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yaut-jaknowit · 2 months

Note

All this talk of breeding and babies has me curious!!!! Maybe a fic where Vic, Uie, and reader DO decide to have a hybrid baby? How would they be as dads?

Daddies

Pairings: Uihoy (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader X Vic'tao (Male Yautja)

Warnings: slight description of birth

Word Count: 2205

Summary: Where we get to see how good Vic'tao and Uihoy are as dads.

Author Note: This was such a cute idea. I will say, they has been a lot of asks about babies happening lately. Is everyone ovulating or something? Ain't complaining, just worried and preparing for another round soon.

Masterlist

Ao3

When they first smelled the change of hormones in you, they buzzed with energy. As a human yourself, you couldn’t tell that early. Their change of attitude towards you concerned you. Not only were they more excited, but they treated a lot more carefully. Like you were glass and one wrong look could break you.

It wasn’t entirely due to the fact you were pregnant. You are a ooman. A pregnany ooman with their child. This was a whole different ballpark they’ve never even thought to step foot into.

One day, you grew to your boiling point.

Rage weaved into your very bones. For the last three months, they’ve acted different. It was like a one-eighty that flipped everything. Here you were, in the middle of the common rooms watching as the two kept their distance. It hurt. But it made you angry.

Hot tears burned your eyes. “What in the hell is wrong?!” you shouted at the top of your lungs. Your voice echoed back at you, bouncing off of the walls. “You won’t touch me. You won’t even look me in the eye anymore! Have I done something wrong?” Not only were anger but fearful you may have done something to mess up everything. You were the one to join their group. The last one to be initiated into the party.

Both of them stopped their retreats and glanced at each other. Confusion flashed upon their unique features. Like they had any reason to be puzzled. It was them causing all of this. Uihoy first broke the eye contact and what seemed to be timidly looked at you. You never thought Uihoy could do anything timid, scared-like in your life.

Your gaze narrowed down on the purple Yautja peering at you with a flickering gaze. “Look at me damnit! Tell me what the hell is wrong?” You couldn’t stop screaming, needing to get this rage out of your system. “Three months, three months without proper touches.” Tears streamed down your cheeks. “Are… are you disgusted by me now?”

Those words cracked not only your heart but theirs as well. Vic’tao made a pained whine and rushed towards you. His knees met the ground before your feet. He went to touch you but stopped shy, pupils narrowing. He didn’t want to touch you.

Pain not only shined in your eyes but expanded across your features. His yellow eyes met yours briefly before he softly rested a hand on your shoulder. The other cupped your chin. The touch was welcomed despite the issues arising currently. You whimpered and turned to nuzzle his hand, relief flooding your system. It has felt like a century since they’ve land their touches on you.

“Tell me, what is wrong? Why have you both drifted away from me?” you softly cried, shoulders jumping with each sob.

Vic’tao’s brows furrowed as if he confused himself of his own actions. That just made you want to bite him. Hard.

Uihoy came to join the two of you and knelt besides Vic’tao, gaze towards the ground. Even he wouldn’t met your eyes. You cried harder and wretched your head from Vic’tao’s touch. It hurt to do so but you didn’t want comfort if they were just going to keep hurting you.

The yellow Yautja chirped to his partner and nudged his shoulder with his own. Now, they weren’t going to speak in English so you could understand the situation.

When you were about to take a step back, the two of them faced you. “Do… do you not know?” Vic’tao questioned and tilted his massive head at you. You scoffed and crossed your arms.

“Clearly, I don’t fucking know when I don’t understand why you’ve put distance between us. I don’t even remember doing anything wrong. But do enlighten me.” You couldn’t help but be snarky in the moment. They deserved it.

They glanced at one another again for a fleeting moment. Usually, both of their eyes on you would make you nervous. But, you didn’t care this time.

Uihoy jerked his head up. A light bulb appeared over his head. “C’jit. Ooman.” It was like the two of them had a sudden life realization without bringing you up to speed. You kept glaring at the two of them. Then, the purple male scooted closer to you on his knees and softly embraced you.

Despite the anger in your veins powering you, you instantly wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly. “We-we so sorry, little hunter. Little hunter is ooman. Doesn’t smell. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t understand,” he cooed to you and ran a hand up and down your back in soothing strokes. You couldn’t help but feel offended by his words.

You pushed back to look him in the eye. “What does that mean?! Just because I’m human doesn’t mean I’m less!” His eyes jumped wide. His head shook wildly to disclaim what you’ve said.

Hands cupped your cheeks and turned your head to face Vic’tao. “No, treasure! That’s not what he’s saying!” Your features twisted with a mixture of confusion and hurt still. Again, you didn’t understand anything that was happening. “You’re pregnant.”

His mouth continued to move but you didn’t hear a word. If it wasn’t for either of their holds on you, you would’ve collapsed to the ground.

Pregnant? But… they’ve told you that was next to impossible. That made sense. Two different species. Both hundreds of thoughts of lightyears away from each other. They surely couldn’t reproduce with each other. It was scientifically impossible to reproduce! But… they just told you, you are pregnant. With their child. Shit, with which one. Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. You were pregnant by them.

Your blurry vision focused onto Vic’tao who was directly in your face. Both of your hands grasped his cheeks and pulled his nose to nose with you. “You’re not lying? I’m pregnant?” You needed to hear it again, to make sure Uihoy or him weren’t lying straight to your face. You had to know.

He grunted with a nod.

Oh my god. You were pregnant. After thinking all this time you would never be with a child – not it bothered you, it was finally happening! You squealed and jumped in place, arms thrusted up into the air. New tears prickled the corner of your eyes. Happy tears.

Then, you tackled Uihoy, nearly taking him down to the floor. Your arms crushed the confused Yautja before he returned the embrace in a soft gesture. You buried your face into his neck and deeply breathed in his scent. How you missed being this close with the two of them.

Next, you wrenched yourself away from him to embrace Vic’tao in the same manner. He didn’t expect the hit and fell onto his back, cradling you in a protective manner. You could care less and breathed in his missed scent as well. You could almost cry from how much you longed for their touch.

After a small miscommunication between the three of you, all was well. They explained to you that female Yautjas are different when pregnant. They didn’t know if it was the same for a human. So, they decided to proceed with caution. Worst of all, both of them thought you knew you were pregnant. A female can sense the change inside of themselves within the first three weeks. Clearly, you didn’t know until they told you.

From that day forward, they were the best to-be-daddies. They waited on foot and hand for you. Whatever you wanted, you didn’t even need to move from the bed or chair. They’ll get it for you. They wanted to show they could not only care for you during a time like this but for the baby as well. Which, you a sit down about.

Besides the cultural differences you already knew existed, you had them explain what happens with a female being pregnant. Females usually were by themselves during the pregnancy unless they had a permanent mate. Since the two of them had never encountered this situation before, they didn’t know how to handle it.

Females would go through the entire pregnancy by themselves. Those more experience would just give birth the same way. First time mothers or those with little under their belt would call upon others for help.

This knowledge made you terrified but amazed at the same time. The fact they could do this all by themselves was phenomenal. Yet, you knew you could never do that. You didn’t want to be alone.

Besides that one miscommunication, life with the boys had been great. Well, for the most part. Of course, with you being pregnant as a human, they didn’t let you go hunting with them anymore. That was the highlight of your days when they would take you out. It was sketchy enough to let you join them but pregnant. They explained to you your scent would draw every predator in. A pregnant creature meant slower prey to those predators.

So, for the rest of the six months or so, you stayed inside the ship. They would take you out during supervised excursions around the ship. But they would never let you leave their sight.

For the pregnancy itself, it wasn’t bad. Your belly grew far quicker than you thought was normal. Both of them wished to take you to a medic to get checked out. Unfortunately, from each other own clans, they heavily disagreed with hybrids. Bringing you into their territory would unfortunately be the death of your child.

It was just the three of you facing the world with a child on the way.

When it came to the birth, the tub was your best friend all the way through. Both of your mates stayed at your sides the entire time. Whatever you needed, they retrieved it within seconds. They allowed for you body to go through its natural course.

Uihoy was the first to scoop up the yellow floating blob in the water. A powerful cry escaped from her tiny lungs. The sound sent relief through all of your veins. Uihoy quickly passes the heavy baby to you and helps you cradle her close. If you didn’t know any better, you would say this was one of the biggest babies you’ve ever seen before.

By the color of her scales, all of you could tell this was Vic’tao’s child. His first one. He likes to say he was a good sport but the first week, he would rub it into Uihoy’s face. The older Yautja would huff and chuckle while shaking his head. He didn’t mind at all. Since it was possible, there was always a chance for the next to be his anyhow.

As for them being dads, you couldn’t ask for anything or anyone else. They stepped up one-hundred and twenty percent to the plate. When you needed a break, one of them would whisk her away. The other, with your consent, would stay at your side and let you sleep for however long you needed.

It was all by trial and error. None of you knew what you were doing. Uihoy has had children before, but the female would go off to do their own thing. Plus, Quir-oe was a hybrid. A mix of both human and Yautja. Figuring out her needs was difficult. Yautjas eat raw meet but humans don’t. Yautjas stomachs are hardier than humans. The last thing you wanted to do was get her sick.

Over time, Quir-oe would grow. Despite your concerns for her to follow the path of a Yautja warrior, you could see that was what she wanted. It was what she needed. She had this drive to hunt.

Both of your mates would switch who would take her out for a hunting trip. Since she could hold up her own head and walk, they would each take her with them. Every time, you were terrified something would happen. You had to accept that fact with your mates that one day they may not come back from a hunt. But this was different, this was your daughter. No, you didn’t love her more than them or vice versa. But it was a different kind of love and need to protect her.

Yet, you couldn’t take her from the hunt.

Like the dads they are, they would take Quir-oe out to teach her.

Despite this being the first time any of you worked as family, it was perfect. You smiled down at the three of them in cuddled together in bed. A filled waterskin in your hand.

Uihoy cracked open an eye and reached out a hand to you. Your family may not be perfect, but it was the best thing you’ve ever hand. You took his hand and let him pull you down. He held your back to his chest and curl around you. All but Quir-oe’s legs were mixed together at the end of the bed. You hummed softly and let your eyes drift shut.

The Yautja behind you buried his face into your neck then stilled. His claws clenched the material of your shirt. You tensed, about to open your mouth to question what was wrong. Uihoy beat you to it.

“You’re pregnant.”

#yautja #predator #yautja x reader #yautja x you #predator x reader #alien vs predator #yautja x human #predator x you #predator x human #x reader #Vic'tao #Uihoy #uihoy x vic'tao

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gerec · 1 month

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best long fics? i've only been reading oneshots lately. i like cherik which can be a book too.

To make this list even a tiny bit manageable I'm choosing to define 'long' as over 100k. There are a lot of superb fics on this list, Anon; happy reading!

Nine Eleven Ten by Subtilior (WIP - the definition of a fandom classic with fantastic worldbuilding)

Years later, Charles would remember that day. Sometimes he would wonder if he could have changed anything; other times he would despair over what he had since become. But he would always hold the image in his mind: Raven, laughing, and his thoughts flying alongside her on strong wings, silver-gold through the winter air. Once upon a time.

The stars incline us, they do not bind us by ikeracity, Pangea

Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

A Curious Carriage of Crystal and Cold by Etharei

Charles, a miner from a poor village in the countryside, saves the life of Erik Lehnsherr, scion of a successful business family and the richest man on the planet Eisen. Charles is a telepath and somewhat anxious about it, while Erik abstains from relationships because the lights flicker and doors open and electronics vibrate when he gets too excited.

Also featuring a long-suffering sister, a foul-mouthed bodyguard, and a best friend with a heart that is definitely not gold.

In which there are princes, spaceships, long journeys, and old secrets uncovered. (An AU sci-fi fairytale)

Tessellation by nekosmuse

He had been following Xavier's career for years. He had read and reread and reread again everything the man had written. He had tried, on more occasions than he could count, to recruit Xavier into the Brotherhood, but each request for a meeting had been denied. Aside from his work, no one knew anything about Xavier. Not what he looked like, not the full extent of his power--though from what little they did know, he was by far the most powerful telepath in existence--and not what his intentions were.

The man was a recluse. As far as Magneto knew, Xavier had never once stepped foot outside his impenetrable Westchester manor. And now he was scheduled as the keynote speaker for the largest pro-mutant conference in the world.

The Marriage Bargain by kianspo

Erik Lehnsherr had made a fortune manufacturing steel in Europe. When he wished to expand to the New World, he discovered that no one would do business with him unless he was affiliated with one of the First Families, the creme de la creme of the NW aristocracy. When Lord Marko holds an auction to give away his 14-year-old stepson's hand in marriage, Erik sees his chance and takes it. He has no interest in Charles himself, but now that he has him, can they make it work?

Everyday Love in Stockholm by tahariel

Prompt: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

The Proper Care of Actors by afrocurl, Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etharei (series)

Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

The Associates by ikeracity, Pangea (series)

Being a mob boss' associate has its ups and downs. Having sex in the back of a limo on Valentine's Day is definitely one of the ups.

The Sonnet Series by afrocurl, nekosmuse (series)

Erik Lehnsherr is a visiting professor at Columbia University, as well as an acclaimed and award winning poet. Charles Xavier is a lead researcher with the Genetics Department who is well on his way to tenure. But what happens when Charles has to cancel a class because half his students abandon him in favour of a mysterious new English Lit professor? Naturally he ends up sitting in in the class, where Professor Lehnsherr mistakes him for a student. It's really too bad Erik has such a strict policy against dating students. It's also too bad Erik doesn't seem to know how to use Google.

Space Oddity by MonstrousRegiment, Pangea (series)

Prince Charles Xavier is Deputy Commander of the TEF Heartsteel and the newest mission they've been assigned starts out less than desirable and quickly goes downhill from there. It's alright, though, he'll cope.

It doesn't help, though, that he's in unrequited love with his best friend and Commander of the Heartsteel, War-Prince Erik Lehnsherr.

Nation Building and other Diplomatic Negotiations by Pookaseraph

With the recent passage of a submissive registration law in the United Kingdom, there are now only two industrialized nation with a relatively stable government to have neither a mutant nor a submissive registration law. Erik Lehnsherr, the newly minted King of Genosha, and his Prime Minister Emma Frost intend to take advantage of this turn of events to bring the Xavier Institute to the island nation of Genosha. They both know bringing Charles Xavier, the noted activist of mutant and submissive rights, to the island will necessarily politicize the man, and create all manner of complications. With a constitution not yet finalized and external threats to Genoshan security all around them, Erik, Emma, and Charles will fight for what they believe in to shape Genosha into what it should be.

Do You Love Me by cgf_kat

Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

Ritual Self-Torture by TurtleTotem

For the following prompt: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

But I Would Walk Five Hundred Miles, And I Would Walk Five Hundred More by luninosity (series)

In which Charles isn't really an escort, Erik thinks he only wants a one-night stand, everybody's got a past, and there's quite a lot of sex on the way to the happy ending.

We Met At The Park by StarRose

AU, no powers, based on McAvoy's performance as Martin in Murder In Mind. Unable to sleep one night Erik takes a midnight walk in the local park. He finds himself being followed and propositioned by a rent boy named Charles, and begins to fall rather rapidly for his charms. Charles however has never known what love is, and doesn't recognise it even when it's staring at him in the face. As for Erik, he doesn't realise a creeping illness is slowly affecting Charles, and his dark past is something he couldn't have imagined.

Strict Machine by euphorbic

When Professor Charles F Xavier accepted a visiting professor position in Arizona, he did so in order to be geographically closer to his sister. What he did not expect to find was the living, breathing specter of the sportbike gang-oriented past he’d been trying to put to rest.

A tale of sport bikes, consequences, and sacrifice.

MAD Dogs by ClarkeStetler, Goosenik (series)

Charles and Erik are (loosely) friends with benefits. They don't share personal details, last names, or anything concrete about their lives. This is ruined rather spectacularly when Charles gets recruited by the Mutant Apprehension Division of the FBI. Surprised is a bit of an understatement for their reaction to finding themselves partnered up and sent out on cases with the team.

Bit of a detective fic? Really just an excuse for us to play around with MAD (Mutant Apprehension Division) that we created in Playing House.

A Doll's House by lachatblanche

Welcome to the Dollhouse, where all your dreams and fantasies come true. At a price. Based on the TV show Dollhouse.

#gerec rambles #cherik #long fic #>100k #long post #fic rec #gerec's fic rec

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hailqiqi · 16 days

Text

Done Right, in the Proper Place

In memory of Quil Appreciation Weekend...! I keep forgetting to post my fics to tumblr, which is very terrible of me. This fic is my Garden Party gift for @xluminaheart

Words: 3,319

Read in full below or on AO3 here

>>>>>>>>>⚔︎

It was almost funny, really, how quickly hope died. One minute you’d be full of zest, raring to take on the next big challenge after surviving the odds – top of the world, invincible. The next you were gazing at your own blood, transfixed by the way flesh is actually layered like it is in the first aid books and oh, that couldn’t be a good sign, could it?

It wasn’t, it couldn’t be. And unless – probably, even if – there was a first aid kit somewhere in this godforsaken hellhole, there wasn’t anything that could be done about it.

His exposed flesh glistened darkly, almost ominously. It’s me, it seemed to say. I’m the reason you were finally so useful. I’ve been here all along.

Right then. He released the fabric, letting the feathers fall back into place and hide it all from view. Lucy’s gaze was still on him, but hell if he knew what to say.

Sometimes she walks too close to the grave, Lockwood had once said. And now here she stood in front of him, her boots covered in ice, his very own angel of death.

‘Well,’ he said, finally. ‘That’s a mess.’

‘Oh, Quill…’ she said, her voice thick. Steam rose from her shuffling feet, and ice cracked on the hem of her feathered cape. He couldn’t look her in the eye.

They’d come so far in the last 24 hours, and he’d seen her pushed to the brink of exhaustion, far beyond the point where good agents gave up. And he’d been the one to keep her going. He’d been the one to keep them all going. The way out was behind him, they’d made it – he’d made it – and in a moment he’d step through, and then what?

Then what?

‘Typical,’ he spat. ‘And I was feeling so chipper.’

‘Listen,’ Lucy said. ‘Maybe you’d better stay here.’

He looked up sharply. ‘What, on my own? See you all go through without me? Leave me standing here like a pillock in the dark?’ Maybe she was comfortable in the quiet darkness, but Quill couldn’t think of a worse place to die. ‘I don’t think so.’

She had the audacity to look surprised. ‘But, Quill, that wound…On the other side…’

Her voice trailed off, and he took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand along with his traitorous sides. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘Maybe.’ Probably. ‘But if it happens, it’s got to be done right, in the proper place.’

Somewhere with light, somewhere with people. The thought of dying alone – or living alone forever in this silent half-world, where the walls were all just out-of-true and everything glittered with frost – made fear claw at him, its icy grip digging into the skin of his throat despite the cape.

No. He would not die here.

‘Anyway…’ He grimaced as Lucy gazed at him, her eyes wet. ‘I’m not staying here. Especially in this stupid outfit.’ She didn’t smile. ‘Now – we need to go through.’

Lucy didn’t move. She stood there, her tall figure both so at home and so out of place in that cold, grey room, and suddenly she looked so young. He wanted to tell her it would be all right, but part of him wanted her to tell him it would be all right – and they both knew the words would be empty. There wasn’t much to say, anyway; sometimes, things happened, and now, finally, it was Quill’s turn.

Summoning all his strength, he’d just moved to turn when she spoke again. ‘Quill…You were brilliant just now.’

He paused. ‘Yeah.’

She swallowed, considering her words, and oh God, he couldn’t do this. If Quill was about to face his death he was going to face it with his head held high and his eyes dry, and that meant nipping this in the bud before she got going.

‘Without you—’

‘You and Tony and the others would never have made it, would you?’ He grinned. ‘Glad I made a contribution.’

‘Oh, God,’ she said and really, that said it all, didn’t it?

He held out his hand. ‘It’s OK. Take my hand, Lucy, and let’s go.’

She closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply through her nose. Then she met his gaze and took his hand.

Together they walked over the narrow little bridge back towards life. The irony of the dead creating a path back to life was not lost on him, nor was the irony that this path back to the living world would lead to his own death. It was poetic, even, one might say.

The ghosts around them swirled and screamed, the noise drowning out the sound of their footsteps on the iron bridge. The air was freezing cold, but Lucy’s hand was warm in his, her presence a quiet comfort.

Quill had held Ned’s hand as he died. A cry of dismay had been all the warning Quill had had before Ned fell to the floor, writhing and gasping as his skin turned blue. Kate and Bobby had held the Spectre at bay and Quill, in his dull blindness, had only been able to hold Ned’s hand.

He’d emptied three vials of adrenaline into Ned’s thigh, of course, but the Spectre had been malicious and hungry and Quill had long ago learnt that if a ghost truly wanted you dead, even the faintest touch was as good as a bullet to the heart. The adrenaline had been as useless at saving him as Quill had been at keeping him safe, but he liked to think he’d at least managed to provide some comfort, in those final moments.

They were passing through the centre now. Bright neon lights suddenly shone ahead and pain bloomed from the wound in his side, making his head spin. He gripped Lucy’s hand tightly and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She gripped his hand back.

Lucy – God, Lucy. He’d never felt so grateful for Lucy. She was meant to come last, he had been meant to protect her from whatever could be waiting for them on the other side. He’d managed to protect her from Gale, at least. Lockwood would surely forgive him for being more burden than shield now.

His steps were heavy, each one feeling more and more impossible as they slowly emerged from the vortex. The lights on this side were bright and his senses all rushed back at once, overwhelming in their enormity; but Quill was already disorientated, his vision blurry, his breaths coming in small gasps as his whole body seemed to burst into flame. His head was held high, he was sure, and he tried to grip Lucy’s hand tighter as he went to take that final step. Then it all went black.

⚔︎

Of course, it hadn’t stayed black. Quill had woken back up to the sounds of Lucy – sweet, hard as nails, fiercely loving Lucy – gearing up to deliver his eulogy. At least she had sounded suitably tearful. He’d put a stop to that right quick, though, because there are some things one just doesn’t need to hear.

His memory of the night was surprisingly clear, and he had a good recall of everything that had happened right up until the paramedics shot him up with the good stuff while loading him into an ambulance. His agents had bundled him onto a trolley and taken the lift, like a group of grisly couriers. They’d been wheeling him towards the front doors when Sir Rupert had appeared with an army of thugs, and from then on it was a discombobulating haze of screaming, pain, smoke, and crashing as they careened around the Hall and (eventually) out onto the Strand. Quill had been given today’s paper earlier, and apparently the Hall and most of the building had been completely destroyed with over fifty dead. Quite impressive for a day’s work, really.

(He’d been trying not to think about which of the dead he might know. Most of his Fittes contacts had cut him off, anyway.)

None of that, however, was what had been on repeat in his head all day as he lay in his hospital bed at St. Mary’s. Instead his thoughts kept pinging back to those moments when he first woke up on that hard, tiled floor, to the sound of Lucy’s tearful voice. George’s hand had been in his, his grip tight and warm and unyielding. Holly had been covered in his blood, a testament to how hard she’d worked to save him. And Lockwood’s coat – the coat that had formed a huge part of his new identity – had been in tatters, wrapped around him in a makeshift bandage, and then used to keep him warm (and hide the contraband that George had insisted upon. Quill had taught him well). Maybe it was stupid – and, frankly, embarrassingly sentimental – but Quill had never felt more loved.

A little over fifteen hours later, and Quill was wondering if he’d imagined it. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the window, the sky outside was a deep, brilliant blue, but Quill felt a very different kind of blue indeed. Where the fuck were they? He’d been awake for four hours; nobody had called, nobody had visited, nobody had checked in. It’s like they’d all forgotten about him.

The unfairness of it rankled. He was only in the bloody hospital because he’d gone to protect those idiots in the first place. And after everything he did to get them through Dark London, you’d think he would at least have been worth a phone call.

What he tried to avoid thinking about was: perhaps they hadn’t called because they couldn’t. He’d given the nurses the number for Portland Row, but it had been disconnected. They’d left two messages for Barnes, but declined to leave a third, instead telling him to ‘Calm down and get some rest’ – a task that felt impossible when the last thing he remembered, as the drugs hit and the doors shut, was the sound of Lockwood losing his mind over Lucy being missing.

Quill had no doubt he’d have left to find her. Holly would have stayed with George, surely, but Lockwood would have gone to get her. Did he ever find her? If he’d had to go back inside, did they make it back out? Quill had no idea.

The paper spread over his lap was crumpled from the way he’d obsessively combed through every word, looking for clues, hoping they weren’t among the unnamed dead. But there’d been no mention of any of them.

The front page was filled with an image of black soot and towering flames against a pre-dawn sky, all angry reds and dirty blacks against the soft indigo emblazoned with the words FITTES FALLS. It was horribly reminiscent of the first time he’d seen Lockwood in the paper – this Lockwood, the besuited young man who wielded smiles as weapons and not the dirt-covered, filthy-mouthed urchin he had been before. That time Lockwood and his merry band had burnt down a house and this time it had been a 14-storey corporate building, so at least he’d moved up in the world. Last time, though, Quill had read the article and felt smug; this time, Quill read the article and felt fear. Had they made it out alive?

Well, Marissa was dead, at least. The papers had been clear on that. All Quill could do, he thought grimly, was hang on to the hope that no news was good news. And, in the meantime, ask for something to help him sleep.

⚔︎

The next time Quill woke up it was dark, the room lit only by the electronic glow of the machinery. His mind was hazy and he struggled towards consciousness slowly, his eyelids fighting to stay closed and pull him back under, the drugs they’d given him still promising a sleep that felt oh-so-tempting. But something had woken him up, some odd, out-of-place feeling, and Quill had been an agent far too long to ignore somethings.

So he fought – fought the residual drugs in his system, fought the lingering cold from the Other Side, fought through the exhaustion and pain and opened his eyes to find the ghost of Anthony Lockwood standing at his bedside.

The apparition was pale in the dim light, the body gaunt. It wore an ill-fitting t-shirt, tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie, all of which were crumpled in a way that felt offensively poetic on his Wraith. Its face was swollen, scabbed and bruised, and, though it stood very close, its weary gaze was fixed somewhere to the side. It wasn’t moving.

This is it, thought Quill. Here’s my answer. Here’s the end.

And then, a breath later: Hang on, I lost my goggles last night.

‘Motherfucker—’ lashing out blindly, Quill flailed and sent the paper flying. ‘Lockwood! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!’

Pain lanced through him at the sudden movement and he doubled over, annoyed. He’d meant to sound fierce. Furious. But the words had come out on a muddled croak and now Lockwood was all care and concern, parking himself on the bed as he fussed over him, and Quill wanted to fucking murder him.

‘Here, should I—’

‘Where the hell have you been?!’ he gasped out, doing his best to push him away even as Lockwood reached behind him to fluff his pillows. ‘It’s three in the morning!’

‘Look, lie back first, okay Quill? You’re—’

‘I’m not a bloody invalid!’ Quill snapped hoarsely, even as he leaned back on the pillows which were, much to his chagrin, now much more comfortable.

Lockwood, to his credit, didn’t answer; instead, he offered a cup of water that Quill angrily accepted.

‘You—’ he began, then stopped to take a sip.‘You – ugh. You’re alive, then.’

Lockwood’s expression was half-hidden in the dark. ‘Don’t sound too happy about it.’

‘And the others?’ He thought he already knew the answer from Lockwood’s demeanour alone – God, he hoped he already knew the answer – but he needed to hear it.

‘All okay,’ Lockwood said, and those two words sent the relief crashing over Quill like a torrent of water, sloughing off the vestiges of his terrified anxiety and leaving him shiny and vulnerable and new. He wasn’t one for waterworks but fuck was he ever glad for the darkness of the room.

Tilting his head back, Quill closed his eyes and breathed – in through his nose, out through his mouth, just like he’d taught hundreds of trainees to do. In, out, it brings you back around. In, out.

When he spoke a few moments later, his voice was pleasingly steady. ‘You found her, then? Lucy?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I found her. She’s right next door, actually.’ Now it was Lockwood’s turn to exhale deeply, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

‘Next…?’ Quill blinked. ‘Wait, what do you mean she’s right next door? Lucy’s in the hospital?!’

‘Yeah,’ Lockwood answered, shifting to retrieve the newspaper from the floor, the crunch of the thin paper loud in the hushed night. ‘She collapsed this afternoon, just as we were trying to clear out a place to sleep back home.’ Paper crunched and tore as he spoke, worrying it in his hands. ‘Turns out she was bleeding internally. Stab wound in her side, from the fight in the penthouse.’

So there had been a confrontation, then. He didn’t want to hear the details now, though, not at three a.m. when he’d just woken up, and certainly not when Lockwood was mangling the newspaper like a Phantasm wearing a bow tie. He couldn’t deal with whatever was causing that. He needed to keep this light.

‘I didn’t get myself stabbed just so that Lucy could copy me, you know,’ Quill said at length, aiming for haughty.

Lockwood snorted, but the tearing sounds stopped. ‘You’ll have to tell her off for imitating your style when she wakes up, then.’

‘She’s all right, though?’

‘Mostly,’ Lockwood said, shrugging again. ‘She needed surgery but it was straightforward, and she was awake for a little bit before falling asleep again. She’s resting now.’

‘And the others…?’

‘Got sent home while she was still under. George is at Holly’s for the night; I called earlier, and they said they’d tried to visit you but you were asleep. I’m sorry, I meant to pop in, but I fell asleep when Lucy did so I didn’t get round to checking on you until I woke up five minutes ago.’ His voice was tired, but Quill could hear the smirk as he said: ‘Luckily I managed to persuade the nurses into letting me stay, because I’m quite sure visiting hours are over for the day.’

Quill wisely held his tongue. Outright refused to leave and generally made himself a pain in the neck was more likely than any other type of persuasion, if his behaviour when George had been admitted was any indicator.

‘So that’s it? Lucy and I are in hospital, the rest of you are okay?’

‘Yeah. I’ve got a couple of fractured ribs, but George and Holly escaped with mostly cuts and bruises.’

Had he been feeling stronger, Quill would have danced a fucking jig, reputation be damned. ‘So five out of five agents are alive, and all we’ve lost is some furniture, my goggles, and your coat?’

‘Yep,’ Lockwood said happily, popping the ‘p’ and turning to grin at him.

Sometimes I want sunglasses just to look at him, Lucy had once said. Quill had teased her mercilessly for it, of course, but in that moment, as Lockwood beamed at him in that half-lit room, he got it. Sometimes he exuded this energy that just dragged you out into the sunniest afternoon, even if it was despite your best intentions. George had called it The Lockwood Effect.

Quill couldn’t help grinning back. Thank God the nurses weren’t due; they must have made a right pair, grinning at each other in the dark on a hospital bed like lunatics, but they definitely had something to smile about. Five out of five, baby.

‘We really did get out well.’

‘We did,’ Quill agreed. ‘I’m sorry about your coat, though.’

‘Don’t be,’ Lockwood answered firmly. ‘It went to a good cause.’

‘Still. I barely recognised you without it. Thought you were a Wraith at first.’

‘You thought I was… Bloody hell, Quill, do I look that bad?’

‘You look like shit warmed over,’ Quill confirmed. ‘And I can’t even see half of you in this light.’

Lockwood chuckled ruefully, turning his gaze to the window. The clock on the wall read three twenty-five in the morning so it was still a few hours to dawn, but the birds were already starting their song outside. Honestly, between the lateness of the hour and the magnitude of the things that had happened, Quill was almost at a loss for words. I’m glad we’re all alive felt too obvious, and Good job on the arson felt too casual. Instead, he followed Lockwood’s gaze and watched the sky slowly lighten from indigo to a cosmic blue.

To Quill’s (complete lack of) surprise, Lockwood broke the silence mere minutes later. ‘It was my father’s, actually.’

That actually was surprising. ‘What was?’

‘The coat,’ Lockwood clarified. ‘Wait – no. Don’t get the wrong idea; he never wore it or anything. It still had the tag on when I found it.’

‘But it was still your father’s.’

‘It was still my father’s,’ Lockwood agreed. ‘And I like to think I made it mine, too, over the years. But…’ he trailed off with a shrug, then turned to face him properly again, one hand gently gripping his shoulder. ‘You’re here, Quill, and that’s all that matters.’

His sincerity was all-encompassing, filling him with a strange, warm comfort – one that seemed to flow from Lockwood’s hand on his shoulder, from the ghosts of Lucy’s hand in his, of George’s fingers and their tight grip, of Holly’s hands on his chest. All of them, saying the same thing.

You’re here, Quill, and that’s all that matters. The words settled over him like a blanket.

#lockwood and co #quill kipps #lucy carlyle #anthony lockwood #my writing

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honeyynymphh · 1 year

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La Principessa Addormentata Papa IV x FemReader Rating: T tags: mostly sfw, cuddles, daddy dom papa, established relationship, fluff, google translated italiano 800 words

summary: Copia returns to his papal chambers late one night to find his principessa asleep on the lounge after trying to wait up all night for him

I wrote this last night at midight and it's mostly unedited, sorry. I was feeling a type of way. I might expand it later and turn it into a proper fic another day. This is the same universe as this fic and this one

“Principessa?”

You open your eyes slowly to see Copia standing above you, the low light of the room made his painted face look eerie—but it doesn't frighten you, instead, it's a welcome sight. You’d been waiting up for him for hours. At first, it had been easy; a little studying before you had put the demonic textbooks aside and swapped them for much more enjoyable books. After showering and getting comfortable in your nightgown, you had sat on the lounge reading. When your eyes had become heavy, you had told yourself you would just shut them for a moment, your novel still held in one hand as it rested against your chest.

But you must have fallen asleep—and how could you not? It was so cosy in his papal suite with the warm fire and the comfortable lounge. The flames had tickled your cheeks and the crackling of the burning logs had lulled you into a hazy place of dreamless rest.

“Papa?” you say, voice heavy with sleep as you gaze up at him.

He smiles down at you, a gloved hand reaching out and brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. The firelight flickers over his jewelled vestments and you note how his hair is a little mussed from wearing the mitre.

“It’s very late, I am sorry,” he says, slowly shrugging out his vestments and placing them on a nearby armchair, revealing the black suit underneath. “You should have gone to bed.”

You shake your head lazily, unable to stifle a yawn. “But I was waiting for you."

The sound of his low chuckle makes you smile, you eyes closing when he leans over you and places a kiss on your temple. Your smile spreads into a giddy grin and he places another kiss on your forehead before his fingers wipe at where he has kissed you—clearly trying to remove the black marks he has left behind.

“Sei troppo dolce, mia piccola principessa,” he says, his arms sliding under you so he can pick you up, cradling your head against his chest. “Time for bed.”

You try to protest, surely you are too heavy for him but he clearly doesn’t seem to struggle as he moves you with ease towards his bedroom. While the smell of the fire and the incense you had been burning earlier had been delightful, nothing could compare to the smell of your Papa and you nuzzle closer, deeply breathing him in. His suit jacket is smooth against your skin and you can hear, and feel, the steady beat of his heart. Ever so gently he places you on the bed, helping to lift the covers up so you can slide in.

The sheets are far too cool and you curl up instantly on your side, your head burying into the soft pillow. You can hear him moving about—the sound of him undressing, and then the shower turning on. His little hums as he sings to himself merely aid you in feeling sleepy again. It was always so comforting having him near, and the domestic sound of him getting ready for bed always made you smile. How quickly you had learned his little routines. He didn’t like hot showers, though they were always so long, and he insisted on using two towels—one around his waist and another to go over his shoulders, he always said he got cold after getting out. You must drift back to sleep as you jolt when you feel the mattress dip and open your eyes to find the room completely dark. Warm arms wrap around you, pulling you close against his bare chest—the hair there still a little damp.

“You use two towels yet you don’t dry yourself properly,” you mumble, though you make no effort to move away from him.

He doesn’t say anything, instead, he just pulls you closer so your back is completely pressed against his chest—you can feel that he’s dampened your nightgown. When he presses his face against your neck you feel water dropping onto your skin from his wet hair.

“Copia, you’re making me wet,” you whine half-heartedly, wiping at the droplets he has dripped on your neck.

“I hope so, principessa,” he says, pressing himself against you—you can feel his cock hardening against your ass.

You shake your head, though you can’t help but smile in the darkness. “You said bedtime.”

His mouth presses a kiss against your neck and you shiver. He does it again, his mouth hot and hitting that sensitive patch of skin behind your ear. You can't help but sigh in pleasure at the feel of it, feeling less sleepy with each touch of his lips on your skin.

“Si,” he murmurs in between another kiss, “I said bedtime.” The arm he has over you shifts, his hand moving down your side and skating over your hip. “But not time to sleep, principessa.”

La Principessa Addormentata - The Sleeping Princess Sei troppo dolce, mia piccola principessa - You are too sweet, my little princess

#my-writing #the band ghost fic #papa iv x reader #copia x reader #fanfic #copia x sister of sin #papa iv x female reader #ghost fanfiction #ficlet

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billyharringson · 8 months

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@101maverick I've put this in a separate post so my original one doesn't get too long but here is your ficlet with tattoo artist Steve and florist Billy.

I really enjoyed writing this and might expand this into a proper fic at some point.

"just go talk to him, dingus." Robin said, causing Steve to tear his eyes away from the window.

"Just go talk to him? Do you hear yourself Buckley?" He asked, returning to his spying as their newest neighbour continued moving about his own shop, carrying a large bucket filled with brightly coloured roses. He gestured behind Robin to the whiteboard she'd hung there a year ago. "You said so yourself, I can't flirt for shit."

Robin glanced at the board, at the 10 tally marks under the 'you suck' column. "I didn't say flirt, I said talk. Go and talk to him."

"What would I even talk to him about?" Steve whined, leaving the window and flopping over the reception desk. "Why would a god like that even speak to me?"

Robin rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh. "Jesus Steve, keep it in your pants okay? Besides, he's tatted to fuck, you've already got something in common." She gestured around at the shop when Steve simply looked blank. "Tattoos dude, he's covered in 'em, you do 'em. Use that as a jumping off point."

"But..." Steve trailed off when the bell above the tattoo shop jingled. He turned to greet whoever had come in and promptly had a minor panic attack.

It was the florist.

Standing there in his tanned, tattooed glory. His golden curls piled on top of his head in a messy bun, a pair of stonewashed dungarees and no shirt, the man didn't even seem to realise that he was a walking wet dream, or that Steve was having trouble breathing.

"Hey." The man said, his smile blinding as he raised a hand. "I'm Billy. I moved in across the road last week, got the flower shop just there." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, his smile dimming somewhat when Steve didn't respond.

"Nice to meet you Billy." Robin said, shoving Steve forward. "The mute here is Steve, he owns the place. I'm Robin, I help his dyslexic ass keep the books."

Billy laughed, walking further into the shop, holding his hand out and beaming when Steve took it. "So, you're the artist huh? I've been admiring your work since I got here." Billy pointed to some of the framed sketches that lined the walls. "What's your waitlist like?"

"Oh, uh... Depends what you want really." Steve finally found his voice, this he could talk about. "What do you have in mind?"

Billy leant against the reception desk, tugging one of the dungaree straps down, exposing one of the few bits of unblemished skin just above his right nipple. "Here I think." He said, tapping the skin. "Another flower, about this big." He circled the spot.

Steve nodded along, pulling his sketch pad towards him as he continued to stare at the exposed skin. "Which flower?"

Billy's grin grew. "What do you know of flower language?" He asked.

Steve blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Uh, I know it exists but I don't know that much about it. Roses mean love though right?"

"Red roses do." Billy agreed, nodding his head. "Or more specifically they mean passion, romance." He traced a beautiful watercolour rose on the inside of his wrist.

"Was it a rose you wanted?" Steve asked, trying to steer the conversation back to safer waters, his cheeks were warm and he was sure he was pink despite the fact that this conversation seemed completely innocent.

Billy shook his head. "No, not a rose. I'd like a green carnation." He said with a wink.

Steve was now certain that he was glowing with how red he must be, because he might not know about flower language but he knew enough LGBTQ history to know what that meant. "A green carnation." He repeated.

"Yup." Billy popped the 'p', his grin just as cocky as it had been since he'd walked in. "You like green carnations Steve?"

Steve nodded, swallowing loudly as he tried to come up with the courage to say what he wanted to. "I do." He said quietly. "Do you like trilliums?"

Billy's face lit up. "I love me a good trillium."

Steve smiled bashfully, looking down at his sketch pad. "I can book you in on Friday, last session of the day."

"Perfect." Billy stepped closer, leaning in and whispering his next words into Steve's ear as he slid a business card across the desk. "That way I can take you out for a drink after, can't I my pretty trillium?"

For info green carnations are a historic symbol for gay men and trilliums are a slightly more recent symbol for bisexuals.

#billy hargrove #stranger things #fanfic #steve harrington #harringrove

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alexiswritingstuff · 1 year

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Hello! I was wondering if you’d be okay with writing a Gus piece where maybe Gus and the reader are having an argument and the reader gets scared or flinches if he says something (in THE tone). Naturally, he feels really guilty and comforts the reader or something with a happy ending? Thank you!

Okay, this took wayyyyyy to long to write, and I'm very sorry to the person who requested this. I really hope that you like this, and that I conveyed this in a way that feels natural, but most importantly correct. And that it's also what you wanted.

Just a truck.

Pairing: Gustavo Fring x Gender neutral reader.

Content: hurt/comfort.

Warnings: arguments, implied past abuse and/or trauma.

A/N: If anyone has any issues with phrasing, anything, then please inform me! The last thing that I want to do is offend someone with my writing.

I would also like to say that this fic is very long, so please grab a drink, take a seat and a snack.

I hope you enjoy!

More Gustavo fics.

Taglist- @sukunamybeloved - @viviennemuerte - @miwagila - @marksassybanana

“Sir?”

The time of day had arrived where the restaurant had grown calmer, passed the designated hours that people usually chose to have a meal with the things served at Los Pollos Hermanos.

It sounded like it echoed when the knuckles of your dominant hand knocked on the door in front of you a good few times. “Gus, It's Y/n.”

There was a beat of silence. The cause of which unclear due to the wood blocking your vision, but it was something that created an urge to fidget as you flexed your fingers.

And then you heard the muffled sound.

“Come in.”

Now, any other person who had to do this probably would have walked in already without knocking. Most of the guys on your side of the business had attitude problems, that whole thing where they thought of themselves as higher than each other.

In turn, it usually meant that a lot of people would just do things without proper thought.

But not you.

It's wasn't like you were scared of Gustavo. At this point you had known him and worked alongside him for so long that it was honestly difficult to remember when it had started.

However, when the door in front of you slowly swung inwards, revealing the office that always seemed to be engulfed in dark lighting, a ball of nerves gathered at the bottom of your stomach.

Your posture straightened, attempting to present yourself as stoic as possible when you finally took a step in.

Here we go.

The door latched behind you after a few more slow and careful steps further into the room. And then you halted, looking down at the man who was staring right back at you.

Regardless of the fact that he was simply sat in a chair, the way he held himself always brought a feeling like you were about to start sweating. He was unmoving, the breaths he took not appearing to expand or deflated his chest.

Gustavo didn't even twitch. And neither did his eyes.

This time, when the air passed into his lungs, you could hear the whistle from his nose. “I'm listening.”

Every joint in your body felt as if it stiffened the longer he held your gaze. It was like he could see into your soul and, from his tone, your mind as well. “We believe that one of the trucks has been stolen.”

It felt like you were stood in the centre of a stage. As if the words said had just echoed around a grand hall and you now awaited some kind of response from an audience. Either overlapping boos or shocked gasps.

Gustavo merely raised his chin, “And how do you know this?”

“The truck didn't arrive when it was supposed to.” You swallowed, “We asked the men at the previous checkpoints and it appears that it had missed quite a few before that as well.”

It was probably the need to deliver bad news that had your body feeling as stiff as a board, so, when you finally allowed yourself to take a proper breath, your shoulders lowered with it, “We're not sure who did it.”

Now, since the moment the door had opened, was the first time that Gustavo looked away. His gaze dropped, lowering to a neat pile of papers you guessed he had been going through before your appearance.

Was he mad that you interrupted? Processing the news? Thinking of what to do?

When Gustavo started to lean back it had your eyebrows itching to furrow.

It was a slow movement that shifted almost every part of his body, except his hands that remained in the same position on the desk no matter how stretched his arms became, until his back fully pressed into the chair. And then he met your eyes again.

This time it had you gulping.

“May I ask why you've come all the way out here to tell me information that could've been passed over the phone?”

You blinked for a second, waiting for the words to process even though they already had. Your head slightly tilted, “Pardon?”

“You have just told me that one of my trucks has been intercepted,” Gustavo rephrased, pronouncing his words a little slower as if he needed to speak more clearly, “And Instead of trying to find it. You are here. In my restaurant.”

Whenever it was time to tell someone bad news, there was always an ability to get consumed in the what ifs. There was no way to accurately guess how a person was going to react to something, especially when it came to Gustavo.

But this hadn't been one of the possibilities you imagined.

Your eyebrows officially furrowed, “Sir, we already have men on the job-- I came here to collect Victor and Tyrus, and I just thought it would be good to inform you--”

“Do you have a last known location?”

His tone had switched again, his words fast in a way that said enough. He was looking at you expectantly, the expression on his face making it clear that his patience was being tested.

“Um...” You just blinked for a moment again, jarred by the sudden change in topic, “Yes... Yes, we do, but I'm afraid it's from a long time ago.”

Within about five seconds, Gustavo rid his hands from their overlapped position. He slid them towards himself across the smooth surface and, when they got to the edge of a table, he pushed.

His chair rolled for about a second, the wheels squeaking being the only sound throughout the room, until he could stand on his feet, “Great.”

Gustavo grabbed one of the armrests, stopping the big chair from smacking into the corner of the table for the printer and moved it to the side so that he had space.

Above the printing machine was the only window in the office. The bottom portion of it was the vent system as the creation for viewing the outside world was just for that. It wasn’t openable.

And though the blinds were mostly drawn, the slats so close to turning to their full extent, you could just see a sliver of the outside world. Gustavo turned towards it, his stiff hands slowly clasping behind his back.

There was some accompanying noise, like the muffled sound of cars outside, chatter from the dinning area in the restaurant, the blow of air that almost brought goose bumps to your skin.

But the silence was what you could hear the most.

You cleared your throat, attempting to do it in a way that wasn't to loud. Now you understood why Mike didn't want to interact with Gustavo when he was angry.

I mean, you could understand his frustration. It wasn't like you were happy with having a truck go missing yourself, or that you wanted to say something that could make Gustavo upset.

However, this was a reaction you didn't properly know how to respond to. And that meant that it could escalate within a breath.

“My intention wasn't to... disturb your peace,” you began, trying to word your sentences as carefully as you could, “Is there a particular way you would like this to be handled?”

Once again the man remained still. The wind was coming from right in front of him and yet his body didn't even sway. He was just staring out of the window. “Isn't that for you to judge?”

His voice was flat this time, like he wasn't even paying attention to the words he was saying.

The ability to stomach his attitude was getting a little harder with every statement Gustavo made, but you remained calm. It was better to get this all over and done with than to argue like a game of ping pong. “I could make a judgement, yes, but it isn't my truck.”

“We also don't have that much information on the whereabouts, so--”

“Well, did the truck just disappear? Into thin air?” By the time you had blinked he was facing you once again, his expression matching the way his words snapped throughout the room.

You tried to hide the shock from your face, but in doing so your confusion seemed to take over instead, “No... But, Gustavo, we don't know where it went since it's last destination--”

“Then follow the tracks.”

You leaned back within a second of the sentence catching your ears. Your eyes crinkled, lips curling upwards at the joke... But Gustavo’s expression remained the same.

He was being serious.

“You can't...” Your head slowly rose, your brows remained furrowed while every other feature had dropped, “Sir, with all do respect, that could take hours. The truck would have already reached wherever those people wanted to take it.”

“And not to mention that wind-- The sand has probably shifted by now.”

The more you spoke, the more you realised that you could say anything and it wouldn't change the way his mind was working right now. He was frustrated, the tension visible in the way his muscles sat.

Gustavo wasn't going to listen.

“Then I suggest you start making progress.”

Unbelievable. His tone, the look on his face, the request-- No, the command. It was unbelievable.

Of course, you could understand where he was coming from. You knew what was being transported in those trucks, and you knew what could happen if other business found out how easy it was to take Gustavo Fring's stock.

He had every right to worry about the situation, though he seemed to be too stuck in the possibilities of what could happen.

It was strange to see him like this. You were expecting to see the intimidation tactic you had seen him use more times than you've seen him smile, fuelled by anger which was very common in this line of work.

But as he stood in front of you, the way his body presented itself, the way his face remained in the same expression like he was trying to stop something from appearing. You could see it in his eyes.

Right now, he wasn't angry, he was... scared?

Gustavo Fring was scared.

“What if we don't find it?” you finally spoke up. If he was going to make you do this, he would need to think about all the other possibilities and consequences, “What if we send people out in that desert searching for hours, but the only thing we get is heatstroke and sunburns? Hmm?”

His eyelids lowered enough that it hadn't really narrowed his gaze, but the movement was visible. The lines closest to his mouth had deepened and you swore the side of his nose had twitched in way that made it look almost like a snarl. “That truck holds a shipment of something that has any person of the law waiting to strike.”

“If they found it, if the people that took my truck let others know that they have taken my truck... What could happen is endless.”

A sigh huffed through your nose as you looked back at him. This was pointless. The decision to talk to him was pointless.

Maybe he's had a bad day, maybe being the owner of a business like his had gotten too much this morning and then you just decided to come in later in the day and add onto that.

But now you couldn't just back off. You couldn't apologise, leave and pretend this never happened. You were too far in.

Gustavo was staring right at you. He was stood in place, the breaths that he took now visible in his chest as the emotions started to attack his facial features.

It was like a standoff. A fight just because two people had an understanding of a situation with different perceptions.

Who would've thought.

“I get that... I do, okay-- Just... Look, we have no idea who is behind this, Gus. ” you started up, wanting to fully collected your words before attempting to speak, and Gustavo's head slightly lowered at the phrase, “We don't know if those people are waiting for us to act, and if they are, then we could start something far worse.”

“What we need is more time--”

Out of nowhere, all at once, was this sound that purely rippled through the air as if it was played through a multitude of speakers.

It was something that felt like it had engulfed the room longer that it had rung out. Something that had then been followed by a set of words that you were guessing came from Gustavo. But you couldn't hear it.

You couldn't hear.

It was only when you tried to look for the source of sudden panic that you notice that you couldn't properly see either... And that's when you realised.

Your arms were up, your hands held in a way almost lined perfectly with your eyes. Your palms were open, but your fingers were ready to curl as if they needed to ball into a fist.

They were twitching, doing so with every second that went by until your brain clocked onto the fact that they weren't in fact twitching.

They were shaking.

The movement was almost staggered when your arms finally attempted to lower, and soon you could see over your limbs. Right as Gustavo's hand had removed itself from the desk.

This silence was different.

Your eyes were wide, your heart on a rampage within your chest, by the time your arms stilled at your sides. And despite the movement of Gustavo’s arm, he was frozen as well.

It replayed over and over in your head. The moments prior, the words said, the second you saw something erupt within his eyes. The attention that you had on him seemed to end with your mind missing his movements.

He had slammed his hand on the desk.

His anger had gotten the best of him so much so that it overrode his usual ability to maintain a calm exterior, and though Gustavo still resided behind his desk, you were now stood closer to the door than him.

No words could find themselves flowing through the air. Every attempt Gustavo made, every twitch of his mouth, ended with the same silence.

The two of you could stand in the same opposing position for hours and still no words would be shared.

You had been doing so well.

After however long it felt, the ability to feel began to return throughout your body, and soon your shoulders deflated once again. Like the stance you held upon entering this room, your spine was straightened as much as it could. Your chin rose, expression devoid of any emotion.

Until you smiled.

It was small. Weary, though held in a way to show otherwise. “You're right, Sir.” No matter how many times you swallowed, the lump formed in your throat never ceased, “I'll-- I'll get right to it. Sorry, for the... inconvenience.”

And then you turned, your body stiff enough that you had to actually force it to carry out any sort of movement. You could feel it regardless of the way your muscles shifted.

By the time you next blinked the door in front of you was open once again, allowing the cool air in the hallway to meet with your skin, that you didn’t even realise was as warm as it was.

You began to walk through.

Gustavo's mind was screaming at him to move his legs, to walk round that damn desk and close that door before you could... But what would he even say?

What could he do that hadn’t already been done?

His actions had caused this. His inability, for once, to not control himself ended with you... you thinking that he was going to harm you? Hurt you?

He didn't move. There was a spasm of a muscle throughout multiple parts of his body, but it wasn't enough to set him off. Gustavo remained where he stood, watching as the door to his office slowly closed so that it wouldn't make sound.

“Oh, come on.”

Nothing.

There was still no sign of that truck. It had been hours since you were first informed of the news and yet there had been barely any progress, no step closer to finding it.

Sure, a multitude of people had been out, wondrously travelling back and forth across the same dirt and sandy road. But it's not like you could follow tracks when you got to the tarmac.

So, you were lost. Unsure of what to do next.

You leaned forward in the chair beneath you, waiting until your elbows could land on the table to stop.

A sigh seeped from your mouth, your hands raising to your face. Your fingers pressed into the sides of your nose, almost touching the corner of your eyes that had been closed.

The room was well ventilated. Cool air flowed around often enough that it could be felt, but it also seemed like the hotness of most places of America was a tough battle to defeat.

Your skin felt clammy despite being indoors, out of direct sunlight. But whenever it got to the point where it was too much, the cold air would complete it's cycle. Meeting with your body once again, though it apparently couldn’t ease the warmth of your face.

When another breath was sucked into your lungs, your hands slid from their previous position. They glided to the top of your head, smoothing out the hair beneath, and then followed the back of your skull until they reached the nape of your neck.

Your head sunk a little the moment your fingers began to press down, letting your eyes fall closed all over again.

This was supposed to be your job, something that you were supposed to be good at.

I mean, sure, this wasn't the exact reason that you were hired, but surely you were expected to be able to handle something like this? You should be able to handle something like this.

Yet here you were, sulking in the meeting room of the poultry farm while your team tried and failed again, and again, to find that damn truck.

At this point, you didn't even care to find it because of what was in it, what could happen if some officer stumbled upon the hidden compartments. All you cared about was Gustavo.

If it got to the 24 hour mark, he wasn't exactly going to be happy about it. I mean, he wasn't before when he...

But this was your fault. You were the person that dedicated more time talking to him when the truck was first lost, and maybe that was what made this whole thing worse.

You lost the truck and made Gustavo mad.

Your body was about to give into the urge to slump forward, wanting to lay against the table in a way that might grant the ability to sink through it and the ground beneath it.

But then the door to the room unlatched.

Instead of carrying out any of the wanted movements, you stilled, an attempt to gage any other sounds that may follow more clearly. Though, it proved to be a bit difficult when your ears caught onto a set of footsteps.

Finally, your head rose, the bones of your elbows beginning to ache due to the amount of time they remained on the table.

Your eyes were almost lazy when they opened once again. You were expecting to see Mike, or other members of your team so that they deliver some other form of bad news. You did not prepare for anyone else.

It took a moment for your vision to focus on the new figure. They had taken a few more steps before they remained in place, even clearing their throat.

Truth be told, your eyes didn't even need to rid themselves of the blurriness to catch onto who it was.

You could recognise that stance from miles away.

In about a second, all the tiredness seemed to drain from wherever it clung both inside and outside of your body. The features on your face relaxed but your eyes grew wide instead.

You jolted up from the chair you sat on enough so that the back of your knees bumped into it. The legs squealed in an echo as they scraped backwards against the floor, “Sir.”

“Sir, what-- What are you doing here?”

Like before, when the door shut, the surrounding room was engulfed by a silence that was hard to ignore.

Now, the two of you were stood on opposite sides. You were the one behind the desk while Gustavo was the one waiting to speak.

Despite how you imagined the man presenting himself at this hour, he wasn't in one of those fancy suits that always looked like they were freshly bought even if he had them for a long time. He was still in his uniform. Like he had come straight from Los Pollos Hermanos... But he never did that.

Gustavo always changed first.

“What am I doing in my own factory?” The tension wasn't in his face anymore. It had dissipated, leaving behind a much lighter look that settled across his skin and within his eyes.

He even had the slightest smile worn on his lips but it was hard to tell if it was genuine or the one he usually used to hide.

You cleared your throat, the amount of blinks your eyelids allowed increasing as you processed your past phrasing, “I meant... I mean, I thought you needed to be at the restaurant?”

“All that is awaiting me now is more paperwork.” Gustavo insistedsimply, even sounding as if he was about to chuckle through his words, “You don't have to worry about...”

In real time it only happened for about a second, but Gustavo suddenly sort of froze. His lips were parted, the words still urging to roll of his tongue while the skin under his eyes crinkled.

And then his face dropped. It was a subtle movement, one that you had almost missed if it wasn't for the way his gaze narrowed almost immediately after.

That feeling came back again. Being centre on a stage with all the lights shining right on you. Only this time there was no tension, there was no fear created by the attention being put onto you.

Just general confusion.

“Sir?”

The man before you merely hummed to acknowledge your voice, the expression on his face remaining as he started to move forwards.

He was analysing you, taking slow steps closer to the opposite side of the table as if you were about to take off running if he did it any other way. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Gustavo stilled himself right behind the back of the chair on his side. His posture was the same as it always was, straight as a ruler, though his shoulder looked a little lower than usual. His chin slightly raised.

He could see it. He could see the sort of dullness to your eyes that seemed to have increased the more the day had drained you of life.

He took in your stance, the rigidness clear within your arms that were held by your sides and sometimes even twitched in a way that made it clear that they wanted to drop down, hang loosely in the air.

Usually the lines of your face weren't visible to the naked eye like Gustavo's were. When you would smile, make a face in response to something, it would bring them out, show them off to whoever was looking for about a second until you needed to focus again.

But there they were, carved beneath your eyes in a way that made the skin almost look like someone had pulled on it for hours.

You looked as if you shouldn't have been able to stand without swaying but there you stood, determined to act any other way than you had earlier.

“Sit down.” It took a minute for even Gustavo to realise the words had left his mouth.

You blinked, the previous reluctance to move further stilling your body regardless of the command. Thus, when you still made no sign of compliance to his words, he even gestured to what you had previously been seated in for further insistence.

“But...” It felt like it took hours for your lips to move for a singular word. It was the most confusing feeling too because you had worked so many shifts like this, so what was the difference? Why were you reacting the way that you were?

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, even if it was going to return either way, your stiff arms now allowing movement as you clasped your hands together in front of you. “I-- I shouldn't have been sitting in the first place, Sir.”

Your eyes weren't on his anymore. Your gaze was sort of mindlessly flickering about as it succumbed to many thoughts that swirled through your head, “I didn't-- I didn't mean to sit in your seat.”

“My seat?” The skin between Gustavo’s eyebrows crinkled. He wasn't angry, or looking at you like you had done the worst thing in the world. It was genuine confusion, “Y/n, that is a plastic, foldable chair.”

“It is not mine, or anyone else's-- It is an object with a purpose that I would hope that you're familiar with.”

He was trying to not be direct this time. The command of telling someone to sit down felt harsh, forceful. He had already been both of those things today.

When there was still no movement, his jaw clenched. There was a quiet breath that seeped through his nose, the cold air almost making it feel like he inhaled water, until he blew it back out.

“Please.”

Maybe it was the difference in attitude that made it hard for you to choose the proper reaction. Earlier he had looked at you with such hatred that even though you weren't the direct cause or reason for it, it still affected you.

But now his gaze was light. It held remnants of the tiredness he always felt after a shift, though he would never tell. You could see the mixture of emotions that stormed as the release from work allowed a genuineness that he couldn't always feel. That he didn't always want.

He wasn't commanding something this time. He was asking.

After another breath filtered through your system, your body finally made the choice to move. You took a step to the side, hearing the way the floorboards creaked beneath your feet. And then you took a seat.

The slight relief was visible within Gustavo's face as you brought the chair a little closer to the table. But like it always did, the look disappeared within a second.

“Now,” By the next time you blinked, resuming your position from earlier, Gustavo had began to walk along the length of the table, “I'm guessing you found Victor and Tyrus?”

Your eyes were on him not matter how fast or slow he decided to move, “Uh, yeah-- Yes, I did.” You watched him move round the edge of the table, aiming towards a set of four cabinets that sat against the wall. Each both a different colour and height, though not by much.

“We followed the tracks as far as we could-- As far as they went.” you insisted, taking a moment to lean your elbow against the table again while Gustavo moved towards a certain cabinet.

“They went onto the main road.” the man concluded as his feet finally stopped. You could hear a slight breath huff out of his lips, his head even tilting a bit before it went right back.

Just in the way it had earlier, the ability to part your lips had become a sort of struggle.

He hadn't shown an ounce of hostility, and even now, as he stood with his back towards you, it should allow you some feeling to be able to speak your mind. But that cautious feeling reappeared like you were dealing with a wild animal.

“Yes.” you finally confirmed regardless of the fact that it felt like your voice was caught in your throat. It was a wonder that the words even left your mouth, “I'm sorry, Sir.”

In about a second, Gustavo had turned his attention from what it was previous on. He looked over his shoulder, most of his body still facing the cabinets, until his eyes met your own. “No need to apologise, Y/n.”

“You weren't the one driving that truck.” That was it. The was his only other comment in response to yet another one of your failures before he turned right back to the wall.

“What about Mike?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, your back leaning further into the chair while your gaze remained on whatever he was doing, “Mike? Um... He was the one to figure out which ways the truck turned.”

Gustavo reached for the top of the cabinet farthest to the left. It was a sort of greyish green, contrasting with the carpet and the particular wood the walls were made of.

There was this white fan that sat atop the set of drawers. It was an item that you honestly hadn't realised was there until now, even if it was one of the main reason that the heat hadn't completely consumed you.

Gustavo's hand moved along the long neck of the object and soon it arrived at the front grill. Though, when he began to shift it, moving it to face more to the right, your train of thought sort of slipped.

“Oh-- Actually I forgot to... tell you, but Mike managed to find an angle from some of our cameras where you could see the number plate.”

Gustavo lowered his arm back down, seeming to get lost in the spinning blades as he just seemed to stand there for a moment, “He found it?”

Your excitement fizzled out almost as fast as it had appeared. Alas, when you thought a piece of information was usual, in reality, you were a step further back than you were before.

Still so far from solving the problem.

“The truck was very fast.” you informed and that seemed to jump start Gustavo's brain again as he turned away from the cabinet with a slight hum.

“It would disappear by the time you blinked... Too blurry every time we tried to pause it.” He started walking again, following the wall that was now to his right until he got to a table closest to the corner.

This time Gustavo didn't respond as he stopped himself once again. Instead he reached for the divided tray, that was always brought to this room for Mr. Fring himself, the cling film over it crackling when his fingers touched down.

You should’ve known he was coming.

“But he's-- He's working with a few of the guys right now. Trying to see if they can fix it up enough to get a match.”

Once the plastic was peeled back, Gustavo took the tray into one of his hands and lifted it from the surface below before twisting back round. “Good... Good.” he remarked in a way that had your eyebrows yearning to furrow, but your mind lost focus when he chose to walk behind you.

Your body stilled, waiting for him to appear in your peripheral vision once again. But even when he did, your muscles never managed to ease the built tension.

“And what about you?”

Before your eyes could snap towards what could be seen of him, his arm suddenly reached to the side as he rounded table corner closest to where you sat. And now, for whatever reason, the tray that he took was placed right in front of you.

“What about me?” you questioned a little lazily as your mind zoned in on the new presence. There was a different vegetable in each section, cut up smaller than they actually would be so that they would fit. And also because it looked nicer.

“What are you doing?” The clarification allowed your attention to shift and this time, when you got yourself to look up, you found Gustavo stood to the side of table.

The question had you just staring at him for a moment. If he had asked this earlier, your heart would have been pounding in a way that felt like it would come up your throat.

But his tone was normal. One that held nothing but genuineness that conveyed curiosity. Not anger, or burning hatred. He just wanted to know.

Either way, you will admit that it had you almost gulping when you realised it in fact looked like you hadn't been doing anything when Gustavo first walked in.

So, you cleared your throat, “Well, I... I didn't want to stand around while Mike and the other guys did their thing, and Victor took Tyrus with him to gather more information, so.. I decided to wait here at a local point so that people could easily keep me updated.”

On the table, in front of where Gustavo stood, sat two metallic bottles.

“Makes it easier for me to pass it on too.”

The one to the left helped the water within maintain it's heat if it wanted to accompany a tea bag, or keep a coffee hot. You could even put a hot chocolate in their if wanted.

And the other, the one Gustavo had took in a hand, kept the water cool. Useful for days like these, as if you left the water out on the table you could half expect it to start bubbling. “Hmm...”

“Good system.” He reached for the set of tall glasses that sat in front of the bottles. It slid against the uneven surface of the table, slightly managing to scuff up the wood, until it was close enough to Gustavo.

The thumb of his other hand pressed into what you were guessing was a button close to the neck, and soon, the lid clicked, snapping open. All Gustavo had to do was tilt his wrist and then the stream of water began to spill into the glass below. “Any word from... local businesses.”

It was piecing together. A lot of things were. The longer your eyes trained on watching the glass get fuller and fuller, the more points began connecting in your head.

“No.” You blinked, trying to bring back a sense of reality as you attempted to swallow the sudden feeling of thirst. “Noone wants to make any moves.”

There was something going on here. Something Gustavo was doingsince he entered the room.

If he needed something he would have already asked. He would have immediately sat right down in the chair opposite you and said whatever he needed to say.

But he wanted something.

“I heard that were even hesitant about...” Something that he apparently couldn't get with ease as you watched that glass begin to get dragged in your direction. “About?” Gustavo questioned, his arm slowly extending the further he pushed.

“About...” you repeated, the next few words proving difficult to locate through your mind, “About conducting meetings--”

In a split second, before you could even process it yourself, your elbow rolled until your forearm met with the wooden surface. Your hand barely had to reach out, as within about a second, it was pressing into the oncoming glass, halting it before it could fully get to your side of the table.

“Okay, what is this?”

Gustavo's head snapped in your direction, eyes aimed on your hand that trapped his own against the glass for a good few seconds before his gaze flickered to yours, “I'm trying to give you water.”

“No, not--” you huffed out a breath, fighting the urge to shake your head, as you freed both yours and Gustavo's hand from the grip. “All of this. The-- The pouring me a glass of water, which I can easily do myself. The turning the fan in my direction, even though I made no remarks of wanting that.”

“And this.” You grabbed the tray in front of you, the cling film sticking to your fingers as it still hung on the side, and held it up between the two of you. Your eyebrows were completely furrowed now, “Why did you give me this?”

“There has been no one else who was allowed to even put a hand near it, let alone eat it for themselves,” Gustavo's eyes were practically the only part of his body that moved as the travelled to what you held. “So, now I am asking you.”

“What are you doing?”

That silence was back again, layering across every surface that it could in a way that even made the fan sound loud, while the two of you stared back at each other.

The next breath that he took was heard by your ears. Finally, he removed his hand from the glass, that had begun to feel like it was freezing his skin, letting it remain where it was placed on the table.

His footsteps echoed once again as he begun to slowly move along the side of the table, rounding the next corner so that he could do the same on the next side.

It felt like your heart was in your throat by the time Gustavo had reached the chair opposite you. Even more so when he pulled it from its tucked position.

When the chair was a good distance a way from the table, he sat down, his back straightening in a way it usually did. Which you could never managed to do yourself.

He leant his forearms down onto the table top, his palms flattening against it while the fingers on each hand overlapped, resuming the familiar position that made it seem like you were back in the Los Pollos Hermanos office.

But you weren't.

This was the factory. A place settled far within the middle of no where to the point that you couldn't hear those cars anymore. You couldn't hear the chatter of customers, or the people working away in the kitchen.

The only thing that met your ears were your own breaths. And Gustavo's which were steady, though the look in his eyes told you something different.

“There are... a lot of things that need to be said...” He was almost nervous, the fingers pressed onto each other begging to twitch the longer your gaze stayed on him, “And yet, I forget that a voice is needed for that.”

For once, Gustavo didn't care how he felt. He didn't care about the argument, or that damn truck, even if it still made him anxious to think about what could happen.

But even then, the consequences wouldn't just effect him. They would damage his employees for both this business and the restaurant, which could then extend to their families, and that meant that it would end up at your feet.

This situation wasn't just about him.

It was about you.

“Y/n, I don't want to make you uncomfortable by sitting here, and talking at you about... what happened.” There was no name for that moment. No word to accurately convey the events, how it made either of you feel.

Still, it was like your body wanted to shy away from the singular mention of it.

“But, I can't ignore it.”

You wanted to get up. Wanted to move through the room as fast as you could and just bolt out that door, “Sir, we have more important things to talk about--”

“No.” His voice was louder than before. It wasn't enough to echo, or make you almost jump out of your skin, but it was a sound that had your mouth snapping shut. “No, we do not.”

It was like he was staring into your soul. As if he could read every thought that so much as passed through your mind, even just for a second.

“A truck is a truck. You are a person, living and breathing.” Gustavo continued, this unwavering insistence held within each word, “A person who, even after... wrongful treatment, stayed working hours on end for my benefit.”

Your head was shaking before the sentence had finished, “You didn't... Sir, this is my job.” No matter the difference in conversation topics, or the change of reasoning, your eyebrows always remained furrowed.

“Sure. Your job is whatever I say it should be,” Gustavo began, the slightest shrug shifting his shoulders, “But do you know how many people would have quit if I told them to do what you did?”

The nerves within your system had fizzled out at this point. “So what? Were you trying to to test me?” The only thing rampant through your veins was the exhaustion. A feeling that would soon lead to frustration, “Trying to find a weak spot to see if you needed to let me go?”

“No, I'm trying to say that there is no one else here like you.”

Your back pressed further into the chair you sat on, the upper half of your body almost slumping with it, “Mike could easily do what I did today.”

“Maybe so,” Gustavo did the opposite, he leaned forwards. And this time when he spoke, his voice was filled with this simplicity that it almost annoyed you, “But doing it without complaining? No... No, I do not think so.”

“Gustavo,” One of your hands raised to your face, while your head shook, in a way that sort of squashed your nose.

Your fingers rubbed at the muscles, trying to ease the tension that had begun to ache, and then your hand lowered so that you could look at the man across the table once again. “Are you going to give me a medal? A gold star? I was just doing my job--”

“And I am just trying to-” Gustavo caught himself. He let his lips fall closed, and so did his eyes while a breathing sucked through his nostrils. Though, when the breath cycled back out, they opened like before.

“This morning. What I asked... What I forced you to do-- The way that I spoke.” Gustavo's brows lightly crinkled. There was this look on his face while his head lightly shook, like he could see the past events right in front of him, “It was completely unacceptable.”

“I am... very sorry for what I caused.”

Your hands lay still in your lap, your fingers gripped onto the edges of your shirt as you stared back at Gustavo. “You didn't...” you started, almost forgetting that you could speak in a way that made you pause for a moment, “You didn't do anything.”

Gustavo nodded his head without a second to waste. “I did.”

The expression on his face remained regardless of how much time passed. His gaze flickered, his iris jumping from side to side, up and down, as if he was scanning every feature he could see. “I don't... I don't know what has happened in your life. And I don't need you to tell me.”

“But I know what I saw.”

You wanted to look away. Wanted to look down at the surface of the table below and let your mind zone in on the discolouration of the wood, or the difference in texture.

But you couldn't. You couldn’t move your eyes away from his face, the look on it that was such a thing that you had never seen it before. At least not on Gustavo.

“What I am trying to say-- What...” He took in a deep breath, attempting to unscramble the words in his head. And for the first time, you recognised the look of tiredness that washed of his features.

Or maybe it had been there all along.

“There is only one thing I want from you. One thing that I want to ask.” he finally managed out, and though their was clear frustration over the struggle, he spoke in such a careful way. Correcting himself of his past mistake.

“Okay.” Your voice was just above a whisper. In all honesty, it didn't feel like the sound was going to get passed your throat. But it did. And now, there was this look of relief that almost cleared the lines of Gustavo's face.

His back straightened, something you didn't even notice that he had to do.

“Will you work for me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed like they had many times before. Your head slightly tilted to the side, lips about to part in a way that Gustavo seemed to predict. “Not for the business. Or the company-- Not for any other person...”

“Just me.”

It felt like one of those jokes that took too long to understand. A phrasing of words that everybody else could get within a second. But not you. The most you could do was stare back at him. “What for?”

“Whatever you would like, I just-- Today made me realise a lot of things.” Gustavo began to lean backwards until his back was pressed against the chair. “I get so caught in what people do, what they say, that I only react for myself.”

“I am controlled by my own wants and needs, but my ability to react, or to feel, has only been allowed because of you.” The way his eyes crinkled, the upturn of a corner of his mouth. He was trying to be serious, but there was something else peeking through. “What you have done for the business, for me, surrounds us everyday, and...”

Suddenly, the expression on his face drained. Whatever sentence was about to roll off of his tongue got put on hold in a way that made you almost want to look around for whatever caused it. But then Gustavo cleared his throat.

He almost looked... shy.

“I... I do realise that the timing of this makes it sound like I'm trying to bribe you.”

It had felt like it had been the longest time since the urge to smile had tugged at your own lips. And at this point it was almost a strange feeling. You shook your head, “No, I get it.”

For the first time in what felt like days, the corners of Gustavo’s lips allowed themselves to curl. He looked down, nodding at your assurance that visibly eased his mind.

Finally, the two of you were on the same page.

“What I know... What I see is that there is a difference in a lot of things when you are in charge.” His voice oozed with a sincerity. It was this genuine and confident sound, like he had seen whatever he was a million times before.

With his next words, when he had mustered up the courage that was usually so easy for him to utilise, his eyes found your own set across the table, “When the mornings comes back, there is want to get through the stages of a day instead of a need to.”

His gaze swirled with an intensity, something that he almost looked confused about, unsure of how to deal with. And either, it was because he had never felt it before, or it had been a very long.

“I want you to work with you by my side.” It was insistent at this point. The way he sounded, the tone he used, the look on his face. Gustavo wasn’t asking anymore. It was a want.

A need.

It clicked. In a second, that very feeling sort of faded after his phrasing settled within his own ears. He was thinking about himself again. Acting based off of what his mind was telling him to do.

So, Gustavo’s back straightened, his head rose high and the expression on his face returned to the usual one he held when needing to deal with business. “If you would want that.”

It didn’t matter how tired you were. It didn’t matter what you had been doing all day, or the way your bones were practically aching by now. In fact, it was like your mind had completely forgotten that there was even a world outside the room you were in.

Right now, you were looking at Gustavo Fring. A man who was feared by many, not just because of his job. A man who was fuelled by the want for revenge, to seek justice for things no matter what extent he had to go to for it.

Yet here he was, sat on the opposite of the table he usually ruled at, naked under your unmoving gaze.

There was no part of you that wanted to leave the room anymore. No part that wanted to succumb nerves that told you to avoid the eye contact, and his presence all together.

When you finally spoke, finding the voice that felt like it was going to falter like a flickering candle, it was the fullest it had been all day, “Yes.”

No fear. No want to run for the hills and never come back. You remained in your seat.

Gustavo fought for control of the muscles beneath his brows as they nagged to pinched together. He was nodding again, fully processing your confirmation in a way that allowed him to properly breath again.

And, for the first time in what felt like months at this point, the two of you were smiling at each other.

After all, it was just a truck.

“I would.”

#gustavo fring #breaking bad #better call saul #gustavo fring x reader #gender neutral reader #gus fring #hurt/comfort #breaking bad x reader #gus fring x reader

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lorei-writes · 2 months

Text

Four (Small) Feet & Curious Eyes

Viva Dubois, Esther Materna Past - Childhood Gen Fic ~1.1k words

It's fairly old, but I suppose it's all right. :) A snapshot from the day Leon-the-replacement arrived at the... Dompteur's estate, as that is where he ends up in my OCverse.

“Vivi!” Esther hissed as bushes began to thin out. She planted her heels in the ground, only for them to get burrowed into it. “No, Vivi, no!” “You’re a chicken, you know?” “Am not! Daddy said —” “Bawk bawk bawwk!” “— that we can’t —” “Bawk bawk! Bawk! Bawwk!”

“Estra! Estra!”

“Hush, Vivi.”

“Hurry up!”

The Dompteurs’ summer retreat was a quiet place on most days. Located within a private forest, it offered much needed tranquillity to those worn down by the hustle and bustle of city life, the proper etiquette – although still upheld – being of lesser importance there where nobody would witness any transgressions. It had proven time and time again to be a useful asset, be it for providing its owners with rest, or through serving as ideal grounds for prompt recuperation.

“See? See?! I told you!”

“Vivi, shhh.”

“It’s a carriage!”

“Shhhhhh!”

Despite its humble setting, the retreat was nothing to scoff at. From well-managed gardens, through acres of bountiful forest, to the very pearl at its centre that was the manor itself, there were few nobles in the entirety of Rhodolite who would dare say a word against it or its keepers. In fact, it was thought to be in a good taste to visit the place, although never without a proper invitation.

“Mmm, who is it, Estra, who is iiit…”

“They threw stones last time.”

“Next time I'll throw one back.”

“Vivi!”

That being said, not all the guests were invited; some were brought in, regardless of their personal wishes or the absence of them.

The carriage came to a halt as horse hooves struck the gravel and thus scattered the droplet-stones, the ground nearly rippling under the impact. An urgent neighing rose high, nares expanding at once for air to fill the parched lungs. Tails swayed and tall ears perked in search of even the faintest sound; the coachman did not descend from his box, however, nor did the doors open. It was only a small hand that persistently moved towards the stream of animal complaints, despite another, identical one, pulling at the arm it was attached to.

“Vivi!” Esther hissed as bushes began to thin out. She planted her heels in the ground, only for them to get burrowed into it. “No, Vivi, no!”

“You’re a chicken, you know?”

“Am not! Daddy said —”

“Bawk bawk bawwk!”

“— that we can’t —”

“Bawk bawk! Bawk! Bawwk!”

“Stop it!” Esther shouted, but continued to clutch onto her twin nonetheless. “We should go back.”

“Then you go back and I’ll go alone. Let me go!” Viva screamed. She shook her shoulders and waved her arm. Ha, she even reached for Esther’s braid and yanked at it, earning herself a pained yelp. Esther sniffled, but held back the tears burning her eyes. She glared at the now freed (and all too smug about it) Viva, only to have a tongue stuck out at her.

Esther pursed her lips, her hands rolling into fists. Her sister, however, appeared not to be particularly worried, if worried at all – Viva turned on her heel, and with the vigour typical for five-year-olds, she sprinted off… or at the very least, wanted to. By some magic trick (or one swift tug on the ties holding the front of her skirt), she tripped on her very own clothing. A firm shove was all it took for her to dive towards the ground, her twin pinning her down, albeit clumsily.

“You’re not going alone!”

“Get off!”

“No!”

Viva hit the grass with her fist. A kelpie or a fish taken out of the water, she thrashed and kicked her feet, flapped her arms – all until Esther could no longer hold on and fell off.

“Why do you always have to be like this?!”

“I’ll tell mom!” Esther threatened despite being the one who was being held down.

“Snitch!”

“Stupid! Stupid idiot!”

“Crybaby!”

“Pig!”

“Cow!”

“Toad!”

“Old toad!”

“Older toad!”

“Ugly toad!”

“You’re ugly!”

“No, you’re ugly!”

“You’re —”

The ground seemed to quake, although objectively, it couldn’t have. The twins froze as they were, as if trapped in an invisible net. Viva let go of Esther’s wrists. Suddenly made aware of her state of partial undress, she tied her skirt back around her waist and smoothed her blonde curls. Her gaze anchored in the ground, she begun to fiddle with her thumbs as a dumbfounded man stared at them from the very edge of the clearing. They all shared the same eyes.

“Daddy!” Esther shrieked. She pushed herself up on her elbows, almost causing her sister to lose her balance. Viva, however, grabbed onto her shoulders at the last moment.

“Hey! I almost fell!”

“Then don’t sit on me!”

“Then —”

Another phantom quake shook the forest, or perhaps it was the forest itself that quaked in a persistent, unspoken not-quite-command. Viva blinked as she rose into the air, only mildly aware of the strong hands gripping her waist.

“Girls,” their father sighed as he set Viva down. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his forehead, perhaps wishing to rid himself of the creases forming over it. “What is it this time? Why even are you here… I thought I’ve asked you not to come near the manor today.”

“E-Estra didn’t wanna come! I did!” Viva blurted out.

“Liar! I wanted to go and you didn’t! That’s why I was on the ground!”

“No, no, I did!”

“I did!”

He heaved another sigh, although this time it went unnoticed.

“I did!”

“No! It was me! Me!

“Me!”

“Girls —”

“Do you want for Grandpa Frost to not bring you any presents this year?!”

“And do you?!”

“Do you!”

“Shhhh! Both of you, shhh!”

The twins lost their voices mid-shout. Their lips parted in surprise as their father crouched down, his large frame seeming to shrink as he cautiously glanced around. It was not often that he would raise his voice, yet it was even rarer for him to whisper quite so urgently. “I will talk with Grandpa Frost, you two. I’m sure that if you go home right now, I will be able to convince him to still bring you presents this year. But you have to go. Now. Understood?”

The girls exchanged a look before sharing a nod. Without a moment of delay, Viva pulled Esther to her feet, and so both of them ran back where they came from, completely oblivious to any protruding branches and twigs that might get caught in their hair. Their father breathed a sigh again, this time in relief.

“Ignace! Did you find what was making all this ruckus?!” a person called from behind the line of trees. Ignace’s shoulders grew rigid; no sign of the twins remained anywhere nearby. He grasped at the grass, his knuckles turning white, whiter still.

“Just some cats fighting!” he shouted back.

Nobody questioned him. Thank God nobody did.

You've seen a typo? Let me know!

Tag List: @solacedeer @keithsandwich @bicayaya @faustianfascination @sh0jun

@m-mmiy @queengiuliettafirstlady

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

#ikepri oc #ikemen prince oc #ikepri esther #ikepri viva

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lacyscabinet · 1 year

Text

The Queen

A/N: Heyyyy!!! this was supposed to be an headcanon but it turned out to be a fic. enjoyyy

Natalie Scatorccio x Reader

also requests are always open (send me your ideas!!!)

Summary : after Natalie becomes the Antler Queen you think your relationship won't be the same anymore.

MASTERLIST

Warnings: violence, standard yellowjackets warnings, SPOILERSSSSS

It all happened so fast, one moment her friends were trying to take her down and the next they were kneeling at her feet, kissing her hand.

Natalie zoned out, blinded by the moment, just letting all those feelings and all the adrenaline sink in, until she felt a familiar, soft, lingering hand on hers, it was you,

you didn't partecipate to the hunt, too shocked to even move at the thought of losing the love of your life, but yet, there you were, in front of her just like everyone else, tears in both of your eyes.

Nat simply smiled, you kissed her hand and then leaned in to place a tender peck on her lips, and then going back to your spot on the floor next to Van and Tai.

The girl looked down at all of her friends, feeling things she never felt before, smiling with tears streaming down her face.

It was later that night, you curled up in your usual spot where you and Nat spend your evenings at the cabin, under the thick blankets left by the dead man, but mostly seeking warmth in each other's arms.

You were in disbelief when Natalie joined you that night, and she must've noticed

"What's wrong baby?" she whispered, sitting down on the makeshift bed and bringing the blanket up to her knees

"I thought you were going to sleep... somewhere else" you said, she seemed extremely confused , then she spoke again with a questioning look "Why would you think that?"

"You are...the one who should lead us, you are... important" you answered, hushed voice

Nat lightly chuckles at that, shaking her head and fully laying down, motioning for you to lay your head on her chest, and as you got comfortable she said "It's still me" and then kisses the top of your head lovingly "Whatever it's happening doesn't mean that I won't stick around you anymore"

"I still love you, I think I'll always will"

At those words you couldn't help but blush and nuzzle your face into her neck, mumbling "I love you too"

She stroked your hair and then pulled you in for a proper kiss, your hands reached to her cheeks, they were dirty with mud and dirt, but she still managed to look beautiful.

When you pulled away you rubbed your nose on hers making Natalie chuckle

"Here" you said, leaning down to soak a piece of fabric in a water bucket near your bed and then bringing it up to her face and softly cleaning her skin as best as you could.

Nat was taken back by your softness, not even noticing a little tear slipping out from her eyes "Thank you baby, thank you so much".

After that, you both got comfy again, all cuddled up under the covers, Nat noticed you shiver in her arms, so she started to rub your back and holding you closer, occasionally blowing her warm breath on your cheeks, drifting off to sleep.

Suddently, the stinging smell of smoke reached her nose, causing her to immediately get up and look around, not beliving her eyes.

Flames were burning all around the cabin, expanding on the inside of the wooden structure

Some of the girls already woken up, panicking and trying to gather their most priced possessions and attempting to open the door

Nat went back to her bed to shake you awake "Baby! Babe wake up!"

You tiredly rubbed the sleep out of your eyes but immediately waking up when you understood what was going on, helping the girls to collect stuff.

After a minute they finally opened the door, running through the flames and into the burning cold snow.

The cabin was gone, the place that caused all of you so much pain but that gave you a place to stay as well, burning down to ashes.

"How are we going to survive now" Nat thought to herself, staring in horror at the scene in front of her while holding you to her tightly under a blanket.

A/N: guys really send some requests please, I'll ran out of ideas at some point :')

#natalie scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio #yellowjackets #natalie scatorccio x y/n #nat scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader

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uramilf · 1 year

Note

hi love can I request some angst with a happy ending. singer y/n and matty being official but y/n is having some trouble with her reputation lately (inspired by the whole taylor & kanye beef) so she tries to breakup with matty in order to protect him and not drag him anymore (saying he deserves better or something like that) so she booked a flight and goes back to her hometown but then our sweet lover boy matty chases her then one day he knocks at her door and they talk it out ;* I really need some angsty happy ending rn thank you my love!

A/N: Okay I loved this is I decided to turn it into a proper oneshot, thank you anon!! Fair warning: I'm not fully sure what happened between Taylor and Kanye but I know he accused her of not deserving an award so that's what I went with in this fic! Sorry if that wasn't what you meant!!

Warnings: angst, swearing, very sad shenanigans ensue

Reputation

"Y/n Y/l/n is currently in some hot water with pop music fans as she is accused of robbing other artists of Artist of the Year award. Y/l/n may have won multiple awards this year, but did she really deserve them?"

"Music sensation Y/n Y/l/n is a talented artist, fans agree, but it looks like her time in the industry could be limited as other artists express their upset at her recent win - could her rockstar boyfriend Matty Healy be the real reason for her success?"

"Brit award and Grammy holder Y/m Y/l/n slammed for her recent success this award season as she is called 'undeserving and untalented'. Her boyfriend, frontman of the global phenomenon The 1975, is yet to speak on the issue after being accused of helping her to acquire her fanbase."

You shut your laptop with a slam before you could delve any deeper into the comments being made about you online. You had been ecstatic with your recent win, and as Matty had also won an award the same night, you two felt invincible. That was until you began to be talked about negatively following your win, and you started to doubt how deserving of it you were. You started to believe what was being said about you online. That out of the hugely talented list of nominees, you were the least exciting. You started asking yourself if the only reason your fanbase had expanded was because of Matty. You wondered if you would lose fans in the event of a breakup.

It only took a few hours for the tabloids to bring Matty into the situation. They accused him of writing all your songs for you. Of course you had collaborated with him in the past, but you had credited him as a co-writer. The rest of your discography was your own. Matty was accused of begging Jamie to sign you at Dirty Hit, but of course you had been signed due to your musical talent and songwriting ability. In fact, you hadn't even known Matty before you were publicly represented by the label. Nevertheless, you could see you boyfriend beginning to be dragged down by the accusations made against you. You knew you couldn't let it happen. He had built such a successful music career for himself, and you couldn't be the reason he lost respect in the industry. It was going to hurt, but you knew what you had to do.

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

You had booked yourself on the first flight back to your hometown and told your parents you were coming to stay. Your stuff was packed up in boxes, ready to be transported back home, while your essentials were in a suitcase by the door. You sat anxiously on the sofa waiting for Matty to arrive home from the studio. When he did, you could hear him ranting from the second he opened the door. "Babe! Have you seen what those fuckers at The Sun have said now? This is bullshit!" He didn't get much further before spotting your suitcase. "What's this? What are you -" "Matty, I'm sorry?" "What are you talking about? Tell me what's going on!" "I never wanted you to be dragged into this. My reputation is ruined. It's only a matter of time before the label drops me." "That's bullshit babe, and you know it! Jamie loves you like family, he's gonna get you through this." Matty took your hand. "Please don't listen to what the press is saying, babe. You deserved those awards. And you have never lied about writing your own music. Now will you please tell me what's happening?" "I'm leaving, Matty. I'm going home." "That's ok baby, you just need a break. How long will you be gone?" You just shook your head at him, a tear falling down you face. You couldn't say it. "Darling, please, what are you saying?" "We need to break up, Matty. I need to protect you from this. You deserve so much more than me. More than the person who's ruining your image over a stupid fucking award."

Matty's face fell immediately. His eyes filled with tears and you could barely look at him knowing the hurt you had caused him. "I'm sorry," you whispered, and turned to leave. "No. Absolutely not." Matty caught you hand and pulled you to him. "You can't leave, not after everything we've been through. I love you. I need you." "I love you too, Matty. More than anything in the world. That's why I have to go. You love your music, and I can't let you be dragged down by my reputation anymore. We can't be together. We just can't."

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

As you lay in bed in your rented apartment near your hometown, your mind wandered to the look on Matty's face when you walked out on him three months earlier. He cried when you left, you could hear him sobbing behind you as you walked out the door. You had seen him cry before, but never like that, and it scared you. Maybe that's why you were so quick to leave. You didn't want to see the damage you had caused.

The comments online and the seemingly never-ending news articles had died down, of course. Not even a week later, some actor you had never heard of said something problematic and you were left alone. As for the public, they began to see sense and you had received hundred of comments on your social media saying things along the lines of "We support you Y/n!" or "We all know you deserve every bit of success." It was encouraging, but you felt you weren't ready to return to the studio yet. More than that, you weren't ready to return to the label and potentially face Matty.

It must have been one in the morning when you were awakened by frantic knocking on your door. Startled, you jumped out of bed and ran to the door. You opened the door a crack, and your breath caught in your throat when you saw who it was. Matty Healy, with his curls tousled by the wind, tearstains on his cheeks and a tiredness in his eyes you had only seen when he returned from a tour. He must have gotten off a flight and come straight to you. You swung the door open and he tensed up when he saw the worried look on your face.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Is everyone ok?" "Everyone's fine, darling. Except me." "What? What happened?" "You. You happened. I can't be alone anymore love, I just can't. I need you back home with me." "Matty, you know I can't do that." "And why the hell not? All that stuff with the press cleared up after you left me." "And what if it starts back up again? I can't let you be dragged down by me again." Matty took your face in his hands. "Listen to me darling, please. I simply can't be away from you any longer. I have never loved someone like I love you. I don't care what those fuckers on the internet have to say about me. I would have my reputation ruined a thousand times for you. I would do anything for you, I would die for you. You know that. So why won't you come home and be with me?"

You couldn't stay away from him for a moment longer either. You threw yourself into his arms and started to cry into his chest, his fingers running through your hair to soothe you. He was whispering between pressing kisses to your head. You couldn't hear what he was saying, but it was comforting. Matty picked you up with ease and you threw your legs around his waist, still crying. He shut the door behind him and walked you over to the sofa, where he stayed with you, holding you tightly in his arms until you had calmed down. "There, angel. You're ok." "I'm sorry, Matty. I didn't know I had upset you so much." "Of course you did, babe. How could you ever think I would be better off without you?" You almost started crying again, overcome with guilt, but Matty took you in his arms again. "Don't cry, sweet girl. It's ok, I'm not upset anymore. But I don't give a shit about what's being said about me online, as long as I have my best girl with me." He wiped away your tears and pressed a sweet kiss to your lips, the first in months. "I wanted to go back, I really did," you assured Matty. "But I thought you would have forgotten about me and moved on. And I definitely thought you stopped loving me." Matty's heart sank at your small voice and he mentally kicked himself for not calling you more times after you moved away. He kissed your cheek reassuringly and brushed your hair behind your ear, before pulling your closer and speaking in a low tone into your ear.

"I could never forget you, angel. And I have never stopped loving you."

#matty healy #matty #matty healy x reader #matty healy angst #the 1975 #adam hann #george daniel #ross macdonald

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gloamvonhrym · 10 months

Text

oh I never posted all my silly phoenicis worldbuilding (birdbuilding) that I did while in fanfic writing hell

here’s a huge mostly-boring set of notes expanding and/or playing havoc with canon. I’m putting it here for future reference. maybe to link to it for funsies if I ever post this hell fic

phoenicis is a small insular nation with little social hierarchy, living on inhospitable mountains inaccessible to anyone except other birds. phoenicis has therefore evolved on a somewhat separate cultural track from everybody else in tellius. in this essay I will

economy/practical shit

implicitly in canon hawks are intensely community-oriented. again, they’re a small nation without much hierarchy, and with some preference for chaos. they all “just do what needs to be done”, paraphrasing ulki. they’re not the Strong Guys for the heck of it: they work together to protect & care for their own, and harbor a strong sense of collective duty and trust.

so they’re commies

with serenes out of the picture they’re the biggest commies in tellius

they don’t have currency, that’s some human shit. to each according to their need etc

(exactly how small and close-knit is. phoenicis? small enough that kilvas, a similarly small nation with even fewer resources, could kill everyone on the home front in basically a day when it was left undefended. so. take that for what it is)

infrastructure

minor architecture tangent: we don’t see much of phoenicis & kilvas except for the exteriors of their respective castles, which is kinda boring. obviously not everyone lives in the castles. but phoenicis DOES have some other visible infrastructure, namely the funky detail of these open doorways built into both the castle itself and the surrounding cliffs:

(I don’t know if there’s any kind of proper name for these, because obviously irl we don’t need them and they’re not a thing. I’ve been calling them sky doors, and I might have nabbed that from rebecca roanhorse’s “between earth and sky”, although idk if she in turn nabbed it from anyone else)

anyway there appears to be no actual barrier on these, at least not externally. what did I say. commies. who’s gonna rob and kill you in your own home, in your little nation-commune, where nobody except other birds can get to you, and everyone trusts everyone else to do their duty and provide for each other. (the answer is that other birds will betray you, eventually. sad!)

anyway it’s boring to stick around the castle 100% of the time. I imagine that this architectural idea continues down into the valleys, where maybe artisans can make stuff and services can be provided and bargain economy shit can happen

hawks have seemingly only been pirates for the last 20 years or so, and they do piracy for the sake of vengeance rather than need, and they can’t do that much of it because there aren’t a ton of them; and unlike kilvas, they abstain from trade with the whole rest of the continent, and are isolationist by choice. so they must be self-sufficient in basically every way. someone’s got to be making fabric, making clothes, making shoes, forging metals, creating pottery, creating music and art, administering medicine, providing education, etc, somewhere.

healthcare

tangent about medicine: phoenicis is probably the only nation in the continent that has historically had no contact with healing magic at all. the herons had innate healing magic, and everyone else either has human mages or contact with human mages. but phoenicis is on its own. their medical science is therefore more advanced by irl standards, because it has to be. they know more shit about practical mundane antitoxins, antibiotics, wound dressing, surgeries, anesthetics, and complications. it’s less pleasant than magical means, but it works.

(canonically, healing magic works on wounds and not so much things like regular illnesses, so everyone’s still got some mundane medical care; but when that’s ALL you’ve got, I think it follows that you necessarily come to understand the pure mundane science better than most other people. I bet phoenicis has bred its share of real scientists. if anyone in tellius is going to invent electricity,) (also: they might value physical strength very much, but because they’re commies, I figure they take care of their sick/disabled/injured pretty well, and most of them are at terms with the fact that not everyone can be the Strongest Guys. reyson’s complex about being too weak to live is likely more due to survivor’s guilt, helplessness to protect others/wreak revenge personally, and a post-traumatic focus on violence as a primary determinant of outcomes, rather than any actual pervasive cultural messaging that he’s useless.)

age

hawks live to some, what, 300+ years? janaff says a 24 year old should barely be speaking, but I feel like his ass was just being dramatic, similar to the way we needle real-life 18 year old adult humans about being tiny babies. there’s no reason why any creature should take 20+ years to be at least functional, that would be a huge evolutionary disadvantage. I posit that hawk adolescence is considered to last roughly age 20 to 70 (with heron adolescence lasting somewhat longer, given their longer lifespan; maybe to 80-85, such that reyson has somewhat recently hit true adulthood by the time PoR rolls around).

teenagers are stupid. hawk teenagers are REALLY stupid. chaos predilection + hormones. many of them will gleefully pick a fight over any dumb thing and be horny about it. strong with the vigor of youth, but exceptionally poor sense of their own limitations

by age 100+, their temperament evens out; but any contender for the king’s power is probably going to come from the young crowd at any given time. speaking of which,

government

there isn’t much of one. phoenicis is not big. everyone knows everyone and they’re very efficient commies so everything gets done that needs to get done. tibarn has 2 dumbass advisors. who needs a secretary of state.

the title of king goes to “the strongest” (I assume the intent is that this is determined by combat, against self-selected challengers who get to take over if they win, wakanda style). although canonically, his power is that he gets to call some shots but doesn’t really get any special privileges or reverence beyond that, which is nice because it means that if the king became super unpopular, the rest of phoenicis could probably depose him without much trouble if they wanted to. no divine rights here.

(worth noting: I think tibarn’s characterization is super different between fe9 and fe10, with RD tibarn being a lot sassier and more informal. FEH skewed towards the RD vibe, and I think they were right for that. given the hawks’ uniquely relaxed philosophy towards royalty, their insular culture, and the likelihood that they all knew tibarn by name before he ever had a title, it wouldn’t make sense for them to do a lot of formalized bowing and scraping. RD tibarn would never have unironically addressed caineghis as “o majestic king of lions” or whatever he said)

(by contrast, apparently, in japanese, reyson consistently addresses tibarn formally (and also naesala, up until naesala betrays him). I don’t speak japanese and can’t really count this as an aspect of my experience of these characters, but I wonder if the other birds also address each other in this way, or if it’s a trait peculiar to reyson.)

family

families are not nuclear. hawks raise their kids pretty communally, foremost in unstructured “flocks” (households or clusters of households). actual bio parents may or may not be closely involved

parenting is kind of hands-off overall. the concept of adult supervision falls away pretty fast. “let your kid do the stupid dangerous thing so that he learns what’s stupid and dangerous” ass culture; learning by experience is optimal, and if you’re not adequately responsible then others are less likely to be sympathetic and/or have your back in turn. hawk kids tend to gain squads quickly, and they often hang together for life ride or die

if a young hawk is neglected or entirely rejected by their home flocks - rare, but not impossible - likely someone else will pick up the slack, if not adults then some loyal friends

relevant headcanons: tibarn, ulki, and janaff have been sticking together since an early age. ulki in particular had some problems - his original family did not appreciate that he kept overhearing things he shouldn’t, and he was way too autistic to know what was meant to not be repeated, so after not too long he became a bit of a lone wolf. tibarn and janaff already knew each other - janaff’s exceptional sight didn’t cause him any similar problems; and were initially concerned with ulki’s misfit status, but his ability was a valuable bonus. they all adopted each other.

food

the main thing hawks don’t do is cook. because they mostly eat raw meat, fish, and bugs, which is very sexy of them. I imagine every household has certain members designated to hunt regularly on its behalf. add that one to the chore chart

(maybe someone starts experimenting more with cooking when herons are there, and further when phoenicis is open to international relations. for fun and community!)

gender

ok the shit I made up, let’s go off the rails

hawks are queer-normative. in that they don’t give a shit about the anatomy or superficial presentation of who sleeps with whom. most of them are equal-opportunity in that regard

they are, however, by human standards, masc-centric to a sort of absurd degree. they’re not dumb senseless brutes (see again, commies, intense intra-community trust); they’re also probably not the most emotionally available fellas

(“but wouldn’t this level of intra-community trust result in greater emotional availability, not less?” look I’m not saying they’re scared of it. but why would you cry out your feelings with some other guy when you could be killing animals or committing piracy about it.)

gender presentation: I said equal-opportunity in terms of sexuality. might be because it’s a little difficult to tell. the games appear to have no female hawk characters but in MY headcanons their presentation is just masc-centric across the board, and maybe they skew a little less sexually dimorphic in general, so you wouldn’t know anyway

most hawks are he/hims. that’s just a quirk. like discworld dwarves but with less to say about it. just a nation of butches, for fun

bad gender parity in the tellius games? how do you know janaff isn’t a he/him lesbian

hawk dress is largely unisex, earth-toned, and utilitarian. not necessarily fully unadorned - tibarn has an earring & a few other things, including a necklace (feathers; battle trophies?) - but he’s still pretty rugged. nobody is flashy.

nothing AGAINST conventionally feminine presentation per se. hawks would chafe against overly rigid norms. but the way medieval-fantasy femininity looks, they’d probably think it’s a little odd in a practical sense. but who knows. maybe leanne starts something with those she/her pronouns and flowy dresses yk.

(tangent on clothing: phoenicis isn’t really friendly for something like cotton crops, but they can have wool, because goats & sheep can live on mountains. I’m also happy to make up that there’s some kind of hardy tellius breed of mulberry-adjacent tree, which can grow at least somewhere in phoenicis, resulting in the availability of silk and maybe barkcloth. or something. idk I’m not that kind of historian.)

sexuality

hawks primarily value strength, physical + emotional. we knew this. again, doesn’t make for the greatest emotional intelligence. overt softness is not the thing. tibarn kind of sucks at the direct empathy that reyson claims all living beings share, for instance. 2 hawks in a fight would rather tussle it out than waste time talking.

this carries over. in a partner, again, attraction tends to disregard sexed anatomy, but the most valuable thing is being well-matched physically. being creatures of chaos, they trust their impulses, they like a challenge, they don’t mind a fight, and they probably don’t super want to be with someone they have to worry about hurting

(hence that kind of hot chemistry between tibarn & nailah. also janaff hits on lucia at first glance bc she’s a knight obviously she’s got some beef babeyy)

pursuant: by and large, hawks really don’t find herons very attractive. that delicate graceful peaceful affect is kind of a mystifying ideal to them. it’s like art - nice to look at, ig, but what would you actually do with it. people significantly weaker than you are for you to protect, not sleep with. tibarn is a notable exception because he is down bad for reyson

and reyson is like an alien, and tibarn is maybe a bit of a freak for being into someone so fragile. you are the very strongest guy, tf you want with a boy who breaks if you look at him wrong. what do you get out of that sir. he has complexes about this :) but I’m not going to elaborate on that because that’s what hell fic is for

“herons in phoenicis: conceptualizing the vulnerable body in hawk-normative society”, the title of my tellius gender studies thesis at the university of crimea or whatever

speaking of reyson. what does this mean for him. I need to talk about it because I’m obsessed with him. the commie stuff isn’t that much of a culture shock at least

but have some added fuckery: sole survivor, adapting to another culture, learning another language; lone chaos-sensitive empath in a sea of macho chaos-oriented dudes who aren’t very attuned to that kind of thing; also extremely physically distinctive in a way that is kind of weird at best

how do you even maintain a sense of personal identity when the baseline relevant factor is “you’re incomprehensibly different from everyone around you in every way possible”? I think reyson experiences some Gender about this. the most masculine heron is still a lily reed compared to even a fairly femme hawk

reyson’s gender, per the rest of the continent: male. reyson’s gender among hawks: heron

I imagine leanne is somewhat shielded from this once she comes round - she’s able to lean on reyson and naesala, and I figure she does, pretty heavily, considering she picks up maybe a few words of the modern tongue over the course of 3 years. she’s deliberately feminine, and also has already chosen her own terrible boyfriend [affectionate]. she’s not without her own traumas, but she’s more supported, and maybe is even in a place to kind of enjoy the confusion & attention she garners from being the sole girly-girl. I feel like she would.

and her terrible boyfriend [affectionate] is a raven, not a hawk. and by contrast, ravens are VERY attracted to herons. because herons are pretty. and ravens like shiny pretty things.

misc

I’m not quite committed enough to make constructed-culture art, but in my mind hawk visual & aural culture resembles late antique/early modern celtic styles in a few ways. insular culture yk. some book of kells bullshit.

(kinda weird, upon reflection, that phoenicis isn’t full of ancient tongue speakers, considering serenes was allegedly one of the few nations they were ever friendly with. and yet even tibarn understands very little ancient. at the very least, being the most isolated nation, it would make sense for the hawks to have their own modern dialect. but they don’t, that would have been hard for an FE game to pull off, and I’m not enough of a linguist to try. so it is what it is! maybe, even though they don’t fraternize with other nations, they’ve always kept pretty close tabs on them just in case, the necessity of spying facilitated the shift to modern. whereas serenes never did that. anyway sometimes the hawks sound a little irish in my head.)

they are also superstitious. all those lonely windswept coastal peaks, there’s a lot of howling winds, spooky nooks, weird environmental physics interacting with weather phenomena. you end up with stories about folk monsters. hawks know shit about ghosts, fairies, sirens, and banshees, and how to placate them if you piss them off. also the herons sometimes scare people to death because they wear nothing but white and drift around like specters.

I also have a lot of headcanons about herons. but they’re more feelingsy. so I’ll leave that go. I might add to this as I remember more stuff

#long post #text #ref

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ikemenlibrary · 11 months

Text

Bookmarked Dialogue (Ikémen Prince)

Pairing: Keith Howell x July (OC) Summary: Keith finds solace within the walls of a tiny bookstore, reveling in the love of the shopkeeper. This is their story.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: Self deprecation on both sides

A note from the author: I had the privilege of writing this for @queengiuliettafirstlady for the Ikémen Prince Gift Exchange hosted by @sunnyikemen and myself. What started as a small cute fluffy fic blossomed into way more, and I enjoyed writing every second of it! I hope you enjoy this Julie! Thank you for giving me the opportunity to explore July and Keith's wholesome relationship!

“Can you read me a story?”

It started long ago, before either of them knew how deeply their feelings would expand over two countries. Keith was a visiting prince in Rhodolite, and July was managing a bookstore in town run by her uncle.

She had noticed Prince Keith right away. As a citizen of Jade, she had heard stories of the gentle prince; so kind that even his maids gave him gifts randomly to thank him for his hospitality. From across the town square, with a fountain between them, Keith’s soft golden eyes met July’s green, and from that moment forward, she was a goner. Her heart panged harshly in her chest as his eyes followed her every move and July made sure to take her time arranging the flowers she had bought in town for the pots outside of the bookstore. She wanted to spend more time away from the inside, she wanted to use that time to admire Keith’s gentle smile as he shopped around the square, and only when he hopped in a carriage with the official Rhodolite crest - headed back to the castle, presumably -, did she return back inside for the rest of her duties.

He had approached her the next day, bowing graciously as he entered the small and cluttered bookstore, leading July to curtsy awkwardly in the small space. With Keith’s giant form inside, there wasn’t much more room left for July to move around, much less greet the Prince with a proper welcome. He apologized profusely for the intrusion, a gentle blush on his cheeks as she brushed off his concerns with a warm and welcoming smile, introducing him to the bookshop.

Nevertheless, he offered her only kindness as he asked for book recommendations on the history of Rhodolite, and he found solace in her bright smile as July relaxed into her specialty, talking his ear off about all the various things she’s learned about since coming to help her uncle in the little bookstore.

In their short time together, they learnt a lot from each other; Keith learned that July had come from Jade, and was here out of the kindness of her own heart to help her elderly uncle, and in turn, learn more about herself. July learned that even though he was royalty, Prince Keith was as kind and courteous, if not more, than she had ever heard around town within the gossip mills.

“I enjoyed talking to you today,” Keith bowed once again, this time gently grasping July’s hand in his own as he kissed the top of it in a farewell. “Thank you for your company. Maybe next time, you could read me a story?” And then his eyes widened, and he rushed to cover himself. “But only if you want to, of course! If it’s any sort of intrusion, please just forget I asked you! I’m sorry.”

“It’s no problem at all, I’d be happy to. What kind of story, Prince Keith?” July fought to keep her silly grin off her face, the giddiness of that prospect almost ridiculous in her mind.

“Your favorite book,” for a moment, it seemed as the prince’s eyes darkened slightly, his soft smile dipping into an almost imperceptible smirk, but the moment July blinked, everything was the same as it was before. Maybe a trick of the light, or maybe she had just imagined it, but it was enough to have a chill run up her spine. Nonetheless, she curtsied to the prince once again, and sent him on his way with well wishes, his arms piled with books she insisted he take back to the castle with him,

July spent that whole night scouring the meticulously organized bookshelves of her favorite stories, hoping to find one that Prince Keith would find interesting enough to grant her one of his comforting smiles that had her feeling weak in the knees. She had decided on a book of folklore from a country overseas, and tucked it away behind the counter so when - and if - the prince decided to come visit once more, she’d have it ready.

***

Prince Keith returned a few weeks later, a bundle of blooming pink roses in his arms as he ducked inside, grimacing slightly and apologizing to July - or the door, she wasn't quite sure - as he hit his head on the doorframe.

“Sorry, that was rather dreadful of me. I should’ve been more aware of my surroundings. That’s what happens when you’re a big lump, you always bump into things.” And before she could reply, he apologized once more. “And now I’m oversharing. Geez, I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, Prince Keith!” July exclaimed, dropping into a curtsy. She had practiced in her small bedroom, watching her form in the mirror before bed every night. She wanted to be sure if the First Prince of Jade visited her bookstore, she would be able to properly greet him this time.

“It makes me happy to see you welcome me so warmly, but please, no need for formality. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew you went out of your way for me.” Keith bowed in return of her curtsy, and it brought a flush of heat through her body as she watched his hair flop over his eyes as he stood himself back upright. “I’m sorry if I gave the impression of otherwise, July.”

She rushed around the counter, drawing herself nearer the gentle prince, and bowed her head. “Of course you didn’t! Please, stop apologizing. I just wanted to make sure you felt welcome coming to visit once more.”

“I’m sorry I keep apologizing, I’m sure it’s dreadful listening to it.” Keith’s eyes were downcast, and July’s heart yearned to have her envelop his larger hand in his own to dissuade his worries. But, she was a mere commoner, that would be very unsavory to touch a prince like that in any setting that wasn’t unwarranted. “I wanted to apologize for taking so long to visit as well. I was away at the palace for some time with some duties. Oh, gosh, I did it again, I keep apologizing.” If his head could hang lower, it dropped at that admission, and July was quick to reassure him with a smile.

“It’s quite alright, Keith. Please don’t worry! It gave me time to select my favorite book to share with you.” She didn’t tell him that she had been waiting anxiously day by day, drumming her perfectly manicured fingers over the aged book cover, hoping that every time the bell rang, it was the Prince coming in to make good on his promise to return.

“Oh, you found your favorite book to show me? That’s a lovely idea, I can’t wait to see what you decided on.” Keith had a gorgeous smile that lit up his face, his tawny brown eyes sparkling with interest.

“Well - yes. It was your idea after all.” July said, once again ducking behind the counter to grip the thick and heavy book, holding it up triumphantly.

“It was?” Keith’s eyebrows furrowed, before his eyes widened in shock, scrambling to cover up his confusion. “Yes, sorry. I remember now! I asked for you to show me your favorite book. And now I see it! Let me see… ah, folklore. I’ve heard good things, but haven’t read much.”

July looked at him, a glint in her eye as she continued explaining their last meeting. “I suppose it’s a good thing you asked me to read to you then. At least I didn’t find something you’ve read before.”

Prince Keith shook his head, his beautiful smile back on his face. “Nonsense. Even if it was a book I knew by heart, I’m sure it’d be even better coming from your beautiful lips.” He glanced down at his arms, cradling the bundle of roses he entered the bookstore with, and he held them out to July, clumsily pushing them into her embrace. “I almost forgot. I got these for you as an apology, since I was away from your shop for so long. I saw these in the town, and they reminded me of your lipstick. But now that I’m saying that out loud, I feel weird. Please accept my generous apology for coming off rudely.”

July hugged the de-thorned roses to her chest, the stems of the flowers matching the color of her dress - Keith noticed -, and she inhaled deeply, her eyes sparkling with happiness as her green gaze met Keith’s, and his heartbeat sped up as she smiled at him. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you Prince Keith.” As to prove her point, July took the partially wilted white roses out of the vase on the counter, laying them off to the side as she replaced them with the new, fuller and blooming pink roses.

Keith cleared his throat, anxiously pulling at his hair in front of his eyes, almost as if the harder he tugged, the more he could hide behind his thick and shaggy hair. “I wanted to ask you something. If you’re available to step away from the bookstore, would you be willing to walk around town with me? Maybe we could stop by a patisserie and you can read me some of the folklore you wanted to show me? But obviously if you’re not feeling up to it, or you’re busy, please just forget I asked!”

Before Keith could talk himself down a rabbit hole, July interjected. “I’d love to join you, Prince Keith. If you could just wait a moment, I can close the shop down for a bit while we go out together.”

Keith breathed a sigh of relief, his shoulders slumping as the anxiety eased out with that singular exhale.

He waited patiently as July flitted around, shelving the last few books and turning the open sign to the closed side. Keith’s eyes never left her beautiful form, and he felt ashamed for noting how her dress perfectly hugged her curves, following her bodice down to her waist. She was gorgeous, and whenever she sent a smile his way, he felt his hands grow clammy.

At last, she turned towards Keith, a bright smile on her face. “I’m ready to go, let me just grab my shawl.” And before he could offer her his cloak, she grabbed her shawl, and opened the door to the tiny bookshop. “Make sure to duck a little this time, I don’t want you to hit your head again.”

Keith thanked her gratefully, and that one little smile he gave her had her yearning heart aching. He was so kind, so generous, and incredibly good looking. All the rumors she’d ever heard of the first Prince of Jade was true, if not an under exaggeration of his character.

Keith led her to a pastry shop he knew about, and before July could even question it, he explained to her that Prince Licht and Prince Yves of Rhodolite had taken him there before, and it had some of the best macarons he’d ever had. When July heard the mention of macarons, she had exclaimed that those were some of her favorite sweets, and when Prince Keith offered to share a few of them between the two of them, she graciously accepted, finding a secluded table tucked into the back of the patisserie while he went and placed an order.

“They said they’d bring out the macarons in just a few moments, as well as some tea that would nicely compliment the flavors.” Keith said, hunching his shoulders as he slid into the other chair - which looked ridiculously small compared to him. “Sorry to make you wait, thank you for your patience.”

“Don’t worry about it, thank you for ordering some stuff for us to enjoy together!” July exclaimed, her hands moving to subconsciously trace the title of the book she had placed on the table.

Keith’s eyes followed her movement, motioning over to the book. “What book did you decide to share with me?”

July blushed, worrying her lip between her teeth as she flipped between all of the pages, only looking up at the prince once she had made the silence stretch long enough that it felt awkward on her end. But she knew it didn’t matter, Prince Keith was kind, and he was patiently awaiting her response, the curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “I brought something that had been transported across seas. I had to translate it to be able to read it… but I thought you’d enjoy that.” She responded, spreading her hands over the book cover, almost to protect from any sort of negative reaction from the prince.

“You were able to translate this book?” Keith asked, sitting up and seemingly forgetting about his large stature on the smaller chair. At July’s nod, he rested his hand on top of hers, a tender smile gracing his lips. The touch, combined with his tawny gold eyes searching her face, had July’s heart beating in her throat, and she fought the urge to pull away from him to protect her heart from any hurt that was inevitable to come with falling for the prince, instead giving herself into his touch. “That’s amazing. I don’t think I’d have enough patience to sit and learn another language, let alone translate a book in my free time.”

July smiled, pleased at the praise Keith was instilling on her. “Well, when you work in a bookstore, this sort of thing is what you do when there’s no customers around.” Keith’s gaze never left her, and she cleared her throat to try and brush off the prickles on her skin. “Would you like me to read you one of the stories? They’re short, they only take about five minutes each.”

“I’d be honored if you’d be willing to dedicate that time to me, July. Thank you.” Keith graciously bowed his head, and at that time, the waitress came over to deliver their treats to the table and the prince thanked her profusely, only stopping once he noticed the flushed and awkward look on her face. “Ahem, sorry. Thank you once more, have a great day.” He ushered her off after that, and July bit her lip to keep the giggles bubbling in her throat to escape. And then they settled in, Keith bringing his chair closer to July, a shy smile on each of their faces as their shoulders brushed when July opened the book. Keith found her voice calming as she spoke, reading each line in the strange language before tracing her neat handwriting on the side of the book, reading the same line in English afterwards. July forced herself to keep her voice even, and her eyes forward. She could feel Keith’s gaze following her every move as she continued to read, but she kept going, the warmth of his shoulder pressed against her own urging her to continue reading.

The story was one that always intrigued her, about a woman who showed up in a town one day who was a hard worker, and worked on a farm in exchange for a place to stay. Everyone liked her, but some thought she was odd because she was kind to everyone, yet stuck to herself. One day, she was invited out late in the evening by the farmer she worked for, and instead of accepting she declined - like she’s done every time. The farmer was so curious about where she went instead of going out with people in the town that he followed her, and she led him through the woods, to a cave where he discovered there that she had a whole other life as a queen of elves. The ending of the story changes depending on the author, but this one ended with her accepting the farmer as one of their own, and having him join them in an elven celebration.

Keith hung onto July’s every word, his heart beating in his ears as she spoke. It was as if she understood him, this story telling her more about Keith than he felt he could ever tell her himself. He wished he could tell her that he related to the story, but once she finished, all he could muster up was a shaky smile. “That was a very interesting story. What was it that intrigued you to begin with?”

Keith watched as July reached for a rose macaron, her pink lips about the same color of the treat and he licked his lips, unsure if it was because he was hungry or because he watched her plush lips brush against the baked good. She chewed and swallowed before responding. “I just liked the idea that it was okay to show someone who you trust completely the real you, and to be accepted for all that you are, even if it’s more strange than anyone could imagine.”

“I think that’s a really good way to think about it…” Keith said softly, sipping on the herbal tea. “I’d like to find someone who I can share myself completely with some day.”

July’s eyes met his own, more intense than any other time before. She was completely serious when she responded, “I would like that too, Prince Keith.”

***

During his time in Rhodolite, Keith continued to visit July in the bookshop, dousing her in flowers and perfumes and all the sweets he could carry in his long arms. Over their time together, Keith found himself missing her when they were apart, and July felt the same, her heart speeding up every time he walked through the door, ducking so he wouldn’t hit his head like the second time he came to visit.

They exchanged countless book recommendations, and bonded over the books they grew up reading in Jade. He always accompanied her on her half day break, treating her to a small lunch and tea. She always insisted on paying, but the prince always brushed her hand away with a kind smile, and she never had the heart to fight him on it because he always seemed so pleased when she accepted.

Over their time spent together, July had found herself absolutely smitten with the gentle prince, every moment that passed when they were together only confirmed the feelings she felt for that man, and even though she knew they could never be, she spent her time away daydreaming about what it would be like to hold him in her arms and press kisses on top of his thick, shaggy hair.

“July, were you listening to me?” Keith’s voice broke her out of her trance, and she shook her head, a bashful smile across her face. “That’s alright. I was just saying that I brought you my all time favorite book, and there was a line I wanted you to read, and tell me what you thought.” He handed her the book, and she thumbed at the pages curiously, opening up to the page that was bookmarked. “The 17th line down, it should be a line of dialogue.”

July used her finger to count down the lines, and sure enough, there was a line of dialogue, lightly underlined with ink, right where Keith had said it’d be. “‘And sure enough, I realized eventually that I was in love with you.’” She read out, her voice breathless as she glanced at Keith.

Before she could continue reading, Keith continued the line of dialogue on his own. “‘And I realize that it may be too late, but I couldn’t let you go on without knowing.’”

July’s eyes filled with unshed tears, unsure if he was just referring to an incredibly romantic line in a book because he knew she loved romance novels, or if there was deeper meaning in his - the book's - words. “Prince Keith?”

Keith stepped closer, his eyes soft, a serious expression on his face as he cupped her cheek stroking gently under her eye with his thumb to catch one of the tears that had managed to fall. “July,” he breathed out. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”

Another tear fell, this time from her other eye. Keith couldn’t brush it away, yet his eyes followed it as it tracked down her gorgeous face. “Tell me what?” She whispered, her green eyes almost a stormy gray with the tears filling her lash line.

“I didn’t know how to tell you that I’ve fallen in love with you.” Keith responded, now cupping her face in gloved hands. He wished he had taken his gloves off, but he’d never been one to think things through to this extent. He wanted to feel her soft face against his bare hands, hands that didn’t deserve to hold someone as gently as he was. “Say something, please.” He pleaded.

July let out a shaky sigh, and finally felt like she could breathe once more, his confession hanging between them like the oxygen they were breathing together. “You could have anyone you wanted… you’re so gentle, and kind. And yet, you chose a weirdo like me. You chose a commoner.”

Keith leaned in, pressing his forehead against her own. “I chose the most wonderful, and kind woman I’ve ever met. You’re anything but common to me. If you’re a weirdo, then so am I.” He laughed slightly, and that sound warmed July’s heart. “There’s no one I’d rather be a weirdo with than you. I love you.”

This time, there was no mistaking it. He was confident in himself, and professing his love to her, his sweet breath fanning over her face with every word he spoke. “I love you too, Keith.” She replied, and before she could say more, Keith closed the small gap between their lips. It was awkward and clumsy, probably one of his first - if not his first - kisses, and even though their noses bumped together, July could feel Keith’s sincerity in the way he was breathing in the air she exhaled, like she was his living life force and if they separated, he simply couldn’t bear it.

He loved her, and she loved him back.

Although there’d be tribulations to get to, they both knew that they’d get through it together, because they had each other.

***

Keith’s shoulders were slumped as he walked into his and July’s shared bedroom. He had been busy, since Jade was hosting a union ball with Rhodolite, the first prince was stretched thinner than he normally was, and he was ready for a night away from the princely duties bestowed upon him.

July was laying in bed, a book nestled on her lap, the oil lamp burning bright in the otherwise dark night. Keith had to squint; he wasn’t sure if she was asleep, or just resting her eyes, but when he sat on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes, she stirred, rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Hi darling,” she greeted him, scooting over in the bed so she could wrap her body around his upright one, her chin resting on his shoulder. “Another late night.”

Keith kissed her forehead, a little hum of appreciation leaving her lips at his affection. His second boot was toed off, set near the edge of the bed, and he was ready to wrap her in his arms and enjoy some quality time with July. “Yes, there won’t be many more before it’s over, my love. Did you fall asleep while waiting for me?”

She shook her head, knowing her lover was going to start beating himself up if she didn’t dissuade his worries. “No, just resting my eyes. I had a headache, but I wasn’t sleeping.”

Keith startled at that, quickly pulling off his gloves to feel at her forehead. There was no fever, and his shoulders dropped in relief. “If you wait right here, I’ll go and mix you an herbal tea that should help and–”

July tugged at his hand, stopping Keith in his tracks. “I don’t need any tea. I just need to rest. Come, darling, and lay with me.” Her pleading caused Keith to relent, allowing her to guide him under the covers, his newly washed pajamas soft against his skin. He had been working all day, and his back was aching from sitting hunched over documents, yet when he wrapped July in his arms, it was like every bad feeling from the day had left his body. It was quiet between them, their breathing had lined up, and everything felt back to normal for the both of them. “Keith,”

“Yes, love?” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head as he responded.

“Could you read me a story?” Her voice was small, and her eyes were closed, the prince noted as he looked down at her. He had picked up the book that was laying in bed with them, and with a fond smile, he picked up at the bookmarked page, starting the 17th line down.

“‘And sure enough, I realized eventually that I was in love with you.’” Keith read out quietly, and July smiled, nuzzling farther into his embrace as he continued. “‘And I realize that it may be too late, but I couldn’t let you go on without knowing. Meeting you was the best thing that has ever happened to me.’ Tessa spoke with tears in her eyes. She watched forlornly as the prince boarded his carriage, headed back to the castle far away. In that moment, Tessa was heartbroken, staring after the retreating carriage. Little did she know, the prince was also heartbroken inside the carriage, yet his hand in marriage was devoted to someone else, and he refused to start something with the love of his life before he broke off the engagement with the princess of the country his parents were trying to align with.”

Keith continued to read the book as July’s breathing evened out, and although she was asleep, he continued to read late into the night, the hopeless romantic in him not wanting to stop until the pair was reunited. Only once the prince and the commoner found solace in each other's arms, did he lean over and turn off the dim burning oil lamp and snuggle into the loving embrace of his lover.

Keith couldn’t even begin to imagine how hard it was for the Prince to stay away from the woman he loved, even if she was a commoner. If he had to give up any moment of finding solace in July’s green eyes, Keith knew he wouldn’t be able to pull himself away from her. One tremble of her perfect lips would have him cupping her face and wanting to soothe away all her doubts.

But that was Prince Keith, a weakling. And he only wished one day he could be as admirable as the prince in the book, and set an example for the rest of his country about what true love should look like.

Unlike a book, true love has no bounds, and at least that’s something that Keith can always promise to July. He may not yet be a role model to his kingdom, but the citizen’s of Jade will always know that their First Prince followed his heart, no matter what direction it may lead.

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