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hongnanglen-arina · 3 years

Text

Hot pot, flowers and fireworks | Xu Minghao/The8

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Xu Minghao x female reader

Warnings: none (but I didn’t read it again so there might be some errors, sorry)

Words: 1.199

A/N: Hello there! HAPPY NEW YEAR 2021!!! Before I will post the second part of my mini series the ulzzang project tomorrow, I wanted to post something for the new year and what’s better than some fluff with hao? :3 I wish you all the best for the new year wherever you are ♡ stay happy, healthy and safe. The new year can only get better than the last one ♡

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Today was the last day of the year and after 3 years you were finally able to spend this day with your fiancé again. The last years one of you or both couldn't get that day off because people with family and kids were given that day instead of 'singles' or how your boss had called it. She had never seen you with Minghao because you wanted to keep this private. Also you weren't that close to your teammates anyways. Even when asked what your SNS accounts were, you smoothly changed the topic until no one asked again. They just lost their interest in you and that was exactly what you wanted.

But today was special and not only for you. Looking at the man in front of you, you knew instantly that he felt the same. You two had spent the whole day together. After waking up, he prepared breakfast for you two while you took a shower, being told to relax and take your time and not to help him. It confused you a little but you knew that it was of no avail if you had tried to.

It was a simple but beautiful breakfast because he had a little bouquet of pastel colored flowers in a vase on the table when you joined him. He wanted to pamper you but you tried to turn the table from time to time during the day.

It was kind of suspicious how sweet he was. To be clear, he was always sweet with you when he wasn't on a trip of teasing the shit out of you, but you felt as if it was just too much.

You two spent the day with a stroll in the park, through the shopping street to do window-shopping at some of your favorite vintage stores and a visit at the nearby cafe where a good friend was on shift today, gifting you a blueberry muffin to your drinks.

Back home you watched two episodes of your recent historical drama until your stomach growled. For today you had planned on making hot pot together so you discussed your drama while cooking. Slightly arguing about who would end up with the main actress but you loved those moments when you shared your opinions about things. He saw things you didn't or thought they were not important. In many aspects, he changed the way you looked at the world after he entered your life and you wouldn't have it the other way. He made you appreciate the small things in life and you quickly found yourself happier with less.

After the delicious dinner you cleaned up together even though Minghao tried to push you onto the couch to stop you but thanks to your puppy-eyes and whining sounds, he let you. You were about to drop onto the couch again when he asked you a question all of a sudden.

"Y/n can I draw you?"

You were taken aback. He had never drawn you before and hearing this question without a warning caused you to blush but you couldn't say no. Minghao told you about your clothes and pose as if he had planned it for a long time. He wanted you to sit on the edge of your bed with the little bouquet in your hands while you look out of the window. As for the clothes, he gave you one of his big silk scarfs that you had to wrap around your upper half.

It was a little cold in the room and you could literally feel your goosebumps form on your exposed neck, shoulders and arms, the soft blush on your cheeks wasn't enough of warmth but Minghao reassured you that he won't take too long.

And he seemed to be right when he lowered his charcoal pen after a short time, making you look at him with question marks. That was too fast. And you knew him that he was a perfectionist in everything he did. He would even pause for a day or two until he got the perfect solution, resulting in being praised by everyone including you.

He smiled warmly at you before carefully placing his wool cardigan over your shoulders, instantly making you loosen up when you felt his warmth surrounding you.

"Are you finished? Can I have a look?"

You are curious how it turned out especially because Minghao was very fast. Maybe he just made a quick sketch and will finish it later, you thought to yourself.

He hesitated for a second but took a seat right next to you when he turned his sketchbook, showing you the outcome. It was indeed a sketch of you holding the flowers but beside that was something written and when you realized what it said, your eyes widened.

Will you marry me?

Your mouth opened but you were speechless. He was overly sweet the whole day and it was very suspicious to you but you had never thought that this was the reason. Swallowing, you slowly lifted your gaze from the paper to the man beside you who was waiting patiently for your response, the nervousness written all over his face.

Pointing to his pen, he handed it over to you with a confused nod. You hid the page from him when you wrote your answer next to his question and seeing you write a lot made him even more nervous but he waited. He had been on edge the whole day, actually the whole week since it was sure that you two could enjoy this day together. He wanted to make it even more special but the days together were rare lately and knowing that his business trip was near, he just couldn't wait anymore but he swore to himself if your answer would be yes, he would do that later to see an even wider smile on your pretty face.

You cleared your throat when he noticed his thoughts were somewhere else and he blinked apologetically. The answer was done and you suppressed the urge to chew on your lower lip when you showed him the paper.

Next to his question you added a little manga-ish sketch of you two with wide smiles and a speech bubble next to your head with a 'yes' in it.

It took him a while to process the moment but when it hit him, he met your eyes and you could see the tears in it. Giggling sheepishly, you fought back your own tears when he inched closer, his thumb softly caressing your cheek, mouthing 'I love you' before connecting his lips with yours. You melted in his touch and you had never been more sure about a decision than you were now.

Minghao was the one who made you a better person and you were ready to spend the rest of your life with this man who was not only handsome from the outside but also had a beautiful soul.

Resting your foreheads against each other, you wanted to say the three words back to him when you heard the fireworks. It was midnight.

You started to giggle and said in unison "Happy new year."

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obeiii-mee · 4 years

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Hi there! If its okay, could i ask for headcannons of the brothers finding out MC is an Artist? Something like, finding there sketchbook or napkins w doodles on them jfjdjs Or maybe they catch MC glancing at them alot while trying to draw them? hfjd Ty!! Your writing is really good~

Of course it’s OK! I’ve always liked the idea of MC having a really interesting hobby and teaching the brothers about it. I feel like all the brothers would be very supportive of them, even if they all had various reactions to their hobby but I really love writing wholesome moments like that. Sorry this took longer to come out, I made them really long to make up for it!

Also thank you. Your compliment means a lot :)

————————————-

The Brothers’ reactions to MC being an artist:

Lucifer:

-Well if you’re going to glance at him every two minutes, he’s bound to notice

-I mean, you’re pretty damn obvious

-Lucifer got pretty used to you whipping out your sketchbook whenever you could

-So for you to start doodling in his office while he worked wasn’t exactly unheard of

-He caught you staring at him before looking back down at your drawing, continuing your series of furious scribbles

-Now you piqued his interest

-“You seem very focused there love. What are you drawing?”

-Scared the crap out of you because he rarely ever talks when he’s working

-You were reluctant to show him but Lucifer has his insisting face on

-When you passed him the sketchbook, he momentarily froze

-Your drawing was so detailed and full of emotion, capturing him slumped over his desk, exhausted but determined to finish the work he’s been assigned

-He was so surprised and stunned, for a second, he forgot to breathe

-“It’s not exactly one of my best drawings yet but-“

-“You never fail to impress me MC.”

-He suspected you were drawing him but he wasn’t expecting this much effort to be put into it

-He would definitely keep all your drawings of him

-Loves all your work but secretly adores your sketches of him best

-Lucifer would occasionally look over your shoulder while you sketch, taking a peek at what you’re drawing and smile to himself

-He’s never felt this much pride for someone else before

Mammon:

-Was pissed you would rather spend time with an object rather than him

-It annoyed him at first because he couldn’t tell if you were listening to him or not while you had your nose stuck in your sketchbook

-Basically, he was jealous of a sketchbook

-You can’t do that Mammon, that’s Levi’s thing

-So one day he decided to see what the fuck was so great about that giant notebook you always have with you

-He turned your entire room upside down searching for the damn thing before finding it

-He flipped through it and I’m sure the entire House of Lamentation could hear his gasp

-You drew him for pages and pages in all sorts of positions and styles and he was a flustered tomato going through them

-You willingly drew him? The scum of a demon who could never do anything right unless it involved money? You put your time and effort into these sketches and doodles despite him being condescending and a dick at times?

-Excuse me but this man is already head over heels in love with you, you can’t keep giving him reasons to fall for you

-He was so engrossed into your work that he didn’t notice you behind him

-“Mammon why is there a mess in my room-“

-“HOLY SHI-AHHH!!!”

-Too embarrassed to even think of an excuse for going through your shit

-“Ah those...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drawn you without your permission Mammon-“

-“Are ya kiddin’ me? MC, I feel insulted that you didn’t tell me about this sooner. Can...Can I keep some of ‘em??”

-Now he insists that you draw him as often as possible and would even pose for you (he loves the attention let’s be real)

-He wants to see all of your drawings and will endlessly support you

-Thought about using your skill as a way to make money because art can be very expensive

-But in the end, he dropped the idea

-Why would he sell something so precious to him??

Levi:

-He probably has a sketchbook too

-You guys draw Ruri-chan together in your own styles

-Levi always insists that you’re much better at drawing than him tho

-Your talent makes him a little jealous but at the same time he’s fascinated

-Was so surprised when he found out you were into sketching

-Levi was even more surprised when you showed him all the drawings you’ve worked on for your favourite anime and video game characters

-OK but how come you’re so perfect? Not only are you a lovely person that is willing to watch anime with him without insulting his opinions but you can draw? W...h...a...t...?

-He requests several sketches of ‘The Tale of the Seven Lords’ characters and will actually tape them to his wall

-Some of them are right on his Ruri-chan shelf

-“Hey normie, do you...do you mind teaching me how to draw? I want to learn.”

-Is 100% determined to learn how to properly sketch from you

-You started drawing him as well, usually while he games

-You better stop, he’ll have a nosebleed if you keep being so nice to him!

-Draw him as an anime character and he will start fangirling

-“Phew. OK I’m finished.”

-“What did you draw?”

-“Hentai.”

-“This. Is. A. Masterpiece.”

-Will proudly show your work to his brothers (usually the same drawing more than five times)

-What did an otaku like him do to deserve you??

Satan:

-He found out you were an artist fairly quickly

-I meant he found tissues with doodles you left behind everywhere

-He kept all of them

-It was so refreshing for him to see you so invested in your drawings the same way he is in his reading

-You’re still under the impression you’re being sneaky by drawing him while he has his nose in his books

-You ended up finally gathering enough courage to show him one of your portraits of him

-He had a reaction similar to Lucifer’s really

-Praise!

-He made your drawing into a bookmark

-Idk how but he did

-You leave him a few doodles of you and him being all lovey dovey and he absolutely adores them

-Will lose his marbles if anyone says anything remotely negative about your style or talent

-Draw him fluffy animals pls he will literally have them framed and fixed up in his room

-Also if you draw any of his brothers (specifically Lucifer let’s be real) in a silly way he will actually start snorting with laughter

-You sketch him pretty damn often and he can’t really complain

-It’s really peaceful when you two are in the library and you’re working on your doodling while he reads aloud to you

-Buys you equipment like pens and pencils and even sketchbooks when he knows you’re running out

-He’s really delighted when you come over to show him your drawings

-Once he caught you staring at a cat as you started sketching it

-He actually didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much

Asmo:

-Noisy little fucker that he is and in need of drama, he looked through your sketchbook

-Thought it was a diary at first but nope

-Imagine his surprise when he found pages upon pages of drawings of his brothers and him

-Except his weren’t really a surprise

-He’s gorgeous of course you would want to draw him

-But oh my God, do you realise how much he values art??

-I know he looks as if he only thinks about sex but he definitely has a thing for creativity and art like painting and photography

-“MC darliiiing~? Why didn’t you tell me you can draw?”

-He actually shrieks at how well you’ve captured his beauty

-He insists that they look like actual pictures of him

-Takes several pictures of all of them and posts them on DevilGram

-A bit salty when you drawing anything else but him

-However, he can’t deny that you’re one of the most talented individuals he ever met

-He comes up to you every day and lractically begs you to draw him

-One time you came in your room to find him naked and asking you to draw him

-Is actually kinda good at drawing himself

-Specifically people

-He has enough experience exploring the human body so he surprisingly enough, knows a thing or two when it comes to body proportions

-“MC draw me like one of your french girls~”

-I’m sorry I had to do that

-He also likes the attention he’s getting when he poses for you

-He may think he’s the most beautiful being in all three realms but he definitely thinks you’re the second

-So he often offers to draw you too

-He likes having cozy chats with you while you draw

Beel:

-You left your sketchbook behind in the kitchen with him

-Mammon needed your assistance to get down from where Lucifer hanged him after one of his failed money schemes

-He knocked a glass of milk nearby it and had a panic attack for a minute

-Legitimately thought he ruined the whole thing

-Was actually about ready to cry because he knew how important your sketchbook was to you

-Looked through it just to make sure there were no splotches or anything

-To say he was relieved when he realised it was fine would be an understatement

-He was kinda drawn to your sketches, most of them carefully drawn and expressive, even some of the ones you scribbled out

-One specific drawing caught his eye though

-You drew him and Belphie together, with his twin brother’s head resting on his shoulder while Beel ate

-He was mesmerised by your talent and by your thoughtfulness

-Beel felt bad about it but he kept looking through your sketches, enchanted by everything in it

-You drew him and his brothers several times

-It’s safe to say the discovery of your drawings brightened his day

-Gave back your sketchbook later

-He apologised for going through it without your permission more than he needed to

-You had to accept his apology because he looked like a kicked puppy

-Feels very honoured whenever you let him look at your work

-Is more than happy to pose for you!

-But that might be a bit of a problem seeing as he tends to move around a lot

-“Whoa, that looks just like me! The food I’m eating looks really realistic too...which is making me hungry. Let’s go to Hell’s Kitchen, you can finish this there!”

-Supportive bean

-You gave him a family sketch of him and all of his brothers once

-Normally, he only likes gifts he can eat

-But he treasures that drawing more than food at times

-“This...this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me! Thank you MC! But uh, someone’s missing in this drawing.”

-“Ah shit, who did I miss?”

-“You.”

-If anything ever happens to Beel or his happiness I swear to Lord Diavolo-

Belphie:

-OK but you left your notebook just sitting there right next to him???

-How do you expect him not to look through it?

-Belphie doesn’t care much for privacy

-And he doesn’t exactly have morals either

-He didn’t even know you were into drawing

-Which to be fair, wasn’t scandalous considering he sleeps 20 hours a day

-But he wants to be more involved in your interests so that’s why he took initiative with your sketchbook

-Idk what he was expecting but definitely not a sketch of him staring back at him

-His heart skipped a beat but I don’t even know if demons have hearts

-The cheeky little shit took pictures and may or may not have made on your drawings of him his wallpaper

-Most of the drawings were of him sleeping, surprising...absolutely no one

-“So that’s what you’re up to whenever I go to sleep huh? So cute~”

-But besides all that, he is really touched

-I mean, if there’s anyone undeserving of your love and respect is the piece of shit of who tried to kill you

-Yet here you are, continuously showering him with affection and now this

-Probably spent hours looking at your sketchbook while you were at R.A.D

-Didn’t say anything to you when you came back except handing your notebook back to you

-Though he was less of a smartass and more affectionate for the rest of the day

-Next morning, you took the liberty of waking up before him and sketching him again

-He grabbed your arm halfway through your doodling and grinned at you from under the covers

-“Drawing me again huh? You won’t mind me doing this while you’re at it then right?”

-Now he’s sleeping in your lap

-Whenever you show him your work, he makes a small approving noise but he’s seriously impressed

-Draw Lucifer or Lord Diavolo in any offensive manner and he will actually start giggling

-Gets all huffy puffy when you draw his brothers instead of him (we all know Beel is the exception)

-I may have a thing for Belphegour

Al~

#obey me #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me imagines #obey me leviathan #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me satan #⭐️ requests #☂️ demon brothers #🕯 general

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

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✨ For TAG Virgil

Immersive

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Spiritual Characters: Virgil

Ah yes, the tricky brother (I love him but he’s really hard to write!). Let’s see what my playlist churns up for this boy, shall we?

Shuffle says... Space Hotel from Thunderbirds Are Go

Well, that’s pretty close to home! Very close to home, actually. No lyrics, so I’m just listening to it and ooh, there’s a lot of variation in here, actually.

Send me ✨ and a character/ship for a songfic drabble

Downtime. Rare, cherished. Not that Virgil didn’t enjoy his job - far from it - but being able to fully relax, knowing that there were no callouts about to interrupt his day? It was an almost magical feeling. His brothers were dispersed about the island, each seeking personal space or hunting down a neglected hobby.

Beside him lay his pencils. Strictly organised they were not, but Virgil didn’t need or want organisation today. Today was about something different. A break from the routine.

Above him, the sky was a clear blue. High up, wisps of cirrus gave the sight some dimension, some shape. Below - far below - waves lapped against the crags. His back was pressed against other crags, a niche that cradled his body like it had formed for that exact purpose. Maybe it had. He’d first found this spot years ago, when his shoulders weren’t quite so broad, but he still fit just as well now as he had back then.

On his lap, a trusty sketchbook. Nothing large, barely bigger than his hand, but it was enough. Today wasn’t a day for grand paintings or detailed sketches. Those he did on days when he had to stay in easy access of the den, in or near the house.

Today was a day to just feel. To recline in a natural rock niche with a pencil of undetermined colour smooth between his fingers, a blank canvas of sky, and an arm that moved with no conscious direction.

He kept his eyes on the sky, hand navigating the pencil selection and sketchbook by muscle memory and touch alone. This one, he didn’t need to watch as it formed. Didn’t want to. Just let his hand glide where it wished, with whatever colour it had blindly picked out.

He wouldn’t look until the sky darkened, dusk drawing in and bringing gentle reminders from his stomach that a return for nourishment would be appreciated before too long. Blue shifted towards the purples of night and the first stars winked their way into view. Blindly, he let the sketchbook fall shut and only then did he look down at the pile of pencils.

Blues and purples sat near the top, a spoiler for the most recently selected colours. Fitting, for the night sky. He packed them away, back in the case where they belonged, and gave himself one last moment to breathe before he moved.

Back to the hustle of the villa, four brothers emerging from their own personal endeavours in time to gather around the table and hope the food on offer was edible. It was; John had been baking.

His creation stayed concealed until all the food was devoured and the kitchen put to rights. Unspoken, the five of them dispersed again, back to their willing solitudes of the day, and Virgil settled in his own room. Pencils were put away, and only then, with the sky fully dark, did he let his eyes rest on the page.

Purples, blues. Black. Dark and almost furious; at total odds with his mood all day. A contradiction. In the centre, a single hole of white, where no pencil had ever gone.

The calm within the storm.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #songfic #drabbles #purfectpurple #thunderfluff #behind the scenes

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misomilk · 4 years

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the new game has been giving me so many stony feelings so i just HAD to write something!!!!

The Diary [AO3] Pairing: Steve Rogers x Tony Stark AU: Marvel’s Avengers Word Count: ~2.3k Summary: Steve wonders about Tony reading his diary. He couldn't really have read it...could he?

He didn’t really read his diary...did he?

To the others, it’s been five years, but to Steve it was just a few days ago that he had last written an entry on it. It’s not that he kept a diary to note down all the fluttery feelings he felt for his fellow Avenger. Most entries were akin to those he’d write on mission reports. Things he did well, things he should’ve done better. But few and far between, there would be glimpses of his feelings for Tony.

Steve can still remember what his entry about Tony’s jokes was.

Tony said more than a few jokes during today’s mission. I didn’t get them. Then he drew roses around the page, because Steve knew if he found the courage to speak his feelings, he’d be giving the genius a bouquet a day.

He drew flowers on the same pages he ever mentioned Tony. Blue violets, daisies, pansies. Thank God his drawings of Tony’s portraits were in a separate sketchbook and not in the diary. When the bean bag or mission reports weren’t enough to calm him down at night, it was thinking of Tony and etching his image on paper that helped soothe him through the night.

Then Steve remembered there were a few, more sentimental entries, too.

Like that night they spent together at the tower penthouse, gazing at the sky, watching planes go by, talking about the smallest things. Tony surprisingly didn’t drink a drop of alcohol, but he talked so much. About his life, about his father, about how much he wanted the world to be at peace. Steve wanted to take him in his arms then. Dance with him, maybe, if there was music. Steve wanted to tell him he was his world, but the sun had come up before he had summoned the courage to do so.

He drew tulips on that page.

God. It really was a love diary, wasn’t it? Masked with non-Tony entries, but it really was. And Tony read it? Tony read it? No way… He couldn’t have. What were the chances Tony went through his things, and got the hold of it? Unsure. What were the chances Tony read every single entry upon finding said diary? Highly likely. Tony’s curiosity led him to no bounds.

Did Tony find the diary? Did he read it? If it wasn’t 25 past two in the morning, Steve would strut down to Tony’s room and ask for answers now. But he’ll have to settle for doing that first thing in the morning. Instead, thoughts threatened to haunt Steve throughout the night. But he managed to keep them at bay as he drew Tony’s face on a new sketchbook-- his face when he found him.

The first face he saw since waking up. If Steve closed his eyes, he could still picture it. The worry in Tony’s eyes, mixed with a hint of relief, the way his eyes wouldn’t pull away from him. His arms around him when he caught him--hugged him. It was as if he was still dreaming. Being so close to Tony was the most surreal thing to have happened to him. Even more than finding out he was stuck in space for the past five years or so. Tony Stark had been the first thing he saw upon opening his eyes, and that has been a dream Steve has wished for since he realized his feelings for him.

And then thoughts about the diary filtered into his brain yet again. With a sigh, he set the sketchbook down beside him and got settled into bed, hoping sleep would claim him so morning would come faster.

***

“Looking a little stiff there, you feeling all right?”

Steve swallowed. It’s finally morning and here he’s found himself at Tony’s room, right before breakfast. “Sure. Never better.”

Tony smirks. “Uh-huh.” “I’m fine.” Steve hoped his response was less frigid than it felt.

“That was so convincing.” Tony turned back to what he was working on at the center of his room. It looked like a weapon. “Thanks for putting my mind at ease.”

Was that one of Tony’s jokes just now? Steve sighed, stepping in a little further into the room. It’s messy, but feels homey. A lot like Tony.

“Can I… help you, Cap?”

“Yes, well,” Steve gathered the courage to ask what he wanted. And that’s when he noticed it in the corner, hanging upon one of the closets. Wrinkled and old, but definitely once Steve’s. “Is that my jacket?”

“Uh, well… After you died, I wanted to… honor you.”

Don’t get your hopes up. Steve told himself, but his heart was already fluttering. “I was dead.”

“Hey, let me grieve at my own pace.”

Steve laughed softly, smiling at the jacket. That Tony would keep with him something Steve always used to wear to remember him by making his heart soar. Then he remembered again. The diary. If Tony managed to find this jacket, surely he would’ve found the diary. Ask him. Ask him. “Tony?”

“Yes?”

“Did you really read my diary?”

The screwing on of bolts halted. Steve turned to Tony to see that he’d stopped tinkering with the thing on his desk.

“Tony?”

Silence followed before Tony spoke. “Why do you wanna know?”

Steve lifted an eyebrow. “Why aren’t you answering the question?”

Tony’s eyes darted at Steve’s, then immediately looked away. And if Steve knew better, he’d realize Tony was actually blushing. “Look, Cap, I’m sorry, okay? I know it’s a breach of privacy, or whatever.” Now it was Steve’s turn to blush. He felt the heat down to the crane of his neck. “So you did.”

“I--”

It was rare to see Tony so out of words when he was always ready for the wittiest remark. Steve didn’t know what to make of it. Did Tony despise what he read in it that much? Or did he like it? What did he feel now, knowing Steve had written about him in his diary, and drew flowers around his name?

***

Read it? Tony basked in it. Every single day of his life since the day his world went away, he drowned himself in the world Steve saw through his eyes. And when Tony realized there were entries about him, entries about him with flowers etched along the edges for Christ’s sake, what was he to do? Grieve over the chance he missed, living a life full of love with the man who had his affections, that’s what. Because Steve was gone.

Steve was gone. But he came back, and he found him, and now he’s here. And what did Tony do? Run away with his tail between his legs, that’s what. How was he supposed to approach Steve? Hey, I read your diary. You have feelings for me? I have feelings for you, too. Let’s get together. Not exactly the best way to woo someone. But maybe Tony should’ve taken it, because then he wouldn’t have to be in this awkward conversation right now.

“I know I shouldn’t have read it.” Tony sighed, putting a hand on his head. He could swear it was starting to ache. “But I didn’t know what it was at first. It wasn’t like it had a label on it, you know? Steve’s Diary, do not read.”

“But you read it.” “Yes, Captain Obvious. I’ve only said it like, a million times.” Tony rolled his eyes and looked at Steve then. Steve. Steve was blushing . Even the tips of his ears were red, and he looked so adorable Tony’s reactor could leap out of his chest. “Steve? You okay, buddy?”

“I don’t know what to say, Tony.” Steve walked towards the wall, leaning against it for balance. “You… You know now, don’t you?”

Tony played coy. “Know what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know ,” Steve seemed to speak against his teeth. “What I wrote, how I-- and you--”

A moment of silence seemed to stretch on for eternity before Steve finally said the next word.

“What am I doing? How could I be so stupid?”

Tony blinked, wondering how Steve went from blushing to rushing out his door. “What? Steve? Hey, wait.” He immediately stood up and caught Steve by the arm before he could pass through the door. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t like me.” Steve looked into Tony’s eyes then, standing at the door to his room in his lounge pants and shirt, so much hurt, so much raw pain. It hurt Tony’s heart the same, itching static between his body and reactor. “Not the way I like you.”

Tony couldn’t correct him, even if he wanted to. His actions the past few days spoke louder for him than his true feelings.

“You know what you read in my diary. I like you, Tony. I really do. But you-- You just brush it off like you never read a word of it.” Though a few inches taller than Tony, Steve looked so small and so dejected. Steve shook his head and looked away. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve brought this up. I promise I’ll be professional when I see you at breakfast.”

“No, Steve, wait!” Tony’s hands latched onto Steve’s arms, making him turn towards him again. Tears started to run down Steve’s face, and Tony wished he could tear out his reactor right now so it would mend the pain. “Steve…”

Steve pushed Tony away lightly, rubbing his hands across his eyes. He laughed dryly. “Look at me, a grown man crying over a silly crush.”

“That’s not true, Steve…” Tony held the other’s hands in his then, looking into his eyes. “I-- Honestly, I don’t know what you see in me. I’m an idiot.”

“Do you or don’t you make a point of how smart you are every single day of your life?” Steve smirked, though it quickly disappeared as he sobbed. Tony led Steve away from the door and towards his bed where he let Steve cry out his feelings. Once Steve was a little calmer, Tony stood up and sat on the other’s lap. The other’s eyes quickly widened in surprise, jaw dropping in shock. “Uhm… Tony?”

Tony tried not to notice the flush of heat rising in his cheeks. “Look, I’m not so good at talking--”

That made Steve huff a laugh. “You? Not good at talking?” “I know, I know. I can barely keep my mouth shut. But I’m not good when it comes to, you know, talking about the real things.”

“Real things...?”

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders then, drinking in the other’s clear blue eyes as he spoke his words slowly, with much certainty. “Like how I feel about you.”

Steve’s jaw dropped again, and Tony swore he could just lean down and kiss him right then and there. “Which is…?”

“I like you, too, Cap.” Tony leaned down to press their foreheads together. All he could see were Steve’s sweet eyes, and his world was a little brighter. “I’m sorry I’ve been such a dick and that I avoided talking to you about your diary. I just-- I wasn’t ready.”

“Hmm,” Steve mumbled, and Tony could swear he felt that rumble against his throat from how close they were. He felt hands settle themselves on Tony’s hips, and Tony decided then to sit a little higher on the other’s thighs. “And are you? Ready now?��

“Maybe?” Tony’s eyes fluttered, the warmth of Steve’s hands on his hips surreal. He could feel a finger or two slip underneath his shirt and he gave away a soft moan. “If you are?”

“I am.”

Their lips found each other barely a moment later. Steve’s lips were so much softer than Tony could ever imagine. He closed his eyes, mastering the feeling of Steve’s lips against his as they kissed over and over and over. He bit down on Steve’s lower lip, which caused the other to gasp loud. And with the other’s mouth open, he took the chance to slip his tongue into the other’s, kissing him gently, with all the love he felt.

“Tony…” Steve moaned against his lips, and it rang sweetly in his ears.

“Steve…”

“Hey, Tony. Have you seen Cap? Breakfast is r---WHOA MY GOSH!! I’m so sorry!!!” Kamala had come into Tony’s room, causing their kiss to abruptly end as the two stared at the door in horror. Kamala stood there, hands over her eyes. “So all the Stony fanfiction were right after all? That’s so rad!!”

“Weren’t you the one who said something about knocking, hmm?” Tony teased her as he reluctantly stood up from Steve’s lap. “You can open your eyes now, little one.”

“Right! Okay! Sorry!” Kamala had the brightest smile as she put her hands down. She pointed towards the kitchen area of the ship. “Anyways, it’s breakfast time. Come once you’re ready?”

“Will do.”

“Good morning, Cap!!”

“Good morning, Kamala.”

With that she was out of the room. “Hey Nat! You’ll never guess what I saw.”

“Oh, boy.” Tony laughed, seeing Natasha standing right outside his door with a smirk on her face. “I guess the cat’s outta the bag already. And here I was hoping we could keep it under wraps for at least… a few hours?” Tony was surprised when a pair of arms wrapped around his waist, and lips pressed against his neck. “Ooh… I--I think I really like this development.”

“So do I.” Steve smiled against his neck before pressing one more kiss. “You can’t take back what you said, Tony.”

“No worries. I had no plans to.”

“After breakfast, do you think we could..”

“Yeah?” “Continue from where we left off?”

Tony turned around to see Steve blushing to the tips of his ears yet again. He smiled, and pulled his lover down to kiss him on the lips. “Of course, love. Anything you want.”

#marvel's avengers #stony #stevetony #ma spoilers #spoilers #myfics #avengers video game

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azuchifairy · 4 years

Text

The Corpse Bride

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13672392/4/The-Corpse-Bride

“What is hidden, what is unseen, what is behind your eyes?”

Chapter 4: Concealed

Dust flew across the room as Gray brushed a curtain out of his way with his arm. He coughed waving his hand viciously trying to clear the air. The attic was slightly organized but because of everything just sitting up there it tended to get very dusty. Gray had gone up there many times throughout his life to hide during the times his father brought guests over, or whenever he was missing his mother.

He saw her vanity in the corner and approached it carefully through the other boxes surrounding it. In the first drawer of it were all her photos of Gray when he was a child and their old family portraits. But his favorite picture was at the bottom, he pulled it out carefully and looked down at his mother’s face. She was a beautiful woman with silky black hair that she always kept very long. Most of her hairstyles included barrettes and pins with butterflies since she rarely wore all her hair up.

In the portrait the younger version of himself sat in her lap looking up at her dressed in the finest clothes for a toddler. Mika was dressed in an elegant dark blue gown with a black lace corset. The bell sleeves also had black lace trim and ribbons just before the fabric met her forearm. His mother was smiling at him in adoration hugging him around his waist against her.

Staring at the picture intently Gray cracked a smile at the fond memories he could recall, like he could hear her laughter in his mind. His eyes narrowed in curiosity and he could see that his mother was wearing the ring in that picture. He thought of Juvia again with the ring on her finger and how it would be possible that she had it.

It was something Silver had specially made for Mika when they got married and his mother absolutely never took it off. His memory failed him however when he tried to recall what they had done with the ring when his mother died.

“What is going on..?” he asked himself in a low voice. He directed his vision to the boxes of books on the ground and set the picture on the vanity. As his search began and dust flew up in clouds again, he had the feeling that his mother was trying to lead him to something. Whatever it was had something to do with Juvia, whether he knew her or not. He was finally able to think clearly after his fright in the woods and the startling meeting with Juvia so things were starting to piece together in his mind.

Gray was good at puzzles, good with looking at things from a different perspective and it occurred to him that he would need those talents for a mystery like this. While going through the books of nature spells, he came across something unexpected. It was one of his mother’s butterfly hair clips, only it looked still new and barely any dust was on it.

“This would look nice on Juvia..” He thought about examining the colors and design. Then it was like he suddenly flashed back into reality, as if his thought was completely involuntary. He held his head incredulously, “What on earth am I thinking? I have no idea who she is!”

Regardless of his contradicting thoughts, he pocketed the hair clip and would think about what to do with it later. With the remaining books not containing anything useful he sighed thinking it was the end of the road. He felt drawn however, to a strange box behind the one with the majority of his mom’s magic books.

He had gone through them hundreds of times on his own in secret, but he had never come across this particular box before. He slid it out and by turning it around he saw the lock on the front and puffed out a breath in frustration.

Gray let his fingertip run over the keyhole and jogged his brain to think of where a key would be. Again he went to his mother’s vanity remembering that it was made by a famous maker of puzzle boxes from the neighboring country. If Gray didn’t want someone to find a key he would hide it somewhere no one would think of. Usually the drawers would consist of numbers that each click was associated with, meaning there was a code. Gray stepped back analyzing the piece and immediately thought of years as the code. It could be his parents wedding year, or either of their birth years.

He tried all three with no luck and saw the picture staring back at him. As if someone else was moving his body he picked up the picture and turned it over. On the back of it in the top left corner was a four digit number, the year the photo was taken.

His eyes widened and he tucked the photo away in his jacket and got to work. He opened each draw until he heard the correct clicks and on the fourth drawer a compartment opened under the vanity. When he stuck his hand inside he could feel the cold metal of a key tied to a string and smirked at his victory.

Then he was finally able to twist it in the lock of the box to reveal a black book with white markings on the front that seemed different from her collection. When he turned it from it’s side he could see the skull on the cover clearly and the thick leather was somehow torn and worn at the edges.

He knew instantly that if he could find something about what was happening, it seemed like the right book. To keep it hidden Gray waved his hand over the cover, a simple spell used to make books smaller and easier to carry. He placed the now small book in his jacket pocket with the photo and concealed the books back up to cover his tracks.

Outside the window of the attic the moon had begun rising higher in the sky with clouds littering the view. Gray had already predicted that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

***

Juvia’s infectious giggle filled the room, “These must be Gray-sama’s, he sure does do a lot of sketching.” She flipped through the book she found on Gray’s nightstand thoughtfully. She was careful with every page, noticing his delicate hand in every line. There looked like there were many other books on his desk across the room. It made her wonder what her fiancee was interested in, if he was an author or more of an artist.

“You must be so curious,” Lyon inquired watching the strange blue haired girl as she gazed upon every page like it was a masterpiece, “since I’m Gray’s stepbrother, I could tell you anything you’d like to know about him.

“Unfortunately I just met him so I won’t be of any help with Gray.” Meredy chuckled as she remembered his attitude. She had shrugged it off easily because both Lyon and Ultear had warned her that it’s a natural thing for Gray.

Juvia took in a small gasp, “That’s right! Please, tell Juvia everything! There isn’t anything Juvia wouldn’t like to know about my darling.”

Lyon was charmed by the blue haired girl sitting up in Gray’s bed as was Meredy. She was sweet and innocent, yet something was different about her. She had woken just as they entered Gray’s room and their meeting seemed to be fated. After a quick introductory moment they seemed to all talk normally, like old friends.

“You see my mother, Ur, married his father, Silver, years ago when Gray lost his mother. Her name was Mika and she was actually a very skilled magic user.” Lyon explained piquing Juvia’s interest. “He was very young when she passed away, but Ur has been very kind and we’ve lived as a family since then. Gray’s the only heir of the Fullbuster family so it’s his responsibility to take over as head of the household.”

“Oh, how interesting..what does he do?” Juvia asked, “It does seem he likes to do art.”

Lyon nodded, “The Fullbuster family specializes in business trade, something Gray has been learning all his life. Silver owns many different companies and oversees their trading partnerships and investments. Gray is passionate about very few things, but art is one of them. He has plenty of sketchbooks and he’s quite good. I suppose he just likes to keep that side of himself hidden. I couldn’t tell you why, but Gray has always been a rather cold person.”

Juvia was silent, yet still smiling glancing back down to the sketchbook.

“He’s never brought a woman here,” Lyon said with a grin, “The only women who have ever been in this room, by invitation should I say,” he sheepishly looked at Meredy, “was Mom, and our sister Ultear.”

“Ultear?” Juvia questioned, “That’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s my best friend, and the reason I met Lyon.” Meredy said as she gazed at him lovingly. “She’s married now but she lives pretty close by if we want to visit!”

“What about you, Juvia-chan? Tell us about yourself, we’re rather interested to know.” Lyon said with his signature charm as Juvia looked down at her ring.

“Juvia was having a hard time remembering at first, maybe because of meeting Gray-sama. But now it’s starting to come back..” she said slowly fading her last words out.

“That’s understandable, sometimes after you faint you need a second to recall everything.” Meredy noted in her friendly tone. “Plus you’re in a new environment, it’s a lot to adjust to.”

Gray burst through the door and quickly turned around so he could close it with his back. Upon looking up he noticed the two intruders.

“What are you two doing here?!” He raged taking his voice from low to loud. Gray clenched his fists knowing Lyon was the mastermind behind the intrusion.

“Oh Gray-sama! Juvia is so happy to see you!” She cheered from her place in his bed. Her legs were criss crossed with the book in her lap covered by the sheet still with Meredy beside her. Lyon was the only one, apart from Juvia, who didn’t seem concerned with his brother’s anger at all. He strolled over to him noticing his brother’s hostile stance.

“Meredy and I took it upon ourselves to meet this lovely lady, who just happens to be your fiance? I thought you were me-” Gray smacked his hand over Lyon’s mouth knowing exactly what trouble he was trying to stir up.

“Lyon, I need to talk to you for a moment. Outside.” Gray said in a deadly tone. Lyon put his hands up and Gray slowly backed down. Lyon wore a smirk, “Alright, have it your way. Meredy, I’ll be right back. Please do keep Juvia-chan company while her fiance and I are gone.”

Gray gritted his teeth at his brother, “She’s not my fiancée.” He said following him out of the room as Meredy settled again next to Juvia. Lyon shut the door behind him and Gray let out an exasperated sigh.

“You always do this to me when I make a mess of something. What’s it going to take to get you off of my back with this one and not tell wardens?” Gray asked, addressing their parents.

“Please Gray, stop being so ornery with me. I want to help, don’t you see? I was making her feel comfortable so I could find out who she was. Unless you know already?” Lyon replied looking smug. He loved being able to catch his brother like that.

Gray stayed silent for a moment, “What do you think I was doing? Look, something happened..it has to be magic. You saw the ring on her hand right? It’s my mom’s. I picked it up in the forest, it started shining and then suddenly she was there. I have no explanation as to how it's possible other than magic, and not only that but as you can see, she thinks she’s going to marry me!”

“Well trust me, if I didn’t have Meredy already I would take her from you. She’s a beauty and she’s rather sweet. I don’t sense any malicious energy from her at all. Maybe it’s a sign that she’s the girl you’ve been waiting for. After all, you could’ve left her in the forest once she fainted, but you didn’t.” Lyon pointed out.

Gray felt a faint blush on his cheeks from his words and tried to push away the thought. Although it made him slightly jealous to think of her with Lyon, that didn’t mean anything. He needed to find out why she appeared and how she wore the ring related to his mother, that was it.

“I-I couldn’t just leave a lady out in the forest, father would kill me. I was just being a gentleman, that’s all.” Gray explained stubbornly, his attitude showing its face again.

Lyon shook his head, tutting at his brother, “Oh Gray. You never learn when to just admit you’re lying. You can deny that you don’t feel anything all you want, but you wouldn’t have laid her in your bed and scrambled to the attic to find answers if she wasn’t a little important to you. Taking her out of the woods, fine that could be considered something a gentleman would do. But going as far as you have already just to ‘help her’ says something completely different. My gut tells me you’re about to go even farther for this girl.”

Gray opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by Lyon holding his hand up, “I won’t tell them, but don’t do anything I can’t cover up. I may be able to fool father, but mother is a different being altogether.”

He let out another sigh, “Alright, fine it’s a deal. Also, don’t mention the Heartfilia’s to her. I’d rather avoid having to explain it to her..”

“Just so you know, Father is coming back from their estate. I'm sure there’s going to be a whole other fight if he sees Juvia. Especially since you ran out after making a scene.” Lyon warned.

Gray cringed, “Uhg, how did you know about that already?!”

Lyon laughed placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Word travels fast in a small town, apparently it's all anyone can talk about. Dad has people looking high and low for you.”

Gray swallowed hard thinking about the awful trouble he had gotten himself into. It made shudders run down his back as he imagined what his parents were going to do to him. But he didn’t have time to think about that, if he had to he would sneak out with Juvia and hide out until he could figure out what to do. In the back of his mind he had already started forming a plan.

“Let me find out who she is, I’ll come to you if I need advice. But remember, that’s only if.” Gray said, opening the door to his room once again.

Meredy and Juvia looked up and saw Lyon and Gray enter again. “Come Meredy, we’ve got something to do for now,” he bowed to Juvia from beside Gray, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again Juvia-chan. Thank you for keeping us company.”

Meredy gave Juvia a hug, “It was lovely to meet you, I’m sure we’ll be great friends. Ultear will be so excited to meet you too!”

Juvia smiled very big, “Thank you, Meredy. Juvia does hope we can be great friends. And thank you Lyon-san, for the information and your kindness.” She bowed her head in gratitude and Gray felt a small pang of jealousy.

Lyon sauntered towards her making it a grand gesture to take her hand, “The pleasure was all ours, please do come see me if you ever need anything else. And I truly mean, anything.” He bowed just head and kissed the back of Juvia’s hand briefly, making Gray’s skin crawl.

“Alright, she definitely gets it. Now take your leave before I throw you out.” Gray growled in a protective manner making Lyon snicker.

“Ahh, you always have such a way with words brother, I’m sure you have no trouble charming Juvia with your poetic genius.” Lyon teased as Meredy stepped through the doorway.

“Get out.” Gray said flatly with a glare making even Meredy stifle her giggle.

The couple left the room and Gray made sure the door was shut before crossing back to the bed. Juvia smiled brightly at him which was rather distracting, “Lyon-san is quite the character, he seems to be the complete opposite of you Gray-sama!”

“You could say that again. Lyon is my least favorite subject.” He saw the window had been cracked open, feeling the cool draft of wind coming in. “You must be freezing in that dress.”

Juvia shook her head, “Oh no, Juvia quite enjoys the cold.”

Gray pulled up the chair where Lyon sat closer to the bed looking down at his sketchbook in her lap, “You know you shouldn’t snoop in things that aren’t yours.”

Juvia’s eyes went a little wide, “Oh! Juvia is very sorry Gray-sama, but they are very lovely. Juvia likes all of them. Juvia can remember..drawings like this and playing the piano.”

Gray’s cold demeanor was cracked, “You play? I do too.”

Her eyes lit up, “You do? Juvia would’ve never guessed!”

Gray almost chuckled, “Yes, I do. Not much anymore. I used to be quite good.” He held out his hand and Juvia slowly placed the sketchbook in it to which he closed. Once he set it aside he looked at her, deeply. He tried to find something wrong with her, something dark. Yet all he could see was the light of innocence in her blue eyes. Juvia was silent gazing back at him as well and for a moment, he was okay with it.

“Tell me. What happened to you? Why did you appear from that ring?” He asked, trying to keep things simple at first. He was testing her to see if she knew anything about his mother or not.

Juvia looked down, “The memories are still a bit hazy but Juvia remembers being told only her true love would set her free. After that it felt like a long sleep, alone and full of darkness.” She pulled her knees into her chest and wrapped her arms around them. Clearly it wasn’t a good memory for her, but Gray tried to understand the darkness that she had already mentioned once before. It was beginning to sound like she was trapped in that ring.

“When did this happen?” He questioned pulling the book from his jacket trying to ignore the talk of love.

Juvia shrugged her shoulders, “Juvia only remembers, good things before the darkness. Pretty dresses, and butterflies. It’s scattered, Juvia is sorry she can’t tell you more. Juvia will try her hardest to remember anything.”

Gray shook his head noticing how much she wanted to please him, “No it’s fine. Your memory might come back if you try harder to jog it, so we’ll work with what we’ve got for now.”

He dug into his pocket pulling out the butterfly clip, “You said butterflies right? That’s all I’ve been seeing today.”

Juvia’s eyes sparkled at the clip, “Pretty…”

He held it out to her trying not to blush, “Well here, it’s yours then. Maybe it’ll help you remember something.”

A sudden squeal from her startled him, “An early wedding present from Gray-sama?! Juvia couldn’t be happier, it’s so lovely!”

She slid the clip into her periwinkle locks and fixed her hair since it had gotten a little messy after their run in. Once she smoothed it down she looked to him again, “What do you think?”

Gray nodded, “It suits you.”

As he looked over the book again it dawned on him that something that was only meant to be read about could be in its pages. From the events in the forest, Gray could tell it had something to do with the deceased. He could recall what his mother said even then, so long into the future.

“Magic is made up of our essence, Gray. Good people produce good magic.” His mother said as the young Gray sat in her lap looking through old photo albums of their relatives. She pointed down at the family portrait of her and her parents smiling, “Those are your grandparents, see?”

Gray looked to his mother innocently, “Where are they now?”

“They’ve passed on now, but trust me dear they’re in a much happier place.”

Gray pouted, “But I want to meet them! Can’t you call them with your magic?”

His mother’s face fell, “No, that’s one thing a mage must never do. It’s a rule that magic should never be used to manipulate the dead. It’s disrespectful to their resting and brings about malicious energy. We only use the good kind of magic.” She smiled as she finished her sentence.

“Like the magic that makes it snow!” Gray exclaimed looking up at his mother’s face. She let out a gentle laugh, “Yes, like this.”

She held out her cupped hands and had Gray do the same. She took a deep breath and suddenly there was snow falling from the ceiling inside. Gray’s eyes lit up as he felt it fall onto his hands. “Whoa! Look at it all!”

The snow glittered around them and Mika smiled at her child, “See? I can make snow because I feel my love for you.”

Gray was mesmerized by how gorgeous it looked that when it suddenly disappeared he looked back at his mother, “That’s so cool!”

She nodded, “Yes it is. But you must be careful Gray, there are people who would use magic to fulfill bad wishes. Hatred, anger, and jealousy should never be mixed with magic. Remember that magic is meant to be pure and come from a place of love. You must never use magic to hurt others to benefit yourself. There will always be a consequence.”

Gray nodded and smiled as his mother created a small ice sculpture in the palm of his hand. The butterfly flew upwards leaving behind a snowy trail until it disappeared.

Even after he was told those words from his mother, Ur said the same thing. Using dark magic came with cost and he wondered for a moment if Juvia had performed the dark magic, or if she had been on the other end of someone’s hatred. The ring was the key to this mystery however, since it had been enchanted. That would mean it wasn’t Juvia who used the dark magic.

“Juvia,” he stared down at the skull on its cover with the other macabre designs, “I think somehow, you’ve been cursed.”

Juvia gasped suddenly, “A c-curse? But how?”

Gray opened the book and began skimming the pages, “I’m not sure, this isn’t really my specialty. Some of this seems to be in another script.” There were different runes he couldn’t recognize on every page and he had no idea if anyone would be able to read it. There were notes in it written in the margins that could’ve been from his mother but there were different shades of ink.

Juvia looked down her lap, “So this was the work of someone else,” she looked at her hand where the ring was, “Juvia doesn’t know who would do such a thing..”

Gray read something that caught his attention and zeroed in on the paragraph, “From what I understand it says here, ‘Whoever should curse another out of hatred, anger, or jealousy, must prepare to offer the ultimate price.’ So whoever this was, really didn’t like you because no one would offer ‘the ultimate price’ over someone they didn’t loathe.”

Juvia tilted her head, “By ‘ultimate price’ you mean…”

Gray nodded solemnly, “It means someone offered up their life. Also meaning if the curse would break or undone it should result in that person dying.”

Juvia covered her face, “B-But Juvia can’t remember, Juvia is trying so hard.. Who..?” Gray noticed that she seemed truly frightened by this and in his rare moment of sympathy he rubbed her back in comfort. It felt awkward, but also like he was supposed to be doing it.

Juvia raised her head with a surprised grin like her panic melted away, “Oh Gray-sama, you’ll be such a wonderful husband for Juvia.”

Gray froze lifting his hand with a look slightly less than irritated on his face, “There you go with all the husband talk again. Have you forgotten we’ve never met before this? And that you came out of my mom’s ring?”

Juvia gasped ignoring the first part, “This ring was your mother’s? Juvia had no idea.. it must’ve been very special for you to give it to Juvia.”

Gray tried his best to explain, “You see, I don’t have any memory of giving it to you.”

“But you must have, why else would Juvia have it?” She asked innocently and she had a point. That was the entire mystery that he was trying to figure out, why did this woman have it?

While he was lost in thought Juvia stared at him with eyes of adoration. She touched her heart and extended her other hand to his chest to touch his. He stiffened feeling the iciness of her fingers even through his clothes.

“Juvia’s soul recognized you. When Juvia saw you, it was like she was seeing you again for the first time. Like a bride on her wedding day.” She giggled very softly and somehow it set his heart fluttering in soft beats like bumble bee wings. Part of him couldn’t deny that it felt like that for him in a way, yet the other part wanted nothing more than to figure this whole situation out.

He cleared his throat and stood up, “I think I have an idea of where we can go. We need someone that can decipher what's in this book.” He held it up before setting it on his desk. “Lucky enough, there is someone close by that might be able to help.”

“A mage, yes that makes perfect sense!” Juvia cheered, “You know one, Gray-sama?”

He headed over to his closet as he finally got his tie loose enough to pull off, “Yeah I know of her, her name is Erza Scarlet. She’s very famous among magic-users, she has a shop to the west of town before you hit the woods. It’s near where one of my family’s acquaintances lives. I’ve never met her though, didn’t need to.”

He unbuttoned his shirt quickly after he tore off the tight suit jacket and Juvia gasped quietly with her eyes stuck to him. She was certain she would faint again and suddenly he was shirtless in front of her pulling clothes out of his closet. His arms had strong definition around the biceps and he had rather broad shoulders that connected to the rippling muscles of his back. Gray was heavily built no doubt, and it only made Juvia feel even more overwhelmed that he was her husband to be. They were to be married of course but clearly, in Juvia’s mind, he wasn’t trying to take things slowly by so confidently showing off his body. He turned around and Juvia almost squealed at the sight of the front. He laid his new clothes on the bed and looked to Juvia casually.

“I’ll have to find something for you to wear. You can’t go around town like that.” He said unbuttoning his pants. It was then that Juvia squealed covering her face but peeking through the cracks. Maybe he couldn’t wait to be married and just wanted her from then, but there were traditions to uphold!

“G-G-G-Gray-sama!! J-Juvia hopes you don’t do this in front of other women!” She said after noting how normally he undressed. “Of course, we’re to be married but shouldn’t we save something like this for the wedding night?” She gushed, shaking with delight.

“That’s not-!” he was going to scold her for having her head in the gutter, but given the circumstances he would’ve assumed the same thing. He always had the habit of stripping down, in front of people or not.

Gray pulled up his fresh pair of pants while blushing slightly, “Actually no I don’t, we’re just in a rush, okay? I also have no shame.” He had never minded being semi-naked or naked before, but her comments couldn’t help but make him think vulgarly.

Juvia swooned, “Or it’s because you’re marrying Juvia..that’s just a sneak peek..Juvia could too!”

“W-Would you stop that!” He scolded bashfully doing his best to not let her see his red face. Juvia continued to lightly giggle to herself, a sound he didn’t mind hearing. He finished buttoning up his clean dress shirt and put on his long dark coat and boots. After he flipped up the coat collar and adjusted the cuffs he went to the door.

“Let me see what I can find for you to wear, I’ll be right back.” He said as he exited the room.

In moments he returned with a dress that seemed suitable enough for where they were going. He had also gotten a cloak and gloves for her since the weather was starting to turn cold. Regardless if she said she didn’t mind cold weather, he thought it would benefit her to have them.

“These should do fine, I’ll give you a moment to change but try to hurry,” he looked over to the grandfather clock and predicted his parents wouldn’t be gone for much longer, “we’re on a tight schedule.”

Juvia got up from the bed and although she had been sitting for long she didn’t need to stretch her body. “Juvia will be fast, she would hate to leave you waiting.”

Gray nodded and went out of the room again standing outside the door to make sure no one else went in. He tapped his foot feeling a bit of anxiety which was unusual. He was usually cool and level headed, something about this situation made him feel flustered and nervous.

Juvia smiled at the pretty blue of the fabric and thought surely Gray had picked it just for her. Maybe it was his sister’s, or mother’s? Regardless when Juvia slipped it on it fit nicely along with the gloves and boots. It felt strange to have so much clothing on but after taking a twirl in the mirror, Juvia adored it. All she had left was the cloak, a beautiful dark grey color.

The sound of the front doors opening startled Gray and he realized that he was out of time. His parents were arriving and they still hadn’t gotten out of the estate. In a panic he opened the door to his room abruptly and in his scramble he remembered to grab the book from his desk. He looked to Juvia and saw she was fiddling with the clasp of the cloak instead of having put it on yet. Gray huffed taking it from her, draping it around her shoulders, and quickly fastening the clasp.

“Juvia, it’s time to go. Right now.” He said sternly, going to open his bedroom window after securing the book in his coat.

Silver entered the estate as a man on a mission, pounding through the halls. “Gray!” His father’s voice bellowed from the hall. The sound of it seemed just as angry as he had been before, maybe even a little more so.

Juvia perked, “Who’s that?” Her tone was rather excited despite the growing tension.

Gray swallowed hard as his panic began to increase, “My dad, and if he comes in here it’s not going to be pretty.”

“Oh, but Juvia would love to meet him!” She said, turning towards the door.

“Gray! You get down here this instant!” Ur shouted with the trot of her heels on the wood floor.

Gray grabbed Juvia by the shoulders to focused to notice how close they were, “They cannot see you-”

Juvia piped, “But why-“

“Yet.” He hissed quickly trying to get her to comply with him as he stepped up to the window sill. His window was tall enough for them to stand in and hold onto the wall above for stability. The height to the ground below was the same as always, he used to sneak out as a child so it was nothing to him.

Juvia gasped in realization, “Oh right! Because we aren’t married, being seen together.. alone.. by your parents..!”

Gray had no time to deny her while trying to coax her into following him, now hearing the footsteps close in, “Exactly, so come on then!”

“Mother, Father! It’s so good to see you back! Meredy and I were missing your company. I already have them preparing dinner downstairs.” Lyon said loudly, clearly trying to let Gray know he was stalling. For once in his life he mentally reminded himself to thank Lyon later.

He took her hand and helped her step up to which she stumbled after seeing the height. She started shaking her head, “Gray-sama..it’s so high!”

“Enough of this nonsense, where is your brother?!” Silver bellowed just outside his door.

Gray was so exasperated by this escape attempt that to avoid further distractions he simply picked her up in his arms like a bride and jumped down from the window into the bushes below. Juvia held on tightly and felt safe in his arms. Luckily the brush was soft enough that it didn’t scratch Gray when he took the brunt of the fall.

Juvia even felt him squeeze her a bit tighter for a second as they rolled over and waited in the bushes. Voices could be heard overhead as Gray remained still and looked down at her briefly putting his finger to his lips. Juvia knew to be quiet for another moment or two as the wind rustled the leaves of the bushes.

“Gone again?!” Silver raged, “That does it, I’m sick of these games! Find my son immediately! Bring him back here or there will be hell to pay.”

Gray could tell he was talking to the guard and only seconds after the window closed did he take off into a sprint with Juvia in his arms. He went around the estate to the back stables and quickly mounted one of the horses and pulled Juvia up behind him.

“Hold on tight, and keep your hood up. It might be bumpy on the road.” He explained gripping the reins. Soon enough the rain began to fall again and Juvia’s arms hugged his waist for security. She nuzzled his back with her face and got comfortable as he led the horse out of the estate stables and onto the cobblestone streets. She kept her eyes closed the whole time until they disappeared into the coming fog where the trees broke.

A woman stepped out from the shadows after watching the ordeal her tainted red eyes glaring at the ghost of their figures. She extended her hand in a calm anger, “How unfortunate,” she clicked her tongue, “tch, no matter.”

Shadows dripped from her fingertips like black blood and once they hit the ground they rose up into phantom-like apparitions, awaiting commands from their master. They were constantly giving off a shrill cry of pain.

“Get the girl.” She ordered her voice slick with a sinister tone , “Leave the boy.”

#gruvia #gray fullbuster #juvia lockser #gray x juvia #fairy tail #corpse bride #anime #anime otp #azuchifairy

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datheetjoella · 3 years

Text

Fantober 2020, Day 26: Art Class

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Part: 26/31 (read the full collection here) Word count: 1,947 Tags: Canonverse, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Nudity Read at: AO3, FFn, or right here!

------------------------------------ When Haruka asked him if he wanted to model for a drawing he had to make for his art elective, Makoto agreed immediately. He was happy to help Haruka out wherever he could and he felt honoured that Haruka wanted to draw him for an assignment. Although he imagined it would be difficult to sit still for an extensive amount of time, he was pretty excited about trying something new with Haruka. If he got cramps from holding the same position for too long, Haruka would surely give him a break.

But when Haruka laid out all his supplies and set out a chair for him, that excitement quickly diminished.

"Take off your clothes."

"Why?" Makoto asked with a frown.

"It's an anatomy assignment," Haruka explained, "I have to draw your body and I can't see your muscles and bone structure through your sweater and jeans."

That did make sense so Makoto stripped down to his underwear without any protests, though he did feel a bit self-conscious. Being in his leg skins at the pool was so much different from being in his underwear on an assignment Haruka's professor would grade. But he told himself they'd view it with a professional eye and not a scrutinising one, and they probably had to look at hundreds of other drawings so he hopefully wouldn't stand out too much.

"Okay, how do you want me to sit?"

"Makoto," Haruka said with a deadpan expression. "Take off all your clothes."

The blood vessels in Makoto's cheeks nearly burst at that. "What?"

"You have to be nude in this image, it's in the criteria."

"Why didn't you tell me that sooner? Being in my underwear is already embarrassing enough, but being naked is just impossible!"

"Because you'd immediately say no."

"Of course I would! Don't they provide nude models in your class?"

"They do, but you were sick that day and I stayed home to take care of you, remember?" Haruka said, "All the other classes already had their sessions too and it's not like they will hire another nude model for me alone, so I have to do this assignment at home."

Damn. It was his fault Haruka missed this class so it was his responsibility to help him catch up. But no matter how guilty Makoto felt, he wasn't sure if he could do this. "Isn't there anyone else you can ask?"

"Sure, let me call Asahi and ask him if I can stare at his naked body for hours while I sketch the outline of his di-"

"Okay, I get it!" Makoto interrupted before he could pass out from heatstroke. "This is completely professional, right?"

"Of course, it's artistic nude. The only person who'll get to see this beside us is my prof, I promise."

In the end, Makoto could never refuse Haruka when he needed him. With a sigh of defeat, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband and tugged his boxer-briefs down. "How should I sit?"

"Facing me. Put your left foot on the seat and lean your right elbow on the backrest, hand on your knee. Put your other foot on the floor and let your other arm hang limply beside you."

Those were some specific instructions. Haruka probably put a lot of thought into this, so Makoto couldn't disappoint him no matter how shy he felt. "Like this?" he asked when he assumed the right position.

"Hmm." Haruka ran his eyes over his form critically. "Actually, instead of putting your hand on your knee, raise it to support your head. Tilt your head to the side a bit so I can see your neck."

"Alright," Makoto said and he did as Haruka told him. "How's this?"

"Better. I'll start drawing now, so don't move."

"I don't know how long I'll be able to sit like this, though."

"I figured, so let me know when you need a break."

"I will."

With that, Haruka flipped open his sketchbook and began to draw.

Makoto's gaze wandered from the lamp on the ceiling to the draped curtains, trying to divert his attention from the situation he found himself in. If he'd been told a few days ago that he would be a nude model for an art assignment, he would've laughed and brushed it off as something beyond his capabilities. While he did maintain that viewpoint, the subject was a whole lot less hilarious now.

The only sound in the room was the scratching of graphite onto paper, which made Makoto even more aware of his frantic heartbeat. Every nook and cranny of his body was not just being studied closely, but also eternalised in the sketchbook like an exhibit of all his flaws and imperfections. Each weird mole and bump and pocket of misplaced fat displayed for the whole world to see - actually, for Haruka and his professor solely, but it sure felt like the whole world.

The more time passed, the more Haruka's eyes burned on his skin and the more awkward Makoto felt. He couldn't back down anymore, so he had to repress the itching discomfort or else he'd disturb Haruka. Unconsciously, he bit his bottom lip and scrunched up his nose.

Haruka's pencil halted on the page. "I'm still drawing your general shape so it's fine for now, but once I get to your face you need to relax your expression. My professor will think I held you at gunpoint otherwise."

"Sorry," Makoto said, resisting the urge to scratch at his cheek, "It's just so embarrassing."

"But why? I see you naked all the time and you don't seem to have any issues with it then."

"But then you're also naked."

"Do you want me to take my clothes off, too?"

"That's not what I mean," Makoto said, "I don't feel embarrassed in the heat of the moment, and not even if you just see me nude either but this is different. You're completely staring me down and that makes me self-conscious."

"You didn't feel self-conscious when you sent me that picture when I was at the training camp a few weeks ago. And believe me, I stared at that every night until I got back."

"That was different too, then I couldn't see you staring," Makoto said and somehow, the temperature inside his cheeks rose even higher at the mere thought of the picture. "And I'll have you know, I was self-conscious. My finger hovered over the button for twenty minutes before I sent it and I felt so embarrassed the second I did that I almost regretted it."

"I was happy to receive it," Haruka said, putting down his sketchbook on his lap. "Do you know why?"

"Because you were, you know, excited?"

"That too, but that's not what I meant," Haruka said as he stood up and walked over to Makoto, taking a hold of his hands. "Because you're beautiful and I love your body so much. Whether it's touching or just watching, I love every part of you."

The look in Haruka's eyes was dead serious and his voice conveyed unwavering sincerity. It was rare for Haruka to state his thoughts so openly and it simultaneously made Makoto's heart skip a beat and his head avert as bashfulness flooded him.

"I'll love your body no matter how it ends up looking because it's yours and I love you," Haruka continued, cupping his jaw to make him meet his gaze. "But objectively speaking, you are incredibly good-looking. Not only your body, but your face too. You are so attractive, handsome, gorgeous, hot, sexy-"

"Haru!" Makoto interrupted, laughter bubbling up from his stomach. Haruka didn't compliment him this blatantly often, so knowing this was how Haruka truly felt about him boosted his self-esteem.

"Don't you ever be ashamed of your body, or of any part that is you, because there is nothing to be ashamed of. You're absolutely beautiful both inside and out."

"Thank you, Haru," Makoto murmured, leaning up to capture Haruka's lips in a kiss of gratitude. "You are, too."

They kissed each other again, brief but immensely loving. When Haruka pulled back, he said, "If you really don't feel comfortable with me drawing you naked, then that's okay. I'll try to find someone else."

Makoto shook his head. "It's alright. It's just you and me anyway."

"And my professor."

"And your professor," he said with a chuckle, "But your professor won't get to see me naked, but a drawing of me, so it's different. As long as I never run into them."

Haruka smiled too and with a final kiss, he went back to his cushion at the table. "If you get back into position, I'll resume drawing. I'll draw the most beautiful nude artwork she's ever seen."

Makoto nodded and moved his limbs to their assigned position.

One break and nearly two hours later, Haruka put his last pencil down. "It's finished. Want to come take a look?"

"Of course!" Makoto leapt off the chair and crouched down next to Haruka. His mouth fell agape when he saw the image he had created. "This is amazing, Haru!"

The man on the paper was very attractive, with sharp yet soft features and a toned body, but it was undeniably him. Admittedly, Makoto never stood in front of the mirror for longer than necessary, but he would if this was the body he always saw. Knowing Haruka viewed him this way was already touching, but the fact that he merely drew what was tangible almost took Makoto's breath away. Haruka had been a skilled artist since they were kids, but with each stroke and every line, he got even better.

"You truly outdid yourself, Haru. It's like you improve whenever I blink."

"Thanks," Haruka said with a small smile. "I had a great model."

"You'll definitely get a high grade on this assignment. Maybe even the highest grade in your year."

Haruka shook his head. "I'm not turning this drawing in for the assignment."

Makoto couldn't believe his ears. Had he suffered through all that embarrassment for nothing? "What, why?"

"Look at it," Haruka said, turning away his head as an adorable blush lit up his ears. "I don't want anyone else to see you like this, not even my professor."

At that, Makoto almost choked with laughter. "Are you serious? What happened to it being artistic nude?"

"It is artistic nude, but this is too private."

"What now then? Are you not going to hand anything in or are you going to try to find another model?"

"I'd like to draw you again, if that's okay with you."

"Sure, but won't you have the same issue then?"

"I'll draw you from a different angle, one that doesn't show your face or at least isn't recognisable," Haruka said, "I'll have to think of a new pose. Do you have time tomorrow evening?"

"Yeah, I don't have to work, so I'll try to finish up my homework in the afternoon," Makoto said as he shimmied his clothes back on. "You know, it was a bit scary at first, but I had a lot of fun."

"Me too," Haruka said, "Does that mean I can draw you more often?"

"Is that with or without clothes?"

"Both."

Makoto giggled again. "Alright, because you asked so nicely."

"Thanks," Haruka said, wrapping his arms around Makoto's shoulders. "You really are a great model. Very… inspiring."

Although Makoto would probably never possess the unwavering confidence some others were blessed with, Haruka always knew how to make him feel better about himself. And perhaps, through portraits and images Haruka drew of him, Makoto could learn to love himself the way Haruka loved him: wholeheartedly, all imperfections included.

#i'm sorry i'm stupid #makoharu #makoharu fic #my fic #fantober2020 #colourful days with you

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pathos-logical · 5 years

Text

One Picture, a Thousand Words

Roman is a wonder that cannot be put to words, Logan a marvel that ink cannot capture. They try anyway.

Hoo, this sure was a labor of love! Love because I love @bleepblopbloop56 with all my heart and labor because HOLY HECK WAS THIS HARD TO WRITE. But never mind any of that, because HAPPY BIRTHDAY, my friend!!! I absolutely adore you, and I hope your year is as fantastic as you are!!!

Trigger warnings: Food mention; a joking mention of hallucinations. I think that’s it, but please tell me if I need to add something!!

There are a thousand words Logan could use to describe Roman. He would pull a Shakespeare and invent a thousand more if it meant finding a word that could accurately chronicle the tapestry of Roman, all colorful patches and carefully stitched seams. But Logan is no artist, and his words seem an inadequate medium.

Beautiful, he thinks and immediately discards. That is too obvious, the truth of it plain to see. Lovely is- better. More intimate. But too soft, perhaps, for Roman’s flame-edged hair, the bronze of his skin and the steel in his spine.

He has tried countless words, none of them quite right. Larger-than-life. (And no, his charisma and magnetic smile absolutely did not excuse the way he didn’t seem to know how to shut up.) Captivating. (Roman did have a way with words, when he wasn’t being an idiot.) Extraordinary. (He was quite the artist and actor.) Brilliant. (Again, Roman was rather intelligent when it came down to it.) Perfect. (Technically impossible. But.)

All those words he longs to say, not one spoken aloud.

(Or- once. Alone in his room, he had tried the shape of mine on his mouth, thought about how it tasted on his lips and imagined the look in Roman’s eyes if he ever dared to say it in front of him. Once, and never again.)

Oh, he wishes. But Logan has always been better with words on the page than to other people.

Well, he thinks, looking down at the piece of paper in his hands, I suppose that’s what this is for. His eyes rove over the paper, skimming over phrases without really taking them in. If he reads it he’ll try to fix it, and at this point there’s too much of his heart in the words for him to change them.

He looks at the last paragraph. It’s the kind of declaration he sneers at in the romance novels Roman so adores, the kind of thing he would’ve sneered at barely years ago. But Roman always did have a way of making him question things he’d taken for postulates- himself included.

I tried, over the course of this letter, to pin down what exactly about you has drawn me so irrevocably into your orbit and left me floundering in unfamiliar space. However, as the length of this might indicate, I soon discovered that I could not.

You know me. It is very rare that I find myself lost for words. But I find myself unable to find the correct words to describe you, or even the correct words. Not because I have run out of things to say, or even because you have left me speechless, but because I could use a whole dictionary of love letters and fail to find the words that capture the way your eyes shine in the light when you laugh at your own jokes, and all the cliches in the world cannot express how I feel about every mundane, breathtaking thing about you.

But despite all that, I have three words for you, Roman, and I suppose there is no better day to deliver them than today (as of the day you receive this, at least).

I love you.

Roman has a sketchbook no one but him has ever seen.

The drawings are all in pencil, and Roman aches to paint them, to mix his colors until he finds shades that will truly bring them to life. But Logan is a peculiar kind of monochrome, with his navy hair and black polo shirts and countless blue ties, and Roman fears that no amount of paint could do that justice.

It’s undeniable that the warm brown of Logan’s eyes is a color he itches to find in a colored pencil, that the almond of his skin is one he longs to see redden at his touch. But those aren’t the things he really wants to capture when he puts pencil to paper anyway. No, when he draws Logan, his focus is on the subtle gleam that comes to his eyes when he speaks about something he’s passionate about, the curl of his lips when his emotionless facade breaks at some stupid comment Roman made.

Roman wishes he could show Logan the notebook, sometimes, the days when his longing overpowers his surety in the fact that it could never be reciprocated. He imagines coffee-colored eyes looking through the pages with delight, taking in the devotion clear in the meticulous lines. He pictures the hands he’s spent hours perfecting skimming over paper, taking care not to smudge the lead.

(He sees disgust settling in the curve of Logan’s lips and rejection showing in the set of his shoulders, and he pushes away the thought and hides his notebook under his pillow, pretends that he hasn’t memorized the shape of Logan’s smile.)

But he doesn’t think of any of that today. It’s Valentine’s Day, and Roman is dressed for it. He dons his armor that he definitely did not spend a whole two hours deliberating on and sets out the door armed with a kind of desperate false bravado, which is immediately undermined by how he jumps at his roommate Patton’s encouraging “go get ‘im, tiger!” shouted through the walls.

Still scowling at the door behind him, Roman briefly debates how desperate a text will make him sound before deciding, screw it.

Hey, we still on for lunch at Cream of the Cup?

The reply is prompt, as always, and Roman makes a futile attempt at smothering the smile he knows is blossoming across his lips.

>> Of course.

I’ll see you then!

Roman can so do this.

Virgil I can’t do this

>> why not?? youve been planning this for weeks, youll bbe fine

actually, knowing you, orobably months

Jfkdkfkfkfk

it’s

LOGAN

>> im aware, weve only veen best friends for years now

…

if yoy send a long rambling text ahout how wonderful logan is and how you dont deserve hkm im gonna lose it

roman i swear to god

HE’S JUST SO SMART AND AMAZING AND I’M JUST ME I DON’T DESERVE HIM AND WHAT IF I SCREW THINGS UP BETWEEN US FOREVER AND HE HATES ME OR WHAT IF IT’S AWKWARD I’M OKAY WITH JUST BEING FRIENDS REALLY HE PROBABLY DOESN’T EVEN LIKE ME THAT WAY ANYWAY I MEAN WHY WOULD HE

Whoops sorry

>> youre not

I’m not

But

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

>> okay roman, listen up, because I’m only gonna say this once.

first of all, cut it with the self-deprecating crap. one, that’s my thing. and two, I WILL pull a patton and fight you.

stop doubting yourself, it doesn’t suit you

I might not have known you as long as I’ve known logan, but I know

I can see you typing. shut up.

maybe I haven’t known you as long as I’ve known Logan, but I do know you’re a good guy, and you /clearly/ love him

KSKFKFKKFKGD W H A T

>> yes, everyone knows, no, Logan does not, LET ME FINISH

it means a LOT to him that you actually read the articles he sends you about mars rovers at 3 am and that you don’t tell him he’s annoying for infodumping about alpha centauri or whatever star system he’s planning to go to and that you deal with his hypocrisy about sleep schedules and his general inability to do emotions

also, knowing him for years means I know his type, and trust me, you’re it

and even if by some miracle he doesn’t like you back, you guys are too close to ruin your friendship. okay? so however this ends, I promise you’ll still be friends

>> But

ROMAN

listen, you don’t tune him out when he starts babbling, and he does the same for you. he loves listening to your rants about art theory, he goes to every single one of your shows, and he started learning Spanish just to impress you. yes, he’s learned more phrases than just insults, he’s just been hiding it so he can surprise (aka impress) you later

and roman? he really really does value your friendship. you know that we’ve known each other since forever, so you know I mean it when I say that I’ve NEVER seen him get so close to someone this quickly.

and… you’ve been good for him too, okay? he’s not really the type to get lonely, but that’s just because he gets so tied up in his giant brain he forgets there are people in the outside world to talk to. but it really is important to him that you’re always there for him, and… I can tell you right now that he’s told me how much he appreciates you for it

after all that? I’d say he loves you too, dude. go for it.

you can talk now

Holy heck you DO love me

>> eh

Holy HECK

Wait

Did you turn on autocorrect just to yell at me???

>> Only for you, babe.

Please never do that again

yeaj that was oncredibly unconfortable

now GO GET YOUR MAN

Roman, for all his theatrics about love at first sight and true love’s kiss, hadn’t mentioned Valentine’s Day plans once in the weeks leading up to it. Then, exactly one week ago, he’d texted Logan with a simple request to meet up at a nearby cafe. Logan knew him too well to miss the possible connotations of such an invitation. But it was entirely possible that this was merely meant to be an outing between two friends. A platonic outing.

A platonic outing where there was barely room to stand, forget sit. Logan curses under his breath. He’d decided for once to not show up fifteen minutes early, as that would only give him more time to second-guess himself, especially as Roman was notorious for being chronically late. But he had failed to account for the obvious fact that, it being both a Saturday and Valentine’s Day, the usually quiet cafe is filled to the brim with couples ordering the heart-themed specials and kissing and generally clogging the air with sweet words and PDA. And no, Logan is not irrationally annoyed about this, he’s just worried he won’t be able to secure an empty table for him and Roman.

But just as the thought crosses his mind, he catches a familiar head of fiery hair at a table against the wall, bent over his phone and apparently completely absorbed by whatever he was looking at. An incredulous “Roman?” slips from his lips unbidden, because- well, Roman had once nearly been late to the first show he was the lead in. But there he was, reserving a table at exactly 12:30 with a croissant in front of him. Maybe today really was a day for miracles.

He watches with amusement as Roman jumps and looks up at the sound of his name. His face lights up as soon as he registers who it is, and Logan abruptly goes from amused to filled with some kind of fluttery warmth he doesn’t want to quantify.

“Logan!” Roman exclaims, hurriedly tucking his phone away. “Hey! How are you?” His smile beams out like the sun, but it dims upon Logan’s next words.

“Not well, unfortunately,” Logan informs him gravely. “I fear I have been having severe auditory and visual hallucinations. For example, I am currently experiencing one so vivid that I believe I am conversing with a friend in a cafe when I know that there is no chance of him being here yet.” Maybe Logan should feel bad about the way Roman’s expression morphs from worry to alarm to overblown outrage, but the challenging gleam in his eyes arrests him as surely as that of of Roman’s heart-shaped studs, and he can’t bring himself to regret it.

“Hey, I’m not always late!” he protests so loudly several patrons turn to look at him, perhaps expecting a scene.

Logan can’t help the smirk that creeps across his face as he slides into the seat opposite Roman, surreptitiously tucking a navy blue folder besides him. Thank goodness for Roman being typically Roman and reserving a booth that could seat six for a party of two. “Roman. Once Virgil and I deliberately told you to meet up an hour after we were actually supposed to meet so that when you inevitably showed up late, it would only be by five minutes rather than fifty. And the very idea that you could be on time for something went so flagrantly against the laws of the universe that the universe struck back by making your car break down, and you missed the meeting entirely.”

“Is that what happened?” Roman asks, looking so genuinely gobsmacked that Logan can’t help the snicker that escapes him. Roman’s expression flips to one of self-satisfaction, and Logan tries to ignore the little burst of fondness in his chest at the sight. Even if the rest of today goes horribly, at least he can savor this easy banter between them.

And banter they do, debating over whether Logan’s physics professor or Roman’s marketing professor is more inept before commiserating over the “perpetual hell week” that is college. They bounce from the disappointing latest installment of one of Roman’s favorite series to a terrible documentary on aliens Logan had found on a “science” channel (“It’s called a having a basic grasp of eighth-grade geometry, Roman- which, unlike this nine-thousand year old civilization, these morons have clearly never achieved!”) to every little thing in between, their food forgotten in front of them.

It’s nothing special, technically- they’ve been friends for years now, and they often have talks about everything and nothing. But today Logan can convince himself that an electric current is charging the air between them, flushing Roman’s cheeks and lighting up his eyes as Logan is drawn in, helpless against his magnetism.

There’s no decisive moment where Logan thinks, this is it. There’s just Roman, his laughter like bells in the breeze, and Logan, gazing at him like he’d put the stars in the sky.

“Roman,” he says. That’s it- Roman.

Roman is still giggling at his rendition of the student who’d spilled their coffee on the drama professor on the first day, but he sobers at whatever look is on Logan’s face. “Hey- you good, Lo?”

The nickname catches at something in Logan’s chest, pulls it open so the next words come just a little harder, just a little easier. “Roman,” he says again, looking down. “I do not wish to… ruin the mood, but I have something to confess.”

(He’s looking down, so he misses the way Roman jumps at the last word.)

But when he meets Roman’s eyes, open and curious, Logan’s confidence abandons him. He exhales slowly in an attempt to regain some of the feeling from before, like the memory of Roman’s voice will fortify his. But all that comes out is: “I wrote- would you-”

Logan’s throat fails him entirely, something a little like dread and a little like hope clogging it up. Without another word, he slides the folder he had kept tucked at his side to Roman. When Roman raises a curious eyebrow, Logan simply smiles- a quick, brittle thing- and motions for him to open it.

Earlier, the noise in the cafe had distracted Logan, had made him frown when it rose over Roman’s voice. But suddenly it all fades into the background, the chatter of voices and clatter of spoons receding in favor of the thwip of the folder opening, the little breath Roman takes when he reads the first two words.

Dimly, Logan thinks he must have used up all his words in the letter. His fingers lay still at his sides, mind is utterly blank as he watches Roman read it. But his heart is pounding loud enough that for an absurd second, he’s sure Roman can hear it in the sudden quiet.

Logan waits for a minute, maybe five. He thinks he’d wait for Roman forever if he asked. But Roman doesn’t make him wait that long, because when he looks up his eyes are wet with tears, and when Logan uselessly opens his mouth- to do what? His voice certainly hasn’t returned- Roman lurches forward, clumsy in a way Logan has never known him, and seals their lips with a kiss.

And when they finally draw apart, Logan thinks he’s regained his words (or maybe just these three), because they force themselves out of his lips like they’ve been waiting to do so since Logan said Roman’s name. And Roman, his face a study in the kind of shock and delight that can only come from a thought-to-be-hopeless dream coming true, returns them.

#logince #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #virgil sanders #patton sanders #my writing #a whole dictionary of love letters

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flightsrsk · 4 years

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hello hello all !!! my name is riley and this is my actual trash son maverick, aka the flight risk !!! i am so so hyped to get the ball rollin on this, so check out info on my kid under ze cut !!

warning: this got rlly mcfreaking long and i am so sorry fjdklsjs i am incapable of writing a short intro post

unfortunately i will not be able to be around for the official opening bc i’m on vacation w my fam and godparents, but i will try and intermittently read intros and chat to you guys about plots !!!! PLS feel free to bombard me through IMs or through discord if any plot sparks ur interest or u think mav could fit well in one of ur plots!!! :’)

THE BASICS

Name: Maverick Hobbes Braxton

Age: Twenty-one

Gender: Cismale

Pronouns: He/Him

Major & year: Philosophy, Third year

Faceclaim: Alex Fitzalan

Occupation: N/A

THE FLIGHT RISK

Maverick Braxton, as you might see, is an enigma—or rather, has evolved into one, slowly: a transformation that begun with his first breath. In his early years, the stage had been set for him, line by line. Act One: attend prep schools, excel in classes. Act Two: attend Covington, take center stage—you know, all of the things his older brother, Richard had accomplished with ease, just one year prior to all of his expectations. It was simple, really: a blueprint laid out ahead of him, with little to nothing in his way.

The only problem was that Maverick didn’t exactly see the point in choosing that path, that stage, that story. To him, it wasn’t challenging.

That, and the fact that the life laid out in front of him offered him absolutely nothing.

A series of banal expectations, unfair comparisons, and heartbreaking betrayals, and the traditional life of the Braxton child was thrown out the window—at least, in his brain, it was. See, Maverick Braxton, while independent, coy, and arrogant, isn’t stupid. He knows if he pleases his parents just enough, they’ll still distribute his trust fund and still bail him out of legal trouble when he inevitably tiptoes too far down the delicate line between ambition and rebellion. Perhaps it’s a bit selfish, but what does he owe to a family who paid him no attention, who never asked of his well-being, his own ambitions, his personal dreams?

He’s the kind of person to drive down the highway, windows rolled all the way down, cigarette lit—not because he necessarily likes the taste of nicotine, but because he likes the way the smoke creates clouds that obscure reality. He’ll surprise you in class when he interjects with a sarcastic but surprisingly salient point before throwing up his hood and retreating to the back corner for the rest of class. He’s the kind of person to start reading a book, flipping incessantly through the pages, both impatient by the pace of the plot, yet put it down before he reaches the final pages because he doesn’t want to be disappointed by the ending. He’s the kind of artist who rarely finishes a sketch, the writer who is never satisfied by a poem—for fear, of course, by deep-rooted insecurities that nothing that he will ever do will be enough.

A once-broken heart had taken time to mend, even though it seems ice-cold and whole from the outside. It’s why he has commitment issues: he doesn’t want to be burned again. He plays off his flirtatious bit as a personality trait, someone who is bored by the prospect of being tied down—and yet those who share his bed might consider him Covington’s most surprisingly deep pillow-talker.

An enigma, you see—one who doesn’t stick around long enough for anyone to truly understand, truly a Flight Risk.

BIOGRAPHY:

( You can read his full biography here! Still in the process of editing it a bit, but below are some important bullet points! )

Maverick was born the second of three children to the Braxton family—and as per usual with the Braxton children, he was born into a life filled to the absolute brim of expectation.

His father, a playwright, his mother, an actress. His brother, a theatre prodigy—what part did that leave him to play? The assumed expectations were to follow in his mother and brothers’ footsteps and take center stage; he excelled, for a while, but Maverick always felt lost.

Neighbors and family friends would always ask if he had measured up, in each and every shape and form: it was like the entire universe had a scoreboard with their names titling each section, and Maverick was always playing catch-up, never knowing where the finish line was.

For a while, he stuck to the script that was given to him: study, succeed, repeat. He tried to understand the ins and outs of his father’s work, of masterful acting techniques, trying to make a large enough splash to where his family would even notice the work he put into his life. Surprise: it didn’t.

It took him seventeen years to truly understand that his role in life was not exactly the story his parents had laid out for him, but rather, his sibling, instead.

Downcast emotions transformed quickly into cynicism. What used to make him feel sad now fueled a blue fire within Maverick’s chest, one that felt wronged by the system he was placed in: a complete first-world problem, but it was then and there when he decided to take advantage of his situation, given that he had spent his entire life dedicated to a part he wouldn’t play.

Hypocritical as he was, he still enjoyed the fruits of his parents’ work, cashing the unlimited checks with his name on them, as if it was some sort of sick version of love.

One piece of recognition that Maverick finally earned was an acceptance to Covington—and even that couldn’t be tainted by his brother’s success or his legacy status.

At Covington, Maverick has both lost and found his footing, multiple times. He’s quit acting, quit studying theater, in favor of a topic that stimulates his brain more than reading lines and

PERSONALITY:

Maverick Braxton is certainly a paradox. He’s charismatic, funny, and has a witty sense of humor –– and is generally appreciated by his peers because he’s able to move conversation and discussion without making topics seem dry.

Despite his apparent inferiority to his sibling, the Braxton family still breeds the cream of the crop. He’s certainly a bit arrogant sometimes, given that he’s intelligent, innovative, and clever, and wants to be recognized for it –– however, even if he might not show it on the outside, he appreciates a good challenger. He thinks it keeps his wit sharp, and of course, his ego would never show it, but he does appreciate learning from people. After all, his passion in philosophy, his current area of study, makes him certainly interested in how the world works.

Those who happen to get to know Maverick outside of the surface-level stuff, outside the initial cockiness and flirtatious front he puts on will know that he’s actually quite thoughtful. His lonely childhood has made him extremely loyal to those who have shown him similar trust and friendship –– he would never turn his back on them.

He asks probing questions, is a good listener –– perhaps because he’s interested in human decision making, but is also because he doesn’t quite know what it’s like to be loved unconditionally –– though he wants to.

Deep down, what almost no one knows is that he’s really quite soft. He passes his curiosity off as wanting to understand people, when really it’s a mechanism for hoping someone asks him questions in return, to give him the time of day he wished his parents ( and the rest of the goddamned universe ) had given him.

Despite his theatre prowess, he isn’t actually a particularly good liar. Those who spend enough time around him can hear his tone of voice incline slightly and see him scratch his brow.

AESTHETICS:

coffee-stained mugs, walking with headphones in but nothing playing, untied shoelaces, black hoodies, a cheeky smirk, small books in his back pocket, writing in the margins, unfinished poems, quoting old authors on a daily basis, incessant eye-rolling, pen ink stains, an unmade bed, mismatched socks, floral ties, empty bottles of liquor, rose thorn pricks, old worn poetry books, polished dress shoes, calloused fingers, unlit cigarettes between teeth.

HEADCANONS:

Funnily enough, Maverick’s name means ‘independent, a noncomformist’, which is exactly the path that he has taken to stray away from his family’s expectations.

He does have one strong connection to his family, though: his grandmother, on his father’s side. She understands the pressure he undergoes, who saw the pressure Maverick’s father endured to obtain the success he has. She is one of the only reasons that Maverick has not just jetted off to take on his own adventure. He loves her dearly, and wishes that her empathy and wisdom would rub off on the rest of his family.

Maverick has some form of synesthesia, which allows him to remember a lot more than the average person. He associates colors, smells, sounds, to words –– and allows him to efficiently study any subjects he doesn’t have immediate passion for.

In the privacy of his own bedroom, he sometimes writes poetry and sketches his thoughts and muses –– when he knows he’s in complete privacy. Faces and features that appear in his sketchbooks are often those he’s thinking of often, those who intrigue him. He’s actually quite good a sketching, maybe not quite as good at writing poetry.

His room is spotless –– evidence that he is a bit of a control freak sometimes. It shows that during his adolescence, he reveled in the parts of his life that he could control and perfect.

tw drugs. He more than dabbles in drug use, smoking marijuana maybe every other day, while partaking in harder drugs like cocaine and adderall and others probably once a week. He feels like he’s in control of his use, but it may start to get the best of him. end tw.

Maverick is left-handed. He hates that he gets pen ink stains when he draws, writes poetry, takes notes. His left palm is probably perennially covered with ink.

Though he’s often wearing headphones ( airpods, of course, the nerve of this rich kid ), half the time, nothing’s playing. Sometimes he forgets to press play on his phone, sometimes he purposely likes listening to decision-making and conversations of strangers. it lets him think about the nature of mankind.

Maverick’s favorite philosopher is Albert Camus, known for his work that heavily developed the idea of absurdism ( much to do with the meaning of life, and human inability to discern an answer ).

Maverick’s preferred method of transportation is his skateboard. he loved it first because his parents hated it: pushing himself around on a board like that would get him injured—besides, why not just take the car to school, the driver had been paid for anyway? It was his first taste of rebellion. Now at Covington, where skateboarding is far more efficient than walking across campus, it comes in handy when he sees someone he’d rather not stop and chat to.

Maverick could die with a poetry book nestled on his chest—it’s the one thing he got out of the impressive book collection his family owned. There was something daunting and beautiful about the way poems would transform metaphors into something fantastical, like the emotions were clearly there, but the words were skirting the issue. Kind of like how his parents would never really tell him they loved him.

Maverick often has headphones in when he walks to class. not particularly because he’s actually listening to music or a podcast, but rather because he’d just … rather not be bothered to stop and talk to people.

Maverick loves to draw. He’s mostly self-taught, with a bit of mentorship from his high school art teacher. Evidenced by the rest of his fleeting personality, he rarely finishes a sketch or painting. He claims he never has time to finish them, but the number of crumbled-up, half-finished sketches in his trash bin might say otherwise.

PLOTS

** see my wanted plots tag here too! // and my plots page here !!

* FIRST LOVE / OPEN.

It wouldn’t be easy to make Maverick feel like even more of a disappointment than he already had with his parents, his family—but your muse proved this feeling wrong. He loved them, more than he’d ever loved anything before. In the midst of confusion about where he belonged, he felt safe with your muse; he’d do anything for them. Things ended, he felt betrayed ( though the break-up could have easily been due to a fault of his ), and the split made him the one who now struggles fully with commitment. He doesn’t want to have his heart broken again. See: this entire pinterest board.

but also if u give me this ……………… i’ll name my firstborn after u

* BEST FRIEND / OPEN.

Those who go through similar childhood traumas are often able to understand each other –– that was how it worked with Maverick and your muse, at least. They’re thick as thieves — and have likely seen the ups and downs of Maverick’s life in real time.

* CHILDHOOD FRIENDS / OPEN.

Self explanatory—and also probably knows about the pressures the Braxton family imposes on their children.

* EX-FRIENDS / OPEN.

Friends who were close, close no longer. Maverick’s a real piece of work, and an asshole, too—there are myriad possibilities for why Maverick could have pushed them away. He wouldn’t openly admit that he misses being around your muse, but he certainly would feel a bit of guilt given that they’re no longer the closest of friends.

* MOMENT OF WEAKNESS / OPEN.

Your muse, in whatever unfortunate setting, saw a glimpse of Maverick’s soft side that hardly ever makes an appearance. He’s not going to let them tell the world about his vulnerabilities, though. Not a chance.

* DISLIKED / OPEN.

Maverick is sarcastic, cold, and sometimes emotionless. It’s not surprising that not everyone gets along with the middle Braxton. The possibilities are endless—throw in some sexual tension and I’d actually fall at ur feet.

* PREVIOUS ROOMMATES / OPEN.

Your muse, at one point, probably knew Maverick better than everyone else at Covington. They overheard some of his phone calls with his parents, saw his notes for how he was to achieve his life goals, heard him crying in the middle of the night when he thought your muse was asleep. They could be extremely close now, as in one of the few people Maverick opens up to, or could be distant friends who know about one anothers’ struggles. The possibilities are endless, tbh.

+ ANYTHING LEGITIMATELY ……… IF U THINK THERE’S POSSIBILITY FOR SOMETHING COOL W MAV AND UR MUSE. SIGN ME THE F UP. THANKS.

#tw:drugs #tw:smoking #tw:flashing lights #covintro #// PLS HMU WITH PLOTS OK FDJKLSJSD I HATE I AM MISSING OPENING BUT I WANT ALL THE PLOTS

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themuffinbee · 5 years

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Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Scars, Touching, Caleb is touch-starved, He also has a crush on Jester, He does not know either of these things, Touch-Starved, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Widojest

Summary:

What if a certain inquisitive cleric and a certain scruffy wizard had taken watch together in that crystalline cave on the way to Xhorhas? And what if she wanted to get a better look at what he’s been hiding under those bandages?

A little missing scene that could have happened in episode 50.

A/N: Many, many thanks to Jadesabre301 ( a.k.a. Jade_Sabre on Ao3) for beta-ing this fic. She’s an amazing beta AND a fantastic writer, go read her sweet, fluffy Widojest stuff!

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

A stream of droplets trickled down the side of the bubble, no doubt from one of the jagged crystals gleaming up above. On the other side of the magical hut, the Mighty Nein slumbered away under the cover of Caduceus’s stone shell, the air punctuated with an occasional snore from Beauregard.

Caleb scratched at his arms.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t help but dig under his bandages to get at an itch that wasn’t actually there. Their current surroundings were stunning, true, but the glittering shards covering every visible surface only served to stoke unpleasant memories. Some much more recent than others.

“Hey, Caaay-leb, whatcha thinking about?” his companion whispered to him in a singsong melody.

Five minutes and forty-six seconds. Jester had lasted longer in the silence than he had expected.

“Oh, nothing much. You?”

“Just trying figure out if there’s a way to hollow out a cake, like, a small one, and fill it with the jelly they put inside doughnuts,” she replied, plopping her head onto her hand and tapping her chin, “The problem is, it would glop all over the place when you cut into it, and maybe make the cake all soggy.”

He pondered this for a moment, more than happy to escape his own thoughts, “I don’t know much about baking, but what if you made it thicker with some kind of starch? Or gelatin? Would that work?”

Her eyes brightened. “Maybe! I don’t know too much about baking either, but it would be delicious, wouldn’t it?”

He nodded. “That it would.”

“Thank you!” She paused, brows beginning to furrow. “I was also trying to make sense of the last few days. Things have gotten pretty crazy.”

Caleb stiffened and made a vague noise of affirmation, gaze drifting off to the side. His mind flashed to all of the things he had said, and left unsaid, two days ago. A subtle sense of panic began buzzing along his nerves, years of practiced self-preservation taking hold in an instant.

Change the subject, you don’t want to open the door to this conversation.

He could ask about her mother, but that might make her sad…Maybe her art? Better yet, asking her about the Traveler might–

“You know, that’s actually why I wanted to keep watch with you tonight.” She scooted closer to him. “I have a question for you…”

Scheiße. Too slow.

Thinking back, he should have turned her down the moment she volunteered for second watch right after he did. She had been far too eager, raising her hand with such force that she practically jumped off the ground. Why hadn’t he suspected anything then?

“…And you don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to.” She waved her hands in front of her. “It’s totally fine if you don’t.”

He cleared his throat. “Jester, I don’t think I–”

“Oh, and I wanted to thank you,” she cut in.

“Thank me?” He frowned. He had done nothing worthy of special thanks.“Whatever for?”

“I wanted to thank you….” she plunked her words out one by one, like a child practicing an instrument “…For trusting us. I know that must have been pretty difficult.”

She beamed at him, and he felt something loosen and tighten in his chest all at the same time. That had been happening a lot as of late. Far too often, actually.

That needs to stop.

He swallowed and cast his eyes to the ground, “Ja.”

Why was she looking at him like that? With those violet eyes filled with sincerity and a smile so warm it could melt winter itself within half a second? He had revealed that he had been lying to the Nein for months, using them as a shield, a front, and she thanked him for it?

She would never look at him like that if she knew what he was, everything he had done. His general allusions of being trained to torture were the least of his sins in his past life.

She doesn’t have to know any more than she already does. It’s not too late, change the subject.

Gluing his eyes to a pebble by his foot like it was the most fascinating thing in the world, he asked, “So, what was your question?”

It was a rare thing for him to ignore his instincts. After all, his abundance of caution had kept him safe for years, kept him from getting caught, from getting killed. Tonight, however, he found himself rebelling against his better judgment. Whether it was out of curiosity or masochism, he had no idea. Maybe he was just tired of hiding, of peddling in secrets and lies, of fearing what she thought of him.

“Well, you see, I was wondering if it would be all right,” she leaned in and whispered, “if I could take a closer look at your arms.”

Caleb blinked. “You what?”

“Your arms,” she motioned to his threadbare bandages, “I’d like to look at them. I just wanted to check them out, healing being my thing and all.”

Well, that made perfect sense, now didn’t it? It wasn’t the worst thing she could ask of him, not by a long shot. He had expected the ever-inquisitive cleric to dig straight into the sizable holes he had left in his story. But still…

“I’d really rather not, they’re a bit of a…uh…a bad memory.”

“Oh.” Jester’s face fell a tad, then brightened once again. “That’s okay. Just let me know if you change your mind.”

He frowned. “Why do you want to look at them anyway? They’re far beyond healing, there’s nothing you could do.”

“Well…” she began rummaging around in her component pouches, “I figured, now that we may be coming up against some big bad magic guys, it might be a good idea to know if they have a little extra somethin’–somethin’ up their sleeve, and maybe how it works, you know?

“Aha! There you are!” she whispered in triumph as she pulled out a tiny striped lollipop, a miniature version of her confectionary Spiritual Weapon. She held it out to him. “You want one too?”

“No, but danke.”

“You sure? They’re reeeally good,” she half-sang in that cadence of hers. “I got a bunch of them in Nicodranas right before we left, so they’re still pretty fresh.”

He shook his head with a wan smile and a small chuff of air through his nose that might be construed as a chuckle.

This seemed to appease her. Jester nodded happily and popped the sweet in her mouth, speaking around the candy. “Could I ask you another question instead?”

No.

He sighed, watching his fingers fiddle with the hem of his coat to keep them from tugging at his bandages. “You can ask, but you may not get an answer.”

This is a bad idea.

“Yeah, of course.” She nodded and thought for a second, “Do you think there are more people out there like you?”

Caleb looked up, “Do I think what now?”

“You know, others. People that ran away from the Assembly or the Academy?”

“I…I don’t know. I hadn’t ever considered it.”

He hadn’t. Not really, anyways. When he had first been thrown into the institution, he had near-feverish fantasies of Astrid or Eodwulf getting thrown in with him, of them being together once again and escaping far from the reaches of the Empire.

But it had never happened.

There had been no rescue party. His hope has been crushed into dust long before the end of those eleven hellacious years.

“Well,” Jester continued, “if there are others, maybe we could help them. That’s why I was wondering about your arms. If, like, they still had magic stuff in theirs and wanted to get it out. Who knows? Maybe even Yeza has some, since he was working for the Cerberus Assembly.”

“I see.” This conversation hadn’t gone the way he was expecting at all.

Then again, nothing ever seemed to go the way he expected if Jester was involved.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before the cleric fished her sketchbook and pencils out of her haversack.

“I’m going to make some drawings for the Traveler for a little while, is that cool?”

He nodded but said nothing, staring off into darkness as a flurry of thoughts whirled between his ears.

In his five years on the run, he hadn’t even dared to hope that there may be someone else like himself out there. The power of Trent Ikithon and the Assembly had grown to near omnipotence in his mind, their controlling influence in every realm of the Empire being an insurmountable barrier against other dissenters.

Hell, even someone like Pumat Sol was a member of the Assembly. The genial firbolg may have spoken well of the organization, but that brief flash of fear in Pumat’s eyes when he talked about Headmaster Oremid Haas spoke louder.

No, it was doubtful there was anyone else.

Caleb turned his attention back to Jester as she flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, catching glimpses of the Nein’s various exploits recorded in ink and graphite. Every once in a while, he would spot sketches of Kiri, Nila, Shakaste, and so many others. Though he may not entirely understand it, Caleb knew the cleric’s drawings were more than doodlings for her metaphysical best friend; they were prayers to her god. It was staggering, really, the number of portraits she had etched into those pages, the number of people she managed to care for all at once.

Consternation gave way to uncertainty, and perhaps the most minuscule bit of guilt, as he thought about what she had said, that the scars of his past could aid someone in the future. Granted, the chances of that were slim to none. Even still, he had told her not seventy-two hours ago that he believed in her, that he trusted her…What was the harm in testing that faith out a little?

You’ll ruin everything. Don’t taint your friendship more than you already have.

But she already knew what his arms looked like, didn’t she? There was nothing to hide. At least, not on this front.

“…All right,” he whispered, his voice almost inaudible to his own ears.

“Hm?” She looked up from her drawing. “What was that?”

“I said all right, you can look at my arms.”

Her face split into a smile, “Really?”

“Really really,” he responded, shrugging out of his coat and unwrapping the bandages at his elbows before he lost whatever speck of courage he had managed to gather.

Idiot. You’re as big a sucker as that candy she has in between her teeth.

Jester scrambled back over to him until they were sitting knee to knee, watching with an intensity and focus normally reserved for her sketches. With an absent-minded crunch, she bit into the lollipop and placed the stick back in its wrapper.

Fighting off a small wave of nausea, Caleb held his arm before her.

She gently took hold of it, “Now, just tell me if you change your mind and I’ll stop, okay?”

He nodded, then held his breath.

Jester closed her eyes and whispered something he couldn’t quite make out, a prayer on playfully reverent lips. Her eyes opened, and a quick flash of green light filled her irises before it burned away like verdant embers.

Smart girl, casting magical detection like that. Caleb knew she wouldn’t find anything; he hadn’t felt the sting of magic under his skin for years, but it was a good thought nonetheless.

He was mostly fine for the first few minutes, surprisingly so, as he watched her turn his arm this way and that. But as the process went on, he noticed the look of focus on Jester’s features sink into an expression of uncomfortable concern. Her lips pursed together as she took in the numerous faint scars spidering across his skin, the corners of her mouth dipping as her eyes and fingers met with each wound.

Soon, she asked to see his other arm, to which he obliged without protest. However, a sick feeling had begun to eat away at the insides his stomach, like he was watching her search through a pile of filth and rotted garbage.

Then it happened.

Memory and present merged into a single vision, as they so often did for him. This time there were no screams of anguish rending the air as ash and the smell of burning flesh gagged him from the inside out. No, this was much quieter, but just as sinister.

Instead of her fingers sliding over the faded remnants of his past sins, Caleb saw Jester inspecting a crystalline rainbow consuming his flesh one inch at a time. He nearly cried out and pushed her away – he couldn’t let them take hold of her too, encasing her fingers in a prismatic prison that would eat its way up her arms, her chest, mouth, eyes. Hollow laughter rang out from somewhere in the depths of the cave, a sound he wished he could forget.

It’s not real. He’s not here. Götter verdammt noch mal, es ist nicht real.

Willing his arm to keep from shaking, Caleb took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t notice how it shuddered in his lungs. He trained his gaze on his boots, knowing that closing his eyes would only make the vision worse. How long had it lasted? Ten seconds? Three? Less? It was hard to tell.

“Caleb, are you sure you’re okay?”

Damn. He looked up to find her staring at him, concern etched into every inch of her face.

“Caleb, we can stop. You don’t have to do this.” She looked back down at his arm. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’re not, it’s not you…It’s…It’s a bad memory, like I said.” His words were a halting mess, but even the simple act of speaking them helped ground him to reality.

A memory, yes, that’s right. Only a memory. She was safe, he was safe, there was nothing to fear. Only a series of faint scars on skin as white as bones.

“That doesn’t make much of a difference if I’m the one bringing back the memory, and it looks like it’s worse than just ‘bad.’ It’s okay, I’ll stop now.”

Her grip slackened on his arm, and a whole new kind of panic took him. He knew only one thing, and that was he did not want her to let go. If she let go, then he had failed her, broken his word, lied to her. Not too long ago, he wouldn’t have cared a wit if someone were disappointed in him. Why did he care now?

“Wait, hold on. You’re almost done, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”

“Go ahead and finish. It’s no good to leave the job half done.”

“Are you sure?”

Her fingers were barely touching him now, like birds perched on a branch, ready to fly off at any moment. She needed a sign that he was actually okay, not paltry words that could be guilty lies as easily as earnest truths. With a slow, deliberate motion, he relaxed into her hand until his arm was flush with her palm.

He held her gaze with his. “Yes.”

She looked at him for a moment or two, trying to find any sign of uncertainty. Then, one of the corners of her mouth rose into a half-smile. “You know, recently, you look different, Caleb.”

He frowned, more than a little confused by this assertion. “I look exactly the same as the day I met you.”

“No, not physically. Well, maybe a little, in a way.”

“Jester, you are not making very much sense.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You seem… lighter, less heavy. I don’t know…You’re different, but a good different.”

“If you say so.” He didn’t feel any lighter. If anything, he felt tired from carrying around too many secrets for too long, but maybe that was her point.

“I can see it. ” She gave him another appraising look and nodded. “Yup, definitely a good different.”

He shook his head, knowing he was more pleased than he should be at that nonsensical assessment, “You are a very silly tiefling.”

Her teeth flashed in the low light. “Good.”

Now more grounded in the present, Caleb felt his heartbeat slow in his chest, the wave of panic and nausea subsiding. As he watched her resume the study of his scars, he could see faint specks of light in her hair and on her skin, reflected from the glittering walls of the cave, mixing in with the myriad of freckles on her face. The tip of her tail curled and uncurled idly at her side, a behavior he found rather reminiscent of Frumpkin. Her face wore the same look she had while painting, with one pointed incisor peeking out as she bit down on a cerulean lip. It was as though every fiber of her being was directed only to what was in front of her, like nothing else mattered or even existed.

And then there were her hands, inkstained and delicate, but also strong and steady. Cool fingertips trailed against his skin, more soothing than any healing balm. Each gentle touch was a ripple of sensation, leaving tingling goosebumps in her wake while relaxing the muscles beneath. It was almost too much for him, and yet still somehow not enough.

It had been…what? At least sixteen years since he’d had real physical contact with anybody else? No sleeves, bandages, or gloves acting as a barrier? He had forgotten how nice it was to feel another person’s touch in the most basic of ways, especially when said person exerted such care with every movement.

“You know, you…” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he was speaking.

“Hm?” She looked up, eyes glowing amethyst in the dim light. “What did you say?”

That was a good question, what was he saying? He felt his voice wither away, somehow forgetting how vocal cords were supposed to work.

“You…ah…” He fumbled, unable to transform the half-thought, half-feeling into any kind of verbal sense. He was fluent in four languages, gods damn it, yet words escaped him. It didn’t help that she kept staring at him with those eyes, neither did the sudden realization that their faces were much closer together than he had thought. “Um…Du bist ein guter Kleriker.”

That was definitely not Common.

She wrinkled her nose with a grin. “What?”

“What I meant was…” He backtracked, trying to find the right term.

“Yes?” She wiggled her shoulders back and forth in a little expectant dance.

“Just that…You’re good at being a cleric, at healing.” That still wasn’t quite right. “ You have…I think they call it a nice bedside manner.”

“Well, of course!” She waggled her eyebrows with a wicked grin. “I grew up at the Lavish Chateau, after all, so I know a lot about bedside manners.”

An inexplicable heat rushed into his cheeks and his mind went as blank as unused parchment. He could hear the echo of her words from two days ago bounce around in his brain: “Are you secretly in love with me?”

No. Of course not. That would be…

Caleb coughed into his free hand. “I don’t think those are quite the same thing.”

“You never know, there are some preeetty crazy religions out there.” She gave him one of those mischievous little smiles, the kind that always made the corners of his mouth want to tug upwards as well, then her eyes softened. “And thanks, that means a lot.”

He nodded, hoping she couldn’t see the furious flush across his face.

“Now, Ha-err Widogast.” She settled back and raised a finger in the air. “I’d like to ask some post-examination questions. You’ve been really good about everything, so I’ll try to keep this quick, I promise.”

He sighed. “We really need to work on your Zemninan.”

“Is that a yes?” She pressed her hands together in playful supplication with imploring eyes, leaving his arm cradled in her lap. “Please?”

Gods, how was he supposed to say no to that face?

He blew out a long breath, somehow feeling amused despite himself. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. You would make as decent an Expositor as our monkish friend over there.”

She grinned. “I’d be pretty good at it, wouldn’t I? Too bad those Cobalt guys aren’t anywhere near as cool as the Traveler.”

“It is most certainly their loss.”

“So…That’s a yes?”

“Ja.”

“Ja. Okay, good.” Her hand slid under own and up his arm, her fingers grazing a scar on his wrist. Another small shiver shot across his skin. “Do you know how many you have on each side? Scars, I mean.”

He cleared his throat. “Thirty-three on the left, thirty-five on the right.”

“Mhmm, that’s what I counted.” She nodded. “Do you have more anywhere else?”

“There are four more on each upper arm,” he answered, then added, “There’s also one on each calf.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh? Why just one on each?”

“Ah, well, they, uh, they made it harder to walk.” He hoped she’d be satisfied with that vague of an answer, he didn’t want her to know the more gory details.

She looked as though she might press him further, then paused. She thought for a moment before asking, “What kind of crystals were they?”

His vision from a few minutes before flashed to the front of his mind. “It was hard to tell…They came in an array of colors, but most of the ones I saw weren’t cut, or even polished.”

“Rubies? Emeralds?”

“Sure, rubies and emeralds seem likely.”

She paused for a second. “What about aquamarine, or maybe fire opal?

That was…oddly specific.

“Perhaps? I’m no geologist or jeweler. Like I said, the few I saw were all sorts of shapes and colors, and all in their rough forms. We were never told what they were, or what they were supposed to do. It might have skewed the experiment otherwise.”

“Okay,” she responded, but said no more.

After several seconds of silence, he looked up to find her staring at his upraised palm with her mouth scrunched up to one side, as if she were trying to remember something.

“Jester?”

She blinked a few times. “Oh! Sorry, I was just…thinking.” She set her shoulders and flashed him a smile, but it was tighter than usual.

“What about?” It was a rare thing for the talkative tiefling to drop out of a conversation like that. “You went pretty far into your head for a moment there.”

“Well,” she began, “you remember how Orly told me about those magical tattoos?”

“Ja, you were pretty excited about those for a while.”

“And I still am, they’re really cool! But it just hit me…” she trailed off, one of her fingers absently tracing small, rather distracting circles on his forearm. “It just hit me that they’re basically the same thing as what you had, the only difference is that the crystals are ground down and inside the skin, instead of under it.”

“There are…definite similarities, yes.”

“Isn’t that kinda a weird coincidence?” Her finger stilled its movement, and he told himself he did not feel disappointed.

“I’m sure that the practice of tattooing with gem dust had been around long before I ever went to Rexentrum. The Assembly most likely took something perfectly harmless and…changed it to suit their purposes. It’s sort of what they do.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” She nodded, but still looked a tad uneasy. Which, in turn, made Caleb feel uneasy.

“Or,” he continued, leaning forward with a conspiratorial whisper, “are you worried that our trusted navigator might actually be a spy for the Empire?”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “Yes, that’s it exactly! It’s a perfect cover!”

He raised his eyebrows. “We cracked the case?”

“We cracked the case!” She grinned up at him and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear before glancing back down at his arm. “So, um, where did they go?”

“The crystals?”

“Yeah, like, did you learn how to shoot them out like a superpowered porcupine, or did you absorb them and that’s why you’re so good at magic?”

“No, they, uh, they were removed.”

“Like, a surgery? And they were put in the same way?”

“Ja. They knocked us out with a potion, inserted or removed the crystals, then a cleric healed the cuts over afterward, just enough to close the wounds.” Then he hesitated before saying, “If we ever did meet anyone with something similar, it most would most likely require certain tools and training to extract the crystals.”

“Oh.” She deflated a little.

“Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, no, it’s good to know.” She contemplated his arm for a few moments more. “There was something you said…about the crystals themselves.”

“Yes?”

“How did you know what they looked like if you were asleep during the surgery and the cuts were healed up?”

“Ah…Ja, uh, the crystals were supposed to stay under the skin. But that’s the thing about experiments.” He rubbed the back of his head with his hand, tugging at his hair. “They don’t always go as planned, especially when you add magic to the mix.”

Her hands, the ones that had been so gentle and sure as they inspected his scars, stiffened around his wrist. “Supposed to stay under…?”

Realizing just what he had said, Caleb bit the inside of his cheek.

Scheiße.

Her eyes widened and a slow, unsettled look crept across her face as she began to pick apart his statement. Though she may play the fool, Jester was far from stupid. There were only so many ways to interpret what he had said, and none of them were pleasant.

Scheiße, Scheiße, Scheiße.

Caleb could have kicked himself. Jester had such an abundance of natural charm, it was like she cast a Friends spell every time she spoke. He never should have forgotten that, never let his guard down so easily. He had always had a soft spot for the cleric, but when did he allow her to have so much power over him?

With an almost excruciating slowness, Jester ran her thumb over his palm. His breath stuck to the inside of his lungs.

She opened her mouth once, twice. Finally, she asked in a voice almost too soft to hear, “Did it hurt?”

Never had he thought a single question could make his insides ache like they did right now. Sadness rang through her voice and struck him straight to the core. “Oh, Jester.”

This was a mistake.

He cleared his throat, trying and failing to swallow back an emotion he did not care to name. “I think that’s all the questions that need to be answered tonight.”

She raised her eyes to meet his. “That’s a yes, isn’t it?”

Looking at her small form, shoulders drawn in and tail now tucked underneath her, Caleb wanted to lie. He never should have agreed to be truthful with these people, and especially not with her. Instinct begged him to go back to the way things had been, all protective lies and secrets to spare their feelings, as well as his.

It was too late for that now, though. He had tasted the briefest bit of honesty, and bitter though it was, it was also warm and reassuring. These stupid, crazy people had woken him from the half-life he had been living and sustained his tenuous existence with a kind of security he had long forgotten. They had come to embrace his dirty, intentionally unpleasant self and placed their trust in his singed hands.

If Jester, who always wore a clown’s mask for the sake of others, could reveal to him an honest sliver of her own pain and worry like she had that night in Darktow, then he could pay her the same respect now.

“Ja.” His whisper sounded more like a rusty hinge than a voice. “Ja, it hurt. It hurt like hell.”

Before she could formulate a response, he moved his hand down to wrap around hers and looked her dead in the eye, “But you know what? They don’t anymore. It’s in the past now, they’re healed. You don’t need to worry over them.”

A half-truth was better than none at all, he supposed. His arms were indeed as healed as they were ever going to be. As for his past…Well, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

Or burn it forever.

She nodded and smiled, and he hoped to whatever gods there might be that those weren’t unshed tears lining her eyes. “Sorry I asked so many questions, I know it sucked. I just – I worry about you, Caleb.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand, only now realizing that he was still holding it. Then he heard himself say something he would definitely regret later. “I’ll tell you the rest someday.”

The next thing he knew, Jester had leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, seeming to not at all mind his mud-smeared coat. “Thank you.”

Caleb did not move to embrace her back, but felt a smile curl at his lips as he took in her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

A few moments passed before she gave him one last squeeze and leaned back, a happy smile in place and not a tear to be seen. “Okay, I really am going to make a few sketches now.”

He nodded and grabbed at one of the bandages he had shed onto the ground, now somehow rough and heavy in his hands.

As he began to wrap his arm up from palm to elbow, Caleb realized it was so much more difficult than it had been before, his own fingers seeming to protest by fumbling and bunching up the fabric. With every turn around his arm, Caleb found himself wishing he never had to put the confining wrappings back on again, or that he had never taken them off for her in the first place.

His scars now hidden away under neat, suffocating rows of weathered gauze, Caleb glanced over to where Jester sat curled up once again with her sketchbook, drawing away with joyous fervor.

A fading warmth lingered from her embrace, and he never wanted to forget the feeling of it. He committed to memory the way the air had felt on his secluded skin, the full movement of his wrist and fingers after being freed from their bindings, the goosebumps that had formed under her cool fingertips.

Maybe next time he removed his bandages, he would leave them off for good.

#widojest #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #fic #critical role #cr #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #my fics

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find-the-eyes · 5 years

Text

I’ll Try Anything Once: Chapter 28

Written by: Sol, ss, Allegra Edited by: ss

“So…what’d you think of that?” Paul unlocked the door to the flat and flopped down on the couch, exhausted.

“It wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.” Bob hung his jacket up in the closet and went over to the couch, not joining Paul, but standing over him. He had to admit, he’d never had that big of an adrenaline rush before. By the time he got home there were still remnants of it and he wanted to ride it out.

“I had a great time,” Paul laughed. “Can’t wait to do that more often.” In the soothing, yellow glow of the cheap lights in the flat, Paul looked softer than ever. Bob had the strong urge to cuddle him, but knew he had to hold back. Even though they had shared their moments once in a while ever since the date, they had never actually talked about what their status was. So he stopped himself, even when the adrenaline was pushing him to wrap his arms around Paul and rest his head on his chest. He settled for sitting at the armrest, staring at Paul’s sleepy smile, chipped teeth and an arm draped over his face.

“You can come a bit closer, Bob. I’m not modeling today.”

Bob laughed and sat down next to Paul. “I’m just thinking about a lot of things right now.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know. I’m not used to people paying attention to me… I don’t know if I really liked performing tonight.”

“Well, you did a great job.” Paul sat up and rested his head on Bob’s shoulder. “And looked great too, might I add.”

“Don’t say that…” Bob smiled as his face began to burn. He hoped Paul couldn’t see. After an entire night of other people possibly staring at him, he didn’t know if he could handle any more, even if it was from Paul.

“We all loved being onstage with you tonight. Alex told me you’re one of the best bassists he’s ever heard, and you just started two weeks ago!”

“Ah, I wouldn’t say I’m one of the best, but…”

“You’re just—” Bob felt arms wrapped around him. Perhaps Paul was high from the stage adrenaline rush too, he thought as Paul crushed him in a hug. “You’re the grounding energy we need onstage!”

“But—”

“I mean, Nick’s quite literally vibrating, Alex is up there trying to be all… flashy, I’m going absolutely crazy in the back, and… you’re just so cool, Bobbo!”

Between the pet name and the stage feedback, Bob opted to respond to the easier one. “Am I really that cool?”

“Yeah! Of course!” Paul laughed and tackled Bob, ruffling the blonde hair on the top of his head. “I mean it. I’ve seen gigs, been part of them before a couple of times too. I would know.”

Bob’s body was aching already from all the tension of performing, and now his cheeks had started to ache as well. He couldn’t contain his smile. It felt nice to be acknowledged by Paul, being pampered by compliments as he snuggled him. Everything felt nice and it was one of the rare moments that he felt fully confident in himself. In fact, he was so confident that he decided that maybe it was time that he put himself out there.

Paul untangled himself from Bob and got up. “Heading to bed, you joining?”

Bob tried to act cool. He should be used to this kind of wording from Paul. Bob shook his head. “I’ll catch up later.”

“Alright. Good night, Bob.”

“Good night.”

As Bob watched Paul retreat down the hallway, his thoughts turned back to the gig. The way he and Paul had quickly locked into rhythm together; the way Nick had bounced around the stage, more energetic than Bob had ever seen him; and Alex...everything about Alex, really. The way he managed to hit every note and chord perfectly even as he jumped and danced and occasionally ran around the stage. The way his fringe bounced against his forehead, the way he locked eyes with each person in the audience as though they were the only person in the room, the way he smiled and nodded at them...the way he had smiled at Bob, reassuring him. Bob pressed the palms of his hands against his eyelids, his heart fluttering at the memory. Alex was always so careful to make sure that Bob was alright.

As Bob reflected on Alex, he realized that if he wanted to become closer with him, he had to start being more honest. Although the thought terrified him, Bob was going to come out to Alex the next time he saw him.

Bob’s newfound confidence lasted all weekend, and by the time class rolled around on Monday, he felt ready to approach Alex. He made sure to get to class early to save the two seats in the back corner that he and Alex normally occupied, and began doodling absentmindedly in his sketchbook while he waited.

Alex rushed into the classroom a few minutes later and plopped down next to Bob. “Hey,” he gasped, slightly out of breath. “Thanks for saving my seat.”

“No problem,” Bob said, suddenly feeling far less confident. He rolled his pencil between his fingers. It was now or never. “Hey, Alex...I...I wanted to tell you something,” he said softly, now gripping the pencil.

“What’s that?” Alex turned to face Bob. He seemed unusually serious for 9 o’clock on a Monday morning.

Bob leaned closer to Alex so as not to draw attention to himself. “So I was talking to Paul the other day...and uh...we, I, um…I told him...”

Alex tilted his head, unsure of where this could be going.

“...I told him that I wanted our trip to Kelvingrove to be a date. Like...a date date.”

“Oh?” Alex sat up a little straighter. “You and Paul are dating?”

“No! Well, I mean, we went on a date? But...no...no, we’re not...” Bob muttered.

“Oh. But that means you’re…”

Bob looked at Alex, took a deep breath, and said the words he’d never been able to say out loud before. “Gay. Yeah. I’m gay.” The words rushed out of his mouth in a torrent. “And I just...I wanted you to know since you’re...you’re one of my best friends, you know?” He bit his lip and looked down, studying the pattern on the carpet. He jumped when he felt a warm touch on his right knee. “Well, thank you,” Alex smiled. “I’m honored.” Alex glanced around as the last few students trickled into the room - their professor would be here any minute. “Did you just figure it out…?”

“I always knew I was a little different...ever since I was a kid...but I couldn’t really put a name to it for a long time...until I was, I dunno, 14? 15, maybe?” Bob was rambling now, but he glanced up at Alex and figured that he didn’t seem to mind.

Alex nodded. “I always kind of thought you were.”

“Really?” Bob’s voice was a panicked whisper. Had it really been that obvious?

“Yeah. Dunno why, really. Just had a feeling.” Alex looked over at Bob, green eyes sparkling beneath those damned long eyelashes, and Bob felt his heart skip a beat. Alex shifted closer to Bob, leaning his arm on Bob’s desk, just as their professor walked in. “We can talk more later,” Alex said, a sly smile on his lips. Bob could have almost sworn that Alex winked at him.

As Bob went to close his sketchbook at the end of class, he flipped past a certain page with a certain drawing on it. He paused, considered it, then nudged Alex's shoulder. "Hey, I want to show you something."

Alex sat back up from stuffing his supplies into his bag. "Yeah?" Alex said, trailing off as he noticed Bob's opened sketchbook. He leaned closer. It was...it was him.

Alex laughed gently and held the sketchbook. The drawing was quite accurate, but was done in Bob’s signature soft style. Alex also noticed that it was drawn from Bob’s angle sitting next to him in class.

“Well, that’s sweet,” Alex smiled.

“Sweet?”

“Mhm,” Alex’s smile grew even wider. “You know what else is sweet?”

Bob shook his head, his stomach twisting and turning.

“You.” Alex raised his eyebrows, stepping so close to Bob that he could feel the warmth of his soft, rosy cheeks.

Bob giggled softly, looking back up at Alex after overcoming his embarrassment. Was this...flirting? Was Alex flirting with him? "You're sweet too," he said quietly.

Alex smiled at Bob, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "I'm going to head out now, if you care to join." He gave Bob a knowing look and left the classroom. Bob grabbed his bag, nearly spilling the entire contents onto the floor in his rush, and hurried out the door, catching up to Alex.

Once they were in the hallway, Bob looked up at Alex, searching for an answer to what was going on. Alex only grinned and pulled Bob into the corner behind the door where they hid from Dino a few weeks earlier. Before Bob could react, Alex's hands were on Bob's shoulders, steering him against the wall. There was a thunk that Bob vaguely realized was Alex's bag dropping off his shoulder and then, without warning, Alex kissed him.

Kissing Paul had been soft, careful, delicate - but this was different. Kissing Alex was fireworks and sparks and electricity, hands grabbing at hips, Alex's tongue swiping across Bob's lips. Bob instinctively parted them, his own tongue tangling with Alex's.

They stayed like that for a few moments until Alex pulled back, gasping for breath, his cheeks flushed. Bob had never seen Alex like this, but he knew he certainly wouldn't mind seeing more.

As if reading Bob's mind, Alex slipped his hands around Bob’s waist, pulling him close. “We should take this somewhere a little more private,” he murmured, giving Bob a sly smile. He slid one hand down to Bob’s arse and dragged the knuckles of the other across the bulge in Bob’s trousers.

Bob gasped softly at the sensation. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he brushed his lips against Alex’s again and whispered back, “Let’s go.”

#franz ferdinand #illtryanythingonce #allfanfic

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killingkueen · 5 years

Text

Irish Twins

Previous chapters on AO3

Summary: Aaron Gold always knew, in his own way. Belle Kingston, on the other hand, had no idea. In the end, there really isn’t that much difference between water and wine. A switched at birth AU

Note: Whoops it’s been a long time. I’ve been going through some stuff.

I edited the previous chapters but it’s mostly just cosmetic stuff so don’t feel you have to go back and reread everything. But there is a change I made: Gaston is now a police man. So. That’s a thing.

Thank you to those who gently nudged me and asked after this story. It really means a lot to me that you still care.

ooo

Bae woke up to someone shaking his shoulder.

“Bae,” he heard. Sounded like Neal.

“Mmmpf.” He turned his face into his pillows, pulling up the covers to his chin.

“Bae,” Neal said again, drawing out his name in a whine.

Eyes blurry and half-focused, he stole a look at the clock, where he could make out the numbers 7 and 4 before he flopped back down and closed his eyes. He rolled over again and instead of smacking Neal with his pillow, he pulled it over his head. Bae didn’t care what time it was—it felt too early to be awake. Especially on a Sunday.

Neal didn’t seem to agree.

“Bae, come on.”

“What do you want?” he asked, turning over yet again, pulling the pillow up so they could look at each other. Neal was lucky holding a pillow over his head made it hard to breathe.

“....your papa’s downstairs.”

“So?”

Papa was always downstairs. Whether Bae was going to bed or waking up, he rarely found his father in his own bedroom. He was half convinced he never slept, period (which was actually kinda cool. It sounded like a movie: who wore suits and slept upside down in his study like a bat? Vampire Dad! Yeah, he’d watch that).

“Mom’s not up yet.”

Bae squinted. Neal was still in his pajamas, but under one arm was his new sketchbook and the pack of colored pencils that Bae knew had been left downstairs last night.

“Are you…” Bae sat up, frowning. “Are you afraid to be alone with him?”

Neal scowled. “No.”

Bae kept frowning. He knew Neal was different from him, knew that Belle was different from Gold. He and Belle clicked together like puzzle pieces, but like puzzle pieces, Neal and Gold kept having to be turned and moved about until the right sides matched up. He didn’t get why it was taking so long.

“You know, I failed the spelling test last week,” Bae said, sitting up. “And since it was the third in a row, I had to take a note home for Papa to sign.”

Neal’s eyebrows raised in alarm even as they drew together suspiciously. “What’d he say?”

“He asked if I studied, and I said ‘no.’ Then he asked if I was going to study for the next test, and I said ‘probably not.’”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He said ‘fair enough’ and signed the paper.”

“Seriously? That’s it?”

Bae shrugged. “It’s just spelling. That's why autocorrect is a thing.” Gold had told him once that he didn’t care what his grades were as long as Bae was okay with how hard he worked

“Yeah, but you failed a test. You failed three.”

“It’s not like I fail every test,” he snapped, the annoyance sudden and sharp. He was trying to explain that his Papa wasn’t scary. “Why? What happens when you fail?” he said before Neal could respond.

Neal shifted his feet. “I don’t know. I’ve never failed a test before.”

“C’mon. There has to be something you didn’t pass.”

“I don’t do that great in PE,” Neal said after a pause.

Bae flopped down on his back, face to the ceiling. Neal was gangly; all elbows and knees, and shorter than Bae was. He bet Neal was picked last when they did teams, and was probably the first one out. It didn’t make him feel any better.

He felt the bed dip near his feet, and heard the swish of pajamas against a comforter as Neal pushed himself up.

“Bae?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

There was a long pause, longer than any before. It made Bae push up on his elbows. Neal was sitting at the end of his bed, shoulders hunched over the notebook in his lap. The colored pencils were beside him.

“What is it?” Bae prompted.

“Is…” he trailed off. Bae saw him grip his notebook tighter, then immediately release it only to hold it tight again.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him to ask his question or go away so he could go back to sleep when Neal blurted “Is your papa gay?”

Gay? Bae thought about what Neal had said in the kitchen last night during dinner: but you’re a boy.

“Why would you ask that?”

He saw Neal’s shoulder twitch in something resembling a shrug. “Your house is pink.”

“So?”

“Pink is for girls.”

Bae scrunched his nose. “Emma hates pink.”

“Who’s Emma?”

“She’s my best friend.”

Neal turned to look at him, first in confusion. When he saw Bae wasn’t joking, his mouth set in a half-frown, half-sneer that Bae immediately hated.

“You’re best friends with a girl?” he asked.

“Emma’s cool.”

“Girls are dumb.”

“She’s not.”

Neal scoffed, and Bae hated that, too. He drew his knees up to his chest, the covers following.

“So is he?”

“Why do you care?”

He frowned, his eyebrows drawing down, his head tilting to the side, like he was trying to do a really hard math problem in his head. “I don’t.”

“Then why would you ask me that?”

Neal flinched, but he tried hard not to. “I just want to know.”

(his papa always said that being curious was a good thing; wanting to understand the world around him was a good thing)

Bae stared at him, at his stupid sharp nose and stupid short hair. He wanted to kick him off the bed. He wanted to demand an apology, but for what, Bae couldn’t put into words. He laid down on his back, face to the ceiling so he wouldn’t have to look at Neal.

“So, is he?”

“I don’t know,” Bae said, his chest still feeling tight. His ceiling was white and boring. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Hm.” Neal ran his hands over his sketchbook. He bowed his head a little forward. “Do you think it’s bad? Being gay?”

After a breath in and one out, Bae sat up, kicking his covers off so he could fold his legs criss-cross. “Do you think it is?”

Neal was still looking at his floor (which was just as interesting as his ceiling) and he shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked you.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Neal didn’t move. They stayed still, like seeds growing roots.

“Ruby has a girlfriend,” Bae said finally. “Her name is Dorothy and she likes horses.”

“She’s gay?”

“Huh-uh.”

“I didn’t know girls could be gay.” Neal hummed, and Bae could almost see everything in his head turning the new information over. “I like Ruby. She’s funny.”

Nodding hard, Be said, “If you like Ruby, then you can’t think being gay is bad.”

Neal nodded slower. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Of course it does,” he said, his eyes sliding down to his lap where Neal’s new colored pencils sat. He remembered what brought Neal to his room in the first place.

“Did Papa see you when you went downstairs?”

Neal followed his gaze to the pencils. He straightened the pack so it sat neatly on his notebook. “Oh. No. I was already there. I heard him coming down.”

As if that explained everything.

“Why were you downstairs at all?”

He shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep last night, so I went back down ‘cause I wanted to keep drawing and I eventually fell asleep on the couch. I don’t think he saw me, ‘cause he went into the kitchen without saying anything.”

“You couldn’t sleep?”

“Someone kept interrupting Mom reading.”

“He can’t live in a cupboard. There’s not enough room, even if it is under the stairs. It doesn’t make sense!”

“It’s a story about magic—”

“It should still make sense!”

“Well if you let her get through an entire paragraph, maybe it would.”

“You’re the one that said the first two books were boring anyway,” Bae said, smiling despite himself. He wasn’t that upset, and neither was Neal judging by the same smile on his face. “Did you finish, at least?” he asked with a nod to the notebook.

“Uhm, yeah, I did.” Neal ran his hands over the cover.

“Well? Can I see?”

Neal opened his notebook, but then he swallowed, hesitating. “Do you bring stuff home? From school?”

“You mean stuff from art class, right? Yeah, sure. Why?”

Neal shrugged, frowning down at his lap. “There’s nothing on your fridge.”

“Oh!” Bae wondered for just a second why it was a thing for every adult to pin artwork there, of all places. “I’m not that proud of anything, I guess. I don’t care.”

“Does he throw them away?”

“Nah, Papa keeps everything. He still has my first baby tooth, somewhere.”

“I think Mom kept mine, too.”

Bae shrugged. “Parents are weird.”

Nodding in agreement, Neal seemed to steel himself. He used one hand to hold his notebook steady, then carefully began pulling the first page from the binding. Bae held his breath as the the paper gave a small fpt with each gentle tug. A part of him couldn’t believe that Neal would rip out a page, the first page even, but he was afraid to say it in case Neal decided to stop.

“Here,” Neal said when he was done, the frayed edges catching slightly in the bed spread as he tried to slide it across.

Before Neal could change his mind and snatch it back, Bae picked it up. First, all he saw was shapeless color, but then he could make out a house.

Neal had drawn his house, lines wobbly but mostly straight, but it wasn’t pink. It had been drawn as shapes that all fit together, each shape a different color. It was like looking at a finished paint-by-the-number page, only if Neal had ignored the numbers completely and colored however he wanted to.

It was kind of cool.

“Can you give it to him?” asked Neal, watching his face with bright eyes.

“He’s gonna know I didn’t draw it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Neal leaned over and pointed to the the bottom of the porch steps (one light blue, one dark green, one a deep maroon). “I signed it, see?”

“That’s not a signature. They’re supposed to be messy and hard to read.”

“I want him to know who it’s from.”

Bae just looked at him, wondering if there was a joke he was missing. “Then you give it to him.”

“No.” Neal’s eyes flitted away from Bae, and to the floor, his ears turning pink.

“Why not?”

Instead of answering, he scooted back on the bed so he was leaning against the wall.

“Do you think he won’t like it?” Bae asked.

His only answer was a shrug. He looked back down at the drawing. It was better than anything Bae could draw, and Gold loved everything Bae made, which meant that he would especially love this.

He said as much to Neal, but again, no response. His chin was resting on his knees, and he was watching Bae with a frown.

Bae resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Come on,” he said, throwing his legs over the bed. “I’ll go with you.”

He waited until Neal had stood up before giving him back the drawing, which he took with clear reluctance. “Maybe after breakfast,” Neal suggested.

“You’ll just chicken out if we wait.”

“Will not,” he sputtered.

“Will to. C’mon,” Bae said again, pulling his door open.

“Hey Bae?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I called Emma dumb.”

Bae paused in the doorway. He wiggled his toes, the carpet soft.

“If she’s friends with you she’s probably not,” Neal said, his voice fast. He was looking at the floor again.

“She’s not. Thanks.” Something deep in his stomach unwound. It felt a lot like relief.

As they came to the stairs, Bae came to a standstill, Neal nearly bumping into his shoulder. He looked behind him down the hall, to Belle’s door, which hung open to show an empty bed. She must have woken up.

“Don’t tell her I failed my spelling tests.”

Neal nodded, his face serious. “Okay.”

With a resolute nod, Bae made his way down the stairs. Neal was going much slower, but at least he was following.

As they neared the kitchen, Bae thought about how best to say I told you so when they finally made it. He knew no one liked hearing it (Emma called it being smug) but Neal clearly needed to be told several times that Gold wasn’t about to unhinge his jaw and swallow him whole (though it would be so cool if he could actually do that).

Bae paused at the threshold, waiting for Neal to catch up. He heard the clanking sounds of dishes and two voices. It was like dinner last night, but better because this time there was the smell of coffee and his mother was laughing at some story his papa was telling, and the sunlight was lighting up the hall and he never knew how good this all could feel. He woke up to Emma’s parents together whenever he spent the night with her, to them smiling in their kitchen and smelling like breakfast. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have himself, so he never bothered wanting it.

The novelty ended as soon as his stomach gurgled. With a final look to Neal, he walked through the doorway to see Gold sitting at the kitchen table and Belle leaning against the counter, coffee mugs wrapped in both their hands.

Belle saw him first. “Good morning,” she chirped.

“You’re up early,” Gold said, turning. “It’s not even 9 o’clock.”

“Only cause Neal woke me up. Good morning,” he said to his mother, trotting over as if being pulled by a magnet. She smiled at him, holding an arm out for a hug, which he was more than happy to give.

Gold took a sip of his coffee. “You, Neal, have done the impossible.” He winked at him over his mug.

Neal didn’t say anything, but considering he was the closest one to Gold now, Bae considered it a win.

“How about some breakfast?” Gold suggested. “Still interested in eggs in a basket?”

Neal nodded when it became clear no one else was going to answer for him.

“Great. Would you like to help? I promise they’re a lot more fun to make than pizza dough.”

“Okay,” Neal said. His eyes flickered to the fridge, then to Bae, who was leaning against Belle, her arm slung around his shoulders. “I finished,” he blurted, holding his paper up like proof, like a shield.

“Ah.” Gold’s eyes were drawn downward, to where he could only see the blank side. He set his cup on the table. “May I—see it?”

Neal shot a look at Bae again. “Okay,” he said, taking another slow step towards Gold.

Bae looked up at Belle, hoping to share an exasperated eye-roll, but her full attention was on the scene before them. Neal must not share his artwork all that much.

When Neal was finally close enough and holding his paper out, Gold carefully took it from his hands.

Bae watched his eyebrows rise as he took it in. “Well,” he said around the beginnings of a delighted smile. “Look at this.”

“I can redo it if you want. Make it pink.”

“Oh no. No, no, no. Neal,” Gold scooted his chair back slightly, making room for Neal to step closer. “This is perfect.”

“I got to see it first,” Bae said as Neal’s ears turned bright pink.

“Needed your seal of approval, hm?” Belle asked, running a hand through his hair.

“This is an amazing exercise in color theory,” Gold said, and Bae could see every thought of breakfast go out of his head.

“What’s that?” Neal asked.

“See how well all the colors go together? Even though you have all kinds of different shades, they don’t clash, or look garish.”

“Garish,” Neal repeated. “That means ugly.”

“Tacky,” Gold corrected. “But I can say definitively that this is neither.”

Neal shrugged, looking self-conscious even as he pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. “I just didn’t want to use pink.”

Gold huffed. “You’re a natural.” He risked placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong with pink?”

Neal’s shoulders twitched like he wanted to shrug but didn’t want to displace Gold’s hand. “Dumb color, is all.”

“It’s historic,” he said. “Old Victorians like this one were often painted loud colors, like yellow or purple or, well, pink. It helped enhance the details of the building itself. That was before the first World War, though, because—“

“Papa, I’m hungry.” If they didn’t stop him now, they’d never get breakfast finished.

Gold looked over to where Bae and Belle were still standing.

“Ah. Yes. Of course. Let’s get started on something to eat, hm?” His gaze drew back to the paper on the table. “I...may I keep this?”

Neal’s eyes were round when he nodded.

Gold smiled, and giving Neal’s shoulder one last squeeze he pulled himself from his chair and limped over to the refrigerator, where he proudly stuck the drawing to the front with a magnet.

All throughout breakfast, Neal would steal glances at the fridge, the drawing the only burst of color across the steel.

“Can I call tonight?” Bae asked as he watched Neal tie his shoes.

The day had been spent inside, safe and warm in the pink Victorian. Gold had dug out all the pictures he had of Bae, and he and Belle spent the rest of the morning comparing childhoods; the growth spurts and bandages, the obligations, birthday parties and first days of school.

Gold had expected Bae to suggest another excursion out in the town, but he had been quiet as breakfast ended. After helping clear the table and load the dishwasher, he and Neal had retreated to the den and like the night before had stayed close even as they did their own activities.

It was...nice. Familiar. Again, Gold felt how easy it was to be with Belle and Neal, to have them there as if this was what all their Sundays were.

It made Belle’s constant look to the clock all the more sour.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, right after dinner,” Belle said. Her own shoes were firmly on her feet, her coat buttoned, her overnight bag resolutely at her feet.

Neal looped the laces together, pulling on the loops of the bow. He pulled too far, and the ends slipped through the knot. He started over.

“Can we go to Boston next weekend, Papa?” Bae asked, switching tactics. “We can go back to the science museum, and we can show Neal the parts he missed.”

“You have Emma’s birthday party next weekend,” Gold reminded him.

“Oh. Well, Neal can come,” he said, hardly pausing for breath.

“Bae—”

“No, that’s perfect! He can see that she’s really cool and her parties are always fun with lots of—”

He cut off when Belle hugged him. She pulled back to kiss his forehead, her smile sweet. “We’ll see you soon, okay Bae? I promise.”

Bae sighed. Shrugged. Neal pulled his laces tight, the bow finally staying in place.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“Mr. A-Aaron?”

Gold looked to see Neal staring up at him, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

Neal shot a glance to his mom, who was currently locked in a phone call negotiation with Bae. Gold had a moment to admire her will power before two skinny arms wrapped around his middle.

“Thank you for letting us stay,” Neal said, his voice muffled from where it pressed into his waistcoat.

Gold laid a hand on his head, fingers carding through his son’s short hair. “Any time, lad,” he said. He hooked his cane to the stairs so he could hug Neal properly.

“See you next time,” Neal said, ears pink, when he pulled back.

“I can’t wait,” Gold said honestly.

“Tomorrow,” Belle repeated firmly. “And we can talk for as long as you like if your homework’s done.”

“Careful with that promise, Belle,” Gold said as the front door opened. She smiled at him, and with a final wave from her and Neal, walked out.

They were cleaning up the remains of dinner when Bae’s eyes trailed over to the fridge, to Neal’s drawing that was hanging proudly by the magnet.

“You can’t throw it away,” Bae said, nodding to it.

Gold covered what was left of the pasta. “Of course I won’t throw it away.”

“I mean it. You have to keep it on the fridge forever.”

“Forever, hm?” Gold said, raising an eyebrow.

Bae scowled, not appreciating the banter. “I mean it. Gaston throws away Neal’s drawings. You have to keep it.”

Any humor left Gold’s face. His lips pursed, as if he had just bit into a lemon. “He tell you that?”

“No, but Gaston’s an asshole,” he said. “And that’s what assholes do.”

“Language,” Gold chided even as he nodded in agreement, frowning as he studied the picture. “I’m not going to throw it away, Bae,” he said, softly.

“Yeah.” He blew a loud breath through his nose. “Neal asked me if you were gay.”

A short bark of laughter escaped purely from surprise, but maybe he should have seen that one coming.

“It’s not funny,” Bae scowled again. “He asked it like, like, you were sick or something.”

“You’re right, it’s not.” Gold put his hands on the counter. The marble was smooth and clean, cold against his hands. He remembered the hug Neal had given him, and how sweet his smile was at his praise. “I don’t think he meant it like that.”

“Whatever,” Bae said. He walked out of the kitchen, and soon Gold heard his heavy steps on the stairs.

He looked out into his garden. There was an itch in the back of his mind, a thought that he had once pushed very firmly back. Here it was again, though, tantalizing in its underhandedness. Pursuing the thought would likely mean setting aflame the bridge he was building with Belle, or watching it crumble into the gorge. He might lose any chance he had at a friendly relationship with her, intimate or otherwise.

It was either burn that bridge or watch as Neal was poisoned by a man who held no love for the boy.

Really, the choice was easy.

It was a crisp fall evening on a Sunday, and he pulled out his phone to call his lawyer.

#rumbelle fic #two years is the perfect amount of time to let things marinate

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

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Sledge/Glaz oneshot in which Glaz’ dignity gets ambushed and beaten up in a dark alley. Who needs enemies when you can have Rook and Mute as friends? (Rating T/M, fluff/humour, ~1.8k) - for @magehir (because who else would want to see an innocent man suffer)

Lunch breaks are the best. Really, they’re Glaz’ favourite time of day, if he missed one he’d fall into a deep pit of depression, he loves them so much he’d like to track down the ancestors of the person who invented the lunch break and worship the ground they walk on. He wouldn’t mind not sleeping for a week if it meant that lunch breaks would be an hour longer, he’d give his arm and his leg and probably some other body parts as well and there’s no way he’s obsessing about this, absolutely not, he’s just really excited about lunch breaks, okay?

It has nothing to do with the fact that there are only few people in the kitchenette at this time, one of which happens to be British and tall and kind and who is he even kidding. It has everything to do with it. In fact, it’s literally the only reason he’s started coming here in the first place, normally he eats outside whenever possible or in the company of his fellow countrymen or his other friends and would’ve complained both ways had someone dragged him to the small kitchen and back. He prefers sunlight – however, Sledge’s presence counts as a viable substitute because while the sun manages to heat up his skin, make him relax and feel cosy and comfortable, Sledge does exactly the same thing exactly the same way: just by existing. And so, nowadays, he spends his lunch breaks here.

Since Sledge often has other matters to attend to, he’s rarely alone, is usually surrounded by other SAS operators from Hereford, some of Six’ underlings or members of Rainbow – he’s never really on break and so they don’t talk most of the time which suits Glaz just fine. He doesn’t need to converse with him to bask in his presence, to feel his knees weaken whenever his accent gets unintelligibly thick, to observe him out of the corner of his eye. Besides, Glaz has things to do as well, it’s not like his entire day revolves around Sledge, he has no trouble finding activities that have nothing to do -

“Oh, you’re drawing Seamus again?”, Rook might as well scream into the small room from behind Glaz’ shoulder. He didn’t hear him coming but wishes he did because said Scot glances over at them curiously right before going back to his discussion with Tachanka, undoubtedly having heard the blunt announcement. “Scoot over.” The Frenchman squeezes onto the bench next to him, closely followed by Mute who pushes in from the other side, effectively trapping Glaz between them. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Of course he does, but he’s busy right now”, Mute replies and indicates Sledge with his chin.

Glaz closes his sketchbook before the two can drop more detailed comments about his drawings and fights against the flush rising to his cheeks. Fights and fails. “Look”, he says levelly and doesn’t even know how to continue because anything he responds can and will be used against him. Ever since the other two found out about his hopeless infatuation, he hasn’t had a single quiet minute. He can only pray that Sledge doesn’t get wind of it which might mean the end of lunch breaks and staring at him secretly and, honestly, the end of Glaz. There’s no way he could ever recover if Sledge found out.

“Can I see?”, a voice asks politely and Glaz has the sudden urge to violently toss his sketchbook through the window and then pretend he has no idea what Sledge is talking about.

“Sure, here!” Rook readily snatches the book from Glaz’ hands and shoves it into Sledge’s. “Make sure to flip through it all.”

His fingers are itching to take it back immediately but that would only raise more suspicion, so he silently glares at Rook and attempts to murder him with his gaze alone. Without success. Meanwhile, Sledge is leafing through the pages with an absent-minded smile and Glaz befalls a sudden panic upon not remembering of which nature the other drawings are. Did he - “It’s really good. You draw me a lot”, Sledge points out and returns the book. It sounds friendly and unsuspecting but who would his friends be if they left it at that?

“He also drew you butt naked”, Mute announces helpfully, “but since he hasn’t actually seen you fully nude, he botched your dick size. Way too small.”

“Yeah, you should rectify that and show him.”

“Oh, of course, meet me after work”, Sledge addresses Glaz with a good-natured grin and a wink to which the other two burst out into laughter.

Glaz wants to evaporate into thin air. It’s painfully obvious that Sledge thinks they’re joking yet all the younglings are just as painfully aware that they’re not, that Glaz did try to draw him like that and Mute found it and really, it’s his own fault for hiding it in plain sight, meaning under a loose floorboard that can only be moved once his bed is pushed aside inside a box with a lock whose key Glaz keeps on his person at all times. How irresponsible of him.

“It’s probably the fact that he always draws during breaks and since he’s usually here, he draws what he sees”, Rook explains to Glaz’ instant suspicion. It’s a good excuse, lacking any euphemisms or second thoughts, so there has to be something -

“Yeah, why are you here all the time recently?”

He stares at Mute who meets his gaze with an irritating smirk. He’s basically forcing his hand. “Because I’ve developed a sudden craving for tea”, he grits out unwillingly, making Sledge spring into action.

“That’s right, I almost forgot!” The Scotsman turns away and picks up his argument with Tachanka again while he sets out to boil some filtered water and Glaz buries his head in his hands.

“I hate you both so fucking much”, he whispers to gleeful giggling.

“We brought you some presents, by the way.” They quickly reach into their pockets and begin stuffing Glaz’ with their contents, wrappers crinkling and he realises with growing horror what they are. “Hopefully, you’ll need ‘em someday.”

“Are you nuts?! You can’t – take them back, you Neanderthals!”

“But we have no use for them”, Rook protests and shoves them deeper into Glaz’ pockets, swatting his hands away, “they’re the biggest size, you’re the only one who realistically -”

“It’s all you need, I’ve discovered his lube stash but figured you might not wanna get frosted right away -”

“Oh my God, shut up”, Glaz hisses exasperatedly and probably would have thrown both of them off the bench hadn’t Sledge returned right then and set down two cups of tea on the table in front of them. He’s too mortified to even thank him, his ears burning and his mind conjuring up entirely inappropriate images that only exacerbate the whole situation.

“You don’t take sugar either, do you?”, Sledge asks Mute and is granted a sweet smile in return.

“No, but like Glaz, I take cream.”

A questioning glance to the Russian whose embarrassment is approaching critical levels. “I don’t – I’ll drink it like this. As always. Uh, thanks.” He can’t stand tea. Another bullet point on the very long list of things that, unfortunately, Rook and Mute know but Sledge doesn’t, and so they never miss an opportunity to remind him of his ‘newfound love’ of the swill. Additionally, Glaz made the mistake in the beginning to claim he drank it pure, like Sledge, in an entirely misguided attempt to impress him. It did work, to an extent, but he still curses himself for it because he’s had to drink a cup almost every day for the past few weeks now.

“Oh? I thought you loved cream”, Mute says innocently. “My mistake. Maybe you’ll start having it eventually.”

Glaz is starting to tip over into a murderous rage but is momentarily distracted by the fact that Rook wordlessly drops a few sugar cubes into his tea as soon as Sledge isn’t watching for which he is eternally grateful yet also deeply confused. “Why in the world do you have those?”

“Are you alright, boy?”, a booming voice is directed at him all of a sudden, making him jump. “You’re so red in the face, are you sick?”

“I’m fine, don’t worry, it’s just a bit warm -”

“It’s not warm at all, what are you talking about?” Tachanka is undeterred and ignores Glaz even though he repeatedly insists that he’s alright. “Nonsense, you’re never this red. Do you have a fever? Seamus, check whether my boy has a fever.”

But Sledge, the absolute angel, must’ve noticed something, probably a cry for help in Glaz’ eyes or just his general distress because he not only refuses but also compliments Tachanka out of the room, saving Glaz the indignity of a prolonged interrogation during which he’d either have to lie repeatedly or shoot himself in the face afterwards. He thinks he’s safe for exactly two and a half seconds, then a broad hand comes to rest on his forehead unexpectedly. The touch is gentle and the hazel eyes looking down at him soft and Glaz swoons. “Doesn’t feel like a fever”, Sledge murmurs, “if you feel fine, it’s probably nothing.”

While he walks back to the counter to clean and tidy, Glaz is still stunned by the fact that a simple gesture could incapacitate him like this, make him forget all about his surroundings and just wallow in his daydreams that are sweet and lovely and - “Oh, look at the time”, Mute mumbles next to him, “it’s time for your knickers to get wet.” And he knocks over his own cup of tea.

He does it so strategically that almost all of it sloshes over Glaz, soaks his t-shirt and trousers and yes, his underwear too. He’s lucky it’s not too hot anymore but he curses colourfully regardless, attempts to jump up but only hits his knees on the table until Rook takes pity on him and gets up so he can escape the dripping mess – and it only registers after Sledge’s words why Mute would do this.

“Are you alright? Did you burn yourself? Stand still.” He’s by Glaz’ side immediately, rubbing his trousers with a towel and Glaz is too shocked to react or shy away from the touch when it reaches his pockets, making them crinkle audibly. “Ah, you’d better empty your pockets, lad.”

And Glaz wants to perish.

#rainbow six siege #sledge #glaz #sledge/glaz #fanfic #oneshot #rook I am so sorry you don't deserve this #glaz you do though #you brought this on yourself

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ramdomddadds · 6 years

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Dream daddy ask: dino-nerd dadsona

He was a nerd wasn’t he?

So, um... holly motherfucking cow, I just remembered how much I love acurate, updated dinosaur stuff, and how it could fit the dream daddy fandom?

so, yeah.

I know I’m such a nerd and I’m so late to the fandom but I had fun writing this and here it is

-ROBERT

He notices how fast you get to withling, and how you always make some animal.

He also notices how interested you are in anything supernatural, But always fiting the science factor in there. Like how it could be that jakelopes exist, and they could crosbreed with hares but not bunnyes becouse they are too diferent or how the yeti could be a distant relative of the orangutan...

Or how you are pasionated about movie making too, but prefer realistic stuff, but he says nothing, because he likes silence.

Then, one day, he comes over for movie and pizza, and he finds it: notebooks.

Notebooks all over the house.

There are three different notebooks on the stack of the tea table. One, opened, on the big table at the dinner room. Another one somewere on the kitchen, and many, intersected with books, on the shelves across the house.

With the excuse that it was open and in the same room, he takes the one in the big table, and flips over it.

Its filled with drawings, sketches, notes and doodles of people, planst and animals.

There’s him, and betsy, so thats… there. Theres a lot of Amanda… and many, many animals.

It calls his atention that many of the drawings fit conversations they had.

MC hadn’t hear speak of the dover ghost before he met Robert, but here they were: pages and pages of sketches and different designs of how the dover ghost may look like.

Some of them were more animal-like, others where very human, and other were made of shadow, the mark of the pencil, smugled with the author’s fingers to make it look like smoke. A chill climbed up Robert’s spine when he came across a particular drawing that did look just the way he remembered it, dragging something behind.

There were steps behind him.

“…Robert?”

Ups. MC was back in the room, and he had his nose deep within the sketchbook. Robert concentrated in another drawing, one that was very common, and odd.

Robert lifted his gaze.

“…dinosausr, with feathers?”

“Oh fuck, Robert! Uh…”

Robert held his gaze, smirking

“Yes. Yes, ok? Dinosaurs with feathers. I can explain it”

Robert closed the notebook, but held it as he crosed his legs, leaning in the table

“Im listening”

And he kept listening as MC went on and on, telling him how come dinosaurs actually had feathers, and the remains of them that could still be found in birds, and so many little fascinating facts, with such passion, similar to when Robert himself told intrinsek made up stories.

He smiled. This could be so much fun

-DAMIEN

He was delighted, with MC’s appreciation of his abode. He even said he felt sorry for the dead butterflyes, but still appreciated the beauty of his colection, and the work that went into it.

As soon as they were sitting at the couch, he had asked for the skulls placed across the room.

They walked over to them and talked about fosils. MC tried to guess the species and origin of the bones, and if he did not get the exact thing, he could deduce a lot from looking at them.He took a bit longer to mention the feathers issue. It was nice to have interests in common with Damien and he didn’t want to ruin it with the stupid argument of the feathers.

Of course the day came. They went to the movies, and Damien turned out to be very scared! MC held his hand and rambled on and on of how unrealistic they were, and why some choices were made, and later on the conversation developed into a very popular, clasic movie:

Jurassic park.

“Most raptor species were smaller but there was one or two species the size of the ones in the movie, in wich they were inspired… but they had feathers, all of them, including the T-rex”

“Wait, what?”

“Ups. Uh… see…”

And it was down hill from there.

-CRAIG

When MC got to the BQ and saw Craig waving from across the yard, he recogniced an SOS call. His buddy needed him.

“Dude, I have no idea what is going on”

MC listened quietly for a moment and then leaned onto Craig and wispered to him

“Moustachasaurus is asking a simple question. Rastasaurodon misinterprets it and makes stuff way more complicated thatn it is. Both monsters engage in an eternal loop of bloodshed, a battle of giants. Is the dress blue or yellow? Are best cats or dogs? Pineapple or pineappleless?”

Craig gigles and covers his mouth, wile looking at the two men arguing in front of him.

Hugo tells Mat why he thinks you can not compare two pictures from different moments in history, but when Mat repeats the question, down they go again.

“Moustachasaurus displays his extense knolege of taking pics throu the ages and Rastasaurodon tries to scape, but Moustachasaurus attacks from behind and they engage in tragic battle again. It must be mating season or something”

Craig breaks into laughter, distracting the two men with glasses, and pretends he was having an innocent conversation with MC

“Do you remember how into dinosaurs we were?”

Oh no

He’s got a funny, smug look. Its a trap! ABORT! ABORT!

“eh… were?”

“Bro”

“Broooo what do you think the tyranosaurus rex did with those tiny arms?”

“Don’t do it bro. I found out. You won’t like it”

“I need to know bro”

“noo”

“Tell me, MC Tell me…”

Craig held him by the shirt and roughly wispered in his ear

“What were those tiny claws for?”

“Mhhh huu aaaah FEATHERS”

Craig stepped back, shock written all over his face

“Bro… not you too”

“Im sorry Craig. It is true”

“No… its impossible. It can not be!”

“The t-rex had feathers. He probabbly had fluffy and colofull arms for display, when fighting for terrytory… and mating”

“Nooooo!”

“I would never lie to you, bro. It is true”

“…the velociraptor too?”

“…specially the velociraptor”

-JOSEPH

MC tried not to talk about it in front of Joseph. He just didn’t know how he would take it, being religious and all. Until…

Joseph has a yatch. OMG. He has a yacht.

Before they got off the shore, MC was already creeping him out.

“I just love the sea. It holds so many misteries… do you have interest in all of the marine life? Why would you own a boat if not?”

“hehe, I just enjoy the fantasy of sailing aways into the sunset… just the sea and I”

“But its not just the sea and you. There’s the giant squid. You knew that? its real. They are out there”

“Shh, don’t be afraid. I will protect you”

“No, Im not afraid, Im fascinated! There’s so much we don’t know about the sea, I mean, it is the origin of all life…!”

And then, an akward silence

…he was nervous, ok?

“uh… I mean, after God put it there, of course”

“…right”

“…sorry. There’s not a door we can close and open again this time”

Joseph laughts, maybe to make it a bit less akward

“Actually, speaking of marine life, we may see whales”

“Whales!”

“And dolphins”

“Oh my god, really? Do you see them ofthen?”

“Yeah. You are interested on them? you know they can be cruel right? They drown theyr babys for fun…”

“Oh no, they don’t. Dolphins are some of the most inteligent and social creatures out there. If they ever do that is as a punishent to a misbehabing child, or to teach them to survive when they have trouble. Of course they can go mad or try murder too but it is…”

Joseph was staring at him in disbelief

“…rare. …uh. …yeah”

“Wow”

“hmh. Did you know dinosaurs had feathers? Why do you think they died?”

“…what?”

-MAT

Mat is such a dork. And he babbles. Its adorable! I guess I feel less self-concious near someone who’s also self-concious.

…ok.

He starts talking about music. I don’t know much about music, but it is nice and sweet and Mat knows lots of stuff and it brings memories from a while back, so it is easy to listen and just roll with it.

Speaking of wich.

Retro music reminds me of retro stuff.

And that reminds me of Dinosaurs, and how awful and fake they looked back then.

“What you talking about, man, dinosaurs are cool. …I think”

“Yeah, but, compare the ones in black and white movies with Jurassic park”

“Oh, yeah. Thats the stuff”

“Ok, now let me tell you: jurassic park is now outdated too. Dinosaurs did not look like that”

“what!?”

Mat lays down and listens in awe to me babling abut the found proof that dinosaurs had feathers, and not only that, but also also spikes and colorfull crests and shiny scales, and the misterious noises they may had made. Even the spinoaurus from the third movie, turns out it didn’t walk on two feet. I start realising Im babling a bit too much, but he just looks at me with his sweet, big brown eyes and smiles

“maaaan. I feel so old”

“well, look at the bright side. Not as old as those fossiles”

-HUGO

Going to the acuarium with Hugo was an exciting adventure. And I got to awe a bunch of kids with my extense trivia about penguins, while he got some kid out of the penguin enclosure. How did she get in there? oh well.

Trivia nights were also fun. Hugo and I make a good team and there’s lots of cheese!

It was the dawn of a new era. It really started the time the quizz master got some wrestling trivia wrong, and Hugo went head over hills for it.

I went for all the natural history and nature ones.

Thats what I told him when he showed he his colection.

“Don’t be ashamed of this, man. Remember how I get when Master quizz talks about dinosaurs?”

“Oh. …OH. Oh, boy”

“Oh yeah. I too, have a dark seecret”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. …but, what could it be? You are just very educated about nature. It is interesting, many people enjoy the nature channel”

I was giving him a mischevous look

“It goes deeper than that”

Hugo looks at me in the eyes and then carasses his chin before daring to ask

“…how deep is that?”

I walk closer to him, wrestling belt over my shoulder

“Remember you asked”

He doesn’t moves, but gulps when I wisper on his ear

“Dinosaurs had feathers”

“… what?”

“And shiny scales, and colorfull crests, and they made all shorts of music”

“Whait, what, for real?”

“And not all of them went extinct. Not only crocodiles and turtles survived. It has been proved: the birds that we have today descend from dinosaurs like raptors and relatives of the t-rex. Thats why they call it the extintion of the non-aviar dinosaurs now”

“…for real? I… didn’t know that”

“and there was a period, the triasic, when nature was on drugs, and it produced all kinds of crazy stuff!!”

“Say waaaat?” Said his kid, Ernest, standing in the door. How much did he listen?

-BRIAN

“oh, is that a dinosaur book?” said MC, and Amanda turned in horror.

“Oh no”

“yes, it is” Said Daisy, with a wide smile “I wish we were studing theese in class, but they don’t talk much about fosiles, just rocks…”

Brian laughted proudly. “Daisy is not happy with all they teach in class. She is always looking for books with extra stuff…”

Only then he noticed Amanda frantically denying with her head, and making ‘cut it’ gestures. He then looked back at MC. It was too late.

He was sitting next to Daisy, pointing at pictures in the dinosaur book.

“Ok, you know this one?”

“Yeah, that’s a brachiosaurus”

“The long-neck one” added Brian “That one’s easy”

“yeah, but it did not look like that. Book is a bit outdated. New data travels faster online. See, look at the skull. Now, where are the holes of the nose?”

Daisy thoug for a moment.

“… they are… above its eyes? On the top of the forehead?”

“Exactly. Now, don’t you think that’s a bit weird? Having such a wide, weird nose, and a big mouth way apart? Something’s missing”

“Yeah…?”

“Ok, now look at the skull of an elephant”

MC took out his phone and showed her pictures

“… it doesn’t have a nose! And the cavities are huge and… oh my god!”

“Exactly. The trumpet is big and important, but it has no bones. If someone found the fosil of an elephant, but never saw one, they would draw him without a trumpet”

“Like it happened to the brachiosaurus. It had a trumpet! Dad!”

Brian nearly flinched. He was barely catching up

“The brachiosaurus had a trumpet, dad! Can you believe it?”

Brian looked at Amanda. She was scrolling throu her phone like nothing was going on.

“actually, not necesary a trumpet, see…”

Daisy turned her attention fully back to MC

“They are both big hervibores, but the brachiosaurus had a very long neck. It didn’t need a long trumpet. …kind of like a giraff. Have you seen what they do?”

Daisy denied. MC was already playing a video of a giraff using its lips, and loong, sticky toung to catch things and eat them.

“it probably didn’t have a trumpet. Nor a long tounge, but there was definetly something important on its nose, wich it probably used for eating and for singing, kinda like cows do, and maybe it was colorful, or diferent between males and females…”

“wooow! It is a big feature, why they don’t use it in movies?”

“see, it is kind of risky, to design such an extrange animal, so they play it easy and just cover the skull with skin. And that’s not all”

“there is more!?”

“this animals had spikes all over their tails, wich have been found incrusted in the skull of predators like the T-rex”

“Wooah!”

“Don’t feel left out” Amanda said to Brian, seeing that the poor guy needed some company “he can’t help it, loves the stuff. Just make sure you can handle it before letting him anywere near the museum”

“uh… ok”

“And whatever you do, never ask about dinosaurs with feathers” she wispered this “You will never hear the end of it”

#dream Daddy #DDADDS #ask #dinosaurs #nerd #dinosaurs had feathers #dinosaur facts #nerd dadsona

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burr-ell · 6 years

Text

when suddenly i saw you

notes at the end

Alright.

Let's do this.

Her eyes scanned the room at a rapid-fire pace, in search of her next target. Only the best would do for this one, as always. Her standards were high, and those who could meet them were a rare breed indeed. It would be worth it, though, in the end. Her efforts had never failed her.

She turned, and her gaze fell upon a young man directly next to her. She raised her eyebrows, momentarily betraying her surprise, but the look passed as quickly as it had come. Found you.

She grabbed her pencil and set to sketching.

He was in a really nice pose, slouched over the bookstore's café bar on a stool, all loose arms and gently sloping back, his long black hair almost artfully draped over his face. She was big enough to admit that, once her gesture was done, she took her time carving out the features of his face, the time she spent studying him enough for her to take in the sharp angles that smoothed out into subtle curves. His eyebrows seemed to be set at a resolutely downward angle, but there was nothing inherently harsh in his eyes, which were an unusual shade of indigo. He didn't seem unfriendly, necessarily—just driven, focused on the textbook in front of him, which seemed to be for an introductory physics course.

Her pencil moved, almost unconsciously, down the paper to rough in the folds of his plaid button-down, but she kept being drawn back to his face. He had an air about him suggesting that he probably intimidated most people, but Allura wasn't bothered by that. In looks, perhaps, he was human, but she'd traveled the universe enough with her parents to recognize a part-Galra when she saw one.

A part-Galra who was currently closing his book and bringing up his bag to put his belongings away.

Nononononono no no "No!"

The boy looked over at her, startled in the middle of dropping his book into his bag, where it fell with a loud thump. "What?"

Allura felt her blood chill. I said that out loud I said that out loud I said that out loud—"I'm so sorry, I just—I was in the middle of drawing you and you moved."

The boy raised his eyebrows. "Sorry. Are you an art major?"

"Well, no," Allura admitted, "I'm political science and intergalactic cultures. My father thought it'd be a good idea for me to take an art class, though, and one of our assignments is to keep a life-drawing sketchbook throughout the semester."

"Oh, okay." He sat down, unzipped his bag, and pulled out his book again. "Just tell me when I'm in the right pose again."

"I—what?" Her eyes widened. "You don't have to do that—"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It's not a big deal."

"Oh. Well, um…thank you."

Conscious of the fact that people tended to have places to go when they packed away their belongings, Allura did her best to work quickly, and she'd finished the hand she'd already roughed in within about two minutes. "That's good," she said.

"You sure?" he asked.

"Yes, it's all supposed to be done within a few minutes anyway." She smiled. "Thank you; that was very kind."

He closed up the book again. "Not a problem."

She took a look at the cover. Yep, introductory physics. "So are you a physics major?"

He shook his head. "Aerospace engineering. I'm Keith, by the way."

"I'm Allura." She extended a hand, and he took it and shook. He had a firm handshake, which was a pleasant surprise. She had encountered many Earthlings, and many of them had never quite perfected the art.

He smiled. (He had a nice smile.) "Yeah, I kinda figured. It's not that hard to recognize Alfor's daughter."

She frowned. "How do you know of my father? Do you travel to the Altean system often?"

Keith raised his eyebrows. "Your dad's the pilot of the Red Lion, isn't he?"

"Oh. I mean—yes, he is." It surprised her; had her father been a famous actor, more people might have taken notice, but she'd used the fact that most people outside of the Altean system didn't recognize the Red Paladin's daughter to her advantage in selecting a university. War heroes rarely attracted the glamour that celebrities did, even if they led a planet if it was far from where others would have heard of them. "Most people here don't seem to notice, to be honest."

Keith considered this. "I guess it makes sense. Olkarion's in a totally different galaxy, and most kids at OU might not recognize an Altean at first glance. Is that why you came out here?" he added shrewdly.

Allura raised her eyebrows, surprised but not displeased. This boy was sharp. "Yes," she answered. "I wanted to go someplace where I wouldn't get special treatment because I'm the daughter of King Alfor, so I could concentrate on my education." She tipped her head to one side. "You're from Earth, I assume?"

"Yep. My dad's full human, but my mom's Galra. She was actually part of the coalition that made first contact with Earth and started settling there when she met my dad." He smiled fondly. "I heard all kinds of stories about Voltron. The Red Lion sounded like the coolest one."

"It is," she blurted out, stopping herself from adding I've ridden in it. She doubted that bragging about being able to hitch a ride on one of the ships that regularly kept peace throughout the universe would endear her to many people.

"Yeah, well, you're biased," he said with a small laugh. "But I really wanted to go into space travel. I'm actually here on the International Spaceflight Merit Scholarship from Earth."

"Really?" Allura had heard talk of scholarships like this, but getting into Olkarion University on a scholarship competed for by the inhabitants of an entire planet was hardly an easy feat. "You must be an excellent pilot."

Keith shrugged. "I mean, sure, I'm good, but so are a lot of people. That's why I wanted to come here, so I could be challenged and train with the best. I dunno if you can ever really stop getting better at something, y'know?"

Allura smiled. "You certainly sound like a Galra. Zarkon's always saying things like that."

"Yeah, I get that a lot." He smiled. "So what are you wanting to do?"

"I want to become an intergalactic diplomat," replied Allura, unable to keep the pride from her voice as she lifted her chin. "I want to help keep peace between planets, and lead my own people to understand and accept other cultures. I do enjoy piloting, though."

"Nothing like it in the whole universe." His smile became fond, his eyes sparking with energy. "But I think being a diplomat is a good job to have. Planets need self-assured people leading them."

Allura let out a small huff through her nose before she could stop herself. "I don't hear that a lot. Most people seem to get turned off when I say things like that."

Keith frowned. "Why would they?"

Allura sighed. "I don't know. I think some people are simply surprised that someone so young is so determined to do something so important, and I think they think I'm being too idealistic and that I'll give it up later when I see how hard it is."

"There's nothing wrong with knowing who you are and what you want," Keith argued.

"Exactly!" said Allura. "I know how cultures that seemed so peaceful can end up at war with each other, and there need to be people to de-escalate the situation and resolve differences before it can turn violent, and if they do fight, there need to be people who can negotiate fairly."

"Well, yeah, definitely! And who'll be able to do it if nobody has confidence in the people who want to do it just because of how old they are?"

"Story of my life," Allura remarked with a roll of her eyes.

Keith opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a tritone beep from his pocket, and he pulled out his phone. "Oh, it's my roommate. I forgot I need to help clean out our dorm." He stuffed the physics book haphazardly into his backpack. "It was really nice to meet you, Princess."

"Just Allura is fine," Allura said automatically. She said it to everyone, but she somehow really wanted Keith to avoid using formalities with her.

Keith paused for a second, pressing his lips together, then nodded, a small smile on his face. "Alright. Nice to meet you, Allura."

Allura smiled. "Nice to meet you, too, Keith." She paused awkwardly as he zipped up the bag. It shouldn't be a hard question to ask, and it was one she had indeed asked of many people, but somehow it seemed so much more insurmountable a task with this boy. She forced her mouth open. "I—could I have your number?"

Keith looked startled. "Er—sure, I guess. Y-yeah, okay."

"I, um. I thought we could maybe get together for coffee or—or something. If—if you'd like." She held up her own phone, the reinforced glass feeling a lot heavier than usual in her hands.

"Yeah," he said, taking the phone and fumbling to tap in his number. "I—sure, sounds good. Here, I'll give you my phone—"

"Oh, yes, of course."

They exchanged numbers, then handed the devices back to each other. Keith shouldered his backpack and turned. "Bye, Princ—Allura." He waved to her as he walked off.

"Bye, Keith." Allura returned the wave, then realized she was still standing and sat back down hastily.

She turned back to the sketchbook, which had been laid forgotten on the table. It was open to the drawing of Keith, and she felt warmth blossoming up her arms. Tearing her eyes away from this page would take some doing, and it had nothing to do with the quality of the sketch.

basically this is a smörgåsbord mish-mash of aus, including but not limited to “what if zarkon and honerva never went mad on quintessence”, “what if the original paladins were alive during the modern age with the current paladins”, “what if earth knew about aliens and there was a whole international confederation and, as part of this, institutions of higher learning were built on several planets where students from everywhere in the universe could attend so going to college off-planet ain’t no thang”, “what if keith’s parents were both still in his life”, and “what if allura took an art class”.

#kallura #kallura positivity #keith #allura #voltron #my writing

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