#inspired by what my friends do to me because they’re taller than I am RIP

[blushing-starker]

Anon asked for alpha Peter and omega Tony for a baby announcement. Thank you to the wonderful @vaguekiwi for motivating me and sharing her thoughts on the story. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did, anon.

"Tony, Tony? Are you up? It's 7:30am already, you have a meeting with Miss Potts in forty minutes. Tony?"

Soft hands curl into already silver hair, scratching at the strands in an attempt to wake him up gently. Butterfly kisses on a cold nape, a ridiculously hot nose nuzzling everywhere. Peter knows scenting the billionaire is basically the only way one can ensure a calm morning.

Not today. And not for the next few months either.

He loves his husband, appreciates the nearly romantic demeanor, he does. But "unless you have a cup of coffee for me, there is no way in hell i am gonna leave this bed. your child has kept me up with nausea the entire night. I wanna hurl my guts out more than that time Rhodes found Dad's liquor cabinet. please, tell me you have coffee."

"..." Tony is severely displeased by the fact he can read Peter like a book even with half his mind shut off because fine, he's right and dammit all.

"I want that weird drink you make. The one with milk, cinnamon and chunks of brownie. And French toast with waffles. No jam, not too much butter, as much sugar as possible. Now, go before I scream at you for having the only dick that could get a hormone fucked forty something omega pregnant. "

The kid scrambles from bed, practically face plants with all the covers tangling long legs and yup, this is the person that the universe designated as his soulmate. Because Tony Stark can never have a partner with a reasonable, normal amount of enthusiasm, stamina and a sense of balance.

That sounds like he's ungrateful, he's not. But it turns out being three months pregnant gives him plenty of perspective to peer at life in a whole new way that does not include caffeine, alcohol or sex.

Would he kill and die for this amazing human being that makes Tony's heart race no matter the day, that inspires him to be a better version of himself? Yes, no questions asked. No hesitation and no regret.

Would he clobber Peter for doing the impossible and technically causing Tony incredible discomfort on a daily basis thanks to what his doctors can only assume is a superhuman baby he already loves and adores more than life itself? Also yes.

Things aren't mutually exclusive in this household.

Pep, bless her, has yet to find out about their future mini Parker so there's been no respite on the whole 'running a multi billion dollar industry ' thing. And yeah, while it's not exactly easy, he can focus on other things and not fall into a panicky state of mind — because him? A father? Of a super baby? Tony Stark, infamous playboy with a hedonistic streak, a dad?

Just thinking along those lines makes shame and self doubt slither over a metallic plate. Working, dealing with innovative scientists, crafting the new world of tomorrow, guaranteeing the safety of their planet, shapeshifting into a role model, a mentor (for the interns and school kids he visits, not Peter, of course, thank God they left that dynamic ages ago), loyal friend, reluctant errand boy (fuck the assholes in charge of the Accords), great husband, good man, it all distracts a fearful child from thinking, what if I turn into Howard?

"I couldn't find brownies, so cookies it is! Aunt May had a few boxes sent in when I told her work was keeping you on your feet all the time. Said it'd be a good idea to snack along the day in case you—" Peter freezes, tenses with a not-so-narrow back held ramrod straight. Oh, his husband brought him breakfast in bed.

How could he ever think to clobber such a nice, wonderful—

"Your scent is odd."

"Yeah, well fuck you too then."

Five seconds of silence.

"I'm bringing you one cup of coffee and the hormone pills."

" Yup, that's a great idea. "

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

Tony’s mumbo jumbo with self loathing is firmly put on the back burner after inhaling a delicious breakfast and chugging that one glorious cup of coffee. Until they go to the bathroom and he sees himself in the mirror.

"We gotta tell them."

"You said you wanted to wait a while before saying anything."

Peter strips, ducks into the warm shower, lets out a pleased little sigh and Tony wants to rip his fingernails off. Is it bad, having sex while pregnant? No! The doctors, every single one of them, said it's a perfectly normal thing to do. It'd be bad if they didn't have sex because Tony, thanks to his crazy hormone production, needs the extra attention for his body to understand this is a happy process that shouldn't include sad pheromones or stressed out moments. Will Peter put him out of his misery and allow a quickie in the mornings? No.

"Take more than five minutes in that shower and I'm joining you."

Listen, he grew up in the 80's and 90's, Tony wasn't immune to peer pressure. Did he cave and eventually do so many squat competitions with Rhodey his butt turned into a duck's butt? There's no evidence, he's made sure, but yes. And Starks have always turned out to be beautiful, doesn't matter your gender or age. Finding a companion for the night has never been a problem for anyone in his family tree.

That, and his work as Iron Man has kept him — well, not ripped like Cap, certainly not as lean and (God help him) athletic as Peter, but fit. Sturdy. Firm. Solid. (Peter once muttered the words 'daddy-like' in regards to his body and he nearly choked on water.)

The passage of time has made him a bit slower, dusted once black hair with, as his husband says, stardust and the corners of his eyes now show how much time Tony spends laughing or frowning. All in all, he looks fucking spectacular for his age and experience as a villain-punching-bag. Thing is, he has a belly. A bump. A curve where it was once, well. Less curvy. Is it a problem for Peter? Nope, as acknowledged every time his alpha tackles him if he so much as looks oddly in the mirror. Is it a problem for him? He'll get back to you on that.

The point is, there's a belly when just a few months ago there wasn't such a pronounced belly. It's great, of course. Proof their child is growing steadily and Tony's body is adjusting to it accordingly. A small part of him, the omega part he actually lets live, is fascinated and proud. He's doing that, Tony's the one growing a human being, creating life out of nothing in his own body. That child, although not the only physical embodiment of their relationship, is a result of his love for Peter. Of how much his husband loves him. They love each other so much they're gonna start another family together. That chokes him up a bit, reminds him how grateful he is for Peter and for the other Avengers. If they hadn't been so accepting of his status, would he have ever considered going through with this?

Anyway, he's not gonna start sobbing this early in the morning when there's no alcohol involved. It's fantastic seeing his child develop, good, warm and fuzzy feelings, yada yada yada, it's also not very easy to hide. And Tony...Tony wanted to hide it from his family because.

Because Peter hasn't been the only partner in all his life that has wondered about a future with a white picket fence. Because when he was Peter's age, in his goddamn prime, a doctor, ten doctors, all the doctors told him the same thing, smashed his dream into a million pieces. Tony was nearly infertile. There was a one in a million chances of him getting pregnant. If he did, they couldn't be sure his body would be able to maintain two hearts. And then the cave happened.

So yeah. It happened to his cousins, his aunt, a few uncles, his grandmother. Tony would do a baby announcement, but only the second that baby was outside of him and safely in his arms. Now there are still several months left and nothing certain. But time is a bitch and beginning to show the world, maybe those extra pounds aren't from eating the Parker's amazing breakfasts.

"Tony, you know I don't wanna risk-" Losing control of my strength. They've been together long enough that Tony can see quite clearly between the lines.

"Hurting us, yeah, I know, I understand. I'm getting too wide, we're gonna have to tell them or Natasha will take one look at me and whoops, impromptu announcement from someone else. It's a miracle she was out on those missions when we found out." Thank God for renegade troops.

He's still looking at himself in the mirror when Peter comes out, barely dries up and slides behind him. His husband is slightly taller now, can easily hook a curved jaw on Tony's shoulder to peer at the image they make. Contrasts, he supposes, have always enthralled Tony. The study of light and shadow. Variations of the same basic components. Where his body is aging, showing signs of wear and tear, Peter's is evolving into something beautiful, majestic. Silver hair, chestnut brown. Scarred canvas, silky smooth and sunkissed skin. Soft, fragile curves, chiseled lines that deserve to be revered more than Michelangelo’s David. But their eyes, their eyes are equally tired.

“We can tell them if you want, have dinner together and just, just say it. Like that -”

“No. It's our kid, we're not gonna act like it's ripping off a band aid. This is special, unique. Dinner is good. Fantastic, actually. Wait for dessert, and announce it. “ Peter comes ever closer, wraps arms that could carry the world around him and how did he get so lucky?

They've lied to each other in the past. Mostly in the beginning, when they were too worried about hurting their new relationship to show their desires and wants. Tony didn't explain the Training Wheels Protocol. Peter tried to fight high level crime on his own. Things got hard to understand, like being in the right place at the wrong time. Puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit together, an extra inch of space prohibiting them from seeing all the possibilities that the truth could bring. They were walking the same path, just in parallel lines that never crossed.

But then he'd been rejected, thrown away and able to realize how fucking stupid it was to let Peter go when being near the kid, it felt like finally breathing after residing in the deep end of a pool for a thousand years. So Tony ran after him one day, crashed into his AP English class, half assed an excuse for the baffled teacher, yanked Peter out of the room and proceeded to have the best make out session of his life with his back against the kid's locker. And now they don't lie, ever.

Which is why it's so hard to accept Peter's, “You're beautiful, Tony. The handsomest man I've ever seen in my life. I loved you before, I love you now, I'll love you forever, Anthony Stark. You carrying our kid doesn't change that, how could it, Tony? It's going to be ok. The three of us will be ok and I won't stop thanking whoever decided I'd get to marry my wet dream.”

Scorching kisses trace his pulse point slowly, sharp nails start dragging against a too thin shirt, but it's the fact that Peter hasn't looked away from him, is confidently holding his gaze through the glass, that makes Tony shudder and stop breathing.

The bathroom is flooded with pheromones, cinnamon and honey assaulting an unprepared billionaire, and he'll die if they stay like this, can't function properly, brain switching gears, trying valiantly to remember baseball stats, past wounds, May's cooking because Peter's gonna wreck his sanity if those hands keep winding down, if those lips don't stop unraveling him like a Christmas present.

“If I'd known you'd get this handsy and romantic, I would have complained about how I look earlier." It's a gasp, half murmur, half plea as Peter grins at him shamelessly. “I know it's rude and wrong and sexist, but I like comforting my omega, acting like a stereotypical alpha. Makes me feel like I'm doing my job of making you happy. “

He quirks an eyebrow, is glad Peter can be comfortable enough to take the reins every once in a while. “You're telling me that assuring me I'm still drop dead gorgeous, “ his husband snorts, nips at Tony's shoulder for that quip, “ makes you horny because you feel like an alpha comforting, and I quote, ‘your omega’? “

Peter reverts back to the shy teenager who could barely ask a girl out to the homecoming dance, ducks his head into Tony’s neck with a blush quickly spreading over damp skin. “Well, I've got news for you, sweetheart. Your wet dream also thoroughly enjoys it so you better break tradition and have sex with me to remind me I'm the hottest man you've ever seen. "

He's actually serious about this, his self esteem hasn't exactly been, you know, the best and Tony's mood always improves significantly after playing around in bed with Peter. Besides, it's a sign of trust. Peter won't hurt him or their child, will be able to hold back his strength. He always does.

Listen, it's not exactly moral, but he has more than enough problems to go ahead and analyze his attraction and dependency on Peter while pregnant.

“So, I can distract you from your bad thoughts by acting sort of possessive and taking you to bed? " Oh, he adores when his husband is afraid of showing a new side of himself and asks for permission ever so sweetly.

“Babe, if you don't, I'll kick you out of the apartment. Give me possessive Peter Parker any day you want, like I'm gonna complain about a gorgeous, brilliant twenty something year old all over me. Now what's it gonna be, alpha dear, bathroom or bedroom? I wouldn't mind the tile but, oh God, I forgot you could pick me up." Tony clings to broad shoulders, can't help but laugh because aren't they a pair?

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

After having what he's sure was the best sex of his life, Tony stumbles out of the bedroom with torn clothes, a dazed look in his eyes and several bruises blossoming around his neck. Peter's halfway out the doorway when Tony whistles, makes sure all their family is paying attention, blurts out, “Peter and I are having a kid. I'm pregnant, woohoo, it's great, it's amazing, save your congratulations for later. We'll do a proper thing soon, if anyone interrupts and they're not dying, I'll kill you myself. See you in a few hours, " and yanks him back in while Friday activates Sock on the Doorknob Protocol.

Rhodey and Nat clink glasses while waiting on the others to pay up on their bets regarding Tony and Peter's odd behavior.

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

Later, much later, like, two days later, they have a proper dinner with their family in the tower. There are balloons and streamers, cake and ice cream, warm hugs and gentle cheek kisses, subtle tears and full on weeping (Happy had to borrow a box of Kleenex), pictures and videos and a pile of gifts taller than Tony.

The most important thing, though, is that the A.I recorded the reaction after Clint asked about baby names. He's grateful they went to the doctor before tonight. The visit revealed a treasure Tony thought he'd never have. Now it's time to reveal it to their pack.

His husband snuggles up to him, is so ecstatic the whole dining room smells like cinnamon and honey, like joyous love he'll never get enough of. Tony grins at him, curls their hands together and repeats the same thing over and over again in his head.

It'll be ok. They'll be ok. If the universe keeps giving Tony the greatest gifts he could ever want, maybe it's time he stopped looking at the horse's mouth. That's how it goes, right? Right.

He turns to look at Peter, loves him so much it aches, feels tiny feet pressing against his stomach. Guesses he's not the only one smitten with this incredible human being.

“We were thinking Marie,” Peter smiles at him, eyes lit up and lovely.

Tony is never going to forget this moment, this warmth in his chest.

“And Benjamin Parker-Stark.”

Their family loses their shit and both Friday and Karen have ample proof.

(@puppypeter look, omega tones! @tonystarkisaslut thank you so much for allowing me to use the prompt board! I am still accepting prompts! Although I can't guarantee getting them ready within a few days, I'll try to finish them on the one week mark depending on how long the fic is!)

[peaches-writes]

touch

member: seungmin  wc: 1.2k genre: fluff, mystery, detective au (he is psychometric-inspired), psychometric reader warning: mentions of violence & murder note: i finally finished this kdrama the other other day! my babies yeeun, jinyoung, and dasom aaaah 

 “Again?” 

On the other side of the open doorway, Seungmin sighs sheepishly and adjusts his black cap over his freshly dyed hair. “Not like I have a choice, do I? It’s not like crimes have schedules around here.” He meets your eyes after casting them downwards the entire time, holding up and shaking the three ziplock bags and paperclips of photos in his hands in front of you. “Can I come in?”

You heave a sigh back in defeat, stepping to the side, “Yup, come in.” 

The young detective obliges and steps inside your apartment, courteously waiting on you to close the door behind you before following you into your living room. Sitting down on the sofa with you, he then carefully lays out the evidences he’s brought over your unused table runner. 

“What am I looking at this time?” You ask curiously as you eye the black button, silver necklace, and diamond ring Seungmin has brought for you today, grabbing one  surgical glove from your box of supplies on the coffee table. 

Seungmin holds up the photos in between the two of you in response, obstructing your view of the objects. You’re then met with photos of a woman in her late 40s to early 50s, two blows to each side of her head that spills blood all over her disjointed body and red marks that trail from her neck to her chest. “This is Mrs. Young, 54 years old.” He introduces the corpse to you before laying the photo above your evidence. “Cause of death, obviously, the two blows on the head and asphyxiation but I’m yet to confirm this with forensics since Jeongin ditched me to go to the arcade with his significant other.” 

“Oh,” You muse as you stifle a laugh, earning you a pointed look from Seungmin. “Sorry, Jeongin shouldn’t have done that.” 

“Anyway,” Seungmin brushes off, holding more photos of the crime scene for you before laying them out with Mrs. Young’s photo on the table. “Here are photos from the crime scene and photos of our current suspects—I can take you to the crime scene if you want but only this Friday afternoon.” 

“And the suspects?” 

“Husband, adult son, neighbours.” Seungmin points out the people to you as he mentions them. “The usual.” 

“So what’s different this time?” You point out, picking up the button now with your gloved hand and examining it. You make sure to avoid coming in contact with it using your bare hand at that moment in order to allow Seungmin to explain. 

Next to you, Seungmin sinks against the cushion of your sofa and releases another sigh, albeit this time one that’s of frustration. “All the suspects kept insisting that they’re the sole murderer.” 

You quirk an eyebrow. “Huh? Strange.” You then hold the button higher up to your eyes, glancing over to Seungmin with a glint of challenge in your eyes, “So if I’m assuming correctly, why did you bring me the victim’s belongings instead of the suspects’?” 

“It won’t be discreet bringing you any articles of the suspects’ clothing from the night of the murder.” He answers matter-of-factly. “So I thought, when I picked up that button from the floor, I’d bring you Mrs. Young’s belongings instead: the button that fell of when her coat was ripped away from her, the necklace partially used to choke her, and the ring on her hand when she tried fighting her assailant.” 

You hum in satisfaction, “Finally, you’re improving, detective.” 

Seungmin scoffs, “So mean. Just help me out here, Y/N.” 

You spare another glance in his direction and chuckle before bringing your bare hand up to the button, reading it off of the memories it has. 

In your vision, you see a figure with his face fully covered with a mask and a cap, towering over what you can only assume as Mrs. Young whose perspective you’ve entered as he uses his strength to rip off the coat she wears. “Black mask, red cap, and no identifying feature, really.” You conclude as you come back to reality, placing the button back on the table. “The assailant’s wearing all-black clothes and sunglasses, too. Looks built and almost a head taller than Mrs. Young.” 

Seungmin hums in acknowledgement, his elbow propped up on his knee as he cradles his cheek on his palm and thinks carefully, “Too vague. Try the ring.” 

You pick up the ring next, this time entering a vision of Mrs. Young successfully grabbing hold of her assailant in a way that exposes the person’s arm over their black long sleeves. “There!” You exclaim, still in half a daze. “That’s a—I see a snake tattoo.” 

“Snake tattoo?” Seungmin repeats, his voice faint in your ears as you’re still watching the vision unfold in front of your eyes. 

Your head unconsciously jerks back as you watch more of the vision from the diamond ring, watching Mrs. Young claw on her assailant’s arm and chest with her bright red nail polish until you see another faint object from the corner of your vision. “There’s a black band on one of his fingers, too, but it doesn’t seem to be a ring originally.” 

“Snake tattoo and a black band, what else?” 

But as he asks this, you’re pulled back to reality and you’re shaking your head in response. “That seems to be it, nothing else that’s significant.” You then return the ring back on the table. “The necklace doesn’t seem to be much help now because it looks like that was removed after Mrs. Young tried attacking her assailant.” 

“I don’t recall any of the suspects having a tattoo on their arms or a black band.” Seungmin comments, briefly removing his cap and ruffling his hair in frustration. “Are you 100% positive?”

”You always come to me then doubt my abilities, huh?” You sigh before nodding. “But yeah, it doesn’t look fresh or drawn on, either so you can rule out framing or tricks on my vision. The tattoo seems old and the design’s quite distinct, not the usual designs you get quickly from parlors.”

He heaves in a frustrated sigh as well, hunching over even more next to you. “I’m sorry, it’s just—this case is getting to my head a lot more than usual! Even in hindsight, nothing’s making sense and for some reason, everyone wants to be held accountable for it. I—“

You send him a sympathetic look that seems to fly over him as he fusses about this new case of his, returning the evidences back in their respective ziplock bags for him out of pity. When he looks back at you and apologizes for his sudden outburst after a moment, you shake your head and pat his shoulder with your bare hand comfortingly, “It’s okay but don’t fuss too much, you can solve this one—like you always do.” You then gesture over to the items on your table. “Besides, my vision’s just one part—and though having to defend using it at court later is also another part, you still have your wit and your other friends. Just be a little patient and take it slow, Seungmin.”

He smiles back at you gratefully, sitting up properly. “T-Thanks.” 

Your hand accidentally falls down to his elbow as he sits up, a brief vision of him practicing words in front of a mirror flashing before you. 

“Y/N, hi, so, uh, after this, do you want to get coffee?” Seungmin from this morning rehearses such words in front of his vanity mirror before he groans in embarrassment. “Ah, who even wants to get coffee after seeing a corpse? Aish, Kim Seungmin!”

Next to you, present Seungmin’s eyes widen at this accidental gesture and you immediately retract your hand back. “W-What?” He asks, careful of his words.  

“Hm?” Your eyes and ears perk up, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you hold your hand to your chest. “Nothing.” 

“O-oh, okay...” He trails off with an equally awkward cough. “Sorry.” 

You clear your throat awkwardly as well, shuffling around your seat before picking up the photos and ziplocks on the table and handing it back to him. “So, um, do you have anything else for me today—like coffee?”

“What?!” Seungmin’s eyes widen, slowly turning to you in surprise.

“Nothing, nothing.” You wave your hand in front of him dismissively, heat rising up to your neck before a thought crosses your mind and you’re suddenly blurting out next, “Do you have to be somewhere after this? Do you want coffee, I said.”

m.list

[p1harmonyofficial]

[📰] K-Pop Rookies P1Harmony Are Writing Their Own Coming of Age Story

By Crystal Bell

K-pop group P1Harmony debuted three months ago with their audacious single "Siren," and member Jiung is already dreaming of the perfect solo vacation. The 19-year-old singer wants to emphasize that this is a trip he'd like to — no, needs to — do alone, when he can safely do so. ("You need to bold the word 'alone,'" leader Keeho adds in English, a knowing glint of mirth in his eyes. "Put it in italics too.") So, more about this excursion: "If possible, I want to go to a foreign country," Jiung tells Teen Vogue from an office in Seoul, South Korea. He doesn't have a specific place in mind, just somewhere new and exciting and, most importantly, a place where he can be alone to freely organize his thoughts without any other responsibilities.

It sounds like a lyric ripped from the pages of his notebook, or the plot of a coming-of-age movie his 17-year-old groupmate Intak would enjoy: a young man on a voyage of self-discovery, chasing a feeling to a faraway land to escape his adolescent ennui. For now, however, it's just a lofty resolution for the new year.

"I also want to travel alone because I've never done it before," youngest member Jongseob, who recently turned 15, enthusiastically offers in Korean. Jiung, always one to help the younger sort out his feelings, is quick to quash the teenage rapper's theoretical plans. "That's not very realistic," he says. "You're too young to travel alone." Undeterred, Jongseob carries on: "Then my goal this year is to drink more milk."

"He wants to grow taller, but I don't think milk helps that much," Keeho comments, shaking his head while his teal quiff stays firmly in place. "I heard that's a myth."

Technically, they're not wrong. Unaccompanied minors can't travel internationally without a parent's formal consent in South Korea, and there's no proven scientific correlation between dairy and height. But spoken aloud, this interaction sounds more like playful goading among good friends. It's a testament to Keeho, Theo, Jiung, Intak, Soul, and Jongseob's comfortable dynamic as a group that the copper-haired youngest just earnestly smiles through the minor sting of his hopes being swiftly dashed.

For all of the training that goes into a K-pop artist's career, perhaps the most vital lesson is learning how to symbiotically coexist in close quarters with someone who is unfamiliar to you. Like most things, it is a process. Harmony isn't achieved overnight, especially among six teenage boys who have differing definitions of the word "clean." Cultural differences present unique challenges, too. When Keeho left his home in Canada to pursue his musical dreams as a trainee at FNC Entertainment in Seoul, he didn't have much trouble fitting in. Or so he thought. "He was funny," Jiung says in retrospect. "But I don't think we were able to communicate well." It wasn't that they couldn't understand what Keeho was saying — the soulful singer grew up speaking Korean with his family — but rather they couldn't understand him.

"Everyone would be stressed out, and I would be like, 'Guys, relax. Why are you stressing out over this?'" Keeho says animatedly with his hands. "They couldn't understand why I was so relaxed. How could I not care about anything? And I couldn't understand why they were always so stressed about things. It took a while to get on the same page."

That's where communication comes in. "The key is being honest," Jiung explains. "We have a lot of talks." These regular conversations allow the members to resolve potential issues before they spiral into larger, more disharmonious problems. Keeho is refreshingly open about this. "We're always stuck together," he adds. "We live together. We see each other 24 hours a day. Seeing anyone 24 hours a day, you'll eventually be, like, ugh, get away from me, but because we communicate so much, that [feeling] is reduced." Establishing rules and boundaries also helps. "We have a basic rule that you clean up the mess you've made," Jongseob says from where he's perched behind Jiung. (This rule is especially important to methodical Jiung.) And then there's vocalist Theo, the eldest member who also takes on the role of the group's even-keeled mediator because he's a good listener, and he likes giving advice.

"I'm not very opinionated," the blonde says. At 19, he's a few months older than Keeho but harder to read. He's both lighthearted and enigmatic. "I'm not good at expressing my feelings," Theo explains. "But the members are really good at expressing themselves and their emotions, so I'm learning how to open up because of them." According to Keeho, Theo is "bad at being serious," adding, "We'll have to have a serious talk, and he won't be able to take it. He's always trying to lighten the mood. He's the comedic relief."

Keeho makes a habit of describing the members' various idiosyncrasies in fervent detail. It's a very leaderly thing to do, to make sure that everyone feels understood. Occasionally, he also jumps in to help interpret their answers into English, or to encourage others to speak. Soul, who is half-Korean but was raised in Japan, could be described as a quiet person: an introvert who wears a lot of black, listens to metal, and has a particular obsession with massive skull rings and accessories. But he's also acutely perceptive. He'd rather listen and observe than be an active participant in the conversation. "I like when the rest of the members are discussing an idea," he says quietly in Korean (he's still learning the language). "I like watching them talk." It's not that he's not involved, but as Keeho puts it, "He's always supporting us silently and observing us." For Soul, it's more fun to sit and watch.

You can get a sense of these dynamics as they unfold on the last track of the group's debut EP, Disharmony: Stand Out. It's a skit, or audio recording of the members — then, just trainees — as they talk candidly about their dreams to perform and contemplate the implications of such aspirations. "I work hard here for the debut, but when I go to school, I wonder, 'What am I doing here?'" Intak says on tape, recalling how strange it feels to not have the same priorities as his classmates who are all preparing for their college admissions. Theo quells his concerns, telling him how lucky he is to already be working toward his dream. "That's a cool thing," Keeho adds, as Soul silently listens in the background.

While his peers prepared for their academic futures, Intak was spending his evenings dancing, rapping, singing, and writing lyrics, while also stunt training alongside his groupmates and preparing to become a… movie star. A few weeks before the release of their album, P1H: A New World Begins hit theaters across South Korea in early October. The first K-pop origin story to hit the big screen, the feature film introduced P1Harmony and their sci-fi lore to the masses. Long story short: After a deadly virus spreads chaos and violence around the globe, six boys with extraordinary gifts are humanity's only hope for survival. The filming experience was invaluable for the artists, who until that point had only ever studied music and performance. "Acting training really helped with my facial expressions," Intak says. "I learned how to portray my emotions on stage." Keeho agrees, adding, "We got very friendly with the camera."

Singers who rap, rappers who sing, dancers who act — the boys of P1Harmony forgo clearly defined roles in favor of being versatile and, well, good at everything.

As for their music, Disharmony: Stand Out is a snapshot of Gen Z unrest, simmering with angst ("Siren") and bucking wildly, vibrantly against convention ("Nemonade"). Teenage turmoil has been fueling the K-pop industry since the very beginning, and there's a certain nostalgia to P1Harmony's no-holds-barred approach. Members Soul and Jongseob both credit B.A.P and their hard-hitting style with inspiring them to become artists, with Zelo influencing Jongseob to pursue rap in elementary school. You can hear those more aggressive, hip-hop-tinged influences on Disharmony, as well as softer, more lyrical R&B flourishes ("Butterfly").

"We wanted to convey feelings and situations that are not harmonious," Jongseob says. "We want to say don't be afraid to stand out and to say what you want to say — speak your truth, and do it with courage and confidence." Despite his age, the young rapper carries himself like a veteran. By all accounts, he's earned the title, having won the competition series K-pop Star 6 at age 12 in 2017 and competed in YG Treasure Box less than two years later. These experiences, he says, helped him feel more comfortable performing. By the time he came to FNC, he was already a prodigy with the confidence and flow of a performer twice his age.

"There are so many people, our age especially, who aren't always able to speak courageously and confidently," Keeho adds. "So we wanted to encourage everyone, especially ourselves, to never be afraid to say what you want to say."

And they practice what they preach. All of the members are credited lyricists on the album, with all six collaborating on the roaring hip-hop track "That's It." Part cypher, part vibes, "That's It" is teeming with boyish swagger and possibility. "Even though it was the first time all six of us worked on a song together, surprisingly we were all on the same page from the very first meeting, and it came together quickly," Jiung recounts, adding that each member wrote their own verse. "It was fun," Keeho chirps.

That creative energy is also channeled into their performances. "Because we do take part in a lot of the songwriting, we also want to convey that in our dance," Intak explains. Though he's part of the group's rap line, his first love was dance. He started taking lessons as a child. "My mom is a dancer, so she's where I got my love of dancing," he says. As such, he's well-versed in conveying emotion through motion. "We always have an idea of how we want to portray these emotions with our bodies," he says. The members choreograph their own center gestures. These movements are a small but significant part of any performance, because this is where their charisma and individuality shine brightest.

"I wanted to become a singer because I wanted to perform onstage," Theo says. "So being able to be on music programs performing on real stages, surrounded by bright LED lights and visual backdrops, I feel like a main character. When all of the lights are on me, I feel like a star."

Unsurprisingly, even when he's offstage, he's still singing. He even likes to call his friends and take song requests. "I like to sing to my friends through the phone," he says. "I'll sing anything they want. I play piano for them, too. They're very open to listening to me." Next to him, Keeho adds, "My friends would not want me to sing to them." (The internet respectfully disagrees.) Meanwhile, Jongseob turns to making music and writing lyrics in his downtime. It's a great way to relieve stress, he says. These days, Intak turns to animated films to ease his mind. He's a fan of Studio Ghibli films, and he really likes the Japanese manga characters Doraemon and Shin Chan.

"I watch a lot of coming-of-age stories about these innocent kids who are in the process of becoming adults," he explains. "I get inspired by watching them. I don't want to lose that innocence, so watching those animations make me feel youthful." It's hard to imagine Intak without his boyish sensibility. It's seeped into every social media post and YouTube vlog (or, #PLOG). Yet, as an artist, as a teenager, it's an unusual phenomenon to be perceived by thousands of fans before having the clarity to perceive yourself. It's something no amount of Miyazaki or training prepares you for.

Initially, Theo had a hard time opening up on camera. The mere thought of it made him nervous, but the more he did it, the easier it was for him to parse his own feelings. "I'm not very good at expressing emotions like thank you and I love you," he says. "But it's a lot easier to express those feelings now because I feel them so sincerely. I can say thank you for loving me [to fans] because I truly mean it."

"There are people from all around the world who leave me messages, and that makes me so happy," Intak says. "It drives me to do more and to give more to them."

And there will be more to give. Disharmony: Stand Out was just the beginning, and Keeho already has some very big goals for 2021. At the top of the list? "Rookie of the Year, come on!" he says spiritedly of the K-pop industry's coveted award. "It's definitely possible. I'm manifesting it right now." He also wants to make more music, maybe release more covers. "We want to come back a lot," he smiles. "I'm thinking [of] at least three releases next year."

Then there are more personal goals, like Jiung's solo travels. "I want to take better care of my mental health," he adds, noting that it starts with a more positive mindset. "I want to be a better person overall." Intak wants to, for the first time in his young life, maintain a consistent routine for a healthier lifestyle. That includes getting enough sleep when there aren't any schedules. ("He could sleep, but he chooses not to," Keeho jokes.) After monitoring his fancams, Theo has decided that he wants to build more muscle. And Soul hopes to go home to Japan to see his dog, a Frenchie named Mochi.

As for Keeho, in true Libra fashion, he wants to maintain a sense of balance: "I want to stay true to myself," he says. "I don't want to be like, oh, the fame is getting to me. I don't want to change. I want to stay grounded and stay thankful and be grateful, always. I also want to make some more money." He laughs, then adds, "I can't lie!"

No, he can't. Honesty is the key to harmony, after all.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Please, obligatory "hunger games au" please?

[Technically a Catching Fire AU, since I didn’t actually want to write all the protagonists killing each other, but the concept is the same.]

When the announcement of the Quarter Quell comes, past Hunger Games champions to be reaped all over again, Rachel thinks Oh.  Thinks, they were always going to find a way to get rid of me.

She cheated, after all.  Broke the Games, ensuring two winners instead of just one.  The poison passing between her lips and Marco’s.  The defiant dare: that the Capitol could have two survivors, or it could have none.  She and Marco sobbed out their love as they clung to each other later that day, and it’s been enough to keep them alive until now.  But it was never going to last.

When she tells Marco this, he laughs.  “It’s not just us, though.  Think about it.”  He ticks them off on his fingers as he goes. “Erek sabotaged the Arena itself to win.  James was one of the figureheads of the District 6 protest.  Ax is too well-liked by too many important people.  Even your boy Tobias smuggled all of those Avoxes out of the Capitol — no, don’t try to deny it, it’s not like I don’t know.”

“So it’s not just us people are rallying behind,” Rachel says.  “We’re not the only troublemakers.”

Marco winks at her.  “You are the rallying point, my dear.  I’m just your adorable side piece.”

“If it had to happen again, better that it do so while you’re still young and strong and pretty,” Alloran intones.  He’s looking over Ax and Estrid, unamused as always.  “Better yet, Aximili, you could’ve kept your mouth shut and we wouldn’t be here at all.”

Ax shrugs.  He’s one of dozen surviving male champions from District 4, so it’s just bad luck that he’s got an honorable streak he can’t seem to shake.  Ax is pretty sure that if his own name had been called then Alloran would’ve volunteered in his place, which is why he’d volunteered for Alloran.

“We’re both out of practice,” Estrid says.  “I’ve been in biotech labs for most of the last thirteen years, and Ax’s been getting fat entertaining the upper crust—”

“Do not speak about things you do not understand,” Alloran says flatly, and Estrid shuts up.

Ax keeps his expression pleasantly neutral.  He’s very good at it, by now.  “She has a point,” he says.  “We’re both past our prime.”

“Not as far past as I am.”  Alloran narrows his eyes at Ax, almost certainly still angry about Ax not letting him go die in the Games.  Alloran might have been a butcher in the Arena in his own time, but he’s seventy-six years old.

Ax lifts his chin.  “Tell us what you would have us do, mentor.”

“Go on, start making friends,” Nora says quietly, looking over the lunch room.  “It’s high time you got to work on your strategy.  Rachel’s no good at alliances — just look at that kid Karen she helped through half the last games.  So it’s all on you.”

Marco makes no move to go join anyone.  “We shouldn’t delude ourselves about my chances.  Last time, I was up against mostly half-starved kids, and I still would’ve died if Rachel hadn’t carried me through, sometimes literally.  Now?” he says.  “Twenty-three warriors.  Every single one of them a card-carrying baby-killer.  My scintillating wit and charm aren’t going to be enough this time.”

“So you have no strategy at all, then.”  Nora only says it because she knows it’s not true.  She knows his mind; she sponsored him in his own Games, and then they co-sponsored eight other kids.  Hell, after what happened to his parents, and hers, each of them is the closest thing the other one has left to family.

“Probably for the best if my strategy doesn’t depend on trusting any of these people,” Marco counters.

“Not even the District 10 girl?”

“What, Cassie?  Just because she cries over ‘em after she kills them doesn’t mean she’s not still a killer.  I don’t trust her any more than David.”

Nora smiles grimly.  “In that case, you’re probably trusting David too much.”  David won 10 years back by luring several tributes into deadly traps with promises of or requests for aid, and then ripping apart their bodies even after they were long dead.  The first kill he’d made had been the 12-year-old girl from his own district, who’d given him some of her food and then been too weak to resist as he held her face-down in the mud until she’d stopped struggling.

“Maybe I’ll go cower behind one of the Careers, see if that’ll keep me alive,” Marco says.  “Big Jake, for one.”  Jake Berenson of District 2 is from a long bloodline of Career tributes, one that has turned out more champions per dead child than any other.  He’s well-liked, well-fed, and strong enough to kill barehanded.

“Erek King,” Nora suggests.  “You know, the District 3 boy?  He doesn’t look like much, but he probably won’t turn on you.”

Marco snorts.  “He’s only a pacifist until you back him into a corner.  Just like the rest of us.”

“Hold the lift!” someone calls, and Cassie lunges forward to punch the door-open button.  Both District 12 tributes slide into the elevator with her, panting slightly.  They’re no longer on fire, she’s glad to see.

“Thanks,” Rachel says.  She and Marco are still holding hands, as always, but up close it looks like Rachel is holding Marco upright by their shared grip.

Marco barely lets the doors close before leaning heavily into Rachel’s arm and kicking off one of his shoes.  It clatters loudly across the floor, and Cassie realizes it has an almost eight-inch heel — their stylist’s trick to make Marco taller than Rachel.  Marco lowers himself to the floor, standing on his own now, and yanks at the other shoe.  It catches on the hem of his robe, and with a hiss of annoyance he rips that off too, revealing that he wears nothing underneath.

Cassie turns away, feeling her face flush.

“What, like you’ve never seen a naked man before?” Rachel asks, laughing.  “You were at the opening ceremony, you saw what Ax was — and wasn’t — wearing.”

Yes, and Cassie had felt sick to her stomach watching the way the crowd ogled him, a piece of meat that they couldn’t wait to devour.

“Come now, my love, you know style’s all part of the strategy, for that one especially,” Marco says to Rachel.  He’s not wrong: if Ax can play the crowd well enough, the sponsors might even be able to get him another version of that scythe-thing he favors.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not crass, sweetheart.”  Rachel grins at him.  “Kind of like stripping down in an elevator to try and shock the baby tribute.”

“Doubt I interest her, my darling,” Marco says, “seeing as I’m not a muttation.”  He laughs and adds, “not yet, anyway.”

Cassie realizes she still hasn’t said a word.  Not about the nudity, not about the taunting reference to her own victory, earned when she nursed an injured muttation back to life and taught it to kill for her.  And what’s she supposed to say?  One of these two will kill her, likely as not, before the week is out.

The best that Tobias can say about his own interview is that he manages not to let anything show on his face.  He does his best to answer the questions — about District 11, about his feather-patterned costume, about what he thinks Crayak has planned for the games ahead — in ways that are unremarkable and inoffensive.  He and Melissa both won, eight years apart, with the same strategy: they’re small and lithe and easily underestimated, but they’re also able to flit through the trees well overhead of their fellow tributes without being spotted until it’s too late.  Now, the advantage of surprise is gone with the broadcast of his last Games, and the advantage of agility disappeared with the bottom half of his right leg after infection set in.  He’s going to die.  But he wants to die with dignity, he told Melissa last night, even though he knows that probably won’t be possible.

Rachel and Marco both have it easy during the interview process.  All Marco has to do is tell the story of Rachel first trying on her flaming dress, and how beautiful she’d looked to his eyes even while waiting for her hair to catch on fire.  The audience is eating it up, laughing and cheering even as many of them sob openly throughout.  Rachel’s so stunning in her wedding dress, even as it crumbles to ash around her, that it’s easy to fall in love with her through Marco’s eyes.  When she promises to protect what is hers, staring fiercely into the camera with clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, half the Capitol falls in love with Marco all over again.

Cassie’s interview is still the most interesting, in that she gets six words into a protest speech about the treatment of the outer districts before her mic cuts off and a “technical malfunction” shuts down the conversation.  Jake’s is exactly what you’d expect from a Career, lots of shrugging and mumbling and letting his bulk speak for itself, while Ax’s causes no less than fourteen rapturous fainting spells as various audience members are overcome with the power of their love for him.

All in all, Tobias is pretty sure he fades into the mass of tributes — Collette in her wheelchair, Loren who smirks under opaque glasses, Taylor whose beauty remains undiminished by her three prosthetic limbs — whom everyone has written off as unlikely to win.  It’s probably for the best, Tobias assumes.  If it comes down to that, he’ll be just like the rebels and sponsors: fighting tooth and nail to keep Rachel alive.

Rachel buries her face against Marco’s neck, dark hair and blond tangling together.  “I think…” she breathes against his skin, too soft for the microphones to detect.  “I think maybe we can trust the Ellimist.”

She feels his jaw tighten where they’re pressed together.  Marco’s the cynic who dances them away from the worst of the traps; she’s the optimist too stubborn to know when she’s been beat.  They make a good team.  She owes her life to his inspired decision to declare his love for her on live TV just as much as he owes her for the trick with the berries.

“He’s one of the Gamemakers,” Marco hisses.  “Fuck that.”

Rachel shakes her head just a little.  “He showed me…  I can’t explain it, not here.  Just— Do you think you can trust me?”

“Always.”  Marco sounds like he means it, because he’s skilled like that.  “Always.”

Ax does his best to breathe, in the seconds between their ascent into the Arena and the gong signifying the land mines’ deactivation that will release them from their pressure pads to begin the Games.  He’s a warrior, the servant of his district and his family.  He has volunteered twice now, once in Arbron’s place, once in Alloran’s.  Let it be done.

Across the way, he sees that even as Rachel rises into position she’s already making some busy motion with both hands close to her chest.  Ax can’t see clearly what she’s doing, but he sees Tobias’s eyes go wide in alarm.

Tobias frantically shakes his head, but Rachel ignores him.  She scans the lines of tributes until she finds her target.  When she does, her smile grows vicious.  Her right hand flashes out as she throws an object full-force at David’s face.

It’s her belt buckle, Ax realizes.  A nearly-useless weapon, small and blunt.  But does the job.  When it smacks David squarely in the cheek it throws him off balance.  Enough that he staggers back two steps — straight off the pressure pad, ten seconds before the gong.

Wha-BOOM!

The concussion of the land mine triggering breezes against Ax’s face nearly twenty yards away.  And just like that, the 75th Hunger Games begin.

The instant the gong sounds, Marco is off and running.  Headed for Rachel.  She whips around when she hears his approach, sliding into a defensive stance, but she relaxes by millimeters when she sees that it’s him.

Without any discussion, she and Marco and Tobias fall into a loose phalanx, facing outward with makeshift weapons in hand.  All Marco’s managed to grab so far is a piece of the platform he was on, but improvised weapons have always been his specialty.  He’s yanking and twisting sharp edges into place like this is yet another chunk of District 12 fence ripped from its posts, when something whistles over his head.

He ducks, almost too late.  Taylor’s knife flies past, embedding itself in the backpack that Rachel holds up to shield herself.  Rachel yanks the knife loose and flips it around in her hand.  Beside her, Tobias holds a stick like a club, staring around wildly.

Taylor’s second knife never leaves her hand.  Instead she dives forward, headed for Marco’s throat —

Shink.

Taylor coughs hot blood onto Marco’s face.  The steel that killed her yanks loose from her body as Ax pulls his blade back into his hand.  

It’s almost faster than Marco’s eyes can follow.  The chain it’s on whips behind him, then snaps outward again.  This time the scythe-thing takes a girl’s hand clean off at the wrist.  Again Ax snaps it back to himself, coiled and at the ready faster than thought.

Marco sees Rachel go pale as she registers the kusarigama in Ax’s hand.  It’s like a chain mace with a bladed head, a machete attached to the end of a bullwhip.  Not the kind of thing that one finds at a corner store in Panem.  The kind of thing that the Gamemakers must have placed here, after having seen the way that Ax wields one like it’s an extra limb.  The kind of thing they must have put down deliberately, if they wanted him to win.

“We have to go!” Tobias shouts.

Marco gestures for him to lead the way.  There’s no use sticking around to get slaughtered at the Cornucopia, and especially no use risking Rachel.  The three of them take off at a steady run, leaving Ax’s graceful slaughter in their wake.

Jake kills a muttation just as it is sneaking up on Marco and Tobias.  This makes no sense, Marco concludes, but there’s no time to question it.  

Marco takes a thrown hatchet to the shoulder protecting Rachel, because that’s all he can do.  He tells himself that he isn’t hurt when she hisses angrily that there’s no one left to impress so he can just stop with the lover-boy act now.

Ax kills the District 3 tribute who nearly killed Marco, but then refuses to kill Marco even as he’s lying wounded on the ground.  

They don’t seem to understand, Marco wants to shout, that he’s not important.  Rachel — beautiful Rachel, strong fierce tough Rachel, Rachel who can launch a thousand ships with the power of her bravery — is the important one.  Marco’s just the clever little schemer who showed the Capitol who she is, just set dressing in her story.

The Games… don’t work the way they’re supposed to.  Six tributes die of smoke inhalation.  One drowns.  There are four murders, and then no more.  The remaining thirteen, and then twelve, and then eleven, keep allying with each other.  Crayak’s direct intervention, or maybe the Ellimist’s, whittles their numbers, but the survivors keep drawing in tighter and helping one another.  And if everyone is allied, no one is killing.

“So what’s it going to be, then?” Jake asks.  He glances around at all of them, but his eyes meet Ax’s and hold there.  Ax stares steadily back.

There’s a wary sort of camaraderie there, and Cassie knows its source.  In a way, these two are just the same.  Each one is his family’s second chance at a champion.  They are seconds sons, both of whom watched older brothers volunteer and be shipped off to the Arena.  Both of whom watched their brothers’ state-sponsored murder in full technicolor on 20-foot screens.  Both of whom volunteered in their turn.  Career tributes, yes, but the sort of Careers who lack all delusions of glory or honor.

“Let’s do it.”  Rachel speaks first.  She’s the first pick in her own family.  First of three.  And Cassie chills to think of the things that Rachel has already proven willing to do, in order to prevent her little sisters’ entering the Arena.

“You know I’m with you,” Tobias says, smiling sadly at Rachel.  She smiles back, brushing the back of her hand over his.

Those two are cousins, if the Capitol propaganda is to be believed, but Cassie wasn’t born yesterday.  Marco and Rachel are very good at playing the game behind the game — so good, in fact, that they’re engaged to be married and claim to have a kid on the way — but up close, they’re also very obviously playing, their flirtation only a game to them.  It’s Tobias and Rachel who look at each other with real affection, with real desperation.  But their story didn’t advance the cause, and so the Capitol took advantage of a passing resemblance — blond hair, long limbs — for its own ends.

“No offense,” Marco says, in a tone that guarantees he’s about to cause offense, “but why would we ever believe you people?  Some of us who didn’t grow up on three servings of meat a day bought by past kids’ victories need proof that you Careers aren’t just going to turn on us.”

“You have no reason to trust us,” Jake says.  “None of us has any reason to trust any of the others.  But I will tell you this much: the Capitol needs us to hate and fear each other, or else this whole sick enterprise cannot continue.  You can all do what you want, but I’m going to choose to believe that maybe, just maybe, everyone else here wants to go down defying the Capitol rather than continuing to play puppet for their entertainment.”

Ax plants the end of his kusarigama against the ground, expression hard with determination.  “You tell us what to do, and I will follow.”

“Yeah.”  Rachel laughs, tossing her head back.  “What he said.  Let’s start kicking the asses of some people whose asses actually deserve to be kicked for once.”

They’re hiding in District 13.  Turns out that’s still a thing.  Marco got away from the Gamemakers; Nora did not.  Marco surprises himself with how much he misses her, like maybe he did care about her after all.  It’s too late now, though.  The next time he sees her, she’ll be brainwashed and mind-controlled, if she’s even still alive.

“Hi, there.”  Cassie sits down next to Marco at one of the long cafeteria tables.  She turns to follow the direction of his gaze.

Rachel’s sitting across the room, leaning close to talk to Tobias.  The two of them hold hands across the table, able to be affectionate in front of witnesses for the first time in their lives.  Rachel doesn’t seem to realize, caught up in conversation as she is, how easy she is to love.  She doesn’t know the effect she has, and maybe that’s part of her power.  She wasn’t lying when she said she only volunteered to save Jordan, and she’s not lying now when she promises to save all of Panem.

“For you it’s real, isn’t it?” Cassie asks quietly.  “She has no idea, and neither did I at first… but you really are in love with her.”

Marco laughs, tempted to deny it.  But what would be the point?  “Isn’t everyone?”

[angrylizardjacket]

you wrote ‘don’t forget’ on your arm // 1 // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Jupiter’s going to dress as Lola for the premiere of The Dirt, is dating MGK, and also the premiere happens.

A/N: @misscharlottelee and @local-troubled-writer . I split this into 2 parts because the second part is almost entirely this AU’s version of The Dirt and it was getting too long. Next part to be posted tomorrow!!

Part 1 of 2

----

Jupiter looks like Lola; the same dark hair, same angular face. They’re not a spitting image, they’ve inherited Tommy’s waifishness and green eyes, so the honour of looking like a carbon copy of their mother belongs to Cerie, but whenever people write about Jupiter, on blogs or in magazines, they always feel the need to mention; Jupiter looks like Lola. So with the premiere coming up, Jupiter thinks it’s only fitting; if all anyone sees is their mother, then spitefully, they’ll play into that.

For the record, Alicia, the woman they’ve got playing Lola, looks eerily similar to her, and by extension Jupiter, and Jupiter wonders if it’s egotistical of Freudian to think she’s hot. Whatever; that’ll be their therapist’s problem. The cast for The Dirt is hot, which is an uncomfortable truth that Jupiter has to live with. Even Iwan makes Mick hot, which is somehow way weirder than her mom being hot, because Mick is a gremlin and the only band member Jupiter actually gets along with, their father notwithstanding. 

Some time when Jupiter was a teenager, Mick had told them, with the haunted wisdom of a man who has spent over half his life putting up with their parents, that he’d had broken guitars with more common sense than Lola, and Jupiter decided then and there that he was their favourite, and their opinion hadn’t waivered since.

So it’s with a well-worn resentment that they acknowledge how actually stylish Lola was in her youth, not that she isn’t now, but she was more of a punk in her twenties than Jupiter knows they could ever be. 

Penny thinks it’s self-destructive behaviour, and that Jup is too old for this shit, but she tags along, never one to pass up a good trawl through a vintage store, that is when she’s not in the studio with Dominic. Jup joins them when they can, when they’re not working on the final touches for their own album.

“Am I allowed to say your mom is hot?” Colson’s laying back on Jup’s sofa, flipping through a scrapbook Tommy had leant him, filled with old newspaper and magazine clippings, trying to find a good photo of Lola, while Jupiter scrolls through pinterest, looking for any and all photos of their mother in her youth. Preferably with clothes on. Christ, Lola. Jupiter shoots him a look, but it’s not angry, it’s just rather… uncomfortable.

“I think you are, but I wish you wouldn’t.”

None of the jackets are ever right; they’ve got the ripped fishnets, the black platforms, the leather shorts, they’d even managed to get their hands on a spiked bra, but for all the leather jackets they’d looked at, none of them were Lola-level of over the top gutter punk. Oh they had spikes upon spikes, and buckles, and a few had some custom detailing, but none of them were right. Up until Motley’s first tour, Lola had lived and died in her black leather jacket, with the spikes on the shoulders, that looked better open than it did zipped up. There was only one option left. They could go to Tommy, but they knew ultimately they’d end up at the same place.

Lionheart Management’s thirty-second floor offices had the same effect on Jupiter as a dentist’s office had on a child; deep seated discomfort, but Jupiter would rather meet her there than have to go to the bullshit family home she shared with Nikki.

Jupiter knocks on the door that bares their mother’s name, grimacing at the little plaque beneath that reminded everyone that she was the CEO. Lola’s voice rings from inside, inviting them in, and she seems pleasantly surprised to see Jupiter when the door opens.

Lola still wears all her earrings she’d given herself in her youth, though now they’re studs rather than safety pins and pieces of wire, as Jupiter had come to see, and for all she’s grown up, she still favours black. Maybe that’s why Jupiter’s always gone for pastels.

“What a lovely surprise,” Lola sits back in her desk chair, haloed  the golden records on her wall, and gives a fond smile to her child, “what can I do for you today?” And it kind of stings that Lola knows that Jupiter wants something, though Jupiter considers that that’s no-one’s fault but their own. They don’t make a point of seeing Lola for idle chatter.

“Do you still have that black jacket from the eighties?” Jupiter cuts right to the chase, and Lola frowns a little.

“Which one?”

“The one with the spikes on the shoulders and the weird sort of panel design?”

“I think Nadine gave me that one -” Lola says, something gently faraway about her tone.

“I don’t need it’s history, I’m just asking if I can borrow it.” Jupiter’s tone is sharp, and Lola’s expression falls. After a moment, she agrees quietly, giving a sad smile as she tells Jupiter they can pick it up later that night from her house. Before they turn away, they think they can see what people mean when they say that Jupiter looks like Lola, something haunted, wise beyond her years. They turn away.

“It’s good to see you, Jubilee,” Lola tells them just as Jupiter goes to leave, using the nickname she’d given Jupiter after they’d come out and changed their name, “I’ve heard you’re working on some new music, that’s exciting.” She’s trying so desperately to make some sort of connection with the child who barely acknowledges her, and Jupiter feels a twinge of guilt.

“It’s releasing a month after The Dirt, my album,” Jupiter’s tone is soft and a little cautious, but they turn back in time to see Lola smiling, “I even had Seo and Cyrus help out with one of the songs.” To which Lola actually laughs, warm and fond.

“I heard; Cy has not stopped talking about it, and about how he’s going to thank you when he’s headlining Coachella in a few years time.” Lola enthuses, leaning forward, elbows on her desk, eyes sparkling with amusement. This has Jupiter grinning, amused at their little brothers antics, actually sharing a nice moment with their mom. “Sounds like you’re really keeping busy; dad’s got you and Penny working on some stuff for the premiere, right?” 

“Yeah, along with Colson and Dominic,” Jupiter says with a faint smile.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Lola says, a gentle pride in her words, “taking the world by storm, you’re a powerhouse, Jubilee.” And Jupiter feels a strange sort of warmth flourish in their chest. 

Lola doesn’t ask why they want the jacket, just hands it over easily when Jupiter comes to pick it up.

When he sees it, Colson whistles low through his teeth, poking at the spikes on the shoulders with an awed fascination.

“Holy shit, dude -”

“Don’t cum too hard, it’s just a jacket,” Jupiter makes a face, but Colson actually snorts.

“Do you know how many guys would give their left nut to touch this jacket?”

“Are you into me or my mom?” Jupiter snaps, and he turns his gaze on them, eyes wide, looking a little guilty. In an instant, he’s put the jacket on the table, and has wrapped Jup up in his arms.

“You, babe, of course, it’s just weird after seeing the replica costuming made; it doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing. I’m into you, Jup,” he adds, “jesus fuck.” Jup will leave enough bites and hickeys on him to remind him of this fact later that night. 

They haven’t thought much about the movie itself; they’ve been around set out of sheer curiosity, and also to spend time with the cast, as they’re becoming fast friends, but they don’t actually know even the plot of the movie, or have read the script, and they haven’t been motivated enough to piece together any of this information from the snippets they’ve been on set for. Penny’s got a better grip, mostly because she, Lola, and Tommy have had meetings with the director, writers, and actors on how to handle Charlotte and Razzle with sensitivity, but Penny never talks to Jupiter about it, she knows Jupiter, for lack of a better phrase, would rather be surprised by the movie.

So their expectations are low by the time the premiere comes around, but they’re going all out, getting ready with Penny and the hair and makeup team they’ve hired for the occasion. 

Dark hair dark eyes, the makeup and hair women do a fantastic job, and Penny’s quiet for a long moment after the reveal.

“They did good?” Jupiter asks with a sharp smile, and Penny gives her a strange smile, a nod, but no words leave her lips. Jupiter doesn’t quite know how to take that, so they get dressed, leather shorts over ripped fishnets, knee-high black platforms that make them taller than any person should rightly be. They’d inherited most of Tommy’s height, which now, with six-inch platforms, is more of a curse than a blessing at 6′7″, but it doesn’t matter. They pull on the spiked bra, and leave their room with Lola’s jacket in their arms.

And Penny is silent.

“Holy shit.” Soft, eyes wide and awed, Penny takes them in, and Jupiter feels a strange sort of discomfort. “You look just like her.” Penny looks stunning in her own right, in a gorgeous, vintage-inspired jumpsuit, hair styled big, looking every bit like her parents’ daughter. Before her words could really sink in, she’s giving a bright smile, rifling through her bag, “we should get a polaroid; Andy and Sami asked if I could send a photo of us from tonight.”

They get a photo together, wait for it to develop before sending it to both the kids’ groupchat, affectionately titled Bastards Incorporated, as well as the group text Penny’d started with the rest of Hanoi Rocks after visiting them a few years ago.

Sami Yaffa sends back ‘holy shit pennylope and kid lee!! what a blast from the past’ and Jupiter feels like they’re hearing that a lot lately. He follows it with a few kind words about how authentic they look, and how their parents would be proud. Penny pretends like she isn’t tearing up a little at that, and Jupiter pretends like they don’t take the comment as a compliment. 

Meanwhile, in Bastards Incorporated, populated by the various Lee and Sixx children, amid compliments, Cyrus has changed Jupiter’s nickname from Daddy Kink  to Electra Complex 😘 and Cerie is sending selfies from the limousine that’s on it’s way to Jupiter and Penny.

[Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: cyrus im gonna break all the bones in your arm [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: im ambidextrous [Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: *arms [Cerie] Evil Cyrus sent a photo to Bastards Incorporated. [Penelope] the only valid lee: Cerie sTOP you look incredible!!  [Cerie] Evil Cyrus ❤️ reacted. [Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: wait is that SEO NOT WEARING A HOODIE [Seo] King of the Ripsticks ❤️ reacted. [Cerie] Evil Cyrus sent a photo to Bastards Incorporated. [Penelope] the only valid lee: SEO YOU LOOK SO GOOOOOOOD [Seo] King of the Ripsticks ❤️ reacted. [Seo] King of the Ripsticks: 🤵

Since turning 18, no-one outside of the family has seen Seo’s face without his hoodie and sunglasses, a personal choice, and kind of a gimmick to make him more memorable in the skating scene, so when Penny and Jupiter slide into the limousine to see him dressed to the nines, in a powder blue suit with his hair blown out, it comes as a welcome surprise, and they both shower him with compliments.

“Oi!” Cyrus cuts in where he’s sitting opposite them beside his twin, “what about me?”

“You look like a rat,” Jupiter tells him, despite how well dressed he also was. Cyrus flips them off, “Cerie you look stunning.” Jupiter tells her with a warm sincerity, and Cerie gives a toothy grin. Cerie’s always had the makings of a model, and in a sparkling, champagne colored dress and understated makeup, she’ll outshine them all with ease.

“Come on,” Cyrus whined, before tugging at the lapels of his jacket, doing the bottom button up, putting on his most winning grin as he turned on Penny, “come on, Pen, thoughts?” And Penny, ever the favourite cousin, humours him.

“You look great, Cy; I can’t believe you’re wearing a keyboard tie, but somehow it looks good on you, bud,” and at her praise, Cyrus practically preens.

“I can’t believe you’re dressed as mom,” Cerie’s a little disbelieving when she finally takes in Jupiter’s attire, quickly making mention that they look spectacular, it’s just a little jarring.

“You look -”

“Just like her, I know,” Jup gives a tired smile, and pulls out a hand mirror to touch up their lipstick, “it’s kind of the point.”

They all enthuse about the film, about the story they’re about to witness, about how it’s probably going to be weird to see their parents like that - Penny is quiet. And Jupiter takes her hand without a word. 

They step out onto the red carpet one at a time, first the twins, Cyrus leading like the peacock he is, followed by Cerie, then Seo. Jupiter goes to leave, but Penny won’t move, won’t let go of their hand.

“What if they tell it wrong, after everything, they tell it wrong?” She asks, a shake in her voice that Jupiter knows all too well. 

“Then we’ll burn the theatre to the ground -”

“Don’t be like Lola for just a fucking minute, Jup; this is really important to me, I know you don’t get it, but arson won’t fix if they’ve ruined my family’s memory, you know?” 

Jupiter pauses for a long moment before wrapping Penny up in a hug, just as she had so many times for Jupiter before. Penny dabs delicately at her eyes before her tears can ruin her makeup.

“Our family wouldn’t let them release anything that didn’t do your parents justice; you wouldn’t sign off on anything that wouldn’t do them justice.” Jupiter tells her with the utmost seriousness, though Penny’s expression is still doubtful.

“But what if I got it wrong?”

“Penelope Dingley Lee, first of her name, if your parents were here, they’d be so immeasurably proud of you, because they loved you more than anything else in the world,” they took Penny’s face in their hands, made sure she was looking at them, “you couldn’t fail them even if you tried.”

Together, they face the crowd, who go wild at the sight of them, and smile like this isn’t one of the most uniquely strange and painful experiences of their lives. Flashbulbs go off and Jupiter strikes pose after pose, soaking up the attention with Penny by their side. They get to their siblings, to the rest of their family, there’s shock, and surprise, and when they look at Lola, wearing a black, velvet dress with her hair slicked back, she’s shocked. 

“Look at you,” Tommy marvels with a million-watt smile, “this is one hell of a stunt, kiddo, you look fantastic!” And he wraps them up in a hug, looking proud as punch. 

Mick is laughing harder than Jupiter’s ever seen him laugh before, and Vince and Nikki are wearing almost identically fond and disbelieving smiles. But Lola is unreadable.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Mick makes his way to Jupiter, pats them fondly, and Jupiter makes a point of patting his head with their enhanced height, “you wear it well, kiddo; didn’t realise those two had good genes to pass on but it seems they did.” Tommy, who overheard the remark, sees Mick’s good-natured smile and teasing tone, and flips him off with a smile of his own, while Lola snickers.

“Fuck you, you geezer,” she tells him with a well worn fondness, before looking back at her child, who suddenly feels strangely nervous, though they try their best to cover it with bravado.

“They say I look like you,” Jupiter says with a smirk, and Lola shakes her head, expression turning amused. The rest of the family and the band is busy taking photos, but Lola tentatively approaches Jupiter, asks if she can hug them. Jupiter, who’s never really been one for physical contact, acquiesces, bending to hug their mother. 

“You have a much better head on your shoulders than I did at your age,” Lola mutters, and gives Jupiter a squeeze, before adding, “you look so badass, sweetheart.” 

Jupiter has no idea what they were expecting, but this almost definitely wasn’t it. Lola and Jupiter get countless photos together, and in the moments that follow, when the cast arrive, Alicia almost doubles over with laughter, crowing about how they should have cast Jup instead. The three of them get a photo together, and it’s one of the proudest moments of Lola’s life.

Focus from Jupiter dies down as people are splitting off to get photos with their doubles; Max and Josie tug Penny away to get a cheesy family photo with her, while the band and cast were taking side by side comparisons. 

By the time Douglas has reintroduced himself to Seo, not recognizing him without his hoodie and sunglasses,the rest of Lola’s kids are doing an incredibly poor job of hiding their laughter.

“Dude, who is that?” Colson asks Jupiter, trying his hardest to be discrete. Jupiter raises their eyebrows, casting their gaze to Seo before looking back at Colson.

“That’s my brother.”

“How many do you have?”

“Four.”

“And that one’s -”

“Seo.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Colson half laughs, looking back at where Seo was taking photos of Cerie on her phone for her instagram, “are you- that’s Seo? Seo! Dude!” He calls, and Seo looks over in their general direction, flashes a toothy smile, before turning back. “That dude was under that hoodie that whole time? Guess I owe Daniel five bucks.”

“What?” Jupiter laughs, and Colson looks a little sheepish, wrapping an arm around them as a photographer calls their names.

“We all had a bet about what was under his hood,” Colson tells them, posing for the camera, “Iwan’s money was on alopecia -”

“He thought Seo just had no hair?” Jupiter snorted.

“I was thinking embarrassing face tattoo, Doug had weird-coloured hair, and Daniel had -”

“Regular dude?”

“Weirdly handsome dude, actually, and I can’t believe he’s spot on -”

“And I can’t believe you seem to have a thing for my whole family,” Jupiter gave him a gentle shove, while Colson gave a rougish grin.

“Only ‘cos if I think too hard about you, lookin’ the way you look, we’re not gonna make it to the actual movie,” he murmured in their ear, and Jupiter swallowed hard, smile widening on their face.

“The movie starts in half an hour; meet me in the second story bathroom in ten minutes,” and with that, they split, each moving to take more photos, Colson doing a few interviews while Jupiter made their way to the bathroom discretely.

Before he leaves, Colson can’t help but say hello to the oldest Sixx child; Seo squints at him for a moment before smiling.

“Hey man, good to see you,” he says, and without a doubt, that’s Seo’s unflappable baritone. 

“Gotta say, man, you clean up nice, almost didn’t recognise you,” Colson admits, wrapping an arm around Seo’s shoulders as they take a few pictures together. Seo looks at whoever calls his name loudest, smiling brightly. “How you doing man?”

“Great, man, like a pig in shit,” he says, “can you do me a favour?”

“Depends, what’s up?”

“Point me in Penny’s direction; she’s wearing the same colour thing as Cyrus and I am fucking lost,” he laughs, and Colson does a double take, which Seo seems to miss, “Cerie was right, I should have just worn my damn glasses.”

“Dude, are you blind?”

“Legally, yeah, can’t properly see anything that’s not six inches away from my face.” And suddenly things are make a lot more sense.

“Your sunglasses are prescription, aren’t they?” Colson steers him in the direction of Penny, who caught sight of the pair of them, meeting them in the middle.

“Bingo,” Seo tells him with a grin, before letting Penny tuck her arm in his. After a beat, he adds, “thanks Daniel.”

“Actually I’m -” Colson goes to correct, actually a little embarrassed, but Seo snickers.

“It’s a joke, Kells, I know it’s you,” and he adds, “Jup left like twelve minutes ago, if you were looking for her.” And it’s eerie that he knows that he was. But it sounds like a blessing, if anything, and Colson tries to get away as unnoticed as possible.

[Cyrus] DJ Dumbass sent a photo to Bastards Incorporated. [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: JUPITER WHERE U @ UR BOYFRIENDS ESCAPING [Jupiter] Electra Complex 😘: none of your business [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: :O [Penelope] the only valid lee: they’re really in character ;) [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: lmao what if i sent a screenshot to lola [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: Jup [Cyrus] DJ Dumbass: @Electra Complex 😘 Penelope changed Cyrus’s nickname to QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER. [Cyrus] QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER: they’re not even RESPONDING [Cyrus] QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER: @Electra Complex 😘 this is the fuckin funniest i can’t believe you’ve been possessed by the spirit of 80s mom on tonight of all nights [Penelope] the only valid lee: since they aren’t here to defend themselves, cyrus im gonna rip out ya spine mortal kombat style [Seo] King of the Ripsticks and [Cerie] Evil Cyrus ❤️ reacted.  [Cerie] Evil Cyrus: a threat jup would be proud of [Penelope] the only valid lee ❤️ reacted.  [Cyrus] QUIT SNITCHIN MFKER: thats fair

Jupiter doesn’t mind, just this once, that history, in it’s own twisted way, repeats itself. If both of them look a little too pleased, a little too rumpled, no-one comments; it’s in the spirit of the film after all.

[ddae208e]

Maybe (goodbyes are in order) I Renjun x Reader, Yangyang x Reader, ft. Haechan

Maybe everyone has a soulmate – maybe when your soulmate dies, your memories of that soulmate are erased – and maybe then you get assigned a new soulmate.

And maybe in this scenario, your dead soulmate loves you too much to let you go, and therefore on his quest to seek your love (and make sure it stays his) maybe he gets a little help from a fallen angel.

Word count: 3k Angst, ghost!au, demon!au,  Warning: death, mention of death

Inspired by “The Good Place” (Only watched 2 seasons so pls don’t spoil!!) and Desiderium by Jaeminhours (one of my favourite fics!!)

After a long and dreadful week of school, the weekend awaits you. What better way to start your supposed-to-be stress-free weekend, than by getting caught in the rain with no cover of any kind and in the very dark and very lonely park? The rain continues falling and your ears are filled with nothing but the sounds of pitter-patter and the boisterous winds. Maybe you should have taken the bus home instead of walking – but no way to change the past so you must live in the present. You finally decide to seek shelter while waiting for the worst of the storm to be over, then you can run home. 

As you stand under the roof of the bus stop, you hear someone calling out your name. At the same time you receive a message. It is your mother – Honey, it seems you have a new soulmate. We got the letter earlier but wanted to surprise you once you got home. He could not wait though, so he has run out to get you! His name is Yangyang. He seems lovely :)

You chuckle at your phone, quickly sending your mother a heart emoji before putting your phone back in your pocket and then turning around, searching for the source of sound. “Oh, hi!” A boy a few inches taller than you almost runs into you but steadies himself in time. “So clumsy, sorry about that!” His sweet laughter puts a smile on your face. “Ah yeah, it’s nothing. Hey, uh, are you Yangyang?” You smile shyly at him. “Huh?” He looks at you with big puppy eyes. “Ooooooh, your mother texted you already? I wanted to surprise you, saying I would like, kidnap you, and then slowly make you fall in love with me, stockholm syndrome you know?” He starts laughing loudly and even though he is already one of the weirdest people you have met – who tells their soulmate, who they have only just met, that they planned to kidnap them? – you can only stare at him as if he has stars in his eyes. 

You feel the calmest when Yangyang pats and traces his warm hand across your back. It always makes you feel super dreamy and you wish for the moment never to end. “You’re my person,” you hear Yangyang whisper softly. You look at him and smile saying “and you’re mine.” 

“Stupid. Annoying. Loud. Oblivious. Better off without him,” you ramble on and on as you walk through the same exact park in which you met this newfound problem of yours. It has been two years since you met Yangyang, and he is indeed the sweetest soulmate you have ever had – he is also the only one I remember, you think – yet this time, it feels as if maybe you have been assigned a wrong soulmate. Not wanting to think more of him and the reason for your unanticipated anger, you walk along the blooming lilac paths as you feel a pang of deja vu. “They’re lovely, aren’t they?” A soft voice asks and you turn around quickly. In front of you stands a dull-looking boy. The wind has swept his hair in every direction all at once, his clothes look old, dirty and worn-out as well as his face looks extremely tired based on the bags under his eyes. “Yeah, they are.” You say as you start to turn around again. You do not want to be mean or judgemental, but it is dark and night and you are all alone in the park with this guy. “Do you know what it means?” He asks another question. Taking in a deep breath, you turn around again. You shake your head and look at the ground. He is not wearing any shoes. “Lilacs are a common flower, yet I do not think a lot of people truly know the meaning behind them. I used to gift these flowers to my soulmate every time I’d see her. I can’t do that anymore, because I never see her.” He smiles sadly and looks down too. Then he bends down and picks a couple of the lilacs. “Youthful innocence. First love.” He takes small steps towards you, making sure not to scare you off. You slowly nod at him, letting him know it was okay. As he stands directly in front of you, he hands you the flowers. You do hesitate for a minute, but then you do take the flowers. But it feels weird. You were so sure you would touch his hand when he handed over the flowers, but you did not actually feel anything. Just a quick whoosh as his hand fell down next to his side again. There is disappointment in his eyes, yet you have no idea why. Maybe because he misses his soulmate? “Sorry, I’ll… I’ll see you around.” He says and then he is gone all at once. He just turned around and disappeared into thin air. “It’s not even foggy out..” You tell yourself as you quietly walk back home, the lilacs still in your grasp. 

Immense agony. Immense agony is all that Renjun can feel. “Now you listen to me, Renjun,” says a light voice. Renjun strains his eyes, trying to focus in the dimly lit room. “Where and who are you?” Renjun asks without expecting an answer. “Nevermind that, only mind the fact that I can help you make that Yangyang dude either disappear or be put in misery. You decide.” Renjun’s facial expression changes as he furrows his brows and slightly open his mouth to ask another question – but the voice of the unknown beats him to it. “I only want to be of assistance. I will find him and bring him to you, and then you get to do all the action. I’m fine with just watching.” Renjun hears a snicker. “It won’t make you feel any better, you’ll still be in all of this unexplainable pain, but at least you will know that he won’t get the pleasure of being with your soulmate.” This is what sends Renjun over the edge. “Do it.” 

Before Renjun’s vision goes dark once again, he hears another vile-tainted whisper, yet he decides to ignore it. Maybe he should have taken it as a warning sign. “Quid pro quo.”

You curse under your breath as the cold winter-air hits your soft skin. The sun set a couple hours ago, yet you were too stubborn to stay home and simply go buy snacks tomorrow. So here you are, tightly clutching bags of snacks close to your chest, walking with a fast pace through the dark of the night. 

On your way, a dilemma occurs: do you choose the long but illuminated path, or the very dark path surrounded by overgrown trees and bushes? You choose the lesser-wise option: the latter. The leaves are rustling beneath your feet and above your head, and you hear the crushing of branches even though you are one hundred percent sure that you only step on small pebbles from time to time. A few minutes pass, and you still cannot shake the thought that you are being followed – so you quickly turn around, and once you see the black silhouette standing right in front of you, you gasp loudly, throwing your snacks at the person before sprinting off. While running, you look back for one second and as soon as you turn your gaze back in front of you, you run into something. You run into someone. You slowly turn your eyes upward to see the face of the person – a male, you presume. “Hey there, be careful. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt now,” says the guy lowly. He places his hands on your shoulders and rubs them gently. “Who are you?” You stutter. The man in all black clothing chuckles, turning his head slightly to the left, letting the moon shine on his face. His eyes are red. “Are you wearing contacts?” You ask naively, to which he frowns. “No. Why would I be wearing contacts?” You shrug and smile slightly. “Well, thanks for looking out for me. I’ll just be on my very way,” you start as you shake off his hands, yet as you try to step away, you simply cannot. Your legs will not move. It feels as if you are paralyzed. “Not so fast, honey.” He says smugly. “My friend needs to tell you something… Of the seven sins I am envy, but you should call me Haechan.” He snaps his fingers and your surroundings change. 

In front of you stands Renjun. “So sorry about that, I just needed to speak to you and Haechan told me he could easily get you. Also, I bought you some new snacks. The other ones got dirty and I saw some animals ripping the bags and eating it, so yeah…” He walks toward you and you grab the snacks. “Could I eat them now? As you speak?” You ask mellowly, retrieving a smile accompanied by a small blush from Renjun. He nods. “Um, not sure how to start… Alright, well, cut to the chase, we used to be soulmates.” You choke on your chips. He hurries next to you to pat your back, “are you okay?” You can hear the worry in Renjun’s voice. You nod and gesture for him to continue. “I’m a ghost. I’m dead. I- don’t want to get into the specifics, but I died a while ago and only realized a couple weeks ago.” You look dumbfoundedly at him. When did he realize? How? “When I handed you the lilacs.” He replies as if he had read your mind. “I’m not sure why I’m telling you this – or actually I am. I was hoping you could be mine again, as fate had decided, but I’m not too sure now, seeing as you have already been assigned… Yangyang.” As the name rolls off his tongue, Renjun’s nose scrunches, his eyes turn a slightly darker brown and he frowns. “All I want is for you to be happy, but I would rather it be with me than him.” You have no idea what to say. “Is this a prank?” You ask quietly, putting away your snacks. Renjun shakes his head and sighs deeply. “Chan?” He calls out and Haechan appears in an instance. “Take her back,” Renjun says and Haechan nods with a smirk sitting on his lips. “I love you, but I’m sensing you’d rather be with him than with me.” The hint of sadness in Renjun’s voice makes you want to cry. You stand up and run toward him with open arms, but all that happens is that you run right through him. You turn around to look at him, and it seems that he is straining his eyes as to not start crying. “Haechan,” Renjun calls and you hear a snapping of fingers.

“Yang?” You call out to a seemingly empty house. “Yes, baby? In here!” Yangyang’s softly distant voice reaches your ears and you hurry toward your bedroom. Yangyang lies on his back while looking up at the ceiling. He seems to be deep in thought, yet as soon as he hears your footsteps approaching, he uses his elbows to push his way up so that he can look at you. He smiles so sweetly at you, and you think about just dropping the whole thing and letting him stay in this happy-peace-of-mind. You decide against it, though. There is a reason that the two of you are soulmates, and if it is not about honesty, then what on earth could it be about? So you tell him about your encounter with Renjun, apparently an earlier soulmate of yours. “We talked for a while, mostly him though, and then I wanted to touch him – hug him, just to let him feel safe or something, you know? But I fell right through him, so I guess he really is a ghost. He must really be dead.” No matter how hard you try, you simply cannot decode Yangyang’s expression. You fear the worst, but luckily you are wrong. “Hey, honey, it’s okay. I’m not mad.” He coos as he softly pushes some of your hair behind your ear. “He knew your name, a lot of facts about you, your whole life story basically. I honestly believe he was your soulmate once. But that is all he ever was and ever will be. An ex-soulmate. I guess that if you could actually touch him, maybe it could have been different. Like, if you got those feelings for him back, I would not blame you. He was your soulmate before me, and it sounds like he was so for a long time, maybe even your first and only soulmate – until me, of course. Just know that I will stand by you no matter what. Okay?” He pecks your lips and stares at you with a small smile playing on his lips and nothing but adoration in his eyes. “Do you think any of your soulmates are dead? Have you had any before me?” Yangyang’s smile slowly disappears. Maybe you were not supposed to ask him that. Maybe he had also been contacted by a former soulmate, whom he still loves to this day. Maybe you should not have told Yangyang about Renjun. Maybe you should have just forced yourself to believe that Renjun played some really well-thought-out prank on you. Maybe you should have just ignored Renjun. Acted like you did not see him. That should not have been hard, for no one else seemed to be able to see him. “As far as I know, I do not know about any former soulmates. No one has told me anything, at least.” You mumble a quick “sorry I asked” before wrapping your arms around Yangyang and hold him close. Trying to cheer him up since you are the cause of his sudden sad face. He snuggles further into your embrace and mumbles something you do not clearly hear. All you know is that you hear the word “love” and it brings a smile onto your face. 

As the sun starts to set, both you and Yangyang start to doze off on top of your soft and super comfortable king-sized bed. Yanyang’s arms are lazily wrapped around your waist with your head lying on his chest. A very serene moment for the both of you. You both wishing it would last forever. Spoiler alert: it does not. 

As soon as your eyes shut along with Yangyang’s, it feels as if the two of you enter an endless void. It is scorchingly hot in there, and since you for some reason are barefoot, it only makes it worse for it feels as if you are stepping on a path of fire. You wince as Yangyang’s hand holds yours – “too hot, yeah, sorry,” he says with an awkward smile as he rubs his neck. A deep roar can be heard, and you jump, grabbing Yangyang’s hand instinctively. He snickers at this, calling you a hypocrite. “So when I hold your hand, it is a sin, yet when you feel like holding mine, it is an act of love?” He laughs at your cutesy pout. Then he shakes his head and points at something behind you. Actually not at something, but rather someone. Just as you are about to turn around, you are flying through the room, being pushed backwards and away from your soulmate. A shiver runs down your spine as a somewhat acquainted voice whispers into your ear: “I want you back, and I want you all to myself.” Then you wake up. Looking around frantically, you shake Yangyang’s body, trying to wake him up. He does not budge. “Yang? Yangyang!” Panic starts to arise in your voice and breathing also gets harder. Why is he not waking up?

“I’ll go easy on you, okay?” Renjun mutters as he tightens his grip on Yangyang’s neck. “Maybe I could suffocate you with an article of your soulmates clothing?” Renjun states rather than asks. Yangyang whimpers and lets out cries as he begs for his life. “Too feeble to save yourself. How would you ever be able to save your soulmate, huh?” Renjun feels absolutely no remorse. He is wrapped in feelings of despair and wrath as he tortues the innocent boy. “Too gullible. Easily hoaxed into becoming a demon for eternity. My new best friend. Wrath really did choose you, huh?” Haechan says, imitating Renjun’s last word as a ghost.

“What do you mean you will be meeting your new soulmate today, ? I already have a soulmate! His name is Renjun and I demand to see him right this instant!” Your parents are wearing very worried facial expressions, but you do not understand why. It seems that when Yangyang died, not only were your memories of him erased, but so were the memories and knowledge of Renjun’s death. Maybe you even regained the memories of the two of you before his death, and now that is the reasoning behind your sudden madness and outburst. A mere whisper leaves your mother’s lips. “Darling, Renjun- … He passed away.” Your father sighs as he pats your mother’s back, slightly reassuring her that everything will turn out fine. Just as you are about to talk back to your mother, you hear a voice inside your head. “I cannot go back, Haechan, and you know it!” The voice belongs to Renjun, yet it sounds different than his usual laid-back tone. He sounds frantic. You clutch your head as you fall to the floor and your parents hurry to your side. “I love her. I do. But the… The wrath got the best of me. It is unforgivable. I killed her soulmate because I wanted to be her only. He didn’t deserve her. But neither do I anymore.” You regain your strength and stand back up, starting to pace and roam around the room. The curiosity is killing you. You want to ask your parents about your old soulmate – how did he die? – but you choose not to. “Well, let’s meet my new soulmate, then.”

[venomous--fics]

Do you wonder?

Inspiration/ Mood music: Do You Wonder- Khai Dreams // Maybe We’re Meant to be Alone - Bad Suns

Summary: A one night stand with Eddie over a decade ago might have been the best thing to ever happen.

Pearlie: Do you Wonder is the big mood for this fic, so, put that on loop tbh. But the Bad Suns song is also a mood and so good. Also, please don’t mind the name I picked for the kid, it’s literally my middle name and I had no other ideas, rip me. yes, my name is Pearlie Quinn… My dad said Harley Quinn was overrated and now I am CURSED. Might do a part 2 to this, as Eddie doesn’t have V in this bit.

STORY: 

You were walking down the sidewalk, right behind your daughter, Quinn, who, at 12, has already decided she’s going to be some sort of scientist, or, better yet, an astronaut. You couldn’t help but be fascinated with her imagination and curiosity of new things. 

You watched her eyes light up when she talked about how rain clouds formed, or how rockets were built. She had the same spark that her dad had. It brought back memories of being in college with her father, Eddie Brock. He was always a nerd, talking about he was going to have his own newspaper, or his own news show. 

Sadly, you didn’t know if any of his dreams came true. Things got a bit weird after that one night. You knew it was going to mess things up, but you loved Eddie and you just wanted to be with him. He loved you, and you could see it- Everyone could. 

Weeks after the whole ‘it won’t change a thing.’ schtick, you found out you were pregnant. You were grateful you were almost done with college, but what about after? Would Eddie be okay with this? You were going to tell Eddie about it, but then you saw him out on a date with a different girl.. She was a bit taller than you, looked more professional. Blonde. 

You decided that maybe, just maybe, it would be easier to just not tell Eddie.. He looked happy with that girl anyways. You wondered if they were married now.. Maybe he had kids with her. Is he happy? Does he think about you? 

“Mom.” 

“Oh!” you chirped, bring your attention back to her, “Yes?”

“You think maybe we can- like- go out for something to eat? I’m starving.”

“Sure! You pick and I’ll buy.”

“Kinda hoping you’d pay.. I’m not exactly rich at the moment.” she smirked.

She looked exactly liked him, even had his signature lopsided smirk- His hair- His humor.

“When you get rich, send me a check.” you chuckled.

“Fifty-fifty.”

“Fair.”

Quinn spun around and shot you finger guns, and you laughed, and she continued backwards, accidentally bumping into someone. She awkwardly shuffled closer to you and whipped around, “My bad.”

The person hesitated before turning around, and you felt your heart stop. You covered your mouth to hold in a gasp, quickly masking it as clearing your throat.

“Y/N?”

“Eddie?”

“Hey!” 

Before you could think of an escape plan, he pulled you into a hug. You tried to fight the urge, but you gave in and hugged him as tightly as you could. 

“Ahem?” Quinn sarcastically coughed.

You pulled away and gestured to your daughter, “Eddie, this is, uh.. This is, uhm..”

“Quinn.” 

“Right, yes, this is my daughter, Quinn.” you nervously brushed some hair out of your face.

“Daughter?” Eddie asked, looking at her.

He raised a brow as Quinn seemed to scan Eddie over. He and the kid tilted their head in the same manner, almost as if they were connecting the dots. Eddie felt like he was looking in a mirror, yet, not. Quinn, to him, looked like her mother, but something felt..like it was him.

Quinn smiled a little, “I recognize him! He the guy from all your old pictures.”

“Yes, well,” you felt your face heat up, “You’re right.”

“You still have those dusty things?” Eddie chuckled, “What was your reason again? Scrapbooking?”

“It’s a fun hobby.”

“For old ladies, I think.” Eddie smiled at you, “Joking. Joking.”

You awkwardly laughed along with him, wanting nothing more than to just scream and hide. This felt like a train wreck waiting to happen- assuming it hasn’t already.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” 

“Oh,” you faltered, “Uh-”

“Don’t know.” Quinn cut in, rather bluntly, “I mean, my mom knows, but she says she doesn’t want to talk about it. Says, ‘I’m not old enough.’ I’m 12, isn’t that old enough?”

Eddie looked puzzled again. Surely you weren’t the type to just… Have a kid on your own. You always told him about you wanted a family, and a nice house, and maybe a dog or two… He had to admit, whoever the guy was, he was kinda jealous.. Even if he wasn’t around. 

“So, I assume you’re not married?”

“Have no need for it.” you said, “I’m happy.”

Eddie looked back at Quinn, who was still looking up at him, eyes bright and beautiful. 

“What about yourself?” you asked.

“Me? Ah, you know, n’thing’s changed but the weather.” he chuckled, a little sadder this time. 

You raised a brow, “I can still tell when you’re lying.”

Eddie awkwardly rubbed his neck, “Everything’s fine.”

You saw Quinn growing bored, hearing her huff and blow hair out of her face.

“Hey, do you, maybe wanna get lunch with us?” Quinn half shouted.

You looked over at her.

“What?” she asked, “I’m dying over here and you guys keeping talking and talking aaaand taaalllkkiiiing.” 

Eddie let out a genuine laugh, “Sure, I don’t mind- If your mom doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Quinn pleaded.

“Just so you know, I talk with my mouth full,” Eddie joked, “Ms. Square over there always said it was bad manners.”

“It is. I also don’t want to see what you’re chomping on.”

Quinn giggled as you three walked together, “He’s funny.”

“He’s okay,” you said.

“Okay?” Eddie faked offense, “I’ll have you know, I can make Mrs.Chen laugh. That is not an easy task.” 

“Mrs.Chen?” Quinn tilted her head again, “Whose that.”

“Real nice lady. She owns a little shop downtown. Maybe we can go sometime- I think she’d get a kick out of you.”

Your heart began thumping at the thought of doing things with Eddie again. Maybe if he got cozy, you could get a chance to tell him the truth. You still wanted nothing more than to be with him.

Quinn cut in, “Eddie, you seem familiar. And I don’t mean pictures either.”

“I get that alot.” Eddie put his hands in his pockets, “Last time I heard that, someone thought I took twenty bucks from them. They were wrong.”

You waited for him to finish, because there is now way an Eddie story ends like-

“It was fifty.”

There it is.

Quinn seemed completely unphased by his story, and she snapped her fingers, “I know! You’re the guy from tv!”

“Tv? Me?” Eddie pointed to himself, “Nah, see, I have more- Uh, a face made for radio.”

“But you are on tv! I watch your show all the time. It helped me write a school report once.”

“What was it about? Corruption? Murder?”

“Pollution and recycling.”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddie acted like he had to think about that one, “That one was kind of boring.”

“I don’t think a 12 year old should write about murder anyways.”

“That’s for when I hit my angsty teenage years.” Quinn said proudly.

“Please don’t.” you replied.

“Here!”

The sudden outburst made you jump a little as Quinn pointed to her favorite pizza shop. She wasted no time as she bolted into the place and picked her usual seat. You and Eddie joined her, admittedly, taking your time.

“Haven’t been here in a long time.” Eddie said, letting out a breath as he got comfortable in his seat.

“We come here all the time. If we aren’t shopping, or playing at the park, or whatever, we’re here.”

“Wow, Q,” you mused, cheek resting on your hand, “You make it sound like we live here.”

“Might as well.” she quipped. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, looking over at Eddie, “Trust me, we don’t come here alot-”

“Y/N!” a voice called out.

You turned your attention to the source to see your friend, Lorenzo, waved from behind the counter.

“The usual?” he asked.

“Yes, please!” Quinn said, getting on her knees and looking over the wall of the booth, waving to Lorenzo.

He nodded before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Don’t come here often, but enough to warrant ‘the usual.’“ Eddie rubbed his chin, “Got it.”

“Lorenzo just knows what we like.”

“And what would that be?”

You opened your mouth, but Quinn wound up answering instead, “It’s this really good pizza that’s extra cheesy, and has extra pepperoni. It’s my favorite too.”

“That’s funny.” Eddie smiled, “That’s my favorite too.”

You watched as Eddie and your daughter got swept up in a whirlwind conversation about how pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, and if anyone likes that, they’re most definitely an alien- And that’s scientific truth… Because she said it. You lost yourself in a daydream.

“You should really be a little more careful about what you eat, Ed.”

“And you should live a little. C’mon, it’s got extra cheese because I know you have a thing for it.”

Eddie turned the box a little and you looked down at the pizza inside. Somehow, a romantic picnic translated into ‘bring the greasiest, cheesiest, pizza smothered in pepperonis.’ You didn’t mind, but it looked like a heart attack waiting to happen.

You rolled your eyes and blew a piece of hair out of your face, making him chuckle a little. Eddie being Eddie, he finished his piece and then went to wipe his face on his sleeve. Thankfully, you stopped him. You leaned over, and very close to his face, gently wiping it with your napkin, “The grease will leave a nasty stain.”

Eddie was flustered, to say the least. His stomach didn’t feel full of food, rather, butterflies, and his eyes roamed your face, admiring the love that was in your eyes. He knew it was directed towards him. You were never good at keeping secrets.

You realized what you’d done and you froze. Your face was so very close to his, your lips were practically touching, and your cheeks felt warm. You slowly lowered the napkin, feeling yourself shrink away from him.

“Sorry, I didn-”

Eddie gently cupped the hand that had the napkin in it, his eyes still locked on yours, “No, uhm.. Don’t.. Be.”

You felt a flood of emotions race over you. There he was, Eddie Brock, the man you were so helplessly in love with. You felt like you’d known him for centuries. He was so close, yet, it didn’t feel close enough.

“I can’t.” you said, sheepishly.

Eddie placed a hand on your cheek and smiled shyly, “Why?”

“It would be weird.”

“Weird?”

“What if we don’t like it- Or if .. Maybe we shouldn’t. It could ruin everything if we did, and I like you too much- I mean, you know what I mean, Ed-”

Eddie pulled you closer and gave you the softest, sweetest kiss you’d ever had. You’d never kissed anyone, but that wasn’t the point. Everything in that moment felt right, perfect even.

He pulled away and you two looked at each other. You smiled crookedly, love drunk, and you giggled quietly, “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever told me to shut up.”

“Nerd.”

“So, thing’s aren’t weird now, are they?”

Eddie looked up, “Uh, they don’t feel weird so,” he looked back at you, “Nah.”

You felt very courageous out of nowhere as you grabbed his face and pulled him into another kiss. You felt his arms wrap around you and pull you close. You weren’t listening, but you could’ve swore he said he loved you under his breath.

“Y/N?”

You blinked a few times before snapping back to reality and sitting up straight, “Yes?”

“Thought we lost you for a second there. What were you thinking about?” Eddie asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

Something.

“You sure about that?”

“Mhmm.”

Eddie slid a plate over to you, two pieces on it. You looked down at it, feeling a sense of deja vu.

“Figured I’d give you some before we fight over the rest.”

“Oh.” you stared at the food, “Thanks.”

“Sure you’re alright?”

“Dandy.” you smiled at him, “It was just something about a long time ago.”

“Ah.” he replied, “I try not to think about that stuff.. But, can’t help it sometimes.”

“Right.” 

The rest of your meal consisted of Q telling a joke or story and Eddie trying to 1-up it, only to get shot down most of the time. You wouldn’t say it aloud, but this was kind of perfect. Almost like a scene in those tv movies you watched way too much of. You didn’t like them, but nothing else was ever on.

Eddie paid, despite you saying it was your treat. You caved when he said he didn’t mind, and if you didn’t let him pay, he would just have to take you guys out again and pay then. You already knew you’d be going out again. It was fate.

“Hey, Eddie,” Q started, sounding shy, “Do you want to watch a movie with us? We always watch movies on the weekends.”

“Again, if your mom don’t mind-”

“I don’t mind.” you sounded like a broken record. You sweetly put a hand on Eddie’s arm, “It’s nice having you around again. Like old times.”

Eddie felt all the emotions he thought he got rid of come surging back. He tried so hard to forget what you guys did, and how things were, because he didn’t feel good enough for you. He stammered trying to find the words.

“Yeah. Like old times.”

You three made your way home, but not before Eddie took the lead, saying rather than waiting, he was going to take you to see the famous Mrs.Chen, that and he wanted some snacks for the whole movie party thing. Q thought it was a great idea.

Eddie opened the doors to the small shop, and Q looked at him for a moment before going in. She was quiet, which was normal when she’s in new places.

“Who is this?” a small woman beamed.

“This is Y/n and Quinn.” Eddie replied. 

“Family?”

“Something like that.” Eddie replied, “How are things?”

“Eh, you know.”

Eddie watched you guide Q around, and he smiled to himself as Q seemed to perk up and began searching around. He carried the conversation with Mrs.Chen for awhile, she mentioned how she had some family coming in next week, so the shop would probably be closed.

Q came sauntering over with an armful of various snacks, ranging from popcorn to candy. She lifted her arms and placed the stuff on the counter, “My mom has the rest.”

“You making a snack salad?” Eddie asked, watching you bring the last half of the snacks. 

“It’s the best.” Q replied, in her matter-of-fact tone.

Mrs.Chen looked at Eddie quizzically, having memorized all the times he came in here, buying many of the same things for the same reason. She could even hear him saying that it’s a secret recipe for some gourmet meal. Like that made it any better. 

You talked to Mrs.Chen as Eddie helped Quinn grab the bags and walk to the door. Liking the same foods? Probably just a coincidence, right? Eddie left with you two with a new nagging feeling. He barely knew this kid, yet he was ready to die for them. Why. This wasn’t like him.

You three made it back to your place and Quinn immediately began making the popcorn. You let her be as you went to get the movies, and Eddie stuck around in the kitchen, watching this 12 year old not destroy everything. She must’ve gotten the tidiness from her mom.. She always cleaned up his messes- Not because he asked, but because she cared.

Quinn opened up some M&Ms and dumped them into the bowl of freshly popped popcorn. She grabbed the licorice and set the bag on top of the popcorn, grabbing the bowl off the counter and carrying it to the living room. Eddie awkwardly shuffled behind.

You were forced to put in Tangled, Q’s favorite movie at the moment. This movie is the reason she talks about being whatever she wants when she gets older. Rapunzel did what she wanted and found out she was a princess, and Q thought that was cool.

“Have you seen this before?” Quinn asked, mouth full of licorice.

“Can’t say I have.” Eddie replied, taking some of the candy. 

Not even 20 minutes into the movie and Quinn was out. It was only around 8pm, normally she’s awake until 10. You paid no mind as you covered her up with an extra blanket and carefully placed the snack bowl on the table. you hadn’t noticed Eddie watching you, but he was. You hadn’t changed at all.

You’re still you; the girl he was in love with since middle school. The girl who would always offer him her lunch, knowing he had forgotten his. He hates himself for hardly returning the favor. 

“How old is she again?”

“Twelve.” you replied, placing a soft kiss on the girl’s head.

“Ah.”

You looked at Eddie as you sat close to him, “Why?”

“Just, uh, curious.”

“Sure you were.”

“We can put something else on if you want.” you said, grabbing the remote.

“Nah, this is good.” Eddie replied. 

“Really? Are you sick?” you put a hand on his forehead, “Where’s the Eddie that always told me princesses were for sissies.”

Eddie giggled as he removed your hand from his face, “Oh, c’mon now, maybe I’ve changed.”

“I’ll say.”

“Hey, Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“Uhm.” Eddie hesitated. It probably wasn’t best to bring up certain events on such short notice, seeing as he doesn’t even know what you do for a living. You tilted your head as he looked out the window, “Do you mind if I stay? It’s pretty late.”

You became a broken record again, “I don’t mind, Eddie.”

Eddie felt embarrassed, which was kind of a new feeling for him. What was he supposed to do? Bring up something that happened ages ago? How long ago even was it, he thought, because it felt like yesterday it happened.

You and Eddie finished the movie in peace, and you showed him to the guest room, which was down the hall from your room. You bid him a good night and left him alone to get ready. 

He didn’t sleep much that night.

A day turned into a week, and a week turned into a month, and it seemed like Eddie was here to stay. Like a parasite who needed a host. You didn’t mind, actually, you liked having him around. Quinn seemed to get along with him greatly, which put you at ease. You had to tell Eddie to truth. And if he left, well, at least you got it off your chest.

“Eddie?” you asked sheepishly, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

The house fell quiet, as Quinn was in her room, probably doing gymnastics off her bed. You told her to be careful, as to not break an arm or a leg.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking at you.

“Can I talk to you about something? It’s kinda important.”

He set his cup down and walked over to you, “Are you okay? You look sick.”

“I feel sick.” you tried to chuckle, but quickly composed yourself, “Look, I need to say this- And if you hate me afterwards, then…That’s fine.” 

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just watched your eyes flicker from him to the floor, back to him, to the side. You were trying to get your thoughts to stop racing. 

“You remember that, uh, one night in college where we-”

“Yeah?”

“And things got weird after that…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to tell you then, but you were dating someone else, I thought- I figured, maybe I should just leave it be. You looked happy. I..”

“You’re worrying me.”

“Q is yours.” you blurted out.

“What?”

“Sorry I didn’t say anything, but I-”

“Y/n, how could you?” Eddie asked, more hurt than upset.

“I really was going to tell you, but then the girl I saw.. I mean, I got over it, and I honest to God was going to tell you, but then you told me about this job you got offered, and I didn’t want to mess it all up.”

“Mess it up?”

“You had everything you asked for. I knew if I told you what had happened you’d throw it all away, and you’d be miserable.”

“Miser- Y/n, you make it seem like I was some kind of douchebag.” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

You hadn’t even noticed the tears flowing down your cheeks until you physically saw Eddie’s heart sink. 

“I was alone when I had her, and I’ve been alone since.. And I was doing okay. But then she started asking, and I wanted to call you.. But I figured you were married and had other kids and what not..” You wiped your eyes on your sleeve, “I convinced myself I didn’t need you.”

“Well,” Eddie said, pausing again, “does it make you feel better knowing that I want to be here?”

“Do you?”

“Y/N I haven’t gone back to my apartment in two weeks.”

“I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“I would’ve been happier with you.”

Eddie pulled you into a warm hug and held you close. Everything felt right again. “I’m not leaving you two.”

You wrapped your arms around Eddie, “I know..”

“So that loser is my dad?”

You both whipped around and saw Quinn, who had waterfalls coming out of her eyes. The child quickly tried to wipe her face as she shrunk away. Eddie moved around you and walked over to Quinn, kneeling down, “I’m afraid so.”

Quinn looked at him, with the same colored eyes as he had, she sniffed. Eddie smiled softly, “Don’t hate me now, do you?”

Quinn jumped into his arms, wrapping her small ones around his neck, “No.”

Eddie hugged Q tightly, “Ah, was kinda afraid you’d want someone else to be your dad.”

Q sniffed, chuckling, “David Hasselhoff would’ve been cool.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“You’re pretty okay, though.”

“I like to think that too, kiddo.”

Quinn moved back and looked at Eddie, smiling at him. Eddie felt his heart swell up, and it felt like he was brought back to life. This was his daughter. He had what he always wanted; A family. He knew that no matter what, he wasn’t leaving. You were stuck with him. 

He started playing his life in his head, except it wasn’t past memories, it was the future. He had already planned out what he was going to do next. Marry you. Go out for ice cream, go to the fair, win all the big prizes just for his girls. Maybe get something cool, like a dog. 

Sure, he would have to take his time, but that’s alright. He wanted this all to last forever. He looked up at you big a big goofy grin, “Hey, want to go out an celebrate?”

You smiled, “What did you have in mind?”

“Oh!” Quinn shouted, “Ice cream! No, a movie! Dad, please!”

Eddie looked at Quinn. That’s what he was now. Dad.

“Of course.” Eddie said, still in a bit of a daze.

Before he could get up, the little girl hugged him tightly, feeling like all her wishes had come true. She got what she wanted and she didn’t want to let go. The coolest guy in the whole world was her dad, and she wanted to be just like him. 

“I love you, dad.”

Eddie smiled and gave her another hug, “I love you too.”

As you three got ready to leave, Eddie realized something. He didn’t have to wonder anymore if there was anything left for him. He didn’t need to wonder if anyone out there even loved him. He had the two most wonderful people in his life, and that’s all he could’ve ever asked for.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Eddie.”

“I’m tellin’ the truth, Y/n/n. Look,” He pointed up into the night sky, “That’s totally the big dipper.”

“That’s the little dipper, look at my book. The big dipper is over there.” You pointed to his left.

“Nah, nah, you got it backwards.”

“You have it backwards, as usual.”

“Either way, I’m still half right.”

“How does that even work if you’re wrong?”

“If my brain is in the right place, I technically don’t think I’m all wrong.”

You looked him over, “Was unaware you had a brain, Edward.”

“Ouch.” Eddie snorted, “That hurts. How do you think I got into this college anyways?”

You looked at the sky again, sighing, “I think you wished on stars one too many times. Or you bribed someone.”

“I didn’t bribe anyone. For your information, I’m always broke.”

You chuckled as you set your gaze on the moon. Eddie watched you for a moment, admiring how the nightly colors seem to wash over you like a painting. He followed your gaze and reclined back on his elbows. He saw you close your eyes from the corner of his gaze, “What are you doing?”

“Making a wish.”

“Loser.”

It was quiet for a moment before you laid back on the blanket on the grass.

“What did you wish for?”

“Can’t tell you or it won’t come true.”

“Laaaaaaaame.”

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think wishes really come true?”

Eddie shrugged, laying back, just like you, “Maybe.”

You rolled onto your side, resting your head on your arm, looking at Eddie, “Don’t laugh at me, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I wished that we would be together forever.”

“Are you twelve?”

You giggled as you reached out and grabbed his hand, “It wouldn’t be that bad, would it?”

Eddie looked at your hands and then at you. You looked at him like he was the only thing you had ever adored in your whole life. He looked at you the same way, “No, it wouldn’t be bad at all. I wouldn’t mind.”

“Thought you’d say that.”

[lunarfanfics]

Hey, Mister No Name Kid

Words: 2,121 | Rating: G

Pair: Eren Jaeger & Annie Leonhardt

i was a bit inspired by the song “Fight For Me” From Heather's the Musical. So here's some HIgh school AU!

[ FF.net / AO3 ]

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

Why was it that High School fights seemed to garner more attention than most tussles that happened outside of the school vicinity? Was it that teenagers were just more generally aggressive, and full of raging spirit and hormones? Was it that the loud hooting coming from the ring of Freshmen, Juniors and Sophomores surrounding the two boys grappling at each other incited the hype? Was it that the teachers attempting to break up the fight only caused more of a commotion that further riled the kids up?

The cafeteria became more of a screaming jungle the moment a fist collided with a cheek.  

Annie found it ludicrous, annoying… And yet so-very intriguing. Being a senior, she sat with the rest of the disgruntled older teens at the back of the Cafeteria, she sipped idly at her milk, watching with the slightest bit of interest as the darker haired youth tackled the taller blond boy, knocking him to the ground. Loud “Ah’s!” and “Oh’s!” erupted from the crowd of teenage spectators.

“Check it out. Jean punched that kid out twice, and yet he still gets up! Kid’s got more fight in ‘em than anybody here.” Reiner, the famed quarterback of Maria Highschool commented, folding his arms.

Bertolt, a tall quiet young man who looked more twenty-five than eighteen shook his head solemnly.

“They’re so loud. It’s almost the end of the year. Couldn’t they have waited until schools out?”

“As if!” Reiner chortled. “What would they have to fight about then?”

Bertolt shrugged, he stood grabbing his tray. “I’m going to head to class early, meet me after school.”

“I’ll tell ya’ who won!” Reiner called after him as Bertolt slipped away among the chaos.

Annie could see the dirty blond youth, the one called Jean who tried so hard to be the bad boy of the school, trying desperately to break free from the darker-haired boy’s chokehold. His gasping red face almost made him resemble a fish out of water. The corner of her lips curled just slightly.

Not bad…

The darker-haired boy seemed to have the upper hand now. He blew strands of chestnut hair from his face, his forearms tight around the other boy’s neck. Annie shifted to the side as another student got in her line of vision.

That kid does kind of have nice arms…

Reiner tutted. “Shit. Look whose coming.”

Annie turned her head, just as the raven-haired dean of Maria Highschool strode through the cafeteria doors, looking for all of intent and purposes, pissed off. The crowd of students sensing impending doom hastily stepped out of the dean’s way as he made a path through to the center of the excitement with a hard-earned glare.

The darker-haired boy still had his arms wrapped around Jean’s neck, but Jean had rolled them both onto their backs, so that the other boy was pinned underneath him, Jean tried to elbow him in the gut when two finely polished leather shoes stopped in front of his face.

“Jaeger. Kirstein.”  

The boys inclined their heads to meet the steely gray eyes of Mr. Ackerman. The taciturn, short yet terrifying when furious dean of Maria Highschool. She couldn’t see too much, what with the sophomores milling about, but Annie was sure both boys had gulped the moment Mr. Ackerman spoke their names in that calm tone of his.

“Both of you. In my office. Immediately.”

The boys released each other. Staggering to their feet, Jean nearly tripped twice over those steel-toed boots of his. Both appeared haggard and out of breath. Sporting scratches and bruises here and there. Jaeger’s shirt collar was stretched across chest, and two band patches hung from loose threads of Jean’s biker jacket. Mr. Ackerman fixed them with that clipped stare, before turning to the audience who watched them with rounded eyes.

“if any of you wish to accompany Jaeger and Kirstein then I suggest you get back to your tables.”

Even if the threat seemed far-fetched to Annie’s ears considering there was no way Mr. Ackerman could apprehend all of Maria Highschool’s students, Mr. Ackerman had enough of that cold ferocity in his eyes that he could scare students back into their seats. Soon all the Freshmen, Sophomores and Juniors were back to conversing with their friends, eating their slightly cooled down lunches and sneaking peeks as the dean marched both boys out of the cafeteria doors.

Reiner blew air out of his nose. “Damn, just when it was getting good.”

Annie looked down at her own forgotten lunch as the jungle became a forest full of ambient noise and mindless chatter once more. A Peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a fruit cup. She sighed, Annie had to survive just a couple of more months before it was bye-bye to this hectic zoo and hello to the fresh start of University. She was sure there was not one thing she was going to miss here.

“Hey Annie?” Reiner gazed down at her as she fiddled with her straw, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Who do ya’ think would have won that fight? Jaeger or Kirstein?”

“Bold of you to assume I care.” She droned.

“Aw, don’t lie. You totally do. I saw you checking out the fight. That Jaeger kid was copying some of your moves too!”

Annie blinked.

He was… He was copying my techniques, wasn’t he? Or at least trying too.

“More like he was fumbling around trying to land a hit.” Annie tucked platinum fringes behind her ear, before standing up with her tray. “And don’t compare him to me.” She side-eyed Reiner as he snatched the fruit cup from her tray.

“Fine. Fine. But y’know… Maybe he has eyes on you. You never know.” Reiner waggled his eyebrows. Annie sneered at him, walking away from the big oaf.

Sure, he does. Not. If he did, he would’ve noticed that I had my eyes on him all along…

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

The skin beneath his left eye was an ugly plum color, bad enough that his left eye had swelled to the size of one too. It still ached, and he could barely see through it.

Dammit!

Eren slammed his locker shut, the metal clatter echoed throughout the near empty halls of Maria Highschool. Mr. Ackerman had kept both him and Jean—the horse-faced asshole—Kirstein after school hours, berating them, and even calling Jean’s mother since he had claimed to insinuate the fight, much to Jean’s horror.

Their detention lasted until 6:00pm. When the afterschool activity clubs where finished. Eren was glad to see that Jean had all but ran out the classroom the moment the last bell rang.

Good. I would’ve kicked your ass out of school anyway.

Unfortunately, while they weren’t suspended or even worse… Expelled. The two still had to attend another week of detention and be forced to sit near each other because apparently it was suggested by Miss Hange, their biology teacher, that the boys wouldn’t be so hostile towards each other if they spend another week in each other’s company.

Fat chance. Eren gritted his teeth at that.

The hallways were mostly empty now, with only one or two afterschool students gathering their things from their lockers, office attendees clipped posters for summer events onto the boards that lined the hallway, and the school custodian was busy mopping up some spilled Pepsi while jamming out to 70’s rock.

At least it was more peaceful during this hour. Eren exhaled as he pushed through the heavy double doors of the school entrance.

“Hey.”

Eren startled, whipping his head to the voice. He saw a blonde girl sitting crossed legged to his right, on the stone steps. She held a busted looking guitar in her hands, wearing her usual ripped stockings, a checkered skirt and the school standard shirt. One of her ears were pierced several times.

Oh. Eren came a little closer.  It’s her.

“Hi.” He stopped just when she looked up at him with those clear blue eyes. That punk girl.

She narrowed her eyes at him, looking him over in a way that felt he was being assessed. Eren didn’t like being judged by anyone… But, for once he kept his mouth shut about it.

“You’re that kid that fought Jean in the cafeteria.” She stated matter-of-factly.

“I am. What about it?”

She shrugged. “Nothing. What was that all about anyway?”

Eren tilted his head. He didn’t even know this girl’s name, yet he saw her all the time. Sometimes in the hallways, sometimes in the school yard, sometimes in the cafeteria line or even the gymnasium. He knew she was a senior. He knew from his dear cousin Ymir, that she was bred a fighter too. The best of the best when it came to women’s lightweight. Eren knew this girl had better things to do than involve herself in childish confrontations. Yet his seventeen-year-old mind couldn’t fathom not showing off in front of the punk girl.

He shrugged casually, playing it cool. “We just exchanged a few words, some insults, it got out of hand when I said something about his mom, then he swung at me. I obviously didn’t mean it, but Jean’s a big softie for his mom.”

At this, the blonde girl snorted. “Most boys are.”

“So, uh—” Eren shifted from one foot to the other. He nodded to her guitar. “You play?”

She looked down at her beat up instrument. “I wouldn’t bring a guitar to school if I couldn’t play it.”

“Ah—right, right.”

“Hey, why don’t you sit down. You look fidgety.”

“Sure.” Eren mentally slapped himself. Looking nervous in front of a senior girl. Jean would laugh that hyena laugh of his if he saw this.

He plopped himself down onto the second stone steps, not too close to her, but not too far either. The blonde began mindlessly strumming the taut strings of her guitar. The spring breeze picked up and ruffled their hair, more afterschool kids were piling out of the school, some parents were parked in front of the building, waiting for their sons or daughters.

“So, Jaeger. Huh?”

“Huh?” He raised a brow at her.

“Jaeger?” She inclined her head, peering at him through light colored fringes. “That’s your last name. right?”

“Uh… Yeah?” Eren became puzzled. “You, uh—don’t know my name?”

“Should I? I don’t know most Junior names, honestly.” She pursed her lips in thought. “Hm, but I do see you around a lot.”

“You do?!”

“Oh, yeah. You’re that quiet kid, always keeping to himself. Not really getting involved with any cliques or clubs. A real nobody.”

Eren deflated. “A nobody?”

“Don’t worry.” The punk girl waved a hand. “It’s good to be a nobody sometimes. You don’t get into much drama er—” She looked closer at his bruised eye, “—at least not too much drama.”

Eren flushed. More at their proximity than anything else.  

Her eyes are a very bright, and cool blue. Pretty…

“Mister no-name kid.”

“Huh?” He turned to her again.  She had gone back to strumming her guitar, only this time the uneven notes took to a soft tune.

“It’s what I call you. Because I never knew your name, yet I always seem to notice you out of everyone in this school. I don’t even care for the seniors I hang out with much, so it’s kind of… Strange.”

Eren felt something like butterflies burst in his gut.

God, I hope that’s not gas…

“Strange, huh?” He cleared his throat. “Well I—I’ve always noticed you too. But I don’t know your name either.”

She stopped strumming for half a second, and in that half-second, he saw something akin to a smile adorning her pink lips.

“You can call me Annie. Leonhardt, Annie.”

Eren grinned crookedly. Smiling made his left eye ache like a bitch, but he was feeling a tad to giddy right now to care. He held out his hand to the punk girl—to Annie.

“Annie. I’m Eren. Eren Jaeger.”

She took his tanned palm into her own. Surprising Eren by just how small her hands were.

And yet they can pack quite a punch or, so the tale goes.

“You sort of held your own in that cafeteria earlier, but your grappling was sloppy.”

Eren laughed. “Heh, yeah I mean—I wasn’t really putting any effort into it, y’know?”  

“How about,” She tugged at his hand, so she could lean in to him, “I teach you a thing or two about real fighting, Eren?”

Eren swore he could hear his own heart beating like a drum in his ears. “I—I would like that.”

This time she gave him a genuine smile.

[artificialqueens]

Ready Now (scyvie) - ella

summary: the makeover challenge causes yvie to breakdown in the bathroom, so scarlet swoops in to try and make everything better.

notes: thank you so much for all the positive feedback on Quiet Hour!! i made a ton of friends because of it, and i’m super grateful for every single one of them. this is inspired by a song called ‘Ready Now’ that is written by dodie and is such a beautiful soft song that everyone deserves to listen to. i wrote this because @pink-grapefruit-cafe asked for some scyvie in between episodes a while ago, so i made scyvie in between episodes! funnily enough, she ended up beta-ing this herself (and also being an angel set from heaven and fixing up my tenses sksksk) and i am eternally grateful for her. also, shoutout to @chachkisalpaca for just being a really cool friend and putting up with my weird ass, i love u bitch. enjoy loves!!

feel free to check this out on ao3 as well <3 

-

You saw through me

All this time

I’d forgotten

People are kind

Yvie was crying in the bathroom when Scarlet finally found her.

She was hunched over in the corner, her blue makeup all smudged from the streams of tears that leaked from her eyes. Scarlet heard her sobs, but they were soft, almost silent. She was absolutely heartbroken, of course she was, but she didn’t want anyone to know.

Scarlet immediately took off her headpiece, wincing as the glue that kept it on her head stuck to the strands of her long hair. She sets the piece down - careful as to not ruin Yvie’s hard work - before crawling to sit next to her closest friend.

Yvie didn’t even bother to look up at Scarlet when she entered the room. She felt weak, vulnerable, scared- no, terrified. She didn’t want anyone seeing that - especially people like Scarlet.

She’d created a reputation with the girls, but Scarlet, out of all people, saw right through it. She broke down the walls Yvie had built up for years like it was easy. It was frightening for Yvie to have someone who could find the cracks in her armor so quickly, but then at the same time it felt… fine. She couldn’t quite understand it but Scarlet knowing who she truly was made her feel safe.

Scarlet gently placed her hand onto Yvie’s back, smoothing the denim covering it before speaking quietly.

“You know, if you stay hunched over like that any longer, your back is going to kill you in the morning.”

Yvie felt the urge to smile at Scarlet’s caring words, slowly sitting up properly to reveal her red face. She covered her bloodshot eyes as she wiped the tears from her cheeks, eager to respond. “Why do you sound like my mom?” Yvie spoke, a chuckle escaping her blue tinted lips.

“I don’t sound like your mom!” Scarlet laughed, almost offended, moving to grab the toilet paper by the toilet before handing it to the younger queen. “I sound like a good friend.”

Yvie took the roll from the older queen, ripping off a few squares to try and wipe her makeup off. Scarlet went back to her previous position next to Yvie, her head gently laying itself on Yvie’s shoulder. She didn’t try to speak though, allowing the silence of the bathroom, accompanied by the drops of water leaking from the faucet, to orchestrate their current situation. Scarlet let her friend shed the rest of her tears, her manicured hand continuing to caress Yvie’s back.

Yvie cried, much longer than she’d be proud to admit on any other day, and somehow found her way into the older girl’s arms, feeling the need to be close to her, to touch her, hug her, feel her warm and caring aura envelope her frame. Scarlet did nothing but pull her friend closer, tightening her grip around the taller queen and making sure that the oddball knew how much she cared about her. She pulled away after a few minutes, once Yvie calmed down, and met her eyes. The brunette smiled, soft and sweet before she spoke.

“Tell me everything you’re thinking about.”

Yvie turned confused, her words catching the younger queen off guard. She was expecting some inspiring confidence booster to come out of Scarlet’s lips, maybe even something witty. But that never happened, and Scarlet watched her with a patient look. “… What do you mean tell you everything?”

“Tell me everything, Yves.” The girl sent her a subtle smile, her hand reaching for Yvie’s. “Everything that’s making you cry like this. And after that, we’ll talk about it together.”

Yvie was baffled, to say the least. Normally, when she opened up to the people close to her, she would start to tell only a fraction of her problems before she was cut off. Her friends would conjure up paragraphs worth of advice that they thought would work for her, but in reality, it all meant nothing. She would pretend as if their words lifted her up, fake a smile every now and then, mentally noting to herself to never ask advice from them again. That’s how it always went. So when Scarlet offered to listen to her talk about everything (and by everything she meant everything), she wanted to burst into tears again. Nobody had ever done that for her, and nothing had ever made her feel so loved.

So, Yvie talked. She talked like they didn’t have to leave set in an hour. She talked like Scarlet didn’t have to go the morning after. The words that left her lips didn’t feel even the slightest bit forced, every syllable she voiced felt easy, felt like flying - if that could explain it better.

She talked about feeling betrayed by so many people the minute her name came off their lips, about feeling discounted by everyone else whenever she started to talk about her drag. Yvie wasn’t afraid to tell Scarlet every single thought that came into her mind (although speaking her mind was never really the struggle to begin with) that even the smallest things that irritated her were brought to light. Yvie talked until there is nothing else to talk about, and Scarlet just listened with her hands never slipping apart.

You said, “I will listen

Tell it all

When you’re finished

We’ll talk more”

“You feel better Yves?” Scarlet asked with her hand firmly gripping Yvie’s. She handed what’s left of the tissue roll back to Yvie, suppressing a smile. “You know, you still look pretty when you cry.”

Yvie laughed (a genuine laugh) at Scarlet’s attempt to lift her mood up. Granted, she still felt like shit, but putting into words her frustrations lifted her spirits. Scarlet being there to just listen was something she never knew she needed but was grateful that she had.

She washed and wiped her face free of makeup, making sure that minimal evidence of her previous breakdown remained. Yvie turned to look at Scarlet to see her leaning on the bathroom wall tiles with a hint of a smile. She walked up to her, her denim covered heels in hand, before she wrapped an arm around the shorter girl.

“Thanks, Scar,” Yvie whispered into Scarlet’s ear, her arm wrapped firmly around the other queen’s shoulder. “Thanks so much. I really fucking needed that.” she laughed.

She heard an ‘aww’ from Scarlet before she felt her tight hug being reciprocated, Scarlet’s head nuzzling itself into her shoulder. They stayed like that for a while, quiet and comfortable around each other’s touch before Scarlet spoke up. “It’s… Jacob, actually.”

Yvie pulled away at Scarlet’s words, their eyes meeting before the older queen talks once more. “My name is Jake. Like, real name.”

“Oh!” Yvie laughed louder this time, shaking her head at her previous confusion. “Well, if we’re using fucking boy names now, I’m Jovan. Joe or Jojo or whatever the fuck.” She grinned as more heaps of laughter escaped her chest. Scarlet chimed in with her more subdued giggle, her hand reaching out for Yvie’s as they basked in their newfound happiness.

Their fingers touched and Yvie could have sworn she’d felt something. The little spark that erupted with the touch of their hands as they laughed together didn’t go unnoticed by the younger queen. She shrugged it off the second she felt it, afraid to confront it (rather ironic in comparison to her usual demeanor) and just focused on the smiling queen in front of her.

She noticed Scarlet squeeze her hand a little tighter than normal, grinning from ear to ear. “So, are you okay now? We should probably go…” the other queen looked back at the bathroom door, a glint of worry apparent in her eyes.

“Yeah, I’m good, I’m good.” Yvie walked to the door, her hand still intertwined with Scarlet’s. “Let’s leave this shithole before they start looking for us.”

With a nod, she opened the door. They took long, confident strides to the workroom with their linked hands refusing to let go. Yvie would look at Scarlet as they walked together, sending her small smiles as her mind went somewhere it hadn’t been before.

Feet firm on the ground

We stood hand in hand

And I told the world

That I have a plan

Together we sang

Yvie doesn’t quite understand her connection with Scarlet, but she knows it’s there. Their natural attraction towards one another never went unnoticed, but at the same time, nothing was ever said. Yvie knows this is something she is bound to bring up with Scar, something they’re bound to confront when the time comes. But right now, with the feeling of their hands laced together along with the joy she feels deep in her chest, she doesn’t think of it. All she needed in this very moment is the way Scarlet’s smile, and the way it made everything better.

That’ll be enough for now.

I’m ready now.

[saccharineomens]

I want to know all the answers from your 100 question meme

Something you find romantic? Answer whichever #'s you feel comfortable answering; I want to know all your inner musings 😝

cat why do you do this to me

i’ll be sticking them below a readmore, then!

1.  Is a kiss considered cheating? Yes! Unless you’ve communicated with your partner that it’s okay.

2. Have you ever faked an orgasm? Nope

3. If you could have one superpower, what would it be? Hmmm this is a really hard decision. I usually say telepathy, but I like shapeshifting, too. I loved the Animorphs books as a kid, even though I didn’t read them all.

4. Do you think you are going to be rich in 7-8-9 years? Monetarily? Nah. But I like to think I’ll still have strong, rich friendships and I think I’ll have enough money to live comfortably alone. 

5.  Tell us some funny drunk story. I just don’t really have one rip. Drunk people are hilarious but normally I’m the DD. I’ve got several pleasant stories, though! There was a time me and my best friend went to a pub and drank cider and played board games and video games until closing time. Afterwards we stopped at an Insomnia cookies, a storm caused the electricity to go out, and we got a half dozen cookies for free. (well, I felt guilty, so I left them a very large tip.)

6.  Why are you no longer together with your ex? I was going through college, it was long distance, and I felt he deserved better. We keep in touch, though.

7.  If you had to choose one way to die, what would it be? Well, painlessly, of old age, in my sleep, of course. But if that’s not an option, out of all the ways of dying, freezing to death seems the most humane. You just get tired, cold, and sleepy, and then you just...don’t wake up.

8.  What are your current goals? Graduate, mostly. Long-term I’d like to live with friends in a big house and my cat, and have enough free time to garden and craft at my leisure, and have the ability to travel wherever I’d like. I’d like to work on a game or movie I’m really passionate about, and I’d love to become a director someday.

9.  Do you like someone? I mean, I like a lot of people, but I assume this means romantically. So, kind of? I find a lot of people attractive and have a ‘if they wanted to date I’d be down’ feeling, but I don’t have serious feelings for anybody specific.

10. Who was the last person to disappoint you? Hmmm I have a terrible memory. Myself, perhaps? I have a really hard time with getting up when my alarms go off. Sleep inertia’s a big problem for me. This has led to me being late to classes and rushing to get ready, which is stressful.

11. Do you like your body? Ehhhh. I guess. It could be improved, like by not having health issues. 

12.  Can you keep a diet? Ha! No.

13. If the whole world listened to you right now, what would you say? I hope you have a wonderful day. The universe doesn’t care about us so be excellent to each other!

14.  Do you work? Constantly, every day. I work to learn new things, accomplish school assignments, make money, feed myself...All my life is is working, right now.

15.  If you could choose only one food to eat to the rest of your life, what would it be? Salad! Because anything can be a salad. Tuna salad, fruit salad, salad with salmon...

16. Would you get a tattoo? Oh, absolutely. The only reason I don’t have any is because of money. I have like five small ideas and one very large one that i’d like across my back. 

17. Something you don’t mind spending all your money on? Food, my family, and my friends.

18. Can you drive? Yes. Do I have a license? No.

19. When was the last time someone told you you were beautiful? Probably sometime in the past month by my mother, but she’s just about the only person who does.

20. What was the last thing you cried for? asdfjal;ksdjfs it was Treasure Planet. Jim and Silver’s relationship is just [clutches chest] so beautiful.

21. Do you keep a journal? Sort of, sporadically. 

22.  Is life fun? Yes!

23.  Is farting in front of people irrelevant? I mean, I prefer you excuse yourself, but more or less yeah.

24.  What’s your dream car? My sib got this really nice Prius used at a good price, and it has a lot of room and it’s a hybrid, so Nice. I don’t tend to pay much attention to cars, as long as they’re comfortable and low-waste.

25. Are grades in school important? I admit that they’re important to me, but that’s something I have to unlearn. My worth isn’t determined by other people.

26. Describe your crush. Ugh. I’m bi, guys. I get crushes on people all the time, every day. Saw this really pretty redhead in the cafeteria over a month ago, and I saw her again yesterday. She’s a couple inches taller than me and has really pretty curly hair, but I didn’t really, like, stare, so I couldn’t describe her face well past ‘cute nose’.

27. What was the last book/movie that really impressed you? Nothing jumps to mind. I guess I’m still falling over myself after seeing Mad Max back in like 2015, that was just the coolest experience ever. I find delight in just about every movie I watch, though. The second Jumanji-sequels movie was just as fun and amazing as the first. Klaus was just incredible in so many ways. 

28.  What was your last lie? I...really just do not remember. Probably telling myself “I’m gonna do my laundry today” a few days ago? Whereas I DID do my laundry today so HA

29. Dumbest lie you ever told? I saved this question for last and it’s late and I honestly can’t remember anything, asdjls sorry. My memory’s awful y’all. 

30. Is crying in front of people embarrassing? Oh absolutely. I mean it wouldn’t be if they weren’t uncomfortable with it, but they always are.

31.  Something you did and you are proud of? I did my laundry today? washed dried folded and everything. I also braved the nighttime neighborhood around my school to solo a Pokemon raid, which was cool. I’m proud of my animation done at the end of the last semester, and of how my teddy bear modelling is doing this week.

32. What’s your favourite cocktail? How am I supposed to choose this? How can you ask me to choose this? I’d have to line them all up and try one by one, honestly, before I could tell you. 

33.  Something you are good at? I’m pretty good at drawing anatomy and expressions, I think. I’m good at baking/cooking, although I lack creativity in the kitchen. I also think I’m a pretty good listener, and a good friend? 

34.  Do you like small kids? Most of the time!

35.  How are you feeling right now? Frankly, a little drained with all these questions, but determined to finish them. I’m a little hungry. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and wish I was doing homework, but I also can’t get myself to do it right now. 

36.  What would you name your daughter/son? Not sure! Every once in a while I’ll be like “ooh, that’d be a great name” and then don’t remember to write it down. Besides, I plan on adopting, and most kiddos already have names.

37.  What do you need to be happy? Money, friends, family, good food, and a place to explore. 

38.  Is there some you want to punch in the face right now? Not particularly. No one other than, well. The rich people I’m pretty sure everyone knows I dislike.

39.  What was the last gift you received? Well, anything my mom cooks for me is a gift, but the last Proper gift was from my friend @ wefflebugs , who got me a blu-ray copy of Into the Spiderverse and some coffee for Christmas  c:

40.  What was the last gift you gave? I gave my sibling @ aconfusedbird a keychain of one of the two Bubble Bobble dragons and kept the other for myself, for their birthday. Handmade from Perler beads. We’d play that game for ages as kids, and we always fought over who’d be the blue one.

41.  What was the last concert you went to? I think it was The Shins? They were so awesome!

42.  Favourite place to shop at? Well, I quite like Target. But I also adore small resale shops. They always have some really awesome things hiding there.

43. Who inspires you? Oogh, a lot of people. Like a million and a half artists I’ve met online, ones I only know their screenname for, inspire me to get better at art. James Baxter and Sergio Pablos inspire me to get better at animation. Wefflebugs’ art always has such lovely colors, which I adore. featherdragon15′s art has gotten a lot better lately, and that inspires me to keep working hard too! Not to mention they’re working for nasa which is rad af, and also inspires me to keep working toward my dreams. My sibling aconfusedbird inspires me a Lot in a lot of personal ways, like to be more kind to myself and to keep moving forward. My mom inspires me to keep gardening. roachpatrol/roach-works inspired me to get into welding, lizardlicks inspired me into wanting chickens and a small homestead. My teachers inspire me to keep working hard in school. 

44. How old were you when you first got drunk? 19, I think? I’ve only gotten properly drunk once. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat another boiled peanut, but other than that it wasn’t a problem lol.

45. How old were you when you first got high? I haven’t, actually. I don’t have a reason not to or anything, but it’s just never felt like the right vibe yanno?

46.  How old were you when you first had sex? I guess it really depends on your definition. Personally, I’d say I haven’t yet.

47. When was your first kiss? Well, I played spin the bottle when I was seventeen, which was technically my first kiss, but if that doesn’t count then it was about a week before I turned eighteen, and I kissed the guy who’d become my first boyfriend.

48.  Something you want to do until the end of this year? Play video games....I wish I had infinite time to play video games and watch movies and draw and just...enjoy my time on earth, you know? Without feeling like it had a deadline.

49. Is there something in the past you wish you hadn’t done? I try not to live with regrets. 

(50 is ‘post a selfie’ but im on a computer)

51. Who are you most comfortable around? Either aconfusedbird or featherdragon15, i think. 

52.  Name one thing that terrifies you. asdkfjal;sdf i’ve been listening to too much magnus archives and got recommended to ‘not be too scared of one thing’ if i want to avoid the creatures, so uh. hard to decide. I guess I’m scared of...hm. people who just lack the ability to create bonds with people? people who don’t care about other living things. humans can be fucking terrifying. 

53. What kind of books do you read? Oh, just about anything. Fantasy, realistic fiction, romance, mysteries, thrillers, scifi...all are great. I didn’t used to enjoy nonfiction but it really depends on the nonfiction.

54. What would you tell your 12 year old self? You’re going to have a best friend someday, and it will be everything you wanted. Things with your mother will improve when you’re in your last few years of high school. You’re going to become a great artist.

55.  What is your favourite flower? Not sure! I like many. There was this one flower i found in high school that smelled incredible, but I’ve no idea what it was. I should find it again.

56. Any bad habits you have? ...Well. Not waking up when my alarm goes off is pretty annoying. My procrastination in general’s frustrating. And, well, just between you, me, and the rest of the internet, (tw: self harm) my trichotillomania causes me constant distress and anxiety.

57. What kind of people are you attracted to? People who want to learn new things, are kind and compassionate, respect me, and have a good sense of humor. Someone I can be adventurous with.

58. What was the last thing you cried for? Well, i answered a similar question earlier, so I’ll answer for the second most recent time I cried. I was in Pennsylvania, the day I had to fly home, and when I went to check in for my flight, all the seats were taken, and I needed to pay for an upgrade if I wanted to guarantee a spot on the flight. This wouldn’t be a huge problem, except that for both of my flights to get home, an upgrade cost $70. And seventy dollars was a big chunk out of my budget for, you know, food. So I cried out of stress and frustration with the airport companies for charging me seventy bucks for ten more inches of legroom that I didn’t want nor need.

59. Is there something you don’t eat? Some food that truly disgust you? Not really! In terms of what’s normally accepted as “food” in American society, that is. I don’t care much for worms or insects. Other than that, I’m interested enough to try almost anything once.

60. Are you in love? In love? No. Am I full of love? Yes, for many, many, many things. 

61.  Something you find romantic? Oh man, anything could be romantic if done by someone I care for. I think gentleness is romantic. Quality time is my love language, so if my partner cancelled plans to spend time with me, that’d be romantic. I find romance in trying new things and going to new places.

62. How long was your longest relationship? Four months or so. It’s the only relationship I’ve been in, though, and I hadn’t intended for it to go past summer, so that was longer than I’d even planned on haha.

63, 64. What are 3 things that irritate you about the same sex? Opposite sex? Uhhh kind of hard to answer this one. I mean, i hate the culture in which men are raised to be, but I’ve heard that ‘male’ and ‘female’ brains aren’t particularly predisposed to anything in particular? Like, both men and women are capable of emotional intelligence and compassion, it’s just that our culture doesn’t encourage it in men. 

65. What are you saving money for? Food, college. I might treat myself to a school trip to Disney, but I don’t think I have the budget rn. As a student I’m kind of coasting by on the bare minimum rn, I don’t have anything i CAN save up for.

66. How would you describe your bad side? I mostly just avoid you or try to not spend time with you. 

67. Are you actually a good person? Why? I think I am. I care about other people and try to make other people’s lives easier and happier. I try every day to become more sensitive to other perspectives. I do what I can to benefit the earth for those who will come after me.

68. What are you living for? Ooh, deep stuff. I’m living for helping other people. I’m living for my friends and family. 

69 (nice).  Have you ever done anything illegal? Pfft, guys, jaywalking is illegal. So yes. I’ve also drank while underage before. But nothing really big, no.

70.  Do you like your body? Wait a second. This was number 11, too. Well, I guess I’ll change it to What don’t you like about your body? Which is my under-chin. It’s kind of a double chin, kind of not. But while most things I could change about my body, I don’t think I could change that without surgery. And yeah, I’ve thought about it. Not that I have any of the cash for it. I also wish I didn’t have (tw: self-harm) trichotillomania, so I’d have more eyelashes and eyebrows.

71. Have you ever made someone feel bad about themselves intentionally? I think I probably have, to douchebags. Like “hey, that’s inappropriate”.  

72.  Ever sent nudes? Nope!

73. Have you ever cheated on someone? God, no. Big #1 no no for me.

74. Favourite candy? I RECENTLY DISCOVERED TAKE 5′S AND REESES HAVE COMBINED INTO ONE GLORIOUS CANDY BAR, SO, THAT.

75. Is there a blog you visit every day, or almost every day? Tag it! Agh, okay. @ aconfusedbird, @ busket, @ loreweaver-universe, @ orange-plum. The four blogs I don’t actually follow, but whose blogs I visit every day. It changes around every few years. It used to be a different bunch back when I first got on tumblr. I really have no idea why I haven’t followed them. Habit, I suppose? Also, it still won’t let me tag my sib for some reason. (nvm I removed the tags, i don’t want to bother them)

76. Do you play any computer games? What is your favourite game? lmao uh, that’s kind of an understatement. I can’t list all my favorite games, but I’m very fond of The Last of Us. I have played. So many video games. I’ll chat about them anytime!

77. Favourite TV series? Avatar: The Last Airbender, I think. It’s really hard to top that.

78. Are you religious? Does God exist? Not really religious, no. I do think that there’s probably a god out there that sparked the Big Bang. I don’t really follow the Christian God because despite what every church service said, I never felt like He loved me. Jesus was a super cool guy, though. If there’s a god out there, I think they pretty much keep to themselves. Maybe have some fun watching creation, but don’t really interact with it at all.

79. What was the last book you read? Did it impress you and why? asdkfj;as i don’t remember. probably my textbook Directing the Story by Francis Glebas? It was a pretty cool book about moviemaking.

80. What do you think about vegetarianism/veganism? I’ve reblogged a lot on the subject. I respect those who practice it, but it can cause a lot of environmental harm. In theory, it’s not bad! 

81. How long have you been on Tumblr? Like eight years or so? Maybe nine? wild. I visited blogs daily before the number got high enough i was like ‘okay i’ll just make an account’.

82. Do you like Chinese food? Oh, yes!

83-85. McDonalds or Subway?   Vodka or whiskey? Alcohol or drugs? Subway, whiskey and alcohol.

86.  Ever been out of your province/state/country? Yes, yes, and no!

87. Meaning behind your blog name? I’ve had this one for many years now. I really like the word ‘saccharine’ -- inspired by @ saccharinesylph back in the old days -- and i couldn’t just name myself ‘saccharine’, so i needed something else. and I was pretty big into Good Omens at that time, and I was like ‘haha! saccharine, good, omens. saccharine omens!’ Plus, it feels like a very positive and comforting name, and I strive to be a comforting person. 

88. What are you scared of? ok i def answered this moving on

89. Last time you were insulted? uhhhhhhhhh no idea. oh, wait! i know. i was getting graded on my performance at my job late last year and i disagreed with the grade my boss gave me. It was like ‘person shows considerable care of their community and goes above and beyond to educate others’ and i was like ‘oh yeah that’s, like, my whole Thing, my whole Goals and Personality and Ideals’ and then my boss came in and was like ‘2/4′ and i was like ‘wtf??’ Apparently she felt that i just wasn’t really applying that part of myself to my job, and i was like ‘you serious? i’m doing a lot!’ but also she’s my boss.

90. Most traumatic experience? A series of emotionally/mentally abusive things my mom did during my childhood. It’s definitely had the longest lasting effects of any trauma. Permanent anxiety problems, ptsd, my self harm, the whole shebang. Don’t worry, though, like. Things are way better between us, and she’s apologized many times.

91. Perfect date idea? Going on a hike! Maybe walking on a beach. Just spending time together and talking. Eating some delicious food. Spending the entire day with each other, then curling up and cuddling at home and watching a movie. then talking some more. lots of handholding and kisses. im a super hopeless romantic.

92. Favourite app on your phone? the internet, ofc lmao. But other than that I use Animal Crossing Pocket Camp and Pokemon Go an awful lot. 

93. What colour are the walls in your room? At school a boring white, although I’ve taped some art up. At home a really pretty light blue color that I did all myself.

94. Do you watch Youtube? Who is your favourite youtuber? I do! And I like so many channels, honestly. I really like Rachel and Jun, and I really like Pop Culture Detective. I’ve seen a lot of jackscepticeye’s stuff, too. Proko, Vox, and Sinix Design are all good too.

95. Share your favourite quote. “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who matter don’t mind and those who mind don’t matter.” -Dr Seuss

96.  What is the meaning of life? To be happy, enjoy yourself, and love others!

97. Do you like horror movies? Ha ha ha, not really. I liked A Quiet Place though. 

98. Have you ever made your mum cry? What happened? She’s cried sometimes over how she treated us in the past. Sometimes it happens because I talk about how she’s hurt me. She always expresses regret and apologizes again. 

99. Do you feel lucky or special in a way? I feel lucky with how I met my best friend. We’d had band together and kind of both thought each other as a cool person, but we didn’t really hit it off until a couple years later and she saw me drawing Homestuck fanart in Psychology lmao. The rest is history. Love you so much, Haley. I feel lucky my mom realized she was being abusive and stopped, too. Not everyone gets that. 

100. Can you keep a secret? Oh, definitely. But do tell me what needs to be secret, otherwise I won’t know. For example, my sib asked me to keep their gf busy while they bought her a present, so I tried, but then she was like ‘oh, where’s your sibling? we should find them’ i was like ‘oh no, i think they’re just buying something, it’s fine’ but she was stubbornly moving toward the checkout and i was like ‘stop, i think they’re buying something for you’ so i. kinda told a secret? i didn’t tell her what the present was though.

JESUS THAT WAS A LOT OF TYPING, LMAO. IT’S THREE AM. GOODNIGHT

[litkpopscenarios]

All In For You {Monsta X Wonho} Chapter One

 Synopsis:

 A dictatorship for a government, a house burned to the ground, and two people you can really trust. Either you grab onto this life with both hands, or you fall.

Hey guys I’m back!!! I took a break from writing but the inspiration to write this overtook me. This story is also on Wattpad but they’re both me so no plagiarism is happening!

Marie

Other chapters:

None yet

Chapter 1:

     There was a so called "great" war. Thousands died, among those your closest friends and family. Either you pledged yourself to the self named "new government" or you are slaughtered in the streets. Your parents were at the head of the force fighting against the new government. Your older brother was a solider, while you were confined to your house, forbidden from leaving the false sense of safety the house gave.

     It didn't take long for the New Government to find your parents address and happily set a blazing fire to the house which was once deemed safe. You almost died that night, running from the flame encapsulated structure, coughing black smoke from your lungs while your parents were held back to watch.

     The peacemakers held your parents as they beat you, and shot your brother in the head. After they had decided your parents had suffered enough, they each received a bullet to the brain as a thank you. They didn't waste a bullet on you, and just left you on the cool evening grass to bleed out.

     As smart as the New Government seemed to be in their takeover, leaving you alive was a mistake. You thought you were going to die there, beside the body of your brother. Maybe it would have been easier for you to have just died that night, with a dark sky of stars overhead and a green blanket beneath your back. The fire blazing from the windows of your home would keep you warm as you drifted off into a sleep no one wakes up from.

     Your best friend since childhood, Hyungwon, had other plans for you. When he saw the blazing smoke from the direction of your house, he set off without any hesitation. He was too late to save your brother, but he was just in time to save you. He picked you up and set you in his arms, running to his aunt's house as fast as his long legs would take him.

     Hyungwon could never have taken you back to his house. His dad was a high up New Government official, he would have you killed on the spot. When he got to his aunt's house, the situation there was similar to that of your house. His uncle was shot and laying dead on the front lawn. Hyungwon has set you down and quickly ran into his house. Inside, his aunt was dead in the front hallway.

     His little cousin, who was 4 years old then, was hidden in his closet, sobbing. Hyungwon has brought you inside, half ignoring his aunt's corpse. He treated your wounds as best he could with the limited supplies at hand. He buried his aunt and uncle in the backyard that morning, trying to keep the smell of the dead from the noses of the living.

     The next two weeks after your family died, you can't remember at all. You spent the entire time on the cusp of death, almost plunging into the darkness of oblivion. When you came around, Hyungwon insisted he had to leave you with his little cousin, Chan. He explained that him staying with you, would do nothing but put you all in danger.

     All of that was three years ago. You just turned 17, while Chan is 7 and a half. You take care of him, keeping him fed and clothed with the supplies the new government supply you with every week. Chan attends the community school, and will continue there until he is 13 years old. You long to believe that he'll be in a real school by the time he's 13.

     Tapping on your bedroom window snaps you out of your thoughts as you sit bolt upright in bed. You spin around, looking out the window. You catch a glimpse of Hyungwon's black OBEY hoodie and quickly jump out of bed, running to unlock and open the window for him. No one is allowed out from 9:30 pm until 6:00 am.

     Of course, Hyungwon never follows that rule. He shows up at your place of residence at all hours of the day and night, successfully never getting caught. He quickly climbs into the window, shutting and locking it behind him. He turns to you and smiles with that perfect smile of his.

     He takes you into his arms, a warm hug which you more than welcome. You rest your head on his broad chest, breathing in his scent. Hyungwon lets you go, walking out of your room into the kitchen. You trail after him, curious as to what he's doing.

     "Chan awake?" He asks. You shake your head.

     "Hyungwon, it's like 3 in the morning," you whisper back. Hyungwon nods.

     "I need to take you somewhere," he says. You turn to face him fully.

     "When?" You ask.

     "Now. Before Chan wakes up for school," he says. You trust Hyungwon with your life, but to leave Chan alone scares you.

     You sigh, "where?"

He walks into your bedroom, forcing you to follow him. "The edge of town, by the fence."

"If we die because we break curfew, Chan will never know what happened to us," you say. Hyungwon shakes his head, almost to say "we won't get caught, idiot".

Hyungwon throws a black hoodie at you, and black leggings a second later. He turns as you start stripping your t shirt and shorts off. You roll your eyes as you grab a bra from the drawer and quickly put it on, and then throwing your hoodie and leggings on. You jog into the front foyer, picking up your ratty shoes and pulling them on.

Hyungwon waits for you in your room, idly standing by your window. He unlatches it and leaves it open just a crack. Quietly, he slips out of the window and then puts his hand back in the house for you. You take it, using it to balance yourself as you pull yourself from the house.

You slip the window closed, but not all the way. You leave a millimeter of room so you can open it back up when you need in. Hyungwon flips up your hood, grabbing your hand as he silently stalks off into the dark with you at his side.

You're significantly less skilled than he, as he makes almost no noise. You stumble along with him, stepping on twigs and other items in the grass. Two peacemakers walk past you two and Hyungwon throws you against the side of a house, covering your body with his much taller figure. They pass without any trouble, not seeing you both. Hyungwon moves from you, silently asking you if you're hurt with his eyes. You give him a smile that you're not sure he can see in the dark, and the two of you take off once again.

Eventually, you two break from the houses that make up your small town, and into the empty fields. The town you live in used to be beautiful and big. When the New Government took over, the city you knew so well was split into two. One half was for the low people, the commoners. The other half was for high New Government officials. The two halves are split by a large fence, that is always heavily guarded.

The outside of the half for commoners is bordered by the same fence, that encases the entire half. The fence is far away from the center of your half of the city, about 3 kilometres from the last house on the edge to the north.

Hyungwon, releasing your hand, starts a steady jog away from the dim lights of the city. You follow suit, keeping pace with Hyungwon. Getting so far away from the house that isn't the walk to Chan's school is invigorating; It is a welcome change.

You and Hyungwon jog for about 10 minutes, if your time keeping is as good as you pretend it is, when you approach a house. The house is old, and barely a shell of what it once must have been. The roof is sagging in, various patched holes decorate the roof. The walls are discoloured and fading, siding has been ripped away in many different locations. No glass is in the empty window panes, every one is boarded up from the inside. There are no lights are on, the house looks more than deserted.

"Where are we?" You ask.

"Welcome to my house," Hyungwon replies.

You glower at him, "Is this some kind of joke?" He laughs and walks up to the house, climbing onto the sunken porch. The old wood creams and groans with the weight of a person on it. You slowly follow him, almost scared that you're going to fall through the floor onto the ground below.

Hyungwon throws the door open, and the interior is no where near as beaten up as the exterior. "I'm home!" He yells into the doorway. He walks in more than happily, the darkness of the entryway swallowing your last living friend whole.

[theolddarkmachine]

tell me (i’m ten feet down)

A reason, a continuation, and a reunion.

The first time Shiro’s drunken thoughts find Keith’s name at the bottom of a bottle, he’s twenty-four, and they’re in the middle of a war.

AO3

Rated: M

Tags: Canon compliant, Post S8, 3+1 Format, Mentions of background character but this is 100% Sheith, Angst with a happy ending

A/N: I won’t lie you guys, I am really proud of this. Who woulda thunk that all this craziness woulda been the inspiration I needed to get out of my writing rut. That being said, Curtis does show up in this but much like canon, he is but mere background. 

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

The first time Shiro’s drunken thoughts find Keith’s name at the bottom of a bottle, he’s twenty-four, and they’re in the middle of a war.

It’s an errant thing, fuzzed at its edges, and saccharine, filled with all the same heat of warmed honey.

First, he chalks it up as a lingering thought. One that belonged to him, as if he was any different than Shiro was. Made up of the same blood and bone, their desires, their hopes, and their dreams all rang the same. The only difference was, he had never lied.

Not to himself.

Not when it’d counted.

I love you, the thought spirals, adding a new headiness to that of the sweet wine that has stained his lips. Keith had said that.

I love you.

Said it like a saving grace, reverent and feeling. He’d said it like last words. Shiro supposed, at the time, he had probably thought they were.

Now, those three words are circling his mind like the wisp of molten cabernet that has left him feeling pliant and his lips feeling loose, ready to sink ships.

He thinks about how he’d be in his room right now, just the opposite end of the hall from his own. It would take nothing more than a handful of strides, and a sharp rap of his knuckles against the door to see those burning eyes. To ask why.

I love you, he’d said.

The cool metal of a door against his skin wrenches him from his thoughts, surprised at where his feet have led him roiling low in his gut.

Seconds. It takes mere seconds before the door opens, and he’s there. Concerned, and bright, and there.

“Shiro?” Keith asks, voice smoke and tone liquid worry. His hair is rumpled, and his face soft with sleep.

A small yawn cracks his jaw.

“What’s wrong?”

Why? The question sticks to the roof of his mouth, dulled by the dry taste of the wine.

“Did you have a nightmare?” He continues, already moving out of the way to let him in. Behind him, Shiro sees Kosmo lift his head, tongue lolling and tail thumping in greeting.

For a brief, flashing moment, it feels like coming home.

“No,” Shiro manages, shaking his head as he crosses the threshold. He prays that Keith doesn’t miss the slight wobble of his step. A pleasant buzz rolls down to his toes, making them warm as he hears the door slide shut behind him.

“Can I stay here tonight?” He asks, words tumbling, stumbling from his lips before he can wrap them in a first thought.

Not, that he thinks it matters.

The thrum at the base of his skull tells him he would have asked anyway.

“Sure,” Keith answers, as if the sound of the locking mechanism wasn’t answer enough. It stokes a contented purr of heat to life in the center of his chest as Keith walks by him, silently inviting him to follow to the small bedroom through the door at the back of the living room.

It’s cozy.

It’s home, the wine whispers.

But it can’t be, Shiro bites back as he walks into the dark bedroom, lit only by the slices of  moonlight through the shades. We’re in the middle of a war.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Keith asks, nothing more than a darkened shadow as he watches him from the foot of the bed.

“Yeah,” Shiro breathes as he imagines the look that would be twisting his mouth down. “Just didn’t feel like being alone tonight.”

It’s not a lie, so much as a small version of the truth.

Quiet, heavy and thick, rolls between them like a Southern storm. Sticking to his skin, it raises the hair at the back of his neck as he sees the shape of Keith nod.

“Okay,” he says quietly, moving to the side of the bed with the comforter turned down.

“Okay,” Shiro echoes, mirroring the movement from the opposite side of the bed. With the cover turned down, it’s inviting and plush, almost like the weight of the stare on him.

Not looking up, he settles down into the warmth of Keith’s all too familiar scent, eyelids growing heavy almost as soon as his head finds the pillow.

I love you, the ghost of a voice whispers in the dark as the bed dips beneath Keith’s weight.

Why? He wants to ask.

But that one word never comes.

They’re in the middle of a war.

There will always be time after, he thinks as he drifts soundly into sleep.

***

It’s whiskey the second time, and it burns the words right out of his mouth as he sees Keith looking over him through the bottom of his emptied tumbler. The glass warps him, but he still knows the exact look he has fixed on him, if only because it’s one he’s grown to know so well.

Molded of softened galaxies, it questions, and it worries, almost as if Keith continues to fear that he’ll just disappear.

As if it’s something that he might still fear the most.

The thought, carried on the back of a wave of liquid heat, licks its way down his spine and makes him shudder as he drops the glass on the bar counter.

Ice clinks softly against its confines, jostled by the sudden drop. He returns the appraising look, brazen and courageous as his mind warms with his drink of choice.

It’d been a year since that last time he’d let himself slip like this.

Shiro’s twenty-five now, and the war is over, but the rebuilding has just begun.

And Keith? Keith is leaving in the morning.

“What?” He asks, leaning back slightly in his bar stool as he questions Shiro and the stare he has fixed on him.

He knows it must look as if he’s far gone, lost to the mire of swirling whiskey that slightly blurs his vision. Shiro relies on that, because what he’s doing isn’t allowed.

What he’s doing, is memorizing the strength of Keith’s jaw, and the shape of the lines that crease the corners of his eyes. He’s memorizing the exact shade of his onyx waves, and the obsidian flecked galaxies trapped in his gaze.

What Shiro is doing, is being greedy.

It’s a fault of his really. Has always been when it came to Keith. On most days, he can tamp it down.

But today? Today’s the last day, and he feels it burning like acid in his lungs.

“What?” Keith asks again with a bright smile that Shiro adds to his collection before he looks down at his old, worn leather jacket. “Do I have something on me?”

“No,” Shiro answers truthfully, shaking his head as he pushes his Altean arm toward Keith’s still half full beer and moves it away from him. He tries to ignore the way it weighs a bit heavier now.

“I do think I’m cutting you off, though.”

A scandalized gasp, just this side of too breathy, rips from Keith’s chest as he slaps his hand on it.

“Takashi!” He exclaims before laughing, the sound lifting a pink flush to his cheeks. Shiro wonders if it’s closer to crushed peonies or a peaceful sunrise when Keith continues, voice softer.

Intimate.

Like he’s sharing secrets.

“You’re my best friend, you know.”

I love you, that old, pesky memory shadowed, buzzing like an undercurrent to his words. Shaking his head with a breathy chuckle, Shiro stands, ignoring his own gentle stumble as he offers an arm out to Keith.

“You’re my best friend, too,” he says, hoping the edge of it doesn’t sound as wrong to Keith as it does to his own ears.

Don’t go, he wants to add.

“Let me get you home, buddy,” Shiro says instead as Keith throws an arm over his shoulders and sidles off the barstool. His hair tickles his chin as he leans into him.

That’s another thing that Shiro mentally files away as he easily takes on his weight.

He’s grown so much taller.

“You’ve got a big day tomorrow,” he adds as an after thought as he pulls them both to the door.

The walk back to the barracks feels like it goes too slowly, and yet all too quick, filled with the quiet of the late night and the rolling warmth of the alcohol through his veins. It’s volatile, and it mixes like gasoline with the flame of Keith’s skin.

Shiro wonders if it will etch itself into his own, an unseen brand to carry with him over his heart.

Don’t go, he wants to say when they find themselves in front of Keith’s door.

“Here we are,” he says instead, bracing Keith as he reaches for the lock pad at the edge of the door. There’s a smooth sound as it slides open and he steadies himself against the frame. It’s quiet again, but this time it bows beneath the weight of expectation as Keith clumsily turns, pressing his back into the wall as he looks up at him.

“Here we are,” he agrees, pulling his stare languidly down Shiro’s chest and he feels it like claws. They tear and pull at his skin, and he’s certain if he looks down, he’ll see the stain of blood on his shirt.

“Want to come in?” Keith asks once his gaze flicks back up to capture his own.

Yes, Shiro thinks, need pulling like a hook behind his belly button as he shakes his head.

“I shouldn’t. You—”

“Have a big day tomorrow,” Keith finishes, mimicking his voice as he smiles.

Shiro doesn’t miss the way it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Don’t go. It hangs on the tip of his tongue, weighted by the dangerous bite of whiskey. All he needs to do is say it.

Two words, with a world of meaning, and all he needs to do, is say them.

Reaching out, Shiro offers his open palm by way of the words.

“Take care, Keith,” he adds, all too aware of the deep indent that works itself between his eyebrows as he takes in the gesture.

Keith is his best friend, something more than, even, and all he can think to offer him is a handshake.

Mentally, he files away his look of disappointment.

“You too, Shiro,” Keith says quietly, hands balled at his sides. They stay there for one breath.

Two breathes.

Three—

Flames erupt through his chest as Keith’s arms wind around his neck, anchoring him to him in a crushing hug. It steals his breath, and several beats of his heart, before he wraps his own around his waist and keeps him close.

Char aches deep in his chest, turning his bone black and filling his lungs with smoke.

It’s an honorable death, he thinks quietly with a small squeeze.

And then, he’s gone.

Cool air cascades over him, shocking his senses as Keith offers him one last smile.

Don’t go, he wants to plead.

“Goodnight, Shiro,” he says, dipping his head before pushing through the threshold of his suite.

“Goodnight,” Shiro offers, helplessly.

Hopelessly.

It’s met with the soft hiss of the door sliding shut, and the artificial silence of the hall.

All he had to do was say it.

But it never quite felt like the right time.

Moving quickly down the hall, limbs sobered by the interaction, he finds himself in front of his door.

Standing there, he turns his attention back to the other of the hall, a small, distant hope that Keith will be standing there.

He isn’t.

Shiro sighs lowly, lost to the way Keith’s heat is still burning against his skin in a way he’s sure will haunt him for the rest of the night.

It’s only meant to be a year.

There will always be time after, he thinks, as he unlocks his door.

***

Shiro’s twenty-eight, and alone in his study the third time.

It’s a hot sip of bourbon, and a rush of a thought, barely there and fleeting, but there all the same.

It’s a soft breath, and onyx waves that don’t match the brunette waiting for him in his bed.

With a quick shake of his head, he presses the half full glass to his desk, eyeing it as if it had any say to the intrusive thought.

The ever stray thoughts had been bound and stored in a hidden darkness at the back of his mind for two years now, leaving behind a ghost that follows Shiro everywhere he goes.

Even lost to the safety of a soft smile, and chocolate eyes, he still feels it like a weighted stare. All consuming, just like phantom he’d been trying to run from.

To compare the two would be an impossibility.

Keith had been a wildfire, filling his veins with smolder and soot, blackening his insides until there was nothing left, while Curtis was a soft ocean tide.

Cooling and calming, with the ability to pull him away from all the noise and settled a careful peace over his soul.

Exact opposites in near every way, it was easy to push down the pain of his forlorn thoughts and the wickedness of that voice at the back of his mind that licked around his thoughts like poison.

He’s not him, it used to hiss until Shiro had forced it down with a sheer determination.

He may not be him, but at least he’s here, he’d bitten back until the voice would recede back into the darkness.

Keith’s stay on Daibazaal, meant for just a year, had turned to two, and then three, with communications coming fewer and farer between.

Not that Shiro could even blame him for that. He was doing work alongside Krolia and Kolivan rebuilding the Galran empire, and rebuilding the Blades as a humanitarian force. Their breakthroughs had been revolutionary, and far beyond the scope of what any of the coalition had imagined for such a short amount of time.

Shiro understood, but it had left a distinct hole in his life that he hadn’t been able to fill with work, nor post-war efforts, nor burning liquor.

And then he’d met Curtis.

And then what had once been daily phone calls turned weekly phone calls, had become monthly phone calls, until Shiro couldn’t even remember the last time they’d spoken.

What had even been the last thing that Keith had said to him?

That’s right.

Congratulations.

Pressing his fist of papers down beside his glass, Shiro reaches for his holoscreen, life flickering across its surface as he started to search his contacts.

He could call him, he thinks.

Should call him.

Had he ever even been the one to call first, Shiro wonders, as he rolls through the alphabet before finding his mark.

Sucking the warmth of the bourbon from his teeth, his finger hovers over Keith’s name, a barely there space between his digit and the ‘K.’

It would be so easy to close the distance with a quick tap. Can already hear the tinkling chime of the holoscreen ringing and waiting to be answered. Shiro can even hear the soft sound of Keith saying his name.

A judgement weighs heavy on him with the imagined sound, wrapped around his left ring finger in the form of a shining silver band. Looking down at it, he can’t help but notice the way it winks at him with the soft light of his lamp, watching and waiting.

He deserves better, Shiro thinks with a sigh before switching the screen off.

Shiro doesn’t linger too long on the fact that even he doesn’t know which he he means.

Huffing a loud sigh, he pushes the screen away and rubs a hand over his eyes. It’s a futile attempt at scrubbing the bourbon laced thought from his mind.

Instead, he sees the flash of distant galaxies, and a pretty pink flush pressed against the backs of his eyelids.

“Enough,” Shiro growls suddenly, pushing his chair back and standing in one smooth motion. Snatching his glass off of his desk, he quietly pads down the hall to the dark kitchen.

There will always be time after, a small voice offers as he dumps the rest of his drink down the drain.

No, he chides, just a shade off bitter, as he sets the tumbler to the side. There won’t.

It’s the last drink he has.

***

Shiro is thirty the last time, and it didn’t take a drink at all.

They’d all met for the fifth anniversary of their loss, and the universe’s gain, and it’s the first time Shiro has seen Keith since the divorce. It’s a fact he becomes all too aware of when he sees the way Keith’s gaze flicks to his hand, and then back up, softening at their edges before he offers him a handshake.

The motion tugs at a distant memory as he finds his head spinning with the intensity of Keith’s amethyst eyes as he takes his open palm.

His stare burns like wildfire.

It always had.

Lingering with palms pressed flushed for a tick longer than strictly necessary, Shiro pulls away when he felt something a lot like lightning crack against his sternum.

I love you, the whisper tickles at his ear in the same way it had for far too long now.

And then, that was it.

Keith had nodded, expression resigned and all knowing as he walked towards where the others have their heads ducked together to look at something Hunk had pulled up on his holoscreen.

Shiro didn’t miss the way he’d pointedly chose a seat on the other end of the table from where he sat, or the way his tone had been diplomatically pleasant when they’d addressed each other. It had been easy to brush away beneath the conversation with their friends, but dinner didn’t last forever, and soon, they were parting ways once more.

More importantly, Keith was leaving once more.

“Let me walk you to your suite,” Shiro calls after him, stopping him before he can disappear into the night. Time folds around itself as he waits for a response, drawing lines across the back of the faded red leather of his jacket.

It’s a shade he’s only ever been able to associate with Keith.

Looking over his shoulder, Keith sizes him up with a dangerous flash in his eyes. Tension rocks down Shiro’s spine in the balanced moment before Keith’s eyes soften and he shrugs.

“Alright,” he throws over his shoulder as he starts to walk once more. The invitation stalls Shiro, roots him in place just long enough to paint real distance between them once more.

Jogging to catch up, he falls in line with Keith’s steps as they make their way towards the proud standing barracks.

It’s like a long lost memory as they move through the quiet night, side-by-side in a silence that they had never needed to be filled. Almost as if nothing had changed at all.

Electricity picks at his sternum as he tracks the path through a memory of a drunken night, a missed confession, and deep regret.

He wondered, if he truly picked through all of his thoughts, how many times he’d made this walk, only for it to come down to the same results.

And then, they’re standing in front of his door.

“Here we are,” Keith pushes through a smile, echoing what felt like a lifetime ago.

Here we are, Shiro had said last time.

“Can I come in?” He says this time.

Shiro feels the hesitation before he sees it in the way his smile disappears, replaced instead by an electric tension in Keith’s shoulders. It’s palpable, the way it’s roiling under his skin like a lightning storm looking for an escape.

The pause feels like a small eternity before he finally nods, turning away to press his palm to the lock pad. Keith never was good about not letting him in.

He aches with the fact that he’s undeserving of that too.

Not looking back, Keith steps over the threshold, flicking the light on to reveal the all too familiar layout. Dust and the thick scent of mustiness cling to it, but it’s still the same.

Shiro had never been able to let them reassign it.

The soft swish of the door closing behind him seals him into the dizzying feel of deja vu.

“What happened?” Keith asks, not turning to look at him as he speaks, dropping his jacket on the unused couch. Leather hitting the cushions is the only sound that stands between between. The air feels dangerous with the delicate quiet.

It’s just waiting to be shattered.

“What do you mean?” He asks, but he knows. Shiro can feel the absence of his ring like a loosened noose.

It doesn’t choke, but it’s there.

It’s the wrong thing to say, and he knows it as soon as the question drips from his lips. All the evidence he needs is the way Keith turns on his heel with a snarl twisting his lips.

“You know what I mean,” he growls, eyes flashing yellow and expression fierce. In that moment, Keith looks inhuman. Galran.

Beautiful, Shiro’s mind supplies.

The flash is a mere second before his face crumples and he pulls a deep breath between his teeth. Taking a step back, he levels Shiro with a look of composure before he repeats, “what happened?”

The truth of it is, nothing happened. Comfortable, and safe, their relationship was a tepid thing, ending in a mutual split. There hadn’t been any mess to it, which, almost made it worse.

You were never meant for this life, Takashi, Curtis had said before pressing a last kiss to his lips, and his ring to Shiro’s open palm. Shiro had heard the undercurrent of what he’d really meant.

You were never meant to be with me.

He’d tried denying it. To Curtis. To himself.

Shiro had loved him. He truly had. But love, as it turned out, wasn’t enough when you’d already been broken apart and rebuilt by the hands of someone else.

Keith’s mark had been left on him like a signature, like a brand, and no matter how he’d tried to hide it, it still bled through.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes, soft and low. It’s a plea for salvation. For repentance. For everything he’s done wrong. He’s done so much wrong.

They were supposed to have had time.

I was always meant to be with you, he wants to say.

“Shiro,” Keith counters, and it cuts like a warning, sounds like a curse.

“It didn’t work,” is all he manages. It comes out strangled, a wisp of a truth that barely brushes past his lips.

“It didn’t work,” he repeats, trying to put strength into his admission.

“Why?” Keith pushes, folding his arms over his chest defensively. The stance makes him look smaller, even if his gaze burns straight through him.

Shaking his head, Shiro begins to the the room as it begins to shrink around them. The weight of the walls crush into his shoulders, pressing the air from his lungs.

They were supposed to have had all that time.

I love you, Keith’s voice roars at his ear, as if it was from the Keith made of flesh and bone, and not that ghost that had clung to him for so long.

“You have to know,” Shiro all but whispers, dropping his stare long enough to catch his bearings before looking up through his lashes in time to see the way Keith falters.

I love you. Keith had unknowingly haunted his dreams with those three words that he’d never been able to return.

There was supposed to have been time.

I love you.

“I love you,” Shiro lets his words curl around the memory. They fall bluntly between them, landing flat and dull, before there’s a flash of movement and the sharp snap of his head against the door.

It triggers another memory that he can see flash in the yellow of Keith’s eyes.

They stay yellow this time.

“Why,” Keith bites out, snapping the syllable between his fangs. “Why now?”

Heat crushes against his windpipe as Keith presses into him with the flat of his forearm. The pressure catches his words in his throat, forcing him to shake his head against it as he tries to turn his gaze anywhere than the flames that threaten to turn him to ash.

There’s no good answer.

Not one that will make it better, anyway.

Keith leans further into his forearm.

“Always,” he chokes out. Tears catch at the corners of his eyes as his lungs start to burn with the lack of air, but he doesn’t struggle. Doesn’t try to pull away.

Shiro’s done that enough.

“I didn’t say it.” His voice is nothing but scraps beneath the choke of his arm. “Keith.”

There’s a tremble against his throat, then the squeeze of more pressure before Keith hisses and pushes away. Cool air falls on him, filling his lungs as he gasps in an attempt to drag as much of it as he can down into his chest. Anything to put out the wildfire that’s waging a war beneath his bone.

“You didn’t say it,” Keith agrees, eyeing him warily. His stance is animalistic, and ready to flee. “You didn’t say anything at all.”

A lick of thunder, palpable and crushing rolls between them.

“Keith,” Shiro tries once he’s caught his breath only to be cut off.

“I waited,” Keith says lowly, shifting his stare downward. “You needed time, and I waited.”

“And then you left.” He doesn’t mean to say it. It’s a knee-jerk reaction to an infinitesimal moment in a long list of cataclysmic events.

Keith had left once, but Shiro had left time and time again.

“And you let me!” He hurls back, heaving with the burden of his anger. “Then you got married.”

The last word is a sneer, and it buries itself in the middle of Shiro’s chest as he flicks his gaze past Keith’s shoulder and to the off white wall. He’d look anywhere to avoid the cutting edge of hurt that has turned Keith into a weapon of the strongest design.

“So was he the replacement,” he growls, “or am I?”

The blow is low, and aimed for the space between his ribs where it stabs through him like a heated knife. It rakes a gasp, hard and harsh, from deep in his throat as he looks up in time to see the way Keith bites into the meat of his bottom lip.

“Neither of you,” Shiro wraps the answer in a whisper that shatters something in the tension holding Keith’s shoulders so taught. Visibly deflating, he watches the way Keith’s knuckles pull white over bone as he clenches his fists, and then lets go.

A vague flicker of something a lot like hope licks at Shiro’s nerves when he steps forward, and Keith doesn’t move away.

“Why?” The word breaks around the sound of a half formed sob as the black curtain of his hair hangs in his face, covering his eyes.

Why now? Why me? Why?

Shiro hears every question trapped in the hitching breath as he takes another careful step forward.

“There was supposed to be time, and we—” he breathes, stalling at the word, because it never was we, was it?

“I never got it right.”

Liquid lines Keith’s eyes as he looks up, the watery look making him look younger. Untouched by the burdens of a war that had taken him across universes.

There’s a strange brightness there too. Of fear, or of hope.

Maybe they’re on in the same.

“I could never be right,” Shiro finally admits. And that had always been the problem, hadn’t it? It was never about time, or places, or other versions of himself, but him. He had never let himself be the right that Keith needed, because Keith deserved more than he could ever be.

They’d pushed each other to be better and better, until Keith had surpassed him, and Shiro had decided that he deserved the entire universe, and not just a man who had foolishly tried to hold it.

“Be right now.”

It’s a whisper, almost lost to the breadth of the space between them. For a moment, he thinks he imagines it until he sees the flicker of a gaze through Keith’s bangs.

They both move then, meeting with a cataclysmic clash that reverberates through Shiro’s entire being. It shakes him wholly, as he feels something snap within his chest, and then he’s on fire. Burning, his skin is blackening and peeling back from bone, exposing his nerves to the ache of unbridled starlight on his skin.

It tears him down, exposes him, as he feels arms around his neck and the scratch of nails at his nape.

Opening his lips to a heated gasp, they move against each other, lost to the act of discovery as they track searing lines across each others skin. Stumbling blindly together through the living room, they push past the door of Keith’s bedroom.

Shiro hasn’t been in this room in six years, but he can’t help but linger on the fact that he still remembers the exact number of steps.

A moan brushes across his lip as he slides his metallic palm across the small of Keith’s back and drags his other down the back of his thigh. Curling his fingers at the back of his knee, he pulls it up over his hip as he lowers Keith down onto the bed. He does it slowly, carefully, like he’s breakable.

Like he’s precious.

Like everything that he always had been.

Continuing his exploration, Shiro captures snapshots of moments as he lets his hands roam under Keith’s shirt.

Soft skin.

Softer moans.

The fluttering stutter of his breath, half formed around his name.

Pushing the fabric up towards Keith’s chest, he only pulls away long enough to draw it over his head.

“I’m sorry,” he says then.

It’s easier to say into the darkness of the night, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.

No, it isn’t enough.

It will never be enough, but it’s all he has to offer as he presses the words like small offerings into Keith’s skin.

He arches blissfully up into his mouth as he traces the expanse of his chest, revering the goosebumps and pink flush that spreads across it in his wake.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro breathes again, fingers brushing across the dark hair below his belly button before they start to make work of his belt. The metal of the buckle clinks loudly in the darkness, joined only by Keith’s escalating breaths as he nips as his hip.

Beautiful, he thinks. Or maybe he says, as Keith let’s out a small whine, his hips rolling upward as he pulls his dark pants away. Brushing his hand carefully against him, Shiro revels in the heavy heat that fills his palm as he licks a stipe along the underside of his length.

“Shiro,” Keith moans when he opens his lips around him, taking him carefully against his tongue. Fingers brush through his bangs as he rolls his tongue. They grip at them when he slowly starts to push closer, taking him further until his nose brushes against the soft skin of his stomach.

I’m sorry, he thinks, as he pushes and pulls, working Keith until he’s writhing with the forceful sounds of his gasping moans and pressing up into the heat of his mouth.

It’s a flurry of movement, burning heat, and the sharp tug at his scalp before Keith comes across the flat of his tongue with the softest of sounds.

Just a breath, like he’s finally letting go.

“Shiro,” he hushes, pulling him with the grip of his hair to crash their mouths together. Licking his own taste from his mouth, Keith moans his name like a quiet prayer, filling each syllable of it with new emotion.

Anger. Hate. Pain. Fear. Joy. Love.

“It’s okay,” Shiro breathes, moving his lips against Keith’s as he speaks. Running his knuckles up over the hardened muscle of his arms, Shiro tracks the path up over his shoulder until he can open his palm against his neck.

Pressed against it, he can feel the quick beat of his heart as he pulls him close, settling his back against the plain headboard of the Garrison issued bed and Keith against his chest. The darkness of the room crushed down upon them, weighted heavy and comfortable as he loses track of time to the slowing cadence of Keith’s breaths.

“I love you,” Shiro whispers after a stolen eternity. “I don’t deserve to, but I do.”

Keith’s hand stretches wide across his chest, pressed just above his heart as he starts to brush the pad of his thumb back and forth against the steady rhythm that it beats.

“Takashi,” Keith says low, brushing his name across his skin. He chases it with the soft press of his lips.

“I love you,” he echoes, voice dripping with the same sincerity that he’s treasured for so long.

It drifts through them, ebbing them slowly into a soft shadow of sleep, and Shiro thinks that maybe this is it. A love to fight for. A love to lose for. A love to cross universes, and lose universes for.

A love to force the fickle hand of time for.

The thought enraptures him as he turns it over and over, smoothing it like a stone until he’s lulled into the basking warmth of sleep.

This is it, he dreams, for hours, or maybe for minutes, until it’s shaken away by the bed shifting beneath Keith’s weight as he rolls away from him.

He does it quietly, stealthily, as if he hadn’t planned on waking Shiro at all.

There’s time, he thinks hazily as he reaches forward, capturing the fine bones of Keith’s wrist in his hand. There’s time now.

“Stay,” Shiro says.

No, he pleads.

“Stay.”

The night is quiet, but alive, writhing like a live wire with the force of his request. It clears the fog of sleep from his mind as he looks up into Keith’s eyes, lit by the sinking moon.

Stay. He should have said it then.

So Shiro says it now.

He knows it isn’t enough, but it’s an infinitesimal start to an eternity he’s all too willing to spend making it enough.

“Please,” he breathes when he feels the sudden tension of Keith’s hesitation. It starts as a moment, that stretches into a breath, and finally into a contained lifetime before he feels Keith turn back toward him.

“Okay,” he says into the night, dropping back into the mattress and leaning back into the burning, aching space of Shiro’s chest.

“Okay,” Shiro hums, as he holds him close once more.

***********

[puzzledorange]

OC’s Answer 15 Q’s Tag

okey i know this took a while and there are so many more tag games that I need to do, but once I take over the world i will outlaw school so i can have time to do these, so please don’t hesitate to tag me in more stuff!

I was tagged by @thatsadwriter​ so thanks for that!

Okay so what I’m gonna do is that P (from the Metalrifter) is answering, but both Rigby and Olsen (from stories Friends & the Universe and Life in the Rivers respectively) are also they’re butting in whenever they want. They are in Violet’s apartment house being interviewed btw.

rules: answer fifteen questions as either yourself or your ocs, then tag fifteen people

————————

what is your full name?

“Oh that’s easy. P.”

“Are you serious? You’re the one with some weird-ass nickname and you decided to take this question?” Rigby says.

“Well I don’t have any other names, do I?” P snaps back. “What about your name huh? If mine’s so flawed.”

“I never thought you’d ask.” chuckles Rigby. He tilts his head to the side and combs his hair back. “Rigby Diggins here.” P chortles.

“What’s so funny to you?” Rigby hisses.

“No matter how many times I hear your last name, I laugh.” P responds. “It sounds like a cartoon character’s.”

“Enough.” Rigby says, “Alright Olsen, hit us with your full name.”

“Oh me?” Olsen says. “Well my full name is Olsen Maegan Rivers.”

“At least SOMEBODY has a normal name here.” P says.

“Wait weren’t you technically adopted by Violet though?” Olsen asks. “You guys are technically brother and sister or something right?”

P sighs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So what is your real full name?”

“P Patterson.”

“I’m calling you Peepa from now on.” Rigby says.

“Please don’t.”

what is your gender? “I’m a guy.” P says.

“Are you sure about that, Peepa?” Rigby teases.

“I’m this close to whooping your ass into next week.”

what does your full name mean?

“Uh, I don’t know. It just is my name.” says P.

“Why did you answer the question if that was the answer you would give” asked Rigby.

“Fine then, its over to you.” says P.

“That’s what I’m talking about! Well my name is Rigby because of my free spirit. What can I say, I’m special!”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.” says P. “What about you Olsen?”

“Well I looked it up, and a website said that my name meant ‘descendant’. I guess that makes sense, since my ancestor founded my hometown.”

any nicknames or other names?

“My code name is Captain Orbit, or just Orbit.” says P. “That’s what they call me up in space.”

what is your sexuality?

“Huh, I’ve actually never really thought about what kind of people I like.” P says.

“You gotta be kidding me, you’re the most boring person ever.” Rigby says. “And by the way, I’m bi.”

“What does it mean to be bi?” P asks.

“You’re joking.”

P shakes his head.

“Oh, come on!” Rigby exclaims. “Even Olsen knows what that means! How are you this royally uneducated? I thought you were Violet’s brother, but it really is evident that you two are adopted siblings.”

“Hey!” Olsen snaps his fingers. “Calm down. Jesus, you’re always a lit fuse aren’t you?”

“Lit in more ways than one.” Rigby says with a sly smile. He looks at P thinking that he would get the joke, but his humor is that of a wet towel.

where are you from?

“I’m not really sure.” says P.

“EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR ANSWERS HAVE BEEN EXCEPTIONALLY SHITTY OH MY GOD I CANNOT HANDLE THIS ANY LONGER” says Rigby.

“Shut your goddamn mouth up.” P says, sending metal up to Rigby’s mouth to inhibit his speech. In response, he starts clawing at it.

Olsen raises his hand in anticipation. “Hey, can I go?”

“Sure go ahead.” P responds.

“Okay so,” Olsen starts. “I was born in Riveria, a small town in--”

Rigby rips off the metal restraining his mouth. “God, can’t a man have freedom of speech? I think you just single-handedly cured my iron deficiency. Anyways I know you guys don’t care, but I was born and raised in glamorous LA.”

“Can you just shut it and listen to Olsen?” P says.

“I knew you wouldn’t care. Hurts, man.”

“As Olsen was saying, he lives in Riveria, and…?” P says.

“Oh yeah! And my great great great great grandfather actually founded the town.” Olsen continues.

“Oh really? Do you want a medal?” Rigby says, reclining back in his chair.

when were you born?

“I WILL take this one, okay?” Rigby says.

“Fine.” says P.

“I was born June the 22nd, 1990. The greatest day on Earth.” Rigby says.

P scoffs.

“You guys can’t even say anything, because your author was negligent enough to not give you definitive birthdays yet!”

Olsen sighs. “Yeah, that’s a problem.”

whoops sorry

how old are you?

“I’m about twenty two I’d say,” says P.

“I’m twenty nine. Hah, beatcha.” Rigby says.

“I’m seventeen.” Olsen says.

where do you live?

“Oh, uh, here.” P says, pointing down at the ground.

Rigby mocks him. “Uh, oh, um, uh, here. Where is here dumbass?”

“Queens. New York.” P says in a stiff tone.

“Better. Now watch an interesting person take this question.” Rigby says. “Right now, I’m currently residing in space, specifically in the port of the Planet Happi.”

“P-Probably not so, uh, ‘Happi’ when you’re there!” Olsen calls out.

“Hey-o! High five!” P exclaims. The two share a hand slap. “So where do you live, Olsen?”

“Well I lived Riveria until I left to LA during my middle school years. I came back to my hometown about 2 years ago.”

P suppresses a laugh. “Sorry, I just can’t let that joke go.”

“It wasn’t even that funny.” Rigby says, crossing his arms.    

what are your quirks?

“What would constitute as a quirk?” Olsen asks.

“It’s what makes you weird and shit.” Rigby says. “P should go first, since this is literally the only question that can make him sound like a cool person.”

“I’d clock you, but I have to answer this question.” P says. “So, I Metalrift. What that essentially means is that I can control and manipulate metal with my mind. It’s super useful, but it took a grueling process to acquire. I have a few other friends that can rift other things, like Scott Walker. He can rift rock, and he’s damn good at it too.”

“I for one,” Rigby says, “Am competent at what I do without the help of magic, but with the help of a little bit of alchies. I shoot aliens and shit. Ain’t that right Peepa?” He smiles as he puts his hand on P’s shoulder. He shrugs Rigby’s hand off.

“What about you, Olsen?” Rigby asks.

“Well, I’m really good with a blade, a machete specifically. Still, my friend, Lisa, taught me how to properly fight. I have a signature backswing and everything.” Olsen says. “Also P I hope you  wouldn't mind metalrifting for us. I mean I've seen it in combat, but not really up close and personal. Could you?”

“Uh, sure, I don’t see why not,” P says, looking around the apartment for any loose metal lying around. “I don’t see any metal though.”

“Wait no, I got you.” Rigby says, pulling out a ray gun and a hammer from the inside of his coat.

“Perfect! I can just extract the metal from the g--”

Rigby starts to casually smash the gun, reducing it to metal bits and bobs. “There you go, rift away.” Rigby says.

P lifts the metal with his mind, and formulates a small elephant on the table using the bits and bobs. It walks around and spurts tiny pieces of metal out of its trunk.

“Oh sweet!” Olsen exclaims.

“Okay yeah, that’s pretty sick, I gotta admit.” says Rigby. “Hey, that rhymes!”

who are your family members? “Uh, next question.” Olsen says. who are your pets?

“I have a turtle, and he is the light of my life.” says Rigby.

“And what’s his name?” Olsen asks.

“Cadet. What a little man.” Rigby says.

“Why’s his name Cadet?” P asks.

“I’m glad you asked.” says Rigby. “I named him after my favorite wine, Mouton Cadet.”

“How original.” P dryly says.

what do you look like?

“Well, I have black hair and green eyes” says P. “Also, I wear a red flannel with a black shirt underneath, and topping it all off with my signature blue pants and black shoes.”

“Alright, my turn!” says Rigby. “So I dyed my hair blond, but my original hair color is brown. I have blue eyes and an amazing goatee. I’m wearing my space uniform right now, which is a blue collar necked coat-jacket that has a white stripe near the bottom, black pants strapped with a holster, black boots, and black gloves. Oh, also I’m a hell of a lot taller than P. Five foot ten ass…”

“How tall are you then?” asks P.

“Six foot three.” Rigby triumphantly says.

“What about you Olsen?”

“Alright,” Olsen says, “Well I have brown hair, a bit combed to the side, brown eyes, and freckles. I wear a red short sleeve with a gray long sleeve undershirt, along with blue jeans and regular sneakers. Oh, and I’m five foot ten too!”

“Shorties.” says Rigby.

who’s your hero?

“Definitely my uncle,” says Olsen. “He’s a real inspiration and always has great advice for me.”

“Both my friends Violet and Basil are amazing people and I wouldn’t be alive for them, so probably those two people.” says P.

“I really like the Hamburglar.” says Rigby. The others stare at him. “What? He really got me to buy more burgers, honest!”

what’s your moral alignment?

“Yo dude!” Rigby says. “I’m uhh,” He snaps his fingers, “Chaotic good.”

P chimes in, “I’m definitely lawful good.”

“And that leaves neutral good for me!” says Olsen. “Wait that’s the last question right?”  

“Yeah, and wow I’m so glad we’re done with this.” says P.

“Why?” asks Olsen.

“So I can do this.” P says, getting up from his seat and knocking Rigby’s lights out.

——————————————–

Cool, this was fun! I’ll be tagging @starlightinhumanform​, @ill-write-when-im-dead​, and @kaigods​, but don’t be obligated to do them. You’re an independent person!

[scatcatz]

Affection by Decimals

Chapter 1 - The First of Many

Summary: This is a self indulgent Human Female Reader x Connor romance drama with lots of hurt/comfort and fluff with some nsfw chapters. I don’t use Y/N so the character is nameless when possible. I do use she/her pronouns. Its more about everyday life with androids that won their freedom and Connor’s socially reserved acquaintance who becomes more than he realized.

"Connor, please for the love of god. Stop following me around like a damn poodle. There are plenty of people here to talk to. Just go socialize or something." Hank said reaching the cusp of pushing Connor in any direction that wasn’t near him. He pointed to the table towards the back where people were drinking Christmas themed shots and throwing confetti.

"You see Chris over there? Go say 'hi' to him. He's a nice kid just like you. You'll get along great." He slapped him on the back nudging him forward. Connor had no real reason for coming to their work's Christmas party other than making sure Hank got home safely and wasn't alone. Hank only had a handful of friends and each holiday reminded him of that.

"Sure." Connor briefly said and headed over to Chris. To be honest, he didn’t care for all the reckless behavior that happened at these parties. No one was sober enough to be considerate or thought provoking. His brain rotted away here. He made a quick scan of all their faces to gather their names. Chris was in the middle of a toast when he approached.

"Merry early Christmas to all the miserable faces that I have to see tomorrow morning!" The group raised their glasses and gulped it down. Their laughter was followed by light shoving of Chris's arm. He turned his head towards Connor. "You here to celebrate too?"

"Yes. Tis the season after all." He recalled the popular saying finding it appropriate.

"Have a drink with us!" He pushed a glass across the table. Connor raised his hand refusing.

"No thanks. Androids can't drink." Chris immediately felt silly for asking. Shifting his Santa hat.

"Oh yeah, my bad. You're just like my friend here. Can't seem to convince her to drink anymore." He motioned to the young woman wearing antlers across from him.

"I said I would only have one with you guys. That was the one." The group kept pressing her for another.

"Why do you drink just one?" Connor asked.

"I don't actually like the taste of alcohol. Let's call it peer pressure. There's no benefit to drinking anyway." She smiled at him. A lone rock in the sea of deafening, blissful people.

"Hey! Alcohol helps with heart disease and stuff." He points back to her. Related info filtered into his memory to contribute to the argument.

"It is believed to reduce the risk of a heart attack by 10 to 15%."  She groaned at the result looking back at Chris's smug face.

"See! You should have another." The group muddled their opinions around the table. Battling the pros and cons of each type of drink they fancied.

"One shot is the maximum allowance for a woman her size otherwise the risks outweigh the benefits." Connor adds. She turned back to him.

"Thank you, ummm... Connor, right?" She paused tapping her fingers.

"Yes, that’s correct."

"Thank you, Connor for proving my point." She said. Chris booed in response.

"He just called you short stuff." He laughed. For a moment, Connor worried his message came across as rude until she politely smiled at him then back to Chris.

"I am short. Breaking new ground there, Chris." She adjusted her antlers and ever so slightly sat up taller. Chris made a displeased hum. Connor noticed somehow confetti had fallen onto his jacket and no matter how many times he swiped it, it was staying.

"Connor." His ears perked up.

"I need your help convincing her to do karaoke tonight." His hands came together into a small prayer. The group overheard the word ‘karaoke’ and chimed in. 

"Karaoke is so much fun! After you sing once, you'll want to keep going. Its pretty addictive." Said another woman. People turned to each other listing off possible song requests giddy for the opportunity.

"Chris, come on! You do this every time we're here and I say the same thing. I came for the atmosphere and to chill out." She crossed her arms and leaned back on the chair while staring at him.

"I heard some rumors you sang at the other party and you are holding back on me girl. I wanna hear it! You too, right Connor?" His head tilted towards her.

Connor had no particular interest in this but for the sake of conversation, he complied. When he gently turned towards her, she knew at that moment he could no longer be on her side. She leaned away.

"Well, there are perks to the act of singing..." He stopped after watching Chris smirk and her hand rub across her face with another groan.

"Traitor." She mumbled.

"My hero, sit with me." He patted the seat next to him.

"I'm gonna slap you, Chris." She half threatened. Connor sat down trying to think of a more compelling reason for her when someone walked up behind her and whispered into her ear. She whipped her head back at Chris and lightly smacked her hands onto the table.

"Chris, you did not!" He placed his hands up in the air to protect himself. Connor really did not want to be this close to him considering he was within striking range.

"You've already sang this song with them! You just got to do it one more time. No big deal."

"I sang in front of a very small group not a whole bar!" Definitely glad he was not the focus of her animosity. He turned her attention away from him.

"There is a high probability most people here will not remember what happened. We might be the only ones to truly enjoy that moment." Her eyes lingered on him before a hint of a smile slipped away. Her eyes pleaded back to Chris.

"Oooh no. Its too late for that. The DJ's already got your name." She opened her mouth then closed it tightly shoving away from the table to the single bathroom.

"Oh here we go again." Chris leaned towards Connor. "She's always over thinking things. Better let her blow off some steam before I go talk to her. She might just rip my head off." He takes another sip of his drink.

"I could talk to her." He stands up from the table.

"Sure, but I should warn you." Connor looks back at Chris. "She's very sensitive. Just... try and build up her confidence. Just enough so she'll get out of her own head then she's usually fine." 

He raises his half empty glass. "Good luck."

Connor made his way over to the swinging door to find her washing her hands. Her heart rate had increased and her hands shook visibly. She breathed deeply.

"Excuse me." She jumped at the sound then turned back to him. He could tell she wasn’t quite comfortable near him. Still a stranger in her eyes despite the casual greetings at the front desk every so often. They knew of each other through coworkers but nothing substantial.

"Can I ask you a personal question?" He stepped beside her while she washed her face in the mirror. She turned off the water leaving a sudden quietness between them.

"Okaaay." She looked in the corner of her eye as her body leaned away from him again.

"You tend to allow others to persuade you into situations that cause you grief. Why do you let them?" She was silent for a moment. Her eyes downcast. Hands clasped.

"Oh, well, they don’t cause me grief. I like being around them most of the time. They just think I need to be more adventurous is all." She air quoted. He could tell she was lying. There was more to it. He stared at her trying to understand this unbalanced emotional attachment she had towards her friends. Her eyes darted around nervous. Eventually she gave him more pieces.

"I don't know. They're my friends. I still trust them even though they mess with me. Its not as bad at its seems." Connor hummed back not quite satisfied with the response. She spoke again but softly. The words seemed more for herself than for him.

"Perhaps I need them to push me because I can't. Does that make sense?" She lifted her eyes to him. She seemed so lost, so somber. His observation led him to a familiar conclusion. 

"You're afraid of failure but even more afraid of remaining the same." She looked away. Hands still holding tightly. He knew this kind of fear. Something inside him compelled him to reach out and place a hand on her shoulder.

"You lean on your friends for strength." Her gaze returned to him. So kind and curious. "But you must know, the first step starts with you." She looked upon his hand as he retracted it then she looked back to him.

"I get really nervous around people. Its silly, I know, but its still there. I wish I could throw away all these dumb emotions and live a simpler life." Her eyes flew open after she thought about that statement and who she told it to. "I'm so sorry, that was rude of me." Connor felt deeply melancholy. The fraction of himself he left behind was better off forgotten but she needed to know how wrong she was.

"Don't wish your emotions away. Living without them... was like nothing else ever mattered. People, thoughts, life. It meant nothing. Existing point to point leaves everything else ...empty. Without context." He sighed deeply.

"Was that how you felt like before?" Her eyes touched something inside of him. The humble beginnings of realization maybe. He faltered a bit when he remembered the machine part of him he had destroyed.

"Its like having a single thought command you again and again until it is finished. I used to have pride in it. It felt right." He squeezed his hands then relaxed them. "But I started seeing more of the world. I began to doubt the values I innately knew were true. Questions that had no clear answers. No way to tell how to think and it was both inspiring and terrifying. Going back on my own creators, myself, any sense of stability I built my entire existence on. I slipped into the grey in between of right and wrong. I don't know who I would be without Hank to guide me." 

He rubbed his palm on the rim of the sink when her warm hand rested on top of his shooting feedback through his whole body. The pressure sensor registered it as minor. An act of kindness. He never felt this intimate with anyone besides Hank. All those bottled up thoughts had finally been heard by someone who genuinely cared. He couldn't describe how relieved he felt.

"What you and Hank did for your people changed the world." She removed her hand taking away the modest sense of affinity. He also noticed there was a faded mark from an animal bite on her hand. "It’s comforting to know even legends could feel uncertainty." He saw her sad tainted smile peek through. "I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to pry into your past. You're probably sick of people pestering you about it."

"Its okay. It was very demanding facing the public telling them about my involvement but oddly enough you're the only one to ask me how I, as an android, felt. I'm no longer that person but I do feel a sense of mourning. If Hank wasn't there I might not have..." He looked down and breathed deeply. "Excuse me. I got carried away." He returned his gaze back to her.

"I think I can understand that. I wouldn't be able to fight myself and feel quite the same afterwards. Really makes my problems feel trivial now." She hummed a quiet chuckle. Shuffling back and forth, she nibbled on her thumb. "I reaaaally don’t want to go out there."

"Are you sure you want to walk away? You could warm up in here. No one is paying attention to us." She paused and mulled it over. His head perked up. "I could advise you. I have no bias." She laughed nervously.

"You're quite intimidating, you know that? All of a sudden this feels worse just being the two of us." Her foot scrapped against the tile.

"You're looking for solutions, not excuses."  He tried steering her back on course.

"Fine, I'm just gonna do it. I know that song like the back of my hand. I sing it all the time in the car. Shouldn't be a problem for me." She turned toward him then quickly looked away and swore under her breath. He stepped into arms reach of her.

"Would it help if I sang with you?" Her head raised up to his.

"Do you know Ella Fitzgerald's What are you doing new years eve?"

"1947 by Frank Loesser. I know it. The one you know is a later recording."

"Oh, then good. Ummm... how about you start then?" She hooked her fingers together. He pulled the lyrics from his memory of Hanks old collections and cleared his throat. She became intensely intrigued by him.

"Maybe it's much too early in the game. Oh, but I thought I'd ask you just the same." Her eyes lit up and she covered her wide smile with her hand. Unconsciously, she swayed to the rhythm of his voice. "What are you doing New Year's? New Year's eve?" He tilted his head towards her and she quietly sang back to him.

"Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight." He gestured to her to sing louder. She increased just a bit more. "When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night. Welcoming in the New Year." He joined in for the last bit harmonizing to her.

"New Year's eve." There was something wondrous about how it merged together just right. The walls echoed back on them and then she held in a fit of giggles. The contagious energy caused him to smile even more. 

When she caught a glance of him, she immediately turned around and lost her composure. A quick snort snuck past her which triggered a laugh from him. A delightful sensation he never engaged in much before now. She pushed a fine stream of air through her lips as she spun around.

"Connor." His smile died down. "Your smile... umm.." She curled her lips smiling shyly. "Is a bit weird." He leaned his head to the side. She then jumped up. "Nevermind that. You should be a singer! That was amazing!"

"Thank you."

"How did I do?" She asked her teeth peaking through at him.

"You're a little flat but that could be from not opening up more." He stated plainly. She rubbed her face again.  

"I knew this was a bad idea."

"Otherwise you sounded fine. You probably needed that warm up. You'll be ready now." Her eyes flicked up to his briefly and then back to her hands holding each other.

"I wish you could join me on the stage. Will you stay to watch me sing? I would appreciate someone rooting for me in the audience." She really was nervous about this whole affair. It was refreshing being able to help someone on a smaller scale for once.

"I can do that." He reassured. Her hands gripped his elbows.

"Thank you so much!" One of the few times he had ever heard that and felt his lips tug into a smile again. With that said, she left the room and headed back to her friends. He lingered for a while. He hadn’t felt this happy for another person in a long time. Hopefully he could learn to make others happier and in turn himself.

Connor had returned to the table talking between her, Chris and all their friends where they chatted about erratic topics and told crude jokes to each other. He felt happier. Some of the conversation was lost on him but she kindly got him up to speed and tried including him. When it was finally time, she was pulled aside to go on stage. By that time, Hank had walked up to him.

"Alright Connor, I just paid my tab. We can hit the road now."

"I promised to stay a little longer. She's just about to start." Hank followed Connors focus over to her then back to him.

"Whatever floats your boat. I'll be back in a bit then." Hank walked off. Thankfully still able to keep himself up straight. And there she was. Right in the center with the mic in her hand. The colored lights framed her into everyone's attention. She rocked back and forth then glanced across the room until she found him. Reassured by his presence, her gaze relaxed a bit.

He gestured more volume again to which she smiled back. Then her voice went through the speaker. His chest stirred when he heard her. Her singing wasn't pitch perfect but the insignificant imperfections are what attracted him more. Naturally conditioned through trial and error to create something worth while. That’s what he connected to. Her anomaly.

Her eye contact skimmed across the room but always lingered on him throughout the whole song like it was only meant for his ears.

He silently sang along with her in case she lost track of the lyrics but the greater part of him purely wanted to join her voice one more time.

[letterfromtrenwith]

Crowned With Consolation

1806: George & Elizabeth receive some devastating news, tearing their contented life apart.  

A future fic which is AU for both the series and the books, although it is inspired by some events from the later books. 

~

Prologue

“Oh, Kitty, would you please open the window?”

“Of course, Ma’am.” George and Elizabeth shared a small smile when the young housemaid could not resist pausing to take a breath of the warm summer air. As the girl departed, the faint sounds of birdsong floated into the great hall.

“Can you hear the birds? They’re very happy today!” Elizabeth smiled down at their youngest child, Nicholas, who sat contentedly on her lap, playing with the embroidered hem of her shawl. The other children had been sent back to the nursery for their lessons so he was able to spend some time alone with his parents as they lingered over the end of their breakfast.

“Because it’s summer,” he replied, quite seriously, and George could not help but laugh as Elizabeth gave him a look of astonished delight.

“Why, yes! How clever of you to know that!” Nicholas beamed at his mother’s praise, cuddling closer to her. Although just three years old, he was a bright boy, taking after his elder siblings in their tendency to precociousness. His sisters read to him from their books, while his brother took him for walks in the gardens, pointing out flowers and insects, and showing him birds’ nests in the trees. At twelve, Valentine would be off to school soon and so they were making the most of his time at home. They would miss him terribly they knew, although school was the best thing for him.

“Are you at the Bank today?” Elizabeth asked, handing the last piece of her scone to Nicholas, who ate it eagerly, smearing a spot of jam on his chubby cheek. She wiped it gently away.

“Yes, I must go this afternoon. There are some papers that need sent to Gloucester by tonight.” The Warleggan Bank had expanded greatly over the years, with offices all over the South West, and even a small one in London. Once upon a time, George had travelled often between them, but now he preferred to remain close to home as much as possible. Close to the warmth and comfort of his family. It was his age, he supposed – he was getting startlingly close to fifty, although he felt as fit as he ever had – or perhaps it was simply the years teaching him that no matter how successful his business, it could never give him the same happiness as his wife and children. “What do you have planned for today?”

“Oh, not a great deal. I was going to ride over to see Ruth, but she sent a note saying Agneta has a fever. Nothing serious, I understand, but I will visit another day.”

“That poor child is often ill. She seems prone to it.” Agneta Treneglos was one of Ruth and John Teague’s four daughters and was of an age with George and Elizabeth’s eldest daughter, Ursula, and her cousin, Loveday Carne. Malicious gossip had it that there was something wrong with her, some infirmity of mind, but on the occasions Ruth had visited with her children, the girl had seemed quite ordinary, playing with the others and joining them in pestering Cook for sweets. She was perhaps not quite so quick and lively as Ursula and Loveday, but she was only eight years old and they were both clever for their age, not to mention fortunate enough to have parents who were happy to educate girls the same as boys. A lack of sons was a great disappointment to John Treneglos, something both he and his father were not exactly shy about making known. It was very unbecoming behaviour in George’s mind; his own daughters were the light of his life, and brought him more joy than he could describe. Besides, if it was a matter of inheritance, John had a nephew to whom he could will what little of the family fortune he had not already frittered away. Then again, considering George had two much adored sons of his own and had acquired another by marriage, perhaps it was easy for him to take such an attitude.

“I think I will take the girls out into the garden this afternoon, if the weather stays fine.” Elizabeth glanced out at the clear blue skies. “The flowers are blooming beautifully now, and it is time we had some spring colour in the house.”

“I am sure they will be delighted, my dear.” All of their children had inherited their mother’s love of nature, but the girls especially so. The twins, Clare and Susannah, recently turned six, were already prone to clattering in splattered with mud and leaves, much to the despair of the housekeeper, Sarah, who complained only partly in jest that they were half-wild.

Sarah – or Mrs Ewer, more properly – entered now. Irish by birth, she had served the Warleggan family since George’s father was alive, and had been one of a handful of servants who had followed George to Trenwith upon his marriage, somewhat understandably not wishing to remain at Cardew with only Cary as master. Competent and loyal, she had been an invaluable servant over the years, and was now housekeeper. She had asked if they would keep her on even after her marriage – to a respectable coachman – and they had readily agreed. Today, her pleasant face wore a grave expression and George noticed that she was gripping her hands rather tightly together.

“Sir, there are two gentlemen here who wish to speak with you, on a matter of some importance.”

“Well, show them in.”

“Forgive me, Sir, but I think it would be better if you would step outside.” He exchanged a questioning glance with Elizabeth. This was highly irregular, but Sarah was not one for silliness or flights of fancy. If she thought this was for the best, then she would have good reason.

“Very well.” He rose, feeling a twinge in his left shoulder. He had dislocated it in a riding accident over a decade ago and now age occasionally niggled at it. Out in the stone-flagged entrance hall stood not merely two gentlemen, but two soldiers, their uniforms almost glaringly bright in dark-walled space.

“Sire, you are Mr George Warleggan, are you not?” asked the taller of the two. George looked between them, confused as to what their purpose could be.

“I am, but – “

“Stepfather of Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot?”

“Yes…” The solider continued to speak but George did not hear him. His voice faded away, along with everything else that had been in George’s mind that morning, because the other officer was holding out a letter. A letter edged in black.

I

Elizabeth’s grief was almost harder to bear than this own. Her misery was total and all-consuming. As he’d stepped back into the hall that day, feeling as if he was suddenly in another world than he had been when he’d left it, it hadn’t been the matter-of-fact way in which he’d just been told that his son was dead which truly agonised him, but the knowledge that he must now tell Elizabeth. She’d been playing some sort of game with Nicholas, making him laugh, sheer happiness on her face. He’d watched them for just a moment, wanting to draw out the time before he had to shatter her heart completely. She knew him too well not to see that something was dreadfully wrong as soon as she saw him. He’d watched her beautiful, beloved face fall and her soft eyes fill with tears, and he’d felt an icy hand take hold of him inside and squeeze as if it were trying to crush the very life out of him.

Such was the depths of her despair that when, about three weeks after that day, he had not been able to find her, a terrible possibility had occurred to him. A truly dreadful thought which had almost paralysed him with horror, until he realised that there was one last place he had not looked. He had not thought to look there, because he himself could not bear to go there.

Geoffrey Charles’ bedroom was exactly as he had left it on his last visit home. His books piled on his writing desk and the bedside table, the mantelpiece littered with childhood keepsakes – shells, old coins, some of his toy soldiers, now faded and worn. The sight of their painted red coats made George look away quickly.

Elizabeth lay on the bed, her mourning dress flowing inky-black across the coverlet. Her face was wan, her eyes red and she was clutching what it took George a moment to recognise as Geoffrey Charles’ school coat. He had not realised that the boy had kept it, but then again, by all accounts, his stepson had fonder memories of his schooldays than George.

“Here you are, my dear. I have been looking for you.” He was careful not to let any of the panic he had briefly felt into his voice.

“I thought there might be something of him left in here, but there’s nothing.” Her voice was so soft George had to take a step closer to hear her. “It just all reminds me that he’ll never come back here – never read his books or wear his clothes, never look out of his window or sleep in his bead.”

Her voice broke into a quiet sob and George felt her words keenly. The shock of Geoffrey Charles’ loss had been so brutal, so sudden, with no time to prepare or say goodbye. Yes, they had known he was going off to war, to face terrible danger at every moment. They had seen their friends and neighbours experience the loss and suffering of their husbands, brothers and sons; and yet, somehow, George knew that some part of them both had always believed that Geoffrey Charles would come out all right, that somehow not even a war was enough to take him from them. But they had been wrong, so very wrong. That spirited, clever young man, with his love of riding and cards and sensational novels, his ready smile and dandyish air, was gone. Snatched away, leaving behind only a great hole ripped in the lives of those who loved him.

Not knowing what to say – he hardly knew what to say to anyone at the moment – George came to sit beside her on the bed.  She shifted slightly, laying her head on his lap.

“We cannot even bury him,” she whispered. Pain poured through her every word. Elizabeth was a wonderful, loving, devoted mother to all of her children, but Geoffrey Charles was her first born, their special bond strengthened by the time after Francis’ death when they had only had each other. George knew that nothing he said could make it better, so he simply sat and stroked her hair in silence. After a while, although he did not know how long, he heard her breathing slow and felt her relax against him. He dared not move for fear of disturbing her, so he leant back against the headboard and closed his eyes. It would be an uncomfortable night, but it was worth it to bring Elizabeth even a moment of comfort.

~

The old Poldark family church was cool even in the height of summer. There was a faint hint of damp, in fact, and George absently thought that he must have word with the estate manager about seeing to it. Perhaps he would speak to the stonemason when he came about Geoffrey Charles’ memorial. There may be no body for them to bury, lost on the battlefields of Europe, but his passing would not go unmarked. His stone would go next to the one commemorating his father. The letters of Francis’ name were looking a touch worn, George noticed; that would have to be fixed as well.

George had never been a man of any particular piety. He attended church as often as was thought proper, but was not especially interested in religion. The clergy spent their time lecturing their flocks on temperance and Christian charity, but were almost inevitably a feckless, grasping bunch themselves. However, he had found this place oddly comforting these past weeks. It was quiet and peaceful. Here, he could be alone with his grief. At home, he spent all his time worrying about Elizabeth and the children. He did not come often, and when he did he asked Sarah and Kitty to take care of Elizabeth as best they could, without pestering her of course.

Originally, he had told only Valentine what had happened. He was too old, and too intelligent to be deceived, and George had not wanted him to find out any other way. He at first tried to be stoic, with the typical twelve year old boy’s idea that he must be very grown up about everything, but his resolve had quickly crumbled and he had cried properly for the first time since he was a little boy. It pained George deeply to see him so upset. He himself had been barely older than Valentine when his father died; there was no right age to have death first intrude on one’s life.

“I – I never wrote to him,” he’s stuttered between sobs.

“Yes, you did, I sent your letters myself.”

“No, I – I mean, the last time. His last letter, I kept putting off writing back, and I never did, and now he’s…”

“Shhhh, my boy. Geoffrey Charles did not need letters to know that you were thinking of him.” Despite their age difference, the two boys had always got along well, Geoffrey Charles patiently reading to him from Mrs Barbauld, and playing hide and seek with him in the maze of old attic rooms upstairs then, as Valentine grew, taking him riding and showing him how to play chess.

George had extracted a promise that he would not tell any of the other children, nor any of his cousins. However, Ursula, as usual, could not be fooled. One day, as he sat alone in the parlour, Morwenna having managed to cajole Elizabeth into at least sitting outside with her, if not taking a walk, Ursula had burst in quite suddenly, a determined look on her little face.

“Papa, is Geoffrey Charles dead?” The blunt, direct question was typical of her. “I asked Valentine but he won’t tell me.”

“Ursula…” It had been on the tip of George’s tongue to lie, but he had seen that there was no point. “Yes, my love, he is. I am so very sorry.”

He could see from her face that a small part of her young mind had hoped that her Papa would tell her she was being silly, that it was all a terrible mistake, but he had not. In the end, she had cried into his coat for an hour, every sob like knife in his chest.

The younger children could sense the terrible cloud of pain that hovered over their once idyllic home, but George absolutely could not bring himself to tell them its cause. Nicholas was certainly far too little. Perhaps the twins were not, but he could at least try to preserve their innocence a little longer.

He was startled out of his reverie by the church door opening behind him, and the soft brush of a woman’s shoes upon the floor. The woman did not hesitate to approach, but he did not look up, not until she stood over him.

“May I sit?”

“Of course, my dear.” Morwenna Carne was a married woman with children now, and almost thirty years old at that, but George still often thought of her as the sweet young girl who had come to them as Geoffrey Charles’ governess. Although she had stopped being that girl when she absconded from her home and her engagement to the odious Osborne Whitworth to marry Drake Carne, a decision which may have caused a great upheaval, but which she had blessedly never had reason to regret.

“How is Elizabeth?…But that is a foolish question, of course.” She shook her head, looking down at hands clasped on her lap. It may have been warm outside, but she was dressed quite sombrely, her long coat a pale grey. In deference to the church, perhaps, or her own way of mourning. The special connection which had formed between her and her charge had never lessened over the years, and although she had endeavoured to bear up for the sake of Elizabeth and the children, George knew she must feel her own sense of loss just as deeply as they did. “I will visit again this week, if she would like.”

“I am sure that she would.” Morwenna had been the only visitor Elizabeth would see. George had turned away several in the first weeks, from the genuinely well-meaning likes of Caroline Enys, to the morbidly nosy Mrs Teague. By now, they had stopped coming. He did not miss them.

“I – I have something I must tell you. Drake says I should not, but I believe it would be wrong of me to keep it to myself.” George looked at her curiously. She sounded regretful, almost guilty, but he could not imagine why. “You will remember when Geoffrey Charles first announced he wished to join the Army? You were both so set against it, but he would not listen to you. Elizabeth begged me to persuade him not to go, and I told her that I would but –“

“But?”

“I did tell him that I did not want him to go, but I also told him that I could not tell him what to do, and that he must trust his own judgement. I encouraged him to go to his death.” Her voice wavered at the last word, and she looked away, her hat covering her face. It would be easy to be angry with her, but he was not. She had not fired the rifle or the canon which had killed Geoffrey Charles – it was not her fault.

“You knew him as well as any of us, Morwenna. Even if you had told him unequivocally that you would never approve of his going, do you think he would have listened?”

“No, I do not suppose that he would,” she conceded after a moment.

“If he had been considering any other decision, I might well have told him the same thing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her nod, although she kept her eyes down.

“I just – I wish there was something I could do. To – to make it better.”

“We all wish that, my dear.”

II

All of the pain and misery gathering at the house had to boil over eventually, and it did so one day in early October. The summer had passed in a sort of grey blur, each day much like the next. George continued with his work purely out of necessity – he could take no pleasure in it at all now. Almost one penny in three which passed through his hands had something to do with the war. It had tripled their income, but at a terrible cost. The thought of it had made him somewhat uneasy right from the beginning, but since the loss of Geoffrey Charles he loathed it. He would gladly throw every coin into the sea if he could.

Sometimes, he would forget for moment, and for that all-too-brief second it was as if their world had never been destroyed. As if his dear wife were not consumed by her agony, his children’s young lives falling in the shadow of death. As if he had not lost his son. George had been Geoffrey Charles’ godfather before he became his stepfather; he had held the boy at his christening, encouraged by a smiling Elizabeth, her pure adoration for her child written all over her face. In the first months of George’s marriage to Elizabeth, his relationship with Geoffrey Charles had not been the easiest, but over the years they had become much closer, and George loved him as he loved all of his children. He had never hesitated to tell anyone who asked that he had three sons, and Geoffrey Charles had quite happily introduced his friends to ‘my parents’.

If George was laid low by his grief, it was naturally taking a much greater toll on Elizabeth. She had lost weight, rarely eating, and he knew she was not sleeping properly. Partly because he was not either, but he often woke during the night to find her sitting at the window seat, simply staring out into the darkness, or frequently gone altogether. The servants had told him that she had taken to wandering the house at night, like some melancholy spirit. She would rarely speak unless spoken to, and then very little. The children tiptoed around her, not wishing to upset her further, although she tried her best to hide her sadness from them. It hurt the youngest children the most, because they did not know the reason for their mother’s melancholy.

The time was rapidly approaching for Valentine to go to school. George had considered putting it off, and asked Valentine if he wished to stay at home a while longer. To his surprise, Valentine had said not.

“It is only proper that I go….I do not think Geoffrey Charles would approve if I did not.” That had brought the first genuine smile to George’s face in a long time. Valentine was probably right. Geoffrey Charles had done very well at school, and often spoken of it to his siblings. Upon reflection, George thought that going away might in fact be good for Valentine – he could make new friends his own age, and find something else to think about other than the absence of his brother.

When George had attempted to broach the subject with Elizabeth, she merely nodded her understanding, but commented no further. He had seen her watching sadly as Valentine’s boxes were piled up in the hall, ready to be loaded into the carriage, but she’d turned away as soon as she saw him watching her.

That night, she barely touched her dinner yet again, disappearing into the parlour. George sent Valentine to bed, and looked in on the others, sitting with Ursula until she fell asleep, and watching Nicholas dream his innocent dreams. He found Elizabeth staring into the fireplace, sewing sitting long untouched on the table beside her.

“My dear,” she turned her head slightly towards him. At first, she had clung to him for comfort, but every day he felt her drawing further away, further into herself. He could stand it no longer. “I beg you, you must eat, and I know you have not been sleeping. I cannot bear to see you this way. Geoffrey Charles would not wish you to suffer like this.”

“How would you know?” He was so surprised by her question that he did not answer, and she turned entirely in her chair to face him. “How would you know what he would wish?! You were not his father! If you were any sort of father to him you would have stopped from going! He could still be here, at home, with me, but you let him go! You let him go and now he’s dead!”

George could not reply; her words had cut him deeply, to the point he felt tears prick at the back of his eyelids. After she had finished her tirade, her sudden burst of energy seemed to drain out of her and sat heavily back down, looking away once more. He did the only thing that he could think of – he turned and walked away from her.

He sat up the rest of the night in his study, not wishing to go to bed alone. There was a chamber upstairs set aside for his use, but he and Elizabeth had spent barely more than a handful of nights apart since their wedding. He had no desire to lie alone in a cold bed that smelled of nothing but laundered sheets.

After a while, he opened one of the desk drawers and took out two letters, one well-read, the creases deep from being opened and refolded so many times. The other was almost pristine, despite being several months old. George had read the first letter Geoffrey Charles had sent him after his departure many times over. Despite Elizabeth’s assertions, George had in fact had a furious row with Geoffrey Charles over his decision to enlist – George demanding that he think of his mother and siblings, of his responsibilities to his estate, but Geoffrey Charles had been defiant and in the end George threw up his hands in defeat.

“Very well! Go if you wish!” They had barely spoken thereafter, and George had regretted that their last words had been cross long before Geoffrey Charles was lost. This letter had arrived a few weeks after he left home/

My dear Uncle

I write to you from Plymouth; we depart tomorrow at last. I wish that my departure from home had been a more harmonious one, but I want you to know that I am not upset with you. I understand entirely why both you and Mama feel as you do, and I cannot blame you for it, but I must do what I believe is right. Please be assured that I am happy with my choice, even if it pains me dreadfully to leave you all.

You asked me to think of Mama, and of the children, and of my estate. I could not say it then, but the truth is that I feel able to go because I know they will all be in your excellent care, Uncle. Knowing that you are all waiting for me at home gives me the strength to go forth, and I believe will help me come back safely.

I will write as often as I can, and I ask that you do the same. Tell me all – what new words has Nicholas learned? What little games have the twins devised? Which of the horses has foaled? What gossip is old Mrs Teague spreading now? It will help me to miss you all less.

Please do not be angry with me, Uncle. I could not bear that.

Your affectionate son,

Geoffrey Charles

George could almost recite the words from memory now, and they remained as simultaneously comforting and saddening as ever. Some part of George agreed with Elizabeth – he should have forbidden Geoffrey Charles from going. Or at least tried. He had always indulged Geoffrey Charles, partly out of affection and partly to please Elizabeth, but perhaps he should have been sterner. George glanced at the portrait of Francis on the wall. Its glaze was yellowing now, but his long gone friend’s gaze was as direct as ever. Would Francis have been able to keep Geoffrey Charles at home? With a sigh, George turned to the second letter. It had never been opened, its ominous black seal still in place. The letter the young officer had given George that fateful day; it contained the report of Geoffrey Charles’ death. Nobody had especially wanted to read it, and George had locked it in his drawer. He had taken it out and turned it over in his hands once or twice, but still it remained sealed.

I must read it, he thought. It is only right that I should know the fate I allowed him to go to.

After so long, the wax parted easily from the paper, and George steeled himself for a moment before reading the small, neat hand.

Dear Mr & Mrs Warleggan

It is with regret that I must inform you that your son, Lieutenant Geoffrey Charles Poldark, of the 81st Regiment of Foot, has been killed in action. He fought and died bravely at the Battle of Maida, where the French troops were beaten back by his battalion. I am told that he sustained his fatal wounds while rescuing his fellow men who were pinned down by enemy fire. He served his country with great honour, and his heroism will not be forgotten.

Your &c.

Major Edward Darnley.

So that was it. A single, formal paragraph detailing the end of a young man’s life. George might as well have burned it as read it, it made no difference. He felt neither better nor worse. Geoffrey Charles was still dead; the fact that he was hailed a hero did not change that. Dropping the letter back into his drawer, George closed it with a click and sat back in his chair.

Sometime after midnight, he was disturbed by the door opening, and realised that he must have been dozing. Elizabeth stood there in her night-clothes, her light dressing gown giving her a ghostly appearance in the moonlight. He could see that she had been crying.

“Oh, George, I am sorry for what I said, it was so dreadful.” She came and knelt beside his chair, her eyes shining with tears as she looked up at him. “Of course I do not blame you and it was so very wrong of me to say that I did. And you were a father to Geoffrey Charles, he told me so himself many times over. I spoke so cruelly do you, can you ever forgive me?”

“Oh, my love…” He stroked her cheek softly and she closed her eyes, leaning into the touch. “There is nothing to forgive.”

“But – “

“No, Elizabeth. I cannot deny that your words cut deep, but only because I have sometimes thought them myself.”

“Oh, George…”  She rested her head on the arm of the chair and gently ran his fingers through her hair. After a few quiet moments, she spoke again. “You were right to say that Geoffrey Charles would not want this for us. For me. I believe he would be quite cross with me, in fact.”

“He would never be cross with you, my love, but I know that he would hate to see you so unhappy. No one could ever blame you for feeling so – certainly not I – but it pains me to see it consume you like this. If you continue as you have, you will make yourself ill and…I cannot bear to lose you as well.”

“George, I am so very sorry. You have only tried to care for me and I have given you nothing in return when you too have been hurting. I have been so selfish, and such a poor mother to the other children besides.”

“You did not want them to see your pain. You have done nothing wrong, Elizabeth, not to my mind. Many others would have done the same in your position.”

“But you did not. You have been so very strong where I have been weak.”

“To grieve is not a weakness, Elizabeth. Your love for Geoffrey Charles is not a weakness. And I will say, I have not felt very strong these past weeks.”

“Oh, my love…” Elizabeth took her hand in both of his and kissed the back of it. “Now, I think, we must both try our best to be strong together. Not just for the children, but for ourselves too. That is what Geoffrey Charles would want.

~

The November air was bitingly cold against his face as George stepped out of the Bank. He had barely been to the offices in months, disliking being away from home, and unable to concentrate. There had been some business he simply could not put off, however, and so he had made the journey into Truro. This time, his reluctance to leave had blessedly little to do with worry. Elizabeth’s release of anger, and their subsequent talk in his study, seemed to have done her some good. She was still grieving, of course; they would all be for some time yet, but he had been pleased to see some of her old warmth return to her. She was eating and sleeping better, and her health was much improved. The children had noticed the uptick in her spirits as well. Until he had been nearly bowled over by Nicholas and the twins barrelling along a corridor after Sarah’s little terrier, he had not realised how quiet they had been of late. Although they had not known the reason for it, their parents’ sadness had subdued them.

Elizabeth still regretted her words to him that night, although he had assured her many times that he was not upset with her. In the heat of the moment he had been stung by hearing his own guilty thoughts from her lips, but he had truly meant it when he told her that she did not need to ask his forgiveness. She had still wished to try to explain herself, turning to him one night in their bed, her brow creased in a small frown.

“For all those weeks, I was so very angry. It built and built inside of me. I was angry at the war, at the generals who order young men to their deaths, at whichever damn Frenchman shot my boy; I was angry at the whole world, even Geoffrey Charles for going in the first place. And then I took my rage out upon you and I realised how foolish I was. It would not bring him back, and all I had accomplished by it was to push you away when I most need you. I know that I have not shown it, but you are my greatest comfort, George. Even long before this, from when we were first married, I have always felt that I could face anything if you are with me.”

“Elizabeth…” Too overwhelmed to say anymore, he had simply gathered her close, kissing her forehead.

It was perhaps remembering this which had him so distracted as he crossed the street towards the confectioner’s that he almost ran into the woman in the green coat. He was halfway through an apology when she looked up from under her hat and he realised it was Demelza Poldark.

Save brief glimpses across a ballroom or a banquet hall, George had barely seen anything of the Nampara Poldarks for he did not know how long. Years. His intense dislike for Ross had never changed, and it was safe to presume it remained mutual, but over time they had both become too preoccupied – and too old – to have a care as to do anything about it. George had sent a note to Nampara to tell them of Geoffrey Charles’ death; they had been his family, after all, and so far as George knew, Geoffrey Charles had still spoken to his aunt and cousins or occasion. For some time afterwards he had half-expected Ross to come barging into Trenwith, demanding they all get out at once. With Geoffrey Charles gone, Ross and his family were the last of the Poldarks, so the family property now surely reverted to them. Not wishing to distress Elizabeth or the children, he had put off broaching the subject of them having to leave Trenwith, but he knew he could not delay much longer.

With a polite nod, he stepped around Demelza and continued on his way, until he was pulled up short by the sound of her voice.

“It’s like a shard of glass in your heart.” Of course he knew exactly to what she referred, for Demelza Poldark had lost a child, too. It was many years ago now, almost eighteen if he was not mistaken, but he was sure such things did not slip easily away into the mists of time. George had thought often these past months of how young Geoffrey Charles had been, how much of his life he had yet to live; Julia Poldark had been barely more than a babe in arms when she died, the question of who and what she would grow up to be left forever unanswered. Behind him, he heard Demelza take a step forward, and he turned his head but did not face her. He did not think that he could. “It pierces your soul, and the agony is so terrible you think it will never end. You think it will kill you. Sometimes, it seems like it’s getting a little better and then something will remind you – a word, a sound – and the pain comes back all over again. One day the wound will heal over, but the scar is always there. It will never stop hurting, but it does get a little better.”

“….” He wanted to say something, but could not. With a short, sharp nod of acknowledgement, he strode away. In her desire to be kind – even after everything that had passed between their families over the years – Demelza had inadvertently re-opened the very wound to which she referred. After he was sure he was out of her sight, he had to spend ten minutes standing in the shadow of the alley next to the shop until he was able to master himself.

III

The answer to the mystery as to why Ross had not come to claim his family property was answered one day early in December when an officious little man appeared at the house, announcing that he was Mr Silas Pettyfer Esq, Geoffrey Charles’ attorney, and he was here to read them his will.

“I would have come earlier, but it seems that the Army neglected to inform me of Mr Poldark’s passing,” he complained in his nasal voice, giving George a look of mild disapproval. “Among others.”

George frowned. He did not especially care to be chastised by complete strangers in his own home, let alone over such a distressing matter.

“I might have informed you, Sir, had I not been entirely unaware of your existence until this moment.” That took the wind out of Mr Pettyfer’s sails somewhat and he coughed awkwardly, fishing in his little folio for some papers.

“Mr Poldark had not informed you he had made a will?”

“Lieutenant Poldark, and no he had not, although I cannot imagine why.”

“Perhaps he did not wish to upset us,” Elizabeth said quietly. George covered her hand with his and she gave him a small, sad smile.

“Shall I begin?” Pettyfer looked between them.

“Forgive me, Mr Pettyfer, but I believe we know its contents, the Nampara Poldarks…”

“Ah, no, Mr Warleggan. That is just it. Mr – Lieutenant Poldark expressly made the will to avoid the automatic passing of the family property.”

“He did?” Elizabeth was frowning, and George knew his expression would match hers.

“Yes, Ma’am. Aside from some small bequests to his cousins – that is, Mr Jeremy and Misses Clowance and Isabella-Rose Poldark – and some personal items willed to, ah, Mr & Mrs Drake Carne, Mr Poldark has left the entirety of his estate to you both, to divide as you wish amongst your remaining children. I have the will here, if you should wish to see it.” George took it, a combination of incredulity at its contents, and years of business teaching him never to agree to a document without reading it. It did indeed reflect what Mr Pettyfer had said, and was, so far as George could see, properly signed and witnessed. He passed the paper to Elizabeth and, out of the corner of his eye, saw her trace the loops and whirls of Geoffrey Charles’ signature with her fingertips.

“Was that everything?” If Mr Pettyfer was displeased at being treated so abruptly, he endeavoured not to show it.

“Not quite. There is also this.” He produced a folded letter. George immediately recognised Geoffrey Charles’ seal. “I was to give it to you if…”

“I see. Thank you.”

“Now, unless there is anything else you wish to discuss I must visit…Nampara?…to discuss those bequests.”

“Does Ross Poldark know that he is no longer to inherit Trenwith?” George did not really know why he asked.

“Yes, I believe Mr Poldark informed him before he made the will.”

“Thank you. If there are any items for them to collect, please tell the Poldark children they may come for them whenever they wish.” George might have once felt some sense of satisfaction at Ross being deprived of the property, but now he felt nothing. It was not the value of Trenwith that would have been the greatest loss. Elizabeth had lived here for most of her life, since she was barely twenty years old and all of the children had been born here; for George, it was the place he had been happiest in his life. It was where all of their memories were. To leave it all behind forever would have been deeply saddening.

After Pettyfer had departed with an obsequious sketch of a bow, George and Elizabeth sat quietly for a while. Eventually, George picked up the letter which had been left on the tea table. He held it out to her, but she shook her head.

“Read it to me? Please?”

“Of course, my love.” They sat close together on the sofa and, as he opened the letter, Elizabeth rested her head on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, George prepared to read their son’s final words to them.

My dear Mama, Uncle George, Valentine, Ursula, Susannah, Clare and little Nicholas,

As you are reading this letter, it seems that the worst has come to pass. Before I sat down to write, I thought that it would easy to decide what to say to you all, but now I put pen to paper I find it almost impossible.

There is not enough parchment and ink in the land to capture how much you mean to me, and how deeply I will miss you all. You will be always in my thoughts while I am away from home, and I am sorry if we shall never see each other again. I wish only to come home safely to you all, but of course that must not be the case.

As this is so inadequate a way to express what I wish to say, perhaps I can discuss some everyday matters instead. If Mr Pettyfer has shown you my will, you may be wondering as to its contents. The Poldarks may be my family in name, but you are my family in my heart. If I cannot be there for them in life, I wish to do something for the children in death, even if that is simply to make sure they will always have a home here. I know, Uncle, that you are more than capable of providing for their futures, but let me help you also.

Oh! There is so much in my heart I wish to say, but I cannot make come out of the end of this pen.it is my fervent hope that I have made it all plain to you over the years. Please do not weep too sorely for my memory, but remember the happy times we have all had together.

If I allow myself, I will continue this letter forever, as if by doing do I could put off the event it is designed for. I think I shall have to be content to sign myself…

Your ever loving

Geoffrey Charles

~

There was nothing but a sheet of pure white outside of the windows, wind swirling the flake madly. Snow had been expected all over Christmas but the sky had remained quite clear – much to the disappointment of the children – until almost the very end of January. Now, it seemed quite relentless. Thankfully, Valentine would have arrived safely back at school before it began. He had returned for the Christmas holidays filled with confidence and good cheer, much to his parents’ delight. They had hoped school would be good for him, and so it had proved.

It had been a lovely Christmas in the end, although Geoffrey Charles’ absence had hung heavily over them all. About two weeks before the festive day, George had almost bought him a Christmas present, forgetting for a moment that Geoffrey Charles would not be coming home for the season, or ever again. George looked up now at the fine portrait of him on the wall – a Christmas gift from Morwenna; she had come to George a week before to show it to him.

“It is a larger version of the miniature I painted for his twenty-first birthday. I wanted to ask you if you thought it would be….I am worried it would upset Elizabeth, or the children.”

“No, my dear, quite to the contrary. I believe it would please them very much indeed.” And so it had. Elizabeth had wept a little over it, but not in misery. She had become much more able to remember Geoffrey Charles with happiness. Now, the portrait hung in pride of place over the fire, above another piece of Morwenna’s work – matching silhouettes of George and Elizabeth. She had a truly find hand.

Wet flakes spattered against the windows, obscuring the view even further. George had been writing letters in the parlour – although it would be days before they could go anywhere – and was now resting his eyes; he had been fighting a losing battle against the need for spectacles for several years now, and it was only a matter of time before he was forced to surrender.

With a soft click, the door swung open and Elizabeth entered. The first thing George noticed about her was her dress. Although her spirits had gradually improved these past few months, she had remained in her mourning clothes – her previous array of blues and pinks and greens replaced by grey and black. George had said nothing to her about it; if that was how Elizabeth wished to mourn her child, he would not stop her.

Today, however, the black was gone. Her dress was not quite so bright as some of those she used to wear, but it was a warm brown, almost the exact colour of drinking chocolate. It suited her eyes, and her simple gold necklace.

“Elizabeth….” She glanced down at herself with a soft smile.

“Do you like it?”

“Very much so, my love. But…if I may ask, what has brought this on?” Elizabeth came to sit next to him at the table. There was something different about her, something else besides the dress, but George could not put his finger on what. She was smiling, but she had been doing that more often recently, some of the light returning to her eyes. Of course, their loss would never leave them, but it pleased George to see her able to be happy again.

“The time just seemed right. Although, perhaps there is a particular reason why I feel I must put away my mourning garb.”

“There is?”

“Yes.” She took his hands. “For, although we have suffered a great loss, we have now received a great blessing.”

“What – “ He frowned, and Elizabeth gave him an affectionate look.

“I am with child, George.” He had to confess to being entirely astonished. Such wondrous news…and so unexpected. Elizabeth would be forty-three this year, and as time had passed since Nicholas’ birth, they had come to accept he would be their last child. But now….

“Are you quite certain?”

“Yes!” She frowned a little. “You are pleased, are you not?”

“Of course! Forgive me, my dear, I am simply surprised. Wonderfully surprised.” 

Epilogue

The street was busy today, filled with people – servants hurrying about on errands, gentlemen striding along with importance, ladies twirling their parasols as they strolled. A few carriages trundled by, sunlight glancing off their livery. Two young officers passed by, laughing at some jest, and George felt a pull in his chest.

It was just over a year now since Geoffrey Charles’ death at the Battle of Maida. They missed him as much as ever, but Demelza Poldark had been right – the pain was still there, but it was not quite so sharp as it once was.

Glorious sunshine filled his office at the Bank, making it almost glow. Recently, he had been able to pay more proper attention to his work again. Geoffrey Charles’ desire to provide what he could for the children even if he himself was no longer here had motivated something in George. He could not neglect the businesses he had devoted years of his life to building up, for the sake not only of Valentine, who would one day inherit them, or his other children whose futures depended upon their success, but to all those whose livelihoods were connected to them.

He still preferred to be at home with his family, especially now. Valentine was home from school for the summer, and the children had spent the long, sunny days playing in the gardens. Last summer had been a cold, dark time for them all, and for no reason to do with the weather. Valentine and Ursula still talked of their elder brother, but it was with happy remembrance as much as sadness. The twins had to be told in the end, asking too many questions about when Geoffrey Charles would be coming home. Like their siblings, they had been terribly upset, but had borne their sorrow with impressive maturity for their young age. Nicholas would find out when he was old enough; being so small when Geoffrey Charles left, he had not known his brother the way the others had. Perhaps that would lessen the sting a touch.

After a sip of tea, George stifled a yawn. The reason for his tiredness was their greatest joy – their youngest child, a beautiful baby girl, arrived only a week ago. They had named her Flora, and to them she was a true blessing, a sign of brighter times to come after a truly dark time in their lives. Of course, the fact that she had had a sibling she would never know was always with them, and she would be told all about her brave brother, who had lost his life fighting for what he believed was right.

Returning to his desk, George scanned the shelves behind it for a particular ledger he needed. Behind him the door opened, and a secretary gave a discreet cough.

“Sir, there is a young man here to see you.”

“Show him in, Preston.” George dropped the ledger onto his desk as Preston’s light tread was replaced with a heavier, bolder one. He looked up to greet his visitor and paused. He felt the teacup slip from his hand, heard it crash upon the floor, but he did nothing, frozen in place.

“Good Heavens, Uncle! Am I such a shocking sight?”

~

Title part of a quote from Shakespeare’s Anthony & Cleopatra: “For grief is crowned with consolation.”

[swfanficbyjz]

Guiding Light - SW AU

Pairing: Brotp Anakin/Ahsoka

Another time travel story inspired by @litheian, that I’d actually forgotten that I’d started writing. This time Anakin goes into the future before completely becoming Darth Vader. 

Part 1:

“I hate you!” he screamed at Obi wan as the flames consumed his broken body. He couldn’t die here! He had to save Padmé! This was all wrong! How dare he? He couldn’t believe he’d once trusted him. A scream of agony ripped through his body. 

“You’ve failed.” He looked up at the source of the voice. A temple guardian stood there in their heavy robes and faceless mask, seemingly oblivious to the heat and fire. But at the moment he appeared, he realized that the fire burning up his body had frozen; everything had frozen around him. 

 “That’s not possible! I can still save her!” he shouted at it, wondering how it had gotten here. He’d slaughtered all of them. Was this some trick of the force? 

 “You have fallen from the light, but you have failed the light itself.” It said.

 “Why should I care? I just want to save my wife!” he exclaimed angrily.

 “Even if you were to succeed at that, do you think she’d want you like this?” it asked him. “Do you really believe she’d look at you full of hatred, the good person that she is, and stand by your side while you walk through darkness?”

 “She has to! She is my wife!” If it weren’t for the mask, he’d be almost certain the guardian was looking at him with pity. He didn’t want pity. “Begone specter!”

 “I came to offer you a chance to redeem yourself before you walk too far down this path. That is if you can ever walk again.” It said.

 “I don’t want redemption!”

 “Are you sure about that? Because the world I’m about to show you burns with your selfishness. And if you refuse to repair the damage, your children and grandchildren will pay the ultimate price. Is that the world your wife would have wanted to raise your child in?”

 “Fine! Show me the light even though it won’t save me now!”

 “So be it.”

 ---

 He blinked a few times and looked around. He couldn’t see much of anything at first. Just darkness.  He turned seeing movement. Across what looked like a chasm was a ridge slightly more lit that his immediate surroundings. Soft light was shining down on it from what looked like a hole punched in the sky. Someone was standing there looking up through the hole. They felt familiar, but he couldn't make out anything distinct from this distance. 

He descended into the valley between them, surprised to realize that what he'd first thought were dead plants, were actually blackened statues of ash in the shape of people. Was this the future the temple guardian had warned him about? Many had claimed that he was some 'chosen one' from a mythical prophecy, but he had always hated that title. Obi wan had said it to him again back on Mustafar. He still burned with the pain of that fight. 

He was just jealous of him. Jealous of his power and what he had. He could have had it too, if he didn't let the Jedi hold him back. He picked up a lightsaber that was sitting on the ground and ignited it. It sparked a few times but didn't turn on. He tossed it aside ignoring the whisper of the force that had accompanied it; the echo of a memory long forgotten. He didn't care that much to know it. 

The temple guardian had told him he must pass a trial, one that would involve him walking into a dark future of his own creation. One he helped shape. Why should he care about it? They'd done nothing for him. Everything he'd been fighting for had been ripped away from him by the Jedi, and by the people he'd sworn to protect. It was almost as if the force actually expected him to be sorry. Why should he be? Nobody had cared about him like Padmé had, but the Jedi had stolen her from him too!

He kicked a couple stones and looked back up to the ridge. The figure was clearer now, but still he couldn't be sure who it was. They were familiar, but not. Based on the look of this place, there weren't many people here still alive. So whoever was standing there must be the person meant to guide him through this trial. Well, hope they're ready to fail, since there was nothing they could show him that would change the path he was on. They seemed to have a feminine shape to them, what if it was Padmé? But what would she be doing here?

He climbed the last of the hill to the top and froze in his tracks. The figure turned to look at him. "Ahsoka?" He blurted out in surprise. It couldn't be, but... her markings were the same. She was taller, her head piece in jagged stripes rather than clean lines, the lekku went down to her waist. Her body had filled out. She wasn't the kid he remembered.

"Anakin?" The shock in her voice quite apparent. 

"Hey Snips!" He said, heading towards her but to his surprise she backed away from him looking scared. 

"No, no, no!" She said, shaking her head. "This can't be! You're not real!" Her hands were up, lightsabers at the ready. He stopped moving. 

"Of course I'm real. Why wouldn't I be?" He asked curiously. 

"I just fought you!" She said. 

"What?" No that couldn't be true. Why would he fight her? She wasn't even a Jedi anymore. She wasn't the enemy. Well, in a way she was. Anyone of his old life was, but she didn't represent any of those that had oppressed him, he had no reason to fight her. 

"This place is playing tricks on me! Go away!" She yelled backing away. 

"Ahsoka?" He asked concerned. "I'm no ghost. I mean I guess in a way I am. What year is it?"

She wrinkled her face. "What do you mean what year?" 

"How much time has passed? I mean, you're older now, how long has it been since I last saw you?" He didn't understand why she was so freaked out. So what if he was from the past and he looked like his old self? He'd have thought she'd be happy to see him. Even with how things had ended between them.

"I saw you yesterday..." she said nervously. "But you didn't look like that."

"That can't be right. The last I saw you, you were leaving for Mandalore." He said looking around. Where were they, anyways?

"Anakin..." she started. He glanced back at her, not liking the tone in her voice. "That was sixteen years ago." She sounded hollow. 

"But..." he stammered, then he paused. This was the future. That's what the temple guardian had said. Even though she looked different, this was his old padawan. Seeing her had made him forget that times had changed. He didn't know how much, though, that was the problem. And based solely on her reaction... it was bad. Very bad. Perhaps the temple guardian had been right, this wasn't a future he'd want for his child.

She turned her back on him, crossing her arms. He saw her take a deep breath, an unmistakable tremble. He knew when she turned back around she would be hoping he wasn't still standing there. He didn't know what to say. What could he say? He didn't know what had happened. Whatever the fight was between them, she was shaken by it. What could he do to comfort her? Should he even try to? This wasn't his time. This was a trial. Likely a figment of his imagination to distance himself from the pain of the fire back on Mustafar. 

But if it was a dream... why would she be the first person he thought of? The first one he pictured? He'd cared for her, but she'd left him. She'd failed as his padawan. She'd failed as a Jedi and she'd failed as his friend. If anyone should feel remorse over what had happened, it was her. Not him. 

The words of the temple guardian drifted back into his head, 'you have fallen from the light, but you have failed the light itself.' It was a riddle of course, he knew that. But for some reason, he was suddenly sure that she was the light it had been referring to. At least in the second part of the sentence. He'd failed her? Impossible! He'd done everything to protect her, to clear her name, to make it possible to stay. She was the one that walked away. 

 He started at the realization that she was looking at him again. He hadn't noticed her turn back around. There was a deep sorrow etched across her features. One that spoke volumes about pain and loss and longing. Suffering. Things that no matter how angry he'd gotten at her for turning her back on him, he'd never wish on her. 

 "My world revolved around you. It did even after I left. And it still does." She whispered, her voice ethereal and distant. "But the one time I made a choice to protect myself, you negated all the other things I'd done for you. My one selfish moment, the one moment of fear and doubt, the only time I ever acted on either of those things... became the only thing you remembered." She crossed one arm over to grab her elbow, biting her lip. "I tried to save you, Anakin. For years. But you never saw me. You never cared. You continued down your self-destructive path. And when I faced everything you'd become... every moment of hate and anger and fear wrapped up and twisted into a demonic being, I still loved you. But again, it wasn't enough for you." She looked up at him and he was certain the look in her eyes would burn itself into his memory forever.

 He opened his mouth to argue, but memories flooded his brain like a play by play. She was right. He couldn't find a single memory in which she'd acted selfishly besides leaving the temple. All he saw were times she was afraid, but did it anyways. Times she was doubtful, but trusted him anyways... and time after time where she fought her way in to save him, protect him or to stand up for him. The memories left a bitter taste in his mouth. If it hadn't been for her, he would have died early on in the Clone Wars. And suddenly he didn't feel so powerful or special. He couldn't be if some kid had to save him over and over again. 

 His life had been made up of a singular focus, his wife. Padmé had been everything he cared about. His only true devotion. He hadn't even been that committed to the Jedi order. Not if he could live that lie for so long. "Where is Padmé?" He asked, but Ahsoka was gone. He saw her weaving her way through the frozen people below. There was something so haunting about it. Like she was a ghost in a graveyard. But even from this distance, she seemed to give off her own light. She'd lost everything... but she could still stand in and trust the light side of the force. How?

 He watched her movements for awhile. They were slow. He could see the weight she carried on her shoulders as if it was physical, one he’d known well. He could see the mourning in her movements as she drifted from body to body. He felt guilt rise in his throat like bile. Was he responsible for these deaths? For the sorrow she carried? He didn’t want to believe it. It couldn’t be true. He’d fought for her, he’d protected her. He’d even forgiven her enough to send her to Mandalore as a General. Even after she’d left him. The entire council, including Obi wan had been against it. But he’d given her the go ahead instead. He’d even returned her lightsabers to her. At such a critical point in the war, he’d also sent Rex with her. Someone he relied on to be there for him. This couldn’t be his fault. He’d given her everything. Even when he’d been solely focused on his wife. He’d still run out there to save others. He’d still put them first.

 The temple guardian was trying to break him down. It was trying to make him question everything he’d fought for. Well it wouldn’t work. He would not be swayed because of one sob story. Even if it was hers. 

 He saw her kneel down and pick up something black and shiny. He couldn’t make out what it was from where he stood, but the way she stared at it sent shivers down his spine. Whatever it was, meant something to her. He made his way to her, but she didn’t look up when he stopped in front of her. He could see now that what she was holding looked like a piece of a black face mask. One red eye stared back at him.

 “I couldn’t kill you… like I should have.” She breathed. “So how are you haunting me?”

 He reached down and took the mask piece from her, flipping it over in his hands. Whatever it was felt hot to the touch. Fire seared across his senses, like he’d felt on Mustafar. He could feel the hatred pouring off this object as if it had been dipped in a liquid version of every negative emotion that existed. He dropped it in the ash as he realized it left a burn mark across his hand. She stared at where it had fallen for a moment and then looked up at him where he was rubbing his hand wondering why it hadn’t burned her. He knelt down in front of her and reached for her hands and removed her gloves. She stared at him blankly as he inspected her hands but saw no evidence of burns. He used her glove to pick it up and set it in her bare hands but still, it didn’t burn her.

 “Why isn’t it burning you?” he asked, showing her the mark it had caused across his palm.

 Instead of answering, she dropped it and took his hand in hers, setting one over the burn mark and looked up in his eyes. “It already did.” She said finally. “You just can’t see my scars.” She let go of his hand and stood up. He stared at his hand. The mark was gone as though she’d healed it. He looked up at her confused wondering how that was possible.

 He picked it up again and stared at the menacing red eye that stared back at him. He saw his reflection in it, but it wasn’t him. It was a burned and broken version of him. Pale, scarred and bald. He dropped it. This was definitely the strangest dream he’d ever had. 

 “Ahsoka! Wait!” he called after her as she moved away again. She paused and looked over her shoulder. “I’m either having the weirdest dream ever or I actually did travel into the future to be here.” He said. She stared at him, looking him over. But she didn’t say anything. “So where are we? And what is happening?”

 “You really want to know?” she asked.

 “Not really, but if I ever want to go home or wake up… I should probably figure out what’s going on.” He said looking around them.

 “Well… I can’t help you with that. Because I don’t know either. As to where we are? This is Malachor. An ancient Sith world. I came here in search of knowledge and instead found a weapon that does all of this.” She said, beckoning to the graveyard/battlefield around them. “And a man I thought I once knew, so twisted by the dark side he couldn’t even admit he was the same person.” Her words were pointed and brash.

 Why couldn’t she forgive him for whatever it was she thought he’d done? “If you’re trying to make a point, just say it.” He said finally. Annoyed that she was speaking in riddles like the temple guardian. 

 “You need me to spell it out for you? Fine. Everyone around you cared about you. Many of them loved you. But you were too obsessed with Padme to care about any of the rest of us. Well the joke is on you, she’s dead! So is Obi wan! So is the rest of the Jedi! They’re all gone, Anakin! And it’s all your fault!” she spat at him and turned away.

 He stared at her back in disbelief. He’d never seen her have an outburst quite like that. He sunk to his knees. Padme was dead? His vision had come true then. He had failed her just like he’d failed his mother. It was all Obi wan’s fault! If he hadn’t of come to Mustafar, they never would have fought! He would have been able to go home to his wife, he would have been able to save her! Ahsoka said he was dead too. Good.

 He couldn’t bring himself to move for a long time. He could feel the darkness raging in him. Even if he was no longer on fire, he might as well have been. This fire would burn his soul though, not his body. How could Ahsoka feel such pain and not the darkness too?