#i have one homework i should work on but aside from that i am mostly good for now! next week has a lot of stuff tho eee .... </3

[astrxealis]

i find it really interesting and a bit sentimental to see people going through msq for the first time bcs wow it's been a while since i've been there!!!

but also . KEEHKD it is also Intriguing to see people take really long with doing msq ... bcs yeah i took a bit longer with. arr-hw but MAN stb. finished in around less than 10 days and same with shb! though shb patches i was a bit lazy with >_< i finished enw in around less than 10 days too ..... aagghh help

[cjsinkythoughts]

In Need of a Breath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4007

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback

A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day. 

This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.

I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.

Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.

“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.

There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.

You had been there.

You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.

But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.

“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”

“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.

“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”

“I didn’t necessarily agree-”

“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”

You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Steve took all that with him.”

Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”

You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”

“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”

“Are you doing okay?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”

“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”

You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”

Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”

“What?”

“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”

Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”

“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”

“I dunno.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”

Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”

“And the longest?”

“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.” 

Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”

“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.

He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”

“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”

“I wasn’t!”

“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”

“It’s just been homework and stuff-”

“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”

“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”

He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”

“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”

He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”

“Because you loved him.”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.

“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”

You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”

There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”

“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”

You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”

“It’s…a tough topic.”

You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”

“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.

****************

“What?”

Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”

“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”

“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”

Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.

“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”

“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.

“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.

“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”

The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”

You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”

A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”

“What did you do?!”

“We need him!”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may-”

All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”

You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…

“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”

You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”

What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.

Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?

You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.

Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.

Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.

You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.

But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are. 

“Bucky, I’m not mad.”

“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”

You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”

His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James. I’m sure.”

He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”

“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”

*****************

Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.

You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.

His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.

The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.

You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.

You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.

You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”

Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”

“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.

~

“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”

Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you.”

“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”

You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”

“...because I’m good at it?”

“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”

You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”

“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”

“Whaddya mean?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”

“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”

~

“Y/N!”

You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”

You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”

“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”

Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”

“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”

You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.

“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”

“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”

You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”

[tsukishimas-shortcake]

Relationship Headcanons

↦ Character(s): Hakkai Shiba x fem!reader

↦ Rating/Warning: No rating though there are some light mentions of abuse (if you have read the manga you are aware of what I am talking about, I’m not going very deep into it though it literally just mentions it), mentions of anxiety attacks (no detail though), fluff, not proof read

↦ Word count: 1.8k (longer than planned, sections are bolded)

↦ Your Momo’s Receipt: Hello~ I’m post yet another TR headcanon and this was requested by the lovely @strawbub I hope this doesn’t disappoint, it did get longer than planned but I enjoyed writing it. I'll prob do a part two that's more of a scenario based on your first date or something since I didn't go into it here. Please note: for those of you who don’t know my blog is currently under construction, meaning I will not be updating my masterlist for the time being.

So how did you guys meet, well mostly because of Yuzuha,

One day in like elementary you’re walking home and you see this super pretty middle school girl just like yelling at this small group of guys

The guys end up running off just because they don’t wanna deal with her or the attention she's drawn to them

Behind her was a boy, taller than her but obviously younger. You didn’t assume they knew eachother though.

The boy and yuzuha began walking in opposite directions because one was going home while the other was going to pick up something like groceries

You’re so entranced by how she stood up to them yet she’s a girl who was far smaller and you end up catching up to her, almost stepping on her heels

You end up absent mindedly following her into the grocery store and eventually she just freezes, turns, and stare directly at you

Your eyes widen since you must’ve been staring and she just goes “may I ask why you’re following me?” And you explain how cool she was earlier. She invites you over for dinner (esp since her older brother won’t be home) and figured it’d be good for Hakkai to meet someone his age

You end up going over but Hakkai didn’t come down to eat so you never actually got to meet him, though from then on you would see Yuzuha every so often, visit every other weekend or so

But no matter how often you came over the next few months, you never once met hakkai,

That was until you both reached the end of your middle school education and we’re about to begin high school

You had gone over because you were going to borrow an old work book from Yuzuha, and when you go to knock on the door the door opens before your closed fist could hit it, instead hitting a firm chest

You blush and quickly apologize but the person in front of you doesn’t move at all, doesn’t say anything and almost looks like they drifted into space with their dead stare

You assume this is yuzuha’s older brother because you’ve also never met him and you immediately turn to walk away but Yuzuha calls over hakkai’s shoulder

“Y/N-Chan! You just got here where are you going?” This was def not yuzuha’s older brother. There’s no way she’d be that happy with him around; oh my god. Realization hit, the guy who you hit (though it was more of a tap) was hakkai.

The hakkai you had only caught a glimpse of in yuzuha’s photos, never talked to or actually seen in person despite going to the same school and living in the same neighborhood

He must hate you. That’s why he avoids you. That’s def why - is what you think

Yuzuha drags hakkai back inside and invites you in; you sit down with them in the living room and watch hakkai visibly relax now that he’s inside his house, his own space, with a pillow behind him and a blanket covering his lower half, he almost curls up into it as he continues to avoid your stare

“Hi hakkai…Kun? Im L/N Y/N” you say and you see his face dead pan once again

Yuzuha can be heard laughing from the kitchen as she comes back in.

She leans over and begins explaining that hakkai literally just freezes with any interaction between him and girls who aren’t in his family

You nod, thinking maybe it’s an anxiety thing? Which is the case with you, but only because he’s been watching you since you’ve come over (not in a creepy way) wanting to and working the courage up to talk to you

The 5th or so time you came over after that encounter he was inches away from introducing himself before the house phone rang causing everyone to kind of “wake up” in a sense

Every time since then he gets closer and closer but isn’t able to say anything; he even realizes he has a crush on you.

The way you sit when you do homework and how cute you look when you’re focused.

How your forehead scrunches up when you’re trying to figure something out and you end up just sitting back with a small huff followed by yuzuha’s signature laughter.

It’s also a huge thing that you get along with Yuzuha.

So enough with first meeting time for the confession.

He ends up confessing accidentally. He didn’t know you were coming over to begin with so he was flustered out of his mind. And how was he supposed to know you hadn’t actually fallen asleep and you could hear him over the tv

The tv was more white noise than anything and the day was hot since it was the middle of summer causing the window to be open and the sound of soft wind and small birds to drift in; this was the hot that makes you tired so you were all sprawled out of just sitting in a daze

So while resting your head on the table you’re dozing in and out but then you hear hakkai begin to speak, something he never really did around you

Now did you and hakkai text? Yes. Did it take him an hour to reply because his brain would explode when you replied to him? Yes. But was it a start to communication? Also a yes.

You hear him say your name quietly before he moved closer, you can feel his gaze on your features

“I like you” is all he says. Simple and sweet. But you sit there in shock, trying not to blush so he’ll have no idea you heard him but he can tell because your forehead scrunches

You heard him and are focused on if you should reply or not. And he knows that.

You open your eyes and just look up at him, he’s closer than expected. His hand close to yours on the floor and he reaches over and grabs it lightly. Hoping you’ll also return the gesture by holding his hand instead of leaving your hand limp inside his.

And you do, thank goodness, and Hakkai almost mentally can’t handle it.

Once you start dating it’s more so just hanging out at his house or yours; however he talks a bit more and you text a lot more. He’s gotten better at replying. It usually takes him like 15 minutes now

He’s kinda stressed about your relationship but not due to anything you or him did

He’s stressed because of the mentality his older brother gave him

Is he even allowed to be this happy?

He finally has someone thats small enough and naive enough that he can protect you; compared to constantly being protected it’s a sudden, strong, yet good change for him

He’s touch s t a r v e d

Yes Yuzuha shows affection; but he stopped accepting her hugs when he was around 8 just because he physically wasn’t able to handle it due to his bruises and such

But with you, even with his bruises and all you take care of him. Able to coax him into using medicines and toning down the physical violence (that he can control himself)

He also finds it super soothing when you lightly brush over his scars (especially those that his brother gave him), it helps him believe that scars are only physical and can fade with help

One thing that stresses him out the most is trying to hide you from his brother. Any time you leave something at the house its easy to pass it off as yuzuha's but when it comes to things like photos he has with you, he can't hang them up, show them off, or have them as his phone Lock Screen, etc. because he just really doesn't want his brother to know and target you since he'll then know that you're his weakness (aside from yuzuha as well)

Sometimes won't explain why he can't hang out and has legit pushed you out of his house before at the last minute notice of his brother coming home

Will always make sure you get home safe though, usually by having Yuzuha go with you since then she can just say you're a friend from school

Your parents love him, though they were a bit hesitant it became a "you always have a place to stay" because they learned about their family situation from you and yuzuha. So expect him to spend the night when he's too scared to deal with his brother. Same with yuzuha. (yes I know this isn't yuzuha head canons but its hard to write for him without mentioning her when they're so close)

We're talking three person sleep overs. Yuzuha and you of course share the bed and Hakkai takes some time to even set foot in your room much less sleep on a mattress that's on the floor

He has a small heart attack every time he comes into your room because he's overwhelmed with everything, he's never been so comfortable and it makes him feel restless. Like he's never and I mean n e v e r been less stressed and slept better than when he does so in your room

The smell, the colors, just being surrounded by you is something that completely changes his mood

Once showed up after he fought with his brother, tears in his eyes and clothes a bit tattered and you just pulled him to your room, and sat down with him.

You laid on your bed with him laying down onto of you, head on your chest as you rubbed his head and only said a few words "its not your fault"

He ends up crying so hard he falls asleep and gets dehydrated and you have to make him drink a bunch of water when he finally wakes up.

NSFW

super fucking careful w you

almost annoyingly so, but you're understanding

He knows that he might be taking things frustratingly slow but he knows that since you understand and know his history that you can help him get through it

Your first time you think you'll have to call it off because he's shaking so bad

"baby... are you sure it won't hurt you?" he keeps asking.

pretty sure that's the longest its ever taken him to finish because he was so anxious

despite being so slow and hesitant, late he isn't too scared to get a bit rougher

but im not talking anything crazy im talking like he's willing to pull your hair a bit or nip a bit harder at your neck.

Please never ask him to do anything like degrade you or some type of harsh physical rough shit, he can't

like literally im 99% sure that if you ask him to choke you or something he will pass out because of the anxiety attack he would have at even the thought.

in short with nsfw though he is sweet boy. He's a switch through and through. Loves when you take care of everything because then he doesn't have to be scared of hurting you.

[agustdakasuga]

You Never Walk Alone | Chapter 1

Genre: Werewolf!AU, Poly!AU?, Mate!AU, romance, fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Student!reader, Omega!Seokjin, Alpha!Yoongi, Beta!Hoseok, Alpha!Namjoon, Omega!Jimin, Beta!Taehyung, Alpha!Jungkook

Summary: You live a quiet life in your late grandfather’s cabin in the woods. You go to school just to graduate and get your diploma, not to make friends or stand out from the crowd. That was until one day, you enter your home to see a pack of wolves that need shelter.

Your life is either uneventful or really sucks. No one really notices you as you live your everyday life. Loneliness has become your best friend. 

Chapter warning(s): Bullying is mentioned, reader is alone. Please read at your own discretion.

((Bolded words are spoken through mind link))

You pressed the button as you saw the bus coming to your stop. Tapping your card, you stepped off, with your headphones in your ears, playing a song. You watched as other students met up with their friends to enter the school together. You weren’t like them. 

“Move aside, loser.” Someone bumped into your shoulder. He snickered and hi-fived his friends before walking away. Sighing, you shook your head. 

“Ugh, a sore sight to see in the morning.” Your usual bully, Kira, snorted as you opened your locker. You rolled your eyes, ignoring her as you arranged your books. 

Thankfully, she didn’t cause much harm and was mostly verbal, which meant it was easy to block her out. She only picked on you because you were alone. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of just talking, Kira?” You sighed as you closed your locker. 

“If I’m one step closer to getting rid of you, I don’t mind.” She shrugged, laughing with her group of girls. You just walked away, heading to your class. You sat in the back, away from everyone else. 

“Class, let’s start.” The teacher came in with a bored look on his face. No one wanted to be here, including you. But before your grandfather passed away, he made you promise him to at least graduate high school before you did anything else. You didn’t have to go to college but you had to at least graduate high school with a diploma. 

“Hey, loner.” Someone threw something at your head but you ignored it, kicking the paper ball aside with your foot. 

“Why do you eve bother showing your face?” The guy behind you kicked your chair. You sighed, knowing this was their tactic to try and get a reaction out of you but you weren’t going to give them the time of day. 

“Yah, I’m talking to you. Are you deaf?” He continued. 

“You think you’re all that?” His deskmate snickered, throwing another paper ball at your back. 

When the lunch bell rang, you slung your bag over your shoulder and went out the backdoor of the school. You always took your bag because one time, you left it in class, the other students thought it would be funny to throw your things into the pond. 

It was a quiet, small field, your usual spot being under the big tree. This had been your secret spot for a long time. Well, it wasn’t really a secret. It’s just that no one comes here. 

“A few more hours to go.” You sighed as you sat down and took your lunch box out. It was just a mix of leftovers from last night. 

You slowly ate by yourself. At first, it felt really lonely and sad but you’re used to it now, after years. 

“We’re running laps today.” Your gym coach said and everyone let out groans. He didn’t care about anyone else so he blew his whistle and went to take a seat by the bleachers. You wordlessly began your run with the other students. 

-

“Hyung!” 

“Jimin! Run!” Jimin fell to the side, letting out a whimper. He pushed himself to stand up, shaking his head to get his vision straight. Looking left and right, he saw his brother fighting.

“RUN JIMIN!” 

“But-”

“We’ll find you again! Just run and don’t look back!” 

His older brother howled and Jimin took a small step back before running off. He needed to find help or his brothers were going to die. The forest never seemed to end and all Jimin saw were the same tress and shrubs. The sounds of fighting were gone and it was silent now. 

“Hyungs? Tae? Jungkook?” 

He let out a whimper when he heard nothing on the mind link. Jimin wanted to turn back but he remembered his brother’s words to run and hide. Being an omega, he wouldn’t be able to help much. 

“I swore I heard something.” There were voices behind him with footsteps. Fearing that people knew he escape, Jimin took off again. 

“Shelter!” 

Jimin saw a small house there. Even if he risked humans finding him and killing him for trespassing, he knew this was his only hope now. He saw an open window by the side of the house and used his hind legs to push him in. 

As he ducked down, he noticed how dark the house was. He didn’t smell anyone currently here. 

“Please... hyungs... Taehyung... Kookie. Please say something.” Jimin tried to connect with his brothers but there was no reply from their side. He could only pray that the worse didn’t happen. He hide his head between his paws, his ears pressed against his head. There was a wound on his side but that was the least of his worries now. 

“Only one more year of hell.” Jimin heard footsteps approaching. It was a female. He stood up, looking around in panic. Where could he hide? 

You took your keys out, opening screen door followed by the main door. Work always left you tired, drained and hungry but you needed it to survive. Plus, the restaurant owner always let the staff take leftovers home. 

“Ugh, I need a shower.” One thing you hated about working at a barbecue restaurant was the smell afterwards. 

You dropped your bag when you saw something on the ground. Frozen, you leaned down to touch the small drop on the ground. The crimson colour was a dead giveaway. 

“H-Hello? Is someone here?” You called out. 

“Are you hurt?” You asked. 

*CRASH*

You jumped and turned around to meet a pair of eyes in the dark. Squinting, you reached for the light switch and turned it on to see a wolf or very large dog. He was trapped under the folded chairs that he knocked over, struggling and whimpering pitifully.

“Hey, hey. It’s alright.” You rushed over and helped lift the chairs up. The wolf was quick to back away, as if he was the one scared of you. 

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” You sat down, holding your hands up in surrender.

Slowly, he took cautionary steps towards you, sniffing you slightly. You let him sniff your hand and that was when your eyes caught the deep, bleeding gash on his side. 

“You’re hurt.” You pointed out. He just stared at you. You stood up, startling him slightly. You went to your kitchen to grab your first aid kit. Your grandfather got hurt often so you had put one in the house to treat him. 

“Will you let me help you?” You asked before you got closer. As a sign of trust, he laid down, exposing his side to you. 

“It’s going to sting.” You shook the antiseptic spray. You didn’t know why you felt the need to explain each step to the wolf as if it would understand you. Maybe it was just the nerves. Sighing, you sprayed the purple spray, making the wolf hiss slightly. Taking some gauze, you cleaned the wound like you would with a normal human wound. 

“I should be googling this.” You took your phone out to research how you should be treating an animal wound. Fortunately, you weren’t too off. 

The wolf stood up to let you wrap the bandage around his ribs. You secured it and it was done. Then, you proceeded to clear the area and throw all the used gauze away. 

“It’s so late.” You went to take a quick shower. When you came out, you made some fried rice for yourself and sat by the couch. 

*whimper*

“Geez! I forgot you’re here.” You nearly dropped your plate of food. The wolf sat next to you, eyeing your food. He looked at it then looked at you, blinking before returning his gaze to your food. You weren’t dumb to know that wolves obviously cannot eat kimchi fried rice. 

“Let me see what I have.” You put the food down and went to the kitchen to retrieve the chicken. As you waited for the water to boil, you saw the wolf getting closer to your fried rice. 

“Yah!” You shuffled over and hit his snout. He shot you a glare, growling to expose his canines. 

For a second, you cursed yourself for forgetting that you’re dealing with a wild animal. You cleared your throat, making the wolf look at you. 

“I’m already making chicken for you. Just be patient, alright? You can’t eat that, you might die or something.” You told him, standing up and rushing to the kitchen. When the chicken was done, you placed it on a paper plate and slid it over to the wolf. He stared at it, before looking at it and sniffing it. Lifting his head, he gave you a flat look. 

“What?” 

“Stop looking at me like that. Animals can’t have seasoning on their food so appreciate it. I could have left you hungry.” You sassed. You swore the wolf scoffed at your words. 

Still, he took a bite and it wasn’t long until he polished the entire plate. You threw the paper plate and washed your own bowl. 

“You can stay the night if you want. But you’re staying down here.” You headed to the storeroom to get some spare blankets that your grandfather had kept for the winter. 

“Here.” You laid it on the ground in a cozy corner with some pillows from the couch. The wolf sniffed the material putting on hesitant paw before sitting down. You watched as he turned around in the spot, pushing the things aside before he got comfortable. 

“Goodnight.” You wished the wolf and went upstairs to your room. You didn’t sleep yet, you stayed up for a while more to finish your homework. 

Only when the clock hit 2 am, then you realised that you needed to go to bed or you wouldn’t wake up for school tomorrow. As you stacked your finished papers and put them in your bag, you thought about the wolf. 

Was he okay?

“He’s a wide animal, he has probably lived in conditions much worse than this. This is a luxury to him.” You laughed to yourself. As you settled in bed, waiting to fall asleep, a cry made you get up. 

“Wolfie? You okay?” You turned the lights on and went downstairs. He was sitting on the blanket, a tensed look on his canine face. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, sitting in front of him. What he did next totally caught you off guard.

He suddenly came close to you, standing in between you legs and leaning into you. His head was on your shoulder, his muzzle nuzzling against your cheek slightly. With shaky hands, you wrapped one around him while the other stroked his back. You never thought you would be sitting in your living room, at 2 am, comforting a wolf with hugs. 

“It’s alright.” You cooed. 

He seemed to be better when he pulled away, even licking your cheek, which made you cringe a little. 

“Go to sleep.” You stood up to leave when there was a tug on your shirt. He bit the end of your shirt, pulling you back gently. He didn’t want you to leave him alone. Sighing, you tugged your shirt back. 

“You want me to sleep here?” You interpreted. Looks like you were correct as the wolf let out a small bark, letting his tongue hang out of his mouth. 

“Ugh. Fine!” You went upstairs to grab you pillow and blanket. You laid down beside the wolf when he decided to get under your blanket and squeeze under your arm. It almost looked like you were spooning him, with him being the little spoon while you were the big spoon. 

“I swear, you could be a human.” You rolled your eyes as his ears twitched. He scooted back so his back was flushed against your front. 

“It’ll be okay...” You yawned, mumbling from the pure exhaustion. 

It felt weird that someone was in the house with you. You were used to the quiet, the loneliness that even having another being, human or not, felt different. 

The last person that was here with you was your grandfather but he died two years back. Even then, you were alone in school and at work. The only person you felt you needed was your grandfather. Now that he’s gone, you were truly alone. The sudden appearance of the wolf made you feel self conscious but at the same time, a part of you wished he would never leave. 

It was about 5 am when the wolf was whimpering and kicking around slightly in his sleep, waking you up. He looked like he was having a nightmare. 

“Hyungs! Please don’t go! Tell me that you’re all okay. I didn’t mean to abandon you.” Jimin cowered in fright.

“It’s okay.” You stroked his fur in attempt to calm him down. Lifting the blanket, you noticed that he bled through his bandage from all the moving. You pushed yourself up and went to get the first aid kit. 

“Wake up. Let me change your bandage.” You shook him and his eyes fluttered open. You swore you saw tears in his eyes. 

“Were you having a nightmare? Do wolves have dreams?” You thought.

“I’m crazy to think you even understand me.” You chuckled to yourself as you cut away the bandage and replaced it with a new one, securing it with the metal fasteners. 

This time, you didn’t clear the things. You just pushed everything aside and laid down to sleep. You definitely needed more sleep but you only had one hour left, which would have to suffice for now. Casually, you threw your arm over the wolf, snuggling into the warmth of his fur. 

“You’re nice and warm.” You mumbled sleepily and began to drift off again. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP

You and the wolf jumped at your sudden alarm. You felt him slip out from your grasp, sniffing your phone and pawing at it in annoyance. Chuckling, you reached over to turn it off. 

“I have to go to school. Which means you’ll go back, hmm?” You hummed. Holding a hand out, you let the wolf put his head under it. 

“Breakfast?” You giggled and he barked. 

Standing up, you gathered your blanket and pillow, bringing it back to your room before you washed up. You brushed your teeth and combed your hair. When you entered your bedroom to change, you saw the wolf walking around, sniffing the area. 

“Are you done?” You raised an eyebrow and he turned around to face you before snorting and sitting down on the carpet. 

“I need to change and no way are you staying in here.” You pointed to the door. It looked like he was rolling his eyes at you before he strode out of there and you closed the door. You changed into your school uniform. 

“Breakfast time.” You went to the kitchen. You made a sandwich for yourself, not having much time. 

*whimper*

“Fine, you can have one piece of bacon.” You tossed him one. He jumped up, catching it in his mouth before gobbling it up. He obviously wasn’t happy with the boiled chicken yesterday but you didn’t really have anything else to give him. You knew he was over it when you dropped the chicken into the water and he gave you the same flat look with his ears folded down. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I don’t want a dead wolf in my hands.” You scoffed and bit into your sandwich as you waited for his food. 

“Here you go.” You placed the plate of food down and sat in front of him as he ate. He stopped and looked up to meet eyes with you. There was a blush on your cheeks as you were caught staring by a wolf. 

You coughed and looked away as he continued eating. Subconsciously, you reached out to pat his head again. 

“I’ve always been alone here. But with you here, even if it was only for one night, made the house feel that much more lively. It felt nice. So thank you for that.” You whispered. 

“You don’t have to always be alone.” Jimin said softly in his head.

“Alright. Let’s go.” You quickly stood up. The wolf followed you as you wore your shoes and locked the door behind you. 

“Goodbye. Stay safe.” You bent down in front of him. He licked your cheek, nuzzling against it softly. His soft fur tickled your skin, making your laugh. You turned to walk to the same bus stop that you go to everyday. But the crunching behind you made you turn around. 

“You can go! Your friends might be looking for you.” You chuckled. He walked forward, standing beside you and looked up at you. 

He followed you all the way to the bus stop. He kept his distance as he saw an elderly couple also waiting for the bus but you could see him sitting there, watching you. 

Soon, the bus came and you turned to look at him. You waved at him with a small smile and stepped into the bus. Looking out the window, you saw him turn around and enter the forest once again. 

~~ 

Tag list

@georgie-me-myself-i​ @tatastaetaemainblog​ @dragoste-lunes​ @lil7bluedragon​ @amber-thumbs​ @greezenini​ 

[fanfic-chan]

Okay, so how about this?

Lers! Jirou and Kirishima

Lee! DadMight

So I have it in my head that Toshinori likes to knit (or do some type of crafty thing) bc he’s a generally fidgety guy, and he likes making little gifts for his kiddos. So, it’s a rainy night, and he’s got the TV on for background noise, and he’s trying to learn a new technique, or is knitting a new pattern but keeps messing up. He gets annoyed and gives up. Jirou & Kirishima who are hanging out in the common room with him doing homework, realize this and try to cheer him up. And he finds that after the tickles and hugs, he can focus easier and is able to do the technique! And then he’s like, “Thanks for the help,” xD lol

Do whatever you like with this! Sorry it’s a bit rambly xD I like to be thorough

Oh my God this prompt was so cute! I absolutely love the headcanon that Toshinori knits, and it's something I actually headcanon as well XD. I also really love the fact that you included Jirou. She's not a common pick and I really loved getting the chance to write for her. Having Kirishima, who is one of my comfort characters, was definitely an added bonus. I hope you enjoy this and thanks so much for sending this in! It definitely helped with my stress levels!^^

Close Knit

Lers: Jirou and Kirishima

Lee: DadMight

Toshinori grumbled slightly under his breath, annoyed. Recently, the general studies student, Hitoshi Shinsou, had been spending a lot more time in the 1A dorms. This was because starting next semester, he would become an official hero course student, and would join their class officially. 

To celebrate this accomplishment, the former number one hero had been intending to knit something for the boy, as he did for all his students after hitting a milestone, and after learning how much the mini Aizawa liked cats, he'd had the amazing idea of a knit cat pillow. It would be useful for the boy's insomnia while also cute and comforting. A win win.

What he hadn't anticipated though, was that this particular pattern was difficult. So difficult that he'd already had to pull out the same yarn five times in the last ten minutes and start the section over again. He wasn't typically the type to get frustrated, but this little sucker was truly starting to get on his nerves.

After the seventh time of having to redo it, he finally dropped his project gently into his lap and leaned his head back with a groan.

"Maybe I should just.. find another pattern.." He sighed, feeling slightly disappointed in himself for not being able to complete it, but not feeling as if he had much of a choice at this point.

"Sensei? Are you… Are you ok?"

He jumped slightly, having forgotten that Jirou and Kirishima had been studying on the floor nearby. Between the light sound of rain outside, and the news playing in the background, they'd been completely silent.

"Ah- Young Jirou! Yes, I am fine, thank you. Just a bit frustrated with this pattern, that's all." He responded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, similar to how Midoriya did when he was feeling bashful. The comparison was rather adorable considering how close they were, despite their best efforts to hide it. "I was just thinking maybe I should try something else since this one isn't going very well so far."

Both his students made their way over at this point, and settled down on either side of him to get a look at what he was doing. 

"Ah, don't give up Sensei! It looks really good so far. Maybe you just need to look at it from a different perspective. Right Jirou?" Kirishima piped up, as enthusiastic as ever. The young musician nodded slightly in quiet agreement, and Toshinori couldn't help but smile slightly at his student's unwavering faith in him, despite his retirement and shortcomings as a teacher.

Still, he wasn't entirely convinced, and his students seemed to recognize that. Things went quiet for a minute before something surprising happened.

A sudden gentle, but ticklish poke to his side.

Now, this in and of itself wasn't all that surprising. Cheer up tickles were common amongst the class 1A dorms, and were far from unexpected.

What was unexpected though, was for Jirou to start them. The girl was generally pretty reserved and quiet unless amongst people she was comfortable with, and aside from her mostly playful jabs at Kaminari, physical displays of affection were rare for her, especially in front of people.

So all things considered, well, it was a rather touching moment.

Toshinori might have even teared up if not for the fact that that one poke and the small chuckle it caused had also caught Kirishima's attention, and the boy had immediately been inspired, practically pouncing at the chance to make his Sensei happy again, and the retired hero was immediately reduced to a puddle of amused laughter on the spot.

"Cheer up Sensei! We know you can do it!" The redhead cheered with such enthusiasm that you might think that his teacher was about to take down some crazy powerful villain.

Jirou also kept up with her shy, tentative poking, a small blush spread over her cheeks from such silliness.

"Ahahahalright!! Ahahalright!! Ok! I'll try agahahain!!" He bellowed out finally, and both young heroes ceased immediately, Kirishima grinning like a madman, and Jirou with a small smile on her face, twirling one of her earjacks around her fingertips.

Once he'd caught his breath, he pulled each of them into an affectionate hug.

"Thank you. Both of you. I really appreciate it." He said sincerely before releasing them to finish their work, while he went back to his own project with renewed determination. It only took him two more tries before he got it, and both teens cheered in celebration.

He really did have the most amazing students.

Requests are: Open

[minor-solemnity]

Curiosity pt. 3

Marie’s footsteps fade and then it’s just the two of you. Immediately, Riddle’s concerned expression clears and he watches you with an annoyingly satisfied smirk lacing his annoyingly pretty features. “Well, this is interesting,” He says and you have to force yourself not to grimace. He must see something in your expression anyway because his smirk grows wider. “Turn out your pockets.”

“Just once more - explain to me exactly what it is that we’re attempting to do?” Maries asks from where she’s lounging against a statue opposite Mr Larkins office. You tilt your head to glare at her and studiously ignore her huff of laughter as you return your attention to the task at hand.

The task at hand being trying (and so far, failing) to break into Mr Larkins office. You’re kneeling on the floor outside the door, tapping the wood with your wand in a methodical order. You’re not exactly sure what protection charms he’s put in place but whatever he’s done, it’s solid work. “As it’s clearly eluded you, we’re trying to get into Larkins office. And you didn’t have to come, Marie. You could have just stayed in the dorm and caught up on your charms homework.” 

“Oh, you’re right I could have done that, but this is so much more interesting.” She counters, “Or it would be if you could get into his office. I thought you said you’ve done this before.” You let out a short growl of frustration and she laughs again. The door to the office remains firmly locked. “But okay, we’re trying to break into the Quidditch teacher’s office. Care to share, why? I know you hate quidditch, but this seems a little extreme, doesn’t it?”

“I have. He’s changed the wards. Paranoid bastard.” Though really, can he be called paranoid if he was correct in his assumption that someone would try and break in? You sigh and rest your head against the wooden door, trying to calm down and temper your frustration. Wardbreaking is mostly concentration and patience and you know that getting angry will only increase the time it took to get the door open. “We’re breaking in because Larkins hasn’t been completely honest about what he gets up to in his spare time.” You say, at last, deciding that it's best to keep things as vague as possible. 

You love Marie dearly, and you don’t want her to get into trouble just because you can’t let things go. If someone catches you, you’re going to be in so much trouble. Breaking curfew is one thing, breaking curfew to rummage around in a teacher’s desk is something else entirely.

In response, she hums, clearly dissatisfied with your evasion but unwilling to call you out on it just yet. “Have you tried a hairpin?” She asks suddenly. You blink and turn to stare at her, your forehead creasing in confusion. At your expression, Marie rolls her eyes and her hands reach to pat at her hair for a second before she pulls two hairpins from her braid. “Move.” She mutters and flaps her hands at you until you scoot out of her way. She fiddles with the lock for a minute or two and you keep a careful watch on the corridor, not that it would make much difference if a Prefect or Professor were to arrive. Distantly, you hear a click and Marie turns to you with a broad grin, “I swear to god, sometimes you just need to do things the old fashioned way, honestly.”

Mr Larkins office is just as you remembered it being. There are a bunch of quidditch posters pasted on the walls, spare brooms and quaffles stacked haphazardly in the corner, and his desk is overflowing with lesson plans, match timetables and diagrams of different flying manoeuvres. Marie looks around with vague curiosity and settles down against the door. At your questioning look she rolls her eyes, “Well, seeing as you seem intent on keeping your best friend in the dark about what you’re up to, I hardly see how I’m going to be much help.” Which… fair enough, honestly. You have no intention of sharing more than you have to.

You give the room a quick once over before turning your attention to the desk. Unlike the door, the first drawer you try opens with ease. “Arrogant idiot,” You murmur as you rifle through the documents you find. There are few articles about the new League rules but nothing of interest. The next two drawers reveal much the same and you feel the frustration returning as you pull open the last drawer left. Inside is a thick folder and you feel your heart sing with triumph. “This is it,” You whisper as you thumb through the file with increasing anticipation. “Geminio,” You murmur tapping the folder with the tip of your wand and stuffing the replica version back in the draw. Next, you transfigure the original folder into a quill and turn to Marie. “Right, let’s get out of here.”

“You know, I am always going to be jealous of your Transfiguration skills,” She says, gesturing to the quill that you’re tucking into the inside pocket of your robes. 

You roll your eyes and move to open the door, “Don’t be ridiculous, Transfiguration and Charms are all I have going for me.” And it’s true, Transfiguration and Charms aside, your grades are severely lacking. You had, at one point hoped to go into Cursebreaking, but that was before you’d found out that you need Os in Defence and Potions for that, as well as a penis. You scowl thinking about the injustice of being denied your chosen career path just because of your gender and are so deep in thought that you almost don’t hear Marie’s hiss of surprise as you leave Larkins’ office. 

Lounging against the same statue that Marie had been just a half-hour previously, is Tom Riddle. He raises an eyebrow as you and Marie stare at him. Dread trickles down your spine at his expression. To anyone else watching the scene unfold, Riddle looks like a prefect who is incredibly disappointed to find students stumbling out of a teacher’s office past curfew, but you don’t miss the slight curl of his upper lip or the flash of satisfaction in his eyes. Slowly, as though he hasn’t a care in the world, he pushes himself off of the statue and brings himself up to his full height. He’s at least half a foot taller than you and you find yourself once again having to tilt your head back to see his face. Besides you, Marie stands, eyes downcast, hands trembling slightly. 

“I do hope you have a good reason for this. Breaking into a professor’s office after curfew could well be grounds for expulsion.” He murmurs and despite the lowness pitch of his voice, it rings out clearly in the quiet of the corridor. Marie makes a sound in the back of her throat that could be a whimper. Riddle’s gaze slides towards her and his expression changes briefly. You think he might be refraining from rolling his eyes. “As it stands, I would hate to have that on my conscience, we are so close to graduating, after all. And Miss Dawkins, you are a muggleborn, are you not? I imagine it would be difficult for you to find work if you were to leave Hogwarts without your NEWTs.” Marie goes completely still.

Panic flares white-hot in your chest at his words. What Riddle is saying is completely true; it would be difficult for either of you to truly succeed in the wizarding world but you’d probably be okay… You’re half-blood and your family affords you some cushioning, but Marie… Marie would not do well. “Riddle, you can’t,” You say and hate the pleading edge to your words. This would be your fault. Marie wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for your inability to leave things alone… Well no, you had told her not to come and she had insisted but regardless, you were the one who wanted that folder and she would be the one to suffer should the worse come to pass.

Riddle shakes his head and sighs. “And I have no intention to, but I will have to dock points. And you both have detention for the rest of the term.” Marie breathes out a deep sigh of relief. “Miss Dawkins, go back to your dorms now.” His tone brooks no argument and after a brief pause, Marie nods and turns to leave, but not before thanking Riddle for his kindness and understanding. “No need to thank me, Miss Dawkins, just please, no more sneaking around after dark.” 

Marie’s footsteps fade and then it’s just the two of you. Immediately, Riddle’s concerned expression clears and he watches you with an annoyingly satisfied smirk lacing his annoyingly pretty features. “Well, this is interesting,” He says and you have to force yourself not to grimace. He must see something in your expression anyway because his smirk grows wider. “Turn out your pockets.”

You do so, revealing a couple of hair ties, your wand, your fucking history essay of all things, and the quill. He frowns and you smile sweetly at him, silently pleased with his frustration. He turns to look at you and you almost want to shrink away from the intensity in his eyes. “What did you find in the office?” He asks and any amusement in his voice has faded, replaced by a hardness that promises consequences should you lie.

“Nothing.” You snap and thank Merlin your voice doesn’t shake. “There wasn’t anything in there. If there had been, obviously I would have taken it.” You can tell immediately that he doesn’t believe you. His eyes search yours which such scrutiny that this time you do look away, staring at the statue behind him determinedly.

“You’re lying. I don’t appreciate being lied to,” He pauses and some emotion that you don’t have time to decipher flickers across his face before it’s snuffed out and the collected facade that he usually wears is back in place. It’s sort of fascinating watching him school his emotions with such skill and control. The next time he speaks, there’s no anger or frustration to be heard in his voice. “Why are you so interested in Mr Larkins office? And please, don’t forget the situation you’ve found yourself in.” The unspoken threat is clear and it's only Marie’s precarious position that stops you from telling him to fuck off.

Resigned, you stare at the ceiling and say flatly, “Larkins was really against letting Stephanie, or any other witch, play on the house teams. I found out something about him that was enough to make him reconsider. I was looking for more evidence to make sure that he didn’t go back on his decision.” It’s as close to the truth as you’re willing to tell him. Now that he knows part of the story, it probably wouldn’t do any more damage to tell him the rest of it, but the thought rankles you and you stubbornly don’t want to divulge any information.

To your surprise, Riddle doesn’t press you for more information. Instead, he’s looking at you with something akin to puzzlement marring his features. “You don’t care about quidditch, why would you care if girls are allowed to play or not? Is Miss Kirkdale doing something for you in return?”

It’s your turn to look confused and you’re dimly aware that you probably look ridiculous as you stare at him slightly slack-jawed. “No? Why would she do… Stephanie is my friend, Riddle. You do have those, don’t you?” He raises an eyebrow as if to indicate that yes, he does have friends, and no, you’re not making sense. “Stephanie won’t be able to play in any League if she doesn’t even have experience playing for her house,” You explain slowly, “I don’t care about quidditch, but she does and I can do something to help her so…” You trail off a little helplessly. Why was that the most confusing part of it all for him? Surely he did stuff for his friends?

“You should go back to your dormitory,” Riddle says at last. The confusion is gone, carefully hidden, and if you hadn’t been the one having this conversation with him, you would have thought he’d been talking about something as mundane as the weather. You don’t need to be told twice however and you quickly stuff your items back into your robes and make to leave. Before you can walk two steps, however, he catches you by the wrist and suddenly, his voice, soft and low so close, “I will find out exactly what you’re hiding from me. I think by the end, you’ll probably want to tell me yourself.” If you shiver it’s because you’re unsettled. Not because you maybe want to find out exactly what he means.

You shake his hand off and hurry down the corridor towards the safety of your common room. You can still feel where his fingers had wrapped around your wrist long after you’ve gone to bed.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6)

[slowly-writing]

More Than Okay

Natasha Romanoff x Teen!Reader

Word count: 1.8K

Requested by anons:

- Can I request a Nat x kid!reader where the kid was in foster care and She just recently went to live with Natasha. And it’s taking her a while to warm up but eventually starts calling Nat, mom? Thank you.

- ooh can I request a nat x (adopted)daughter reader where the reader is the kid of a couple that was killed off by a villain because of their powers. avengers and reader don’t know she has powers mostly because they’ve never shown. they finally find out when said villain comes back for reader by attacking avengers and her powers burst out of her unexpectedly and she saves them all?? thinking something of a mix between Wanda’s and Thor’s powers. thank you, love your writing so much!!

- Nat's daughter telling her she doesn't wanna be a shield agent/superhero.

Your parents didn’t work for the avengers but they were avenger-adjacent. They worked with them on multiple occasions. Your parents had powers and they fought to keep the city safe as best they could. They just hid their identities and stayed out of the public eye as much as possible while doing it. They had a child after all, and their main priority was keeping you safe. Unfortunately no secret ever stays hidden forever.

You remember that night vividly. You had woken up in the middle of the night, your throat was so dry that it was hard to breathe. You quietly made your way downstairs to the kitchen, not wanting to wake your parents, but what you saw still haunts you to this day. There were dozens of men in masks fighting with your parents. The walls were broken and crumbling around you, you feared the entire house would collapse soon.

“Y/n, run!” Your father screamed. You hesitated for a split second, wanting to stay to help but you knew there was nothing you could do. They were the ones with powers and they were clearly losing. If their last wish was to keep you safe you’d grant them that, no matter how much you’d rather stay with them and share their fate.

You ran, forgoing about the door and slipping through a crack in the wall. You looked over your shoulder, relieved to see that nobody was following you. Instead you saw a sword pierce your mother’s chest. To this day you could still hear her cries of pain, but she didn’t look scared. She had simply nodded to you, a clear side she wanted you to keep going. So you did, until you got to the one place you knew was safe.

xxxxx

When you arrived at the avengers compound hours later you were exhausted and you knew you looked awful. The sun was starting to rise, showing the tear tracks cutting through the blood and dirt from various falls, your still bare feet cut and bruised, and your pajamas torn in various places. Steve was the first to see you, as he was up first for an early run. He didn’t say anything, simply brought you inside and led you to the common room. He walked off as you sat on the couch, glancing around the room you’d only seen a handful of times when visiting with your parents. You felt tears well up in your eyes again at the thought of them. You stared down at your hands in your lap, not wanting to see the room full of memories.

When Steve returns he has a first aid kit and Natasha in tow. She knows you the best out of any of the avengers, having been close with your parents.

“Hey, do you wanna talk about what happened?” Natasha's voice is soft and comforting which gives you the courage to look up, as soon as she sees the tears she knows whatever happened was nothing good. You shake your head and she pulls you into her arms. “That’s alright. We don’t have to talk right now. Is it okay if Steve and I clean you up? You’ve got some pretty nasty cuts,” she waits for your nod before motioning for Steve to pass her the first aid kit.

xxxxx

That had been over a year ago and things were still rocky. Tony has given you a room in the compound and that’s where you spent most of your time. While all the avengers cared for you, and you for them, you rarely opened up to them. The events that happened were the worst memories you had, and you didn’t want to share the most painful parts of your life with people who were practically strangers. You’d send a small smile in Peter’s direction at school and sit in on movie nights, but heart to hearts were unheard of amongst the majority of the team. You were content to be the quiet girl nobody truly knew. Well nobody aside from Natasha. You had a few conversations with her and you’ve unpacked the whole event with your therapist, but nobody else knows the details of what happened that night, and you planned to keep it that way.

“Hey y/n, wanna go shopping with us?” Clint asks you as you walk through the kitchen after school.

“No thank you,” your response is quiet and he nods, having expected as much. He always makes an effort though.

“Alright, have a good afternoon.” With that he leaves the kitchen and you head towards the living room. Bruce and Tony are on a mission and Steve always joins Clint to go grocery shopping, it’s the only way to make sure we have more than junk food. That only leaves you and Natasha in the compound so you don’t feel the need to hide.  

You sit on the floor by the coffee table, pulling out your homework with a sigh. You’re debating if you want to get your chemistry over with or get some work done on your creative writing story when you hear Natasha entering the room.

“How was school?” Her voice comforts you. It’s calming. Drastically different from the bickering and teasing the boys normally throw around.

“It was fine,” you say simply, turning around to face her as she sits on the couch behind you. Anyone else would’ve taken your short response as a sign that you didn’t want to be talking to them, that’s probably why Natasha was the only one you talked to. While Steve was technically your legal guardian you only had brief interactions with him. They never told you for sure, but you’re pretty sure the only reason it wasn’t Natasha was because she’s in America on sketchy terms and some of her missions prior to her days as an avenger could probably be classified as treason. It was best to keep her out of the mandatory background check that came with fostering a kid. You didn’t need anybody else digging into her past.

“Still dreading that chemistry homework I see,” you follow her gaze to where your textbook is pushed away and you laugh a bit.

“It’s so hard. And I don’t need it anyways! I want to be an English teacher. I don’t need to know chemistry,” you tell her and it’s her turn to laugh and place an arm around your shoulder as you flop on the couch next to her.

“You’re right, you don’t need it to teach English. But you do need it to graduate high school so you have to do it eventually. If you need help Tony will be home tomorrow, and I think Peter is coming over tonight to do some training. He’d be more than happy to help and it’d be good for you to talk to him. Remember what Dr. Tan said-“

“I need to have more interactions with people my own age. I know,” you cut her off, “But how am I even supposed to start that conversation? ‘Hi I’m Y/n- oh you already know that?-oh because I’m Stingray and Rogue’s daughter and their identities got leaked after their murder, right. Yeah I’m super sad they died too.’ Sounds like a delightful conversation to have.”

“I know it’s hard y/n, but Peter is a good place to start. He’s plenty different too and he’s not going to judge you for it,” Natasha’s argument makes sense but before you can respond you hear a crash from the kitchen and you’re grateful for the distraction.

“Is Clint back already?” You ask, pulling away from Natasha and walking towards the kitchen. You freeze in the doorway, seeing the people that have haunted your nightmares for over a year now.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” Natasha calls but before she gets to you the closest figure charges. You duck out of the way and Natasha takes him out. She starts fighting the men but she’s beyond outnumbered. You’re frantically looking around for somebody to help, but it’s just the two of you. When you look back you see a man charging her with a sword, just like last year.

“Mom, look out!” you scream as you flail your arm in the attacker’s direction. Before Natasha can try to dodge him he’s thrown back and he’s seizing. You glance at your hands seeing a mist sparking with electricity surrounding your fingers. You don’t have time to overthink it as all the intruders’ attention turns to you. You zero in on the closest one and send a pulse of electricity in his direction. You repeat the process until they’re all on the floor. At that moment shield agents and the rest of the team come flooding in, FRIDAY having notified them of the break in.

“Holy shit,” Clint says and you look between him and your hands, eyes wide in fear.

“Did you do that?” Steve asks and you swallow hard before nodding. “You could be a good addition to the team.”

“You really could. Pulse you’re a legacy, what with your parents and everything,” an agent says and your breathing starts to speed up. Everything's happening so fast. There’s too much and you’re starting to spiral. You’re about to run when Natasha steps in front of you.

“Let’s go somewhere a bit more quiet, okay?” she offers and you nod, desperate for an escape. You both walk in silence until you’re in your room and sitting next to each other on the bed. “Did you know you could do that?”

“No! I swear I didn’t. I would’ve told you, I promise I-”

“Hey,” Natasha cuts off your rambling, placing a calming hand on your shoulder. “I’m not mad. I just want us to get on the same page. We need to figure out what this means and start training you.”

“I don’t want to be an agent,” you say bluntly. “I’m sorry. I know I should want to help people. It's the right thing to do, it’s what my parents would want me to do but I just can’t”

“That’s fine. You don't owe anyone anything and if you don’t want to use your powers then that’s okay. We do need to do some training though. Just to make sure you’re in control of them, but we don’t have to tell anyone outside of the team if you don’t want to,” Natasha promises and you nod, throwing yourself into her arms as you sigh in relief.

“Thank you,” you whisper and you feel her sigh this time.

“There’s one more thing. You called me mom in there. I know that was all probably really mentally draining and I have no idea what kind of memories it triggered. I know it was an accident but-” it’s your turn to cut her off.

“It wasn’t an accident. I know you’re not legally my mom, but you’re the one who stepped up. I don’t even want to think about what would’ve happened to me if you weren’t there. I get it if it’s not okay with you, but I think of you as my mom,” you explain, wringing your hands as you wait for her response.

“It’s more than okay with me,” Natasha tells you, placing a hand over yours.

Tag List: @rvgrsbrns @rororo06 @prizmix-and-friends @worlds-in-words @im-salt-but-not-salty @5aftermidnight @riotmaximoff

[fallingappleshurt]

Bumblebees and Buttercups

Tommy knows how to get into the forest and even though it’s against the rules he can’t resist showing his friend

Hiiii I disappeared for a bit- sadly but I am back with a little snack sized fic that could probably use more polish!

This takes place in my DFF AU and here is the ao3 link!

Hope you enjoy!

A soft breeze brushed against Tommy’s skin as he pulled on his friend’s floppy, threadbare, sleeve.

“Come on! It’s not that far now!”

“Where are we even going? We’re all the way in the fourth ring!” Tubbo said, jumping over a dip in the road, Tommy had insisted on showing him a ‘very cool and important secret’ after school that day but wouldn’t explain a single thing else.

“You’ll see- now come on! You’re so slow!”

Tommy missed Tubbo’s eye roll and tried to urge him along, hoping to avoid the more dodgy areas Phil warned him about years ago.

He led them past Skeppy’s shack, past the dilapidated buildings, and towards the fence. They ended up close to the gap that Tommy had followed Techno through a few weeks earlier.

Tommy ducked behind a house, motioning dramatically for Tubbo to follow, Tommy looking for the telltale willow tree vines that hid the gap, ignoring Tubbo’s questions.

“There it is!” He started to run but skidded to a halt, cautiously checking the area, then crept forwards, waving for Tubbo to join him.

He peeled back the gangly green vines and looked to Tubbo for a reaction.

“What- what is this?”

“The forest outside the rings!”

“Well obviously- how did you find it?”

“That’s not important,” Tommy grinned, “What is important is that we have access to the outside world.”

“What are we even gonna do with this?”

“Well- I don’t know- it’s- it’s cool! It’s just cool-” He paused, “Not like you would get cool.”

Tubbo nodded, taking a step closer to the fence, “What do you think is out there?”

“Nothing we can’t handle! Come on- it’ll be fun! We can do anything we want!” And without waiting for a response Tommy marched in, Tubbo sighed before trailing behind.

The edge of the forest looked worse than the last time Tommy had seen it, more litter was scattered in the foliage and trees, the thickets were sharper and pulled at already thin clothing and pricked his skin but that didn’t stop him.

“Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Of course! I’ve been here loads of times!” Tommy jabbed a thumb at his own chest proudly.

“How many times?”

“Uh- too many to count!” Tommy stammered, scrambling over a mossy log, intentionally crunching on the leaves. “Just know that I am a professional!”

Tubbo snorted, optioning to crouch under the log instead.

They continued deeper into the woods, soft sunlight dappling through the canopy of leaves, emerald green grass brushing against their ankles, the chittering of nearby animals filled their ears.

“Do you think there are bees in here?”

“Of course- there have to be!”

“I’d like to see them- I’ve only seen a few in the rings…”

“Hell yeah! Let’s go find us some bees! There are probably some close by!”

The pair bounced through the woods, crossing little creeks and streams, hopping from rock to rock and trying to swing on the low hanging weak vines on the trees.

Tommy had tried a particularly weak one, slipped, and landed flat on his back.

They happened upon a little flower patch, immediately taking notice of the buzzing coming from the vibrant flowers, a few yellow specks fluttering about.

Tommy watched as Tubbo crouched down and inched closer, biting his lip to stop from laughing.

“Ya know Tubbo- I don’t really get why you like those things.”

“I don’t know why either, I just think they’re neat, come and watch them.”

“No- that sounds boring.” Tommy said as he shuffled closer to Tubbo, who was poking tentatively at the bees. “Moths are better.”

“No they’re not,”

“Yes they are!”

“If they are so much better then where are they?”

“They-they’re not out right now- because-” Tommy trailed off briefly.

“‘Cause they’d get eaten.” Tubbo filled in nonchalantly, not bothering to look up.

Tommy shrieked, “Aw no! That’s sick- that’s so sick! You’re so twisted!”

“I’m not twisted- that’s just how nature works-”

“Nature is stupid!”

“You’re stupid-”

They bickered back and forth for a moment before the argument dissolved and they sat in a not awkward but not comfortable silence.

Tubbo broke it, rubbing a soft yellow flower petal between his fingers, “I wonder what type of flower this is- the bees seem to really like it.”

Tommy looked up, briefly stopping from pulling up grass, “They’re buttercups.” He said simply.

“You answered that fast.” Tubbo teased, watching Tommy’s head shoot up.

“Well- well yeah! Because I’m so smart I just know these things!”

Tubbo laughed, plucking a bee free buttercup from the ground and laying it across Tommy’s busted up shoes.

“Sure big man.”

In turn Tommy took it and tried to weave it between the laces, after he mangled the steam just enough to get it to stay he picked a buttercup of his own and stuck it in a free button gap on Tubbo’s shirt.

They grinned at each for a moment before Tommy cleared his throat and looked over at the bees, “Hm, they aren’t so bad.”

“They’re great- at least they actually do things for the environment- unlike moths!”

“I’m tired of your shit! Moths are great and it’s not my fault that you’re too stupid to see that!”

The banter continued until they heard the bushes rustle and froze, it was too strong and too loud for it to be a small animal. Tommy put up a hand and crept forwards, taking care to not step on anything that could alert the thing of his presence.

He stood on his tiptoes and looked out to see something slinking forwards, hissing softly, not in his direction, it almost blended in with forest as it.

He wasn’t able to recognize it but knew it was bad news, just looking at the monster’s bend form sent sharp shivers down his back.

Tommy let out a shaky breath and took a step back, he had heard Techno say there were monsters in the forest before but he thought Techno was just trying to scare him.

He tried to rationalize to himself, it was fine, the monster didn’t even know he was there, they just had to sneak away- which was totally doable!

Tommy took a one cautious step backwards, still keeping his eyes locked on the monster. He took another, didn’t make a sound, and the monster's head snapped to the side, zeroing in on him.

It’s eyes narrowed and it let out a sharp, grading, cry before charging forwards at full speed.

Tommy shrieked and ran towards Tubbo, grabbing his arm in an attempt to pull him up, babbling about a ‘something big something bad- monster- run run run’.

They rushed through the trees, trying to stick close to one another without tripping, jumping over large roots and avoiding vines they didn’t dare bother to look back.

“We need to move around more- so we’re harder to follow!” Tubbo called to him, Tommy shook his head.

“No! We could get lost- besides we can out run that bastard!”

The land started to look a little familiar, the trees started thinning and the chitters of the animals were dying down.

Tommy dared to look behind him and skidded to a halt, chest heaving, he didn’t see the monster behind him and flopped on the ground, trying desperately to suck down as much air as possible.

He heard Tubbo stop too, looking over to see him leaning against a tree, sweat dripping down his forehead.

“So- besides- besides the monster- I think that went pretty well.”

Tubbo gave him a look before laughing, “Yeah- yeah it did.”

They waited for a few moments, trying to get their breathing back under control, Tommy took to breaking a twig into smaller pieces while Tubbo fiddled with the flower still stuck in his shirt.

After a while Tommy sat up, immediately regretting it as all the blood rushed from his head, tossing the shredded twig bits aside.

“We should probably get back home,”

Tubbo nodded as Tommy climbed to his feet then rushed over and grabbed Tubbo’s shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone about any of this, okay Tubbo? It has to be a complete secret.”

Tubbo nodded again, putting his hands on top of Tommy’s, “Got it!”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Okay- now let's get out of here.” They walked to the edge of the forest and after making sure the coast was clear ran over and ducked back through the fence, pushing the swaying willow vines away.

The fourth circle was quiet, the cracked cobble brick roads were barren, the sun was just starting to set so they picked up the pace.

They couldn’t have gotten three houses down the road until they ran into Technoblade, he barely spared them a passing glance, in favor of messing with a hole in his sleeve.

“There you guys are.” He said, “Knew you were out here.”

“What- how?”

“It’s a sense- I can tell when you’re doing something stupid.”

“That’s rude- I don’t do stupid things-”

“Sure Tommy, now lets get home.” Techno had already turned to walk away.

“Get home?”

“Yes.” He looked over his shoulder, “You have people who worry about your wellbeing you know.”

‘I don’t think you know that.’ Tommy wanted to retort but kept his mouth shut, trailing behind Techno who didn’t seem to understand there wasn’t a rush to get home and there was no need for him to walk that fast.

The walk back was mostly silence saved for a few questions about the weekend's homework. The trio eventually reached the rusty metal stairs, Techno turned to Tubbo.

“Can you make it back to your place okay?”

Tubbo nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be fine, see you later.” He waved and continued down the street.

They watched him leave and Tommy felt his nerves settle just a little bit when;

“You were in the forest.” It wasn’t a question.

“Uh-”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Tommy froze, not sure of what to do, was Techno mad at him or just annoyed? He could never tell.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Techno sighed, Tommy shook his head.

“Nope.”

“Didn’t see anything weird in there?”

“Nope.” Tommy felt like it was probably better if Techno didn’t know about the monster even if it didn’t get that close- better safe than sorry.

Techno eyed him up and down. “Okay you’re definitely lying.”

“What! No I’m not- you stupid-”

“Yeah yeah- just get upstairs.” Techno sighed again, nudging Tommy towards the stairs.

Tommy stuck his tongue out but headed up towards the apartment anyways, grinning when he looked down and noticed the buttercup still wrapped in between his shoe laces.

It was busted up and missing a few petals but was still soft between his fingertips and glowed softly in the dim light of his room.

He put it in a little glass of water on his desk for a reminder of his adventure with his friend.

[amateur-authorial-aspirations]

Another short story! It's about the same length as the last one, around 3k words. I don't have a title for this one, though.

Not sure what trigger warnings to add for this but uh it's about a family that's kinda broken and a mom that was very neglectful, and there's stuff about sickness and hospitals. Oh and food.

~~~~~~~~~~

The only thing I wanted to inherit from my mother was the recipe for her chicken soup.

My mom—well, she did her best with us, I guess, but her best mostly involved working long nights at a lousy job and occasionally showing up at school events to clap for us. The rest of the time, she was either drinking Bud Lights out on the porch or passed out from some combination of exhaustion and intoxication, sprawled on her bed or wherever she happened to collapse. I'd put a blanket over her, sometimes, but usually I was too busy cooking dinner, or helping my younger siblings with their homework, or doing one of the million other things that wouldn't get done unless I did them.

The one thing she always got right, though, was when I was sick. She had crazy good hearing, like an owl or something, and if I so much as sneezed, in an instant she'd have me tucked into bed and a pot of chicken soup on the stove. That soup—dear God, my mouth still waters just thinking about it. It was like she took carrots and celery and a chicken straight from the dirt of a farm somewhere and cooked it in, I don't know, the tears of an angel. A little salty, and just heavenly. And the whole time I was sick, whether puking my guts up in the bathroom or just sniffling a little, she was the perfect mother—she picked Brett and Ashley up from school, cooked three meals a day, helped them with their homework, everything.

Even years and decades after I'd moved as far from her as I could get, whenever I was sick, I'd get an awful hankering for that chicken soup. I'd whine and moan and throw a feeble, snotty tantrum until someone made some for me, and my husband tried, bless his soul, but it just wasn't the same. Sometimes I'd try, too, once I was feeling better, but it was never as good as my mom's, no matter what I did. I thought about calling and asking her once or twice, usually when a bout of illness coincided with a fight with my kids. I'd be aching and shivering, feeling bad enough about my own parenting that I could almost forgive her, and when the craving hit, I'd start to reach for the phone, but—

No. I'd worked so hard to get her out of my head, and I didn't know if I could do it all over again.

I remember it was raining the day Ashley called with the news. I could tell she was upset right away, but when she told me why, I almost dropped the phone.

"Hello?" she said, her voice choked. "Kathy, you still there?"

"Yeah," I rasped, "I'm here. I… I don't know what to say. I mean, cancer? God. Is she okay?"

"Yes. For now, at least. We don't know how long she'll stay that way, though."

"I don't know what to say," I repeated. It was true; I felt like someone had stuck my brain in a freezer.

"Say you'll come see her. And before you say no—"

"What? No. Absolutely not."

"Before you say no, think about how much it would mean to her. And to me. To all of us. We could finally be a family again, you know? One last time."

"I'm not putting myself through that so you can get our family picture taken, Ash."

"Come on, Kathy. I know you're mad at her, but—"

"I'm not mad. I just don't owe her anything."

"But—"

"And I don't owe you anything, either."

"Okay, that is not—"

I hung up. Then I threw my phone at the couch. It rang a moment later, but I just took a deep breath in, let it out slowly, and walked out of the room, the tinny music fading as I closed the door behind me. Then it started again.

Brett called about an hour later. I let it ring.

He understood a little better than Ashley, I think, but she was his little sister, the baby of the family. I was sure he'd side with her.

But, after a long talk with my husband and a couple days of stewing, I decided to go after all. I might not have owed my mother anything, but I owed it to myself to not leave any questions hanging. Besides, if she was really dying… it felt bad, felt heartless, to refuse to visit an old, sick woman.

Brett met me at the airport, a box of chocolate in hand.

"Nate with the kids?" he asked.

"Yeah. Those for Mom?"

"No," he said with a small chuckle, "for you."

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

"Honestly, Kathy, you're a saint. I don't know if I'd have come, if I were you."

"You did come, though."

"Yeah, but it wasn't the same for me. Or Ashley. You know that better than I do."

"Well, I'm not here for Mom, anyway."

It was Brett's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"I mean, I'm here to see her, but it's for me."

"And for Ashley?"

"And kinda for Ashley."

We both laughed a little. Then he handed me the chocolate and started loading my suitcases into the trunk of his car.

When we pulled up to the house, Ashley ran out to greet me, but Brett pulled her aside as I went around to the back of the car. I couldn't hear what he said, but her face sank. She nodded tightly and went back inside.

I tugged my suitcase up over the curb and pulled it down a concrete pathway that cut through calf-height grass and weeds to the front of Ashley's one-story, vinyl-sided house that had been painted in a shade of yellow so bright it turned my stomach, though I'm sure my sister thought it "sunny" or some such thing. Part of the roof was sagging on one side.

Looking at that house, part of me couldn't help feeling guilty. I mean, I wasn't rich, and Ashley and her family certainly weren't starving, but it was hard not to draw comparisons to my own home, spacious and immaculate and halfway across the country, and wonder if there wasn't more I should be doing. Not that she'd accept assistance if I offered it; if anything, she'd just get angry, and things between us were already so tense... but, still. I didn't think there would ever come a day that I saw her struggling and didn't want to help.

Lost in thought, I walked in the door and headed straight for the rear of the house, almost passing the small living room on the right, but then a quiet cough sounded. I whipped my head toward the noise, freezing in place as I took in the hospital bed that been set up where a couch used to be. Took in its white-haired occupant.

After a moment, I cleared my throat. "Hi, Mom."

She looked so tiny and fragile lying there, her feet barely reaching halfway down the bed, her skin pale and papery. Nothing like the hard-drinking, loud-talking woman who had stomped through my childhood with the force of a bulldozer, hurtling herself headfirst at anything that dared to stand in her way. No, there was no sign of that woman in this dimly lit room that smelled of sickness and floral air freshener.

"Hi, Kathy," said this person I no longer recognized. "It's so good to see you."

"Wish I could say the same," I blurted before I could think better of it, but she just laughed, a dry, gravelly chuckle that ended in a hacking cough.

"Well," she said after a minute, when she was breathing normally again, "I can't say I was expecting much better, after everything I put you through. And I guess that's what I get for smoking so damn much."

"Wait." My face screwed up in confusion. "Since when did you smoke?"

"Oh, it was a long time ago. I tried to quit for years, but it never stuck until I got pregnant with you. I guess knowing I had someone else depending on me was the push I needed."

I let out a sharp bark of laughter, once again reacting without thinking and immediately wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. Not because I hadn't meant it; I had, but it wasn't like me, to be so sarcastic and mean-spirited. This tired, bitter woman was just as foreign to me as the little old lady she was mocking.

"Sorry," I said. "I'm sure you thought that was a heart-warming story about one time you actually did take care of me, but that's the thing, right? You did get it right sometimes. Which means the rest of the time… that was a choice. And I could forgive you for being weak or sick or crazy, but you weren't any of those things. Like, when I was sick, you were always so good. And I'd eat your chicken soup, and I'd think, maybe this time. Maybe this time she'll keep it up. But then I'd get better, and you'd go right back to leaving us to fend for ourselves, and it would hurt even worse because I knew what it felt like to be taken care of. You know I've got kids now, right? I'm sure Ashley's told you. So I know what it feels like, when you're tired down to your bones and you don't know how to keep going. But still, every single day, I choose to go on anyway, to be there for my kids, because I love them too much not too. So either you just didn't love us enough, or you did, and you still chose not to take care of us. I don't know which it is, or which would be worse. But I know I can't forgive you."

The words had all come out in a rush, as if some long-stoppered bottle of feelings inside me had suddenly come pouring from my lips, getting bigger and angrier as I went, and I had to stop for a second, take a deep breath in, let it out slowly.

"So," I went on, more calmly now, "I'll be here for a week. We'll play nice, for Ashley and her kids, and because we are civilized people. And I really am sorry about what you're going through. But when I leave, I don't want to hear from you again, and I don't want you bothering Ashley about me."

With that, I turned on my heel, not waiting for a reply, and marched down the hall to the guest room.

Only after I closed the door and collapsed onto the bed did I think about who else might have been in the house. I really hoped Ashley's kids hadn't overheard my tirade. Or Ashley herself, for that matter. I didn't like this nasty streak my mother brought out in me, and whatever my feelings for her, being a good sister and aunt was more important.

But when I emerged a little while later, cool and composed and determined to stay that way, I found everyone gathered around the big wooden table in the kitchen, Ashley presiding over it all with a wooden spoon and a hearty laugh.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me in the doorway. "Kathy! Come in, come over here." She was beaming as I made my way past the treacherous tangle of cooking implements brandished by small hands to where she stood at the stove, stirring a sizzling pan of vegetables. "So," she said in a low voice, one that no one else would hear over the general hubbub, "things went well with Mom? Brett seemed to think there'd be some… unpleasantness, but she said you guys talked? Worked things out?"

I cast a wary glance to where my mom sat at the table between Brett and Ashley's husband Blake, but her attention was fully occupied by her grandchildren and the silly song they were singing as they worked on their "cooking."

"Yeah," I said with a small, sad smile, "I guess we did." And we had, I supposed, if not in the way Ashley hoped.

The rest of the visit flew by in a whirl of babysitting and doctor's visits and pasted-on smiles. Before I knew it, the last day had arrived. My flight out was scheduled for late afternoon, but I woke early, intending to take a walk in the cool darkness just before sunrise, for the fresh air and exercise and much-needed time to myself. But when I went to open the front door, something felt off, and I realized I couldn't hear the snoring that that had echoed through the small house every night this week.

With a gasp, I turned and rushed to my mother's side. "Ashley!" I shouted as I fumbled for the switch on the lamp and tried to remember what little first aid I knew. Running footsteps clattered along the floor, then stopped somewhere behind me. "Ashley, I don't think she's breathing."

"Oh, dear God," said Ashley, and then her phone was out and she was talking to someone.

The minutes that passed before the ambulance arrived felt like seconds and hours and days all at once. Blake was there, he was doing something I vaguely recognized as CPR, but I had no idea if it was working. Then it was flashing lights and paramedics in uniforms and Ashley had to stay with the kids so I was the one climbing into the back of the ambulance, and the siren was blaring as we raced through the streets and swerved around corners, everything swaying and rattling as I clung desperately to my mother's hand.

When we got to the hospital, they carted her off through a set of swinging doors, and all too soon it was just me, standing alone under the fluorescent lights, shaking. The air around me seemed to pulse, and the too-clean antiseptic smell of the hallway had me ready to vomit.

I don't know how long I stood there, staring in shock at the big red letters on the smooth metal doors. NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT. It felt like forever.

But it couldn't have been more than a few minutes before Brett was there, wrapping me in his jacket and leading me to a chair. I think there were tears in his eyes, but I was too numb to cry. Or to talk. So we just sat there in silence, his arms around me, until Ashley came in with a million questions that I couldn't even process, much less answer. Everything the paramedics and doctors said had shot right past me in a blur of unintelligible sound. Ashley seemed about ready to shake me in frustration, but Brett took her to look for the doctors who would have the answers I couldn't give her. He left me his jacket, but I still missed his comforting warmth.

A few hours later, I was sitting on a hard plastic chair in a cold, drab room, watching over my mother as she slept. She looked even stranger now, with her face all calm and peaceful, content in a way I had never seen her before. In my lap was a tray from the hospital cafeteria, a styrofoam bowl of steaming-hot soup at its center.

Suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, and I leapt to my feet in excitement, launching the tray from my lap and dumping the soup all over the floor.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, looking frantically around the room for something with which to mop up the rapidly spreading puddle of broth. "I'm so sorry, I just wanted to bring you soup, like you always used to make me when I was sick, and I know it's not the same, but I just thought… well, and now I've gone and made a mess of it, haven't I?" My gaze locked on the box of tissues on the bedside table, and I practically lunged for them, but I was stopped by a gentle touch on my arm.

"Forget about the mess, Kathy, just come sit next to me." My mother gestured to the chair that was closest to her bed, and I sat down obediently. She let out a small, quiet laugh. "Goodness, I'd almost forgotten about the chicken soup."

"I don't know what you put in it, but that soup was the best thing I ever tasted."

She looked up at me sharply, confusion etched in the lines of her face. "What?"

"Don't worry, I'm just reminiscing, not trying to weasel any secret ingredients out of you."

This time, her laugh was raucous. "Secret ingredients? Kathy, the only secret ingredient in that stuff was a can of chicken soup from the supermarket."

Now I was the confused one. "What?"

"Oh, honey, I'm sorry if you thought I was making some special family recipe, but you must've got that idea from some fever dream. Don't you remember what a terrible cook I am? The only things I could ever make came out of cans or boxes or little plastic packets."

After a moment, I couldn't help but laugh as well. "Yeah, that sounds about right. I probably should've known."

I ended up missing my flight and staying for an extra week. Mostly, I stayed at the house, helping Ashley with chores or the kids, but I visited the hospital a few times, too.

When I finally got home, a small, white envelope was waiting for me in the mailbox, my name and address scrawled across the back. Careful not to tear it, I peeled open the flap and pulled out a single sheet of lined paper covered in the same messy handwriting.

Mom's Chicken Soup

Ingredients:

1 12-oz can of condensed chicken soup

1 canful of water

Combine ingredients in saucepan and heat over medium high, stirring occasionally, until warm and bubbling slightly. Let cool to your desired temperature and serve with a side of high fever and delirium.

On the back was a brief note.

Thought you should have at least one family recipe.

With a small smile, I tucked the paper back into the envelope and turned to go inside, my heart feeling strangely light and heavy at the same time. And as I looked up to see my two beautiful, wonderful children come running out to greet me, I couldn't help feeling that my front door was not the only one that had just been opened.

[c4pricornc4ts]

The Best Prank - SBI One-Shot

This idea is by @bellfort3 ! Thank you for letting me take it. 

Summary:  He’d ask his mom if he could just quickly tweet something funny about him being grounded but really, isn’t a break from Tommy what everyone wants? Even his own fans used to find him annoying. Maybe everyone’s happy he’s gone. 

So he doesn’t ask. 

Tommy is tilting his head back in one of the uncomfortable leather seats outside the principal's office yet again this semester. He’s holding an already very bloody tissue up to his nose and swinging his legs while waiting for his mom to be interrupted in the middle of work yet again to come and take him home. 

He really tried not to get in another fight after how mad his mom was last time, but there were these asshole upperclassmen who just really deserved it for how much of an asshole they are to everyone, but especially him. 

He knew his mom would be livid, and he was completely right. He eyes her warily as she steps in the office and starts switching between apologizing profusely to the principal and lecturing him. The principal just hands her a paper to sign and tells them both very seriously that if he gets in one more fight he’s expelled. 

Tommy’s up getting another tissue when she all but drags him out the office door by his coat. 

“It’s really not that big of a deal!” He whines as she checks him over, before letting him get in the car. 

She leans her forehead against the steering wheel and sighs, gripping it tightly. “Not a big deal? Tom you can’t just get in fights with people! You heard your principal, one more and you’re out.”

“What am I supposed to do? Just let them be assholes?” He snapped at her, though he sounded less angry and more nasally from the tissue blocking his nose. 

“Go tell a goddamn teacher! I’m starting to think you like getting your nose broken.” 

“They don’t do shit!” 

His mom turns to him, he looks away. “Your grades are dropping, you’ve been in a total of three fights just this semester and now you’re snapping at me? What’s gotten into you?” 

“I’m sorry mom.” He mumbles. He does feel kind of bad about it all. But mostly he just wants the  conversation to end. 

“You’ve really left me no choice here you know.” She takes his phone out of his backpack. “No phone for a week, and no streaming either. I’m unplugging the wifi. You need to do some self reflection.” 

“Oh come on now, a whole week? It’s just a bloody nose it’s not like anybody died!” This was completely unfair. Streaming was his job, and how on earth will his friends know where he went? 

“You’ll thank me when you’re not repeating sophomore year.” She starts the car, focusing on the road now. Tommy makes no move to speak to her again not wanting to make anything worse. 

After he’s caught up on his school work it’s almost 8pm. He goes to sit in front of his computer, excited to just hang out with whoever was online and deflates in his seat when all he can do is play that stupid no internet dinosaur game. 

Even though it’s a stupid game he still plays it for at least an hour before giving up and just getting ready for bed. At least he had school tomorrow to keep him distracted. 

School goes by quickly, he complains to his friends about being grounded and over exaggerates the fight he was in and all his teachers give him looks when they see his bruised face but smile when he turns in his late work. 

He opens his front door and starts to head upstairs, preparing to stream before just leaning against the wall and sighing when he remembers his punishment. He has no homework though so really what was he supposed to do? 

Blue eyes look at the cookie mix left on the counter and Tommy makes a plan. He changes out of his school uniform and makes sure to give his mom a pointed look before running back to the kitchen. 

He reads the back of the box, leaning against the counter; 2 eggs, ½ cup of water, and ⅓ cup of olive oil. It sounds easy enough. The only trouble he has is trying to crack the eggs without getting any shells in the bowl. He thinks about when he met up with his friends and how Wilbur and Phil made it a competition to see which of the two could crack an egg with one hand the cleanest. 

Tommy stares at the unmixed bowl, his hands covered in baking ingredients, wondering if any of his online friends missed him. They always seem relieved he’s not around when they stream and Tommy tries to remember they’re talking about his character, but it hurts. There’s only so many times he can hear his pseudo family call him annoying and a problem before it starts to feel more personal. 

It hurt, he always played it off so well on stream but after streams where they were particularly rude to him he always just felt drained. 

He’d ask his mom if he could just quickly tweet something funny about him being grounded but really, isn’t a break from Tommy what everyone wants? Even his own fans used to find him annoying. Maybe everyone’s happy he’s gone. 

So he doesn’t ask. 

Suddenly, he doesn’t want to finish his baking project. He really just wants to lie down and sleep for the week. But he does, though it feels a lot less exciting than it did at first. 

He takes the cookies out of the oven with his bare hands yelling about how that’s his least favorite part before turning around and coming face to face with his very confused mom holding an oven mitt. 

He runs his hands under some cold water and takes a few cookies up to his room, leaving the rest out. He closes the door and plays some minecraft in single player for a while, walking into the house he and Tubbo had built together when his friend had visited. 

Tubbo doesn’t hate him, he liked Tubbo. 

It’s only his fourth day of no internet and Tommy is incredibly bored. He had done just about everything he could think of to do. He feels bad for kids who grew up like this because honestly, how did they do it? 

He supposes it’s different when you don’t rely on the internet for your job, or if you just never knew it was a thing. If he was born before the internet maybe he would write that book he always wanted to write. 

Tommy is staring at a book on knitting and fumbling around the two needles, trying to make his weekend at least somewhat productive. The tv in the living room is turned down and Tommy curls up on the end of the couch with a roll of green yarn.

He begins to get the hang of the whole knitting thing after three very messy rows when his mom messes up his hair, causing him to look up with a glare. 

“We’re going out, don’t you try to get on anything or it’ll be two weeks!” 

“I have ascended past the need for electronics, as you can see.” He laughs and keeps trying to tie off the fourth row. 

The door clicks shut and Tommy tosses the yarn aside and sits up. Sighing hard enough to blow his hair out of his face before flopping back down on the couch dramatically. 

He throws an arm over his eyes and resolves to just lie down for a bit, not bothering to even fix the knitting book which had landed open on the floor next to him. 

He just let’s the colors flickering from the tv wash over him for a while when the doorbell rings. He ignores it, as his parents didn’t tell him anyone would be coming by. Hoping it was just the mail. 

The person at the door starts knocking after a few moments, so Tommy begrudgingly gets up to answer. 

He really wasn’t expecting Wilbur to be standing in his front yard, checking his phone. He looked troubled, as if he was worrying it was the wrong house or something. Tommy takes a deep breath and goes to find out what Wilbur wanted. 

“Tommy! Where’ve you been? Everyone’s been so worried I decided to make a trip here.” Wilbur just let’s himself in, walking right past Tommy and into the kitchen. 

“Oh, just busy with school y’know?” He knows it’s a weak excuse, but it’s worth a shot. 

“Too busy to just send a message to someone?” Of course that didn’t work on Wilbur. Philza or Tubbo would’ve accepted that excuse in a heartbeat. But not Wilbur. 

“I thought no one would care. It’s only a week.” He opens the fridge, trying to act nonchalant about the situation. 

“Only a week? Tommy, you usually text us everyday! Of course we’re gonna notice.” 

“Notice? Yes. Care? No.” He mumbles bitterly. Freezing up right after, hand still on the fridge handle. 

“Of course we care! Wha- Why would you think we didn’t-” Tommy feels a bit bad, Wilbur sounds genuinely hurt by it. But Tommy wasn’t done. 

“You all always talk about how annoying I am, for-fucking-give me for giving you and everyone else a break.” He turns towards the older, and tries to stop his eyes from watering. Trying to tell himself he’s mad, not upset. 

“It’s all jokes Tommy, you know we don’t actually feel that way about you.” Wilbur pushes off the counter and takes a tentative step towards Tommy. Who makes sure Wilbur notices him step back. 

“What’s so funny about it? I go from school where everyone seems to hate me just to talk to more people who act like they hate me. And I’m really, really tired of it.” He falters by the end of the statement, realizing that maybe he is more than just mad. 

He knows he’s crying, his shoulders shake and his face feels hot as he looks anywhere but at Wilbur’s face. Was it so bad of him to just want people in his corner for once? Is he really such an annoyance that someone had to drive all the way to his house because he didn’t just find a way to contact any of them? 

“Oh, Tommy.” Wilbur murmurs, his voice sounds soft. And Tommy leans into his shoulder for support. He should probably just sit down, but he really just wants some comfort right now. Even if the one who made him so upset is the one he gets it from. 

Wilbur pulls him in, enveloping him in an actual hug. And Tommy can’t deny it does make him feel a bit better. 

“I’m being ridiculous, I'm sorry. I-I know you guys don’t mean it. It just- It hurts.” He’s crying again, and he really hopes Wilbur doesn’t make him stop hiding his face. 

“You’re not being ridiculous, we should’ve looked out for you better. I just assumed you were okay with it, but I never even asked you. I’m the one who’s sorry. So you take your sorry back.” 

“Sorry for being sorry.” He whispers back softly, laughing over his own joke. 

Wilbur holds him for a bit longer, and he tries to wipe his face before stepping back. 

“I’ll talk to Techno and Philza if that’s okay. I never want you to feel like I wouldn’t care if you left, I’m sure they wouldn’t want you too either.” 

“That’s- thanks, Wilbur.” 

Wilbur claps his hands together excitedly. “Now, tell me what TommyInnit does when there’s no internet to waste his time on.” 

“Wilbur you won’t believe it but I got to the point of boredom where you learn to knit. To knit, Wilbur!” He’s dragging Wilbur by the arm into the living room to show him the barely finished hat he’d started. And laughing when Wilbur fusses at him for leaving the book sprawled on the floor like it was. The moment earlier was completely forgotten. 

And if Wilbur made a tweet that night, well he’d delete it before Tommy got his phone back so really, no one gets hurt here. 

Wilbur Soot (@WilburSoot)

Tommy’s grounded LMAOO and won’t have his phone for the next few days, quick comment nice paragraphs under his latest tweet to confuse him haha, the best prank I think.

[calumcest]

i know we’re gonna uncover what’s sleeping in our soul

[ao3]

so! my fic exchange fic for the absolutely lovely @lifewasradical��� who had the most brilliant reader profile i have to say you are truly so big brain in your preferences (perhaps because they overlap with mine no i am not biased). thank you so much to @allsassnoclass​ for hosting this you are wonderful and i adore you

thank you to bella and ainslee for listening to me chat shit about this fic and to my anonymous friend for also patiently listening and encouraging me and also telling me to stop fucking writing i need to hear that shit

-

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s. 

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate.

-

The most exciting thing about Luke’s twenty-first birthday is the same as everyone else’s. 

On a person’s twenty-first birthday, they get access to their soulmate. At least, in theory. In practice, it’s a little more complicated - most people’s soulmates aren’t exactly the same age as them, so some people have to wait a few years, and some people find out they haven’t got a soulmate, and a small handful of people find out their soulmate has already passed away. It’s a complicated process that’s built up over generations - when Luke’s grandparents were younger, it was still the norm for governments to inform people of the identity of their soulmate on their twenty-first birthday, but privacy and mental health concerns in recent years following a few nasty high-profile situations where people discovered their soulmates were serious criminals led to the passing of international legislation restricting access to the information. Now, the only way a person can find their soulmate is by writing to them, or the dreaded letter that arrives the day after their twenty-first birthday informing them that their soulmate has predeceased them. 

Luke’s sort of the baby in his circle, so he’s the last to find out. His brothers are both older and so by the time Luke really understood the system they’d already found their soulmates; Alex and Jack had already known they were soulmates when Luke had met them, also being a few years older; and when Calum had woken up on his twenty-first birthday to see it best be you, dickhead scrawled on his arm in Michael’s messy handwriting it had only really been a formality, confirming what everyone already knew. 

Luke, though, has no idea who his soulmate could be. There’s no one he’s ever felt that alleged special affinity with, no matter how hard he’s tried to force it. He’s never felt entirely safe with someone, the way that Ben describes it, never felt at home with someone, the way that Michael describes it, never felt at peace, like, deep in your soul, like the universe is balanced just right around you the way that Calum describes it. He has felt the desire to punch people in the throat before, as Alex and Jack both describe it, but he thinks that’s probably more of a them problem than it is a universal experience. 

And it’s not that Luke’s particularly unusual in that - the vast majority of people don’t know who their soulmate is before their birthdays. Ben and Jack both had to fly to different countries to meet theirs, and Alex and Jack had been on opposite sides of the USA, and the way Michael talks about it, Quakers Hill would seem to be on a different continent to Mount Druitt. It’s what Luke tells himself every time he looks in the mirror at four in the morning, alcohol and often something else swimming through his veins, and sees the fear of what if I’ll be one of the lonely ones? etched into the cloudy blue of his eyes. You’ll be fine. Almost no one knows their soulmate before their twenty-first birthday. Lots of people don’t even know them then. You’re not even twenty-one yet; just be patient. 

Except, now he is twenty-one. 

It’s two minutes past midnight, and Luke’s sat on his bed, already a little buzzed, Michael and Calum flanking him, pen poised over his inner forearm. This is how it works - as soon as the clock ticks over to midnight on a person’s twenty-first birthday, their soulmate (if they’re already over twenty-one) is accessible. And the way to communicate is by writing to them. Luke still isn’t quite sure how it works, because it just does, so he’s never questioned it, but what one soulmate writes on their skin appears on the other’s, like a temporary tattoo. It fades after a few hours, but it’s usually there long enough for the person to notice; after all, who wouldn’t spot a new hi, hello, or the odd grocery shopping list appearing on their hand or arm? 

“What do I say?” Luke says, a little nervously. 

“Just say hi,” Calum suggests, and Michael scoffs. “What?” Calum says, turning to Michael and raising an eyebrow. “You got a better idea?” 

“Well, it’s not very original, is it?” Michael says haughtily. 

“It doesn’t have to be original, Mike, it just has to work,” Calum says. 

“Okay, but what if it doesn’t work because it’s not original?” Michael says. Luke’s grip on the pen tightens. 

“Who’s going to reject their soulmate because they said ‘hi’?” Calum points out. Michael crosses his arms, and shrugs. 

“I would’ve,” he says. 

“Only because you knew it was me.” 

“Yeah, and?” 

“Guys,” Luke says, anxiety leaking into the edges of his tone, and the two of them start a little, like they’ve just remembered he’s there. 

“Just say hello,” Calum says. 

“Hello?” Michael echoes. “What is he, some eighteenth century English lord? Say ‘hi’, Luke, or ‘hey’.” 

“What, you can’t say ‘hello’ now?” Calum demands. “Anyway, it’s the principle, alright? Just greet them. It doesn’t have to be the best introduction in the world.” Yeah, Luke thinks. Yeah, that makes sense, right? It doesn’t have to be stellar; it’s just got to be something. So he nods, takes a deep breath, and lets the pen touch his skin.

Hi.  

The word sits on his skin like everything he’s ever written on it before, doesn’t sink in or dissolve or do a little jig. Luke hadn’t been expecting it to - after all, he’s seen enough soulmates write things to their partners - but it looks just like when he used to hastily jot down his homework for the day because he’d forgotten his planner again, and it’s oddly underwhelming. It doesn’t look - or feel - like something he’s been anticipating for years is happening, despite the butterflies in his stomach. It looks a little lonesome. 

“Well?” Michael asks impatiently. 

“It’s been thirty fucking seconds, Mike, Jesus Christ,” Calum says, swigging from his beer. 

“So?” Michael says, craning his neck to look at Luke’s arm. “Punctuality is an important quality in a partner, you know.” Calum scoffs incredulously, and Michael scowls. “Except if your partner is me. I have enough incredible traits to make up for it.” Calum just throws him a slightly-fond-but-mostly-exasperated look, and turns back to Luke, who’s still staring at his arm.

“Maybe they live in a different timezone,” Calum suggests. “Or maybe they’re younger than you.” 

“Maybe,” Luke allows, and puts his arm back down on his lap, but doesn’t stop staring at it. “Maybe they’re busy.” 

“Maybe,” Calum agrees. 

“Maybe we should finish these fucking beers,” Michael says pointedly, and Luke finally tears his gaze away from his arm and over to Michael, who’s gesturing at the crate they’d lugged upstairs (‘they’ being Calum and Michael, because Luke refuses to lift anything heavier than a book). He’s got a point - it’s Luke’s birthday, and there’s a slim chance of his soulmate replying immediately, so he might as well enjoy himself. 

“Alright,” Luke says, reaching for another bottle. “But don’t you fucking pussy out on me at two in the morning again.”

“What the fuck?” Michael demands indignantly, also reaching for a bottle. “When have we ever done that?”

 -------

 At two a.m., when Calum and Michael have stumbled blearily into bed together, Michael curling around Calum as they drifted off to sleep, Luke’s sat up in bed, staring at his arm. It still only says hi, and Luke’s trying to focus his alcohol-addled mind as much he can to will it to say more, to say hey, I’ve been waiting for you underneath Luke’s writing, but nothing changes. 

And logically, Luke knows there are countless explanations as to why he hasn’t heard anything from his soulmate yet, least of which is that it’s only been a couple of hours. There’s a high chance his soulmate is younger than him, or asleep, or just busy, and a slim chance that they could be- well. Luke doesn’t want to think about that. It’s just- Luke’s been wanting this for years, always daydreamed about his soulmate, about the colour of their eyes and the sound of their laugh and the warmth of their touch. He’s conjured fantasy after fantasy in his mind about how his twenty-first birthday would go, about how he’d meet his soulmate and immediately fall in love, about the comfort and safety and fulfilment he would feel. Because that’s the whole thing about soulmates; they’re made for you, made to fill in the gaps in your soul that you can’t even see, and as Luke blinks at the single word written on his arm, a word that feels like it needs completing somehow, he realises he might want that more than he’d realised. 

After a good ten minutes of staring and trying to engage any telepathy he may have, Luke decides that if his soulmate isn’t going to add anything, Luke’s going to have to do it himself. So he reaches for a pen, thinks for the briefest of seconds before a slightly-drunken thought tells him just introduce yourself, tell them about yourself, and he writes:

My name is Luke. It’s my twenty-first birthday today. I live in Sydney, Australia, and I have two brothers and a dog. What’s your name? 

It reads like one of his French oral exams at school that he barely passed, but Luke’s satisfied with it, capping the pen and setting it aside. It’s good to give a bit more information, right? Surely his soulmate will appreciate more than just a hi, will be more likely to reply if they know a little more about him. Plus, he’s asked a question, and it’s only polite to respond to a question, isn’t it? They’ll be trapped into responding by social etiquette, if they’re of age.

Yeah, he thinks, satisfied, as he rolls over on his side and lets his heavy eyes fall shut. If his soulmate is old enough, he’ll have heard back by the morning. 

 -------

 When Luke wakes up to the sun streaming through his window - fuck, they forgot to shut the curtains last night - he momentarily forgets what day it is, too focused on swearing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut, debating whether it’s worth getting up to shut the curtains or not. He decides it is, and heaves himself out of bed, and as he’s padding over to the curtains, arms already outstretched, he sees two lines of text on his arm. 

Luke had written more than two lines. He’d written a few, all bunched together in a long paragraph. And this handwriting is bigger than Luke’s, more confident, more assertive. 

It’s his soulmate. 

Luke stops dead, twisting his arm around so fast he thinks he might have given himself a Chinese burn, heart beating so fast that it’s all he can hear, and reads. 

I’m sorry. I don’t want to be your soulmate. 

And then, like an afterthought added reluctantly in a smaller script underneath: Happy birthday.  

Luke stares at the words, reading them over and over, each hastily scribbled scratch of the pen like a tiny needle in his heart; not quite enough to tear it apart entirely, but enough to make it ache and leak. 

So he has a soulmate. A soulmate who doesn’t want him back.

It doesn’t make sense, he thinks, a little disoriented, stumbling back towards his bed and reaching for the pen he’d left on his bedside table almost on autopilot. Luke’s soulmate doesn’t even know him. How can they not want to be his soulmate? What did he do wrong? How can he have ruined something that’s predestined, something that’s fated to happen? 

What? he writes back. The ink is harsh black on his pale skin, dug too deep into the flesh of his arm, sitting on top of his skin rather than underneath it like the words from his soulmate - some kind of sick symbolism, maybe, Luke thinks dazedly. An impenetrable layer between them, and it’s his own skin and bone. He’s heard of people not wanting their soulmates, but only after meeting them, or finding out that they’ve committed some horrible crime, or something of the sort. He doesn’t know of anyone who doesn’t want their soulmate before meeting them. 

“Hey,” Calum says suddenly and sleepily, clearing his throat and making Michael groan, stirring in his arms. “Did they write back yet?” Luke blinks, swallowing around a dry mouth. 

He could lie. He could pull his sleeve down and say nah, not yet, and Calum would hum noncommittally and say sorry, mate, keep trying, I guess, and that would be it. He could keep it to himself, wouldn’t have to admit to those around him that somehow, he’s managed to turn his soulmate away from him before they even know him, that while they’re all in happy relationship with their soulmates, he’s managed to fuck his up before it began. 

But on the other hand, he doesn’t know how long he could keep up that lie, because people would keep asking from time to time, and keeping it to himself feels like it would slowly eat at him from the inside out, teeth digging into the fabric of his soul and tearing it into even smaller pieces, and so he swallows, and says: “Yeah.” His voice is thick and wobbly, and it makes Calum’s brow crease, makes him struggle to sit upright leaning on his elbows, ignoring Michael’s noises of protest. 

“What?” Calum asks, sounding concerned. “What’s wrong?” Luke wants to cry. 

“I-” he starts, and then stops. He doesn’t think he can say the words aloud. Instead, he holds out his arm, sleeve still rolled up, and watches as Calum’s eyes flit over the words, then looks away quickly as he sees Calum’s expression shift from concern to pity. 

“Oh, Luke,” he says softly, and now Luke doesn’t want to cry but can’t stop it, can’t help the tears that are pricking at his eyes, forcing him to swipe at them hastily before they can fall. 

“I don’t get it,” Luke says, a little numbly. “I- how can they not- they don’t even know me.” 

“I know,” Calum says, shoving Michael off him and swinging his legs out of the bed they’re sharing. “Oh, Luke. I’m so sorry.” But Luke doesn’t want Calum to be sorry. He wants his soulmate to want him back. Was it the stilted introduction? Maybe Michael was right; maybe Luke should have thought of a more striking opener, should have mentioned some interesting facts about himself, come up with something flirtatious and witty and suave. Maybe his soulmate took one look at Luke’s nervous, awkward introduction and thought nah, fuck that, I’d rather be alone than have this guy as my soulmate. 

“I should’ve said something better,” Luke says quietly, letting himself be pulled into Calum as he sits down next to him and puts a warm, strong arm around Luke’s shoulder. “Michael was right.”

“Oh, fuck Michael,” Calum says, with feeling, and Michael opens one eye a crack.  

“Wha’ve I done?” Michael mumbles, and then, like he’s just remembered what day it is, he shoots bolt upright in bed, eyes wide and excited. “Oh, fuck, did they reply, Luke? Did they say something? What did they say, was it-”

“Mike,” Calum says warningly, and shoots Michael a look that Luke doesn’t need to be his soulmate to understand - shut the fuck up, Jesus, read the fucking room. Michael falters, and then frowns. 

“What happened?” he says, a little fiercely. “Are they a dickhead?” 

“Yeah,” Calum says. “A proper cunt.” 

“Hey,” Luke protests weakly, and Calum’s arm around him tightens. 

“What did they say?” Michael asks. Luke hesitates, swallows, and then holds his arm out. 

“Hang on, I need my-” Michael says, fumbling around on the bedside table for his glasses, and then swears when he realises they’re covered in fingerprints, wiping them hastily on his t-shirt before shoving them on his nose and squinting at the writing on Luke’s arm. He reads the words at least three times, going from a frown to a clenched jaw, and then looks up at the two of them, green eyes ablaze behind his glasses. 

“What the fuck?” he demands, and whips his glasses off. “What the fuck?” 

“I know,” Calum agrees, stroking Luke’s bicep. “It’s fucked up.” 

“They don’t even know you. All you said was ‘hi’.” Luke bites his lip.

“I wrote a bit more,” he says. “After you went to bed. I just- just introduced myself. Said it was my birthday, I live in Sydney, have two brothers and a dog.” 

“Alright, so all you did was fucking introduce yourself,” Michael corrects, leaning into his anger. “What the fuck sort of reason could they have for saying that?” 

“Mike,” Calum says gently, and Michael’s gaze turns to him for a moment and then softens in understanding. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “I just- fuck. I’m sorry, Luke.” He sets his glasses aside, gets up and sits on Luke’s other side, wrapping his arm around Luke’s waist, and that’s too much for Luke - he starts crying in earnest, big, ugly sobs that come from the frayed patches of his soul that feel like they’ll never be stitched together because the needle doesn’t want to play ball. Michael and Calum just cradle him through it, whispering soothing words, humming quietly, pressing soft kisses to his shoulders and temples and forehead as they rub gentle circles on his skin. It’s enough to stave off some of the desperate longing leaking from the pinpricks in his heart, enough to give him a little splutter of a spark in his veins that reminds him hey, you still have people who love you. It’s not enough enough, and Luke vaguely thinks it never quite will be, but it’s enough to stem the flow of tears, to make him sniff and ask for a tissue through a thick throat, to make him clear his throat and try on a watery smile. 

“D’you want us to tell your parents?” Calum asks quietly, taking Luke’s snotty, tear-stained tissue from him and setting it on the bedside table. Fuck, Luke thinks, as a fresh wave of tears brim in his eyes. He’s got to tell everyone else, now, too. Over and over, telling person after person yeah, my soulmate doesn’t want me. My soulmate doesn’t want me.  

“No,” Luke says, even though he does want Michael and Calum to tell his parents. “I- I should tell them.” 

“Okay,” Calum says gently. 

“Can you-” Luke cuts himself off, biting his lip. Michael and Calum just wait, though, so Luke bids the scraps of his dignity farewell, and mumbles: “Can you tell Alex and Jack, though?” He feels both Calum’s and Michael’s arms tighten around him, feels Michael pressing a kiss to Luke’s shoulder as Calum says yeah, mate, of course we can. Of course. 

(Happy birthday, the words underneath the line etched into Luke’s skin telling him I don’t want you say, now wet with the tears dripping from Luke’s cheeks onto his sleeves. Yeah, Luke thinks bitterly. Happy fucking birthday to him.) 

 ------- 

 Telling everybody is exactly as painful as Luke had anticipated. 

He manages to tell his family in one go, because they ask over his birthday dinner, and he almost manages not to cry into the stunned silence as he says it, only breaking when Ben sighs sadly and pulls Luke into his chest for a tight hug. Alex and Jack call around four to ask him whether he’s finally going to get laid (what, Lex, that’s literally how you wish someone a happy twenty-first birthday, what’s your fucking problem), and Luke makes big, wide eyes at Calum, who throws a quick glance at Michael, who snatches the phone out of Luke’s hands and hastily walks out of the room, whispering something fiercely with a knitted brow and his hand cupped over the receiver. When he comes back in and hands the phone back to Luke, Alex and Jack have switched tack completely, all attempts at normalcy and breeziness mitigated by the oddly gentle, hesitant tones to their voices. Luke hates it, hates the pity and the microscope he feels like he’s under, the fact that he’s done the whole thing wrong somehow before even starting it, so he mumbles his excuses and hangs up on them as soon as he can, lying back on the sofa and staring blankly up at the ceiling. 

The first few weeks are almost equally bad - Luke just wants to forget about it all, pretend that everything is normal outside of his own head, make-believe that his world hasn’t had a harsh spotlight shone on it showing the cracks in the façade he’s been admiring as though it were worthy of the Louvre, but everyone’s walking on eggshells around him, whispering whenever he leaves a room and stopping abruptly as soon as he comes in, or throwing him concerned and pitying looks. He hates it, hates that his mum will come into his room every evening and ask him too-casually how his day’s been, hates that Calum and Alex will ask him how he’s doing and look too sad when he says he’s fine, hates that Jack and Michael will bluntly tell him fuck someone else, forget about them. He just wants things to be normal again, doesn’t want the constant reminder that even the person made for him doesn’t want him swelling up in his lungs and choking him day in, day out. 

He does a lot of research in those first few weeks. The majority of the results are about soulmate pairings where one person has moral qualms with the other, and a smaller group are about pairings where one partner only sees a platonic future where the other wants a romantic future - those are rare, though, as the system is designed to take these preferences into account - and it’s only on Luke’s second week of searching that he finds something, a tiny footnote at the bottom of an article about being soulmates with a serial killer. Choosing love, it says, and when Luke clicks on the link it opens up an ancient-looking website that says Choosing love: soulmates and the autonomous self. 

It’s not a long article, and it’s riddled with spelling mistakes, but the gist of it seems to be that the author thinks the soulmate system is fucked up in principle, not in practice - they readily acknowledge that their soulmate is perfect for them, but resent the idea of having love assigned to them. It brings in ideas of free will raised by such authors as- and then Luke stops understanding, eyes glazing over as he reads metaphysical libertarianism and fatalism and compatibilism. So maybe this is what Luke’s soulmate’s problem is, Luke thinks, rereading the first few paragraphs that he actually understood. But it doesn’t make any fucking sense - why would someone try and choose someone that might not be right for them, when the right person is at their fingertips? 

(He asks one night, after a few too many hours alone with his thoughts. Why don’t you want to be my soulmate? But it, like everything he’s written over the past month since his birthday, goes unanswered.)

Luke tries to reach out a few more times over the next few weeks, with varying degrees of success. His soulmate is completely unresponsive when Luke asks where they live, or how old they are, or what they do for a living, or what they look like. 

Can you at least tell me your name? he asks once. No response. 

Okay, what about your initials? he asks the next day. Again, no response. 

One initial? he tries, the day after that. Please. Just your first initial. Maybe it’s the ‘please’ that does it, or maybe Luke’s soulmate is just sick of being asked the same question three days in a row and doesn’t want to get half a letter? Write it in code? tomorrow, but when Luke wakes up the next morning there’s a tiny, slightly-smudged A written underneath where he’d asked for the initial. 

That’s the last Luke hears from his soulmate. 

For a while, he writes a few times a day, tries to say something witty or something clever or something interesting. He tells A about his job, tells them about how frustrating it is to have Jack as his co-worker and Alex as his boss (because seriously, Jack should be fired at least four times an hour, and he’s fairly sure your boss being your soulmate violates a fair few codes of conflict of interest), tells them about Michael and Calum and how he sort of wishes he’d gone to university like they did. A never responds, and so after a while Luke gets self-conscious and stops writing so often, just checks in once a day in the evening to give A a roundup of the previous twenty-four hours. Luke figures the person doesn’t care, probably won’t read it, but it’s like a more cathartic version of a diary, one that has the possibility of being read and talking back, however slim the probability may be. Every evening, just before he goes to bed, he rounds up his day, vents to A about Jack breaking a bass in the shop again, laments that he doesn’t get to see Michael and Calum as often as he’d like to, talks about the regulars who come in like clockwork for their guitar strings, muses about whether he should get up early and get a coffee on the way to work tomorrow or whether he should get as much precious sleep as he can. He fills his arm from left to right, twisting it all the way around until he has to hold the pen at such a strange angle that he can barely control it, getting out all his thoughts and grievances and little things he’s observed that day, and when he wakes up in the morning, his arm is completely empty again. A never writes back, never even indicates that they’ve seen or read Luke’s ramblings, but they never tell him to stop it, either. And while that probably doesn’t mean anything, it doesn’t not mean anything, either, and that’s as good as Luke figures it’s going to get for him. Plus, it becomes so ingrained in Luke’s daily routine that he barely even notices he’s doing it, and he sort of thinks getting a response might throw him off a bit.

(One night, so drunk he can barely stand, Luke scrawls I wish you wanted me. I wish I didn’t have to be alone. It’s gone when he wakes up the next morning, but there’s a tiny pen marking underneath where it had been, like A had gone to write something and then thought better of it.) 

A week or so after that incident, Luke’s just taking out his earphones, still humming along to the song he’d been listening to as he shoulders the door to the shop open, when Jack appears right in front of his face, making him jump and drop his phone. 

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters, picking his phone up from the floor and inspecting it for damage he can sue Jack for. 

“Glad you noticed,” Jack says. “Come to the back room.” Luke stops, and narrows his eyes. 

“What for?” he says suspiciously. 

“What do you mean, what for?” Jack says, sounding a little affronted. “Don’t you trust me?”

“No.”

“Well, we need to fix that. We should do a team bonding day,” Jack says, just as Alex walks around the corner. “Hey, Lex, d’you think me and Luke can do a team bonding day?”

“A team bonding day?” Alex echoes, raising an eyebrow. “I thought torture was illegal in Australia.” 

“That’s true,” Jack agrees placidly. “I’m not sure I can spend a whole day with Luke.” Luke scowls, aiming a kick at Jack’s ankle, just as Alex passes by and says: “I was talking about you, idiot.” 

“I’m a fucking pleasure to spend time with,” Jack says, voice rising as Alex walks away. “You spend all your time with me.” 

“For legal purposes,” Alex calls over his shoulder. Jack frowns.

“Legal purposes?” he says. 

“Yeah,” Alex shouts. “The life insurance papers have to look convincing.” It’s Jack’s turn to scowl, yelling fuck you at Alex’s retreating figure and getting a you can’t afford my fees in return. 

“Not on the fucking salary you pay me,” Jack shouts, and then turns to Luke. “Come to the back room.” Luke eyes him warily. 

“No,” he says. Jack scowls again. 

“Aren’t I your manager?” he says. “Come to the back room.” 

“I think I’m your manager at the moment,” Luke says, because who’s manager is dependent on the whims of a certain Alex Gaskarth and Jack breaking another bass last week had outdone Luke accidentally selling an Epiphone for half its retail price. Jack, though, just waves a hand dismissively, then grabs Luke’s wrist and starts tugging him towards the back room. 

“Hey,” Luke protests, trying to plant his feet and failing miserably - Jesus, Jack’s stronger than he looks. “This is kidnapping.” 

“Kidnapping?” Jack says. “You know where you’re going.”

“But I don’t want to be,” Luke says, grabbing onto the desk as he’s pulled past and scrabbling to hold onto it. Jack just yanks harder, dislodging Luke’s grip, and forces him into the back room. 

“What?” Luke asks warily, when Jack finally lets go, glancing around at the cardboard boxes filling their shelving units up to the ceiling full of new bass and electric guitars that Luke was meant to unbox two days ago but didn’t. “What have you done?” 

“Nothing!” Jack protests, and then kicks the door shut behind them and grins. “It’s what I’m going to do.” Luke groans, tipping his head back, and shakes his head. 

“No,” he says, taking a step back and holding his hands up. “Nope. I’m not getting involved in this.”

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I know it’s something I don’t want to be involved in.”

“No you don’t,” Jack says. 

“I do.”

“How?”

“Because it’s something you’re planning.” Jack pouts. 

“Listen-” he starts, taking a step forward towards Luke, who instinctively takes another step back, and that’s all Luke hears because then his heel is hitting a cardboard box hard, forcing it back against the wall, and the box on top of that is wobbling and making the box on top of that one wobble even more, and Luke says shit and flings his arms out to steady himself, catching the metal of the shelving unit and pulling it towards him, making all of the heavy, heavy fucking guitars in it come crashing down on top of him. A few land next to him with ugly crunching sounds and accompanying twangs, and a few hit his legs and force him to the ground, and then a few are hitting his stomach and chest and crushing his organs, making him gasp for breath, and then a few are hitting his head, making him momentarily unable to see as his vision swims so much it almost disappears entirely, and then Luke must lose consciousness because the next thing he hears is a distant voice shouting, sounding incredibly worried.

“Luke?” they’re yelling. “Luke? Fuck. Oh, fuck. Shit. Luke, Luke, are you okay? Are you- fuck, fuck, Lex, help me, help me move- no, not that, you fucking idiot, that’s going to-” and then Jack’s face comes into view, uncharacteristic concern etched on his features. 

“Huh,” Luke says weakly. “You look funny when you care about me.” And then he passes out again. 

 -------

 When Luke wakes up again, he’s in hospital. 

At first, it sends a jolt of fear running through him when he wakes up in an all-white, clinical-looking environment, but his brain supplies a helpful hey, remember when all those guitars fell on you? That was pretty wack, and then it sort of makes sense. 

“Oh, hey!” someone says, and Luke’s head snaps to the left to find the source of the voice. It’s a pretty - very fucking pretty, oh God - man, standing next to a bunch of machines, some of which are bleeping, some of which are blinking. “You’re up.”

“I’m up,” Luke says, and finds that his throat is dry and raspy. He coughs, and tries again. “Uh. Who are you?” 

“I’m Ashton,” the guy says. “I’m your nurse. Well, until my shift ends.” 

“Oh,” Luke says. “Hi. I’m Luke.” Ashton grins, hazel eyes lighting up in amusement, and steps back from the machines he’s been fiddling with. 

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “How are you feeling?” 

“Uh,” Luke says, and looks down at himself. His right arm is bound in a cast, and when he tries to wriggle his toes he finds his left foot in a cast too, and winces when he takes a deep breath. “My body hurts.” Ashton huffs out a laugh, and moves to the foot of Luke’s bed to pick up a tablet. 

“Yeah,” he says. “You had a bunch of guitars fall on you. You’re lucky you came out of it with just a few broken bones and a concussion.” 

“And probably a huge bill for damages, if my boss is anything to go by,” Luke adds, and Ashton looks up from the tablet with a small smile. 

“Nightmare boss?” he says, and then frowns. “Hang on, you’ve had a visitor claiming to be your boss. American guy?” 

“Not the one with skunk hair?” Luke asks in trepidation, because the last thing he wants to deal with is Jack Barakat in a hospital environment, and Ashton shakes his head. 

“No, but he was with him,” he says. “I think they’re both still here, actually. They were insistent that they wanted to be here when you woke up, but I can tell them to leave, if you’d like.” Luke hesitates. 

“No, it’s okay,” he says. “The boss thing was, uh. A joke. Well. Kind of. He is a shitty boss. But. Not like that.” He swallows. Fuck. He should not be allowed to interact with hot men, honestly. Maybe Ashton will just think these incredibly lacking social skills are a part of the concussion and not just Luke’s main failing as a person. 

“It’s still visiting hours, so if you want they can come in, but I’ll get the doctor to check you over first, since you’re awake now,” Ashton says, and Luke nods. Yeah. He should probably get checked over. Seems like the kind of thing you do in a hospital, right? 

“Sure,” he says, and Ashton throws him one final grin before heading out of the room. Luke exhales shakily, lying back on the pillow and staring up at the ceiling. 

Fuck. He hopes he’s sick enough to stay in hospital forever, and that Ashton’s on shift tomorrow, too, and the day after that, and the day after that. However long it takes for Luke to become socially adept, really.

 -------

 The doctor tells him something about broken leg and fractured wrist and broken ribs and bruised internally, but all Luke hears is will take a few months to heal fully but no lasting damage, and we’re just going to keep you in for today and tomorrow and monitor your situation, since you had a fairly nasty concussion. Jack and Alex come bursting in as soon as the doctor gives Luke the all-clear for visitors, rushing to his side and telling him how fucking stupid he is, what the fuck, why would he grab onto the fucking shelving unit to steady himself, but their eyes are shining with worry and their faces are a little red and puffy, and it makes Luke’s heart lurch in his chest in an oddly pleasant way. Alex tells Luke he’ll give him a pay raise if he doesn’t sue for workplace injury, and Luke laughs and then immediately groans in pain and says don’t make me laugh, I’ve broken my ribs. 

(“Don’t worry,” Jack assures him, “Michael and Cal are coming in after us. You're safe on the laughing front.”) 

Michael and Calum do visit after Alex and Jack, but only get to stay for five minutes before Ashton’s sticking his head in the door and saying Luke, your parents are here, and they’re not happy that everyone’s seen you before they have. 

(“He’s your type, isn’t he?” Michael says loudly, before the door’s even closed behind Ashton, and Luke wants to die. He wonders whether he can force one of his broken ribs to puncture his lungs, or something.) 

By the time his parents have finished fussing over him, his mum plumping up his pillows and his dad clapping a hand on his broken leg that makes Luke let out a choked scream of pain, Luke’s so exhausted that he just falls straight asleep, only waking up when he hears some shuffling around his bed. 

“Mm?” he mumbles, blinking blearily, and finds Ashton smiling apologetically at him. 

“Sorry,” he stage-whispers. “I’m not great at being quiet.” 

“No, no, ‘s all good,” Luke says, swallowing like it’s going to get the horrible taste out of his mouth. 

“How are you?” 

“Fine, thanks, and you?” Luke answers automatically, and then belatedly realises he’s lying in a hospital bed with an IV in and a few broken bones. “Uh. I mean-” he says hastily, but Ashton just laughs, gentle and amused. It sends a shiver down Luke’s spine, although that might just be whatever Ashton’s just pressed on the machine blinking next to Luke’s head. 

“Do you ever get a good answer to that?” Luke asks, turning his head to look at Ashton. 

“To what?”

“To asking people how they are in a hospital.” Ashton smiles down at the tube he’s fiddling with, and Luke tries not to think about the fact that the other end of the tube is inside him, tries not to let his stomach turn. It’s probably not very sexy to throw up in front of Hot Ashton. 

“Not really,” Ashton says. “But it’s free to care, right?” Oh, God. Hot Ashton is also Caring Ashton. Fuck. Luke is not in the right state of mind to deal with this. 

“I guess,” Luke says. 

“So, how are you?” Ashton asks, smile still playing at his lips. 

“Uh,” Luke says. “Tired. My body still hurts.” 

“You should rest,” Ashton advises him. “Pretty much the best thing you can do for your body right now.” 

“Yeah,” Luke says, and then without thinking, adds: “I mean, I was resting, until…” he trails off, rational part of his brain kicking in and screaming what the fuck, Luke, that’s your fucking nurse, that’s so rude, that’s so unprofessional, you’re going to get kicked out of hospital and forced to try and heal your broken bones on your own (okay, maybe not so rational), but Ashton just laughs, bright and amused. 

“Point taken,” he says, but he’s still grinning, so Luke figures he’s safe. “Sorry for disturbing your beauty sleep.”

“I’ll send my botox bill your way,” Luke says, and Ashton arches an eyebrow, stepping back from the machines at Luke’s side. 

“I’m not sure that’ll hold up in court,” he says. 

“Guess we’ll have to find out,” Luke says, eyes following Ashton as he crosses the room over to the door. Ashton huffs out a laugh, looking over at Luke as he pulls the door open and lets light spill from the bright hallway into the room, making him glow softly like some kind of weird, scrubs-clad angel. 

“Sleep well, Luke,” he says, and then the light is gone.

 -------

 Luke does sleep well. 

He sleeps for most of the next day, only waking up for a very groggy talk with a new doctor of which he takes absolutely nothing in, then for a very painful walk to the bathroom with a brisk nurse who tugs on his elbow too hard, and then when Alex, Jack, Michael and Calum all pile into his room as soon as visiting hours begin. He’s kind of glad they’re all there, because it means they can entertain each other rather than him having to partake in the conversation, so he can just lie back, exhausted, and watch them bicker over whether or not Luke would notice if they stole his hospital food. Wait, hang on-

“Hey,” Luke says, frowning. “No one’s stealing my hospital food. I need to heal.”  

“But it’s salmon tonight,” Michael protests. “You don’t even like salmon.” Luke pulls a face. He really doesn’t like salmon. 

“So, what, I should starve?” he says indignantly, even though he probably would rather starve than eat salmon. 

“We can sneak you food,” Jack says earnestly. “Mike and I were thinking-” 

“I told you, Jack,” Alex says exasperatedly. “Visiting hours are once a day. Luke needs to eat more than that.” 

“No, he doesn’t,” Michael says. “Not if we bring him enough food.” 

“He can space it out,” Jack suggests. 

“Yeah, I’m sure Luke would fucking love to eat cold and soggy chicken nuggets,” Calum says sarcastically, and Alex nods and points at him, all thank God, finally someone speaking some sense.  

“They’re not going to get soggy,” Michael protests. 

“Yeah, do you know how many preservatives they put in those things?” Jack adds. 

“And you think that’s what Luke should be eating to mend his broken bones?” Alex asks dryly. 

“He’s fine,” Michael says breezily. “He’s twenty-one. His body’s been managing a poor diet so far.” Luke scowls.

“My diet’s fucking fine,” he says. “What’s wrong with my diet?” All four of them round on him in disbelief. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Calum demands, at the same time that Michael says: “What isn’t wrong with your diet?” and Alex says: “When was the last time you even looked in the general direction of a vegetable?” and Jack says: “No, y’know, the man’s got a point. His diet could be worse.” 

“Just because it could be worse doesn’t mean it isn’t bad,” Calum points out. 

“Credit where credit is due,” Jack says solemnly, “he’s doing a better job than he could be.” 

“The only way Luke’s diet could be worse is if he went all Monsieur Mangetout,” Alex says, and the four of them blink at him. “What?” he says defensively. “C’mon, Monsieur Mangetout? You know Monsieur Mangetout.” 

“You wanna flex your French pronunciation skills one more time?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow. “The floor is yours, mate.” Alex rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck off,” he says. “My point is-” but they don’t get to find out what his point is, because then the door’s opening and Ashton’s sticking his head in. Luke wishes he’d been able to shower this morning - he’s sure his hair is sticking up all over the place, and that half the curls are flattened and frizzy, and he sort of wants to say sorry, Ashton, I swear I’m at least a little hotter than this most of the time.  

“Visiting hours are over, guys, I’m sorry,” Ashton says apologetically, and all four of Luke’s friends groan. “Sorry, sorry, I know,” Ashton says, and then throws Luke a smile before closing the door as they start gathering their things together, the sound of chairs scraping filling the room. 

“He’s hot, isn’t he?” Jack says to Luke, nodding at the door Ashton’s just closed. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “He’s also my nurse, so. Very illegal.” Michael pulls a face. 

“Is it?” he asks. Calum and Alex both throw him hard looks. 

“Yes,” they chorus. 

“Fucking hell,” Jack grumbles, pulling his coat on. “Laws are really fucking boring.” In this case, Luke can’t help but heartily agree. 

“Well, hurry up with the healing, and then he won’t be your nurse anymore,” Michael suggests. 

“Pretty sure it’s still illegal,” Alex notes. 

“So?” 

“Jesus Christ, Jack,” Alex mutters, and pushes him towards the door. “We’ll come back tomorrow if you’re still here, Luke.” 

“Us too,” Calum says, shepherding Michael in the direction of the door too. “Bye, Luke. Be safe.” 

“Be safe?” Luke echoes. “What sort of fucking danger am I in at a hospital?” 

“Falling in love, apparently,” Calum says, and then the door swings shut behind him. 

Well, Luke thinks. He’s not exactly wrong. 

 -------

 Ashton comes back at around seven p.m. with Luke’s dinner, although I don’t usually serve dinner, it’s not a nurse’s job, but Jenna’s just had to go home for a family emergency and I was the closest person at hand. It’s salmon, and Luke pulls a face when he sees it that makes Ashton laugh. 

“You don’t like salmon?” he says. “We have veggie options too, if you want that.” 

“No, no, it’s fine,” Luke says hastily, not wanting to come across like the fussy eater he is, for some reason. “Salmon’s good. I like salmon. It’s, uh, a good fish.” Ashton blinks at him for a moment, and then snorts. 

“Sure,” he says, and sets the tray down on Luke’s lap carefully. “How are you doing?” 

“Fine,” Luke says, which isn’t really a lie this time. “Everything still hurts, but.” He shrugs. “It’s alright.” 

“You’re a trooper,” Ashton says, grinning. Luke nods solemnly, using his unbroken left hand to slot the knife into his right hand. 

“It’s the top level care I’m receiving,” he says, and Ashton laughs again. 

“Flattery will get you places,” he says, and Luke pauses, glancing over at Ashton. 

“What places?” he asks, and Ashton winks, and sets a slice of chocolate cake down on the tray balanced on Luke’s legs. Luke looks down at it, and then back up at Ashton. 

“That was on the menu,” he says. “You were going to give that to me anyway.” Ashton just grins, and heads back to the door. 

“I would’ve withheld it if you hadn’t complimented my exemplary nursing skills,” he says, as he pulls the door open. 

“I thought you said dinner service wasn’t part of the job description?” 

“I might fight for it to be now,” Ashton says, pulling the door open. “Everyone needs to play God from time to time.” Luke snorts. 

“That’s a completely non-alarming sentence to come out of your nurse’s mouth,” he says. “I think I’ll check my IV myself tonight.” Ashton’s lips hitch up in an amused smile. 

“Enjoy your dinner,” he says, and then he’s gone. 

 -------

 The next day, Luke is told that he can be discharged after a series of tests have been carried out, which are booked in for five p.m. - right in the middle of visiting hours, so he texts everybody not to come - and then get delayed until nine p.m. By ten, Luke’s still waiting for someone to come round as promised, and is getting incredibly restless, so turns to reach for his phone again - and stops dead. 

There’s writing on his arm. 

Writing that he, with his broken right hand, did not put there. 

He yanks his arm close to him, then turns to fumble with the light above his bed because he can’t fucking see, and squints at the writing. 

It’s just three words, small and scribbled like they had to be written fast or A would have lost the nerve to say them, but they make Luke’s heart thud against his ribcage like it’s trying to break a few more of his ribs.

Are you okay? 

What? 

Luke’s reaching for the pen in his drawer before he’s even thought about it, a million responses racing through his mind. What the fuck, being one, I thought you didn’t want to be my soulmate another, why are you talking to me now? What changed? in there somewhere too, but mostly: why?  

It’s a good thing it’s only why, too, because writing the letters takes a fucking age and when he’s done, it sort of looks like something he would have produced when he was four years old. The reply is instantaneous, though, and Luke can barely believe it, feels like he’s hallucinating the way the letters are appearing one by one on his arm. He’s too scared to blink, like it’ll break the spell somehow, like looking away will make A think well, he’s replied, that’s good enough, but another sentence appears, letter by letter.

You haven’t complained about Jack in a few days. 

So they have been reading Luke’s quasi-diary-entries. 

Fuck. 

Fuck.  

Shit. Luke has no idea what to say. Should he tell the truth? Should he try and take a mile from the inch A is giving him, ask what the fuck is going on, press the question of why A doesn’t want to be his soulmate? No, that’ll make them clam up again. Maybe he just shouldn’t reply at all. After all, it’s not like A’s ever given Luke anything when he’s been pouring his heart out in the early hours of the night, is it? Maybe Luke should give them a taste of their own medicine. 

He only considers that for a total of half a second before the pen is back on his skin, writing underneath A’s handwriting - God, it’s fucking surreal. 

I’m in hospital. Broke a bunch of bones. There’s a longer pause this time, and when a few minutes of Luke staring intently down at his arm have passed with no further reply and he’s thinking fuck, that’s it with a sinking heart, a few more words appear. 

I’m sorry to hear that. Get well soon. 

Luke’s just about to put the pen back down to his arm, to write a quick thanks, because it’s about all he can manage to write legibly with the weird way he has to hold his pen with the cast on, when more scribbles start appearing. 

How are you doing? Luke bites his lip. 

Fine, he says. You?

I’m not the one in hospital.  

True, Luke writes. My body aches. 

You should rest. Best thing you can do for your body. Luke huffs out a laugh. 

You sound like my nurse. 

Your nurse knows what they’re talking about. 

I’d be concerned if he didn’t. The reply takes a little longer to come this time, but after a few minutes more words are appearing. 

Touché. Luke’s just staring down at the word, racking his brain to think of something to say to keep the conversation going because fuck, fuck, he’s talking to his fucking soulmate, when a few more words appear. 

Goodnight, Luke. Get some rest. 

I’d like to, but I’m waiting for more tests, Luke writes. He waits, and he waits, but no response comes. 

Fuck, he thinks, rereading the entire conversation over and over, and over just for good measure. Fuck. He’s spoken to his soulmate. He’s spoken to A. He’s spoken to his fucking soulmate.  

He reaches over for his phone, turns his arm this way and that and takes a photo, and sends it to his group chat with Michael and Calum. He sees Michael’s typing bubble pop up before the second picture has even sent, but then the door is opening and Doctor Nichols is striding in, and Luke hastily puts his phone down and nods along to the list of tests she’s rattling off that need doing before he can be discharged, mind covered in an impervious sheen of soulmate soulmate soulmate that stops any of it going in. 

Fuck, Luke thinks, as he’s getting a bright light shone in his eyes and trying his hardest not to blink or look over at his phone, which is buzzing incessantly on his bedside table. Fuck.  

 -------

 Michael and Calum agree that this is a positive step. 

(Are you fucking kidding me? Calum says, when Luke voices hesitancy. They checked in on you. They fucking care. 

rt, Michael says.)

Luke’s not so certain, though. The thought of it is sending delicious sparks dancing from his heart to his fingertips and down to his abdomen (or maybe that’s the medication, he’s not entirely sure), but he doesn’t want to jump to any conclusions, given A’s hard stance and silence for the past few months. But A would have received a letter if Luke had died, and the government are usually pretty quick to send those out, so maybe there is something to be said for the fact that they only waited three nights before asking after Luke. 

Luke’s body is too exhausted to let him stay up psyching himself out over it, though, forcing him into a deep sleep as soon as Doctor Nichols has told him he’s free to leave the next morning and left him be, and when he wakes up the next morning it’s to someone opening his curtains. 

“Hey,” they say, as Luke’s eyelids try to fight the fucking sun, and Luke shields his eyes with his hand to see Ashton silhouetted by the window. 

“Weren’t you on shift last night?” he asks, and Ashton smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Life of a nurse,” he says tiredly. “Sorry for the light, by the way. Figured it would be a nicer way to wake you up than ripping your IV out.” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Luke says, squinting and scrunching his face up, and Ashton huffs out a small laugh as he makes his way over to Luke’s side. 

“This isn’t going to be pleasant,” he warns. 

“That’s a shame,” Luke says. “I always thought having needles ripped out of me would be an enjoyable experience.” Ashton smiles again, and there are a few crinkles around his eyes. God, he really is fucking pretty. 

“Are you looking forward to going home?” he asks. 

“I’m looking forward to not having to eat salmon anymore,” Luke says. 

“Hey, I offered you the veggie option,” Ashton says, and Luke winces as he feels the needle and whatever the fuck else being pulled out of his vein. 

“I didn’t want to be a nuisance,” Luke says. 

“Hold this,” Ashton instructs, and Luke reaches over to hold the gauze on his arm as Ashton reaches for a clear plaster. “You wouldn’t have been a nuisance. You’ve been an exemplary patient.” 

“Is that a compliment?” Luke says. “I’m good at lying around being useless?” Ashton grins. 

“You’re not useless,” he says. “Patients keep me in a job.” Luke grins back. 

“I’ll try my best to get seriously injured again, then,” he says, and as Ashton turns away to the trolley he’s put Luke’s cannula on he catches the tail end of a small smile playing at his lips. 

“Legally and professionally, I can’t encourage that,” he says, and Luke snorts. 

“But personally?” 

“No comment.” 

“So you want me to hurt myself?” 

“Is that what ‘no comment’ means these days?” Ashton says, throwing Luke a glance over his shoulder as he pushes his trolley over to the door, eyes twinkling. “Get some rest, Luke.”

“Wait,” Luke blurts, and Ashton stops. Luke blinks, like he's waiting for Ashton to say something, even though he's the one who'd asked him to stop, because shit, he hasn't thought this through. Something in his brain just said stop, ask him out, ask him out. And really, he thinks, why not, because if he embarrasses himself he'll never have to see Ashton again, and he's no longer Ashton's patient, so he takes a deep breath, says fuck it, and mumbles: “Uh. Look. Would you- would you want to go out? With me? Not- not now, obviously. Some other time. But- y’know. Would you?” Jesus Christ. Ashton hesitates for a moment, and then throws Luke a slightly sad, kind smile. 

“I’d love to, Luke,” he says, and Luke’s heart soars for a moment, flying higher than it’s ever gone before “but I can’t.” Fuck. Luke’s heart should have read Icarus. 

“Why not?” Luke says. “I’m not your patient anymore.” Ashton shakes his head. 

“Still not allowed,” he says. “Only exception is if you find out you’re soulmates.” Well, fuck. 

“Oh,” Luke says, and hopes the wobble in his voice isn’t as audible to Ashton as it is to him. “Okay.”

“I really- fuck. Sorry. I just- I’m sorry, Luke.” Ashton smiles at him again, barely more than a twitch of his lips, and then he’s gone. 

Luke leans back against his pillows and stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding. 

Maybe he’s just not meant to be with people whose names start with the letter A.

 -------

 Luke sits around at home for a week before he decides he’s so bored and so sick of being fussed over by his parents that he insists on coming back to work. Alex, in turn, insists on picking him up and dropping him off every evening, like he’s doing a fucking school run, and Jack insists on Luke doing nothing besides working the till so he can sit down. It’s fucking boring, because all the fun parts of the job are helping little kids buy their first guitars or talking to seasoned professionals about the ins and outs of the instruments, not smiling politely and waiting while they swipe their cards. He has nothing to do between people paying, so he spends most of his time on his phone, swiping through his various social media apps and wishing his hand weren’t in a cast so he could at least play guitar. It’s not exactly the worst way to spend his time, though, especially now that he’s found that forum of people pretending to be middle-class Dads which is oddly relatable and funnier to him than it probably is to anyone else. He’s in the middle of scrolling through it in a particularly quiet lull on a Thursday afternoon, screenshotting the best ones to send to Ben and Jack, when the shadow of a person looms over him.

“Hey, I- oh,” they say, and Luke looks up from his phone hastily to find-

“Ashton?” he says, surprised. 

“Hi,” Ashton says. God, he looks good; he’s wearing a leather jacket over a faded grey Guns ‘N’ Roses t-shirt and black jeans, and his hair is falling into his eyes a little, and Luke sort of wants to kiss him and sort of wants to die. 

“Uh, hi,” Luke says. “Sorry. I just, um. Wasn’t expecting to see you here. How can I help you?” Ashton blinks at him, and then smiles. 

“I need some new strings for my Strat,” he says, and Luke nods. Of course Ashton plays guitar. Hopefully he doesn’t play, like, fucking drums, or something. That would probably be too much for Luke’s little heart to handle. 

“Sure,” he says, turning to the selection of strings behind him. “Ernie Ball Regular Slinky alright?” 

“Sounds good,” Ashton says, and Luke pulls a pack down and sets them on the desk in front of him, busying himself with adding up the cost like he doesn’t know it off by heart. 

“How are you doing?” Ashton asks as Luke furiously types in numbers to avoid looking at Ashton, making Luke pause and glance up at him. 

“You’re not on the job right now,” he says, and Ashton huffs out a laugh, raking a hand through his curls. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t care,” he says. “So?”

“I’m alright,” Luke says. “Bored, mostly. Kind of shit not being able to use my hand.” Ashton makes a small noise of sympathy, and Luke dramatically presses a button on the till and announces: “That’s fourteen dollars, please.” 

“You won’t have to have the cast on for long,” Ashton says, digging around in his pocket for his wallet. Luke tries not to watch the way the movement exposes a sliver of his stomach. Thank fuck the scrubs had made Ashton entirely shapeless, because Jesus Christ. 

“I feel like I’ll have to relearn how to use my hand normally when it comes off,” Luke admits, accepting the twenty Ashton hands him and fumbling with the till for a five and a one. 

“That’s pretty normal,” Ashton says, accepting the change. Luke’s fingers brush against Ashton’s palm, and he tries not to let them twitch at the contact. “You’ll be used to it after a day or two.” 

“Maybe I’ll grow attached to it, though,” Luke says, and Ashton snorts. “I mean, everyone has to be nice to me now.” Ashton looks down at the cast, which has Luke sucks big dicks written on it in huge, black letters courtesy of Jack, and then back up at Luke pointedly, who sighs. “That’s just Jack,” he says, and right on cue, Jack pops his head out of the back room. 

“What’s me?” he says, and then brightens. “Hey, Nurse Irwin!” 

“Hi, Mr Barakat,” Ashton says. 

“Hey, idiot, Luke’s sexy nurse is here,” Jack shouts, and Alex’s head appears out of the office. 

“What?” he says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin.”

“Hi, Mr Gaskarth,” Ashton says politely. “How’re you?” 

“Great, thanks,” Alex says. “Better now that you’ve patched my best employee up.” 

“Hey,” Jack says, affronted. “Aren’t I your best employee?”

“Did Nurse Irwin patch you up?” 

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you’ll be my best employee after that, then.” 

“Good to know my nursing skills are what keep your business running,” Ashton puts in, and Alex grins. 

“Think it’s more than just your nursing skills,” he says cryptically, and then disappears back into his office. 

“Jesus Christ,” Luke mutters under his breath, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Uh. I’m sorry. Here. Um. Have fun?” Ashton smiles, a little teasing, a little amused. 

“Will do,” he says. “Look after that arm for me.” Luke’s heart skips a beat. For me. 

“Well, I was planning on smashing it up a bit more, but now that you’ve said that…” he says, and Ashton laughs, eyes twinkling. 

“See you around, Luke,” he says, pocketing his strings and heading for the door. Luke watches him go, and then groans and puts his head in his hands. 

“What the fuck?” Jack says. “Why didn’t you ask him out?”

“I did,” Luke mumbles into his palms. “The day I got discharged. He said no.” 

“What?” Alex pipes up, sticking his head out of his office again, because apparently he’s still listening too. “Why? Does he already have a soulmate?” Luke’s stomach flips. He’s been trying not to think about that possibility. But surely Ashton would have said that, right? It’s the kindest way to let someone down. And he had said he would have loved to, however much out of politeness that may have been. 

“Apparently it’s still not allowed, unless you’re soulmates.” 

“Well, you could be-” Jack starts, but immediately falls silent upon a stern look from Alex. “Fine. Well, since you’ve got nothing better to do in your spare time now, you can start by reorganising those CDs you fucked up the other day.” He nods at the cardboard box that’s been sitting behind Luke for a few days now, and Luke rolls his eyes, and bends down to pick it up with a dramatic sigh.

“Fuck you,” Luke says sullenly, and gets to work. 

 -------

 Nine days after Luke’s discharged from the hospital, another message appears on his arm. 

How are you doing? 

Luke’s heart skips a beat, and he reaches for a pen with fumbling fingers, slotting it into his hand as best as he can manage.

Better, Luke writes. I’m out of hospital.  

I’m glad to hear that. 

Why do you ask? Luke decides to chance it. Fuck it, he thinks. Why not? 

You still haven’t been writing. Luke swallows.

My writing hand is in a cast.  

Oh. Luke frowns.

Could you not tell from my handwriting?

Honestly? No. Luke scowls. 

My handwriting isn’t that bad.

Isn’t it? Luke’s scowl deepens. A is fucking rude. Before he can come up with a suitably haughty response, though, they’re writing something else. 

Can you just write me something in the evenings to let me know you’re okay? 

Luke stares at it for a moment, something bitter rising in his throat. He doesn’t owe A that. A’s done next to nothing but ignore him, and now they’re demanding something from him? 

You never let me know you’re okay, he writes back, a little petulantly. There’s a longer pause this time, like A’s really thinking about the answer, because when the words come they’re written like they’ve been rehearsed prior to pen touching skin.

Do you want me to?

Luke hesitates. Does he? Of course he does, it’s his fucking soulmate, but they don’t want him, and it might make him more attached to them and make it hurt more when they inevitably reject him again. 

(Oh, who is he fucking kidding.) 

Yes.

Okay. That’s it, they don’t say anything else, and Luke doesn’t want to chase them, so he puts the pen down and stares at the conversation. 

Okay. So they’re- so they’re sort of talking now. That’s something, right? Maybe they can at least be friends. 

(He pushes away the that’s going to hurt too much, Luke, that’s going to hurt far too fucking much that flashes like a neon warning sign in his head, rolls over and goes to sleep.) 

 -------

 After that, he falls into a sort of routine. 

He goes to work, plays on his phone, jumps whenever the door opens in case it’s Ashton, like his strings are going to break within a week or two, then goes home or goes to Michael and Calum’s to watch them play videogames (he’d discovered fairly early on Xbox controllers and casts don’t mix), then gets ready for bed and writes A a quick I’m okay message. Sometimes it’s just that, just I’m okay, and sometimes it’s I’m okay, had a good day at work, or I’m good, really tired, or I’m okay, Jack broke another bass guitar today, I don’t know what he has against those things. A always replies with Thanks, I’m okay, but it’s something. It’s almost enough, and Luke can make do with that. 

Six and a half weeks after getting out of the hospital, Luke gets his arm cast taken off. His leg still has a few weeks to go, and he’s told his ribs are healing nicely, congratulations on refraining from strenuous exercise (Luke almost laughs in the doctor’s face), but Luke’s not really thinking about that. Logically, he knows the chances are next to nothing, but he can’t help but look out for Ashton, just in case. He doesn’t see him, of course, but when he half-jokingly mentions it to Calum and Michael that night, Michael makes an offhand comment that sticks in Luke’s mind. 

“Looks like Ashton’s helping you get over A,” he says, eyes glazed over as he stares at the screen in front of them. 

“What do you mean?” Luke says. 

“He’s all you fucking think about despite only meeting him, like, four times,” Michael says, and then swears loudly as Calum shoots him. “You cunt.”

“Should’ve been paying attention,” Calum says, with a shrug. 

Luke’s thinking about that remark as he’s getting ready for bed that night, staring at himself in the mirror as his right hand tries to remember how to use a toothbrush. Maybe Michael’s right. Maybe Ashton is the antidote to A. Or, at the very least, he’s proof that Luke can like people that aren’t his soulmate. The thought makes him smile around his toothbrush, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest. Yeah, his soulmate might not want him, but maybe he’s not doomed to be alone, after all. 

He spits and rinses, and then wanders into his room, picking up his pen to write his daily I’m okay message to A. A millimetre before the pen touches his skin, though, he hesitates. He might as well ask the question he’s asked a hundred times before, now that A actually speaks to him, even if it’s only to say the same three words every night. The worst that can happen is he gets ignored again. 

I’m okay, he writes, and then, why don’t you want to be my soulmate? 

Thanks, I’m okay. The response comes immediately, like A’s been waiting for Luke to check in, but nothing else follows it. Luke watches his arm for a few moments, waiting for more to show up, and then sighs, turns his light off, rolls over and falls asleep. 

 -------

 When he wakes up the next morning, he hobbles into the bathroom, yawning and stretching, and as he’s reaching for his toothbrush he happens to glance in the mirror - and stops dead. 

There’s something new on his arm. 

He looks down so fast he thinks he might have snapped his own neck, heart skipping a beat. 

I want to choose who I love.  

So it is that, Luke thinks, testing the weight of the words on his heart. They aren’t as heavy as he’d expected them to be. In fact, he thinks, as an image of Ashton flashes through his head, he sort of respects it. A can have their chosen love. Luke can find someone else. 

(Another image of Ashton flashes through his head.) 

He hobbles back to his room and sits down on his bed, picking up the pen and thinking. Fair enough sounds a little passive aggressive, as does that’s fair, but Luke can’t think of anything else to say, so he settles for that’s fair and adds a little smiley to try and mitigate any potential hostility that might come across in the words. He blinks at the phrase for a moment, half-hoping for a response, but it’s eight in the morning and the words must have come at around four or five for them to still be there, so A’s probably asleep. So Luke shakes himself out of it, reaches for his toothbrush, and forgets about it. 

 -------

 A week after that, Ashton comes back into the shop. 

“Hi, Luke,” he says, waving and grinning as he closes the door behind him, because of course he’s a fucking gentleman who doesn’t let the door swing shut heavily like almost everyone else who comes in. “You sell drums, right?” Oh, Jesus. He’s not a drummer. He is not.  

“Uh,” Luke says intelligently, like there aren’t two drum kits set up opposite him. “Yes?” 

“Sweet,” Ashton says, ambling over with his hands in his pockets. He’s wearing short sleeves today, because it’s November and the weather’s starting to really warm up, and Luke can’t help but thank whatever deity may exist that he lives in the southern hemisphere, because Jesus Christ, Ashton’s arms are a fucking sight to behold. “I need a new snare.” 

“Sure,” Luke says, tucking the pen he’s been holding behind his ear. “For- for you? Or- like, as a gift?” Ashton throws him an amused look. 

“Who gifts snare drums?” he asks, and Luke shrugs, trying not to think about Ashton drumming. Good fucking God.  

“People have gifted stranger things,” he says, and waves a hand at the drums opposite. 

“Oh, hey, you got your cast off!” Ashton says brightly. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “Still feels a bit weak.” 

“I’m sure you know how to strengthen it,” Ashton says solemnly. Luke blinks at him. Is he- surely he’s not- is he- “Oh my God,” Ashton mutters, cheeks a little pink, like he’s just realised what he’s said. “I meant- I meant that the doctor should have given you a few exercises. Fuck. I did not mean- I’m not- fuck.” Luke can’t help but burst out laughing, warmth curling in the pit of his stomach as Ashton throws him a sheepish smile. God, he’s fucking cute. Luke is far too far gone on this man. 

“Yeah, I forgot them,” he admits, because I didn’t take them in because I was too busy looking at every nurse that walked past in case they were you sounds insanely creepy. Ashton throws him a slightly exasperated look. 

“Luke,” he says admonishingly, and Luke rolls his eyes, but he’s still smiling. 

“What was that you said about me being an exemplary patient?” he reminds Ashton, who shakes his head, grinning. 

“I should have reserved judgement,” he says, making his way over to the drum kits Luke had pointed out. “Hey, do you have any sticks for these?” 

“Oh, shit, yeah,” Luke says, hobbling out from behind his desk to the basket that stores test sticks and then over to Ashton, ignoring his protests of you shouldn’t be putting weight on that foot, Luke, let me get them, tell me where they are. 

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “It’s getting taken off next week.” Ashton throws him a look. 

“Yeah, next week,” he says. “These things have specific healing times for a reason.” Luke just waves his hand dismissively. 

“I have another foot,” he says, and Ashton tuts, but a small smile is tugging at his lips. 

“Hey, Luke?” a voice shouts - Jack, whose head pops out of the back room. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you make a note that we need to order more of the Dunlop Hendrix Wahs, the SolidGoldFX NU-33s, the-” shit, Luke thinks, looking around him wildly; there’s no fucking paper, and Luke’s got a broken foot, so he can’t get back to the desk before Jack’s finished rattling this list off. As he’s spinning on the spot, the pen he’d tucked behind his ear dislodges itself and threatens to fly out, and he slaps a hand up to stop it before realising hey, pen, I have skin, I’ll just write it on my arm and write it on paper later. 

“The Hendrix Wahs, the NU-33s, and what?” he calls, scribbling on his arm. 

“The Hydra Stereo and Reverbs, and the Boss Pocket Processors.” Luke nods, frowning as he notes it all down, and then looks back up at Jack. 

“Got it,” he says, and Jack gives him a thumbs up and disappears back into the back room. “Sorry-” he starts, turning back to Ashton, and then drinks in his ashen face, and frowns. “Are you okay?” Then he notices in the corner of his eye some writing on Ashton’s arm, and thinks huh, that’s weird, I’m pretty sure that wasn’t there when he came in - in fact, I’m certain that wasn’t there when he came in, because I made a mental map of every inch of his body, and looks down, trying to surreptitiously read it. 

Hendrix Wahs, NU-33s, Hydra S&R, Bass Pocket Processors. 

Luke’s list. Luke’s list, in Luke’s handwriting, has just appeared on Ashton’s arm. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“Wait,” Luke says slowly, and looks back up at Ashton’s stricken face. “Wait. You- hang on. How did my list just appear on your arm?” 

“How do you think?” Ashton says quietly. Luke blinks. 

“I don’t know,” he says. Ashton stares at him. 

“I- what? What do you mean?” he says. Luke frowns. 

“This doesn’t make sense,” he says. “How did my list appear on your arm?” 

“Jesus Christ, Luke,” Ashton whispers, and then grabs the pen out of Luke’s hand and scrawls hi on his own arm. It sits there next to Luke’s list, looking oddly harmonious for two things that are completely unrelated, and Luke stares at it for a moment before looking down at his own arm. 

There, right next to the messy scribble of his list, is one new word. 

Hi.  

Oh, fuck. 

“Oh, fuck,” Luke says faintly, and steadies himself against a nearby keyboard. “Oh my God. You’re- you’re A?”

“You’re Luke?” Ashton sounds just as faint as Luke. 

“I- yes? Fucking- how did you not- you met all of my friends? Michael, Calum, Jack, Alex? At the hospital?” 

“I only knew them by surname,” Ashton says. “I- fuck. You’re Luke.” 

“You’re A,” Luke says, and then a thought occurs to him and he swallows, and grits his teeth. “Fuck. You’re A.” The words come out harder this time, tinged with bitterness, and it makes Ashton’s eyes snap up to him, big and wide and so pretty it would take Luke’s breath away if he had any left to give. 

“What?” 

“You- you don’t want this.” Luke gestures a little feebly, not wanting to be too specific, but Ashton just looks at him like he doesn’t quite get it. “Y’know. This. Us.” He swallows. “Me.” Ashton’s gaze softens. 

“Oh, Luke,” he says. “I- fuck. I do. I want you. I just didn’t- I didn’t want Luke. But I want you.”

“But I am Luke.” 

“I didn’t know that, though,” Ashton says. “I- oh, fuck. You’re my soulmate.” The word sends a chill down Luke’s spine. Jesus. He’d sort of almost come to terms with the fact he’d never meet his soulmate, never have a soulmate, never hear those words out loud, and now here he is, standing with one foot in a cast at work, talking to the hot nurse he’s not been able to get off his mind for two months who just so happens to be his fucking soulmate who had semi-torn Luke’s heart out from its resting place on his birthday. 

And now, he’s not sure how he feels about it. 

“You didn’t want me,” he says, more than a little accusingly. “And now you do.” He doesn’t ask anything in particular, but Ashton seems to know what he’s pointing at anyway, because he bites his lip. 

“Look,” he says. “I- I just didn’t want to fall for someone because it was assigned to me, or whatever. I wanted it to be a choice, not something I was forced into. And then I did fall for you, without knowing you were my soulmate, but obviously I- I couldn’t, because you were a patient - or a former patient - so I just- I thought that was it, but. Fuck. I fell for you on my own, and it turns out you’re my fucking soulmate.” Luke swallows. When he puts it like that, it makes a lot more sense. Luke can kind of get that. And the fact that Ashton’s saying he fell for Luke but just couldn’t act on it is definitely helping matters - Luke’s easily buttered up by an ego stroke. 

“You broke my heart,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Ashton swallows. 

“I hoped I hadn’t,” he says, like that makes it any better. 

“You could’ve at least waited ‘til it wasn’t my birthday anymore,” Luke says. “Or explained yourself. I thought it was me.”

“You thought what was you?”

“I thought- I thought I’d put you off, somehow. That I was the problem.” Ashton’s eyes go wide, and he shakes his head. 

“God, no. Jesus. No, no. I just- I wanted to be clear, and I thought the less I engaged the better, y’know? Like, the less you’d have to latch onto, the easier you’d forget about me.” He hesitates. “I shouldn’t’ve done it on your birthday, though,” he says. “I’m sorry. And- I’m sorry for everything else, too. It was never you.” 

And, okay. Luke’s the type to hold grudges. He’s petty and he’s childish, and he doesn’t forget shit like this. But he’s also an adult and he’s (to some degree, at least) capable of rational thought, so he shoves away his first instinct that says spite him, go on, make him hurt like he hurt you and thinks about it. Yeah, Ashton fucked up. He should’ve waited until it wasn’t Luke’s birthday, and he should’ve explained himself, and he just should’ve been a lot more communicative from the beginning. But the past week or two, Luke’s actually been okay with the idea that A doesn’t want him, so he can’t really hold that against Ashton anymore, not when his heart has patched itself up the past five months and shrugs off the idea of not having his soulmate in the way he’d always wanted. And he does understand Ashton’s reasoning, even if he doesn’t agree with it, so he clears his throat, and, just to make sure, says:

“So- so you do want it now?” 

“Fuck, I- well, I want to see where it can go,” Ashton says. “I- I don’t want to make any promises. But I’d like to try.” Luke blinks at him. 

Ashton wants to try. Ashton, who is Luke’s fucking soulmate, wants to try the two of them on for size. 

“Okay,” Luke says. “Okay. Yeah. We can try.” 

“Yeah?” Ashton says, a little nervously. 

“Yeah,” Luke says. “I mean, I’ve been sort of infatuated with you from a distance since meeting you, anyway, so.” He shrugs, and Ashton grins and opens his mouth to say something, and then there’s a yell from behind them. 

“Hey, Luke,” Alex says. “Oh, hey, Nurse Irwin. Luke, can you call our accountant? I need the books going over by- uh. Why are you both smiling like you’ve committed a crime? You’ve not committed a crime on these premises, have you?” 

“What?” Luke says. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“What’s wrong with you two?” Alex says suspiciously. Luke glances over at Ashton, who shrugs, tiny and imperceptible, like sure, go on. Fuck.

“Uh,” Luke says, and swallows. “Turns out Ashton is, um. Kind of my soulmate?” Alex blinks at him. 

“Who’s Ashton?” Luke blinks back, and then points at Ashton. “That’s- that’s your soulmate? Ashton’s the dickhead?” The back room door opens. 

“Who’s a dickhead?” Jack asks, intrigued. 

“Ashton,” Alex says. 

“Who’s Ashton?”

“Nurse Irwin.”

“Oh. Hey again, Nurse Irwin. Why are you a dickhead?”

“He’s Luke’s soulmate.” Jack looks at Alex, and then at Luke, and then back again. 

“No, he isn’t,” he says calmly. 

“He is,” Luke says. 

“Fucking hell,” Jack says, and then goes back into the back room and closes the door. 

“Hey,” Alex shouts, frowning. “Get back out here. Luke’s just found his fucking soulmate.”  

“I’m not dealing with this mess,” Jack yells back, muffled by the door. 

“What mess?” Ashton asks, bewildered. Alex whips around to stare at him. 

“The mess you made,” he says. “Y’know. When you broke little Luke’s heart on his twenty-first birthday.” Ashton has the good grace to look embarrassed, and even winces slightly. Good, Luke thinks, a little childishly. Public humiliation probably makes them even for Luke’s birthday being ruined, isn’t it? 

“I didn’t mean to,” Ashton says, sounding very much like a five-year-old.

“I don’t care,” Alex says. “You two sort shit out between yourselves.” Ashton blinks at him. 

“Right,” he says, and turns to Luke. “So. Uh. I feel like now is the time to ask you on a date.” 

“What, with my chaperone watching?” Luke says, throwing Alex a pointed glance, and Alex throws his hands up in exasperation and heads back into his office. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ashton says, with a small smile. “It’s sweet how protective they are of you.” Which, yeah, but like, fuck, because if Ashton thinks this is protective, he’s got another thing coming when he meets Michael and Calum. Luke bites his lip.

“Wait ‘til you meet Michael and Calum,” he says, a little warningly, a little gleefully. 

“So is that a yes?” 

“A yes to what?”

“Me asking you out.” Luke blinks.

“Ashton, I asked you out, like, two months ago,” he says. “And you’re my soulmate. Obviously it’s a yes.” 

“Well, I don’t know,” Ashton says, a little defensively. “It’s good to check.”

“What, so now you’re the king of communicating?” Ashton throws him a slightly hard look, but it softens when he sees the smile on Luke’s lips. 

“I sort of deserve that,” he admits, and Luke grins. 

“Part and parcel of going on a date with me,” he says, and Ashton grins back.

“At least I to go on a date with you,” he says. “Softens the blow.”

Yeah. Luke could get used to the way his heart is trying to communicate with him through the medium of interpretive dance.

(It’s a good thing his soulmate’s a nurse.) 

 -------

  Hurry up, Luke scribbles on his arm as quickly as possible. I didn’t pay for parking. 

Jesus, Luke, comes back almost immediately. I’m on my way back. 

I can tell by your handwriting.

You’re one to talk. 

Fuck off.  

xxx

Luke puts the pen back in the glove compartment and taps his fingers on the gear stick, peering at the revolving doors to try and spot his boyfriend. It only takes about thirty more seconds before he sees him walking out, looking around for a moment until he sees Luke parked badly and illegally and jogs over, shaking his head fondly. 

“Idiot,” he says, when he gets in the car. “If we get a fine, you’re paying it.” 

“You’ll have to bargain with Alex to give me a raise, then,” Luke says, throwing the car into reverse without bothering to look over his shoulder. 

“Jesus, Luke, look where you’re fucking going,” Ashton says, even though there’s no one there. Luke shrugs, puts the car into first, and pulls out of the spot he’d been parked in. 

“What?” he says. “We’re right outside a hospital. It’s fine.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mutters, but when Luke glances over he’s smiling. 

“So?” Luke prompts. “What did they say?” 

“It was fine,” Ashton says. “There are procedures in place for this sort of thing, y’know. They had the government papers confirming you’re my soulmate, and the ethical review was fine, because you just broke a few bones so I barely looked after you.” Luke scoffs. 

“Just broke a few bones?” he echoes, a little indignantly. “I broke half my fucking body.”

“Well, you did toss about fifty guitars onto yourself,” Ashton says, fumbling in the glove compartment as Luke pulls out onto the main road. 

“That was to get out of whatever Jack was trying to force me to do,” Luke says. “And it worked.” 

“Was it really worth it?” Ashton says, pulling the pen out of the glove compartment and raising his eyebrows. 

“Of course it was,” Luke says immediately. “I didn’t have to do whatever dumb shit Jack had in mind.” Out of the corner of his eye, Luke sees Ashton roll his eyes. 

“That was a perfect set-up to say of course, Ash, I wouldn’t have met you otherwise,” Ashton tells him, and Luke grins. 

“Would’ve said that if I meant it,” he says, and Ashton sighs, but he’s grinning. 

“I don’t know why I bother with you,” he says, and Luke grins back. 

“Because I’m your soulmate,” he says. “And worse than that, you chose to be stuck with me. This is all your own fucking doing.” 

“Fucking hell,” Ashton mumbles again, but he’s scribbling something on his arm, and when Luke glances down he sees a slightly shaky heart drawn right where his wrist meets the back of his hand, and smiles out at the road.

“Love you too.” 

[much-obliged-timothy]

Dad Tim & Uncle Rhys Part 9

A follow-up to part 8! I finally made a masterpost for this little AU, and you can find it here! 

Rhys knocked on the door to Tim’s house.

As usual, the blinds were pulled, leaving no view to the inside of the house. He waited anxiously until Tim pulled the door open.

“Rhys?” he said, frowning. “Everything okay?”

“Fine!” Rhys said, then cleared his throat because his tone didn’t sound like everything was fine. “Uh, fine. I had some things to talk to you about. I ordered dinner. It should be delivered in a bit.”

“Oh, okay,” Tim said, still looking confused but stepping aside to let Rhys in. “A heads-up would be nice in the future.”

“Right, sorry,” Rhys said. “Is this okay?”

“Yea, fine. I just mean if you’d come twenty minutes later, I would’ve already been in the middle of making dinner,” Tim said. “Got a kid to feed, remember?”

Oh, Rhys remembered. It was the whole reason he was here, after all.

Tim led him out to the living room, where Phoenix was sitting at a little table, bent over a piece of paper. His face was screwed up in concentration as he chewed on the end of his pencil.

“I can’t get it dad!” he said, eyes watering. “I dunno how to do it.”

“That’s okay. We’ll take a break for now and try again after dinner. You’re probably just too hungry to concentrate right,” Tim soothed. He lowered his voice so only Rhys could hear him. “He’s been pretty easily upset ever since that whole outburst about missing his mom. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Rhys said. “Hi Phoenix.”

Phoenix wiped at his eyes. “Why’s boss guy here?”

“He ordered dinner for us,” Tim said. “I guess he’s got some things to talk to me about. Keep him company while I get us drinks?”

Rhys sat down as Tim drifted into the kitchen. Phoenix looked at his homework, then pushed it away, looking upset that he hadn’t been able to finish it.

“How’s the reading going?” Rhys tried.

“Better,” he said, picking up his bear to hug. “Dad reads to me every night, but last night I read him a story before bed.”

Rhys couldn’t imagine a child reading a bedtime story to Tim, mostly because Tim looked like Handsome Jack. But he nodded like that was a perfectly normal mental image.

Phoenix hugged his bear tighter. “He said I can read to mom when I see her, and she’ll be so happy that I can read so good.”

“So well,” Rhys said. At Phoenix’s look, he sighed. “Never mind.”

Tim came out, handing a soda to Phoenix and a glass of wine to Rhys. He sat on the couch with his own wine, holding his arm out as Phoenix curled into his side.

“I can have a soda?” Phoenix said.

“Sure, pal,” Tim said, sipping his wine. “Just don’t tattle on me for it. So, what’d you need, boss?”

“O-Oh, um, just that...report,” Rhys said.

Tim frowned. “I thought I had til the end of the week on that? I have a lot of it done, but I’m still waiting on some data to finish it.”

“I know!” Rhys said. “I was just hoping for an update.”

Tim shrugged and launched into an update of the report he’d been working on. As he spoke, Rhys noted the way Phoenix clung to him more than usual, tensing up whenever Tim pulled his hand away from Phoenix’s shoulder to make hand gestures. 

There was a knock on the door and Tim got up to get it. Rhys checked his ECHO, anxiety growing, but there was no new message.

Tim returned with bags of delivery. Phoenix hopped off the couch to help him carry everything into the kitchen, Rhys following.

His ECHO pinged as they were taking everything out of the bags and sorting through it. He checked the message, chewing at his lip.

“Jeez, Rhys, did you buy enough food?” Tim said as he finally got the last of it onto the table. 

There was a knock on the door. Tim frowned from the food to Rhys.

“I-I’ll go see who it is with you,” Rhys said. “Phoenix, mind getting silverware? Please?”

Tim nodded at Phoenix and left the kitchen, Rhys trailing behind him. “Rhys, what’s going on?”

“Uh...me trying to help?” Rhys said weakly.

Tim opened the door, eyes going wide. The woman standing in the doorway smiled at him.

“Ember,” Tim whispered.

The two were hugging tightly before Rhys could even think to greet her. He’d never met her before, and Moxxi had arranged this whole thing, so really, this was his first time ever interacting with her.

She pulled away from Tim, cupping his face in her hands to look him over. Her gaze dropped to his cybernetic hand.

“I’m okay. I’m good,” Tim said. “You look great. Moxxi said you’ve been amazing at getting things up and running there.”

“Of course I am,” Ember said, her voice heavily accented. “I will light that place up! Ah, you must be Rhys.”

“You set this up, Rhys?” Tim said.

“With Moxxi’s help,” Rhys said, holding a hand out to Ember. “Uh, nice to meet you. Rhys. Tim’s boss.”

“Ember,” she said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for arranging this. I’ve missed them both.”

“He’s in the kitchen,” Tim said, a smile touching his face. “Shit, Ember, he’s going to be so happy. Fuck. Thank you, Rhys. Thank you.”

Rhys was a little unnerved by the whole situation, but he nodded. He followed the two out to the living room, Tim stopping Ember.

“Phoenix!” he called. “Come here. Boss guy has a surprise for you.”

Phoenix came out cautiously. His eyes widened, mouth dropping open at the sight of Ember.

“Mom!” he cried, tears coming to his eyes as he raced forward. “Mommy!”

Ember dropped to her knees, catching him as he flung himself at her. She held him tightly as he cried against her, kissing him and whispering something to him.

Rhys couldn’t help but smile as he watched them. Tim knelt beside them, Ember pulling him into their embrace.

They were a weird family to look at. A Handsome Jack doppelganger, a vice district performer, and a little boy who didn’t look much like either of them at first glance. But they seemed happy to be there together.

Finally, Tim pulled away. “Guess that explains all the food.”

“You’re staying?” Phoenix said anxiously, clutching his mom. “You’re gonna stay?”

“For tonight, yes,” she promised. 

His eyes shined with joy. “I can read you a bedtime story! Dad and boss guy are teaching me how to read really good!”

“Well,” Rhys said, unsurprised when Phoenix ignored him.

“I can’t wait,” Ember said, standing up with Phoenix in her arms. “But you know I’m not staying forever, right, Phoenix? We need to put that out there right now. I need to go back to the casino for work. But I can stay for a few days. And I can always come back another time.”

“I want you to stay forever,” Phoenix said, putting his arms around her neck and pressing his face into her shoulder. “You and me and dad.”

“I can’t stay forever,” she said, shaking her head. She urged his head up so he was looking at her. “Your dad and I aren’t a couple, Phoenix. But I love both of you, and I will always come to see you. I hate when you’re sad. But sometimes people have to be apart, even when they don’t want to be. Someday you’ll understand. For now, I need you to trust that we will always do what we believe is best for you.” 

“Besides, if mom and I lived together, how would I sneak you extra ice cream or soda?” Tim said.

“Timothy! You better not be giving him too much caffeine,” Ember said.

“Uh...no,” Tim said. “Never, Ember.”

“But you’re gonna stay tonight?” Phoenix pressed. “You’ll stay? And you’ll sleep with me and dad? And I can read to you?”

“Yes and yes and yes,” she said, smiling. “I was thinking we could do a bonfire. It is nice out.”

“Absolutely shocking you of all people suggested that,” Tim said, wincing when she punched his arm. 

“Boss guy’s gonna stay too?” Phoenix said.

“Well, I did pay for the food,” Rhys said.

“You got mom here?” Phoenix said.

“Well, I had help,” Rhys said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But...I knew how much you missed her.”

“Boss guy’s the best, mom! He even let me throw lettuce at his face,” Phoenix said.

“I did not! Your dad is just an asshole!” Rhys said.

“Hear that, Ember? Rhys has a horrible mouth. He’s taught Phoenix all sorts of awful swears,” Tim said.

“Oh, please, Timothy, I know you’re the one who swears around him all the time. My poor boy’s ears,” Ember said, Phoenix snuggling against her as she kissed him again. “But thank you, Rhys. Phoenix talks about you all the time on our calls.”

“Dad said he’s like a uncle,” Phoenix said.

“An uncle,” Rhys corrected. Then the words actually registered in his brain. “Wait! No I’m not!”

Ember laughed and set Phoenix down. “You and your father go get the table ready for dinner. I want to see if he’s teaching you your table manners.” He held his hand out to her, but she waved him on ahead. “I will be right with you. I promise.”

“C’mon, pal, let’s go set the table. And definitely not hide any soda,” Tim said, nudging Phoenix. When Phoenix hesitated, Tim scooped him up, hoisting the boy over his shoulder and grinning at Phoenix’s squeal of surprise. 

“Dad, lemme go!” Phoenix said, laughing as he lightly hit his fists against Tim’s back.

“Nope, gonna drag you along to set the table with me. We’ve got to prove we haven’t regressed into cavemen without your mom around.”

“Dunno what the big word means!”

“Doesn’t matter. All that matters is setting the table and proving I’m a semi-competent parent.”

They disappeared into the kitchen, their laughter trailing out. Ember watched them go with a surprisingly tender expression.

“You know, he has a reputation for being a coward. But he’s not, not really. Running and hiding is how he stayed alive so long. When it comes down to it, Timothy has always stood his ground when he had to,” Ember said. “He never once even talked about leaving me when I told him I was pregnant. He stepped right up to be a dad, terrified as he was.”

“He’s a good man,” Rhys agreed. “And he’s good to Phoenix. I know it’s hard for him. But he tries his best.”

“I know. That boy loves his father. I hope he grows up to be as kind-hearted and loyal as Timothy,” Ember said. “Thank you for bringing me here, Rhys. None of this has been easy from the moment I realized I was pregnant with him. But seeing him and Timothy here, able to play and laugh…” She shook her head. “They are burning so brightly. Thank you.” 

“Oh, um, no, I really haven’t done anything,” Rhys said, shaking his head.

“You have,” she said seriously. “You took Timothy in and gave him a chance when others would’ve turned him away for his face. You let him bring Phoenix into work with him. And you’ve been kind to both of them. That’s something neither of them had for years. Timothy said Phoenix adores you. I’ve never seen him trust a stranger so fast before.”

“Lucky me,” Rhys groaned. “Alright, yea, he’s a good kid. I don’t mind him as much as I pretend to. We should get back to them before he worries.”

They went into the kitchen, Phoenix immediately at his mother’s side. They sat down to eat together, Phoenix looking happier than Rhys had ever seen him as he sat between his parents. 

Ember and Tim were easy with each other, taunting and complimenting and laughing. Phoenix held their hands when he was done eating, and smiled so wide it looked like it hurt. 

When Tim and Rhys got up to do the dishes together, Phoenix crawled into Ember’s lap, hugging himself to her. Tim smiled as he watched them.

“Thanks, Rhys,” he said softly. “I haven’t seen him so happy in a long time.”

“Your, um...that is, Ember isn’t as scary as I thought she’d be,” Rhys said.

“Oh, she’s terrifying if you piss her off,” Tim promised. “But she’s a good person. When she told me she was pregnant, I…” He blew out a sigh. “I hoped she’d miscarry. I didn’t want to bring a kid into that kind of place. But for as much as I wish his childhood was different, I’m so glad we had him. Look at that kid. Blows my mind we brought that kind of light into such a dark world.”

Rhys put a hand on his shoulder. “He had good parents to keep him glowing.”

Tim shouldered him playfully. “And now he’s got a reluctant uncle looking out for him.”

“Shut up,” Rhys said, but found he couldn’t deny it. 

He even scooped a large bowl of ice cream for Phoenix, hiding behind Tim when Ember shot him a look. But Phoenix reached out, pulling Rhys in close to share some with him.

“Thanks for letting me have my mom and dad, boss guy,” Phoenix said, tugging Tim over so he could have them all close.

“You’re welcome, kid,” Rhys said, holding his fist out.

Phoenix knocked his fist against it. The smile on his little face made it worth it, and Rhys realized he was hopelessly entangled with this family, caring way too much about a traumatized kid and his traumatized father.

[writer-and-artist27]

A Count’s Favor

Note: Study break called for more writing. So another short story in the AU of Vy and Ayako coexisting in the same Chaldea. I’d like to think this takes place immediately after the first short story, so @panyum, this is for you.

An accompanying song as usual, with an extra since it helped me write this, and now onto the action. Warning as it is mostly unedited from my writing late at night after working on homework.

Here we go.

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

The first sign that something was going on was the soft touch of what felt like a hand on Vy’s head. Now, she wasn’t a stranger to the sensation of “head-pats” — after all, Ushiwakamaru still adored them and begged for the occasional pat when she passed by. Not to mention Vy’s own short stature from her Vietnamese blood apparently making her the “perfect” patting height. Or, at least, that was what Caster Cu had said with a sharp-toothed smirk. Most of the male Servants seemed to agree if the usual pat after a quest was any indication, but this specific pat was different. 

Light, far too brief to really register anything aside from long fingers (were they bony?), and almost wispy. 

Vy had turned her head once the sensation had registered in her brain, glancing around for a few moments before anxiously tugging at one of the hems of her jacket in the Mage’s Association Uniform. The shorts and stockings were comfy, but the orange was still something to get used to when the last time Vy saw this outfit, it was with—

I don’t want to die!

Vy shook her head, squashing the urge to cry. Olga-Marie was still gone. All that was around her, all that was left, were the white halls of Chaldea. 

“Am I overthinking things…?” left her in a soft mumble. 

Of course, no one answered. There was no one around to answer. Supposedly.

Vy glanced at the area she had just left, her eyes lingering on the door leading to Ayako’s studio in the distant horizon, before walking a bit faster to get to the others.

“Gotta hurry to get back and cook…!”

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

The next instance of that wispy headpat came after the most recent Ember Farming Daily Quest. Arturia, as the former King Arthur looked less than phased at the damage she took once the battle was over, absently telling the Saber version of Diarmuid how they were no more than “mere scratches,” but Vy’s head wasn’t entirely present in the situation. Mana drain was still mana drain, as much as Vy hated to admit it. 

Aya-san’s still resting, so why can’t I make it up to her a little more…? Gotta— 

Vy still found herself slumping down to sit against a tree. Darn it… 

But once Vy had ducked her head and closed her eyes to take the rare chance to rest for a small moment before the inevitable Rayshift back, the pat occurred. It was a few seconds longer than the first time, letting Vy take in what felt like a calloused touch as the pat rustled the hair she had set in her usual work ponytail, but once Vy raised her head to look towards the direction it came from, the touch disappeared. 

“Vy?” 

Arturia’s voice slowly echoed in her ears, almost soothing as Vy turned to look up at the Level 100 Saber with her best attempt at a comforting smile. “I-I’m okay, Arturia-san, I’m okay.”

Still, Arturia looked less than convinced as she dispelled one metal gauntlet with a shrug of her shoulder to rest a warm hand against Vy’s forehead, undeterred by hair. With a soft inhale, Arturia then said, “You don’t have a fever, Princess. Are you merely tired?”

“Kinda,” Vy said truthfully, trying not to shrink into herself once Diarmuid, D’eon, and Saber Alter all turned to look at what was going on. “I dunno.”

“What do you know, Princess?” Arturia entertained in a softer voice, kneeling to Vy’s sitting height as she dispelled her other armored gauntlet to take one of Vy’s hands in hers. 

Vy felt a frown form on her face, both from guilt and embarrassment at being confronted, before meeting Arturia’s earnest green eyes with a tiny, “I think someone’s been patting my head.”

Arturia blinked, a wind passing between them enough to jostle the gold crown sitting on her head. “Pardon?” she said after a moment, her grip on Vy’s fingers slackening with the question. “Could you repeat that, Vy?”

“I-I really don’t get it either, Art-san!” Vy knew she was blushing by now, but she still went on with a squeakier, “Whenever I seem to be looking elsewhere, I feel like someone’s been patting my head, but I just. Can’t. Find them!”

A somewhat troubled expression dawned on Arturia’s face as she squeezed Vy’s hand in hers. “Perhaps it is a Servant?” she offered, her thumb gently rubbing the back of Vy’s hand in a comforting gesture. Vy couldn’t miss how Arturia’s touch lingered on her flower-shaped Command Spells. “The staff already pet your head enough for you to recognize them by now, can’t you, Princess?”

“Aye, it’s just this one hand…” Vy gestured to the top of her now rustled ponytail with her free hand, trying not to squeeze her eyes shut from some bubbling frustration. “I feel like I know it somehow, but I also don’t! It started just after I visited Aya-san to drop off her breakfast smoothie, too!” 

Arturia stared at Vy for a moment longer before pulling on Vy’s hand, making Vy fall into a warm hug as a chin gently bumped the top of her hair. “I see,” she said mildly, an arm winding past Vy’s jacket to rub her back, “but as long as this hand isn’t hurting you, Princess, I don’t think you should worry. Knowing your heart, you’ll find them soon enough.”

“You sure…?”

“I am absolutely sure of it.”

Even with her nose stuck in the crook between Arturia’s neck and shoulder via hug, Vy couldn’t miss how Saber Alter in the background turned her nose the other way, a scoff clearly audible even from her distance. 

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

By the time everyone got back to Chaldea, Vy couldn’t help herself. Even if she was cooking, the curiosity was tugging too hard. “Big Robin?”

Robin Hood didn’t even pause in his action of cutting carrots, tossing his head in Vy’s direction as a carefree glint shined in his visible green eye. “What’s up, little sparrow?”

Vy tried not to sweat at the attention, admitting slowly past an anxious tug of one of her stray hairs out of her ponytail, “You don’t happen to know any Servants in Chaldea that uses a Noble Phantasm like your No Face May King, do you…?”

The question was something that certainly got Archer’s attention at this point, since he had stopped his vegetable cutting to throw Vy an incredulous look. It was hard to miss how his green apron was already close to flickering out of view in favor of his usual cloak and crossbow. “Who do I have to poison, little sparrow?”

ACK. “Th-There’s no one to poison except the Demon God Pillars, Robin!” Vy blurted out for damage control, because sheesh, Robin’s sentence almost made it sound like he was being serious. And knowing him — the seafood porridge Vy was still stirring would probably be neglected in favor of creating the means for some kind of comeback against whatever enemy he saw in his head.  “A-And that’s not what I meant!” 

“Then what did you mean, little sparrow?” Robin continued, his voice lowering to a deeper pitch as he put the kitchen knife down, raising a hand to gently rest his palm on top of Vy’s head. The apron on his person solidified again, leaving his weapons intangible to the touch. “Because if someone’s messing with you, I know where the traps are.”

Vy did her best not to pout, she really did, but by the time she was looking up into Robin’s eyes, it was obvious he was still not backing down from his previous declaration as his fingers scratched the top of her scalp mid-ruffle of her hair. “I-I wanted to ask since I’ve been feeling someone new pat my head lately, that’s all.” Even if she didn’t really know how to feel about it, she still leaned into Robin’s hand anyway, finishing with, “Really, big Robin, I’m okay. I just wanna know who it is.”

The statement was enough to make Robin momentarily freeze, his green eye widening for a moment. 

The last thing Vy expected was for him to close his visible eye, exhale what sounded like a tired and exasperated sigh, and then suddenly retract his hand and thrust it past her neck. Any closer and something would’ve been cut. Instead, Vy felt the saliva dry up in her throat as Robin Hood said with an eerily cheerful smile in her direction, “Why don’t you ask the person who’s right behind you, Master?”

There was definitely a muffled curse at this point in time, nearly making Vy squeak herself as Robin pulled, and Vy only had a few seconds to glance behind her before getting a glimpse of shadowy wisps fading into the air, fluffy white hair, and long bony fingers. 

Huh? 

“A-Avenger?” Vy said slowly, blinking at the clearly ruffled Edmond Dantes coming into view as Robin Hood pulled him (via a tight grip on the wrist, too) out of whatever portal he had conjured to show up in the kitchen, both Servants muffling curses at each other. The curses were something along the lines of “Let go, Archer,” and “No way in hell, jerk, you nearly scared my little sparrow.” Well, it at least sounded like those phrases, unless Vy was hearing things again. “I thought you were with Aya-san…”

“Normally, yes,” the Avenger bit out past a retort to Archer as Robin Hood let go with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “But there’s only so much observing I can take when my Accomplice refuses to leave her studio.”

Robin Hood huffed out a tiny, “Typical,” as Vy felt a nervous laugh bubble up in her throat from the sympathy. So Aya-san was still in her painting muse. Okay then. It was better than not talking to anyone at all, at least.

“So then, er, Avenger?”

The Count of Monte Cristo closed his eyes at the title, a deep frown set on his face. It was clear that he didn’t like it, even with the shade the brim of his hat gave him.

Vy tried again with an (unintentionally) higher-pitched, “Count?”

Dantes nodded. 

Vy did her best to sound as patient and open as possible as she went on, with his permission, with, “Why did you come here?”

In that very moment, Vy could’ve sworn Dantes’ look towards her softened as he opened his eyes, almost like the times she found him staring after Aya-san. Then he opened his mouth with an equally soft, “You are a curious one, little flower.”

Eh? 

“Flower?” Vy echoed in confusion. “Me?”

“Flower? My little sparrow?” Robin Hood interrupted with an exaggerated puff of his chest. “You gotta be joking.”

“I am not, Archer,” Dantes shot to Robin Hood, crossing his arms in return. “I heard from my Accomplice how this little one’s name in Vietnamese stands for some kind of yellow flower. I could not help but look out since.”

“Aaaand, um,” Vy got between the two Servants with hands raised, acutely becoming aware of sparks flying above her head, “what did you find, Count?” 

The last thing she was expecting (again today, funny enough) was for Dantes to give her a small yet heartfelt smile. “Kuku,” was the chuckle under his breath. Then, he said, “You may be the key.”

Vy slowly blinked at him, taking in the words in what felt like an eternity’s wait when it was really only a few seconds. Barely registering Robin Hood’s fake gagging behind her, she said to the Count, “What key?”

“…It is nothing, little flower,” he said in the same voice, and he raised a hand to once again pat her head. Even if the touch was still wispy and far too faint to really take in the sensation, it was obvious he was identifying himself as the “mysterious headpat” to Vy now, and Vy felt her heart swell a few centimeters outwards. “Just allow me to thank you. My Accomplice wouldn’t be where she is without you.” Something shined in his eyes at that moment, something along the lines of what looked like love and concern before it was squashed by the darkness that was what laid behind his yellow eyes. “Do not leave her.”

Even when Robin Hood was impatiently tapping his foot behind them, Vy knew her answer.

“Aya-san’s my friend, Count. There’s no way I could.” 

It seemed to be enough when the Count retracted his hand and brought it to his hat to hide his face. 

Vy couldn’t help herself. She proceeded to reach over and gently pat Dantes’ head through his hat. An eye for an eye, or so they said. Sure, it took standing up on her tiptoes to do so, but once Dantes was looking at her again, she said with a warmer smile, “With that established, do you want to eat porridge together? We can get Aya-san to eat with us.”

“You… You would mingle with me?”

“No,” Robin Hood said.

“Yes,” Vy said. She could faintly hear Archer put a palm to his face soon afterwards (even muttering something like, “Goddammit, Vy,”), but in the light of the moment, she couldn’t care.

Even if Edmond Dantes wasn’t her Servant, he was still a comrade, and considering how he looked after Aya-san more than Vy ever could, he was worth spending time with.

“Let’s go get Aya-san together, Count! With you around, I’m sure we’ll get her to eat something!”

“How… bright of you.”

They had a few steps to go, but it was progress!

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Can you please add to the come Hell or Helwater story? I would be eternally grateful. Also do you post any where but here? Like A03 or something?

Come Hell or Helwater - Part Nineteen

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen

And here’s where you can find it on AO3.

*********************************************

Something was going on. Brianna wasn’t sure what, but there was something strange going on between her mother and Jamie. Whatever it was, they didn’t want her to know about it. Every time she walked into the room, they turned all their attention on her. It was overwhelming and she didn’t like it. She’d rather they told her what was going on. If it didn’t stop soon, if they didn’t say something… she would. 

Isobel and Lord and Lady Dunsany had returned a few days after her mother. Brianna’s lessons with Isobel had resumed but neither of them were as interested as they had been. Isobel was excited about her sister’s condition and would be going back and forth between the two houses a great deal in the coming months. 

“It’s a comfort to her to have me there,” Isobel explained as she struggled to show Brianna how to do decorative needlework. She was embroidering a cap for her sister’s baby. 

Brianna was supposed to be putting a monogram onto a handkerchief for her father, but she couldn’t tell Isobel that the initials were wrong. She just worked quietly on the A and M, figuring someday she could add a J to the beginning and an I and E at the end. It wouldn’t be centered properly in the corner but at least it would properly be his. 

“It’s important that she rest and not be upset by anything – it’s bad for the baby,” Isobel explained. 

“And when you’re not there, is she upset?” Brianna asked. 

“It isn’t polite to gossip about such things,” Isobel replied, more with resignation than an aim to scold Brianna for her question. “But she is certainly more inclined to find things upsetting when there’s no one around who can help her with running the household.”

“And you miss your sister too, I suppose.” 

“Of course. We were close when we were younger. Our brother was older and we both looked up to him – Geneva especially. I… I remember his death more than him, really. It brought us closer, I suppose,” Isobel confessed. 

“What’s it like?” Brianna asked, suddenly curious. “Having a sister?”

Isobel’s eyes widened with surprise but then she folded her hands into her lap, needle and thread carefully held between the forefinger and thumb of her right hand, the delicate, unfinished cap clutched in her left hand. 

“Well… She liked to be in charge when we played, but I didn’t mind. I think she’s always been more fanciful so her games were more enjoyable than anything I ever thought of. There were times when we would quarrel, but I don’t know as I’ve heard of any siblings who don’t disagree from time to time,” Isobel confided with a warm smile. “It was harder for her, being older, I think. She had to do everything first when it came to being about in society when we visited London. She’s also prettier so more has been expected of her in other ways. Her marriage has been a successful one… in some ways more than others. I do think we enjoy one another’s company better now and I am excited to become an aunt,” Isobel said with a grin, her attention returning to the baby’s cap in her hands. 

Brianna gave her a polite smile, pondering the relationship Isobel described. 

She’d had some friends in Boston, but no one she was particularly close to. Even if she had wanted to have friends over to her house, many of their parents weren’t keen to let their daughters visit the Randall household. Despite the fact that Frank was a respectable professor, Claire not only worked, she had a man’s profession. They didn’t want their children getting ideas. Of course, it could only do Brianna good to see the example set in their own households, so she was always welcome there (but once her mother discovered what was behind their hospitality, she preferred to have Brianna either join Frank at the university or do her homework in her own office at the hospital). 

Some of those sort-of friends had siblings, though. Angela’s older sister sometimes let them play with her makeup but she also yelled at them when they accidentally spilled her favorite nail polish on her desk. Barbara’s older brother mostly just ignored them whenever Brianna happened to see him and Barbara didn’t seem to mind too much. Doris had a younger sister who had just been starting school and she complained about how all her old things were being passed down – things Barbara still considered hers. 

They’d stayed at Lallybroch for a few days before setting out for Helwater. It hadn’t been much time for Brianna to get to know her cousins (and it had been a little overwhelming because there were so many of them), but maybe she would come to see them like siblings… if they ever got back to Lallybroch. 

“And what about you?” Isobel asked Brianna gently. “Do you think you would find the prospect of a younger brother or sister exciting?”

Brianna looked up at Isobel, confused. How had the older girl guessed what she’d been thinking about?

“I… guess,” Brianna replied. “I know I wanted one when I was littler but after a while of wanting one and not getting one, I guess I stopped hoping for one.” 

“Mmmhmm…” Isobel nodded, her eyes darting back and forth from her needlework to Brianna, something playful in her gaze and at the edges of her mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing. I suppose… I wished for a younger sister sometimes when Geneva was being unkind to me. I told myself I would only treat my younger sister with kindness. While I may not have gotten a younger sister in the way I’d hoped, the girl I imagined she would be was a lot like you – in behavior more than appearance,” she added with a quiet laugh.

“That’s kind of you to say,” Brianna responded flatly, still confused by Isobel’s behavior. She looked to the clock on the mantel. It was a little earlier than they usually quit for the day but Brianna had had enough of Isobel’s riddles. “I should go back and help Mama,” she said, carefully putting her work away. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately.”

“I heard,” Isobel said, laying her own work aside and rising to follow Brianna to the door. “Send her my best wishes that she’ll soon feel better. Encourage her to rest and take care of her if she’ll let you.”

“I will,” Brianna promised but there was something in the way Isobel said it, in the way that she smiled that left Brianna turning their conversation over and over in her mind as she made her way back to their cottage. 

When Brianna arrived, her mother was standing at her work table but she wasn’t working. She had one hand braced on the table, the other at the small of her back rubbing circles into it. 

“Are you okay, Mama?” Brianna asked, closing the door quietly behind her.

“I thought you were supposed to be having your sewing lesson with Lady Isobel,” Claire remarked, straightening at the table and reaching for some dried herbs to add to her mortar for grinding. 

“I told her I needed to come back early to help you,” she said, moving to a spot on the other side of the table. 

“Very well. Here,” Claire slid the mortar across to Brianna and then handed her the pestle. “Grind those and then add them–” 

“I know, Mama. I’ve helped you make this balm before,” Brianna assured her with an annoyed laugh.

Claire laughed quietly, moving to prepare the beeswax for melting. She paused at the end of the table, leaning into it again and running a hand over herself, first down her front and then to that spot at the small of her back for a moment. With a small nod to herself, she resumed her task. 

Brianna had noticed and again asked, “Are you okay, Mama?” Seeing her mother sigh, seeing her prepare to lie or only tell half the truth, Brianna set the pestle aside with more force than she intended, and asked with more force, “Are you sick? Is that why you and Da have been acting strange?”

“I’m not sick, sweetheart,” Claire assured her. “I’m… I’m going to have a baby. I wasn’t sure for a while and there’s still a lot that can go wrong,” she babbled, “but no, I’m not sick.”

“Oh,” Brianna said, picking the pestle back up and grinding the herbs, simply for something to do with her hands. “Are you… happy about it?”

Claire looked at Brianna for a moment, a smile slowly breaking across her face. “I am. But I’m also terrified. The last time I did this was a looooong time ago.” 

Brianna laughed. “I’m not that old.”

“No, but you’re not my little baby anymore either,” Claire lamented. 

“You’re still scared even though this time you have me and Da?” 

“Last time… I didn’t have much left to lose if things went wrong,” Claire answered, quietly. “This time…”

“You’ll be fine, Mama. Da and I will make sure of it,” Brianna promised.

“That’s exactly what your father keeps saying.”

“Two against one,” Brianna said with a shrug. “You should listen to us.”

Claire chuckled. “I suppose I should.”

“Can I tell Lady Isobel? She’s making a cap for Lady Geneva’s baby. Maybe she can show me how to make one for this baby.”

“That would be nice… And what about you? I know it’s a surprise but, are you happy about it? You won’t be close enough in age to be playmates…”

“I don’t know. It’s strange to think of having a baby here,” she remarked, looking around their small cottage. “But I guess it’s kind of like everything else. It’s strange at first, but then you get used to it and have a hard time imagining any other way. I still miss… I was gonna say ‘home’ but this is home now. Where we were before feels more and more like a dream.”

“Hmmm. It does. Not a bad dream or a good dream… just a little… not real.”

“But I always have you to help me remember it,” Brianna said.

“And I have you,” Claire agreed. “And that is something that will always be just ours.”

Brianna smiled, liking the thought of having something that she alone shared with her mother.

[intheticklecloset]

Satisfied (Invader Zim)

Ironic that I really want to write for other fandoms but this is what my brain decided to come up with yesterday. Ah, well! After a long writing hiatus, I hope you enjoy this new Invader Zim fic!

Fandom: Invader Zim

Shipping: Mostly ZADF, some ZADR

~

“Zim?” Dib relaxed his hold on his pencil as he looked at the alien. “You okay?”

Zim shifted his position for what must have been the tenth time in the last few minutes, paused, then looked back at the human. He cleared his throat. “I am suddenly struck with a very strong desire to be tickled.”

Dib grinned. “Oh, really, now?” He set his homework aside entirely and began to crawl the short distance to where Zim sat with his own stack of math papers. “I can help with that.”

Zim barely had time to set aside his things before Dib was on him, digging fingers into his sides and forcing squeals of laughter from him as he fell back onto the floor. Dib quickly straddled him, still grinning, letting his fingers poke and prod and produce laugh after laugh from his not-quite-boyfriend. “Let’s see if we can’t cure this mood you’re in, Zim,” he teased. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

To his surprise, instead of protesting, Zim merely let the teasing work its magic on him, making him laugh even harder and squirm a little more, his blush a light blue and his smile radiant.

“Oh, what’s that?” Dib asked, moving up to the Irken’s ribs without any trouble. “No begging this time? You must reeeeally want to be tickle, tickle, tickled to hysterics, Zim!”

Zim said nothing in reply. He merely laughed and lifted his arms up slightly to make access easier for the human. Dib’s grin became a smile. Zim wanted to be tickled this much? Well, he’d make sure to make the experience a good one.

“All right, then,” Dib said, moving up to his underarms. “Here we go! Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

Zim’s laughter went up in pitch slightly and he kicked a leg, but never protested in the slightest. His blush was darkening by the second, but he never brought his arms down to stop Dib. He simply lay there and let himself be tickled and teased.

Dib was suddenly struck with an idea. He climbed off of Zim. “Roll over onto your stomach. I want to try a couple things.”

Zim did as he was asked, still smiling wide. Once settled, Dib straddled him again and began lightly tracing around the Irken’s Pak, which glowed as pink as his uniform had once been. Zim’s laughter became crazed, unstoppable giggles, and his squirming intensified. He clenched and unclenched his fists but never said a word.

“Ooh, ticklish here?” Dib teased, keeping up the gentle tracing. “Look how much you squirm! This must be really sensitive, huh?”

Zim whimpered, giggled, but never asked Dib to stop even though it was clear to the human that this was truly a “bad spot,” as Zim liked to call them. Finally the boy let up, instead skittering his fingers along the Irken’s lower back, observing with interest how his squirming stopped almost immediately, but his giggling never changed.

“Hmm,” Dib mused aloud. “I wonder what happens if I tickle your hips while you’re like this?” Then immediately he shot down to do just that, enjoying the sudden shriek of laughter it pulled from Zim, followed quickly by desperate attempts to bring his arms down. “Aha! Can’t push me off when you’re like this, now can you, Zim? How does it feel? Does it tickle?”

Zim whined and erupted into a new wave of laughter that somehow felt at once more genuine and more desperate than Dib usually heard from him on this spot. “Aw, what’s the matter? Is it too much? Does it just tickle sooooo much?”

The alien made a sound like he was starting to protest, but then cut himself off.

“What was that, Zim? I don’t think I quite caught that.” Dib reached under Zim to the front of his hips and dug in relentlessly, grinning wide when Zim’s laughter reached new heights. “Anything you’d like to say, Zim? Or should I just keep tickling you here mercilessly?”

Zim let out a desperate scream of laughter, then quickly fell back into hysterics, pounding the ground with a fist from the intensity of it. Or in an effort to keep from pleading; Dib wasn’t quite sure which. He laughed. “Wow! This is really, really ticklish for you, isn’t it? What are you gonna do, Zim? You can’t get away from me. I could keep tickling you like this alllll day!”

The Irken let out another strangled sound that sounded like he was trying not to speak, and Dib felt a rush of excitement. This was it. He had him. Zim was completely helpless; there was no way for him to get out of this situation. Dib couldn’t help but grin wickedly. “Aw, look how ticklish you are, Zim! You can’t get away from me at all!” He dug in even more, using his thumbs to knead into his lower back at the same time, and the Irken shrieked and flailed his arms desperately. “You know what, Zim? I think we’ve reached a golden opportunity here. I can make you do anything I want right now, and you’re in no position to refuse me.”

Hearing these words only seemed to make Zim more desperate. He squealed, tried to push himself up to roll over, but quickly lost the strength and went back to pounding the floor. Still – amazingly, Dib thought – he hadn’t begged for it to stop yet.

But he would.

“Let’s get this out of the way.” Dib lifted Zim’s shirt up with one hand while still tickling with the other, exposing the Irken’s green back and sides. It was all he needed to put his plan into action. “Only one thing will get me to stop tickling you senseless, Zim.” He readjusted himself so he could easily lean down while still maintaining the upper hand. “Let’s see if you can figure it out.”

With that, Dib resumed his relentless tickling of Zim’s hips while at the same time leaning down to blow raspberries along the alien’s sides.

Zim.

Lost.

His.

Mind.

In the past, the side raspberries alone had been enough to send him into hysterical laughter; they were one of the most ticklish things Zim had ever experienced. But those coupled with unstoppable tickling on his worst spot?

The Irken lasted about five seconds.

“Stop! Stop, stop, please!” Zim shrieked desperately, hysterically, trying everything he could to roll over and get the human off him. It was no use. He was pinned firmly, and Dib – as promised – was being relentless. “Please! Dib! I c-can’t--!” For a moment all he could do was laugh and laugh and laugh, the unceasing raspberries absolute ticklish torture on top of the hip tickling. In that moment, he knew exactly what Dib was trying to do. What it was that would make him stop. But despite his desperation, defiance flared up in him.

He’d made the human say it over and over, easily.

He would not be so easily dominated. If Dib wanted him to say it, he’d have to work for it first.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t beg with other words in the meantime.

“Dib!” He squealed as another raspberry landed on his side. “Dib, please, it tickles too much!”

“Oh, you think this tickles?” Dib teased in a low, menacing voice that sent a shudder down Zim’s spine. He gasped, knowing exactly what was coming next and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Dib chuckled. “Tickle, tickle, tickle.” Raspberry. “Tiiiickle, tickle, tickle!” A slight shift of hands so he was now digging into the most sensitive spot on his hips.

Zim very nearly screamed with laughter.

“NOHOHOHOHO!!” He cried, his squirming becoming struggling as his hot spot was targeted. He wanted so badly to roll over and push Dib away but he was far too weak to do anything of the sort.

“Oh! What’s this?”

“SHUHUHUHUT UP!!”

“Is this a bad tickle spot?” Dib laughed at Zim’s desperate flailing, knowing with absolute certainty that this was it. He had him. It was just a matter of time now. “Ooh! Tickle, tickle, tickle!”

Zim felt like he was going to explode, he was in so much ticklish agony. He hadn’t even known it was possible to be tickled this intensely. But Dib’s fingers digging precisely into the most sensitive part of his body coupled with the unrelenting teasing and raspberries was pushing him very quickly to the brink of his endurance. He was reeling from how easy it had been for Dib to get him to this point, despite having been tickled by him several times in the past.

All it took was one tiny, secret spot.

“PLEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Zim screamed, mirthful tears coming to his eyes as he begged for mercy. “Dib, stop, please, it TIHIHIHIHIHICKLES!!”

“Oh, I don’t think so, Zim. Now that I’ve got you right where I—”

“AVOCADO!!”

Dib stopped suddenly, shocked into silence, frozen to the spot. He’d done it! Finally! He’d forced Zim to say their safe word, after all these months!

After a moment he regained his bearings and realized he was still straddling Zim, so he climbed off and sat next to the panting, gasping, giggling form beside him. Dib grinned, waiting for his now more-than-a-friend to recover.

A couple of minutes later, Zim’s gasping faded away, replaced instead with a slight shaking of his body as he finally rolled over onto his back and faced the human.

“Zim,” Dib asked for the second time that afternoon, “are you okay?”

“I will recover,” Zim said softly, still catching his breath. “Congratulations, Dib. You found my death spot and made me say our safe word.”

“Death spot?” Dib tilted his head. “Why did it take me so long to find it?”

Zim waved his hand tiredly. “I’ll tell you later.”

The human watched Zim with slight worry. “Was it too much? Did I go too far?”

Zim considered the question, then shuddered. “It was too much for me to handle. That is why I said ‘avocado.’ But you pushed no personal boundaries. I am not upset with you for making me give in.”

Dib relaxed a little. He leaned down so he was hovering over Zim, making the alien flinch. “No more,” Dib promised, smiling. “I just want to do this.” He kissed Zim gently and pulled away after only a moment, aware that the poor Irken was still trying to regain his bearings. That death spot must really be something, he thought to himself.

“So, is your ‘very strong desire to be tickled’ satisfied now?” he asked, smirking.

Zim laughed. “Yes, it is very satisfied, Dib.”

[thewhizzyhead]

you very much Should Keep going (if you’d like) I’m reading your tags like 👀👀👀 I wanna know More!!!

dude believe me i only just thought up 90% 9f this while doing my math homework last night so yea this is very barebones and this is very very new have very little to offer but um imma try to explain a bit more fjdjdc SO ANYWAYS GRADE 11

Warning: this is very long and I am very sorry aaAAAA also i only just thought of this last night and a while ago while attending class so um yea it's chaotic.

the songs i've mentioned so far in the tag ramble aren't um consecutive so yeah there are a lot of blank spaces in between fjsjsj and yea I haven't figured out the other leads and their arcs yet (probably 5-6 leads). for now um the planned songs feature 3 of the leads:

Kate - basically answers the question of What If Eva Sanchez Was The Protagonist and What If Eva Sanchez Saw The Hell That Is Don't Even (in this show, this song is called "Anakpota?" or "The Fuck?"); she's a transferee and is having a bit of a hard time adjusting to the new school environment; her reasons for transferring run a bit deeper than just "humanities is a lot more interesting than stem or business shits"; i guess her main character themes are burnout, the want for childlike wonder again and overcoming the fear that comes with chasing what you really want and no i am definitely not self projecting what are you guys talking about smh rhhdhs /hj (altho i admit that this is loosely based on my own experience with deciding to transfer schools) and yea she's a very closeted lesbian that slowly starts to comes out to others and to herself more throughout the course of the show. and also she gets a girlfriend YAY

Noel - rn i don't have that much planned out for him cause u know barebones plot but so far um i guess he's the chill dude, overall good guy, rantaro amami from danganronpa v3 vibes, and he's initially framed as the "love interest" for Kate esp in the song "Ikaw Ba Ay..." or "Are You..." (i wanted that to be a play on the typical Filipino Teen Hetero Romance CAUSE THAT SHIT IS IN EVERYWHERE JFJSJD I AM GONNA MAKE A WHOLEASS RANT ON THAT SOON AND NOBODY CAN STOP ME) but surprise motherfucker BOTH OF THEM ARE GAY AND BOTH BOND OVER IT AND BECOME BEST FRIENDS YAY WOOOO i kinda want him to be like the typical "Filipino Teen Heartthrob" star student with the twist being that he's gay and not make that a throwaway joke cause um yea that's a throwaway joke here that someone who is real catch for the heteros but is actually gay is "sayang" or "worthless" here.

Ella - ngl she is probably gonna end up as the main lead here fjdjd i'd say she has riley+chess vibes aka The School's Hotshot Achiever and Student Leader That Is Very Intimidating But Is Actually Really Freaking Kind and i guess with a dash of Kate Dalton-ish snark. Like i said the plot is barebones rn so i dunno anything but i do imagine them being the one that drives the plot forward due to her outspokenness. I also imagine her to be the one (along with Noel) that makes Kate a lil bit more comfortable with her sexuality and yup you guessed it Ella is gay too (bi to be specific oh and she uses she/they pronouns) and altho still a bit closeted, they're a bit more comfy with it. also they become Kate's gf yay!

those are the leads that i have kinda planned out so far but yea i still gotta expound kna lot of atuff and make up more leads for this but then again i just started conceptualizing this last night so ANYWAYS HERE ARE THE OTHERS SONGS THAT I LITERALLY JUST THOUGHT UP LAST NIGHT (aside from the ones already mentioned)

+ "Nakakapanibago" or "Well This Is New" - Ella and Kate work together on a school project aaand gay panic ensues. both of them take turns in addressing the audience and panicking over each other in um er an "Oh My God She's Very Fucking Cute What The Fuck" way. it kinda has What Is This Feeling from Wicked vibes if you remove the aggression and antagonization jdjsd and i kinda emphasize on how overwhelmed they are cause for Kate, everything - from the school to the subjects to the people - is new and her attraction to Ella is like a cherry bomb on top of a chaos cake while for Ella, who has studied in the school since kindergarten which is why nothing about the school fazes her anymore, Kate is a literal breath of fresh air and the spontaneity scares them and excites them at the same time. The number is comedic (and is chance for me to add a shit ton of wordplay cause yAY WORDPLAY) but i guess also hints at their fears which will definitely come into play later.

+ "Mabuting Laban" or "Good Fight" - a group number led by Ella, this is the first song in the musical that isn't mostly comedic. like um the musical so far (before this song) is mostly somewhat of a parody-just-for-laughs-don't-take-this-seriously piece but with this, the show finally hints to something a lot more serious and insightful. so basically ella tells kate (this scene comes right after the Nakakapanibago sequence) that they have noticed that the latter is um very very shocked at the blatant show of LGBTQ+ stuff. Kate mentions that altho many students have since then spoke up for LGBTQ+ acceptance, things were a lot more conservative back in her former school (once again wooo definitely not self projection /hj) so like seeing all this is very new to her. Ella then mentions that things weren't always like that - a lot of fighting had to be done in order to get to that point. and because most of the students already were branded with a rebellious reputation (for a lot of delinquent behavior), they really didn't give a fuck anymore if they were being controversial or not. What mattered was that they would make the school environment a lot more welcoming for themselves and for others. That sentiment is also shared by other leads singing along as they go out of their way to ensure a much better environment for everyone (in terms of lgbtq+ rights, undoing the stigmatization of mental health matters, student activism yadda yadda)

(oh and also this kinda serves as something that bridges the prejudices between the two schools since Ella's school is famous for a lot of student delinquency while Kate's former school is famous for being known as the "Best School In The Region With The Best Students" (which is why Ella understands why the students in Kate's school are a bit more hesitant to speak up because Kate's former schoolmates got way too much to lose) and the rivalry those schools have with each other cause students from ella's school think those from kate's school are pompous little shits while those from kate's school think that ella's schoolmates are delinquents and yes this is commentary on the dynamic my former school'scstudents and my current school's students share) (i should probably give this its own song)

+ "Ayoko" or " I Don't Want It" - (this does not come right after Mabuting Laban fjsjd i honestly dunno where to put this) this comes right after a conversation regarding her reputation in her former school and yea this is Kate poking fun at the "I Want" song musical trope. Like um she addresses the audience saying something along the lines of "oooohh wow complicated backstory exposition! you are probably expecting a song rn ala "How Far I'll Go" from Moana but guess what bitches fuck you all cause i'm gonna sing a song about the things I don't want just to fucking annoy you." it starts off as incredibly satirical and um Kate Dalton-vibes all throughout the scene with lots of pettiness which will then gradually transition to her singing about how she threw all the opportunities presented to her by the former school just because she really didn't want to do them and was tired of saying "yes" just to be enough for them. She then starts singing about her taking control of her own narrative by finally leaving the school. She still laments about those lost opportunities and admits that she still kinda wants to pursue those, but if she has to sacrifice rest for greatness, then she doesn't want it. The song ends with a verse akin to most I Want songs as she finally admits what she really wants the most: rest and wonder.

also here's a verse i made up just a while ago

Diyos ko, sabihin mo, ano pa ang kailangan kong gawin/upang mabawi ang mga ninakaw sa akin/upang maibalik ang pag-asang nawala/upang sa wakas ako'y makakapagpahinga/sapagkat hindi na ako nagnanais ng kadakilaan/ang hinihingi ko lamang ay ang aking kabataan

translation (i'll try my best to make it rhyme): My God, tell me, what else do i have to do/so I can take back all that they have taken from me/so that I can bring back the hope I've long so been deprived of/so that for once in my life, I'll be able to breathe/ cause I no longer want all the greatness that you say I could've had/ I only want to wonder, I only want my childhood back

+ "Halos Lagi Nalang"or "Almost Always The Same" - if this sounds familiar yes i rambled about this before gjdjdjd I started conceptualizing this song even before i even started conceptualizing the musical. So yea this is in Act 2 the song starts with mentioning the exhaustion that comes with being an LGBTQ+ teen in the philippines cause yup same old conservative religious bullshit same old same old shit and despite many a lot of people advocating for LGBTQ+ rights, nothing ever changes around here because well conservative religious bullshit. so yea this is kind of an extension of "Good Fight" but make it more about the burnout felt by a lot of teens that want something better than whatever we have right now. Then it will also apply to the other causes that the leads fight for (activism,destigmatization of mental health stuffs, etc). I'd say it's a combination of Before the Breakdown + Move On musically speaking (yea PMA has influenced me by a LOT). eventually this becomes one of the star numbers fo the show cause yea all the leads will do a shit ton of singing and harmonizing (but for here i'd say Noel and Kate have a tiny bit more of the spotlight since for now they are the ones with the very LGBTQ+ based plotlines). I really REEAAALLY want this song to work aaaa i've been playing around with the melody a lot recently and if i can't write the whole musical, then i'll be content with at the very least writing this song

+ "Try Lang Natin" or "Let's Try It Out" - this is a very barebones sequence atm but basically it's a scene where both Kate and Ella come to terms with their fears related to uncertainty and go "fuck it we don't know jackshit about the future anyway so why not ondulge a bit and ejoy what we have today" and decide to start going out with each other YAYYYYY and also this is like one of the few scenes here were Ella is much more visibly nervous compared to everyone else in the scene so yay for helping each other come to terms with their own vulnerabilities WOOOOO (also paige i remember you saying once that kate and eva could've had a Forever reprise duet right? And correct me if i'm wrong but i think u said it could be about eva assuring kate that she won't go anywhere? WELP I'M STEALING THAT JFJSJJDF /lh /hj AND YUP KATE AND ELLA ARE BASICALLY UM KINDA KATEVA IF YOU SQUINT SO THANK YOU PAIGE FOR THAT IDEAAAA)

AND THAT'S IT SO FAR WOO THIS TOOK ME 5 HOURS TO TYPE IT ALL OUT FJDJSJFF i'm kinda impressed with this ngl considering that i literally started making this up last night and i hope that i can make something out of it woo

And if you guys somehow reached the end of the post and have read every single thing, I'm sending you a lot of hugs and a lot of milkshakes