#i guess the switch to ink and the way i take pictures may make it look digital

[samipekoe]

this is a for real question. is your art traditional or digital i think it's traditional based on the black and white but i just realized i can't really distinguish it when i look closer. also your art is sooo good btw i lav it

it is traditional! and thank youuu

[weasleypogues]

written in the stars (f.w. au) pt. 2

hiii soo happy people liked the first part!! im actually obsessed with this au so this is so much fun to write! again, requests for other characters are open! :) let me know if you want to be tagged in this small fic! part 1 here!

tag list for the fic so far: @daddystevee @nojamsonmytoast @thebadassbitchqueen 

masterlist.  part 3.

hope you enjoy it !!! xx

your eyes scanned over the words again and again as your eyebrows furrowed together. balderdash. what could that mean? absolutely nothing could cross your mind as you stared at the black ink that was soon fading away. you felt frozen in place, astonished to see writing as you were waiting for this day for what felt like forever but confusion nonetheless.

“i should write back, right? does he know that this went through? clearly he’s older than me....” you spoke aloud, trying to wrap your head around it. you felt somewhat guilty feeling like this. you should have been excited to see words from your soulmate, knowing there was someone out there, but this was all such sudden change that you knew where you had to go. you felt the urge to run to cedric and ask him any and all questions you could think of. 

basically sprinting to the hufflepuff common room without look extremely suspicious to any onlookers, you tapped the barrell and the door to the common room opened with one swift movement. you walked through the threshold and glanced at the fellow housemates and gave them warm smiles and they wished you a happy birthday.

“thanks guys, anyone know where cedric might be?” you asked, slightly out of breath and looking more frazzeled than one should look on their seventeenth birthday.

“is the birthday girl looking for me?” you heard a voice from the boys dormitory stairs call out. your nerves calmed and you spun around looking at cedric who had a wide smile on his face. “happy birthday , (y/n/n)! i got you this.”

you took a small box from cedrics hands and gave him a big smile, the stressful thought being pushed to the back of your head for a moment. you untied the white ribbon from the silver box and lifted the top to see three bars of honeydukes best chocolate and lifted it to see a picture frame. in the picture was a picture of you and cedric hysterically laughing at whatever joke was told at the time, looking as happy as ever. the frame was an off-white color with sage green vines designed around it. you smiled widely and glanced up at him with tears brimming your eyes.

“it’s beautiful, cedric. i love it!” you responded, placing the box to the nearest table and wrapping your arms around his neck and squeezing. he returned the hug and you could feel the vibrations of his body as he must’ve chuckled. you pulled away still smiling.

“was there something specific you were looking for me for? was it about your pen?” cedric inquired as if he literally read your mind. you heart rate increased slightly, as the previous moment passed and you grabbed the smaller box on the table next to your new gift. you held it in your hands and you looked up at him.

“so all i know right now is that i’m younger. they wrote something and it showed up on my forearm and i kinda freaked out. what does that mean?” you asked, switching your glance back and forth from his eyes searching for answers as soon as possible. he sensed your stress and placed both of his hands on your shoulders.

“okay, first off, ease your nerves a little bit. it’s not going to help.” he stated and you felt your shoulders relax themselves and took a deep breath. “assuming that you got the writing on your arm specifically means that he wrote it on his arm as well. he probably did it to remember something and has no idea that you even got it yet. what did it say?”

“balderdash?” you said in more of a question, wondering if that was the right word and what it could’ve meant. cedric’s own eyebrows furrowed together and his mouth opened slightly to speak but closed soon to take a second to think. you bit your lip and tried to maneuver your mind through this internal maze to figure out what that could possibly mean. 

“i think i’m being too narrowminded right now. i’m trying to connect it to someone at hogwarts when it could literally be almost anyone in the world, right?” you asked, your heart sinking at the thought that maybe your soulmate wasn’t at hogwarts right now. you instinctively cracked your fingers and threw your head back.

“look anything is possible. but i could have sworn i heard that word recently.” cedric stated his own eyes darting around the room as his brain tried to make sense of things. “until something sparks in my mind, try writing back to him? this should be exciting, don’t stress yourself, love.”

you gave him a small smile and nodded slowly before licking your lips and reaching for the marble pen. your took a deep breath, a smile forming on your lips coming to the realization that this is a memorable moment.

wow i finally get to talk to you.

you wrote on your forearm, glitter trailing after the pen’s tip and soon leading to plain black ink before slowly disappearing. you paused and could practically hear the blood pumping in your ears. 

oh my god. happy birthday, love. finally! 

you giggled aloud and showed cedric who failed to hide his own smile and looked at you, “see! nothing to be worried about!” you felt more at ease and dazed as you were literally talking to your soulmate. 

footsteps pulled you out of the small trance you had at your forearm as the ink disappeared. you looked up and saw malia with a wide grin on her face. “(y/n)! happy birthday!” you giggled and thanked her, pulling her into a hug.

“oh my god! your pen! have you written anything yet? have they written anything yet? ahh! this is so exciting, i’m so happy for you.” malia basically squealed. a smirk rose upon your lips, realizing how literally perfect she was for cedric and you nodded.

“they wrote bladerdash earlier and than i kind of froze and freaked out but i wrote and he wrote back!” you announced, happiness oh so evident in your tone and a blush rising to your cheeks. malia tucked a piece of hair behind her hair.

“balderdash? if i’m not mistaken, angelina said to me that was the gryffindor common room password. they’re holding a bit of a secret party before classes on monday and said to invite a few people and let myself in.” malia exclaimed, putting the pieces together to your puzzle. an overwhelming feeling you soon determined was excitement bubbled inside you as you listened to her. gryffindor? so they have to be a student at hogwarts! 

“ooh, got yourself a bit of a brave one there, don’t you (y/n/n)?” cedric teased, wiggling his eyebrows. you held the pen in your hand a little tighter, eager to write on something. you grabbed the nearest piece of parchment, completely over having to write on your own skin and saw the glitter emitting immediately from the tip of the pen.

balderdash? afraid you were going to forget your common room password, huh?

you giggled at your sarcasm and wittiness and looked back up at the couple in front of you. they shared your excitement and cedric spoke up, “i hate to break this up but why don’t we go down to breakfast? i’m sure people wanna see the birthday girl.” 

hogwarts student, eh? this’ll be easy.

you blushed and rolled your eyes, realizing the birthday attention was going to significantly increase today because of your new little pen. you clicked the pen and put it back into the box, grabbing the parchment, hoping what he had to say would appear on their instead of your forearm. “let me get jada and than i’m ready when you are!” you raced upstairs to grab one of your roommates and the four of you made your way to the great hall to reconnect with the rest of your house. 

as you stood in front of the great hall doors, it hit you right then and there that there was a great chance your soulmate would be sitting at the gryffindor table right now, that is if they enjoy breakfast. you gulped obviously and looked over at cedric who was next to you. 

“don’t get too freaked out. they’re going to be just as excited as you are.” cedric calmed you down, acknowledging the nerves you were clearly emitting.

“i’m not the best with change. and what if they see everyone wishing me a happy birthday and come up to confront me. or worse what happens if they don’t say anything at all and are embarrassed?” 

cedric said nothing but gave you a look that said that you were overthinking it. he pulled you in for a brotherly hug and you two made your way into the great hall, your eyes only slightly darting to the gryffindor table a couple of times to play it cool. 

you sat with your friends who were all extremely interested in your pen and tried to make their own guesses on who it may be. “it has to be someone in gryffindor obviously, and older than you!” you let your eyes trail to the table and tried to weed out who it may be until you heard a slight explosion come from the slytherin table. slytherin students were fleeing the spot, their shirts covering their noses and gryffindor students laughing at their rivals evacuate from the spots. you spotted the weasley twins high five each other and put together it was one of their up and coming dungbombs. they were both laughing and you couldn’t help but chuckle as well but subtly wanted to make sure the slytherin students were okay.

“ugh, if you got one of the weasely twins, you would be so fucking lucky!” your friend lola exclaimed, basically swooning at the thought of them. you grinned and rolled your eyes playfully before taking one last sip of orange juice and rising from the hufflepuff table.

“i’m stuffed, anyone wanna go to hogsmeade?” you announced and you friends agreed immediately. you snuck the marble pen out of your pocket as you made your way out of the great hall and opened your palm.

see you at the gryffindor party later?

the glittery remnants disappearing along with the black in. your palm tickled as you looked down at the quick response.

can’t wait.

[nalu4emily]

The Unexpected Reward - Chapter 11

Summary:  Natsu and Lucy go on a job together, but what they bring home is something neither anticipated. Forced to make a life changing decision, they have to adapt quickly, but that's never easy, especially given the circumstances. As they work together on their toughest adventure yet, they find themselves drawn to one another, in ways they never realised. Nalu/cute/fluff/multi-chapter.

This chapter features mature content.

It'd been a very odd morning, Natsu had never imagined the day after his first sexual experience to be so turbulent. He pictured him and Lucy snuggling up in bed together taking it easy, not her running off and threatening to beat the ever loving crap out of one of their friends, regardless of whether they deserved it or not.

He'd not long made it to the guild when all hell had broke loose. He'd arrived just in time to watch Lucy tackle Cana to the floor, which, thankfully, hadn't ended with either seriously hurt. Lord knows how he'd gathered the courage to separate the two beasts, in the end he'd needed the assistance of not only Gray but Gajeel as well. The bedlam that had ensued was enough to put frighteners on even the great Titania, who luckily hadn't shown her face until after. Natsu cringed at the very thought of her getting involved, that would not have ended well for anyone.

It had been one hell of a clash between the two friends, all that could be heard echoing through the great hall was Cana's maniacal laughter and Lucy's hysterical shrieking. Natsu had to admit, even though he'd been the one to stop her, watching Lucy be a total badass as she elegantly switched between star dresses and the way she held her own was a sure fire way to get his blood pumping. Screw sexy lingerie and skimpy outfits, he'd take watching Lucy fight any day! Maybe he could even get her to use her star dresses in the bedroom? Now there was food for thought and it was making him drool.

Aside from Natsu's kinky thoughts, once he'd managed to pull her off of the card wielder, kicking and screaming he might add, he'd dragged her over to a secluded bench and sat her down, giving her time to take a few deep breaths. Master Makarov had appeared in the main hall not long after, probably to see what all the commotion was about. Sighing in relief to see the building still intact, he'd caught sight of the two mages he'd wanted to see and gestured for them to go with him, not wanting anyone else to follow.

And now here they were, sitting across from the Master who was currently speaking complete gibberish to the baby he'd insisted on holding. Natsu still didn't understand why people did that, it made them look insane! Aside from Lucy that is, she looked adorable when she did it. Haru, seated in the Master's lap, had taken a liking to the poor man's facial hair, tangling his chubby hands into it and tugging, making the old man wince from his strong grip. Even though it was obviously hurting, he couldn't bring himself to stop the chuckling baby, not when the little guy was finding it ever so funny.

"You two are doing a great job at looking after this little man, he's come a long way since the beginning and he's much bigger now too." Makarov told them, but didn't spare either a single glance as he spoke, too preoccupied with entertaining the infant.

"Thanks Master, that means a lot to us." Lucy said, smiling as the youngster continued to giggle at the older man.

"How're you both finding it all? A blue birdy told me you're now living together?" He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Yes, we did a few months ago, Natsu extended his house for us all." Lucy said, looking over to Natsu who grinned at her. "And I think we're getting along just fine. It was a little stressful at first but now I couldn't imagine my life without him." Lucy answered, but she wasn't convinced that the Master had pulled them into the back room just to ask how they were. He could have done that in the main hall.

"Lucy's right, it's awesome! Haru is a great kid and I'm proud to call him my son." Natsu beamed, fisting the air in his enthusiasm.

"That's what I like to hear! You both made a very tough decision with barely any time to really think it through, but you've made the most of it and I know everyone in the guild is really happy for you." The old man uttered.

"Thanks Gramps! Was there something else you wanted us for?" Natsu asked, turning to Lucy to see if she was thinking the same. Was this really all the Master wanted to say to them?

Makarov finally looked up to the two mages who were staring at him curiously and sighed. "I guess it's time to tell you the real reason why I asked you in here. I apologise for the unexpected meeting but I have something of great importance that came for you both and it couldn't wait." He said, sporting a serious expression all of a sudden.

"What is it, Master? You mean like a letter?" Lucy asked, the way his face turned stoic had put her on edge in an instant.

"Yes, I ha-" He stopped, hearing whispering coming from outside the room, "Can you hear that?"

"It's Gray, Erza and Happy standing outside the door." Natsu shrugged like it wasn't news to him, "They've been there the whole time."

The Master rolled his eyes, of course there were eavesdroppers, he should've known. "Well, it's up to you two whether you want them in here or not?"

Natsu looked to Lucy and nodded, if they were that desperate to listen in then they might as well join them. The slayer walked over to the locked door and opened it, revealing the surprised group who stumbled into the room and fell at Natsu's feet. He raised an eyebrow at them as they slowly all made eye contact with him, sheepish grins on all of their faces.

"Oh look, the nosey brigade have arrived!" Natsu said sarcastically, crossing his arms as they all ungracefully stood up, treading on each others feet and clashing heads in the narrow door way. "If you were trying to be quiet, you failed! I could hear you all coming a mile off!"

"Yeah, well, not everyone's a freak like you." Gray spat back, clutching at his head after smacking it against the door handle.

"You're just pissed 'cause you got caught snooping!" Natsu taunted, a smirk splitting his features.

"It was Happy's idea, Flame brain! He was the one complaining that you two had gone off and left him again, so blame him!" The ice mage exclaimed, knocking heads with the fire mage and filling the air with testosterone.

"Hey! Don't blame me, you and Erza were sneaking around after them! This was your idea!" The exceed defended, it wasn't his fault that people kept forgetting about him.

They all continued to squabble for a little longer, trying to pass the blame between Gray and Happy as to why they had followed Natsu and Lucy, stopping only when the Master cleared his throat.

"Um, pardon the intrusion Master, we were just, er… Coming to lend our moral support to Natsu and Lucy." Erza stuttered, unable to come up with a good enough excuse for their eavesdropping.

"Whatever you say, just sit down and keep quiet." Makarov gave an exasperated sigh, these kids were going to be the death of him, along with the rest of the damn guild. They filtered in and quickly sat down where they could around Natsu and Lucy. "Right, now that that's sorted… back to what I called you two in here for." He pulled an envelope out from his stacks of paperwork and slid it across the table. They both looked at the paper curiously and saw clearly written in black ink, 'Natsu Dragneel and Lucy Heartfilia' with the word 'PRIVATE' in large, stamped letters underneath.

"What's this Gramps? It looks kinda important… Is it from the council?!" Natsu began to sweat profusely, thinking back on any times recently where he'd destroyed something, but nothing came to mind. He hadn't been on a mission in months so that couldn't be it. "Have you been destroying things again, Lucy?" He crossed his arms and raised his brow at her, quirking his lips up at her offended, but totally adorable pout.

"I'm not you, Natsu!" She raised her voice at him, then looked down at the envelope again, inspecting it closely. "I don't think this is about our missions is it?" She asked, directing the question more towards the Master, who simply shook his head. He may not have read it himself but like Lucy, he'd caught on pretty quickly. "If that's the case then I don't think I want to open it…" There was only one reason that Lucy could think of for being sent such a letter.

"What's wrong, Lucy? Do you know what it's about?" Happy chipped in, flying over and landing on her lap. Gray and Erza looked just as lost as Natsu did in that moment.

"Surely it can't be that bad? Why don't you wanna open it?" Natsu asked, still very much confused about the whole thing.

Lucy didn't say anything, she cast her gaze away from the envelope to look at the sweet baby gurgling away in the Master's arms. She felt her tears well up in her eyes and all she could think was if this was bad news, she didn't know what she was going to do.

Natsu took note of the growing despair in Lucy's eyes and followed her line of vision, landing on the infant. He furrowed his brows for a moment trying to work out what could've upset her so suddenly. "Is this letter about Haru?" He asked, realisation hitting him.

Now he remembered! When they'd first brought Haru home, much to the slayer's chagrin, they'd spent hours and hours filling out stupid amounts of paperwork to send off so that they could officially adopt him. They knew at the time that the adoption process would take a while and that they would have to wait for an answer. After that, he'd put it to the back of his mind and it didn't take long for him to forget about it altogether.

He looked back to Lucy who hadn't said a word since she'd realised what it was herself. Natsu didn't bother waiting for her to answer and went to pick up the letter, wanting to know what was so awful about it.

"Wait!" He felt Lucy's hand grab the wrist that he'd reached out towards the table and halted his movements, peering back over to her and tilting his head in confusion. "W-What… What if it's bad news?"

"Why would it be bad news, Luce?" He asked, not fully understanding the problem yet. If it was just to say they could keep him, then that was good wasn't it?

"You have to understand how diligent they are! They could take a disliking to one silly little thing and it can turn the tables against us." She could feel the dread come up from her stomach into her chest, what would they do? "Don't you understand? Bad news means they'll take him from us and give him to someone else and we'll never see him again."

"Never see him again? Over my dead body! How can you be sure it's bad? It might not-"

"But what if it is? What do we do then?" The tears finally fell, coming down like torrents and that's when it dawned on Natsu that Lucy's fear was a very real possibility.

He looked back at the little one and watched him happily inspect his fingers, another thing he'd discovered recently. A life without Haru was something Natsu had never considered, why would he want to think of that? His heart picked up speed a little and a sick feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Haru was their son, no one had a right to take him from them, not even that birth father of his. It was the whole point of going through this ridiculous adoption process in the first place, to keep him safe and with them, forever.

That being said, Natsu also wasn't one for conforming to the rules, if they'd decided that him and Lucy weren't suitable enough, then he would fight with every last slither of determination to keep Haru with them, no matter the cost.

"Can they really do that, Gramps? After everything Natsu and Lucy have done for Haru, they can just take him?" Gray asked, if that were the case then that was absolute bullshit and so unfair!

"I'm afraid so, it can be a ruthless system." Makarov explained, shifting the baby in his lap so that he was now facing his parents, smiling happily when he caught sight of them.

"In the end, the one that suffers the most is the innocent child stuck in the middle of it all." Erza expanded, feeling nothing but sympathy as she gazed at Lucy, who looked totally distraught by the idea of losing little Haru.

"I'm not gonna let that happen!" Everyone heard and turned swiftly to the dragon slayer, his sight was fixed on the baby, determination in his voice. He looked at everyone in turn, gauging their shocked expressions before landing on Lucy, who still had tears flowing down her cheeks. He reached his hand out and interlaced his fingers with hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "No matter what that letter says, Haru's ours, Lucy, he'll always be ours." His voice sounded firm and assured, but a shadow was cast over his eyes, making it hard for Lucy to read his face. She could tell the very idea of this all going sideways was affecting him way more than he was letting on.

He sighed loudly, hoping that all this worry was for nothing. He looked over to Lucy to make sure she was okay and then over to Haru, unable to contain his smile as he watched the little one suck on his tiny fists.

"Are you ready, Lucy?" He asked, picking the envelope up and opening it.

"Ready as I'll ever be." She replied, worry thickly coating her voice.

"Dear Mr Dragneel and Miss Heartfilia,

This letter has been formally written to you to update you on the adoption application you made to us for the infant known as Haru.

It is to our understanding that he is currently living with you both at your permanent residence in the city of Magnolia, Fiore and has done so since early Spring of this year. From the information given to us by yourselves and the current Master of the mages guild, Fairy Tail, in which you are both long serving members, this is what we have concluded:"

"Wow, I've never heard Natsu sound so official before, you should speak like that more often, makes it sound like you gotta brain." Gray butted in and sniggered, trying to lighten the mood a little, gaining nothing but a clip around the head from Erza.

"Shut it, Frosty! It's not my fault it's worded so weirdly!" Natsu spat back, scowling at the Ice mage. "If you're so smart, why don't you read it!"

"Be quiet! This is an important matter and I don't want either of you to start fighting at a time like this." Erza demanded, voice stern and intimidating, shutting both boys up.

"Give it here…" Lucy huffed and snatched the letter from Natsu's hand, deciding it best if she were to carry on in his place. She cleared her throat and began where Natsu had finished.

"As you are aware, the law states that a child may be re homed permanently in very exceptional circumstances which are listed below for your reference;

1. The birth parents choose and/or grant permission to give up their child for reasons they believe would benefit the child.

2. The safety and/or well-being of the child have been greatly compromised because of abuse and/or neglect inflicted upon them by their birth parents.

3. Both birth parents perish and the child has no other close friends or relatives that can willingly take responsibility for them.

In this circumstance, we decided category one only applied. We recently made contact with the child's only living relative, his birth father, to attain information regarding his relationship with his biological child. After much discussion, it was clear that he did not want to be a part of the child's life, believing himself to be incapable of meeting the child's needs at this difficult time."

"Pfft… Incapable of meeting his needs, you can say that again…" Natsu scoffed, gaining everyone's attention.

"Natsu!" Lucy yelled, getting irritated by his need to interrupt her.

"Sorry, it just made me laugh that's all!" He shrugged, backing down when Lucy glared at him.

"After advising him that it was in the child's best interest to remain with his current living situation with yourselves, he subsequently agreed to relinquish all parental responsibility and henceforth, no longer has any lawful right to the child.

As a result, we would like to congratulate you on the successful adoption of your son, Haru Dragneel and will post his new birth records to you in due course. We wish you both the very best with your new family."

Once she'd finished reading she placed the paper down and the room fell silent for a moment, allowing the news to sink in. She gaped at her partner, noticing the huge grin forming in his cheeks. But before he could say anything, she leapt out of her seat and flung herself at him, accidentally shoving him off of the chair and down to the ground, both landing in a heap of tangled limbs.

"He's ours! Oh my god Natsu, he's officially ours!" She squealed, unable to contain her excitement and relief.

Before anyone could react, the sound of Haru's infectious laughter filled the air, brightening the room. Watching his Mommy fall on top of his Daddy like that had tickled his funny bone. Natsu and Lucy grinned like idiots, bringing their foreheads together and revelling in the sweet sound of their baby's amusement. The others watched on at the tender moment, grins all plastered on their faces as they stood to congratulate the ecstatic couple.

"I guess now you really have officially beaten me, Natsu. You know you choosing to be a father to a child that isn't yours takes guts, I respect that, but now it's on to see who can have the most kids." Gray sniggered as he darted out of the room, probably to go and find Juvia…

Natsu, unable to fire back at Gray before he left, looked up at Lucy and smirked, "Don't even think about it!" She stared him down, "I am not spending the rest of my youth popping out children for you to win some stupid bet against Gray!"

"Dang it! But Lucy, he's gonna win! Juvia's not gonna say no!" He whined, of course with mirth, trying to wind her up as always, which was clearly working.

"What a joyous day this is! I'm so happy for you both!" Erza's face lit up like she was planning something as she walked out of the door.

"So kids, I'm glad we got a happy ending because that could've turned out much worse and I don't think the guild hall would've stood a chance against Natsu's fiery temper. I'm going for a drink before my heart gives out and this little guy is coming with me." Makarov said as he too left the room with Haru still happily playing in his arms.

Happy flew over, the last one left in the room, hoping he wouldn't catch a glimpse of the pair being all gross with each other. "So I guess I am officially his big brother now, which means I have an exclusive right to teach him how to wind Lucy up, in fact, I think I better go start now. Wait for me, Master!" He giggled at Lucy's unimpressed face and flew out of the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving just the two of them, alone.

Natsu reached his hand up to her cheek to bring her attention back to him and caressed it softly with his thumb, taking in her beautiful features whilst feeling a sense of calm. Everything had fallen into place and he was overjoyed by the good news. No more worrying, (not that he did much anyway) Haru was all theirs and they could now look to the little ones future, to their future as a family.

"I love you so much, Lucy." His voice was soft and sweet, a total opposite to his usual destructive personality. Lucy leaned her face towards his, her heart pounding in her chest and filling with warmth from his words. She could barely contain her grin as they locked eyes with one another, her lips brushing up against his.

"I love you too, Natsu. I'm so happy!" She met his lips with a sweet but smouldering kiss. Lucy felt her skin heat up at his very touch, and her body tremored from the excess adrenaline pumping through it.

They continued their make out session for a little while longer, completely lost in each other. They were both overwhelmed with pure elation by the outcome of that letter, even though in reality, nothing would actually change. Their lives would carry on as it was, but now at least they had that security of Haru remaining with them indefinitely.

Their kiss slowly burned into something more heated, reminiscent of the previous night, especially when Lucy's hips rubbed against Natsu's groin, causing him to growl into her mouth. It was like something had awoken within them and all the pent up emotions were leaking out in more frenzied movements, turning lustful the more they touched each other.

Lucy detached her lips from Natsu's mouth and slowly made her way down to his neck, grazing over his scar there and sending shivers through his body. She snaked her hands down to his pants and began to rub the awakening dragon through his clothes, feeling him twitch excitedly under her hand. His eyes rolled back into his head and he let out a harsh breath, relishing in the firmness of her strokes. But before all sense of sanity travelled south, he grabbed at her wrist, halting her movements and gauging her shocked expression.

"I don't think now is a good time, Luce. Anyone could walk in, which they will if we don't show our faces soon." He said, trying to compose himself, but man, did her hand feel good on him! It wasn't him that had the problem with being caught, he just knew Lucy wouldn't like that. He could picture her mortified face clearly, she'd be so utterly horrified, she'd probably never want to touch him again and he couldn't have that!

"You're right, I guess." She sat up, disappointment clear in her voice, feeling a little saddened that Natsu had declined her advances. She looked to the door when something caught her eye. "That door has a lock on it…" She looked at him with the biggest shit eating grin and went to stand, pulling Natsu up with her.

"That desperate, huh?" He teased, leaning against the desk with his leg crossed over the other and his arms folded over his chest, looking smug. "You know a locked door won't stop them, right?"

"Dammit! Fine, let's go and join them then…" She sighed deflated, turning to walk out of the door but stopped when Natsu pulled her back to him, caging her against the desk he was previously leaning on.

"And where do you think you're running off to?" He growled against her ear, sucking her lobe and making her quiver. He could see the slight confusion in her face as he carried out his ministrations.

"B-But, I-I thought you said…" She stammered.

"Don't think I don't want to, Lucy. I'd love nothing more than to bend you over this table right now and fuck you until you scream my name." She gasped at the brashness of his words, feeling her legs turn to jelly at the mere thought of Natsu doing that. He touched his lips down to her jaw, leaving sensual open mouthed kisses all the way down to her mouth, then stopped and smirked whilst eyeing her plump lips, waiting for her to speak.

She said nothing, she could barely breathe from the intense glare that Natsu was giving her and the way he was speaking… it made her shudder! She could feel herself moisten down below from the sheer sexiness of his demeanour. Where did he learn to act like this? Lucy was sure if he kept it up, she'd be a blonde puddle on the floor.

The boy grabbed both of her cheeks and pulled her to him, pressing their lips together and enjoying the smoothness of her tongue as it danced with his. He pulled away all too soon causing Lucy to whimper at the loss of contact. "Come on Luce, let's go join the others. We'll continue this later." He winked at her blushing face, taking her hand and leading them out of the door.

As soon as they entered the main hall, a stream of cheers and clinking of glasses filled the room. Obviously someone had opened their mouths and told them all about the good news, probably Happy… or Erza? Lucy should have guessed they'd use any excuse for a party. They walked on over to the bar where Haru was laying calmly beside Makarov, babbling away and sucking on his fists again.

"Congrats guys! I'm so happy for you both!" Levy said from the side, she beamed at them. "Happy told us all about your letter, in fact I think he told everyone."

Lucy rolled her eyes, she really did have to have words with that damn cat, he needed to learn to keep his mouth shut every once in a while. "Thanks Levy, it's such a relief!" Lucy sat herself down, about to reach over to Haru when Natsu got there first.

"It's my turn, Luce. You changed him last time." He said, picking up the little one and scrunching up his nose at the horrific smell lingering around the baby. Holding his breath, he proceeded to change the baby on a nearby bench, burning the soiled diaper to get rid of the stench. Natsu dressed him in fresh clothes and wrapped his scaly scarf around him to keep him warm. He picked Haru up, cuddling him close to his chest and smiled, "Does that feel better little guy? You know for such a small person, you make one hell of a smell!" Haru simply smiled at his father, knowing full well that after a diaper change he was always rewarded with milk time and boy, did he look forward to that!

"I think someone's hungry!" Natsu chuckled at the little boy, who was now sucking the life out of the scarf and making cute little noises. He walked back over to Lucy and sat down beside her. She passed a fresh bottle for the slayer to warm in his hand, placing it into the infants mouth who accepted it greedily. Both Natsu and Lucy smiled fondly at the little one, lost in their own little baby bubble as they watched him guzzle down his bottle. The soft voice of one of their friends breaking them out of their daze.

"You know, seeing you like this Natsu, reminds me of when we first found Happy's egg and played house all the time as kids." Lisanna said from the other side of the bar, she'd been watching Natsu with the baby and it had brought fond memories back to her of their childhood together. "I always thought you'd make a good Daddy one day!"

"Oh, um, thanks!" Natsu replied, blushing a little at the unexpected compliment. He looked up at the girl who was leaning over the bar, propping her head up with both arms, smiling fondly at the fire mage.

"It still amazes me that you've managed to keep him alive for so long. You could barely take care of yourself until Lucy came along." Gray sniggered as he waltzed on over to the bar. "And I bet she's still constantly cleaning up after you!"

"That's rich coming from an idiot not wearing any underwear." Natsu eyed the ice mage, watching him jump when he looked down at himself and realised he was completely naked. "Go find your pants man! I don't want Haru learning your freaky stripping habits."

"And I don't want him picking up on either of your stupid fighting habits!" Lucy butted in before another fight broke out, silencing the two males immediately. "Haru is a sweet boy, I'd like to keep him that way!" She smiled and reached out a hand to stroke the baby's head.

"He's definitely got an appetite like Natsu's." Wendy giggled, smitten with the little one. "But he still might end up like you, Lucy."

"One can only hope!" Lucy chuckled at Natsu's pretend hurt expression. "What? Let me have something, I am the only girl in the house, it's only fair!" She giggled, laying her head on Natsu's shoulder, both watching their little one finish his milk.

"Ugh, you guys are so pure, it hurts me!" Cana exclaimed, smacking her drink down on the bar top, making every mage present jump. She was obviously very drunk at this point, allowing her mouth to run away with her even more than usual. "Come on, let's get this party started!"

"Actually, Natsu and I are gonna head out, Haru's run out of milk and he gets hungry pretty quickly." She chuckled, not sparing the drunk girl a single glance, too enraptured by the cute baby.

"Don't make excuses! You guys are just eager to get home and use your new presents! Don't want any accidents now do we?" Cana grinned evilly at Lucy, who'd gone wide eyed and quiet at the brunette's words. Natsu stiffened and chanced a glance over at the two girls. He didn't want to have to deal with this again, not after this morning!

"Presents? What presents? Was it your birthday or something, Lucy?" Levy asked, not taking notice of the sudden tense atmosphere. She was sure Lucy's birthday wasn't for a few months yet?

"On that note, I think we should head out! Come on, Luce, off we go!" Natsu stood abruptly, grabbing hold of the blonde who looked just about ready to blow. If looks could kill… "Bye everyone, see you tomorrow!" He shouted through Cana's howling, fleeing out of the door with Haru in one hand and Lucy in the other.

He ran as fast as he could away from the guild hall, surprised by the lack of resistance from his partner but didn't want to let go just in case. Once they reached their house, Natsu flung the door open and pulled Lucy inside, locking it behind him before she could run back and give Cana a piece of her mind. Taking a long, deep breath, he watched her walk over and slump down onto the couch and let out her own sigh.

Natsu walked over and placed a very sleepy Haru in the basket next to the couch, tucking his scaly scarf over the little one to keep him warm. Turning his attention back to Lucy, he perched himself next to her, wondering what could have dampened her mood so unexpectedly.

"You okay, Luce? You're being very quiet… Did Cana get to you that much?" His voice laced with concern for her change in behaviour, hoping that bringing up the card wielder wouldn't set her off again.

"Oh, er, no, she's harmless really…" She trailed off, looking down at her lap and fiddling with the hem of her shirt, feeling those nervous bubbles take residence in her belly again.

"Are you sure? You can tell me if something's bothering you." He said, placing his hand on her thigh and began to softly stroke it. He could see that she was hesitant about branching any further into what was on her mind. He took her hands in his and moved to face her directly, staring deep into her averted eyes, catching the uncertainty in them. "Luce, I can't help if you don't tell me."

Taking a deep breath, she attempted to explain to him the problem, "I-It's what Cana said when we left the guild. We, um, forgot something when we, you know… last night and, well…" She faltered, struggling to hold any sort of gaze on his curious face. "And now I-I might, well, we might be, um…"

"Having another baby?" He came straight out with it, gauging her shocked expression.

He'd had a suspicion that it was something along those lines because of how Lucy had gone strangely quiet on the way home after Cana had teased her about using the condoms. Ever the immature idiot, Natsu was more perceptive than people gave him credit for, especially when it came to Lucy, he could read her like an open book.

Lucy snapped her head to his, eyes wide open and her mouth agape like she'd just seen a ghost. She could feel the panic rise up the more she played out what he'd just said over and over in her mind. Only thinking it in her head up until that point, but hearing it said out loud was a whole different ball game.

"And you were worried about what I might think, if you told me?" His expression remained neutral but firm. He knew he'd guessed right because of the way she'd reacted when he'd said it. The fire breather was sure he could hear the rapid beat of her heart hammering against her chest and the fact her cheeks had turned the darkest shade of red with beads of sweat forming on her brow, gave her away before she'd even said anything.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry, Natsu, I've ruined everything! I don't know how I forgot, and now I don't know what to do, it only takes one time for it to happen! Was it nerves? Or maybe I-" She tried to keep her voice down for Haru's sake, but she was struggling to stop the words from flooding out of her mouth.

Natsu pressed his lips to hers to stop her from rambling, taking her by surprise. He felt a few stray tears touch his face, making his heart clench in sympathy for her. Waiting for her to calm down, he pulled away after a few moments, placing his forehead on hers. His eyes were closed for now and his breath was slow and even. Lucy waited nervously for him to say something, anything… yet he remained calm and quiet. She hadn't expected him to be this relaxed about it, but then this was Natsu after all, he always looked on the brighter side of things.

"Shh, it's alright Lucy. Accidents happen, so you don't have to be sorry. I take half the blame because it takes two remember?" He opened his eyes, his voice was soothingly gentle, allowing her to calm herself down a little and think more clearly. "Would it be so bad if we were to have another little one?" He waited a moment to see if she would answer. Her eyes flickered between his as she digested his question, would it be that bad?

"It's just, I-I don't… I-I'm not sure if I'm-" She stuttered, barely managing to get the words out as he stared so intently at her, gauging the fear still present in her expression.

"I get that the idea is scary, Luce, I'm not gonna pretend otherwise, but we managed it with Haru, right? And he's doing just fine!" He smiled, not one to dwell on the past but feeling it necessary for her to know his true feelings on the matter. "I didn't know the first thing about babies when we took Haru in and neither did you, but we learnt and now look at where we are. Sure, I worried about doing right by him, especially in those first weeks, but it was worth the struggle for his happiness. To see his smile and to hear him laugh is reward enough." He looked down and sighed, "Because I realised that none of those worries even comes close to how scared I was today, when I realised that my little boy could be taken from me. The fear of having him was nothing compared to the fear of losing him."

"I had no idea you felt that way, Natsu, you always seem so optimistic. Why didn't you say? I could've helped you through it." Lucy said, shocked by just how open he was being with her, it was a rare occurrence to hear him speak so freely about his feelings.

"You helped me by being there, Lucy. Which is exactly what I'm trying to tell ya! If there were a tiny chance of a baby making itself at home in there, then that would be okay with me, because they'd be ours, just like Haru." He said pressing his hand to her stomach, filling her with warmth and comfort as he smiled lovingly at her. "I'll always be there for you, no matter what happens because we're always gonna be together."

He pulled Lucy closer and wrapped her in his arms, breathing in her sweet scent. He looked down at her flat stomach and allowed himself to imagine for a single moment that one day a new life, that they'd created together, would be growing just below where his hand lay, one he would welcome wholeheartedly. He quickly shook the image from his mind, leaning his head on her shoulder and taking another deep breath, relaxing himself. Feeling just that little bit lighter for getting all that off of his chest.

"Thank you, Natsu. I can always count on you." Lucy smiled, looking over at the infant snoring away with the scarf still resting near his mouth. The slayer was right, it didn't matter because they were always going to be together.

"So... does that mean I still have a chance at winning that bet against Gray then?" He grinned mischievously, waiting for her inevitable reaction.

"Natsu!" Her face tinting pink again at what he was implying. "Absolutely not!"

"I'm kidding, Lucy! I know you're not ready for that just yet." He smiled, hoping that would bring her much needed comfort. She grinned back at him, feeling relief take over her entire form. "And now thanks to Cana and all of those condoms on our bed, we can get in a load of practice." He said, leaning forwards and attacking the sensitive skin on her neck, hearing her heart rate increase and a sharp breath pass her lips.

"Hmm, I do believe we have some unfinished business to attend to?" She smirked, tugging at his hair while he sucked and nipped at her already swollen lips.

Feeling a fire in his belly, he was quick to drag her up the stairs, placing the little one in his own room while they occupied their bedroom. Their movements became erratic, unable to get enough of the other. Pure lust filled the air as they ravaged each other's bodies, making them yearn for more contact, more pleasure. Natsu released himself from the confines of his pants and slid his shaft up and down Lucy's soaking wet entrance, eliciting soft moans from the sweet torture he was giving her. With one fluid movement he sheathed himself within her, groaning from the intense pressure created.

"Mm, it feels so good, Natsu!" She breathed harshly, furrowing her brows as she got use to having him inside her once again.

"I haven't even started yet, Lucy, I hope you're ready for a long night!" He teased, pulling himself out then thrusting back in, making himself grunt and Lucy cry out in ecstasy.

He leaned down and mashed their lips together, his tongue massaging hers while he pulsed deeply into her, making her moan loudly into him. Sweat was pouring off of his face as he increased in speed, wanting to elicit as much noise from her beautiful mouth as he could, bringing her and himself closer to the edge. They were completely lost in each other, totally forgetting that they weren't the only one's that lived there.

It was only later that evening, that Happy decided he'd had enough of being at the guild and was ready to go home and sleep. Nearing the little house he'd long called home, he heard something strange coming from the bedroom window. Curiosity getting the better of him, he flew up and peered inside. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head, Natsu and Lucy were wrestling?! No, that didn't seem right, they looked to be enjoying it and were… naked?! Realisation struck him straight in the gut at just what he was playing audience to and let out a horrified shriek, legging it away from the house and back to the guild to tell someone of the horrors that he'd seen.

"My eyes! My eyes!" Lucy heard coming from the distance, she pulled away from Natsu's mouth and stared up at his eyes, looking just as oblivious as always.

"Can you hear something?" She asked, not really sure if it was just her ears playing tricks on her or not.

"I can't really hear anything over your moaning." He sniggered, reattaching himself to her jaw instead.

"I'm being serious! I'm sure I heard someone say something from outside!" She pushed his head away from her so that she could listen clearly without being distracted, but heard nothing.

"Luce, I hear a lot of things, it's probably some animal or whatever, we do live next to woodland." He sighed, trying to calm her nerves so he could get back to the task at hand.

"Hmm… If you're sure?" She wasn't entirely convinced that Natsu hadn't heard it, not with his sensitive hearing and all, but it seemed to have stopped for now.

Beginning where he left off, he leaned back down to kiss her swollen lips, slowly pushing himself back into her and revelling in the beautiful noises she made. He hammered into her until her body quaked as she came undone, yelling Natsu's name to the whole of Magnolia. Hearing her cum so hard, was what finally gave him his own release, groaning through gritted teeth until finally collapsing onto the bed next to her. Peace and exhaustion washing over them both, he smiled at her drowsy, flushed face watching as her eyes closed shut, his own lids following suit as they cuddled up to one another.

Although struggling to think of anything but the gorgeous girl beside him, he did manage to make a mental note to apologise to Happy for what he may or may not have seen from the window. Hoping they hadn't traumatised the cat too much, Natsu definitely had some explaining to do!

Hi everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. I do apologise for it taking over a month to come out. Juggling work, a toddler and life in general makes it hard to find time to sit down and write and it doesn't help when I write something and then decide to delete it and then write it all over again... Anyway, thanks for supporting this story, I'll try to get chapter 12 to you as quick as I can!

[jonah-aesthetic]

That One Pt. 2  I Jonah Marais

Jonah Marais X Reader / Ivette X Daniel Seavey 

Plot: After Jonah Takes Y/n to his favourite ice cream parlour and takes care of her. She’s conflicted on her feelings for him, is he who everyone thinks he is? Or is he hiding himself from the world?

Word Count: 5K+

Author’s Note: More POC characters and pictured links. Sawyer may or may not be in this one. I feel like this part wasn’t good, but enjoy. Not edited.

Rating: 16+

Part 1 

________________

Mentally preparing yourself for the aimless flirting you let a sigh leave your lips.Turing toward him, your breath hitched as you looked up into his green. predatory smirk etched into his pink lips, you wanted them on yours. Nope you mentally hissed at yourself, you didn’t you couldn’t. That’s what you told yourself because you did want him. every inch of him tangled within you. But you couldn’t give him that satisfaction, so you bite at his ego every chance you got. Jonah was after you, everywhere you seemed to go he fell into your path. 

“Babe? Really?” Glaring him town, didn’t seem to work since he held a few inches from you.

“You love it, now lets get you home.” His hand is gentle resting between your shoulder blades. Beginning to guide you to the door, swerving you through the crowd making sure no one bumped into you. “What if I don’t want to leave?”  The alcohol in your veins doing the talking for you. 

“I didn’t think you did, Ivette has Daniel.” Jonah states still walking you do the door. You sighed in response, he was right you didn’t want to stay here if it wasn’t with Ivette. And frankly you didn't mind leave especially with your aching feet still in those heels. 

“Leaving so soon?” Julie’s sickly sweet voice was recognisable anywhere. You immediate turned at the first word, Jonah in tow following your every move like it was his job. 

Julie wasn’t alone, two others flanked her side. You met them before at brunch a few weeks ago. Rachel on her right, gleaming with her beautiful Korean features. Savannah on her left, beaming with her fiery red hair. 

Julie had on the exact replica of your dress, but hers was a crisp white. Gorgeous contrast against her mahogany skin, “Yeah I’m not feeling it, Jonah is giving me a ride home.” Your tone innocent as you smiled at them. He leaned into your side at the mention of his name, His arm now snaking around your waist in a protecting manner. Shuddering you felt the need to push him away, but not in the presence of her. 

“So the rumours are true, you two are together?” The prodding question came from Rachel. Watching the way Jonah clung onto you, maybe it was an excuse to hold you and maybe it wasn't. 

“I would of never pegged you two together.” Savannah chokes on a laugh. Where was Ivette when you needed her?

“It’s the unlikely to fall in love. Isn't it?” Jonah asks, almost making your eye balls pop out of their sockets. Yet you still held eye contact with Julie hoping she didn’t see the way you just slipped up. 

“Yes I guess it is.” Julie stares you down, trying to uncover the lie wrapping in the truth. Rachel and Savannah sharing curious glances, shit. 

“Have a good night Julie, I know I sure will.” You mange to get out, blaming it on the liquor still hanging in. Surprised etched into their features watching the way Jonah guided you for the door again. 

“Glad to see that your chicken pox cleared nicely!” Julie hollered from behind both of you, halting in your tracks, Jonah walked right into you. 

“They did, thanks.” You choked on the words in your throat, not sure on how to reply to her. 

Jonah helped you into the passenger’s seat of his Jeep. Thanking him you slid into the leather seat and rested your back against it. He shut the Jeep door, eyes connecting with his for a brief moment before he jogged to the drivers side. Collecting himself inside looking to you, distracted by the phone in your hands. Seeing no message from Trey still, why would their be? It’s 3:09am. 

“What?” You ask finally noticing his stare, 

“Chicken pox?” He asks amused, 

“It’s a long story, due for another time.” You curse yourself for implying you wanted to see him again. 

“I knew you wanted to see me again.” He teases turning the key in the ignition, the jeep wakes and begins to roll. Lurching forward as Jonah presses on the gas. Balancing his foot off the clutch, smooth enough for there not to be a jerk in the motion of the Jeep. 

“Thank you, for going along in there. I don’t think Julie likes me that much.” You change direction of the conversation. Jonah’s cologne reaching your nose, cinnamon and honey. Not an ounce of alcohol lingering in, you smile lightly. It must of been pop whirling in that cup of his earlier.  

“Julie palekin, never liked her much. The money her daddy has morphs her personality. “ Jonah says, gripping the steering wheel firmly, switching gears with the climbing speed. Green eyes on the road, glancing at you every so often. “I didn’t mind playing your boyfriend again. I’m getting good at it don’t you think?” The smirk is back onto his lips, teasing you till you die must of been his mission.

“This is the last time, Marais.” You say now turning your attention towards the window. Sky pitch black, littering with beautiful stars. Watching the street signs as Jonah passes them. Staying quite noticing you wanted and only the hum of the radio was heard. 

Gale

Peterson 

Everett 

Boston 

Instead of making a left turn towards campus Jonah turns the Jeep right, into the city. You sit up confused, eyes holding worry as you felt the anxiety creep in. “You’re going the wrong way.” you note, looking at Jonah, “Relax I know where I’m going.” He says humorously watching the way you reacted. 

“Where are we going exactly?” 

“You’ll see.” his voice calming 

Less then ten minutes later Jonah pulls the Jeep into a deserted parking lot. Chocolate spot was written in glowing brown lettering a top the building. Glowing light poured through the windows indicating it was still open. Parking he cut the engine. Turning to Jonah, he had this intoxicating smile, one you hadn’t seen before. Nothing like the wolfish smirk that was always plastered on his lips. 

“Where are we?” You asked cautiously, 

“ if you read the letters, that with probably give you a hint.”  

“Funny, I meant what exactly is the chocolate spot?” Curiosity dripping in your words. 

“An ice cream parlour, now hurry up or l’ll leave you here. Fair warning Cheryl has a mean alarm.” Jonah says before climbing out of the vehicle, who is cheryl? 

You sigh for the millionth time thinking it was best to follow him. Rather then wait for his slow ass in the car. By yourself at 3;30 in the morning. Before you could reach for the handle the door opened for you. Causing the lights in the car to flash on again. Looking up you were met with Jonah’s beaming face.

“I can open the door myself.” You whisper pointedly at him, green eyes watching as you tried to move your legs. Seething at the burning sensation blossoming onto the pads on your feet. With the adrenaline and the fading affect of the liquor, you felt the entire pain that these high heels endured. 

“What?” Jonah’s voice holding concern, as he came to your side to aid you in any way he could. Too blind from the pain you hadn’t noticed how close he was willingly to get. Breath mingling with yours. 

“Heels,” You mustered through you teeth. 

Without another word Jonah knelled in front of you, moving your knees towards him to have your legs dangling out of the jeep. “Ouch!” You yelped at the sudden bolt of pain rushing up your legs, “Sorry.” Jonah mumbled before his warm hands started working on the buckle around your ankle. Jonah’s eyebrows knitted together, concentrating on the task at hand. 

You watched him, wondering what it’d feel like to rake a hand through those curls. What it’d feel like to read a book and have his head tuck safely in your lap. 

Unclasping the buckle he firmly gripped the back of your calf. His other hand on the bottom of the heel as he soft removed the death trap you called a shoe. Pulling the straps out of various wounds, opening the cuts. You seethed gripping the door frame of the jeep till your knuckled turned white. “Fuck. you’re bleeding. How did you manage to walk out of there without twisting your ankle?” He asks looking up at you, placing the heel on the floor of the vehicle. 

“Adrenaline and alcohol.” You say with a shrug. 

“That’s it.” 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t respond only stared at you for a little longer. Then his attention on the other cages foot, Doing the same. But this time he counted down from three before removing the shoe. Giving you time to mentally prepare yourself of the stinging yank. “There, your cute little toes are free, Although they’re sporting some nasty battle wounds.” Jonah smiled before standing up again, your feet feeling free and light as ever. 

“My hero, what would I do without you?” You asked mimicking a princess, not thinking. 

“No need to thank me m’lady it was all my pleasure.” Jonah plays along and bows to you in the process, you both burst into a fit of laughter. Enjoying the way they meld together perfectly. The laughing died out as your mind wandered off

Stop, don’t give in. Not to Jonah Marais. But this guy in front of you didn’t feel like that Jonah everybody knew. The one who go himself into heavy trouble giving him those brutal bruises you forgot about. The one who had everyone falling at his feet, the one who goes through them like it was a damn race. This kindness he was giving you was a trick. It had to be right?

“Let me help you out,” Jonah offers his hand out to you. Spotting gorgeous ink crawl up into his sleeve. You nod too sacred your mouth would betray you. Placing your hand in his, warm sensation worked it’s way up and you fought the urge to pull away. You grip stead in Jonah’s giving a small smile before you started to jump. 

Your feet never hit the cold paved ground, Jonah crouched capturing you in his arms. He groaned lightly as you screeched in his ear unaware of his devious plan. One arm against your back and another under you legs in a bridal style manor. He chuckled at the way you reacted to him, wide eyed as your heart thumped wildly in your chest. 

“If I told you, you would’ve bite my head off.” He explained himself, closing the jeep door with his back. With a loud honk, it locked. 

You only glared at him because he was right. You would’ve objected the idea of him carrying you inside. Would’ve risk infection then agree to be in his arms, especially with the intoxication. You didn’t trust yourself this close to him, where you breathe danced with his, where you could feel the steady beat of his heart. Where you could feel his words vibrate within his chest.

Walking inside you were memorised by the place, you could easily tell the theme was retro. The floors were tiled black and white like a chess board. Both the booths and chair were a pastel teal and pink. Down the aisle of the tables was a vintage jukebox, teal and pink neon lights ran along it. 

“Jonah my boy! Come in! Come in!” The words covered in a french accent. Behind the counter stood and older man, short and pudgy. Black hair with bits of grey sprinkling in, dark brown eyes resembled the earth. A bright smile towards the both of you. 

“Hello to you too Marcel.”  Jonah chuckles walking to the counter, 

Marcel’s smile became  brighter as he spots you in Jonah’s arms. Eye’s sparkling, “Oh who is this sweet thing? Must be your girlfriend.” It was more of a statement then a question, “No, Marcel this is y/n, she’s just a friend.” Jonah explained and you swore you could here the drop in his voice. 

Jonah Finally places you into a cotton candy booth. After shows you all the ice cream choices behind the glass casing. Ordering and catching up with Marcel which didn’t seem to be much as he seemed to come her often. Almost as if he knew the parlour like the back of his hand. 

The leather began to stick to the backs of your thighs, bare feet on the cool marble floor. You over hear Jonah asking for the first aid kit as you looked around the place a little more. Noticing a group of younger kids, laughing and leaning into each other, show each other videos from their phones. Probably fourteen or fifteenth. Another couple sat at a centre table, beautiful smiles as they talked. Must of been one of those deep conve- 

“Jesus Jonah!” You hiss at him, 

The sting ran up your nerves, scrunching up your face as you tried to yank your foot from his death grip. It only tightened making sure your foot didn’t slip. You wondered how he’d react if you kicked him with your free foot, on to his ass. 

His expression bored and slightly irritated, holding a cotton ball drenched in rubbing alcohol above the cut. It gleamed bright red from the light above, vaguely cleaned. 

“Stop being a wuss and let me disinfect.”

“It fucking Burns Marais!”

“I know.”

“Give me some sympathy.” 

He sighs, placing a cotton ball down a small serving plate Marcel donated for the cause. Jonah reached into his back pocket, his eyes never straying from your. “Here.” He places a black bandanna that has seen better days then this in your hand. You grimace and look at him, “What’s this?” you mumble. He rolls his eyes at you, “Just bite down on it! It’ll help with the pain.And before you ask yes it’s clean.” 

You shrug, what did you have to lose? Folding the tattered fabric you did as told. you gave Jonah a thumbs up and an eager nod like you were ready for war. He shakes his head and chuckles, thinking you were the cutest thing this world had to offer. 

Did he always have a piece of material rotting in his butt pocket for situation like this? If so, where the hell was it ten minutes ago?

You whimper into the cloth. Feeling the burning returning as he began disinfecting your wounds again. He glanced up for a few seconds seeing he discomfort in your eyes. Then the focus back on your foot. 

You watched him. The way he took care of you within the last hour, you were surprised he was still single. He serenaded girls left and right with is band and his gentle touch. He never got to you, what was the point if it was just a night? what was the point if it didn’t turn into something more? Yet with all these thoughts you wanted him but you kept telling yourself no. Wha-

No. You blamed the thoughts on the alcohol still swimming in your system. 

By the time Jonah finished each cut and bandaged them, Marcel brought your ice cream cups. Sliding them across the table with an innocent smile, capturing yours you stared in awe at your favourite flavour. Confusion etched into your eyebrows though, the ice cream behind the glass was hard and this was soft ice cream. 

“Marcel mixes in a little bit of milk before blending it. And out comes this delicious soft ice cream.” Jonah moans sliding into the booth across from you. Mint chocolate chip ice cream already caught on the side on his lip. “Try it.” he pushes excitedly. 

You do, digging out a fair amount and capturing the spoon in your mouth. Jonah watches every muscle you make. The ice cream hits your tongue your taste buds exploding. It tasted like the feeling of hugging a puppy, like pure happiness. His green eyes brighten and a genuine smile spreads onto his lips. 

“This is absolutely amazing.” You beam, 

“My thoughts exactly.” Jonah shoves another spoon of ice past his lips. 

Jonah Marais

The radio played a gorgeous melody of Good Nights by Whethan. Hand full of gleaming rings tapped against the smooth steering wheel. Jonah hummed the lyrics thinking about sampling this song one day. Right hand curling on the gear shift, levelling the the clutch and the acceleration. His foot slips and drops the clutch causing the vehicle to jerk. 

It was an instinct when his head whipped to you with concern glinting in his eyes. But Jonah sighed in relief at the sight of you. Head rested on the window, legs tucked into your body tightly. Your eyes closed and lips slightly parted, letting snores escape. Smile spread on to his lips. You were asleep in his passenger window. 

Fuck you were asleep. How the hell was he going to get you through the corridors of your dorm? He didn’t feel comfortable going through your purse. Because if he did that would give you another reason not to trust him. Jonah couldn't risk that right now. The only choice was to bring you to his place. Not the fraternity, but his own personal space.  

There was minimal traffic at four in the morning, Jonah weaved through it with ease and got to his apartment quick. He collected you in his arms with ease as if you were the missing piece to his complicated puzzle. You never squirmed at Cheryl’s loud honk when she locked. 

Walking into his generous apartment he immediately shushed Sawyer, his three year-old Labrador. Nonetheless the asshole still managed to muster a bark, “Shut up, it’s me dingus.” Jonah whisper hissed at him, shaking his head at his dog before carrying you to his bedroom. Sawyer trailed with the light jingle of his collar and tag clashing together. 

Laying you down Jonah turned for his closet, walking in as he strip out of his gross clothing. He found a pair of sweats and pulled them on, letting them rest on his hips. Coming back into the room he was startled to see you siting up. Coddling Sawyers head in your thighs, massive smile on his lips as his tail wagged. 

“Hey,” Jonah greets, 

Y/n turned to him a sleepy smile on her lips and a dazed look in her eyes. Half asleep, she was still cute as ever. Sawyer must of had the dumb courage to wake her up with a kiss like she was Snow White 

“Have you meet Sawyer?” She asks, not realising that was his dog. 

“Yeah, he’s a good dog.” He lied. 

“Yes he is. Yes he is.” y/n speaks to sawyer in a baby voice, her attention on the dog again. Jonah laughs before turning back into the closet. He yanks one of his old band tees of the hanger, he smiles and shrugs. y/n can rep it for the night even if it was just in his apartment. 

“Put this on, I don’t think you want to sleeping in that dress,” Jonah Throws the shirt at y/n and it hits her right in the face. “Shit!” he mumbles resisting the urge to laugh and escapes the room before she had the chance to curse him. 

He digs up a blanket and a pillow from the hallway closet. Coming into the den he makes a makeshift bed on the soft leather couch. This would be the first time sleeping on them since he didn’t being girls to this apartment. It was his personal home, he didn’t want them poking around when they woke. Seeing parts of him nobody got to see. Y/n was different. Jonah honest didn't care if she saw or even took a souvenir on her way out. 

walking back to check on her, Jonah tapped two knuckles on the door frame. There was no answer so he waited, still no response. Assuming she fell back asleep he entered his bedroom and smiled, y/n cuddled into Sawyer like she was meant to be there. As if Jonah saw her every night in his bed and still got those butterflies.  

Small snores came both of them, their chests expanding with every breath. Walking in he spotting her green dress and bag a few inches away from the bed. First he morphed the dress in a ball and shot it into his hamper like a basket ball. Secondly he set her purse on the nightstand for her to find in the morning. He started for the door, but halted at the sound of his name rolling off her tongue. 

“Jonah?” 

“Yes” His words were urgent as he whirled to face her. Face half tucking into sawyer’s back as sleep swam in her eyes like a pool. “Could you please stay with me till I fall asleep?” Her words held a form of desperation, he was utterly confused by it. Thee y/n was asking him, Jonah Marais who she wasn’t too fond of to sleep in bed with her? He had to be dreaming because she would never say that in the bright of day. Although she was half asleep in his bed and never questioned it. 

“I don’t know, you already have Sawyer.” He gives her time to reject him,

“Maybe it’s a little greedy, but I want both of you please? Just until I fall asleep and then you can leave.” She offers, but as soon as he’s beside her he knows he wont want to leave. 

“Y-yeah I guess I can do that.” he stammers on his words. 

“Thank you.” She mumbles with a small smile. 

Jonah nods not sure how to response to her, he circles the bed and climbs into the right side. Heart pounding against his rib cage. He glances over already seeing y/n on her side and one hand cradling her face. Jonah gets into the same position, close enough so that her breath hits his face.  

“What does it feel like to perform with the guys?” She asks a question Jonah never thought she cared about. 

“Ecstasy. Singing these lyrics and fingers dancing on the guitar. It just gives me adrenaline like nothing before. Like i’m on top of a mountain and there’s nothing I can’t do. Like searching for paradise and finally finding it. It feels like home, as if I meant to do this for the rest of my life.”  Y/n is quite watching the way Jonah beams talking about playing with his band. 

“That’s what painting feels like to me, or did.” She says into a yawn that made him chuckle. 

“You don’t paint anymore?” 

“Nah passions don’t pay the bills. It’s what my dad always said. So here I am trying my shot at the medical field, the family profession.” Y/n yawns again as he eyes begin to droop. 

“What’s the point if your hearts not in it?” He starts to pry, 

“Not all of use have trust founds, we have to work for it.” He voice sounding more tired by the second. 

“Your dad’s a plastic surgeon.” Jonah notes, blood boiling at this new information. 

“He worked for all of it and now so do I.” Her eyes fully closed, knowing she was about to pass out any minute now. 

“That’s...” He trailed off not knowing what to say to that, y/f/n was pushing her to become something she’s not. That sentence tasted metallic in his mouth, if y/n was his. He’d purchase an entire panting studio just for her and call it Jonah’s muse. because she indeed his muse, 

Light snores soon erupted in the air, looking over he couldn’t stop smiling at the sight. You looked younger when you slept, resembling an angel. No a goddess. You looked so fucking attractive with his band tee on. His face was technically on your body as well as the rest of his band mates. Jonah would still take that as a win. 

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

Y/n

The afternoon sun woke you up, warmth spreading along your body. Eyes still fluttered closed you roll over bumping into warm flesh. Your brain gives you a few seconds to bask in the warmth of Jonah. Then it clicks. There’s a body in your bed, recoiling at lighten speed you hit the floor. Pain sparks through your tail bone and a delicate headache pounds into your skull. 

Sitting on the floor of a foreign room you begin to remember last night.  The party. Ivette handing you off to Jonah at said party, well Daniel did. Jonah driving you home, scratch that to an ice cream parlour. His gentle hands tending to high heel wounds. Devouring the most amazing ice cream. Jonah driving you home. That’s it that’s all you remember, it doesn't explain how you got here. 

Looking around frantically you caught sight of a dog you’ve never seen before. Watching you at the foot of the massive bed covered in black silk sheets. Two doors, one and exit to the hallway. The other was most likely a closet with piles of clothes spilling out. Large windows lined the room and a glass desk resting at the best view.  

Heart missing a beat as you helped yourself off the floor.Taking cautious steps to the bed, spotting Jonah sleeping peaceful. On his back with sprawled out arms. Beautiful ink scattered along his right arm and the left side of his chest. Soft features as the sun engulfed him in the glorious light. It’d take no effort to crawl back into his bed. Rest your head onto his chest and listen to his heart beat. 

You couldn’t. 

You flee taking your purse with you on the way out. Unlocking the door and taking the elevator down. Struggling you fetch your phone out, praying that it still had life left to live and call Ivette. Wasn’t till this moment you realise you only had on a t-shirt. It was most definitely Jonah’s, massive fit reaching the mid of your thighs. Oh and let’s not forget the fact that it had his entire band on it. 

The phone barely rang twice when Ivette picks up. “I need you to pick me up, like five minutes ago. Jonah took me to this ice cream parlour last night and next think I know I’m waking up in his bed. I don’t know where my dress is.” You rush your words out in a panic. 

The elevator dings, you dash out getting a weird look from the door man. Stopping in your tracks with a modified expression on your face. you just walked out into the busiest street downtown. Not only were you wearing an oversized band t-shirt, no it wouldn’t stop there. You were also Bare. Foot. 

“That doesn’t make sense Jonah never came home last night,” She says tiredly on the other line. Still waking up in Daniel’s bed, not a surprise there. 

“His apartment! I’m pretty sure I know what Jonah looks like. He had a golden Labrador ring a bell?You got me into this mess, now get me out.” You looked like a whining toddler, mind splattering as you complained to her. 

“A Labrador? Did you take something? Send me your fucking location.” That was Ivette’s mom voice, which totally meant she was going to curse your ass as soon as you got in the car.

“Sawyer.” a hushed male voice said in the background. there was a rustle on the other line. Ivette covered the mic, but you could still here them. 

“What?” 

“Jonah’s dog. He probably took her to his personal apartment.” 

“I thought he lives here with you guys.” 

“He does sometimes, but he mostly lives there. That’s beside the point, I know where it is.” A few more words are shared before the ruffle is back. She uncovered the mic. 

“Daniel knows where you are, we’ll be  there in thirsty. Stay put and don’t take anything else.” Ivette explains as if you didn’t here every word they spoke.

“I didn’t take anything.” Before the words are heard Ivette hangs up and cuts the line without saying goodbye.

Roughly forty minutes later Ivette’s range rover pulls to the crib so fast the rims almost kissed it.“Finally.” you mumbled to yourself, it’d probably would’ve been faster if you hailed a cab. But the bill would’ve been brutal. 

The passenger window rolls down uncovering Ivette giving you a knowing smirk. Daniel gives a small wave from the driver’ seat, you flash him an irritated smile. His blue eyes almost pop out of their sockets before he’s attention is on the road. 

“I really love the dress, every iconic. Don’t you think Daniel?” Ivette’s voice is teasing and sickly sweet. 

“ Yeah. Those shirts were a demo, test run for real merch. It never got launched so only we have those shirts.” Daniel Pipes in looking at the fabric that clothed your body. 

“Not only did Jonah take you to his apartment but he gave you his prised possession,” Ivette continues the teasing know that it got under you skin.

“Shut up.” You say sharply, annoyed on how long they took to pick you up. Should ran upstairs and woke Jonah up. 

“What can’t take the teasing?” Ivette asks as you climb into the back seat. The scent of sweet cherry enters your nose as the leather circles around your body. 

“Not when I woke to Jonah and Daniel taking forty minutes to get here!” You spit, the anger eating you alive. You stare at the back of his head and shoot daggers at him. Brunette roots starting to grown under his bleached blonde hair.

“They also have our last name and birth year on the back.” His words sound forced as he tried to fill the tense air. You shake your head and scoff. “Of course they fucking do. It’s almost like having a hickey on my neck shouting to the world I belong to someone. This is worse because everybody on campus knows who Jonah Marais is!” They go quiet and you begin stare out the window done with your little rant.

Daniel presses on the gas abruptly causing the vehicle to speed forward. Your back hits the seat with the impact. He goes through traffic like this is some NASCAR championship. You begin to wonder how the shirt got on your body. You were going kill him you just didn’t know how yet. 

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

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the second part of That One. 

Which was your favourite part?

Don’t be afraid to message me if anything offended you with my POC characters. This is a safe space for everyone and I want to make it right!

Taglist: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx

[hello-im-not-a-possum]

Can we get a fic of Henry becoming a Cameraman clone?

This was a fun one! Haven’t seen many Cameraman!Henries and it was a blast to write the first one I’m aware of. And I may or may not expand it further later.

The man ran as fast as his legs could carry him as the building collapsed around him, the flood of ink pouring down threatening to consume him as well. He couldn't believe that he came all this way just to escape from this wildfire of madness by the skin of his teeth. He could see the exit, see the brilliance of daylight peeking through the crack of the open door like a heavenly glow, he was almost there, he could make it!

...And then, the floor collapsed underneath him, making the former animator fall down into the depths of the studio with a loud 'splash' announcing his arrival.

To his luck, he didn't break anything as the flood of ink had cushioned his fall, good. He hated the idea of lying there, completely immobilized by pain, waiting for that thing to come find him... Speaking of which, he shouldn't wait around for it either. Following the flooded path ahead, Henry descended deeper, draining the path as he went before coming across a surprisingly well-lit room.

A room with an ax left out on the table.

"This will definitely come in handy."

He smiled to himself as he picked up the old yet reliable weapon, effortlessly chopping down the barricade nailed in possibly well over a decade ago, it was as easily torn down as a prison of wet cardboard.

Freeing the door from the boards, he opened it and came across a room that he felt intense pressure under, an occult room that drew him in not like a moth to a flame, but like a ship into a whirlpool.

As soon as he stepped into the circle, he saw things flash before his eyes, and then everything went black.

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

When the animator finally came to, the first thing he felt was a dull headache that persisted, and the feeling of something weird coming out of his mouth. His eyes flicked open without issue as he woke back up.

“Ugh… Ow, my head… …what happened?”

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but his surroundings felt bigger, and his voice sounded like it was peppered with a faint but consistent static crackle that reminded him of a walkie-talkie.

The animator peeled himself off of the ritualistic circle with a grumble, clutching his still hurting head in his left hand. It felt funny to him, almost numb.

As he looked around, aside from the size difference, they didn’t change a bit aside from his ax being propped up against the coffin, and… three pictures that were laying down on the floor; The machine suspended by its chains, a wheelchair, and the silhouette of that thing he saw trying to attack him. The pictures were identical to those sudden flashes he saw before he passed out.

"Well I guess there's only one thing to do." he grunted as he attempted to pick up the much larger and heavier ax, settling for dragging it around instead. "Press on..." he heaved the ax over his shoulder and struck down the next barricade. "See if I can find a way out."

While he was very much aware that he was clearly not human, (his size and what he could see of his body alone felt like enough proof of that fact.) if over sixty years on this earth had taught him anything, it's that pausing to let the supernatural events in your life sink deep into your mind only makes it worse. As long as he kept pushing through this, he'd be okay.

Dragging the ax down deeper, Henry could see that the occult shenanigans his 'Old friend' had gotten into had not been confined to that coffin room. Lit candles rested by what appeared to be some kind of shrine dedicated to his cartoon character with the phrase 'he will set us free' written on it, looked a bit extreme if you asked him.

"How'd this place get so big?"

It wasn't just big in the sense that he shrunk. He knew that the studio was fairly large when he worked there, Joey insisted on the building having 'room to grow' even when it was just their small group, but the extended basement was new. It must've been a nightmare to dig this far down. But the lit candles in areas that weren't necessarily in an actively supernatural room gave him some hope. If there were lit candles, there was someone who lit them, and if there was someone who lit them, maybe they'd be able to help him find an exit.

Walking past some more creepy shrines dedicated to Bendy, he came across a hallway flooded with ink, scattered boards, and wooden chairs. He hesitated just walking through the hallway normally, a gut feeling told him that it would be a very bad idea. But it wasn't like he had any other choice.

"It looks like I'll have to play 'the floor is lava' to get somewhere..." He held his ax with the intent to use it as a makeshift pole vault. "Legs, don't fail me now."

While the weight of the ax made it hard to use, Henry successfully managed to throw himself onto a particularly sturdy board that supported him nicely. The animator half-considered using his ax as a paddle to help him cross the treacherous hallway, but decided against it when the ink proved to be too thick for him to properly paddle through.

'The floor is lava' it is then, he thought to himself as he jumped to a second board and staggered a bit as it was not as stable as the first one. After narrowly avoiding an ink shower and flailing his arms for balance, he looked around for the next wooden scrap to help him stay out of this gunk, spotting in the light of the end of the hallway... No... was that?

A moving bendy cutout? No! It was a person! Finally! He was saved! Or at the very least, not a lone sitting duck!

“Sheep sheep sheep,” The man carrying the cutout murmured to himself “it’s time for sleep, rest your head, it’s time for bed.”

“Hello?” Henry dropped the ax to run up to the man, then swiftly remembered his sticky situation and used his momentum to leap to a different piece of debris. “Excuse me! Can you help me-OoF!"

Henry tripped and luckily landed on a board instead of in the ink,

*ZAP*

As he looked up, he could see a hole burnt cleanly into the cutout the masked figure was carrying, and that he had certainly caught his attention as the man quickly held up the cutout to his face to see the damage, looked to the gremlin of a cartoon desperately trying to stay out of the ink in the ink flooded hallway, and stood frozen in place.

The two of them stared at each other like deer in the headlights, neither of their expressions were readable as one was wearing a mask and the other one had an object for a head, which was hard to express with given that he didn't have a proper face. Neither one knew quite what was going through the other one's head.

"Uh... Hello?"

Henry broke the silence with a nervous wave which the other man hesitantly returned, then continued on his way as if nothing had happened.

"Hey! Wait!" Henry scrambled towards the man as fast as he possibly could while still staying out of the ink, finally freeing himself from the dreaded hallway, he dashed down where he saw the stranger heading; a dead end with the burnt cutout lying by the shrine. "...Where the hell did he go?"

Okay, that had to be another mystery for another day. For now, he'd have to get power to that closed gate that the stranger couldn't have possibly came from unless he could phase through walls or something.

Wait a minute, didn't he see a few switches on the way? One by the dead end, and the others...

He looked down the inky hallway and sighed. It was going to be a very long night.

---

After what felt like days, Henry managed to get power to the gate, only to be rewarded with the boarded up entryway looking into a pitch black room. Too tired to bother taking down the boards with ol' reliable, Henry instead crawled underneath the boards to look at his new environment.

"It's really dark in here."

He remarked, and almost as if on cue, he heard a loud *click* right in his ear and saw that his previously shadowy surroundings were now lit up as if someone was shining a flashlight on them. ...A flashlight that judging by how the light followed as he moved his head, was probably attached to it.

According to his light, he was in the music department. Which was odd, as he could've sworn up and down that the music department was nowhere near this far down. But if memory served, there was an exit in there and that was all he needed. An exit that was just one stairwell away- Goddammit.

"Looks like the stairwell is flooded, if I'm going to get out of here, I'm going to need to find a way to drain it."

Behind him, he heard a reverberating, wet, shlap of a thing of the unknown falling down to the floor. He turned around to look at it, only to flinch back in reflex as a melted human torso either covered in or made of ink came crawling towards him.

With the needed boost of adrenaline, he heaved his ax over his head and brought it down on the creature who was seconds away from striking him itself, backing away as quickly as he could as it hadn't gone down, prepping to build up momentum to strike again, Henry hesitated as he could tell by a quick glance around the place that he was completely surrounded.

Thinking fast, he dropped the ax and bolted up the stairs to the projector's booth, the zombie-like groans and haunting gasps for air just barely behind him. He managed to scramble up the desk out of his pursuers' reaches before realizing something.

"I'm the one who shot a hole in that guy's cutout, and when I commented about the darkness, I lit the place up. I must have some kind of laser-beam weapon in my head and it's probably voice-activated..."

The animator thought out loud as the mindless monsters pawed and clawed at his island of safety, thankfully either too out of shape or too stupid to try to climb up the desk as their prey had done in front of them.

"Laser beam, go!"

He pointed intensely at the gooey goons as he waited for lasers to shoot out of his head and vaporize them. It did not work, but he looked silly enough doing it that the creatures hesitated their attack for a bit, almost as if pondering if it would be morally right to try to attack and kill something that was acting that adorably stupid.

"Umm... Okay... So no laser beam it is then..."

Henry twiddled his thumbs in thought until looking to the open window to the band room once, back to the swarm of frothing monsters, looked back to the band room window, and leaped out of it without hesitation.

[blindprof]

It’s Complicated

When people first hear me say that I am blind or severely visually impaired (B/VI), the most common reaction is surprise…followed by sympathy…followed most often by awkward silence. This is totally understandable. Unless you are regularly interacting with differently abled people, disabilities are uncomfortable. I feel uncomfortable and awkward around people who live with other forms of disability.

Heck, I’m still awkward around other people who are B/VI. And even this is understandable. Because each person is unique. Each manifestation of visual impairment is unique. Each path to and with B/VI is unique. Each person has unique life experiences, coping mechanisms, support networks, etc. We are all strangers in a strange land. I’ll have other posts dedicated to the whack-a-doo personal and social psychology of B/VI. For now, the focus remains on the physical, or rather the perceptual.

The second reaction is usually a question: “How bad is it” or “What do you see?” And my answer is “It’s complicated.”

In my first post, I laid out some more technical details: I have a visual field that is less that 10 degrees, night blindness, color blindness, uncorrectable myopia, light sensitivity, etc. But it’s not apparent how these details really affect what I see and how that impacts what I can do. This post will go into greater detail into what and how I see. Later posts will focus on how I (try to, with varying levels of success, stupidity, and hilarity) cope with these limitations.

It probably makes sense to start with my visual field, as this is the aspect of my vision that “qualifies” me as legally blind. However, before getting to that, we really need a basic understanding of how humans see. Don’t worry, I’ll keep it short and simple.

It may be easiest to compare the eye to a modern digital camera. A camera lens gathers and focuses light; it also constrains the amount of light passing through by altering the size of a mechanical aperture. In the human eye, these functions are performed by the lens and the pupil, respectively. In a digital camera, the lens focus light onto a CCD or CMOS sensor, which is a dense grid of light sensitive “pixels,” each generating a small electrical charge proportional to how much light (within a certain wavelength) is hitting it. The human retina is the biological, electrochemical equivalent. Finally, a digital camera has wires that transport these electrical signals to a computer, which then interprets the signals to create a digital image. Here, the human analogues are the optic nerve and the visual cortex within the brain.

As I noted in my first post, I have Retinitis Pigmentosa (RP), which primarily impacts my retina. Due to the wonders of genetics and epigenetics, other parts are impacted. But for now, I’ll focus on the retina. Characteristically, people with RP find that their retinal “pixels”—millions of light-sensitive “rod” and “cone” structures, as well as protective retinal pigment epithelial (RPE) cells from which the disease gets its name—stop functioning from the outside in. We don’t know the exact cause, nor is there yet any proven way to slow, much less reverse the process.

Of course, this is a biological process that is unique to each individual. For me, it has progressed relatively slowly from childhood. I can recall early symptoms as far back as age 6. I’ll have a separate post at some point talking about progression. But it is notable the process is neither steady nor predictable. I’ll have periods of relative stability followed by periods of perceptible loss. It’s rarely like a light switch, but rather more like a dimmer. Each area of loss will appear darker with less usable information until it is just “clicked off” by the brain, presumably redirecting its limited processing resources to doing something other than trying to interpret shotty data from dying cells. For me, the progression has also been very spotty—for example, I retained some usable vision in the extremes of my left-right periphery until just a couple years ago, despite progressively losing most of my peripheral vision between there and my center.

The result today is that I have very little of my retina remaining that pretends to function “normally.” I can detect very high contrast light vs. dark in some of my periphery, but nothing there that you would qualify as usable sight. My central vision is still somewhat functional, but has been fading rapidly of late. As I said, it’s spotty, but on average in good light I have maybe 10-15 degrees total horizontal vision and less than 10 vertical. And much of that is probably equivalent to what most would consider to be peripheral vision. To help better “feel” what this means, here are a few examples of how this manifests itself in my day-to-day life.

When I’m sitting across a table from you, I can see your face but not your hands. If I’m not socially distant, I might be able to see your eyes or your mouth, but not both at the same time. I often creep people out during a conversation because I’m constantly losing eye contact and moving my eyes to different parts of their body. I promise, I’m not “undressing you with my eyes”—people talk with their entire bodies, and I’m simply trying to catch as many visual cues as possible.

When watching TV from 10 feet away, I can “see” my entire 55-inch screen. But less than a quarter of that is in my central vision. I have to move my eyes to see detail or read signs or captions. Sports and fast action scenes are difficult to catch. A fast action, dark scene with subtitles…oy…the Battle of Winterfell may as well have been a BBC Radio broadcast.

I can read, though usually only slowly and for short periods, especially if it is paper and ink. I see only a few words at a time, so my eyes have to constantly move. This causes a lot of eye strain, and I have trouble keeping both eyes properly oriented and occasionally have periods where one eye twitches uncontrollably—obviously I’m channeling my inner Mad-Eye Moody.

And of course, navigating unfamiliar or unpredictable environments is very difficult. I navigate by moving from waypoint to waypoint, and if I don’t know the waypoints or if things jump in my way, well, bad things happen. Or maybe funny things.

More on all of these and their many repercussions in future posts.

People ask, “What do you ‘see’ in the places where you have no vision? Is it blackness? Emptiness? Blurry?” Again, it’s complicated, but for the most part, my brain has just removed those areas from its visual processing “algorithm.” So, I see the same thing that you see when something is beyond your peripheral vision…just nothing. There are long periods of adjustment as I lose sight—kind of like losing a limb and still expecting it to be there. But eventually it’s just not a part of the picture that my brain paints of the world around me.

Unfortunately, that’s not all. Night blindness is often the first detected symptom for folks with RP. What is left of my retina doesn’t detect light well, so I need much more of it. The result is that I’m totally blind in low-light situations. I need direct light to see any kind of detail. I carry a flashlight everywhere I go and use it regularly day and night.

So, I need bright light. But it is also my nemesis. My eyes compensate like one would with a digital camera…by cranking open the aperture (pupil) and turning up the gain on the sensor. This does allow me to function semi-normally in certain situations. But it also results in severe light sensitivity. As with a camera, the wider pupil also results in loss of detail, and bright light can almost entirely wash any other visual information. To make matters even worse, although my pupils do function, they are VERY slow to adjust.

The results of all of that are varied. I’ll post more details in the future. But for example, I am no longer able to read a computer screen for any length of time without inverted colors. It’s like trying to read while staring at headlights. I truly need dark mode on all of my devices. Also, changing lighting conditions are challenging, especially when they are extreme. When I come in from outside, my eyes can take many minutes to adjust. And bright light sources like sunny windows in otherwise moderately lit environments can really cause havoc.

Finally, a common comorbidity with RP are cataracts, which cause hardening and blurring of the lens. Of course, this one hit me, as well. A number of years ago, I had cataract surgery. It was great. I was the youngest patient in the surgery center by like 30 years. The process involves using a magic wand to dissolve your natural lens and replacing it with a plastic one. This gets rid of the blurring, but entirely removes the ability to focus. As a bonus, I did go from needing coke bottle glasses to just needing a couple of diopters of correction. But this further complicates reading, and means I’m constantly donning and doffing my specs or having to look below them to read. Minor in the big scheme of things, but it does make me look and feel like a damn old fart.

Okay, if you made it this far, you deserve to be let off the hook for now. There’s more like the fact that my corneas—the eyes’ (usually) clear “lens caps”—now seem to cause my sight to remain blurry for the first couple of hours of each day. Or that the eye strain can sometimes get so physically painful that I have to close my eyes for long periods during the day. But this is a mostly complete and accurate snapshot of what I’m currently living with physically.

I guess I didn’t present too many funny or uplifting or forward-looking things in here. Truth is, you kind of have to muddle along with me through these sewers to eventually find the humor and hope in all of this. Because it’s complicated. But I’ll get there if you’re patient.

[undertale-rho]

Multiverse Saga: Taken!Altertale - Chapter 6

Rhosaith stared up at the bright blue sky above her, a cool breeze passing over her pressurized EVA suit and into the street beyond. Looking back down at the cup of tea in her hand, she raised the cup to a straw that connected to her rebreather, allowing the liquid from the outside world to pass through to her beckoning mouth. Finishing the mug, she placed it on the table beside her, placed a few golden coins beside it, and stood up, placing her wide-brimmed hat back onto her head. She then looked back up at the sky.

She knew, of course, that the sky wasn't real. It was just the projection of a screen to give everybody a warmer comfort of home. If one looked carefully, they could even see the upward curve of the land further ahead on the tube.

The Nexus is what they called it. A giant space station roaming the great void of the inter-universal expanse, serving as the capital to the multi-universe initiative known as the Multiverse Alliance.

Rhosaith sighed. No matter what wilderness existed, whether it be the forests of Earth, the vacuum of space, the void between stars, galaxies, or even universes, or even across dimensional boundaries, there was always going to be somebody who got the bright idea to bring civilization along with.

"Rhosaith." a digital voice sounded in her ear.

"What is it, Hamlet?" she asked.

"There's a reclamation party being formed near the Spires to retake a pre-rift universe."

"So?" she said lethargically.

"It may be a good source of information regarding this multiverse at large."

"That's nice."

As Rhosaith walked along, her long coat billowing in the sudden gust, she completely disappeared, re-appearing just outside a door.

Realizing what just happened, Rhosaith, let out an exhausted sigh.

"You should at least try and do what you have been tasked. If nothing else, then to simply make it look like you're doing something." Hamlet said.

Rhosaith looked contemplatively at the door.

"Fine." she said after a minute, taking a firm hold of the door and sliding it to the side.

The room within was made of a dark metal. Within, sitting in a few chairs that were scattered throughout the room, were a number of people. Five Rho recognized to be Sanses. One was a Papyrus, and another was a Chara. The last two in the room were skeletons, though of no base Rho recognized right off.

Closing the door behind her, she walked further into the room, towards the nearest chair.

"HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, HUMAN!!!" one of the Sanses shouted.

Rhosaith stopped moving and looked over at one of the groups of Sanses, where three of them were gathered together. One of them, the shortest of the three, was pointing right at Rhosaith. Everyone in the room, in fact, looked at the Sans.

"Er... yes?" Rhosaith asked. "Was there something you needed?"

"I have no idea who you are!" the Sans declared. "This is an awful thing that I simply cannot stand have continue!" the Sans walked over to Rhosaith and outstretched his hand. "I'm Sans. Obviously. Most people call me Blueberry to avoid confusion, though. What's your name?"

"I'm, er, Rhosaith." Rhosaith said, taking Blueberry's hand. "Nice to meet you, uh, Blueberry."

"The pleasure is all mine! Mweh heh heh!!!"

Rhosaith looked over the Sans. He reminded her of Papyrus in a way. A confident step permeated each of his strides as he returned to the other two Sanses that he was with.

Reaching the other two, he immediately started chatting heartily with them, stars practically forming in his eyes from the excitement.

The other two Sanses Blueberry was with looked just about as excitable as he was. One of them wore a turquoise tunic with a great big yellow cloak resting on his shoulders; the pin holding the cloak on being a large red orb with a big white star on it. The other Sans featured a mostly brown outfit, the most dominant features being the large brown scarf around his neck, the light blue jacket tied around his waist, and the giant paintbrush strapped to his back. A dark blue sash filled with vials of paint, like an ammo sash, decorated his chest. Blueberry himself featured a mostly blue outfit, a shorter cobalt scarf around his neck, with a more grey-blue shirt and pants, returning to cobalt for his gloves and boots; the rims of which were lined with yellow.

Looking to the other three-member team situated nearby, Rhosaith spotted a Sans, who looked pretty basic—wearing a blue jacket over a white shirt, and black shorts, with blue sneakers finishing off his outfit. Beside the Sans sat a Papyrus, who wore much the same, but orange rather than blue; with the jacket being a hoodie instead. Next to them also sat a Chara, whose outfit was in the same vein as Sans's and Papyrus's—a green jacket rather than a blue or orange, dark brown pants, and red boots and gloves.

The next group, a pair of skeletons, stood against the door-side wall. One of the skeletons wore nothing other than a blue backpack and a dark-grey cloak so tattered, it was practically a few ribbons. Looking carefully, Rhosaith thought she spotted something that resembled a finger-bone hanging off the front of the pelvis. The other skeleton wore a striped, white button-up shirt, black slacks, and brown shoes. Holding up the pants were black suspenders that looped over the skeleton's shoulders. They seemed deep in conversation and didn't seem to pay any mind to Rho.

On the other side of the room, standing with his back in the corner, was another Sans. This one featured a white sweatshirt and sweatpants, ending in black socks and white slippers. Over it all was a great blue long-coat with a hood over the Sans's head. The ends of the sleeves and the hood were covered in white fluff. Though she couldn't get a clear look from where she was, Rhosaith thought she also saw black lines streaking from the bottom of the Sans's eyes down to the base of his mandible.

Finally resting down into the seat she'd chosen when Blueberry approached her, the door at the front of the room opened, and another skeleton-Monster walked in. Bundled in her arms was a bunch of papers and binders and the like.

"If I could have your attention." the skeleton said, placing the papers on a desk at the front of the room. She looked over the ten people situated around, all of which were now staring at her.

"Is this everyone?" she asked.

"I haven't seen anyone else come in." the classic-Sans said. "So I guess so."

"Don't worry about the numbers!" Chara chimed in. "You've got the Bad Time Trio and the Star Sanses on the case."

The skeleton looked thoughtfully at the two groups.

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose you're right." she said, readjusting her glasses. "In that case, let us begin."

The light in the room dimmed to nothing as a large hologram appeared in the room.

"Six months ago, a pre-rift universe, universe AlT-113CO was attacked by a Destroyer—the identity of which remains unknown. Since the attack, Alliance scouts have surveyed the universe without drawing attention from the Destroyer. Their findings have shown that the universe, which was coded before the attack, is now physical."

"Whoa, whoa, hold it. Time out for a second here." the naked skeleton said, his accent sounding Brooklyn in origin. "Universes don't just turn from coded to physical. You sure your scouts got the right place?"

"While you are right in one regard," the brown Sans with Blueberry interrupted, "there have been reports of universes changing behavior before this, like UnT-214, which also turned from coded to physical. Before being coded, though, it was a game. This is one of the reasons why the standardized universal classification system doesn't commonly include the suffix in archive."

"Er, thank you, Ink." the presenter skeleton said. "If I may return to the briefing."

Ink!Sans waved his hand for her to continue.

"The objections, uh..." she looked down at a paper in her hand. "S.T brought up are valid, however. Despite this phenomenon being well-known, it is still unclear what, or who, causes a universe to switch behavior. As of right now, the scouts believe the Destroyer to be responsible for this."

Almost immediately, murmuring erupted within the groups, all of which quelled when the white Sans in the back boomed his voice.

"What information do the scouts have on the Destroyer?" he asked.

"Not much at all, I'm afraid." she answered, looking down at her paper. "I'm afraid I'm also at something of a disadvantage. I don't have your name documented."

"Just call me 4."

"Alright, 4." she wrote a 4 in the margins of the paper she was holding. "Er, like I said, not much is known of this Destroyer. What information the scouts managed to get on him just shows him to be a Sans; one from a UnF universe, by the looks of things."

A picture of the Destroyer flashed into the hologram. It was a Sans, though with a large hole in the upper part of his skull. Other than that, the only other notable difference was the bright white right eye he possessed.

4 huffed upon seeing the picture, his eyes sharpening into a deadly focus. 4 turned to leave.

"Wh-where are you going, 4?" the skeleton asked.

"I have what I need. I'm gonna go 'liberate' that universe. I'll meet you all there."

With 4 leaving, the others got up and moved to leave as well.

"W-w-wait!" the skeleton pleaded. "I haven't finished yet."

"It's fine, lady." Chara said. "Like 4 said, we got what we need. We'll be fine."

One by one, against the frantic requests of the presenter, everyone in the room left. Everyone, that is, other than Rhosaith, who was still sitting in her chair.

"Excuse me, miss?" Rhosaith said as the last of the other mercenaries left.

The presenter looked over at Rhosaith.

"Do you have a digital copy of your presentation? I'd like to have one."

The presenter’s face brightened up at Rhosaith's request, quickly pulling a data chit from her pocket.

"Thank you." Rho said, taking the chit and stuffing it in her own pocket. She then stood up. "Thank you for compiling all this data for us, I'm sure it may come in handy." She, too, then left the room.

"You see?" Hamlet chided. "I told you going to that meeting would be useful."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. Just take me to my ship, already."

"As you wish, Madam."

Rhosaith then vanished completely from the Nexus.

The doors to the elevator door finally slid open, and Rhosaith stepped out into her personal cabin. Despite having unbelievable technology, more advanced than anything she'd ever seen elsewhere, Rhosaith preferred to hold to what she called "simpler tech". Not wanting to force her own decisions on those that served her, teleportation pads and personal teleporters were strewn all across the grand space leviathan that was her flagship. Despite this, she still rode the elevator to her cabin.

Upon arriving, she took off her black wide-brimmed hat and long black coat, hanging them on a nearby coatrack. Stepping towards her bed, the black EVA suit she wore dematerialized from her form, so that all she wore when she hit the mattress was a plain white shirt and white pants. The very clothes she wore when she was taken.

Her own personal cabin was devoid of color. The walls, door, floor, ceiling, and even all the furniture within—with minor exceptions—were white; making the coat and hat hanging on the coatrack stand out far more than they should have.

Turning her head to the nightstand beside her bed, she looked at a picture that stood on its surface. This picture served as one of the only sources of color within the room. Picking it up, she brought it over and hugged it tightly to her chest.

"Oh Frisk..." she muttered quietly. "Were it that these cursed machines had not taken me from thee, I would be there by thine side even now. Alas, for it be not so. Here am I, far from thine side. Far from thy warm embrace. Thy bronze skin. Thy pleasant bodily aroma that never ceased to calm me."

Rhosaith pulled the picture from her chest and stared at its contents. It was a picture of two Humans. Herself, and a man beside her.

"If fickle fate had it be that we meet again, oh the speed to which I'd press my lips to thine." Rho leaned forward and kissed the part of the picture where the man was. "But alas, it cannot be. I am here, and thou art there. Far away, out of reach."

Tears slowly leaked from Rhosaith's eyes. Try as she might to stop their flow, she soon gave in and held the picture firmly to her chest once again.

"I miss you so much, Frisk..." she wept upon the bed sheets until her eyes ran red, and she finally fell asleep.

"Rhosaith." a digital voice echoed in the room. "Rhosaith."

"Mmm..." Rhosaith mumbled.

"We're nearing the universe known as 'AlT-113'. It's time for you to wake up."

Rhosaith sat up, the picture frame still in hand.

"How far out are we?" she asked through a yawn.

"Only a few minutes. You may teleport in at any time."

"Great." Rhosaith stepped over the side of the bed, replacing the picture back onto the stand.

"I heard you weeping again." the digital voice said after a minute.

"I thought I told you to not spy on me when I'm in here." Rhosaith scolded.

"Apologies, Madam."

"Geez, Hamlet. It's the one place I've closed off to everyone but me. At the very least, I should feel like I'm not being watched or listened to in this one single room."

"Again, apologies. It won't happen again."

"Yeah, until it does."

Rhosaith stood up from the bed. Stepping away, a cleansing wave flew over Rho's body in an instant, cleaning it of excess debris. A second later, Rho's EVA suit rematerialized around her, and she stepped towards her coat and hat, putting them on as well. When she finished doing up the coat, blades materialized around the leg-half, enclosing the half somewhat like a skirt. Beneath the covers of her coat, a holster also materialized, attached to her leg—within, a handle was held firm.

"Alright." Rhosaith said. "Let's go."

In an instant, Rhosaith was teleported from the ship down to the universe, AlT-113.

Taken!Altertale : Tactical Briefing

Previous Underearth Prologue First of this book Next

[ilovejevsjeans]

How another Aussie champion helped Ricciardo recover from horror start with Renault

As beginnings go, it was less than auspicious. Mere seconds into the first race of his high-profile Formula One move to Renault, Daniel Ricciardo's 2019 Australian Grand Prix disintegrated into a shower of broken carbon fibre, the front wing of his car smashed to smithereens after he ran off the side of the Albert Park circuit and clipped a trackside ditch.

Things didn't get a lot better in the early races of 2019 for Ricciardo who, so accustomed to fighting at the front with his former team, had to sate his hunger with occasional crumbs dropped by the Mercedes, Ferrari and Red Bull outfits that annexed the available podium places. Top-10 qualifying efforts were rare, decent race finishes largely out of reach. He couldn't recapture the feeling on the brakes in his new Renault that had made audacious, last-gasp passes his trademark at Red Bull, and he knew he was over-driving to make up for the performance of his car and his own frustrations, determination to fix one mistake inevitably leading only to another.

Ricciardo's signature smile was still there, but those who know him best could see the grin's wattage was dimmed. Ricciardo knew something needed to change – and another high-profile Australian athlete unexpectedly provided the impetus.

"It was April last year, the season hadn't been going all that well for me, and I was spending some time with [Australian snowboarder] Scotty James," Ricciardo tells The Age.

"Scotty's a good friend. He writes a daily journal, and he was telling me about how much it helped him focus on his goals, what he wanted to achieve, and how regularly writing things down for yourself forces you to be honest and accountable.

"I started one myself to see if it would make a difference, and it definitely has. I'm being honest with myself and it's for my thoughts and my eyes only, and it's something I look back on. It could be something as simple as 'how did I feel today?', 'how did I feel how I felt about that race?' and so on, and then going back and trying to understand why.

"It's just me and my thoughts, and it has definitely given me some clarity. I never sit down with a plan of what to write, but in the writing process you answer questions you may have about something, and that's really useful for me."

Ricciardo's season eventually recovered to some degree from its stuttering start, and while ninth place in the championship didn't get his pulse racing after a pair of top-three finishes with Red Bull in 2014 and 2016, he comprehensively out-performed the driver in the sister Renault, German Nico Hulkenberg, and achieved the team's best result with a storming drive to fourth in Italy in September.

A strong finish to the year gave the 30-year-old reason to be optimistic about the 2020 campaign set to start in Melbourne next weekend, but it's a season he realises comes with questions he can, so far, only take an educated guess at answering.

Ricciardo's knowns for 2020 are few, yet indisputable. One, he's in the second and final year of a deal with Renault that hasn't yet delivered on its considerable promise. And two, there's little chance the West Australian will see the view from any step of a Formula One podium given drivers from Mercedes, Red Bull and Ferrari have annexed the top three positions in all but six races over the past four years.

Can Renault show enough progress that he'd consider re-signing? Might Mercedes or Ferrari, both of whom have driver vacancies next year, remember Ricciardo's recent past in a race-winning team and come calling? And what of 2021, where a significant shake-up of F1's rulebook could completely change the sport's pecking order, as Ricciardo discovered the hard way the last time the regulations were rebooted seven years ago?

"This year definitely carries more weight than most," Ricciardo admits.

"The chaos that surrounded my move from Red Bull to Renault, I don't expect it to be anything like that. But there's a lot happening. I'm 30, so whatever I do, it's a case of 'how many more contracts will I sign?'

"The easiest decision would be that if my year is going well [at Renault], then I'd feel like we were only going to get better and I wouldn't even think about the what-ifs or maybes elsewhere. Even though next year is going to be a new car, I think if we were able to make some big gains this year with Renault, that would give me enough confidence that whatever happens in the future would be good, but you never know how these things will play out.

"I certainly see myself in the sport for at least five more years, but every year I'm one step closer to when my career might end. You're not thinking like a 20-year-old anymore."

While Renault's preference is to retain their combination of an established race-winner in Ricciardo and French youngster Esteban Ocon for the first season of F1's rule reset, chances to drive for Mercedes, the dominant team of the past six seasons, and Ferrari, still the sport's biggest name despite not winning a drivers' title since 2007, are rare.

When the lights go out at Albert Park, Charles Leclerc will be the only driver among the sport's two biggest teams to have a contract beyond this year, the 22-year-old Monegasque inking a deal with Ferrari until 2024.

Reigning world champion Lewis Hamilton's retention by Mercedes appears a formality, but the futures of 2019 Australian Grand Prix winner Valtteri Bottas (Mercedes) and four-time world champion Sebastian Vettel (Ferrari) are murkier, particularly with Ferrari banking its future on Leclerc with such a long-term investment.

Ricciardo openly expresses his admiration for what Mercedes, who won a record sixth consecutive constructors' championship last season, have achieved since the advent of the sport's V6 turbo hybrid engine era in 2014, which brought down the curtain on a reign of dominance by a Vettel-led Red Bull as Ricciardo joined the team that same season.

Mercedes debuted a revolutionary dual-axis steering (DAS) system at February's first pre-season test in Barcelona, a hydraulically powered innovation that allows their drivers to adjust the angle of the front wheels to gain lap time by pushing or pulling the steering wheel while the car is in motion.

Rival outfits were blindsided by the DAS concept when it was unveiled, Renault's sporting director Alan Permane commenting the team was "wide-eyed" about something Mercedes admitted they had been hatching in secret for a year, but Ricciardo says Mercedes' relentless pursuit of progress should be lauded.

"Hats off to them because they have been dominant this whole turbo era, yet they are still the ones pushing everyone else," he says.

"They're not getting complacent, and I think that's why they've been so dominant. They're setting an example right now and as a competitor, I certainly respect that."

Further clouding any picture Ricciardo paints of what 2021 may look like are rule changes that will make the grid that appears for next year's race in Melbourne almost unrecognisable from next Sunday's starting line-up. The next generation of cars will feature significantly different bodywork and low-profile tyres on larger, 18-inch wheels, while a cost cap, set at US$175 million ($A263 million) per team per annum, will halve the budgets of the sport's biggest spenders at the flip of a calendar, creating, in theory, a more level playing field.

The sweeping changes have the potential to make more of an impact than the implementation of the current iteration of rules in 2014, which propelled Mercedes from the midfield to a team that has won more than 80 per cent of grands prix since.

Pre-season testing threw up enough clues to suggest Mercedes, who never really showed their true pace in Barcelona, may just demolish the field again from Melbourne onwards. Should that happen, and with little carryover between this year's rules and next, expect their rivals to switch their focus to 2021 early.

Driver market intrigue, short of Leclerc and Max Verstappen, who is contracted to Red Bull until 2023, will be the narrative of the season, and Ricciardo will be in the middle of it.

[michael-langdon-appreciation]

Part 12 of the foursome? x

I really wanted to get something out for you all tonight as it’s been a while. If I don’t post tonight it wouldn’t be till Mon/Tues due to my work schedule and adding more onto Part 12. I went ahead with a slightly smaller update which has much in it as we wind down to our final - Part 13 which will be an epic and then one final epilogue.

Enjoy the penultimate part of the foursome!

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PART 12

Y/N 

Despite being somewhat kidnapped by the Antichrist, life persisted relatively normally if Y/N ignored the fact that no one knew where she was….and she had no access to her phone.

Michael smashed it the moment she tried to fight back. He’d made the phone fly across the air into his open hand and crushed it beneath his boots. It was far too easy for Jim or Duncan to track her through it, thereby jeopardising Michael’s entire plan. Y/N had fought and screamed and threatened him all to no avail. 

There was never any stopping Michael Langdon when he wanted something. 

For the most part, Michael was the perfect man. Attentive to her every need, he’d bought a calendar with Y/N’s proposed due date written in blood red ink on the correct date. Not that he would miss it for the life of him. In the weeks leading up to the babies birth Michael made sure to spend as much time as he possibly could with Y/N. Baths became a nightly occurrence and while drifting asleep in his arms she’d often hear him talking to his little one.

That was someone they had discovered. Michael’s child, attuned and already so fiercely intelligent could understand its father. The child would kick wildly when Michael came home after running errands or working with the Cooperative. Y/N would be in agony from how excitable the child was, right up until the moment Michael’s warm hands rested on her stomach, his voice soft. ‘Not too hard, little one.’ He murmurs, ‘We don’t want to hurt Mommy, or your twin.’

The baby would stop immediately, bringing out Michael’s beautiful smile. ‘They understand you.’ Y/N marvels, ‘Do you think they know not to hurt Jim’s child?’

‘I’ve asked and asked.’ Michael replies, ‘All we can do is hope for the best, and I’ll be monitoring everything during the entire birth.’

Y/N’s eyes run over his shining hair, golden curls bouncing as Michael rises. ‘Dinner,’ He offers, ’Something nutritious.’ He decides, consulting the kitchen.

‘You can’t cook.’

‘We’ll order something nutritious.’ 

Y/N can’t help a soft smile, ‘I’m still mad at you.’ She says. ‘Not as mad as Jim and Duncan will be, but I can’t deny that you really want this to go well, don’t you.’ Her eyes fall to her rotund stomach, the due date is any day now. ‘At first I thought you were only concerned with your baby. But having been with you for…’

‘Three months.’ Michael supplies, browsing Uber Eats.

‘I’ve seen how much you love both these children.’

Michael looks up, ‘I love you.’ He says, his voice firm. ‘I love Jim and I love Duncan. Despite our differences…how things are right now. I would never do anything to harm them. I hope you have always believed that.’

Her hand finds his and places it on her stomach, ‘I do.’ 

Michael’s other hand smoothes over Y/N’s tummy. His eyebrows draw together in concentration as he listens to his child, ‘She’s strong.’ He murmurs, ‘Powerful.’

‘She?’ Y/N breathes.

Michael’s mouth falls open, ‘I’m so sorry!’ His eyes turn immediately regretful, as if he’d like nothing more than to shove his words back into his mouth. ‘I’m sorry! You didn’t want to know!’

‘I didn’t.’ Y/N’s hands take hold of Michael’s again, ‘But I’m not mad. I’m done being mad at you.’

He surges upwards, pulling Y/N into a deep kiss. Her arms wind around Michael and up into his golden hair that tickles her face. ‘I will give our baby the entire world.’ He promises between kisses, ‘I know I’m a monster and I have so much to learn but I vow to you Y/N. I’m here. I always will be. No matter what.’

She hushes him, her fingers working into the back his neck. Michael loosens at once, like water in her grasp as a gasp leaves him. ‘You’re happy with me?’ He asks, ‘You don’t wish you could be back with them do you?’

‘Right now I don’t want anyone else but-’ But no more words leave her lips. A spatter cuts off her very thoughts, both sets of eyes looking down at the puddle quickly staining through Y/N’s sweatpants. 

‘The babies,’ Michael whispers, ‘No….they’re too early.’ 

‘No! Michael!’ She gasps, ‘Please! Tell them it’s not time yet!’

‘Sorry darling,’ The Antichrist sweeps her into his arms, already moving to the bedroom. ‘But when a child is ready to be born there’s no stopping it.’

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DUNCAN 

Endless phone calls. Hundreds of emails. Duncan had shouted at more people than he could ever remember and chased more false leads than Sherlock Holmes. Even with the combined efforts of the FBI and the Shepherd’s Private Detective it was Jerome who finally came up with a solid lead. At the first Duncan had laughed in his face. The idea so preposterous and crazy. Not to mention something which wasn’t even real. But Jerome, more than anyone Duncan had ever met was persistent till Duncan relented. Finally, someone knew where Michael Langdon was. 

‘They’ve got something.’ He declares, bursting into the apartment. 

Jim lifts his head, bloodshot and tired eyes trying to take in Duncan’s words, ‘They found her?’ His voice rises with hope, ‘They got him?’

‘I don’t know, Jimmy.’ Duncan says, snatching up his wallet and keys. ‘But we gotta go. She’s heavily pregnant, Y/N will need all the help she can get.’

‘He wouldn’t hurt her!’ Jim cries, staggering to his feet. ‘If he’s even put a finger on her-’

‘We can do this later, Jim. Right now we need to find my fiancee.’ 

Those words ground Jim at once, ‘You’re right.’ He wipes away his exhaustion on the stuffed whale in his hand. ‘Let’s…let’s go.’

They take the elevator down, Jim trying to maintain his cool. ‘Did the FBI find something?’

‘Jerome.’

‘I knew he was shady.’ 

‘He certainly has some wild connections.’ Duncan leads the way to an SUV with blacked out windows. 

Jim is hot on his heels, ‘With who?’ He opens the door for Jim and climbs in after him, nodding to the albino security. Jim’s eyes rove all over the silent men, ’New uh security guys?’

‘They’re not mine.’ Duncan reaches immediately for the glass Tumblr filled to the brim with whiskey and takes a swig. ‘Jerome is staying with them for now, monitoring things on their end. If they get a whiff that something changes Jerome will let us know.’

He catches Jim’s adam’s apple bob, ‘You don’t mean-’

Duncan hums, ‘Cordelia Goode and her school of witches isn’t fake news.’

‘Jesus Christ.’

‘We’ll need his help too.’

Duncan squeezes Jim’s hand. The poor guy looks as if someone’s told him the sky is pink after all, ‘Breathe, Jim.’

‘I am.’ He wheezes, his eyes never leaving the security duo. ‘Are….are they?’

‘No.’ 

Both Jim and Duncan jump, not expecting either of the men to speak. Behind matching dark glasses the Albinos give nothing away as they sit as immovable as statues. 

‘It was the witches who tracked down where Michael’s been hiding her.’ Duncan continues, ‘And you’ll never guess where we’re heading.’

‘Duncan, please no riddles.’ Jim sighs, ‘I don’t have it in me.’

Sympathy coils inside Duncan. He may have his fiancee on the line, but Duncan knows within his heart of hearts that Michael isn’t going to harm Y/N. He can’t put himself first right now. He needs to support Jim, Jim who has a baby on the line. That little one’s life depends on how quickly they make it to Michael’s location. 

He can’t win. He won’t. Even if Duncan has to take him out doing so.

’Maybe he knew of the plan?’ Duncan offers, ‘He was ahead of us the whole time.’

‘But we changed our minds.’ Jim protests, ‘We weren’t gonna go through with it!’

‘Michael might not know that though.’ Duncan glowers at Jim, ‘And if I hadn’t removed that chloroform from your car before Jerome took it to get cleaned we would have been in a lot more shit.’ 

Jim blanches, ‘You…know about that?’

‘You’re a desperate man, Jim.’ Duncan sighs, ‘So fucking stupid. But desperate. You came upstairs, you didn’t go through with it. That’s why I forgave you in the end.’ 

Silence falls in the car. It’s not uncomfortable, but filled to the brim with nerves. Anticipation crawls up the windows and elicits goosebumps all over Duncan.

Please. Please let them kids be okay. 

‘Why would she go.’ Jim rests his head against the glass, ‘We’re never gonna be enough.’ 

‘She loves him.’ Duncan admits, ‘You can’t just switch off your feelings for someone. I know I’ve tried.’

Jim’s fingers squeeze Duncan’s back. His eyes penetrate Duncan’s own, ‘Me too.’

  The gap between the two disappears as Jim’s lips fall against Duncan’s. His hand cups the back of Jim’s head, keeping their lips together. It’s everything Duncan didn’t know he was craving. Just how much he has missed Jim and that salty spearmint taste he always has from chewing gum. A habit back from his bleaker days to mask the smell of cigarettes and other substances. Jim’s tongue slips against Duncan’s bottom lip, but before they can go any further someone clears their throat. The two men split apart, the door open as Duncan looks out of the window.

‘You’re kidding.’ Jim breathes, his fists clenching together. 

‘No one would ever look here.’ Duncan climbs out of the car, following the Albinos. ‘Back where it all began.’ He walks into the all-too familiar building and summons the elevator to take them to the penthouse. The first apartment Michael Langdon ever owned. The one he took Duncan to when Duncan was lost and alone in the world. When nothing made sense but the magical man who swept him out of despair and made him whole again. 

Before Y/N. Before Jim. 

‘We sold it when you came into the picture.’ Duncan knows that Jim is aware of this place, despite having never been here himself. ‘I didn’t know he still had it though.’

The elevator doors open and Duncan leads the way inside. They ride in silence, but the sound of screams echo from the eleventh floor all the way up to the sixteenth. Duncan turns terrified eyes onto Jim, his horror mirrored in the slackened-sick look on Jim’s face. 

‘We’re too late.’ 

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[enchanted-seokjin]

cardigan; jeon jungkook

DISCLAIMER: None of these pictures are mine. Please, visit this link for the rightful credits. If your picture has been posted on weheartit without your permission or without crediting, please let me know so I can credit you here.

↬ summary: Y/N dives into the past when he met Jungkook, his unforgettable love.

↬ genre: short au; fluff; summer love; letters

↬ word count: 1.3k (part 1)

↬ warnings: mention of parents having arguments, divorce, one of the parents leaving, 17yo drinking (has nothing to do with what I have previously stated)

↬ note: I enjoy writing this au so much that I decided to re-upload it with Jungkook as the main protagonist + few changes.  inspired by cardigan by taylor swift. 

↬ part 1 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5 // part 6 // part 7

They’re arriving soon and I have little time to finish everything up. I’ve already picked up the jasmine from the front garden so that, when they cross the door, the freshness from outside invades them. The cookies lay inside the oven, still unbaked. Even though it’s hot, I promised I would receive them with their favorite treats. I walk towards the stairs and my legs stop without me noticing. I know what’s upstairs in the attic. I know it’ll trigger memories I thought I’d forgotten. Yet, I have to be strong. The things I’m looking for are up there and I have to get them before they arrive. Hence, I take a deep breath and move forward. The attic smells as I expected. It’s been closed for far too long that I feel I’m in a whole different house. Maybe I am. In a different time as well. I’m not sure if the light will go on, part of me wishes it didn’t thus, I’ll have an excuse to go back downstairs and take care of the cookies while having a glass of water, pretending that I’ve never been here and that this attic doesn’t exist. However, I try to switch on the light, and a weak-yellowish color washes over the old furniture covered in dusty blankets that were once white. All of these belonged to my grandparents and then to my parents and then to me but I got rid of them as soon as I received them. They reminded me of a time that didn’t belong to me. Now, I have to face it all because of them. The dust may make me sneeze, therefore I breathe cautiously while I try to ease my feelings. I’m frustrated. Especially with her. Why couldn’t she come? Checked it out by herself? Why do I have to be the one dealing with the mundane things that tie me to the past? I move away from one of the blankets and find the bookshelf that my dad had in his office. I remember it being filled with many books that he had to put one over the other to fit them all in one place. I still don’t know if he’d read them all. My eyes fall into the mysterious furniture next to it. It’s short ergo, not what I’m looking for but my hands reach the blanket as if it’s being controlled by someone who isn’t me and moves it away. It’s my dresser. I wonder, as my heart starts to beat fast, what happened to the things I used to bury inside the drawers the same way a dog buries their food? I look around until a find the red chair on the other side of the door. Though it’s covered by a blanket as well, I am sure of what it is that anyone would believe I moved all of these things yesterday morning instead of ages ago. As I take the chair and set it in front of the dresser, I reach for the drawer at the bottom. I open it so easily my heart skips a beat. Back when I was seventeen, my friends used to tell me about having illicit meetings with boys in places where no one would see them. They used to say that those places were sacred. My sacred place was this drawer. The first thing I see is the light blue shirt I typically wore with beige shorts. I believed I looked good on them and so did he. I take the clothes between my hands as if they were a treasure I had just found but the real treasure is right under it, inside a wooden chest whose key I lost when I was younger. I hold the chest the same way a pirate would hold a coffer they’d just found inside a cave after a long journey. It kind of feels that way. The chest rests on my legs now and I wonder what I’ll discover in there. I have a vague recollection of what I’ve hidden inside it but, as years went by, my mind became clouded. I hold my breath as I open it and a pack of well-folded papers pops up. Now I remember. I was fond of writing. When that summer happened, I decided to write everything down. I had the idea that I’d look back at it and laugh or smile or cry. I wonder which one of these three emotions will hit first because, as of now, I’m feeling numb. I take the paper at the top and open it. The black ink has faded over time but the letter is still eligible for the most part. Though there are stains in the now brownish paper, I manage to read the words of a seventeen-year-old girl. “July 16, 1964 I met someone. His name’s Jungkook. He’s arrived town at the beginning of the year and we’ve shared a few classes but we’ve never really talked. Though I have to admit, I did find him handsome as soon as I saw him walking down the hall. So did many others. He’s a bit shy, though, and hangs out alone most of the time. Nevertheless, I was at the fair last night, too focused on winning a teddy bear by popping the third balloon in a row when I noticed that he was standing right next to me waiting for his turn. I’m not sure where I got the courage to dare him to pop the last balloon. He looked taken aback at first but agreed and ended up winning, of course, he did. And he gave me the teddy bear which now lies on my bed. After that, we spent the rest of the evening together. It surprises me how easy we got along and I wonder why I hadn’t reached out to him sooner. He told me that he felt out of place moving here and that he thought our classmates stared at him way too much and it made him weird, thank God he didn’t have to go back to school for a while. I didn’t tell him that people stared because he was gorgeous, but I did assure him that everything was going to be fine and that I was sure he was going to make some friends over the summer since people in this town are nice— At least some of them. “You seem to be a nice person,” he commented. “That’s because I’m from here,” I joked and he laughed. I’ve never felt my heart skip a beat when someone laughed as Jungkook did. “That’s good,” he said. “You can be my friend, then,” he added with a smile. I’m not sure if he was flirting or just being nice. I’ve never been in a relationship so I wouldn’t know. I should ask my friends. Anyway, Jungkook walked me home. He wanted to walk me to the porch but I declined because I knew my parents were awake waiting for me and I didn’t want my mom to question me about him. I didn’t want to give any reason for an uproar. Things have been kind of hard here. I think my parents might get a divorce at any moment. I wish they’d just do it. I’m tired of waking up in the morning to an excuse as to why my dad isn’t home. It breaks my heart to see their relationship fall apart but it breaks me, even more, to see them trying without any success. Okay. Enough of that. I’m going out with Jungkook tomorrow. I’m going to show him around the lake. I think it’s the best place to hang out. Plus, it’s summer and the lake becomes kind of crowded. I guess it’ll be great for Jungkook to meet new people. Crossing my fingers.” I fold the letter the way it was when I found it and put it back into place; there goes the smell of cotton and the noisy crowd which then turned into a peaceful walk under the starry summer night. It’s hard. It’s like watching a movie for the third time knowing how it’ll end, knowing that you’ll end up crying over the same ending— but you can’t stop. As I take a deep breath, I open the next letter.

[ragdollrory]

The Jasmine Snapdragon

The sky was still a pastel mix of orange and pink when Azula’s name was called by the barista, and she picked her latte up at the counter. The shuffle in her phone switched to a calm tune, and she walked the two blocks that separated the coffee shop from her uncle’s shop, a hand searching through her bag for the heap of keys the man had given her the previous night.

A couple of minutes and several light switches later, soft music filling the room, she was comfortably sitting behind the counter. Paper cup in a hand, and a book on flowers and their meanings in the other. 

It was only a couple of weeks until Iroh returned from his trip, but Azula figured if she’d been tasked with taking care of the place, then she might as well do her research. Plus, Zuko had assured her time and time again he could do with some weeks of her being absent at the company, and promptly taken her workload from her hands. So it was not like she had a lot more to do, as she waited for clients to show up. Once she tackled this, she’d start a novel, or another econ book, whichever caught her fancy first.

The place was nice enough to be in, once you got past the array of colors and aromas. Neat and varied, with some really exotic numbers as well. Or bright, happy, and completely adorable, in the words of Ty Lee, who often visited to have tea with her uncle. That was a friendship Azula could understand, but would rather stay the hell away from, lest she got her aura read, and cleaned with the weird blends the chubby man and hyperactive friend were so fond of.

Once the coffee was done, nose still in the book, Azula went onto checking the water in the vases, removing the withered flowers, and finally flipping the sign on the door over to Open. It was just a couple of weeks, she could do it, she’d lived through worse after all. The vultures at the company’s legal department, university, the institution, her family… This would be a piece of cake.

And really, as days trickled by, running the shop turned out to be effortless. Between her good memory, and knack for reading people, Azula found bouquet making to be an easy enough activity. She’d spotted several types- or stereotypes even- of customers so far.

First on her list, and last in her esteem, were cheaters. Those she could smell the second they walked through the door. Anxious as they looked through the store's varied options, toying with their wedding band when they were married, and checking the mobile an excessive amount of times while at it. They were easy to spot, and easy to sell to, and since Azula couldn't really skin them, at least she made sure her uncle's shop made a profit out of their disgusting habit.

"You don't really want to pick those." Came her usual opening line, with a discreet roll of her eyes, as they automatically went for the red roses. "Those are nice, sure, but it's a bit obvious, don't you think?”

She made her way around the counter, to point out some other options, not trying too hard to hide the disenchantment in her voice. “I’d say some chrysanthemum could be nice. Red means love, of course. White is for loyalty, and devoted love.” She let a second tick by before continuing. “Then yellow is sorrow, neglected love… perhaps an array of them would be good.

“Unless it’s not for the wife, but the lover. In that case I’d go with the red roses after all.”

It was most amusing how they just itched to buy and get it all done with, no matter what she decided was best to sell them. Always paying in cash, and oftentimes buying for both the spouse and lover. Sometimes Azula wondered if whoever received them understood the message behind the pretty arrangements. If they stayed together afterwards as well. Sometimes the client would return, and she’d known they’d not read between the lines of the flowers. Sad, really.

Probably one of her favourite type of client was the opposite of the first one, the long-run partners. They usually went in with a clearer idea in their mind, having gifted flowers throughout their marriage, or having read certain species was best for the current anniversary they were on. And their smile as they talked about their loved one was contagious.

Those, Azula helped with genuine interest, taking her time to put together a bouquet that would bring out the same joy in the receiving end as it did to the buyer.

“Perhaps it’s not the most common flower to gift, but Honeysuckles carry meanings of devoted love, and lasting bonds.” She explained to a man in his mid-sixties, who was looking for a gift for his wife of over forty years.

They’d gone over several options already, before he asked for the trumpet-shaped flower, and Azula couldn’t help but to monologue a little about the things she’d read on the plant. She even went as far as to mention the properties attributed to it when using it in a tea blend. The whole flower shop vibe was clearly getting to her, although she’d rather believe it was the man’s willingness to listen to her.

“If you plant this,” Making a quick trip to the back, where her uncle had the greenhouse, Azula plucked a little sprout of the plant in vivid coral color, to hand to the man alongside the bouquet, “then hummingbirds and butterflies are bound to come to your garden.”

He’d returned twice since then, once with his wife, who had brought her homemade cookies, and showed her pictures of the little plant in its new pot. It had been a nice day.

Other clients in her list were teenagers, and those were most amusing to tend to. Never sure of what they were looking for, blushing every couple of seconds, or everytime Azula asked them a question about the person receiving the flowers.

They usually came with limited money also, wrinkled in their pockets where they nervously pushed their hands, or in their backpacks under a pile of trash they often had to take out over the counter to be able to find the bills.

“Okay, listen to me, take lilies.” Azula’s patience was running thin with this one, but she’ll try her best not to throttle the girl, because it reminded her a little of Mai. And well, because it would not look good on the store. “They stand for refined beauty, and orange ones are passion. She won’t just like it, she’ll love it.

“Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.” Whatever it was that made the girl believe her, she was thankful for it, and she left with a stuttered thank you, and a nice arrangement of four lilies, while Azula was left methodically straightening the rumpled bills against the counter’s edge.

No, tending to the store was easy, fun even. And somehow- and Azula wasn’t pointing at people, but it had been Ty Lee- her uncle found out just how well she’d been doing her job, and decided to extend his trip a couple more weeks. It wasn’t the most awful thing to happen, but she’d been itching to go back to the company already. Still, Iroh hardly ever left the city, and two more weeks could harm no-one.

Azula had just sold a large basket of pink tulips for a baby welcoming gift, and was at the back fixing the vase, when the door chimes announced a new buyer. She called she’d be there in a minute through the parted door, getting a ‘take your time’ in return.

“Oh, you really don’t want to pick those.” Came her already trademark phrase, as she walked back into the shop, and caught the look of the newest customer.

Tall, big- so freaking big, probably a gym fanatic by the looks of it. He was tanned, with messy waves of ombré hair to his shoulders, and black ink tattoos spiralling down his arms from under his t-shirt sleeves. So, a surfer maybe? He had the aura of it, and Azula was positive the tattoos were Hawaiian.

“I’m sorry?” He turned to her from his inspection of some peonies, curiosity very vivid in his expression, a raised eyebrow towards her. Half his face was hidden by a heavy beard, but Azula had to blink a couple of times under the deep blue of his eyes. A smile tugged at his lips, and she shook her head to clear it.

“Peonies, you probably won’t want to pick those.” She took the tulips back to their fridge, taking a moment too long under the cool air, before turning back to the man. “They are linked to romance, and marriage, often times used to propose.”

“Okay.” He agreed without fuss, and Azula thought she was closer to her goal of guessing correctly. “Should I worry that you’re a mind reader, or-” His smile widened with a breathy chuckle, and she found herself smiling back at him.

“Not at all. I wouldn’t be in a flower shop if I were.” Rolling her eyes playfully, Azula moved onto what she figured were the flowers he was looking for. “So maybe roses, those are always popular, or irises-”

“Where would you be?” He cut through her speech.

“What?” She really wasn’t used to getting questions that were not flower related, not by first time buyers at least.

“I think this is a nice place to be, a happy one. But if you weren't here, where would you be?” The man commented, hands pushed into the back pockets of his worn-out jeans. She tried to ignore how he towered over her, giving a perfect view of the shirt hugging his chest as he did so.

"I, um. I'm a lawyer actually. I work at my family's company." Azula wasn't sure why she was hesitating over that, almost as if she regretted her position there. Or the fact that her name was on the very building she worked at. "I'm just covering for my uncle here. The shop is his."

"Hmm" The man gave her an appraising look, as if he were trying to picture her in a suit, maybe. Or maybe she was thinking too much into it. "Well, you seem to know quite a bit of flowers for being covering for him, then."

"Yes, well- I read a lot." Her answer was probably a bit off, but this whole conversation was. He was here to buy flowers for someone, some Barbie girl he met at the beach probably, and she had a book to go back to. Azula moved back to the flowers. "So, lilacs are good too, a magenta one is passion, so you could combine it with a-"

"Passion? No, no." He interrupted again, and this time she huffed, and turned to him with a hand on her hip. "I think you got the mind reading wrong here, who do you think I'm buying for?"

"I don't know." It was her turn to give him a once over now, and what a mistake it was. His smile was full of mischief, and her stomach had the gall to flip dangerously. "A Tinder date?"

His laugh filled the shop, loud and lively, and his eyes tightened with it, happy lines forming at the sides. Azula frowned, arms crossing at her chest.

“No, God no. Tinder dates, yeah- those aren’t my thing, really.” His voice was breathy when he spoke, shaking his head with a smile. He ran fingers through his hair. When his eyes found hers, there was softness in them. “I need something for my daughter. She has a ballet recital today.”

“Oh.” Oh, indeed. Azula’s arms dropped to her sides, shoulders losing the tension she’d gathered in about ten seconds. A daughter. “Okay, that’s- that’s nice. And easier, I guess.”

She was ashamed to say she was ashamed, and was too proud to apologise for the mistake. And there was also the fact that he seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing, and followed her around the shop in silence for the next couple of minutes as Azula pointed out options for him to pick. She could feel his eyes on her, making warmth climb up her neck, and making her breath catch whenever she turned and caught them on hers.

“I think daisies and sunflowers will do.” He said after some time, and she nodded, picking up one of the vases to take to the counter. He took the other one.

The music around them was the only thing filling the silence as Azula trimmed the stems and prepared the arrangement on a bright colorful paper. Her eyes trailed to the tattoos on his arm every so often, where he leaned on the counter.

“So what about me made you believe I was on a date?” The question definitely made her blush now, and she just focused harder on the flowers, thinking on an appropriate answer. There was none.

“Your looks.” She shrugged, not really wanting to say more, but the rise of his eyebrows encouraged for more. There was a line through his left one, Azula noted, a scar. It made him look better somehow. “I don’t know, okay. I just-”

Her hands motioned over to him, as if that made any sense, as if she made sense anymore.

“You just look like a man who would pick someone up easily, and- have many dates probably. Just, forget about it, okay?” She did not plead, she never pleaded. Azula tied the ribbon on the bouquet, and handed it over. “Here, these are on the house.”

He stood there for a moment, considering her words perhaps, about to laugh at her again maybe. And then his hand brushed over hers as he took the flowers. A shiver ran up her arm. God, please make him go now, before she made more of a fool of herself. 

“I insist.” Her voice was just a tad strained, and he stopped in his pulling out of the wallet.

“Okay, then.” Azula dared to look up, and he was sporting a really soft smile that made her chest ache. Damn it, why wasn’t he going away already? “Tikaani will be very happy with them, thank you.”

A sigh she didn’t know she was holding left her lips as he finally reached the door, but he turned once again, and she had to hurry to school her face to something that didn’t say ‘I was checking you out’.

“I didn’t catch your name, if you don’t mind me asking.” There weren’t many times in her life where she’d felt like this, spellbound by a total stranger, but this right here- as he stood by the door with a corner of his lips pulling up on a charming smile- this was one.

“Azula.” And then it was a full grin, and who had given him the right to just look so happy?

“A beautiful name. I’m Tonraq.” Azula thought she managed a nod before he left, but wasn’t even sure about that, and then she dropped herself very unceremoniously on the chair.

She had only managed to take a couple of steadying breaths, when the door chimed again, and she tried to clear her head to take on this new customer.

“Hi, can I- Oh.” Tonraq was there again, plucking two flowers from the vases, amaryllis, and daffodil. She tried very hard not to bring forward the meanings. It didn’t work; joy, new beginnings, and worth beyond beauty. She didn’t dare breathe.

“So I was wondering, since you wouldn’t let me pay for the arrangement, that I could pay for dinner? Friday night? It’s not Tinder, but I did bring flowers.” He smirked, and she had the sudden urge to push a finger to his chest and tell him a few truths, and- and kiss him as well. How unfair that he could do that.

“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” Azula couldn’t help the smile from reaching her lips, no matter how hard she tried. She plucked the flowers from his hand. “Fine. Only- because you picked them wisely.”

Grabbing a pen and a store card, she wrote down her number, and handed it over. His fingers lingered on hers a little longer this time, her heart hurried behind her ribs.

“I’ll pick you up at six, Princess.” He winked, and turned on his heels.

“I’m not- don’t-” She tried calling back on him, but it was too late, he was hopping into a Jeep already. And she was smiling at the nickname anyways. Azula smelled the flowers as if she wasn’t surrounded by them, her cheeks burning with the promise of the date. 

If he thought she were a Princess, he should’ve picked a purple iris.

[1dffexchange]

to fight (when you feel like flying)

To: Anna @twomoonstyles

From: Inm @in-madhouses​

Summary: harry has never had a place to call home, not since one direction became a thing. zaemira has intentionally avoided home, fearing the monotony and a life not lived. their paths cross and like two lines that are meant to meet and fall apart every so often, they find a home in one another. 

a story about binge drinking, tattoos, and how sometimes, building homes out of people can be the only thing that keeps you going. also known as a tribute to brasil!harry and the (not so) secret thigh tattoos.

Warnings: some offensive language, alcohol use heavily implied, hints of substance abuse (if you squint) and sexual references. there are also mentions of hendall, hadine and hamille although not explicitly named. the timing is also nowhere near accurate but let's call it artistic freedom.

rio de janeiro

may 2014

They break up on the eve of his departure. It’s the band’s first all-stadium tour and somehow, as quickly as they were a thing, they just weren’t by the time February rolled around.

They’d clung onto one another for dear life through the winter months and the physical hole she leaves behind is filled by the pictures of her everywhere. There are fall fashion shows, and there are music festivals, and there billboards, and there are gossip rags. As far as the eyes can reach, there she is, in one form or another.

Harry leaves for the tour with the boys and it’s exactly like he expected. He is grinning from ear to ear standing atop of the world night after night, the stars in his eyes left by the glow of the headlights is eclipsed only by ear-ringing screams they are accompanied by.

Each night is a swirling tide, even when he is not on stage.

But the mask cracks eventually.

The air stills.

They do seven cities in twelve days and he’s tired already. He’d inadvertently frowns at the wrong moment, or sigh, or have a faraway look in his eyes, barely anchored to the present. And they catch it. They always catch it. But the walls come back up as swiftly as they tumble down.

He’d smile. Smile, smile, smile. Smile until it hurts.

Smile until it’s believable.

(It never is.)

He spends too much time bouncing between staring holes into his phone and wanting to go at it with a hammer. There’s just something confusingly enthralling about the pictures and the videos of her that keep popping up. The precise red carpet movements, the long lithe legs, the perfect posture, the jawline for days.

Niall sends him memes round the clock to try to distract him from looking at new pap shots, and Liam tells him to just not to think about it.

“It’s called a quarter life crisis,” Zayn announces, elbowing Louis as they chuckle at his melodrama.

As though it’s the simplest problem ever to grace the earth, Louis offers a solution, “What you need is a good bender and a good cleanser.”

He’s got good mates, he thinks.

But then he’s in Rio and there are pictures of her at the Met Gala and next thing he knows, he’s downing caipirinhas by the glassful and there’s sun and sea and sightseeing and then more caipirinhas. He remembers exactly how everything unfolded, like watching a lifetime worth of dominoes collapse into a rather large portrait of a car crash.

&&

It’s a slow night.

There’d been exactly one walk-in so far; a giggly nineteen year-old girl who wanted a Taylor Swift lyric tattooed on the middle of her lower back.

“It’s our song,” Swiftie says in regards to the tattoo, and whether the blonde haired, blue-eyed, cherry lipped teen was referring to her boyfriend or the title of the song, Zaemira will never know.

Since then, she’d been all by her lonesome for four whole hours and the tan skinned brunette is bored. She’d left her latest acquisition, a tattered first edition copy of Factotum back on the couch she was crashing on and with nothing to read or distract herself with, she is decidedly… bored. She’s antsy and she’s restless, and she’s super tempted to just flip the ‘open’ sign around to read ‘close’ and get drunk on cheap booze at the dodgy little bar down the road. That’s what soul-searching girls do when they end up working part-time at a seedy tattoo parlour in the tv shows anyway, why should she be the exception?

She’s so bored that her mind wanders and she's thinking that maybe it’s finally time to go home, not like call it a day home, but home home.

Zaemira had packed a bag and left the comforts of London right after graduating from her graphic design degree, hoping to find some kind of excitement out in the world before living out the predestined rest of her life in a cubicle churning out ad after ad for the nihilistic consumerist society she lived in before kicking it too early. But after a year on the road, honing the needle and ink in her hands and collecting first edition Bukowski’s, she is left wondering if there’s even a home for her to return to. The concept of it now so foreign to her even though her childhood had not been lacking in much.

The tinted shop door swings open right then with a squeak and a clatter of really impressively expensive sounding heels echoes through the tight little tattoo parlour space.

It’s all limbs and hair, flailing and tumbling forward face first into the floor.

She instinctively backs up away from the swirling mess.

“I’m fine! I’m—fine, just—I’m fine,” the bloke says, waving his arms about before rolling onto his back, splayed on the floor, taking up most of the floorspace, “You should—there should be a sign. Two. Yeah, two. One in English, and one in—what country are we in?”

Zaemira blinks at this hurricane on the tattoo parlor floor and studies him for a quick second.

“You’re in Brasil,” she starts saying once appropriately convinced that he’s not about to sick all over the shop floor, “And a sign for what exactly?”

He huffs, blowing several strands of thick brown hair out of his eyes in the process, “The stairs, love.”

She squats close by to examine this specimen interrupting her plans to close early and get hammered.

“There aren’t any stairs,” she says dryly, arching an eyebrow at his direction.

He sits up, coming dangerously close headbutting her and blinks at her.

“Then what’d I trip over?”

And he sounds so fucking plaintive, adorably dismayed and hilariously distressed, that Zaemira can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Well, if I had to guess,” she starts saying, biting down on the laugh teetering on her lips because he sounds so honest to god confused and hilariously distressed sitting there on the tattoo parlour floor, “You tripped over the fucking distillery you inhaled at wherever you went to dinner.”

He squints up at her like he’s doubting the validity of this observation.

And then, “Are you English?”

She rolls her eyes at that, “What gave it away?”

He shuts one eye to peer at the girl before him, as though considering her seriously, “You’re far from home.”

“I could say the same about you,” Zaemira contests as she recognises his too young and too pretty and too distractingly familiar face, “You’re Harry Styles.”

He blinks and there are alarms blaring in her head as he smirks.

“You’re doing the introduction thing backwards there, sweetheart.”

“You don’t like people telling you who you are then?”

“Not very much, no,” he scrunches his nose, deep in thought for a second, before turning his attention back to her, “What’s your name?”

“Zaemira,” she replies, realising they’ve been on the floor way too long and her leg is close to falling asleep.

She holds her hand out to pull him up, and he accepts it all too enthusiastically.

“What kind of name is… Samira?”

She shrugs as she helps the six footer to his feet wobblily, eyes scanning the door he stumbled in through, wondering where his entourage is, “It’s Zaemira, actually. But you know what, you get to call me Mira, drunky-pants.”

“Well, I want a you tattoo,” he announces, voice a little bleary but determined. But there’s something dangerous there, too, something that reminds him of the sting of needle piercing skin.

She eyes him up and down as he wobbles and crosses her arms across her chest.

“I don’t think so.”

“No, no. You don’t—” Harry hiccoughs and takes several steps on the spot to balance himself, “—understand. I want your name— Zaemira— tattooed on me.”

He takes extra care to pronounce her name right the second time around that she is just inexplicably fucking endeared by the entire spectacle.

Zaemira blinks.

“What?”

He frowns, as though worried he’s not articulating well enough for her to understand him, “Your name— I want it tattooed on me.”

She stares.

And then she stares some more.

“It’s a beautiful name— I never—” Harry hiccoughs, frowning and stopping himself mid sentence, “I never want to forget you.”

She’s definitely not bored anymore, she thinks.

So she cocks an eyebrow at him in a wordless game of truth or dare and he’s reckless and he’s dramatic and he’s beaming at her so brightly that she’s blinded by it, and her brain goes hazy and her thoughts switch frequency with an abrupt high-pitched whine of static.

&&

cape town

april 2015

Harry thought he was doing better, he really did. It’s been almost a year since Rio and he’s Harry fucking Styles. He’s in one of the most popular bands in the world, he has a PR perfect sense of humour, sharp fucking cheekbones, and the word Brasil tattooed on his thigh to remind him that even when life feels like it’s spinning off its axis you can always find a centre again.

But then she breaks up with him, craving a more definitive commitment that he can’t offer, and they’re on tour again when Zayn, out of nowhere, announces that he’s needs to leave for a little bit which everyone knows is code for he’s tired and done with it all.

And the world just... started to spin a little off its axis again.

So he makes plans to arrive in Cape Town earlier than he needs to and heads straight to where his life last made sense when things moved too fast for him to catch up.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he drawls from the doorway, smug and half a bottle of duty free booze dangling precariously in his hands.

Her whole body stalls, eyes the only thing that whips up from the book she’s engrossed in. The smile that carves itself onto her lips hits him square in the chest.

She sets the book aside, breathless, “How d’you know I was here?”

“I keep tabs on you,” Harry shrugs, tone casual, with a small smile playing on his lips playfully.

He had long made a mental note to keep up on her current location whenever he could since she’s far from forthcoming about her travels. Seems only fair since his movements in contrast is so easily trackable. One quick internet search and she’d be able to know if he was in Holmes Chapel or recording in Los Angeles or out grabbing a bite in New York.

“Why, because no one else will tattoo country names on you when you’re drunk?” Zaemira teases, taking a step forward, as though challenging him to crack first.

“Precisely,” he nods in all seriousness.

They both start grinning for no reason whatsoever and the laughter that sits in their chest bubbles over soon enough.

After Rio, he had gone back to his life and she went back to hers. She moved from city to city, continually avoiding home, and he went from stage to stage, seeking solace in the certainty of instability. But still, the heartfelt conversations and indelible experience they shared in various states of sobriety in Brasil bonded them together. Somewhere along the night almost a year ago, they had reached a point at which they both understood implicitly that no matter what, one could call and the other would answer no matter where they were.

And so they did.

They shared the big news; Zaemira whenever she found a new old Bukowski book and Harry whenever he was thinking about a new tattoo. To the layman, it may sound like a shallow kind of friendship, completely lacking any kind of commitment, but it wasn't.

On the contrary, it was the healthiest and longest lasting form of a relationship that either one of them ever had. Despite geographical and emotional distance, they were allowed to grow in their own way and not have to live through minute everyday highs and lows and petty dramas.

It was as liberating as it was peaceful.

And he could tell that his sudden physical presence is throwing her off.

“Seriously, what are you doing here?” She asks, tone light but the slant of her jaw more rigid than he’s used to and her posture brittle.

“We’re on tour,” Harry shrugs nonchalantly as he walks in around the tattoo parlour.

The space is small and intimate and starkly lit. The walls are embellished with clean lines and immaculate designs and it’s just like the spot in Rio where they met a year ago. Her caramel brown eyes are tailing him around the room and he wonders how someone who works with men looking to cover up prison ink all day can look so soft.

“I know that,” she says, her tone more curious than it is wary, “But what are you doing here?”

“Can’t a guy just drop by to see his friend when he’s in her neck of the woods?”

She narrows her eyes at him.

“A guy can, but a guy never has,” her voice dripping with the implication that he’s never lacking in the means to find her.

Which isn’t untrue.

He sighs.

“I was in New Orleans for all of a day, Zaemira.”

Harry likes saying her name in entirety. She prefers Mira, but he likes the unshortened version. It’s beautiful, it’s the kind of name that commands the full use of the orifice that most people use to stuff full of food or as a tool to lick and suck.

She stares at him, surprise evident.

“How could you possibly—”

“I have you on Instagram,” he replies, crisply, before taking another swig of the bottle in his hands.

“No, you don’t.”

“Only because I can’t publicly follow you.”

“So you just check my account obsessively like some kind of creepy stalker?”

Harry shrugs.

“Think we crossed that line when I fell into a certain tattoo shop a year ago, don’t you?”

Zaemira huffs out a breathless sounding laugh that hits him right in the center of his chest.

He had thought their paths would cross when after their last tour ended. He thought he might go out to New Orleans and get into that gumbo life for a couple of days. Stroll along the French Quarter and check in for a drink at Bourbon Street. Bask in the jazz and have a look around in a voodoo shop.

But when he’s back in LA after the tour, he finds out that she’s in Japan when he calls.

“Oh yeah, I’m in Tokyo,” she said over the phone distractedly, like it’s no big deal.

He frowned at that, confused. She had a tendency of not staying in one place for too long, but it was abrupt, even by her standards.

“What are you doing in Tokyo?” Harry questioned, brows furrowing so hard he felt frown lines forming.

“A bit of this, a bit of that,” Zaemira said noncommittally, “I thought Japan might be good after finding the boy I shacked up with completely naked and asleep with his ex.”

He gaped at that casual over-the-phone confession non-confession, befuddled and aghast.

“Did you let him have it?”

“What d’you mean?”

“Did you rip his dick off? Sock her in the nose? I could get some people together and hit him in the balls for you if you want,” Harry offered, only half-joking.

“No, I just packed my stuff and left.”

“You didn’t wake them up to confront him about it?”

“Why would I?”

Her confusion confused him. Harry paused, opening and closing his mouth several times, thinking back to break ups and make ups he’s been through, talked through, and fought through.

“You didn’t want any closure?”

“Why would I want to give him a chance to hurt me more?” Zaemira retorted, quick and sharp as ever, “He’s either going to lie about it, apologise and do something like it again, or completely be like whatever about the whole thing.”

“You... didn’t... think he deserved to know that what he did was wrong?” He prods along, cautiously.

Even after months of phone calls and texts, her candor and point of view never fails to catch him off guard.

“It’s not about him though,” she said all matter-of-factly, “I mean, he wouldn’t give me any kind of honesty, respect, or consideration, so fuck that closure.”

Zaemira isn’t shy. That’s for sure.

And she isn’t coy.

She’s loud and she’s outspoken and she had no qualms telling him that she didn’t want to die where she was born having realised that she’d done nothing out of her comfort zone which is why she left and took to sleeping on couches. Harry remembers how much he enjoyed that about her. How it had been refreshing to meet someone who enjoyed the newness. Someone who actually took pleasure in what life had to offer instead of just going through the motions.

“Well, now that you’re here…” she says as she moves towards the door, flipping the sign over from ‘open’ to ‘closed’, “What d’you feel up for tonight then, pop star?”

Her voice anchors him to the present. And she’s grinning up at him like he’s a firefly and she’s a mason jar, and he feels the countdown to self-destruction rumble in the hollow space beneath his ribs like the roar of a sports car engine.

His heart skips a whole beat at that.

&&

The sun is creeping up slowly and steadily on the horizon. She’s sitting fully clothed in a fancy bathtub in a fancy hotel, clothes soaked and doing a piss poor job of trying not to smile.

She gives him a look and he just laughs, sat on the edge of the bathtub, also soaked through.

“We need to come down,” she said earlier, shaking her head as though the movement would clear her head of all that they’d indulged in through the night.

The first rays of sunlight had started to dot the skyline and he grinned devilishly, taking her by the hand, promising he knows just the thing that would do the trick. Harry promising he knows ‘just the thing’ was how they ended up high as a kite to begin with but she had trusted him thus far so she decided to trust him a little bit more. Which in hindsight was where it all went wrong because that’s how they end up in his hotel room filling up the bathtub with water and foam shampoos and bath salts.

The windows are open, carrying their laughter and giggles to the streets below. But that’s not her main concern. Somehow, in an effort to make the bath as enjoyable as possible, Harry had turned on the shower head and initiated a spray war. The physical exertion and the laughter had sobered her a bit, but the tradeoff was that she now wanted a cigarette which was not possible since he all but dunked her into the tub to claim his victory.

She pulls the soggy packet from her denim jacket breast pocket, the gross brown liquid oozing from it indelicately.

“You’ve wet my cigarettes,” she says as she tries to look upset.

One glance at him though and she’s reduced to a puddle within the puddle she’s sitting in.

“You should really quit anyway.”

“Piss off,” she tosses the wet box at him.

It lands two feet off its target with an unceremonious splat and they laugh at her aim. They laugh and they laugh some more and talk about nothing and everything.

She talks about her mum. She never talks about her mum. But suddenly she’s talking about her mum and how she left and how it broke her father and it had hurt her to see him hurt the way he did. How he had let himself be hurt like that and still cling on to the hope of her mother coming back one day.

Harry is nodding and then they’re both just complaining about how unfair and shitty life is when he says it. Blurts it out, almost, like a secret that he can no longer contain.

“I want a tiger on my thigh.”

She’s so dazed that all she can do is look at him.

“D’you reckon you can do a tiger for me?” He repeats himself, almost as though in fear that she wouldn’t understand the urgency of his request.

She doesn’t question it, but she understands the symbolism instinctively.

“Sure,” she smiles, leaning her head back.

“Tomorrow morning?” He quirks his head, eyes glazing over as he tries to, in his solidly drunk state, try to remember if he has any other planned activity.

“That’s right now,” she laughs, lifting her heavy head to look at him, “And neither one of us are sober enough to walk a straight line, let alone hold a tattoo gun.”

“I trust you,” Harry says, voice dropping impossibly lower and she hears alarm bells start to ring in her head.

She’s makes a joke about him always being so eager to drop his pants around her and regrets it instantly because he’s smirking at her and looking at her the way he does and she almost forgets how to breathe.

“Maybe you just have that effect on me.”

“Careful,” she says dryly, “Or I might think you're trying to flirt with me, Styles.”

“Oh, you'd know if I was trying to flirt with you.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, before deciding that the best course of action is to slide further into the tub, “But would you?”

His smile that follows is breathtaking and the unabashed laughter that spills over is something else entirely. It’s warm and new, with some kind of never seen before sparkle in his eye. As though it’s an exclusive layer of whoever he is when he’s around her and her only. A smile that’s peeled back and raw and intimate.

Her chest blooms of something she can’t quite explain.

&&

los angeles

jan 2016

“Look, I don’t mean to sound outrageously savage here but… you have a thing for collecting winter clings,” she says.

“What on earth is a winter cling?”

Zaemira pauses.

“It’s the Harry Styles version of a summer fling,” she states simply, “But you have them around in the winter because that’s when you get loneliest.”

They’re in a bar, it’s small and it’s cosy and it’s not the kind of place that he would be recognised which is why it’s perfect. She pours him a shot of whiskey from behind the counter because it’s harder in LA to get a legal tattoo artist job (or any other job for that matter) than one would think.

“That’s not true,” he frowns before downing the amber liquid in a go.

She stares at him pointedly from behind the bar.

“You always get a girl at the end of the year so that you have a cosy Christmas and a nice New Year and then a blowout birthday party and then you break up with them before Valentine’s Day because commitment scares you. There are multiple blogs dedicated to the this specific phenomenon.”

“Maybe,” he concedes, a ball of something hard and sour and guilty forming in the pit of his stomach.

“No. Definitely,” she says as she tops him up for another shot.

“Is that what you think of me?” Harry frowns.

There's a beat of noticeably tense silence.

“Is it untrue?” She quirks her eyebrow just a touch.

Harry drops his gaze to the liquid he’s been swirling around his glass, “Is it really so bad to just want someone?”

“Not usually, but it takes twenty-one days to make a habit and you’re in too deep.”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, I’m flat out saying that you don’t know how to be alone,” Zaemira gleefully volunteers, completely without provocation, before topping up his drink again, “Which isn’t a shocker because you’ve never really been alone. Even when you snuck out to have your solo adventure in Rio, you dragged me along for the night. And now that the band’s on hiatus, you’re falling back into old habits with an ex.”

He promptly forgets how to fucking breathe.

She does that to him a lot, he realises.

Even though the band is officially on hiatus, he’s never felt more trapped. He feels caged in and claustrophobic in his own skin. That’s why he even took up that yacht holiday up at St. Barts. He had a physical urge to flee his life. To escape. But he didn’t think that it would become another source for frenzied paparazzi shots which fueled speculation and rumours.

He throws back the liquid in his glass in another swift go and feels the burn trickle down his throat.

“You keeping tabs on me, Zaemira?” He asks, playfully, with a teasing lilt in his voice.

She merely rolls her eyes at that.

“I’m just saying. Maybe it’s time to work on solo you.”

“You’re taking this bartender psychologist thing way too seriously.”

She opens her mouth to contest that but another patron is waving over at her from across the bar and she excuses herself to see to the obviously lost Wall Street gentlemen in the suit and tie.

The moment of silence allows Harry to think back over her words.

But her tinkering laughter cuts through his reverie.

Harry glances over and sees that Wall Street has a shit eating grin on his face, and something unpleasant churns in his stomach.

His friends were all coupling up, or getting engaged, or getting ready to pop out kids, and he realises that the only constant in his life over the two years has been their over-the-phone friendship. While media was content having him as a charming albeit a little secretive little fucker, a true lothario, kicking up rumours with grainy pictures, reaching out for a comment anytime he so much as speaks to a person of the opposite sex, she’d been his odd inner balance through it all.

And increasingly, he’s finding it difficult to share her with anyone else.

&&

Zaemira has a lot of bad habits.

She knows that.

She smokes and she drinks and she gets some kind of perverse sort of thrill out of spending her inheritance from her dead father. First she spent his insurance payout on a graphic design degree that was basically just a piece of paper. And now it’s been four years and the inheritance her father willed her hasn’t run out (mostly because she takes odd jobs to earn her keep in the various cities she bums around in) and she’s certain that this is what a quarter life crisis must feel like.

Her mother left her when she was barely eight and it broke her father’s heart. She is resolved not to make the mistakes her father made though. She’s determined to live, truly live. Even if it means not having a place to call home, crashing on couches of new friends and old. Even if it means spending one way plane tickets around the world and living out of one packed bag. Even if it means sleeping with strangers and leaving the moment they showed any sign of weakness.

What it means, is that she isn’t ashamed of her life choices.

Mostly.

There’s the small matter of a newly acquired bad habit — answering a certain call from a certain pop star whenever he rang.

She knew who he was before he accidentally wandered into her temporary place of employment of course. He was the golden boy from the band. The Harry Styles from One Direction. She hadn't been aware of much else to be honest, just that he had his start in fame from that reality show everyone watched and was involved in a band that was hailed a new coming of The Beatles.

Apart from that, he had never been relevant to her life in any way.   

So when he tumbled into the dodgy, seedy little tattoo joint in Rio and practically falls head first onto her feet, she catches sight of the oddly familiar looking guy who is too long limbs and all overgrown hair, it takes a full minute before she makes the connection.

She’d seen photographs of him before, photos and headlines on Facebook shared by news organisations (or what passes for news organisations on social media anyway), and she recalled the basic impression of this Hollywood favourite in the making; the t’ shirts and the tight jeans and the expensive shoes and the barely thought out tattoos. He was basically like any young rock star in the making, cheeky and reasonably good looking, and perfectly groomed for the media and the fandom to dislocate their jaw to swallow whole.

But the boy who stumbled into the small tattoo studio is not the boy she’d seen on the interwebs.

They become friends.

He tracks her down to her exact location whenever he’s in a city she’s in and she allows it.

When she finds herself in Los Angeles, he finds himself on hiatus.

The band had been splintering since Zayn left, that much was evident. And then the band went on their ‘break’. And he’s lonely, an ailment he had long suffered from far even before he became the Harry Styles of One Direction.

So it doesn’t surprise her when he saunters into the pub she’s working at for the past month and a half.

As a rule, she doesn’t drink on the job. She’s not allowed to. But it’s hard to say ‘no’ to Harry. He’s lonely and he’s heartbroken in more ways than one and they comes dangerously close to depleting the bar’s whiskey stock because it’s a shitty little hole-in-the-wall kind of place that doesn’t really stock up often and so they go back to his place after her shift.

The too big Los Angeles house came with a pool and a view and a fully stocked bar and one moment they’re drinking some more and the next he’s on his piano, absentmindedly playing a tune he has stuck in his head and talking about life.

She’d been good at not feeling. For a long time, she didn’t even have to try. Zaemira just didn't let herself feel for people like that and it was easy. But around him, it’s suddenly not.

He’s talking about being afraid, and how he’s afraid a lot, and how he doesn’t know what to do with himself, and how the house feels too big and he’s too alone.

She kisses him.

She kisses him because she doesn't like what he's saying, doesn't like what it means, doesn't like that this boy, this rock star, this heart of gold and boots to match who had the world on his feet could be as lost and lonely and confused as her.

She kisses him so he can stop talking, and she kisses him so she can stop listening.

It works out fine.

Except—

She isn't entirely sure why he kisses her back.

His name rolls with disturbing ease off the tip of her tongue and she thinks she can get used to the way he says her name when he comes. It sounds like a prayer and a punch, a gasping exhale that hits her in the chest, or maybe in her heart, and he collapses backwards onto his bed, pulling her close to him like she belongs there.

Zaemira doesn’t sleep a wink and when morning comes she leaves her latest find from a seedy bookstore downtown, Love Is a Dog from Hell, on his bedside before she walks out the front door.

The sun hits her straight in the eye, like the glare of a cafe employee when you ask if the have soy milk instead of regular full cream. The city was a place for the hopeful, she realises. The hope that one day you’ll find love. The hope that you’ll luck out. The hope that working hard will get you where you need to go, as long as you hope and never let go of that hope.

It was decidedly not a city built for her.

She was a shitty bartender and an even shittier dreamer and the only thing that’s been a constant in her life is her slowly expanding collection of tattered Bukowski books that she will gladly throw actual wearable clothes out of her overhead carriage bag to keep said books with her. Through the years, the only thing she could rely on was the gritty, filthy words that a dirty old man could provide.

And she had no problem sharing that part of her life with him at all.

&&

paris

march 2018

It’s just a flash, but he swears he sees her in the crowd and he thinks he’s going mad.

He’s barely two weeks into his world tour. His solo world tour.

He should be thrilled. He should be basking in the victory of it all. The world is loud and roaring in his ears but in the dreams he barely remembers dreaming, he sees her there, quiet and serene and bright, as though he is finally seeing her in the light of day instead of in the cover of night. (As though his mind is trying to make up for memories that didn’t happen.)

Not too long ago, it was another face he sought out amidst the crowd in Paris. But he catches a flash of what he thinks is her and suddenly he can’t think of anything else.

Harry hasn’t seen Zaemira in two years. Two years and then some. Not since that night.

They call and they text and they avoid discussing what happened in his LA house or why she left before he woke with not even a note but just a book by his bedside table.

There was no designated moment, no exact timing, but their dynamic changed. Because life is not a Shakespearean tragedy where it’s all fade to black and bittersweet endings. There’s mundanity and somehow, they sought each other out more in that monotonous day-to-day.

Their friendship was stronger despite having flirted with the very line that kept them together. She’d gone home to London and was spending her time putting together fragments of a former life and her current life like a jigsaw, jamming the pieces together hoping they’ll fit while he, well, he had a movie to film, and then an album to write, and that same album to tour after. He’d also landed himself in another relationship. She’s a model, because as Zaemira would say, he’s a glutton for punishment and ‘no seriously, same lips red, same eyes blue, you so have a type.’

His ‘type’ gets along great with his friends and his mum likes how laidback she is when she was over for Christmas and it’s a relationship that he’s only sure has lasted for as long as it did because of the change in their friendship.

But then he realises that he hasn’t seen his friend in over two years and it suddenly doesn’t sound like a real friendship anymore.

He can’t shake the thought and the screaming fans do nothing to help set his mind straight.

His heart aches like a broken bone over something he can’t explain.

Barely off the the stage, he whips out his phone and calls.

&&

“Sorry, wrong number,” he says.

“You know it isn’t,” she says, eyes flicking toward the living room as a burst of laughter carries itself to her ears.

Zaemira grabs her pack of cigarettes and shuts the front door gently as she exits, “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

But she’s known him long enough to read into the subtext, the world that exist in between the words he’s actually saying.

“What’s wrong?” She asks again, determinedly, taking angry long strides down the road.

He sighs, voice sounding like it’s jumped through various hoops and crossed many a timeline in many universes to reach down the phone line to her.

“It’s nothing, Z.”

But she knows something is. Knows it from the way he says ‘Z’ instead of ‘Zaemira’. Or maybe she hopes it’s something more than knows it because she wants an excuse to see him. To wander the streets of London with him. To get drunk with him. Anything with him.

Where he’s calling her from, she wouldn’t know; could be a pub, a hotel, backstage of his concert, anywhere. And she’s not sure she wants to know. They haven’t physically seen each other since that night over two years ago.

Has it really been?

He’s travelling again, on tour, alone this time around, and his schedule always seems at odds with hers. Of course, it didn’t help that he’s seeing someone. She knows because he’d rung her up to ask if he should invite said someone home for Christmas and again to ask how many times you can ask someone to come to your concerts before it starts seeming narcissistic.

She pulls out a cigarette from the pack and puts it between her lips before lighting it, taking a long drag, trying to remember if there’d been any sign that his relationship had been on the rocks the last time he called.

Zaemira inhales the fumes while he quietly stays on the line.

Harry doesn’t say anything.

“How was the concert tonight?” She prods.

“It was good,” he says, but there’s no enthusiasm in his voice, just exhaustion, “Paris is always good.”

He doesn’t sound right.

It’s the stupidest, most clichéd thing ever, but he doesn’t sound like himself.

“Harry,” she says, voice softening because he’s quiet and he’s the one who called her and she has a horrible feeling that he’s about to cry and the last time he sounded like that on the phone, she found out that Robin had passed, “Has something... happened?”  

He’s not saying anything, like he’s waiting for her to say something, and she doesn’t.

“I’m just… I’m having a minute”

Zaemira sighs.

Sometime in the past two years, she’s thought on more than one occasion that she might love him. Like proper love. More than just platonic love.

But other times he just feels so fucking far away that she’s not so sure anymore.

She heaves a not-quite calming breath and takes another drag of the cigarette before filling the line with chatter. Because she gets it. She gets that empty kick in the gut sometimes. She prattles on about how home doesn’t feel like home and even though life at home is, more or less, alright it feels like something is missing. She complains about her aunt who disapproves of her decision to spend the rest of her inheritance on getting her masters and she begins to outline in exhaustive detail just how dissatisfied she feels, how everything makes her feel like a shitty daughter and a shitty niece and a shitty friend and a shitty student and a shitty—whatever the fuck else she's failing at—when he cuts her off.  

“When can I see you?” he asks, like they can pretend for a second that they haven’t spent the past two years apart, like they live on the same street and he could see her in an hour if he wanted to.

She flicks her eyes back towards the house, thinking of her aunt and her cousins and how they’ve been going on and on about this big Easter party they’ve been planning.

“Tomorrow?” She suggests, knowing full well that he can’t. Not really. He’s got schedules and plans and commitments.

And a girlfriend, a voice in the back of her head pipes in.

She doesn’t need to silence the voice though because reality has its way of doing that and she hears him exhale on the other end of the line, as though letting go of a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding.

“Tomorrow’s no good. How about day after?” Harry suggests, “I’ll be in Amsterdam. I’ll get you a ticket.”

And Zaemira thinks about that for a bit, seriously considers taking him up on the offer.

And then she thinks about him, about how maybe they’re like those horrible math love stories; like sine and cosine, meant to meet and fall apart every so often, forever out of step with one another.

She drops the cigarette to the ground and watches it burn.

“I don’t think I can do Amsterdam right now,” she says after a second, “I mean I have it on pretty good authority that if I don’t go to my classes I won’t be able to complete my masters.”

She chuckles to herself at the terrible not even remotely funny joke.

“I’ll be in London in April,” he says and she can hear his breathing all but stop on the line, like he was holding his breath for her answer and she almost wishes she’s not about to say what she’s about to say.  

“I’ve got work on weekends.”

He sighs again and the line is heavy with words unsaid.

“See you after tour then?”

“Yeah,” she says, forcing a grin, forcing the lie, “Yeah, guess so.”

It’s quiet between for a bit. The silence is deafening and it steals her breath a little and she’s pretty sure it has nothing to do with the cigarette she just smoked.

And then the line goes dead.

&&

london

december 2018

He doesn’t call her again after Paris.

His tour ends and his relationship ends and he half-heartedly makes excuses to himself and for himself for not calling; he's busy, of course he’s busy, he’s busy catching up with his mum and his sister and his ex co-workers and his industry friends and he tells himself that he doesn’t need anyone to help him get through the cold lonely winter nights.

But then it’s December and he calls and she picks up and they pick up exactly where they last left off. It felt good. It felt like breathing again. And he thought it was enough, but two days later, despite the promises he’s made to himself, he texts her a meme.

And then he calls again. And again. And again.

It would be almost like she’s his phone therapist except he’s also sort of keeping her functioning like a normal human that doesn’t lash out at people by texting him her darkest thoughts, so it evens out.

He’s realising with every call, and every passing day of his newly found (and truly enjoyed) singledom, that he was kind of a fuck-up. Not in any obvious, tangible, measurable way. He didn’t have a dozen different child of divorce issues, or problems with abandonment that run so deep he is constantly choosing to leave before he is left, or a mile long list of insecurities and fears that leave him utterly crippled, but he was fucked up in ways that were difficult to fully articulate.

And their relationship was a home that allows for it to be okay because they were both honest about just how fucked up they were.

Harry doesn’t know when exactly he figures it out, but he decides he’ll go see her in March. He’ll ring her and say ‘wrong number’ and she’ll call him a twat and then he’ll throw rocks at her window and hold up a copy of Bukowski she doesn’t yet have that he’ll have to find by then and yell, “Did someone order a creepy stalker?”

It’s a good plan. Except it’s two days to Christmas and she’s complaining about her cousins and her nieces and her nephews and how she just walked out when they were making pies together ahead of Christmas and now she’s just going to sequester herself in her shitty flat and spend the yuletide alone and he can’t help but smile at the whole thing because that’s so painfully Zaemira and he can’t help himself.

“I’ve got it planned out,” she says, “I’ll just Netflix and eggnog myself to sleep.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, come over to mine for Christmas,” he says, words tumbling out of his mouth completely of their own accord without passing through his head at all.

“Yeah, I’ll just come to Holmes Chapel at the drop of a hat,” she says sardonically.

“I’m serious. My mum won’t mind.”

“There aren’t any flights out, Haz.”

“I’m sure there is.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to it, I just called to rant anyway,” she says dismissively.

And Harry can see it play out at the back of his mind, the way her lips quirk, all wry and self-deprecating. Except there’s more of a bite to it than it usually would.

“What d’you mean you’re used to it?”

“I mean I only exist when it’s convenient for you,” she says it so matter-of-factly that he’s not sure if she’s making a piss poor attempt at a joke.  

Her words are just so thoroughly her, and no one could say it without sounding like an attention seeking arse, but they hit him square in the gut and Harry feels all semblance of breathable air leave his body.

“Hold up—” He starts but she’s having none of it.

“You’ll see me when you see me. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

She changes the subject and tells him to bring over ‘like ten crates of Vodka’ when he ever decides to drop by because she’s acquired a taste for it and he chuckles half-heartedly at that.

He makes a joke about her trip to Russia and she’s saying how she should have tried harder to seduce an oligarch. But he’s roughly only a quarter present. His mind is a riot. It’s like the time in school some kid hit him with a baseball bat and he feels all the blood rush to his head.

His gut twists with a vague, rumbling kind of horror.

The words left unspoken stings more than it should.

I don’t want to be your next winter cling anyway.

&&

Her door buzzes.

It’s Christmas eve and she isn’t expecting anyone, but when she rushes down the hallway to open the building door, there he is.

It’s pure electricity in his eyes and a fire so hot in her bones that it feels like ice.

It’s been a full thirty-five months since she’d seen him in person and not through her phone. That’s almost three whole years. They’re just shy a week of the anniversary of that night and he’s still just so pretty. Painfully pretty.

He cracks the weakest smile she’s ever seen, “Hey.”

“What are you—”

“You’re not a winter cling,” he blurts out, eyes ringed red and slightly swollen like he’d been crying or up all night.

Or both.

She ignores the statement, crossing her arms across her chest as they stand out in the cold.

“Did you drive here all night from Holmes Chapel?”

“I wanted to wait. I wanted to wait until after Valentine’s Day. Because you’re not something to hold onto while I wait out the loneliness.”

“Harry—”

“Do you remember the night we met? In Rio? I was tired. I was so tired of being who they expected me to be,” he interrupts her, plaintive and gentle, “It’s why I got so drunk and slipped security. I wanted something that was just mine.”

He takes a step forward and she holds her ground, still not inviting him in. She’s not sure she wants to. Like the hours she spend not sleeping in his arms, she’s not sure she wants to be another warm body to him. But Harry is staring at her, expression terrifyingly open, honest, and contemplative, like he's looking right through her to her heart.

“Like a me tattoo on your body?”

Zaemira hates that she’s doing exactly what her aunt says she does when she’s uncomfortable; makes terrible jokes and thinly-veiled badly-timed humour in an attempt to hide her discomfort which never helps.

She hates that her aunt is right and she hates that this is how she’s realising it.

“Every other relationship I had never felt right,” Harry continues, holding her gaze as though he is equally fascinated and terrified, “Something was always missing.”

The tick-tock pounding thump of her heartbeat is so loud and gushing she can practically feel it in her veins. But he just keeps going, heart on his sleeve at the door of the girl he spent three drunken nights with and fell into bed once. As though he didn’t know he had the power to so completely destroy her.

There’s a taunting, almost brittle quality to what he’s saying that it makes her nervous. He’s making her nervous and it pricks like annoyance at the back of her head. It’s jarring what he’s saying. Striking.

“People aren’t answers to whatever mess that’s going on in your life, Harry.”

It's ridiculous and it's rude and it’s out of control and out of character for her except—

Except that it isn’t.

She wonders when exactly he’d figured it out.

And how it took her so long to realise that she’s the same as what she’s accusing him of.

She wants and wants and wants and then she takes, and takes, and takes, until she inevitably loses interest, and leaves.

And most people just let her.

But Harry isn’t most people.

And he’s there now to show her exactly that.

“I don’t want people,” he says so softly it’s practically a whisper, like he’s confiding a secret, like he knows that the harder she pushes the more she wants you to fight for her, “I just…want you. I just didn’t realize there was a difference between wanting you to want something and wanting you for you.”

The words slot into her heart perfectly like a deck of cards. The words that she never even knew she wanted to hear.

They taste like a perfectly brewed shot of espresso and too expensive whiskey all mixed into one heartstopping drink and she wants to savour the shockwave-sweet intensity of the moment.

She hesitates. And then, “Careful, Styles. Or I might think you’re trying to flirt with me.”

He grins at that. A real smile curving on his lips.

“Oh, I’m definitely trying to flirt with you.”

He tucks a stray curl behind her ears, simultaneously keeping his distance and drawing her close.

Her breath hitches on a tremulous little laugh.

She's paralysed with an emotion that feels a lot like fear and it's scraping at her skull, rhythmically ebbing into all corners of her brain like a growing virus and he's just there, staring at her.

She wants to say something. Something smart or witty or funny. But instead she just lets herself fall forward into his arms and onto his lips.

It tastes like a promise.

It tastes right.

It tastes like two beating hearts and a slow summer burn.

[do-your-socks-have-holes-in-them]

Til the End of the Night / Ch9: In which even weirder stuff happens in the forest

Previous / Masterpost / Next 

Summary:  Virgil is fully prepared to throw down with the local flora. Logan experiences a videogame tutorial level. Patton gets lost through, for once, no fault of his own.

Warnings: none

A/N: I feel bad for giving Virgil a hard time in these next few chapters but like, not bad enough to stop doing it lol

Read on AO3

Virgil came to in an unfamiliar part of the forest with an awful headache.  He shot to his feet as soon as he remembered what had happened.  He could move normally now, at least, but the sense of danger he felt only increased as he took in his surroundings.

Neither of his friends were anywhere to be seen, and he had a feeling it wouldn’t be a good idea to try calling for them.  It shouldn’t be nighttime at this point, but it certainly seemed like it was.  The main difference was that instead of crickets and whatever making noise, there was a near-total eerie silence, save for the occasional rustling of leaves. The trees above him were simply so thick that almost no light reached the ground, not to mention bigger in every dimension than Virgil was entirely comfortable with a tree or anything else being.  He didn’t like being loomed over, even by plants.  The point was, he couldn’t see more than a few feet ahead with any clarity.  The air had an earthy, almost primeval scent, so strong it overwhelmed him at first, and it was strangely cold despite the fact that every day previous had been practically summery.  He suspected it was a result of the location, not the actual weather.  Wherever he was, it did not feel like a place he wanted to be.

He bent down to pull a silver-handled dagger out of its hiding place in his boot and walked forward slowly, doing his best not to step on anything loud.  It wasn’t just the trees that were thick.  With the amount of underbrush and weird roots sticking up around here, he’d almost believe the forest was actively trying to trip him.  He really, really hoped it wasn’t, but… you never know. Something touched the back of his neck and he whipped around ready to defend himself- it was only a vine hanging down from a branch, but he took a step away from it anyway.  He wasn’t going to trust anything around here, no matter how inanimate it may appear to be.

His footsteps crunched on the ground, obvious in the silence despite his best efforts.  The only thing louder was his heartbeat.  He had a growing certainty that he was being watched, though it had been fifteen minutes and he had yet to see another living creature, and put his hood up in an attempt to block out the feeling of eyes on him from behind.

The brush tangling at his feet grew steadily thicker and taller the further he walked, reaching almost to his hips.  Thorns tore at his clothes, and he thanked his past self for designing an outfit that covered all his skin.  Maybe this was a sign he was going the right way… or maybe it was a sign he was going the wrong way and was headed toward an even more dangerous area.  The thought that this area had yet to prove itself at all dangerous didn’t even cross his mind- he was too busy wondering what might be ahead.

He turned around, having second-guessed himself enough that he thought maybe he should just go back the way he’d come and try a less prickly direction, only to find that the way he’d come wasn’t… there anymore.  The growth behind him was now so thick he couldn’t force his way through it if he tried, and he feared that if he tried too hard he’d end up stuck and probably, like, die there or something.  Well… either he was going the right way after all, or it was too late now to escape the trap he’d walked into.  He turned back around, swallowing hard and shifting his grip on his dagger, and pushed on.

When Logan opened his eyes, he found himself in a strange cavern. A torch on the wall nearby cast flickering light and shadow on the area around him.  He stood and brushed himself off, and found his bag on the ground nearby. The contents didn’t appear to have been disturbed, which left the motives of whoever had put him here a complete enigma.  “Curiouser and curiouser,” he muttered to himself, raising an eyebrow.  The reference seemed fitting.

He wasn’t going to find out where he was or how he’d gotten there by standing around wondering about it.  He took the torch down, careful not to burn himself, and went to investigate the areas still hidden in darkness.  It turned out that he was in less of a cave and more of a decently sized room carved out of what may have started as a cave, in that the opposite side of the cavern featured the outline of a door.  However, there was no handle, and pushing on it did nothing.  Fortunately, it wasn’t the only thing on that side.

Something resembling a pipe ran along the floor, connecting the assumed door to a strange device several feet away.  Logan walked over and examined it, finding a convenient bracket to set the torch in on the wall nearby.  The device appeared rather simple, the only part of it he could interact with being a currently-useless switch, but the pipe leading up to it twisted around itself in knots and was covered in runes of a presumably magical nature.  He would have liked to take a picture of it, but his phone had long since run out of battery thanks to all the other things he’d wanted pictures of, so he settled for scribbling down as much of the writing as he could make out in one of his notebooks.

Just below the switch and at the end of the twisted pipe was a metal bowl.  The outside of the bowl had as much writing all over it as did the pipe itself.  The inside, however, was inscribed with only a single symbol, glowing a faint orange.  Even more of note was the pedestal next to the device, which held a baseball-sized metallic sphere and, beside it, a tool which resembled an expensive ballpoint pen from an alternate universe where pens are one solid piece with no recognizable ink and glow the same orange color as the symbol in that metal bowl.  There seemed to be a fairly obvious solution to try.  Logan picked up both items and carefully copied the symbol onto the sphere using the probably-magic writing instrument, painting it with that orange light, then placed it in the bowl.

As soon as the two metal objects touched, the writing on both changed from orange to blue and the room shook with a low grinding sound. Logan grabbed the pedestal for balance. When he looked up again, the door was open.  He smiled faintly, a bit pleased with himself for working out how to open it despite the fact that the solution had practically been handed to him.  Removing the metal ball from the mechanism caused the door to lower again, and he had no desire to be crushed by it, so he left the ball where it was, retrieved his torch and proceeded on to the next chamber. If his tentative theory on what sort of place he’d found himself in was correct, he would have no shortage of opportunities to test his puzzle-solving skills.

Patton yawned and rolled onto his back, blinking lazily against the warm sunlight that had woken him.  He should get up; his friends were probably waiting on him so they could finish their trip through the forest.  Where were his glasses?  Right, a few feet off to the side- Virgil had insisted on putting them a safe distance away so they wouldn’t get broken if he moved around in his sleep.  He always thought of everything.  Patton would be lost without him and Logan, both literally and metaphorically.

Speaking of Virgil and Logan, where had those two wandered off to?  When Patton sat up, he didn’t see them anywhere.  He shook his head at them even though they weren’t there to see it, clicking his tongue in mild disapproval.  Even if they did think he wouldn’t wake up before they came back, it would have been more considerate to leave him a note before going to find their bearings or whatever else they were doing.

“Oh well,” he said to himself, looking around at the clearing.  “I’ll just wait…”  If they were here, that’s what they would tell him to do.  They wouldn’t want him to get lost trying to find them.  He was sure they would come back soon, anyway, and until then, he had a nice comfy spot to sit against a tree and enjoy the lovely day he’d woken up to.

He sat and waited, and got bored and walked around the clearing for a bit looking for interesting plants, and sat back down in a different spot because he was overheating a little with the sun on him, and waited some more.  What on earth were his friends taking so long to do?  He really hoped they hadn’t gotten lost!  Maybe he should go look for them after all.  He took another look around, hoping there was some clue as to where they’d gone that he just missed when he first woke up, and… He frowned in confusion.

“Wait a minute…”

There had been a blanket on the ground when he’d fallen asleep, and now there wasn’t, which incidentally meant his hair was full of pine needles, but that wasn’t the important part right now.  He didn’t see how they could have gotten it out from under him and put it away without waking him up.  Also, come to think of it, why would they have left him alone and unsupervised when Virgil had previously insisted on holding his hand like he was a small child to make sure nothing happened to him?  And, and the trees, it had been kinda hard to see last night, but he was pretty sure the trees looked different than before!

“Uh-oh,” Patton whispered to himself.  “I don’t think this is the same clearing…”

He had no idea how it had happened, but he was in a different place now than he’d been last night. Maybe all the magic made him start sleepwalking?  ...And he’d somehow remembered to bring his glasses with him?  He hoped Logan and Virgil weren’t too worried about him, but knew they almost definitely were if he’d just up and vanished in the night before they could wake him for his turn on watch.

If they hadn’t found him by now, they probably had no idea where he was.  He didn’t have any way to contact them, either, his phone dead for reasons that definitely had nothing to do with playing Candy Crush because he got bored. The only other thing he could think of to do was just… start walking, and he’d get out of the forest eventually, and then meet back up with his friends when they got out.  They’d all walked for a long time yesterday, so it couldn’t be too much farther, right? (He ignored the fact that they may very well have gone in the complete opposite direction while running away from that… horrible giant murder-bug.  And also the fact that he had no idea which way was out now.)  He just needed to pick a direction.

“Uh…”  Everything around him looked pretty much the same.  It was all just… trees.  He closed his eyes and spun in a circle, only to make himself dizzy and trip over his own feet.  “Haha, whoops,” he laughed at himself.  He sat up and almost gasped when he saw the bit of forest he’d landed closest to.  He hadn’t noticed from the angle he’d been looking from before, but there was something of a natural path, lit by sunlight that filtered through the trees.  That had to lead somewhere!  He stood and brushed the dirt and pine needles off his cloak, feeling much more sure of himself.  “Well then, looks like I’m going that way!”

[stereksecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Ravenclawinstarfleet!

Ho Ho Ho! I hope tattoos and Stiles being a bad example will add a little something extra to your holiday!

Read on AO3

*****

Write Your Mistakes in Ink

Stiles wakes up, first and foremost, with a crippling hangover. All of the other information surfacing, and there’s a lot of it, is very much secondary to the feeling that his brain may be trying to cleave itself free of his skull. He’s also in the bathtub, freezing cold, naked, and partially wrapped in plastic. Is he possibly the victim of one of those crimes that happen to everyone’s cousin’s best friend’s mail carrier? Possibly. But that won’t matter if his head explodes and kills him.

The medicine chest beckons him. It feels like it’s a mile away, and the lip of the tub is very much the only thing holding him upright, so how the hell is he supposed to climb over that?

“Scott!” Stiles groans at the volume of his own voice in his ears and echoing off the tiles. He presses his forehead against the cool lip of the tub, listening for sounds of Scott coming to his rescue.

Silence.

“Scottie!” Stiles tries again, and there’s not a single damn sound for it. He mumbles swears to himself as fuzzy bits of information begin to pop out through the pain. Scott is gone. He’s flying out to see Allison for Christmas and left early this morning. So without a single window or clock, Stiles has surmised that it’s sometime after 7 am. Really, he’s making great progress.

The aspirin isn’t getting any closer, though.

Stiles braces himself on shaky arms and grunts as he tries to pull himself upright. The plastic wrap around his hips and leg squeaks and slide against the tub. His right hip burns when he pulls himself up, and he almost falls out of the tub trying to make it take his weight. It’s not until he’s prying the child safety cap off a bottle of Tylenol that he glances back at the tub and sees the mess left behind. Streaks of reddish brown stand stark against the white tub. Reddish brown and black. And… green?

Oh god, he’s dying. And possibly rotting.

Derek isn’t expecting any customers today. There are no appointments and business overall has been slow because Christmas is a big traveling and doing-stuff time of year. Which means it’s a horrible time to have a giant gaping wound. His friends have told him there’s no point in opening the shop. But then, they all have Christmas-type things to be doing and Derek doesn’t. He’ll have the best-organized inventory of all of them come January, though. So there’s that.

So he’s fairly surprised when he’s barely put his coffee down and queued up the Twisted Sister Christmas album on the shop speakers when the door swings open and lets a cold gust of air inside.

Derek turns to the door with his standard greeting ready. “Can I help y- are you okay?” Derek drops his inventory binder and rushes over to the door when a guy staggers in, holding the push bar like it’s the only thing keeping him upright.

“I think… I got a defective one,” the guy groans, switching his grip to Derek’s shoulder. His long fingers are surprisingly strong as they dig into the muscle. “It’s broken.”

Derek has to glance over his shoulder at the rows of line art and a few professional photos of finished work on the walls. Yep, he still owns a tattoo parlor. His product is still tattoos. “You got a broken tattoo?”

“Yes. It’s coming out.”

Derek holds the guy at arms-length and finally takes a look at him. He just saw him last night and it was overall… memorable. All he can remember about the guy’s name, though, was that it was unpronounceable. Well, that and he had to read it off the guy’s license because he was pretty drunk.

“Are you wearing jeans over a new tattoo?” he asks, slightly alarmed.

“What else should I have done?? I had to come here so you could make it stop leaking! Also it feels like it's on fire!”

Derek pulls him the rest of the way in and leaves the sign on Closed. “Of course it’s going to hurt if you button denim around it,” he says, opening the button on the jeans and pulling the zipper down. “I told you last night, basketball shorts only. And high on the waist.”

“This is really hot and everything, but I’m way more worried about it draining out.”

Derek groans and closes the flaps of the guy’s fly when he sees way more than he wanted. Not that he hasn’t seen it already. “You’re still in the plastic. Why are you still in the plastic?”

“Why am I in plastic at all??” the guy asks, voice slightly shrill.

“You’re in plastic to keep your new tattoo protected.” Derek sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Where the hell is your friend? I gave him the instructions too.”

“On an airplane to see his ex.”

Derek stares at him. The guy throws his hands up, nearly losing his balance on his sore hip.

“I know! That look right there? That’s exactly what I told him. I said Scott, what are you doing man? You don’t do a Christmas visit with your ex. Because it’s going to turn into a Christmas hookup and then feelings are going to get involved and you just don’t drag this stuff into Christmas. Now a normal hookup, I mean, I guess whatever, but…”

“Please stop talking.” Derek keeps ahold of the guy’s waist to keep him upright.

“Sorry. I’m Stiles, by the way. If I told you that last night, I meant it. That wasn’t drunk talk.”

“That’s not the name on your license, but let’s go with that.” Derek helps the guy over to the chair. “Hold onto the chair. You’ve been wrapped in plastic for over 12 hours. I need to take it off.”

Stiles groans and grasps the back of the chair. “I’m naked under it.”

“You were naked in the chair last night too.”

“Wait, I was?” Stiles narrows his eyes. “Is that professional?”

“Nope.” Derek lets the jeans drop and begins peeling the tape off Stiles’ waist, taking care with the moles that dot his skin. “But you kept pulling the sheet over your head and telling your friend that you were a ghost, so I took it away from you.”

“Oh. That’s fair.” Stiles watches him unwind the plastic wrap around his hips and makes a pitiful sort of whine when he sees the ink and ooze moving around freely on the wrap. “Look at everything on there! That’s what was all over the tub. It’s like… bleeding and leaking ink!”

“It’s just healing like any other wound.” Derek frowns at him. He’s professional enough to act like it’s normal that he’s talking to another guy who’s naked from the waist down. And really, he did see pretty much everything last night. “Why were you in a bathtub? I told you, no submerging in water.”

“And I told you, I don’t remember last night. Or not anything important anyway,” Stiles snaps. “And I wasn’t taking a bath. Scott left me in the tub because I got that stuff on my sheets. He texted me from the airport so I wouldn’t wake up and think I was down a kidney.”

“Your friend has some interesting priorities.” Derek tosses the plastic wrap aside, balling it up to keep the floor clean. “All of this is normal. Your tattoo is fine.”

Stiles prods gently at his thigh where the skin is red and swollen against the crisp lines of a black and silver lightsaber hilt on his hip and down his thigh, with just the start of a green glow at the business end. Derek slaps his hand away.

“Stop that. Don’t poke at it.”

Stiles makes a face at him. “Ow. Why did I get it in such a weird spot?”

“You said you wanted it to look like you had a lightsaber shoved into your pants because that's sexy.”

Stiles groans and drops his forehead against the back of the chair. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. I don’t judge.” Derek prods Stiles hip (the left one, because he has a brain). “Sit in the chair. I’ll show you how to wash your tattoo.”

Stiles looks at the chair dubiously as Derek stands. “But I’m naked?”

“You were naked last night,” Derek repeats. “I sterilized it. Just sit down.” He hears Stiles oblige and settle himself on the leather seat as he goes to the sink and grabs a bowl for water. At least he’ll have an interesting story when Cora calls him tonight because it’s Christmas Eve and they have to talk. He can tell her about being really up close with the same dick two days in a row, and neither time being any fun.

“Dude!” Stiles startles up in his chair, hissing slightly when that obviously hurts. “Dude, look at what lightsaber this is!”

Derek catches his shoulder and pushes him back against the back of the chair. “Stop yanking it around. That’s going to hurt. What’s wrong with the lightsaber?”

“It’s Qui-Gon’s!”

Derek looks at him blankly, setting the water on the tool tray beside the chair. “Sorry?”

“This is Qui-Gon Jinn’s lightsaber.” Stiles flails his hands like that’s supposed to mean something. “From The Phantom Menace!”

“Okay?”

“How drunk was I to ask for that??”

“You asked for the green lightsaber,” Derek says, pulling over his stool. “That’s the green lightsaber.”

Stiles drops his head back against the back of the chair and makes a sound like he’s in physical pain. “Then obviously it was supposed to be Luke’s!”

“Hm. Isn’t that the blond guy? His lightsaber was blue.”

“Excuse you, he had a green one in Return of the Jedi!”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I showed you the picture and you said it was perfect. I showed your friend the picture and he said it looked like the right thing. Maybe one of you needs to be sober next time.”

“Actually Scott could have been dead sober and said that,” Stiles admits. “It’s tragic.”

“Whoever’s lightsaber it is, you still have to clean it.” Derek dips his fingers into the water. “Now, pay attention. Clean hands, warm water.”

Stiles picks up his phone when Scott’s face shows up on the screen. He’s probably been at Allison’s about six hours by now, which is more than long enough for his life to have gotten way more complicated. “So is it weird yet?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, with way too much kicked-puppy guilt in his voice.

“You want to get back together with her.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles pulls up the leg of his new basketball shorts to look at the end of his new tattoo with the green glow. The skin is angry and red, but now that it’s clean, it’s kinda growing on him. “Told you so.”

Scott sighs. “I know. But it’s just so… good when we’re together.”

“Of course it is. But you gotta get out of bed sometime and then it gets complicated again,” Stiles says, hating that he has to be the sensible one here. He likes Allison. She’s awesome, smart and funny and a bit of a badass. Things just always end up weird. Mostly because her family is kind of insane.

“Yeah, well… I’ll figure that out tomorrow. Did you get my text about the bathtub?”

“The one about you dumping me in there so I wouldn’t bleed through to the mattress? Yeah. Thanks for that.” Stiles tugs the shorts higher and traces a finger just above the line work, over the single flash of red of the button. Heat radiates off of it, which Derek said was normal. “Cleaning instructions would have been more useful. I had to go ask the guy who did it.”

“Wait, did we get cleaning instructions last night?” Scott asks. “Are you serious?”

“Yep. Like, a lot of them. There’re hardcore rules to keeping these things clean. You have to use special soap and like, use your fingers on it. And Derek said it’s gonna ooze and be gross for a few days.”

“Ew. Who’s Derek?”

Stiles snorts. Scott was seriously as trashed as him. “The guy who did the tattoo. And the one who washed it for me. I got it in like, the worst possible place. It’s really weird to have your dick like just… out while a hot guy has his hands all over your thigh. That was an exercise in willpower.”

“Oh, you didn’t get hard this time?”

Stiles sits up abruptly, inhaling sharply as his hip burns and pulls. “What? What do you mean ‘this time,’ Scott? Explain that.”

“Yeah, you spent most of the tattoo session like, half hard. I asked the guy if it was weird and he said kinda, but as long as you weren’t squirming then he didn’t care.”

That’s going to be what Scott held onto from their drunken haze? Stiles has to live with this information now. And he is going to dig a hole and crawl into it and stay there. That’s the only proper reaction. “Oh god.”

“Wait, so he had a boner the whole time?” Cora asks, grinning from ear to ear. Derek doesn’t even have to be there to see it, he can hear that grin through his phone, all the way from South America.

“Yeah. But he was pretty trashed, so I don’t know if I can say it’s all his fault.” Derek plugs in the little tree that sits on his breakfast bar. Cora threatened to get in her car and make the drive to his house if he didn’t send her photographic proof that he wasn’t living treeless this year. Derek isn’t brave enough to test her commitment on that. It was easier to just drop twenty bucks on the tree and a strand of lights.

“I don’t think he’d have any friends to go drinking with him if he got a boner from it. Must have been just for you.”

“Thanks, that makes it so much less weird.”

Cora laughs. “Well, was he cute? You said his friend was out of town. You could maybe… you know.”

“His tattoo isn’t in a spot that allows for a hookup, Cora.” Derek is disappointed. He’s taught Cora the ins and outs of exertion and friction on new tattoos better than that.

“I was more thinking you could ask him on a date, but you obviously don’t have a romantic bone in your body,” she snorts. “Good to know where your head is at though. Means you liked what you saw.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

Cora cackles at him. “You know I’m right. Merry Christmas, Derek!”

Derek hangs up his phone and rubs his forehead. He really should block her number. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about, clearly.

But the reminder that Stiles is all alone and with a new tattoo and a spotty attention span does have him hovering his phone over the new entry in his phone book. The one that reads ‘Stiles- note to self: delete Feb. 1.’

It’s there just in case there’s an issue while Scott is away. So really, he could delete it after a week if he wanted to. But… giving the guy a month to heal seems prudent. Anyway, it’s only there for Stiles to call Derek if he wakes up with gangrene or something, so there’s no reason for Derek to text him.

He texts him anyway.

[Did you remember to wash your tattoo? -DH]

Derek sighs. It’s Christmas Eve. Almost everything is closed. What else is he going to do with his time?

[I am so sorry I had a boner while you were stabbing me. I swear I’m not freaky that way. -SS]

Well. That’s a tough text to follow.

[It’s fine, don’t worry about it. -DH]

Derek knows that’s probably not precisely the right thing to say, but fucked if he has anything better.

[Can I buy you dinner to make up for it? -SS]

[I was going to cook all of my dad’s favorite stuff and send him photos so he could be jealous on his stupid department cruise. -SS]

[But then I realized he probably doesn’t have cell phone reception in the middle of the ocean. -SS]

[And also now I don’t want to keep getting up and down to glaze the ham because that’s super not fun right now. -SS]

[But I found a Chinese place that’s open and I was gonna order a ton of stuff and just eat it for 2 days. -SS]

[I know that’s kind of a weird ‘broken Christmas’ cliché but Chinese food sounds super good anyway. -SS]

Derek looks at the line of texts that pop onto his phone in rapid-fire succession. Stiles texts pretty much like he talks, apparently. And he’s already got the 3-dot icon on his phone again, so he’s still going. And will probably keep going until Derek answers him.

[Stiles. It’s fine. -DH]

The line of texts stops, which is a relief. Derek is not a people person, and dealing with Stiles is like dealing with way more than a single person at once. He gives is another few seconds and almost puts the phone down, but… he didn’t actually get an answer to his question.

Derek hesitates over the keyboard on his phone. He should quit now while he’s ahead. He’s only going to be inviting another wave of texts. It’s a bad idea to ask another question.

[You didn’t answer me. Did you clean your tattoo? -DH]

The 3 gray dots appear on his screen. Then they disappear. Then they appear again. And disappear.

Nothing.

[Stiles. -DH]

[No. -SS]

[Why not? Get your soap and clean it. -DH]

[I forgot how. Come show me. -SS]

Derek eyes his phone. This feels like a trap. He’s still half tempted to do it, though, just so he can chew Stiles out at the same time. Derek absolutely does not want his name as an artist smeared by Stiles taking terrible care of his tattoo.

[I just showed you this morning. -DH]

[Forgot. -SS]

[Go to the bathroom and I’ll tell you again. -DH]

[Too sore, don’t wanna get up. -SS]

[Did you put ice on it? -DH]

[Ice is in the freezer. Come bring it to me. And stay for dinner. -SS]

[No. -DH]

[Yes. -SS]

Derek doesn’t answer. For a bunch of words on a screen, he’s highly annoyed by them. He should ignore them. Ignore Stiles and he’ll go away and eventually he’ll wash his damn tattoo site because he’s obviously a smart guy and perfectly capable of handling soap and water. Derek has other things to do, like… like…

[I RESPECT YOU AS AN ARTIST. LET ME BUY YOU DINNER TO APOLOGIZE FOR MY DRUNK BONER. -SS]

Derek growls and tightens his grip on his phone until the case creaks under his fingers. Juvenile asshole, typing in all caps just to rile him up. Which works.

[Fine! -DH]

[Fine! -SS]

[Fine. -DH]

[Good. See you at 7. -SS]

Derek stares at his phone, then rubs his sinuses as a gentle throbbing begins. So… he has plans for Christmas Eve now. Chinese food with his annoying customer who’s being obtuse about caring for a tattoo he got on accident while drunk. It’s either the start of something bad or, maybe, something good.

[the-got7-bts-imagines]

Whoa There Buddy!

REQUESTED

Word Count: 1,265 Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Type: Fluff Summary: You and Hoseok decided it would be great idea to go for a nice, long walk. The both of you have been stuck inside all week and wanted to do something outside. Everything was going great until an old friend of yours passes by and decides to get all touchy touchy with you. Now that, my friends, is a recipe for J-E-A-L-O-U-S-Y!

Hoseok was furious. The glare he wore on his face made him look like he was trying to set this guy on fire. He couldn’t stand the way this guy was looking at you. It was the same way Hoseok looked at you when he was needy and picturing you’re beautiful, naked self splayed out on his bed, waiting for him. You may not have noticed, but Hoseok did. And all Hoseok could think was that he was the only one allowed to look at you like that. 

Now... let’s back up a bit, shall we?

This boy was an old friend of yours. You two haven’t seen each other for three or four years due to having moved away from your old school. So, seeing each other outside of the front door of the diner you and Hoseok frequented was a shock to all three of you. Of course, as you always do with your friends, you greeted Y/F/N with a hug and he responded with the same welcoming gesture. 

This wasn’t what got Hoseok jealous. He didn’t care if you gave hugs to friends, simply because he knew that’s how you’ve always greeted them. What got him pissed was the way that guy looked at you. Your friend looked you up and down with hungry eyes, licking his lips as he stared at yours. You, on the other hand, just chatted away with him. Looking back, you smiled at Hoseok and gently took his hand, “Oh yeah! Y/F/N, this is my boyfriend, Hoseok! Hoseok, this is Y/F/N!”

“It’s nice to meet you, Hoseok.” Your friend greeted, hand held out for Hoseok to shake. 

He looked away from your friend but shook his hand nonetheless. “Hey,” he grumbled, causing your friend to slowly pull his hand away from Hoseok as if it was about to be bitten off. Not only did it catch your friend off guard, but it caught you off guard too. Sure, Hoseok had his bad days, as does everyone, but he was usually so bright and cheerful around you. Seeing him so distant was something you weren’t familiar with. It felt as if you were stepping right into a snake infested room and one wrong step could cause your life. 

You glances back at Jaebum and furrowed your eyebrows before sitting down at the booth. “So,” you started, “it was nice too- uh, wait!” 

“What?” Y/F/N questioned from the other side of the booth, sitting down and folding his hands on the table, “You don’t care if I join for a little bit, right?”

Hoseok’s blood boiled, his anger rising so fast he was surprised he didn’t lose it right then and there. He was also just as confused as to how you didn’t notice his reasoning for being so cold towards the guy. The word ‘Jealous’ was practically written on his forehead in bold, black ink. First, this guy goes and looks at you like a perv in a strip club, next he just invites himself to your guys’ table? Nah-uh! Not happening!

But, then you smiled, although he knew it was forced. Nonetheless, that smile of yours calmed him down immediately. Hoseok knew he needed to calm him self down a bit and handle this in a better way than screaming at the dude. So, Hoseok sat down next to you, wrapping his arm gently around your shoulders. In a way, this gave Hoseok an opportunity that he almost couldn’t refuse.

“So, Y/N, what’ve you been up to recently?” Y/F/N asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Oh, um, not much really. Just work. Today’s one of my first days off in a while,” you replied with an unsure tone. Now both of the boys were acting weird. You never remembered Y/F/N acting so rude, but when you thought Hoseok would handle it, he just sat down and wrapped his arm around you. This left it up to you to get rid of Y/F/N so you could finally spend some much needed time with Hoseok. But, you being you, it was hard to think up a nice way to tell Y/F/N to leave with all of the weirdness going on. 

“Yeah, we haven’t hung out in a while so we decided to come here,” Hoseok added, “it was definitely a shock to see you here.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. Y/F/N followed suit and leaned forward as well, seeming to challenge Hoseok in a way. 

“Oh, really? That sucks. A pretty girl such as yourself shouldn’t be working so hard, Y/N.” 

Well, there goes Hoseok’s calmness. Resuming to shoot daggers at Y/F/N, you pretty much sat in silence for a second due to lack of words. “Y-yeah, I guess. But, Hoseok really helps me through a lot! He’s amazing!” 

There! Maybe he’d get the hint!

“Still, it has to suck. And with Hoseok being an idol, he must be busy as well. Doesn’t it feel lonely at times?” 

Nope, you patted yourself on the back too soon.

On Hoseok’s end, however, he didn’t take too kindly to that comment. He leaned back again, placing his hand gently on your thigh. You could tell he was pissed, and now it was more obvious to tell that he was jealous. Hoseok was always very touchy, but he never touched your thigh in public. He always felt that it was a bit improper and disrespectful to touch you in places that could be more of a sexual area in a public setting. “I’m there for her as much as I possibly can be,” he replied through gritted teeth. 

“Yes he is, so I never truly feel lonely!” You continued, playing along with your plan of showering Hoseok with compliments and positive words.

Y/F/N was still being a little shit though and decided to go a small step further. He reached his hand out to you and smiled, gently placing and squeezing your hand in his. With this, chills ran up your spine and your nervousness sky rocketed. You’ve always been nervous around people that flirted with you, especially if you were giving them hints to stay away. If they kept flirting with you, and ended up touching you, in even simple places, your body wanted to do everything it could to get away. 

Hoseok knew this, and noticed immediately. He took action within seconds, grabbing your hand and pushing your friend’s hand away. “Okay, listen here buddy! I don’t care if you’re Y/N’s friend, or not. She’s mine! My girlfriend! And if you don’t leave her alone, we’re going to have issues!” 

It seemed like the whole table froze when Hoseok lashed out. You looked at him in shock, but couldn’t help but feel grateful. Finally, Y/F/N sighed and stood up from the table. 

“Understood,” he said defeated, “I’ll see you two around.” 

As he walked away, Hoseok switched over to the seat across from you so he could look at your beautiful face. You smiled at him, gently poking his hand. “Never expected you to get so jealous, Hobi!” You giggled once you calmed yourself down. 

He lifted your hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and smiled, “You’re my girlfriend, and as long as that’s true I’ll make sure people like him know that.” 

With another giggle, you nodded and rested your head on your free hand. “Yeah, I know.” 

[melodyofmuses]

@awreckageofstarss

Astrid bit her lip, body shifting from side to side as she stood outside Hiccup’s door. It was silly, she shouldn’t be nervous about paying her friend a visit, and yet she was. There was something she’d been thinking about, something that she wanted, and he was the only one who could give it to her. Steeling herself, she finally raised a hand and knocked on his door.

“It’s open.” Came Hiccup’s voice, inviting her inside. Slipping into his hut Astrid followed the source of his voice up to his bedroom. The ground floor was for cooking and minor forge work, while upstairs was his bed and the desk where he pondered and drew. Climbing the stairs the blonde’s nerves came flooding back, halting her in her steps as she stared at his lean back hunched over his latest design. Biting her lip she waited until Hiccup turned to face her, the inventor wondering why his guest was so quiet. “A-Astrid! W-what can I do for you?”

Shifting her weight to her other foot Astrid tried not to talk herself out of it. She was here now, if she left Hiccup would think something was wrong, and then there’s be a big conversation and he’d probably think it was his fault she was having trouble talking to him. Taking a deep breath she finally opened her mouth. “It’s silly, really.” She told him, blue eyes suddenly finding the floor far more interesting than his face, despite how much she adored his face. “I just, I saw a couple of guys with them, and I thought it looked really cool and…I want a marking on my body like them.”

Whatever Hiccup had thought she’d come to talk to him about, that was not on the list. In fact it hadn’t even come close to the list. “Okay.” Hiccup replied, processing what she’d told him with the information he knew. “W-well we can talk to some traders and see if they know who to speak to about getting one.” If Astrid wanted one of these inked markings on her body then he’d help her get one.

“W-well I was hoping you would do it.” Astrid replied softly, eyes finally lifting to meet his. Noticing Hiccup about to open his mouth Astrid pressed on. “I mean, you’re a great artist and…you’re the only one I’d trust to do it.”

One look at her trusting blue eyes and there was no way Hiccup could say no. Nodding to the chair beside him, he invited her to sit down. “Okay, so I’m guessing you want a Nadder or an axe or something?” Astrid was a girl with few interests, weaponry and dragons being at the top of that list.

Pausing for a moment the girl thought about that. Initially that had been her instinct but somehow it didn’t feel quite right. “I uh…I actually don’t know what I want.” The blonde admitted softly, it felt strange to say she had no idea what design she wanted on her body.

With a pensive face, Hiccup grabbed one of his sketch books, sliding it over to Astrid. “Uh, maybe this will give you an idea?” His mind was already racing, thinking about what he’d need to mark her body. He had a few bottles of squid ink tucked away, and he certainly had needles to set the ink into her skin. Cloth and water were easy enough to grab, he had those waiting downstairs, and there were plenty of candles if he needed more light.

Astrid flipped through the pages, keen eyes raking over each design so carefully sketched by his hand. Most were sketches of Toothless, but there were a few more abstract pieces in there. Turning the page she felt her breath catch in her throat, the image of a valkyrie staring back at her. The face was soft, a small smile on her lips while the wind whipped at the strands plucked loose from her braid. Was that how Hiccup saw her? Blue eyes flicked up to his face wondering, not for the first time, if he felt the same way about her and she did for him.

Averting her gaze back to the book before he could grow suspicious she gasped, fingers lightly tracing the paper just beside the charcoal drawing. “This one. This is the one.” Placing the open book down on the desk she let Hiccup see the design that had her so enamoured.

Hiccup faultered at the picture she’d chosen, it was one of Toothless but not quite. It was a stylised design based on the Night Fury with slightly more angular features. He’d drawn it to look like it was defending something, just seconds away from attacking if needed, and he had to admit that seemed like Astrid. She was so graceful and fluid, but she could easily switch into an attack without a moment’s notice if she needed to. “Okay, uh, where did you want it and when should we do this?”

“Now.” Astrid replied, her voice quavering slightly. “Right now, before anything stops this happening.” If she left his hut she wasn’t sure she’d have the courage to come back. “And on my back, please.” Apprehensive blue eyes gazed up at him, she’d just asked him to see and touch her bare back while he placed a design on her skin, something that really should only happen between betrothed vikings.

Hiccup drew in a shuddering breath, sweet Thor, how could she ask him to mark her back and know she’d most likely end up a shield maiden or married off to a viking like his cousin? No, he couldn’t think like that. Astrid asked him for a favour and he was going to help her. “Okay, let me just grab some stuff. I’ll uh…” Standing up he grabbed the blanket off his bed, passing it to her. “…s-so you can cover up. I’ll uh…give you some privacy. Come on bud.” Grumbling about leaving his warm stone, Toothless followed Hiccup downstairs to grab what they needed while Astrid removed her top.

Staring at the blanket Astrid froze, was she really doing this? Suddenly realizing Hiccup could come back at any moment, Astrid took her armour off, setting them down on the desk, her shirt and bindings were next. Hearing his metal foot clanking downstairs she quickly wrapped the blanket around her chest. “Okay, you can come back now.”

Hiccup stalked back up the stairs, Toothless close behind him. Setting out the cloth and water basin, the dragon rider began to set up candles to give himself more light. “Okay, face the desk and I’ll take a look.” Setting his stool down directly behind her, he waited until she was settled before peeling back the edges of the blanket to stare at her naked back. Oh Thor, what had he gotten himself into?

Astrid held her breath as he reached for his charcoal, eyes closed as she waited for his touch. Careful hands shifted her braid to rest over her shoulder before gently touching her skin. His breath ghosted over her skin, fingers dancing over her back as he slowly began to map out the design over her body.

Once he began drawing it was easy to lose himself in the work. Using charcoal he began to replicate the design, cleaning away flubbed lines and re-sketching them until he was satisfied. This was for Astrid, and only the best would do. Slowly but surely he lovingly recreated his design over her back. Setting the charcoal down he let out a sigh. “Okay, now this part’s going to hurt. I-I won’t think less of you if you need to bite down on something.”

Astrid glanced at him over her shoulder, throwing him a gentle smile. “Hey, it’s not fun without a little pain, right?” Setting her elbows on the desk, her chin resting on her folded arms she got comfortable. “I’m ready when you are. I trust you.” Turning back to face the desk she waited for the first sting.

Nodding to the blonde valkyrie he poured a small measure of ink into a dish, sterilizing a needle before taking up position once more. Ink on the needle his hand hovered over her back. He had his design set but now that it was time to actually mark her skin, he was terrified of messing it up. Taking a deep breath he pressed the needle into her skin, hating himself when he heard her sudden intake of breath. “We can stop if you like. We don’t have to do it.”

Squaring her shoulders Astrid shook her head. A little pain wasn’t going to stop her, not when she’d set her mind to it. “Keep going.” Gritting her teeth she was tempted to take him up on the offer of something to bite but her pride refused. Instead she clenched her teeth while trying to relax her muscles.

Hiccup couldn’t even begin to describe how nervous he was. He was in his room with the girl of his dreams topless before him, expecting him to inflict pain on her while permanently marking her with one of his designs. And if that wasn’t enough to make him sweat, one wrong move and he’d ruin the whole design for her, especially when she was trusting him to do it for her. Mopping the beads of sweat from his brow Hiccup dipped the needle in the ink once more and pressed the sharp tip into her skin.

Slowly but surely, Hiccup found his confidence, each prick of the needle surer than the last. It helped that Astrid had become accustomed to the constant piercing of her skin and had relaxed into it. In fact he was fairly certain she was on the verge of falling asleep. A few more pricks of the needle and the outline was complete. “What d’you think Bud? Look alright to you?” The young inventor was actually quite pleased with how the outline had turned out. He’d have to go back and shade it in but at least the bones were there for him to work with.

Toothless warbled a pleased noise from his spot on the stone slab, green eyes glancing over at the humans before settling back down for a nap. It was clear this was going to take a while so any chance of a flight was out so the dragon may as well take a nap. Wings unfurling to stretch before folding back against his body, the black dragon settled himself before closing his eyes.

“Okay, time for a break.” Hiccup muttered, standing up so he could stretch his back and legs. “There’s a mirror over there if you want to take a look so far.” He pointed to a large sheet of polished metal over in one corner, he normally used it to reflect more light onto his projects.

Astrid stood carefully, clutching the blanket to her chest as she moved over to the mirror. Turning around she peered over her shoulder at the reflection of the dragon taking shape on her back. “Hiccup, it’s beautiful.” Blue eyes remained fixed on the reflection, missing the way he stared at her.

“Yes, you are. I-I mean, yeah, I think this might be some of my best work.” Hiccup stumbled over his words, hoping she hadn’t heard the slip of his tongue. He’d always though Astrid was gorgeous but seeing her under the golden glow of the candles, the way it seemed to illuminate her skin, he thought she was stunning. Thor, why did he have to fall for the prettiest, most intelligent and capable viking of their age? He knew why, it was because she was so intelligent and quick on her feet. Astrid was grace and fury in one delectable body, a divine beauty if ever he saw one.

Astrid was too busy staring at the ink on her back to hear what he said completely. “Yeah, I agree. This is incredible Hiccup.” Walking back over to the stool she settled herself back in place for more ink. “Ready when you are Dragon Boy.” The blonde waited with baited breath for his hands to reach for her once more, eyes fluttering closed as his fingers brushed against the slightly tender skin. The pain had become a memory but even if it hadn’t she would’ve wanted it to continue for as long as possible just so she could feel his fingers on her spine, his gentle breath blowing at her skin after he pricked it to sooth the nerves beneath. It was a silly fantasy, she knew, but she wished they were more than just friends.

Hiccup had finished the head and wings when he noticed the blonde had actually fallen asleep. Smiling fondly at the girl he paused to stretch before settling back in to work on the tail. “Sometimes I wish you knew just how much I adore you.” Hiccup muttered to the slumbering blonde, taking solace in the knowledge she would never know he spoke these words to her. “Every night I dream of you by my side creating a future of our own design. Those dreams are so wonderful I never want to wake up, but then Toothless demands his morning flight and it’s back to reality.” Gingerly he leaned forward, placing the lightest of kisses to the knape of her neck, jerking backwards as he felt her shift, before shaking his head and turning back to his work once he was sure she wouldn’t wake up. “Thor, I wish I was less of a Hiccup just so I’d be worthy of someone like you, Milady.”

The brush of lips against her neck had Astrid’s eyes snap open before she promptly shut them, hoping he didn’t notice. Did Hiccup just…kiss her? It wasn’t the sloppy, slobbery messes Snotlout tried to place on her, nor was it like the few quick pecks she’s placed on Hiccup throughout the years. This kiss was slow, gentle and somehow far more intimate than she’d expected from Hiccup, and she wished he’d do it again. His next words broke her heart, how could he think he wasn’t good enough? Hiccup was the only viking to view the world differently and find the truth between the blood-feud that had plagued humans and dragons for generations. Hiccup was better than all of them, it was Astrid who’d been doubting if he actually held any affection for her.

“You never kissed me back.” Astrid replied softly, one of them had to be brave enough to say something and it seemed clear now that Hiccup needed this as much as she did. “All those times I kissed you, you never kissed me back, and I thought it was because you just didn’t want to hurt my feelings, or you just weren’t interested.” Blue eyes fluttered open but she kept her gaze on her arms pillowing her head, not quite brave enough to face the man she’d fallen in love with.

“W-what? No, that’s insane!” Hiccup exclaimed, eyes wide as he stared at the blonde who was supposed to be asleep. “How could I not want to? I mean, you’re you! You’re Astrid!” The needle hovered over her back, his focus locked on the blonde’s face rather than his work for the moment. “But you surprised me a-and then the moment was gone and I didn’t know how to get it back.”

Setting the needle down he spun her around to face him, careful to keep the blanket pressed to her chest. “Astrid, I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew what love was.” A trembling hand reached out to brush his thumb against her cheek, a small smile reaching his lips as she leaned into the contact. “You’re brave, and smart, and Thor, have you seen you? How could I not want you?”

One hand pinning the blanket to her chest, Astrid reached her other hand out to grasp his. “I know I was hard on you when we were in Dragon Training, but then you opened my eyes and made me see the man you truly were, and Hiccup, he’s incredible.” Finally free to express how much she adored him, Astrid’s eyes gleamed with all the passion she held for him. “You might not see a big, brave viking, but I do. Hiccup, you’re thoughtful, and inventive, and sensitive, and you’re not afraid to show how much people mean to you, and that’s pretty brave if you ask me. Braver than me, anyway.” Gazing up at him she began to lean a little closer. “So if I were to kiss you now…?”

Green eyes dropped from her eyes to her lips, fleeting memories of her quick pecks still colouring his dreams. “Oh Thor.” He whispered before closing the gap and kissing her as he’d wanted to for so many years. His lips molded against hers, parting the moment he felt her tongue requesting entrance, his own returning the favour. Panting slightly he pulled back, eyes alight with desire as he stared at her. Claiming a couple more kisses Hiccup finally retreated. “As much as I’d love to keep doing that, I kind of want to finish your marking.”

Nodding silently Astrid turned back around. Hiccup was right, they should finish the dragon on her back, and the sooner he did, the sooner she could go back to kissing him. Biting her lip, a devious glint in her eyes, she let the blanket go, the woolen fabric pooling in her lap before dropping to the floor.

“A-a-astrid!” Hiccup’s slightly panicked voice sounded behind her, his eyes staring at what the blanket had obscured. From his place behind her, he could see the gentle curves of the sides of her breasts, especially when she leaned forward to fold her arms over the desk to brace herself.

The blonde permitted a small, pleased smile to cross her face before replying. “Yeah, yeah, only a woman’s intended husband should see her in such a state of undress.” Rolling her eyes she turned her head to gaze at him over her shoulder. “I kissed you, you’re mine Dragon Boy.”

Hiccup’s mouth dropped, of all the things he expected to come out of Astrid’s mouth, her declaration of wanting to be his wife one day was not one of them. “Oh you, Milady, are going to be trouble.” He chuckled, picking up the needle and continuing his work, his voice letting her know he was completely content with her brand of trouble in his life. Leaning in he brought his lips close to her ear. “Pretty sure I kissed you first.” He whispered, ducking his head to place a kiss to her shoulder before lightly nipping the spot. The inventor chuckled at her soft whine when he pulled back to complete his artwork on her back.

Soft cloth pressed against her skin, removing any excess ink before sitting back to look at his work. She was stunning, sitting in the candlelight, her skin covered in a golden glow while a Night Fury covered her back. That tricky little Nadder, she’d just made him place his own mark all over her back. If that wasn’t a declaration of who held her heart, he didn’t know what was. “What’d you think Bud? Does it look like you?”

Toothless grudgingly stood up, wandering over to take a look at the design on Astrid’s back. Giving them both a soft warble of approval, he tilted his head as Hiccup encouraged the dragon to lick her back. Rolling his eyes the dragon dragged his tongue over the tender flesh, dragon saliva was fairly useful for killing off infection and assisting the healing process.

Astrid scrunched her nose up as she felt Toothless’ drool cover her back but she had to admit, her back felt less tender afterwards. “Thanks, both of you.” Reaching behind her she petted the dragon’s snout, using touch alone to locate the spot under his chin that always got him purring.

“What? No chin-scratches for me?” Hiccup teased, hurrying to cover his and Toothless’ eyes when the blonde stood and made her way over to the mirror. “Sweet baby Thor in a thunderstorm, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Astrid shook her head at him before admiring his handiwork in the mirror. “It’s perfect Hiccup. I love it.” Stalking back over to the man she loved she bent down, placing her hands on his knees so she was eye-level with him. “And no you don’t get chin-scratches.” Warm, supple lips pressed against his, smiling at the hand still firmly planted over his eyes. “But I’d like it if you held me tonight. I mean, I don’t think I can put my shirt back on at the moment, and I don’t want to try to get to my hut without it, but mostly I just really want to be close to you for tonight.”

The brightest smile she’d ever seen lit up Hiccup’s face. “Do I get to kiss you again?” Holding Astrid was more than he could possibly want, but the idea of kissing her again, of feeling her lips against his, Thor, that was his idea of Valhalla. “Anytime I want?”

Astrid was hard pressed to bite back the laugh bubbling up her throat. Most guys would try to push for so much more knowing a half-naked woman would be in their bed, but all Hiccup wanted was more kisses. “Of course, I mean, kisses are a requirement.”

Darting forward Hiccup pressed his lips to hers once more, grinning like a fool for having permission to do that as many times as he wished. Nodding his head towards the bed, he stayed seated with his hand over his eyes until he knew she was on the bed and settled. Dropping his hand he walked over to the bed, placing a hand in her hair and caressing the golden strands. “I’ll go grab us some dinner and feed the dragons. Be back soon, Milady.” Dropping a kiss to her shoulder he slipped out of the hut, Toothless remaining to guard Astrid.

It didn’t take him long to grab what he needed and slip back to the Valkyrie waiting for him in his hut. With Stormfly fed, and a basket of fish downstairs to occupy Toothless for a while, Hiccup climbed the stairs to share a meal with Astrid, blanket pressed to her chest once more. It wasn’t until their plates were clean and placed aside that Hiccup began to feel a little awkward. “So uh, h-how should we do this?”

“Take your shirt off.” Astrid told him, watching as he hesitantly removed the crimson fabric, as well as his boot. “Prosthetic too.” The last command earned her a wary look before he dutifully removed the metal leg and set it against the side of his bed. “Now lay down.”

Hiccup shuffled down until he was lying on his back, wondering what Astrid had planned for them. He watched as she fussed with the blanket until it was covering both of them, before rolling over and laying so she was half-on top of him, her head resting on his chest. Smiling down at her his gaze lingered on her back and the Night Fury emblazoned on her skin. Slipping his arm beneath her he had thought to rest his hand on her back but suddenly realised how terrible that would be. “Would uh, would it be okay if my hand was on your-uh…backside, Milady?”

Astrid chuckled at how sweet he was for requesting permission once more. “Very much okay, Babe.” The blonde replied, shifting closer to share his warmth as his hand very carefully shifted to rest on the very base of her spine on the swell of her backside. “And Hiccup? I love you too.”

Reaching down, Hiccup tilted her head so he could kiss her one last time. “I can’t wait to wake up to this.” He muttered reverently, the idea of one day being able to do this on a regular basis was everything he’d ever dreamed of, plus dragons. One by one the candles blew out, Toothless no doubt snuffing the flames out before settling down on his stone slab, the fire downstairs built high enough to keep the hut warm all night. Closing his eyes the young dragon rider finally drifted off, a smile still plastered on his face.