#i don’t even know what you’re referencing maybe i tapped in too late either way bruhhhhhhhhhhhhh

[georgeeehd]

if george is gonna get cooked for the speculation aspect (even though he did in fact apologize to caiti) then caiti is gonna get eaten alive for the 21+ bracelet lie. this is a very shit situation

18 year olds saur stupid wbk 😭

[paperpocalypse]

pb & m.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You”: 4. Making their favorite meal when they are having a hard day.

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader 

Word Count: 2,749 words

Warnings: Referenced animal death/gore

“Are you sure he’s okay?”

Klaus sighs loudly, bringing his foot up to his face with practiced ease. “He’s probably just stewing over his training again,” the boy says, flexing his toes gingerly before blowing on his big toe. You purse your lips at his words, screwing the cap of black nail polish shut, and Klaus looks up at you from underneath his eyelashes. “It’s Five, [Y/n]. You should see him when you leave for the weekend. Total shut in.”

“But he hasn’t even come down for lunch or supper.” Setting the nail polish down, you tuck your knees up towards your chest, brow furrowing. “I mean, he doesn’t usually do that, does he?”

“I dunno. Sometimes!” Klaus exclaims, throwing his hands up. “You know, he talks all the time about what a mess I am, but he’s hardly more functional than me.”

You frown at him, eyes narrowing. “You don’t skip meals when I’m gone, do you?”

He waves you off. “Of course not. But that’s not the point. The point is, Five is a broody boy obsessed with his powers, so don’t be surprised if he wants to be alone for a day or a week.”

“He’s not a loner.”

“Well, he tries to be more sociable when you’re here.”

“No.” You pause, resting a cheek on one knee. “I’d still like him even if he wasn’t.”

Klaus just raises his eyebrows, sending another gust of air toward his toes.

The black and red stripes on his nails are settling quite nicely, but the success doesn’t make you as proud as it usually would. You chew your lip and look at the closed door. Normally, during this time in the late evenings, you wouldn’t be surprised if Five blinked through, supposedly to take back something Klaus had snuck from his room or to make sure neither of you “had died” – though you’ve always had the sneaking suspicion that he just wanted to hang out with you and Klaus, since he’d stay a little longer after confirming that you and Klaus were, in fact, still alive. No such visit tonight. In fact, you’ve barely seen him all day.

The thought dampens your mood quite a bit.

The next thing you know, Klaus propels himself to a stand.

“Where are you going?” you ask, blinking as he stretches and gives you a particular look.

“More like where are you going,” he replies, sighing. He grabs a hold of your wrist and starts tugging. “If you’re going to pine after Five all night, you might as well do something about it. Go … pop in and see what he’s up to.”

Break into Five’s room? Even though it’s tempting, you shake your head vigorously, ignoring the pining part. “You said he wanted to be alone. He might get mad at me.”

“He can’t get mad at you. He’d die of guilt.”

Klaus continues to pull on your arm until you’re sure it’ll come off if you stay on the floor. You give him an imploring look as you stand up, though the thought of checking up on Five is sounding more and more necessary by the second.

“Klaus –”

All the boy does is say your name right back as he throws the door open, nudging you outside into the dimly lit hallway. “Go have your quality time and come back when you’re done.”

“Are you sure –”

“He’ll be ecstatic. Especially if I’m not there.” And with that, Klaus shoos you off with a smile, closing the door.

Now alone, you look down the empty hallway, feeling mildly exposed and hoping that Five doesn’t come down the stairs right at this moment. There’s no doubt in your mind that you’re going to go up there, but … it’d make more sense if Klaus checked up on him, wouldn’t it? No matter how well you get along with Five, he and Klaus are brothers. They know each other a lot better than you probably ever will.

You should get him some food.

Inhaling sharply, you turn on your heel and make your way down the stairs, trying to make much less noise than you usually would – though you doubt anybody would care too much about a squeaking step, travelling through the Hargreeves mansion, especially down to the kitchen at night, still makes you wary of making your presence too big sometimes.

The air gets a bit chillier as you descend the last stretch of stairs leading to the basement, going faster as you get closer to the ground. Strangely, the lights in the kitchen are already on; you skip the last step and hurry through the gaping hole in the wall, curious.

Number Seven looks up from the table as you enter the kitchen, her surprised expression mirroring yours.

“Vanya?” you blurt.

She opens her mouth, then closes it, and you look down at the ingredients spread across the table. A jar of peanut butter, a half-finished bag of wonder bread. A bag of marshmallows – the mini ones used for rice krispies. Intrigued, you venture closer. You didn’t know Vanya had a sweet tooth.

(Suddenly, you realize that you don’t know much about her at all.)

“What are you doing down here?” you ask as you approach the table.

She looks at you, still a bit wide-eyed, then looks down at the slice of bread in her hand. “Um,” she starts, then pushes forward, “I was … Five missed dinner and lunch, so I was going to make him something to eat.”

“Really?” You beam, glad that she had the same idea. You could go together. “So was I. Mind if I help?”

For a moment, Vanya hesitates. But then she nods cautiously, smiling a little, and you give a thumbs up and head over to the utensil drawer. Opening it up, you take a moment to try to attract one of the butter knives to your hand, but after it does nothing more than quiver a bit, you sigh and pick it up with a finger.

“Five really likes peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches,” Vanya explains when you walk back to the table. “They’re his favorite.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

You fetch a bread slice from the bag and set it on the cutting board, then, after peeking over at Vanya’s work, scoop up a big glob of peanut butter and slather it onto the bread. She sprinkles some marshmallows on top of hers and squishes another slice on top of the marshmallows. You follow her lead exactly. The minute or two that you spend making the sandwich are all wordless, very unlike when you and Klaus are together, but you find yourself enjoying them either way.

“Maybe we could bring him a drink, too? What do you think?” you ask.

She nods. “There’s apple juice in the fridge.”

—

The presentation isn’t anything fancy, but it gets the job done, and you get the task of carrying the cup of apple juice while Vanya holds onto the sandwiches.

“I hope it’s okay,” Vanya murmurs after she knocks on Five’s door, shifting on her feet.

Even though you’re wondering the same thing, you instinctively nod your head. “Don’t worry,” you whisper back. “We did a good job.”

She looks over at you out of the corner of her eye and manages a small smile in return. Right after that, the door opens.

You immediately feel a bit better upon seeing Five; however, the happiness gives way to concern when you see his expression.

Five looks at the two of you, then at the plate in Vanya’s hands and the cup in yours, before speaking.

“Now’s not a good time.”

His tone isn’t cruel or dismissive. But it is a little dry, and very heavy and tired, and you bite your lip to keep yourself from telling him so.

Vanya’s face falls.

You’re unable to stay quiet any longer when both siblings’ gazes move away from the other. “Five,” you say, reaching out to touch Five’s shoulder gently. “Vanya’s been really worried about you. And me, too. We, um, wanted to bring you something to eat.”

The boy glances at Vanya again, who seems to have shrunk a little but still nods, and to your relief, his lips purse. He finally backs away from the door to let the two of you through.

“I’m not hungry,” he says, heading back to his desk. “… But thanks.”

Trailing after Vanya, you inspect Five’s room as you walk in. The walls are already crammed with chalky equations and notes and graphs, none of which you can begin to understand. When you look over at the corner where Five is, you spot the wastebasket next to his desk, filled to the brim with crumpled notebook paper.  Klaus was partly right, you think with worry. You’re not completely surprised.

You make your way over to Five and put the cup of apple juice on his desk, right next to the plate of peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches. “You need to eat to think better,” you plead when he looks at you. “Right, Vanya?”

“I put lots of marshmallows,” she adds. “And I showed [Y/n] how to make one for you too.”

“I might’ve put too much peanut butter,” you mutter, scratching the back of your neck.

“That’s fine.”

You crack your brightest grin. “Famous last words, Five.”

He shrugs and turns back to his work. The two of you wait expectantly, albeit somewhat awkwardly, watching Five stare at his math and the textbook propped up against the wall in front of him. The end of his pen taps against the open pages of his notebook: tap tap tap tap tap. But he doesn’t write. You don’t think he even blinks. Troubled, you share a glance with Vanya; this time, it’s she who nods at you, reassuring.

Finally, Five sighs and puts his pen down. You don’t know if you’re glad or feel bad for it. Maybe both.

“Do you want us to leave?” Vanya ventures to ask.

He shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “Stay,” he mutters, standing up. He picks up the cup of apple juice and takes a gulp, then grabs the plate and strides across the room to his bed. “Just in case my jaw is glued shut from [Y/n]’s sandwich.”

Vanya suppresses a snort. Your mouth drops open.

“Hey!”

Still, the joke – a Five joke, but a joke nonetheless – brings a cautious but real smile to your face as Five sits on the edge of his bed, taking a bite out of one of the sandwiches. You don’t know which one is yours and which one is Vanya’s. Not that it matters, unless his jaw really does get glued shut because of the peanut butter. You’ll shoulder the blame in that case.

(… Could your jaw get glued shut from peanut butter?)

You gravitate toward the bed as Five eats, sitting down next to him; Vanya lingers by the desk a little longer, and you wave her over.

“Come sit, Vanya.”

She looks between the two of you, then obliges, going over to sit on the other side of Five. She rests her hands on top of the comforter, leaning back on them as Five finishes the first sandwich and starts on the next one.

“We barely saw you after joint training,” you say after a minute or so of watching him polish off one half of the sandwich. Not hungry, he said. His actions definitely say otherwise. “Have you been working all day?”

He gives a brief, affirming grunt.

Taking that as a sign to go on, you swing your legs slightly back and forth. “I missed seeing you,” you say.

You think you see Vanya’s expression shift in your peripheral, but she turns her head before you can make sure. You also think Five stops chewing for a split second, but there shouldn’t be a reason for him to be surprised, so you’re probably just imagining things.

Five is your friend. Of course you’d miss seeing him if he disappeared all day.

In any case, he finally speaks again once there’s just a single piece of crust left; and when he does, his voice is so low that you wonder if he’s talking to himself.

“I had a drawback today.”

Vanya furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

Five stares down at the last scrap of crust, picking at a loose crumb. It falls onto the plate. “I could blink with mice on my first try. So Dad wanted me to blink with a dog today.” His voice remains low. “And I …”

For the first time today – and perhaps even this month – you witness Five’s expression crumple just the slightest bit. An uneasy feeling squirms in your chest.

“I botched it.”

“It’s … it’s okay, Five,” you try to comfort, “I’m sure you tried your –”

He shakes his head, cutting you off with a glare. “No,” he snaps, “you don’t get it. I botched it. I blinked with the dog and it turned inside out.”

Vanya’s eyes widen.

Your stomach turns.

So that’s why. Biting your lip, you stare at Five, horrified, trying desperately not to imagine what that had looked like. What that had felt like. Inside out. Sir Hargreeves doesn’t care for animals, you know that, but you didn’t think – you don’t know why you didn’t –

“I’m sorry, Five,” Vanya whispers as you hug Five, her voice shaky. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugs blandly, and you tighten your hold, feeling how tense he actually is. “Intentions don’t mean anything if you screw it up in the end.”

He finishes the crust, moving away from your hug to put the plate on his nightstand. Vanya wipes her eyes. When he comes back, you reach for his hand and squeeze it.

“Thanks for telling us, Five,” you tell him softly.

If Five looked tired before, now he seems utterly drained. But the tension seems to have ebbed. Just a little. And after a few seconds, he squeezes your hand back; well, not really a squeeze, but his fingers tighten, just barely, around yours. He meets your eyes and you smile a small smile.

Vanya gives her brother a brief hug, then stands up. “We should go,” she tells you reluctantly, glancing at the alarm clock. “Dad’s going to check our rooms soon.”

Dammit, you hate curfew. “Yeah, you’re right.” You pull away, not quite liking how cold your hand feels when you let go. Quickly weighing your options, you wrap your arms around Five one last time and give him a quick peck on the cheek before standing up as well. “See you tomorrow, Five. Try to get some sleep?”

He just shrugs, looking at the equations on his wall. Oh. Hopefully, you think as you grab Vanya’s hand and open the door, you didn’t make him too uncomfortable. The door creaks loudly and you cringe.

With one last “goodbye” from the two of you, which he returns in a murmur, you and Vanya hurry out of Five’s room and head quietly down the stairs.

“I hope he feels better,” you whisper, letting go of Vanya’s hand to hold onto the railing.

“I think he does. A little bit, at least.”

You reach the bottom, hesitating before saying what’s on your mind. “Um, Vanya?”

“Mhmm?”

“You know Five really well, right?”

The girl blinks, then smiles a little proudly. “… Oh, well, I guess so.”

“Does Five not like hugs?” you worry. “I just – I kinda do it without thinking, you know, and I think I might’ve made him uncomfortable back there.”

Vanya stares at you openly for a moment, tilting her head. “Not usually,” she eventually responds. Then a corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “But … I think he likes yours.”

“Oh.” That makes you feel better. “That’s good.”

“You should ask him later, though.”

“Yeah, I will.”

Footsteps lighter, you head to your room across from the stairs and twist the doorknob, then stop short. That’s right – Klaus wanted you to come back after you visited Five. Gnawing the inside of your cheek, you figure that you’ll need to talk to him tomorrow morning, not wanting extra repetitions for loitering in the hallway. He’ll understand.

Pushing the door open, you look back at Vanya. “’Night, Vanya.”

She smiles, and you feel the warm glow of a newfound camaraderie with the seventh sibling.

“’Night.”

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

(Un)Wanted Part 1

Read on Ao3 

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden. 

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks. 

Word Count: 11,250

He’s running. He’s running, he doesn’t know what from anymore, all he knows is that they’re chasing him, they’re after him, he has to run—

 He tears through the cold forest. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see where he’s going anymore, it doesn’t matter that the branches reach out and tear at his clothes, at his legs, at his arms. The cuts sting in the cold wind as he runs. His feet slap against the ground, too ungainly to dodge the smaller roots but just quick enough to swerve around the bigger ones. He glances over his shoulder. Can’t see them. Can’t see anything. Run. Run. Run. 

 The trees get thicker. The branches no longer whip past his shoulders, they stick. He has to dodge. He has to swerve. He has to hold his arms up in front of him to block the ones he can’t. His arms sting, rending through the thin tunic easily. His lungs ache. His brain races. 

Demon. 

Evil. 

Bad. 

Cursed. 

 The branches disappear and he almost pitches forward, throwing his arms out to catch his balance a few moments later. The second his arms aren’t in front of his face anymore, he winces. Why the fuck is there a massive clearing right here? It’s so goddamn bright, he has to blink at least three times before he can—

 Oh. 

 Oh, no. 

 No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is really bad—

 It’s a fae garden. 

 It’s golden. It’s enchanting. No plants grow that artistically. The colors are just this side of too vibrant, bathed in the gleam coming from he has no idea where. he can hear it faintly in the back of his mind, calling softly, luring him, beckoning him deeper into the garden. 

 No. No, no no, he has to leave, he has to run away, maybe if he runs a different way he can escape both of them but he has to leave now before something catches him and—

 “Oh, and what do we have here?”

 Shit. 

 His eyes widen and he whirls around to see a figure leaning up against a tree with far too much grace, all long limbs and coiled power. He pushes off the tree and saunters closer, the golden lights gleaming and scattering off the scales on one side of his face. 

 Where the fuck did he come from? He glances around. Are there more? There have to be. Where are they?

 “See something interesting, pretty thing?”

 His gaze snaps back to the—when the fuck did he get so close—fae in front of him, his eyes raking over anything and everything to make sure he’s not looking at his face. He doesn’t exactly remember the etiquette when it comes to fae but eye contact is the actual worst. 

 The fae is dressed like he’s stepped out of some time capsule, black bowler, a black cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders, a black suit underneath. Golden clasps hold it together over a shock of yellow. And…how many—six arms? 

 He backs away. The fae keeps coming. Too late he realizes he’s walked further into the fae’s trap, now he can’t get out of the garden. Not without going past the fae. 

 A hand, gloved in that rich yellow, comes up, a single finger tilting his chin up to—fuck why is he so close?

 Close enough that he can feel breath on his face. Close enough that he can see each individual scale, placed delicately next to each other. Close enough that he can see one side of the fae’s mouth curving up the side of his face like a snake. Or maybe that’s just the smirk. 

 “As flattered as I am by your staring,” the fae purrs and fuck, that voice, “my eyes are up here, pretty one.”

 He’s never been very good at responding to flirting in a normal way, mainly because most pick-up lines are terrible puns and he will either be too absorbed in the pun-off or the implications of said pun. And, um, he doesn’t…really get flirted with a lot. 

 But this? 

 He’s in way over his head and he knows it’s not just the flirting, it’s not just the teasing smile, it’s not just the low voice, it’s not just the finger that’s just this side of too light under his chin, he knows it’s fae, but he can’t do anything about it. And if he says the wrong thing—

 The predator in front of him smells blood and pounces. 

 “Didn’t they teach you manners,” the snake chides, tapping his nose with the tip of his finger, and he's caught between the audacity of it and how effortlessly he makes him feel tiny, “about how it’s rude to stare? Though I suppose I can’t blame you, not entirely, now can I?”

 The snake’s eyes go wide, the smirk growing fiendish as his insides turn to mush. He locks his knees quickly. He won’t collapse. He won’t. Even if that one finger under his chin is the only thing holding him up. Also what the fuck is he supposed to do with his arms?

 “My, my,” comes that frustrating purr, “are all mortals this warm?”

 The finger slides along his jaw, the touch leaving an electrifying tingle in its wake. He’s frozen, staring at the snake’s mismatched eyes as the gloved hand comes up to stroke a thumb across his flushed cheek, touch burning and soft. 

 “Or, oh, and now this could be very interesting,” and the snake leans closer, his mouth right up against his ear, “I haven't made you flustered, have I, my dear?”

 The ’s’ in ‘flustered’ comes out as a hiss, and fuck that shouldn’t make him turn to jelly but it does. A low chuckle rumbles through the air as the snake pulls back, grinning like the cat that got the—or the snake that—fuck, his brain’s too offline to come up with any metaphors that would work. Simile. Fuck. 

 The snake’s hand comes up under his chin again, the fabric of his gloves making the drag decadent as he lifts his gaze back to his and he can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat. 

 The snake’s grin widens. 

 “Oh, I didn’t enjoy that at all,” he purrs, “let’s see if I can make you do that again.”

 No, no—

 The snake’s fingers hook and trace three little lines up the underside of his chin and he can’t help it. This time he doesn’t just whine, he tilts his chin back further, much to the snake’s delight. 

 “Lovely.”

 He doesn’t even have to touch him this time. He whimpers. 

 “Is that all it takes, sweetie? Just one word?” The snake’s thumb runs along the curve of his jaw again. “Aren’t you precious~”

 The words sink into him like honey, sweet and sticky, trapping him in his touches, in his voice. The snake hisses contentedly, tilting his chin back and forth. He can’t look away. 

 “Precious indeed,” he repeats, the hiss becoming more pronounced, “if not a little…flushed.”

 He burns warmer, the snake’s smile growing, full of sly mischief and sharp fangs. 

 “You look distressed, kitten—“ prey— “are you…nervous?”

 Goddamnit, he’s not gonna collapse into a puddle. He’s not. Every single ounce of his willpower goes into making sure he stays upright. 

 I don’t! Know! What to do! With! My hands!

 “Oh dear,” the snake purrs again, not sounding at all sorry, “have I rendered you speechless?”

 Yes. 

 “You’re the one that stumbled into my garden, lost little lamb,” the snake hums, “how was I supposed to know you would be so easily disarmed?”

 He tilts his head, mismatched eyes shining. “It seems awfully rude to stumble in unannounced and then not explain the reason for the intrusion, does it not?”

 The smoky haze the snake’s words had cast on his mind tightens, the quiet whispering lure of the garden sharpening into a call. The snake’s touch is still light but his voice has an unmistakable edge to it. The snake’s fingers are a blade perched delicately against his neck. He doesn’t know how to keep it from cutting his throat. 

 The snake chuckles. “You’re too easy, my little mouse. I’m only teasing.”

 That doesn’t make it any easier!

 “Are you too tongue-tied to speak, darling?” The snake smiles, the human side of his face softening just the smallest bit. he might be imagining it. He’s probably imagining it. “That’s alright, I have…other ways of figuring out what you want.”

 Wait, what? No, no thank you. Don’t like that. Huh-uh. Nope.

 “Just…look here,” the snake murmurs, cupping his chin properly for the first time, the amount of contact making his head spin. 

 He’s still trying desperately to keep his legs from collapsing and he knows if he even tries to move he will fall into a puddle at the snake’s feet. But that leaves him frozen, helpless in the snake's gaze.

 “That’s it…just look right at me.” The snake’s eyes gleam as he gestures to his face. “Yes…enjoy, sweetie.”

 Stop it, he wants to plead, let me go. he can’t. 

 “Now, then, let’s see what brought you here…”

 He gasps. The snake’s words reach into his head and pull forward memories, emotions, angry words called out in fits of rage. Fear. Angry clattering of swords and torches swung so close the tips of his hair is singed. Knives, daggers, blood—lifting something from the inside of a chest and carrying it over to—

 He gasps. Years of neglect, abuse, being scorned and turned aside, cursed for the scars littering his body, mocked and shamed for them. Years of whispers behind his back, forced smiles, fake faces. Years of always having to look over his shoulder, think twelve steps ahead, always have a backup plan. 

 He gasps. Tendrils curling into his jaw, wiring it shut, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Tendrils winding around his arms, his legs, his fingers. Holding a knife. Rewriting his memory. 

 He sees himself. His true self. Standing with a pair of battered gauntlets encasing his wrists, his hands covered in blood. More blood splattered across his face, across the three long scratches that threaten to take out his eye. More scars twisting across his stomach, black pooling out from where they refuse to close. A blue glow, sickeningly artificial, emerging from his mouth, from his eyes, winding around him, tying him up. It hurts. 

 He blinks. 

 His eyes sting, he’s crying, when did he start crying? Is he crying? He blinks again, watching the snake’s face swim back into view. The shameless flirty smirk is gone, replaced with a softer look. Another moment and something covers his eyes. He can’t help the frightened keen when his world is thrown into darkness. Is the snake gonna take him somewhere? Kill him? Something worse than death? What’s happening?

 “Shh,” the snake murmurs, no longer dripping with allure, “hush now, darling.”

 He shuts his eyes reflexively, the sudden loss of his vision sending him stumbling. Can he grab? Yes? No?

A hand catches his arm. Another his other arm. Another pressed to the space between the shoulder blades. Another curled possessively around his hips. The hand over his eyes stays firmly in place, gentling a little as the other hands press him against the snake, holding him up. His legs won’t work properly, pulled as he is at an awkward angle. 

 “It’s dark because you’re trying too hard,” the snake murmurs, the quote rolling off his tongue, “lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.”

 The snake adjusts his grip, pulling him closer. 

 “Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.” Another hand—that’s right, there’s six—cradles the back of his head. “Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me.”

 The darkness doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t press. Just lays over his eyes. 

 “So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.” 

 The snake leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of his ear. 

 “Lightly, my darling.”

 He shudders as the air wafts over him. The word ‘lightly’ has been said so much it doesn’t sound like a word anymore. 

 “So you can speak,” laughs the snake—shit did he say that out loud?— “and oh, what a wonderful voice you have.”

 Really? Back to flirting already?

 “Oh, come now,” he chuckles, “is it really so simple? Alright, alright, I won’t fluster you too badly.”

 Or you could not fluster me at all we could make that work too. 

 “But you are right,” comes the voice, still right next to his ear, “about saying a word too often before it stops sounding like a word. You mortals tend to do that with yourselves quite a lot, don’t you?”

 The snake must be able to feel his brow furrow. He continues. “You tend to look at something for so long that you start to create flaws out of nothing. You see cracks where there are no cracks, imperfections when you know perfection is a standard you will not reach.”

 Is…is the snake trying to…comfort him?

 “You do that with yourselves,” the snake murmurs, the hand at the back of his head cupping it gently, “and you must look away.”

 Do what now?

 “Look away,” the snake repeats, “look away and give yourself time to breathe, sweetie. The words are still words, you just have to give them time to rest. You are not as flawed as you think you are. You simply must look away for a moment. And don’t forget to breathe.”

 The hand on the back of his head moves, the others leaning him back a little so it can come around and pat his chest. 

 “Breathe,” says the snake. 

 He breathes. 

 “Good.” 

 So he…isn’t going to kill him? Has he not violated some guest rite that allows the snake to exact some fae revenge? Are mortals not too small and too petty to warrant this amount of…effort?

 The flirting…the flirting he kind of gets. He knows he’s shit at receiving compliments, okay, and he knows the way he responded to that flirting was…entertaining. Probably. Yeah, it definitely was. 

 That doesn’t explain this. 

 “I can hear you thinking,” the snake hums, “I can hear your little mind whirring away in there.”

 Shit. 

 “Why don’t you just relax,” he purrs, drawing the word out in a way that has to be deliberate, “and stay right here?”

 And do what? I’m still standing here your six arms with your teeth basically at my throat and you seem to really enjoy making me not able to speak or do anything. 

 He tries. He tries to take another deep breath and let himself relax into the snake’s arms. It’s not easy. 

 “That’s it, good.” The hand on his chest gives him another little pat. “Well, now I could call you any number of things, my darling, now couldn’t I? But I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

 He hums for a moment, he can almost feel his gaze through the gloved hand still over his eyes. 

 “May I have your name?”

 Nope. I know that one. 

 He swallows, his throat dry. his lips are dry too. he licks them quickly and clears his throat. “You may call me V.”

 The snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. 

 “Clever boy. Very well, V, why don’t you just take another breath.”

 V breathes. 

 “Have you caught something new for us?”

 V’s breath catches. Fuck. 

 Another one?

 Judging by the approaching footsteps from behind him, yep. He still doesn’t know what the fuck to do with his hands. 

 “What fun,” the voice from behind him says, getting closer, “though from the looks of it…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

 “No, of course not,” the snake drawls, “nothing of the sort. It’s not like I purposefully knew you were meant to be keeping watch today and sent you somewhere else.”

 They have a schedule? How many of them are there?

 “Well, good!”

 The snake huffs and the other one chuckles. 

 “So…” The voice stops just behind him and judging from how high up it is, he’s even taller than the snake. “What have we here?”

 Don’t fall over, whatever you do, don’t fall. 

 “Don’t be greedy,” the second one chides, another pair of hands resting on his shoulders and wow those are warm, “let me see what you’ve caught.”

 No, no, please, let me stay here, I can deal with the snake—

 No such luck. The snake releases his grip except for the hand over his eyes. 

 “There we go…”

 The warm hands turn V around slowly, one hand walking its fingers playfully over his shoulders as they do, across his collarbones, over the hollow of his neck, to the other shoulder. It’s just light enough to tickle, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. 

 “We’ve talked about this,” the voice keeps scolding playfully, “keeping things all to yourself…oh. Oh, look at this!”

 V knows his face is red, he can feel it. Then those warm fingers flutter up to touch just under his chin and tilt and shit he doesn’t want to do this again. 

 “Why are you covering his eyes? You’re not usually the type to…avoid attention.”

 “It’s not for me.”

 “You, doing something that’s not for yourself? Well, now I have to see. Move your hand.”

 No, please don’t.

 “Keep them closed,” the snake murmurs in his ear before his hand lifts. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurts and he squeezes them tighter. 

 “Oh, how could you?” Hands cup his cheeks. “It is a crime to cover up this absolutely adorable face. Just look at you, pretty thing.”

 Judging by the quiet chuckle from behind him and the delighted silence, they’re amused by his reaction which is definitely not to go even brighter and not to squirm a little against the hold. 

 “Well, well, well, isn’t today a lucky day?” Two fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the soft touch drawing the blush right up to the tips. 

 If his eyes weren’t closed already, they sure as hell would be now. Unlike the snake, this fae didn’t seem to be content to restrict the touch to just a finger or the soft brush of a thumb. No, the new hand trails over his face, lingering in spots that make him twitch, where he’s sensitive. his mouth. Just under his bottom lip. The bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Tracing a lazy path around his jawline, right under his chin. his face burns, each stroke setting his skin alight, until they blur together and he has no idea what’s actually touching him and what’s nothing more than a phantom sensation. 

 And because his eyes are closed, he still can't see anything. So he has no idea where they're going to touch next and he's in a horrible loop of being startled and making noise and then remembering he really doesn't want to move and getting frustrated with himself for moving and making more noise. 

 “Oh, I could stand here for ages,” the voice coos, “just coaxing more of those pretty sounds out of you.”

 “He has a pretty voice, doesn’t he?”

 Not you too!

 “I think he likes your voice,” the fae in front of him chuckles. 

 “I think so too.”

 “Which one does he like more?”

 No, no, let’s not test and find out, he’s barely staying on his feet as it is, he can feel the snake behind him and sure he could probably grab the fae in front of him too but he’s so close to being a puddle already, please—

 “I must say I was surprised to see you being so hands-on with him,” the voice muses, “especially because you know how…fragile little mortals can be, hmm?”

 “Mm.”

 “Shouldn’t fragile things be treated gently?” The warm hand is back under his chin, cupping it in a firm hold, one of his fingers stroking just the smallest amount. 

 “What if I were to talk like this? In a nice, sweet, gentle voice? Hmm? Would you like that, cutie pie?”

 No, no no no, that voice…despite how tightly V tries to stay, tries to clench every muscle he has in defiance, that sweet, soft voice wriggles its way under his skin and he melts. 

 “Aww, yeah,” the voice teases, “yeah, you do, hmm? Nice…and gentle…good…”

 He can’t help it, he whines. He can’t remember the last time he was praised, and he knows it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just the fae toying with him, but it works and he hates his traitorous body for responding to it. 

 “I think you like this~” the voice coos, “I think you like the gentle voice, don’t you? Sweet voice…just like you, little honeybee.”

 He…he’s leaning closer, there’s breath fanning over his face, over his neck. 

 “Can’t you just give in to me,” he coos, “can’t you just give in, little cutie pie?”

 V’s lips part. His head tilts. Wait, no—

 “That’s right, little honeybee,” and he’s so close, his mouth is so close, so close, “give in…”

 “Enough.”

 Thank you.

 The fae in front of him laughs and drops his hand away. V stifles a sigh of relief, trying frantically to clear his head from whatever the fuck is happening. 

 “Don’t be jealous,” the voice says, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

 “I’m not jealous.”

 “Come now, you’re practically green around the gills over there.”

 “I haven’t gone yet.”

 “You had enough time before I showed up.”

 “And you didn’t see it.” The snake shifts. “You got him to whine, that’s all.”

 “Oh, I got several more than that, didn’t I?” A finger taps his nose and he squeaks, startled. “See?”

 “Oh please.”

 “Like you can do better?”

 No, no no, stop please, I would like to get off this ride. 

 A rustle. Then little puffs of air over his ear. 

 “Darling,” the snake purrs, and fuck, he’s already keening. 

 The snake chuckles darkly. “That really is all it takes, isn’t it, little mouse? Just…one word?”

 He’s too close. He’s too close and that voice like crushed velvet in his ears and he can hear his fucking smirk and oh god—

 “Squee for me, little mouse,” he purrs, “squee.”

 V squees. God fucking damnit he squees. He covers his face as the snake chuckles in his ear, trying to ignore how much it makes him want to squirm away. 

 “Thank you, my dear,” he purrs, a soft rustle signifying him standing back up. V doesn’t need to look to see he’s got a smug, satisfied expression on his face. 

 “Don’t hide,” the voice in front of him laughs, “why don’t you let us see that pretty face?”

 He’s gonna faint. He’s gonna fucking keel over right here because he can’t deal with this. He knew he should’ve fucking bolted the second he realized it was a fae garden. He knew he shouldn’t have let them chase him this way. He—

 “We didn’t break him, did we?”

 “He’s quite flustered, but no, I don’t believe so.”

 “Come on, cutie. Let us see.”

 “Lower your hands, little mouse, come now…”

 He fights down another whine and forces his hands away. The warm hands stipple playfully over his cheeks and fuck, he can’t help relaxing into it, making the voice chuckle again. 

 “Too much?”

 He nods, furiously squeezing his eyes shut. 

 “You’re the stunnable type, hmm? That’s alright. Someone could have told me.”

 “What, me? How could I have possibly known?”

 “Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying playing with him.”

 “Never.”

 “I thought we were taught not to play with our food?”

 Right. How the fuck did I forget that these are fae and the snake has literally been calling me ‘little mouse?’ What the fuck are they gonna do to me, can I run? No, no way, you’re not supposed to run from a predator, not like this, now there’s two of them, fuck, fuck—

 “Why is he still here,” the voice muses, still tracing his cheeks, “not that I’m complaining about the chance to play with this lovely little thing, but you’re not the type to share your food.”

 V’s…he’s kinda wondering the same thing. 

 The snake doesn’t respond. A gloved hand covers his fist. Something worms its way into his palm and forces his hand open. Gloved fingers lace through his. He presses his hand against a broad chest, hard. Holds it there. 

 The chest stutters. Tenses. Then sighs, letting all the breath out in a rush. 

 “Oh…oh, sweetheart…”

 The snake lets his hand go and he’s caught up in a powerful hug, enough to take his breath away. After the teasing, the feather-light barely-there touches, this…this—

 Warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh god please—

 “I should’ve known,” the snake murmurs, “that a prince never could resist a damsel in distress.”

 “You had all of your arms wrapped around him when I showed up,” the prince shoots back, “don’t act so superior.”

 It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps and he doesn’t know what to do. 

 The prince releases him, shushing him softly when he whines, already bereft of the warmth. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.” He doesn't go far, wrapping him in a slightly looser embrace that still burns. 

 Something happens. Something happens and it’s too overwhelming for him to figure out what it is at first but then it stays and it keeps happening and is—is he—

 The prince chuckles as he pulls away, his thumb stroking over the spot on his forehead. “Never had a fae kiss before, hmm?”

 “It’s completely fair that you got to kiss him first,” comes the hiss from behind him, “it’s not like I’m the one that found him.”

 “Well maybe you should have done it before I showed up,” the prince says. “May I have your name, cutie pie?”

 Still no. 

 “You may call me V.”

 The prince laughs, unbothered. Then more darkness. V jerks back on reflex, startled by the contact. Honestly, every single time one of them touches him—

 “You look tired,” the prince says kindly, “rest your eyes for a little. Just keep them closed for me.”

 “Wow.”

 “Oh, please. I trust your judgment. And if he’s that easily overwhelmed…then yes, let’s have you keep your eyes closed for now, hmm?”

 “Are you tormenting mortals without me?”

 How many of them are there?

 He hears the prince huff and the arm around his back tightens. “Yeesh. Should’ve known you’d would show up.”

 “You know better,” the new fae says, “you’re supposed to tell me before you give someone else nightmares.”

 “If you would pay attention for two seconds—“

 “Oh what, like you can talk.”

 “Wow, guys, it’s so cool how you never listen to anything he says.”

 “Why are you here?”

 “What did you do to the mortal?”

 “Oh, shut up—“

 “Don’t tell me to shut up!”

 “Why the fuck is it bleeding then?”

 Oh fuck one of the new voices can double itself up and that is a bad noise and it’s too loud, there’s too many people, he doesn’t know where he is, the prince has left, he can’t hear the snake anymore, he can’t hear anything over the voices, so many voices, too many, they’re shouting now, it’s loud, it’s so loud, it hurts, he just wanted to run away why is he here now he should have run he should have run he just wants to go—

 Something’s touching him. Something’s touching him. Something’s prying his hands away from his ears—when did they get there?—with inhuman strength and he wants to go—

 It stops. There’s silence. 

 For a moment’s he’s terrified that he blacked out, or fainted, or something but then he feels smooth hands covering his ears. 

 “Shh,” says a low voice, lower than the snake’s, calmer, “hush now. You’re alright.”

 Is he, though?

 “Breathe, little one,” the voice soothes, “I know it’s loud. The others can get a little…rowdy sometimes. Just breathe. Focus on my voice.”

 He tries, tries to feel the rest of him. His head aches and he brings his hands up on instinct only to freeze. 

 “It’s okay,” the voice says, “you can touch. You won’t hurt me and I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

 The hands stroke over the crown of his head as he covers them with his own. They’re smooth, slightly cooler to the touch than he expected. 

 “I heard your pain when it was pushed through the connection,” the voice says softly, “and I can feel it now. The noise doesn’t help, does it?”

 He shakes his head, trying to lean as much into the touch as he can. It—it’s so hard right now and he knows this isn’t going to be free, nothing ever is with the fae, but he can’t help it, so much has just happened and he’s helplessly confused and he has no idea what’s happening and he just wants to be safe. 

 “I understand,” the voice continues, “shh, now you must listen. You are alright. You are here, standing in a garden. I am holding you. You will not be harmed.”

 He wants to believe it, he does. And he knows that’s how the fae trap people and he doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, but oh god, he wants to believe it so bad.

 “Can you not feel the flowers under you? Can you not smell them? Even with your eyes closed, can you not see the light?”

 He can. He can, but…

 “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs, “it’s okay.”

 The cool touch burns. It still burns, even though these hands aren’t as warm as the prince’s, nor are they as rough as the snake’s gloves. Why does it burn? It—it’s not trying to hurt him, is it? 

 “I’m just blocking out the extra sensory input,” the voice says, “I’m not hurting you. Though…I must say, you are the first touch-starved mortal I’ve seen in a while.”

 T-touch-starved? He’s touch-starved? Is that why everything burns?

 “Shh,” the voice soothes, “it’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. Well, not in context right now. It is true that mortals, especially humans, rely heavily on physical contact. It is crucial to their health and development, particularly in infancy.”

 V nods, still clutching at the smooth hands over his ears. Why does this have to be so hard?

 The hands hold him firmly, then something touches his forehead. It’s warm and slightly chapped and—

 Is…is this one kissing him too?

 “It’s okay,” the voice murmurs after he kisses him, resting his own forehead against V’s, “everything is okay.”

 For the first time since god he has no idea when, he breathes easy, something finally releasing in his chest. V hangs on to the hands over his ears, letting the low voice wash over him. It’s like something’s reaching into his brain again, like the way the snake did, sorting through everything and tucking it out of the way and it…oh god it feels so clear. 

 “Do you believe me now,” it asks after a while, “about where you are?”

 He swallows, his voice refusing to come out as anything other than a whisper. “I’m trying.”

 “Why don’t you open your eyes, then,” the voice suggests kindly, “and see for yourself?”

 “The others…”

 “Have stopped yelling, if that’s what’s worrying you,” the voice says. 

 Not what he meant, but that’s good, right? 

 “Here,” the voice murmurs, moving his hands a little bit away from his ears, “see?”

 The ambient sounds of the garden. No yelling. 

 “Nice and quiet. I would hope,” the voice continues, raising a little, “that they would realize why that would not have been ideal.”

 “Be gentle, Specs,” the prince barks. 

 “I am not hurting him,” the voice assures, “although this next part might.”

And in an instant, V’s head fills again. 

Danger danger run run hurt it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt me, oh god, I knew I should’ve run, no, no, no more please, not anymore, red fire knives sharp things burning.

“Hey, hey, it’s quite alright…” Something touches his forehead—another kiss?—and suddenly he can breathe again. “That was not my intention.”

 Specs, he guesses, doesn’t try and move again, letting him move his head around a bit to hear where he is. 

“Better?” V nods. “Good. You’re doing very well. May I touch your arms, please?”

 The first time one of them has asked before touching him. He nods, warily lifting his arms. 

 “Are these just from branches,” Specs asks, trailing a finger lightly over the—right, the cuts on his arms, “or did someone do these?”

 Nope. Nope. Bad things. So many bad things, no no no no—

 He shakes his head. “Just branches.”

 “Mm.” The light gets brighter behind his lids and he winces. “It’ll be over in a second, have patience.”

 His arms tingle, his skin itching as it gets warm, warmer, warmer, wait…

 Is Specs healing him?

 “It’s a good thing you didn’t try and take a dagger to the branches,” Specs says, “that could’ve been…bad for you.”

 “Better to be hacked at by a few branches than for their poisonous fumes to be unleashed upon you as soon as you slice open their limbs,” the other new voice says, the nightmare voice, right behind him, making him jump, “providing a slow, painful demise…as you choke on your own breath…”

 Specs sighs. “Yes, that is accurate. I am almost finished, one moment…there.”

 Curious, V runs his fingers over his arms and…yeah. The cuts are all gone. he opens his mouth to say thank-you when—

 Wait. Hang on. he’s not supposed to do that. 

 “…that’s better,” he chooses instead. 

 “Good.” There’s a moment of silence. “Are your eyes alright?”

 “Huh?”

 “It’s just…you haven’t opened them. And you, uh, the prince had them covered when we appeared up.”

 “They didn’t blind you, did they?”

 “No.”

 He really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing right now. He turns his head, trying to figure out where the others are. 

 “They’re just talking,” Specs says, “they won’t shout.”

 “What happened to you,” the other one—how fucking many of them are there, he’s gonna fucking faint at this rate—asks, “there was such exquisite pain in you when Snakey pushed it across…and you’re so tense…you need to loosen up.”

 No. No more flirting. Please, no more. 

 It’s not flirting, not really, but it makes his brain freeze all the same. 

 There are hands, warm hands, as warm as the prince’s, under his shirt, on his back, stroking his bare skin and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s so so so warm and it feels so good but it burns but it’s too much he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe—

 “V?”

 There’s a hand on his face. 

 “V.”

 The hand leaves his face. He whimpers. 

 “Stop it, Duke, he can’t think with you doing that.”

 “But—!”

 “Just for a second.”

 The hands are gone. His brain wakes up and he can’t help the soft desperate sound he makes. Wow, maybe he really is touch-starved. Specs shushes him. 

 “I know, I know, V,” he soothes, “I just need to talk to you for a second. Can you do that for me?”

 These have gotta be the fucking weirdest fae I’ve ever heard of. 

 He nods. 

 “Good. Can you hear me?”

 “Yes.”

 “Can you tell me what happened?”

 “What?”

 “How did you find this place,” Specs asks, his voice still tender and soft,“how did you get here?”

 “I was…” he swallows. “I was…running. They were chasing me.”

 “Why were they chasing you?”

 “Did they hurt you?” the duke growls behind him and he cringes. 

 He’s heard tales of fae anger before, and he expected it when he stumbled into the garden. He expected the fiery temper of an outraged fae. He expected stone-cold mutterings. He expected pretty words and sweetly soured threats as he was cursed for all eternity.

 This rage, this dark, hateful fury makes all of those sound like a child’s tantrum. 

 “Wow,” he distantly hears the prince laugh, “that didn’t take long.”

 “W-what’s happening?”

 “I believe the Duke has gone, as you mortals call it, feral,” Specs says, pulling him forward gently by his elbows, “only happens when he gets into a state of extreme protectiveness. It would be advisable for you to keep your eyes closed, otherwise it is likely looking at him in his current state would blind you/”

 Feral. Blind. Protective. 

 I’m so confused right now I’m not even sure what parts I’m supposed to be confused about and that’s confusing me. 

 How…how did this happen? Why is this happening? he just—he was just trying to escape. And then he stumbled into a fae garden and now—

 Now there’s at least…fuck, what is that now, one, two, three…at least four different fae here, two of them have kissed him, and one of them just went feral because of…why, exactly?

 Fuck, what kind of shit is he going to owe them after this? 

 The fae doesn’t do anything for free. Ever. Nothing comes without a demand for payment and they’ve…god, all of them have comforted him in some regard, he’s pretty sure kisses count for something, and one of them just healed him. 

 Out of the frying pan, into the fire. 

 Voices. They’re talking. They seem to be trying to calm down the duke. Specs…that’s right, Specs has got hold of him. 

 He’s…he’s warm too. They’re all warm. Is…is that because they’re fae or…because he’s touch-starved?

 Wow, you know, the more he says it, the more sense it makes. 

 Something wraps around his waist and yanks him backward, away from Specs. His back collides with something solid and he can’t help the frightened squeak. The grip shifts. 

 Oh. It’s a pair of arms. Is…is it the duke?

 “That,” he hears Specs murmur in front of him, “was adorable.”

 “Told you.”

 The chest behind him rumbles and he can hear something wet, like…like slime or something coming from behind him. He thrums with energy, almost making his teeth chatter. The duke clings to him like he’s going to disappear, or like a child would cling to a stuffed animal if a parent threatened to take it away. Trying frantically to calm his breathing, he keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to pat the iron grip around his waist…reassure it, if he can, ground them both. The arms relax, just the smallest bit, the hands—warm warm warm warm so warm—starting to move. It’s like they’re trying to map out his body as they pull him against him, comforting themselves by saying ‘it’s still here, right here’ through touch. 

 His tunic got rucked up when he was pulled back and the hands are so warm. One of them slips underneath and lands on his stomach and he tenses reflexively. The duke rubs softly. Warm. It’s warm. It’s so warm. The duke rumbles contentedly when he relaxes into his hold. 

 “Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna let go of him now.”

 “It is highly unlikely.”

 “And you said it would be difficult.”

 “Ensuring the duke does not kill a mortal and keeping one are two different things.”

 Hold on wait what now.

 “Oh come on, you know the hardest one to convince is him.”

 “That’s such a flattering description.”

 “Like it’s not true!”

 Ugh, noise. 

 Wait. What’s that? 

 He jerks his head around only to wince when more light—honestly, he’s so not convinced they’re not actually trying to blind him, he hasn’t been able to open his eyes since the snake covered them—shines right at him. 

 “There you all are! I’m surprised you didn’t call me sooner!”

 “How many of you are there?” he mutters finally, only for the duke to chuckle. 

 “About time you got here,” the prince grumbles somewhere to his right, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with Worry and Wart.”

 “Speaking of which,” the newest voice says and he can practically see the disapproving expression, “what have we said about trying to claim mortals?”

 The duke tightens his grip on him and growls. “Mine.”

 “Now, kiddo, you know better than that.”

 Okay, Dad has entered the chat. 

 The duke grumbles but lets him go. The sudden disappearance of the thing he’d been leaning against makes him stagger. Rude. 

 “Easy there, kiddo,” the new voice says, catching him, “don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. What’s happened to your eyes?”

 “Nothing.”

 “Well, then, why don’t you open them, kiddo?”

 Because three of you specifically told me not to. 

 “It’s alright,” Specs says from…somewhere, “you will not be blinded if you look now.”

 “He gets a little…overexcited now and then,” the new voice says, “but it’s okay, kiddo. Come on, open up.”

 He’s still a little worried about the prince and the snake but not enough to outweigh the worry about what actively refusing could cause. Plus, this one kind of seems like a leader, so…

 He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing and looking down. 

 “Oh, are you hurt? Did something go wrong?”

 “It’s bright,” he defends, and honestly, it was bright to begin with. Now that he’s had his eyes closed for god knows how long, it’s unbearable. 

 “I can fix that.”

 Well, the prince must do something because it dims. It gets to the point where he doesn’t have to screw up his eyes anymore and he blinks. 

 The garden still glows, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable. he registers the flowers first, still bright and perky. his gaze travels up a pastel blue cloak to a pair of black glasses. Oh. 

 He looks…ordinary. Kind of. He looks just like a human except there’s something just off-center. It’s like…a human but slightly to the left. Yeah? We get it. It’s like the human half of the snake’s face. 

 Actually…do they all have the same face?

 He looks around. Specs, he’s guessing, is the one in the dark blue suit, also wearing glasses. The prince has to be the one in the bright white, the crimson sash across his chest and the pieces of gold gleaming. Next to him stands the snake. He also waves. 

 Behind him must be the duke, then. He, well, he really kind of looks like the prince. Except he’s in black and green. And has a mustache. And like…four tentacles. Okay. Sure. At this point, why the heck not. 

Also, they’re all…really pretty. Like…really pretty. 

So pretty that just the thought of those flirty comments said by those faces are enough to make him blush to the tips of his ears. 

 Why are they all so pretty? This isn’t fair. 

 His attention is drawn back when the one holding him beams. “There you go! I knew you could do it. Can I have your name, kiddo?”

 Third time ain’t gonna be the charm. 

 “You may call me V.”

 He throws back his head and laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. Then you may call me Pat.”

 …sure.

 “Have you met everyone else?”

 We’re putting ‘met’ in big scare quotes, right. 

 He shakes his head hesitantly. Pat pouts, looking around. 

 “You didn’t introduce yourselves?”

 “L,” says Specs. 

 The prince and the duke glance at each other. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna work for us.”

 “What? No, it can!”

 “You may call me the Prince.”

 “Ugh. Fine. I’m the Duke.”

 Nailed it. 

 Pat looks expectantly at the snake. The snake just smiles. 

 “He likes being secretive,” Pat stage-whispers, “don’t take it personally.”

 “Eh,” the prince says, “he’ll come around.”

 “Oh no,” Pat says quickly, “not you too.”

 “As a matter of fact,” L says, “I’m afraid it’s just you that has not…joined in.”

 Pat looks around to see the duke nodding fiercely. “Now, kiddos, you know the rules. We can’t just take every mortal we find, we have to help them find their way back home. Especially if they’ve done nothing wrong!”

 So…so I haven’t done anything wrong? Does that mean I don’t owe them anything? Does that mean I…I can leave?

 But where would I go?

 He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to have to run again, away from the swords and the arrows and the hurt, away from all the people that would love nothing more than to put his head on a spike or watch him get pecked apart by birds. They…they hate him, hate everything that he is. 

 And for as much as they’ve all been, the fae, they’ve…

 None of them has hurt him. 

 It’s been so long since someone touched him without the intent to hurt. 

 Hell, one of them did go feral at the thought of someone else trying to hurt him. 

 Would…would it be so bad to stay here? 

 “Oh, come on, you’re the heart! You felt that,” the duke exclaims, “you know we can’t just—”

 “It’s not our job to interfere!”

 “On the contrary. We have indeed ‘interfered,’ as you put it on multiple occasions of a similar kind.” L gestures to him. “This one should be treated similarly.”

 “Ha, see?” The prince smacks L’s shoulder. “Even L agrees.”

 “That doesn’t happen very often,” L mutters. 

 “I, for one, think it’s a splendid idea!”

 “See, Duke does too! And you know how rare it is that we agree on something!”

 “The rules are there for a reason, kiddos,” Pat scolds, “and why are they there?”

 The prince groans. “‘To preserve the balance between their realm and ours and to make sure the two don’t collide,’” he repeats reluctantly. 

 “Exactly!” Pat looks back at him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “This has been a lot for you, hasn’t it, kiddo?”

 Boy howdy, that’s one hell of an understatement. 

 He nods. Pat smiles patiently. 

 “You’ve been through so much, haven’t you,” he murmurs, taking a strand of his hair and twisting it around his finger, “brave little kiddo…it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

 “…yes.”

 “You know what mortals are like, Pat,” the prince mutters, “they’re bad enough with their own kind, and they aren’t evolved enough to know how to deal with difference. You know how wrong that can go.”

 “Do you have someplace to go, kiddo?”

 Does he?

 Would anywhere ever be far enough away?

 Would he even get there?

 The prince sees his hesitation and seizes it. “No, he doesn’t, does he? Why can’t we just keep him? Don’t act like you don’t want to!”

 “We are not keeping him!”

 They’re…they’re fighting. Over him. Over…over whether or not they can keep him. Not whether they want to but…whether they can. 

 Oh. Oh, wow. 

 The prince opens his mouth to respond but—

 Footsteps. He can hear them. Through the trees. He jerks his head around in the direction of the sound. His eyes go wide. No. No, no. Did they find him? How did they find him?

 “Are you sure that little bitch went this way?”

 “I can’t see a damn thing!”

 “Why the fuck didn’t you lock the restraints properly, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

 “It’s not like he needs his arms to run!”

 “Then why didn’t you just cut off his leg and call it a day?”

 “Ah! Damn branches, what the hell—“

 “Where the fuck did he get off to?”

 “Told you that monster wasn’t human!”

 “He cursed us, I bet you. He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

 “With any luck, some animal found him and did the job for us.”

 “Hey, what’s that?”

 “What?”

 “Over there, see the light?”

 No, no, no, no, no no no not again—

 He turns and tries to run but runs into Pat, who grabs him tightly. He whimpers, tries to pull away but Pat holds him fast. He looks up at Pat’s face to plead, to—

 —oh. 

 Pat’s gaze is fixed over his shoulder, his face unreadable. He doesn’t move as the mob gets closer and closer. 

 “Hey, hey, stop!”

 “The fuck are you on about?”

 “Don’t you know a fuckin’ fae garden when you see one? I ain’t going in there!”

 “Think he ran through here?”

 “Fae probably caught him. Wonder what the hell those bastards did to him.”

 Pat quirks an eyebrow. 

 “Tore him apart, at least I fuckin’ hope so.”

 “Let’s go back. I ain’t running through there and if we’re lucky the fae got rid of him.”

 “Maybe we should thank them.”

 Loud guffaws trail off into the distance. he breathes a sigh of relief. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone. 

 Pat still hasn’t let him go. He looks up anxiously at Pat’s face to see him clench his jaw. he has to fight the urge to shrink under Pat’s gaze when he looks down. 

 "Did they hurt you?"

 His words are frozen in his throat. The garden is silent.

 "Just nod or shake your head, did they hurt you?"

 When Pat sees him nod, sees how scared he is, something softens. One hand comes up to twist the strand of his hair again. 

 “Change of plans,” he says quietly, “may we keep you, kiddo?”

…h-he can stay? They…they want him?

 The prince whoops as he nods, the duke rushing forward to hug him enthusiastically from behind. Pat giggles, reaching forward to crush both him and the duke in a hug. 

 “Nobody’s gonna touch you again, kiddo,” he murmurs, pressing a—wow, is this, like, a thing? ‘Cause he just kissed his forehead too. Then he frowns and runs a thumb over the spot he kissed. 

 “Seems I’m the last one, hmm?” At his confused look, Pat smiles, holding his hand out. A pastel blue glow appears in his hand. 

 “We all have different colors,” he explains, “as you can…probably guess from looking at us.”

 V nods, still confused as to where this is going. 

 “When one of us makes a claim, it leaves a trace in that color. And you, kiddo,” he says, tapping his nose, “are a rainbow.”

 A…a claim?

 “Even though we didn’t discuss it beforehand…”

 “Pish posh,” the prince says, “he’s staying now. Which means—oh! Oh, we have to get ready!”

 “Oh shit.”

 “How did we miss that?”

 “We gotta go!”

 The duke lets him go with one more squeeze and a smacking kiss on the forehead—okay this must be a thing—grabbing the prince by the arm as they rush toward the other end of the garden. L follows a little more sedately. Pat squeezes his shoulders. 

 “Give us a few minutes, kiddo, then step through the portal.”

 He blinks, still a little taken aback by the sudden whirlwind of energy that just swept through the garden. Pat seems to notice and softens. 

 “This is a lot, I’m sure,” he says quietly, “and it’s okay if you need to take your time, kiddo. But you’re under our protection now. You can come when you’re ready, okay?”

 He nods dumbly. Pat smiles and draws away. As he nears the others, there’s a bright flash of light. So bright he throws his arms up to shield his face. Then it’s gone. When he looks, there’s just a shimmering doorway. 

 “They’re so dramatic, aren’t they?”

 He turns. 

 Right, the snake didn’t go with them. He comes closer, holding out one hand. 

 “Oh, come now,” he laughs when V hesitates, “we have just established we’re keeping you. There’s nothing for you to worry about if you take my hand.”

 He’s got a point, but V would be lying if he said the snake still didn’t make him incredibly nervous. Part of it’s just common sense, part of it is the fact that, out of all of them, he still has absolutely no idea what he wants. 

 Part of it is the fact that he looks like that and sounds like that and seems to really enjoy flustering the hell out of him. 

 “There we go,” the snake murmurs when he says to hell with it and takes his hand, using it to pull him close, “would you believe me if I said I didn’t intend for this to happen?”

 “'Believe me if I said.’ Hmmm. Yeah no.”

 The snake laughs. Like, properly laughs. Throws his head back and has to put a hand to his torso and everything. Oh, oh wow. Of course, it makes him even more attractive. Bastard.

 When he stops, he waves his hand. “Alright, let me rephrase: having the rest of them immediately agree to keep you was not at the forefront of my mind when you first fell into the garden.”

 “Wh-why did that happen?”

 The shake in his voice seems to sober him. The snake laces their fingers together and presses his palm against his chest, as he did with the prince’s. “We are all connected,” he says softly, “at a base level. We can communicate through it if necessary, almost like the telepathy mortals believe in.”

 “So…”

 “When I held your hand against the prince, I pushed.” He pushes his hand a little firmer against his chest, close enough for him to feel the powerful heartbeat beneath. “When the rest of them felt your pain…well. I wasn’t lying when I said they never could resist a damsel in distress.

 “I do wish you hadn’t kept that sharp tongue to yourself for so long,” he muses, “it almost makes me wish I hadn’t flustered you so badly to begin with.”

 A touch of gloved fingers under his chin and oh god, not this again. “Well,” the snake purrs, his eyes gleaming, “almost.”

 V’s able to look at him for all of three seconds before he has to look away, blushing panic mounting. 

 “Is it truly so easy, little mouse?” the snake laughs, “must I simply look at you in a certain way and you’ll fluster?”

 “Enough,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut. 

 “You can open your eyes now, darling,” the snake says, still chuckling slightly, “you needn’t worry.”

 “Eye contact is the actual worst and you will not convince me otherwise,” he mutters. 

 He gives him a gentle smile and taps the underside of his chin. “Then I suppose me asking you to keep them closed was a good thing, hmm?”

 There…there’s something else bothering him. V opens his mouth to ask but…it’s kind of an invasive question. And he really doesn’t want to piss him off. Especially not now. 

 “It’s going to be an awfully tiring existence if you can’t work up the courage to ask anything, little mouse,” comes the gentle encouragement.

 “Wh…why did the prince say you were the hardest to convince?”

“Did you happen to catch when the duke called Pat the ‘heart?’” When he nods, he smiles. “Clever boy. It’s an apt description. Each one of us has a…different function. I am the Gatekeeper.”

 Gatekeeper. 

 “It is my job to ensure the barrier between our two races is held,” the snake continues, “to be cautious…about any sort of interaction. As you might have been able to guess, the others are…much more receptive to humans than perhaps they should be. The rules are in place for a reason, and I am the one who helped put them there. This is not the first time they have tried to keep a mortal. And the prince is right, I am the hardest to convince. I have never let them keep a mortal before, not like this, despite whatever claims the others may have made, despite how they try and use those claims to influence me.”

 The snake pulls him closer still, the hand holding his stroking it gently. “But I found you first. And my claim is the strongest.”

 Oh. 

 Oh. 

 “…you wanted to keep me,” he breathes. 

 The snake softens for perhaps the first time since he laid his hand over his eyes. 

 “Why do you look so scared?”

 Really? Are you absolutely fucking serious?

 “I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, still cupping his hand against his chest, “none of us are.”

 “Yes, and I’m sure that one sentence is supposed to counteract the rest of the incredibly overwhelming things I’ve had to deal with today. How incredibly irrational of me to believe otherwise.”

 “There’s that wonderfully sharp tongue again.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps that was the wrong word…you look unsure.”

 V huffs. “Because there’s nothing about this to be unsure of.”

 V knows tearing himself away from him probably comes off as rude. V knows turning his back is probably a bad idea. V knows burying his hands in his hair is going to hurt. 

 V does it anyway. 

 “V—“

 “Why do you want to keep me,” he blurts out before the snake can finish. Ge whirls around to see the snake freeze, reaching for him. “Why?”

 The snake frowns. “Does it matter?”

 “Of course it fucking matters, I don’t know what you want and I can’t—if I don’t know what you want then I can’t do anything and nothing the fae ever does is for free and I don’t know what you want and I—I don’t know how this happened and I just wanted to run away—“

 Oh god, oh god, he’s yelling, fuck fuck fuck he fucked up—

 Why is he on the ground? When did that happen?

 Right. Huddle. Small. Hedgehog. Scary things. Be as small as you can because scary things, why are scary things?

 Fae. Right, he’s yelling at a fae. 

 Oh, fuck he’s yelling at a fae. 

 Small. Just be small. Hide. Just hide and be small. 

 It’s cold. It’s so cold. 

 Then it isn’t. 

 “Shh…shh…there, there, don’t be so afraid, I’m not here to be cruel to you, shh…shh…” 

 “W-wha—“

 “Shh…breathe first,” the snake murmurs, his hand hovering over his shoulder, “I’m not going to touch you until you can breathe properly. Nice and slow, come now…”

 The dark clouds keep rolling, thicker and thicker, building and building until they crash so loudly in his ears. V presses his fists to his ears, hearing voices doubling, tripling, yelling, screaming, they hate you they hate you you’re pathetic you’re cursed they hate you—

 “I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you…”

 Lighthing flashes and the voices howl. V whimpers, curling in on himself. 

 “You’re overwhelmed, little mouse, I know…just breathe and then we can figure everything out…”

 Something…something’s covering him. There’s something covering him. He opens his mouth to ask wha—

 “Shh-shh-shh, don’t try to speak just yet, you’re still shaking.”

 The snake…the snake is covering him. The clouds lighten and he…he can breathe again. 

It’s…it’s raining? Is that why his face feels wet?

 “…oh, oh you’re crying, my darling…shh…is it too much?”

 It hurts. He’s so cold. He’s so cold, the snake is so warm. 

 “As I’m sure L would tell you, crying is the mortal response to any situation that’s overwhelming. It’s just you trying to cope with everything, let it out, sweetie, it’s okay…”

 V’s brain comes back online as the snake reaches out to tenderly wipe his cheeks, catching his tears as they fall. He’s looking at his hand, brow furrowed, leaving V to stare helplessly at his face. It’s so much easier without eye contact, so much easier. 

 The snake holds him firmly, crouched as they are on the ground. It…it feels…safe?

 He catches V’s gaze and tilts his head. He…he can’t look away but he’s not…the snake’s not doing whatever it was he was doing before. He just looks…soft. 

 “What is it, darling?”

 “What,” he croaks, “do you want?”

 “You are small,” he says, “broken, hated…lost, abandoned, persecuted.”

 He wipes away another tear. 

 “And you are kind. Hopelessly and relentlessly kind.” He lightly pats his chest. “When I looked to see what you wanted, when you stumbled into the garden, I saw pain. I saw heartbreak. And you…you didn’t want vengeance, no, you just wanted it to stop.”

 He shifts his weight, still holding him firm. 

 “You are lost in darkness and you are so afraid, my darling…so afraid,” he whispers, “you want to be safe, don’t you?”

 he nods. 

 “Is it so hard to believe that I want you safe? So hard to believe—” he catches another tear on his thumb— “that you are wanted?”

 “What use is a broken mortal?”

 “Why must a wanted thing have a use?”

 “What fae makes a useless trade?”

 “What mortal doesn’t accept a free gift?”

 “What fae gives something for free?”

 “What hurt caused this suspicion?”

 V’s mouth clamps shut. The snake stares at him, unblinking, unyielding. 

 “If I weren’t fae,” he says finally, “would you still be this afraid?”

 “…yes.”

 The snake inhales sharply. his eyes widen when he sees a rising tide of terrible fury, there for just a second, just a second, before the snake breathes out and it disappears. 

And that, that split-second of rage, is enough. Enough to reach deep into the anxious mess of his brain and start to say maybe, just maybe, he might actually be safe. If…if the wrath of the fae is between him and the rest of the world, then…then maybe he’s safe. 

 “Perhaps the Duke had the right idea,” the snake murmurs. 

 “Going feral?”

 “Mm.” He cups V’s face in his hands, pushing his fury away and replacing it with that same soft patience from before. “What is it that is making you so afraid?”

 “I…I don’t know you. I’ve never interacted with any of…your kind before, ever. You—when I first showed up, you—“ he swallows— “you seemed to really enjoy making me as uncomfortable as you could. Then there were so many of you and I was freaking out one moment and being calmed the next and now you’re doing something for me and I’ve given you nothing and you’re—“

 Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not saying that out loud. 

 “I’m…what?”

 V shakes his head, pressing his lips together firmly. Fuck, his face is burning again. 

 “Come on,” the snake coaxes, letting him break his grip and look away, “what were you going to say?”

 “…pretty.”

 The snake tilts his chin back up, not saying anything about his eyes being shut again. “A little louder?”

 “Pretty.”

 He braces for the teasing, the flirting, but it doesn’t come. 

 “Look at me, V.”

 “Is that strictly necessary?”

 The snake chuckles. “I must insist.” He smiles kindly when he looks at him. “There…I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

 “You said that before you and the prince did…that thing.”

 “Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The snake cups his chin carefully. “I admit, when you came in I wanted to play with you. Toy with you until you told me what you wanted and then…well, send you on your way. But then…then I cast upon you and I couldn’t.

 “I made that claim, this claim, because the garden responded to you. Most mortals can’t stay in the garden for long without being sucked under completely or driven insane. You melded with the magic in the air and it bound itself to you. And when I looked, I saw it. It’s one of the reasons I pushed you into the prince, into the others. They felt it too, I’m sure of it.”

 The snake lifts his hand, faint golden sparks floating around his glove. 

 “Unlike the others, as Gatekeeper, I am tied most directly to the garden. That’s why I’m the hardest to convince. The garden wants you, V. I want you.”

 He leans closer. “Don’t you see?”

 V sees. He brings his hand closer and he starts to glow. As Pat said, he’s got little bits of color shining off of him. Red, deep blue, and light blue glow from his head, fading into a rich green the lower he looks. And the whole thing is bathed in a rich, deep gold. 

 “And for the record?” The snake leans forward, kissing his cheek, burning soft. “You’re pretty too.”

 Shit. 

 “Oh, come on,” the snake laughs, “I wasn’t even trying that time.”

 “I’m just really bad at receiving compliments, okay?”

 “You are adorable.”

 “Hey!”

 “You are, sweetie, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just accept it.” He chucks him lightly under the chin. “I imagine not many people have complimented you, have they?”

 “No.”

 “Well, I would prepare yourself. The others certainly will, as you may have guessed.”

 Right, he’s staying here. With them. They’re…they’re going to look after him. They’re going to keep him. 

 He’s safe. 

 He looks up to see the snake looking fondly at him. 

 “If I compliment your smile, will that make you stop?”

 “Probably.”

 “Then I won’t.”

 He swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. “…thank you.”

 “Oh, I’ll compliment you on other things.”

 “No…thank you.”

 His grin widens. “You’re welcome, V.”

 Well, I’ve broken the glass, I might as well push the button. 

 He licks his lips. “Virgil.”

 The snake tilts his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

 Staring at him, determined to keep eye contact, he steels himself. “Virgil.”

 The snake looks confused a moment longer before realization dawns and a smirk crawls over his face. But it’s not the shameless flirty one, nor is it dangerous and full of fury. It’s…it’s the smirk you’d make if you were a little unsure about what was happening. 

 “Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to give your name to a fae?”

 “You’re already keeping me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

 The smirk turns into a warm smile. “Yes. Yes, we are, Virgil.”

 Oh, oh yep. Yep, that was definitely a bad idea because him saying his name in that voice…

 Judging by the change in his eyes, he’s realized it too. 

 “And here you are,” he purrs, adjusting his grip, “all wrapped up in my arms.”

 He whines. “What happened to not flustering me too badly?”

 “I can’t help it, Virgil, you’re simply too easy, my darling,” the snake chuckles, “but I’ll stop. Just for now. Wouldn’t do to have you getting too overwhelmed, now, would it?”

 “After all,” he says, gentling his tone and pulling him into a proper cuddle, “we’ve got all of eternity, don’t we?”

 He’s warm. He’s so warm. There are hands on his head, around his back, around his waist, he smells of spice and pine. There’s a mouth next to his ear. 

 “J.”

 “Hmm?”

 He tilts his head up to look at him. “J.”

 Oh. 

 Oh. 

 “…thank you, J.”

 “You’re welcome, Virgil.”

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Batman - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Tamara Fox, Some OC for cuteness Additional Tags: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Sickfic, Tim Drake is Not Robin, Tim Drake is Not Red Robin, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Crying, so much crying, Love Confessions, Cheesy, God it's so cheesy, Cringe, So sweet so cheesy so angsty that you'll cringe, Tim Drake-centric, some Jason POV tho, A wild X-men appereance, I know they're not the same universe but I'm running out of character and running out of creativity, So yeah X-men characters and vaugly their mansion/orphanage too, Bruce Wayne Bashing, Some things that I don't put down bcs it'll be a spoiler, Smoking, Implied/Referenced Sex, POV from a cat????, The Clichést Cliché that ever Cliché, Cliche Summary:

They meet again on a rooftop after ten years. They're different now, and things are not the same. It's all too late. Chapter 1 sneakpeek

“Don’t jump.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Tim puts down his cigarette-clutching fingers and drags his eyes to the source of the voice. His gelled-back hair loses its hold and a strand of ear-length bangs falls to his vision.

Sadly, without seeing him and just from the voice, Tim knows exactly who this person is. One of the Bat franchise, and it just had to be the Red Hood variation, fucking great. Out of all time, it has to be tonight. The world is playing a joke on him.

Tim is sitting hunched on the rooftop’s edge, wishing he’d have some peace and quiet for once, and of course one of these pestering bats just has to bug him at the worst time. Yet, it’s actually pretty rare for Red Hood to patrol Gotham lately, and Tim curses up a storm in his mind. Out of all the days, it just has to be fucking tonight.

No, Tim is not having it.

“This man has too much to do tomorrow to jump.” Tim looks away, getting a light from his suit.

One hand lighting another one of his death stick, and the other unbuttoning his suit and loosens his tie. After a puff and two, Tim drags in and keeps the smoke in, letting his nerves uncoil. Seems like it doesn’t work that well when the big bad shadow of a vigilante doesn’t move from the corner of his eyes.

“I’m not jumping, go away, I can’t deal with you tonight,” Tim says as he sighs the smoke away to the red polluted sky, thinking the man must be deaf or just not convinced. Maybe the latter, the bats are famous for their tact after all. People say they’re purely human. Seeing Red hood’s physique, maybe this one becomes meta-human at some point.

Tim looks the other way so the vigilante is completely out of his vision, to make a point that he’s not having this conversation. He looks to the city, engulfed by the red sky. It’s bright since this building is at the heart of the city, where the higher caste of Gothamites live and prosper. You can see the border around the bright side of the city where the lights stop dead and darkness begins. The poor side of the city. The gap is ghastly, it’s what makes Gotham what it is.

Tim is not surprised but highly disappointed when he hears shuffling instead, and when he looks at where the tall brick wall of a man, he already sits down next to him. Red Hood keeps a respectable distance though, at least he has that much of a tact.

Red Hood hooks his fingers inside his helmet, does some finger shimmy, and the red shiny mask helmet is off. His face is still covered by a domino mask, his hair looks damp, and his gloved hands rake his jet black hair back. Curls bounce to his forehead, sighing a fog, the only indication that the weather is reaching the end of the year. In turn, Tim felt his cleanly shaved nape chilled.

From inside the leather jacket, the vigilante digs to look for something, and that’s when Tim realized he’s been looking at the cuts on Red Hood’s exposed forearms from the folded sleeves. Very thick and muscled forearms. This guy either lifts all day or a meta-human, not that Tim cares anymore.

“Got a light?” Red says, plush lips smirking.

Tim sighs, guess he has company today. He digs into his suit and throws him his lighter. The masked man inspects it and Tim rolls his eyes. The lighter is a metal one that you flip, and on it engraved ‘From my heart with love, that this one lasts longer, Tam.’

“A sweetheart of yours?” Says the man, the second sentence he speaks, and Tim doesn’t recognize the voice. Deep, gravely, the typical voice of someone that smokes.

Red Hood extends his hand to give back the lighter to Tim instead of throwing it, must’ve thought it’s special.

“Kind of,” Tim says, receiving the lighter.

Red Hood drags in, keeps the smoke in, “Why kind of?” and sighs.

“Never established the relationship.”

“Commitment issues?”

Tim quirks an eyebrow at the man, sitting just as hunched as him. There’s a pillar beside Tim, and he lays his back there, thinking whether or not he should engage in this conversation. Eh, why not right? It’s not like it’s confidential information, and Tim is just so tired of caring about social politics.

“I was too late,” Tim says. It’s not as painful to say now, but lately, Tim has been numb. He’s been numb for years. Tim’s gay, or so he thought. When he began to really love her, she’s gone from him.

“Girl got another guy?” Red Hood teases.

“Girl got dead,” Tim deadpans. The smile dropped from the vigilante’s mouth, and if only he can see his eyes, panic would look funny on the all-powerful Bat. But, no, Tim can see his tell by the tapping hands.

“Ah fuck, sorry.”

Tim chuckles at the spectacle of an awkward vigilante. Maybe this night won’t be so bad after all.

“Relax, I’m not too sad about it now, it was years ago.”

It’s hard to predict Red’s expression with that domino mask that takes his cheekbones and half his forehead, but Tim’s pretty sure the twist on that mouth means his opinion of Tim isn’t good. Well, not that Tim cares.

“How did she die?”

“Wrong place, wrong time,” Tim put the filter on his lips and drags in as deep as he can. Too deep, and Tim coughs hard, once and twice that his vision blurs. Her face comes to vision, the morbidity of her expression tips Tim’s nerves off balance. Tim quickly takes another deep drag, “She was in the Joker’s way.”

At the name, Red Hood snaps his face at Tim. Slowly, languidly, Tim looks back. The vigilante clenched jaw and balled fists look like he’s about to kill somebody. Tim knows that a few years ago Red Hood kidnapped Joker, didn’t kill him, and just vanished before popping up again to have a vendetta against Batman. What a load of drama those bunch.

This also means that Tim knows exactly who this person is. Suddenly the voice registers, the familiar jaw, the soft fucking tone.

He blames it on the nicotine that his heart is calmer than he’d like, his mind still not on overdrive, still plagued with Tam’s face as she died in front of him. He’d breathe smoke instead of oxygen if he could. God he wished he’d breathe smoke from now on. Why does it have to be today? One grace from the universe is that Tim -for some reason- feels amused instead of dread.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody, Red,” Tim says, can’t help the ease and sass in his voice. Tim lays back hunched, crosses his legs. “I thought you let go of your vendetta against the Joker.”

“Where do you hear that bullshit?” Redhood snaps and Tim can’t help but let go another chuckle.

“People talk, words get around,” Tim says.

“Then they’re far off the truth,” Red hisses before dragging in his cig.

“Yet the Joker still roams.”

“Ain’t my call.”

“Is it the big bat daddy calls?”

Red Hood splutters at the name and Tim smirks evilly at the reaction. “Ew, don’t call him that!”

“I can call that higher-than-thou furry hero wannabe anything I want,” Tim spits bitterly, looking out to the city. Sometimes when he’s really lucky, he’ll catch one of the bats twirling in the sky, and now one of ‘em is sitting beside him, but sadly it’s not the most shocking knowledge he has today. “One of these days it’s going to be my turn.”

“What?”

“Dying in the collision of mad men’s evil master plan you refuse to get rid of.”

“Ck, I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”

“Sorry then, I don’t mean to insinuate anything. This is me telling you loud and clear that you’re all cowards for not killing these maniacs that kill us like ants when you have the power to stop them.” Tim’s voice is even and chill, it did not raise a tone, but it reduces the bulk of a man beside him to still. “Some of us rooted for you when you caught the Joker, and your reputation gives us high hopes that it’ll be the last of him. Then he showed up again.” Tim feels the lighter in his pocket burn, “Then Tam died.”

Tim pumps his lung full of smokes, keeping it in there so that the clawing gloom will die before it takes roots.

“I almost did kill him, Batman stopped me,” the gravel voice says lowly.

Tim feels himself stiffens, now that’s something he doesn’t know. His eyes scan the hunched vigilante, trying to find any sign of a lie, there’s none.

“Shit,” Tim curses, sighing up smoke and quickly takes a deep drag in. “Fuck Batman.”

For the first time, Tim hears Red chuckle, “Yeah, fuck him.”

“Still your family though, right?” Tim says, earning what he thinks is a glare, who would fucking know with that mask. “Why else would you stay in his line?”

Red Hood looks away, not answering.

“Guess I understand. Proving something to someone.”

Red scoffs, “Would you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Yeah, not your story.”

Tim scoffs at the obvious lie, “Look it up. I have better things to do than telling you my backstory that’s a google search away.”

Tim Drake. Son of the CEOs of Drake Industries. Running smoothly since ever he becomes the COO. Yada yada, young and successful, yada yada, has the reputation to chew out the reporters and a resting bitch face, all that shit. Tim doesn’t have the best bedside manners, but when it comes to business, Tim gets things done, and his business partners know to swallow their pride for a potential too stupid to missed just because Tim has fangs.

“I dunno, you’re pretty mysterious in the eye of the media,” Red says.

“Because they’re nosy pricks and not worth my time when they’re asking me about rumors of my flings.”

“They’re not true?”

“What the fuck are you? Does TMZ sent you?”

“Good point, never mind.”

They let the quiet settle in, and Tim isn’t too bothered by the company so much. The red amber eats to his filter. Tim puts out the light and puts the bud back inside the pack while he gets another one. He looks down at his light, which reminded him of Tam. Damn, she was such a good assistant, she’s also his best friend but a damn better assistant. Tim doesn’t let himself think about it.

He lights another, and puffs.

“Shouldn’t you be patroling?” Tim says before he can stop himself.

“Nah, not here to patrol, just some errands.”

“Don’t mind me. I’m not jumping.”

“No, I know that,” Red says, tone softer that Tim narrows his eyes at him.

“Lonely?” Tim teases, putting the filter in his lips while locking eyes to the pair of white lenses.

Red shrugs, “Just wanna kill time with someone that doesn’t wear one of these,” he says, tapping to his domino mask.

Tim hums imagining himself with his family, “Yeah, me too, I’d take a vigilante franchise over family dinner anytime.”

“Aww,” Red surprisingly coos, making Tim flustered.

“Don’t get it twisted, my family sets a pretty low bar for good company.”

“I can say the same, Timmy.”

Tim flinches, “I didn’t say you can call me Timmy.”

“What about friends then?” Red follows up, ignoring him.

“Joker killed my only best friend. Oh god, stop making that face, everyone I know got someone they know killed by the Joker, or Bane, or.... shit just those freaks.”

“Doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I don’t care what you feel.”

“I’m wounded,” Red says in that joking ‘boo-hoo’ voice but it was the last thing to snap Tim’s patience completely. He hates this casual conversation as if nothing happened.

“I’m not jumping, and I know you’re not here just to talk to some random civilian. You know who I am, so say what you wanna say and go,” Tim inhales deeply after the low-toned rant, only to be met with another silence.

They stay quiet for a few whiles again. Smoking the tension away. After Tim’s cig burns halfway, his nerves calmed down. Then he realizes that Red is looking at him. Staring.

“What?” Tim says, sighing smoke.

“Would you kill Joker if you could?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Killing someone isn’t as easy as it sounds, especially if you did it before.”

“You underestimate my anger then.”

Red Hood goes still for what Tim is insinuating. His phone vibrates in his pocket. Tim gets it and his new assistant reminds him of a flight in an hour and he needs to be ready in half. Tim puts out his cig and pockets it.

As he stands up, he looks down at Red Hood, really looks at him. It reminded Tim of the time has passed. It’s been so long.

“Nothing to say?” Tim asks, he has an underlying tone of ‘last chance.’

“Thanks for the light.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breaths slowly. What did he expect? “You caught me at a bad time but it’s good to meet you again, Jason.”

When Tim walks away, his elbow is grabbed and he’s spun to face Jason in all his bulk. Looming over him with his height.

“You know who I am?” Red says with a threat in his voice that makes Tim wants to laugh.

“Are you really that surprised? Or did you forget me when you fucking died?” Tim smiles bitterly.

Moments passed, eyes on each other, chest to chest. The last time he sees Jason, Tim was staring at these white lenses too, and Jason was still as tall as him. At this close, Tim sees tiny tears that heal pale than the rest of his tan skin, bulked up body looming over him that used to be similar to his. For anyone, Tim had two best friends, Robin and Jason Wayne-Todd, he had known the two are the same. Seems like Jason doesn’t.

Doesn’t matter now. Everything said and done. Too late.

“Say your goodbyes now,” Tim says, because why else would his childhood friend pops back again after a decade of not saying anything after he returned to life. Tim doesn’t realize it’ll hurt this bad though. Missing Tam doesn’t hurt this bad.

Perhaps it was because the scar never healed right, but he still thinks of Jason like a big chunk of him that’s been torn away forcefully, even now.

“I’m sorry,” Jason finally says, low and guilty, as he should be, but it irks Tim to no end.

“I lost you, and when you’re back you didn’t tell me,” Tim says, his voice cracks and he curses it to hell. Red Hood’s been around for years, and Jason never came to Tim to say he’s alive.  “If you have nothing else to say, let go of me.”

“I didn’t know that you knew.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know you know I was Robin... Did you know... everyone?”

Tim rolls his eyes, “Yes.” Gloved hands still on his elbow, and white lenses not letting him go. The non-challant face he wears slips off as if oil just slicked between the mask and his skin. His heart picks up a beat. There are layers between their skin, Jason’s thick gloves and Tim’s three-piece suit, but it feels warmer. Burning.

“Damn,” Jason curses under his breath.

It’s just a little thing, but Jason’s silence following that is a nother prick to Tim’s skin.

“Is that all?” Tim dismissed, pulling his arm away, but Jason only holds tighter.

“I didn’t know, okay?” Jason pushes, “And you’re a civilian, you’re not supposed to know Jason Todd is back to the land of the living.”

“A civilian,” Tim mutters under his breath. That’s all he is to Jason? All this time. His chest hurts, Tim knows this is because of Jason’s words instead of anything else. “Get away from me.”

“I’ll see you again,” Jason says before letting go.

Before Tim can say don’t bother, the man puts on his red helmet and grapples away. For a moment Tim can see the shadow of red yellow green flying away.

[sadistic-second]

The Price Of Your Greed

//Once again, I have loosely based a short story (and possible roleplay idea?) off of a song that I’ve been listening to lately. Blood // Water by grandson. Please, enjoy.

/\~/\~/\~/\~/\~/\~/\~/\~/\

“I’m telling you Laney, everything is going to be fine. Everything is going to be routine tomorrow.”

“I believe you and all, but something just doesn’t feel right, you know?”

“Heh, let me tell you. Nothing we do ever feels right, but it's gotta be done, yeah? You’ll get used to it eventually. Soon, you’ll be able to ignore it just like I can.”

Honestly, that wasn’t very helpful if she was being honest. But there was just something in the way the other Turk carried herself that made her believe everything might actually be okay. It was just a routine meeting in the conference room. What could possibly go wrong? There was security. SOLDIERS. Turks. Who in Gaia would actually try and break in while everyone was all there?

Though his efforts had succeeded in calming down his companion, there was still a feeling swimming in the pit of his stomach. Whatever this feeling was, he couldn't shake it. They walked together for a little bit longer before they came to a stop in front of the blonde’s place. They said their final goodbyes and parted ways. Reno stayed outside her apartment just long enough to look around. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Shrugging, he shoved his hands into his pockets and started for his own place.

The Turks had gathered in their President’s office upon arriving in the building that morning. Rude, Rem, and Tseng had arrived within moments of each other. Truth be told, the Director hadn’t exactly left the building last night. No one would notice that he had taken a small nap in his office before coming in. With as important as this meeting was, there would be no room for mistakes. Sleep had been necessary. Rude just got a good night’s rest before coming in. Rem knew how important today was and decided to be a responsible Turk.

Reno was, of course, late. Why wouldn't he be? Wasn’t he always? Though, to his credit, when things like this occurred, he managed to show up on something that resembled on time. Checking the time, he still had a few minutes before he was due to arrive. But one thing that they found a little off was the fact that Elena wasn’t here yet. She was either always on time or a little early. They would give her the benefit of the doubt here. Maybe she’d just overslept? The blonde had been here a little later than usual last night.

Turning his back to the others, the bald one reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. His red headed companion’s number was on speed dial; tapping it and listening to it ring, he wondered how many calls it would take for him to answer. The record was five. His foot began to tap after it went to voicemail the first time. Either he was asleep or in the shower. Rude let it ring to voicemail a second time. Nothing. The man kept trying; Reno had a habit of dropping his phone or ignoring it in his apartment during his morning routine. However, it was when the call count bordered on the fifteenth call that he was starting to get worried. 

“Reno isn’t answering his phone.”

“I mean, isn’t that normal though?”

But something wasn’t sitting well in the pit of her stomach so she reached for her phone and dialed the redhead’s number as well. Each and every time, it went to voicemail. While Rude and Rem tried to get ahold of Reno, Tseng decided to try and get in touch with Elena with no avail.

“Neither is Elena.”

That was when Rufus looked up from his desk. His Turks could handle themselves, he knew enough about their lives and habits that they could sort themselves out. However, hearing that one of them was acting out of the normal brought him pause. Even if she had been out late doing whatever it was the Turks did when they were no longer office bound, she still showed up on time. Or answered her phone. 

“What do you mean she’s not answering her phone?”

Had the redhead heard that, he might have made a comment about the pecking order around there. Though it could be thought that Reno was lowest priority, that wasn’t really the case. He was capable of taking care of himself. Not to say that Elena wasn’t, it was just the redhead had vastly more experience in this line of work than she did and the potential for her to not escape an ambush or a kidnapping was . . . Well, no. The blonde was pretty good in a fight. There was no doubt about that. But the fact she wasn’t here just didn’t sit right with anyone.

“Sirs.” Everyone’s eyes were immediately on the door. One of their messengers rushed over out of breath and handed an envelope to Tseng. “This just arrived at the front desk. I ran up as fast as I could.” The man took a moment to breathe again, several more seconds of silence before he managed to get out, “Said it was important that you get it as soon as possible. Your childrens’ lives depended on it.”

The Director dismissed the messenger and they all waited until the man was gone before looking down at the envelope.

“That’s strange. As far as I’m aware, you don’t have children.”

“True, but don’t you find it strange that this arrives upon the fact we’re missing two of our number?”

Though there were precautions to take in regards to suspicious mail, but too many things needed to be done. They needed answers now. So they cleared a spot on the blond’s desk and opened the envelope. Its contents spilled out onto the desk and it was a CD. Dangerous as though it might have been, they loaded it into the computer and a pop up appeared. Clicking on it, a video began to play.

At first, it was difficult to distinguish what was going on. There was nothing but darkness. Lights started to come on one by one and they saw a tuft of blonde hair. A gruff computerized voice grunted, gave the woman a little kick. She groaned, but cried out a moment later when the man reached for her hair and pulled her up. Something was shoved into her hands. When the camera focused on it, the words, “We have your daughter.”

There was a shout from somewhere off to the side. They heard something that sounded like Reno’s voice shout, but it was difficult to make out what it was. A thug came staggering into view before he fell. The camera looked over to see a battered and bruised Turk roundhouse kicking another thug into submission. They watched as the redhead ran over but he tripped. On what, they couldn't see. They watched as he struggled to get up only to be kicked in the ribs. Coughing, he fell and they kicked the shit out of him. The camera man walked over to the passed out body of the male Turk and tossed another sign down and this one read, “We have your son.”

The camera swiveled around to the man’s face. His features were covered by that of what looked like an ornate mask. When he spoke, the jaw on the mask moved with it. 

“We have your son and your daughter. If you want them back, alive, you’ll give in to our demands.”

The ‘credits’ began to roll after that and the video had to be paused to read everything. Obviously, they weren’t going to give in to these people. Even if Turk lives were at stake, they knew what they were getting into when they took this job. The Director was about to make a judgement call when the lights went out. The cellphones of the Turks began to go off, alerting them to what was going on. There had been a security breach. But how was that possible? There was another commotion at the door. Rude went for whoever that might have been while Tseng and Rem stayed with the President. They heard a woman scream and the lights came back on. Wasn’t that the President’s secretary? 

Rude helped her up and she dusted herself off. After a small discussion and several apologies, she produced an envelope for them. This time, a letter was inside of it. The words didn’t make sense, not at first. Why were Reno and Elena constantly being referenced as ‘the son and the daughter’? It didn’t make sense. 

“The price of your greed is your son and your daughter.” Tseng repeated, eyes glancing up at Rufus. “Have you any idea what that might be referring to?”

“No.” Then what could it have meant then? From the video, they could determine that the ‘children’ were the two missing Turks. That much had been easy to figure out. However, why were they being referenced as such? Terrorist groups were a constant threat to ShinRa. Could it have been one of them? It was possible, but which one would be taking credit for this? Tseng was more than willing to pour himself over this note and find all the information out about it that he could, but something caught his attention.

“Rem, what is it you’re doing over there?”

“Checking the security breach; it doesn’t make any sense.” There was clicking and clacking and a lot of rapid eye movement. She was searching for something. “We should have known about it the moment they walked in the building. Why didn’t we? Why are we just learning about it now?” Camera after camera was searched until she discovered what she was looking for. The one set of cameras she couldn't access. Some digging and hacking later, she gasped. Everyone rushed over to see what she saw.

Elena was splayed out on the meeting room table. Reno was hanging from the ceiling by his ankles. There were pools of blood slowly starting to form. Judging by this, they hadn’t really been in there for very long. But how had their bodies been smuggled in? Rude was making a phone call down to the front desk to get answers while Tseng and Rem began to formulate some kind of place to get into the conference room.

From what they could tell so far, there were at least three other people in that room aside from the two injured Turks. They were heavily armored and weaponized. One of those men was sitting on what looked like a large metal chest. That might have been what they transported the two of them in. But shouldn’t that have been reported as suspicious if they came in the front door? Heh, bold of them to assume it was the front door. They got deliveries from other entrances so not as to crowd up the main lobby. That’s where they’d come from.

Rude got off the phone and walked over to the Director and whispered something into his ear. Master of hiding his facial expressions, the Director then leaned over and whispered something into the President’s ear. Keeping Rem out of the loop wasn’t deliberate per se, but given the information that had been uncovered it was best that she didn't know. Their emotional states did not need to be compromised anymore than they might already be. Decisions had to be made and they needed to be made quickly.

“Someone has to stay back here and monitor the cameras. I’ll need updates every couple of minutes. The rest of us will take various approaches to get inside the room. The vents, the halls, from below.”

The Director was explaining the plan that he had come up with all on the spot. But there was one flaw. What if the people in that room knew they had accessed the cameras? What if they had access to all the other cameras? What if they knew what was going on right now? There was so much room for error. But what else were they really supposed to do? There were obvious risks to this plan, but something needed to be done.

“I’ll stay back and watch the cameras. Go. Retrieve our Turks.”

The Turks nodded to their President as he took a seat back at this desk. The three of them quickly made their way out of the room and down the hallway. Almost immediately, they were given an update from their Boss; the men inside the room were getting up and getting into position. There were more of them than originally thought. The initial three they assumed were in there were actually closer to ten. Though this gave the Turks a moment of pause, they kept going. There was no way they were just going to leave those two alone in there.

When they got the crucial update, it didn’t make sense to them at first. If you were holding two Turks hostage, why would you not keep watch of them? Reno, who had previously been thought to be either passed out or near death, had managed to manipulate his body to curl upwards. One hand gripped the rope that had him tied while the other worked on getting the knot undone. It was difficult, but he got himself free. From there, he had very carefully placed bare feet on the conference table and began to untie Elena. 

The redhead seemed to have a plan and communicated it to the blonde. She must have argued with him about it a little too loudly because that had gotten them some unwanted attention. Luckily for the Turks, there were hidden weapons in the room so they wouldn't have to fight completely unarmed. Reno fought a lot harder than his companion, or so he made it seem. Given they focused more of their attention on him than her, she had a lot easier of a time fighting her way towards the door. 

However, she wasn’t fast enough to slam it shut afterwards. A gunshot rang out and the bullet went through her calf. A scream ripped free from her lungs and she rolled over in enough time to see one of the men taking aim at her. Reno shouted something before tackling the guy off to the side. Somewhere in the scuffle, he’d kicked the door shut. They shot the cameras out from inside the room and their updates from the office were gone.

It was Rem who shouted for Reno when their Boss reported all of this to them. She took off, leaving the other two in the dust. By the time they caught up, she was already tending to a wounded blonde. They all tried to get as much information as they could out of her; certainly she would have to know what this was all about, right? Rufus had caught up to them by now and he, too, wanted answers. 

All she could really tell them was that this had something to do with a reactor. Whatever town or village or whatever they had destroyed to build it, these people were some of the only ones left. They were out for revenge. The whole ‘son and daughter’ thing was starting to make sense. Despite her injuries, Elena demanded to be allowed to continue on. Reno had risked his life for hers, she at least owed him to try and get him out. But when it was mentioned that since he did, in fact, risk his life for hers, she should repay him better by living. Reluctantly, she made her way towards medical. They had patched her up the best they could; she’d live long enough to get down there. The rest was up to the staff.

“So what’s the plan?”

“There is no plan. We just go in and kill them all.” “Rem, we have to have a plan; you can just cowboy it up.” “I’m with her.”

“Rude.”

The bald man was already flexing his hands and adjusting his gloves. What would Reno’s brother say if he knew this was happening? What a time to have a fucking solo mission. Once they reached the door, they could hear the scuffle dying down. Raised voices were talking shit to the captured Turk while his calm voice was practically begging them to go through with it. Rude was on one side of the door, Rem on the other. Rufus had never intended to sit this one out. His shotgun was trained on the door. Tseng had taken up a position beside him. 

On the count of three, they had a plan to charge in. However, there was a small explosion from inside. They all recognized the sound of the boom. It was a specialty of Rude’s; so Reno had found that secret stash as well? They needed to get in there fast though. But they hesitated when several more went off. These weren’t Turk supplied. They belonged to the terrorist group. Fires were starting to rage inside the room, the sprinkles were activating.

Water began to seep out from under the door. Two voices were heard; one belonged to Reno while the other seemed to belong to the leader of this group. 

“Well come on then, you fucking pussy. Do it. You gotta know even if you kill me, you and the rest of these idiots are just going to be lambs to the slaughter.” The Turk spit blood out of his mouth, cocked his head to the side. “The price of our greed was your sons and daughters, huh? That’s fucking rich.”

“SHUT UP!” The man’s voice was shaking. It was coated in hesitation. Whoever had told him that this would be an easy job had lied. There was nothing easy about this. “Just shut up and die!”

Gunshots were deafening in their own right. However, being on the opposite side of the place they were coming from held a different sort of quiet. After a couple seconds, more than just water began to seep out from under the door. There was blood in it. Someone was on the other side of that door, they were still breathing. They were coming closer. It was now or never.

They broke the door down only to see a lot of dead bodies and a severely wounded Reno stopping, holding his hands up in surrender. It took seconds to recognize what was happening here and the idiot sighed, looking off to the side.

“Wondered when you guys would get here. Didn’t really want to die alone.”

“You aren’t going to di- . . .” 

But before Rem could finish, the redhead fell to his knees. While the shot he had fired had gone through the forehead of the leader, that man’s had pierced his chest. A centimeter in either direction and it would have killed him being so close to his heart as it was. Even if it had missed, it was still a near fatal shot. Unless they did something for him soon, he really would die.

“What have I told you, Reno.” Came the President’s voice. Though the Turk’s face was covered in blood, he still extended a hand and slapped him. “You don’t have permission to die. So you better stay alive.”

“Heh, yeah?” The redhead coughed, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll do my be- . . .” 

His vision had gone splotchy and his body began to fall forward. They caught him and rushed him off towards medical. It was a close call, but the man would live. He’d be out for a little bit, but he’d make a mostly full recovery. 

[extremelyblackandwhite]

handmaid - 27

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mention of weapons 

A/N:  more musical references ... who would’ve thought? but now i’m also adding disney references bc referencing is my passion (unless it’s for essays, then screw referencing). also i’m very sorry for being late with this chapter something happened last night and i couldn’t finish it. i hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

    - Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six ...  - a choir of two voices echoed through the reading room in the Forrest household with one being significantly deeper while the other much higher and almost baby like. However if asked, Y/N would solely deny that being.5 made her a baby and she would constantly put five fingers up in pride of her young age. Accompanying the two voices, there was the soft sound of the very old piano which had been with the Forrest family for more than a century - sept, huit, neuf.

   - Fantastic. Play the last three notes for me by yourself this time. - Daniel smiled at the much younger Y/N dressed in a hand-me down white ruffled dress with her hair pushed out of the way by a velvet white string. Y/N giggled, her babyish laughter echoing through the room before she could concentrate on the keys of the piano, her fingers pressing the same combination as just before. 

   - Sept, huit, neuf ... Sept, huit, neuf. - her fingers played through the keys as her still very badly spoken French came through but that was the life of a lady who was to grow up to stand next to an heiress; educated in the arts and languages, polite and classic, a picture and reflection of true perfection. Fake it until you make it, it’s what her governess told her constantly. - Sept, huit, neuf. 

  - One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. - Daniel joined in with a lower key, quickly playing through the keys and ending at the nine making Y/N smile in relief. Whenever he changed to English it normally meant the lesson was over and while Y/N loved music, she didn’t enjoy it for three hours straight in the early morning. - You know birdie, whenever you don’t wanna be somewhere try to pretend you do.

  - It’s too early. - she whined, head leaned against the keys of the very expensive shiny black instrument. 

  - Alright, birdie, go on a do whatever it is you do in your free time.

Before he could even shut down the piano’s hood, Y/N was already on her feet, the small sounds of new tiny shoes becoming further and further as she exited the reading room and bolted towards the attic. At 5 years old, the young handmaid had mastered a way to get the high door open by using two tennis rackets tied together with one of her hair strings. After doing this, the stairs came collapsing down allowing her to climb them into the attic. 

Looking around like a squirrel afraid of being caught, she returned to the pile of boxes she had found when she was rummaging through whatever had been left there. She wasn’t entirely sure who it belonged to or what it was but she was convinced that it was filled with something that looked pretty enough to belong to a princess. Opening the first box she came face to face with a gold coloured head piece. Curiously, she grabbed it from the box rushing over to a pretty old mirror with already dark spots and a bit of browning. Curiously, she lifted up the headpiece, placing it on her head. Her eyes seemed to wander around her reflection before the headpiece started to slide down, a bit too big of her. Before it could reach the floor, however, Y/N grabbed it, noticing a few letters on the in the piece. 

 - Y/N, the French tutor is here. 

 - I’m going. 

Y/N watched as Sebastian in awe as he cooked her cheese toastie. Sure, a cheese toastie wasn’t a culinary masterpiece and it was the furthest thing from being a hard task, still she was just entranced by the sight imagining what things could be. Dreaming is a dangerous two edged swords allowing you to envision everything your heart desires yet having the power to keep it as further yet close enough to reach but never have. She could almost see it, she could almost see and hear the future that would never be. With eyes wandering to the piano in the living room, she could see and hear being sat at the piano teaching her child how to play while Sebastian made his cheese toasties in the kitchen. Yet again dreams aren’t reality, reality is much more bitter and unforgiven. 

    - Look at that, unburned. - Sebastian slide a perfectly white porcelain plate towards her containing the delicious snack. 

    - I’m rather scared that burning is your only evaluating tool for cooking. - she tried to hold in a little child-like smile but her muscles had more strength. - Thank you.

    - Well, angel, unless you can cook better than me I believe you have no right in criticising. - he took a seat very close to her, choosing to instead stare at her rather than eat along with her. At that comment Y/N scoffed, giving him a look that made him question his statement and wonder if she was some sort of hidden stellar cook. 

   - I would say I can, at least, cook better than you. 

   - What can’t you do? You’re like this untouchable Edwardian woman. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who is so effortlessly ready to be in high society.

   - I don’t belong in high society. - she seemed to stare blankly at the wall of the kitchen and how perfectly straight the back splash had been placed. Every single square perfectly placed yet not noticeable by its own, unless bringing perfection to the whole piece itself. - You just have to pretend you do. No one in this business is gonna give their daughter up to be standing next to someone who’s bound to inherit an empire ... you said yourself, if they shoot at an heiress they’ll shoot at you too. It’s more like picking someone off the street and dressing them up just good enough that you believe they’re untouchable. 

   - You don’t give yourself enough credit. 

   - I think you just see me through rose coloured glasses. - she took a bite off the sandwich. - You know what? That’s pretty good. 

   - Thanks, angel. - he kissed the top of her head. - Hey, how about we do something you really like tonight? 

   - No. - she held his hand. - Let’s do something you like to do. We never do something you like to do, why don’t you pick?

   - Angel, I don’t think you’d enjoy it. 

  - It can’t be that bad. - she put what was left from the sandwich in the plate, wiping her hands clean from the grease. -  You do what I want all the time. 

  - I like making you happy, angel. - he leaned towards her, placing a soft and quick kiss on top of her nose. - Besides, you haven’t made me do anything particularly torturous. 

  - No. - she crossed her arms at him, jumping from her high seat. - We are doing something you like doing tonight. 

  - Okay, angel. Let’s go then. 

There was no denying her, or at least he hadn’t built a backbone to deny her yet. Nevertheless, he took her back to the garage yet instead of walking into the unit they had just been in, both of them kept walking and walking passing various units with various numbers, probably belonging to other tenants. He finally stopped in front of an abnormally large unit which had a pin code pad. Quickly and almost mechanically he put the code in which made the door unlock allowing him the open it up. Stepping inside, this unit was way more organised than the last one with what looked like a small version of a shooting range. A mob boss liking to shoot ... original. 

  - Do the neighbours not complain about the noise? - she wondered out loud. 

  - Soundproof walls. - he gave her his regular pearly white smile, taking a pair of noise cancelling headphones and googles from the wall. - Besides, it’s my building. 

  - I’m sure someone probably has complained. - she teased as he put a pair of googles on her face. - Have you ever shot a gun, angel?

  - I did archery in school. - she shrugged. Gwen and Dan usually went for the shooting range back when they were younger but Y/N was always one to take that time to herself and stay home either practicing for her lessons or reading. Besides, she was entirely sure she didn’t even know how a gun worked. - Didn’t have a good aim.

 - Well, this it’s not entirely like archery. - he opened a black panel, grabbing a matte black revolver before handing it to her. Y/N, however, stared at it untrusting of the object. - You’ve grown up with the mob, don’t tell you’ve never touched a gun. 

 - They told me not to and I enjoy following rules. - Y/N crossed her arms, defensive of her statement which made Sebastian smirk. - Besides, what if I touched it and it accidentally shot me? 

 - It’s locked, angel. - he placed the revolver in front of the circle target so he could put the noise cancelled headphones on her, leaving it just spaced enough so he could still talk to her. - Besides, maybe you should know how to defend yourself.

 - Okay. - still a bit guarded, she picked up the weapon, placing herself in line with the target while Sebastian was by her side. 

 - It’s a quick-lock system. - he helped her unlock the gun. - Now, regularly most of the ones in the mob have a quick-lock system so if you’re eve ...

 - I don’t wanna think about it. - the memory of the gunshot from earlier had her not in the mood to think about danger. Maybe there was imminent danger to avoiding the probability of her being hurt but half her mind wanted to believe that people wouldn’t shot at her. Sebastian tightened his lips, changing his narrative. - What if it shoot you by accident?

 - Angel, that is pointing nowhere near me. - he tapped her elbow. - Eyes on the target and pull the trigger. 

Y/N swallowed in dry, looking up from the gun to the bullseye before pulling the trigger. The sound didn’t hit her as hard due to the headphones but she still took a step back out of surprised followed by an upset moan due to the fact the bullet had hit the furthest place from the target. 

  - Right... - Sebastian placed himself behind her, arms coming up to her, almost mirroring her position so he could move her arms and overall aim in the right position. - Take a deep breathe, pick your target, concentrate and shoot. 

  - Okay. - she took a deep breath, feeling his skin too close to her in a way which almost made her too weak on the knees to concentrate on the target. Nevertheless, she focused on the bullseye, pressing the trigger which caused a back/forward motion and the bullet when straight into the target making her eyes and smile widen as her ego swelled up with pride. She turned around, pulling Sebastian into a hug. - I did it!

Sebastian locked the revolver, placing it back on the table before returning to a very enthusiastic Y/N yet not very excited to do it again. Nevertheless, Sebastian was happy she at least knew how to use a weapon, just in case. As he opened his mouth to say something, his phone started to ring. God, just fantastic. Sighing in defeat, he put his phone on to his hear, a fairly familiar yet annoying voice coming through. Y/N watched in confusion, not entirely sure who was at the phone but from what she could manage from his words it seemed like he was getting an invite which he was very against. After what felt like a good 5 or 10 minutes of speaking on the phone, begrudgingly he turned his phone off, looking at Y/N with a look which was very indescribable.  

  - Are you okay? - she took a few steps forward, wrapping her arms around his neck, one of her hands coming to brush his hair soothingly. - Who was it?

  - Gwen. She’s spending New Years at the Ritz and she wants you to go. 

  - The Ritz? I thought she was going to Monaco. 

 - Seems like she decided to stay in New York and wants you and me there for good measure. 

 - I know for a fact she does not enjoy your company? Why the sudden change of heart?

 - We are getting married in two weeks, angel. I would call it PR but then again, what hasn’t been PR with the two of us?

 - Oh ... right ... the wedding. - sometimes Y/N forgot that she was very much involved with a man stuck in his engagement. It wasn’t like he could break it, that was a death sentence and probably the biggest mistake he could make. However, she still didn’t know how she was gonna handle it. Maybe Mr. Forrest was right, maybe she should go to Paris after all of this was over, maybe she should just start to distance herself but how could she distance herself from someone who is just so magnetic without even trying? How do you ignore a magnetic pull? - Well, I guess we should pack ... again. 

tag list: @lilya-petrichor​ @xoxohannahlee​ @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater​ @nikkipea​ @madisonpillstrom​ @cevans98​ @thelostallycat​ @sideeffectsofyou​ @anxiousdreamersworld​ @captainchrisstan​ @lookiamtrying​ @sarge-barnes-sir​ @stuffforreferences​ @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen​ @nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa @emzd34 @everything-is-awesomesauce @dreams-in-blxck 

[cutegirlmayra]

*Slurps on ice coffee* ey yo Mayra what's cracking? I need some good ole fashioned protective Sonic of Amy I̶'̶m̶ ̶b̶a̶s̶i̶c̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶I̶ ̶l̶o̶v̶e̶ ̶i̶t̶ . Maybe something like the press or newspaper attack Amy's character which upset her and Sonic defends or tries to comfort her? That'd be great thanks *Puts on shades and skateboards away*

What up, homie? How’s the skate? Don’t get home to late, my man, you know how these streets be at night. OUR TOWN. That’s what’s up! -slaps hand into yours and does a bro-hold-

You can see my response and thinking for this on the Pajama Blogs! (x) Timecode: 28:12

Referencing my fanfiction: Trying to ‘Tap’ into Love

PROMPT REQUESTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN, DO NOT SEND ANY TO ME, please and thank you ;3c

Prompt:

It was a pretty late night. I hadn’t seen Amy so upset before.

Usually, in the past, it wasn’t uncommon for Amy to come rushing to me--arms flung out and moving like a speed train with tears that sprawled into sparkling stars against the sky.

I always, usually, kinda-sorta, caught her and just let her cry it out with an awkward smile to my face.

But this time... Amy wanted to be alone.

That was weird. I first heard about it from Tails, who said that she had been reading some articles about the team and how they’ve said some pretty critiquing things about her... I’ve never really dealt with anything like that.

Joking, completely, I’ve totally had my fair share. But what about Amy? I always figured... well, she came off as pretty independently confident all on her own. I didn’t think she cared that much about what everyone thought of her.

So I was a bit concerned by Tails’s words, but I thought nothing of it. Waved it off as a momentary sadness for her, after all, this was Amy! She could bounce back from anything.

If it was really serious, I figured she would have come charging after me like before.

The stars weren’t here tonight... odd.

Sorry, where was I? Oh, yeah. The second time I heard anything a little more alarming was from Knuckles. Apparently, Amy had come to seek some solace from the unconditionally loving Chao--now this had been a solid day and half since I’ve heard about the incident of her wanting to be alone after reading some bad commentary on her--and she would shake the chao away from clinging to her.

He said he didn’t get it, cause she used to love to cuddle them and they all were really hurt by her wanting to keep her distance and just pat their heads.

Now, if anything were to set me and Knuckles off, it was that.

His face was so strained as he talked to me about it, I’ve never seen Knuckles trying to hold back so much worry and anger before. He said he tried to go over and give her a piece of his mind, but when she turned around, her eyes were vacant of anything but tears.

“It looked like she thought she had done something wrong before she even did it.” He stated, “I didn’t have the heart to continue yelling at her, so I just shooed her away, telling her to pick on someone else if she was feeling that crummy.”

“Harsh, Knuckles. Harsh.” I joked, but there was a low-key truth to what I said. “Tails said something about harsh comments on some articles she likes to read about us.” The old alter of the Master Emerald’s shrine was as stony and gravely as ever. The little pieces of chipped pebbles always grinded and dug themselves under my fur and into my skin every time I sat there, but Knuckles acted like nothing ever phased his tough skin.

I was acting kinda tough, too... to be real honest with you.

Knuckles huffed, grumbling as he picked up some berry juice he had squashed into a half-coconut  bowl and passed one over to me. “Doesn’t excuse telling a kid they can’t hold ya.” He was right... but then again...

“Maybe she just didn’t want the sympathy.” It was hard to look at it from a girl’s point of view, I didn’t quite understand what would tip her over the edge like that. Maybe they said she wasn’t pretty enough..? Ehh..?

“Girls really care about how others view them, you know?” I took a sip. It did in fact taste good, and I leaned back to let the slight acidy feel tingle against my throat as its favorable burst went down the ol’pipe. “Ahh~ That’s the spot!”

“...I don’t think you should be acting so carefree about this, Sonic.”

His sudden tone made me stop enjoying the berry sensation and look back to him, a little surprised but not by much. Knuckles always chose the direct route in any conversation, it’s what made him so easy and frustrating to talk to.

I smiled and closed my eyes, putting a foot down a step to stretch it out and sighed.

“...Yeah. I know.”

“If you know, then why don’t you do something about it!?” Knuckles, always ready to pull his voice out and speak up when he sees something he doesn’t like. “The very fact that she’s a girl means you should do somethin’ about it! Girls aren’t meant to mope about, they gotta be treated decently! Ain’t that half your job?!” ...Still, it made me like him like that. He was a good guy, and had the real makings of a hero--at least, to my standards--and a good friend at that!

“Half, huh?” I took another sip. Did everyone think me and Amy were something more..? After all these years, I hadn’t the slightest clue. Seems everyone else held a standard in their mind about it though...

“I’m serious! Aren’t you planning to do something about it?”

“Am I?” I smirked, not liking to be asked direct questions about myself. I took the coconut drink down and set it to the side, getting up and stretching my arm out in a few simple gestures. Spreading it across my chest and pulling it with my other hand, then twisting my torso right and down as I put the other arm back and used the one I’d momentarily stretched to reach sky high with it. “Boy, that feels good!”

“Grr... Sonic... if you’re making fun of this, I’ll-!” Before getting Knuckles too wound up, seeing him lift his fists again, I flicked myself in my usual--Sonic Charm~

I winked and wiggled my pointer finger, turning one leg to be slightly bent as I was about to speed off anyway.

I had heard what I wanted too, now time to do some more digging before investigating it right at it’s source.

“Don’t worry so much, Knuckles! Like I’d ever leave Amy to her own assumptions.” I still wasn’t sure what she was struggling with... but wanting to be alone and not have anyone clinging to her in affection?

Didn’t sound like Amy Rose to me.

While heading to dart off the island, I stopped by the chao and asked them what their story was.

Squatting down, I think I mustered up enough of my expertise in games to figure out their charaded play. It seems the chao could tell something was off from Amy’s usual, cheery nature. To try and help, they tried to swarm her as she usually did with endless hugs, but she delicately plucked each one off at a time and set them back down.

All she wanted was to sit, looking sadly between her arms and legs--I’m guessing the chao were trying to do the fetal upright position but their budgy bodies just can’t do it.--and pat their heads.

It made them uncomfortable to not be able to love on her, I assumed, and they continued to show me great concern as they held my arms in different places and showed me their adorable eyes.

“I get it, don’t worry, Amy’s gonna be just fine.” I smiled the best I could, but hearing... well, seeing their side of the story really... heh, opened my eyes?

Puns. Always a defense mechanism when you don’t intend to use them that way.

Something had me wanting to wait before I saw Amy again, though. Usually, that wasn’t like me, but I wanted a bigger picture.

I sped over to Cream’s and Vanilla’s, where I thought more insight might be had.

Tails had already called them, doing his own work to try and collect the pieces before directly asking Amy. We all knew Amy could be a bit... Nah, I won’t say it. But we wanted a better idea before we approached her about it.

Just safer that way...

I rubbed my head, remembering how easily one could fall into that hammer’s swing if they didn’t word things a bit more carefully, as Cream and Vanilla recounted Amy’s strange melancholy behavior, and how she wanted to seem less-

“Feminine?” That threw me for a loop, and trust me, I’ve had my fair share of running through loops.

“Well, not quite.” Vanilla was sitting on her lovely coach with Cream and Cheese sitting adjacent but slightly on her lap. She looked down at Cream who held her chin up a moment, wanting to be polite as she addressed me.

I did my best to hold a steady and kind eye-contact, but I could tell she was struggling to admit what she heard and saw.

“Miss Amy kept asking me strange questions. Like... Was she too much on something. I didn’t understand and she kept insisting I shouldn’t coddle her or lie to her. I didn’t know how to take that... I would never lie to Miss Amy! I just... didn’t understand what she wanted from me.”

It pained me to see that Amy had hurt someone from her own insecurities.

That was everything Amy stood against, and that’s when I knew this was getting out of hand.

I had let her be for a day just to see if she would either work it out on her own or come crying to me... but she hadn’t done either.

She was now hurting those close to her... and so it was time to intervene.

“Thank you for telling me that, Cream.” I purposefully spoke as tenderly as I could, “I’m sure that was hard for you. I’m very grateful you told me what happened.”

She buried herself into her mother’s chest, still hurt, and that drove a powerful fire through me.

That does it, Amy.

You don’t hurt people when you’re injured.

You come to someone stronger to help heal you if you can’t do it yourself.

At the time, I was really upset. Amy must have been polarized by the media.

They call her too traditional? Is that why she wanted to be more ‘tough’ like? Too protected? Too appeased?

Feminine... did she feel like a damsel in distress instead of our trusted friend?

I was trying to keep my head leveled, but I ended up closing my eyes during my run and letting the night’s air beat against me to try and cool myself off before finding her.

She wasn’t home, I checked the windows. No lights.

Unless she was sitting the dark, Amy always had a reading light on. She only turned every light off in her house when she was going to bed, so she could see the stars and feel like we were watching them together, no matter if we were far apart or not.

I looked to see she hadn’t any dirty dishes in the sink, and while peeking through the window, I noticed her drapes were down as well. That means she hadn’t been cooking or baking, and that she hadn’t opened the windows and pulled the drapes to let the smells carry, hoping I’d catch wind of it and invite myself in for a dinner with her.

I sped over to the city, thinking maybe she went on one of those ‘journey walks’ where she just window shops but ends up buying too many bags and waiting for me to bolt by and help her with them. She liked to think and experience things outside the home too... but I didn’t see her struggling with shopping bags anywhere.

She wasn’t watching Twinkle Park’s lights from her favorite outdoor restaurant, or purposefully losing her hat in hope’s I’d somehow see it and return it to her. She wasn’t sitting on her favorite spot with her favorite outdoor umbrella with her typical strawberry and vanilla shake and pretending she was too cold to finish it, bundling up and hoping I’d make a move and pull her closer or something.

She wasn’t in the fields where she’d pick flowers with Cream, or stare up at the clouds and reminisce about old times and stories we used to tell each other, or have her head on a bed of flowers so butterflies would come and sit on her still face as she dreamed of a future with me in it. Waiting for me to zip by and have the butterflies spread out and fly through my backdraft as the air around where I just blazed through would slowly return to a even, equilibrium.

She wasn’t anywhere I usually found her at.

I came up to my last spot I could think of. Why was this so hard? Amy could find me in a heartbeat... which... I couldn’t quite feel right now because it was fluttering dangerously like my shaky breaths.

I kept a strong look on my face, simply because I was worried my fear at not finding her would leak through and make her feel bad about being too well hidden.

I didn’t want her to feel bad... I didn’t want her to be alone for this long.

It had been the dark of the second day... I just wanted to see her. Make sure she was okay...

That anger that once fueled me was now popping in sparks of concern that made me walk around the rolling hills of Green Hill zone.

If she wasn’t here... looking for me... then I truly didn’t know where she was.

Eggman... would have been my next guess.

That, or Amy was replaced by a robot of his and was terrorizing the living daylights out of her friends!

... It was concerning. I wouldn’t worry. I couldn’t worry... Amy wasn’t a little girl anymore and hateful, spiting comments were to be expected when you live in the spotlight.

But I was just wanting to know where she was... how she was... It was starting to drive me crazy.

“Where are you... Amy?” I looked up to the sky, blank and black, and I didn’t like the omen it sent me. Like chills down my fur, the wind finally got to me. I felt the cold... empty world for the first time... realizing Amy was out in it without me.

Was she without her coat? Was she silently re-reading those awful articles?

‘Amy... Amy... Hear me... You’re not alone.’ My thoughts channeled through to my feet and I kept searching, darting here to there, scouting out east and west, north to south was like zig-zagging till every blade swayed left and right to make sure she wasn’t hiding somewhere in it’s darkened shade...

A crescent moon... not a full one. She liked the full moon.

‘Amy...’

As I ran through a rather flattened terrain of another zone, I watched to the side of me how the treelined slimmed down and the edge of the world rose up on a hill... that soon became a mountain.

Blocking my view... of any light the night could have brought to her.

She only liked the dark when she was about to sleep... it’d be too dark to really see her way home, soon.

I had confidence she knew her way home, that the world wasn’t that dangerous... but I wondered if her mind could be.

‘Amy...’ I bit down my teeth, charging forward in a streak of blue.

“AMMMMYYY!!!!”

----

As though hearing something in the distance, I raised my head and looked back over my shoulder.

Something kept telling me Sonic was looking for me... but I wondered if that was true this time.

I turned my solemn head with a sigh back to the last shred of light from the fading sun... I felt like... if I got any closer, I would feel it’s warmth envelop me completely... and I’d disappear from this world.

All these awful words in my head would cease, all this terrible feeling of not being enough, or too much, or just dull and unwanted... I wanted it all to go away.

I had cried and thought so much, self-reflected to the point of not even knowing where I was or how far I had traveled off too.

Tails said I was acting too sensitive to words that random people that didn’t even know me had said. Knuckles yelled at me when I tried to change my behavior so I wasn’t what those people had written about. Cream even got tongue-tied trying to voice her own thoughts about me... and ended up just saying something to ‘feed my ego’ as they put it.

No... Cream wouldn’t do that. Tails wouldn’t try and be so dismissive of me like they said they all are. Knuckles... Okay, Knuckles is loud and yells a lot, but he meant well..!

She groaned and let herself flop back to lay against the cold grass, still holding her arms around herself as she was getting terribly cold in her heartache.

Knuckles just didn’t like how the chao were reacting to my new behavior... it’s understandable they would have been apprehensive to me trying to love them a little less directly... But practicing my new, refined self on them didn’t seem to have any good effects...

Maybe I’m overthinking... but I just want someone to tell me... I’m alright.

She put her arms over her eyes, refusing to look up at such a dark and ugly sky tonight.

“I just-” she sniffed, feeling the hot tears break through her already stained, sticky cheeks full of her earlier dried tears again. “I just want someone to tell me I’m perfect the way I am..!”

A sound arrowed itself into a bow along the plain of where Amy was, a sound that soared through her like a sonicboom that cracked through to her heart and made her sit up, looking as though with outrageous hope towards the last lowering light of the sun’s touch...

The grassy hill behind her seemed to have made a sound like something was moving quickly across it’s tundra... like something was refusing to let her sit in the quietness to let her thoughts overwhelm and consume her.

Her thoughts could hear someone calling her name...

“Sonic..?”

She lightly whispered his name out.

Then, as though pushing her lips back to not bother him, but wanting more than anything to jump into his arms-!

“SOOONIICCC!!!”

-----

He zoomed back to the sound, his eyes raising as though elated to finally get a trace of her.

And those tears that sparkled and lit up the entire night sky with stars...

And those arms that reached out for him, as though stretching on for eternity... a never-ending yearning he always accepted, granted a little half-heartedly, but never refused.

That scene was forever imprinted on him... and he wasn’t letting Amy leave his sights till she was her usual, teasingly flirty and emotionally unbreakable, spirited and youthful self again!

[thejustmaiden]

Heyo, fellow Inuyasha fans! Happy Friday! This particular blog will serve as a collection of random thoughts I’ve been mulling over lately. Hope you’ll consider giving it a read. By the way, it’ll specifically pertain to the Sessrin ship. If that’s not something that is of interest to you, then no need to read any further. Whatever happens, I wanted to get this out before the sequel. Alrighty, let’s go! 

I’m not sure many of us realize just how much fiction sparks public dialogue and shapes culture. There have been countless studies and research done to prove it, therefore this really isn’t up for debate. What the real question here should be is have we taken the time to fully contemplate and assess just how much fictional experiences are able to change or influence our perspective on real, everyday life? The visual arts are just one of many evolutionary adaptations that serve to give us more insight into one another’s mind. If our outlook on fiction contrasts with said insight, then perhaps some re-evaluating is in order.  

Powerful works of literature such as 1984 and the beloved Harry Potter series are just two examples. George Orwell’s book contributed strongly to how readers viewed government and politics during that time, and to this day it’s a book that resonates with many. As much as Harry Potter is cherished all across the world, there are religious and academic institutions that condemn it or have even gone so far as to ban it. I may not agree with the extreme measures taken, but it’s fascinating nonetheless to witness the extent to which fiction can move and mobilize people for a cause.

The takeaway is that indicating fiction doesn’t have the power to create change in our everyday lives is misleading to say the least. So how exactly then can fictional stories that are, after all, completely made up affect society in such profound ways? It all lies in the power of the psychology of fiction. According to cognitive psychologist and novelist, Keith Oatley, who’s been researching the psychological effects of fiction for over a decade, he states that engaging with stories about other people can improve empathy and theory of mind. When we identify with these characters’ struggles, we begin to share their frustration for societal problems that plague them. These types of stories tap into our emotions more so than- believe it or not- nonfiction, and thus their effects inspire us and even have the ability to alter our worldviews. 

I’ll be returning to that specific topic a bit later, but moving on for now!

It’s safe to say that I speak on behalf of the majority of antis. That being said, I first want to add that we are aware that sessrin shippers claim to agree that there was nothing inherently romantic that took place between Rin and Sesshomaru during their travels together. The thing is we have trouble believing you guys when you time and time again provide contradictory statements to defend your stance.

Voicing things like, “all signs point to Rin” and “it’s been foreshadowed” sends the exact opposite message of what you supposedly stand for and, if anything, confirms that you’ve had romance on your mind long before it would’ve been acceptable to come out with openly. You can’t just go along with what we say when it’s convenient to your argument and then back it up later with “who else but Rin.” How can the relationship you’re imagining be so obvious if they didn’t hint at it for the whole duration of the original series like we agreed upon? Elaborate on how we could’ve possibly come to such wildly different conclusions when we started AND left off with the same views for and throughout the series. 

On top of that, making the excuse that we don’t speak for adult!Rin and that she has the right to make her own decisions once she’s old enough is a weak defense. Firstly, because we haven’t even met her. Secondly, because it’s unfair of you to assert that you know what’s best for Rin and then say we’re not allowed to just because it doesn’t align with your beliefs. I get that you feel protective over her character, but do recall that this adult version of her none of us have actually met yet. We have no idea what kind of woman she’s become, what her dreams or aspirations may be, and whether she’s married or even wants to be. I’m not against the idea of her falling in love, I just don’t think it’ll be with Sesshomaru. I guess I’m also a fan of the idea of her following in Kaede’s footsteps, because if anyone can grow up to be an independent, trusted, and wise leader of the community like her it’s Rin.

To make matters worse, way too many of you continue to celebrate the drama cd and profess that it was sweet that Sesshomaru basically promised he’d wait for Rin all while somehow ignoring the glaring grooming implications. Why do you only see what you want to see and fail to acknowledge that actual child grooming scenarios do in fact play out like this in real life? A high percentage of people who have been victims of grooming can attest to this. If Sessrin does go canon, all the sequel succeeded in doing to avoid the direct correlation with grooming was skip over the more questionable and dodgy portions of it. Take out the time jump, however, and you no longer have a loophole to cover up the scary unmistakable truth, which is that Sessrin and grooming are essentially one in the same.

No one case is identical to another so please don’t come to me with your “but how is it grooming if Sesshomaru didn’t manipulate Rin” refutes. Nobody knows what the hell went on during those years between The Final Act and this upcoming sequel. Based on everything exhibited so far- that is if we decide to recognize the drama cd like so many of you choose to do- Sessrin’s dynamic is eerily reminiscent of real life child grooming. Why else do you think a lot of us fans have a huge problem with it? It’s triggering for a reason. 

Let’s be honest, Sesshomaru’s supposed love confession could’ve just been the first of many gestures like it. Who really knows, right? According to you shippers, a major shift in their relationship took place sometime during this critical period none of us got to watch unfold. I’m sure you all have explored the various ways this would’ve gone down in fan fiction and through other creative means of expression. Not to spoil the fun, but all I can’t help but wonder about is just how many of those supposed “cute moments” would’ve been as creepy and cringey as that proposal. Hundreds of thousands (possibly millions?!) of fans would undoubtedly agree with me, too. It seems to me this ain’t due to a mere difference of opinion. Taste is one thing, ethics a whole other. 

By the way, in case you didn’t know, groomers don’t necessarily need to plan out every single move in order for their behavior to constitute as grooming. What we should be paying attention to instead is the fact that Sesshomaru made a conscious decision to act on his own selfish desire for a young girl who couldn’t have possibly known in that moment the magnitude of what he was asking of her. Why is it that a vulnerable Rin is put in a position that forces her to be the one responsible for making such a big, life-changing decision for the both of them? Yes, Sesshomaru gave her the choice and, yes, she doesn’t have to make it till later, but why on Earth is he coming to her with this well before a child her age is ready and mature enough to handle it? Even if his intentions are good (broadly speaking of course), his what you shippers probably call “innocent acts” are incidentally coercing Rin into reciprocating his feelings. Whether he planned for that or not, he’s at fault. Period. 

That’s one way the power imbalance works. A child wants nothing more than to please the adult they look up to and adore, because they’re impressionable like that. Maybe Rin processes this like she’ll want whatever he wants, so that’s what she trains herself to believe- either right then and there or over time. Plus, if you really think about it, why wouldn’t she trust him if in her eyes he’s been nothing but good to her and that’s all she’s ever really known? (Psst! Charm is integral to the manipulative nature of grooming so it’s deceiving AKA manipulation can come off as praise or flattery.) Bottom line is that Rin is too young to have to think about this kind of deep stuff at all, and Sesshomaru shouldn’t have taken advantage of the power he had/has over her to influence a decision she was by no means prepared to hear about much less decide on. Your headcanons seem to imply that she’ll eventually have to choose though, and Idk about you but I rather not push my own fantasy agenda onto a underage girl regardless of how much I want it. Idc if she’s fictional, it wouldn’t feel right so why would I want to see that? My principals couldn’t ever allow for it.   

Even if it wasn’t an official proposal, per se, it’s still disturbing to me that so many of you find joy in the thought of a grown adult male essentially waiting for a young girl HE KNEW to become old enough before pursuing her. I know this drama cd ain’t technically canon, y'all, but since this is literally the only source we have that may foreshadow a potential Sessrin to come, and it’s referenced a lot, I figured it still should be called out for exactly what it is- Grooming: 101!!!!

Just as I demonstrated above, fiction has the ability to make even the most inappropriate and uncomfortable situations be viewed in a favorable light when you put the right spin on it. *cough* Lolicon culture, need I say more? *cough* Despite what you may believe, the strategies fiction utilizes to explain themes/concepts can genuinely lead to how we perceive them, and ultimately to how we come to make sense of a similar event presented to us in real life. Especially if we have no prior experience with any of it and have nothing to compare something to, these perceptions can be dangerous yet still persuasive to certain fans- young ones in particular. The more narrative consistency across stories and different mediums, the more likely they’ll influence social beliefs. Minors don’t possess the same capacity as adults to think critically about the content they consume, and if we aren’t more careful about what we put out there then all of us will continue to face serious repercussions.

This is precisely why it’s crucial we persist in our fight against the rabid phenomenon of glorifying young girls in every sexual context imaginable. Just look at what something as seemingly harmless as fiction has the power to do. The scope of fiction is broad and far-reaching, and it’s about time we stop denying that fact and actually do something about it if we have the means to.

The truth of the matter is that we’re in desperate need of proper education and training programs on this issue in our communities. Families need to ensure their children have access to the necessary resources, but it isn’t just on them. ALL of us gotta do our part and ALL of us should be up for the task. It takes a village, right? If we do not properly discuss and address child sexual abuse (CSA) with our children and in public forums, including the internet, then we’re ultimately accepting incidents of CSA should they arise. Consequently, that also translates to indirectly accepting that the predators among us stay untreated and/or unpunished. That’s how the generational and societal aspect of the abuse can continue, and we must do everything in our power to secure our children’s future. Yes, even when it comes to fiction.

If you still somehow don’t think the Sessrin pairing has anything to do with grooming, allow me to break this down for you one more time:

1. If some of your fellow sessrin shippers say that a relationship like this in real life is harmful, then that should be pretty telling in and of itself.

2. Piggybacking off #1: if your only defense to that is “well it’s just fiction,” then you should ask yourself why you can’t ever come up with better reasons. Same goes for history and culture, so please stop using those to justify this relationship. None of the above can or should be applied since it’s already been established that fiction pervades our lives and vice versa.

3. If fellow shippers who are victims of grooming say they are drawn to Sessrin because it allows them in a way to “take back control” from their abuser so that they can better cope with past traumas, then they’re inadvertently admitting that Sessrin does possess qualities associated with the past child sexual abuse they underwent. AKA Sessrin is relatable for its abusive dynamic.

I have to ask by the way, but why do you get so offended when we don’t support your ship anyway? Is it because we interpret it to be controversial and you don’t like your ship getting a bad rap? Is it because it would be insulting to admit that antis actually have a point in it being problematic and you rather double down instead? Or is it because you’re projecting yourself onto Rin and prefer to not go into detail about why that is? Maybe it’s too personal, or maybe it’s because deep down you’re ashamed. Of course that doesn’t mean you’re bad people, but suppressing these kind of negative emotions can’t be healthy for anyone. A little awareness and self-reflection on your part can benefit not just you but all of us in the long run. Cognitive dissonance can suck, but it’s also part of being human. 

I recently came across a comment I’d like to share with you. Unfortunately, this is not the first time nor will it be the last I see the likes of it. Anyway, in it a fan stated how embarrassing it must be being an Anti in this fandom when an episode like “Forever with Lord Sesshomaru” exists. Guys, this shipper and all those who liked their post are showing their true colors. Perpetuating and/or anticipating these sexualized images of young girls is a grave issue in both our society and media alike. I think we can all agree on that, or at least I hope so. It’s remarks like these that prove we still got a long way to go in terms of progress, and if we ever hope to effectively reverse some of our backwards way of thinking. So serious question for ya in regard to this: Why is it too much to ask that grooming be portrayed for what it is? Grooming. To clarify, grooming is bad and needs to be painted in a bad light. It’s as simple as that. If only we could all acknowledge it for what it is, we wouldn’t be in this predicament. 

Historical accuracy and cultural differences aside, it appears the crux of the matter between Sessrin shippers and Antis is our acceptance and/or denial of fiction’s influence on real life. If we can’t agree on this, then we’ll never agree on anything else. As mentioned earlier, there is more than enough evidence to support the idea that fiction impacts our lives in extraordinary ways. I, for one, believe in the transformative power of stories. I think they do more for us than many of us give them credit for and/or are inclined to admit. 

This is partially why I believe that the majority of sessrin folk are missing the point most of the time. All they do is focus on insignificant and irrelevant information that accomplishes nothing but more gaslighting and strawmanning. Whether it be an intentional or unconscious decision, whatever we argue goes right over their head. All they do is throw around deflections and antagonizing remarks that serve no real purpose other than to make Antis out to be the unreasonable and irrational ones. Making connections between our own lives and our stories is a completely natural and normal occurrence. If those particular shippers insist on denying just how interconnected real life and fiction both are, what that tells me is they’re either out of touch with reality or deliberately choose to be.

Just to be clear, I am of the opinion that most if not all antis aren’t real life predators. If they say they aren’t, I honestly take their word for it. Speaking to Sessrin shipper directly: We know it’s not Sesshomaru you want to be but Rin. No, we’re not calling you pedophiles or groomers. None of us think you are using a fictional ship to attract underage fans to be the Rin in your life or anything of the sort. We are well aware that many of you are self-inserting yourself as Rin, so please don’t feel the need to tell us yourself because that would be stating the obvious.

I learned from a few of you since this sequel was announced that the Sessrin relationship isn’t just a ship but an opportunity for you to confront the person who used and abused you. So there’s two issues with this I’d like to raise. (Sorry if I’m repeating myself, but it’s urgent I stress this again!) This is what I have to say:

If fiction does not affect real life or have the ability to normalize anything as you claim to believe, then why does “fixing” what happened to you via your preferred choice of coping associated with these two characters in the first place? Why bring your past abuse into this at all if at the end of the day it’s “just fiction” and nothing more to you but a source of entertainment?

By confessing that you use Sessrin to cope with your past trauma, you therein reveal that Sessrin does in fact resemble an adult-child relationship with a grooming dynamic. So why then would you want other fans to be exposed to a pairing that brings to mind the very abuse you endured? We’re supposed to stop this toxic cycle- NOT find more ways to manifest and relive it, much less subject other fans to it. 

You may think that Sessrin doesn’t fit the textbook definition of what child grooming is, but that’s not to say it doesn’t embody it or that it doesn’t at the very least have traces of it that stand out. 

“Antis are miserable people who don’t know how to enjoy a good story. It’s just fiction, stop ruining it for other fans!”

Well, no, it’s not just fiction or just a story. Some of you evidently went and proved that yourself, and without my help, by revealing how you relate Sessrin to your own life and apply it to cope with past abuse. Past abuse or not, as far as I can tell we’re all equally invested in these characters. That speaks volumes and just goes to show that fiction touches our lives in long-lasting ways.

I have something I want to say concerning some of who believe that it’s inconsiderate of antis who have been victims of grooming or another form of child abuse to tell other victims who ship Sessrin how they should cope with their trauma. Now as much as I respect the various means victims discover to deal with their painful pasts, there’s always an appropriate time and a place for these things to occur. We must seek out better ways to safely cope with the abuse we lived through (if any) without running the risk of hurting and endangering others. 

There are plenty of fans in other fandoms who don’t try to defend their ships going canon, because they’re able to recognize an unhealthy or toxic pairing when they see one and won’t try to justify it. A Sessrin romance simply does not belong on a show geared towards teens, and I really don’t need to go into detail about why we shouldn’t support it, at least canon-wise. Shipping Sessrin is your right, but if you don’t keep it to yourself and your corner of the fandom then you really shouldn’t be surprised by the opposition. All we ask is you respect that their specific dynamic falls under the category of child grooming (or very close) and should be treated as such in public. The world of fiction may be wider than the world we live in, but that doesn’t always mean “anything goes.” In the creative spaces our minds occupy we must still adhere to the same fundamental and moral guidelines we live by in life. There’s nothing wrong with exploring new terrains and experimenting with ideas, but we must also remember that our stories are all about communicating and connecting with people. So let’s please be more mindful of the sort of messages they’re sending. 

Besides, this isn’t only about you and what makes you feel safe, it’s about all of us. I don’t know how much more I can stress that really. How can thoughts endanger our children, you ask? Well, it’s not like we’re suggesting that our thoughts can jump out of our tvs, materialize themselves, and place kids under mind control. The forces behind fiction are a lot more complex and nuanced than a “monkey see, monkey do” approach, so don’t waste any more time trying to  describe that to us. You’re taking this argument in the wrong direction. 

Take the “violent video games breed killers” theory. I’m afraid you’re misconstruing what we’re saying and then taking it quite too literally. Please stop twisting our words, because nobody on our side is saying that just because you play violent video games that you’ll become a violent person. The Sessrin equivalent of that would be if you ship them then you must be a pedophile or turning into one. *sigh* I know you guys are feeling attacked, but I’m afraid your defensive nature is keeping you from thinking straight. Clearly, there are always exceptions (I’d recommend reading up on the Slender Man case), but Antis aren’t saying you’re one of them.

You see, it’s not so much about the content as it is the notion of the content. Kids and teens who are playing these video games have been informed that killing is wrong, because they grew up learning that early on like the rest of us. No sane person would advocate for violence and nonsensical killing in real life. Since they fully understand the severity of the consequences of killing a person in real life, they are able make a clear distinction between the two. When it comes to killing there is hardly any ambiguity. Sadly, that is far from the truth when it comes to sexualizing girls. It should immediately be perceived as wrong leaving no room for interpretation, and yet here we are still putting up with these inaccurate and demeaning female representations.

Most children who have been groomed don’t realize it till years down the road. If they aren’t ever taught the telltale signs to properly labeling grooming situations, how do you expect them to make sense of and relate to a fictional version? Let’s think of about it from a child’s perspective. Yes, this includes teens who rely pretty heavily on adult guidance and the content we put out there for them. Put yourself in their shoes for a moment and picture that you’ve never had child grooming explained to you (because that’s just the reality for so many unfortunately). Wouldn’t you say it’s possible for them to deduce that what they see on their screens is how they come to discern something in real life, especially if they have little to no experience with it? Perceived realism is plausible, y'all.

What it comes down to in the end is that the ideas and emotions we cultivate behind these stories leave an impression on others. Impressions are capable of influencing the way we see the world, which in turn affects us and beyond just our imagination. The way I look at it, stories contribute to how and why we normalize certain beliefs and trends. If fiction reflects real life like most of us tend to agree, then wouldn’t you say Sessrin is a (in)direct result of this world’s tendency to place young girls in overly sexual or romantic environments? Where do you think fiction draws its inspiration from? Sure, some of it originates from our imagination, but most of what drives us to create these stories is the real world and the people who live in it.

Fiction is meant to mirror reality, but it’s ridiculous to suggest that it’s only a one-way street. That fiction in no way, shape, or form influences our reality? Or that it only works the other way around? With all due respect, that’s simply not true. No productive discourse can be had if we choose to ignore the truth and don’t come together (at least halfway) to tackle the real issues at hand. 

Okay, I think I’ll leave it off there! Thanks so much for reading. I expect this to be my last blog on any topic regarding Inuyasha in the near future. As much as I’ve looked forward to answering all of your asks and writing all the blogs I have over these past almost 5 months, I think it’s best if I spend some time away for now. With the sequel fast approaching, I’m doing what I always do: hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. I’ve met some amazing people along the way, that’s for sure. And who knows, maybe you’ll see me active in the tags sooner than we think. Until then, it’s been an absolute pleasure! Enjoy the sequel, all of you. 💜

[tocrackerboxpalace]

Le Rêve - Part 6

Summary: After an unproductive studio session, George and Ringo leave in a hurry. John later returns to find his glasses and another unwelcome surprise.

Things were different now.

Not entirely—they still had the band, the songwriting partnership, the united front for the media and press. It’s just that now, the tour was completed with determination and efficiency, becoming just another box to check off. Now, Paul relied much more heavily on George’s suggestions, and in a fit of jealousy or competition (Who could be sure? What was the difference?), John did the same. Now, Lennon-McCartney hardly wrote together and never wrote alone, needing George or Ringo to be in the space as a buffer.

When Paul had come back into the room that night, George knew he’d found John. He entered wordlessly, immediately throwing all of his belongings into his trunk, and George didn’t have the heart to ask where he was going. He and Ringo simply stared, too afraid to test the waters that were more tumultuous than they’d ever seen.

When Paul had finished packing, he’d looked pointedly at Ringo until the man understood. Ringo pushed himself up out of the armchair and followed him out of the room. He’d returned only minutes later with a sad smile in George’s direction that he assumed was meant to be reassuring, but instead was plain unsettling—a visual marker of the notion that something had changed within the group. Ringo had unpacked his things on Paul’s side, and that was that.

They weren’t allowed to talk about what happened. It was this unspoken rule, but a rule nonetheless—which was rather fine with George at first, anyway. But as time dragged on and the air grew no less hostile, George figured that he would rather talk about it for hours if it meant getting the old dynamic back. He was torn between two opposite poles of the spectrum, a futile effort of trying to please both Lennon and McCartney. There was a bitterness flourishing within him at the recognition of his usefulness only when they didn’t need each other. But objectively speaking, he was given more say, more credit, more songs. He couldn’t complain. Or he shouldn’t complain.

Something about the unspoken rule led George and Ringo not to talk about it with each other, either. George knew Ringo was absolutely dying to; at every uncomfortable or unnatural interaction between John and Paul, George knew a concerned glance from Ringo was coming his way. Ringo needed to talk about things, and George felt right guilty in deliberately ignoring the desire. He was just holding out hope that if no one addressed it in any context, the universe would wash away that it even happened, and the band—their livelihoods—would live on.

The quick succession of knuckles against the side of his head jerked him out of his daydream (nightmare?).

“Hello?” Ringo quipped. “Anyone home?”

George scowled and slumped deeper into his seat. “Barely.”

He and Ringo had been dicking about in the studio for the past half-hour. It was just the two of them—Paul hadn’t shown up, and John, already in a sour mood for the day, had cursed the man under his breath and stalked off. That had been about an hour ago, and when John didn’t return, the remaining boys gave up trying to focus. After a brief quarrel over who dropped the ball on bringing the marbles and playing cards, Ringo suggested a friendly competition over who could butcher “She Loves You” on their respective instruments in a funnier fashion. Which, credit where credit was due, was incredibly entertaining; only minutes before now, George had been rolling on the ground in laughter when Ringo had seemingly pulled a bicycle horn from his arse and honked it in place of the famed McCartney-Harrison “Ooh’s”.

However, as many things do when one has an attention span of about two minutes, the game soon grew tired—the song was only so long—and the pair had resorted to quiet, mindless fiddling on their instruments. In turn, the lapse into silence and thought had led George down his aforementioned neuro-rabbithole.

“Are you all right?” Ringo questioned, lifting an eyebrow in his direction. “Y’just seem a bit… off lately, I dunno.” There was an urge there, a pull. Ringo was nearly leaned forward off his chair.

“Off how?” George mused, entertaining the idea a bit. His tone was light, but his expression was stern. It was clear that they were both acknowledging the Unspoken Thing; it was also clear that it would remain as such.

Ringo bit his lip and shrugged back, evidently noting George’s reservations. “Y’know. Quiet-like. At least, more so than usual.”

George scoffed at the referenced nickname. The Quiet Beatle. As if! Give him a question worth answering, and they’d see who the quiet one was then. Certainly not him. “I’ve just got a lot on me mind,” he muttered, lifting a shoulder.

“You’re more in demand than before,” Ringo pointed out bluntly.

A rub of the temples didn’t do much to soothe the stress in his body. The weight of the emotional and mental burdens he’d carried over the last few weeks was beginning to settle on his shoulders with Ringo’s prodding. A sudden exhaustion clouded over him. “I know.”

“Is that bad?”

George looked at his friend with dull eyes. “Should it be?”

He didn’t need an answer, but it still stung a bit not to get one.

After a long beat of silence, Ringo hastily changed the subject. “Maybe we should call it quits for the day,” he suggested with a half-hearted grin, tapping the bass drum lightly and modestly. It was almost a tick at this point, the drummer seemingly wholly unaware of his actions.

George decided to play along with the shift in energy. “I agree, Ritchie. Feels a bit useless without Their Royal Highnesses around to conduct us,” he added with a roll of the eyes and a giggle.

Ringo hummed in agreement. “Oh, John, oh, Paul, please save us! We can’t even remember what album we’re supposed to be working on!” He cackled at his own joke.

“Help!, isn’t it?” George partly ignored the dramatic flair and turned to flick off the amp. He caught Ringo’s sparkling stare as he reached to unplug his Rickenbacker.

“No, mate. We’ve done that one already. Y’know, the whole ‘film’ bit?”

George blinked. “Right.”

“George Harrison, foremost Beatles expert,” Ringo chided. He glared reproachfully at an imaginary camera. “Don’t do drugs, kids.”

“Piss off!” George tried to glower, overruled by the laughter in his voice. Ringo offered him a hand and pulled him up out of the chair.

“Fancy a smoke?”

George’s lips drew into a wide grin. Based on the context, he knew exactly what kind of smoke he was implying. “Race ya to the car.”

—

“Mind telling me where everyone ran off to?”

Paul lifted an accusatory gaze in John’s direction as the man entered the room, his brow deeply furrowed in concentration.

“How should I know?” John answered, scanning the room fervently. His eyes hadn’t met Paul’s yet, Paul noted with a twinge of annoyance.

“Was there not a session today?” Paul hinted, irked by the idea that John too may have tried to skip out. Sure, Paul had been late, but at least he’d intended on coming.

John paused for a moment, shooting him a critical glare. “You tell me.”

He didn’t feel like trying to defend himself.

After a long moment of staring expectantly, John realized he wasn’t going to get an answer. He huffed and returned to his search, tipping over a chair to peer underneath it.

Paul rolled his eyes and offered the glasses at arm’s length, clearing his throat to draw the attention. John blushed and hurried over to snatch them up. He quickly stuffed them back into his pocket.

In response to the twinge of curiosity in his gaze, Paul only shrugged. “Left ‘em on the settee over there, you did. Just figured you would return for them sooner or later.”

John grunted in response.

Paul raised an eyebrow as the man began to head for the door. “All right, then. Mind at least telling me where you’re running off to?”

“I just came back for me glasses.”

“Came back?”

“You weren’t there,” John muttered, nearly inaudible. “I left.”

Paul stiffened, viciously reprimanding the sentimental twitch his heart gave to John’s response. “’M just late. Got caught up in traffic, is all.”

It was a silly excuse. John quirked an eyebrow at the boldfaced lie, knowing good and well Cavendish was barely a ten-minute walk. Paul watched him chew his lip for a moment before deciding to let it be.

Paul accepted John’s compliance graciously and returned to tuning his bass. His skin prickled as he felt John’s eyes on him, watching him closely. Tensions were still incredibly high between them, on account of the thing-that-happened-but-“never-happened”—and it was taking a lot of getting used to. The feeling was unsettling; time and again Paul would have to physically restrain himself, ignoring the twitching desire in his hand to touch John or biting back a witty comment that only John would understand. The emotional connection they’d had was gone, or at least dormant, and Paul couldn’t for the life of him figure out what was going through that thick head anymore. It even seemed that Ringo and George had a better guess than him.

It was miserable, really, having to pretend that everything was just dandy. There had been a substantial amount of press upon return from the tour, which was more of an irritation than anything else. There, he could slide into his Paul McCharmly persona, the façade already being somewhat of a character. The lie got quite easy to live when one was already acting. But the media circus was relatively quiet now (as it would ever be), and the hardest part was trying to pretend in front of the three people that knew him better than anyone else alive.

He wasn’t even sure who the pretending was for anymore. It certainly did nothing to quiet his mind or soul.

“What are you working on?” It was a half-arsed effort at conversation, but an effort nonetheless.

“Nothing, yet,” Paul answered, frowning in the direction of his instrument. “I’ve got a bit—real simple, for ‘Wait’. Might add some flare to it, might finish it. Might run it through and absolutely hate it and scrap it. Who knows,” he concluded, almost to himself.

“I think we should talk.” John’s voice, quiet, low.

Paul glanced up at him with a start, desperately trying to mask the surprise on his face. John was looking at him with an odd expression on his face, something Paul couldn’t quite put words to. Only then did he realize that it was the first time the two of them had been alone since the incident.

Heart pounding, he tensed. “When?”

“Now.” The answer was definitive.

“About what?” Paul responded sheepishly.

John’s eyes flashed.

Let’s just forget it ever happened.

Paul felt a sudden wave of stubbornness wash over him, feeling hollow at the abrupt activation of the memory. Of course he couldn’t fucking forget it happened. He couldn’t, and he shouldn’t be expected to. None of them should. Paul noticed the sad, wondering gazes from the other bandmates as well. Sweeping it under the rug had been wholly counterproductive to the entire group (though he didn’t entirely want to test the alternative, either). Best case scenario, the whole thing wouldn’t have happened.

But it did. And life was infinitely worse now because of it.

Paul swallowed hard. This was all John’s fault. Paul could have kept the dream a secret for the rest of his life. A few shameful wanking sessions was probably all it would take to get over it, and while he might look at John a bit differently after, at least John wouldn’t be looking at him differently. About a week of awkwardness would likely ensue, and John would make some offhand comment about how Paul was acting queer, and the two would laugh it off, only one of them knowing how much truth the comment carried. It was John’s fault, because Paul could have figured it out on his own.

“You know what,” John answered coldly.

John wanted to be cold? Paul could do cold. “I really don’t,” he countered with sickeningly false innocence. “What’s got you all worked up, Johnny?”

“Fuck off, Paul, you know what I’m talking about. Don’t try to fuckin’ skirt around it anymore.”

Paul’s heart was hammering in his throat, the blood rushing in his ears. After weeks of drowning in his own head, hearing the words come out of John’s mouth so… dismissively was blindingly infuriating. He had been driving himself mad trying not to talk about it, to think about it, to feel it. He’d shoved the memory down with so much force he’d thought his soul would pop, only to watch it helplessly bubble back to the surface. There was no forgetting it, and there was no addressing it. And now, John was breaking the number one Unspoken Rule of the Unspoken Thing like he never gave a shit about them in the first place.

“Skirting ar-? I’m not skirting around anything. I’m truly blanking, Johnny.” He paused, throat too constricted to swallow the massive lump in it. “Are you sure it’s not something I was supposed to forget?” The comment didn’t have near the effect Paul had hoped.

“Every conversation’s got to turn into a fuckin’ brawl with you, doesn’t it?” John crossed his arms, looking like nothing more than a pissed-off older sibling.

Paul was beside himself. His voice cracked, the words coming out in a near-shriek, but he was so furious that it hardly mattered. “With me? Every conversation is a brawl with me?”

“D’you need to bloody hear it again?” John looked minorly inconvenienced. If he’d had a watch on, he’d be sure to check it right now lazily. His demeanor was utterly vexatious, awakening feelings Paul didn’t even know he had. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this upset with someone.

“You think you get some type of medal, standing up in front of me and acting like none of this matters?” Paul was on his feet now, openly striding towards him. Startled, John stumbled backward a step before smacking his back against the wall. “You want a bleeding award?” Paul raised his tone an octave and fluttered his eyelashes dramatically, a mockery on all levels: “Oh, John, you’re so stony and brave, I bet nothing ever rattles my big, strong man!”

“Fuck you,” John whispered, his eyes begging the conversation to slow down. But Paul was on a roll now, and he’d be damned if he didn’t let out all of the pent-up pain John and John alone had caused over the last few weeks.

“No, fuck you. Do you know how hard it’s been? News flash, John. Not everything is about how you feel. Hard to believe, I know.” John opened his mouth to speak, but Paul cut him off. He was practically on him now, pushing John against the wall as he helplessly cowered under Paul’s alarming tirade.

“Do you know how hard it’s been for me? Trying to figure out if I’m a goddamn queer because of you? And how about the sleepless nights, eh? You’ve had those too, I know it.” A sick sense of pride effloresced in Paul’s chest as John’s eyes shot wide with recognition. “Lying in bed and wondering if you’re not who you thought you were. Wondering what when wrong along the way to make you this way, and what the hell you can do about it now. It’s maddening. And you took my right to get an answer, John.” Paul’s voice broke a bit at the next part. “Talking to you was my only hope at figuring this out and you took it away from me. And now we can’t talk about anything anymore.”

When John started to speak again, Paul lifted a final triumphant hand in his face. “I’m not done. Because let me tell you, Lennon, I don’t care if you need to bawl it out or never think about it again. But don’t stand here and fucking bullshit me like this. I know you.”

John straightened against the wall, eyes flashing with a hatred that almost made Paul’s knees buckle. “You don’t have a bloody clue what’s bullshit. Your whole foundation is bullshit. You’re not pissed at me because you’re upset that our pretty union wasn’t consummated, and thus I robbed you of a chance to explore this bit of newfound sexuality.” John’s tone was mocking, saturated with pretentiousness and exaggeration. “You’re pissed at me because I was just another shag you didn’t get to fully add to your sexual conquests. Grow the fuck up, Paul. You want to talk about knowing each other? I know you. You’re the one who’s bullshitting yourself, not me.”

Attacking John back felt like a safer bet than trying to defend himself. “Like you were there for some miraculous consummation? Some beautiful, heart-wrenching dénouement to a tragic love story? You’re full of it. Don’t come for me like you had some higher ground to speak from. We’re not special, John. We don’t have some kind of cosmic soulmate connection where we can read each other’s minds and desires. You and I, as anything, aren’t going to live happily ever after. Go buy into some other fuckin’ fantasy.”

“You were a mistake,” John spat.

“Mistakes happened,” Paul concluded. “I didn’t.”

John gaped at him as Paul pushed off. His chest was heaving, tight with unrestrained breaths, looking like a cornered animal. Though it was impossible to explain, Paul watched in real time as something shattered in John’s soul. He didn’t know what it was, and it didn’t seem like John knew, either. Paul turned on his heel before he could give the sight any more thought.

“You told me to forget it. So that’s what I’m doing. For good.” Paul stalked back to where his guitar lay on the ground. He began to gather his belongings and pack up for the day. “This conversation is over.”

“So that’s it? You don’t want to talk about it?” John called out to him, planting himself in the doorway as Paul made for the exit.

“Get out of the way, John.”

He held his ground and spoke honestly for the first time in a long, long time. “You’re not gonna talk about it, yeah? That’s fine. Fuckin’ beautiful. I’ll talk about it. I love you.”

[northcarolinanative]

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫? // 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

Description: The summer is coming to an end, and JJ is starting to flirt with her more and more, but she isn’t having it. Just because Heather has gone home doesn’t mean that she is gonna be the second choice or back up for JJ. This part 2 to the imagine “Heather” 

A/N: Hello!! This was born after a lovely conversation that I had with @yeslifeofateen​ I like the way that this turned out:) The reader’s thoughts are pretty insecure throughout this so a head’s up:)  The song that is referenced is “Best Years” by 5sos. I seriously love that song with my own heart and if I EVER dance with anyone to it, I will marry them. ANYWAY, as always my asks/requests/messages are open. Enjoy and let me know what you think:)

You can find part 1 here. 

The air had started to cool down as the summer was winding down and coming to an end. The island returned to its natural state as all the tourons left to go back to their own homes. Every year after a crazy summer,  it was just the locals and things seemed calmer. Everyone was trying to make the most of the last bit of summer before we were all sent back to school. 

Here I was, sat at the Chateau, on the dock, staring out at the water. I was kicking the cool saltwater below me mindlessly. JJ had been flirting with me again. Heather left to go back home a little over a week ago, meaning JJ was hiding how upset he was. He would never admit it, but I was pretty sure that he was hurt. She just kinda said bye to him and left. She let him go, and now he was back to flirting with me as if things were normal. I was different now, the butterflies were still there with every compliment that he threw my way, but now my thoughts were coated in doubt. I couldn’t help myself from feeling inferior like I was just a backup.

I picked myself up from the dock, hesitantly moving back towards the group. I had told them I needed a bit of air. They circled around a bonfire, each holding a drink in their hand, and laughs spilling out of them. I tried my best to be happy, to act happy, but lately, I felt as if the JJ sized black cloud over my head was getting the best of me, threatening to turn into a thunderstorm any day now.

 I heard the music that was playing and seeing each of them swaying to the music. When Kie saw me she immediately held her hand out in my direction. I let my hand fall in hers as she pulled us to the middle of the other pogues. She spun me around and a giggle left both our lips as we move back and forth making fools of our self. Somewhere in all of this John B had handed me a few beers as we all talked and danced till the sun was long past set. Things almost seemed normal, and it looked like the storm that was brewing in my head might have passed. Almost. 

The music got slower and softer the later it got. The first cord to a specific song caught my attention before anything else. The song was sweet and soft and about a pining romance. ‘How fitting?’ I thought to myself. Kie and I were facing each other as we began to sing the first words to the song, but before long John B had swept her into a playful slow dance. The rest of us laughed saying that they looked like they were at a middle school prom. 

I felt my self tense up as JJ came up behind me. He wrapped his arms around my middle and rested his head on my shoulders. He began to slowly rock us, as his breath was right by my ear I could feel myself turning a bright shade of red. “I wanna hold your hair when you drink too much.” He whispered and reached up to tap on the empty beer can I was still holding, causing us both to smile slightly. “And carry you home when you cannot stand up” He finished, before spinning me around playfully and pulling me back into him. Our faces were close as he spoke the remaining words with the music. “You did all these things for me when I was half a man for you.” Our faces were close together as a continued to sway your bodies with the song. “I wanna hold your hand while we’re growing up” He sang, reaching to pull my hand up into that awkward slow dancing position. Any other time I would have laughed, but the way he was looking and me, mixed with the words that he was singing towards me weren’t adding up. 

I felt my face contort in confusion. This obviously wasn’t the reaction that JJ was hoping for. I pushed him away from me. The cloud was back and I was ready to cry at that moment. Maybe it was because I was insecure with myself, or maybe because I just felt used. JJ singing those words in my ear had sent me into a spiral. Heather was gone so he was back to flirting with me, second best. I refused to be just a backup, be the butt of the joke to the group. I walked toward the chateau, and toward the road, with every intention of walking home. 

The group’s confusion was clear, but I heard Pope push JJ in my direction to follow me. It wasn’t long before JJ’s steps fell in time with mine and the crunch of the leaves beneath our feet matched. “What happened?” He asked trying to keep up with me. “Did I do something wrong?” 

I stopped in my tracks turning to face him. We were near all the cars and a good distance away from the pogues, so I felt I didn’t have to whisper anymore. I was so sick of holding in my feelings, so I didn’t. “Did you do anything?” I asked, mocking his question. “Can’t you see what you’re doing JJ. What you’ve been doing all summer?” I asked, my voice threatened to raise, but came out shaky instead. I tried to shake my head, urging my self to not let the tears fall. 

I closed my eyes as JJ tried to stutter out a response, obviously taken aback by my outburst. “All summer? Y/N what?” He said taking a step closer to me. 

I rubbed my hands over my face, willing them to stop shaking so much. He was oblivious. “God JJ, do I have to spell it out to you?” I took a step back, my back meeting with the side of the bus. I let myself rest against it. JJ was looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to just spit it out.  “All summer it’s been about Heather. You flirt with me or hang out with me until she showed up, then you left. And now that she’s gone, you’re doing it all the time.” His head snapped up to look at me with wide eyes, but he stayed silent.  “Look JJ, I know that you won’t feel the same way about me, but I am in love with you, literally so in love with you, but I can’t keep getting put in second place. I refuse to be a backup, because I know I deserve better than that. Even if that means that I can’t be with you.” JJ stayed quiet, his hand came up to the back of his neck as he scratched it. I saw his features soften as he tried to process what I had said.

“You know what, just forget that I said anything. It was stupid. Don’t feel like you have to spare my feelings or anything that’s not what I was trying to-” 

I was cut off mid-sentence as JJ practically tackled me, his lips crashing into mine. I could taste the beer we were just drinking still lingering on his mouth. He reached up to cup my face as we tried to push ourselves closer to each other. My back flush against John B’s bus. I reached my arms around his neck, finally moving to kiss him back. My stomach was doing flips because out of all the time I thought about this moment, it had gone nothing like this. Kissing JJ was different than I thought it would have been. He was moving his mouth so softly and slowly against mine, giving me time to take in this moment. 

Once he pulled back from me, both of us retrieving our breath, he rested his hands on either side of my head against the van. He kept our close proximity as he began to talk. “Y/N I had no idea how you felt about me. I thought that you needed someone better, someone, who could give you what you need.” He started, taking a deep breath. “I knew Heather was leaving, she was time filler. It was stupid of me, but believe me,” He stated, reaching one hand down to my jaw, pushing me to look up at him. “You were never the second choice. I promise you that. You didn’t deserve to be treated like one because I was being blind to how I felt.”  

I smiled back at JJ. “You feel the same way?” was all I could manage to get out. All summer I had been telling myself to repress my feelings, flirting with other tourons, but instead of us owning up to our feelings. 

“Of course I do.” He said with a slight laugh. I let out a sigh of relief. JJ leaned his forehead against mine. His hand reached down to grab mine. “Let’s head back to the group yea? You can introduce them to your new fling.” He said with a wink, pulling me back towards the fire. 

Masterlist 

[pleasancies]

Secret

wordcount : 1.3k+

cw : referenced past torture, self-harm

tropes : nightmares, emotional whump, first aid (sutures), hand injury, sibling caretaker, hero whumper

After being silenced whumpee tries so hard to keep their life together, but caretaker knows somethings wrong. They eventually overheard the secret that whumper had been torturing whumpee. Made for @whumpmasinjuly for prompt 21

***

Part 2

No matter how gentle Annie pushed the door, it squeaked like a dying rat to announce her presence. She muttered a curse, it's midnight and her brother's asleep. Gotta mind the neighbors too. They've known Mrs. Payton since their childhoods, but she spend too much time watching late night tv. She would notice Annie only work at unholy hours of the night. She's not close enough for Annie to use her powers.

Annie expected the living room to be empty. She almost throw her body to the couch before she noticed the lights are on. And the sofa was occupied.

It was Kyle. Only him. Sprawled on the seat, one hand outstretched to the coffee table. It was bandaged, red seeping at the edges.

Annie shook his shoulders in alarm. Her brother stirred, his bandaged arm making him wince in surprise as he try to rub his eyes.

"What's wrong with your hands?"

"Work accident." Kyle mumbled.

It wasn't a neat wrapping. Annie knew from experience. The stitching was done with shaky hands, a lot like the ones she used to make after a heist gone wrong and going to the hospital meant going behind bars.

Still she gave him a grin, "You got your hand stuck in the vending machine?"

"Fuck off," There was supposed to be a slight chuckle from Kyle, and he'd tell the real story like a stupid accident when he's experimenting in the kitchen or his dumb boss cutting corners and making everyone miserable, but the look on his face was dark.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Kyle's expression was almost apologetic now, "I had a long day, that's it." He got up from the couch and made a beeline to his bedroom, leaving Annie to her own devices.

After coming home, she doesn't go to straight to bed. Her blood was still pumping with adrenaline. Sometimes when she had to cross paths with a hero, the first few hours home would be dedicated to tending her injuries and getting used to pain. Dealing with it have to be done in silence. She might have been able to make people forget or stop noticing inconsistencies, but it wasn't foolproof if she didn't do her part of pretending.

Annie would have loved the night's incident as an isolated event, but what happened the next morning proved otherwise.

She head to the kitchen at five in the morning, acting slightly groggy as if she slept last night. Kyle was already there. He stood on the sink, gritting his teeth. He's washing the dishes. His bandaged hand holds a sponge. Drops of blood tainting last night's dinner. He's trembling.

"Kyle."

Her older brother doesn't answer. He's transfixed to bits of rice sticking to the bowl. Annie had to practically tear him off from the sink. She hold the urge to slap him while rushing to her bedroom. First aid kits. Supplies that would tip him off of her career. It doesn't matter at the moment.

"Come on, let me help you."

"I can do it myself." Kyle spat. He pulled his hands away.

Annie caught his hands anyway. "Yeah, like soaking your hands in shit would make it better."

Kyle glared daggers at her but he doesn't left like last night. The lines of his face deepened in anger as she examined the wound. The soaked bandages cling at his skin. His fingers had swollen so much in a single night. She could see the stitches now. Red and uneven. Thank goodness Annie didn't see any pus in the wound.

Cold alcohol meets Kyle's skin and he doesn't even flinch. He kept his cool as Annie sutured the cut on his fingers. She traced a faint line above the injury. All straight lines. Right in the middle. With consistent depth. This was no accident.

"Who did this you?"

"I didn't know you could stitch wounds like a doctor, Annie."

"Answer my question first," Annie was surprised how harsh she sounded. Her hands stopped, and she tried again, gentler this time, "Crap, sorry for yelling at you. I'm spooked is all. You came home with flayed fingers last night. And then you do this. What were you thinking?"

"I had an accident at work." His voice sounded so tired she's sure he doesn't get to sleep either. "Are you done patching me up? I have to work."

"With a messed up hand like this? You're kidding. I will literally lock you in the house."

Kyle didn't find her attempts at humor funny. He merely winced as the needle goes through his skin. All Annie had to do after was covering the sutures, and it was a silent affair with tensions thick in the air.

"You're not going to work today right?"

"My boss will be mad."

Something had happened. Kyle isn't speaking. Have to take a different approach.

"You're lying. Someone hurt you. I could tell from the cuts." Annie took a moment, intently studying her brother's face. Somewhere betweeen running away and lashing out. "You don't have to say who it is. We got our secrets, and I shouldn't pry for yours when you let me do my own thing. Just please don't go to work like this. That's all I'm asking from you."

There she does it. A vague confession that her job wasn't what she'd told him. Hints that she know that he knows, and it's okay. All she wanted was to hear a name from him. Who did it.

"I'll stay," Kyle said.

Her heart sanked, but she sighed in relief regardless.

Kyle had changed. That one is certain. For once in her life, Annie was grateful her brother is terrible at keeping secrets. It might have given them an unnecessary amount of lectures from their late parents, but it was a blessing in situations like this. A few years ago after their parents died, Kyle had taken a better paying job for them. His burnout then have been transparent. Annie hoped it would be the last one. That damned self-sacrificing buffoon, she mused.

Her brother is soundly asleep in the couch. He'd been tossing and turning before finally settling down. Annie sat on the floor, absentmindedly playing her old video games on mute. She derived no enjoyment from it. Her mind is elsewhere. Who were the people she had to suspect first? It was outrageous. Villains do abduct, some even beat their spouse, but it took certain lack of foresight to torture a rival's family.

Annie put down her console. Her brainstorming have been futile. No other way around it than asking around in the streets. She turned her attention to Kyle. His legs were twitching. His brows furrowed, and the slight turn his head did suggested a nightmare was upon him. Annie lightly tapped his arm, and he whimpered in fear.

"Stop, I don't know." Kyle mumbled in his sleep. He kept repeating. Please. I don't know. You got the wrong guy.

Something stabbed and twisted in Annie's heart. She whispered to him, "Who did this to you?"

"Sympath, please stop."

Annie stroked his forehead, just like what their mom used to do. Kyle had been her parents for a time, and maybe this time it's a chance to return the favor. She squeezed her knuckles, quelling down the anger radiating out of her. She shushed her brother, speaking of soft things until his breathing slowed. She waited until Kyle stopped squirming before heading upstairs to his room.

She wasn't surprised, but disappointed nonetheless. The Andrea poster her brother collected have been ripped off. Some of the edges stuck on the walls. His trash bin was full of portrait paper.

Of course. The names she'd been looking for. Hell, she should have known. The duo was brutal. They don't hesitate maiming unpowered mooks. Annie's girlfriend have been hospitalized because of them. It was almost natural to see their escalation. Annie turned her attention to Kyle. Poltergeist have been a robber long enough. It's time she took murderer as a title. Sympath and Andrea won't even notice.

[sweetpeaownsmyheart]

T-Bird (Sweet Pea x Reader)

Hi Guys! Here is a lil something I wrote in an hour which has had limited editing, it’s bad basically! It is also past midnight here so I think I may just be sleepy writing but I hope you like it! I’m obsessed with musicals (all of them) so expect more writing inspired by them and feel free to request anything at all! Remember you are loved, my inbox is always open if anyone needs to talk in these unprecedented times :)

Word Count - Under 2000

Warnings - Bad writing? Not really anything else?

Summary - When you meet Sweet Pea again, things aren’t exactly going as planned. It is made more awkward by the fact he doesn’t know what you’re referencing...so you change that!

-----

It was cold out that night. Cold and ridiculously dark in the middle of nowhere without any of the towns light pollution. So, while it was cold and dark, with car parts and a long-forgotten manual thrown on the floor around you, you were searching for the nearest mechanics on your phone.

The situation stunk. You wanted nothing more to be at home, in bed, not calling up a random mechanic to come to a random abandoned road to fix whatever decided to go randomly wrong with your car. It stunk of the plot of a badly written and self-produced horror movie in which you were the victim.

As the phone kept ringing and ringing, you kept pacing, trying to keep warm. Who would pick up the phone at 2am anyway? No one would be in the shop and it was unlikely to be a home/mobile number. They were probably asleep. With your hope dwindling and the air still getting colder you decided to take a walk and see whether you could find help. Until...

-RING-

'Hello?' you began.

'Hey' you heard a raspy voice from the other end of the phone.

'Sorry to bother you this late, from the sounds of it you were sleeping. My car has broken down and i tried to fix it, but I think I may have made it worse. Is there anything you can do?'

'Umm sure, where are you?'

'oh. Right. Well about that... I'm not too sure. I don't have any signal so can't check on my phone and yeh... Somewhere on a backroad between Riverdale and Greendale. I took the third left turn when I left Greendale if that helps?'

'No, it doesn't but thanks for that Princess. I didn't plan on having to do rescue missions when i signed up for this job.'

It was if him saying the word Princess sparked something in your brain and suddenly the voice became slightly more familiar. 'Sweet Pea?'

'Yes? How do you know that? Who are you?'

'Y/N, umm we were in Math together in High School, not that you'd remember, god that was years ago now.' It had only been 3 years but having not spoken to him in School besides him asking to borrow your textbook, you didn't want to embarrass him by placing him on the spot.

'Yeh, I remember. How've you been?'

'Good up to now. I'm not exactly peachy sat on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere.'

'Well stay where you are, and I'll come find you. Be there soon.' And with that he hung up leaving you alone with thoughts about the 'good old days' and how you have changed.

-----

The sound of an engine broke you out of your thoughts and as you checked your phone you noticed that it had been about 20 minutes since you had called. As a slightly beaten up truck pulled up beside your car you got up from the curb and walked towards your (more beaten up at this point) car once again.

As Sweet Pea got out of the cab of the truck you can't help but feel 17 again. Not much had changed about him, he was still wearing the typical black jeans, his hair was still styled the same way, dog tags still hung around his neck and the iconic serpent jacket sat on his shoulders. Though, something was different. The way he held himself maybe. He looked as if he no longer was trying to carry the world, he looked more relaxed. Either way you felt like a younger version of yourself who would spend math staring at the back of his head wondering if he would notice you.

Sweet Pea had noticed you back then and he was convincing himself in that moment not to feel how he did when he was 17. You were just a customer.

'Hey Sweet Pea! Thank you so much for coming, I'll pay you double for it being, you know, the middle of the night.'

'It's my job. What's the problem?'

'Well as I was driving home, I noticed smoke coming from the engine and a god awful smell and then the car stopped.' At that moment, Sweet Pea looked down and noticed various tools on the floor. 'Um yeh... i tried to fix it but it didn't work.' you say, packing the tools into a bag, a blush settling on your face.

Pea stepped forward and looked under the hood of your car before stepping back. 'Looks like you did more harm than good Princess.'

'Can you fix it?' He responds with a hum before turning to look at you.

'Yes but not here or now, I'll take it to the shop and you can come pick it up in the next few days.'

'thanks.' You say as he begins wrapping some wires and rope type things around your car, attaching it to his truck before getting back in the front cab and opening the other side door for you.

'come on then!'

You hurried over and climbed into the seat beside him. He started the truck up and began the slow drive back to Riverdale. You took that time to admire his profile. You sure knew he was attractive at school but now he's an Adonis. Although, his current look reminded you an awful lot of a character from Grease

'What have you been up to then? What led you to be on a backroad at 2am?' He broke the uneasy silence that had settled between you both.

'You know, just work ended late and I fancied a drive to clear my head. Lost track of time.' Your response seemed short and you were glad SP didn't push further, you didn't need a reminder of your day. 'And what about you?' He looked at you puzzled. 'What led you to be the one picking up the phone at 2am? Had the

leather jacket and decided to go full T-Bird?'

He still looked confused. 'you know "automatic, systematic, hydromatic?"' you pushed but were still met with a blank stare. You decide to let it go as you reached the garage. 'Well thanks for getting me, call me when it is ready, and I'll come pick it up.' You practically whisper, already walking away from him feeing rather awkward and questioning if he had ever even seen Grease - he didn't exactly look the type.

'Wait, let me just get this unhooked and I'll drop you home, don't want you getting hurt.'

'Oh, that's nice of you, are you sure? I don't want to be trouble; I've already interrupted your sleep.'

'What's an extra five minutes though princess?' Truth was, despite not knowing you, Sweet Pea felt drawn to you and couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to you. So, he sat you back in his truck, put your car in the shop and then got back in next to you.

The silence then seemed more comfortable, the tension lay within you both wondering who was going to try and start a conversation - you both did. At the same time. Another awkward moment to add to the many of the night. You started to talk about how school used to be and him about work.

'Tell me about it, Stud.' You hit him with another reference to test your theory and are met with a confused look once again before he starts to go on about work. Before…

'Oh my god you haven't seen Grease!' you interrupt him.

'I don't see what that has to do with anything?'

'The references Sweets, you haven't got them. Thank god I thought I was just being an idiot.' His heart swelled when you called him Sweets, normally he wouldn't take it but the way you sounded so innocent as his name left your mouth made him feel ~gooey~ inside!

'Oh right, was that what it was?' you respond with a hum. 'You like that film?'

'Yes, who wouldn't? Apart from people who haven't seen it of course.' You send a cheeky glare his way.

Suddenly Sweet Pea feels very nervous, a feeling that he hasn't really ever felt before and as he pulls up at your house, he turns to you.

'It's playing at the drive-in on Saturday, if you want to go? If you're free. To go. With me, I mean.' He just about stutters out.

'Sounds great - here's my number, pick me up at 7?' Your reply is perky and a smile settle on your lips followed by a smirk appearing on his. There was the cocky guy you knew. 'Thanks for coming to my rescue T-Bird, see you Saturday' you say turning and walking into your house.

-----

Saturday came sooner than you thought, you had spent most of the previous few days texting back and forth with Sweet Pea and had come to really like the guy. He turned up at 7 as you had said, dressed in his usual attire, you greeted him with a quick, 'Hey Zuko.' before grabbing his hand and walking to his truck.

The drive-in was relatively empty (not surprising as the film had played loads before) so you grab a good spot and go to get snacks before jumping in the back of the pickup and settling between cushions and blankets as the opening credits played.

As the film progressed you and Sweet Pea got gradually closer without realising it. By the end, he could hear you softly singing along to the film and at that moment he knew he was absolutely smitten with you.

It was the way your fingers softly tapped to the beat of the song while resting on his chest. It was how your eyes would light up every time that an iconic line was said. It was the way that you would keep turning to check on him and see that he was enjoying the film. He was head over heels by the time the ending note of 'We go together' played.

'What did you think?' You whisper to him, startling him out of his daze.

'Umm there was a lot of singing?'

'It's a musical Pea.' You respond, playfully nudging him with your shoulder.

'Yes, I know. It was okay, I suppose.'

'I know you're only saying that to keep up the bad boy persona but it's okay, I know you loved it.' You jump out the pickup and climb back into the cab, Pea quickly joins you.

'Okay, okay, I liked it. That's all you're getting. Don't tell anyone though.'

'Course not.' You scoot closer to him as he starts the engine and begins to drive back to your house.

Once you reach your house, the ride home having been filled with off-key singing from you and disapproving looks from Sweet Pea, he gets out to walk you to your door.

'I had a great time tonight Y/N'

You blush, 'Yeh, Me too Sweets. I think the Wiz is playing next week if you want to go maybe, with me.'

He smirked. 'You asking me out Y/N/N?'

'And if I am?'

'I'd have to let you know that you're the one that I want.' You were leaning into him, focussed on his lips but quickly pulled back erupting in giggles as he said the famous line.

'Told you that you loved it, T-Bird.' You lean in again and as your lips meet, you're both smiling because, you both knew, you really were hopelessly devoted.

<3

[rainbowserenity]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @comeonlight~ I hope it’s as awesome as you <3333 thank you for being so great and such a light in my life ily so here is some OTP <333

Hope’s job had only one major rule:

Do not approach talk to the talent. Ever. Under any circumstances.

That was just fine with him. He’d been at this gig long enough to realize that most of the ‘talent’ that came through needed personality lessons. One model had actually refused to look at anyone’s face, which had dragged on the shoot for much longer than really needed.

Then again, it wasn’t like he’d get much chance to talk to the ‘talent’ even if he’d wanted to. Hope was a mere lighting assistant, which was just a fancy title for someone who held up lights and flicked some switches according to someone’s ‘vision.’ It was fairly boring most of the time. The only reason he was still working the job was because it actually paid far better than most places in town – and his boss was actually pretty good about working around his school schedule.

Plus, he had to admit, it was pretty interesting to see celebrities up close, even if he didn’t really follow much of pop culture at all. It wasn’t like he could tell people or talk about it outside of work, but he figured that once he’d finally gotten his degree, it’d be an interesting tidbit of information that he’d been within twenty feet of some supermodels.

Because of the general hush-hush environment concerning the celebrities – he’d had to sign a non-disclosure agreement on more than one occasion – they didn’t really get new staff all too often. Sometimes staff from other locations would come to theirs and he knew most of them.

Therefore, it was a complete surprise when he showed up to work early one morning and saw a stunning rose-haired woman pouring coffee.

She was dressed in a simple pair of leggings and an oversized shirt – usually the uniform of choice for makeup artists. A new one, maybe? Or an apprentice?

Whoever she was, Hope knew he was embarrassing himself by just staring. There was something very vaguely familiar about her, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t look away. It wasn’t even her incredible beauty either, although that didn’t hurt.

There was just something about her that drew him in. He’d never felt anything like it. People at school often told him that he had charisma, but that wasn’t quite the vibe he got from this woman.

No, he just felt that somehow, someway, they were meant to be standing here in this exact moment.

In the next instant, Hope realized how ridiculous he sounded in his own mind. He shook his head and walked towards the coffee. Who cared he usually drank tea in the mornings? Everyone needed a change now and then.

The woman dumped some sugar into her coffee, then glanced around before putting in some more. He smiled before he could stop himself and reached for the coffee pot.

She whipped her head around at the gesture, like she’d just noticed someone was right behind her. At the sight of him, her guarded expression visibly relaxed and she nodded. “Sugar?”

The word sounded so foreign that Hope momentarily froze, almost overflowing his coffee in the process. As it was, he filled it right to the top of his cup before fumbling with the pot and setting it down. “Uh, um – apparently not.”

Piercing blue eyes flicked towards his nearly-overflowing cup. She smirked. “And it’s still so early. Hard to imagine that we still have the whole day to go.”

Hope relaxed slightly. So she was a staff member. “Yeah, but that’s what the coffee’s for, I guess.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t know how I’m upright half the time without it.”

“Oh, yeah.” He tried to pretend that he totally drank coffee on a regular basis, yep. He totally wasn’t the only college student in existence who actually got a decent amount of sleep every night. “Kind of amazed I made it here without it.”

She eyeballed him again before another smirked formed on her lips. It was like she could see right through him, somehow. But that was completely ridiculous. “I know what you mean.”

They both chuckled in that sort of awkward way that Hope had only experienced a handful of times – when you knew there was somewhere else you had to be, but you didn’t want to leave the company of the other person and were trying to figure out if you could find a way to see them again.

At least that was easily done. “So, uh, are you here from one of the other studios?”

For some reason, the question caused her to grow quiet. She took a step back and stared – really stared at him, her head slightly tilted to one side. A thousand emotions flickered in those eyes of hers – surprise, amazement, appreciation, intrigue.

Before either of them could say anything, a woman with wild black hair he’d never seen before came out of the makeup studio and spotted the two of them. “Oi!” She tapped her wrist where a watch would’ve been if people wore them anymore. “Coffee break’s over! Get your ass over here!”

The rose-haired woman rolled her eyes in a spectacular fashion. “Sorry. Duty calls.” She turned away and took a sip of her coffee, but then glanced back over at Hope. “I’ll...see you later, I’m sure. Maybe we could talk more.”

“Oh. Uh.” Hope blinked a couple of times, wondering if there was anything that could have possibly warranted further conversation. Was coffee really that fascinating?

Apparently so, because he nodded a second later. “Yes. Absolutely.”

She quirked a bit of a smile before heading into the makeup studio, shaking her head at something the black-haired woman was saying. Maybe his hunch was right and she was a makeup artist. They tended to stick around during shoots in case there were any touch-ups needed or a new look.

Would he really see her later?

Why did he want to so badly?

Hope thought about this the whole time he slugged down his coffee. He thought about it as the rest of the staff arrived and his job got started. It distracted him so much that he couldn’t even concentrate on the whispers of who they were all supposed to be working with today.

“She’s already here?!” one of the photographers shrieked. “Her call time was at nine!”

“Well, you’ve heard the other studios,” one of the wardrobe people said. “She’s, like, notoriously punctual.”

“Punctual is one thing – being nearly an hour early is a whole different level!” the photographer continued, sounding dramatic. But this was typical for him, so Hope didn’t pay it any mind.

Instead, his mind continued to wander – and he kept his eyes peeled.

One of the worst parts of this job was the long, long stretches of time where everyone just needed to hurry up and wait. They had to get everything ready as quickly as possible, but then it was just a matter of sitting around and waiting for everyone’s jobs to finally finish. Hair and makeup, wardrobe, set design...not to mention that some of the celebrities that came through were ridiculously demanding and wouldn’t do anything until those demands had been met. He still had nightmares about the one model-who-shall-not-be-named that had put everyone behind schedule for three hours because she hadn’t had any vegan cannolis in her room.

And she hadn’t even eaten them.

Today though, things seemed to be moving at a faster pace than usual. Hope gladly threw himself into his work, which for now, involved standing on a step-stool and rearranging one of the lights to his boss’s specifications. Everyone was buzzing around with an energy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Hope glanced at the other lighting assistant. “Hey, Noel.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you know who the talent’s supposed to be today?”

Noel paused and glanced at him, looking both bewildered and amused. “What, were you not paying attention earlier?”

“I guess not.”

“Man, even I know about her.” Noel shared the same interest in celebrity culture as Hope did – that was, basically none – so this was especially intriguing. “She’s all over the place lately – I think she was on the cover of, like, six different magazines in the past month. She’s the face of a bunch of different charities and stuff, too. Yeul loves her work,” he added, referencing his girlfriend.

“Oh.” Hope tried to imagine the newsstands. Something itched in the back of mind. “Who is - ”

“All right everyone, look alive!” The black-haired woman suddenly sauntered out and clapped her hands. “You’re lookin’ at the new face of Louis Vuitton right here, so you’d damn well better be makin’ her look good!”

“Shut up Fang,” a familiar voice muttered.

Very familiar.

He nearly dropped the light when out came the rose-haired woman, dressed in an extremely fancy outfit with a sheer black top with frilly designs on the back.

She wasn’t a makeup artist.

Not at all.

“Lightning Farron!” The photographer walked up and shook her head. “What an honor it is to have you here today!”

Of course, he said that to everybody, but it actually sounded sincere this time. And why wouldn’t it?

Hope couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. Lightning Farron! The Lightning Farron!

Of course he knew of her – the woman who had appeared in magazines seemingly from nowhere, who was famous for being discovered in a kickboxing class. Earlier in the year, she’d worn a holster on her evening gown while modeling on the runway to bring awareness for gun control. She used her fame to start numerous charities and was, as he’d heard, notoriously punctual.

Lightning Farron, quite possibly one of the most famous models in the world.

That’s who he’d talked to.

That’s who he’d felt an instant connection with.

Oh, god. He was done for. There was no possible way anything could ever come from this.

But a few minutes later, when Lightning was directed into her first test shot, she glanced up and met his eyes, clearing recognizing him. Her lips, lined in a neutral expression, curled up ever-so-slightly at the corners.

“There!” the photographer cried. “That smize! Just like that!”

Somehow, Hope managed not to drop any of the lights or do anything stupid. Instead, he simply smiled back.

After all, he wasn’t supposed to interact with the talent.

But there were no rules if the talent came to him...

[vampiricmycelium]

Like a Black Hole That Draws You In

Fandom: Kanata no Astra / Astra: Lost in Space Pairing:  Luca Esposito/Ulgar Zweig/Yunhua Lun, one-sided Luca Esposito/Kanata Hoshijima, one-sided Ulgar Zweig/Kanata Hoshijima, one-sided Kanata Hoshijima/Yunhua Lun Rating: T Tags: Post-canon, Canon Compliant, Reminiscing, past Unrequited Crush, past Pining, Established Relationships, What Do You Do When Your Partners Tell You They Also Had a Crush on the Same Guy? Word Count:   1458 Summary: With Aries' and Kanata's wedding drawing closer, Luca reveals he used to have a crush on Kanata to his two partners. What he's not expecting is for Ulgar and Yunhua to tell him the same thing.  || Written for the Fictober prompt: "There’s just something about him.” ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20871758

Luca tapped a finger against the kitchen table, humming a song softly under his breath. It was one of Yun-Hua's but not any of her works. Instead it was a song she would sing quietly to herself sometimes when she was cleaning or sorting through things or anything else that was somewhat mindless. She often changed the words but the melody stayed the same. Luca always found it to be a pretty song, but he never actually brought it up with her. Instead, he would hum the melody to himself. Ulgar had started to do the same too, although he'd never admit it.

Neither Ulgar or Yun-Hua were in the kitchen with him. It wasn't a particularly strange occurance. They lived far more busy lives than he did. Being a reporter and a singer kept them out of the house for hours unlike his artist work which he did primarily from home. Once Luca joked that he was the bum boyfriend of their triad. Only Yun-Hua assured him that that wasn't the case. Ulgar agreed. It ended with the three of them laughing.

Luca did do a lot of work. He had just come out of a busy few weeks, but it never felt near the amount that the other two had to deal with. Luca made plenty of money, just like they did, and so he could be a little selective. Besides he never liked working mornings. They were for eating and taking in the day before you got to work. If he tried to rush things, he often felt uninspired. He liked to take his time when he could.

He was reading the newspaper. After all these years, there were still some people who referred what had happened to them. It was something that still connected them all as well. Not just that though. Luca glanced over at the paper that sat on the table. Aries had only sent one out which had surprised Ulgar.

"I figured she'd send one for each of us."

"But we all live together," Yun-Hua had replied. "It's probably for the better she sent only one."

"She does seem like the type to go overboard though.... Maybe we'll get more in the mail later!"

They didn't but Yun-Hua was right. That was probably for the best.

Luca tapped on the table once more, picking it up. They were all going, of course. They wouldn't miss this wedding for anything. Everyone from the Astra crew had already scheduled it out. Not just for the day of the wedding but time around it. While they all kept in touch, these days they didn't often had time to meet up with each other. Especially Kanata, Charice and Zack had all gone out into space again. It was going to be fun to see the others. As much as Luca loved Yun-Hua and Ulgar, he missed the rest of them too. 

Thinking about it right now, it was bringing back some memories. Of the months they spent in space together forging an unbreakable bond. Where Luca had revealed that he was intersex to people for the first time since learning. The way they all grew to trust and care for each other. It was possible had they actually done the school trip that the end result wouldn't have lead to their lives now. They might not have grown as close. Even if it was terrifying and dangerous and sometimes disheartening, Luca wouldn't have traded his time with the B-5 Group for anything. Yet thinking about to their travels, it also brought back another memory. There was a faint feeling in his heart. An old fondness that had gone unnoticed at the time.

"Oh Kanata."

"Are you talking to the wedding invite?" Luca looked up from the invite to see that both Yun-Hua and Ulgar were both coming in the door. He glanced over at the time, seeing that wasn't even noon yet.

They must have seen his confusion. Ulgar passed by heading towards their room but Yun-Hua came over to the table.

"Turns out that the studio is having some plumbing issues and Ulgar has time before he has to finish his report. So he decided to come home with me." Yun-Hua smiled reaching out to take the invite from Luca. Even if she didn't put as much effort into her looks today, Luca couldn't help but stare as she pushed her hair back behind her ear, smiling at the invite. She was always so lovely. Ulgar came over to sit at the other table. He wasn't as lovely, but Luca always had a thing for his rougher look. Luca had slide over towards a more feminine look lately which often had Ulgar looking out of place with the two of them. But they loved him regardless.

"So why did you say 'oh Kanata?' I can't imagine it's because he's getting married."

Luca pointed a finger at Yun-Hua leaning in closer to her. "That is where you're wrong. Well, somewhat." Luca leaned back. He never really talked about it. Oh, he had referenced it when he mentioned he was bisexual, but otherwise Luca hadn't talked about his crush on Kanata. "I was just thinking about the past. I used to really like Kanata. It's weird to think about! After all this time, I remembered hoping I could stand a chance."

Luca looked from Ulgar to Yun-Hua. Ulgar wasn't really reacting, rolling his eyes in a way that indicated that he knew that. Yun-Hua, on the other hand, seemed a little troubled. He wanted to ask her what was going on. His feelings for Kanata were in the past. He loved them now and was happy for Kanata and Aries, but she spoke before he could.

"I felt the same way," she told him, her voice quiet. This. This got a reaction out of Ulgar. He raised an eyebrow and laughed. Yun-Hua blushed. Even with the confidence she gained over the long years, some part of her was still that shy, quiet girl they had met. "I mean. Can you blame me? When we went to Shummoor and you were all poisoned. He was there for me. He supported me and helped me to put myself out there. I really admired his bravery and ingenuity. When... when I thought we might die on that planet I thought it would be nice for him to be my first and last kiss. It's silly I know."

Luca shook his head. "It's not silly." Now the two of them turned to their final partner. Ulgar was frowning, not meeting either of their eyes. Luca snickered, leaning towards him and poking him in the side. "Come on Ulgar. Why don't you share your feelings about our old Captain? You liked him too?" Luca was just joking around, easily being pushed away by his boyfriend. He stopped laughing when Ulgar spoke.

"Yes. I did."

Both Luca and Yun-Hua leaned across the table, eyes wide in surprised. "I was joking! Are you serious?"

"Why are you surprised? You, Yun-Hua, Aries. I'm sure there were plenty of others who were drawn to him. When you have a personality as bold and in your face, it's not difficult to have people like you. But-" Ulgar gave them both a look, "- tell him that I said that. He can never know I had a crush on him."

"There is just something about him." Yun-Hua still seemed to be reeling from this new information, but she was right. There was definitely something about Kanata. You were drawn to him like matter to a black hole. Luca laughed again. This turned into them exchanging stories about moments with him. Talking about how none of the realized that they had all harbored a crush on the same guy. What it would have been like. If any of the others might have liked him as well. Ulgar gave the most but that made sense. It was sort of strange how the three of them had all come together after everything. Luca hadn't just liked Kanata at the time. Ulgar was also someone he liked, but with that it worked out. Luca had been shocked to know he liked Yun-Hua and then suddenly all three had come together. It was nice.

"I can't wait to see our mutual crush get married. Aries is lucky. She was the one who came out victorious. Not that I would have guessed otherwise. I think she was the only one he had eyes for."

The other two nodded. Still, Luca would be thinking about this for a while. And when he saw Kanata again. All three would be thinking about it now. In the best sort of way. This too was bringing them together.

[pastelwitchling]

This prompt is courtesy of @sp-ac-ep-re-si-de-nt.

Maribel Prompt: Maria breaks things off with Michael quick once she realizes how much it was hurting Alex, Isobel wants to find out who she is without Noah in her head so her and Maria hook up but both develop feeling.

***

               “We’re closed,” Maria said as the door of the Wild Pony opened, her wrist aching as she wiped down the bar for the seventh time. She took a deep breath, willing the heavy, hot weight in her chest to cool, but no matter what, no matter how hard she tried, his face kept flashing in her mind.

               She sighed, leaving the rag on the table as she rubbed her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept.

               “Shucks, really?” she suddenly heard, and whipped around to find Isobel Evans standing with her hand on her hip, her head tilted and a smirk on her lips. “My brother told me you always let him in after hours.”

               “Evans,” she said, her shoulders slumped. “Great, just what I needed tonight.”

               Isobel scoffed, though Maria couldn’t help but notice that it held none of her usual snark or sneer. “You’re not exactly my beacon of light tonight either, DeLuca.”

               “Then to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”

               “Like I said,” Isobel said, sliding onto one of the stools while Maria leaned against the bar. Her knees bumped into Maria’s legs, though Isobel hardly seemed to notice. “My brother says –”

               “I wouldn’t listen too closely to anything your brother says,” Maria said with a feigned sweet smile, though even referencing the cowboy made her feel sick. “I ended things a few hours ago,” then she muttered, “I’ve done enough damage with him already.”

               When she thought about Alex, his face as he had told her that Michael wasn’t “so bad after a shower,” the hurt in his eyes when she’d confirmed she’d slept with him, and the fear she felt flicker in his heart as she’d promised him that it had meant nothing.

               Then the agonizing pain the next time he had looked at her, the betrayal she’d felt on his behalf, the unrelenting shock as if every part of him still couldn’t believe she had done such a thing to him.

               “Ended things,” Isobel repeated, a furrow in her brows. It was only now, Maria realized, that she could clearly see Isobel’s face that she realized how tired the blonde woman looked. Her makeup which was always on point – though Maria would never admit it out loud – was slightly smudged around the eyes, as if Isobel had been crying but tried saving the eyeliner as best she could. Her lips had no gloss or color, but were chapped as if she’d been chewing on them all day, her finger tapped her knee anxiously as if she had too many thoughts running around in her head to focus on one at a time, and just by standing near her, Maria could feel it. The sorrow, the grief, the anger, the hurt, the betrayal, the misery. What happened to her?

               “You’re talking about Michael?” Isobel asked, and Maria flinched, severely yanked out of her thoughts at the mention of the cowboy.

               Maria pressed her lips together and said nothing. She picked up her rag, patted her hands down with it, and went around the bar, as far away from Isobel as she could get. Something about the blonde’s dark energy scared her, part of her worried that it would affect her if she came to close – something she definitely couldn’t handle right now – and the other part… the other part of Maria, a teeny tiny part, couldn’t help but worry that her own misery and heartbreak would touch Isobel. Something told her the blonde really didn’t need anymore of that. Not tonight.

               “You dated my brother? Michael?” she asked again, disbelief coloring her tone. “Are you sure you were dating? ‘Cause I should probably tell you, if you slept with him and you’re, like, waiting for a declaration of love, he’s really not that kind of guy.”

               Maria sighed, pulling a bottle of tequila out and filling a small glass. She wanted to pretend it was to shut Isobel up, though something inside her dug at her heart, past the ache, past the weight, past the heat – something that felt like sympathy, though Maria chose to call it pity.

               “How bored are you?” she asked wearily. Even if Isobel wasn’t the absolute worst person to talk to about this, it was too late in the day to explain the story.

               Isobel held her hand out eagerly for the drink, and Maria handed it to her, careful not to hold onto the extra weight that seemed to fall on her shoulders as her fingers touched Isobel’s. Maria’s eyes burned as the desire to curl up on the floor and sob suddenly hit. She snatched her hand back, holding it to her chest. What kind of misery was surrounding the blonde?

               Isobel, however, didn’t seem to notice Maria’s momentary fear as she took a big gulp of her drink. She winced as it left a burning trail down her throat, but when she looked up, Maria had already turned away from her, making it to seem as if she was cleaning the other cups. In reality, Maria was rubbing her fingers, half of her trying to decipher the strange electric tingle against her skin while the other half told her to just forget it, to ignore it. It was Isobel, after all – who cares what happened to her?

               “I’m just trying to warn you,” Isobel said, though as Maria looked over her shoulder at her, she saw the blonde stare at the table, and Maria had the feeling she was talking just to avoid crying. “My brother’s already in love with someone who, if you ask me, is way out of his league already. But…” she sighed, her voice softening, “he’s in love, so… I want that to work out for him.”

               Maria sniffed, wiping Isobel’s unshed tears from her eyes before she turned to face her, her brows furrowed. “You know? Who Michael’s in love with, I mean?”

               Isobel had just finished her drink, hissing before she leaned her elbow on the bar. “Sorry, DeLuca, I don’t think your psychic powers are gonna help you this time. My brother told me.” She shook her head, shrugging. “It’s not my job to pass the information on.”

               Maria flinched, trying not to remember the way she’d so casually told Liz that Michael was the one Alex had loved, as if the whole thing had been a story about celebrities and not her best friend. As if Alex’s feelings were an inconvenience for her. As if Alex finally being hopeful again was unfair –

               Maria exhaled sharply, rubbing her face. Go away, she urged the thoughts. Go away, go away, go away.

               “Are you having a seizure or something?”

               Maria looked up from her hands, glaring at Isobel who had taken the bottle and was drinking out of that instead.

               “You owe me fifty bucks for that bottle,” she said dryly, and as she drank, Isobel pulled a bill from her jacket pocket and handed it to Maria. The bartender blinked, taking the money. “A Guerin who actually pays. That’s new.”

               Isobel finally swallowed, lowering the bottle into her lap. She stared at it a moment, scratching the paper on the glass, then she repeated, “A Guerin. Do I look like a Guerin to you? It does have a better ring that Bracken anyway.”

               Maria tilted her head, studying Isobel thoughtfully before she asked, “Do you honestly want to be a Guerin? They’re kind of known to be messes.”

               Isobel huffed a chuckle, shaking her head. “You just don’t see it,” she said. “Nobody ever really sees him. Except maybe…” she shrugged, taking another swig of the bottle. “He’s nice. He sees him.”

               Maria, for a moment, thought Isobel had been hesitant to call Michael nice, and was confused. Then she realized that Isobel had been hesitant because she was talking about Alex. Maria half-wondered where Isobel had met Alex and decided he was nice. Still, she couldn’t help but nod along.

               “Yes,” she said quietly. “He is.”

               She looked up at Isobel to see her watching her, her brows furrowed as if she was trying to remember if she’d mentioned Alex’s name or not. Maria couldn’t help but notice how fragile the blonde looked then, how innocent. Her green eyes which had twinkled with mischief the last time Maria had read her palm, her lips which seemed curved into a permanent smirk not that different from her brother’s, her fingers that been firm and steady in Maria’s were now slipping on the tequila bottle in her lap.

               Maria soon realized they were staring at each other and blinked out of her haze, clearing her throat as she reached across the bar, took the bottle out of Isobel’s hands, and had a long swig of it herself.

               “Oh,” Isobel said with a tilt of her head and an amused smirk at her lips that didn’t reach her eyes, “it’s going to be one of those nights.”

               Maria rolled her eyes. She briefly noted that Isobel’s lip gloss on the mouth of the bottle smelled like strawberries, and even against the strong scent of the alcohol, it didn’t smell too bad. “Evans, you talk too much.”

               A few hours later, though Maria couldn’t entirely remember how, she and Isobel had ended up on the floor against the bar, their knees pulled up to their chests, the bottle nearly empty between them.

               They talked about little nothings; weird customers that had come in before, rude store owners, skirting around the topic of men, and as they did, Maria glanced at Isobel, wondering why someone who seemed as happily married as her wouldn’t be with her husband right now, especially if she was having such a hard time.

               “What happened between you and my brother?” Isobel finally asked, though any trace of humor was gone from her voice.

               Maria knew she could’ve told Isobel that it was none of her business, or just refuse to answer, but the energy clouding Isobel was too strong, too miserable, for Maria to bear say nothing.

               “Worried about me now, are you?” she joked, and Isobel shook her head.

               “I don’t want Michael to get hurt,” she said softly. “He’s already in love, and it’s killing him. I wondered why he was having so much trouble talking to… that other person.” She turned to Maria with a frown. “Now I’m starting to think maybe you’re why.”

               Maria felt a pang in her chest at the mention of Alex. So he wasn’t talking to Michael. Maria had figured that might have happened. She wanted to believe that breaking up with Michael would be enough, that it might fix his and Alex’s relationship, that maybe – without Maria in the way – they might be able to love each other again.

               But no. The rational side of her thought, the side that knew Alex. She and Michael had completely shattered his trust, broken him in a way that could never be undone.

               A tear slid down her cheek and she was quick to wipe it away, but not before Isobel saw it and nodded slowly as if she understood.

               Maria, unable to take the look, shook her head and asked, “Then what happened between you and Noah?”

               Isobel tensed at the mention of his name and looked straight ahead.

               “Come on, Evans, it’s not that hard to figure out,” she said. “It’s past midnight and you’re trying to get drunk, and instead of being with your husband, you’re here with me. So what –”

               “We got divorced,” was all she said before she took another swig of the bottle, emptying the contents.

               Maria blinked, her face falling. “Oh,” was all she knew to say, and instantly regretted asking. A breakup wasn’t the same thing as a divorce. And Isobel had been so happy with him, too.

               She shook her head, gently taking the empty bottle from Isobel and resisting the passing urge to move a strand of blonde hair that had come loose from its braid.

               She slumped back with a sigh. “How did this happen? How is this our life?”

               Isobel said nothing for a moment, then she shrugged. “Maybe we’re cursed. I mean, you fell in love with someone who doesn’t love you back,” she said, and Maria turned to snap at her, but saw no mockery or indifference on her face. “And I fell in love with someone who…” the corner of her lips quirked up sadly, “doesn’t love anything.”

               Maria pressed her lips together for a moment, then, “Well, you know, Prom Queen, tonight’s not so bad. At least we’re not alone.”

               Isobel glanced at her and scoffed, some of the sorrow and bitterness in her smile faded. “I thought you hated me.”

               Maria frowned. “I don’t hate you. I…”

               “Think I’m responsible for Rosa Ortecho’s death.”

               She looked down. “I shouldn’t have blamed you for that.”

               “No,” she agreed. “You shouldn’t have.” She took the empty bottle, and as she held it tightly, Maria could tell she was conflicted, a thousand words lying on her tongue, though she couldn’t bring herself to say any of them. “I never hurt anybody.”

               “I know, Isobel,” she said softly, and Isobel looked up at her, the two caught in each other’s gazes for a long time.

               Maria knew it was the tequila that made her lean in, it had to have been. As green as Isobel Evans’s eyes were, as pink as her lips, as soft as her skin, Maria knew that – had she been sober – she would not be doing what she was doing. Still, something in her shifted and softened as she saw that Isobel was leaning in just the same.

               Their lips barely brushed, Maria’s thoughts consumed with how nice Isobel smelled (strawberries and vanilla), how much nicer the scent was compared to Michael, and her eyes snapped open.

               Michael.

               This was his sister; she couldn’t kiss his sister, no matter how drunk she was!

               She pulled back, and Isobel, whose eyes had just begun to flutter shut, slowly leaned back, her brows furrowed. In that moment, Maria realized that Isobel knew, just as she did, that nothing good would come of them hooking up.

               She cleared her throat and moved to stand, just as Isobel did the same.

               “Right, well, I really do need to close up now.”

               “Mm,” Isobel hummed, avoiding her gaze. Maria wondered if she felt any regret at coming here tonight, if she would’ve rather suffered at home alone, and the thought left an inexplicable pain in her chest.

               “You – you want me to call you a cab?”

               Isobel nodded, buttoning her jacket. When had she unbuttoned it?

               “Yes,” she said, then as an afterthought added, “please.”

               Maria nodded and walked out, aware of the blonde following her.

***

I’m sorry! I know you asked for a hookup and developing feelings, but there was no was for me to realistically cover that in a one-shot! There’s way too much to work with there! This was as realistic and true to the characters as I could go without turning it into a long fic.

Sorry it deviates so much, but I hope you enjoyed reading regardless, and thank you so much for the prompt 💕

[vexedtonightmares]

last dance (elu ballet au) chapter six

Lucas is in his final year at the Paris Opera Ballet School and he’ll be damned if he lets his former friend-turned-rival Eliott steal the lead role in their production of Swan Lake.

aka- lucas and eliott are rivals who are forced to room together for their final year of ballet school before they try to enter the company. we can all see where this is going.  

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi.

ao3

tw in this chapter for: eating disorders, implied/referenced self harm & suicidal ideation, depressive episode

Samedi 11:47  

When would Lucas ever stop embarrassing himself? He couldn’t believe that he’d actually passed out in the middle of rehearsals. Now none of the instructors would ever take him seriously again, they would think he was incapable of handling all that came with being a ballet dancer. He could only imagine what all the other students thought. Luckily, his friends had been nice about it, but the people he didn’t know as well surely saw this as a sign of his weakness. 

He’d been in the infirmary since he collapsed in class, much to his displeasure. He’d awoken briefly after collapsing in class, finding himself in a bed in the infirmary with Manon and Yann beside him. He had reassured them he was fine before the nurse told them to leave and let him rest. The nurse had said he would be allowed to return to his room around noon, and the clock was ticking, so he hoped she would make good on her promise and let him leave. 

The good news, he supposed, was that she’d given him something to help him sleep the night before so he felt more well rested than he had in a very long time. He wondered if she would be able to give him some to go. 

“Eh, Isak, was it?” the nurse appeared in front of him, holding a clipboard. He sat up a bit groggily and looked at her in confusion.

“No? It’s—”

She cut him off with a hand. “No, no, I’ve got it! Matteo?” He shook his head. “Martino?” Blank stare. “Cris? Robbe?” she tried, looking more unsure of herself. “Shay?”

Wasn’t that a girl’s name? “Lucas. It’s Lucas,” he said, before she could interrupt him again.

She tapped her head with her clipboard as if it should have been obvious. “Lucas! Of course! That was my next guess. Lucas… van Der Heijden, was it?” 

Had she taken a dose of his sleep medication too? “Lallemant.”

“Ah, almost got it!” she cried with a wide grin, one that he did not return. Instead, he asked, point blank, “Can I go now?” 

She read a few things on her clipboard before looking back up at him. “Well, I don’t see why not! Are you feeling better?”

“Much,” he said, and he didn’t even have to lie. 

She bit the corner of her lip and opened her mouth, closing it once before meeting his eyes. “And you, um, you know that you can’t keep doing that, right?” 

“Doing what?”

“Not eating… not sleeping…” she trailed off, looking uncomfortable. His stomach swirled anxiously. Who was she to say that he hadn’t been eating or sleeping? Besides, it wasn’t his fault he couldn’t sleep, and, as far as eating went, he would do what he pleased, no matter what bullshit she had to say about it. 

He shrugged. “I can’t help it that I can’t fall asleep.”

“How long has this been a problem for you?” she asked, suddenly serious. He shrugged again. “I don’t know,” he answered, “Long as I can remember.”

She furrowed her brows, biting her lip in concentration as she looked at him. “Have you considered talking to someone about your insomnia? Someone who can help you sort through your thoughts?”

“No.” He took a deep breath. That was for people who had actual problems to deal with, not people like him. So what if he couldn’t fall asleep super quickly? It wasn’t like he was the only one that had ever happened to. 

“Maybe you should,” she suggested, “I can recommend you someone in the area who specializes in sleep and eating disorders.” 

He prickled at her words. “I don’t have an eating disorder,” he said adamantly.

“Yes, Lucas, you do.” The bluntness of her words startled him. He wondered if maybe her visage of incompetence earlier had been an act. “You can’t go weeks without eating and think that something isn’t wrong.”

“I haven’t gone weeks without eating,” he argued. He faintly recalled eating half a salad a few days before, a few crackers the day before that. There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him not to eat, that he would be better, look better, do better, if he didn’t, and he couldn’t deny that it was probably right, especially because listening to that voice had gotten him noticed, finally, the year before.

“Lucas, how long has eating been a problem for you?” she asked, ignoring his rebuttal completely. 

“Eating has never been a problem for me,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

She sighed, but relented, handing him a piece of paper off her clipboard. “For the next week I want you to catalogue every single thing you eat or drink for me, along with the times you’re falling asleep and waking up. I want to help you, Lucas, but you have to be willing to accept my help. I know that you want a repeat of what happened yesterday just as much as I do.”

He didn’t say anything, but took the paper from her. If worse came to worst, he could just lie, write down whatever it was that she wanted. “Can I go now?”

She nodded. “Yes, but Lucas? Please don’t hesitate to reach out to me if you need help with anything at all. And please do what I’ve told you. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but it will help in the long run.”

He blocked out her words for the most part, responding with a nod and a smile to appease her before getting the hell out of there. It was a bit strange, how the lighting in the building even looked a bit different now that he was well rested. 

The door to his suite was unlocked when he tried the handle, which meant that Eliott was probably there. With any luck, he was either still asleep or wrapped up in studying. The moment the door swung open, though, Lucas realized that wasn’t the case. 

Eliott looked like shit. Lucas winced, wondering if this was what he looked like all the time. His hair was flopped down into his eyes, gravity winning at last, his eyes were dull and surrounded by dark circles, and he was wearing a frown that looked so out of place on his normally bright and joyful face. He sprung up from the couch as Lucas entered. 

“Hey. How are you?” he asked nervously. The only explanation Lucas could think of was that Eliott thought he’d died and was surprised to see him alive and well. 

“Fine,” Lucas answered casually, folding the paper the nurse had given him neatly in half. Eliott nodded, mostly to himself. “Did the nurse say why… is anything wrong?” Eliott prompted. 

Lucas pursed his lips. “No. Not that it would be any of your business if there was a problem.”

“But she knows about your eating d— um, food issues, right?” Eliott was stumbling over his words in a way he usually never did. Lucas was too annoyed by the entire situation to care too much about it. 

“I don’t have any food issues,” Lucas said, trying not to give anything away on his face. He didn’t. Really. The nurse didn’t know what she was talking about. 

Eliott’s hands clenched into fists for a moment, relaxing when he noticed Lucas noticing. “Don’t bullshit me, Lucas. You never have and I’m not going to let you start now.”

“I don’t care what you want to let me do—”

“For fuck’s sake, Lucas, I’m serious!” Eliott yelled, stunning Lucas into silence. Eliott raked a hand through his hair, looking up to the ceiling as if trying to find answers there before looking back into Lucas’ wide eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was back to its usual calm, collected tone. “I was really fucking worried. So please, please, just tell me what’s going on so I can help.”

The thing was, Lucas really didn’t want or need Eliott’s help, but he also knew Eliott would see right through his lies. He tried to play it as cool as he could. “She told me to catalogue what I eat and how long I sleep everyday on this piece of paper or whatever. No big deal. It won’t be hard, because I already eat and sleep a lot, so…” Maybe the last part was a bit of a lie, but he wasn’t going to tell Eliott everything. He still hated him, even if he was pretending to care about Lucas for the time being. 

“Oh,” Eliott said in surprise, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “Want me to help? We can leave it out here or hang it on the fridge or something.” 

Lucas furrowed his brows. “No?”

“Why not?” Eliott sounded genuinely curious. 

Lucas held his gaze for a moment. “I’ve got this Eli,” he said warily. Eliott’s eyes widened just as Lucas realized what he’d said. Shit shit shit shit shit. It had been years since he’d even thought of Eliott as Eli, what the hell was wrong with him? 

“—ott,” he added with a cough, far too late. “Eliott.”

Eliott was still so dumbfounded that he let Lucas pass by and walk into his room without complaint. Lucas shut the door as he usually did, just more gently than usual. Once the door was closed, however, he threw the paper the nurse had given him on his bedside table and clenched his hair in his fists, his mind a silent chorus of fuck fuck fuck. 

He needed to get a grip on himself, and quickly. He was thankful that this whole ordeal had happened on a Friday, because then he hardly had to miss classes and, if he did, they were excused, but if he didn’t get control back things would end up worse than he wanted them to. Sure, maybe he should eat more, he could do that. Eat enough that he wouldn’t pass out but not so much that he’d fall behind in his training. That was manageable. 

Sleep was the hard part, but maybe if he went back to the nurse he would be able to get pills to help or something. He hated the idea of relying on medication for something as simple as sleep, then hated himself for feeling revulsion in the first place. If he thought long and hard about it, there was probably a reason he hated the idea so much, probably a reason that related back to his mother, but he didn’t think long and hard, so everything was ok. 

He flopped back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. The nurse had told him the night before that he wasn’t allowed to book any extra studio practices the entire week, which was bullshit. Relax, she’d said, it will be like a little vacation. It didn’t feel like a vacation, but at least now he had no excuse not to do his online classwork. 

Getting lost in the ‘principles of biological anthropology’ didn’t sound as much fun as getting lost in his movement, no matter how much he enjoyed science, but it would have to suffice for the time being. 

It actually did, for a while, until there was a note slipped under his door. 

I made dinner. You don’t have to eat with me, but you have to eat, so I left you some on the counter. I’ll go in my room whenever you want to come out and eat it.  -Eliott         

There was something at the end of the note that Eliott had so thoroughly scribbled out Lucas had a hard time trying to read it, finally giving up after a good ten minutes of trying. He sighed, knowing he couldn’t ignore the note as much as he wanted to. 

Groaning, he opened his door, meeting Eliott’s surprised eyes, fork halfway to his mouth. Eliott nodded to the bowl beside where he sat. “I’ll go, I’m practically done anyway.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Lucas said, surprising both of them. Quickly, he added, “I mean, you’re almost done anyway, so…” 

“Ok,” Eliott responded, corner of his mouth twisting up in an attempt at a friendly smile. Lucas pretended he hadn’t seen, taking the other bowl from Eliott and sitting beside him. He was surprised to find the makings of some kind of salad. He’d assumed Eliott would go straight for a huge meal to spite Lucas. 

Lucas took a hesitant bite, noticing the way Eliott was trying to pretend he wasn’t watching him. It was pretty good, actually, it tasted like his favorite salad from the café down the street. Actually, maybe it was from the café down the street. “You made this?” he asked Eliott, breaking the tense silence he hadn’t realized was thick in the room. 

“Um,” Eliott answered, and Lucas couldn’t help but laugh. Eliott looked offended. “I could have, but Yann mentioned you liked this kind of salad so… whatever.” His cheeks were red and Lucas was still laughing. 

“Thanks,” Lucas said, catching his breath. He was surprised to find that he meant it. 

“Anytime,” Eliott answered, slightly shocked. 

They ate the rest of their food in silence, but this was a companionable sort of silence, a kind that said two people were comfortable in each other’s presence. It scared the hell out of Lucas.

Lundi 8:01

Lucas cast a glance around the room one more time to make sure he wasn’t just seeing things incorrectly. There was no sign of Eliott anywhere. He tapped Imane on the shoulder. “Imane, you haven’t seen Eliott this morning, have you?”

She glared at him. “Remember what we said? No Eliott talk.”

“I’m not trying to shit talk him, he’s just not here and I—”

She cut him off with a hand, nodding to the front of the classroom where Madame Rigaux was about to begin their class. Lucas paid attention as well as he could, but Eliott’s absence stuck out like a sore thumb, and he wasn’t the only one who noticed it. 

Lucas had assumed Eliott was already out doing whatever it was he did mornings and nights when Lucas got ready in the morning because there was breakfast waiting for him in the fridge. He supposed Eliott could have made it the night before, but Eliott had been getting up so consistently early that he had no reason to assume he wouldn’t have done so that day. Maybe he’d just overslept. 

Lundi 13:26  

The day had worn on, lunch break was over, and Eliott still had yet to make an appearance. Lucas had gone out for lunch with Yann and Arthur, not even thinking of going back to his room and check if Eliott was still there. 

He was feeling guilty about a few things, the first being that he hadn’t gone to check on Eliott after all Eliott had done to try to look after him over the weekend. Then he felt guilty for feeling guilty because fuck Eliott. If he was gone, Lucas would get to practice as the lead. That led to him feeling guilty for abandoning Imane so readily to rehearse with Manon. He knew that it hadn’t been his choice, and that she bore him no ill will, but still, he probably would have been a bit annoyed if she’d suddenly gotten to step into the role of Odette and left him hanging. Then, hanging in the back of his mind even as he immersed himself back into rehearsals and into the role he’d dreamed of rehearsing, he felt guilty for skipping lunch. Sure, he’d gone out to eat with Yann and Arthur, but neither of them had known the details of his issues, so to speak, so they didn’t comment when he ordered a sandwich he didn’t eat, claiming he was saving it for after rehearsals.

Great, now he was feeling guilty for spending the money on a sandwich he had known he wouldn’t eat. It wasn’t like he just had money to blow, and he could have saved it for something related to ballet that he would surely need soon. 

Thankfully, he was back on track in rehearsals and none of the instructors were treating him any different. Actually, they seemed impressed with how readily he’d stepped into the role of Prince Siegfried. He supposed it had helped that he and Manon had spent a whole year partnering together but, whatever the case, he was grateful. 

In fact, by the time rehearsals were done for the day, he was so exhausted that he only had time to shower before he collapsed on his bed and fell fast asleep, forgetting all about Eliott. 

Mardi 7:59 

Fuck, Eliott was gone again. The happiness he should have felt was instead filled by unease. He’d knocked on Eliott’s door that morning, but he hadn’t gotten any response so he’d assumed Eliott was already out of bed and warming up for the day. He wasn’t so desperate yet that he’d go into Eliott’s room. If Eliott had respected his personal space, even when he probably shouldn’t have, Lucas could respect Eliott’s. 

He didn’t ask Imane about Eliott that morning, but he could tell that she seemed a bit concerned as well. Lucas tried to brush the absence from his mind as he had the day before, focusing only on ballet and ballet and ballet. It was harder than it should have been, but by the time rehearsals were over he’d managed it. 

There was a dish in the sink when he got back to the suite after practice, so Eliott was alive at least. Actually, the light was on in the bathroom, door closed, so he must have been up. Lucas debated waiting for him to finish to talk to him, but then he realized he didn’t really know what he would say, so instead he retreated to his own room, glad that he didn’t have to worry about Eliott anymore. It was getting exhausting. 

Mercredi 6:12  

Lucas had skipped his run that morning to make breakfast for the two of them, so Eliott had better be grateful. Eliott still wasn’t awake, but that didn’t mean anything. He was pretty sure Arthur had said Eliott rarely rolled out of bed before seven most mornings in years past. Lucas didn’t want to wait that long, but he supposed he could leave Eliott a note before he left. 

He’d almost forgotten how good he was at cooking when he wanted to be. He made omelettes that morning, forcing his down with a hint of displeasure, but forcing it down nonetheless and writing what he ate on the paper from the nurse. There was less filled in than she probably would have liked, but much more than he would have filled out a week before. He didn’t know if that sickened or pleased him. 

He made his way to the bathroom to fix his hair before he headed out, spraying enough hairspray to make him cough and wave around one of their hand towels to dissipate the smell. He caught his reflection waving the towel in the mirror and frowned, turning the towel over in his hands. There was an odd stain on it, darker than anything they owned should have been. Realization dawned on him and he dropped the towel, running to Eliott’s room and throwing the door open, thankful it wasn’t locked. 

He let out a sigh as he realized Eliott was still just sleeping in his bed, nothing out of the ordinary. He’d probably overreacted, maybe Eliott had spilled something in the kitchen and couldn’t find a towel to use so he’d used the one from the bathroom. 

Eliott huffed and turned over cracking his eyes open a bit. Lucas froze, realizing that he probably looked a bit odd standing in the middle of Eliott’s room out of breath. “What are you doing in here?” Eliott asked and Lucas could have sworn he felt shivers run up his spine at his cold, dead, tone of voice. 

“Nothing, sorry, I just, sorry, um,” Lucas stumbled over his words, unable to find the right ones. “Um, I just thought… doesn’t matter. Are you ready to go warm up?”

“Does it look like I’m ready?” The same harsh coldness enveloped the room. 

“No, sorry, that’s not what I meant,” Lucas apologized. Why was he apologizing? Eliott was being rude to him, and he was apologizing. 

Eliott still hadn’t sat up, and he closed his eyes again. “Yeah? And what did you mean? Either say what you came to say or shut the fuck up and leave me alone.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.”

Lucas laughed mirthlessly. “You know what, fuck you. Sorry for trying to be a good roommate.” He reused a variation of Eliott’s words to drive the point home, but Eliott didn’t so much as flinch. “I’m going to practice now,” he continued, “You can either join or not, but I’d prefer if you didn’t. The role suits me much better, I think.”

“I’m sure,” Eliott said, and Lucas couldn’t determine if he was being sarcastic or not. 

“You’re really not coming to class, are you?” he asked. 

“Nope.”

“And why not?”

“I’m sick.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes,” Eliott said adamantly, “I am. Now please leave before I say something I regret.”

Lucas took a deep breath, trying to figure out what emotion he was feeling, and if he should have been feeling it or not. “Whatever,” he said at last, “Your funeral.”

As he left the room he could have sworn he heard Eliott say something else, but he ignored it as soon as he’d heard, not wanting to have an actual reason to worry about Eliott. By the time he’d gotten to practice, he could convince himself he’d heard nothing at all, that Eliott hadn’t opened his eyes once more, looking straight into Lucas’ own, then turned over, burying his face in his pillow, and whispered miserably, “I wish.”

Jeudi 22:34

Eliott didn’t show up to class again. Lucas made him food again. Eliott didn’t eat the food, and Lucas used the opportunity to call him a hypocrite in a strongly worded note left on the coffee table when he went to bed that night.

There wasn’t much else to say. 

Vendredi 18:00

Lucas wasn’t worried. Definitely not. There was obviously a great explanation as to why Eliott had missed an entire week of classes. Maybe he was sick after all. The instructors hadn’t said anything about it, which made Lucas think the absences were excused, so he wasn’t worried.

Definitely not. 

Samedi 10:53   

Yann rolled his eyes and clapped in front of Lucas’ face. He, Lucas, and Arthur were sitting on the couch in Yann, Arthur, and Sofiane’s suite. Lucas didn’t know where Sofiane was, but if he had to guess, he was probably either out with Imane, Idriss, or both of them. “Hello? Have you listened to us at all?”

He hadn’t. 

“Dude, where has your mind been?” Arthur asked, stirring his coffee with a spoon. Lucas zoned out on the motion before he remembered Arthur had asked a question. 

“Nowhere. Everywhere. Ballet,” he responded, knowing how absolutely stupid he sounded. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes behind his glasses. Lucas had never understood how he’d managed all these years dancing without contacts. He had some for performances, but he never wore them otherwise. Lucas didn’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed. “This has to do with Eliott, doesn’t it?” he clarified knowingly. 

“What? Why would Eliott have anything to do with anything?” Lucas knew he sounded defensive to the point that it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Eliott always has everything to do with everything to you,” Yann said, not unkindly. 

Lucas huffed and crossed his arms. “That’s not true.” 

“It is true,” Arthur countered, pointing his spoon in Lucas’ direction. Lucas scrunched his nose and stuck his tongue out at Arthur, which made both of them laugh, forgetting what they’d been talking about. Yann, however, was not as easily distracted.

“Dude, come on,” he said, pleading. 

Lucas rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you want me to say. Everything’s cool with me, I don’t care what Eliott does or doesn’t do.”

Yann didn’t look convinced, but he relented, changing gears. “Ok. Then where has he been all week? You haven’t been milking the fact that you’ve taken over his role as much as I expected, so it must be something serious that even your cold little heart can’t help but feel bad about.”

Lucas’ mind flashed to everything he’d told himself wasn’t a problem, everything he’d been trying to ignore. He blinked it away as quickly as it had come, but he had trouble keeping the blur of emotions he felt out of his voice. “I don’t fucking know, ok! I literally could not give less of a fuck about anything he does, so just let it be!”

“Yeah, you really sound like you don’t give a fuck,” Arthur murmured under his breath, and Lucas seethed. 

“What was that?” Lucas asked angrily and Arthur just shrugged. “Nothing,” he said calmly.

Lucas laughed humorlessly. “Nothing? Ok, sure. Why can’t you both just fuck off and leave it alone?”

“Lucas, I just asked a simple question, you’re the one who’s blowing it out of proportion,” Yann said with concern. He gripped Lucas’ shoulder and turned his head so they were looking at one another in the eye. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Lucas, don’t bullshit me. What’s going on?” 

He didn’t know, that was the problem. He could have said something, anything about why he’d passed out the week before or the weird toil of emotions inside him because of how Eliott had been acting recently or his worries about how Eliott had been acting recently, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t go years hating Eliott only to break down in concern after a week of Eliott laying in bed. Yann didn’t deserve to have to deal with it either. He’d had to deal with a lot of Eliott drama, especially when the two of them had ended their friendship, and Lucas knew that couldn’t have been very fun for Yann to deal with when he was ten. 

“I can’t,” Lucas said in a small voice. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Yann and Arthur exchanged a glance. It was familiar, and Lucas hated it. Suddenly he couldn’t stand to be around them. They were going to talk about him and his problems when he left regardless, so why not just get out of their hair right now? Eliott was probably still in bed so he could do whatever he wanted in their room for the rest of the day, still banned from booking extra studio time. He had to meet with the nurse to give her his filled out food and sleep chart in the morning to see if she would lift his practice ban. It really was annoying that the one week he’d been given the chance to perform in the role of the Prince was the one week he couldn’t spend his extra time practicing. 

“I have to go,” he said, standing up from the couch. Yann reached his hand out to stop Lucas, but Lucas slipped out of his grip. “I have homework to do that I forgot about,” he continued, knowing it was a feeble excuse but not caring because they wouldn’t believe him anyway. 

“We’re always here, you know? If you need to talk about anything,” Yann said as he reached the door. Arthur nodded, eyes flickering between the two of them. Lucas did know that they would be there if he asked, but sometimes he just didn’t feel like asking. 

Nevertheless, he threw one last glance over his shoulder and smiled softly at the two of them. “I know,” he reassured them. 

He walked back to his room in a bit of a daze, opening the door listlessly only to find Eliott standing at the counter staring at a plate of food Lucas had left for him. Their eyes met briefly before Eliott looked away, back down at the plate. Lucas felt a bit queasy. It was one thing for him to make extra food for a possibly sick roommate that he hated and never know if Eliott ate it or enjoyed it, it was quite another to have to confront the fact that he’d done such a thing. 

Lucas watched Eliott carefully as he walked to his room, but Eliott didn’t move an inch. As he stepped over the threshold into his own space he turned to close the door like he always did, then hesitated. Fuck it, he thought, and released his grip on the door, leaving it ajar. 

He didn’t pay attention to what Eliott was doing out in the living space, but he wanted to make sure there was nothing to worry about, so he would glance over from time to time, only ever finding Eliott eating his food idly, a bit detached from reality. Lucas focused back on his homework, leaving Eliott to eat in peace.

There was a knock at the open door minutes or hours later, and Lucas looked up to find Eliott hovering in the doorway, one fist raised up against the door, the other gripping his laptop, folded into his chest. The sleeves of his hoodie were pulled all the way down over his hands and, despite the fact he’d done nothing but sleep all week, the circles around his eyes were darker than even and he looked utterly exhausted.

He shifted from foot to foot, lowering his hand from the door when Lucas met his eyes. He cleared his throat, eyes shifting everywhere but Lucas’ face. “I don’t totally understand the science homework, and Sofiane and Imane are still out…”

Lucas didn’t know why that concerned him, but he gestured for Eliott to continue talking. “Um, I was wondering if you could help me? Imane told me you’re good at science.”

Lucas ignored the fact that Imane had actually complimented him, though he would be sure to give her shit for it later, eyes finding Eliott’s once more. “You… want my help with homework?”

Eliott blinked suddenly and turned around. “You’re right, it’s stupid, I can probably find the answers online or something—”

“Wait,” Lucas said, and Eliott paused. “I can… I can help. Just this once.”

Eliott turned back around and broke into a relieved grin. “Really? Thank you Lucas, you’re a lifesaver.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Lucas murmured, moving from his desk to sit on the floor. Eliott plopped down beside him and opened up his laptop. Thankfully, the homework Eliott was stuck on was the one he’d just finished himself. 

He explained the concepts and helped Eliott find the answers patiently, thinking that this was just like tutoring at any other high school, so he shouldn’t be too weirded out by it. He was sure that if he got stuck on something Eliott would have helped him, rivals or not, especially if it didn’t have to do with ballet. 

Eliott listened to him attentively, and eventually began working on his own, only asking questions every now and then when he came across something Lucas hadn’t covered. Lucas was pretty sure that there came a point when they’d both finished their work for the week and were just fucking around doing nothing on their laptops, but Eliott didn’t try to leave and Lucas didn’t ask him to. It was the same sort of silence that had engulfed them the week prior when they’d had dinner together, and it only worried Lucas because he was becoming less and less scared of it. 

Later that night they’d brought dinner back to Lucas’ room, both of them knowing damn well that they were no longer working on homework but neither one wanting to be the one that said it. 

Lucas could feel himself dozing off after a while and didn’t want to fight it, realizing that it was good that his body wanted to rest, but he didn’t want to kick Eliott out either. Eliott was very plainly and obviously watching a movie now, Lucas peeking over less casually than he might have done if he had actually been trying to be secretive about it. Eliott even turned the screen ever so slightly so they could both see from where they still sat on the floor, a few feet apart. 

He didn’t know why he didn’t just say something, tell Eliott to leave. A week ago, or even a day ago he would have had no problem doing just that. But Eliott was smiling for the first time Lucas had seen in a week, and Lucas didn’t want to be the one who took it away. 

Somehow the two of them had ended up closer to one another, shoulders nearly touching as they watched the movie, some poetic indie shit that Lucas would never have watched in a million years if not for the circumstance he was in at that moment. It was better than Lucas had expected, though he’d never admit he was enjoying it aloud. Unfortunately, he never found out what happened at the end because somewhere along the way he’d felt comfortable enough to slip into his dreams, curtain of sleep washing over him in a wave. He was briefly aware that his head had fallen on Eliott’s shoulder the moment before he knocked out, but once he was asleep it didn’t matter one bit. 

Maybe when he woke up in the morning he would regret letting Eliott into his room at all, but maybe there was a part of him that wanted to wake up in the morning with Eliott’s head resting on top of his, shoulders touching as the early morning light glowed through the windows, illuminating them from the inside out.