would be crazy to not have a crush on her. He already knows he's in deep when he catches himself smiling for the thousandth time that day over their measly conversation in the hall.

-

Ethan’s never been so bored in his life. No, that isn’t true, and yes, it is incredibly dramatic, but he means it, okay? With Grayson at football camp for a week and Cameron working overtime at the ice cream parlor, Ethan’s feeling stir crazy while he stares up at his ceiling fan and watches it spin round and around and around and around. He knows he could go for a swim down by the riverbed, but he’s done that the last two days. And sure, he could shoot hoops in the driveway, but what’s the fun in doing that alone? It’s only been a day and a half since Grayson’s left, and he thinks he might just die before next Monday comes around. He’ll never admit how attached he is to him.

He huffs and he puffs and he sighs and he whimpers, but nothing comes to mind. He feels a frenzy in the pit of his stomach, one that’s begging him to just move, and he hops upright, ready to pace around his room if it means getting some of this energy out. He jumps up and down—even throws in a few jumping jacks just for some spice—but it’s useless; he needs interest.

His mind wonders off to (Y/N) again like it has every single hour of every single day since summer began. He wonders, for the gazillionth time, how she’s spending this unusually hot July day, what she’s doing, where she’s doing whatever she’s doing. Ethan realizes these thoughts only make him antsier because the idea of (Y/N) alone makes him nervous in general, so he smacks his forehead childishly to swat away the thoughts. She’s probably reading. But reading what?

Harry Potter, of course, unless she’s marking off the Composition reading list one by one. But who would want to do that on a day like today? He’s sure she’s spending it with a book in her hand and probably sunning at the local beach, her peers alongside her. She’s quiet, but not unsocial; the gaggle of girls she has are nice—well, nice enough—and murderously loyal, it seems. Ethan approves of her friend group most out of the entire student body; sometimes they say hello to him, and that’s more than 99% of the mass population would ever do for him.

The way she talks about those Harry Potters, Ethan would think they’re magic. Well, duh, he thinks. But they’re children’s books—what could possibly be so good?

Ethan knows what he’s going to do today.

He hauls himself to the local library, a good four miles away (which is more than enough for him to rid himself of some of this boyish energy he has), and checks out the first two books. Then he cracks the spine of the first one and begins reading and walking on his way home.

His first impression is terrible; he hates the Dursleys, and Harry is frankly quite bland. But before he knows it, he’s skimming the pages just to find out what happens next, and then he’s scrunching his nose bitterly at characters he hates and grinning whenever Hagrid is featured in a chapter. He’s decided to hate Severus Snape until his dying breath and he’s almost certain he’d be sorted into Slytherin and he has full intentions to name his first child Ron whether it’s a boy or a girl—and it’s only been five chapters. He gets it—he totally freakin’ gets why she loves these books so much. He feels like a kid again. He’s so lost in the plot that he brings his book to the dinner table and flips pages between forkfuls.

“Ethan!” his mom shouts, smacking her palm against the table.

Ethan jumps, startled. “What?” he asks innocently, his heart still racing from his abrupt interruption.

"Honey, I've called your name eight times!" she laughs, eyeing him disbelievingly.

"Sorry," he mumbles around a bite of steak, already turning back to his story.

"Nuh-uh, it's dinner time, put the book away," his mom warns, a quirk in her eyebrow and discipline clear in her voice. Ethan shrinks in his chair and dog-ears his page, reluctant but compliant.

"What are you reading?" his dad asks, tilting his head to try and make out the title. "Oh, Miss (Y/N)'s favorite book, I see," he smirks.

Ethan frowns as his jaw falls. "How did you-"

"Oh please, you two weren't all that quiet when you were flirting up a storm in my English class. I'm pretty sure I know just as much about her as you do," he snorts, shaking his head and shoveling in another bite of meat.

Ethan pouts into his plate, embarrassed and annoyed. So what if he wanted to read her favorite books? They were friends. He was allowed.

"Are you talking about (Y/N)?" Cameron pipes up from across the table, a smug smile on her lips.

"Save it, Cam," Ethan grumbles, feeling sour.

"So you don't want to hear all about her visit to the ice cream parlor today?" Cameron quips, speaking theatrically loftily. "Because her friends sure had a lot to say about you..."

Ethan ponders over whether he should play it cool or embrace his excitement. "What'd they say?" he squeaks quickly, sounding more desperate than he's ever heard himself.

His family chuckles at his eagerness and eyes one another. Normally this would really irk him, but he has bigger interests.

"Oh, just that she talks about you all the time," Cameron sings. "She didn't say as much as I said, though."

Ethan's blood runs cold in his system. "W-what did you say?"

"Oh, just that you never shut up about her and that you have a huge crush on her," Cameron smirks, squinting evilly at him across the table.

Ethan's read Dante's Inferno and he is absolutely, positively, 1000% certain that he has just entered the ninth ring of hell. Oh my God. Oh my God.

"Cameron!" he shrieks, hopping from his spot. He doesn't even realize he's grabbed his steak knife along for defense, but suddenly everyone's rising from their seats and demanding he calms down. Ethan feels hot tears spring in his eyes; his friend, his only willing friend knows about his stupid dumb crush. She's never going to talk to him again. She's never going to-

Ethan thinks he's going to pass out.

"Dude, chill out! I already told you she likes you too!" Cameron shouts back, her hands raised defensively.

Ethan's sensitive. His whole family knows it, but even they're shocked when his bottom lip begins to wobble and a tear slips down his cheek. He's so glad Grayson isn't here to see him cry like a fucking baby.

"E, c'mon," Cameron coaxes, looking at him with bewilderment. "It's not that big of a deal!"

"Easy for you to say!" Ethan screams, collapsing in his chair. She's going to hate him, she's going to hate him, she's going to hate him. She does some charity work, befriends the freak, and then she realizes she has to deal with his obsessive crush? Why wouldn't she walk away? This isn't even fair--he would have kept his mouth shut about his stupid crush for life if it meant keeping her as a friend. "She's my only friend!"

The dinner table falls quiet; Ethan's unpopularity has always been the elephant in the room. Ethan's scrubbing the hot tears away from his cheeks and grinding his teeth together to keep the emotion better at bay but it isn't any use; the thought of (Y/N) joining the army of people absolutely disgusted with Ethan is too much; he has to cry.

He knows Cam had good intentions; she's just being a sister. But what's done is done, and he doesn't think he can look (Y/N) in the eye ever again.

Cameron slips out of her chair and over to Ethan, cuddling his frame close to hers. Ethan cries into her shoulder pathetically, and he knows this is all so unusual for his family, seeing him weep so openly like this, but this is just too much. He doesn't know what he'll do when he sees her in a month. He thinks about homeschooling.

"Ethan," Cameron whispers. "She looked excited. She clearly likes you too."

Ethan shoves away at her shoulder, angry all over again. "Cameron, don't try and soothe the wound. The damage is done."

Cameron scoffs, stands, and folds her arms over her chest. "Okay Princess, I was being gentle, but now you're just being a prima donna. She likes you. Accept that you're likable."

"That's not even funny, Cameron," Ethan whimpers, another wave of self-hatred washing ashore.

"Honey," his mom coos, "(Y/N) would be very lucky to have a boy like you."

Ethan's getting angrier by the second, and he's about ready to stomp off with his plate and his book and his pride. The realization that his family has just seen him sob over a girl makes his cheeks melt with shame.

"And you would be lucky to have a girl like (Y/N)," his dad pipes up. "I'm telling you guys, her Scarlett Letter analysis was just out of this w-"

Cameron groans loudly, stuffing her face in her palms. "Would you shut up about her Scarlett Letter analysis!"

Lisa gasps beside her. "Cameron June! Do not speak to your father like that."

"Well seriously, he mentions it like every day!" she quacks back.

"Well, it's worth talking about! I mean really Ethan, that girl is going to win a Pulitzer Prize one day and I want her last name to be Dolan when she does," his dad urges, raising his eyebrow and biting a forkful of steak.

Ethan snorts goodheartedly, still anxious but exhausted from emotion more than anything. In an effort to escape the conversation and his family, he excuses himself and tucks himself in his room, ready to devour his book again.

He loves this book. He loves this book. It's maybe the best he's ever read. He's flying through the pages so quickly he has to reread some parts to really enjoy it properly. It's edging ten in the evening and he's just about to venture into the Forbidden Forest with Harry and Malfoy when he hears a soft knock on his door.

"Hey," Cameron mutters, peaking her head in.

Ethan folds his novel in his lap, prepared to have a forced heart to heart with his offender. "Mom send you up here?" he asks rhetorically.

Cameron cracks a grin and nods. "Yeah, but I wanted to say sorry anyway. So..." she trails off shifting between her feet. "...Sorry."

"Thanks," Ethan snorts.

Cameron hobbles over and plops herself on the edge of his bed, plucking the story from his comforter. "These are such good books," she nods, leafing through a few pages to get an idea of where he is in the plot.

"I know, I can't believe I've never read them. The way (Y/N) talks about these books, you'd think they hung the stars in the sky," Ethan murmurs, chuckling to himself.

Cameron purses her lips and gives him a sidelong glance. "She seems pretty cool, sort of shy, but sweet."

Ethan's brows furrow together. "I don't get why people always say that like it's a bad thing," he deadpans, encouraging her to rethink her statement. "She's shy, so what? She's really nice."

Cameron giggles and shakes her head. "Look at you, all defensive," she prods, ruffling his hair. Ethan's beginning to regret ever inviting her into his room. Cameron smiles more to herself and says, "I'm happy you have a crush, it's, er... healthy. And I think she's a good person to have a crush on--she's super cute."

Ethan laughs to himself and decides to let his guard down, if only for a moment. "Tell me about it."

Cameron's lips spread so wide her teeth peek out from under them. The two are quiet for a minute, and it isn't awkward. Ethan doesn't hate his sister, even if she ruined his only friendship.

As if reading his thoughts, Cameron stirs the pot some more. ”Ethan, she likes you, okay? And maybe you don't see that, but I know it," Cameron swears, grabbing his hand where it lays on the bed.

Ethan yanks it away, uncaring of his blunt rejection. "You don't know shit," he grouches.

"E," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Trust me, she does. I'm a girl, I know how they act. And you know what? Quit being so bitter. No one likes a pessimist."

I know, Ethan thinks, That's the problem.

"So suck it up, or... or you'll have to deal with my two friends, lefty and righty," Cameron threatens, waving her fists around 'threateningly'. Ethan thinks she needs a lesson or two on intimidation.

He chuckles, which clearly bruises her ego, because she begins tickling him torturously, and after half an hour of a tickling war, all is forgiven. Cameron eventually deserts him with his book and Ethan returns to his own little literature world, more excited than he’s ever been about a series.

-

Miraculously, when Ethan sees (Y/N) on the first day of school, she doesn’t hate him or his newly dyed purple stripe. She actually calls him hot, and Ethan knows that he’ll absolutely never get over it. He’s made it through a month of school with her by his side, the two as close as what he imagines a best friend would be like. He hasn’t had one besides Grayson, and he knows that that doesn’t count. But things are going alright, and he couldn’t be more thankful.

Well, except for every other person involved in his school. Since everyone had survived their first year of high school, they were much less skittish and much meaner. Ethan’s had comments thrown his way every single day since the start, and he’s even been shoved once or twice, just like he’s seen in movies. He’s seriously wondering if they’ll lock him in a locker soon. He hasn’t experienced that since eighth grade.

But Ethan isn’t going to let that happen. He’s bulked up over the summer—gained a few inches and more than a dozen pounds—and he knows how to fight. Obviously, bites a voice in the back of his head. You almost killed a kid.

Ethan worries about the day when (Y/N) finds that out, that he'd nearly been expelled for almost murdering Jacob Kronwell at the innocent age of thirteen. He shudders at the thought and stuffs it down, down, down and just prays she never finds out.

Career day is, by far, the least interesting school-fueled 'holiday' Ethan can imagine, and he's considering spirit day and all its pep-fest activities. Career day is just tedious, plain and simple. It annoys the faculty, it annoys the students, and infinitely more importantly, it annoys Ethan because he knows what he wants to do. He wants to write books, and Long Valley was seriously lacking world-renowned authors and best-selling novelists, which meant the other teachers, scrambling for anything to jam-pack his day, would tell him to visit the journalism booth or the English teacher division, which in itself was completely useless. His own dad was an English teacher--if he had questions, he could ask them over spaghetti tonight.   

And then there was that bit where he had to listen to certain people drone on and on about their solid, reliable plans of being 'The Next Michael Jordan' or 'The Next Tom Brady' or, most unrealistic of all, 'The Next Kim Kardashian.' Ethan seriously doubts that if they don't have a booth for creative writing, they won't have a booth for the profound artistry of face-tuning or the ambitious marketing strategies for FitTea Tummy. But that's just Ethan.

It's not like he's going to find out anyway; he plans to lock himself away in his dad's quaint English room for most of the afternoon, lower the lights, draw the blinds, and stuff himself in the beanbag tucked in the corner just for him and finish Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. He has been fervently reading them ever since he stole the first copy from the library, and he's really edging towards the climax of this one. He's dug it out every spare second, reading between class periods and during his lunch. They truly are very, very good books.

When he arrives at school that morning, it as chaotic as he had imagined; every student is swarming about the halls, jabbing about what professions they'll bore themselves with for a few hours. He assumes they'll be too preoccupied to bother with their typical harsh stares and obvious gossip, but he's hardly made it to his locker when Cole Eptom eyes him quizzically from a few slots down. "Hey Dolan," he calls, nodding his head.

Ethan debates momentarily over whether he should tune him out or give Cole the benefit of the doubt and engage in what could only be small talk or torture. Suppressing a sigh, Ethan turns to look Cole's way with a raised eyebrow.

"That pink hair's fucking queer," Cole sneers, shutting his locker and marching off with his monochromatic Career Day pamphlet and his enormous, inflated ego.

It shouldn't bother Ethan. He knew last night when he spontaneously bought a box of hot pink hair dye and painted the bleached tuff above his eyes that he'd get a few stares. He thinks he's seen Cole wear the same pair of basketball shorts every day for the past month, and Cole himself said that jeans would only be reserved for five star restaurants. Cole doesn't know shit about fashion, and furthermore, Cole's hideous. And mean. His opinion shouldn't bother Ethan.

It does.

Ethan's feeling sourer than normal today, with Career Day's boisterous chatter infiltrating his ears (even after he'd stuffed them with headphones and extremely loud music) and the unending sly and taunting comments about his hair. It felt like every pair of eyes that existed in this building were zeroing in on the fuchsia tuft blanketing his forehead.

Queer. Queer. Queer. Queer.

He heard Cole's comment over and over and over again in his head and had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands to keep his nausea at bay. What was he thinking, dying his hair bubblegum pink? What was he thinking? He wasn't. Ethan never thinks, he just does, and that is why he didn't have many friends. Impulsive and stupid were such a terrible combination. Ethan wouldn't touch himself with a ten-foot pole.

He's being harsh on himself, he knows he is, but he can't help it now. Fuck, it feels like his clothes don't fit him right, like they're too small and woven with needle-sharp fragments of glass. And it's hot in his sweatshirt, too warm and suffocating and it's boiling beneath the base of his neck, right where his collar starts, and only then does he realize just how tight it feels around his throat-

"Hello!" (Y/N) calls, looking bewildered. She smacks his arm as she sidles up next him by his locker. "How the fuck can't you hear me?"

Ethan's not one for cliches, but he almost immediately feels at least half of the weight burdening his shoulders float off, off, off at the sight of her. She's similarly cozied up in an oversized sweatshirt, the sleeves falling past the tips of her fingers, and he wonders briefly if her hands are cold. He hopes not.

"Sorry," Ethan mumbles, chewing on his lip. "I'm just... stressed."

Ethan thinks stressed might be a better word than anxious, because then she'd ask questions because she cares. She cares a lot about Ethan, and he knows it, and he feels the weight drift off his shoulders some more.

"Well, your hair looks great," she says, blushing terribly. Her cheeks are scorned a bright pink, nearly mimicking the neon tuft dangling above Ethan's eyes.

"No it doesn't," he grumbles, glaring up at the strands.

"No, it does," she pushes, though her voice is squeaky and weak. "H-Hot pink for a hot guy, right?"

And then her face is scrunching up, embarrassment etching her features adorably, and slapping her palm against her forehead. She looks tortured with her eyes screwed shut and her neck flushed a deep red, she's tucking in on herself with humiliation and Ethan's hardly able to contain his grin. He doesn't try, just lets his lips split over his teeth, big and wide, and chuckles.

"Hot pink for a hot guy," Ethan agrees, smirking with kind eyes down at her shielded figure.

She peaks through her fingers to glare at him and smacks his shoulder, and she looks so sweet and gentle. His heart begins thumping and thumping in his chest, so loud it drowns out all the snide comments he's had thrown at him this morning. He chokes back the feelings, whatever feelings these are, and shakes his head, leaning back against his locker confidently.

"Oh, fuck off," she mumbles, crossing her arms.

"You sound more and more like me every day," he laughs, poking her side teasingly. "Lemon girl."

"Not a chance," she replies loftily, rolling her eyes. Ethan loves this side of her more than anything; it is sound proof that she is completely comfortable around him, despite the way she acts so constantly nervous. "I actually wake up on the right side of the bed sometimes, which can't be said for you."

In return, Ethan rolls his own eyes with a smile. "Right," he snorts, "but today is clearly not one of those days."

"No," she groans, falling forward and pressing her forehead on the ball of his shoulder. "I feel so sick. Feel my forehead. Sympathize."

Ethan laughs outright and scrubs a hand down her back. "Poor (Y/N)," he simpers dramatically. "Don't tell me it's the plague."

She burrows her head deeper into his figure and he prays she can't feel the way his heart rate picks up considerably. "Just might be."

"Look, if you die on me, I'll have to befriend that Tara chick from Comp just to spite you in the afterlife," he says, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

With an absent-mind he realizes, uncaringly, that they probably look quite cozy to any of the students passing by in the hallway, with Ethan cradling her comfortably and her nose buried in his collarbone. He doesn't mind. He doesn't mind at all.

"You wouldn't dare," she threatens, her words muffled by the fabric of his hoodie. "I'd fuckin' haunt you until you died, and then I'd kick your ass from beyond the grave."

Ethan's glad she's tucked into him so she can't see the way he's biting back laughter.

"You know I could kick your ass, right?" she pushes.

"Of course," he complies.

All too soon she's uncurling from him, wiping her sleeve over her nose, and sniffling. "What career day things are you going to?" she asks, digging her pamphlet out of her backpack and scanning it.

"Dunno," he says, shrugging lamely. He knows he isn't attending any of them, but he's saving his breath. "What about you?"

She frowns bitterly and squints at the paper. "You're kidding me. There's a booth for Veterinary Acupuncture but not a single booth for creative writing?" She has disgust painted all over her pretty features when she says, "E, I'm sorry. That's fucked up."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" Ethan asks surprisedly.

"Cause, I know you wanna write when you get older and it's twisted that they don't have anything catering to that. I mean seriously they- oh my god, they have a booth for Clown Academy but not-!"

"How'd you know that?" Ethan asks with a furrow in his brow.

He can't ever remember sharing that with anyone, not besides Grayson, and that was years ago. He wouldn't share that with anyone. He'd never want to.

"Says right here on the brochure, Clown Academy, right above Counseling."

"No, not- not the clown academy thing, that I wanted to write."

She lifts a brow, puzzled. "You told me," she elaborates obviously. "That's why you got that little pen tattoo next to Grayson's birthday, right? You told me on the last day of school last year."

He did. He remembers it now, faint and vague, but he's gobsmacked she'd remember such a thing. Almost as gobsmacked as he is that he told her.

"Right..." he murmurs, scratching the back of his neck. He ducks his head and says, "Yeah, no, it's stupid that they don't have anything."

"Stupid's one word for it," she continues, shaking her head and glowering at the sheet she's holding. "Kind of bothers me too since I want to do something with writing."

"Really?" Ethan asks, his head popping up to meet her eyes. "You want to write? Like what? Like journalism? Or like books? Or-"

"Easy tiger, you're talking to a girl half drugged up on DayQuil," she giggles, quirking a brow.

Ethan feels himself flood with embarrassment once he realizes how ridiculously giddy he sounded just then. He just cares a lot, okay? And he bets her writing is simply stunning, he could probably read it forever if she let-

Ethan feels panic rise up in his throat and all through his chest when he realizes there's no prospect of "forever" with a girl like her. Ethan reminds himself that this friendship is a stroke of luck--practically a miracle, considering everyone else sees what Ethan sees in himself--and that he can't even pray for anything more than a high school friendship with her. And that's that.

(Y/N) is completely oblivious to his storm of emotions as she says, "Dunno yet, could be something with romance--I'm big on cheesy novels," with a giggle. "But I've got three more years of high school, maybe by then I'll have dreams of law or med school or being a swimming pig island guide. We'll see."

Maybe you'll be mine, Ethan thinks before he can stop himself. He nearly slaps himself in the face. Stop it, we just had this conversation, he thinks. And after thinking that, he realizes he's talking to himself. Freak.

"But anyway, I'm gonna drop my stuff off at my locker and then head to the gym, wanna walk me down?" she offers.

Ethan, as much as he would absolutely love even another second with her, realizes he must ditch her for that cozy book nook in his dad's room that'll host him all day. So, he says, "Would, but I've gotta piss and then talk to my dad."

Her nose scrunches adorably and he feels his stomach swoop. "Could you be less, uh, gross?"

"Never, you love it," he shrugs.

Momentarily, her friendly expression caves and she looks as though she's been caught in the act of something with her flushed skin and doe eyes. "Right," she squeaks. "Well, I'll see you around."

The two part ways and Ethan immediately jogs to his dad's room feeling the best kind of tired and excited to snuggle up under the blanket he's stashed under his dad's desk. He burrows himself in the bean bag and cracks the spine of his Harry Potter and gets to work, ignorant to the hours that slip by or the chaos that is most definitely ensuing in the gymnasium.

His dad stops in once or twice to check on him and backhandedly scold him for ditching such a fantastic and beneficial expo, saying things like 'It's such a shame kids don't attend such a well-stacked organization,' and 'the journalism department has some gifted staff members that have such fantastic brochures.' It is snooze worthy for Ethan, especially in comparison to the duel between Harry and Voldemort that he's reading about.

Around noon Ethan is forced to get up and stretch, moan and groan as the joints in his back pop and shift from his fetal position in his bean bag, because, for starters, he's absolutely famished and, for enders, he's just finished one of the best books he's ever read in his whole entire life. He can totally understand why (Y/N) gushes about them so much.

On his walk to the library, he thinks about the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios in Florida, and wonders how much two plane tickets and passes would be, just to see her face light up when she takes her first sip of butterbeer. Or better yet, when she flicks her newly purchased wand around in her newly purchased robes and jumps up and down like the kid she is at heart. Or, even better yet, how she'd spill every bit of knowledge she had about the books before, during, and after their little adventure, all throughout the plane ride there and all throughout the plane ride home. It's just too perfect--it is exactly what she deserves.

And then Ethan catches himself grinning almost wolfishly his smile is so big, and he shakes his head like a cartoon character trying to rid himself of these crazed thoughts, because there are so many complications. One, he is broke as can be, two, his mother is incredibly strict and would never let him whisk away his giant crush to paradise, some 15 states away, and three, he doubts (Y/N) would ever want to go with him. He imagines she'd want to go--just not with him. And that is understandable, so as his fantasy explodes with a mournful pop!, he hurries into the library and grabs the cleanest copy of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix and dashes out. Clearly, the smell of books--which he has already associated with (Y/N) for some unrelated reason--is too intoxicating for a clear mind.

After chomping away at the lunch he'd packed that morning, Ethan again nestles himself in his bean bag chair, ready to float from reality between the pages of what is undoubtedly his next favorite book. However, just as he's flicking open the cover, a tentative knock sounds at the door.

"Mr. Dolan?" calls a voice, one sweet like honey, from outside the room. "Mr. Dolan, you in there?"

Ethan quickly shoves the book underneath the bean bag before clearing throat and lowering his voice comically, "Come in."

"Mr. Dolan, I'm sorry to interrupt your lun-" (Y/N) stops dead in her tracks when she realizes there is no Mr. Dolan, well, no Sean by any means, but that Ethan's looking at her expectantly. "Where's Mr. Dolan?" she asks.

"He's right here," Ethan says, gesturing to his comfy figure in his comfy bean bag.

Her lips crack into a grin and she says, "No, you dummy, I mean your dad. Is he on his lunch break? And why are you in here? I was wondering why I hadn't seen you at Career Day."

Ethan shrugs lamely and surveys her; if he didn't think she looked like an angel, he would have thought she looked like hell: she had deep, dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin had paled even more throughout the day, the base of her nose scrubbed from rubbing it all day and her lips parted and cracked from mouth-breathing. Her clothes even look more rumply, like she's been curling up every spare second she's gotten.

"Go home," is all he says, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "You look like you're dying."

"Ugh, I am," she complains, folding her face in between her two palms. "I seriously think I might have something bad. My body's killing me."

"Then go home," Ethan encourages again, frowning sadly.

"Can't," she says, "got things to do."

Ethan rolls his eyes irritatedly, annoyed with her ambition when she is so obviously sick. "No, I'm not asking."

"Me neither," she shrugs. "Not like I can drive home anyway, I just have to tough today out."

"Well... well, don't go back to career day, the last thing you need is all that activity. And you could get a lot of people sick..." Ethan mumbles, fumbling for a decent excuse to just get her to stay in this room with him so he can ensure she doesn't die or something. Obviously.

"I'll be fine, I don't have another option," she says, sniffling.

"Hang out in here!" Ethan blurts, his words loud and unpredicted. "I- I mean, you can take the bean bag, and I'll lay on the floor, and I can set up a movie on the SmartBoard or something, okay? You shouldn't deal with all that- that activity for Career Day, and like I said, you could still get people sick."

She's watching him with amusement, and Ethan feels his embarrassment grow. But soon enough, she's asking still, "And what about you? What if I get you sick?"

Ethan could not care less about her getting him sick. He doesn't think he's ever felt so apathetic about a risk. "I'm just one person," he defends weakly.

"But an important one," she singsongs, but she's already working her way over to his beanbag. "But I'm sold. Put on a John Hughes movie--Pretty In Pink!" she cries, clapping her hands. "Just like you! Because of the new, pretty and pink hair you've got. Get it?"

Ethan's almost forgotten his latest hair alteration, and chuckles. She thinks he's pretty in pink?

As he's clicking away at the computer and setting up her film of choice, she asks, "Hey, is this your Harry Potter book?!"

He spins around to find her holding the copy he had stuffed under the beanbag and feels nervous for some reason. He hasn't told her he's reading the series, because he likes the way she explains things when she thinks he doesn't already know them, like a really excited kid. So, he says "Psh, no!”

As if that wasn't the shittiest way to tell a lie.

It doesn't seem dishonest to her, because she says, "Ugh, E, you gotta read them. Whoever was reading this has great taste."

"Not much of a reader," he snorts sarcastically, finally starting the film and heading back over to her to curl up on the floor.

"Whatever," she laughs, patting his head--too kind to ever smack him hard enough. "I'll read them to you. You have to find out how great these books are."

Ethan thinks about how wonderful that would be, her reading to him, and feels his heart flutter. Ethan Dolan is a fifteen year old boy who has just felt his heart flutter. He knows he's in much, much too deep. "Alright," he squeaks. "I'm holding you to that."

And then they watch the movie, and Ethan isn't even bothered when she coughs through half of it.

-

“Is it weird to get (Y/N) a present?” Ethan blurts as he waltzes into Grayson’s room, opting to pace back and forth anxiously instead of seating himself on his bed.

Grayson yanks out of one his earbuds and cocks a brow. He was all snuggled up under his comforter and enjoying the ache that comes with an overstuffed belly after Thanksgiving, ready to doze off any minute. He would be annoyed with Ethan, but he looks like a nervous wreck as he walks back and forth across his rug, and Grayson really likes (Y/N). Not to mention, he knows how much (Y/N) means to Ethan, as a friend and as the love of his life, so he knows this is serious.

“Um…” Grayson mumbles, processing his question.

“Um means no, right?” Ethan squawks, halting in his footsteps. “Right? I just- I know that it’s dumb, but listen, I have the perfect idea and-“

Grayson laughs in disbelief and shakes his head. “You’ve got it so bad.”

“I know!” Ethan growls viciously, and Grayson’s almost scared. “I know, okay! But that’s not what this is about!”

Grayson isn’t trying to be rude, he’s just stating the obvious. Anyone that’s almost in tears over stress because of a Christmas present—with the holiday still a month away—clearly cares a lot. Ethan’s never bought Christmas presents for anyone else but Gray, Cam, their parents, and their grandparents before, so this is a whole new milestone for him. But, Grayson realizes nobody else has ever really cared about Ethan. “Okay, okay,” Grayson says softly, removing his other earbud and folding his hands on his lap. “What’s your idea?”

Ethan whines and scampers over to his bed, looking more vulnerable than Grayson’s ever seen him in his life. Once Ethan’s seated criss-crossed, he takes a deep breath he begins rambling again. “So, her favorite books ever are the Harry Potters, and JK Rowling just came out with limited house edition versions of the Philospher’s Stone. I just think that’d be so perfect for her—a limited edition of her favorite book. But here’s the problem, I don’t know what house she’s in! And I can’t ask, because if I ask then-“

“Well, how about I ask her?” Grayson offers, fighting a crooked smile off his lips.

“No,” Ethan says, shaking his head. “No, this needs to be a complete surprise. You’ve never even talked about the Harry Potters with her. I just need to get them all.”

Grayson blinks in shock. “Get them all? That’s your solution? E, that’s like at least $80.”

“$100,” Ethan mumbles around the nail he’s nibbling on. “Not including shipping and handling.”

“$100! You can’t drop $100 on (Y/N)’s Christmas present!” Grayson stammers, bewildered and gobsmacked.

“Well, why not?” Ethan grumbles, glaring at his lap.

“Ethan,” Grayson breathes, his face collapsing in his hands. “Why do you want to spend $100 on her Christmas present?” Ethan shrugs his shoulders lazily, distancing himself from Grayson emotionally. He can practically see the guards going up. He sighs as he says, “I’m not judging bro, I just want to know.”

“She’d just really like it,” Ethan elaborates, as if that wasn’t obvious.

“She’d probably really like a bar of chocolate, Ethan. Anything you get her she’ll love. Do you really want to make a dent in your bank account like that over some girl?”

Grayson can see he’s struck a nerve, and he knows just how before the words even come out of Ethan’s mouth. “She isn’t just some girl, are you serious? This is my best friend. This is my only friend.”

Grayson scratches at the back of his neck. “Is this to make her like you? Do you think she’s going to like if you buy her stuff?”

It came out wrong. It came out wrong, but he still meant it. What does Ethan think he’s doing?

“Fuck you, Grayson,” Ethan bites out before hopping off the mattress and stomping towards the door.

“Bro, come back here, you know that’s not what I- Ethan, stop being a bitch,” Grayson grumbles, sliding out from his bed and chasing Ethan into his own room. The walk is uncomfortable with Grayson’s overstuffed gut, but he knows he needs to tend to Ethan’s giant, sensitive heart. Upon arrival, Grayson finds that Ethan’s actually locked the door on him. He knocks once, twice, three times without an answer before he just bangs his head against the wood. “You’re such a child.”

“And you’re such a dick,” Ethan snarks from the other side.

Ethan knows he’s overreacting, but Grayson knows better than to say things like that; he’s done it before and received the same treatment. It’s not fair that everyone always treats her like she’s average or disposable—Ethan would buy her the world if he could, and Grayson damn well knows it. Moreover, Ethan doesn’t expect anything in return from her; not a gift, not a relationship, not even a thanks. He just loves that he has someone to care for, even platonically. He’s never had this kind of opportunity. He’s never had this kind of friendship.

“Look, I’m sorry about calling your friend, er, ‘some girl’. And I’m sorry for the other part, too. But seriously E, do you really want to spend all that money? You don’t even have a job. This is like, birthday money and stuff…” Grayson tries, wincing.

“Yep,” Ethan replies flatly.

Exhaling a deep sigh, Grayson shakes his head against the wood. “Have you made up your mind?” he asks rhetorically.

Ethan doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.

After a pause, Grayson sighs once more. “I’ll grab your wallet.”

-

“Ethan,” his dad calls, stomping his feet off of snow on the welcome mat in the foyer. “Gotta gift for ya.”

Ethan frowns where he sits on the couch with Grayson by his side, a pair of festive elf hats adorning both of their heads for Christmas day. “Me?” he asks incredulously, spinning in his spot.

“Is there another Ethan living in this house?” his dad asks with an eye roll before tossing him the package. It’s about as big as a shoebox, if not a little bigger, and there’s a glinting metallic red bow on the face of its white wrapping paper. He knows immediately that it’s from (Y/N) somehow.

He feels nervous. What if she was returning the books for some reason? It wasn’t heavy enough for that, but maybe she kept her preferred house and returned the rest… or maybe it’s just a letter softly letting him down, that his present was out of line and that she’s seen through his lies this past year and that she knows for certain he’s in love with her. Ethan let’s his mind whirl around torturously for a full minute.

Grayson can tell what Ethan’s thinking as he watches his brother stare at the wrapping paper with wide eyes and an anxious frown, so he says, “Ethan, just open the damn box.”

“Grayson!” his mother chastises from the couch across the coffee table. “No swearing! And on Christmas too?!”

Grayson barely holds back his eye roll. “Sorry, but look at this idiot. He’s about to have an anxiety attack over a gift!”

His snarky comment awakes Ethan from his terrible daydream and Ethan elbows his side. “Shut up,” he growls. “I’m going upstairs to open this.”

Grayson leans in close so his family can’t hear him. “What, think it might be lingerie?” he snickers.

Ethan’s cheeks burst with color and he gapes. “No!” he shouts, pushing off the couch and running to his room, ignoring the way Grayson cackles maniacally behind him.

He seals himself away in his space, hops into his bed and flicks on his bedside lamp. His hands are shaking with the suspense of it and he has to tell himself to calm down twice. Then he counts to three and begins tearing at the paper, shredding it and splitting open the tape that boxes it.

It’s simple, but so perfect. He grabs the plush T-rex tucked inside, chuckling when he realizes it’s a token from their conversation on the last day of freshman year in advanced English. He squeezes it to his body and hugs it so tight it hurts.

Then he pulls out the giant box of sour patch kids candy and laughs at the note, ‘For a sweet n sour kind of guy.’ Then he finds two bookmarks, one with lemons patterning the front and the second is just blank with a polaroid the two of them took at their local bowling alley taped on top. He feels his throat begin to choke up with emotion and his heart’s beating really, really fast.

Lastly, he digs out the two prompt books from the bottom with stickers that boast ‘Over 2000 prompts inside!’. On the cover of the first is a sticky note that says, ‘Hopefully you can find some inspiration in here.’

And beneath it all is a tiny note on three-holed paper written in blue ink.

Merry Christmas Ethy. Never make me cry like that again, okay? I almost sobbed to death. You mean the world to me and are a great friend. Give the fam a hug for me.

Ethan’s crying. He’s crying so hard that he thinks he’ll never stop because she is such a good friend. She’s too good for him, and she doesn’t know it, and he never wants her to figure that out because he wants her for life. Friend, girlfriend, whatever. It doesn’t matter as long as she’s around him.

His mom knocks on the door gently from outside his room, hearing his wails all the way from the staircase. “Etee?” she calls. “Can I come in?”

Ethan makes a noise of approval through his choking sobs, and she enters the room, fearing the worst.

But then she sees him hugging a stuffed animal undoubtedly gifted by (Y/N) and her heart swells three times its size. She is so proud of her Ethan, and she is so proud of her (Y/N) now, too. She loves that girl like her own.

Ethan’s mom sneaks over and wraps him up in a hug and squeezes him once because she loves him, twice because she loves his best friend, and three times because it’s Christmas, and makes a mental note to find a gift for (Y/N) next Christmas, too.

-

Entering the final weeks of his junior year, Ethan's beginning to relax, finally. Him and (Y/N) have been best friends for over a year now and spend just about every waking minute together, going to movies every weekend, bowling every Tuesday, swimming in the summer, sledding in the snow; the two could have fun in a cardboard box at this point. They know each other like the back of their hands, and they've grown so close even Grayson's beginning to get jealous of the amount of time they spend together. But Grayson--and everyone else--knows that it is only because they are so blindly in love with one another. He'll let them be ignorant for a little bit longer.

Ethan's situated in the rigid reigns of his unassigned-assigned seat in the very back of his college interpersonal communications class, pencil in hand, brows sloped together and feeling low as he ever could.

The assignment was simple. He was confirming or denying personality traits and ranking them on a scale from one to ten with one being inaccurate and ten being suitable. For example, Ethan's eyes hardly ghosted over the phrase '3. I am sociable' before his pencil darted over to the one column and jotted down the number 3 since the phrase 'sociable' was practically an antonym for 'Ethan Dolan'. The assignment is generic enough, but for some reason, Ethan feels targeted. He supposes he should put number '4. I am paranoid' under column eight.

Ethan's hard on himself. And he thinks that, after placing '6. I am revolting' under column nine, he should probably lighten up, but he agrees, okay? And he is anxious, he is argumentative, he's immature and impatient and cowardly. The further he skims down this list, the more cons he agrees with. However, there's a fair balance of disagreement: he certainly isn't affectionate, charming, or humorous and he certainly is not, er, 'happy-go-lucky'. He's being honest with himself--and that's what this activity is all about.

But it hurts. Ethan's foot is bobbing so fast against the rung of his chair his whole desk is practically vibrating and his throat feels tight and he feels cold, cold and cold-hearted. Before long, he's listing phrases like '11. I am snobbish' under category ten without a second thought.

'16. I am sensitive.'

Ethan's pencil hovers. He isn't sensitive. He is not sensitive, not anymore; his skin has thickened over the years, hardened with scars by the paper cuts of snide remarks and deep gashes of his own cruel thoughts. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even cried. His heart was practically dry ice at this point.

That's not true. You are still weak. You are still so weak.

Ethan feels his own insult slide down the length of his spine, cold and humiliating and it leaves his cheeks burning because it's true. He doesn't cry and that doesn't mean shit. He is still pathetic and lowly and he knows it, he knows better than to lie to himself like this. There is no place for dishonesty in his own mind--it is quick to reprimand him. He puts the number 16 under ten.

'17. I am lovable.'

His eyes pinch shut, stinging with tears, and he groans inwardly, aching with the pure cruelty of it. He can't think of a less applicable phrase. He ditches the one column completely and creates an entirely new scale, zero, and writes 17 twice.

He's hardly noticed that he's hunched over, his hand buried in his mop of hair and protectively shielding his vulnerable, tearful eyes. He's tucking in on himself until he's small, cowering under the weight of his thoughts. It hurts. It hurts.

He doesn't know where this wave of emotion came from, but he's digging his nails into his palm in order to distract him enough while the teacher's speaking.

"Now, the second part of the assignment is to see how other people rank you. I'll hand out a second copy and you will give it to them and give them the same instructions with you in mind," Ms. Stogerson says as the bell chimes overhead. "Bring it back tomorrow!" she cries as people file out of the room.

Ethan is last to leave with a heavy heart and a head full of heavy thoughts. He's practically sleep walking to his locker, his mind's so far away, and he jumps when (Y/N) puts a hand on his arm.

"Hey, you okay?" she asks gently, her eyebrows slung together with worry.

No. "Yeah, course," Ethan mumbles, staring down at his sheet littered with personal, personal insults. "Listen, um, you busy during study hall?" he asks.

She shakes her head no and waits for him to continue.

He sighs and nibbles on his lip. "Could you help me out with an assignment maybe?"

"Of course," she smiles easily. Ethan was dreading her response. He really, really, really doesn't want to do this. "What's the assignment?" she asks as he twists the lock on his locker.

"Um," he drags on, "it's kind of a weird one. You're supposed to like, rank me. Well, okay," he grumbles, ducking his head into his cubby for a moment of privacy. He sucks in a deep breath and closes his eyes, hoping the tears that still well in his eyes will soak back. "It's, uh..."

"Ethy? You okay? Seriously," she pushes, grabbing his forearm where it holds the rail of his door.

"Yeah," he tries, his voice cracking. He clears his throat and then steels himself. "Yes, I'm fine," he says with more certainty. "Basically, you have to rank my character traits from one to ten, with one being inaccurate, five being average, and ten being accurate. So like... so for instance, if the sentence was 'I am athletic', you'd rank me at like, a one since I'm not athletic at all. Get it?"

She squints at him and nods, tipping her head towards the classroom so they can begin walking. "Yeah, I get it, but I wouldn't rank you at a one. You might not be in sports, but I'm pretty sure you could kick someone's ass, and I saw you in gym class; you singlehandedly won capture-the-football for your team. I'd put you at like, an eight," she shrugs.

Ethan hadn't considered that. He really wasn't all that unathletic when he really thought about it. He frowns at his sheet. "Well... alright. But, you get it then?"

"Yeah, sounds like a piece of cake," she says and snags the sheet out of his hand.

Once they seat themselves in their study hall, (Y/N) breaks out her pencil and begins jotting down on the worksheet, and Ethan's almost sweating he's so anxious from what she'll say about him.

He knows she won't cut him down, she never has. But this is pure honesty, this says everything about what she thinks of him, how highly she sees him; it's as if he's asking her each question. Do you think I'm honest? Do you think I'm unique? Do you think I'm approachable? And she'll answer him.

It's an exercise based on self-evaluation and the mirror theory, and Ethan's supposed to find out if he sees in himself what others see in him. But he doesn't care what people think about him, he just cares what she thinks about him.

"Are you almost done?" Ethan mumbles, fidgeting with his hands.

She gives him a sidelong glance and a grin. "Yes, Mr. Impatient. Just... one... more. There," she says, sliding the sheet his way.

Ethan can't believe it. He really can't believe any of it. "You ranked me as a 10 on the attractive scale?" he gapes, bringing the paper close to his face to see if his vision had deceived him.

When he turns to look at her, she's blushing terribly but shrugging nonchalantly, as if she doesn't care if he knows that she thinks he's a ten. Ethan could throw a party.

"And another ten for charming? And a ten for humorous? And a nine for kind? Are you out of your mind?" he snorts, scanning her list. "Those are ones and twos on my list."

She blinks at him with horror. "How?" she asks incredulously.

"Charming? When am I ever charming?" he pushes.

"Er, well..." she says, avoiding his eyes entirely.

"And when am I funny?" he asks still.

"Oh, you know that you're funny, don't be stupid," she deadpans. "You make me laugh all the time. Let me see your list." Before Ethan can stuff it in her binder, away from her reach, she snags it and begins reviewing it studiously. Her frown deepens and deepens and her eyes get the look as if she's just seen animal abuse first hand, and Ethan hates it. He hates her sympathy, he hates her need to console him because he doesn't need it. He doesn't need sympathy.

"Ethan, how can you even say you're snobbish? When the fuck are you snobbish?" she mumbles, shaking her head.

"Well, I don't talk to anyone in this school besides you. I think that's kind of snobby of me," he shrugs, chewing on a hangnail.

"Ethan, you don't talk to anyone because they're all a bunch of assholes. I would be concerned if you did talk to them. Give me that," she says, grabbing his pencil from his hand and erasing his work. "We're doing this together."

"Why are you erasing revolting? That belongs in column ten!" he cries, grasping for the pencil.

"You're out of your mind, you are anything but revolting," she growls back, still erasing. "Now, why do you think you're irresponsible? You have a 4.0, Ethan."

He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging his shoulders lamely. "I don't know, I forgot to lock my locker one time and Kyle Henz sprayed shaving cream all over my books. If I'd remembered to lock it, that wouldn't have happened, you know?"

(Y/N)'s jaw clenches next to him and her knuckles turn white where they hold the pencil. "Well, Kyle Henz is a piece of shit, and that isn't your fault. You're responsible. It's going in column eight. I'll admit you're insecure, I'll leave that in column ten, but you shouldn't be. You are... so great," she says, shaking her head like she can't believe anyone like Ethan would be hard on themselves.

She makes him want to not be so hard on himself. She makes him want to believe in himself like she believes in him.

They go down the list until Ethan actually agrees with her on some. He doesn't know why he thought he was insensitive or bossy or dishonest because he just isn't. He is plenty of insulting words, but he isn't any of those, or half of the words he said he was an hour ago. (Y/N) makes an effort to give him an example with each one, why he's polite, why he's kind, why he's interesting, and it lifts his spirits higher than they've been in a long, long time.

"Why'd you pick me for this assignment?" she asks as the hour draws to an end.

Ethan doesn't really know. It's not because she was the first person he saw, because he would have picked her anyway. After a moment, he chews on his lip and murmurs, "You know me better than anyone else."

"Even Gray?"

"Even Gray," he nods.

She grins big at him and nods to herself. "Well, I know you better than anyone else, and look at what I think of you," she says, tapping to her sheet full of positives.

Ethan guesses that's one way to look at it.

They share a look, a look they share too often, a look that makes Ethan think that maybe she feels the same way too, a look that makes him believe that someday they could work out. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, and the bell chimes overhead, and the moment's lost to reality.

"See you after school," she says to him breathlessly.

All Ethan can do is nod and watch her hurry out of the study hall room.

-

Ethan never does things right for too long. A year and a half of friendship was much, much more than he could have ever asked for, so he doesn't know why he's shocked. He doesn't know why he's even hurt.

He walks into his home robotically, his feet carrying him to his parents' room without him even knowing it. He doesn't even register that he's there until he hears his mom's gasp and feels her hands cradling his face. "Ethan Grant, how did you get that?" she asks.

He knows she's talking about the black eye that's marking the left half of his face, and he tries to answer her, but all that comes out is, "I think I lost (Y/N)."

He needs to talk about this. He needs to cry about this. He feels like something is eating him alive, starting with his heart; his heart, it hurts so bad.

"Honey, what do you mean? What do you mean you think you lost (Y/N)?" his mom asks, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone and staring up at him with worry all over her features.

He just falls on her, lets her hold him like a child, and thinks about the times they used to go to the library and read together. He misses that innocence, that simpleness right now. He doesn't want to be so sad. Ethan is shaking with sobs and chokes on his own cries and sniffing loudly, trying to see through his blurry vision and calm down. He begins to hyperventilate and his mom leads him out into the living room, wrapping him in a blanket and attempting to console him, but it is very little use because Ethan is heartbroken.

He is absolutely heartbroken.

-

Ethan can hardly open his eyes the next morning, they're so puffy. He's still on the couch, and his mom is still by his side. He blinks blearily and looks around to find himself draped in a thick comforter and a cup of tea on the coffee table, still steaming. His mom looks as sad as him, and he can feel the disappointment radiating off of her. Whether it's from him fighting or him losing (Y/N), he doesn't know, but he hates it. It feels like another weight on him.

She cards her fingers through his tousled bangs and smiles sadly at him. "There's a delivery for you," she whispers to him, "from (Y/N)."

The name alone sends his heart jolting, and tears flood his eyes uninvited. He sniffs and nods, sitting up from his spot and propping himself up on his elbows. His mom leaps from her seat and pads into the foyer, her slippers scuffling on the marble floors, and returns soon enough with a laundry tote overflowing with books.

Ethan's brows furrow on his forehead, but he doesn't ask any questions. She simply drops it at his feet and leaves him alone with it.

Ethan wipes his eyes with the back of his fist and stretches a sore arm out to grab the first book within reach. He picks up the Great Gatsby and finds a sticky note on the cover. 'Here's something you haven't told me'.

Ethan reads and rereads it a few times, but it doesn't make any more sense the sixth or seventh time. So, he just cracks the spine and opens it to the first chapter. Ethan doesn't know what he's expecting, but nothing’s out of the ordinary for the first three pages and after a while he forgets what he's looking for and just reads instead. He's convinced he'll never hate a character from a first impression more than he'll hate Daisy Buchanan, and his annoyance grows bigger and bigger as he keeps reading. He figures he ought to just finish the chapter--even though he knows how it'll end--now that he's started it, and as he flips to the final page, he's glad he did. He skips over the paragraph and just reads the scribbled pen at the bottom in the space beneath the last paragraph.

I think Ethan would hate Daisy. Well, I hate Daisy. I hate her so fucking much.

Ethan laughs outright, even if it comes out a little strangled with his hoarse voice, at (Y/N)'s bluntness. She was shy and reserved in real life, but in her own fictional world, she was as bold as anyone he’d ever met.

I can't even figure out how Ethan made it past the first chapter with how shitty it is. I feel like his dad told him to read it, so he did, and he just ended up loving it, because if I didn't know the great reputation this book had, I would throw it in the garbage after the first chapter. I hate Daisy Buchanan. She’s a ditz.

She's absolutely right; Ethan only read it because his dad told him to. And he hates Daisy, he hates her so goddamn much from the start. But he's giddy with the realization that (Y/N) probably writes something at the end of every chapter, and begins leafing through the pages to find out what more is on her mind. On most pages after that, he finds highlighted quotes and margin notes and even little doodles, all pertaining to her thoughts on the book and what she thinks Ethan thinks, and most of the time, they're spot on.

After a while, he discards The Great Gatsby and grabs The Perks of Being a Wallflower and finds that it's similarly stained almost completely in highlighter and pen ink. Every single book in the overflowing laundry tote is well-worn, well-read, and well-marked. Ethan realizes after the eighth book that these are all of his favorites.

It's well into the evening when he stops searching each book and reading all the thoughts she took the time to scribble down. She knows him better than anyone in the world, better than Cameron, better than his dad, better than Grayson, better than his mom. She knows him better than anyone and she still loves him. She loves him like a friend, and maybe even more, and Ethan figures now is a better time than ever to just spit it out--he is so fucking in love with her, and he's going to tell her.

-

It's been six months and a day since that god-awful day, and six months since (Y/N) became Ethan's. That's one hell of a silver lining.

Her, Ethan, and the other four Dolans are seated around the Dolan's porch with oversized pumpkins in their laps and carving tools in their hands, sipping hot cocoa and eating recently decorated sugar cookies. Ethan can't think of a better way to spend his Halloween.

It means a lot to him because (Y/N) was invited to at least three parties and her friends were threatening to kidnap her if she didn't show up herself, and she turned them all down. She knows it's Ethan's favorite holiday, and she knows he doesn't like parties. She wouldn't have wanted to go without him, anyway.

"Ethy, pass me the scooper," she demands, making grabby hands at his toolset.

Ethan passes it along to her without a snarky comment because he's overjoyed. Nothing can bring him down.

"(Y/N), did we ever tell you about the time Ethan cried over you at the dinner table?" Cameron smirks, glaring smugly at Ethan.

Ethan lied. This can definitely bring him down. "Why no," (Y/N) drawls, grinning toothily, "you haven't Cammy. Fill me in."

"Absolutely not," Ethan growls. He raises the kitchen knife next to his pumpkin only half-jokingly. "Shut it."

But Cameron has no interest in keeping quiet. In fact, she's inviting everyone to chime in if they so please. "Dad? You remember that? Mom?"

"Of course," his mom giggles, her eyes lighting up happily. "Sean, you remember that right? Right after Cam met her at the ice cream parlor?"

"Remember that (Y/N)?" Cameron laughs, reaching over to grab her arm in delight. "When you and all your friends stopped in and we met? Well I told Ethan that I told you that he had a crush on you, and I swear to God I've never seen the kid cry so hard in my life, he was sobbing," she snorts, leaning forward as she wheezes.

"Oh my God, and he was reading the first Harry Potter and we were teasing him and he was getting so upset," his mom joins. Ethan's fuming. He's fuming!

"Stop," Ethan barks, glaring down at his pumpkin.

"That's not the first or last time he'd cry over you, either," Grayson scoffs, shaking his head. "When he picked out your Christmas present sophomore year, he was almost in tears he was so nervous."

Ethan's about ready to just leave, head inside and lock himself in his room with the way his girlfriend's giggling along and everyone's mocking him and his sensitivity. He opens his mouth to shout something obscene, but (Y/N) starts talking. "That's definitely not as embarrassing as the times that I've cried. When he first got that lavender stripe in his hair, my friends told me some other girl was going to snatch him right from me and I went home and sobbed to my mom," she laughs, covers her mouth and shaking her head. "She literally had to give me NyQuil because I cried all night."

His whole family bursts into a chorus of laughter; his dad's holding his stomach, his mom's wiping tears, and Cameron and Grayson are staring at each other with complete mirth.

"A-and then," she continues, her giggles breaking up her words, "on the last day of school freshman year, I cried all night long because I wasn't going to see Ethan for three whole months. I didn't even know him yet!"

Ethan finds himself chuckling deep in his chest too with a big wide grin, and he clears his throat.  "You're kidding," he snorts, jabbing her shoulder with his elbow.

"No, I'm not," she says with a giggle, shaking her head. "I think I cried like, a dozen times over you. Just too in love, I guess," she smiles sweetly.

Ethan doesn't know why he was so worried about being embarrassed around her--he knows she'll never judge him. And he knows she loves him too, so what's his problem?

The laughter dies down after awhile and everyone returns to their pumpkin carving, debating over the best slasher horror movie and which one they'll watch later. Ethan knows he'll be so scared he can't sleep, but that doesn't actually bother him all that much. His reality's so much better than any of his dreams, anyway.

-

Ethan's graduated. He is finally fucking graduated. He's never felt so good in his life.

He feels like someone's uncuffed his handcuffs, untied his reigns, or some other analogy for breathing a fresh breath of freedom. He can't remember anything ever being so physically relieving, outside of the moment (Y/N) confessed her love for him too. On second thought, there is something better than graduation, and it's standing in his driveway.

That thing is plopped on the pavement, with its limbs stretched out and its bare feet tickling the sidewalk at the end with a baby blue bit of chalk in its hand, writing in bubble letters 'WELCOME!'. Its got its tongue poking out of its lips and its hair is falling sideways around it and it’s looking absolutely stunning in its best sundress. Ethan can't believe he ever thought, even dramatically, anything as simple as graduation was as good as it.

And it, of course, is (Y/N). She's already spent the morning hanging streamers around the garage and setting up poster boards of Ethan and Grayson with Lisa and carrying out gigantic tupperware with large portions of food and sneaking a cupcake (Ethan saw) out of the dessert stand. And all for a graduation party that isn't even her own.

Ethan is anxious--which is a phrase that is often said and even oftener felt by him. But that does not mean he does not feel any less nauseous, any less dizzy, or any less on edge than he has all those times before; if anything, he is feeling more anxious than he has in months, because Ethan is less than popular at Long Valley, and half of the school is going to be coming to his house on his territory and they are going to be just as cruel as usual. And there's nothing Ethan can do; in fact, he's supposed to welcome them.

They've all been invited by Grayson, the twin who can actually speak, the twin who is a social butterfly. And Ethan gets it--it's not Grayson's fault he's likable. But he's been a little bitter ever since Grayson warned him that Cole Eptom and Alex Peterson were invited and attending. Where's Grayson's loyalty? This has been a clear violation of the Bro-Code, and he knows it.

More than this, it'll just be awkward. It'll be awkward when everyone's rushing up to Grayson and hanging off the edge of his every word, and no one is coming up to Ethan. And that's how it has always been, but it's frankly unfair and downright impolite when the celebration is about Ethan too, after all. He feels a little like his name is in fine print on their cheesy graduation banner.

(Y/N) stands up from where she was lying on the cement and claps the chalk off her palms. She stares down at her masterpiece with a frown and then swipes her tongue across her thumb and smudges out a bit of the W, and then grins contently and looks to Ethan for confirmation. Ethan doesn’t really care what it looks like if he’s honest, but he gives her two thumbs up and a big wide grin. She’s smiling, and that’s all that really matters.

She patters over to him, her white sandals scraping against the pavement and her matching white dress flowing with her body, and sidles up next to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. “You excited?” she asks.

Of course he isn’t. “Yeah, should be fun,” Ethan says.

She snorts disbelievingly and shakes her head. “No you aren’t, I haven’t seen you smile all morning.”

Ethan throws an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in tighter, kissing the top of her head. “That’s cause you’ve been busy helping and not paying me any attention. At all.”

She sneaks out from under his hold and slides her fingers up his jawline, eager to pull him in for a chaste kiss. They end up forgetting the ‘chaste’ part and making out in the driveway, oblivious to the commotion going about around them—the tables being set up, the decorative plants being vased, the food being set—and get lost in the feeling of each other. Ethan thinks it’s the best distraction he could have thought of. Their moment is so quickly ruined though when he feels a tiny bar--which he soon realizes is a carrot from the veggie tray--pelt the back of his neck, and he flinches and pulls away.

“Are you guys serious!” Grayson calls from the garage, his arms outstretched with dubiety. “We have a graduation party, dumbass!”

Ethan grumbles and pulls (Y/N) flush to his chest, both arms secure around her shoulders, and lifts his chin over his shoulder to pierce his twin with a glare. “Not for another half hour, fuck off.”

“It starts in five minutes, Ethan. For fuck’s sake, Grandma could walk up any second and see you guys tongue-fucking each other.”

“Or, Grandma could walk up and hear you using foul language, Grayson Bailey,” Grandma Adrianne scolds, her frown etching deep crevices in her face. Ethan’s never felt so smug as he does when he watches Grayson’s life flash before his eyes.

“Grandma Adrianne!” Grayson chokes out, faux-cheeriness in his strangled voice. “When did you-“

“Save it, you’re lucky I don’t tell your mother to wash your mouth out with soap,” she grumbles, waving him away. She’s quick to hurry up behind (Y/N) and snatch her from Ethan, pulling her into her arms and swaying the two of them back and forth. Ethan almost wants to be offended that she’s chosen his own girlfriend over him, but his belly feels warm with the reality that his family loves (Y/N) just as much as he does—some days, he actually thinks they might love her more. But that is a ridiculous thought. “Hi, Honey,” Grandma Adrianne says to her, patting her back. “How have you been? You takin’ care of my Etee?”

(Y/N) pulls away and holds onto her arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You know it, Lord knows what would happen if I wasn’t,” she says with an eyeroll.

“Good. We need you and Lisa by him always, the little devil.”

“Hey!” Ethan calls, his arms flying out defensively.

“Oh trust me, you aren’t near as bad as your brother over there,” Grandma Adrianne assures, waddling over to hug Ethan. She squeezes him tight and kisses his cheek, and Ethan smiles. “Quite the potty-mouth. Where do you even find words like ‘tongue-fu-‘“

“Grandma,” Ethan laughs.

“I’m not kidding, he’s in hot water with me. I told you boys no swearing, it’s unnecessary.”

“Lucky for you, I am a saint,” Ethan fibs, winking at (Y/N) over Grandma Adrianne’s shoulder. She rolls her eyes playfully in return and shakes her head, a blush on her cheeks.

“Yeah right, Kid,” Grandma says. “Now where did Grayson run off to? I bet he’s hiding,” she says and chases him into the kitchen where he is undoubtedly cowering.

Ethan takes the spare moment of privacy to kiss (Y/N) one last time, sadly chastely, and burrow his nose in the crook of her neck despite the way he has to dip down. He feels protected by her in a way he can’t explain—he knows she’d never leave him defenseless, nonetheless hurt him, because she has had that opportunity for years and yet, she has been nothing but kind, gentle, patient, and caring. Ethan’s reminded by this when she brushes her lips against the shell of his ear and whispers, “You’re going to be fine. Breathe easy. You’ve got this,” even though he hasn’t spoken a word of his churning anxiety. She just knows.

After that, Grandma Bernadette and Poppy John hobble in, followed by the twins’ little cousins, all eager to speak to the boys and snag a cupcake or two. However, after that files in their chemistry teacher, a girl Ethan doesn’t quite know, and half of the soccer team, all of which hardly grant Ethan so much as a glance. It doesn’t bother him; (Y/N) is secure by his side, chatting off his ear and playing iSpy.

But it keeps happening, just like Ethan knew it would. His history teacher is polite enough to say hello and ask him how it feels to be a graduate, but other than that, the dozens of people filling his garage are practically seeing right through him, while Grayson has a lengthy line just waiting to talk to him. His mother is sheepish, trying her best to entertain him with small talk until she’s hauled away by a visitor, and his dad is busy talking to his fellow coworkers. It’s just Ethan and (Y/N), ignoring the elephant in the room—Ethan is so, so unpopular.

He’s not letting it get to him. He isn’t going to. This is way too common for him to get all worked up today—there’s nothing different about today than yesterday, or the day before that, or any of the days at school. Grayson is simply more likable, Ethan knows that. Ethan knows that if he wasn’t so fucking quiet, so fucking grouchy, maybe, just maybe people would talk to him. But then he thinks about six-year-old-Ethan, neither grouchy nor particularly quiet, who was still just as unlikable. Is there something wrong with him? Is there just a wavelength that surrounds him, so negative and intolerant that people won’t even speak to him at his own graduation party? Because, in all honesty, today is different. Today is about Ethan just as much as it is about Grayson, but people are still avoiding him like the black plague. And these are nice people—people who have manners, who are polite enough to know to at least acknowledge his presence. What the fuck is wrong with Ethan?

(Y/N) squeezes his hand beside him, a frown on her lips and curiosity in her doe eyes. “What’s wrong?” she whispers, leaning in close.

“Nothing,” Ethan breathes, sighing breathily. “Nothing at all.”

She knows better, and he knows that she knows. But he's close, so close to tearing up in his garage in front of the cluster of people to his left, hanging off of Grayson's every word.

It was so unfair. He knows it's pointless to be asked where he's attending college since him and Grayson are going to the same place, he knows it's pointless to be asked who he's rooming with, but they could ask him about his major, they could ask him if he wanted to study abroad, they could ask him so many other questions. He did not deserve this.

Or did he? There must be a reason people hate him so quickly, almost inherently. It was as if everyone just knew to hate him. Hating Ethan seems like a knee jerk reflex for the mass population.

It can't be his looks--he sees the way girls fawn over Grayson, and he looks just like him. It can't be his last name, because everyone loves Cameron and his dad and his mom and Grayson. He's mulling over why, why, why people hated him so much they won't even speak to him at his own graduation party. He's mulling over why so much, that he hardly notices (Y/N) poking his side.

"Hey, Ethy," she says tentatively, jabbing him. "Someone's here to see you," she coos.

Ethan lifts his gaze slowly to stare at the woman in front of him--(Y/N)'s mom. He only realizes he's been frowning so bitterly at the ground when he begins to smile, ready to speak to one of his favorite people. "Hi!" he cheers, dropping (Y/N)'s hand to throw her mom in a hug. "Thank you for coming!"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Honey," she giggles in his ear, squeezing him back. "Gonna miss it?" she jokes, pointing to the pair of caps and diplomas on the table.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head. "Not a bit," he says.

"Good, those people suck," she whispers to him, discreetly thumbing to the crowd by Grayson.

Ethan smiles happily and nods in full agreement. "You can hop in line and talk to Grayson if you want," Ethan says politely, cocking his head to where Grayson's chatting away with a member of the volleyball team.

(Y/N)'s mom rolls her eyes. "He looks busy," she says flatly. "Besides, we have to go over more important matters; what flavor are the cupcakes?"

Ethan chuckles and grabs (Y/N)'s hand again, the knot in his stomach unwinding. "Red velvet with cream cheese frosting, just for (Y/N) here." He looks down to see his girlfriend is already munching on what seems to be her third cupcake, a speck of frosting dotting the tip of her nose. He swipes it off with a grin and licks his finger.

(Y/N)'s mom has already grabbed two and is in a hurry to make it to the food line. "Ethan, I hope you don't mind, but (Y/N) and I invited a few people. I already talked to your mom and she said it's fine," (Y/N)'s mom calls to him, stacking chips and sandwiches on her paper plate.

Ethan's brows slump together and he looks down to (Y/N) who is carefully avoiding his gaze. "Uh, yeah I guess that's fine? Who'd you invite?"

There is no time to answer, however, because the entirety of (Y/N)'s extended family is ushering into the garage, squeezing past tables and chairs, forming their own line to speak to Ethan twice as long as Grayson's. People are beginning to stare as (Y/N)'s cousins argue over who gets to speak to him first, her aunts are already coddling him, and her grandparents are hobbling up to the front, claiming 'dibs'. Ethan's mom is grinning so big he thinks her dimples might be permanent, and Ethan's dad is hardly paying attention to his coworkers, and neither of them mind when the family leaves late into the afternoon after dozens and dozens of hugs and kisses and conversations with Ethan and only Ethan.

-

Ethan isn't nervous for his first day of class, he's not. He has no reason to be. No one cares about him at university, and that's just how he likes it.

Well, he’s a little nervous. Not because he thinks people will pick on him, but because he thinks everyone will care so little about him that no one will bother to speak to him. It’s definitely better than bullying still, Ethan thinks. He just wants a decent spot in his lecture hall.

The walk to campus is easy enough. It’s sunny and seventy-eight, the perfect temperature for an early September morning. He kicks a rock all the way down the sidewalk and keeps his head down to pass the time and distract him of his thoughts. Before he knows it, he’s yanking on the door to his building and nearing the hall, and he’s nervous. He’s nervous and he’ll admit it to himself, because there’s no way he can deny the frenzy in his stomach or the sweat dampening his hands.

He walks into the room and it’s bigger than he thought it would be and already flooded with students. There’s a spot open here and there, but he’d have to cross the sea of bodies in each row to get to it, and he feels himself overflow with anxiety.

“Hey, need a spot?” a guy a few rows up the stairs asks, waving his pencil.

The guy seems nice enough but kind of intimidating; he’s absolutely jacked. Ethan knows he’s probably not a dick like Cole Eptom or Alex Peterson or Jacob Kronwell, but if he happened to be, he could kick Ethan’s ass. Despite his paranoia, he offers a nervous grin and climbs the stairs to sit in the spot next to him.

“I’m Rocky,” the guy introduces himself, offering out a hand for Ethan to shake.

Ethan takes it firmly and smiles at him. “Ethan,” he says back.

Rocky taps his pencil against his open notebook and bounces his foot against the floor. “You know anything about, er, The Evolution of Roman Literature?” he asks, squinting at the syllabus they grabbed at the entrance.

Ethan laughs and shakes his head quickly. “I don’t know shit about the Romans in general,” Ethan snorts.

“God, me neither,” Rocky responds, laughing with him. “What hall are you in?”

“Krater,” Ethan nods. “I room with my brother, how about you?”

“Hey, I’m in Krater too!” Rocky cheers, grinning with a row of white, pearly teeth. Ethan worries that this guy is too attractive to be within a mile radius of (Y/N). “I room with my best friend from my hometown, Collin. He’s pretty cool, you should meet him.”

Ethan’s making friends. He doesn’t know the process all that well, but he’s doing okay, he thinks. This is what making friends is like.

“For sure,” Ethan nods, drumming his fingers against the table. “You, uh, gotta meet my twin Grayson, he’s nice enough. But he can’t cook for shit, just warning you.”

Rocky tips his head back and laughs, and Ethan feels himself easing up significantly. “You’re funny,” Rocky nods as if it he’s confirming it to himself. “Look, if you wanna stop by my room after class we can pick up Collin and Grayson and get some food—Collin just texted me that he found the best sushi place in New Jersey just downtown. You in?”

Ethan’s in.

-

“Pay up, bitch,” Charlotte shouts in Ethan’s face, waving a hand of rainbow money across his nose. He knows for sure that she’s tipsy if not drunk because Charlotte rarely swears. He has no idea how she is best friends with (Y/N), the swearer of the century.

Charlotte, Hera, Marcy, Carlos, Collin, Baasim, Christian, Rocky, Grayson, and of course, (Y/N) formed a circle in their too-tiny living room, cramped so close their knees overlapped. In the center was a monopoly board with eleven tokens (ten sterling silver pieces and a single, makeshift character—a stale cheez it—for Christian) all mapped out in different sections. Carlos was thriving, Baasim was nearly asleep, and Hera had been to jail four times. Everyone had cried from laughter twice. All was well.

“Fine,” Ethan grumbles, forking over a pink bill. “Fuck you.”

(Y/N) cuddles into his side, touchy from the liquor she had ingested, and tips her head on his shoulder.

“Can we get away from your PDA for one night? Just one? You guys make me sick,” Christian snorts, picking up his cheez it figurine and tossing it at Ethan’s forehead.

Ethan smirks and reaches down to squeeze (Y/N)’s ass for all to see and groan.

“This is ridiculous, I shouldn’t have to deal with this stuff every day,” Marcy says, though she’s tucked in Carlos’s lap comfily. (Y/N) glares at her and jabs her pointer finger at the couple, pointing out their hypocrisy.

“This is actually a miracle,” Ethan shrugs. “Pipsqueak here was shy as fuck in high school. She would never let me even touch her in public.”

“(Y/N)? Shy? I find that hard to believe,” Hera laughs, reaching over and pinching (Y/N)’s cheek lightly. She grabs Hera’s hand and kisses the knuckles, which sends everyone giggling all over again. She really must be feeling affectionate tonight.

“’S true though,” Grayson pipes up, nodding. “I knocked over (Y/N)’s books the first day of my freshman year and I thought she was going to have a heart attack or something.”

(Y/N) sits up and pins Grayson with a hazy glare. “Worth it,” she slurs out. “Otherwise I’d never have the guts to talk to my crushhhh,” she cheers, throwing her arms around Ethan’s neck. Everyone laughs and boos, groaning theatrically and pretending to throw up.

“Yeah, cause Ethan here was a punk back in the day,” Grayson says. It’s the first time they’ve ever mentioned Ethan’s bitterness in high school, but Ethan’s not worried. He has nothing to hide; these people are his family.

“Punk? Really?” Rocky pushes.

“Oh yeah, had a huge emo-phase,” Ethan snorts. “Used to have a neon stripe in my bangs,” he elaborates, pulling on the now natural-colored tuft. “Hot pink.”

The group gasps and shouts a collection of ‘No!’s through their laughter, their ribs all hurting with the idea of Ethan in pink.

“He was so pretty!” (Y/N) chimes from beside him. “Don’t laugh!”

But she’s giggling too, feeling giddy and carefree in the chorus of laughter. Ethan’s got his face in his hands with shame and Rocky leans over to throw him in a headlock, tearing him from (Y/N)’s grasp and scraping his fist against his scalp. They spend the night drunk on cheap beer and laughter, feeling broke but in good company in their sophomore year inside their overstuffed apartment.

-

(Y/N) is seated on the couch with her legs strewn out across Ethan’s lap, with his legs strewn out onto the coffee table. She has a bowl of Reese’s Puffs being spooned into her mouth, and she’s watching Tom and Jerry and wiggling her toes to the intro-song. Ethan’s nervous.

He’s just received a letter from Penguin publishing company offering him a position as an editing intern. He’s overjoyed, really, but he’s stressed about (Y/N). Where’s she going to go? What’s she going to do? Penguin’s all the way over in Manhattan, and it’s a tough area for fresh-starters. He’s absolutely amazed that they sought him out.

He can’t honestly think of a better start for himself. He’s not sure what he’s going to publish, but he’s sure he’s going to publish something, and working at the biggest publishing company in the world makes for good connections. Furthermore, he’ll get to read and critique for a job—two of his favorite things. He knows (Y/N) would love that job. So how does he explain that to her?

It’s not that she won’t be happy for him, she’ll be overjoyed. But she’ll probably be a bit jealous, a little insecure, a little confused as to why they didn’t pick her instead. Ethan’s just as lost as her; she has a better GPA than him and everything about her is just perfect.

The job’s rare too. It’s a highly competitive field, and Ethan was chosen alongside nine others to work in cubicles with stacks, upon stacks, upon stacks of manuscripts, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

But it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right having a secure job without knowing (Y/N) has one too. And they’ll have to move to Manhattan-

What if she gets an internship in West New Jersey? What if they’re completely split? Do they break up?

Absolutely not. As crazy as it sounds, Ethan would never take his dream job over her.

But what do they do? If she doesn’t have an internship, does she follow him to Manhattan and find work there? Manhattan’s huge, would she like it there? Charlotte’s committed to an internship over in Newark for magazine journalism, which wouldn’t be too far away from her. But was that enough? Was Ethan enough of a reason to want to move to Manhattan?

“What’s on your mind?” (Y/N) asked around her spoon, crunching on her cereal still.

“I got an internship at Penguin publishing company,” Ethan blurts thoughtlessly, his chest heaving breathlessly after his admission.

That was the worst way to say it. That was the absolute worst way to say it.

“I’m sorry,” he whined, scrubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I found out last week. I didn’t want to tell you yet because-“

“Me too!” (Y/N) screamed, setting down her cereal bowl and sitting upright. “Ethan, me too!”

But Ethan wasn’t listening, he was just rambling. “I just didn’t want you to be upset because I know it’s far away in Manhattan, I don’t-“

“Ethan,” she laughed, pulling at his arm.

“I will totally drop it if you don’t want to be in Manhattan. I will totally-“

“Ethan!” she shouted, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Me too! I got an internship at Penguin, too!”

Ethan couldn’t have possibly heard her right. “What?” he breathes, setting his hands on either side of her face. “Really?” he asks, shifting excitedly in his spot.

“Yes!” she cries, leaning forward to peck his lips. “Yes, they sent me a letter last week, too. I didn’t want to tell you either,” she giggled.

“You’re kidding. You’re kidding!” he whooped, pulling her into him and hugging her oh-so-tight. Only ten candidates and two of them were himself and (Y/N)? This was god-sent.

“Not kidding at all. This way I can keep an eye on you, make sure you don’t flirt with the receptionist,” she teases, tapping his nose.

Ethan snorts and shakes his head, amazed she’d even suggest it with how obsessed he is with her. “Right,” he says. “you’ll definitely need to keep an eye on me.”

“Mhm,” she agrees, kissing his jawline.

“And we can spend our lunch break together,” Ethan grins, thinking of all the cool cafes he can take her out to. She gasps and smiles at him excitedly.

“You mean it? You won’t get sick of me, spending so much time together?”

Ethan’s never heard anything stupider.

-

Ethan doesn’t think Miami is the place for him, and luckily, he doesn’t think Miami is the place for (Y/N) either. It is most definitely the place for Carlos and Marcy though, that much he does know.

They’ve hardly made it to their Air BNB before everyone’s clambering around, scrambling to call dibs on rooms and wheeling their squeaky luggage around the marbled floors, wonkily up the stairs, and all around the halls; he needs some ibuprofen for his oncoming headache. (Y/N) looks the same next to him, with her hair tousled from the turbulence and her oversized clothes rumpled from curling up on Ethan’s shoulder during the flight. He’s no stranger to her post-flight daze; this is their fourth and final spring break trip. He knows how this will go hour by hour.

First, Charlotte is going to slip into her suit and dive headfirst into the pool before anyone can even unpack, and then she will convince everyone to ditch their tasks and join her. Then, they’ll get drunk while swimming (and in Hera’s case, sunning a good ten feet from the water) and let the first day slip away without a thought of their itinerary. Then, someone (Marcy) will beg to play Kings and then someone (Marcy) will get so belligerently drunk that someone (Marcy) will fall asleep in the tub and refuse to get out, and that someone’s fiance (Carlos) will have to carry them back to their room. However, the party will be far from over still, and Ethan and (Y/N) will be kept wide awake until the early hours of the morning, laughing until they have tears streaming down their faces with their best friends. He isn’t sure where, but he’s also certain that a pizza will be ordered somewhere amidst all that chaos.

“Has anyone seen my suitcase?” Charlotte shouts through the echoey halls of their gaudy mansion. (Thanks, Carlos’s parents’ money). “I need my swimsuit!”

A series of ‘no’s and a single ‘yes’ return her way, and Ethan decides at that moment that he needs an ibuprofen or he might just die. (Y/N) is curled up on her chair by the kitchen island, half asleep where she has her head propped on her palm. Ethan smiles to himself and pads over to the refrigerator to grab her a juice and an apple, knowing that’s what she’ll ask for any minute now.

“Ethy, can you grab me- oh, thanks,” she giggles as he slides her the snacks.

“Welcome, Sweetheart,” he murmurs, smirking triumphantly and raiding the cabinets for a bottle of ibuprofen. He checks over his shoulder just to ensure she’s grinning bashfully at her lap and feels funny all over when she is. He’ll never, never, never get tired of her.

“Think we’re gonna go clubbing tonight?” she asks him around a mouthful of crunchy apple.

Ethan laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Nope.”

“Me neither,” she agrees with a grin. They know their best friends better than their own families.

Charlotte comes thundering down the stairs, her bare feet slapping against the marble, and races out the backdoor by the kitchen, a towel in one hand and a portable speaker in the other. Ethan and (Y/N) share one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud.

“Enough!” Baasim wails as he rounds the corner, his swim trunks on a tacky white stripe of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, you guys have got to stop eye-fucking each other.”

“We aren’t eye-fucking each other,” (Y/N) laughs, breaking their gaze to flick Baasim’s bare shoulder. “If we were, Ethan’s dick would be standing straight out.”

Collin begins dramatically hacking up make-believe vomit when he enters the kitchen, groaning and rubbing his stomach. “Never mention Ethan’s dick around me again,” he states.

Christian nods in agreement. “But she’s right. They were probably just doing their gross ‘we’re totally going to be in love until we’re a hundred years old’ looks, and those are so much worse than their eye-fucking looks. Trust me, I’ve seen both many, many times.”

Baasim shakes his head sympathetically at Collin and they pout together. However, Grayson steps in quickly after them with a lot to say. “You two don’t know the fucking half of it,” he grumbles, a beer already in hand.

Ethan rolls his eyes before pointing to his drink. “Where did you get-“

“There’s a mini fridge in my room! Carlos’s parents must be fuckin’ stacked.”

“They are,” Carlos replies snobbishly, a towel over his shoulder. He lowers his sunglasses momentarily to wink at the crew and they all swat at him mindlessly, paying no mind to his ridiculous ego. Marcy’s on his arm and eager as always to get out and swim, so they follow Charlotte outside right away. Soon enough, everyone’s filing out into the fenced-in backyard and a little more than tipsy.

The first night goes exactly as planned. Well, not according to their itinerary, but according to Ethan’s: there was pizza, there were drunk-bathtub-slumbers, there was Kings, and there was no sleeping until well after four in the morning. But the second is more well-mapped because Hera informs everyone that she’s secured them all wristbands to the VIP section of the Rockwell, and nobody’s willing to pass up that opportunity. And it’s fun—Ethan’s not one to deny himself of a good time—but the group is itching to return the next night, and Ethan’s just not as stoked as everyone else.

“Dude, Rockwell is so fuckin’ steeze,” Rocky nods.

Ethan snorts at his comment and shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m going to go tonight,” he shrugs, spooning a bite of Reese’s Puffs into his mouth.

It’s nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, but Rocky and Ethan are the only ones awake; last night’s wild rendezvous have left everyone drained and hung-over. Ethan’s already set out a bottle of Advil and two glasses of water by (Y/N)’s bedside table.

“Not going? Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Rocky asks, squinting at him incredulously.

Ethan isn’t out of his fuckin’ mind, he just knows how to pace himself. They have six days in Miami and he has the party-endurance of an eighty-year-old man—two days of heavy drinking in a row means he must take a night off. “Nope,” Ethan says. “You’ll have to tell me everything tomorrow morning if you can remember it.”

Rocky shakes his head with raised brows and stares at his toast. “Last night was insane.”

“Too insane.”

“Too insane,” Rocky confirms. “This is the shit you tell your kids about.”

Ethan thinks about that for a moment and realizes him and Rocky are just different people. Spring break is fun, unforgettable even, but Ethan would never peg it as life-changing. He knows what he’s going to tell his kids about—the time (Y/N) laughed so hard she peed on Grayson’s dorm bed and told him she spilled apple juice on his sheets. He’s going to tell them about the time she and he played hide-and-go-seek in their freshman residence hall for five hours. He’s going to tell them about the first time she snorted while laughing around him and he got it on video, and then how she tripped while chasing him and nearly had to get stitches. What’s the point in talking about the nights you can’t even remember? He wants to talk about the things he’ll never forget.

“Definitely,” Ethan nods, too tired to disagree.

“Is (Y/N) going to stay here too then?” Rocky asks.

Ethan shrugs but then nods. “Probably. I’ll honestly be surprised if she can even function after last night—she drank more than me, and she’s kind of a lightweight,” he says, chuckling to himself. He thinks about the way he had seen her throwing back twice-spiked pina-coladas and grins so hard his dimples pop in his cheeks.

“Gross…” Rocky says aloud, scrunching his nose and sticking out his tongue. “Stop being so in love. Just get married already.”

Ethan’s no stranger to comments like these, and they don’t startle or unsettle him. He has full intentions, he just doesn’t know how, when, or where to pop the question. He doesn’t even have a ring yet. But he’s ready, so very ready—he’s been waiting since ninth grade.

"Soon," Ethan murmurs back.

"Really?" Rocky says, pausing mid-chew. "When do you think you're going to ask her?"

Ethan doesn't know. "Soon," is all he says.

Rocky seems to notice he shouldn't push anymore because he backs off the topic. Around two in the afternoon, people start sleep-walking into the kitchen and fetching themselves some food, acting more like zombies than humans. When it takes (Y/N) an extra hour to drag her body down the steps, Ethan knows for certain she'll be sticking in the Air BNB with him all night long.

"Good morning," Ethan whispers quietly to her, kissing her hair softly. He knows her temples are sensitive today, so he doesn't dare kiss any part of her forehead.

She doesn't reply, just nods in return.

"Good morning, (Y/N)!" Rocky cheers obnoxiously. Ethan fears homicide.

"Go fuck yourself," she growls back, covering her ears protectively and folding herself into Ethan. Everyone's amused by her grumpiness since she is usually such a cheerful friend, but she's not in the mood to entertain. She grabs a carton of strawberries from the refrigerator and Ethan's wrist and tugs both upstairs to their bedroom where the blinds are drawn completely closed. The air conditioning's blasting on high, the bed is fixed with thick, fuzzy blankets, and the sound of drizzling rain is playing from her phone's speaker. She slips off the sweatpants she was wearing and snuggles under the comforter in Ethan's giant tee. He knows she isn't leaving this room until well into the evening.

He doesn't mind a bit. He'd choose a quiet nap with her over all the parties, all the alcohol, all the friends in the world. He would rather spend an hour with her than a lifetime with his closest friends, and even that thought doesn't scare him. Because she's his best friend. She's his other half and his favorite girl in the world. He's actually excited to have the place to themselves tonight.

The two doze off, sent to sleep by their aching bodies and pounding headaches. When they awake they don't necessarily feel refreshed, but they feel a little less like death, and that's good enough to crawl out of their den and order a pizza. They munch and gossip and watch a collection of movies, giddy to be with each other and in paradise.

“Do you think she’s in it for his money?” Ethan whispers with a glint in his eye, his hands on top of her bare thighs and a smile on his lips.

She nods around her slice of pizza, the gooey cheese slipping off the crust and sending her cackling as she tries to catch it. She stares over at the screen for a moment, grinning at Ferris Bueller and all his antics, before swallowing. “I think they really love each other, just never more than they’ll love themselves. And the money is definitely a perk, I mean, look at this place,” she says, pointing to the high ceilings of the living room. “Could get lost in here.”

Ethan nods and grabs another piece from the box, chowing it down in a few bites. “No kidding. Carlos’s head is too big for his body, I think he’d marry a mirror if he could.”

It’s all lighthearted; Ethan would die for Carlos, and (Y/N) would die for Marcy. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

(Y/N) giggles and tangles her fingers with Ethan’s where they lie on her legs. “Bet they’ll buy this mansion and live in paradise forever.”

He nods and smiles and hopes it’s true. They deserve their own kind of happiness—it isn’t his place to judge. He’s already the happiest he could be. “Could you ever live in a place like this?”

She tears her gaze away from the movie and shrugs a shoulder. “Dunno. I don’t think I’d ever be opposed to a mansion, but I definitely don’t need it,” she snorts. “I’d be happy in a cardboard box if you’re in there with me.”

Ethan’s stomach swoops at the domesticity of her comment, the way she says it casually, confidently, comfortably like the thought doesn’t scare her one bit. “Good, ‘cause I can’t afford this,” he laughs, taking down the last bite of his pizza and falling into her arms. She chuckles and wraps him up, cradles him like the baby he is sometimes, and he lays comfortably between her legs with his head on her chest. They talk forever about nothing and their minds don’t stray to their friends crazy night out once.

Around two in the morning, they find themselves in the kitchen, (Y/N) propped up on the granite island with her legs dangling off the sides and Ethan raiding the cabinets. Music is playing off the speaker from Ethan’s phone, and they both have the case of the giggles. God, they’re so in love.

“Want some whip cream?” Ethan asks with his head buried in the refrigerator like an emu.

“Is that a question?” she replies, though it comes out funny with her mouth stuffed with doritos. He tosses her the bottle blindly and she catches it, tipping the bottle above her head and spraying a good glob past her lips. Then, she hears the opening chords of a guitar and she gasps, sending her coughing.

Ethan’s only a little concerned because she’s laughing so hard during all of it, but he turns to check on her. “Are you o-?”

“There once was a bittersweet man and they called him lemon boy,” (Y/N) sings, hopping down from her counter throne and smirking at him smugly.

“No,” Ethan groans, laughing outright and groaning into his hands.

“He was growing in my garden and I pulled him out by his hair, like a weed,” she taunts, grabbing a fistful of his hair and tugging. Ethan reaches out and pinches her side, and she scampers around the island to escape him, giggling still.

“(Y/N), don’t,” he whines, embarrassment flooding his features. He begins racing around the table to catch her and muffle her teasing, but she’s quick and bubbling with laughter.

“Lemon Boy and me started to get along, together,” she squeals, barely dodging his grabbing hands. “I helped him- Eek!”

“Quit it!” he calls through laughter, his fingers skimming the back of the giant tee shirt flowing from her back.

“It’s actually pretty easy, being nice, to a bitter boy like him,” she cheers, her hands raised above her head joyously with her eyes closed. Ethan pauses where he trails behind her and just waits for her to run into him blindly. She does, falls flat against his frame, and throws her arms around his neck in defeat. “So I got myself, a citrus friend!” she cries, swaying the two of them back and forth.

Ethan doesn’t have the heart to be even the least annoyed, because she is just perfect for him. It has been long, so, so long since he’s been bitter. He slides his hand up the back of her shirt and rubs his thumb over the ink below her shoulder blade, grinning to himself. Feels too good to be true sometimes. He takes her vulnerability as an opportunity to tickle her until she screams.

He has his hands around her sides, wiggling his fingers all around her tummy and her sides and under her arms, and she’s screeching and begging him to stop, but he loves the way she laughs so he doesn’t. He throws her over his shoulder and smacks her bum, races around the island some more and chuckles at the way she squeals. He feels like a kid with her and he never wants to grow up. 

He never wants to grow up.

“Lemon boy and I, we’re gonna live forever,” she sings still, hung upside down on him.

“Like Snufkin and Little My, we’ll get around, wherever,” he chimes in much to her delight. She smacks his back and pleads for him to put him down, that the turbulence on this ride is worse than their Spirit Airline flight down to Miami.

He obliges and lifts her back to her righteous spot on the island, sliding into the space between her legs. “Yeah we’re the bitterest guys around, and I got myself, a citrus friend,” she finishes, placing her palm on his bare chest and pressing his mouth to his cheek with a loud smack. They’re out of breath and still so giggly, but then they’re sharing one of their looks, one of their lovey-dovey looks, one of their looks that makes all the other friends cringe and groan out loud, and Ethan’s so happy that they have the house all to themselves tonight. It feels like a honeymoon.

“Love you,” he whispers and plants a kiss on her forehead in return. He means it more than ever.

“Love you more,” she murmurs back.

Ethan hears a series of beats and a single guitar strum before he realizes what song is drifting through the air. “Ever heard this song?” he asks quietly, his hands settling at her waist. She shakes her head and slips her arms around his neck, already rocking back and forth to the easy music. “’S called Japanese Denim. It’s one of my favorites,” he explains as he burrows his nose in her hair.

“Sing it to me,” she says.

Ethan isn’t much of a singer. It doesn’t matter. He wants her to know that he thinks of her during every cheesy love song.

He hums to the tune and begins his serenade. “You’re my four leaf clover, I’m so in love, so in love,” he rasps out, squeezing her tight to him. He takes the time to pull back and kiss her slow and soft, as sweet as their first time. “My blue jeans,” he coos. “Will last me all my life. So should we, I’m spending all this time…”

She runs her fingers through the bangs of his tousled hair and smooths her thumb over his cheekbone. She loves him and she’ll love him forever.

“I’m reaching Nirvana, goodbye sweet Rwanda,” he continues, chuckling as he speaks the next bit, “High school was never for me. I say let it be, let it be, Forever’s a long time.”

High school has never felt further away with Ethan so happy, so optimistic, so friendly, so sociable. He can’t even remember the names of the terrible people, the words of their comments, the spots where they bruised him, the dates that he cried. He can’t imagine where they are now, and he never wants to. High school gave him his most prized possession, his best friend, his future wife, his soulmate, his other half. He couldn’t be more grateful.

They sway softly, trapped in their one little world. They don’t even notice when the group comes home, quiet with hoarse throats and all boozed out. But they find the couple in the kitchen, dancing in place to a love song, more in love than they could ever hope for themselves. They’re tucked in on each other and mumbling about something the crew can’t hear, and none of them have the heart—not even Grayson or Baasim— to break up their moment, so they just grin to themselves and slip off to bed. They just hope they’re all part of their wedding in the near future.

If Ethan could hear their thoughts, he would tell them they don’t have to worry. He’s already decided to propose right after graduation. And he knows just how he’s going to do it.

-

NEXT: 3½ | It’s U

[allstarsstorymode867]

“Tomorrow Will Be Better Than The Last...” [Prequel of All-Stars -Story Mode-]

[WARNING: This will contained spoilers about my Pyro’s gender, you are warned]

[FINISHED]

Engineer had been up late on his work on his building, he yawned but he wanted to finished the new sentry for tomorrow’s next King of The Hill, one of the War Games that is known in Gravel War in all of the Badlands.

“Aw hell...” He muttered as he took the googles off but half-way stopping to his forehead to rub his temples. “Engie?” A soft shy female voice perked up that made Dell turned around to see who it was.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been up late, don’t you think it’s time to sleep?” The voice softly questioned, Engineer only turned his head back to the building with a groan. “Ah’d can’t, Ah can’t let the BLU Spy...” but he couldn’t seem to finished his sentence as he lowered his head onto the desk as the figure walked over to her dear teammate with a pillow and blanket in her hands.

Like on autopilot, she took the hardhat and goggles off of him and placed them aside him before lifting his head up just a little bit to place the pillow under him and let’s it land on it with a flop.

Then she placed the blanket onto his back and shoulders before kissing him good night. “Py...”

“Just sleep Engie, tomorrow will be better than the last.”

“Alright... ‘Night, Pyro...” he snored, Pyro smiled through her deep red brunt mark done to her face before replying “Goodnight Engie.” before leaving the room.

Morning came on the canyons of the Badlands, on one canyon of Offblast as a rooster caws at the morning light, signaling that it’s time to get up and get ready.

Everyone does so, getting dress, cleaning their knives off of the blood and reloading and gathering the ammo for them. All but Demoman who had slept through the morning call like a rock after drinking himself with Scrumpy in his room last night. It was somewhat peaceful until-

*DING!!DING!!DING!!DING!!DING!!*

Soldier walks on top of the RED base with riding crop in hand, he stood there as he declared “Attention soldiers! Get in positions, you’ll be late for war!”

Eight mercenaries scrambled all over each other as the alarm kept ringing as red lights flashing all the while Soldier is barking out “Left, right! Right! Left! Right! Left! On your right and on Demoman’s left!” before turning his attention towards the Scout and said “Get over to your position, son.” before hitting him on the rear end with the crop, making Scout squeal in pain.

“Discipline! Order!” Soldier said while Pyro, who is now dressed with a gas mask and fire-proof asbestos-lined suit, gently pushed Spy out of the way and then lets Engineer get in line as the Spy scoffs and Soldier saying “Sun Tzu wouldn’t want his men to be lazy or careless in the heat of the battle! When the horn blows out its call of duty and you must be ready to charge in to attack!”

“Soldier, please” Medic said first, “Zhey just wanted to make sure zhat ve’re ready for zhe today’s mission.” as Soldier looked at him with a glare, “How dare you German,” he rebuked, “Talking back to your superior leader of the team!”

“The mission begins in 30 seconds.”

Engineer looked up when the Administrator said that as others did the same, looking over to Soldier and ushered “Soldier, it’s gonna begin soon, get in line.” over to Soldier who heard him and said “Alright.” as he mushed himself between Heavy and Scout in line as Scout was shoved out of the way,

“The mission begins in 10 seconds.”

“Now be strong in battle and laugh at the face of danger, Private.” Soldier whispered to the Heavy who is holding his minigun, leaning over to Medic and said “We go together, Doktor.” as Medic looked over him before nodding.

“5... 4... 3... 2... 1...”

Then the alarm called out it’s siren as metal chain-link doorway opened up, Soldier yelled out “Give ‘em hell, boys!” and ran out of the door first as others ran out with him.

BLU Team are look-a-likes as the RED Team but wearing blue-colored uniforms that are the same as their’s as they too prepared to fight.

It started out as usual, the air is filling with the sounds of gunfire, rockets, explosions and screams of pain and agony. It’s nothing special, really but they didn’t seemed to realized that all of that, the war games or to each other. It’s all about to change and this time it’s isn’t Merasmus the Magician or robots.

It’s different, so different this time.

A Glitched Disembodied Lady’s Voice softly cackled so poisonous “They're perfect for my little game of life...”

(From Team Fortress 2 [4] wallpaper and Wallpaperplay)

“Perfect for my BIG game of a Battle Royale...!” before laughed so vile as Evil itself will only describe.

-Later on...-

Engineer is finishing up getting his sentry to Level 3, then a familiar zap and buzz of his Dispenser after being sapped by the sapper, the AM/FM Ultra-Sapper, is the default building weapon for the Spy. It is a small electric generator inscribed 'ELECTRO-SAPPER', with a carrying handle, two long yellow wires and a meter.

“Spy’s sapping mah dispenser!” Engie yelled as he begins to smack it off as the BLU Spy uncloaks himself with the Black Rose knife as he raised it into the air, ready to bring it down onto the Texan’s back as it turned for a moment.

*HACK*

A thunk of an ax to BLU Spy’s shoulder as a sheering spike of pain rushed through him, the Frenchman screamed and drops the knife down, that made the Engineer turned around as he gets out the Frontier Justice in one hand and firing a round to Spy’s head, making it exploded into a bloody splatter like a water balloon but with the water being replaced with blood and chunks of bone inside.

Both Pyro and the Engineer covered in blood, she pulled it out of the corpse and watched it dropped to the floor while the Engineer finished getting the sapper out off of the dispenser, allowing to function well again.

“Thanks Pyro.” Engineer looked at her, she mumbled “Anytime Engie.” as she places the ax on her shoulder while he turned back to fix the dispenser.

Then a sight rumble started, they both can feel it under their feet as they looked around. “What in Sam Hill....?” he asked but somehow lost the confidence to finish the question as he scratched the back of his head in confusion and fear when the Administrator begins to say “Alert! Alert! Alert!” as the alarms are beginning to sound off across Offblast.

“Engineer...” Pyro wheezed, “It’s time to go.” as she placed her hand on his shoulder. Engineer looked at her, he now knows that it’s time to abandon his buildings to get out of Offblast. “Alright then.” he muttered, “Let’s go!” he ran as Pyro followed suit to the outside of the base and saw the a dark shade of gray clouds covering up the skies. The ground bellow them rumbled more harder as they stumbled a little, nearly towards the edge of the cliff.

“W-What in What in tarnation is going on!?” Engineer said as he and Pyro catches their balance on the pillars of their base as BLU versions of Scout and Medic lost it and then fell off the canyon to their deaths. “I-I don’t know!” Pyro stuttered as bits of rubble fallen down on their heads then to the ground.

“Aaaaah!” “Mehdic!”

They looked to where RED Medic and Heavy are and they saw to their shock is Heavy holding on to the frame of the window with one hand while using the other to hold Medic from... Being sucked into the sky when a light purple and cyan glow had appeared after the clouds began swirling.

“Doc!” “Medic!”

Medic is holding on for dear life as Heavy is trying to pull them back into the base but failing in the process as the force of it is getting stronger by the minute. Then they are pulled into the sky as they screamed.

Without another word, they began running now as everything around them is falling apart. They are trying to push through the force of the wind blowing through them but as they are halfway to their base, Engineer had to grabbed onto the frame of the doorway while holding onto Pyro’s hand as the winds are getting too strong.

“Hold’ on, Matches!” Engineer yelled as he has a death grip on the door frame, Engineer then looked to see that Soldier is doing the same thing as well, hearing Scout screaming as he is digging his nails into the hard wood floor before being forcefully pulled into the skies but Soldier managed to grabbed him before that could happen.

Scout was terrified, he was screamed “I knew this will one day happened! I foresaw dis!! Soldier! This is the end of the-” “Do not use that tone of doubt on me, Private!” Soldier splat him in as he held onto his teammate with determination.

“Engie... I... Can’t.... Hold on...!” Pyro grunted as she is losing grip on the Engineer’s hand, he held onto it tighter than ever; refusing to let her go up there.

They then heard Sniper screaming and flying onto Soldier, knocking him and Scout into the skies with him as they screamed, then the ground shook violently as Engineer felt it and... the door frame broke, sending him and Pyro into the sky with a scream as everything gone white before suddenly; darkness.

“*Groan* ....What in buzzard‘s breakfest... How many beers did I have last night...?” he groaned as he rubbed his head while his hardhat is still on as he pulled himself off the wooden floor with a headache.

He groaned as he looked at the window and saw that there’s a forest outside and an old western town with the 1940′s, 60′s and 70′s Medical/Mental hospital and a train station.

Has he fell asleep during the mission but it soon came to him: He was in Offblast and he’s now in a map that he doesn’t know. It’s not a dream, something else... Is going on right now.

He needs to find the rest of his team and figure this out, he got up and ran out of the building as zombies are digging themselves out of the ground, hungry for flesh and sole thirst for blood.

                                                   Welcome to.....

                                      All-Stars Battle Royale

                                          >Press Start to Begin!

[godseyegalaxy]

Candle and the Wax Flower 3

From afar the massive bodies looked just like caped sized boats. Maybe discolored in the twilight blue, but it was a risk the pirate captain was willing to take. Summer storms were common, and a capsized boat could bring in treasures, information, or occasionally, people. Icora wasn’t in the business of selling lives, but, as she learned early on, people were good for other things too. When the ship moved closer rocking steadily in the placid water, and found the sea a deep ink color, the crew were glad of the little detour.

Mermen and women lay floating, shifting along with the waves and current underneath. Icora watched as their whale-like bodies bobbed up and down. It was a tragedy, the death of such a long-lived creature, but, as the captain said, with tragedy comes trove. Just one semi-preserved body could gain a small fortune, depending on the buyer.

She ordered her crew to try and grapple one of the bodies—that’s all that they would need—and bring in onto the boat. She didn’t want to say a small one, a child, but the crew understood. They went to work immediately, setting up a pulley system and gathering nets.

Brinkley stood and watched from above, watched the waters as if he was counting all the bodies. His black features showing no emotion. Icora let her crew work and joined her first mate as he stared off into the horizon.

“They’ll sink to the bottom.” He said, slowly pulling away from his trance to look at her. His captain, worn by the sea storm wind and pelting rain, but not by age itself.      

“Hail and well met to you too.” Was all she said.

He stared at her, black eyes reflecting the gold lamp light and blinked once, twice. “I… I’m sorry, Captain, please forgive me. Its just…” His eyes glazed over again. “I have the strange feeling that something is not right.”

“There are bodies the size of ships scattered in the hundreds here, Brinkley I know something is wrong.”

“It’s… not just that.” He turned his gaze back out to the waters. The light was gone now. “The merpeople should be sinking. Bodies sink.”

Icora didn’t have the energy to ask just how well Brinkley knew that fact. She already knew that he’d swam with enough dead and debris by his side to speak the truth. But still, his discomfort was off putting. Brinkley would worry about the smallest of things, yes, but when it came to dangers, a rising storm, a pissed off business dealer, Brinkley never showed traces of secondary thoughts. What was he really thinking?

Just as she was about to reply, Denokin, a workmen and a skilled wood carver, shouted the captain’s name from below.

Both Icora and Brinkley looked down and the scrambling men and women. Half of them pulled on ropes and levers, while the other half switched from staring down into the water to readying their weapon.

“Captain Icora, there’s something thrashing in the waters coming closer to the ship!” Denokin yelled. “We think another group of merfolk.”

“Naturally.” Icora said to no one in particular, then, “Work to get the body on board, everyone!” Her voice booming in the night-nipped air. Icora grabbed Brinkley’s arm and lead him to the main deck, half readied weapons leaning against the wooden wall. With her people on one side of the deck, the other lay free for just the two of them.

“Do you want me to help pull up the body?” Brinkley’s voice was still far off, like he was still trying to solve the puzzle.

“No. I need you to tell me what you see. What you hear. Quickly.”

Icora knew what she saw; blue black waves reaching out to make what she had the unfortunate habit of calling home, dark islands appearing like tumors on the horizon, carcasses floating face down and, if she strained her eyes against the orange glow emanating behind her, she could see bursts of water exploding from the surface, meters above the highest sail.

“Screams.” Brinkley said. Then, as if hit in the chest, he woke and looked around frantically. “Screams, Icora, there are two still alive and they fight under the water, something- something to do with a gang.”

“Is it something that needs interfering?”

“I don’t know. The little one won’t survive against him. There is more than we dont understand.”

“I know.” Icora said as she shed off her heavy coat and outer accessories.

“What are you doing.” He didn’t wait to start shedding his own coat, holding onto a sleek dagger with his teeth as he did.

“If ‘He’ wins and finds out we’re taking one of his own aboard then we might be next on his kill list. I’d rather pass on that.”

Brinkley nodded and turned to watch the encroaching geyser. Like a clockwork machine, Icora issued command after command, grabbing rope and tying it securely around herself and the end of the deck. Teket and Salem joined them, fashioning Brinkley a harness like Icora’s and quickly equipped them both, captain and first mate, with more daggers.

“Icora!” Brinkley shouted, now finally seeing individual scales on the mermaid’s tail, how some of them were torn off and bloodied.

Without another word, Icora dove into the water.

-

Tio screamed in fury as another cut appeared on his face-- A high pitched scream that made the water shake in his fury. More blood seeped into the warm, blackened waters as his tail, thick and rattled with scars, pinned Cere in the rush of water.

As small as Cere was compared to the gang leader, she spit and clawed at his eyes like she was equal in size. Her hair whipped around them, blurring the lines between herself and her soon to be murderer and her screams of rage matched his in intensity. Cere wanted to bite out his throat. There was once a time where she was trained to defend herself. To fight. But with every one dead in the water, there wasn’t a point to keep appearances up.

Killed them. Killed them all. This bastard kill all her brothers and sisters and threated to lay waist to The Mother. Cere felt the brush of cold, dead flesh against her forearm and struggled to move beyond it. No one ever took them seriously, no one would ever dare hurt the mother of the deep. But these bastards.

White hot anger clouded her vision as she screamed again. She pulled her arm free from his grasp and, ignoring the pain, shot forward, clawing his eyes again.

They poisoned their bodies-- sick fucks—and cried out for war. Cere and her siblings only knew something was wrong when they died smiling, viscous and animal. They figured out soon enough, however.

And now their bodies float. Never to see the bottom of the ocean and thus, rest. Not like her siblings. Not like her.

She pushed out of his range, Tio barely missing her torn and ruined fin. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He mattered. His death mattered.

There was a moment of silence. Her long hair swirled through the water as she spun circles in the water. They looked at each other, the last of each tribe as far as Cere knew, and she the only one standing between him and The Mother.

A low growl emanated from her chest. Now was not the time to think. Another dagger found its way into her hand, one of his martyrs. She surged forward, aiming for his chest.

But just before she could, a column of loud, white bubbles appeared to their side. A flash of metal flew through the water and caught on Tio’s arm. The bubbles cleared to show two creatures, swimming with unbelievable speed towards her and Tio.

Cere’s vision flashed white as Tio’s hands raked across her face, pulling her hair down. It seemed that the dagger didn’t bother him, nor the other beings. Cere screamed again, reaching up and pulling at his own hair, pulling and pulling until chunks started to pull off his skull. She wondered briefly why he didn’t pull hers.

Maybe he was more a gentleman than her.

Cere ripped and clawed at his face, adrenaline bursting through her veins once again. She had to do it now. Kill him now. And then deal with the intruders.

Except, she didn’t have time.

A surprisingly strong arm wrapped around her torso and pulled her away from Tio. She saw through her tendrils of hair an arm pull down on rope before she was being pulled through the water again.

Pulled and pulled and pulled and-

Cere felt her whole body grow heavy the water was stripped from her side. Hot moist air hit her lungs as she automatically switched. She coughed and flailed and tried to see what had a hold on her. Tried to see period. Her hair clung to her skin making it impossible to tell what was hers and what was her captor.

She tried to scream but just coughed up more water.

-

The pulsing thing in her arms wasn’t easy to pull out of the water, much less hauling her up to the ship deck. Icora’s hands grew numb from holding onto the rope and the slippery mermaid’s body as tightly as she could, there were even a few moments where she thought she would drop the struggling mermaid back into the waters.

Icora thought that it would prefer that.  It clicked and gasped against her and only flailed more as the crew grabbed them both and pulled them over the rail. It was like an actual fish, and she some crazed buffoon without tools. The difference between the creature in her arms and a fish was the hair and the black and half broken talons that threatened to slice through her skin.

As gracefully as she could muster, Icora untangled herself from the maid’s slimy and tangled hair. A thick piece of cloth landed on the wood beside her and she picked it up to dry herself, thanking someone in some direction. Icora wasn’t one to be surprised by a great many things, but how deeply the cloth turned red shocked her. If this was the blood on her, how much was the thing…

It gasped again, blood and water oozing out of its mouth. The gathered crowd around them shifted on their feet, unsure of what to make of living, breathing creature. Then, it braced as if about to scream, but no sounds escaped. It was the mermaid’s turn to be shocked. She raked her hair out of her face and growled as the yellow light met her eyes. Her movements were clumsy, but the scowl on her face proved that she was a predator. A predator out of its habitat.

Icora couldn’t help but laugh.  

That laugh did two things, it made the crew relax, all of them breathing a collective sigh of relief as they realized their captain was in no way worried about the legendary creature before them. And, it put a target on her back, given the way the mermaids head wiped to her and black, soulless eyes close to slits. It tried to move back, but the sudden heaviness of her own body meant she could only go a few inches before giving up. Truly a fish out of water.

Icora heard a gasp as the rope behind her pulled twice. Brinkley. Still in the water?

The crew jumped into action, moving to help pull the rope with, hopefully, the first mate in tow. The mermaid hissed as unfiltered light hit her and she made to cover her face.

Icora wondered if the mermaid saw her roll her eyes and grab her coat where it lay on the deck, if she saw or sensed her coming up behind her to through the jacket over her head, shielding her from the harsh light, only because of the look of calm beauty that slackened her face as the mermaid looked up at her. She was an animal, a fierce predator. But she was still a being. Person, debatable. But a thing with feelings and needs, absolutely.  

The maid stopped making sounds of protest or anger. Or, whatever it was feeling. But after that quick moment of peace, a loud thump sounded behind them and the mermaid hissed.

Icora turned to see her first mate, breathing heavily but breathing all the same, with a mass slumped next to him; the merman.

Unlike the maid, who’s skin was silvery blue and covered in scales, slim with hair longer than Icora was tall, the male creature had thick gray skin riddled with scars, a flat head and a wide mouth with large, triangular teeth. A shark. Icora glanced back at the maid, now staring intently at the male. That little fish was fending off a shark. On the other hand, a man killed a creature double his size and then pulled them both out of the water. Icora knew she shouldn’t be impressed, but, she was.

The crew stood clear of the captain and first mate, some of them going back to their previous tasks, as Icora walked over. He didn’t even look harmed.

“Dead?” She asked, nudging the merman’s face with her boot.

“Ey, took a while to take him down though.”

“You were in his territory.”

“It didn’t give him much an advantage.”

She let out a heavy laugh, pulling Brinkley to his feet. He winced as he steadied himself, but Icora could tell it was more an act then actuality.

“That just leaves us with this one.” She nodded towards the crumbled mass of fish behind her and, was surprised to see it had moved closer to them. Perhaps its loud thrashing before was only to throw them off, or it was finally used to the different environment.

The creature pulled itself forward with her talons, hair sometimes snagging on the wood and, Icora let her. Let her crawl towards the dead merman, even moved out of the maid’s path. Even will all her knowledge of the sea, Icora knew little of the mermaids that dwelled under the surface, that is to say, barely no one knew about them. Their customs, language, even their appearance was documented poorly. So, Icora let the mermaid get closer, just incase if there was something she didn’t understand.

-

Cere watched out of the corners of her eyes, watched her captor and the other one-- the other, dirty and foul and revolting one who killed Tio and infected the air with its … miasma -- as she inched closer to the dead body. She found the killing blow, the foreign knife sticking out of his neck, and felt a tangible net of anger over her. This was her kill. This was her vengeance. And that… Thing standing above the two of them stole it from her.

Faster than they could stop her, Cere pulled out the dagger from his neck and plunged it into his eye socket. It was easier than she had expected, since there was no eye in it. Blood still pooled out though, caking her hand again with his blood. She felt the net wither away then, her anger dissipating into the wood like the blood and seawater. The Pirate’s laugh a distant, weak sound.

She looked up at them, the pirates, and thought about all the stories her people would whisper about them. How stupid but deadly and persistent they were. Their greed and how it would drive them to the ends of the earth to find the things they wanted. How mermaids were treated by them, and how it was common for mermaid to treat them.

She ran her eyes down her two captors. Wet and clothes sticking to them, watching her and speaking without regard to her very presence, the gold adorning their dark, sun damaged skin. She should kill them. Kill them all and let the ghost ship float along. Or let the Mother take care of them.

But she couldn’t- couldn’t get the Mother at least, not with the bodies, poisoned and rotted, floating out there. She needed to… she needed…

Cere heaved her chest, trying to make a noise other than clicks and growls, but only breathy moans escaped past her lips. It did the job though, capturing their attention again. They needed to watch this. To figure out what it meant if words wasn’t enough.

She carefully pulled the knife back out of Tio’s corpse and wiped it on his skin. The Thing stepped back a moment, but the one she was interested in stayed put. Cere made eye contact with the woman, grabbed a chunk of her hair and started to cut it, right by her scalp. There was a flash of surprise, but then, amazingly, recognition flashed though the woman’s face. A pit of almost regret grew from the bottom of her chest. There was something more to this pirate woman.

It took time. More time that Cere liked, but it gave her the opportunity to formulate a real plan. To think things through. All the while the Pirate never deviating from her gaze.

When she finished, she gathered her hair into one bundle and held it out towards the pirate. There was a moment of silence where she felt more than just the Things eyes on her, but she waited, her eye fixed on the other’s, the Captain.

-

Icora knew what the mermaid was asking. No, telling her what to do. To take the hair, yes, and to probably sell it for huge amounts of money or keep it as a trophy. But it was more than that. Icora hardly believed her eyes as the creature sawed off her long, inky black hair, yet here it was; the offer.

Icora knelt down and untiled the ribbon she used to tie her own hair back from her wrist and carefully, deliberately, tied the mermaid’s hair together. This close again she could see the iridescence of the mermaid’s skin, hear her heaving unused lungs, realize that black blood flowed from her scalp and not some trick of the light. Icora stepped back and waited for the mermaid to make the next move.

But instead of pushing herself back towards the railing. The mermaid held the hilt of the dagger and placed it gently, but meaningfully, on her chest.

Icora smirked. “A trade? Your hair, worth more than this entire ship, for that little dagger?” the captain spoke, knowing full well that the mermaid could not understand her, however, the creature took the tone and just thumped her chest again. Icora raised an eyebrow.

“She can keep it.” Brinkley said, with more venom than Icora had ever heard from him. Icora waited for an explanation, but none came.

The creature hit the floor to get their attention again. She then tilted her head towards the other merman’s body. The small one they’d pick out of the sea and was lying on the ground much like the shark; torn and bloodied. Instead of being pissy, the mermaid pointed out into the black sea and made a grasping motion, lifted her fist above her head, and then laid it down on the ship deck. Her eyes already gleamed with irritation, as if expecting them to not understand.

And just for kicks, Icora turned towards Brinkley. He didn’t even want to speak in the mermaid’s presence, much less try to understand its meaning, but the first mate sighed and said through his teeth.

“Collect the floating bodies. Then take them away.”

“Do you know why they’re floating? And not sinking to the sea floor?” Icora smiled and crossed her arms. There was, after all, a reason he was her first.

He didn’t answer right away, as per usual, instead her stared out into the black. Icora did too, spotting dots of bioluminescence amidst black masses.

“They poisoned their own bodies. With red algae, I think, but then, something more… I can’t tell. They wanted their corpse to sink.”

“Then there’s something down there? Something that likes to eat? Interesting.” Icora glanced down at the mermaid again, smiled, and stuck out her palm. It was a beautiful night to make a deal.

“My name is Icora. Proud Captain of this fine ship and, let’s say, an adventurer by trade. I understand your wishes, and I think I can get the results. I also believe… that we’ll be great partners if you should accept.”

Brinkley swore under his breath and turned from them. “Captain, it doesn’t even understand us. It can’t be work the safety of our crew, we know nothing about-”

“Brinkley, don’t be rude. We don’t know what we don’t know. So let’s find out.”

He wiped is face down, the late hours and no sleep finally showing on his frame. “I knew you would say that.”

Icora smiled, though she doubted he could see her in the low light. She glanced down at her own hand, a silent but persistent ask to take it and, after spitting in the first mate’s direction, the mermaid carefully laid her palm flat against hers, understanding of her own glowing in her black eyes. There was a framiliar prickling sensation, like needles poking her palm.

“It’s done then, part-“

The mermaid’s voice silenced everything, everyone, on the ship deck. Icora even felt Brinkley tense all muscles, poised to either attack or run. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw her crew halted in whatever they were doing, just to hear the accent of the deep ocean.

“What did you say?” Icora hummed, her heart beating faster than she could remember. She tried to keep the excitement from her voice.

“Cere.” The mermaid’s mouth parted and closed again, still trying to use parts of her body that were never needed before. Her forehead crinkled in concentration, trying to sound out works she’d never spoken, but somehow knew to say. “Na-mes. Cere.” She indicated their still touching hands. “Paretnarus.”

Icora savored the moment, from being the first person to ever, successfully, make a pact with a mermaid right down to the slimy cool touch of her skin. She was sure she’d remember this for a long time, sure that soon enough she’d grow friendly toward the mermaid and framiliar with its touch.

“Yes. Partners.”

[marauders--mischief]

Summer Revelations

Request:  Haii could you write for Sirius x reader where she invites him to her house over the holidays and all of the sudden (like watching her sleep, laughing, a hug idk) he realises he’s so in love with her??

Pairing: Sirius x Reader

Word Count: 2,823

Warnings: None really, just fluff. Oh, there’s like one nightmare mentioned but it’s not detailed or anything.

A/N: My first ever request! I finished this sooner than I thought I would (mainly because I was procrastinating studying for my Chemistry - whoops. I should probably do that now). Anyway… feedback is appreciated, and I hope you like it :)

Part 2

****

Sunlight shone on the Black Lake, highlighting the waves and ripples. In the distance, you could hear the faint sound of all the students laughing and chattering. It was the last day at Hogwarts before the Summer holidays, and whilst you were waiting for the Hogwarts Express to arrive, you were with Sirius, sitting in the shade beneath a tree. You had been friends with Sirius since your first year in Hogwarts, always assisting him with his various pranks. It hadn’t taken you long to find out about his home life and when you confronted him about it, he confessed how much he hated it there. That’s why you had invited him to stay at your house over the holidays until the Potter’s allowed him to stay at theirs.  

Sirius was currently ripping out chunks of grass from the ground and throwing them into the water. You shook your head at him, quietly laughing to yourself at his bizarre actions. “I can’t wait for you to finally meet my parents,” you say. “Properly, I mean,” already predicting his response that he’d already seen them on the platform.  

“I’ll have you know I get owls from your parents at least once a week. We’re already best friends.” He claimed.

“Suuuree, Pads. Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you teased. “Besides, I thought I was your best friend.”

“Hey! They’ll love me!” He exclaims cockily. You knew he was only joking, but you could also see past the façade. He was anxious that your parents would hate him (though that was virtually impossible, they already loved Sirius just based on the stories you had told them). So, you reassure him.

“I’m sure they will.”

Eventually, a loud whistle echoes throughout the grounds, alerting you both that the train had arrived. As you had both already taken your trunks down to the platform this morning, you didn’t need to carry anything there. Sirius gets up first and holds his hand out to you, silently offering to help you up. Once you were on your feet, you brush of the dirt off of your clothes and smirk mischievously at him. “Race you!” And you sprint off, Sirius close behind you.  

Somehow, Sirius had managed to find an empty compartment and you were now discussing all the things you wanted to do when you arrived.  

“Oh! We have to go strawberry picking!” Your enthusiasm causing him to smile. “Dad always used to take me but I haven’t done it in ages.”

He was just about to reply when your conversation was interrupted by James, Remus, Peter and Lily.

James smiles at you both before sitting down next to Sirius. “Hiya, Padfoot. Hi, Y/N/N.”

You returned the smile and greeted the rest of them. Obviously, now the compartment was no longer empty, you and Sirius silently agreed to continue your conversation later. “We’ve been searching the whole bloody train for you two.” James continues. “Thought you’d stayed at Hogwarts.”

Lily speaks up. “They were one of the first ones on, James. Me and Remus saw them running dow-”

“Running!?” James interjects. “Merlin, what were you running for?”

“We were racing,” said Sirius, shrugging.  

“You won then I take it?” Remus asks.

“How’d you know that?”

Remus points towards you, a bitter look on your face, though you were trying not to show it. Unsuccessfully, apparently. “That doesn’t look like the face of someone who won, if I’m honest.”

You scowl at Remus. “He only won because he tricked me into thinking he’d fallen.”  

Sirius chuckles. “Such a sweetheart, Y/N/N.”

In an instant, your attitude changes. No longer angry, but instead flustered. Your cheeks heat up and you turn to face the window to hide your blush. Okay… maybe you were harbouring a bit of a crush on your best friend, but he didn’t need to know that. Not when he clearly didn’t feel the same way as you. Sometimes, you would over exaggerate his behaviour towards you and convince yourself he returned your feelings before you saw him drag a different girl into a broom closet to kiss, reminding you he only acted like that because he was your best friend.  

For the remaining hours of the train ride, you and the others play Exploding Snap whilst eating the various sweets you had bought from the trolley until finally, you arrived at Platform 9 and ¾.  

When you get off the train, you all say goodbye to each other before you leave with Sirius, trying to locate your parents. It was only when the crowd on the platform thinned a little that you found them. They were waving, huge smiles on their faces, and when you got close enough, they ran towards you to give you a hug. After they let you go, they turned towards Sirius, who was messing around with his hands nervously.  

Your mother turned towards him. “You must be Sirius.” Her words were soft and gently spoken, and when Sirius nodded, she beamed down at him. “Y/N’s told us all about you, dear. And you have no reason to be scared; we trust Y/N’s judgement, so if she thinks you’re okay, then we do too.”

Thankfully, Sirius seemed to calm down at this and returned to his usual confident and energetic self.  

Once you were ready to leave, you all returned to Kings Cross Station and set off towards your home.

Sirius had always tried to imagine what your house looked like, and now he was finally seeing it, he couldn’t imagine you living anywhere else. There was a large garden and the pathway leading up to the front door was accentuated with a mix of different coloured flowers. The actual house looked about 3 stories high, and looked like an odd combination of traditional and modern, though it suited the house perfectly.  

Inside the house held the same character as the outside and though he was amazed by it all, it was your room that he loved the most. Two house banners hung on the Y/F/C wall on either side of your double bed. There were several paintings, both still and moving ones and beneath your bedroom window, was a large sofa. Most noticeable, was the large shelf which was full of books. Curious, he walked over to them, fingers tracing along the spines. He could tell which ones you read more by the appearance of them, some were more worn than others. There were muggle stories of which he had never heard before, school books and wizard books, such as ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ and 'The Tales of Beedle the Bard’, along with many others.

Whilst Sirius was admiring your room, you had gone downstairs to fetch food for the two of you. When you came back up to your room, you slammed the door shut behind you slightly louder than you intended to, causing Sirius to jump. “Merlin, Y/N!”  

You laugh at his reaction, but it only makes him grumpy. “Hmph.”  

“Oh, don’t pout, Pads.”  

He crosses his arms and turns away from you, though you’re sure you can see a slight hint of a smirk. You’re just about to tell him that he can’t possibly be mad at you, (even though you really knew he was only messing around), when you get an idea. You shake the food you brought up, showing it him. As you expected, the noise intrigued him and when he saw what you were carrying, his eyes light up and he rushes over to your side. “Okay, you know my weakness. You’re forgiven. Now gimmie.”

“Thought so,” you giggle.

You pass him the food and you sit on the couch, Sirius joining you once he had finally opened the bag. A small smile spreads across your face as he rests his head on your shoulder, quickly falling asleep. You lift him off of you carefully as to not disturb him and summon a blanket to cover him. Slowly, you feel your eyelids growing heavier and the exact second you collapse onto your bed, you enter a peaceful state of unconsciousness.  

On the first day, it starts raining unexpectedly, so whilst you both debated on what to do, you made pancakes. In hindsight, you should’ve known that cooking with Sirius wasn’t a good idea, especially as you were doing it the Muggle way. Despite pancakes being a simple recipe, he still managed to create a mess of both you and your kitchen.  

You shake with laughter as Sirius roughly stirs the flour in the bowl. “Sirius, what’s the flour ever done to you?”

“Exist,” he frowns. “Honestly, Y/N, we could just wave our wands and not have to do any of this.”  

“Yeah, but that’s no fun. Gotta enjoy the little things, Pads.”

Sirius was about to complain some more when flour spilt from the glass bowl and landed on your face and in your hair. While you stand there, shocked, Sirius begins to laugh. “You know, I think I’m starting to see the appeal of this now.”

You glare at him before going to crack the eggs.

By some miracle, you make the pancakes without burning the house down and as the weather looked as though it was clearing up, you had agreed to go to Diagon Alley. At least there would be something to do no matter what the weather turned out to be.

After you ate your pancakes and cleaned up, you say a quick goodbye to your mother and head over to the fireplace; the Floo Network was the most convenient way to travel. You tell Sirius to meet you outside Gringotts, before stepping into the fireplace and shouting your desired destination, green flames surrounding you.  

You didn’t have to wait long for Sirius to join you. You both had money meaning there was no need for a trip to Gringotts, so, you walked around entering any shop that sparked your interest.  

You had just come out of Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop, from which Sirius bought many new items for pranks and tricks he had planned for the next year.  

“So, where to next, oh Great Trickster?” You snickered. Since he began boasting about how good he was at pranking people in third year, you had given him a nickname to tease him. It used to annoy him, but now, after several years of hearing it, he had gotten used to it.  

“Wherever you want.”

“Bad move, Black. You’ll regret saying that.” You vowed.

“Try me.”

You were right. Sirius regretted it. So far, you had dragged him into Eeylops Owl Emporium to look at 'cute’ pets, all the bookstores in Diagon Alley, (he had to admit he didn’t mind this as much as he thought he would. Watching you read was one of the most interesting things he had ever witnessed), Sugarplum’s Sweets Shop and now, you were heading to Quality Quidditch Supplies.  

You knew what you were doing. All you wanted was Sirius to admit that you were right, and you guessed you were pretty close to achieving your goal. When you left the Quidditch shop, you looked up at Sirius, giving your best innocent smile. “You had enough yet, Pads?”

“Ugh, yes. My feet are killing me.”

Oh no. You weren’t letting him get off that easy. “Aaannndd…?”

He huffs, but finally admits defeat. “And… I regretted saying it. I was wrong.”

You jump into the air, parading around the cobbled street. “Ha! I did it. Sirius Black admitted he was wrong!”

Eventually, Sirius had to pull you in close to him and put his hand over your mouth to stop you from shouting it to the whole world.“

"Sshh. You’ll damage my reputation, Y/N.” Sirius gives a small laugh to let you know he’s joking and smirks at you. However, when you don’t smile back, he gets confused. It only takes him two seconds to realise why. You were in such a close proximity to each other, which usually wouldn’t bother any of you. But this was so unexpected and it felt different. He promptly released you from his grip, coughing and scratching the back of his neck anxiously.  

“So… erm, I- I just…” Sirius stumbled over his words, and if you didn’t know him any better, you would’ve said he was shy.  

In an attempt to make the situation less awkward, you try and think of something to do. The sky had cleared and the sun was out so you made a suggestion. “Ice cream?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Luckily, getting ice cream seemed to be the right idea, as Sirius no longer seemed embarrassed by the previous event. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop you from replaying the scene over and over in your head. You were mere centimeters from his face, so close that if you had leaned forward just a little more, you would’ve been kissing him. You shake the thought from your mind; you didn’t want to set yourself up for heartbreak.

Though he didn’t show it, Sirius was also still thinking about what had happened. He felt weird, it almost felt like he was with another girl, locked away in a broom cupboard. He dismisses the thought as quickly as he thinks it and ends up blaming it on the heat.

When the sky began to turn pretty shades of oranges and pinks, you both took it as an indication to go back home. Overall, you had enjoyed the day out, and you were looking forward to the rest of the week with him.  

Exhausted, when you get back, you both went to your bedroom. Sirius crashed on the sofa, though this time, you fell asleep before him. The soothing sound of your breathing soon sent him to sleep.

The next day was just as exciting as the last. As promised, you took Sirius strawberry picking, something that, to your genuine surprise, he seemed to enjoy. For the rest of the day, you ate the fruit salads you made with the strawberries whilst educating him on your favourite movies.

But the good times had to stop at some point.  

In the middle of the night, Sirius jolted up, awoken by his nightmare. He was sweating and shaking, trying to get a grasp on reality again. He looked over to where you lay, not wanting to disturb you as well, but you had told him before that if he needed you, you would prefer him to do whatever he needed so you could help him.  

The shift of weight on the bed immediately woke you up and you could feel Sirius freeze as he noticed. “Can I sleep in your bed tonight?”

“Mhm,” you nod slowly, still half-asleep.

He climbed into the bed with you, pulling the covers over himself but making sure you still had enough. His arm snaked around your waist and you snuggled in closer to him.  

“Bad dream?” You whispered. He nodded.  

“I’ll tell you in the morning.”

You wished you could’ve stayed awake. As guilty as you would have felt in the morning, you wanted to remember this. But, you were too tired and soon enough, you were back asleep.

Whenever Sirius was on his own, he would always struggle to forget a nightmare. However, with you laid beside him, your Y/C/H hair like a halo around your head, sometimes tickling his face and your soft features that looked so calm when you were asleep, he found it difficult to focus on anything else.  

That’s when it hit him.  

Throughout the week, it had happened gradually, though he had remained blissfully unaware of it. Now it seemed to crash over him all at once, the realisation was so painfully obvious that he didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it before.

He was in love with you.  

It was bound to happen eventually. You knew everything about him and always offered to be there whenever he needed you, whatever he needed you for. Be it a friend, or someone he relied on for support, sometimes just a partner in crime. Subconsciously, he pulled you closer, never wanting this night to end.  

When Sirius woke up, you were smiling warmly at him. He couldn’t help the corners of his mouth curling upwards at the sight.

“Mmm, mornin,’” he yawned.

You giggle softly. He looked adorable after he had just woken up. “Hiya.”

You make a move to leave the bed but his arm that was wrapped around you just held you tighter. You furrow your eyebrows. Even from Sirius, the person who loved nothing more than a cuddle, this was odd behaviour.

“Let me go, Pads.”

“No,” he objected.

“Why?”

“I love you.”  

His eyes widen as he realises what he said. He becomes a lot more alert and starts apologising repeatedly.  

“No, I’m sorry, Y/N, I-”

“Sirius?” Your voice was quiet.  

“Yeah?” He mumbles.

“I love you too, you idiot.”

Part 2

[sagethewriter90-blog]

Hunter Tales: Trolls

Chapter 3 : Three, Two, One: The Hunt is still on. Hunter stopped at the mouth of a large pond in front of a large cliff that stood tall at six thousand feet. He let out a sharp whistle as he stared at it. He squatted low to the ground and took off with a sprint up the cliff's face. When he made it to the top he jumped and landed in front of a dilapidated log cabin. The cabin sunk down on the right side, there were deep and tiny holes on the logs and a red door hung loosely from the frame on rusty hinges. Hunter took a step forward and a loud shot rung and a fast projectile came toward him leaving a golf ball sized hole through the door. Hunter ducked out of the way of it he stayed low and looked at the cabin with apprehension. The door fell from the frame and a grey cloaked figure barrel rolled out of the tiny house aiming a slingshot at him. The hood of the cloak shadowed the person’s identity, Hunter tried to stand up but stopped as the figure fired another shot from the sling at his feet. The shot left a nice size crater behind curious he looked inside the hole and saw a tiny white pebble inside. The figure reached inside the chest pocket of the cloak and pulled out another pebble. They loaded it into the sling and took aim, “Those last two were warning shots you move again and this one goes between your eyes. Now who are you and what are you doing here?” asked the figure in a deep voice “My name, I go by many, but the elf at the Brisbane inn decided to call me Hunter and I am on a job from said elf to kill the threat here.”, he said. The figure lowered the weapon, and placed inside the chest pocket it removed the hood to reveal a dark skinned blind elf woman. She had a short afro, two large gold hoop earrings in both of her pointed ears, and she had a pair of bifocal glasses hanging around her neck from twine. Hunter stood up and watched her cautiously as she walked closer towards him. She grabbed his wrists and a smirk appeared on her face which only grew when her hands trailed down his body to feel the belt. She took a step back and let out a long relieved sigh, “I see it’s been twenty years since I felt my creations follow me.” She turned around and walked back toward the cabin she ducked underneath the door frame and disappeared into the house he followed soon after. He entered the cabin and saw the woman standing in front of a red brick furnace, an oak barrel sat in the middle of the room next to an anvil and on top of the anvil was a small sledgehammer. “Now for introductions my name is Laura Rosina and I was the blacksmith and inventor of the kingdom before the attack. I created the items you are currently wearing. ” she said. Hunter sat down and asked, “How… How did you harness elemental power.?” Laura turned and reached into the furnace she pulled out a small gray burlap sack that was tied closed by a piece of twine. He opened the bag and emptied its contents out on the ground before him. The sack contained ; a pair of talons, snake skin, and the skeletal remains of a fish. “Me and Tatianna used our elven magic to infuse the elemental attributes of those items into the gems in your belt and bracers.” He picked up the talons and inspected it, “What about the talons?” he asked. Laura let out a sigh and sat down she reached out and took the talons from his hand, “This I used to infused the element of air into a… I forget.” she placed the talons back on the ground, “Now since you are here let's get started.” Quick like a rabbit she jumped into a standing position, he looked at her with confusion “What are you talking about?” She smiled “I'm talking about me making you a weapon for your journey anything you want.” He reached into his pockets and removed the golden eyeball and he untied the string he reached out and placed the items into her hands, “Dealer's choice.” He said she nodded and placed the items on top of the barrel, Laura pointed toward the door, “You wait outside I work better alone.” Hunter stood up, bowed his head slightly and exited out of her workshop he walked to the edge of the cliff and sat down. He placed his hands on his knees, closed his eyes and started to meditate a few hours later Laura stepped out of the workshop with a burlap wrapped up and tied with twine. He stood up and walked over “So, how much do I owe you?” Laura shook her head, “It's on the house I want to help you in your mission.” Laura reached out with her left hand and grabbed Hunter’s wrist and placed the wrapped item in his hands. Hunter nodded and carefully removed the twine and burlap to reveal a pair of golden grappling gloves. Both of the gloves had an ankh symbol etched on to the metal surface, “So, What do you think?” she asked Hunter looked over the gloves and smiled Hunter stepped back and took a knee to her, “Thank you.” Laura chuckled lightly, “No thanks needed. Now on the other side of my cabin a few yards out are some giant walls that lead to the troll’s castle.” Hunter stood up, shook Laura's hand and then took off towards the shack in a sprint. With a single bound he cleared a hundred yards in two seconds he landed on the ground in a barrel roll and sprung to his feet in front of a giant set of oak wood doors that were flanked by giant white walls. Different images of trolls of many different sizes and shapes danced around images of people tied to poles with pain and anguish on there faces. “Halt!” yelled out a two high pitched voices the ground in front of the doors started crumble apart and a long two headed green snake like creature crawled out of the hole on eight giant spider legs it balanced itself on it's tail and looked down at Hunter. “Who? You?” said the thirty foot tall black eyed creature it sniffed the air and it stared at Hunter with hatred. The left and right head shouted respectively, “MURDERER! KILL!” the creature scurried toward him and head butted Hunter into the air from the end of it’s tail it launched a string of gray webbing at Hunter. Hunter stopped his accent his eyes glowing orange, a tiny flame appeared around his middle finger and he curled it underneath his thumb. Hunter flicked his finger and he unleashed a huge flame arrow that turned the web to ash and pinned the creature’s tail to the ground. The snake-spider let out a yell of pain as the flames of the arrow consumed it. Hunter landed with a barrel roll to his feet and stared at the anguished beast, “It's time to end this.” Hunter said he formed two flame swords in his hands and sprinted towards the creature. The creature stared to chuckle menacingly and it’s skin split open and Hunter's wind was sent bouncing across the ground from a tail whip. In a flash the creature constricted itself around his body Hunter freed himself by unleashing a giant explosion of flames which sent the snake-spider through the door and walls Hunter popped his neck and activated the belt and bracers and walked through the hole. He entered onto a long paved road that was made of human skeletons he looked forward and saw the creature surrounded by six million trolls all armed to the teeth and all staring at him snarling and gnashing their fangs. The creature toward over the others and asked “What? Do?” Hunter smirked and slammed his hands on the ground causing a giant explosion of steam to erupt from the ground. The steam died down revealing gold statues of every last troll Hunter stood up and jumped over the statues he landed in a squat on the other side and continued to walk. A few hundred yards away Hunter walked up to a path that on either side were twenty concrete pedestals that had metal bat sculptures on top of all them. Hunter walked on the road toward a giant crater filled with rubble and a giant throne made of bones. On the right side of the throne was a great sword made from gray tungsten in the middle of the sword was a giant white diamond. A tall pale skinned woman with neck length long matted brunette hair and lifeless eyes sat on the bone throne. She looked to be in her late twenties and was clad torso to toe in tungsten armor when she spotted Hunter she gripped the hilt of her blade the diamond lit up and she stood up she asked, “So! Are you to blame for killing my comrades?” Hunter nodded and with great speed she unleashed a giant vertical slash towards him. He jumped up and landed in the crater and aimed a finger gun at her he unleashed a fire hose blast of water at her. The water hit her in the chest knocking her into the throne two hundred thousand blocks of cement levitated from the ground and were launched at her she in a blink of an eye the bricks turned to dust and fell around her in a perfect circle. She stood in the middle with her blade on her shoulders “So you sure are flashy but now I must cut you.” In a blink of an eye she stood behind Hunter with her blade on her shoulders his body fell on the ground in fabulous gory fashion. The armor clad woman jumped backwards over the bloody chunks and stood in front of her throne. Just then a loud snap rung out and the pile of flesh exploded in flames the shockwave from the explosion knocked her through the bone throne. Her body skipped across the ground and she slammed back first on Hunter's torso the bracers and belt gone from his body. He wrapped his arms around her waist, picked her up and slammed her down on the ground with a German suplex. Hunter got to his feet and the woman sat up and asked her voice full of confusion and irritation, “How are you still alive I chopped you up what are you?” He shrugged and replied, “I don't know I just don't die that’s why I'm a hunter.” The woman shook her head, “No! That's not an answer what are you?!” Her lifeless eyes turned dark grey and in a graceful motion she removed his head from his body. His head fell to the ground and turned to ash and as his body fell flames shot out of his neck hole and a new head appeared which he then used to head butt the blade out of her hand. The sword landed few feet behind him and then he kicked her in the chest and launched her backward a few hundred feet she slid to a stop and stared at Hunter with a crazed look. Hunter took in a huge breath in and let it out slowly then his eyes turned orange. He snapped his fingers and stomped his feet and the skin on his waist and wrist glowed green and blue respectively. A few of the stone blocks levitated off the ground and started to melt he clenched his fist and the slag covered both of his arms up to his shoulders then turned to steam. Hunter slammed his hand on the ground and stood up then he flipped the bird to the woman. Her grey eyes showed anger and she sprinted at him Hunter watched her get closer and closer and tilted his head from side to side chuckling. With the blatant show of disrespect the woman let out a roar and lunged at him just then giant geyser of steam erupted from the ground and engulfed her melting the armor from her body. When the geyser subsided she fell to the ground soaked. She wore a leather tank top and pants that clung to her body she writhed in pain from the blisters on her exposed skin. She stood up her hair was wet singed and patchy and her face full of blisters. She layed on the ground flailing her arms trying and failing to hit Hunter the blisters started to pop and thousand white and green tendrils shot out from the pustules and it cocooned itself around her. The top of the shell exploded and a white and green striped creature that was two feet taller than Hunter stood inside the shell ankle deep in a slimy white and green liquid. It had three fingers on both hands and two toes on it’s feet. It had a great white shark fin on top of it's head, it’s eyes were glowing with grey energy, and it’s teeth were sharp and serrated like tiny saw blades. “To answer your early question I am the troll leader and I am your end.” It said in deep and raspy voice and in a blink it grabbed his neck tightly and lifted him up eye level. Hunter ignited one of his hands in flames and he brought it down across the wrist of the creature. It yelled in agony and fell to it’s knees and whimpered as it cradled it’s cauterized stump. Hunter landed on the ground on his feet and removed the hand from his throat and burnt it to ash. Three tiny holes opened up on each digit of the troll’s hand and tiny sharp needles poked out of the holes the troll pointed it toward him and fired a hailstorm of needles at him. Hunter performed a few backflips and dodged the fast moving projectiles. The creature ran toward Hunter with it’s hand balled into a fist. When it got close enough a long tendril of stone shot out of the ground and wrapped around it’s wrist and feet bringing the tall beast to it’s knees. Hunter lifted up his arms and chunks of stone enclosed around the troll's body leaving only the head exposed. It struggled and shouted expletives at him. Hunter walked closer to it and stopped in front of the captured troll. It started to gnash, snarl and bite at him “What the hell are you I killed you, you come back it makes no sense!” the troll yelled in frustration Hunter's eyes and arm started to glow brightly and two giant flaming wings exploded from his back and two water spikes formed on the back of his wrist. The troll's eyes widened in shock, “You're ….” It was quickly silenced as Hunter jammed his water spikes in it's temple the water entered the creature's body when his wings exploded and entered into the rock that surrounded the troll the rocks exploded in a pillar of flames and the creature yelled in agony. When the flames and screams subsided there was nothing left but a ring of liquid gold that surrounded a sphere of water that was enclosed around the armored lady. Her leather outfit was in tatters and on her left cheek was a faint scar. He lowered the sphere to the ground and snapped his fingers and the glow on his arms deactivated. The water around the woman dispersed and layed on the ground on her back coughing up water she rolled on to her stomach and she slowly stood up. Hunter walked over to help her up but she held up her hand and stopped him he took a step back and the lady got to her feet. She tilted her head to the right and tiny droplets of water splashed on the straps of her top. She looked around and she fell to her knees bawling loudly she looked at her shaking hands and she started to vomit. Hunter ran over and held her hair back as she barfed a few minutes later Hunter and the lady sat down on the ground sniffling. Hunter stood up and he held out his hand, she took his hand and he pulled her to her feet “Anything’s wrong?” he asked she nodded and said “It’s my fault.” “What’s your fault?” he asked she waved her hands around, “This if it wasn't for my pursuit of power none of this would've transpired.” “What happened here?” asked Hunter the lady chuckled “That's a long story but first my name’s Gwendolyn Elysium princess of this wrecked kingdom and I would like to thank you for killing the troll menace and saving my life.” She said with a curtsy Hunter waved his hands in front of face and said, “Don't mention it I was on a job anyway and when we fought I noticed something off when I didn't answer those questions.” “Yes I was possessed by the troll king on my eighteenth birthday my mother and father the king and queen had two children me and my little brother Atticus on his second birthday about sixty of the kingdom’s armed guards rushed inside the throne room with a woman who was complete covered from head to toe in a red shawl only a pair of red eyes were visible and she came with a prophecy that said that the trolls will rise and be defeated by a person of royal blood and his protector. When the woman was finished my mother and father started to ask her questions which were which one of their children were the savior. She pointed to the both of us and then she was escorted out of the throne room. So for a few years me and my brother trained to protect our kingdom and we received gifts from our parents for our training the gems, my armor, and my great sword with a note that read these will help in the future.” Gwendolyn looked at Hunter's glowing limbs and said “I see that the gems are in your body.” He looked over himself and chuckled “Yeah it happened when you chopped me into pieces.” She shook her head and said, “You are a strange man. Anyway while we trained our bodies and minds my father took a ferry to the blacksmith and were she infused the gems with elemental power and embed the diamond into the sword.” . Gwendolyn walked past Hunter toward her sword and she lifted the blade up with one hand and placed it on her shoulders she took a breath in and out before she finished “So on mine and my brothers eighteenth and sixth birthday respectively we were by the river we were both supposed to read a book about how the gems worked, I finished my huge book and started to lift weights while my brother read from two giant books. A few minutes into my session a three legged, flea ridden, and malnourished dog hobbled over to me it looked at me with lifeless eyes and spat a small drop of white and green phlegm on my arm. The mucus started to burrow itself in my skin painfully I dropped to my knees but I managed to tell my brother to run before I blacked out. When I came to I could only look on in horror as I slaughtered the entire kingdom.” The ground started to shake and a giant slimy muscled arm emerged from the shell and came down toward Hunter and Gwen. They both jumped out of the way as the hand crashed down onto the ground. Then a large white skinned green striped muscled creature emerged from the shell and it stood tall at thirty feet, “DIE!!!” The troll yelled. Gwen she launched herself at the troll with a gust of wind. She grabbed the blade with both hands and with a powerful slash she unleashed four tornados that surrounded the troll on either side. The tornados converged on the troll pulling pieces of it inside and shredding the slime unleashing a geyser of gold. The wind tunnels dispersed and the woman dropped her blade and fell to her knees tears started to stream down her face as she smiled, she turned her head to look at Hunter and said “I have to undo the damage the trolls did to the land.” “How are you going to do that.” She gripped the hilt of her blade and she stood up. “Come stand by me.” Hunter walked over and stood at her side. “Now I need you to float us up.” Hunter nodded and he lifted his hands up the skin on his waist glowed and a huge portion of the ground they were on levitated out of the ground and above the tree line. Over the horizon Hunter saw a wall of water that surrounded an of dead and living trees. “After the slaughter of my kingdom the king used my wind power to seal the island inside a barrier of water and since my brother escaped he set trolls at every place the bracer and belt was located at trying to tie up loose ends and rule.” She looked around and slapped the under side of the blade and the gem deactivated and the water quickly rushed in flooding the entire island. A large rumble sounded and from the water a giant tree sprouted from the drink, a few miles away from the tree a long serpent like creature appeared from the depth and let out a roar. Gwen smiled, “Laura and Tatianna made it out.” “You know them?” Gwen nodded “Yeah Tatianna was my maid and Laura crafted my armor and sword.” Hunter twitched his fingers and below them a two thousand foot tall watch tower was formed out of splintered trees and stone debris. He landed the chunk on top of the roof of the building “So is there anything else you need me to do?” He asked she shook her head, “No with those two's help this place will be just as it was.” Hunter nodded and then jumped off the tower into the raging water below. Gwen stared at his antic with a smile and shake of her head “What a strange, strange man.”

[wristic]

Science VS. Reality (Part 3)

Pairing: Mad Sweeney X Reader

Word Count: 1600

Warnings: Language and magic being real but not real but it’s real so it’s real

-Part 1- -Part 2- -Part 3- -Part 4- -Part 5- -Part 6- -Part 7-

Switching between two types of lenses, one of glass and one of quartz, you couldn’t see a difference in the fingerprints on your model, only feel like reality was a little warped when you looked through the quartz lens. It was strange, like when something is in front of your face but you’re looking past it.

You sat back, rubbing your mouth in thought, staring at the engine. You already wasted the rag, cutting it into dozens and dozens of tiny squares for the row of different solutions and chemicals, finding an interesting change in some but nothing you couldn’t recreate with your own blood.

Amidst your hard thinking, for an unexplained reason your eyes tugged to the many small windowed cabinets of chemicals and metals. A shock of terror ran through your bones and you cautiously stood up, tiptoeing to the one open shelf where clearly someone had been playing with your collection and left their freshly refilled cup next to a haphazardly opened bottle of shiny metal chunks called Sodium.

You gently pulled the cup and set it on your desk, and then came back to seal the bottle, closing the small door and lifting the simple lock. Disaster wasn’t a strong enough word for what almost happened. While everything in your room was painstakingly built to prevent mishaps like that, you couldn’t always count for the ignorant that would sneak into your room out of curiosity. The smallest drop of water and the metal would have ignited, exploding amidst the rest of the chemicals and metals. You sighed slowly in relief that it didn't happen.

Taking back to your seat, you glanced through the quartz lens. At first you thought it had somehow smudged, looking like some blue liquid was warping the fingerprint. However when you brought the rag under the lens and above the model, the blue went away, only reappearing when you slowly pulled your hand away.

You slowly turned the model to another angle, finding every bloodied fingerprint shaded with a misty blue. Staring at one you noticed the mist wavered, shifted, like a veil of fog tied only to his blood. Sitting back with a laugh, you noticed the cup of water, how close it sat near the model, almost touching it. As an experiment, you pushed it away, across the giant desk and looked again, the blue gone and only a rusted fingerprint remaining. Pulling it back you looked at your model through the glass, finding it unchanged like your bare eyes.

You gave a triumphant and boisterous cry, charging out of the room and calling for the first servant you saw, “Jane! Jane come see this!” Your mother peeked around the corner and you waved for her too, “Mother come! You have to see what I’ve discovered!”

Charging back they came moments later and you were bouncing in excitement, you presented your microscope to them with a big smile, “Look through the lens and tell me what you see.”

You mother gave a long drawn out sigh, rolling her eyes as she came to your little toys. Before she even looked she glanced at the model and glared at it. “Is that blood?”

“What? Mother-”

She grabbed the model and looked over it appalled, “Whose blood does this belong to?! Why are you looking at someone’s blood?!”

“Mother! That’s not what you should be concerned with!” You ripped it back and placed the model under the scope, adjusting till you found a print.

“Are they alright!?”

“Yes he’s fine now look-”

“He?! Which HE was in your room touching your things with bloodied fingers?!”

“Mother just look and tell me what you see!”

She huffed, bringing her face back to the lens. Your mother looked a decently long moment before shrugging and shaking her head. “I see bloody fingerprints.”

Taken back you brushed her out of the way, looking and see for yourself that they were in fact blue. “It’s… but you see it don’t you? Jane you look!”

The young serving girl stepped forward trying to hide her smile, watching you and your mother quietly bicker. Again you didn’t see much of a reaction where there should have at least been question. Jane backed away with an apologetic grin. “I see fingerprints.”

“But they’re blue.”

They didn’t react much outside of your mother giving an agitated, “Yes?”

“So you see it too, under the microscope they’re blue-”

“Yes and what does that-”

Before she could finish your threw your arms in the air shouting out a victory cry and falling to your knees. She scoffed at you, “You need help! Professional help you know that!” and stomped out of the room, Jane giggling behind her while you continued to scream and celebrate.

It was tangible, it could be duplicated, it was real, it was science.

You sat in the living rooms cushy chair deep in the night, sipping wine and smiling to yourself. The open window had its offerings and on the end table below it was a pile of gold coins, the clearest biggest quartz crystal you could buy, and a bowl of water. You watched closely behind the crystal with only a few fractures and clouds at it’s base, waiting for the coins to react to his presence, if they would at all. Something however told you they were more than gold, especially with the ancient tales focused on finding one and keeping it.

Slowly they began taking on a cooler shade and you smiled, watching the gold mist into blue, tendrils like a smoke reaching from the small pile.

“Whats all this?” Sweeney suddenly asked with his mouth full, lazily getting comfortable on the window sill.

“Oh? This?” You asked, all saucy. Standing up you rounded the table, “It’s a little thing called scientific evidence.”

You pulled the crystal between the gold pile and Sweeney. Like your mother and Jane he didn’t react much to normal things doing abnormal glowing. He sucked on his teeth and asked, “What’s that suppose to mean to me?”

Holding back a growl you got up in his face, “It means, I’ve uncovered a very real means of seeing what was previously an unseeable science. Your ‘magic’ is now a toy for me to experiment on and unravel the mysteries of the world.”

He was still aggravatingly unimpressed, eating away and stealing the water and drinking what helped make the coins glow. “I already told you magic was real-”

“No! It’s not magic! It’s real-”

“Well what the fuck does magic mean to you if it can’t possibly be real?”

“Real! Not, miracles and fairies and rules abandoned! It has a set system, a logical system that can be recreated and instructed-”

“But ya already knew magic had a system, your grandmother told you as much in her tales. Or have you forgotten that when you’re in the mood to be a cunt you put out the most expensive disgusting sweet bread you can get your hands on?”

You gasped, more offended at the curse word than anything, “It’s when I’m angry at you!”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “When you’re a cunt. Fact remains, there’s always been a system for magic.”

Frustration left you silent and frantic for a retort to either statement. In the end you cried out, having to concede he was right. “I don’t like you! I don’t like you, I don’t like anything about you! You are the worse thing that has ever happened to me and to science!”

Sweeney chuckled like he’d won some bet with himself, “Aw the smart rich girl can’t outwit a leprechaun~.”

“Oh what even is a leprechaun anyway?! Some form of subhuman that was suppose to die out centuries ago?!”

“Come on love, you can’t say that like Irish discrimination isn’t rampant throughout America.”

The claim took you back but you managed a confused, “You’re... you’re right. Sorry about that.”

“And I was a man once.” he chimed. You stiffened, jaw clamped shut tight waiting for the magical twist to infuriate you. “And then I was a bird and then-” as he finished you were already taking great gulps of wine.

The voice of your mother calling you filtered through the door and before you could cover anything up or shove Sweeney away she came in. “Who are you yelling-”

One would assume it would have been easy for Sweeney to pull back and let your mother just think you were crazy, instead he nodded to her with a smile, “Ma’am.”

You forced a smile but was clearly glaring at him, turning back you motioned to him, “Hello mother this is a...friend, of mine. Don’t mind us-”

“Who the hell is this you’re bringing in the house!?” before you could snark off she snapped, “And don’t you dare say ‘he’s not technically in the house’!”

You held your hands up, bottle included to further damage your case, “He’s a friend from work-”

“I have set you up with numerous suitors-!”

“And he’s just as terrible as they were I promise!” you defended.

Before she spoke another word she gave Sweeney a hard look before asking, the tone and air about her suddenly shifting. “Are you Irish?”

“Born and raised in the mainland my Lady.”

Your mother seemed to be mulling something over before knocking you off your feet, “There’s a gala this Saturday, would you like to come?”

You gaped at her, “What!? Mother you can’t be-!”

“I would love to!” You nearly flung your wine bottle you spun so fast, Sweeney just smiling away.

“Do get cleaned up before then, I’m assuming my terrible child will help you find the right suit.” She gave you a warning look but you were still in shock. Before leaving she gave one last order, “And no more yelling! People are trying to sleep!”

The door slammed shut leaving you in a state of stiff bewilderment. Sweeney lifted from the window, slapping it in a small triumphant rhythm. “Looks like I’m gettin’ some fancy new clothes. I’ll get to parade around like those stick-up-the-arse ‘dandies’ and eat all their fancy foods while going ‘Mm yes want to hear a joke I heard about the upper middle class?’ Honestly, the fat cats these days, no propriety.” You turned and glared for the lack in explanation on the abrupt and unexplained change in your mother. “See you Saturday then, and uh don’t worry,” he motioned to your house with a smirk, “I know the place.”

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Kindness; Part Ten

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Part ten!

Charon had no idea how their plans always managed to go so wrong. This was the fucking super mutants all over again. A deathclaw. A deathclaw! They had been sent to clear out a group of raiders that kept harming the Brahmin of a nearby settlement, how the fuck had they even managed to stumble into its nest?

  They aren't exactly creatures known for tidy areas!

  Spoon stood beside him, just as motionless as he was. The deathclaw (Charon would take a stab in the dark and say that it was probably the mother deathclaw) stood horns, head, and shoulders over Charon, nostrils flaring as it sampled the air suspiciously.

  Don't move smoothskin, for the love of God please don't move. Charon silently begged, praying that the creature's poor eyesight would let them escape unscathed. Most of his other employers had hardly ventured outside once they'd acquired him, never mind actively seeking out trouble. Charon had never faced a deathclaw and he wasn't sure if he was up to the task.

  After several overly-tense moments, it seemed they would be alright. But then, the deathclaw gave a loud snort as it turned to retreat back into its den and Spoon flinched at the noise.

  All hell broke loose.

  That cold, calculating chunk of Charon's brain took over as the deathclaw sank its massive talons into Spoon's leg. The ghoul felt a panicked shout bubble in his throat when Spoon screamed in pain; horror and the sick, tearing noise momentarily freezing his limbs before he wrestled himself back under control.

  Spoon!

  Protect contract holder.

  The combat shotgun thundered deafeningly loud in his grip, pellets spraying point-blank into the deathclaw's side and making it roar angrily. Charon snarled in reply, pressing his advantage as Spoon crumpled to the ground. Blood had never interrupted his killing phase, but seeing Spoon covered in it made him abruptly nauseous and furious at the same time.

  “I'll fuckin' skin you!” Charon seethed, practically nose-to-chest with the deathclaw as he pumped a round into its thick hide and dodged the swipe of razor-sharp claws. The creature latched its jaws onto Charon's armored shoulder, making the ghoul grunt in pain and fire another shot into its stomach.

  He curled his free hand into a fist and slammed it into the deathclaw's jaw over and over, hearing a snap and wondering faintly whether it was his hand or the jaw. His brain screamed an endless cycle of contract holder contract holder contract holder --!!

  Charon felt something in him shatter like glass under the stress and pain, a mental explosion. His hip ached from where he'd braced his shotgun and his fingers cramped in his fist from constant hammering andandand--

  His brain went quiet for a moment in the midst of the chaos.

  Protect Spoon .

  It wasn't a command. It didn't scrape at the insides of his skull, or turn his stomach like an Institute order.

  Was that...is this me?

  The deathclaw's teeth dug and tore at his shoulder and Charon couldn't choke back the shout that ripped out of him when he finally disengaged from the hulking beast. He jabbed his shotgun upwards into the deathclaw's neck and just fired in a frenzy until he shot the drum dry.

  Charon swayed on his feet as the creature slumped to the ground, its head reduced to a bloody pulp. He was dimly aware that this was the most frothing rage he'd ever been in and now he had no way to expel it. Everything in him was white-hot and he'd lost too much blood to just sit down and deep-breathe his way through it safely. He ripped the empty drum out of his gun with one savage motion and slapped a fresh one in, cocking the still-smoking gun in the next breath. Then he kicked the deathclaw's corpse to the side, stepped into the cave and swung the barrel of the shotgun into the first egg he saw.

  Pulling the trigger as an afterthought, the ghoul blindly stormed his way through the numerous clutches of eggs. Crushing them with his punches and kicks as much as his gun, he finally reached the end of the cave and stood there for a moment, chest heaving and throat sore from screams that he didn't recall making. His broken knuckles trailed blood from the sharp edges of egg and impacts with the deathclaw's hide mere moments earlier.

  Charon ground his teeth and began to wipe some of the egg sac off his mangled hands, forcing himself to think about where they were and where they might be secure enough to take care of Sp--

  Oh God, Spoon. The fury petered out of the overlarge ghoul as he staggered back out of the den and knelt in the bloody dirt surrounding his partner. He had to swallow two or three times before he could speak. “Spoon?” He managed, rolling her onto her back.

  The scream that came out of her was unexpected and Charon jolted at the volume of it.

    Spoon heaved in a shuddering breath after her scream, gasping and then gritting her teeth against the pain. My leg!

  She made the mistake of propping herself up and looking down at the damage. The Sugar Bombs she'd eaten that morning threatened to make a reappearance. Charon was on one knee beside her, looking infuriated and frantic at the same time. Spoon moaned in agony, pressing her fists to her eyes and falling back into the dirt. Her leg was gone, sliced clean through above the knee and lying off to the side of her. What was left attached to her was bleeding too heavily for her to think straight. “Oh God, Charon, Charon...” She babbled helplessly, “this is h-how I fucking die, I'm so sorry--”

  “No no no it's not.” Charon growled, tearing off one of his belts and cinching it tight enough to hurt faintly around her thigh. A Stimpack jabbed quickly onto the area beneath the belt.

  Spoon shook her head, feeling the panic well up. “I c-can't...holy shit big guy, so much blood-”

  “I'll carry you, it'll be okay.”

  “Charon d-don't carry m-me! What if-”

  Her chin was suddenly caught in a vice-like grip and Charon's gaze, roiling with emotion, held hers. The order didn't seem to phase him. “ I can't lose you, ” He grated out, “so let me fucking help! ” The ghoul sucked in a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I'm going to find a car and we're going to sit next to it. We're going to irradiate the fuck out of you and see if Moira's trick is the real deal.” He said finally, struggling to his feet and gathering Spoon up.

  The world was graying out at the edges for Spoon, and she giggled a little too hard. “T-taking care of me as always, eh big guy?” Something dribbled down her cheek and she looked up, catching sight of his mangled armor. “Oh God Charon, oh no...your poor shoulder...”

  “Fuck my shoulder, smoothskin!” Charon exploded, silencing her. His breath came in huffing, angry pants as he continued walking. He shifted her weight to one arm after a moment, using the thumb on his now-free hand to wipe off the blood that had dripped onto her face.

  Spoon half-lidded her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat weakly as he stared down at her with a strange expression on his face. “You in there...?” she asked when he finally looked away. Charon grumbled something under his breath, making Spoon smile. It was several minutes before she spoke again, the dizzy feeling unsettling her immensely. “Charon...if...if something happens to me, what will you have to do?”

  The tall ghoul stiffened, fingers digging into her leg and arm. “I am not having this conversation right now. You're going to be alright, smoothskin.”

  “But what if I'm not? What...What if I have to haunt you endlessly be-because you never told me what would ha-happen afterward?” Spoon pressed, raising her hands and waving them around in what she hoped was a spooky fashion.

  “I could live with that.” Was all Charon said in reply though, his eyes thoughtful as he stared over her head.

  “I understand that you'd have to take the c-contract, but,” Fuck this hurts. If I get out of this I'm blowing that fucker's den sky-high with grenades, “What's keeping you from just hanging onto it yourself?” Oh god, bad question, terrible question holy shit. This is where I get eaten alive, her brain screamed as Charon slowly looked down at her with a thunderous expression. “Uh. Never mind.” Spoon backpedaled. “I just. I need something to talk about so I don't focus on the fact that my leg was ripped off. I'm sure you understand.” She finished with a laugh that sounded too high in her ears.

  “What were some of your favorite westerns, and why?” Charon grunted after several minutes, his face smoothing into a neutral look. “Tell me about them. I never watched any. Too many horses for me.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Spoon said, giddily realizing that she actually did recall him saying that.

    Her voice was a soothing background noise to him, telling him about Roy Rogers and Fess Parker while intermittently taking sips off a canteen they filled in an irradiated puddle. Charon vaguely recalled a singing cowboy and that damn pony of his. He felt sometimes like that damn four legged fuck did all the work out of the two. He couldn't remember why horses unsettled him so much. Maybe it was because they were huge, like Brahmin, but smarter.

  It didn't matter. As long as she was talking, she was breathing. And as long as she was breathing, he was hers.

  Charon hadn't been able to help the shudder that had gone through him when she asked what would happen to him if she died. The notion of her haunting him was only barely laughable. She was already going to haunt him. Every day since he had braided those small beads into her hair haunted him.

  Charon wasn't an idiot. He knew that he was well beyond the point of healthy employee and employer attachment. Shit, he may have skipped the 'healthy' part outright and plummeted straight into 'how the fuck do I make this work' territory.

  She let him touch her. She'd seen most of him, fucked-up skin and all...and she still seemed to want him. The next day had been torment as he'd tiptoed around her, not sure what to do in this situation. His pussyfooting didn't seem to upset her; she'd left him alone for the most part and he had a weird feeling that their interaction may have been a fluke. Maybe her water hadn't been purified enough and she'd had rad poisoning. What if she'd been drinking beforehand and didn't actually know what had happened? Spoon hadn't acted any differently towards him and it was confusing as fuck.

  Charon groaned internally as he remembered all the damn fool traders she swindled out of their caps with a well-placed arm touch or that cheesy showman's grin. What if that's all he was? Just another sucker?

  A barricade of cars stacked on top of one another caught his eye, and he quickened his steps. If there were raiders they were fucked, but the lack of fire in the encroaching twilight set his mind at ease. Charon abruptly noticed that Spoon had fallen silent, and looked down worriedly. Her eyes were still open but fuck , was she pale. “Not much further, Spoon.” He rasped.

  She focused on him, offering a wan smile that only worried him more. “Okay.”

  The only raiders were already dead, and Charon could feel the low hum of radiation from at least two of the vehicles. Carefully he set her down on the hood of one of the crushed cars, dropping her pack on the ground next to him and grunting when the fingers of his right hand made a snapping protest against the motion. “You still have your reserve water? I don't know how hard this car is still cranking out. It's been here a while.”

  “Bottom of the bag. C-Can you grab me a Bloodpack? Maybe another Stim too.” Spoon asked, wincing as she slid further back so she could lay down. Charon 'tsk'ed, sitting her up again.

  “You know laying down is a bad move, smoothskin. You fall asleep like that, you're fucked.” He scolded, ashamed of how relieved he felt when she rolled her eyes at him.

  “Pipe down you overlarge fucker, and g-gimme a Stim already. Then t-take off your armor so I can see your shoulder.” She demanded.

  Charon felt a tremor jolt through his body at the order and then...nothing. Huh . That's never happened before. Cautiously, he continued not obeying for a few seconds more, hiding it by digging around in her pack aimlessly. Weird , he thought, finally picking up the things she asked for and handing them over one by one. “My shoulder will be fine smoothskin. The rads are doing their work on me, see?” he assured her, tugging his battered armor to the side and showing his muscle already starting to patch and weave its way back together.

  Spoon grimaced as she started to drink from the gallon of rad water. “I'm going to have to piss like a fucking racehorse when this is over with.” She complained. Her cheeks were already pinking back up, proof that the Bloodpack and Stim had done their jobs.

  “Do you have anything to dull the pain? Med-X?” Charon was surprised when she shook her head no.

  “I might still have a bottle of vodka in the side compartment. That's it though. I really ought to prepare more for these kinds of things.” The smoothskin admitted as Charon uncovered a half-empty bottle and passed it to her. “Jesus Christ Charon, you'll bleed me out faster. That'll thin my blood.”

  “You don't have anything else in here that would help with managing your pain.” He pointed out.

  Spoon set her jaw. “I've dealt with it this long, haven't I?”

  Charon could tell this wasn't an argument he could win, so he simply nodded and began setting up a few mines around their impromptu resting place. Once he was done he started peeling off his armor. His undershirt was punched full of holes and with a resigned sigh he began using it to scrub some of the blood off his gear. The radiation from the cars lapped at the bottom of his consciousness gently, relaxing him to the point that he sat down.

  “How do you feel, Charon?” Spoon asked, hiccuping at the end of her sentence.

  Charon looked up, taking in her appearance. He hadn't permitted himself many opportunities to check her over since their confusing bath day almost two weeks ago. He knew his stare was heated but he couldn't bring himself to care.

    “I feel damn fine, smoothskin.” he said finally. The look that he gave her cut through the acrid taste of rad water and the foggy warning ticks of her Pipboy's Geiger counter. Spoon gulped, not sure why she felt so disappointed when he returned to swabbing the blood off his armor. Her stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the dimming pain.

  “You grow anything yet? Or are we fucked?” Charon asked, spitting onto his shoulder plate and scrubbing at it with the cloth.

  Spoon shrugged, loosening the belt around her thigh. Charon's eyes shot back up at the ' clink ' of the buckle. “Sheesh, jumpy.” Spoon teased, sliding the belt off and holding her breath. No blood spurted out of the end of her thigh and she grinned in relief, her hysteria manifesting in a squeak of laughter. “Whew! Well, worst comes to worst I'll get a badass robot leg instead.”

  “Jesus fuck.” Charon growled, tossing his armor to the side and getting to his feet.

  “Uh-?” Spoon began as the ghoul sauntered to the car, caging her in with his arms when he leaned over her. “Charon?”

  He made a low noise in his throat, closing in and pressing his forehead to hers. “Don't... don't do that to me again, smoothskin.” He murmured after a few tense seconds.

  “Do what?” Spoon asked, genuinely confused. Charon groaned, pulling her into his chest and hugging her tightly. Oh...I scared him, she realized. Wait, I scared him?! Holy fuck. “I'm sorry.”

  “If my employer dies, I have to take the contract from them and give it to the next person I see. It could be the person who killed them. It could be a random trader.” The ghoul drew a shaky-sounding breath. “I cannot 'hang onto' my own contract. The longer I keep it, the more severe the mental backlash is. I..I am content. I do not wish to leave you. You have been kind to me. You tolerate my touching. But it's not wise to be this attached to you. I distanced myself so I could keep you safe; so I wouldn't be distracted when I watch your back.”

  “'Tolerate?!'” Spoon squeaked, pieces falling into place in her brain. I thought I had overstepped his boundaries when he avoided me the next day! I'll admit my pride was a little wounded and I was embarrassed with the way I acted, so I figured I'd save us both the trouble and pretend like it didn't happen. If only a certain someone didn't make it so fucking difficult to forget...!

  “It didn't work. I am still distracted, maybe even more so.” Fever-hot fingers cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. She flushed at the intensity of the look, fixing her eyes on his shoulder instead. “Hey,” His voice held a note of pleading, “don't hide from me. Not now. When you talked about haunting me...I don't think you understand the things I'm already haunted by, smoothskin.”

  “I really tore you up, huh?” Spoon said sheepishly. Charon nodded, seeming like the action itself offered him some relief. Spoon threw her arms around him on a whim, nuzzling into his chest. “We're fucking morons, big guy.”

  The startled bark of his laughter was like music to her, and she joined in.

  ...

  Spoon was horrified on a low level when she woke up from a relatively restful (if a little nauseous) night to a brand new, semi-functional leg. No other appendages had appeared and for that she was grateful, but the muscles in her leg felt like she'd never used them before.

  She hobbled around the camp, swiping a new boot off a dead raider that was almost her size and struggling to put it on. Charon chuckled at her frustrated motions, offering to hold the bag of Radaway while she tapped into a vein. “I swear to God, if anything worse than the standard Radaway headache or upset stomach happens I'm blowing my fucking brains out.” Spoon swore when she was done, looking up at the ghoul with narrowed eyes.

  Charon shrugged. “Smoothskin, even if you went full ghoul you'd be attractive to me.” His tone was nonchalant.

  Spoon was flabbergasted. Jesus Christ. “You say the nicest things, Charon.”

  “Technically I'm high as a kite right now, Spoon. The radiation makes you sick, but it throws me for a loop.” He grinned down at her. “I feel great, you look great, I protected you yesterday and we're fucking alive. My shoulder's good as new, my hand bones have cracked back into place...what's not to like?” His face darkened. “Do you think those settlers knew it was a deathclaw killing their Brahmin?”

  Spoon's heart sank. There was no way they could have mistaken raider slaughter for deathclaw slaughter. Bullets versus claws? I mean, even knives don't slice like those talons. “I don't know, Charon. We'll have to see. I guess we'll prep for the worst, and hope for the best. All that jazz.”

  Charon nodded in agreement, but his brow stayed furrowed. Spoon chewed her lip thoughtfully as she re-packed her rucksack and Charon polished off a few cans of Cram. The freshly-filled rad water jug plopped like a rock into the bottom of her pack.

  “Remind me to thank Moira when we get back. I guess letting her twist my DNA 'like a kitten with a ball of yarn' was a good thing after all.” Spoon grimaced as a headache started to pound in her left temple. “Ah, right on time.”

Part Eleven

[acesteria-blog]

Overthrown: Chapter 1

Summary: After the death and possession of her body by her father, Kali is thrown into the quarrels and troubles of people. She is taken to the human kingdom of Malista, and added into the guard with one goal- to kill the king. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I remember seeing her in her full form, her golden eyes glaring down at Kae as he laid beneath her, his body beaten and fragile- no longer able to move or escape. I ran to him, stumbling as my legs threatened to give out from under me. A deep, guttural roar exploded from the large beast’s throat as her taloned grasp thrusted towards me. Putting my arms up, my skin turned to deep violet as my scales prepared for impact. However, before contact was made Jin lunged at her, somehow managing to hit her large form away- something I didn't know a human was capable of doing to a fully formed dragon. The air reeked of smoke as the trees around my home burned a bright orange, some of them exploded and splintered around our feet.

I knelt down next to Kae, my father, taking his bloodied hand in mine as he looked up at me. His violet eyes were sad as he began to sit up, straining himself while doing so, face contorting in pain. Blood trickled down his stomach from the large chunk of flesh missing in the upper chest, veins protruding around the crater and swelling like parasites under the skin. I tried to push him down but large hands stopped me, gripping mine tightly as his reassuring eyes stared at me in a way that told me to trust what was about to be done. Taking a knife from his holstered belt he started to carve letters into his forearm, red slowly blotting around the new laceration. Then, father grabbed my hand, rough calloused fingers brushing against mine soothingly as the knife cut down my palm, causing me to flinch at the sting; looking up at me he whispered "I love you" before forcing our wounds together. A bright light erupted between us, throwing me backwards just as the woman flung Jin into a tree- a loud crack sounding out before Jin’s limp body slumped over onto the ground like a doll. My stomach began to heat up as a deep rage and new power filled me; the feeling of living things crawling into my skin through the opening in my palm, taking over.

That's the last thing I remember from that night. I woke up in excruciating pain who knows how many days later- my clothes ripped and covered in my own or someone else’s blood; my body bruised deep blues and purples all over. I searched frantically for Jinizen for hours, but he was nowhere to be found- even the dragon was gone. As I looked around I could feel the same crawling feeling under my skin, now realizing what my father must have done- a transfer spell.

Now here I am, alone in our cave reading my father's journals for any hint as to what I need to do next, my fingers brushing over the old pages that have become a sour yellow with age.

"When will he come for me, do you think?" I ask out loud, knowing well that no one is physically around to hear, that no one is nearby for miles. It's not an external person that I'm talking to, no- it's internal.

"I know what you did." I say sadly, my voice tented with desolation as I rest my chin on my hand, flipping through the journal idly. "What a stupid thing to do, why didn't you just heal yourself? Why didn’t we just try to escape? Why did you feel the need to fight her..."

No response.

"If you're not going to respond to me then I know who will." My voice is falsely strong as I grab the pen beside me, brushing the point across the fair skin of my wrist, writing the ancient symbols effortlessly before running my fingers over them. "Dakki, I evict you."

I flinch as a burn forms onto my wrist, a red orb leaving it and floating behind me. A crimson light flashes and I turn around to see a tall man stretching his arms over his head, his dark green shirt rising up a little to show part of his toned stomach.

"I need to make some more clothes for you." I say simply, standing up to face him, not hiding my eyes wandering over his body in a concerned manner. “You were out 2 weeks ago, how have you already grown this much?”

"I’m growing, just like you. And you just need to take better care of me." He says with a small smile, messing his bright red hair up a little before looking around. "I’m glad to see the cave wasn't messed with. Everything seems to be intact. Why didn't you summon me during the fight?"

"There was nothing you could've done." I look around with him, sighing softly at the hollow feeling in my chest from seeing the empty home- two of it’s inhabitants gone from this world.

"Ouch, right where it hurts. I could have taken her on, I'm not some pussy lizard." He curls his fists into a ball, positioning himself as if to fight someone, “I can take anyone on!”

"Fire can't go up against lightning." I smile at him a little, shaking my head at his confidence as I place the journal on the desk, my fingertips hesitating over it for a split moment before moving away; grabbing a green crochet blanket from the chair and tossing it at him. "It's cold outside, wrap up. I want company while I get some firewood."

I walk out of the cave, breathing in the scent of pine trees as I pull my worn black cloak tighter around my body. It's obvious that there was a large battle here; trees lay on the meadow floor, crushed and burned. A strong metallic smell lingers with the pines, reminding me of how much blood had been spilled.

"You asked, "when will he come" earlier." Dakki starts, his voice deep as he follows close behind me, his hands clasped behind his back. "Who is he?"

"Well, I'm glad to hear someone was listening to me," I say, looking back to give him a smile. "My father told me about this friend of his who lives in the nearby castle. His name is Altair and he's apparently a strong human who works for the king. Father said that if something bad ever happened to him, Altair would come for me. But it's been roughly 3-4 days since the attack and he hasn't come."

"Be patient, humans are slow. They're not the brightest, either."

"Jin was very intelligent and he was a human." My heart aches a little as I say his name; my best friend who had always lived with us out in these woods. I couldn't find his body after I woke up and I haven't seen any sign of him since I lost consciousness.

"He was a weird human. He'd always win when we would wrestle. I mean, keep in mind we were kids, but... it was insane. How could a human be that strong? Where did your dad even find him?" Dakki asks, looking up at the trees as he walks beside me. "He just appeared that day, you know? When we escaped and came here..."

"I know. I never understood, either, honestly. I had slept the whole time during the travel, I don't know when father found him."

"Why did you never ask?" He asks, giving me a sideways glance, his crimson eyes staring intently at my face.

"I did, he won't answer me. Why don't you ask him?"

"Well why don't you summon him, you idiot." Dakki hits me on the arm playfully, earning a glare as we approach the large stacks of chopped wood.

"His soul is too strong for me to summon. I don't have that kind of power, yet." I stop in front of the pile, examining which logs would be best to use. The thicker ones look to be good and they last a while, but we’d have to carry less if they’re too heavy.

"Are you saying that my soul is easier?" He crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I'm saying that yours is weaker." I bend over, finally deciding to just go with thinner logs so that we can carry more for the time being, stacking a couple into my arms, the rough texture pricking and sticking my skin.

He puts his hand to his heart and gives me a pained expression, his eyes staring pitifully at me, "that hurts! I have feelings, you know!"

I chuckle at the last line and he laughs with me. "Ok, I would've laughed at that as well. The second I said it I felt my skin crawl. But if you're not strong enough then practice more. Leave me out here with you longer. Let me be your... companion." He leans close to me and whispers the last part into my ear, causing me to stiffen up and drop the wood I was picking up, a loud thump sounding from the impact.

"Dakki." I say sternly before grabbing a thick piece of firewood and shoving it into his arms. "Carry this and stay out of my bubble. I'll let you stay out longer, but if I have to use control on you at any point you're in trouble."

He grins and leans over, piling the logs until his arms are full. "Are you saying you'll punish me?"

"Maybe, but it won't be in the way you're wanting." I stack new logs into my arms, looking at him to see that his face is serious. The soft, yet masculine features of his face have gone serious, deep in focus and thought as he listens carefully to the wind brushing through our hair.

"I hear someone coming from the East. From the castle. Do you think its the man?" I nod at him, biting the inside of my cheek before gesturing at him to follow me back to the cave; our arms full.

"We can start a fire for when he arrives, I should make some food for him as well." Sticks crack and crunch under my boots as we walk silently back to our home, the weight of anticipation resting on our shoulders as I think about the man who is soon to appear.

“You may not have enough time, he seems relatively close.” He says, his ears twitching as another breeze kisses our cheeks.

"I wonder how father met him," I say out loud, more to myself than to Dakki as my mind wanders, imagination running wild as I picture what this man could look like.

"How does your father meet half the people he's met. You live in the middle of nowhere, you've never even been into the town." He pouts a little before focusing on a strand of hair that has fallen into his face.

"He used to go to the kingdom often to gather food and cloth, however Jin and I were never allowed to go with him." We were always left alone to read or train together, usually I would evict Dakki and we’d play games or climb trees without father’s knowledge- a few hours of play never hurt when we were constantly studying.

"He'd buy cloth, and yet here I am with no winter clothes, I am left to suffer," he sighs dramatically, attempting to flip his long red bangs out of his eyes with no success. "Even my hair has been neglected; its grown so long."

"You're dead. I mean can you even feel the cold? I gave you a blanket, but you haven’t seemed even a little interested in it since we came out here… Don’t sit here and complain to me when nothing can be done right now and you don’t actually need it. There are other things to be done first.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, my frustrations erupting at Dakki unprovoked. I suck in a breath quietly, something he’s bound to have heard, and continue to look forward, ashamed of my response to him but feeling too cowardly and weak to openly apologize for the time being.

"Ah, such a harsh master. " His voice is low and barely above a whisper as he says this, his eyes never touching me again and his mouth not opening, staying quiet until we reach the cave. "I know you're upset over what's happened... But please don't take it out on me." He tosses his logs into the fire pit before stretching slightly, his body making cracking noises as he does so. "I maybe dead, but I'm still alive. I'm still solid. Even if it's only due to your powers."

"Light it." I say, looking at him briefly before placing my stack to the side. His face seems emotionless and I sigh, "please, Dakki. Will you light the fire?"

He nods a little and lets out a soft sigh, reacting to my kinder voice and words, putting his hand out in front of him. "I'll be patient with this rudeness of yours and I'll wait patiently for the kinder version of you to fully return." A small flame trickles from his palm and begins to grow, burning a brilliant red like his hair. He drops it into the pit and the wood lights up immediately, burning strong and roughly like it had been dosed by accelerant.

"What are you?" A deep male voice says from the treeline, causing both of us to look up at him. He stands tall, around the same height as Dakki with dark skin and yellow hair pulled back into a ponytail. He has deep brown eyes that stare at us with curiosity and confidence. He shows no fear toward the action he’s just witnessed.

-Acesteria

[geffbob]

Togger

The Excited Dwarf

 Togger got out of bed at 6am sharp, like he does every morning and like he will continue to do until he’s too old to mine anymore. Dwarves are interesting creatures in the sense that they wake up the second the sun touches their faces. Humans usually spend minutes or hours in bed rolling around instead of doing what they’re supposed to do. Dwarves, on the other hand, hate sleeping, you can’t get drunk if you’re asleep. He jumps out of bed, stretches, and gets ready to go. There’s no need to shower, considering that dwarves usually work in sulphur or coal mines, which means upon 10 seconds of entering the mine they’re already smelling like something awful. This will be Togger’s 500th day at the mine starting today, and he’s excited to see what will happen.

 On his way out of his house and to the mine, he runs into an old friend of his, Jhonny, a human. Normally humans are a rare sight in a dwarven village, but Jhonny is different. He’s part of the Adventure’s Guild, which means he’s probably down here in the dwarven capital to collect a bounty. “What the bloody hell are you doing here you pink looking bastard?” Togger shouts; (as far as Dwarven culture is concerned, that is one of the politest ways a Dwarf would greet a human). “Not much mate. Just came to turn in something” Jhonny replies. He holds up a brown leather sack containing something that’s round, pointy, hard and clearly bleeding. It’s tightly bound together with string at the top and there’s some flies buzzing around it. Considering Jhonny is a certified monster hunter, Jhonny hazards a guess as to what it could be. “Is that the soddin’ goblin leader that’s been nicking sheep?” “yep! I’ll be seeing you”- Jhonny shouts, briskly walking away. “Typical human” Togger thinks “always in a fekkin’ rush”.

 Upon reaching the mine, Togger is greeted with a small surprise coming from the mouth of the mine; “HAPPY 500TH VISIT YOU OLD SOD!” -Shout 1000 workers in unison. Dwarves are known for being in sync with many things, shouting absurdities at other Dwarves is one of them. “SHUT IT YA PACK OF WILD ANIMALS, DGARD OV NON REKKEN” he shouts down the mineshaft, which I shall not translate as humans should try their hardest not to learn Dwarven insults. “Sodding heck lad” says the senior manager, slowly exiting the shaft’s head and walking towards him, “you’ve really been here 500 times?” “yep” Togger replies “now, could you sod off cause I’ve got a lot to do and your daft expression is slowing me down” (insubordination is not a word in the Dwarven dictionary). The senior manager chuckles and moves out of the way. Togger walks forward, grabs a pickaxe off the rack and heads down the dark mine.

 Dwarven mines are a sight to behold, but only if you can see in the dark (which Dwarves can). They’re massive, known for being bigger than most cities. This mine in particular is over 5km in circumference- quite small as far as most mines are concerned, 5km of hollowed out ground in which thousands of workers come to extract minerals and materials. The mine is littered with support beams holding up the earth, either natural beams that were excavated around or metal beams that were transported inside. Stairwells and paths are jotted everywhere, seemingly at random but are clearly labelled as to not get lost. The main pathway (the one Togger is walking on) splits off into many different directions, all leading to different areas. Some paths lead to a hollowed-out part of the wall, which is used as break rooms, offices, med bays etc, other paths lead up or down to places with high concentration of minerals where miners usually work. Some paths lead to black stairwells which take you down to the excavation site, a place where gigantic drills smash up rocks at the bottom of the hollowed-out mine, looking for rare materials or oil. The drills are lava proof- obviously. Togger takes the 6th pathway he sees, which leads him down a 45-degree angle to the right, where a small hollowed cave section awaits him, with 30 dwarves in there, looking right terrified.

 “what are you lads and lassies waiting for? We got a quota to take care of and I’m not about to miss it!” barks Togger (he’s not a manager, just likes yelling). “Look Tog mate, happy 500th and all, but we’ve got a problem. Some rockmanti (mantises made of rocks) have taken up residence in the space below, they’ve got their greasy claws on a bunch of sapphires down there”. Togger looks at them in surprise, rockmanti don’t usually come this close to the surface, and they certainly don’t go after sapphires, one of the worst tasting gems out there, unless they’re absolutely starving.

 “Odd” replies Togger “rockmanti don’t usually nab sapphires, they’re more into hard diamonds or emeralds. “Yeah” replies the frightened dwarf, “that’s why we’re scared. If they’re hungry enough to be going after sapphires, then they’re hungry enough to attack anything that gets close”. Togger looks closely at the dwarf in front of him. A dwarf about 1m tall with bright green eyes, loose fitting overalls and an assortment of grease and tools over their body. This dwarf is around 90-100 years old (Dwarves live to 200 years on average) and has a long 70cm bushy brown beard, put into braids. Female.

 “HELP!” shouts someone a few hundred meters down the hole. The group look up as they see a stubby human running towards them. Humans aren’t commonly found in dwarven mines, but this one is well known. He’s Bob, an exiled human, forbidden to ever enter a human settlement again, exiled humans usually work in other race’s settlements as they cannot work for humans again. Humans are terrible workers, but they’re adaptable and mostly immune to poisonous mine gasses. Also, they’re expendable. “THEY’VE GOT JIMMY”. Togger widens his eyes, Jimmy, a young git, got himself in hot water again. Togger picks up his pickaxe and draws a dagger, seemingly out of nowhere, and heads down the hole.

 “GET OFF ME FEKKING LEG” shouts Jimmy, screaming in pain. The rockmanti have him in a corner and are stabbing at him. As Togger bursts into the dark opening, he sees what he expected. 7 manti, all about 1.5m tall, 2m when standing on hind legs. Grey and coated in a hard rock-like exoskeleton (hence the name, rockmanti). 4 of them are eating blue gems, chomping them down with sharp hard teeth. The other 3 are surrounding Jim, who’s lying in the corner in a pool of blood. One of his arms lies a few meters away from him, clearly torn off his body by something a lot stronger than him. He wastes no time, he quickly jumps towards the closest one, swinging his pick over his head vigorously into the head of it, smashing it into pieces, causing blood, sapphire and rocks to splatter into the ground. The second and third manti lunge towards him, trying to bite off his arms. Togger swings in a full 360-degree fashion, knocking 2 legs off the second one and smashing the third one against the wall. The other manti notice his presence and start heading towards him, snarling and spitting. Togger deftly avoids the spit and stabs the 4th one in his thorax with the dagger, smashing the thorax into bits. The 5th and 6th manti swing wildly at Togger, but he rolls underneath their claws and breaks his pickaxe over the head of the 5th one and throws his dagger at the 6th, impaling it against the wall. However, suddenly, he feels a sharp pain in his lower back.

 “DGARTH” he shouts and spins to see what struck him. The 7th mantis, which he didn’t see before, had snuck behind them and had bitten off a small chunk of flesh from his bottom. Looking at the mantis dead in the eyes, he notices that his pick is smashed to bits and his dagger is about 10m away, perforating the wall and the head of a rock mantis, unusable. The mantis shrieks at him and lunges, aiming for the neck. Togger has no choice, he closes his eyes, raises his hands, and mumbles an incarnation. “hun got yeth no wor dem ya” he whispers, pointing his empty palm at the mantis, opening his eyes, suddenly full of magic, and shoots. A fireball slams into the face of the mantis, melting off its flesh and burning the inside of the brains to a black crisp. The impact launches the mantis a few meters off the ground and into the open hallway. Retrieving his dagger, he runs over to Jimmy, who’s suddenly gone quiet. “Dgarth” he whispers again, and launches another, smaller, fireball down the hallway. Which explodes at the end like a flare, a sign for medical aid. Within 2 minutes, a team of dwarven doctors come and pick up Jim and his arm. Leading him towards the med bay. Togger follows them up to the surface and makes sure nothing follows them. Before he loses sight of him in the ambulance, Jimmy opens his eyes, and whispers “thank you”.

 Togger spent the rest of the day receiving praise from his peers, all dwarves can use magic, but only a few of them can use combat magic. The majority just use magic to carve rocks out, not attack other creatures. After 10 minutes he got fed up and yelled to be left alone, this request being ignored completely. After an hour, he started feeling dizzy and decided to cut the rest of the day short. He headed out of the mine, past the showers (where he received a brief 10 second squirt down by a young dwarf with a hose) and into town. Stopping at the nearest bar, he spent the rest of the day drunk before heading home. Dwarves don’t get drunk to hide emotions; they mostly get drunk to think about things. He didn’t want others to know that he was in the army, he just wanted to be left alone to smash rocks to bits. Upon arriving home, he notices a card in his letterbox. “Oi Togger” it begins “Jim here. Cheers, don’t worry, we already knew you were an army nut, nobody else would head towards 7 rockmanti without hesitation and even less would rescue me. If you don’t want people to say anything, they won’t.”

 Smiling, Togger heads inside, turns on the telly, pours himself a scotch, and spends the rest of the night watching anime.