#i just wish i had never existed or i’d wake up tomorrow in a world where i know what i’m doing and i feel happy and satisfied

[watanabes-cum-dump]

Like father, like son

I was gonna post this on AO3 but it’s kind of been down for the past… what fourteen hours now? Yeah, so here, have some shitty first person angst I wrote while having a breakdown last night :)

Characters: PGR commandant OC and his guardian, Nikola.

Qiu thinks about his complicated relationship with the man that raised him

I hate him. 

I hate him so much. 

Nikola. 

He took me in. He raised me. He’s powerful, he had connections, he had money. I was never left wondering when my next meal would be, if I could get into a good school or if I would wake up tomorrow. Nikola had everything. 

But I don’t think he ever had a heart. 

I’ve seen the way the president looks at him. Like estranged friends, he’s a little scared of him. Hassen is brave, but even Nikola’s gaze makes him falter. It does the same to me, except far worse. 

It’s hard to believe he was ever human. 

That heartless thing had a heart once. He smiled once upon a dream and dared to think of something other than the good of humanity. 

Nikola has everything and nothing at all. Because he sacrificed everything for humanity. I see it in his eyes, he’s done, wasted, there is nothing left for him. His youth was given to the preservation of humanity, and even in his older years he still works tirelessly for a day when humanity can exist on Earth again. He has even given up his own humanity for this hope. 

And he has given up me and my brother as well. 

It wasn’t a question if me and Ash would end up in the army in some way shape or form. The question was did we want it? 

The answer is no, of course. 

I still don’t know what I would have rather done with my life. I’m twenty two now, and I still don’t know. The decisions were made before I could even think about them. My tuition was already paid for, my spot was guaranteed. The expectations were set, and all eyes were on me. 

And I crumbled under the pressure. 

I can’t blame Nikola, he had siblings too, all he knew was competition. That was all I knew as well. I was pitted against Ash, my own brother. I hid in their shadow while they burned in the light and crumbled under our teacher’s expectations. 

A part of me wonders though, if Nikola loved Ash. Because of their father or because he was their godfather, maybe both. I wonder if I was just an extra load, a little more trouble, another thing to waste resources on. 

I know he’d never love me. Because I’m lousy and barely graduated Faust. And I went back to the shadows of Kurono Nikola fought so hard to escape from. Ash meanwhile, they had the glory. They had the praise and the love, and I was happy for them. They were in charge of an elite and efficient squad, and they were the president’s favourite no doubt. 

I wished I had that. 

I wished that I had more than blood and lost limbs. I wished I never had to take orders from that bastard Collins. I wished I never had to kill constructs. I wished Nikola never looked at me like that. With scorn and resentment. 

I wished I was Ash, I wished I was the Gray Raven commandant with a team that loved me. With friends and admirers. 

And the worst part is, it came true. 

Suddenly, I was the Gray Raven’s commandant. Suddenly, everyone expected me to be a living legend. I am not like my brother. I was not the valedictorian of Faust, and people knew. I was an imposter aboard Babylonia. 

I faltered and got so much worse after becoming a commandant. At least Ash made it look graceful. It was a constant battle for me. Never ending reports, never ending missions. The president’s favourite squad in such a miserable state with a sorry excuse for a commandant leading it. I know that’s what all of Babylonia must have thought. 

I’d forgive Nikola if I could. I wish I could understand people, I wish I could just let go. But unfortunately, I am just like him and he knows it too. And he hates it. 

He’d think ‘How could I fail this badly? Now, there’s another me in this world who will do nothing but hurt himself?’ 

I know because I see it in him. I know it in the way Hassen looks at him. He is the one who tears his own life apart by the seams. 

I know because I do it too. 

I’ll sabotage every relationship myself, I’ll push burdens upon myself no one could ever want to bear. I’m well aware I’m a terrible person, I’m equally aware that I am nothing special. Just a scared little boy masquerading as a commanding officer. 

Who is Qiu Jia? What is his real name? Did his parents love him? Who is he but command’s puppet? I don’t know. I am forever command’s war dog, trapped under the gaze of the man who raised me but I will never call him father. 

Yet he made me. He made Qiu Jia, he made the commandant. He made command’s little war dog, he made the coward and the outcast. Could I call him father? As I am so much like him, surely I am his son? 

I don’t know. 

I just hate him. 

But, I still want him to love me. 

Deep down, it is still my first night on Babylonia, and all I want is for Nikola to be proud. 

[epipenis]

if he died tomorrow i don’t know what i’d say…. but i feel like i’d want to say that despite having a lifetime of practice, i don’t know that i could ever fill his shoes. i’ll never be able to be their golden child, their first, the one that is real and autonomous, that’s exists in the world and not just in relation to them in constant retaliation. i have suffered so much living in his shadow, with the light cast by my parents perception of me. and yet… he has always been my biggest supporter. more than any partner. more than anyone. i’ve always looked up to him. sometimes it’s easier to pretend he doesn’t exist even though i love him and want to look up to him just so i don’t have to see how they treat him, how she treats him. she’s so proud, but i don’t think she’ll ever look at me with that gleam in her eye. i don’t think she’ll ever cry out of joy on my birthday. i don’t think i’ll ever exist except in the perception they put out for me… the worst part is is that i can find the exact moment i should grieve the loss of that gleam, of that freedom, of that pride, of that light, of any of it. it’s written in my baby book, the day my parents found out i would be a girl. i think there was always going to be too much trauma for any girl born into the family to bear. truthfully i don’t know how to parse these lines, what’s the chicken, what’s the egg, and if one is even responsible for the other. i suppose i feel a twisted sort of comfort in knowing that i saved another possible life from having to suffer, one that maybe couldn’t have bared it at all. maybe i saved her from having to live this life. to them, in this light, in this shadow, i am nothing, but maybe to that girl, who could’ve taken my place, maybe i am something… maybe. just maybe. i want to be seen as me. i look at boys and forget where the barriers between my body and theirs end. i look at them and i think about the mundane experiences they’ve had, and must then remember how intrusive i am being. i wish i could tell them. i wish they could know the comfort they provide me simply by existing and letting me look at them. a life where i am doing great things, where people see me for me, are proud of me, have a gleam in their eye, where i am not having to fight and suffer and feel rejected and placated and burdensome for asking if maybe today being me is ok, is good enough to exist, to simply be.

congrats brother,

it was an awesome show,

so please let me be

proud of you,

because everything in me

wants to be proud

i want to choose to be proud because if i am dont

i will suffer and grieve

in your shadow

angry at you

for casting it,

and yet knowing

that you do not shine the light, and hating myself

for hating you.

i must choose

pride

when i have been so angry because

of your shadow

when you have shown your own small light on me

as best you can

when no else would

and i have been so resentful

so please let me choose pride

i cannot hurt

you any longer

as i have been

now for the record, if i die, and y’all find this- i only made this into poem format bc it was way too long of a run on sentence. and i don’t have the energy to clean it up or try too hard. i’ve already cried enough. and maybe i am throwing a pity party. i don’t want to compare, but how can i now when i simply have to ask and be told.

once again, i am tired.

maybe i will wake up tomorrow and i won’t have to stare at boys anymore to wonder what it’s been like for them. maybe i can stop replacing their memories with images of me. maybe i can be my own. and that will be good enough.

am i stoic now?

[littlelovelymemes]

𝐚𝐬𝐤  𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 :    𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔  𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔

‘  i’ll  find  you  again ,  wherever  we  end  up  next .  ’

‘  the  enormity  of  my  desire  disgusts  me .  ’

‘  please ,  one  more  kiss  in  the  kitchen  before  we  turn  the  lights  off .  ’

‘  i’ve  been  lost  but  i’m  here  now .  you’re  the  only  person  who  has  ever  been  able  to  find  me .  ’

‘  almost  dead  yesterday ,  maybe  dead  tomorrow ,  but  alive ,  gloriously  alive ,  today .  ’

‘  you  are  not  broken .  ’

‘  you  can  love  and  be  loved ,  despite  what  may  feel  like  the  eternally  brutal  nature  of  the  world .  ’

‘  i  did  violence  to  my  own  heart .  ’

‘  will  i  be  forgiven  for  the  sins  i  did  not  commit ,  but  created ?  ’

‘  i  would  never  kiss  anyone  who  doesn’t  burn  me  like  the  sun .  ’

‘  i  would  rather  break  the  world  than  lose  you .  ’

‘  i  think  you  and  i  have  known  each  other  in  a  few  lifetimes .  ’

‘  i  didn’t  know .  i  had  no  idea  how  greedy  my  heart  really  was .  ’

‘  is  that  why  the  idea  of  losing  you  torments  me  so  much ?  ’

‘  how  long  have  i  been  without  you ?  ’

‘  am  i  foolish  for  wanting  this ?  it  will  end  in  flames .  it  always  does .  ’

‘  sorry  about  the  blood  in  your  mouth .  i  wish  it  was  mine .  ’

‘  if  i  love  you ,  is  that  a  fact  or  a  weapon ?  ’

‘  tell  me  how  all  this ,  and  love  too ,  will  ruin  us .  ’

‘  and  you  realize  the  one  person  in  the  world  who  loves  you  isn’t  the  one  you  thought  it  would  be .  ’

‘  it  cannot  be  a  mistake  to  have  cared .  it  cannot  be  an  error  to  have  tried .  it  cannot  be  incorrect  to  have  loved .  ’

‘  finally ,  i  plead  guilty  of  adoring  you .  ’

‘  a  child  weaned  on  poison  considers  harm  a  comfort .  ’

‘  without  realizing ,  i  find  it  in  myself  that  i  cannot  stop  thinking  about  you .  ’

‘  tomorrow ,  when  i  wake  up ,  i  promise ,  i  will  be  better .  ’

‘  someone  has  to  leave  first .  this  is  a  very  old  story .  there  is  no  other  version  of  this  story .  ’

‘  when  i  imagine  myself ,  i  am  always  leaving .  i  couldn’t  draw  my  own  face  if  god  asked .  ’

‘  do  we  simply  stare  at  what’s  horrible  and  forgive  it ?  ’

‘  i  wanted  to  let  go  of  the  pain  even  though  it  was  the  last  thing  that  felt  alive  from  you .  ’

‘  have  i  endured  loneliness  with  grace ?  ’

‘  i’ll  be  your  slaughterhouse ,  your  killing  floor ,  your  morgue  and  final  resting ,  walking  around  with  this  bullet  inside  me  ‘cause  i  couldn’t  make  you  love  me  and  i  am  tired  of  pulling  your  teeth .  ’

‘  and  then  my  soul  saw  you  and  kind  of  went ,  ‘ oh ,  there  you  are .  i’ve  been  looking  for  you . ’  ’

‘  sometimes  it  feels  like  someone  else  is  wearing  my  body .  ’

‘  i  spent  my  life  arguing  how  i  mattered  until  it  didn’t  matter .  ’ 

‘  who  knew  my  haven  would  be  my  coffin ?  ’

‘  dead  is  the  safest  i’ve  ever  been .  ’

‘  i’ve  never  been  so  alive .  ’ 

‘  you  know  what  i  was  gonna  tell  you  before ,  but  didn’t  have  the  nerve ?  you  got  your  name  written  all  over  me .  i  got  my  name  written  on  you ,  too .  ’ 

‘  you  already  are  something .  you  always  were .  and  you  still  have  time  to  be .  ’

‘  you  know  me  by  heart .  it  infuriates  me  that  you  know  me  by  heart .  ’ 

‘  why  am  i  waiting  for  you ?  hungering  and  thirsting  for  you  in  every  cranny  of  my  soul  and  even  in  my  ribs ?  ’ 

‘  you  came  with  a  handful  of  pain  and  a  smile  which  broke  the  ground  under  my  feet  as  the  earthquake  does  when  two  people  meet .  ’

‘  the  only  good  thing  is  that  i’m  getting  used  to  suffering .  ’

‘  the  return  to  time  was  not  my  choice .  ’

‘  we  are  built  to  live  inside  each  other .  this  means  we  are  built  to  ruin .  ’

‘  time  does  not  bring  relief ;  you  all  have  lied .  ’

‘  time  does  not  know  how  to  keep  our  hopes  safe .  ’

‘  you  needed  me  so  much  that  you  had  to  end  me .  ’

‘  there  are  days  where  i  am  morbidly  in  love  with  you ,  and  this  is  one  of  those  days .  ’

‘  i  know  no  end  to  desiring  you .  ’

‘  i  fear  that  i  am  both  too  much  yet  not  enough .  ’

‘  yes ,  yes ,  yes ,  i  do  like  you .  i  am  afraid  to  say  the  stronger  word .  ’ 

‘  a  heart’s  a  heavy  burden .  ’

‘  life ,  as  i  see  it ,  is  all  about  farewells  rather  than  reunions .  ’

‘  heaven  is  real  and  you  only  had  two  minutes  to  prove  it  to  me .  ’

‘  it  was  already  love .  ’

‘  everyone  desires  love  but  also  finds  it  impossible  to  believe  that  they  deserve  it .  ’

‘  i’ll  love  you  until  i  forget  how  to .  ’

‘  i’ll  love  you  until  i  forget  how  to  and  then  i’ll  fall  like  my  knees  aren’t  already  bruised  from  doing  it  and  i’ll  remember  why  you’re  worth  the  ache .  ’

‘  of  course  i’ll  hurt  you .  of  course  you’ll  hurt  me .  of  course  we’ll  hurt  each  other .  but  this  is  the  very  condition  of  existence .  ’

‘  nothing  makes  me  sadder  and  nothing  makes  me  happier  than  you .  ’

‘  i  love  you  and  i  do  not  want  to  love  you ,  it  is  too  much  and  too  difficult .  ’

‘  grief  is  just  love  with  no  place  to  go .  ’

‘  i  felt  my  life  with  both  my  hands  to  see  if  it  was  there .  ’

‘  you  do  this ,  you  do .  you  take  the  things  you  love  and  you  tear  them  apart .  ’

‘  i  hope  it’s  love .  i’m  trying  really  hard  to  make  it  love .  ’

‘  if  you  touch  me  again  i  might  burn  up  in  the  cold  air .  ’

‘  i  asked  you  not  to  leave  several  times .  ’

‘  i’ve  only  adored  you  lifetimes  ago  and  here  we  are .  it’s  nice  to  see  you  again .  ’

‘  all  time  ever  does  is  pass  and  all  i  ever  do  is  remember .  ’

‘  i  feel  as  though  we  were  never  strangers ,  you  and  i ,  not  even  for  a  moment .  ’

‘  i’d  choose  you ;  in  a  hundred  different  lifetimes ,  in  a  hundred  worlds ,  in  any  version  of  reality ,  i’d  find  you  and  i’d  choose  you .  ’

‘  nothing  about  this  is  soft  but  we  pretend .  ’

‘  maybe  you  and  i  are  just  a  dream .  ’

‘  i  know  you  loved  me  too ,  you  knew  me ,  and  it  gladdens  my  heart .  ’

‘  i  promise  i  shall  never  give  up  and  that  i’ll  die  yelling  and  laughing .  ’

‘  i  don’t  do  anything  with  my  life  except  romanticize  and  decay  with  indecision .  ’

‘  the  world  was  made  so  that  we  could  find  each  other  in  it .  ’

‘  you  don’t  meet  the  people  you  love ,  you  recognize  them .  ’

‘  i  think  you  and  i  have  known  each  other  a  few  lifetimes .  ’

‘  this  body  knows  fear  like  a  front  porch  knows  welcome  --  it  is  always  coming  home .  ’

‘  i  miss  you  more  than  i  remember  you .  ’

‘  if  i  could  have  done  it  all  again ,  i  would  have  loved  you  better .  but  i  could  not  have  loved  you  more .  ’

‘  we  could  have  been  happy .  i  know  that ,  and  it  is  perhaps  the  hardest  thing  to  know .  ’

‘  you  want  a  better  story .  who  wouldn’t ?  ’

[littlemissnoname13]

The life he always wanted (D.M.)

Summary: Draco’s life after the battle of Hogwarts

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

A/n: I wrote a multi-chapter a few months ago that never made it on here. This one shot has been pulled out of it and posted as a one shot just like “You and your green apples.” Which was supposed to be a part of that same multi chapter too.

Warnings: angst, Multiple mentions of avada and death so please read at your own discretion. Also please feel free to message me if I need to add any more disclaimers.

Word count: 2100+

The only thing illuminating the dark room was the flickering light from the television. 

Draco thought the muggles had really outdone themselves with that one as he had spent one too many nights in front of the television with a bottle of fire whisky.

Some nights he’d be too wasted to realise he’d been watching static for hours. 

Faint, fuzzy music could be heard all around the room even though the volume was set to a minimum and Draco took this opportunity to waltz you across the living room of your cozy one bedroom home. 

The house wasn’t too big but it was just the way you’d always wanted it to be—big glass windows, hardwood floors and a small spiral staircase leading to the roof. 

“The life we’ve always wanted.” You sighed and placed your head on his chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Draco.” 

One of his hands was placed securely on the small of your back while the other held your hand as you moved together with the music. Your soft, flowy hair bounced as he twirled you in his arms. 

“Oh really?” He smirked and watched you nod your head in response with a sad look in your eyes. 

“Yes really.” 

“Well I’m here now Darling so there’s no need to worry about all that.” He whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that don’t you?”

“I know Draco.” You whispered and he pulled you closer to him. “I know.”

Draco couldn’t begin to imagine what his life would be life without you in it. 

Shuddering at the dark clouds forming at the top of his blond head, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply to make the clouds drift away. 

“Don’t you have to be somewhere tomorrow?” You asked tilting your head upwards to look at him. Draco noticed that your eyes brows crinkled a little as you said this—the look of worry somewhat prominent. 

“Oh yes.” He sighed, rolling his eyes at you. “I really wish you didn’t remind me.” 

“But you haven’t met our friends in so long.” 

“Your friends. ”He corrected you curtly. “And it’s only been a few months.” 

Well, it had been more than just a few months but It wasn’t his fault that he’d rather spend all his time with you. 

Draco noticed that you giggled when he said that as if you knew before taking his hand and guiding him towards the bedroom. 

He decided to not utter a single word of protest as he quietly followed you into the bedroom. 

“Come lie with me, Dray.” You whispered as he watched you slip under the covers. You looked so peaceful, so content and the whole moment seemed so fickle like it would fade away if he moved too quickly or blinked too hard. 

He hastily removed his shirt slipping under the covers next to you—his head on your chest as you lazily played with his hair. 

This was everything he’d ever wanted. 

“I love you y/n.” 

“I love you too.” 

~~~~~~~

“Glad you came, Malfoy.” Ginny smiled the best smile she could smile, opening the door to let him in the house.

“Well hello to you too Weaslette.” 

“Come on inside. We were all waiting for you.” Ginny said she led the way towards the living room filled with familiar voices and faces. 

“Potter. Weasel. Granger.” Draco muttered as he gave all three a semi polite nod of acknowledgement. 

“I uh—like your hair.” Harry commented looking at Draco’s unkempt blond hair now growing towards his shoulders. 

Upon hearing Harry, Draco ran his fingers through his hair and fought an urge to say something snarky. 

“So, may I ask why I’ve been summoned here?” Draco finally said as he sat down on an armchair opposite to Harry. 

“We just wanted to see you. You have been gone for a…bit...” Harry replied, clearing his throat. And we thought you might want this.” 

Draco raised his eyebrows suspiciously as Harry stretched out his hand to hand him a sealed envelope. 

“Cup of tea?” Ginny asked. 

~~~~~~~~~ 

As soon as he reached home, he tore his clothes off and jumped into the shower. 

He let the warm water wash away the ache he felt all over his body. There was no tell tale sign indicating the pain was physical or emotional. 

Nonetheless, the warmth of the water helped. 

To some extent. 

After what felt like hours in the shower, he finally stepped outside and wrapped a towel around his torso. 

The bathroom had fogged up and the fog had travelled all the way into the bedroom. 

In an attempt to get the fog to disappear, Draco cracked the surprisingly large bedroom window open and let the crisp night air flow into the room. 

“Someone’s back home early.” He heard you  mock in a sweet singsong voice making the tiniest of smiles appear at his lips as he turned around to face you. 

You were wearing a flowy satin dress and were perched on the top of his desk—dangling your legs. 

He paused to admire and remember every detail about the sight in front of him. 

The way the gust of wind coming from the window blew your hair towards your face. The way that flimsy satin fabric hugged your body. The way the flickering table lamp casted shadows on your features. 

Everything.

“I just couldn’t stay away from you.” He shrugged and watched you chuckle and get down from his desk. 

He patiently waited as you took long strides towards him before finally wrapping your arms around his neck—stretching on the tip of your toes and bringing your face close to his. 

“Open the envelope Draco.” You whispered softly into his ears. 

A flash of lightning lit up the entire room with a blinding white light as the sky roared. 

Draco nodded as he slowly reached for the crumpled envelope he’d left inside his coat pocket.

Taking a long breath, he looked up at you and you gave him an apologetic yet reassuring smile while he ripped the envelope open.

The opened seal of the envelope brought along with it, a familiar scent of cedarwood and vanilla. It was the smell he could smell on his clothes after spending the day with you. 

A small photograph fell out of the envelope.

It was a Polaroid you’d unintentionally taken one summer. Both of you had questionable expressions on your faces because you were both trying to get the Camera to work. 

You were chewing your lip in confusion and his nose was scrunched up; you both were not ready for the photo at all. 

His hands shook violently as sporadic rain drops started to pour down from the window leaving tiny splatters on the worn out photograph.

“Why?” He spat in anger. “Why did you have to throw yourself between me and that killing curse?” 

You smiled an apologetic smile at him once again; you did that a lot. 

“You’ll get drenched Draco—close the window.” You said,  dodging his question completely while you reached towards his hand again.

“Stop dodging my question.” 

“It hadn’t rained for a while.” You said making him heave a sigh and look up at the night sky.

One rain drop and become two and two had become three.

Draco took a wobbly step towards you and fruitlessly wiped the drops of rain that were falling on your cheeks. 

“And now it’s raining.” He pointed out with his voice shaky. 

“Excellent observation, my love.” 

The way you said it, the nonchalance in your voice made him furious. You were gone but he had to wake up every single day in a world where you no longer existed. 

In a stupor of grief, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you towards him. “Don’t you see?— even the sky is grieving the loss of what could have been! The life we could have lived!” 

“I like to think it’s the universe washing away the hurt and pain.” You whispered, staring deeply into his steely eyes. “You’ll see. It’s going to be a beautiful morning tomorrow. I can feel it.” 

“Why y/n? Why didn't you let me die instead?—you are gone and what am I left with? A worn out photograph of you?!” 

“Draco—”

“Every damned day, I feel further and further away from you.” He began sobbing. “The smell of your perfume is fading from my sweater, I cannot picture the way you used to laugh anymore—for the love of Merlin! I don’t even remember what life was like when you were with me y/n. It all seems so far away..so distant.”

“You have to let me go, Draco.” You whispered as you pressed your forehead to his. 

He physically felt the pain of his breaking heart all over his body. The sharp pain brought back all the trauma he had suppressed over the last few months. 

“No…No. No. No—Please don’t leave again.” He pleaded as angry tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Please. I—I don’t think I can handle it.” 

“You’ll see me again. I swear.” You said softly as he began to laugh an ominous kind of laugh, knowing deep down that you weren’t even there in front of him to begin with.

Everything was all in his head. 

Twenty seven months.

He’d been talking to the voice in his head for twenty seven whole months while the world moved on without him. 

“When? When will I see you again? In another life? Merlin!” Draco said in between his hysterical laughter. 

“Maybe.” The figment of his imagination whispered caressing the side of his face till he calmed down. “Maybe in another life I won’t find myself having to jump in between you and the killing curse.” 

Draco gave you a disapproving glare before he leaned down to find your rain soaked lips. 

With his index finger and thumb holding your chin up, Draco kissed you gently while his own tears and the acidic grey rain continued trickle down his face. 

It took him every ounce of strength he had left but he nodded like he was saying his final goodbye and took a step back— releasing you from his embrace and releasing him from his grief. 

You slowly turned on your heel and walked towards the door. 

“I’ll be waiting for you Draco.” 

He closed his eyes because he wasn’t ready to see you leave. 

So after what felt like centuries, Draco slowly opened his eyes. 

He was all alone. 

~~~~🍂🍁🍂~~~~

Autumn. 

It could be seen in the rustling trees and the gust of wind that made the amber colored leaves that were once bright green fall down onto a winding pathway beneath trees. 

A young woman strided along the winding path. Clicking her heels. Head tilted upwards, taking in the pinkish purple sky in all of its glory. 

A few books were tucked underneath her arm and a cloth bag loosely hung on her left shoulder. 

She was so occupied by the pleasant weather and whatever thoughts were circling her head, that she didn’t even realise that she had collided with somebody.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

She apologised profusely before she knelt down on the ground to collect the books she’d dropped. 

The stranger hummed in response and helped her gather the contents that had fallen out of her book bag. 

An oddly familiar smell tickled her senses. It was the smell of cologne and fresh mint. 

The smell of the cologne was so foreign to her. It was like nothing she’d ever smelled before and yet, she found herself feeling awfully comforted by it.

The smell sent her into a state of déjà vu. 

She looked up through her lashes and saw a boy with steely grey eyes making an eerie sense of familiarity washed all over her body. 

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” 

The boy blinked a few times before cracking a small smile. “I think we’re in the same Art history class. Judging by where you’re headed.” 

“Right.” She nodded as they slowly walked down the path together. “Don’t mind me. It’s just.. it’s just that you seem oddly familiar to me.” 

He shoved his hands into his pocket as they quietly walked next to each other. The silence wasn’t an awkward one. 

Not for him at least. 

It felt almost as if they’d always been walking together for years—in another timeline, in another life.

It all felt habitual. 

“Tell you what? He finally said looking down at the girl he’d just met. “How about we get coffee after class and discuss this further. You seem oddly familiar to me too.” 

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes pierced a million daggers into his heart.

“I’d like that a lot.” 

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

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[archived-kin]

solomon deserves a husband so i'm giving him one (it's you)

note from kin: i don’t know HOW i’ve managed to get this out so soon after my last piece but i do know that it is a miracle (now watch me disappear for like a month lmao)

anyway there’s a severe lack of content for the boys in this fandom and therefore i am here to try to mitigate that!!

(as a heads up, this is sort of an au version of obey me’s story?? there’s no exchange program, and the general human world doesn’t know about the devildom or celestial realm, apart from sorcerers and similar special cases. solomon and simeon both still visit the devildom, though - solomon because he has a sort of job at the r.a.d., and simeon as an ambassador sort of thing for the celestial realm. the r.a.d.’s also less of a school and more of an organisation?? i haven’t really fleshed it out haha)

fandom: obey me!

character(s): male! reader, solomon, mammon (briefly), simeon (briefly)

pairing(s): solomon/reader

warning(s): blasphemy??? solomon disses god really briefly and that’s about it

genre: fluff!!!!!!!!!

As a general rule of thumb, Solomon doesn’t believe in destiny.

He’s lived long enough to know that, no matter what he does, the universe does not care about him, much less have some sort of plan for his future. The course that the world takes isn’t affected by some grand puppet master pulling the strings; one has to force the so-called path of fate in the direction they want it to take if they want something. Solomon knows this better than anyone.

It’s as much a downfall as it is a strength - as much as power as he’s amassed over the countless years, his constant need to challenge the universe’s power has lead him down a path far from humanity. There had been a time when he was like every other human on the Earth, when he was still young, full of hope and determination and promise, believing earnestly in some God high in the sky who would guide him through his life.

He shudders to think what sort of insufferable fool he’d been back then. An almighty God? Don’t make him laugh. The ruler of the Celestial Realm is incompetent at best, and a downright childish brat at worst. He doesn’t know how the angels put up with him - though he supposes his realm-smiting power is part of it. Why the universe chose to place such power on such a being’s shoulders will always be beyond him.

Long as it has been since he had been so naive, Solomon has learnt his lesson, to say the least. He’s seen people come and go, witnessed kings and queens reign and fall, watched on as friends and family live and die. It’s a truth that he’s been forced to learn across the years of his long, long life, a curse that he brought upon himself the moment he gave up the purity of his soul in pursuit of magical arts. 

He supposes he’s always had an insatiable thirst for the unknown - to play all his cards out front, to tempt fate’s hand, to jump into the void and hope to find ground beneath his feet when he lands. It’s that sort of reckless abandon and hunt for knowledge that has led him so far down this path, through so many years, across so many sleepless nights. The world continues to swirl around him, always changing, but Solomon refuses to be swept away. Because, even in the tumultuous movement of the universe, there has always been one constant that keeps him anchored - you.

The night he'd first met you isn’t as clear in his mind as he would have liked. He wants to be able to remember everything - the way the soft blue light of the will-o’-whisps had lit up your eyes in the dark of the night, the way that your hand had felt in his as you greeted him with a handshake, the way that you had said his name for the first time - in sharp detail, but Solomon knows better than to hope to recall something so long ago so perfectly.

He’d still been relatively new to a sorcerer’s life at the time - excited and determined and a little too full of himself. You… well, he doesn’t remember exactly, but he does remember thinking that you must be the most handsome being to exist. The you of today would probably shake your head and dismiss the past you as an obnoxious high hoper, but Solomon has loved you for so many years that he’s never been able to think of you as anything less than perfect.

There are times when he wondered how he managed to stumble upon such luck. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Solomon has has had truly insufferable periods over the years he’s known you, and he’s always considered it a miracle that you still chose to stay. Even through all the restless nights and the exhausting trips, even after all of the clashes and vexation, you have refused to give up on him.

He had asked you once, in the aftermath of an argument spurred by his inability to confide in you and your own frustration with his refusal to communicate. He remembers that night so vividly that it might well have happened just yesterday - the frustrated shouts, the shattering of glass, the warmth of your arms around his shoulders as he finally collapsed on himself. He doesn’t know what your face had looked like as he stuttered the question out in stuttering breaths, head buried in your shoulder in an effort to conceal his tears, but he imagines that it had been soft.

“I’m not going to leave you to yourself,” You had told him matter-of-factly, stroking his hair with such fondness  that it still sometimes brings a tear to his eye when he remembers it on particularly long nights. “And I’m not giving up on you, either - not now, not ever.”

Solomon had been unable to speak, too choked up by his feelings and the sudden, overwhelming love spreading through his entire body to reply. He’d only sunk deeper into your embrace, wishing that the moment could last forever.

I wonder if he still remembers that…?

“...lomon! Anyone home?!”

He jolts up from the table he’s sitting at so abruptly that he nearly knocks his head right into Mammon’s chin. The Avater of Greed, however, reacts quickly, and hops back before Solomon can break his jawbone.

“Jeez, you’re off on a different planet today,” He comments, setting his hands on his hips as Solomon shoots him the sort of look that tells him that he’s not particularly enthused about his presence at the moment. “What’s up with ya?”

Solomon isn’t quite sure how to answer. Sorry, I got distracted thinking about how perfect and lovely my husband is and how I’m the luckiest man in the entire world - nay, the universe - to have him. He nearly physically shudders at the thought of how much teasing he’d receive if he answered like that.

Instead, he chooses a much safer and still technically true option. “Just thinking about going home today.”

Mammon nods in understanding, pulling up a seat next to him and throwing himself down into it without much grace. “I feel ya. S’ been a long day.”

“You’ve barely done anything today,” Solomon quips flatly, not particularly impressed by the demon’s attempt at… empathy? Relatability? Either way, it isn’t working. “I doubt it’s been that hard.”

“Now, now, Solomon, let’s not be rude,” interjects a soft voice from behind them. Simeon is still dressed in his fancy envoy cloak - the one so long and heavy that it trails along behind him like a bridal train, decorated with a number of elaborate golden charms that jingle as he moves.

Solomon attempts to shoot him a slightly annoyed look, but it’s kind of hard to stay irritated by one of the literal embodiments of holiness and light, even if he wakes you up at very unholy hours of the morning to help him figure out how to answer an email. Solomon isn’t ungrateful for the new age of technology descending on humanity, but he’d like it a lot better if it hadn’t somehow reached the angels as well. The amount of times he’s had to tell Simeon that he needs to actually turn his D.D.D. on before he starts calling someone is… embarrassing, to say the least.

“You’re back in the Devildom, I see,” He observes as the angel pulls up a seat and sits beside him. “Did Michael send you down again?”

Simeon nods with a smile. “There were some arrangements that needed to be made with Lord Diavolo. Naturally, I volunteered.”

“Naturally,” Solomon echoes, raising a brow at his friend. “I don’t suppose your biases had anything to do with your decision?”

“Well, they may have had some effect,” Simeon answers with a shameless smile and shrug, beginning to undo the tassels of his heavy cloak and draping it on the back of chair he’s sitting on. He’s still wearing all of his regular clothes underneath it - including the other, much smaller cloak. Solomon wonders how he hasn’t somehow melted in the heat.

“When’re you gonna start heading home, anyway?” Mammon asks, beginning to pick at a loose thread on his jacket sleeve. “It’s gettin’ late.”

Solomon blinks and looks up at the clock. “...ah, you’re right. In that case, I'll get going now.”

Mammon shoots him an odd look as he pushes himself up from the table and reaches for his bag, managing to hoist it onto his shoulder with some effort. He’s never been particularly good at heavy lifting - you’re usually the one helping him carry everything around the house.

“Oi, oi, what’s the rush?” the demon asks as Solomon adjusts the weight of his bag and starts heading for the door. “You on a timer or something?”

“I promised [Name] I’d be home earlier tonight,” is Solomon’s slightly absent-minded reply as he fiddles about in his pocket to find his transportation charm, nearly losing his balance and dropping his bag in the process. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

Mammon watches him in clear confusion for a moment as he pats down his pockets, mumbling a quiet curse under his breath as he realises that he’s left his charm at home again. How many times this month does that make it now...? He supposes that he could always perform a teleportation spell, but knowing his luck with those, he’ll probably end up somewhere in Morocco again.

“Oi, Simeon,” Mammon hisses to the angel, who cocks his head slightly to the side and leans over so as to hear him more clearly. “Who’s this ‘[Name]’ Solomon’s talkin’ about?”

“You don’t know?” Simeon blinks at him in blatant perplexion - as if he can’t even fathom the idea that Mammon might not know who Solomon’s talking about. “He’s talking about his husband.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then—

“Solomon has a HUSBAND!?” Mammon practically shrieks, completely flabbergasted. “I thought he was totally, like, the forever alone type!”

“Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed?” is Simeon’s bewildered response. “Who do you think Solomon is always talking about buying groceries for?”

“I thought he was just buyin’ them for himself!” Mammon fires back, looking far more ruffled and shocked than he probably should be. He whips around to look at Solomon, who’s flicking through the little packet of blank charms he keeps on him at all times in an effort to find the right one to create a temporary transportation charm. He’s had to do it so many times this month that he’s already beginning to run out. “You’re married?!”

“Of course,” Solomon answers vaguely, briefly raising his left hand, allowing Mammon to spot the soft glint of a ring around his fourth finger. “You’re not?”

“Wh— ‘course I’m not!” Mammon exclaims, positively scandalised by the very concept. “Why would I get married, huh?! It’s a waste of time and a waste of money!”

“Think whatever you like,” Solomon dismisses him easily, which only seems to irritate Mammon further.

Finally having found the right blank charm, he plucks it out and begins carefully tracing patterns onto it with a single glowing finger. He’s dimly aware of Mammon furiously whispering to Simeon in the background, with the angel responding in kind, most likely sharing some exaggerated story from back when the three of you had worked together - when Solomon had accepted a job from the Celestial Realm. The details of the whole thing are a little fuzzy to him now, long as it has been, but he’s almost completely sure that Simeon somehow still remembers the whole thing flawlessly.

“How old even is he?!” He hears Mammon hiss.

“I’m not so sure myself,” Simeon replies, placing his chin in a thoughtful hand. “Let’s see… their two millennial anniversary’s coming up in about two years, and I remember Solomon saying that they got married when he was around two hundred or so… which means he’s about twenty-one hundred years old.”

“Holy shit,” Mammon mutters in disbelief, turning glance at the sorcerer as he starts folding down the corners of his charm into the right shape. “Humans aren’t supposed to live that long. How’s his husband still alive, then?”

“That isn’t really a question for me to answer,” Simeon shakes his head slightly. “I suppose you can always ask him yourself if Solomon ever brings him to work with him.”

“I doubt it,” Solomon speaks up for the first time since announcing his departure. “He’s usually busy during the day. Besides, transportation charms make him queasy, and I’m not making him walk all the way down here.”

“Aren’t you a wizard?” Mammon asks, scratching his head. “Just do one of ya fancy teleportation spells. Why d’you need a charm?”

Solomon sighs. He hates to admit it, but he can’t be bothered to make up some other reason to cover up for himself. “I’m afraid that teleportation spells aren’t actually particularly accurate. We could end up somewhere in the Pacific if I’m not careful.”

Mammon looks thunderstruck. “Then what about all those times you’ve teleported us?! Don’t tell me we coulda ended up in, like, the Archaic Pit or something?!”

“Well, it was always a possibility,” Solomon shrugs in reply, finishing the charm with a deft flick of his hand. “You’re a demon, I sure you could have handled yourself.”

“But…!” Mammon crosses his arms and turns away like a grumpy child. “Hmph…”

“Do say hello to [Name] for me, will you?” Simeon requests as Solomon turns to open the door, ignoring the sulking demon sitting beside him. “We haven’t been able to talk for a while.”

“You text him every day, don’t you?” Solomon asks, shooting him an unimpressed look. “I’d say that’s conversation enough.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be stingy,” Simeon countered with a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side and leaning forward. “Besides, one misses the presence of an actual person after a while of nothing but electronic communication... especially texting is so difficult. Tell him he’s always welcome to come around for some tea - Luke would be happy to see him.”

Solomon shakes his head, but makes a sound of affirmation nevertheless. You had mentioned that you’ve missed seeing Simeon since he’d started the whole negotiator businesss, and he isn’t the sort of person to deny you the company of a friend. “I’ll let him know. Anyway, I should really be going now…”

“Have a safe journey!” Simeon calls after him as he swings the door open and sweeps out. Solomon waves a hand over his shoulder in response, then disappears down the corridor, most likely to a quiet spot in the courtyard to use his charm. He’s been banned from using them indoors ever since he accidentally shattered one of the fancy artifacts in the assembly hall and sent hundreds of shards flying everywhere. Apparently Barbatos is still finding tiny pieces of glass in the crevices of the floor.

“Why didn’t Solomon ever say anythin’?” Mammon asks Simeon after a moment of quietude. “Seems like the sorta thing you’d mention.”

“Solomon’s a private man,” Simeon says with a shrug. “Besides, he and [Name] have made plenty of enemies over the years, and you’d be shocked by how quickly names and locations can spread…”

“Does he mind us knowin’ about it, then?”

“Well, personally, I’ve known for a while,” Simeon answers, “And I’m sure the others will have worked it out by now - Solomon’s always finding ways to mention [Name] in passing. But no, I’m sure he doesn’t mind. He’d say something if he did.”

Mammon nods and goes silent for a little while. Then he asks, “What’s this [Name] like, then? Must be some guy if Solomon liked him enough to put a ring on him and keep him for that long.”

“Well, let’s see…” Simeon drums his fingers thoughtfully against the tabletop. “He has quite the penchant for raising deadly plants, he hasn’t gone more than a full month without exploding something or another for about five centuries, he takes clocks apart in his spare time, he likes his coffee with a touch of vanilla, he collects cursed books, he makes a lovely butterscotch-cinnamon pie, and he works as a curse breaker for hire.”

It takes a moment for Mammon to process all of the information that’s just been dumped on him. “...sounds like the kinda guy Satan would get along with.”

“I thought so as well,” Simeon agrees. “Their house even reminds me of Satan’s room, in a way… [Name] is quite the avid reader.”

“What, you’ve been?”

“Only once,” Simeon’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he reminisces. “Quite a long time ago now. I wouldn’t know where to find it even if I wanted to go again, though - it’s always moving.”

“Do they move house a lot, then?”

Simeon shakes his head. “Oh, no, no. They’ve lived in the same house for centuries - it’s the house that moves itself.”

Mammon pauses. “...what?”

“The building,” Simeon clarifies. “They’ve got an enchantment on the whole thing that makes it change locations every couple of weeks or so.”

“But… why?”

Simeon shrugs. “[Name] doesn’t like staying in one place for too long.”

“Still, isn’t that a bit much…?” Mammon pulls a face. “They could always just travel, ya know…”

“As Solomon said, transportation talismans make [Name] feel queasy,” Simeon explains. “And he prefers not to use teleportation spells when it comes to him, just in case they end up somewhere dangerous.”

“And he doesn’t care about the rest of us ending up somewhere dangerous?” Mammon huffs and collapses forwards onto the table.

“Well, you can’t really compare the two,” Simeon says patiently as the demon continues to mutter indignantly under his breath. “He’s his husband, and we’re essentially just his friends from work.”

Mammon opens his mouth to make a rebuttal, then thinks about it for a moment and changes his mind. After a moment, he comments, a little less resentfully, “Well, you’d think he’d at least introduce us.”

“He’s been planning to for a while, actually,” Simeon tells him. “Give him some time and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.”

Mammon nods. “He’d better!”

“I’m home.”

You look up from the book you’re reading and hop down from your seat on the roof just in time to see Solomon emerge from the back garden, looking noticeably dishevelled, with leaves decorating his head like some sort of fancy accessory.

“Welcome back!” You greet him happily, setting the book aside and moving forward to start picking the leaves from his hair. Solomon smiles softly at you as you take his bag in one hand and start pulling him to the front door with the other. “You forgot your talisman again, by the way.”

“I noticed,” He laughs, gently removing your hand from his upper arm and wrapping his fingers around it instead. “Why else do you think I ended up in the hedges again?”

“It’s a wonder that you’ve had to make these temporary talismans so many times and you still haven’t gotten one right yet,” You tease in reply, nudging him in the shoulder. “How many points is that on the tally now, then?”

“Ten for the basement, seven for the roof, and eleven for the hedges now,” He answers with a small pout as you laugh. “Honestly, you’d think I would have learnt my lesson...”

“You never do, love.” 

The door creaks as you and your husband enter the house, only to immediately be greeted by a bundle of scales hitting you head-on. You manage to keep your footing and steady yourself on the doorway; Solomon isn’t so lucky, and ends up laying spread-eagled on the floor with about two hundred kilograms of excited adolescent dragon purring on his chest.

“Looks like Triton missed you,” You comment with a bright smile, setting Solomon’s bag down beside the umbrella rack and leaning over to give the dragon a scratch behind his left horn, just the way he likes it. He rumbles happily and jingles the little bell around his neck at you. “Isn’t he getting big?”

“I saw him this morning, [Name],” Solomon wheezes from his position on the floor, somehow managing to reach up and tickle Triton’s chin with one hand despite the dragon’s weight. “He can’t have grown that much in ten hours.”

“You never know!” You tell him, reaching up and wrapping your arms around Triton’s neck. He coos in a delighted fashion and raises his head, setting it heavily on your shoulder. Solomon uses the brief lightening of the weight on him to take in a deep breath as you allow your dragon to nuzzle furiously into your neck. “Dragons are unpredictable, you know.”

“Believe me, I do,” He sighs tiredly as Triton blows out a pleased puff of hot air and knocks the clock off the wall again. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Triton, I’d quite like to get back up again.”

The dragon blinks and raises his head from your shoulder, glancing down at the sorcerer that he’s crushing under his weight. Then he huffs and turns away again.

“Oh, you—!” Solomon curses as the dragon seems to press even harder into him. Your laughter rings out across the hall, and while he’d normally take a moment to admire the sound, he’s a little preoccupied. “[Name], stop laughing and help me!”

“He’s like a rebellious teenager!” You splutter helplessly in reply, voice still trembling slightly out of mirth. Triton makes a happy noise as you reach up and rub his scaly cheeks, his ears fluttering slightly. “Awww, you’re really growing up, aren’t you, baby? Your poor dads are really going to have their work cut out for them, huh?”

“Hey,” Solomon calls reproachfully from beneath Triton’s enormous chest. “Your husband’s still being crushed down here.”

“Oh, right!” You click your tongue and give Triton a meaningful look. He grumbles but obeys nevertheless, hopping off of Solomon (though not without knocking all the air out of him by using his chest as a launchpad) and scampering off, most likely to go play with the salamanders that have set up shop in the storage room again.

“I’ll never understand how you manage him so well,” Solomon sighs as you bend down to pull him to his feet, rubbing at the sore spot on his chest. “He never listens to me.”

“Aw, he loves you, really,” You reassure him, taking his hand and pressing a comforting kiss to his knuckles. “He just likes roughhousing with you.”

Solomon shakes his head, wanting to complain further about the big lizard that the two of you had adopted six months ago after the last one grew up and flew the nest, but then he sees the smile on your face, and he feels the flicker of irritation in his chest die down almost immediately. It’s at times like this that he’s really reminded of how absolutely worth it all of the nonsense he has to put up with at work is - because, at the end of the day, you are here, with your warm eyes and your lovely smile, with your comforting hands and your warm embrace, and there is no road too long to walk if you are waiting for him at the end of it.

“I know,” He sighs, tugging off his shoes and stepping into his favourite pair of slippers - the ones with the little cat faces printed on them that you’ve charmed to always maintain a perfect temperature for his feet. He glances at your own feet and notes that you’re wearing your matching pair as well.

The two of you have long since set up a routine for this sort of occasion, and you both fall into it with unconscious ease. Solomon changes into something more comfortable while you put the kettle on in the kitchen, and the two of you inevitably spend so long snuggled up together on the largest armchair in the living room, unwilling to leave the warmth of each other’s presence, that the water cools down, and you end up having to put it back on again. Then you sit together at the table, you with a coffee with a dash of vanilla and him with his favourite chrysanthemum tea that you always brew just the way he likes it. Sometimes you’ll sit side by side, shoulders pressed up against each other as you show him the specifics of your latest curse-breaking commission, and sometimes you’ll sit across from each other, holding hands across the tabletop as he tells you about his day.

Today it is the former, but Solomon can’t help but zone a little out of the detailed deep-dive you’re giving him about the intricacies of the spell that’s cursed this teapot to shoot its contents at anyone who attempts to fill it. It isn’t that your explanation is boring - quite the contrary, in fact; Solomon could probably listen to you describing the most mundane or trivial of things on loop for the rest of his life and be perfectly content with it. No, it’s more to do with the fact that this is the first time he’s been home before dark in a long while, and he can’t help but revel in the fact that he can spend time with you like this again. Of course, there’s something wonderful in coming home to be able to collapse into bed beside you and bury his face in the crook of your neck, drifting to sleep as you burrow closer to him even in your sleep, but Solomon can’t run off of that forever - he needs to see you with your eyes open as well, after all. 

“You’re not listening to a word I say, are you?” You ask as you note the far-off look on your husband’s face. You’re not offended in the slightest by the way he starts at the directed question, evidently guilty, but you are a little puzzled. “Is there something wrong?”

Solomon’s mouth falls open slightly, then shuts again. There’s something about the way you’re looking at him so earnestly that makes his heart stutter like nothing else. Honestly, you’d think he’d be used to this after nearly two thousand years, but it seems that he’s still as weak for you as he was on the very first day of your marriage. “...I suppose I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“You always have a lot on your mind,” You counter softly, giving his hand a brief squeeze. “Come on, you can tell me.”

He laughs quietly, bringing your linked hands up to his face and gently holding yours to the side of his face; you, in turn, unfurl your fingers from around his and rub his cheek affectionately. After a moment, a fond smile pulling at his lips, Solomon replies, “I’ve… missed you a lot this week.”

You pause in mild surprise, but it quickly turns to endearment as Solomon presses his body even closer to yours. The hand that you’re using to hold your mug of coffee moves to settle on his shoulder as you pull him closer. “Really now? What a coincidence. I’ve missed you lots as well, love.”

He chuckles a little bashfully, his cheeks flushing. It seems that your ability to fluster him hasn’t declined even a bit over the years. He’s still well and truly besotted.

You can’t help but find it rather amusing that, despite already having spent a good hour and a half or so in the living room, bundled so close together in the blankets that you could feel his breath on your skin, the two of you are still nestling so close together now. You suppose it’s the effects of a week with much less contact than usual.

You lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw before pulling back again, reaching for your coffee and taking a sip. Solomon exhales softly, pulling his own drink towards him and draining the last of the tea in a single mouthful.

“You know,” He says, setting his empty cup down on the table. “One of my coworkers was asking about you earlier.”

“‘Coworkers’,” You snort at his choice of language, earning a reproachful poke in the side as punishment. “Come on, just admit that they’re your friends.”

“Fine,” He sighs. “One of my friends, then - Mammon, the one that Lucifer’s stringing up all the time.”

“The one with white hair?” You recall, thinking back to the group photo that Simeon had sent you a while back. “He’s the Avatar of Greed, right?”

“That’s the one,” Solomon nods. “Apparently he never noticed that I was married.”

“Well, you can’t really blame him,” You say, giving him a playful nudge. “Honestly, the way you keep your mouth shut, you’d think I was some shameful secret or something.”

Solomon looks scandalised by the very idea - it had only been a little joke, but his eyes flash with such affront that it’s almost as if someone has genuinely called you such a thing. “Of course not! I’d never—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I was joking,” You cut him off before he can get more riled up. Solomon calms down quickly once you set a comforting hand on his knee, though he still looks a little indignant. “I know why you don’t like talking about us much, but really, it’s okay. They’re your friends, aren't they?”

He hesitates, then nods, releasing another deep sigh soon afterwards. “I suppose. There isn’t much I can really do about it at this point anyway… according to Simeon, most of them have somehow figured it out already.”

“They’re probably a lot smarter than you give them credit for, Sol,” You hum, reaching up and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes for him. “They’re demons, after all. They’ve lived even longer than us.”

“Believe me, they really aren’t.” Solomon shakes his head, a frown pinching at his brow at the very memory of the amount of things that his coworkers have done recently - some of the most notable being Diavolo setting an entire flock of geese free in the courtyard for an ‘experiment’, Levi quite literally throwing himself out of a window just to win a bet against Mammon about who could get down the stairs faster, Asmo causing a stampede in the main hall by dropping and shattering a bottle full of a powerful aphrodisiac potion that became even more powerful once released into the air, and Lucifer accidentally breaking one of Solomon’s favourite cauldrons when he’d transformed into his demon form and inadvertently smacked halfway across the room it with one of his upper wings.

“I’d really love to meet them some day,” You sigh, swirling the contents of your mug around. “They sound like fun.”

“Trust me, the trouble isn’t worth it—” Solomon attempts to reason with you, but he gives up laughably quickly as you pout at him in protest. “Oh, fine. But don’t blame me if you get sick because of the charm again.”

“We don’t have to use the charm,” You shake your head. “Just do a teleportation spell!”

“You know that that’s risky,” Solomon sighs, chucking you under the chin and leaning forward to kiss the tip of your nose. You laugh as he draws back again, a pleased smile rising on his face at your reaction. “We could end up anywhere.”

“You’ve teleported them a bunch of times, though, haven’t you? And you haven’t ended up in Texas or the Sahara Desert any of those times!”

The resemblance to his earlier conversation with Mammon and Simeon is almost uncanny. “That’s different. I was still teleporting them within the Devildom, not across an entire realm barrier… and besides, I can afford the risk with them. You’re a different story.”

You pout again, shoulders dropping in defeat, though it doesn’t escape Solomon’s notice that his sentiment seems to have appeased you at least a little. “...guess we’ll just have to use a transportation talisman, huh…?”

“That’s your only option if you really want to visit, yes.”

You go quiet for a moment or two, nose wrinkling and face scrunching as you think it over. Solomon doesn’t mind the lack of conversation - he entertains himself by studying your features, wondering for perhaps the millionth time how he managed to find someone like you.

Finally, a determined look rising on your face, you nod and proclaim, “Then I’ll do it!”

Solomon cocks his head slightly to the side. He can’t say he’s surprised by your eagerness, but he had expected it to take you longer to make up your mind. He opens his mouth to say something, but tou answer his question before he’s even asked it, a skill that you’d managed to pick up within the first year or so of knowing him.

“I really wanna see what you actually get up to when you work,” You explain, looking a little sheepish. “You’ve had a job there for nearly two years and I’ve never even said a word to the people you work with.”

Solomon laughs. “It isn’t usually a requirement in the workplace. Wear appropriate uniform, bring any equipment you need, introduce your husband to your coworkers within the decade…”

“Still, I’d feel bad if I didn’t at least meet them,” You say. “Besides, I want to see Simeon as well. You said he’s working down in the Devildom for a bit as well, didn’t you?”

“Why are you so eager to see him, huh?” Solomon’s tone is light and teasing, so you know not to take him seriously as he puts on an hurt expression. “I’m offended. Your dear husband’s right here and you’re thinking about some angel.”

“Oh, stop it, you,” You shake your head in slightly exasperated amusement as he runs a finger down his cheek in lieu of a tear. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulls an exaggeratedly petulant face and pretends to turn away like an upset child. “Sometimes I feel like you love him more than me.”

“Simeon’s a lovely guy, but you’re still the only guy for me, you doof,” You tell him, tapping fondly at the cheek he’s turned to you with your free hand. Solomon obligingly turns back around to look at you, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Why would I marry you and then stay here for two thousand years if you weren't?”

“I guess I always assumed it was out of pity or something,” He jokes in response, leaning forward and briefly brushing his nose against yours. “And, just so you know, you’re the only guy for me as well.”

“I’d better be,” is your lighthearted reply as he pulls away. After a moment, looking at him expectantly, you begin tentatively, “So…?”

He sighs, but gives you a smile nevertheless. “I’ll ask Diavolo. He probably wouldn’t mind if I brought you without asking first, but Lucifer definitely would.”

“What’ll we do if they hate me?” You ask. “Do demons actually eat humans?”

“They wouldn’t dare,” He replies firmly. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Besides, they won’t hate you. I doubt anyone could.”

You laugh and drop your head to rest on his chest. “You’re too nice to me, love.”

Solomon turns to wrap both his arms around your shoulders, setting his chin on the crown of your head. You smile into his jumper, looping your own arms around his waist and pushing yourself closer to him.

“I’m not just being nice. Honestly, [Name], you’re kind of the most perfect man in the universe.”

[nickyhemmick]

A Very Stressed American Jew here again,

Hi! Thank you for taking the time to respond to my ask and yes, I’m someone who loves hearing as many perspectives as possible so I’d love some sources from you. I also very much appreciate the fact you are being very careful to only reblog posts that are anti Israel, not antisemetic (which is frankly a breath of fresh air, the internet has been a bit exhaustingly full of both antisemitic & Islamaphobic content these past feel days as I bet you’ve seen)

I’ve also been to Israel on a Birthright trip. We met people who ( both Palestinian and Israeli) on various sides of the conflict and learned a ton about it, from both perspectives which I was lucky to have the opportunity to do. We even went a little into the Gaza Strip to talk to these people running a pro Palestine peace movement and it was so important to me hearing those stories.

I never said they were on equal footing militarily, they definitely are not, Israel definitely has that advantage. But you are incorrect about Israel always being the aggressor since 1948,they’ve defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Isreal is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack.

I 100% agree that there are too many people who are compliant with the mistreatment of many Palestinians! I’m not anti #freepalestine at all! I get why that is a thing. But I also stand with Israel( but that does not mean I condone every action they take. ) Overall I think the situation is extremely complicated and some sort of compromise should be reached.

It’s just been very frustrating to see so many people reblog things on a situation just bashing Israel because so many others are doing it. Especially when then don’t know what they are talking about or using big buzz words that they don’t know what they mean, or spreading misinformation. It’s been on both sides and has been very very draining. I just want peace and some sort of solution. It makes me extremely happy you know what you are talking about and can debate politely yet happily about it. The internet has been so ‘ either agree with me 100% or you a bad person’ about this so it’s refreshing to see you are not like that.

I’ve done a lot of research into it from as many perspectives as I can get my hands on.

Some extremest Israelis are hurting Palestinians

Some extremest Palestinians are hurting Israelis

Both sides are throwing rockets at each other and it’s terrifying.

Both sides claim the other side is brainwashed

There is so much biased propaganda out there on both ends it’s hard to know what is truly happening.

I know people living in Israel who have sent me videos they’ve taken of rockets flying over there heads and I’m so scared for them. I’m so scared for all the innocent people caught in the crossfire on both sides.

Thank you for a more nuanced response and I’d love some of your sources,

A Very Stressed American Jew

Hi anon, 

I wasn’t going to respond to this until after my math final tomorrow but I’ve spent the past two days thinking of your ask and the things I wish to articulate in my answer. 

I am going to start here: how can you say you support Israel but say you are also pro-free Palestine (as in, you said you are not anti free Palestine). In my opinion, these two ideas cannot coexist. Simply because, the entire establishment of Israel has been on violent, racist, colonial grounds. 

(Super long post under here guys)

You said you don’t support all Israel’s actions, and definitely, just because you support something doesn’t mean you can’t criticize it. However, in my opinion, if you do not support Israel’s actions against Palestinians there’s not much left to support? I admit this is a very biased view as I am Palestinian, but many things that people support about Israel have existed before its creation: as in, these are things and qualities that have existed in Judaism and are not due to “Israeli culture.” There is no Israeli culture. There’s Jewish culture--100%. But there is no Israeli culture, because Israel does not only steal Palestinian land, but Palestinian culture, too. Such as claiming Levant food is Israeli; hummus, ful, falafel, shawarma. I mentioned food from this article I know is culturally and traditionally of the Levant, and has been for centuries, it is not something that has come to culinary creation in the past 73 years. 

I do not think this is a complicated issue. I said that in the previous ask and I’ll say that again. Saying it is a complicated issue is trivializing the deaths of innocent Palestinians, the violent dispossession our ancestors endured, and the apartheid they live under. I hope if anything comes from this discussion it is you removing the “it’s a complicated issue” phrase from your vernacular. 

This is not complicated. A journalist reporting the death of martyrs only to discover that of them include two of his brothers is not complicated. The asymmetry of Israel vs Palestinian armed forces is not complicated, nor is the asymmetry in Israeli vs Palestinian suffering (which I will get to later). It is not complicated.  Destroying the graves of martyred Palestinians (or just in general, the graves of the dead) is not complicated. Little children being pulled from the rubble, children being forced to comfort one another as they are covered in the ashes of their decimated homes, attacking unarmed citizens in peaceful demonstrations (you can find videos before this attack where they were playing with kites and balloons), destroying an international media office and refusing to allow journalists to retrieve the work they are spending every waking hour documenting but claiming it was because it was a hide out for a “Hamas base,” fathers who are trying to cheer their frightened children up only to end up dead the next day, while many Israeli have the privilege and the option to go to hotel-like bomb shelters is not complicated. 

This brings me to my next point: the suffering of Palestinians cannot be compared to the inconvenience of Israeli’s. On one side, you have children who are happy to have saved their fish in the face of their homes and lives being decimated behind them to Israeli’s in Tel Aviv having to cut their beach day short to get to bomb shelters. You have mothers and fathers ready to set their lives down for their children to save them from bombs to Israeli’s enjoying their brunch only after making sure there are bomb shelters there. You have Palestinian children being murdered to blocking out the sound of sirens in the safety of your bomb shelters. (The first picture of the Palestinian child is not from footage of the recent problems). You have the baby lone survivor of a whole family recovered from rubble. His whole family, gone, before he ever had the chance to realize that he even exists, while Israeli’s decide to flee out of the country,(Translate the caption from Twitter, it checks out), or have to leave the shower due to sirens. Who is really suffering? 

I won’t sit here and pretend like the thought of rockets flying over my head, no matter which side I am on, is not terrifying. It is. It’s scary to just think about. But Israeli’s have protection beyond Palestinian’s, they have sirens to warn them (Israel does not always warn Palestinian building members that it is about to be bombed), they have the Iron Dome, they have simply the threat of nuclear power (which I am not saying Israel would use, but the simple fact they have it would make me feel a lot better if I were an Israeli citizen) and they have bomb shelters. What do Palestinians have? Hamas? That smuggles its weapons through the ocean? That only ever reacts to the action Israel instigates? And yet Gazans are branded terrorists and that it is their fault that they “elected” a terrorist organization that only was ever created due to no protection from any armed country? (There are so many links I want to add in this paragraph but it is simply impossible for me to add everything I want, a lot of what I’m referring to can either be found through a Google search, or you can stalk my Twitter account, all that I am posting now is about Palestine, and will include sources of things I cannot add in just this one post.) 

Look, I see myself in the genocide happening in Palestine right now. I see myself in this ten year-old girl. In this three year old girl. I see me and my family in videos of cars being attacked in Ramallah and Sheikh Jarrah (I cannot find the Ramallah video, should be somewhere on my Twitter), I see my father in the countless videos of fathers crying out for their children, of kissing the corpse of their loved ones (again, translate the Tweet, the man holding the body is saying “just one kiss”). I see my grandfather in videos like this (old footage). I see my younger brother, I see my grandmother, my mother, my aunts and uncles and cousins. I see myself and my life and my family were my father not lucky enough to get a scholarship to the UK and out of Palestine, were my maternal grandfather not been lucky enough to make it to a refugee camp and build a life in Jordan. I have an unbelievable amount of privilege to be born into the life I was born in to, in terms of I do not have the threat of bombs and violent dispossession around me, and I do not even live in the US. I have privilege and sheer luck that my parents were able to go to the US so that me and my brothers can be born, because now I have both the protection of the most powerful country in the world while at the same time being part of a people to have suffered so generously the past seventy-three years. 

On the other hand, you saying that Israel has “defended themselves about as often as they’ve attacked. Israel is a small country comparatively to the ones surrounding it, so it makes sense it defends itself heavily in case of an attack,” I offer you this question: why are they using military grade guns and stun grenades in mosques to “defend” themselves from rocks? And before you mention that Hamas hit Tel Aviv, I remind you that Hamas did that due to the violence in the Al-Aqsa mosque square and the attempted ethnic cleansing in Sheikh Jarrah. The violence didn’t begin with us; the violence was brought out of Palestinians in resistance to the generations of oppression we have endured and the attack on Palestinian Muslims during the holiest night of Ramadan. Hamas has since asked for a ceasefire multiple times and Israel is refusing. New reports say there is a possibility of a ceasefire in the coming days, but Israel could have decided this a long time ago and spared many lives. (Remember, no matter what resistance we make, Israel is the one in power).

Israel has been the aggressor since 1948. Just read up about the Nakba! 700k Palestinian families were dispossessed violently. The only reason Israel was established at all was because it simply declared it was now a country and the US and many other countries recognized it as such. (Of course, there are many other historical details here, like the British Mandate of Palestine, the Balfour Declaration, the Oslo Accords and many others. I am aware of them but these are for a different post all together). My paternal grandfather was a little younger than me when Israel as a state was created. The hostility that followed was due to this independent declaration being listened to over Palestinian voices. 

Here is a very, very simplified analogy, one that can also answer some people’s questions as to why Palestinians (not Arabs, we are Palestinian before we are Arab) did not like what happened in 1948 and why they refused a two-state solution (that Israel was never going to go through with anyway). (I am also aware other Arab nations got involved, and that is perhaps what you mean when you said they had to defend themselves, but my response to that would still be we didn't start it, that we only responded to it).

Let’s say you are a farmer. You have many fields of trees, ones you have taken shelter under from the sun since you were a child, or hid behind when you wanted to avoid your parents when you misbehaved. You have seen your trees grow from a seed, to a sprout, to a flower, to a large, beautiful tree with fruits the size of a fist. You pluck the fruits from one tree, and make a jam from it. I don’t know how to make jam but I know it takes a lot of energy. So, you make this jam and from it, produce a lovely, mouth-watering pie. Once it has cooled from the oven, you take it with you outside your balcony just so that you can admire the years, months, weeks and hours this one pie has taken to be created. Suddenly, a stranger walks past and yells to you, “That pie looks delicious, I want it!” And you, shocked at their boldness but ready to share, say, “I will give you a bite.” But the stranger says, “No! I do not want a bite or a slice or whatever you want to offer me, I want the pie!” And they grab it from you. You and the stranger start screaming at one another about who the pie is for, who is allowed to decide what happens to it, and who you can share it with. Then, another stranger comes by and says, “Why all the problems? Let’s cut the pie in half and the both of you can share it!” But why should you, who has spent years cultivating the fruit and grain inside this pie, share it? Why should you give up half of the 100% that you already owned? Of what you already had? So you disagree, and now a crowd has formed around you. “What’s the problem?” someone in the crowd calls. “They don’t want to share their pie!” another voice says. Then you become branded a selfish, mean bastard. Again, this is a super simplified analogy, so don’t take it too seriously, but I am trying to show you why Israel is the aggressor.

In addition, I do not know too much about the Birthright program, just that American Jewish people are sent to Israel, all expenses paid. I tried my best to find the Twitter thread but I read it so long ago, about an American Jewish person who went on their trip and they talked about the propaganda that they were exposed to on that trip. I can’t say for sure that it is true, because I haven’t been on it and never will, but that is the first thing I thought of when you mentioned your Birthright trip. Either way, I think it is still great you went and saw the country. However, I must ask you this: are the people you met ones you, yourself, sought out, or ones you were organized to meet?

Now, I haven’t been to Gaza, so I don’t know what you really saw or didn’t, but did you speak to Palestinians who lost their homes to airstrikes? Did you speak to siblings, parents or children of loved ones who had been lost beneath the rubble of buildings and towers? Outside of Gaza, did you speak to Palestinians that live in poor quarters? Ones who have been victims of an IDF soldier shooting them, or who have family members who have died from such attacks? Did they take you guys to Ramallah, to Nablus, to Beit-Imreen, to Jenin, to small villages in the West Bank, far away from Jerusalem and Tel Aviv? Did you speak to people there? Ask them their stories? Because if you did I have a very hard time believing you still think Israel is “defending” itself.

I’ve been to Jerusalem, many times, even Tel Aviv and Jaffa and Haifa. All the times I visited Dome of the Rock there were IDF soldiers with huge guns strapped to their person, standing menacingly outside the courtyard. For what? Genuinely, genuinely for what? It is nothing but an intimidation tactic. The same way we are not allowed in through the airport. If you could see the struggle some Palestinians actually go through just to get into Palestine, through the land border, you would be disgusted. I love Palestine, it is my ancestry land, it is my culture and tradition. But I always hated going to visit because I knew the way to getting there would be hell.

My father worked in Tel Aviv through the first Intifada. My maternal grandfather was forced out of his home in the Nakba and was forced to leave behind his belongings and the orange trees that have been in his family for generations. Hell, the town they lived in was destroyed! It doesn’t exist anymore except in the memories of my aunts and uncles, who never even saw it, but just heard of it from their father!

I’m not saying there aren’t Palestinians who are racist and anti-Semitic (though, tbh, I will direct you here for that) and who support Hamas in killing Israeli’s, but talking about how there are many “extremist” Palestinians who are hurting Israeli’s and in the next line say there are extremist Israeli’s who are hurting Palestinians is not correct. There are extremist Israeli’s killing, lynching, stealing the houses of Palestinians, and there are Palestinians who are fed up and fighting back. (I am not talking about Hamas vs the IDF here, I am talking about the citizens). I have not seen one reported death of an Israeli due to Palestinian violence (if you have, from a trusted source, send it to me), but I have seen countless of the other way around. I have seen images of charred little bodies, of a baby being dug out of the rubble, of a child’s body that had been so mutilated that you can literally see the insides of their body coming out. (I don’t know if it’s on my Twitter, I didn’t want to save that shit). If this was my country I would be absolutely ashamed of myself and my people and what they are doing in the name of my protection. So you have to forgive me, and forgive other Palestinians, who don’t give a fuck about Israeli’s having anxiety over rockets flying over their heads when we see these images. Where is the protection of our kids? Why does no one seem to mention them except when mentioning the poor, innocent ones in Israel? At least more than the majority of them have their parents to comfort and rock them. At least many of them will probably be saved of ever having to be beneath the rubble of a destroyed building, or digging in it, to hope to find the parts of their parents or siblings just so that they can bury them. Just the links from the start of my answer is enough to support what I am saying.

I have soooo much more I can say, like how Israel uses religion to distort the image of what’s going on (tbh, just check my Twitter for that: language is EVERYTHING), but you didn’t mention religion in any of this and so I won’t either. The only reason I decided to respond to you in such length was because you have been one of the few respectful anons in my inbox in the past few years of me being on here talking about Israel, so I appreciate that from you. 

As promised, some more sources: decolonizepalestine is a good place to start if you haven’t used it already, it has reading materials, myth busting, and more. Here is a map list of destroyed localities from pre-1948 until 2017, run by two anti-Zionist Israelis. Here and here are the articles I promised of a former IDF soldier-turned Palestinian activist, I read these two last year in June and remember coming out much more informed than before I read them. I suggest looking into the writer and his organization, which, if I remember correctly, collects accounts from previous IDF soldiers. I would suggest not to follow Israel and the IDF accounts on any platform, or any Israel times newspaper, simply because they will not tell you the truth. In fairness, you do not have to follow any Palestinian Authority accounts (which I am not even sure there are), but to follow on-ground Palestinians like Mohammed El-Kurd, who has been speaking out since he was 12 (he is now 22) and he is part of the families in Sheikh Jarrah. I have noticed that this and this account have been translating Arabic headlines and tweets for non-Arabic speakers, I have just started following this person but their bio says they are a Palestinian Jewish person so I am interested in their view of things. You can also follow Israeli’s on-ground and see their perspective on things, but I would also advise to compare the Palestinian and Israeli side of things from the people, and critically analyze the language used in each case. Also, this article references Jewish scholars opposed to the occupation (I have not looked into them myself but I plan to after my exams), and Norman Finklestein is another great Jewish scholar to look into if you haven’t. Twitter is better than Instagram and Facebook, so I would stick to getting live-info from there, Twitter does not censor Palestinian content as much as Insta and Facebook so you’re more likely to see things there.

I will end this by saying I personally do not see any other option for peace than to give Palestinians our land back. Whether we may be Muslim, Jewish or Christian, it has always been and will always be our land. I only hope to see it free in my lifetime. 

Free Palestine. 

[frostedfaves]

Repercussions (2)

Masterlist

Pairing: dark!Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha takes you on a date and decides how the night will end.

Warnings: dark themes, stalking, digital hacking, drugging, sexual content (all consensual!!!)

A/N: this is the closest thing I’ve ever written to smut so I hope it didn’t turn out to be complete trash! I’d like to try going further in the future but I’m just doing what fits for the story for now! anyway, can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

Previous part

-

Natasha could barely sleep that night, the images of you swimming through her mind constantly. She’d stared at the pictures in her phone long enough to memorize every inch of you left uncovered. How she wished to be the one to undress you at night, maybe with your wrists tied together above your head or your ankles forced to separate with a bar between them. The possibilities were endless.

She took a cold shower the next morning after waking up in a sweat because of you, and she knew she had to see you again. Not through a window but in person, face to face. She already missed holding a finger to the pulse point in your wrist, feeling the pace quicken as you lost yourself in her intense gaze. It was thrilling.

Your shift today ended at 6, which is why Natasha strolled into the bookstore just after 5:45. She began feigning interest in a shelf of biographies until she heard your kind voice again, and god, could she come undone at the sound of it.

“You’re back.”

She closed the book she was flipping through with a smile, turning to you, and what a sight you were. Your light t-shirt clung to your torso and was tucked inside of dark pants that loosely covered your waist and legs, hugging your ankles. Your hands were tucked in the pockets, and she wondered what was the easiest way to pull them into hers instead.

“I am.” The book closed with a sharp snap as she stepped closer to you. “I was hoping you were here.”

“Why didn’t you look for me then?”

“Got a little nervous.” She shrugs and you find it endearing.

“You hide it well.” Your hands leave your pocket as she gives you the book. “So what can I do for you, Natasha?”

You noticed her eyes widened slightly when her name left your lips, and you wondered whether or not that was a good reaction. The smirk that followed answered your silent question.

“Call me crazy, but I wondered if you’d have dinner with me. Nothing fancy, just want to get to know a kind soul such as yourself a little deeper.”

“Well, I’m very honored that an Avenger is interested in a boring civilian like me.” You offer her a teasing grin and she laughs in response.

“You know who I am, then.”

“A face like yours isn’t easy to forget.” You step around her to place the book back on the shelf, trying not to focus on the warmth that radiates from her body in such close contact. “I just need to clock out and grab my purse from my locker, and then I’ll be ready for dinner.”

“I’ll be outside,” she promised, watching you until the doors to the back hid you from sight before heading out of the bookstore. She listened carefully for your footsteps as she set up the program on the new cellphone, giving you a smile when you appeared that told nothing of what she was doing.

“Ready when you are.”

Natasha held out her arm to you, unable to contain her grin when you looped yours through the space she left and rested your other hand on her incredibly toned bicep. The warmth of your forearm against hers and your palm through her sleeve made her long for more, but she decided not to rush, knowing she had all the time in the world. As far as she was concerned, you weren’t going anywhere.

You arrived at a quiet restaurant in the middle of casual and fancy, seated at a table in the corner per Natasha’s request. The reasoning given to you was her desire to have eyes on the entire room because “you can never be too careful”, but the phone in her lap told a different story. She was an expert at holding your gaze or keeping your attention while the device downloaded your information, tucking it away in her pocket when finished.

It was halfway through dinner when Natasha found herself wanting to touch you more than the high school hand holding you’d done so far. She noticed a bit of pasta sauce that dribbled onto the corner of your mouth and before you could react, it was swiped away onto the pad of her thumb that was now positioned in front of your lips.

“Open,” she commanded, gleefully watching you obey her with wide and innocent eyes. A shiver went down her spine when your warm tongue cleaned her thumb, smirking as she slowly pulled away from your lips with a pop. And then she was back to her own meal as if nothing happened, while you were left squirming in your seat.

“Would you like to come to my place for wine?” you finally get out when your heart stops making its home in your throat.

“I would love that.”

-

The two of you walked hand in hand to your apartment in a comfortable silence, a bubbly feeling spreading through you every time that damn thumb swiped over your knuckles. You turned on the living room light as you entered, locking the door behind her and offering apologies for a mess that didn’t exist.

“Stop worrying, printsessa. You have a lovely home.”

The bubbles returned at the sound of the Russian nickname. “I’m glad you like it. Have a seat on the couch while I run to the bathroom, and then I’ll pour the wine for us.”

Natasha waited a few seconds after you closed the door before sprinting down the hall to where she could only assume your bedroom was. A bug was placed in your bedside lamp, a camera hidden in the plant on your dresser and your window was unlocked. By the time you stepped out with an empty bladder and clean hands, her back was against the armrest of the couch.

“Do you prefer white or red?”

“Whatever you’re having.”

She followed you to the kitchen, resting her elbows on the island that separated tile from carpet as she watched you place two glasses in front of her. You poured the deep red liquid with a smile, and as you returned the bottle to the fridge, she unscrewed the tiny vial from her necklace and emptied it into one glass. She claimed the other one as you faced her, clinking it to yours and moving to the couch.

“You know, I’ve answered your questions all night but I would love to know more about you,” you told her after a long sip, and she smiled at you over the transparent rim of her drink.

“Anything in particular?”

“Just...something that the media hasn’t broadcasted anywhere. Like, how do you manage not to fall into a deep depression with everything that you deal with as an Avenger?”

“It’s the little things.” She leans forward a bit, her fingertips resting on your knee. “The team and I do pretty normal things when we’re not on missions. Movie nights, eating meals together, being honest with each other when we feel down and doing whatever we can to improve our moods. It helps to have a good support system with these things, or in my case, a best friend that’s a literal ball of sunshine. I’m very lucky to have people like them in my life.”

“I think they’re very lucky to have you, too.” 

A few gulps of the bitter liquid gave you the courage you needed to close the gap and press your lips to hers, and part of you wasn’t surprised at how easily she was able to slip her tongue in your mouth seconds later. A low groan spilled from her lips past yours, and it vibrated within the deepest parts of you as you wrapped an arm around her neck, the other joining after your nearly empty glass was taken away. 

Her hands held onto your waist, squeezing harder as the kiss deepened, and she used the tight grip to guide your back toward the couch cushions. Your fingers slid into her hair when her mouth separated from yours to trail wet kisses down your jaw to the base of your neck, her warm breath leaving goosebumps on your sensitive skin. You slid a hand down to your jeans, about to unbutton them when she let go of one of your hips to stop you.

“Patience, printsessa,” she mumbled into the space between your neck and shoulder. “We have time.”

She pulled herself into a sitting position and you followed, embarrassed when a yawn unexpectedly pushed out of you. 

“I’m sorry.” You chuckled shyly. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay. You got up pretty early, yeah?” You nodded. “I figured. Let me just take your number and then I’ll get out of your hair. I can always come back tomorrow.”

She winked as she handed you the phone that wasn’t an exact copy of yours, and you made sure to include your address in the contact you created. When you handed it back, Natasha erased your name and replaced it with your newly given nickname.

She left your apartment after a much more innocent kiss at the door, immediately taking the alley back to your fire escape when she was sure there were no witnesses. A smile shaped her lips as she watched you stumble tiredly through your nightly routine, eventually collapsing on the bed and falling unconscious before you could pull the blanket over your exposed legs.

Once you were asleep for a few minutes, she popped the screen off and set it to the side as she raised the window and climbed in.

-

Tags: @littlegasps @imnotasuperhero @nat-km-mh @emilyprentisswife @cherrieloco @fayhar @muted-stoneheart @witchxaf @sakurat123 @bebe404 @its-a-long-way-to-ba-sing-se 

[fallinfl0wers]

May request prompt

"Even if we're far apart, I'll keep singing for you with all my love." Unbalance Shadow - ZOOL

For Haruka from i7 please?

7. “Even if we’re far apart, I’ll keep singing for you with all my love.” Unbalance Shadow - ZOOL from the lyric prompt list! thank you for your request!! i love haruka so so so much, he's my favorite character in i7! >< also! i'm trying a slightly new format that i'll be aplying to my future posts! i'll also start editing the old ones just beause,, yeah i think it looks cute. the colored letters aren't part of the format, but i felt like they fit here so lol on a slightly sadder note, the first draft of this got deleted on accident and i had been sulking about it for a while but lol here we are warnings: gn reader, light hurt/comfort, fluff, long-distance relationships, set sometime in the future of i7's story, though this is pretty much fluff without plot,,, word count: 1623 words

"Up next are Natsume-san and Isumi-san, three minutes!" the voice of a staff member makes him look up from the screen of his phone, where he had been aimlessly scrolling down on his SNS while the hairstylists did his hair.

"Yeah, understood." He answers, putting his phone down on the table as a makeup artist retouches his makeup.

The young idol then walked alongside his unitmate to enter the dark stage, adjusting his in-ear monitor as he sat down on the chair preppared for him beforehand, surrounded by the expectant, excited whispers of the audience who waved their lightsticks in support for their favorite idols. Scanning the audience with his eyes, he clutched his microphone.

The spotlights landed on the two idols as the music started to play and they could hear the cheering of their fans before they quieted down, in order to hear their singing.

"I wandered, lost in my loneliness like a desert without roads."

Haruka Isumi didn't need anyone at his side to be the best, everyone will just drop him the moment the next shiny, newest toy appears in front of them. At least, that's what his experience had taught him.

"There, a single, tiny flower became the melody of love."

Then everything happened. ZOOL happened. But more importantly, you happened.

He, who didn't care for almost anything anymore, became infatuated with you. He fell in love with you, who always looked at him and appreciated him, you, who always supported him and never laughed at him.

"My tears suddenly fell, shaking the green leaves."

You, who helped him through each and every one of his worst moments and were there to laugh with him during his best moments, you, who were both his best friend and his dear, dear lover.

"Wow, 'the weaker you become...'"

You, who always supported him on his dreams and were the first one to congratulate him on everything he achieved.

You, who he was now supporting as you walked to your own dreams.

You, who were walking towards your dreams, far, far away from him.

"(So, don't look back)."

"'...the kinder...'"

You, who he hoped woke up earlier than usual today just to see him singing live even if it was through a computer.

"(Sharing, big love)."

"'...you'll become.' Your gentle warmth taught me that."

You, who taught him everything he knew about romantic love, who showed him that there was more to people than hatred and betrayal. So warm and gentle, you always made him feel like he belonged somewhere.

But you're not next to him, not anymore. Not physically, at least.

But, that's alright. It hurts, it hurts so much and it makes him anxious constantly even if he'd never admit it out loud. But that's alright.

"Like the falling rain, we are not alone."

That's alright, even if it hurts and it brings scary, unwanted thoughts into his mind, it's alright. It's alright, because he knows you're doing what you love just like he is.

And it's alright, because he's not the weak, arrogant crybaby he was when you met. He's stronger now, he has grown up, he's mature. He can handle this. He can keep this going. He can support you without crying every night for your absence.

"Beneath this wide sky, even if you're on the other side of the world, I'm thinking--"

"--of you again today."

It's alright, because he knows you've grown up as well, he knows neither of you is a stupid, oh so stupid and inexperienced highschooler like when you first met. He knows, you both can be stronger than this distance.

"(Unbalance, Unbalance)."

"Look, the crescent moon is beautiful, isn't it?"

He knows this, and still...

He can't help but get worried, sometimes.

"(Unbalance, Unbalance)."

"I want to envelop everything..."

He can't help but worry that you'll get tired of this. Tired of him always being busy, of your schedules never matching, of how he still has to keep you as a secret to protect you from the tabloids and his crazed fans. Worry that you might find someone who has less trouble giving affection, someone who can love you better than him.

Though all his worries wash away, everytime you send him a picture of his newest merchandise that just arrived to your apartment and a cute stamp through RabbitChat at ungodly hours for him, followed by the usual voice note saying 'i love you'.

He knows you have your own fears about it all, as well. But he's told you, over and over again, without ever feeling annoyed, that he only has eyes for you, no matter how many pretty actresses and idols try to snatch him away, the only person he loves in that way is you and only you.

There has never been anyone else but you inside his heart.

You're the only one Haruka wants to spend his whole life with, the only one who can fully understand him and love him.

"...Just as the gentle wind loves the sea..."

And no matter how longer you may have to be apart, how many people you both will meet and how many worries there will be in between before you can next meet again, he wants to and will make sure to remind you daily that he loves you and will love you until he takes his last breath.

"Even if we're far apart, I'll keep singing for you with all my love."

He lifts his gaze to look at the camera with a content sparkle hidden in his eyes, once his next line comes around.

"I wish you--"

("I got a scholarship to finish my college studies overseas, Haruka!" You told him a couple years ago.)

"--happiness."

("I'll be here waiting for you to comeback when you're ready." He called your name that night at the airport, hugging you close before you took off.)

"This seed of happiness that I touched exists to protect the person I love."

("It must be hard for you, isn't it? You don't need to call me every day if you're too tired to do it. I can wait for as long as you need.")

"Our words dissolve in the twilight."

("Nonsense! I... am, tired, but! You must be tired too, right? Get some rest, I'll hang up if you promise you're going to rest too!")

"That seed of happiness that you touched reaches out to someone I don't know."

("I saw that selfie you posted with those two from ainana, I'm so happy to see you really have friends!" "Why did you even doubt that?!" "I worry about you, since I can't see you everyday and all that...")

"Because the circle of love that connects us lights up tomorrow."

("I miss you." "I know, I miss you too." "Let's try to meet during my summer break?" "I already told you, didn't I? I can wait for as long as you need, dummy.")

"Look, it has started to rain."

("Isn't it almost midnight there? Go to sleep." "But I wanna talk more with you..." "You're so hopeless... Go on, sleep, I'm not going anywhere until you sleep." "Hehehe, can I get a lullaby from you before I sleep?" "There's no helping it, right? You really get needy when it's late at night." "But you love anyway, so it works out...~")

"I want to envelop everything, Shadow."

("...Yeah, I love you.")

"Today's live was amazing, Haruka!" Your voice tells him through the phone while he layed down on his bed, late at night in his timezone. "Everyone was so cool, but you were the coolest! The whole time you were on screen I was all like 'Yes this is my boyfriend just look at him go he's so amazing!!!'"

He chuckled at your words, a loving gaze softening his gaze while he listened to your voice.

"I know, right? Praise me more, praise me more~ But only after you tell me, did you sleep early yesterday to wake up early today?"

"I totally did! I wouldn't miss one of your shows if I can help it!"

Though most of the times you couldn't.

He still felt his heartbeat race up at your support.

"You're so cute, did you know that?"

"Eh-? Why tell me that all of a sudden?!"

"Because..." He yawned. "I want to." You went silent for a second, before speaking again.

"You're tired, aren't you? You should go to sleep..."

"No... wanna talk to you more..."

He can already hear your tender smile just from your words alone.

"Go ahead, Haruka. You did well today, you deserve some rest."

"Do I get a lullaby from you to sleep?"

You chuckled.

"Yeah, of course. You are so needy when it's late at night..."

"Like you're one to talk."

"I know, I know."

He smiles, hearing you giggle through the phone.

"I wish I could hold you until you fell asleep right now... But since I can, you'll have to do with me singing my new favorite song for you~"

"'s okay, I like your voice. I'd listen to your voice the whole day if you wanted me to."

"Then... I'll start..." You cleared your throat, and he couldn't help but smile to himself again when he heard the lyrics of his duet song with Minami.

You're not a singer like he is, and you of course haven't trained your voice for as long as he has, he knows that and he still loves the sound of your singing voice.

He drifts off to sleep with your voice as his lullaby, and he knows you both hold true to the lyrics for as long as you need to.

"Even if we're far apart, I'll keep singing for you with all my love...~"

[dweetwise]

i’ve been kinda quiet while finishing a project over on ao3, but now i’m back with some riconti to share <3

ship: felix x ace (only implied; can be read as platonic if you wish!)

word count: 1640

Someone to Lean On

"—and I thought for sure she wouldn't pick me up! I ran straight into her after being unhooked, but she didn’t even hesitate calling my bluff. Well played, Spirit!"

Felix kept half-listening as Ace rambled on about their latest trial. They were walking back to the campfire together through the fog, having both been sacrificed by the ruthless katana-wielding killer.

It wasn't uncommon for Ace to wait around for him in the plane of nothingness if he didn't survive the trial. Felix had lost count of how many times he'd regained consciousness only to see the familiar, smiling figure calling over to him through the fog.

He wondered if Ace knew how much he appreciated the gesture. The gambler’s friendly banter was always a welcome distraction from the harrowing experience of having every fiber of his being torn to shreds and consequently be reassembled.

But this time was different. Felix could barely make out Ace's words, his own thoughts sounding deafening inside his head despite the silence of the fog. His body didn't feel like his own; it was like the Entity's claws were still twisting and turning around his insides. 

Felix’s feet dragged behind him and when they eventually came to a stop, Ace stopped right with him and patiently waited for their journey to continue. Only once Felix made no move to do so did the Argentine’s brilliant smile falter from uncertainty. 

"Felix?" Ace asked.

"I can't do it," Felix said.

According to people back at the campfire, it had been over a year since Felix was taken into this horrible realm. It felt even longer than that; with nothing in this world but means to make them suffer, Felix was starting to forget the things he used to enjoy.

"Sure you can, champ!" Ace grinned.

Felix knew Ace was trying to be encouraging. He knew he should go back to his play-act, should plaster on a fake smile and brush off his struggles as nothing more than a bad trial, like he’d done countless times before.

But he couldn’t.

"No," Felix said, a surprising determination in his voice. "You don't understand."

“What do you mean?” Ace asked.

Felix wasn’t sure how to describe it. The more he thought about this world and the absolute wrongness of it, the harder it was to pinpoint its exact cause.

He felt lightheaded and almost delirious. It was like he was in a dream; a terrible nightmare that he couldn't wake up from. Nothing in this place made sense, yet all this time he had accepted it as truth. What if it was all a figment of his imagination?

"Is any of this real?" Felix asked.

Ace’s smile made way for a confused frown, and his expression was the only thing in their surroundings that looked lifelike. The unnatural fog surrounding them felt neither damp nor cold, the unending darkness somehow allowed them to see perfectly, and even though there was nothing to guide them they still knew exactly which way to go.

Felix felt his breathing pick up as he only now seemed to realize the vast emptiness of nothing they were standing in. He’d been here countless times before but never fully aware of it, and his heart was racing as he frantically looked around, feeling the terror rising in his chest—

Until a warm hand was placed on his shoulder. 

"Hey, deep breaths," Ace said, turning Felix to face him.

The touch helped to ground him and the panic started to fade as Felix looked into familiar brown eyes. Ace felt real, but how could he be sure?

"It doesn't make any sense," Felix said. "The Entity doesn’t exist. It simply can’t."

Ace said nothing. Whether he was giving Felix space to speak or thought he’d finally lost his mind, Felix didn’t know.

"What if this is just a nightmare? What if I'm going crazy—having some sort of episode from work stress, and I'm really hospitalized in an institution?" Felix said, his frantic eyes finding Ace's. "What if I'm in a coma, or—or I died, and this is all my brain shutting down? What if this isn't real?"

Felix realized he was shaking. Ace looked at him silently; like he was pondering what to say. Felix didn’t think he’d ever seen him look so serious.

Abruptly, the embarrassment hit. Felix broke eye contact and stepped back. Even if he was losing it, he didn't need to drag Ace into this—

"So what?" Ace asked.

"What?"

"If you wake up in a hospital tomorrow and realize none of this was real, what does it matter?" Ace said. "It's not gonna change that this feels real."

Felix was silent, mulling over the words.

"I think that, sometimes, it's best to just take things at face value," Ace continued. "Fucked-up things like the Entity exist? Alright. One of them yoinked us into its world for fun? Sure. Whether we like it or not, right now we're stuck here—might as well try to make the most of it."

"Don't you want answers?" Felix asked.

"What I want is to get the hell out of here," Ace huffed dryly.

Felix couldn’t remember Ace ever talking about an escape before. The gambler had always seemed surprisingly well-adjusted to their predicament, but he should have known that even the most optimistic person would be eager for the chance to find a way out of this nightmare.

"But since that's not on the table, I'll take the next best thing of living to see another day," Ace said. "And if I wake up in a real bed tomorrow and it was all a dream? Even better."

"Have you never thought about it? That this could just be a product of your mind?" Felix asked.

"Briefly, yeah," Ace said. Then he smiled. "But then I remembered how shit my imagination is. No way I would've been able to come up with something like this."

Felix huffed out a dry chuckle despite the situation.

"But it's probably easier for me," Ace said. "I know you tend to overthink things. And with the kind of year you've had? I'm kinda surprised you've adjusted so well."

Felix hadn’t thought about it that way. After the numerous panic attacks and freezing from fear in his first trials, Felix never considered himself particularly well-adjusted to his new existence. He owed most of his meager success to the people around him, always there to lend a hand and pull Felix up when he wasn't strong enough to do it himself.

And most of the time, that person had been Ace.

"I had some help," Felix said, offering a hesitant smile.

"Ah, true—almost forgot about Élodie," Ace grinned. "Must be nice, having a friend like that in a place like this."

Felix didn't have the heart to correct the assumption. Having the familiar face of a childhood friend among their teammates had no doubt been beneficial for both Felix and Élodie while they learned to survive this new world.

But it wasn't Élodie who had been by Felix's side those first months. It wasn’t her encouraging words that got through to Felix when he felt paralyzed from inaction, or her who took the time to involve him in the group when Felix was too lost in his own head to participate.

"It really makes a world of difference, having a good friend," Felix said.

Ace kept looking at him, until his face spread into a bright smile at the realization.

"Well, in that case, can I offer you some friendly advice?" Ace asked.

"Of course," Felix agreed.

"Don't get too wrapped up in the 'how's and 'why's," Ace said. "It's just gonna consume you. And…"

Felix waited as Ace paused in an unusual gesture of uncertainty.

"I'd hate to lose you," Ace said.

He was still smiling pleasantly, but his eyes betrayed his real emotion; it was the first time Felix had seen genuine fear in Ace's eyes. And it wasn't from a brutal mori or the hopelessness that they might never escape.

It was from the possibility of losing Felix.

"Alright," Felix said. "I'll try."

"It's a start," Ace said, his demeanor back to the usual playfulness. "You ready to head back?"

Felix realized he felt much calmer now than only minutes prior. There was still an uneasiness in the back of his mind due to the unspeakable horrors that haunted them on a daily basis, but he felt grounded. This wasn't just about him; no matter whether it aligned with the objective truth, this was their reality.

"I think so, yes," Felix said.

"'Atta boy," Ace said. 

Ace's hand left his shoulder, and Felix immediately missed its warmth. The moment of camaraderie they had shared was exactly what he had needed. Even Ace seemed more at ease, his smile relaxed as he fell into step beside Felix.

"By the way," Ace said conversationally. "If this is all in your head, could I request you make it a little… I don't know, less guts and gore, more flowers and booze?"

Felix chuckled. "I can try."

"Oh, and while you're at it, can you give me one of those makeovers?" Ace said. "Make me like ten years younger? I think I’d look great in brown hair—ooh, and a six pack too!"

Felix listened to Ace ramble with a smile. It would never cease to amaze him how the seemingly lighthearted man could go from joking to serious and right back to silly banter in just a few short moments. Ace was like a bolt of lightning; chaotic in nature and gone in the blink of an eye, but always managing to calm the storm in Felix’s head.

"Ace?" Felix asked, interrupting Ace still talking about his hair.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," Felix said.

Ace’s smile flashed bright and warm in the darkness surrounding them.

"Anytime."

[troubatrain]

sober - m. barzal (pt. six)

a/n: so after the hell week we all survived in the good ol’ USA my brain finally decided to let me actually write. tbh i wrote this about four times before i forced myself to just finish it and stop tweaking it.

Five

Mat’s kitchen looked like a tornado had run through it. The usually pristine, absolutely untouched kitchen of the young bachelor was getting more use in the twenty minutes Mat had been awake than it ever had. Truthfully, Mat wasn’t a morning person. Mat slept like a rock, and he thought there was nothing besides the fear of his coach that could get him up earlier than noon, but he was wrong. You had him up before eight, hoping if he could beat you to waking up you wouldn’t have a chance to sneak out on him. He did, opening his eyes to catch you snoring softly beside him. He laid there for a moment, his eyes on you because he almost in disbelief you actually stayed. It was a moment of peace, the complete opposite of the mess you’d both gotten yourselves into. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t debating how he was going to get someone to leave, he was figuring out how he was going to get you to stay.

Mat was an absolute whore, and he didn’t care one bit. Why should he? He was young, he was at the top of his game, and his ego got a little bigger everyday. He was just as guilty as you were when it came to his lack of commitment. Mat had never been able to be a good boyfriend, no matter how hard he tried - so he just stopped trying. His schedule wasn’t made for dating, and he never wanted to put the work in. You were different. Something clicked in Mat when he realized how enraged his body felt hearing DeAngelo talk about you the way he did. He was going to let it go, and in hindsight maybe he should have, but he didn’t want to. That protective feeling took over his body because it was too strong for him to shove back down before it got out.

Mat would have told you he loved you after that game, because he does, but he knew he was playing a dangerous game. The reality of what would happen if this was real scared him, but not nearly as much as he knew it had to scare you. You had something to lose, a life that Mat just wouldn’t be apart of. Mat wasn’t in a position to ask you to give that up, especially for someone who you weren’t even dating. Mat knew if he moved too quickly you’d get spooked and run away without giving Mat a second thought. He’d disappear from your memory like everyone before him.

Mat’s thoughts were broken by the sound of your feet padding into his kitchen, your arms wrapping around his waist while you pressed a kiss to his back, “Hi pretty girl.”

This was uncharted territory, the morning after. You’d always been an expert, leaving yourself enough time to sneak out and leave before anyone would notice you were gone. That kept your heart safe, free from the feelings that were present in this very moment. You couldn’t have left last night, slipping out of Mat’s bed and into a cab in the middle of the night, but something stopped you, “Do you actually know what you’re doing?”

“I thought I’d try to make you breakfast,” Mat admits, a smile on his face while he turned off the stove, eggs forgotten to look at you, “I’ll get better at it, I promise, breakfast can be my thing.”

“Your thing?” You muse, letting Mat gently push you onto the island, standing between your legs.

“Yeah, when we fall in love or whatever, I’ll make breakfast,” Mat chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“You’ve lost your damn mind Barz,” You sigh, leaning your head on Mat’s shoulder while you savored the last few moments of peace you were feeling. You were going to have leave his place, off to a four game road trip where Mat was free to fuck whoever he wanted.

Mat’s finger was gently gliding over your face, “If I’m crazy it’s because you made me crazy.”

“You were insane before I met you,” You defend not daring to open your eyes and meet Mat’s gaze, “And now you’re just annoying.”

“I don’t remember being annoying when you were begging me to fuck you last night,” Mat counters back, hands moving to your bare thighs, the warmth from his hands was a stark contrast from the cool counter, “If I’m correct it sounded something like Mat please.”

“Don’t push your luck Mat,” You threaten, his impersonation of you from the night before stopping almost immediately.

“Would I push it if I asked you to stay until my flight later?” Mat asks, eyes full of hope while he tries to hang onto the moment just a little bit longer.

“If you never talk about it again,” You nod, deciding that the damage was already done. You were so far gone a few more hours couldn’t hurt you anymore.

“We can talk about how fucking good you look in orange and blue though,” Mat teases, a grin on his face. You furrow your eyebrows, looking down and realizing just what shirt he had given you the night before. A bright white number thirteen in the corner, with an Islanders logo present on the front.

“Mat if you don’t take this off of me right this second.”

“You never have to ask me twice to take off your shirt babe.”

***

You leaned your head against the window of the private jet that definitely cost more for one flight than your entire salary, taking a deep breath and a break from the laundry list of emails you were due to answer. You were flying to St. Louis for the All Star Game, your plans of a week long vacation somewhere warm with some of the team and their significant others thrown out the door the second Chris stepped in for Panarin last minute. Not even two minutes later, Charlotte strutted over to your desk to tell you that without a need for someone to translate for Artemi, you were the new kid and that meant you had to suffer through the weekend while everyone else took their vacations. 

“At least pretend to be excited,” Chris mutters next to you, taking a break from his own reading and elbowing you in the side.

“It’s hard to be excited when everyone’s on a beach and we’re flying to Missouri in January,” You snark back, pulling your glasses off your face and rubbing your eyes.

“You either need to start sleeping or stop hanging out with that secret boyfriend of yours,” Chris jokes, but it struck a nerve with you.

Mat wasn’t your boyfriend. Mat. Wasn’t. Your. Boyfriend. He didn’t get to have all of you, because he didn’t deserve it - no man does. Nothing about the very small amount of vulnerability that he got to see after that game meant anything. You left that morning and he went on a four game road trip and the world spun on. You could stop whenever you wanted to, move on with some other dumb boy who didn’t care more about you in clothes than without. But did you want to? That was a debate you’d been having with yourself for days.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” You grumble, gritting through your teeth. Technically, it wasn’t a total lie.

“So you are seeing someone!” Chris points out, as if your deliberate words were going to make it past him. Chris held most of the intelligence on the entire Rangers roster, and there was nothing that he didn’t pick up, “So, What's the deal? He doesn’t want anyone to know about you or you don’t want anyone to know about him.”

“It’s mutual,” You hum, sipping the coffee that had gone cold.

“Are you a sugar baby?” Chris questions, a cautious tone to his voice, “Not that I think there’s anything wrong with it or anything-”

“No I haven’t found a sugar daddy,” You roll your eyes, waiving Chris and sparing him the lecture that there’s nothing wrong with the idea at all, “We’re just in a limbo.”

“For what it’s worth,” Chris says, taking a deep breath before he finished his thought, “You seem happy, you haven’t snapped on Tony in almost a week.”

“Thanks Chris,” You laugh softly, popping a headphone back into your ear so you could finish up some work.

***

Mat was in absolute disbelief the moment he saw you step into the hotel lobby. You weren’t supposed to be in St. Louis, you were supposed to be on some island in a bikini making him wish he wasn’t good enough to be selected for the All Star game at all. Mat scratched his head for an answer as to why you didn’t mention the change of plans, but then the thing that he spent his entire roadie before he left for St. Louis entered his brain at full speed.

You’re not her boyfriend.

Mat owed you nothing, and you didn’t have to tell him anything you didn’t want to. Mat honestly knew about four things about you and all of them related to your job. He was dying to know everything, even the stuff that didn’t matter that much. Hell, Mat would’ve killed to see the inside of your apartment at this point. He just needed one thing, one thing that he could hold onto that you showed him that no one else got to see. He was sure he’d find it, especially after he finally got you to stay at his place, but now he was starting to think maybe he’d never crack you.

You were going to just avoid Mat like the plague. The hotel was swamped with players, their families, and any staff that had tagged along for the weekend. The city was still buzzing from last season’s Stanley Cup win and there was not a chance Mat wasn’t going to be busy all weekend, because Mat Barzal was an amazing hockey player. You hated to be reminded of it, because if you could have Mat feed you stupid compliments and never remind you of his job you’d be happy forever.

hotel sex is on the table

and you look fucking hot today

You roll your eyes, checking your phone while you were standing in line to check in. You look around the room, trying not to draw any attention to Mat who was giving you a shit eating grin from across the lobby. He looked good, a white button up tucked into suit pants that were doing his ass justice. You look at Chris, who was too engrossed in his own phone to even look back at you.

pretend like i don’t exist right now and we’ll talk

wanna play a game?

that didn’t go well for you last time Barzy

if i beat your buddy kreids tomorrow night you give me one night

you won’t

is that a yes?

fine

You turn around, giving Mat one last death stare to remind him you weren’t kidding on your plea to pretend you didn’t exist. Your job was important to you because you weren’t Mat. You weren’t going to get paid millions of dollars to play and then retire with a pretty penny in your pocket. You worked, and the stress of losing your job would definitely break you. Charlotte instilled fear in you like no other boss you ever had could, and if you got caught messing around with someone who played for another team while you were working she’d probably just fire you on the spot. Not to mention the heartbroken faces of your chosen family. Mat somehow existed in both a different and the same world as you. He understood your work life because it was so close to his, but he had his own work family and you had yours. No matter what, there would always be some sort of weird divide caused by that stupid rivalry. For now, it was just going to have to be something you’d worry about later.

***

You turned in the mirror of your hotel room, the lacy black lingerie set fit your body like a glove, and you were impressed with Mat’s taste given all he ever wore was sweatpants. You look in the corner of the room, the last piece of his little gift sitting in the box. Mat dropped it off earlier, a note on top telling you that when he inevitably smokes Chris in the faster skater competition he had something in mind. You weren’t surprised by his confidence, but you were surprised by the gift itself. Folded neatly in the box wasn’t just the lingerie, a bright blue and orange jersey was right underneath it, a shiny white number thirteen stitched into the back. You knew you didn’t have to wear it, because Mat wasn’t going to force you to do anything, but you were wet at just the thought of how animalistic Mat would probably get. You tossed on the jersey, throwing an even bigger sweatshirt and sweats over it before you snuck up to Mat’s floor- hoping Chris wouldn’t catch you leaving from the room across the hall.

You pull out the room key Mat gave you, sneaking into the door and locking it shut behind you. You slipped off your sweats, leaving you in nothing but the jersey and your panties.

“Fuck,” Mat dropped his phone from his hand the second you came into his view, “I didn’t think you’d wear it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” You muse, your confidence boosting while you strutted over to Mat. He had that effect on you, the ability to always make you feel like the sexiest woman in the world - even if you didn’t feel like were, “But then you beat McDavid.”

Mat pulled you between his legs while he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands toying with the jersey while he let the fabric slip through his fingers, “You look so fucking good in my jersey baby.”

“I’m proud of you Mat,” You purr into his ear, playing into Mat’s ego just a little bit. You were proud of him, and for the first time you wanted him to know. You pressed a kiss against his jaw, feeling his own breath hitch in his throat, “Can I show you?”

“Keep that jersey on and you can do whatever you want to me,” Mat admits, slipping his hand under the jersey and tapping your ass lightly.

“I’ll keep it on,” You giggle, pushing Mat on his back and getting to work. Your lips kissed down his chest with every button of his dress shirt you got undone, tossing it in the corner to be forgotten about until later. You unhooked his belt, leaving open mouth kisses just above his pants. You slid off his dress pants slowly, taking his boxers with them to let his cock spring free. Mat groaned at the sight, gathering your hair to pull it back for you.

“Wait,” Mat stops you, holding your hair back to stop you from putting your mouth on him. His finger traced your cheek, a look on his face you couldn’t quite read, “I just want to remember this, you look so beautiful right now.”

You could feel the heat rush your cheeks, Mat had called you to dozens of things but never once did the word beautiful ever slip through his lips, “You’re just saying that because I’m about to blow you.”

“No, baby, I mean it- fuck,” Mat groans, this thoughts halted by your mouth on his cock. His hips snapped up, hitting the back of your throat, “You’re so fucking good princess.”

You moan, hollowing your cheeks and gripping Mat’s thighs a little tighter, giving him the show you so desperately wanted. You head bobbed in a perfect rhythm, taking as much of Mat as your body could handle. Mat pushes your head back, taking a look at the line of spit that was still connected to his dick, your eyes were glassy and your throat was sore but Mat would keep you like that forever if he could, “Let me finish.”

“I’m in charge tonight,” Mat reminds you, the tone in his voice sent a chill up your spine. You knew Mat was rough, and a little demanding but he never crossed that line with you, “On your knees.”

“Like this?” You tease, sitting up on your knees to rile him up just a little bit more.

“More like this princess,” Mat stands behind you, gently pushing you down so your ass was in the air. He was quiet, bunching up his jersey so he could get a full view of the lingerie he went out and bought just for you, “Be good or I won’t let you cum pretty girl.”

Mat’s threat with a light smack to your ass, a moan escaping your lips. He slipped the black lace panties to the side, gliding one of his fingers against your folds while he pressed a kiss to your skin, “So wet for me already.”

“Only for you Mat,” The words tumbled out of your mouth, your eyes widening at your own confession.

Mat was thankful he was behind you, because if you saw the way his gaze changed from your words he’d never live it down. You looked so perfect, spread just for him. His jersey. His number. And in his own fantasy: his girl. He snapped himself back into reality, sliding into your pussy that was practically dripping in anticipation.

“Faster, fuck Mat please,” You whimpered out, trying to move yourself to get Mat to pick up the pace. He chuckled darkly, hips snapping back and forth until the only sound in the room was the string of curses leaving your mouth, “I’m close-”

Mat flipped you over before you could finish, his hand grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him, “Tell me this pussy is mine.”

“Fuck I’m yours Mat,” You breath out, locking your eyes with his while it felt like time froze around you, “I’m yours.”

“Look at me when you cum baby,” Mat urges, his hand still gripping your chin. He picked up his place, making use of his other hand around your clit, “C’mon princess just for me.”

Your pussy fluttered around him, Mat letting out a groan while he tried to hold onto this moment for just a bit longer. He looked down at you, catching your breath from your own high. You hand snuck down to his cock, pumping it slowly, “Cum on me.”

Mat nods, letting you work on his dick with your hands while he nibbled at your neck. He was going to mark you up, make you remember who you belonged to because he so desperately wanted it to be him. He spilled onto your pussy, head pressed into your neck while he came down from his own high. You both laid there for a moment, your hand gently stroking Mat’s back while you both took a moment to think about what just happened. Mat was possessive in a way he’d never been before, and you ate it up without a second thought - that had to mean something right?

“I need to get back to my room,” you whisper, afraid to break the comfortable silence.

“I know,” Mat nods, finally picking his head up, “Keep the jersey, you might need it one day.”

“Your stupidity is honestly astounding,” You joke, brushing his hair out of his face while Mat’s face turned into a pout.

“Can I take you on a date?” Mat breathes out, hoping he wasn’t reading this the wrong way, “No games, no funny business, let me take you out.”

Say no. Say no and never call him again.

“One date,” You agree against your better judgement, pushing Mat away and looking around the room to find your sweats that you snuck into his room in, “Better make it a good one.”

Mat smiles, teeth on full display while he watched you slide your pants back on, “I’m the best at everything Y/N don’t forget that.”

“Goodnight Barz,” You tease, giving him one more look before you left his room.

The elevator ride down was quiet, most of the hotel’s occupants already asleep or still out partying the weekend away. For your sake, you hoped Chris would be fast asleep like the grandpa he was. You rushed down the hallway, Mat’s jersey still hanging loosely off your frame while you looked in your hand for your room key. Your search was stopped by a throat clearing behind you. You jump, turning around to see Chris’s eyes boring into you.

“You’ve got some explaining to do.”

[fascination-street-writing]

For Make Believe and Not So | Part II of II | La Squadra x Reader

To wake up to the sight of your messy hair and eyes softened by sleep is a lovely pleasure in life, but one not granted to him nearly enough. Tonight, however, you will stay and dream of an impossible future together. Tonight, you will save the heartbreak for your better selves.

Link to Part I

Content Warnings: N-SFW Sexual Content

The faux leather of the booth seating creaks with each jostle of laughter and lunge across the table for another shot of liquor. You suppose – after weighing the throbbing of your knees to the disoriented thrum of your head – that you have drank far too much. But you do not care, for you know that you are indeed with good company. Never mind that you had agreed to work opening shift tomorrow, because that is not your trouble now.

Though the music from the speakers blares through the tight space of the bar and patrons shout in jovial cheer to one another, you could not be bothered by the distractions. After all, the game of briscola before you is far more enticing – that, and your team is winning.

Formaggio nudges you in the ribs and discretely flashes you his cards before playing his turn for the both of you. Melone throws his cards down with a groan, withdrawing from the game. If not for Formaggio, you might have done the same; you are lost – utterly and completely lost. Perhaps you would have done better for yourself if you were not currently so intoxicated.

You reach for your ears to twirl your earrings out of habit, only to be met with air. Your silver earrings sit discarded on the table. You remember now; something about Illuso using the reflection to cheat, and Formaggio begging you to take them out. You did so with a shrug, though not entirely certain that your partner’s whim was so embedded in truth. Your earrings were not that shiny.

In the end, the two of you finish the game victorious. The waiter sets down a tray full of cinnamon whiskey shots. A cloud of cigarette smoke engulfs the table as Prosciutto takes a drag and sighs, accepting his defeat. Seated beside him, a look of mortification sweeps across Pesci’s face. “Do I have to?” he asks, eyeing the amber-colored liquid with hesitation.

“You lost, ragazzo,” Formaggio sneers with a smirk. He slides the tray towards the younger man.

“Mhm, losers have to drink up,” you say with a giggle. “You knew the rules.”

Pesci bites his lip. “It’s just – Well I . . . Uh . . .”

Prosciutto rolls his eyes. “Gesù Cristo, Pesci,” he mutters. “If you want to salvage your dignity, then drink.”

The green-haired man turns red in the face. “It isn’t bad, Pesci,” you insist, reaching across the table to tap his knuckles in an attempt of reassurance. “I promise.”

It is enough to goad him, but begrudgingly so. Liquor held at eye level, he swallows his spit before downing it in two – no, three – sips. He sputters and coughs as the whiskey burns his throat. The others laugh, yet he feels as if he has conquered the world, though only for a moment. The way you praise him, like hailing some accolade of his, makes him want to try again. Just to hear you speak so fondly of him.

Alas, the night drones on. Formaggio leaves the booth to chat up the bartender, and Melone wastes no time in claiming the newly vacated space beside you. You do not mind the change in scenery and the way he practically dangles off you, or the comments he throws your way regarding just how much he admires the style of your hair tonight – or, about the way your outfit perfectly accentuates your birthing hips (“That dress was made for you, bella-bella”). It is not until he asks about your blood type that Risotto promptly hoists you from your seat and ushers you to sit betwixt he and Prosciutto. You never had the chance to protest.

“What’s this?” Formaggio asks when he returns with two drinks clutched in his hands – one for you, no doubt. “How the hell are the rest of us supposed to shoot our shot with [Y/N] when she’s sitting between you two?”

His words fly over your head. Your attention is instead trained on the purple concoction he holds. “Speak for yourselves,” Ghiaccio scoffs. “You should have better things to worry about than getting your dick wet.”

“Hey, hey – I never said I didn’t have important things on my mind, but she’s one of them!”

“Wait, what?” you suddenly ask, your interest piqued after receiving your drink.

“Formaggio’s trying to fuck you,” Ghiaccio says with disinterest.

You shake your head and chuckle, chewing on your straw. “Of all the people at this table – no, in this bar – you’re the last person I’d sleep with, Maggi.”

Those cat-like eyes glisten and his jaw drops. The others erupt, and you can only hope that you have not wounded his pride too much. It is all just fun and games, after all. Formaggio points an accusatory finger towards Pesci. “You’d even pick testa di ananas here over me?”

“I said what I said.”

“Mio dio!”

At the end of the night, it is Ghiaccio who agrees to drive you back to your apartment – and reluctantly so. You stumble out to his maroon Alpina with little help from him. You think that he must like watching you trip over the bits of loose cobblestone masonry that line the pathway to the parking lot; even more, you suspect that he does not care for you very much. Or at least, not nearly to the same extent that the others do. It is no matter, for you have learned that you cannot win the favor of everyone. It is one of life’s many daunting natures.

The soft lights of Napoli flash by in a whirl as the car speeds down the road. Admittedly, he drives a bit too fast for comfort – or perhaps it is his attempt at furthering the wedge between you two. When he nearly swerves into oncoming traffic, undoubtedly distracted by something, you wonder if it is his vendetta to get you killed tonight. You suppose he would not risk the insurance claim on his car, however. The thought quells you. But it does not change the matter of your non-existent comradery to the man driving.

He is intelligent – one of most intelligent people whom you have ever met. Yet, his fixating rampages over the most miniscule of things is startling. Frightening, even. More often than not, however, it is he who is the subject of his own rage.

“Ghiaccio, can I tell you something?” you ask, though you know he will tell you to be quiet. You do not give him the chance to say so. “I think that deep down, you’re a nice guy. You just don’t want the others to see it, for whatever reason.”

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

“I had a good time tonight, and I hope you did too. It was nice seeing you let loose a bit.”

To say that he ‘let loose’ is a gross understatement. He refused to join the game of briscola, insisting that it would not be a fair match, and that the lights were too dim to even see the cards properly. He had refused every beverage offered to him – even water. Ghiaccio merely sulked the entire night, making it clear enough that he would rather have been elsewhere.

“It would be nice to do it again, and I –“

“Just, stop,” he hisses, throwing out his fingers in frustration, without releasing the wheel. “Stop talking.”

You huff and look away. The air within the car turns cold. It makes you shiver. “I know you’re just trying to get me to take back what I said, but I won’t. Why can’t you just let me say something nice to you? Why can’t you let me try to be cordial? I’m not asking you to like me or anything. You don’t have to be so hostile, especially when I’ve done nothing wrong to you.”

The car rolls to a halt in front of the townhouse that you share with several other university schoolmates. You expected an attempt at some semblance of an apology, but you were simply hoping for too much from the man beside you. Grabbing your purse, you wrench the door open, failing to notice the ice chips that have formed around the seal. They crackle and shatter on the pavement.

“I’m sorry.”

You thought too soon, it seems. He does not look at you – in fact, he refuses to tear his gaze from the road ahead of him. Stiffly, his jaw juts out in vexation, and you can practically see the gears churning in his mind. He does not know what to say next, yet you have heard all you need.

With a glimmer of a smile, you bid him adieu: “Goodnight, Ghiaccio. Thank you for the ride.”

He watches you hobble up the steps, supposing that he ought to have at least offered to help you inside. But why should he force himself into your servitude when you were the one who chose to drink tonight? Shaking his head, he at least waits until you vanish behind the front door – though not because he wishes you well.  

Certainly not.

Behind closed doors, you have taken a lover. You do not dwell in childish games with one another. In front of the others, you spare the fleeting looks of longing – of insatiable adoration to the man who succeeded in swaying your affection in his favor, and he to yours. You suspect that they must know of the affair, but he insists that your secret has been kept. It is better this way, for all parties involved. Better than souring hearts or making enemies of those who have become your closest of friends.

You suppose that you might feel remorse with each passing of his fingers over the supple perks of your breasts – but guilt does not make your belly swell with anticipation. With a content sigh and a lopsided smile, laced with ardor, he leans over your sprawled form and brushes his lips to yours. He thinks you look like a goddess, naked and tangled in the mess of bedsheets; and perhaps you are, for he has never met a woman as beautiful as you. He pulls away, only to kiss you again, as if to prove to himself that you are real. Goddess or not, you are corporeal.

Do not ask him to say that he loves you, because he will not admit it. And yet, under his gaze, you swear that you have become a daisy flower, potted on a windowsill, and he the preening blue jay, just beyond the reach of the glass. You wish to feel this way forever.

“Do that again,” you command, a nymph-like grin on your face. You reach out a hand to cup his cheek and sweep your thumb over the moon of his cheek.

Illuminated by high-spirits and spent desire, he cocks an eyebrow. “Do what, cara?”

“Kiss me.”

Who is he to deny you? At the peak of your own satisfaction, his lips move to your neck, savoring the warmth of fresh love-bites. You turn your head to give him ample space. You will surely parish in the heat tomorrow, in what will be your decision to wear a turtleneck to cover the blemishes, but that is a problem for your future self. The gentle rumble of a stifled chuckle sends a vibration through you. You bury your fingers in his hair, holding him close – as if he might slip away if only you let go.

“You look pretty like this,” he says without pulling away. You quiver as wetness pools between your thighs. “Sei così bella.”

“And only for you,” you tell him.

He shifts until his trail of kisses have led him to your glistening folds. “Only for me.”

You wait in your own delirium for his mouth to work you open. And he does, until he has had his fill of your balm and saccharine sweetness. You writhe and buckle into his lips. Just before you reach your limit, he stops and beckons you to stand. You do so on shaking legs. He settles against the headboard and you follow suit, straddling his hips and sinking yourself down on his stiffened member. Arms coiled around his neck, you stretch around his shaft and sigh in delight as you contort to his hardness, as if already molded into memory. His hands clasp your hips, urging you along with each jostle of your body.

It is euphoric. Even when you throw your head back in ecstasy and cry out his name, reaching your fill and gifting to him your release, his eyes never leave your face. To wake up to the sight of your messy hair and eyes softened by sleep is a lovely pleasure in life, but one not granted to him nearly enough. Tonight, however, you will stay and dream of an impossible future together.

Tonight, you will save the heartbreak for your better selves.

When a neatly packaged box addressed to the men of La Squadra di Esecuzione arrives on the front doorstep of their hideout – via express mail, no less – Risotto is the one to bring it into the living room, though not because he wants to. He recognizes the penmanship of the scrawled address. He has seen it on dossiers, files, letters of grievances and recommendations, and of course, thirty-six wrapped formalin frames. As always, there is never a return address. But he knows who it is from, even before Formaggio slices through the tape that welds the box shut.

Photographs spill onto the coffee table. Far too many to count, admittedly. And all of them, pictures of you. The first that Melone pulls from the pile is one of you caught in motion, a textbook clutched in your arm and your cellphone held up to your ear – heading to a class amidst the bustle of your university campus, no doubt. A look of exasperation sweeps your face, frozen in an eye roll and a scoff. The next is a photograph of you at work, in mid-conversation with Formaggio, who leans over the front counter. Your hand hovers over the cash register, ready to punch in the total for his order. What the camera did not capture was the smile upon his face as he beamed up at you. He takes the picture from Illuso’s grasp.

The analog lettering in the corner is dated to the very same day that the green-eyed man first visited you at the pizza shop. “Unbelievable,” he hisses. “Unbe-fucking-lievable!”

There is a photograph of you sharing a cigarette with Risotto in a park near your apartment – something that has become an unspoken pastime between you two. There is a photograph of you sitting in Ghiaccio’s car the night of the bar trip; his scowl has been immortalized for the others to see, and for a moment, a twinge of regret eggs him. Another of you in the bar with everyone else, taken through the cloudy glass of the front window, earlier that same night. When the photograph of you and your lover is turned over, all eyes fall to the man – accusatory gazes laden with what might perhaps be anger. But it is not the time to dwell in jealousy and betrayal, because he will lose you soon enough.

“He’s been watching us, all this time.”

Melone begins to flip the photographs over. Despite the tension of the room, something has caught his attention. “Some of these have letters on the back,” he says as he shows the evidence to his squadmates. “This one’s an L. Here’s a P. And an A.”

It is Illuso who understands the intention, though only after finding an E and an I. Lei – she, in reference of course to you. “It’s a message,” he insists.

No one argues. Not even Ghiaccio makes the effort to refute the permissibility of Illuso’s discovery. By the time the code is finally pieced together, the room has grown heavy and odorous of cigarette smoke. Two spent packs litter the floor, but Prosciutto will worry about sweeping the ashes later. He can bear the mess a bit longer, for there is another – far more pressing – that needs tended to. In that tantalizing cursive, the ever-elusive Don of Passione speaks: “Lei è la prossima.”            

She’s next.

No one speaks. How could you, their fondest friend – a woman who delivers pizza to fund her way through her studies – have fallen into Passione’s snare? “It wasn’t enough that he killed Sorbet and Gelato,” Illuso sneers. “Now this? Now her?”

Risotto is quick to shut him down. “I told you to forget about them,” he reminds the men. “I told you to – ”

“How are we supposed to do that when this shows up at our doorstep?” It is Melone who interrupts. Risotto stiffens. “How are any of us supposed to forget about Sorbet and Gelato when the situation is about to repeat itself? We can’t, and you can’t expect us to.”

“I can, and I will. And I expect the same to be done of her.” The man with black sclerae cannot even utter your name. Even the thought of it makes his chest tighten. “From this point on, I am prohibiting all of you from seeing her. If not for your sakes, then hers.”

Truly, each man in the room already knew the daunting solution – they simply did not wish to hear it uttered aloud. Your safety and well-being are important to them; it just so happened that the bond you share has put your life in jeopardy. They will not be the reason for your death. “So, who’s going to tell her?” Pesci asks.

“Why bother?” Ghiaccio huffs. “What part of ‘forget about her’ don’t you understand, mammoni?”

Pesci casts his gaze downward to avert the glare of the hot-tempered man. No man in the room volunteers. Their leader supposes that it ought to be his duty – to assume the responsibility, considering that it was his insistence. But, despite the stoicism, he never has been good at saying farewell.

“I’ll do it.”

Prosciutto steps forward, and the others are grateful for it. “It seems that, in the Don’s attempt to herd us like sheep – to weaken us into subordination – he’s instead succeeded in creating enemies for himself.”

He releases a puff of cigarette smoke. Perhaps he should have held it in for a bit longer, until his lungs swelled, and his head grew dizzy – because in the end, he feels nothing.

Aprile in Napoli is, you think, the loveliest time of the year. The pavement is slick with afternoon rain, but it does not trouble you in the slightest. In truth, you enjoy the smell of rain – it is purity and earth, and a fresh start. You peddle to a stop just before the row of graffitied townhouses at Vivo Pallonetto Santa Chiara. This time, there is no dog to gawk at you through a window. No child in rags to run past you with a stolen purse. No pizzas with sausage, eggplant, or porcini mushrooms, either.

Only you and your shattered heart.

You do not bother to tether your bike in place, because you will not stay long. With each step on the cracked concrete stairwell, it becomes harder to breathe, and you imagine that you are traversing your own ascension. Only, there is no heaven at the top – unless heaven is a locked door. In that case, you want little to do with her. You find the key buried within your purse, amongst gum wrappers, a bottle of vitamins, and receipts that ought to have been thrown out long ago.

You had not known what to say to the young man – no, the boy – with golden hair and turquoise eyes who met you in a black Maserati with tinted windows. You had not known what to say when he handed you an envelope with money and the key. Something of compensation for their family, he had said, to get along after their deaths. Had they even had family outside their tightly woven niche? You never knew. Your tongue grew heavy like lead: you did not thank the boy, but he did not expect you to. Instead, you sat in the backseat of his car and wept, moistening the expensive upholstery with tears.

There were no funerals. No memorial services. No solidary condolences. Only money to finish your studies, loneliness, and a key.

You begged the chauffer to pull over. You exited the car without so much as a contemplation of gratitude. There you stood, in some distant courtyard of a café, where you had met Prosciutto one last time just months ago. Or maybe it has been years. Grief has a way of making time pass slower. Perhaps you are already an old lady – or perhaps, only twenty and some more.

He greeted you with a cigarette dangling from his lips and a peculiar tiredness to his eyes. You moved to take a seat, but he held out his hand to stop you. You understood what he wanted – he wanted you to walk with him until you reached the park where too many times before you sojourned with Risotto. Only then, with Prosciutto instead, the sight of the neatly cropped grass made your stomach curl.

“Don’t make this difficult for me,” the blonde man said, all the while avoiding your furrowed brow and gaping mouth. “But you need to stop coming around. It’s better this way, for all of us and yourself.”

Do not be difficult – and so, you do not beg or cry, nor do you ask questions. You had always known that dangerous men did not make safe company. You knew, forever in your soul, that Eden did not last forever; and one day, you would have to leave. Prosciutto stubbed his spent cigarette on the heel of his shoe. You thought he meant to reach for a new one, but you did not give him the opportunity to.

He never said you could not hug him. And so, you did. Face buried in the lapel of his suit jacket, you spoke: “I know it’s not any of my business why, so I won’t ask,” you told him. His breath hitched. “It’s not my place to pry. Oh, I’ll miss you all so terribly, but, in the end, I wish you the best.”

His arms encircled your back, hesitant to return the gesture of your affection. At first, he merely hovered; yet, when you moved to pull away, he held you, tight. “I told you not to make this hard,” he mumbled into your hair. Vanilla – your hair smelled like vanilla. “Be good, bella ragazza. Stay safe for us, huh?”

“You too, Prosciutto.”

You insert the key into the lock. A part of you wishes it will not fit – that you can turn around and leave this wretched place that you love so dearly; why bother with something that will only make you wish you had not done it? Alas, the knob clicks. It is closure you seek, and you open the door. You could have prayed for a nasty little prank. That, sitting on the couch, Formaggio would be waiting for you, with a lopsided grin on his face, asking what took you so long?

Prosciutto might be cooking pasta and puttanesca in the kitchen, simply because he knows it is your favorite. Pesci might be watching a game of soccer on the television, glad for a new spectator to endorse his commentary. Illuso might be standing there, offering you a glass of wine to share with his own – a toast to the end of an arduous week, or just because he feels like it. Melone might beckon you to sit on the floor so that he can give you a back massage after your long night of running around Napoli. Risotto might be brooding in silence, though his demeaner brightens whenever you enter the room; and already, his fingers will begin to itch at the anticipation of slipping away for a cigarette with you. And Ghiaccio . . . Well, maybe Ghiaccio might scoff at your intrusion, but you would welcome it all the same.

But it is only you and your thoughts. With a shudder and a sigh, you sit down on the couch. The springs contort beneath your weight. Cobwebs adorn the walls like autumn decorations. Dust collects on the furniture. Everything has been left out as if they all might walk through the door at any moment and resume their allotted daily leisure.  A tear trickles down your cheek. You wipe it away and hold your breath until your eyes dry and you cannot cry. They would not want to see you like this, and you know that it is best to just move on with your life. To reach for the opportunities that were never permitted to them.

Your cellphone vibrates – a phone call from a schoolmate. Against your better judgement, you flip the screen open and accept. “Hey, [Y/N]!” she says to you. “We’re still meeting up to study tonight, right?”

You look to your watch. You were supposed to be at the library twenty minutes ago – this little detour of yours has not come without consequences. “Um, yeah,” you tell her. Your voice echoes in the dark space of the room. It makes you wince. “Sorry, I just lost track of the time. I’ll be there in a bit.”

“Well, if you’re going to keep me waiting, I’ll get us some coffees. Addio!”

You toss the key on the coffee table, atop a stack of over-turned photographs that you cannot be bothered to look at. It is none of your business, anyways. Or at least, that is what you told Prosciutto. At the door, you turn the lock, prepared to seal it all away. In the hue of the setting sun, you cast one final longing gaze into the living room. With the shaking of your head, you shut the door behind you and take your first step forward, though not before uttering to vacancy of that which was once irrefutable happiness.  

“Arrivederci, amici miei.”

| 4364 Words | Epilogue |

[trikruismybitch]

@trikruismybitch

Dialgue Prompt List

“Oh this is nothing”

“I’ve had worse”

“Have you ever loved someone that didn’t love you back?”

“I wish I knew how to quit you.”

“I’m also just a girl standing in-front of you, asking you to love her.”

“And the last thing you will ever see will be me because I love you.”

“Because that’s what you are, that’s what you’ll always be.”

“You have to let me go. You have to let me, let you go. I need you to do that for me.”

“There��s all of this pressure to be all of these things to be fucking perfect but I’m not. I’m not fucking perfect.”

“I’ll always love you cus’ we grew up together and you helped make me who I am. I just wanted you to know there will be a piece of you in me always and I’m grateful for that.”

“I will not be the person you settle for just because you can’t have her.”

“I used to think you were the best thing that happened, but now I think you might maybe be the worst thing.”

“I told you my story and you judged me?”

“Most of the time, most days I feel nothing. I don’t feel anything. It is so boring, I wake up and I think, again? Really? I have to do this again?”

“I don’t know that I find myself anywhere.”

“You can rest now.”

“You have your mothers eyes.”

“Well I am fine, I will be fine, really.”

“(Name)? (Name) come on, you got to get up.”

“All I’ve ever wanted to be is loved.”

“Take her to the moon for me.”

“I would rather die tomorrow, then live a hundred years without you.”

“I don’t want to survive. I want to live.”

“I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way.”

“I love her. She breaks my heart again and again, but I love her.”

“I love every broken bone in your body.”

“I miss you. I miss not touching each other. Not seeing each other, not breathing in each other. I want you all the time—no one else.”

“You never loved me. You just loved how much I loved you.”

“You don't have any idea what I have or haven't done to get to where I am.”

“I keep thinking about all the things I never said because I was so sure, there would be other days to say them.”

“What happened to us?”

“You abandoned me”

“I needed you”

“So that’s it then? Your writing me off?”

“I can’t wait around every time to pick up the pieces, every time you freak out!”

“Don’t this, ok? Don’t leave me again.”

“We are done, ok? No more surprises. No more excuses. No more chances, we’re done.”

“I think you should go. You see I love you so much I just want you to be happy, even if that happiness no longer includes me.”

“One day you’re going to have to stop pretending everything’s okay.”

“I don’t want to face my future without you.”

“All I needed was for you to tell me you felt something…and you didn’t.”

“You don’t know what I look like, when I’m not in love with you.”

“Truth is I’ve tried to stop thinking about you. But I can’t.”

“If you lay even a finger on her I swear I will make you suffer in ways even your evil mind can't imagine.”

“Deal with your jealousy. Deal with your shortcomings. Don’t put your crap on me.”

“I want so much for you. For both of us. So much more than this. More then being stuck with someone who feels stuck. I want you to feel free.”

“Don’t look at me like that. Like I’m damaged goods. I’m still me. I’m still here.”

“Tell me it isn’t true. Please. Tell me I heard wrong.”

“Please tell me your joking.”

“If you push me away I promise you, you won’t find me where you left me. My hearts big but not big enough to deal with people, who only decide to love me when it’s convenient.”

“My heart shattered in pieces when I see the way you look at them-the way you used to look at me.”

“Kiss me. Kiss me as if it were the last time.”

“My dream? My dream wouldn’t be complete without you in it.”

“Because I want you! All of you. forever.”

“I’ve realized that I don’t care if (name) is the most perfect (gender) in the world. Their not you.”

“Please don’t give up on me. Promise. Promise me you won’t.”

“When I had no one else you accepted me....and you showed me what it was like to be loved.”

“You’re my person”

“I didn’t fall in love with you because I was lost and lonely. I fell in love with you because when I bonded with you, I had finally found my home where I felt safe.”

“I love everything about you. Even the things I don’t like, I love. And I want you with me. I love you and I think you love me too. Do you?”

“You came back” “I always come back”

“If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you’re scared that it’s not the right thing. Even if you’re scared that’ll cause problems. Even if you’re scared that it will burn your life to the ground, you say it, and you say it out loud and you go from there.”

“You know I fell in love with you the first time I saw you. You’re just the most amazing beautiful girl I ever met, and I don’t know, somehow you chose me....but how I loved you then, it’s nothing compared to how I love you now. I love you with everything inside of me.”

“I don’t care where we are. I just care that we’re together, you’re my home.”

*“And honestly when I’m with her, I completely forget what I’ve done.”

“If you walk away, it’s for you because I know what I want. I want you (name), I love you.”

“I’m still mad at you because being around you drives me nuts and not being around you drives me nuts.”

“I believe that when you love someone and that person loves you in return, you’re uniquely vulnerable. They have a power to hurt you like nothing else.”

“Anybody capable of love is capable of being saved.”

“It’s not a crime to love what you cannot explain.”

“You were by my side when I needed a friend. You made me laugh. You made me dance. You told me that I would find love again… And, I understand if I have to wait for you, and I will. I’ll wait. And when you’re ready for me, I will be ready for you.”

“Love’s always going to require a huge leap of faith. A big, scary leap over a hot pit of lava. And, you might end up heartbroken, but you might be the happiest person on the face of the earth.”

“Through all of this, you’re the one thing that kept me from giving up.”

“I don’t pretend to be anything when I’m with (name), that’s the whole point. I get to be myself.”

“I would rather spend every moment in agony than erase the memory of you.”

“When it’s real you can’t walk away.”

“If it’d were my choice I’d be with you forever.”

“I’d tell you to have hope because sometimes that’s all that keeps me going.”

“They was your first love. I intend to be your last. However long it takes."

“I don't know who I am without you, but I know that as long as I'm with you, time will stand still."

“I’m not going anywhere. I’d rather burn alive than abandon you.”

“To me you’re the whole damn world.”

“You don't marry the person you can live with—you marry the person you can't live without."

"I swear I couldn’t love you more than I do right now, and yet I know I will tomorrow."

"A hundred hearts would be too few to carry all my love for you."

"My love for you is a journey, starting at forever and ending at never."

"You're something between a dream and a miracle."

"I look at you and see the rest of my life in front of my eyes."

“When I look at you, I see everything I've ever wanted."

“You are every lovely word I could think of."

"If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever."

"For all the things my hands have held, the best by far is you."

"If you live to be 100, I hope I live to be 100 minus one day, so I never have to live without you."

“You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones."

"You make me happier than I ever thought I could be and if you let me, I will spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel the same way."

"I've come here with no expectations, only to profess, now that I am at liberty to do so, that my heart is, and always will be, yours."

"What I'm trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, I like you, very much. Just as you are."

“It's like in that moment the whole universe existed just to bring us together."

“You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.”

"You want the moon? Just say the word, and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. I’ll get you the moon.”

"I love you. You complete me."

"I think I'd miss you even if we'd never met."

“You make me want to be better.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I have terrible judgment.”

“I’m surrounded be idiots.”

“It’s not my fault you dated a bunch of losers till you met me.”

“Badges? We ain’t got no badges? We don’t need no badges! I don’t have to show you any stinking badges!”

“It’s just a flesh wound”

“Your bleeding out!”

"If I wasn't terrified of heights, I'd like this. But, I'm terrified of heights, so I don't like this."

“That's it, Dishonor! Dishonor on your whole family! Dishonor on you, dishonor on your cow!"

“That’s like a big misconception. I’m not shy! I just don’t speak if I don’t have anything to say.”

“It’s not bragging if it’s true.”

“She is more like “girl with dragon tattoo" than “the girl next door”

“I will slap the taste out of your mouth.”

“Give me a mountain, I’ll climb it. Give me a Katy Perry song, I’ll sing it.”

“There is no such thing as bad ideas. Just poorly executed awesome ideas.”

“I was ambushed. I was shot. Now, I’m vengeful.”

“Kiss me or kill me. We both know you’re only capable of one.”

“I know I called you bro, but I lowkey wanna marry you.”

“If I was meant to be controlled I would’ve come with a remote.”

“I know looks aren’t everything but I have them just in case.”

“You think I’m crying about you? No I’m crying about all the time I wasted on you.”

“Do I regret it, yes. Would I do it again? Probably.”

“If you were my wife I’d put poison in your coffee.” “If you were my mine I’d drink it.”

“if you obey all the rules, you miss all the fun.”

“No I checked my receipt, I didn’t buy any of your bullshit.”

“You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.”

[narniagiftexchange]

                                i’ll find you in the next one.

                              THE AUTUMN NARNIAN GIFT EXCHANGE.

                for: @ihaveknownone  from  @luxaofhesperides.

When Peter is six, he asks his parents where his siblings are. They laugh at him and say that he’s an only child and they weren’t going to have another kid. That wasn’t an answer he wanted to hear, but even at six Peter knew better than to keep pushing. So he kept quiet and didn’t mention it again.

And his home remained quiet without the presence of the siblings he knew he had.

So he grows up, always lonely and always quiet, looking out of other kids because he never stopped being an older brother. And no matter how hard he looks, there is no Susan, or Edmund, or Lucy. Just him, and his memories.

There are times when Peter doubt himself, wonders if it’s just a dream or delusions left over from childhood, but he knows the laughter of Susan, and the teasing words of Edmund, and the strong hands of Lucy. He knows them. He knows his siblings better than anyone, even when they don’t exist.

(If he’s alone in this world… Peter forces the thought away and tries to forget his dreams when he wakes.)

He grows bigger, and quieter, looking through crowds for familiar faces he’s only half-sure are real.

And when he gets to college, Peter gives up.

‘I guess I’m alone in this life,’ he thinks as he makes his way through campus, holding that familiar ache in his chest. He scrolls through Twitter as he walks just to avoid people; he hasn’t lost the habit of involving himself in things that help people, and now there’s always a friendly face around ready to talk to him. It wouldn’t be so bad if he was able to fully commit to a friendship, but there’s always a part of him that’s looking away, searching for other people he knows should be by his side.

“Hey, Peter!” someone calls, and he forces down a wince as he looks up. Adam waves at him and jogs over, grinning as he holds up his phone. “Check this out!”

“What is it?” Peter asks, looking down at the screen to a video about… archery?

“There’s this girl who’s coming to this university next year on a scholarship because her marksmanship is insane. You gotta see what she can do.”

But Peter’s already watching, breath caught in his throat as he watches Susan nock an arrow and send it piercing straight through a target too small to see clearly through the camera. She looks exactly as he remembers, back in Narnia, participating in a tournament and holding the title of champion for years until they returned to England.

She’s here. And if Susan’s here then…

“Can you send that video to me?” he asks. His voice sounds as though it’s coming from far away. His heart beats hummingbird fast. He almost doesn’t want to believe it, because if he’s wrong then it will hurt so much more this time.

“Yeah, no problem. Didn’t know you were into archery,” Adam says as he pulls his phone away. Peter almost reaches out to grab his wrist, to bring back the image of Susan, but Adam pockets his phone and carries on as though he didn’t just alter Peter’s life. “You should probably go, doesn’t your class start soon?”

“It does.”

“Alright, I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow!” Adam leaves, and Peter watches him go.

He isn’t… He doesn’t feel real at the moment. The entire world’s gone soft and faded, like the colors are slowly being washed away. Everything feels quiet and distant and Peter can’t focus on anything other than the fact that he’s not alone.

He skips class for the first time that year. He doesn’t even remember leaving campus.

-

In the age of social media, it’s easy to find Susan. But he wasn’t even sure if that was her name this time around, or if she’d remember anything, if she looked for them too. He doesn’t know anything.

But her Instagram is dedicated to archery and in every tagged photo she’s smiling, which is. Something. It’s a good something.

Looks like she didn’t need an older brother after all.

(Peter thinks about bombs and wardrobes and going years without parents. Thinks about being five and walking a crying four year old Susan home because she fell and scraped her knee. Thinks about his mother in another life, brushing back his hair and telling him in a soft voice that he’s the oldest so he needs to look out for his siblings. Thinks about holding a sword and being terrified that he’s going to outlive all of them. He thinks about a lot of things that don’t matter anymore. They happened in another life, after all.)

He closes the app and collapses onto his bed.

The house is quiet.

- 

Peter tries to focus on other things: school, clubs, deciding whether or not to apply for a part-time job, and most definitely doesn’t think about the siblings he doesn’t have.

His mind, apparently, has other plans. He dreams constantly, of wolves and lions and snow, dreams of a world that no longer exists to him, dreams of a train and a light. After a lifetime (or two?) of ignoring it, suddenly it’s all that he can think about.

Everything’s getting mixed up in his head; Peter hears the church bells ring in the distance and thinks of the small church down the street from the house he lived in while he was in America— except he’s never been to America and the church next to campus is large and old and looks nothing like the one in his memories. He finds himself at the grocery store wondering if he should buy apples to make the apple tart Lucy loved so much, but he’s never been much of a baker and the recipe escapes him.

Even his friends comment on how dazed he is, constantly lost in thought as he walks, forgetting what he’s doing in the middle of doing it, barely able to focus on anything that’s being said. They laugh it off, and Peter laughs with them, but he wonders what he could possibly say if they start asking questions.

It’s hard, now that he knows he’s not alone. But that might be worse; at least when he only had the memory of his siblings, it was easier to live without them. Knowing they’re out there and they don’t know him— that’s what breaks his heart.

-

“Excuse me,” says a familiar voice, and Peter looks up, tears already welling in his eyes. “Is this seat open?”

It takes him a moment to process her words, then he clears his throat and says, “Go ahead.”

Susan smiles at him and takes a seat.

-

They argue over who pays the bill, because they both refuse to split it, and it’s so familiar that Susan almost cries. Peter does cry, and she laughs at him because she understands exactly what he’s feeling. Everything in her feels light; she’s gone so long without anyone, having buried her family in two lives, and here is her older brother who

knows

her, who recognized her before he even saw her, and is so happy he cries.

Susan hadn’t been prepared for this. This small hole-in-the-wall cafe just a couple streets down from the main campus of the university she was touring, the university she’s absolutely going to, between the scholarship and Peter. She walked in, welcoming the warmth after walking around for an hour in the cold wind, and immediately ordered something warm to drink.

The cafe was quiet, only a few people seated here and there, when her eyes caught sight of a familiar face: Peter, typing something on a laptop with an open notebook besides it.

She had spent her whole life wishing she had her siblings back. She wondered, for the longest time, if this was a punishment, to be reborn alone while knowing what it was like to have a loving family. She had been born to an older couple who passed away from illnesses a few years back, and the aunt she lived with now was often out for work.

Susan was far too familiar with loneliness these days.

And then, suddenly, there was Peter and the last time she ever saw him, he was waving goodbye from a train that would take everyone away from her.

(Susan often wondered if they’d ever want to see her again. After everything she did to distance herself from them, all the callous things she said that hurt them when she was pretending to be okay. Wonders if they’d want her back in their lives if they ever met again.)

But he smiled at her, tearing up, and they spent two hours just catching up.

They both skirted around the same topics, careful with their words, but everything that went unsaid was enough for Susan to know that Peter remembered her, them, everything that happened in another life.

He ends up paying, but only because he shoved her away from the cashier and handed them his card before Susan could recover. And he told her that she’d have to pay next time, and wasn’t that something?

There would be a next time.

“Here,” Peter says as they step out of the cafe, holding out his phone to her, “So we don’t lose each other.”

She puts in her number and shoots herself a text to have his number, and hands back his phone. She has to go, she knows, but she doesn’t want to. They’d just found each other again, but now that they had no ties besides memory, their lives were pulling them apart.

“I’m going to be coming here next year. I’m planning on getting an apartment off-campus. I was going to look around for a roommate later, but if you want…”

Peter beams at her and says, “Yeah, of course I’d room with you. It’d be nice to live in the same house again.”

“I guess I’ll see you later.” Susan hesitates, looking down the road where she should go, if she wants to catch the bus that will take her home. She stays.

Peter pulls her into a hug. “You will. I’m free this weekend if you want to hang out.”

Neither of them move for a long time.

It’s only when they really have to that they say goodbye.

-

Peter’s house is quiet. It’s nice, has plenty of space, and is farther way from campus and downtown, so the streets are quiet and mostly empty. It barely looks lived in.

She had hoped he hadn’t been as lonely as she has, this in this life.

“My parents have been traveling a lot,” Peter says when she asks about his family, “Since I can take care of myself. They’ve been sending money every month so I can buy groceries, and they call every night, but we’re not all that close.”

“Oh.”

“It’s alright though! They’re good parents. It’s just that since I can remember another family…”

They don’t say anything else about their parents.

Now that they’re not in public, it’s easier to speak about themselves. How different everything is, compared to their first life, and they talk about Narnia out loud for the first time in this life. It’s a relief to know that it wasn’t her imagination, or lingering daydreams from childhood.

It was all real. All of it.

And it means she’s not alone at all.

 -

“Have you seen anything about Lucy or Edmund?” Peter asks the next weekend and Susan shakes her head.

“I didn’t think any of you would be here, but somehow we still found each other. I haven’t looked at all since I thought I was alone.”

“I’ve looked but I haven’t gotten anywhere. A friend found you, actually, from one of the videos of your shooting. It was a complete accident.”

He knew she was around because of a video one of her friends took while she practiced, and Susan just happened to go to the same cafe Peter was in. What were the odds?

Peter grabs her arm and tugs her along into a small park just outside the main library. It’s hidden off to the side, between the library and the physics building. Susan has found that Peter is a far better tour guide than the one who showed her around campus that fateful day. He’s lead her down shortcuts and into hidden little areas where people seeking quiet and solitude go.

It reminds her of being seven and following around a young Peter down the streets, hand in hand as they looked with wide eyes all the buildings and people they’ve never taken the time to see before.

It took almost two decades, but she’s here now, with Peter.

She’s here now. She’s here.

-

Susan stays an extra hour after practice is over, waxing the string and replacing the nock. It’s familiar, comforting work, something she’s done for years, here and in Narnia. By now it’s muscle memory, and she lets her mind wander, remembering wars and tournaments and competitions, remembers people praising her right up until she scares them away with how intense she can be, remembers splitting an apple a field away.

She looks over her bow with careful fingers and sharp eyes, then stands. One target is still set up, and Susan eyes it, breathes out, then nocks an arrow and draws it back in a quick, fluid motion.

It hits the center.

Behind her, the door to the gym opens with a loud screech, and Susan whips around to face the person coming in, one hand grabbing another arrow.

“Sorry for bothering you!” a student, probably a Year 7, says, wringing her hands. “They asked me to get some mats from here.”

Susan lowers her bow and thinks. “Mats? Who’s asking for them? Shouldn’t most clubs be done by now?”

“Ah, some people from the fencing team are still here. Preparing for a competition or something. I didn’t have anything better to do so I stayed behind to watch and decided to help out.”

“Alright,” Susan says, “Let me put my things away and I’ll help you carry them.”

They don’t talk much at all, besides making sure they can both handle the weight, and Susan follows the girl’s lead outside to the field. Sure enough, people in fencing gear and milling around, going through different strikes and stances. Some of them break off from the group to grab the mats from them, giving their thanks as they set up for an impromptu match.

Susan turns to leave, ready to call it a day, when she catches sight of someone taking off their helmet and stops, heart hammering in her chest as Edmund gives her a small wave and takes his place on the mat.

-

Although fencing is a more delicate way of fighting than he’s used to, Edmund still takes to it easily and becomes the best on his team. He wishes for his sword often, wanting to go back to a more familiar way of fighting, but there’s no need for such skills anymore.

So he settles for the next best thing and fights his way to the top.

The warrior in him never died, after all. It just laid in wait until he was ready to be who he once was.

Sometimes he wonders what it would be like to live without these memories; would he still be the same person? Or would he become a different Edmund, one who never knew any siblings and went through life uncaring of what happened to him? Perhaps he’d be as he was once, years ago, having just left his mother to be safe from bombings and bitter about everything. Or maybe he’d be just like any other boy of this century, laughing and playing video games and wondering what career he’d have in the future.

None of that matters, though, because Edmund does remember. He knows love and heartbreak and grief and joy. He’s lived three lifetimes, all of them impossible, and he carries every memory, every feeling, and holds it close.

And he looks for the people he loves, because he’s never been one to leave others behind.

- 

He wins almost every fencing match, because of course he does. This goes on for years, and though it’s fun and he cherishes the friends he’s made on the team, he wishes he could meet someone who would actually give him a challenge.

Peter would. But he can’t find Peter. Not yet, in any case. There’s very little he can do, being so young (again), and having overprotective mothers. So he plans, looks online, and tries to see what he can do to send out a sign that says “Here! I’m here and I miss you!”

There’s not a day that goes by when he doesn’t miss them. Peter and Susan and Lucy who are probably, hopefully, out there, looking for each other too.

He wants them back.

So Edmund trains and studies and looks around. He tries to see if anyone talks about lions or wardrobes or childhood games in a magical land, but everyone around him is normal. Edmund, who was once both a king and a boy in a world new to him, carries all these memories alone.

He wins another match. It doesn’t feel like much a victory.

(Nightmares of war and battle, of a witch, of gasping for breath, blood on his lips, blood on his hands, feeling everything hurt then fade away. He wishes he knew how to stop fighting.)

He wins match after match.

And then, while practicing alone, he hears someone shout and looks up to see another fencer swinging down their foil with more strength than is allowed in matches. They don’t move like a fencer; they’re aggressive and fluid, slashing and spinning as they force him back.

Edmund feels the wild grin grow on his face as he steps back and becomes the Just King once more, and rises up to meet his opponent.

It feels almost like a dance, alive in a way most of his fights aren’t. There’s energy between them, following a routine no one else knows, twisting their wrists and barely dodging out of the way of another strike. It’s exhilarating. It’s Narnian.

Edmund wins this one, too, but it’s a close thing. This isn’t fencing; contact doesn’t stop the fight. But a thin blade pressed against his opponent’s throat does. His heart is pounding in his chest when he tears off his face guard to wipe off the sweat on his brow.

“And who did I have the pleasure of fighting?” he asks, breathing hard even as he grins.

They stand up slowly, and hesitate for a moment before taking off their face guard. “It seems I still have ways to go before I can best you at swordplay,” Caspian says with a lovely smile, one he’s spent a lifetime dreaming of.

The shock sends him to his knees, but when he reaches for him, Caspian reaches back.

-

“I found Susan,” Edmund says the moment Caspian answers the call.

“What?”

“Susan. You know, my older sister. I found her when I was visiting a friend at another school. She’s still doing archery, by the way. Got a scholarship for it at Peter’s university.”

“Wait, you found Peter too?”

“No, I found Susan. But Susan found Peter and she said she’ll send his contact info over tonight.”

Caspian is silent for a minute, processing what he’s just heard. Then he sighs, and says, “I can’t let you go anywhere alone.”

Edmund laughs, feeling lighter than he has in years, and replies, “That’s why you found me first, isn’t it?”

“Among other reasons.”

He softens and ducks his head. “I’m glad you found me. I never thought that I’d get to see you again.”

“Where you are, I am. You’ve already followed me to the ends of the world. Let me do the same for you now.”

“Caspian, you’re going to make me cry.”

The laugh he gets in response is the same as the one that surrounded him on the Dawn Treader. “What a terrible boyfriend I am. Sure you don’t want to break up with me?”

“Like hell you’re getting rid of me now.”

-

Peter(TM): Sorry I’m gonna be late! People from my club found me :(

why does he have a knife: take your time high king, i know you cant stop yourself from helping them

Peter(TM): I’ll eat all your food

why does he have a knife: i have many swords. try me

Miss Stabby: Why did I think a group chat was a good idea

Miss Stabby: Who changed my name to this, I just wanna talk

why does he have a knife: you KNOW im more creative than that. so i didnt do it

Miss Stabby: Peter. My aim has only gotten better

Peter(TM): ………

Peter(TM): I’ll buy you both crepes if you let me live

why does he have a knife: deal

why does he have a knife: also my bf is gonna be here jsyk

Miss Stabby: YOU DIDNT MENTION A BF

Peter(TM): !!!!

why does he have a knife: yeah caspians excited to see u again

Peter(TM): Caspian’s here too????

Miss Stabby: CASPIAN???

Miss Stabby: WHO ELSE DO WE NEED TO LOOK FOR

why does he have a knife: brb waiters here im ordering first bc u two are taking too long

-

Edmund hooks his foot around Caspian’s ankle and passes his phone over to him. Peter and Susan’s texts always make him smile. Though none of them live together (yet), having some way of contacting them, of being able to annoy them late at night and see that they’re here is incredible.

Now they only need to find Lucy, and then they can all be together again as a family.

It’s all he’s been dreaming of years.

He can’t wait.

-

(And on the other side of the restaurant, Lucy tells her grandparents that she sees some friends and that she’s going to talk to them very quickly. And they wave her away, telling her to have fun, and turn back to their food.

Lucy weaves between the tables and catches Caspian’s eyes as she approaches. He sits up and opens his mouth, but she puts a finger against her lips and shushes him, then creeps up towards Edmund.

He’s typing something on his phone, a small smile on his face, and Lucy’s hands are shaking from excitement. She grabs her bracelet, one with a golden lion charm and a dagger charm on it. Takes a deep breath for good luck.

She pulls up a seat next him and sits down.)

-

Digory taps on the Instagram notification the way his granddaughter Lucy taught him too when she first made him an account. It opens to a picture of Lucy and the rest of her siblings, children who he hasn’t seen in years, children who had grown up without him ever knowing. They’re all pressed against each other, laughing as they struggle to fit onto a small bench.

They look just as they did in the last life, but somehow, brighter. There’s a light in their eyes that he’s never seen before. The weight of a crown and a kingdom no longer rest on their shoulders. In this life, they’re free, and they used that freedom to find each other.

The caption Lucy puts is simple and fun, just like all her other Instagrams.

“living my found family dreams #youwishyouwereme”

He likes the picture and comments a yellow heart.

It’s a good life indeed.

____

i hope you like it!!

[morkleemelon]

Jet Lag✈️

1) you and Mark are both idols and you're on video call from different countries and you miss each other. You surprise Mark secretly visiting Korea and you then surprise him in his room and you guys cuddle and stuff ^~^

@smolninja thank you for your request! I hope it’s everything you wanted! I’m sorry for the delay, I had so many issues with Tumblr and accidentally deleted it when I was like 70% done it was so sad. Nonetheless, I really liked writing it! Enjoy :)

Warnings: mild swearing

Word Count: 3k

Genre: Fluff, slight angst

Fem Idol!reader x Mark Lee

The set up: you’re in a 7 member kpop group called Girl Trouble and you’ve just finished the first concert of your Japanese tour. We’re pretending corona doesn’t exist :) The general public does not know that you are dating Mark Lee

-----

You feel the van come to a stop as flashing lights bloom from outside the tinted windows, waking you from your much needed sleep.

“We’re at the hotel y/n,” your bandmate, Yeeun, informs, fixing her hair in her phone camera to make sure she was ready to be photographed.

The excited cheers coming from the street bring you out of your sleepy stupor and you stretch your arms above you in a big yawn.

“How do I look?” you ask Nayoo, your best friend in the group who’s sitting next to you, touching up her concealer.

“Perfect as always y/n, duh,” she replied, playfully winking as she put her stuff away.

“Ok I’m opening the door!” you warn as you grab the handle and take a deep breath, putting on your best smile.

Swinging the door open, you’re met with an uproar of fans calling out your name and a storm of camera flashes eager to capture your latest look. It was your group’s first time in Japan so the fans were especially excited to finally have the chance to see you.

*Click click click click*

You stepped out of the car as gracefully as you could, smile never faltering as you showed off your pearly white teeth and prize-winning dimples. Brushing your hair back slightly as you walk, you tease your new gold earrings as a subtle endorsement to the brand. Your members following suit, you wave to the crowd and make your way to the entrance, nodding at a few fansites you recognized.

- - -

Throwing yourself onto the bed, your freshly showered hair promptly soaks through the comforter but you couldn’t care less.

“Ugh...,” you sighed, melting into the plush goodness of the hotel mattress, “I’m so goddamn tired.”

If only he were here with you...

“Oh!” you gasp, head shooting up from your now wet pillow, “I promised I’d call!”. You rolled off the bed and scrambled to find your phone in your bag, suddenly wide awake.

“You’re calling loverrr boyyyy?” Nayoo teased, dragging out the letters because she knew how much you hated it.

“Stopppp!” you whined, throwing your soggy pillow at her and trying to hide the growing blush on your cheeks.

Frantically unlocking your phone, you scroll through your contacts to find your boyfriend, heart racing with anticipation. It’s been a few weeks since you’ve seen Mark and you know it’ll be a few more until you have the chance. You promised each other to call whenever you could, but with NCT dream having a new comeback and Girl Trouble was starting to be really popular, there was only so much you could do. On top of that, it was stressful trying to keep your relationship a secret with all of the prying eyes around you and Mark’s intense fan base. Nevertheless, you’ve been going strong for about 8 months now you know that everything, every struggle, is worth it because of how much you truly love him.

Calling: Baby💕💋🦁...

You don’t bother to fix your makeup-less face and frizzy hair because you know that he’ll say you’re beautiful.

You smile at the thought of him as the FaceTime chimes ring.

*whoom*

“Marky!” you whisper cry, heart racing with excitement as you see his face for the first time in days.

“Baby!” Mark squeals back in the same tone, losing himself to giggles as you both giddily recover from the excitement of getting to see each other. You can hear the sound of voices mocking him in the background and Chenle’s piercing scream cuts through the audio.

“How have you been, baby?” you ask adoringly, ignoring the dreamies and look longingly at the boy in round glasses and his favorite grey hoodie.

“Shut up guys! I’m trying to talk to y/n!” he yells back at them, met with only more mocking and screaming. Sighing and giving up, he turns back to the camera, “Ah you know, I’ve been alright. We’ve been pretty busy with practice. I’m actually at practice right now if you can’t tell”. He pans the camera to the other members of dream who are clearly only taking a break because Mark made them stop for this phone call.

Guilt grips at you as you realize how you were probably inconveniencing them. After all, it was getting late and they all have to stay even later now because of you.

“Oh... if now’s not a good time we can always try tomorrow,” you offer, smiling slightly but not enough to hide your disappointment and guilt.

“Aw baby I’m sorry,” Mark soothes, “don’t worry about us I didn’t mean it like that. I missed you so much and these guys can spare a few minutes it’s fine”.

“I wish you were here, Mark. Or I was there,” you whisper, lying down on your bed once again. Placing your phone in front of you, it’s almost, almost, as if he were there lying with you.

Mark wears a pensive expression as he looks down, using his free hand to fiddle with his hoodie strings.

“Yeah. Me too”.

His voice is strained as he thinks about the nights you’ve snuck out together and the secret dates you shared. He misses the way you feel in his arms and the way your soft hair felt when it tickled him awake in the morning. He misses your terrible dad jokes and your night cooking. It was really frustrating how you were both so young and so in love, but everything else in life had to get in the way. Mark really missed you.

You reach out instinctively to stroke his hair but instead of comforting the boy you loved, your hands are met with only the cold surface of your screen.

The two of you talked for a few more minutes, trying to make the most of the time before he had to go. You could tell by the way his voice strained that he was really exhausted.

When he finally hung up, you couldn’t shake the empty feeling off; not being next to him, being able to touch him, to comfort him, to be with him was the worst feeling in the world.

And before you could stop yourself, warm tears began to fall as your shoulders shook with your heartbroken sobs. Video calls were supposed to make you miss each other less, not more. You loved him so much that you’d miss him even if he was right there with you. Being apart was devastating.

“Oh, honey…,” Nayoo coos, crawling into your bed to give you a much needed hug, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Let it out”.

Wrapping your arms around your best friend, you let the tears fall onto your already soaked pillow and spilling out the feelings you’ve kept buried inside for so long. 

“I just miss him so much,” you gasp, squeezing your fists around the fabric of Nayoo’s sweatshirt. 

“Oh I know y/n, I know,” she comforted, “remember back when we were trainees and you just started dating Mark? And I was always there to distract Manager Kim when you snuck out to meet him?”.

You let out a small laugh at her attempt to lighten the mood. Nayoo was truly a good friend and she always had your back. You were really lucky to have her in your life.

“I do, Nayoo. I never thanked you enough for that”

“You know I love you. I’d do it again now if you wanted to sneak out and meet him. Actually I bet you could pull it off since our next show isn’t for another 4 days”

“Wait…”

Both of you sat up at the same time, looking at each other with wide eyes. 

------

“I can’t believe we’re doing this”

“Shush! We already bought the tickets there’s no backing out now”

“What if someone notices me?”

“They won’t. Look at you”

You looked in the mirror of the lobby bathroom you were hiding in. You were dressed in plain, unbranded clothes, your hair tucked in a low, messy bun. The majority of your face was covered by a mask and a baseball hat, making you look nearly unidentifiable to anyone looking. 

“I guess,” you sighed, still nervous, “let’s just go over the plan again”.

“Alright sheesh,” Nayoo groaned, “as if I am not a wizard of distracting our manager. You’ll get into the Uber we just called and go to Japan Airport. Your flight is at 2:30am and you’ll arrive in Korea at about 4:00am. Then you’ll go to Mark’s dorm and make out with him yadda yadda-”.

You punched her in the arm.

“Okay! Did I lie though? Anyways, you’ll be on your return flight the next day at the same time so you better savor your time. MY job is to tell Manager Kim that you are having lady problems and you can’t make it to practice today. He hates when we talk about periods so this is fool proof seriously. Plus we know that you will do fine on stage without one day of practice”.

“Okay…,” you chewed your lip nervously, half dreading the thought of being caught and half thrilled at the thought of being in Mark’s arms in a few hours. Your phone buzzed in your pocket and you looked at the notification.

*your Uber driver Ayako is here! Look for license plate A29&Q on a black Honda Pilot*

Hugging Nayoo goodbye, you rush out of the hotel and into the cab, adjusting your cap and mask to make sure it covers your face. 

Each second that passed, you became more excited about seeing your boyfriend and less nervous about the consequences. 

Mark, I’m here for you. I’m coming, just wait a little bit longer. 

Your hands itched to call him and tell him what you were doing but you knew that he was catching up on some much needed sleep by now. 

When you arrived at the Japan Airport, you thanked the driver and walked briskly through the airport. You had nothing except a small backpack and your plane ticket so getting through security was quick. Thankfully, there weren’t too many people there at 2 in the morning so you began to relax. 

Successfully making it through security, you finally board the plane and claim your seat at the very back. 

Looking out the window to the dark, starry skies, the lights of the airplane wings illuminate the drops of rain that began to fall. 

-----

You jolt awake as the plane lands at the South Korea Airport with a rumbling thud. Your hands dart to your face to make sure your mask and hat are still there, sighing in relief when they remain unmoved. 

Grabbing your bag, you walk down the aisle of the half-empty plane, each step bringing you closer to Mark. 

Rushing out of the airport, your steps gain traction as you feel your heart racing in excitement at the thought of seeing your boyfriend so soon. The cold night air greets you familiarly as you call the nearest cab over. Telling the driver the address of Mark’s dorm building, you watch as the streetlights pass by and you near the boy you’ve been dying to see for weeks. 

At last, you arrive at the steps of the apartment complex. Thanking the driver, you rush into the building and attack the elevator button going up. Your breathing is shallow with excitement knowing that he’s there right now. He’s there and you’re going to be with him. 

Every second in the elevator feels like hours and you kick yourself for not taking the stairs. The floors seem like they’re all a mile away from the last and you tap your foot impatiently on the carpeted floor. 

8...9...10

*Ding*

You speed out of the elevator and find your way expertly to the infamous 10th floor dorm room. Feeling around the crevices of the carpet floor for the spare key, you feel a slight twinge of nerves because you’re technically breaking into their home. But, as soon as you enter the familiar room, any guilt you have washes away and the only thing you can feel is the rapid beating of your heart filled with love and anticipation.

Making your way silently through the dark common room, you stop at the oh-so-familiar door. When your hand touches the cold metal of the doorknob, you swear that the beating of your heart was loud enough to wake the entire building.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door and you see him. Your breath hitches at your throat and you fight back the urge to cry right then and there. Mark was lying on his bed, snuggled under the covers with his arms and legs wrapped around a pillow like he always does when he sleeps. His soft breathing was rhythmic and calming, the warm scent of his room inviting you in. 

Without wasting another second away from him, you drop your bag on the messy floor and walk up to his bed. Carefully, you pull at the pillow in his embrace and replace it with your own body. Mark shifts slightly and you freeze, not wanting to wake him up from his rare sleep. His eyes remain closed and his arms instinctively tighten around you. You can see through the darkness that his eyebrows furrow slightly and his lips part, and you wonder if he knew you were there. 

“Finally,” you thought to yourself, reaching up slowly to caress his hair, “we’re finally together”. It didn’t feel real. You couldn’t believe that you were finally here in his arms. His body was so warm and felt like home to you. 

You can feel Mark’s fingers autonomously rub circles into your back. As if his body realized what was happening, Mark’s eyes opened slowly and he peered into your face, blinking slowly to process this new information. 

“I’m here, Mark,” you whisper as softly as you can.

Without any hesitation, Mark leans forward and presses a deep kiss onto your lips, conveying ten thousand words with his actions that could only be interpreted as “I missed you so much”. 

You kiss him back, fingers gripping onto his shirt with raw emotion in an “I missed you too”. You breathe in deeply, not wanting to forsake any aspect of him, taking in all of his scent and drinking it all like a flower with no water.

He pulls away with a sigh and presses his forehead against yours. Mumbling incoherent words, you notice that he seems to have fallen back asleep.

Your own eyelids feel heavy and they flutter closed as you succumb to the warm welcome of sleep, your heart whole with love.

----- 

Dull beams of sun fell slanted through the curtains as you drifted awake the next morning. You felt a hand playing with your hair and you opened your eyes slowly, temporarily forgetting what you had done the night before. Memories flooded back and your attention narrowed in at the smiling boy in front of you. 

“You’re really here,” Mark whispered, “how are you here?”.

“It’s a long story,” you whispered back, voice still hoarse from sleep. 

He pulled you in closer to his chest and you gladly snuggled into his warm body, nuzzling at his favorite hoodie, the one you got him for Christmas. 

“I thought it was all a dream when I saw you last night,” he admitted.

“Stay with me today?,” you ask, worried that your time together would be short. If he had to go to practice, you could hardly see him at all and you’d go back to missing him a thousand miles away.

“I’m not going anywhere today,” Mark replies, kissing the top of your head, “my wishes have finally come true and you magically appeared in my bed. I’d be an idiot to leave”.

You giggled at his words, working your fingers to draw shapes into his back. 

You start to tell him what happened after you called him the night before and how devastated you were when you weren’t with him. Mark’s arms tightened around you as you told him you cried when you saw how tired he was and you weren’t there to cheer him up. You told him about how you put on a disguise and snuck around Manager Kim who thought you were dying right now. His body shook with laughter at the crazy night you had and you both agreed that this was the wildest thing you had ever done.

“How long are you gonna stay here?”

“My flight back to Japan is at 2:30am tomorrow morning. What time is it now?”

Mark shifts to unlock his phone on the nightstand. 

“It’s 10:49am”

You sighed and buried your face deeper into his chest, trying to get impossibly closer to the love of your life and make the most of your hard-earned time together. 

“Let’s do everything today,” you heard him say.

“What do you mean?” you ask, tilting your chin up to look at him, pressing a small his to his jaw. 

“Let’s just do everything we always wanted to do. Let’s get ramen from the convenience store together and then go on a walk at the park. Let’s get matching sweaters from the mall and then full sugar boba tea. You’ll drink half of mine and I’ll let you because I’m a good boyfriend”. Mark giggles at his imagination and peppers kisses across your face. 

You laugh at the ticklish sensation and your heart swells with love for the Canadian boy. 

Your whole body tingled, the feel of his body around yours and his lips on yours sending your head spinning. Rubbing your nose adoringly against his in an eskimo kiss, you vow that you would be strong for him from now on. You might be apart for work a lot, but the love you share is inseparable and undeniable. Nothing could ever come between you. You were his and he was yours. 

“Let’s do it, Everything”

[spruceplank]

I told you I was brave but I lied

AN: based on this post by @blocklasagna Or the AU from the time after Wilbur's death and before Tubbo's peaceful driven presidency can really begin because rebuilding has just started: The universe takes Tommy from Dreamsmp and asks the admin of Hermitcraft to help him heal. Cue Tommy now in Hermitcraft re-learning how to live again and not just survive because he deserves a chance to be a kid again.  ao3 || 1.7k words || First | Next

The End told him he had to go. It called to him and called to him until he could not put it off longer. When he tells Joe he's going to the Deep End, Joe doesn't ask questions, just wishes him a safe trip. He hopes it'll be a safe trip too. 

When he arrives in the Deep End the void sings to him. It calls and beckons him with an urgency he has not heard in a long time. He follows its call until he spots a figure curled on a small island floating in the middle of nowhere. The closer he gets the more confused he feels. Why is there a human, a human child, here? 

The End loves this child, it curls around them protectively like a guardian as he lands on the small island. Child is not quite the right term he finds, realizing the person in front of him is taller than most of his hermits and nearly as tall as him. What was the word again, a teenager? The End agrees before it comes to him and shows him a series of images he doesn't understand. The smell of fire and gunpowder. The sound of explosions, fireworks, and a mocking laughter. "It was never meant to be. It was never meant to be. If you want to be a hero then die like one." 

The End shows him these images and says, Hurt. Lost trust… Watch over him... Help him heal… until his father can come for him… 

The End blankets him in love and ruffles the child- teenager's hair, before slipping away back into the nothingness. This teenager must be very important to someone very powerful. For the End to be worried about this teenager who, as far as he could tell, had no End based origin - that was something new to him. 

Pulling off his helmet, he pulls up his code screens around him and sets to work on letting the teen into his world. So Hermitcraft would have a visitor for a while. He wonders how his hermits will react to that. Nothing but acceptance and compassion he premusses. Maybe a little chaos and silliness but Hermitcraft wouldn't be home without it. It takes a short amount of time to manipulate the code of the unknown teen into Hermitcraft. And really it only takes that long because he goes out of his way to not actually look at any of the details of the teenager in front of him. The End had told Xisuma that he, the teen, had been hurt by others, that he had lost trust in others. He was pretty sure that digging for personal info in someone's code was a violation of trust and privacy. Especially when he didn't even know the teen's name. Right, he should fix it to hide the name when he rejoins Hermitcraft with the teen. That's the kind of thing he'd rather reveal in a meeting and not have everyone in chat question when it appeared. Especially because Xisuma was planning on giving the teen his own communicator if he wanted one. But he'd have to get him back to Hermitcraft in the first place. 

After putting his helmet back on, he hoists the teen up and nearly drops him. The teen is much lighter than he had been expecting. Especially with how tall he is. That was worrying. He'll have to get Joe to do a health check and make sure nothing more was wrong than simply being too underfed. He starts his flight back home and the teen merely curls closer to him, muttering something he doesn't hear. Xisuma holds the teen a little tighter and hurries home. 

“A kid?” Joe asks, looking at him in disbelief. The poet and pseudo-admin had come over first thing when Xisuma had returned to Hermitcraft and had sent a vague message about needing medical help. 

“A teenager more like it, remember how mad Mumbo used to get when we called him a kid all the time?” Xisuma reminds his friend who looks over the teen with a careful eye and gentle touch as to not wake him. 

Joe hums in thought but doesn't answer. A moment of silence passes as Joe continues his examination. He's thankful to Joe for not asking more questions about the situation yet because to be honest he doesn't quite know how to fully explain it himself yet. The teen grumbles something and rolls over in his sleep, startling both him and Joe. The unaware teen continues to sleep even as Joe drapes a blanket over him and starts talking to Xisuma in hushed tones, "Well aside from the visible exhaustion and lack of sustainable food or nutrition he seems to be fine. There are a few healing scabs and scars that raise an eyebrow but there's not much I can do about those."

"What do you suggest?" He asks as Joe follows him out of the room and into the hallway, the door remaining slightly cracked open behind them. 

"Rest and a steady supply of proper meals. Smaller portions first, I don't think your new guest will be able to eat much at once when he wakes up." Joe supplies even as his focus seems to drift away from Xisuma and their conversation near the end of his answer.

"Any concerns?” He can’t help but ask Joe, “You look troubled my friend."

Joe looks back to the room they stand outside of and ushers Xisuma a little further down the hall. Joe looks at Xisuma in a way he knows means serious business when Joe says, "I know you want to explain it all to everyone at once later so I'll be frank with you here when I say this Xisuma. You showed up, three days ago, to tell me you'd be going to the Deep End. I know that is where you are originally from and it's where you grew up but this is a human child. How did you go to the Deep End and come back with a human teenager who looks like he's been through an actual war with the amount of scars he has?"

That catches him off guard, "I don't know…"

Joe turns on him with quiet furry he always forgets his kind friend has, "Xisumavoid - 

"Joe Hills please let me speak." He raises his voice slightly louder than Joe's and commands with his authority as admin. He gets why Joe is angry and he's sure whatever scars Joe noticed are not pretty. But he doesn't have the answers Joe wants. He can at least try to explain it though, "Thank you, as I was trying to say, I don't know. The End, the universe, and the void are all one in the same existence. They're connected in ways I do not understand nor think anyone understands. These separate yet connected entities that have been confused for one another time and time again. They are powerful in ways no one knows the scope of. At first when the End called me home I ignored it. It's not often but even I get homesick for the home I grew up with. But it got to the point where I could no longer ignore the End's call and I went without knowing why it was calling me. I didn't not know what I was going to find or what I was looking for until I found this teen alone in the middle of nowhere in the Deep End where no humans can reach on their own. I do not know his name or his story or his history but the void called me home and brought me to this child it loves. I have never seen the End love a human child this fiercely enough that it would use so much power to try and help. The universe could fall out of balance for a while solely because of what it did to bring this child to a place I could go and call me to bring him here. I do not know why or how this happened but the End told me to help him heal and watch over him until his father can come for him. Whoever is his father is a very powerful person indeed and is someone the End adores just as much as they adore him."

Joe takes a moment to process what he’s been told before it seems to dawn on him just how quickly this had all happened, "... Well that's not what I expected…"

"Welcome to the club my friend." Xisuma agrees with a tired nod.

"If you want this to work you're going to need everyone involved and informed of this." Joe says as he turns and heads further down the hall towards the door.

"You think so?" He asks because he had been thinking about getting a few people involved but he didn’t think that everyone needed to be involved. He realizes Joe is heading to leave, but thankfully Joe turns back to wait for him before he continues towards the base’s exit. 

Joe nods, "There's a human saying that goes, it takes a village. And based on physical health alone we're going to need all hands on deck in this village to follow what the End has asked of you."

He watches Joe put on his elytra as he contemplates what Joe had said. It takes a village huh? When Joe fastens his elytra on completely he has to ask, "What makes you say that?" 

Joe gives him a knowing smile, "I don't know Mr. Starved to death only two weeks ago now what makes you think I'd say that?" 

"Okay point taken." Xisuma says, waving Joe off towards the exit having understood the point.

Joe laughs but allows himself to be herded away. Just before taking off he turns to Xisuma and says, "So then, I'll tell everyone to meet tomorrow at noon." 

"Wait, Joe!" Xisuma calls out after Joe, but it's too late.

"I'll see you there Xisuma!" Joe calls back, already flying away. Good lord things were going to get even more chaotic around here now weren’t they? Still, he thinks, the best times in Hermitcraft were the craziest so perhaps that’s for the best.

[powerosewaterpuff]

YO ITS ME AGAIN , so um , some fear gas content in your au please , like fear gased dick and big bro jason comfort him

i genuinely have no excuse as to why this is so late, but oh my god school has been up my ass lately and i haven’t been able to get back into the groove of writing so I took this as an opportunity to build on that a bit. so tysm for the prompt! i rlly rly appreciate it hehe and again this had no excuse to be as late as it was ngl. but again this is my robin reversal au with jason being the oldest (i cant think of a good early hero name though ugh!) and dick being younger than him so enjoy! also so dick isn’t officially robin (he only does that when jason dies), but the persona still exists and he will join on major missions but bruce still has him in training so casual patrols are a no unless they have no other option for back up yk?

tw// there’s a slight mention of needles! it’s super short but i wanna be on the safe side as well as mild mention of cuts and scratches!

it took prodding. begging. and absolutely pleading to get bruce to agree to let jason and dick patrol together on their own. dick and or robin was not a constant on patrols with jason and bruce, as bruce wanted to ensure dick was fully equppied and trained before rushing into the field. it didn’t matter how much dick whined, or complained, or did as twice as many flipping kicks in training, the answer was always a solid no unless supervised or it was necessary. so it was a massive stretch to assume that bruce would agree to let them patrol together. they were practically in shock as bruce gave a nod after a few moments of silence. he even surprised himself. maybe it was the puppy eyed stare (mostly dick), or the reassurances that alfred would be on their comms the entire time, or even the full promise by jason that everything would be alright, but something made bruce say yes. more field training would be more than beneficial for dick anyways, (and that bright smile his youngest gave him and tight squeeze of a hug from his eldest didn’t hurt either).

the only promise jason was going to be able to fulfil was that scarecrow was going to rue the fucking day he decided to rear his ugly face out of arkham. it didn’t matter that bruce was beating the living shit out of him, holding no punches. jason was still brimming with rage. he hopped rooftop to rooftop, whipping his head around wildly as he searched for a fear gassed blur of neon colours. he wished he had been fucking a nanosecond faster, to reach out and pull dick from the blast of fear gas that swam through his nose and induced him in this fucking crazed frenzy. dick had just taken off his mask, right as jason was telling him to wait before bruce gave them the signal, and now jason was scouring the streets of gotham trying to find his brother. (he was going to fucking break scarecrow’s face, if bruce hadn’t already)

jason’s life was never one attributed with luck, it seemed like every possible slot in his pile was stacked firmly against him. except for when out of the corner of his vision he saw a stumbling mesh of a yellow cape climb onto a roof to his left. jason, took this as his initiative to attempt to stealthily sneak up next to dick, using his dark costume as an advantage.

he crept gently over to the building as he saw dick stumble onto his knees and he winced a bit as blood began to trickle down dick’s leg from the gashes beginning to form. dick was looking around wildly, almost in a desperate search for something. now, jason would’ve waited. he should’ve waited. bruce has drilled into his mind that dealing with victims of fear gas had to be done as meticulously and carefully as possible. dick shouldn’t have been any different, jason was able to hold to hold himself back. or he should’ve been able to.

it wasn’t until he saw dick scream out for his mother in a guttural rasp and leap towards the railings of the rooftop, did jason feel his legs take off as he stretched out, and managed to secure an arm around dick firmly. dick screeched even louder, wailing for his mother as he dug his nails into jason’s arms. jason gritted his teeth tightly but held on, because fuck that hurt. dick struggled and pushed, stamping his foot against jason’s leg and attempting to squirm out of his hold. but jason held on.

jason began attempting to reason with dick, he leaned his head down and gently placed it against dick’s. he murmured a bunch of fucking nothing as dick sobbed his throat raw. jason leaned closer to dick’s ear as dick began to shake in fear rather than anger and shut his eyes tight.

“dick? it’s jason, it’s just me. we’re on some fucking rooftop somewhere, and you are safe. okay? i’m holding you, and you’re safe, nothing is going to happen. bruce is gonna be here soon, and everything is going to be okay. i know you’re seeing god knows what, but i’m gonna get you out of this alright? i-i promise.”

jason couldn’t say he wasn’t dumbfounded when dick stopped angrily squirming around and began pressing his face into jason’s chest, with fat tears streaming down his face as he let out a wet sob. jason hesitantly wrapped his slightly bleeding arms around dick even tighter, curling up around him as he tried to push out the sound of dick’s sobs. he was never exactly good at dealing with dicks tears, he hated them so fucking much.

it didn’t take long for batman to arrive on the scene, but it was a scene he didn’t exactly like. his oldest son was cradling his youngest son as he heaved and sobbed. bruce silently stalked over, tapping jason on the shoulder as he waved his hands quietly, indicating that he could take dick off of his hands. jason was, not surprisingly, hesitant. (that untrustful hesitance was something, no matter how far jason did with his recovery, would always exist. that need to protect himself, or anyone he could care about no matter who it was against. that deeply rooted and innate need for self preservation, it marred jason’s soul with broad brush strokes. fading, but never leaving. )

jason almost shook himself into realization, realizing it was batman who was standing in front of him, and not someone of possible harm. he slowly unfurled his arms around dick, but was once again left dumbfounded when dick gripped onto the back of his uniform even tighter. the once muffled sobs got louder as dick desperately tried to hold onto jason. jason felt bruce’s stare, fucking digging into him, but he found himself not caring as he quickly curled back around dick. rocking back and forth, not bothering with the useless platitudes but keeping a firm lock on the back of dick’s neck and his waist. he peered up at batman and caught his gaze, and with a hushed agreement, they nodded at each other.

jason looped his arms around dick’s legs, his face twisting into a deeply set frown as dick’s sobs began morphing into hacking coughs, harsh and volatile. he managed to get himself standing upright as he pressed a kiss onto dick’s tear stained check, whilst still rubbing his back. the pain of others always had physically manifestions on jason. he fucking hated it. his mother would be splayed out on the couch, muttering incoherent fucking nonsense and jason would feel bile sting at the back of his throat, almost tempting him to kneel over and lurch as his body shook violently. and now, hearing dick’s fragmented breaths and shaky sobs, he felt like doing just that.

it had taken an effort, to get jason and dick safely off of the roof, and at the end bruce opted into scooping jason up who had dick clinging onto him like a koala, and simply carrying them both into the batmobile. alfred has already been long informed of the situation and had been able to promptly prepare an antidote that would be ready for their arrival. that did not mean, of course, that dick was compliant in taking the antidote. it took shushing and holding and soft whispers to get him to stop squirming enough for the needle to safely prick through his skin. alfred had opted to use little superman stickers afterwards, they were always dick’s favourite.

it had taken a while for dick to become conscious again, as alfred had added just a touch of sedatives to the antidote. just to help dick relax. when he did wake up, the world around him looking slightly fuzzy around the corners, he found himself encased in two sets of arms. was he in bruce’s bed? dick attempted to sit up but was met with a hand in his face pushing him back down, he turned his head to the side to be met with hazy lime green eyes and a lazy smile.

“dickie, sleep. now. you’ll wake up bruce— dont look at me like that he’s a light sleeper and you fucking know it. now go back to sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“I just woke up though, why am I going back to slee-.”

“sh. your voice is too loud this early in the morning.”

“you’re so annoyin—and get your hand off of me!”

“make me—slapping my hand isn’t doing anything, bud.”

“shut up. i didn’t ask.”

“you’re still not making me”

“i’ll kick you.”

“do it. c’mon. do it right now.”

“fine—stop pinching my cheeks, jay! ow, ow, ow.”

“stop kicking me, then i’ll stop pinching.”

“that’s not fair! who made you the king of rules, assh-.”

“boys.”

“sorry bruce.”

“i’m sorry, B.”

“i’ll whoop your ass tomorrow.”

“I’d like to see you try, you old sack of bones.”

and with a roll of the eyes, a feathery soft kiss was pressed into dick’s forehead. a soft smile curled at dicks lips afterwards, a warm fire nestling in his heart drove the lingering hazy darkness away. dick nuzzled closer into the bed sheets as the two sets of arms encasing him only held on tighter. all curled under the fluffy bedsheets as the morning sun began to rise on the horizon, seeping through the cracks of the dark curtains as a kaleidoscope of colours painted the early morning sky.

fin.

i rlly should’ve made this longer with a little more detail but i haven’t gotten back into the groove of creative writing yet so take this with a grain of salt lmao. but anywho tysm for reading and tysm for the prompt! again i rlly wanna get back into creative writing so hopefully i’ll written sm shit? hopefully? maybe? idk? but again tysm for reading and i am so so sorry for how long this took :]!!