#it just echoes the impossibility of being an outsider i guess

[seeingivy]

the beach

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting fic

an: 14k. buckle in. song mentioned is sparks by coldplay!

previous part linked here

--

to sukuna’s mother

eren: we’ll be there at five am. 

lana: OH ITS HAPPENING 

sukuna: did she slap you? 

lana: DID SHE KISS YOU? 

eren: she cried a bunch while watching it. and she hasn’t said much…she’s just been staring out the window of the airplane blankly

lana: oh that’s not-

sukuna: AHAHAHAHAH

lana: well, anyways. we’ll wake up for you.

sukuna: she’ll be fast asleep. i will wake up for you. 

eren liked a message 

The second Eren closes his phone, he looks to his left to find your pink, teary eyes looking at him and immediately pales. Your eyes are positively red at this point, an itchiness settling in his throat at the sight of it. 

“I’m sorry. Did you say something?” he asks. 

“No.” you murmur. 

Eren pauses. 

“Did you want to say something?” he asks. 

He watches you pause, almost like you’re mulling over the question. He supposes that it was quite stupid for him to ask, because if it were him in your spot, he probably would have talked your ear off for every little detail. 

“You can ask me anything you want. I’ll tell you the truth, I promise.” Eren adds. 

You give him a halfhearted nod, before looking back out at the window, at the little lights glittering amidst the clouds beneath. It’s like being asked to pick up each grain of sand on a vast, mile long beach. Almost impossible. 

“I don’t even know where to start, Eren.” you murmur. 

Eren gives you an understanding nod before yanking out his laptop before setting it flat in your lap. You swallow hard, knowing fully where he thinks you should begin. With that USB that’s been burning in your pocket, ever since he handed it back to you at the house. 

Of Eren’s interview, on the Life in Love podcast. 

Eren leans into your space, handing you one of the earphones that you settle into your ear, as you press the little play button at the bottom of the screen. The video starts - Eren and Lana sitting with the chunky headphones on their ears - with the interviewer sitting in between them. 

“We’ll start with you, Eren. Have you ever been in love?” the interviewer asks. 

You watch as Eren’s face splits into a bright smile, surely one that was echoed on your face too the day after the beach, as you feel a twinge in your chest. That whenever you saw clips of the interview, they filled you with such intense, deep rooted hatred for Eren that all you saw was red. 

And that he didn’t even deserve one fraction of it. 

“Yes. Of course, I have.” he responds. 

“The person that you’re most associated with, Eren, is your co-star, Y/N L/N, from Attack on Titan. Can you comment on that, on what it’s like to have your first love be something so public?” the interviewer asks. 

Eren sighs, before he leans back in his chair. 

“First love is a funny way to describe it, when it almost feels like it’s more than that? I know a lot of people like to assume things and we’ve never said it publicly, but we did date. Obviously. She’s basically been scored on my heart since the second I met her in my chemistry read, but we ended up officially dating around season three of Attack on Titan. But it’s almost like that concept or notion is too trivial to explain what I even felt for her. She was never just my girlfriend or just my best friend.” 

“Was it one of those…acting became too real situations?” the interviewer asks. 

“I guess that you could say that. We had originally started, I guess, thinking that way when we started doing our character work. It was a whole thing we did together, while we were filming Attack on Titan. Method acting. The reason Y/N and I act so well in Attack on Titan, and win awards from it, is because we had started doing it outside of it too.” Eren responds. 

“Can you elaborate?” the interviewer asks. 

“We had started by kind of putting ourselves in that headspace, off of the set, in order to feel more connected to our characters, their relationship together. I think one of the things about Attack on Titan that makes it so compelling is the fact that my co-stars and myself, not to pat myself on the back, put time and effort into translating our characters into something that is real for us.” Eren states. 

“It’s also something that you kind of just possess as an actor with certain co-stars. Some movies, like rom-coms or drama pieces, just function and work so well because you have that chemistry with the person whose on the other side. And make no mistake, Eren and Y/N aren’t short of any chemistry themselves.” Lana responds. 

“What it is about her that struck you really differently, Eren? Clearly the two of you have a special relationship that you haven’t really been able to replicate else place, certainly not with Hyla Clarkson, for example? I mean, if you’re comfortable, you can share what you told me before you we started recording.” the interviewer states. 

A searing, red hot anger flares through you, at how friendly, how approachable the interviewer seems. The fact that they’re purposely trying to make him feel safe, just to later edit the words as they see fit. 

“Make no mistake, what I have with Hyla Clarkson is like that thing thing that Y/N had with Ricky James. We all have managers, we all get asked to do things that we don’t exactly want to do. I guess that’s the part that people don’t really understand, when they find out about PR relationships. That it seems so morally wrong. But we’re all actors, we’re all part of the entertainment industry - it’s almost like it’s part of the job to do these types of thing. And at that point, Y/N and I weren’t dating and I have strict managers, so…” Eren states. 

“Are you saying that your relationship with Hyla Clarkson wasn’t real?” the interviewer asks. 

“The first time she kissed him he threw up on the other side of a yacht. Do you think his relationship with her is real?” Lana asks, earning a laugh from the two of them. 

“It’s kind of hard to wrap your head around. But we do these things, pretend a little. It’s basically like we’re acting all the time. None of that chemistry, or that character is there. I don’t even think I could ever really like her like that. And it’s not like the relationship I have with Y/N. You asked me why she was different than everyone else? It’s easy. I’ve never met anyone else like her. I’ve never had a relationship like the one I’ve had with anyone else.” 

Eren sighs, nervously knitting his fingers togther, before he talks again. 

“I grew up with this backdrop, of this really fractured relationship with my brother. I was always told as a kid that my family, that the people around me who were real, were the things that were going to keep me tethered to my real life. That if I choose to do this, that I’ll be in the public eye, that people will say things, and it’ll be on me to build trust. To choose the right people.” Eren starts. 

“It was already so jarring to feel like I couldn’t trust my own brother, that my only family didn’t want me. And Y/N…she just kind of walked into my life and there was something so earnest about her. She felt like family basically the second, or third time I had talked to her. She was just something so real. And I’m not sure if it’s because she had a normal childhood, if she came into this on her own or what, but she always got to give me that dose of reality, of realness that I had always craved.” he continues. 

“She was really gentle with me. Always quick to wipe my tears away, to give me support, that felt more full and honest than anyone else. Some part of her made me feel like a real person. I’d always be in my own head, convincing myself that I was made up sometimes, that my feelings were manufactured, that I was just putting on a front for everyone, but I never really felt that way with her. She’s always seen past that, always seen me, in our relationship. Even when we were just friends.” Eren finishes. 

“And that’s just a quality that she naturally possesses. The first time she met me, she basically had no reason to have any trust, to have any good conviction of me. But by the end of the third or fourth day I knew her, I basically felt like the girl had seen right through me. All the way down to my core. And of course, all she saw was good. That’s how she is. I think for people like Eren and I, who naturally think so rotten of ourselves, someone like Y/N, whose so determined in how she shows her love, you almost….start to love yourself too. It’s not something that’s isolated to her, but it’s definitely something rare. People like Y/N and like Marco Bodt…that type of thing is just a part of them.” Lana states. 

“That’s wonderful to hear, especially from you. Y/N has an interesting track record with her own friends, like Historia and Jean and Mikasa that many people have pointed out before. That there’s a part of her that’s conniving, that she uses those around her to get to the top. Is that ever something you’ve noticed, Lana? Especially as someone who would be in competition with her, as a singer-songwriter yourself.” 

“Absolutely not. I think she has drive and ambition and I think that people confuse that with being conniving or competitive. Her existence means that people are going to put her against me or Historia, but that’s just because we’re women. That has nothing to do with something that’s isolated to Y/N and more with people who are just shitty and can’t see two women succeed at once.” Lana states. 

“She’s very focused on her craft - any role, any song she writes - they’re so deeply personal and authentic. That’s why she is so successful, why people covet after her so bad. I don’t consider myself to be in competition with her at all. And if I actually thought I was, I don’t think I would even last a day.” Lana continues.

“That’s something I’ve always admired about her. You’re in competition - and people are putting you there, against people you love - and you have that thing you really want, you’ll do anything to get it. There’s a mentality that people get about it. There’s only one person who ends up on a pedestal and if you have to kick people off to get there, that’s what it is. But she never, ever, put her own friends at stake in ways that she could to do that. I mean all of those rumors about Historia were coming out and she wrote dorothea of all songs, about how important their relationship is always going to be her.” Eren states. 

“You have to hold onto those type of people around you, in this type of industry, when you find them.” Lana states. 

“Good thing for me, then. I never intend to let go.” Eren adds. 

The interviewer smiles, turning to the camera, before talking again. 

“Eren’s prepared a song for us, his first in a while, that he’s going to perform for us live. What’s the song called, Eren?” 

“Sparks.” 

“Any hints to what it’s about?” 

“It’s quite obvious.” Eren responds. 

Lana starts strumming on the guitar, as Eren sings and those godawful tears of yours return. You loop your arm through Eren’s free one on your side, entirely jarred by how calm Eren is watching the interview. At how he’s not a mess, a ruin, like you are at seeing this. 

My heart is yours It's you that I hold on to Yeah, that's what I do

And I know, I was wrong But I won't let you down Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I will, yes, I will

Yeah, I saw sparks Yeah, I saw sparks And I saw sparks

The video ends, as you wipe the wetness away on your cheeks and look over at Eren on your side. You lean your head on Eren’s shoulder, unable to look at his piercing green eyes, as he returns the favor and leans his head on top of yours. You try to figure out how to broach it - this big mess of questions in your head - but it seems that Eren saves you from figuring that out and talks first. 

“You said the other day on set you wanted to know why I want on that podcast and said what I did. You wanted to know if I still cared about you…do you know now?” Eren asks, his words so slow and careful. 

“Is it idiot day?” you ask. 

“Huh?” 

“Is it idiot day? Do you really think I’m still sitting here being mad at you? You….” 

You reach forward to cup the side of his face, brushing the softness on his cheek. 

“I have a hundred things I have to say to you. I-I don’t want to speak wrong. Can you give me a second?” you ask. 

Eren smiles, lifting his hand to place it over where yours is on his cheek. 

“I made you wait like…three years. I think I can wait a second for you, Margaret.” Eren whispers. 

You frown, nodding as Eren places his hand on your head and leans it back onto his shoulder. 

“Thanks, Bruce.” you murmur back. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.” Eren repsonds. 

--

It’s only when the two of you are walking up the cobblestone path, barely illuminated by the light of the rising sun, that you realize that Eren’s brought you back to the same beach house that the two of you had visited before. 

In the past twenty four hours (the ones you’ve been awake for anyways), the only thing that seems to be replaying in your mind is that night. Because every action of Eren’s that you’ve doubted seems painfully obvious now. The song he wrote, the way he insisted that the two of you were real people, only together. 

That Eren gave you so many signs. And that you didn’t know how to read them. 

The salty air stings at your nose as Eren pulls up the mat, pocketing the key placed under it, and giving you a smile. 

“Isn’t that really dangerous? To keep a key under their mat when they live so…out in the open?” you ask. 

“Sukuna put it there for me. And no one knows they live here. This is technically Lana’s brother’s house, so they never really suspected it.” Eren offers, shoving the key into the lock as he twists the knob open. 

You and Eren quietly set your bags by the door, making it a point to tip toe in the early hours of the morning only to pad into the main room to find Lana standing near the counter, cracking eggs into the bowl. 

“Oh my god! Don’t tell me that Lana No Middle Name Price is awake at a normal hour of the day?” Eren deadpans, giving her a jeering smile as she all but drops her little spatula and runs over to hug him. 

You watch the two of them, the way Eren seems more calm in his demeanour now, as the two of them lean against the counter and talk. His shoulders are more relaxed, the softest of smiles on his face while Lana looks unlike you’ve ever seen her. 

Her hair is extremely short, barely secured into a ponytail at the back of her neck with a pink ribbon. But even more than that, it’s something about her smile, the way her eyes are glimmering that it fills that gaping hole that’s been burning in your chest with the smallest warmth as you watch the two of them. 

“Sukuna’s going to get mad when you burn those cookies.” Eren states. 

“I’m not going to burn the cookies, Eren. That was one time.” she responds. 

“You almost fed your son a carcinogen. And burned the house down. Also, we all inhaled a lot of smoke so you probably ruined our lungs for all we know-” 

Lana lightly smacks him straight across the face, as he laughs and immediately swats her hands off. The two of them continue that way - pushing and shoving each other like siblings - until Lana pushes Eren a little bit too hard and he backs up into you. 

Eren immediately looks back, his hands on your shoulders as he stables your wobble, and you shoot him a grateful smile. It’s only then that Lana notices you standing there, at the front of her little kitchen, and you shoot her a smile. 

Lana’s quick to run to your side and give you a hug - the pressure on your body so tight that you can feel her squeezing that little burden of hurt that’s been sitting in your chest. Lana makes no move to let go, as you quickly deflate into her arms and start sniffling into her shoulder, immediate warm tears sparking in your eyes as her hands rub circles into your back. 

“We’ll talk, Tinky Winky. About all of it, okay?” she whispers. 

You give her a nod, as you wipe the tears from your eyes. You follow the two of them into the kitchen, as Lana continues to roll the little cookies into circular shapes. 

“Eren. Go away.” Lana states. 

“Wow. Is this how you repay me? After I take care of your son?” 

“He is your godson. You should be happy to take care of him. And they just left for their walk not that long ago, you can catch up.” Lana states. 

“Sukuna is a speedwalker. They’re probably long gone.” Eren whines. 

“Eren. Respectfully, get out of my house. Go sit on the beach and stare at the water like the little freak that you are and let me talk to Y/N in private.” Lana states. 

“I do not-!” 

“Yes, you do. Y/N, I swear to god, he sat out there everyday and we had to drag him back in like we were pulling an anchor out of the sea. Now get out.” Lana states. 

Eren sticks his tongue out, before shooting you a warm smile and padding out onto the sand. You stick your hand into the bowl, rolling the cookies into little circles with her as you give her a smile. 

“Cute ribbon.” you murmur. 

“I wore it for you. A Y/N classique.” Lana responds. 

You smile in response, as the two of you continue to roll the batter and decide what you want to talk about first. And just like Eren, she bites the bullet for you first. 

“Sukuna’s here. He’s just on a walk right now with Teddy.” 

You smile to yourself, the thought of it filling you with an immense amount of joy. 

“Do they do that often?” 

“Every day. Teddy’s quite the insomniac and wakes up extremely early. Sukuna lets me sleep in a little and takes him on a little walk along the beach. Says that they need their father son bonding time.” she muses. 

“I remember that about him. Theodore or Teddy, I mean. When Eren brought me here, in the dead of night, he was awake. With your brother, making cookies.” 

She smiles, setting the little tray in the oven, as she gestures for you to follow her onto the couch. 

“Theodore, huh? Eren did tell me he had quite the crush on you back then.” Lana states. 

“Huh?” 

“He doesn’t really go by Theodore. Eren and I call him Teddy and Sukuna calls him Theo, but…Theodore just feels a little bit too formal. He only uses it for really important people. Like you. And when he starts talking to Elsa on the TV screen.” 

“I’m glad I’m keeping such important company.” you respond. 

You laugh, hiking your knees to your chest as you decide to bite the bullet full on. 

“Lana….Ricky isn’t in his life, right?” you whisper. 

She gives you a nod, placing one of her hands on yours, as she gives you a warm smile. 

“No. Thankfully, he’s never even met Teddy. And he’s not going to.” 

“Does he know about him?” you ask. 

“Yeah. I had told him, a few weeks after it happened. When I started showing. And you know how he is…he wanted me to have an abortion and be done with it. But I…I couldn’t go through with it.” Lana states. 

She sighs, cracking her knuckles. 

“I know it seems weird. I really do hate Ricky, everything about him, but Teddy isn’t really…his in my mind. And-” 

“He’s your son. And Sukuna’s. I wasn’t even thinking that. And…and even if I was, you don’t need to explain yourself to me of all people.” you respond. 

Lana scoots closer to you on the couch, as she leans her head on your shoulder and you place yours on top of hers. 

“I kind of saw it as my way out for some time. LIke, I was so deep in with everything and all the people that we were working with. It would have never been acceptable to take a break, not unless I had to take one. And I’m not saying that I had him because I wanted to get away from work, but to me…it just kind of felt like a sign. I got to crank the brakes.” 

“I’m sure it was good for you, in ways that you might not even know about yet.” 

“I think he saved my life, Y/N. I was so deep in that shitty, self-absorbed bubble of the industry and how it is and he just…reminded me other things were more important. He took his first steps and he’s learning how to play the piano…his entire world is confined to what movie we’re going to play after lunch. Who's going to tuck him into bed at night. That’s how life should be. And that’s always how I wanted mine to look. Soft, calm.” 

You smile, squeezing one of her hands interlocked with yours. At the thought of Lana, wishing for this exact future when she was a kid, only to have it now. That she fought nail and tooh for it, but still got to have it. 

“I would have told you about Teddy. About everything. But I wanted to keep it as under wraps as I could and-” she starts. 

“You are entitled to share your secrets with whoever you want. You don’t owe anything to me.” you state. 

“I know. But just know, it’s not because I didn’t trust you. You mean the world to me, in more ways than you could ever possibly know.” Lana states. 

You shake your head dismissively, as she quickly brushes you off. 

“No, really. Eren and I…I know it can be really hard to understand why we did what we did. Why we kept so much but from you. But we grew up in this type of thing. It seems difficult to confront these things head on, when they’re basically what your whole lives have revolved around.” Lana states. 

“I get that. But…you guys seem fine doing it now? Especially with the documentary and all, I guess I just…wish I knew earlier. Could have helped you both to this point sooner. I feel shitty because you did it all on your own and you didn’t have to.” 

Lana smiles. 

“You know we only did that because of you, right? The documentary.” 

“You mean Eren.” 

“No. I mean Connie. Me. Sukuna, even. And you know how…private he is. But we did it because of you. You’ve always reminded us, in your own ways, not to take shit from people. And at this point, we don’t really have anything to lose. Only things to gain. Like you back in our life. Control over our lives again.” 

“You guys are building me up into this big thing I’m not. I hid out for two years because I was too scared to confront everything. I ignored all of you because it was easy for me to do. I’m far from this big..confrontational person you think I am. And I’m definitely not as good of a friend or supporter to you all like you think I am.” you murmur. 

“Or…you just think too little of yourself. You went through something big, traumatic even. So did we. It’s no shit that Eren was special to you, so of course the loss of him was going to be big. And you also had your fucking life’s work stolen from you, which is nothing small, Y/N.” 

“I guess.” 

“One of the biggest, most important things that Eren has taught me was having grace. Don’t ever tell him that because you already know how big his fucking head is. But…there’s a lot of patience that you have to have with yourself to get yourself out of that headspace. I lived there for years. And it is so not feasible for you, Y/N. At the end of the day, you’re still someone in our lives whose stood for the right things. And you still have that impact, even if you feel like that’s not what you’re doing right now. You don’t always have to be one thing to be the same person. Who you are, who you’ve always been, won’t ever change.” 

You swallow hard. 

“So you missed a few days? There’s another one tomorrow, Y/N. You lost a few years with Eren? That doesn’t matter because he’s still always going to be there for you.” Lana states. 

You give her a nod, embarrassed that she’s read so quickly through you when it comes to Eren, as you pinch a smile for her. 

 “Just like the moons and the suns, with the certainty of the tides, just like hope springing high, still you’ll rise.” Lana states. 

Eren’s words from the beach. 

“Maya Angelou. Eren’s told me that one before.” 

Lana smiles, rolling her eyes. 

“He’s cheesy. But it doesn’t make it any less true.” 

You wrap your arms around her, sighing into her shoulder, as she hugs you hard. 

“I’m really proud of you for owning it all. I hope that you get to drag Ricky’s name through the mud. For good this time.” you respond. 

“A girl can hope.” 

“And hank you, Lana.” 

She tilts her head in confusion. 

“You took care of Eren when I couldn’t. I won’t exactly be able to repay you for that.” you murmur. 

“Consider yourself repaid. You did the same for Sukuna before I knew him.” 

You scoff. 

“As if. Sukuna and I are nowhere near how you and Eren are.” 

She shakes her head dismissively, as she hops up on her feet and drags you by the arm to the hallway. The walls are littered in little frames, each little photo sweet little memories. 

There’s pictures of Lana, Sukuna, and Teddy on the beach and of Eren sitting at the piano with Teddy in his lap. Of Lana and Eren fast asleep on the couch and of Sukuna and Yuuji pulling each other’s cheeks as kids. And the last one in the row is of you and Sukuna, cheesing on the set of Ten Things I Hate About You. 

“It might not feel that way to you, but you’re his best friend. He’s told me that you were one of the first people - to meet him and treat him like a person. It’s no shit that everyone hated him when he was sixteen, but you were the one to extend your hand to him and be friends. Means a lot more to him than you think.” she murmurs. 

You give her a nod, as the two of you shuffle back into the kitchen and take the little tray of cookies out of the oven. You nicely plate them all onto the platter and turn around to wash your hands, as Sukuna, Teddy, and Eren pad back into the kitchen. 

“Ryomen Sukuna, if you track sand into my house again, I’m sending you right back out and you’re staying there for a few days.” Lana warns. 

You turn around to find Sukuna giving Lana an eye roll, as he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek. His arm is still secured around her as he faces the platter of cookies. 

“Lana Price. Did you bake something without setting the house on fire?” Sukuna asks. 

“Yes. I’m not incompetent, you know?” Lana responds, trying to shove him off. 

“Right. Making ready-made cookies is such a difficult task. Quite the feat if you ask me.” 

“It is! You have no idea.” she deadpans back, as Teddy runs up to hug her legs and she lifts him straight into her arms. 

Teddy reachs for the little ribbon in her hair immediately, twisting it in his little hands as he yanks it out of her hair. 

“Teddy, tell your dad he’s being very rude. And that I’m a very good cook.” Lana states. 

“Mommy. You almost made a car engine.” Teddy responds. 

“Buddy. It’s carcinogen. Car-sin-o-gen.” Eren repeats, annunciating every syllable. 

“Eren, quit teaching my kid bad words. You’re a horrible influence. And Y/N was watching me while I made them so…” Lana murmurs, pressing a kiss to Teddy’s cheek before setting him back on the floor and letting him run up in between Eren’s legs. 

Eren gives you a smile from your little vantage point near the sink, as he gestures for you to come closer to him. You follow and crouch down to where Eren - and Teddy - are standing as Teddy nervously peeks at you from behind Eren’s back. 

“Okay, bud. This is my pretty friend, Y/N. Can you say hi?” he asks. 

Teddy’s cheeks turn bright red, as he nervously toussles his hair, before extending his little hand to you. 

“My name is Theodore Price. My mommy calls me Teddy. And Eren. And my dad calls me Theo. And the mailman always calls me kid.” Teddy rambles. 

You fight the urge to laugh, at how cute he is, as you smile at him. 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, shaking his little hand as you watch a little smile spread across his face. 

You look up to find Sukuna making eye contact with Lana, mouthing Theodore? as Lana shakes her head dimissively at him. You give Sukuna a smile, which he actually returns, before you focus back on Teddy. 

“I have a gift for you.” Teddy states. 

“For me? On your birthday?” you ask. 

“I didn’t buy it so it doesn’t actually count.” he responds. 

“Sound logic, my friend. What is it?” you ask. 

“You have to close your eyes and put your hands out.” 

You look up at Eren, giving him a disbelieving look, as he gestures for you to follow. You close your eyes and cup your hands out to the two of them, as you hear Eren laugh. 

“Okay. You can open them now.” Teddy states. 

You open your eyes to find a pink ribbon in your hand, specifically the one that Teddy just snagged from Lana’s hair, as you hear Sukuna and Eren laugh. You smile hard, twisting it in your hands. 

“Thank you, Teddy. That’s very kind of you.” you respond, giving him a smile. 

He returns the favor, his cheeks bright pink, as he runs up behind Sukuna’s legs and burrows his face into the fabric of his pants. You and Eren stand back up, as Eren leans into your space and whispers. 

“He still has a crush on you.” Eren states. 

“He’s a baby, Eren.” 

“You’re so rude. Babies aren’t capable of love?” 

“Well, you’re standing right here so that’s obviously not true.” you deadpan. 

“Haha. Now give it.” Eren states, holding his hand out to you. 

“Give you what?” 

“The ribbon, dingus.” Eren responds. 

“Actually, Eren. He gave it to me. Maybe if you were cuter, he’d give it to you.” 

“Okay, Megamind. Don’t get a big head now. I was just going to put it on for you.” Eren responds. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” 

You place the little pink ribbon in Eren’s hands, as he gestures for you to turn around. He’s quick to secure the ribbon into the little ponytail in your hair, giving your head a little pat when he’s finished. 

“So cute.” Eren says, sarcastically. 

“Shut up. I’m adorable.” you respond. 

Eren smiles. 

“Yes, you are.” he responds, zero hint of sarcasm in his voice. 

Sukuna gives Eren a nod, as the two of them switch spots, and he takes your side. You get to take Sukuna in full this time, at the little smile wrinkles near his eyes and the salty, beach smell that seems to emanate off of him. 

“Y/N L/N. Are you finally gracing us with your presence?” Sukuna asks. 

“Father Sukuna. I think I am.” you respond, placing your hands on your hips. 

Sukuna smiles, reaching forward to mess with your hair. 

“You and I are going to talk after breakfast. And that’s only because Lana will burn our house down if I leave her alone to it.” Sukuna states. 

“Deal.” you respond, smiling at him. 

--

You and Sukuna settle down onto the little patio, the waves of the ocean crashing against the sand in front of you. He sets the little plates in front of the two of you, giving you a smile, as you both lean back in your chairs. 

“Pumpkin pie?” you ask. 

“You want some?” Sukuna asks. 

“Sure.” 

And then Sukuna lifts the plate and immediately smashes the pie into your face. It’s cold and squishy, as you quickly smear it out of your eyes just to glare at him. 

“Eren! Bring Y/N a towel. And another slice of pie.” Sukuna states. 

Eren sticks his head out of the screen door, widened eyes at the state of you. 

“What happened?” Eren asks. 

“She fell into the pie. She’s always been such a clutz.” Sukuna states. 

“Into the pie? On the plate?” Eren asks. 

“Yes.” Sukuna responds. 

Eren gives the two of you a weird look, as he shuffles back into the house and returns with a towel. You wipe all of the filling off of your face before hitting Sukuna straight in the face with the towel and crossing your arms. 

“Is it asshole day, Sukuna?” 

“That’s rich coming from you. I’m the asshole?” Sukuna asks. 

“You just smashed a pie into my face.” 

“And you didn’t return my calls for two years.” Sukuna responds, glaring. 

You sigh, leaning back in the chair, as you look at him. 

“Make no mistake, Y/N. I’m not Eren and I’m not Mikasa. I’m not going to beat around the bush just for you.” Sukuna states. 

“Thanks, Sukuna. I can always count on you to support me.” you deadpan. 

Sukuna stops in his tracks, before swallowing hard. 

“Lana told me to be nice to you.” he states. 

“You don’t have to be. Whatever it is you’re feeling…I’m sure that I deserve it.” you respond. 

“Contrary to your belief, I don’t actually enjoy being rude. I actually hate it. But…there are things you have to know. You’re really fucking stupid sometimes, Y/N.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“You’re a changed man, Sukuna.” 

Sukuna shifts in his seat, as you quickly bite your words. 

“I wasn’t being sarcastic. You really do seem different. Better.” you murmur. 

Sukuna smiles. 

“I am. Different. Better.” 

You lean forward, placing a hand on his forearm. 

“You’re a fucking dad, Sukuna.” 

“I know. Who would have thought?” he asks. 

“Me. I always knew you’d be great at this type of thing.” 

“Yeah right.” Sukuna responds, sarcastically. 

“No, really. You…you have that ability. The type that really good parents have. You always know what to give people, what they need to hear. You know that people don’t give things to me straight, so you always do it for them. And you’re the only person on my side - the only person who says that and means it.” you respond. 

Sukuna leans forward on his elbow. 

“I could have done better by you. I know that.” 

“Sukuna-” 

“The awards show. I could have stopped you. I…I figured that Historia and Jean were riling you up. That you were already far past a point of reason and I just…” 

“I would have cussed you out if you tried to go against me in that moment, Sukuna. Kicked you out of my house.” 

“I thought that much but…but still. I could have made you listen.” Sukuna responds. 

“Don’t get me wrong. I find lots of value in your words. But really, I wouldn’t have listened. And…and you were still there in the way that I needed you. Don’t think that I’ve forgotten that the person who dragged me out of that dressing room that night was you.” you murmur. 

Sukuna sighs. 

“I fucking hate you for not talking to me, Y/N. I get not talking to anyone from Attack on Titan. To Levi, Hange, whatever. But I was never apart of that. I was your friend, Y/N. I was always on your side.” 

“I’m sorry.” you respond. 

“You don’t think I would have fought for your albums back with you? That I wouldn’t have wrung Eren’s neck out if he asked me to? That I wouldn’t have crawled into your shitty house and stayed there with you if you needed me to?” 

You swallow hard. 

“It’s embarrassing to be around people when I know I’m doing something wrong. But it’s infinitely more embarrassing when that person is you, Sukuna.” you respond. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“I mean…you’re one of the best people I know. You’re always saying what’s on your mind, you’re exactly what I want to be. Honest. Earnest. A good friend. I know I can be shitty. It’s just really hard for me to do it in front of you.” you respond. 

“You think too much of me.” Sukuna states. 

“You think too little of yourself.” you respond. 

“Don’t quote my girl back to me, L/N.” Sukuna sneers, lightly shoving you. 

You smile. 

“Your girl, eh?” your respond, smirking at him as you watch a pink flush crawl up his neck. 

“Do you think you’re funny? We have a kid together.” Sukuna responds. 

“You have a crush on Lana.” you respond. 

“Okay?” 

“That’s so cute, Sukuna.” you respond, exaggerating each syllable as he rolls his eyes at you. 

You lean forward and wrap your arms around him, hugging him as hard as you can as you feel the tears collect in your eyes. Sukuna pulls back the second he feels you sniffling, his eyes pinched in annoyance. 

“Why are you crying?” 

“I’m so happy for you, Sukuna.” you whisper. 

Sukuna deflates, pinching his lips shut. 

“You could have told me too, Sukuna. About all of it, everything that happened. When-when you were a kid. I would have listened to you. And I would never tell.” you whisper. 

“I almost did tell you. That night that we were in my trailer. When Historia released Lacy.” 

You gesture for him to continue. 

“I told you that…that hundreds, thousands of people loved me and I didn’t even know who I was looking at in the mirror. It was more humiliating for me than that. I looked in the mirror and didn’t know who I was, how I let that happen to me-” 

You feel the tears immediately burn in your eyes. 

“-but it bothered me even more. Because I look just like Yuuji, Y/N. Yuuji means the fucking world to me, just like you do. Like Lana does. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him. And…and at that point I realized. That I didn’t even hold myself to that standard. That I didn’t see that happening to myself and think that I deserved better.” Sukuna states. 

“Sukuna. You deserve so much better. So much better.” you whisper. 

“I know that now. And I have it too, Y/N.” 

You and Sukuna turn your heads to look at Lana and Teddy through the window, the two of them showing Eren something in a book. The two of you smile at each other. 

“Luckily for me, Lana showed up right when I needed her. I can’t believe that I’ve been walking around her for years, on red carpets and at awards shows. She was right under my nose this entire time and I had no idea.”  

“There’s this legend. An invisible string of fate. That the person that you’re destined to be with, the two of you have a little string tied around your pinkies the second you’re born. And no matter how far you go, you’ll still have a pull on each other. End up together.” you respond. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m pretty sure the two of you have been making steps towards each other the entire time, Sukuna.” you respond. 

He smiles in response. 

“Me too.” Sukuna responds. 

You wipe the wetness from your cheek, as you lean back in the chair. 

“Okay, Sukuna. Give it to me straight.” 

“Give what? A slap?” Sukuna asks. 

“No. I know you. You’ve probably got a lot to say to me. So…just come right out and say it. I can take it.” 

Sukuna smiles, almost too sinisterly. 

“You sure?” 

“Yes.” 

“Positive? You can’t fight me on any of it.”

“Fine. Just tell me.” 

He takes a deep breath before talking, the tone in his voice so matter-of-fact that it catches you off guard. 

“You have no right to give Mikasa shit for picking another maid of honor. Even if Amy’s a bitch to you. Quit playing the victim with her on that one, becuase first and foremost, you will lose. And second of all, she’s getting married. You’re the one who needs to bite the bullet and make sure that she has a good day.” 

“Wait-” you start. 

“Why aren’t you writing any music anymore? Why are you accrediting all of your success to Danny and Sareen when you’re the one who wrote those songs?” 

“I’m not-” 

“Aren’t you though? And when are you going to stop punishing Eren for something that you did to him first.” 

“Sukuna.” 

“What are you mad at him for? That he didn’t tell you what he was going through? Isn’t that what you did to him first? Because yeah, you’d call him before all your shows and pretend like things were fine. And then Eren had to find out from a fucking interview that those two dickwads were starving you. That they were controlling you like you were one of their assets.”  

You sigh. 

“I’m not playing the victim with Mikasa.” 

“Aren’t you though? Because if it were me, if I had not talked to my best friend in two years despite the fact that she reached out multiple times, I’d think that I was in the wrong.” 

“I was struggling.” 

“And you don’t think she wasn’t? Did you know that she almost broke up with Jean in the years that you were gone?” 

You pale. 

“What?” 

“Did you ask her? Did you ask her how she was when you came back?” 

You swallow hard. 

“You don’t think that she needed you for that? For something as big as almost losing Jean when he’s always been by her side. You don’t think that she needed you for even small things even beyond that? Someone to talk to. Someone to support her?” 

“Are her and Jean okay?” 

“Yes. Eren was there. But Eren can’t exactly replace what you are for Mikasa. And god knows he has the emotional capabilities of a fucking teaspoon.” 

It seems that every time you’re at the depths of your regret, of your guilt, you find that there is always a way to sink down further. 

“Quiet now, aren’t you? Fight me about the music.” he states. 

“No.” 

“Because I’m right?” he asks. 

“So what if you are? I just don’t want to write anything anymore. It’s not that serious.” 

Sukuna leans forward, inches between your faces. 

“It’s not that serious, for any normal person. But it is that serious for you. Because you love to write music, Y/N. You scribble lyrics onto your scripts when you’re supposed to be reading them. You hum songs when you’re basically doing anything. And you’re not doing it now, because you’re still in that godforsaken hole you sank yourself into in your house.” 

“So what if I am, Sukuna? What if I am? Don’t you get that I’m fucking scared of this type of thing? That it is isn’t easy? I lost Eren. And then I lost my music. All of my friends. You don’t think that type of thing was fucking hard for me?” you respond, warm tears spilling out of your eyes. 

Sukuna leans forward, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing hard. 

“You were never one to back down from a fight. What kind of hold do you think those two idiots have over you at this point? Need I remind you, that they’re only famous, that they only have a claim to their names, because of you. Did you lose Eren? No. Because he’s literally peering through the fucking window right now because you’re crying. Did you lose your music? No, because he fought so hard to somehow get it back for you. And you didn’t lose your friends. We’re right in front of you.” 

You pull back, glaring at him. Because as annoying as he is, he always did point out the truth. You give Eren a smile through the window, gesturing to him that it’s okay, as he gives you a disbelieving look and walks away. 

“I’m mad at Eren for what he said to me.” you respond. 

“That’s valid. But have you ever considered that he might have been mad at you for what you said to him too? Or even worse, that you could have really hurt him?” 

“What did I say to him? Because he-” 

“You didn’t pick him.” 

“But, Sukuna. I had to do that. Sareen and Danny-” 

“So you get it. You get that what you did was because you had to. So why don’t you understand that what Eren said to you was because it was what he had to say too?” 

You sigh. 

“Don’t be a hypocrite, Y/N. You know I don’t say any of this to hurt you.  But you’re not twenty-one anymore. And neither is Eren. It’s time for you to face this head on. Both of you.” he states, the tone in voice so caring that it makes you falter. 

You sigh. 

“Did you know that Eren was struggling that bad?” 

“No. And I gave him tons of shit at the time for it. You’re not the only one with regrets.” he states. 

--

After a fresh shower, you pad back into the main room to find Eren in the kitchen, while Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy cuddle in the crouch. Eren gestures for you to join him at your side, as he pushes a little cutting board and the food towards your side. 

“Are you trusting me to cut the vegetables? Are you finally viewing me as your equal, Eren Jaeger?” you ask, feigning shock. 

“It’s a safety knife. That’s what Teddy uses when Lana teaches him how to cook.” Eren responds, smirking at you. 

You elbow him, accompanied with nice string of insults as you stand at Eren’s side. You look to the picture at the your side, of Sukuna, Lana, and Teddy dressed up nice in a little courthouse. 

“Hey. What’s this?” 

“Lana and Sukuna are married.” Eren states. 

“Excuse me. You said they were dating.” you state. 

“We said dating in the documentary, because they were dating at the time. But at their one year anniversary, they did a small little court wedding. The three of them got takeout sushi and came home like right after.” Eren states. 

You walk over to the picture, inspecting it in full this time. At Lana’s white slip dress, at their matching rings, and the little bouquet in Teddy’s hands. The three of them are smiling so brightly, Lana and Sukuna leaning their temples together, with their eyes closed and bright smiles. 

“Eren.” 

“Hm?”

“How did that happen?” you ask, gesutring over to the three of them. 

Eren sets his knife down, lookng over at the picture as he places his hands on his hips. You can already tell from his stance that whatever he’s about to say is going to be bitingly sassy. 

“Okay. When two people love each other, they get in a be-” 

“Shut up, idiot. I mean, Lana and Sukuna.” 

Eren shoves you in the side, as the two of you avert your eyes to the three of them on the couch. 

“After that night, when I had said everything to you, I had immediately called Levi and Hange. Lana and I had been debating calling them and asking for help the second I ended up in the hospital, but that night was kind of the final straw for me.” Eren states. 

“Your injury should have been your final straw, Eren.” you respond, pinching your eyes at him. 

“At that point, I was ready to drag Scott Clarkson into the ground. From my standpoint, I didn’t really have anything to lose from suing them. And Connie and Lana, it didn’t take them much convincing to follow. But Levi basically wanted to stack all of our cards in our favor, that if we were going to say something, anyone else who has something to say would get to take that chance too.” Eren adds. 

“That’s where he came in.” you state, to which Eren gives you an affirmative nod. 

“Sukuna had told us almost everything about what happened to him, except for…you know.” 

The sexual assault. 

“Yeah.” 

“Lana was the first person that he told. And I don’t know what she told him, since that’s not something I understand having experienced but she obviously does, but…they both just kind of came to us one day. Told us that they wanted to own it.” Eren adds. 

“So, they just got close? From all that? Not that it’s not a thing that connects him, but he…he’s always so reserved.” you ask. 

“I think he just naturally gravitated towards her, that’s all. I think they have these deep, all encompassing emotions that they don’t share with other people. The feel things deeply, love really hard. It was just like an underlying thing…that they knew they would get along in that way. Like you and me.” 

“Like you and me?” 

“Y’know. We were close right off the bat. No awkward stage, no holding things back from each other. Well, in the beginning at least.” Eren states. 

You hum in response. 

“Sukuna met Teddy pretty early on. When Lana and Sukuna started dating, they were serious straight off the bat. He kind of just…fit in perfectly with them. Nothing really changed. Teddy just kind of called him dad in passing one day. No one really said much about it, but I did find Sukuna crying later.” 

You frown, clutching your hands on your chest. 

“I’m really happy for them, Eren. There’s no one who deserves it more than them.” 

You feel a brush past your shoulder to find Sukuna and Lana at your sides, the two of them tip toeing into the fridge and pulling a little box out. Eren hands you a little box of candles, as you pull out five little green ones. 

The four of you huddle over the cake, perfectly placing them and lighting them, as you walk over to where Teddy’s still sitting, fully engrossed into the screen. Sukuna turns to the three of you, quietly counting down, before you all burst out singing and Teddy turns around excitedly. 

You watch as Sukuna smashes a decent amount of frosting onto Teddy’s cheeks after he blows out the candles, as Lana quickly snaps a picture of the two of them with the cake. 

“Is that your thing now, Sukuna? You just smash dessert into people’s faces?” you ask. 

“Well, you deserved it. And I’ve been doing this since my first birthday with him.” Sukuna states. 

“Don’t tell me you smashed food in a grown woman’s face?” Lana asks, deadpanning. 

“It was pie. That hardly counts as food. And again, need I repeat, that she deserved it.” 

Lana comes over, securing her hands around your shoulders, as she presses a kiss to your cheek. 

“You’re rude. Our princess does no wrong.” she states, gesturing for Eren to join him at her side. 

Eren follows suit, gesturing for Lana to get in the picture, as he points the little camera at them, and you peer over his shoulder at the viewfinder. 

“Teddy. What did you wish for?” Eren asks. 

“Don’t say! Your wish won’t come true.” Lana whines. 

“Y/N!” Teddy states, giving you a bright smile. 

Sukuna laughs, reaching for his sides to tickle at him. 

“Sorry buddy. You already snoozed and lost on that one.” Sukuna responds. 

The three of them shuffle to the counter as Sukuna starts cutting the cake into little slices and placing them on the plates. After a decent amount of dessert and sweet pictures, Eren shuffles away with Teddy to set him to bed, as you shuffle into your own room and muse over what you’re going to say to Eren later. 

--

Eren makes his way down the following morning, to find the three of them mulling around in the kitchen. He makes it a point to shove Lana and smack Sukuna, before pressing a kiss on top of Teddy’s head and taking the seat next to them. 

“You’re not going on your walk?” Eren asks, looking up at Sukuna. 

“Someone already claimed the beach.” 

“Huh?” 

Sukuna points behind him, as Eren looks out the window to find you sitting there in the sand, on a little blanket. Your back is facing towards him, your hair slightly swaying in the light breeze of the beach outside. 

“What’s she doing?” Eren asks. 

“She wants to talk to you, Eren.” Lana states. 

Eren pales. 

“Out there?” Eren asks. 

The two of them nod as Eren feels knots twisting in his stomach, that whatever semblance of relationship that the two of you were building back together was going to come crashing down in a second. That the harsh, cruel justice that he was owed was finally going to be served to him. 

“Fuck. Okay. Do I look fine?” Eren asks, turning to the two of them. 

Sukuna and Teddy squint their eyes in confusion, as Lana gives him a big thumbs up and all but pushes him onto the patio. He turns around and gives her a pointed glare, which she only returns with a smile as he starts trudging towards you, feet digging into the sand. 

You notice Eren before he can creep up behind you, as you give him a smile and gesture for him to take the spot next to you. It’s decently overcast, a slight chill in the air as you pull your hoodie around you and watch the waves crash ahead. 

“Hey.” Eren says. 

Eren takes the spot at your side, hiking his knees to his chest, as your elbows brush against each other in the cold. 

“Wanna go skinny dipping?” you ask. 

“I beg your pardon?” Eren resopnds, eyes nearly bulging out of his head.  

You can barely contain your laughter, as Eren quickly catches on. His cheeks are positively pink as he starts grumbling under his breath about how mean you are and you choke out an apology. The two of you sit there in silence as the water pulls close to the shore, just to quickly retreat back into the big mass of water. 

You bite the bullet this time.

“The song that you wrote that day. The one that you sang to me on the beach.” you say. 

“Yeah?” Eren asks, almost too attentive as he hangs at the ends of your words. 

“That’s my first question. What did it mean?” you ask. 

Eren looks back out at the waves. 

“I thought that what we had ran it’s course when I wrote it. It was a few days before you got there. And by that point, I was already so down in it that all I was left with was the feeling of being grateful. That I did get to experience that love, with you, at some point. And you know. You’re the moon. I’m the ocean. It was a nice solace to think our love would last forever that way..” Eren responds. 

You nod in response. 

“That night. When- when you tried to kiss me. I told you I couldn’t because you were still with Hyla. Why didn’t you tell me then and there that you had broken up?” you ask. 

“I could have. But I wanted to know if you wanted me still, with such extreme urgency, that-that I kind of forgot that I was technically dating her in the first place. I said it before, but I never really considered that real, Y/N. She didn’t even warrant a mention in my mind. Or ever mean anything to me.” Eren responds. 

“Okay.” 

Eren pauses. You suppose your response was barely convincing and that he can most definitely tell. 

“I’m only telling you this part because Sukuna is going to tell you anyway and he’s been holding it over my head for weeks.” Eren states. 

“What?” 

“It’s embarrassing. Just- pretend like it’s nothing when Sukuna says it to you.” 

“Okay?” 

“The yacht. When-when Hyla kissed me.” 

“Oh. Vomitgate.” you respond, smiling at him. 

“Don’t call it that!” he whines. 

You laugh as you gesture for him to continue, his cheeks lightly dusted pink. 

“Hyla likes to wear a lot of lipgloss. And she..she always wears this red one. That smells like cherries.” he states. 

“Okay?”  

“I didn’t know that it tasted like cherries too. And when she kissed me, I-I could taste it.” Eren mumbles. 

“Congratulations? I’m glad it tasted good while you were kissing her.” 

“No! No, Y/N. You don’t get it. You….you taste like cherries when I kissed you. Or when you used to.” 

“Huh?” 

“The slushies. Your lips always tasted like cherries. So when she kissed me, I-I immediately thought of you. And…and then I realized it was her.” 

“And then you…projectile vomited?” you finish. 

“Okay, you promised you wouldn’t make fun.” 

You smile. Primarily because he’s so embarrassed that it’s cute. And that in the most evil way, the thought of him being so disgusted by kissing someone that isn’t you that it makes him vomit makes your heart warm in a special way. 

“I said no such thing, Eren.” 

The two of you sit there in silence for some time, as you muse over his words. The air only seems to get colder as time goes on, the clouds swirling in the sky above the two of you. 

“The things that you said to me, Eren. I-I know they weren’t true. But I want to know how you came up with them. Because I understand that it was something you had to say. But they just fell out of your mouth so easily. That you only wanted me for that and nothing more and-” 

“In no way were those words easy for me to say. Don’t even say that.” Eren states, the urgency in his tone so adamant that it makes you sweat. 

“How did you come up with it? Because it must have been in the back of your mind if-” 

“Y/N. I come from literally the shittiest, meanest place that you can imagine. I’ve told you before. The things that Zeke had said to me.” Eren states. 

“And?” 

Eren stops. His voice is softer this time, almost laced with a pinch of hurt. 

“When life gets harder, I have to get harder to match. If you show up and I can’t have you, the thought of it fills me with so much anger, so much hurt that it all comes out. On you. And that doesn’t make anything I said okay, but you being there. Having you so close to me and having to send you away. It had to be something cruel. You wouldn’t have gone otherwise.” 

“Well-” 

“Don’t even say that to me. Because I know for a fact that if I had told you any of this then, you would never leave. You wouldn’t listen to me because you’d want to stay with me.” 

“Is there something wrong with that? With me wanting to be there for you?” 

“Of course, not. It’s just that you being there with me required you to be there. With those shitty people. And if it comes to you or me, I’d pick you. Even if I had to do something shitty to make sure that you were far away.” 

You’re immediately reminded of the conversation that you had with Eren. Or more acutely, the fight that the two of you had. Of what Eren had said to you. 

But I couldn’t have you there. Because if it came down to it, when I had to pick between covering someone else or taking care of you, I’d pick you.

You swallow the lump in your throat. Of the implication that if Eren was faced with the choice - of you and Teddy or you and Connie - that he would pick you. 

Even if it was the wrong choice to make. 

“And Armin?” you ask. 

“That’s the thing about you two. You both came in so hot. I was expecting after the interview that the two of you were going to cuss me out, leave without even saying anything. But your instinct - both of yours - was to immediately believe it wasn’t true. Bittersweet, because you knew me well enough to know I’d never really say that but also shitty becuase then I had to bite back to make sure you left.” Eren states. 

You lift the little cover at your side and slide the little box into Eren’s hands. You see his eyes go wide immediately, as you hand him a polaroid camera, the exact specific brand that Erwin had gifted Armin all of those years ago. 

“I can make my amends with it. Even if it hurt my feelings. And hopefully that helps you make amends with Armin.” you state. 

“Where the fuck did you find this? I’ve been looking for this for a better part of the past year.” he states. 

“I found it this morning. And…I’ve eavedropped on one of your fights with Armin.” you state. 

“Nosy.” 

“Okay, I’ll just go return it.” you state. 

“No!” Eren states, quickly clutching his arms around the box as you laugh. 

Eren sighs. 

“Thank you. You don’t know what this means to me.” Eren responds. 

“I think I have an idea.” you respond. 

Eren smiles, albeit halfheartedly, as he looks down at the box. 

“My turn. Unless you had more?” he murmurs. 

“No. Go ahead.” 

“The awards show. What do you think about it now?” Eren asks. 

You sigh. 

“What you were saying, it seems much more obvious now. That it was Historia and Jean there. That they were riling me up. Historia, she was already mad at you for what I said, for going against what we had as kids, and for Jean. It was personal. He basically felt like you had betrayed him and told me that. I suppose now that if Mikasa was there, she wouldn’t have let me go as far as I did.” you respond. 

“Mikasa wanted to come. Danny and Sareen didn’t let her. They knew for a fact she wouldn’t let you. She’d want to be there for you in the way you needed. Probably put my face on a dart board and talk shit about me.” Eren muses. 

“I would have preferred that over what I really did. But I remember that now. Danny and Sareen said that her hysterics weren’t conducive to the situation. And granted, Mikasa’s never short of being dramatic but…always calm when you need her. I can’t believe I forgot about that in the moment. And Sukuna, he never gave his opinion. He just told me to make my own decisions and that he would support me, which makes more sense in hindsight too.” you respond. 

Eren nods in response, content with your answer. 

“Why did you cry when I was singing the grudge?” you ask. 

“Why did you cry when you were singing the grudge?” Eren asks. 

“The fight we had. You told me beforehand that..that I didn’t have any faith in you like you did in me. It was the first time that it might have crossed my mind. That you didn’t mean anything that you said and…and then I was singing a song about how I’d never forgive you. And you were crying during it. It pretty much sold me on the fact that I was right.” you respond. 

Eren nods. 

“For me, it was the fact that you were playing the piano. On your own. I was waiting for years to see you do it on your own, to take that step and be confident in your own abilities. You’ve always been great and all I wanted to do in that moment was to stand there. Tell you I told you so. And I couldn’t.” 

“What did you mean? When you said I didn’t have faith in you?” you murmur. 

“I was just really upset in that moment, Y/N. I didn’t-” 

“I want to know.”

Eren sighs. 

“You thought right. I was upset that you believed it so blindly. That you believed an edited interview of me. And what I had said that night, which you had every right to believe. I was just-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“I wasn’t mad at you. And I’m still not. I regretted it after I said it.” 

“Okay. I appreciate the grace you give me, Eren.” 

“Nothing you haven’t given me first.” Eren responds. 

You both avert your eyes from one another. 

Anything else?” Eren asks. 

“I guess not. Is there something you want to tell me?” you state. 

“I want to know what you were doing in the years that I wasn’t with you.” 

“In the house?” 

“No. No, when you were with Danny and Sareen. After-after we said fishbowl on the rooftop.” Eren states. 

You sigh. 

“I feel fucking stupid about it all in hindsight.” you respond, warm tears filling your eyes.

Eren’s quick to notice, like he always is, as he pulls you closer to him and you lean your head against his shoulder. 

“Hey. You’re okay, just take a breath-” Eren whispers. 

“I did three albums with world tours back to back. Movies in the hiatuses.” you state. 

“And?” Eren murmurs. 

“And I didn’t take a break once. I-I only realized when I locked myself in that godforsaken house how much time I had lost. How much of it I swam through when I came back and Falco was basically grown. I left him when he was barely a teenager and then he was just…this whole person. Comforting me when that’s always been my job. That Jean and Mikasa had moved so far in their relationship that they were actually going to get married. That we all fucking grew up.” you respond. 

You wipe your nose. 

“I realized really quickly that I wasn’t making money off of the Lucky One. I had spent that entire first year, not even thinking about you or anything else, because I was just fighting desperately behind the sidelines to get them back.” you state. 

Eren snorts. 

“I think when you stopped fighting is when I started. We had won the lawsuit at that point and I-I was told to negotiate for whatever I wanted.” Eren responds. 

“How did you know?” 

“Danny and Sareen. At the awards show, they had made it a point to me. That it was always their goal. I had been inquiring about it ever since then and…the second you released the Lucky One and disappeared I knew they were going to do something. I tried to negotiate the entire album back, money and all, but all I could get you was the rights. And I’ve talked to Niccolo about it. You can re-record them or-or we can do something else but-” 

“Thank you.” you state. 

You look back at the ocean. You don’t say something for sometime, which fills Eren’s stomach with an overwhelming amount of discomfort as he rests his head against his knees. But you can’t even stomach it. How you’re supposed to thank Eren for what he did. For what he’s always done. 

For how consistent he’s always been. When it comes to you. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks. 

You look over at him, or more precisely, at the little tattoo on his bicep as you open up his arms and rest your fingers against it. He mimics your motions, smiling at the little inked skin. 

“I was half convinced you were going to get it removed.” Eren states. 

“I almost did.” you respond. 

He laughs. 

“I always thought it was stupid. That you wanted to be the ocean when I thought you were the moon. You know, like a light shining on a dark night? That’s always what I thought you were for me.” you state. 

“It feels like there’s more to that statement.” Eren responds. 

“Can you see the moon right now?” you ask. 

Eren looks up at the overcast sky, the clouds dense above. 

“No.” 

“But you can see the ocean. All the time, whenever you want. The waves pull back, but they always return.” you state. 

Eren looks up at you, in confusion. 

“I don’t follow.” 

“I’m saying you picked right. I am the moon. Fickle. Unreliable. I disappear at the first sign of a storm. But the ocean…” 

You look over at your right, to the waves crashing. 

“It’s one of the only things in nature that keeps its promise. Keeps crashing back on the shore, against the pull.” 

Eren’s eyes falter. 

“You had every right to do what you did.” Eren responds. 

“I know that. But it was always you and me. From the start. I was the one who lost sight of that when I let you go.” you state. 

Eren swallows hard. 

“Why did you do that?” he asks, his voice in the smallest whisper. 

The fact that he even asks shatters something in you, into tiny little pieces. That you had sown so much doubt into him. 

“I…I had so much faith in us. What we had…it came to us so easily. Snuck on me so quickly that I took it for granted. I figured that if I had to let you go for sometime, you’d come right back to me. The same way that we were before.” 

“You were nineteen.” Eren states. 

“I was stupid. Because that’s not how you saw it.” 

“No. No, it-” 

“Don’t lie. You thought I left you.” 

“It’s water under the bridge.” Eren responds. 

You sigh. 

“Eren. Eren, if you felt that way, why didn’t you say that? I- I fucking adored you. I would have pulled back and said no the second that you had asked me not to. Surely you must have known that I would move any mountain for you?” you ask. 

Eren looks at you, the look in his eyes faltering as you realize. 

“Eren. Did you know that I would do anything for you? Did you know that I loved you as much as you loved me?” you ask. 

“I did.” Eren responds, the lightest hint of disbelief in your voice. 

You pull him closer, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Eren. You were my person. I loved you so, so much and you didn’t even know?” you ask, warm tears filling your eyes. 

“It wasn’t anything about you. It was me. It’s my fault that I didn’t think that.” Eren whispers. 

“Don’t. Don’t fucking say that, Eren.” you respond, pulling away from him as the hot, embarrassing tears pour down your eyes. 

At the fact that Eren’s so willing to forgive. So quick to look past the fact that you took the love that he had given you for granted. That you hadn’t appreciated it, and him, half as much as you should have and now it was never going to be the same. That he was so insecure in himself, that he couldn’t accept the love that you had given him. And that you didn’t even notice. 

Eren sits quietly at your side, making no move to comfort you this time. All you can see are his green eyes, looking directly into yours, almost like he’s waiting. Mulling over the exact words that he has to say to you. And the fact that he’s sitting there trying to comfort you, when he should be cursing your name, makes it ten times worse. 

“Y/N.” he murmurs. 

“No.” 

“Y/N.” he repeats, softer this time. 

You shake your head as he scoots closer to you, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he gives you a smile. He wipes away your constant stream of tears with his thumbs, as his face washes over in the softest, most comforting look. 

“You know that stupid, cheesy as fuck saying? That you can’t give love to someone else if you don’t have it for yourself?” 

“Eren.” 

“It’s not a bad thing to give yourself kindness. To give nineteen year old you grace the same way I give twenty-one year old me grace.” he whispers. 

“I was old enough to know better.” 

“And so was I. But your life isn’t meant to be a punishment. Neither is mine. We’re not supposed to sit here and never forgive ourselves over something what’s already happened.” he whispers. 

“I picked wrong. You- I let you leave, Eren.” you cry. 

Eren smiles. 

“Am I gone?” Eren asks. 

You sigh. 

That’s not the way you meant it. 

Eren smiles, tilting your face up in his clutches as he gives your cheek a little squish. 

“Answer my question, Margaret.” 

“Why do you call me Margaret?” 

“You first. Am I gone?”

“Yes.” you deadpan.

Eren leans closer to you, noses almost touching, as he whispers. 

“I’m right here. I’ve spent far too much time without you. Don’t tell anyone but…you’re kind of my favorite person, ever. You’re always going to be my best friend. And as long as you don’t send me away again, I’ll always be right here.” 

You sniffle. 

“I won’t tell anyone. There’s no one else to tell.” 

Eren smiles so wide, so bright at you repeating the same words you had used all those years ago to him, as he pulls you straight into a hug. You deflate straight into his arms, wrapping them around his torso as you inhale his biting, minty smell once more. 

“Wanna know why I call you Margaret?” he asks. 

“Please. I know for a fact that it’s not just some random name you picked.” 

Eren pulls back, a devious grin on his face. 

“Margaret is the name of the moon.” 

Of course. 

“...of Uranus.” he finishes. 

“Huh?” 

“Uranus. It’s the name of one of the moons of Uranus.” Eren repeats, emphasizing every last syllable. 

You can tell from the way he’s smiling that he’s incredibly pleased with himself. And it makes uou break out into a teary laugh. 

“You’re fucking with me.” 

“No, I’m not. All of Uranus’s moons are named after Shakespeare characters. And the first one that came to mind when we were having that talk out of all of them was Margaret.” 

“So you intentionally gave me a name based off of an anus?” 

“Not just any anus, Y/N. Ur-anus. It’s very significant to our relationship.” 

“Ew, Eren. Oh my god.” you respond, the two of you laughing as you look at him with disgust. 

“What?” 

“I can’t tell what’s worse. This or Hobo Eren.” 

“Hey.” 

“Nevermind. It’s definitely Hobo Eren. That’s an atrocity to humanity, Eren.” 

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’m horrendous” he responds, slightly shoving you in the side as you return the favor. 

“I’m so glad we’re on the same page. It’s been putting a real damper on our relationship.” you respond. 

Eren looks over at you and smiles. 

“Are there any dampers on our relationship now? For real?” Eren asks. 

You shake your head.

“No. But…you and me on the same side now. Always. You can’t keep secrets from me and-” 

“I won’t.” he responds, definitively. 

“Then no. No dampers. You and me till the end.” you respond. 

Eren smiles as you look back at the waves crashing and  you lean your head against his shoulder again. He softly murmurs into your hair. 

“Why do you call me Bruce? Yours had to be just as deliberate as mine.” he asks. 

“You don’t need to know. It’s not half as cute as yours.” you respond. 

“Well, nothing is as cute as Uranus unfortunatley.” 

“Naturally. I…um. You…you know that shark from Finding Nemo? That…that pretends to be friends with the fish and then tries to eat them?” you state, giving him a peachy smile. 

“No fucking way.” 

“I’m sorry!” you whine. 

“You’re so rude, Y/N L/N. I gave you a sweet, sentimental nickname and that’s how you repay me.” 

“You gave me Uranus, Eren.” 

“There is nothing more scared than my anus, Y/N. You know that.” 

“You’re so immature. You have the humor of a twelve year old.” you respond. 

“And you love it. One would argue that…that you enable this behavior from me. I’d never make these jokes if you didn’t think they were funny.” 

“You tell jokes based off of me?” you ask, sarcastically. 

“Yes. I want to see you laugh. You think I’m just out here saying stuff just to say it?” 

“You’re full of shit.” 

“And you’re not even half deserving of my anus.” Eren responds. 

You and Eren bicker back and forth. And the sun rises, straight through the patches of the clouds. 

On the two of you, together again.

--

next part linked here

an: MEOW

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pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

[onlyonetifosi]

It was a stormy afternoon at the Leclerc household, and Y/N and her twin brother Arthur found themselves bored at home. With Arthur having a break between races, and the rain pouring outside, they had no choice but to find ways to entertain themselves indoors. Arthur, being the older twin, always boasted about his age, claiming superiority at every opportunity. But today, they were determined to set aside their differences and have some fun together.

Y/N sat on the couch, flicking through TV channels, while Arthur paced around the living room, bragging about his latest racing achievements.

"You know, Y/N, being the older twin has its perks. I'm always one step ahead," Arthur boasted, grinning mischievously.

Rolling her eyes, Y/N replied, "Oh, please, Arthur. Just because you're a few minutes older doesn't mean you're any better."

Arthur chuckled. "But it does mean I have more experience in life."

Y/N smirked "Only by 8 minutes and well, experience doesn't always mean you're right. Let's play a game to prove it."

Curiosity sparked in Arthur's eyes. "Alright, what game do you have in mind?"

Y/N grinned and suggested, "How about 'Two Lies, One Truth'? We each take turns telling two lies and one truth, and the other person has to guess which one is true."

Arthur nodded, intrigued by the idea. "Sounds fun. You go first."

Y/N thought for a moment and then said, "Okay, Arthur. Two lies and one truth. I once jumped off a tree and sprained my ankle. I have met Shakira in person. I can speak three languages fluently."

"Hmm… I know you're always adventurous and you sprained your ankle, you speak French, English and Italian so it’s true. But meeting Shakira? That's hard to believe. I'll go with the second one."

"Wrong! I did meet Shakira at Charles’ race last year. It was amazing!" said yn laughing

They continued playing the game, taking turns and laughing at each other's outrageous lies. As the storm outside grew stronger, they moved on to playing board games.

Uno was their first choice, but their competitive spirits took over, and before long, they were arguing over skipped turns and wild cards. Y/N pouted as Arthur triumphantly declared his victory.

"Next time, I won't go easy on you," Y/N grumbled.

"Arthur, you can't just stack all those +4 cards on me! You cheated!" Y/N accused, pointing an accusing finger at her brother.

Arthur chuckled. "Bring it on, little sis" setting up a game of Uno. The colorful cards flew across the table as they battled for victory. The game, however, quickly turned into a heated argument over who had forgotten to say "Uno" before discarding their last card.

As they played Uno, the competitive nature of the Leclerc siblings emerged. They argued over cards and strategies, making the game intense and thrilling.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "Me? Cheat? Never. You must be imagining things."

Determined to find a game they could enjoy without arguing, Y/N suggested Twister. They cleared a space in the living room, set up the colorful mat, and spun the spinner.

The game started off lighthearted, but Arthur quickly discovered a way to use his height advantage to his benefit, making Y/N lose her balance and stumble.

Y/N protested, "Hey, that's not fair! You're using your height against me!"

Arthur grinned playfully. "Well, it's not my fault you're shorter. Maybe next time you'll think twice before challenging me."

Their bickering continued, but their voices echoed through the house, catching the attention of their older brother, Charles, who had just returned home.

Charles entered the living room with a smile. "What's all the commotion about?"

Y/N pouted, pointing an accusing finger at Arthur. "Arthur is being impossible, he's cheating at Twister!"

Arthur defended himself. "I'm not cheating! I'm just playing to my strengths and she cheated at Uno," Arthur complained, crossing his arms.

Charles chuckled, shaking his head. "Alright, you two. Enough arguing. How about we all play a game together? I'll mediate and make sure things stay fair"

Y/N and Arthur exchanged glances and nodded, realizing their squabbling had gotten out of hand. They were still siblings, after all, and deep down, they loved spending time together.

Charles pulled out a classic board game, and the three Leclerc siblings spent the afternoon and evening engaged in friendly competition, laughter, and teasing banter.

As the storm raged outside, their joy filled the house, and their bonds grew stronger. The hours flew by, and before they knew it, they were exhausted.

Late at night, their maman, Pascale, and their oldest brother, Lorenzo, returned home to find an unexpected scene. Charles, Y/N and Arthur were fast asleep, curled up on the couch, their heads resting against each other, Y/N had her head resting on Arthur's chest, as the younger brother had his head in Charles’ lap.

Pascale and Lorenzo stood quietly, gazing at their sleeping children, their hearts filled with love and pride.

"Maman, regardez!" Lorenzo whispered, a tender smile gracing his lips. "Isn't it beautiful?"

Pascale's eyes filled with tears, her heart swelling with love for her children. "Oui, mon chéri. C'est magnifique" whispered Pascale, her voice filled with tenderness.

Lorenzo nodded, his voice gentle as he replied, "Indeed. It's moments like these that remind us of the unbreakable bond between siblings."

Pascale leaned against Lorenzo, and they shared a quiet moment of admiration for their children, realizing that despite the occasional arguments, their siblings' love was unwavering.

In that stormy night, their connection as twins and as siblings, was etched into their hearts forever, reminding them that the storms of life would only strengthen their bonds, making them unbreakable.

[cookierunauprompts]

What about something with the reader being a siren who ends up luring one of the Beasts in?

Requested Prompts #31 - 💓

It was yet another shitty day in this god forsaken tank, you missed your home in the ocean, hell, you missed your singing voice! If only that jerkwad noble hadn't captured you as some kind of 'fishing prize'. Doing literally anything would be better than being in this stupid tank! Your ear fins perk up in alert as you hear the echo of footsteps from outside your tank, two pairs to be specific. What was going on? Was that jerk trying to show you off again? You idly scratch at the magical collar on your neck, the one that restrained your beautiful song that would set you free from this hell. Of course, your mind then went to a territory that was a bit... darker. What if he was attempting to sell you? A horrifying thought, but not one that wasn't above him. Would you end up on some other rich jackasses plate? Or... would you get a fate considered worse than death? You're thoughts paused as you heard the jingling of bells. No noble would be foolish enough to wear bells, so then... Had the jerkwad gotten some new toy? You're thoughts were confirmed as you saw the jerkwad noble walk past with a blue-tinted jester in tow. The new cookie looked at bit tall, but not taller than the noble, and had fluffy white hair that had blue as an underlight. The Jester was decked out in blacks and blues and had little bells on his hat that resembled small berries. " And this," The noble begins, a smug smile on his face. " is my prized possession." You glared at the noble, yet also kept an eye on the jester who looked at you with something akin to bewilderment. " Is that a gem mermaid?" You heard the jester ask, calling your attention to him almost instantly. " Hah! I wish, this is actually just a siren." The nobleman grumbled, " Either way, Jester, you already know where your room is. And I've already told you the consequences for stealing and running away, so don't get any ideas." The noble then haughtily walked off, leaving you with the fresh meat inside this twisted mansion. You looked towards the Jester, who let out a groan. " Aaah... Man, I'm not really a fan of being owned." He complained, putting his arms behind his head and leaning back. " And I can guess you aren't really a fan of it either, huh?" Your brow perked up with curiosity, " No, not really." You decided to say, catching the jester off guard. " You can still talk?" He asked, surprised as he turned his head towards you. " Man, I thought that jerk would have had you completely silenced." " I... Think he's just a sadist, giving me my voice yet taking away the part of it I can use to escape..." You sigh, lazily swimming closer to the glass. " Let me guess, you lost a bet with mister jerk-face over there and now he has you as entertainment until he decides to kill you off." " Hm, I guess you could say that." The jester chirped, " But then again, I lost on purpose." " Why would you even do that?" You said after pausing to think for a moment. " You were forced to sign a contract, right? Like all the other jesters he had?" " Yep! The thing is, I didn't use my real name!" The jester hummed, stretching his back. Now that was odd, you knew that jerky mc-jerkface's contracts don't get sealed if the name is fake. So then... How? Unless this cookie was lying to you... " Impossible, he would have known and forced you to write your name." You stated, and apparently your statement was hilarious to the jester because he soon burst out laughing. " Well, the name did belong to me at some point, and it still worked so I guess it doesn't matter!" He chirped, bending over backwards to look you in the eyes. God, just how flexible was this guy? It was like he was made of jelly. " Anyways, what's your name? It must be lonely here, being trapped all by yourself." You don't even know how this cookie got you to open a conversation with him so easily, and yet, you were eager to find out more about this mysterious jester. Maybe he could aid in your escape somehow? hopefully? " ... It's Reader Cookie."

[forwhump]

Beware Of Dog

a/n; thank you !!!!!!!! thank you thank you thank you so so much to everybody who was so so nice to me about my last blurb I don’t deserve it at all but I’m in love w you <3

I obviously have an immediate follow up to that blurb but because I refuse to post these chronologically or with any actual rhyme or reason at all here’s something completely different & unrelated 🤩 completely random pov in fact ! not even an actual chunk of the overall story but a random blurb I wrote to feel for a vibe ! gotta love it :’)

tw/cw: rape, noncon, attempted rape, attempted rapist pov, implied animal cruelty, implied animal death, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, graphic depictions of violence, beating

living weapon whumpee, creepy whumper, captivity, military, revenge, outside pov

Initiation, they’d called it.

It was really a punishment, but Vitriol was too green to know that.

He’d been expecting some kind of hazing, at any rate, so an initiation hadn’t surprised him. It’s no easy feat, getting a job in the district, and it’s next to impossible to make it through the next steps, the orientation. The soldiers in the district are the best in the country and Vitriol figured he was in for kind of a hard time, for a bit of hazing. He figured he’d have to prove himself.

But he fucked up, his first day, and he didn’t even know it. He’s punished all the same.

He was introduced to his faction and shown to the barracks. His platoon leader, Point, a decorated soldier, had looked up at him with a grin that wasn’t quite human and Vitriol should’ve known then that something was really wrong with him.

He’d been distracted, though. Truthfully, he’d barely looked at Point. Hadn’t thought much of his weird smile at all, really.

Point had a toy. A girl. A girl from the unit, if Vitriol had to guess — my favourite plaything, Point had cooed at her, holding her naked and facedown on the mattress of his bunk, forcing her thighs apart. Daddy’s favourite whore.

Vitriol didn’t need to ask to understand exactly why. She was magic; pretty hair and prettier skin, the mouth and the waist of a whore. Vitriol wanted to play with her, too — he tried. He wasn’t allowed. That was his mistake.

That nerve of you, greenhorn, Point had told him, lazy. He was still inside the girl, and he’d coiled a length of her hair around his fist to wrench her face up from his pillow. I don’t like to share. You’ll have to work for her.

Vitriol wasn’t entirely sure which one of them he was mocking but he found himself not caring too much either way. He’d barely heard Point, actually.

The girl was fucking enchanting. Her flush was splotchy and her mouth was swollen and her huge eyes were blown even wider with tears. She was magical. She sobbed, and it echoed through the barracks like ringing bells.

I’ll do whatever you need me to do, he said.

Initiation.

In the district, well below the chaos of the barracks and the unit, are arenas, made up to look like urban settings for the practical training of the super soldiers.

Hunt the girl down, Vitriol was told, and she’s fair game. Do whatever you want to her.

It had kinda seemed like he was being set up. It seemed too easy.

Nobody had warned him about Point’s vicious protective streak.

He’d grinned at Vitriol as he’d said, just look out for her dog.

Still, Vitriol hadn’t been concerned. He wasn’t really all too worried with the girl getting to have a dog — he had three to track her.

It took the better part of a day and a half, but the dogs chased the scent of her through an empty cityscape and cornered her villainously in an alley like a scene from a scary movie.

Vitrol’s heart beats a little quicker in turn and he can’t keep himself from grinning. They’d let him pick her dress, tiny and flimsy. She’s gonna have to wring it out when he’s done with her. She looks very pretty and very scared and it isn’t hard to see why Point likes her so much.

And y’know what? She doesn’t even have a dog.

He whistles, and his dogs hurry quickly back to his side. The girl tips her head back against the wall, chest heaving, and Vitriol is gonna have a lot of fun with her, he thinks. He grins a little wider. “Hey, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she spits, but her voice breaks. She’s crying.

God, he’s hard. He might also be in love with her.

“You and me are gonna have ourselves a lot of fun, I think,” he says, and he imitates her accent but he doesn’t really mean to. “Gonna put you to work, girl.”

“Get the fuck away from me,” the girl says, and she probably means to spit it at him but her voice breaks again and it sounds like a plea.

She’s magic.

And she has nowhere to run.

He presses her up against the wall. She fights, she’s more of a fighter than Vitriol had been expecting, but she’s a tiny thing and it isn’t hard to hold her there with his weight as he gets his hands beneath her dress. She screams bloody murder and it’s music to his ears.

“Well, I’ll be,” he says, and he’s still mocking her. It makes her flush, dark across the bridge of her nose. “You’re really something special, ain’t ya?”

“Fuck you,” she spits, and struggles like hell in his grip as he forces a leg between her thighs. “Get the fuck off me. Get off me!”

“I don’t think I will,” he tells her. He takes his time as he slides his hands up, over her hips, across her skin, delighting in the way she writhes against him, grinding against her as she tries to get away. He falters only for a moment, startled only when a roar echoes down the alley towards him from somewhere much closer than Vitriol would’ve expected. Her dog, apparently lying in wait, but Vitriol already knew she had a dog. Vitriol was prepared to deal with it.

He clicks his tongue at his own, angles his chin out of the alley, and the dogs take off obediently, snarling between them as they follow the roar. “I’m not afraid of your dog,” he tells the girl.

She breathes out a sound, so much more like a laugh than Vitriol would’ve expected that he looks back at her quickly. “You should be,” she says.

Another sound, this one just as thunderous but uncomfortably wet, chased closely by a pained howl that ends too suddenly. Vitriol looks quickly towards the opening of the alley but his dogs don’t come running back. He doesn’t hear them anymore. He looks back at her. “What the fuck is —“

He cuts himself off. The girl doesn’t interrupt him, and her dog doesn’t speak. Whatever the fuck she’s got, it’s no regular dog. Vitriol doesn’t need to turn to know when it materializes behind him; it’s so massive Vitriol can feel the force of it behind him, so massive it blocks out the fluorescent daylight.

It doesn’t say anything. Vitriol doesn’t, either. He stays frozen, his hands on the girl’s skin. She doesn’t urge her dog to attack, and for a moment, for a moment much too long, silence stretches and tension builds.

He looks at her blankly. She looks up at him and she smiles, bright and mocking. There isn’t a trace of fear left in her face and she looks more like a predator than Vitriol would’ve thought her capable, especially in such a demeaning little dress.

Her dog lingers behind him, and it isn’t even just that it’s big but that there’s a sort of violent rage radiating from it that Vitriol has only ever seen in videos of animal attacks.

Slowly, he places her back on her feet. “I’m fucked,” he drawls, “aren’t I?”

The girl’s smile widens. “Bless your heart.”

And then a truck barrels into the back of Vitriol’s head.

It’s the single hardest blow he’s ever taken. He knows his skull cracks because he can hear the sound it makes from the inside. White spots burst across his field of vision and his ears don’t start ringing, they squeal. He staggers into the nearest wall, dizzy, and his nose cracks as that truck crashes into him again and crushes his nose and both of his cheekbones against the brick.

A hand takes his hair, and his face is crushed against the brick again before he’s thrown to the ground. A handful of his hair is ripped out as he goes.

His already cracked skull ricochets off the concrete and the way the pain ripples all the way through him is an echo. It throbs not just in his head but every inch and ounce of him. The pain makes everything white, and Vitriol tries to blink through it as he peers up at the girl’s dog.

Except it isn’t a dog, and Vitriol had been set up; looming over him is a fucking monster. It isn’t a dog but it isn’t human either — it’s an abomination. It’s so massive it barely fits between the walls of the alley and it looms so far above Vitriol they aren’t sharing the same atmosphere. But it crouches down, sinks into Vitriol’s personal space, and it’s grotesque up close, patchwork flesh and thick, lifted scars. Its hair hangs in his face and it grins at Vitriol with all of its teeth.

“You have something that belongs to me,” it says, and it has the low, rumbling voice of a nightmare.

Vitriol is bleeding so much his head is floating on the concrete. “I,” he chokes out, and he’s surprised by how difficult it is to speak. His tongue feels weighted. “I’m sorry.”

“Not yet,” it tells him. It cracks its knuckles as it stands. “You will be.”

[ghostofskywalker]

Not Admitting Anything

Peggy Carter/Reader

Words: 2,019

Summary: After helping your neighbor change the bandage on her arm, you learn a few things. One of them is that her life is clearly more exciting than yours, and the other is that you're kind of terrible at flirting with her.

Note: this was requested by the lovely @trekkingaroundasgard​!! i have missed writing for peggy so much, i hope you enjoy this!

Peggy Carter Masterlist

The sound of the a door closing in the hallway pulled your attention away from the book in your hands, and you sat silently as you listened for any other noise that might hint at what was going on or who had just arrived home. Your apartment building was usually on the quieter side, so you didn’t often notice when your neighbors came and went, even though you were friendly with several of them. You could never handle living somewhere with an overbearing landlord or in one of those hotels that had since been fitted as small apartments for working professionals, so this was a happy medium. The rent was a little higher than you would have liked, but it was in a decent location, and at least here the constant New York traffic was slightly softer than it was the last place you lived.

It seemed at first that whoever had just arrived home was not making any more noise, but a thump echoed through the walls a mere moment after you had looked back down at your book. That sound was much more worrying than the sound of the footsteps before, so you stood up and resolved to step outside and see if anything was wrong, and if you could do anything.

Our of all your neighbors, you guessed that Mrs. Whilter might be the one in trouble, as she was in her late seventies and often asked for help going up the stairs whenever she ran into you in the lobby. If she had fallen, that might explain the noise you just heard. But the more you thought about it, the more you thought that noise came from the other side, which would mean it came from Peggy’s apartment.

Your relationship with your other neighbor was friendly, but you wouldn’t call her your best friend. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that you found her absolutely gorgeous (and you found that you had a much higher chance of acting like an absolute fool when she was around), but you never wanted to believe that, even though sometimes the evidence was impossible to ignore.

She was kind and friendly whenever she saw you, and you would have no problem knocking on her door if you needed to borrow a cup of sugar, but the idea of sprinting over to her apartment just because you heard something through the wall was more difficult than it would have been if you were sure the sound had come from Mrs. Whilter’s wall. There had been many times you dropped things by accident while living here, and you might have died from embarrassment if someone else had come to check on you after hearing you drop a glass.

But the nagging feeling that this might be more than shattered drinkware kept pulling your eyes towards the wall you shared with her, and eventually you decided to just stop wondering and knock on her door.

No one else was in the hallway as you did so, and you held your breath without even realizing it until you could hear the handle being turned. With a smile plastered on your face that hoped didn’t come off strangely, you looked at your neighbor as she opened the door.

Your name left her lips in a surprised tone, and even though she hadn’t opened the door fully, you could see what looked like a bandage on her arm. “I’m so sorry to bother you,” you began, not even bothering to come up with some kind of excuse to be here. “But I heard a loud noise and I wanted to check and make sure everything was okay.”

For a moment you were afraid that this was annoying her, but she nodded and her face softened after registering your words. “It’s not a bother,” she said. “I just dropped something.”

You nodded, not sure where to go from here. “I’m glad it’s nothing,” you said sincerely, truly meaning every word.

This is where you should have stopped talking.

This is where the casual conversation should end.

But of course that didn’t happen, and you had to keep going as you nodded towards her bandaged arm. “If you ever need anything at all, you’re always welcome to knock on my door at any hour of the day,” you said. “I’m not a doctor, but I’m pretty good with first aid.” That wasn’t a lie, you had picked up a few things working in the factory during the early days of the war, and then heading out to the European theater yourself for the last six months the US army was stationed there. But as much as it wasn’t a lie, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d overstepped.

But thankfully, it didn’t seem that you had. “Thank you,” she said, and then much to your surprise, she kept talking. “I have some trouble reapplying the bandages since this is my dominant arm, would you mind helping me for a moment?”

“Of course,” you said, and the door to her apartment was opened fully as you stepped inside.

Her apartment wasn’t as messy and decorated as your was, but you wouldn’t have called it bare either. The space possessed a comforting feeling, though you were still very much aware of your status as an outsider in Peggy’s life. The most you had ever interacted with her before was when she had offered to help you take some bags up to your apartment a few months ago, and you had spent a few minutes talking.

She sat down at the table and you saw an open first aid kit sprawled out on it. It was quite a comprehensive one, and you saw types of bandages and amounts of gauze that you hadn’t even thought of since your service during the war. You knew that Peggy had also served, so you didn’t question anything, and you moved to remove the bandage from her arm.

After getting a look at the wound though, it wasn’t as easy to ignore the size of her home first aid kit. Her injury was very clearly a bullet wound (although someone had removed the bullet). The skin of her upper arm was clearly ugly and raw, and blood was running down her arm from the moment you removed the bandage. It didn’t seem to be bleeding so badly that you would have had to bring her to a hospital, but this also wasn’t an ordinary day-to-day wound.

Immediately, your brain began to wonder how she had sustained such an injury. You hoped that you weren’t inadvertently helping a criminal, but she didn’t seem like the type of person who would knowingly perform evil deeds.

You gently placed your hand on her arm as you began to clean the wound, and you could see her ever-so-slightly pull away from your touch. It took a moment for her to lean back to where she had been before, but you didn’t say anything about it. This was clearly a lot more than a little scrape, and you still had no idea how she got it, so you shouldn’t try to speculate why she acted the way she did.

A quick glance up to her face showed her with eyes closed as you continued to get all the blood off the skin surrounding the wound. You must have squeezed her arm slightly harder than you wanted to as you moved to pull some gauze off the table, because Peggy took in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry,” was your immediate response, worried that you had done nothing but hurt her more.

“No, it’s not you,” Peggy said, her voice slightly strained in a way that you had never heard before. “I’m just not used to accepting help from others.”

So much made sense in this moment. You tried not to think about what she may be thinking right now, but it was obvious that this was not a situation she usually found herself in, and that she was trying not to pull away even more. It broke your heart, just glimpsing the way she seemed to struggle accepting your help, and you concentrated on making every single one of your movements soft and kind. You didn’t know what kind of life she lived, and you never wanted to make her feel uncomfortable. Little did you knew, she actually felt the furthest thing from uncomfortable as your hands gently cleaned her wounds, but she knew that if she let herself relax she might make a sound she couldn’t explain.

“Peggy,” you said gently, not wanting to scare her away with what you would say. “I know what this wound is.”

Her face fell. “I’m not-”

But you cut her off before she could finish. “I’m not going to ask you how you got it, but the fact that you said you don’t usually accept help from others worries me.” You began to wrap the bandage around her arm, taking special care to make sure it’s applied in a way that wouldn’t cause discomfort or pain. “I know that we don’t really know each other that well, but if you ever need anything, please come knock on my door, alright?”

Peggy was silent for a few moments before nodding. “I will,” she said, in a voice so soft that you almost didn’t hear it, while also reaching out to take your hand for a moment that you would have said was not long enough for your taste. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you said warmly, smiling as you began to clean up the bloodied gauze from the corner of the table in which you’d piled it on, making sure to wipe down the area after everything had been thrown away.

An awkward silence settled in the air, as both of you stared at each other, and you couldn’t help but break the silence. “Would you want to go to lunch sometime with me?” It was a moment of impulse, and there was nothing you could do to bring the words back in. If you were worried about how she might react to that before you said anything, the silence that persisted in the first few moments after you spoke were nothing but painful. “I’m sorry,” you said quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “I just thought that you might be more comfortable going to me for help if you knew me bett-”

Now it was her turn to cut you off. “I’d like that,” she said, and your open mouth closed as you fought to figure out something to say in response that didn’t make you look like an idiot.

“Great,” was what you eventually decided on, though you weren’t really sold on it. However, at least it was better than what you said next, in a futile attempt to lighten the mood. “Are you a criminal?”

Peggy stared at you for a moment before a smile crossed her face and a quiet laugh left her lips. You let out a sigh of relief, because at least she didn’t hate you for asking a very indelicate question (that given the wound you just bandaged, was not a wild assumption). “No,” she said. “My life may be unpredictable, but I am not working against the United States.”

You just nodded, before changing the subject to let her know to change her bandages in six hours and if she needed help to come knock on your door. That answer definitely was not what you were expecting, and for a moment you weren’t sure if she had even answered your question at all, so you removed yourself from the situation before you made anything worse.

As the door of your apartment closed behind you, you decided not to think about it any more. You chose to believe her, and hopefully everything would work out in the end.

You did know one thing for sure though, and that was if you were actually going to go to lunch with her, you had to get better at flirting than asking if she was a criminal.  

- the end -

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[venus-haze]

Why Don't You Do Right (Soldier Boy x Reader)

Summary: You’d known him as Ben, the asshole rich boy whose family employed your parents on their estate just outside of Philadelphia, the mean streets that you grew up on, not him. When he returns from Europe to adulation and ticker tape parades in response to his heroic exploits during the war, he’s not happy when you echo his father’s sentiments about his praise being unearned. As time goes on, you find your own professional exploits make you begrudgingly more sympathetic to him, especially when you unexpectedly run into him again before the 24th Academy Awards.

Note: Reader is a woman, but no other descriptors are used. I don’t know how I feel about this fic, I guess I kind of left it open to another part. Soldier Boy’s background is so interesting even though we get so little of it in the show, I wanted to go ahead and explore it more from the perspective of someone who knew him back then. I decided to go with the last name Conway since as far as I know, the show doesn’t give Soldier Boy a canon last name. Feel free to picture any DILF of your choice as Ben’s briefly appearing father. Do not interact if you post thinspo/ED content or are under 18.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Period typical (and Soldier Boy typical) misogyny. Morally gray reader. Dacryphilia, slapping, spitting. Some dubcon elements. Complicated and toxic relationships. Do not interact if you are under 18.

Over two decades’ worth of catharsis rushed through your veins as you eavesdropped on the heated conversation taking place in Cliff Conway’s office, his son’s voice steadily rising while his own remained cool and nonplussed. The steel magnate wasn’t your favorite person, but he kept your parents employed during the depression when so many of your classmates’ families were out of work. Your father worked as one of half a dozen chauffeurs on staff, your mother a cook, though you didn’t see much of either of them growing up, as they spent most of the week living in the servant’s quarters on the estate while you lived with your grandparents in their small South Philly apartment. 

It never failed to make your blood boil that Ben saw more of your parents than you did. You could remember taking a swing at him when he called your mother “mom” not long after he got kicked out of boarding school. You had made the trek to the Conways’ estate after a long day of your apprenticeship with a local seamstress, enraged to see Ben sitting in the kitchen, joking with your mom who you got to see twice a week if you were lucky. Though it was years ago, the betrayal when she angrily shooed you out of the kitchen still felt fresh.

When you were older, you discovered that Ben clung to your parents since his own were unimpressed and disinterested in him. In contrast, Cliff lauded your ingenuity in working hard at your apprenticeship, building up clientele, and opening your own shop. Of course, it helped that he would drum up business for you among his wealthy friends, having you custom-make his suits and his estranged wife’s evening gowns for the high society events they masqueraded as a happy couple at.

In fact, you’d been in the man’s office for a fitting when he received a call that Ben had shown up unannounced, wishing to speak to him. He had shaken his head as he dismissed you with a wave, instructing you to stick around the mansion until his conversation with his son was over. ‘It won’t be long. I don’t have anything to say to him,’ he had assured you.

So you stood with your ear pressed against the door, the men’s muffled voices traveling through the expensive wood grain, a thick, dark mahogany that turned visitors into vampires seeking permission to enter, impossible to sneak in or out of without concerted effort. Being his father’s only child didn’t make Ben exempt this unspoken social ritual that Cliff enforced. Perhaps he thought things would be different for Soldier Boy.

“What do you want me to do? Congratulate you for taking a shortcut?” Cliff said, his tone even. “A real man doesn’t take shortcuts.”

“Compound V isn’t a shortcut—“

“I tried with you, Ben. I really did, and somehow you ended up with no work ethic, no sense of purpose. Instead, you think you can cheat your way to greatness.”

“I signed up to fight, and I did,” Ben retorted, his voice wavering, “in Normandy, in Belgium—“

“On Hollywood sets where you fool around with movie stars and play pretend. Believe me, I’ve had my fair share of starlets, but I didn’t get ticker tape parades or national holidays for it.”

Ben scoffed. “President Truman said I’m a hero—“

“No, the boys who came back and haven’t had a good night’s sleep since, the ones who didn’t come back at all, they’re heroes,” he said. “You, Ben? You’re a disappointment. I’m ashamed to even call you a Conway.”

Your hand flew to your mouth. In your dealings with Cliff, you had an idea about his feelings on his son’s fabricated exploits, noticing the newspaper pages with photographs or even mere mentions of ‘Soldier Boy’ crumpled in his wastebin. You knew none of the stories were true, anyway, not when Ben’s anecdotes about growing up in Philly were almost carbon copies of yours, from the fights to the laughter. It was all a lie, and no one would back you up even if you went public with it. No one but Cliff, anyway.

The whole situation had been odd from the moment you saw Soldier Boy in a newsreel before a Gary Cooper movie. Despite the helmet and mask that obscured his features, you’d recognize Ben anywhere. As much resentment as you harbored toward him, you’d have to be blind to ignore how attractive he was, thinking it was a shame that his striking green eyes and pouty pink lips were imprisoned in black and white. He spoke to the camera, proud and confident, the hot-blooded, all-American hero with the strength of a hundred men. The living, breathing embodiment of the American spirit was nothing if not an excellent liar, willing to do whatever it took to get what he wanted. 

What really threw you for a loop, however, was the lie whose tendrils arrested the minds of your fellow countrymen. Soldier Boy was born great, blessed by god with these superhuman abilities that he used in the fight against evil and anything that threatened the American way of life. His very existence proof of divine intervention in the land of the free. No, you’d wanted to argue, he’s just Ben, and he cheated.

As you heard shuffling in the office, you slipped away from the door and into one of the nearby parlors. Despite spending so much time in the Conways’ mansion in your youth and then in a professional capacity as an adult, it never ceased to amaze you how many rooms were in the place. Some of which, like the one you decided to lay low in, served no other purpose than to display the family’s ornate possessions—Persian rugs, imported chaise lounges, commissioned artwork, vases and statues from places you weren’t even sure you could point out on a map. It was almost sick how the objects in that room alone were worth more than what you’d ever make in your life.

You couldn’t privately lament your financial woes for long, as despite your efforts, Ben noticed you ambling around the room as he stormed out of his father’s office. He stopped in his tracks, rerouting his direction to join you. The costume he wore certainly wasn’t awful, and from a quick glance you could admire the effort that went into putting together such a vital aspect of his persona. Still, it wasn’t him, no matter how hard he tried. 

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he mused, his voice low as he took you in.

You gave him a curt nod. “Ben.”

“You and my old man are the only ones who call me that anymore.”

“Yeah, well, it’s the only thing about you that’s real.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know, I understand the ‘scrappy young fighter from the rough streets of Philly’ is a lot more sympathetic than ‘spoiled rich boy who wants to feel special.’ It’s the part where you stole my life that really gets me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the bullshit, Ben,” you said. “You’re a fraud, even your father says so.”

“I’m a fucking hero, sweetheart. You’re a washed up old maid who’s lucky I’m even looking in her direction,” he said, shooting his insult back at you.

It stung every time you were reminded of how many people thought there was something wrong with you for choosing your career over marriage. You’d have been offended by his words if it weren’t for the cheek twitch that gave away just how bothered he was by your statement. His tells were few, but they were distinctly his, and in the years you’d spent orbiting the spoiled brat turned man-child, you’d learned to recognize all of them. He was fundamentally insecure, always trying to prove himself to his unimpressed father and failing every single time. It seemed Soldier Boy was no exception.

Before you could respond, he grabbed your face, backing you into a wall. You knew whatever he’d been shot up with had made him strong, but you weren’t expecting the steel grip that encased your jaw, one squeeze away from turning it to dust. He could do it, and probably would if you pushed him enough. 

“What’re you doing here anyway? Don’t think I didn’t see you slinking out of my father’s office like a fucking whore,” he asked, releasing your jaw to drag his fingers across your lips, smearing your lipstick onto your cheek.

“I was in the middle of fitting Cliff for a new suit before you showed up,” you said, your voice quivering as you tried to compose yourself.

“Cliff? My mother hasn’t even called him Cliff in years,” he scoffed. “Jesus, the old man gets on me for taking a shortcut, but you’re just fucking your way up to the top, aren’t you?”

Impulse overtook your reasoning as you spat in his face, an acidic combination of satisfaction and terror wrestling in your gut as he stood frozen in shock, your saliva dribbling from just below his eye down to his chin. It wasn’t like you’d justify his insinuation with an answer, regardless of its validity. 

Suddenly, you felt stupid for taking the bait. Ben’s bite was always worse than his bark, practically trained by his father’s neglect to be desperate and snarling so that it was impossible to be near him without his foaming mouth claiming his pound of flesh. He had been jilted by his father yet again, becoming the world’s first superhero only to be told he was a failure for it. You, on the other hand, received his father’s praise and approval in kind, the street dog treated as pedigree. 

He wiped away the spit with an open hand, and in the same instance landed a harsh slap across your face, leaving your cheek stinging with the force he used. Fat tears clouded your vision and rolled down your cheeks as you trembled under his unrelenting gaze.

“I fucked every USO broad I could get my hands on, and none of ‘em could cry as pretty as you can,” he whispered, the barbs of his taunt cushioned by the cruelest lilt of nostalgia.

You’d seen how you looked when you cried before, having locked yourself in your fair share of bathrooms after being brought to tears by his words growing up. Your face always contorted, pained and puffy as tears fell from your red eyes, snot dripping from your nose. You never cried neatly, it was always raw and painful, your grief clawing its way out from deep within you. He liked that, though, the mess, the tangible evidence of how sensitive and vulnerable you were compared to him. 

How greedy, to have the adoration of the American public and it still not be enough, to trek to Philadelphia just to get affirmation from his father and now, you–as if you mattered, as if Vought and the military gave a shit what you thought of Soldier Boy. He cared, though, enough to take out his anger twofold on you for having the audacity to be favored by his father. 

“No one can make me cry like you can,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite your tears.

You had fucked him once, or more like he fucked you, a few days after he got drafted and his parents unexpectedly threw him a farewell party. People are creatures of habit, and the circumstances, even the room were almost identical to that night you stumbled back into the party–mascara absolutely ruined, your legs too weak to dance, and the taste of his cum spoiling the expensive wine that was being served. You didn’t have illusions of any sentimentality behind the encounter. There was a decent chance he wasn’t going to make it back home, so you both seemed to figure ‘why not.’ With the self-loathing that had crept up on you as the night went on, you almost hoped he wouldn’t.

That didn’t stop you this time from letting yourself kiss him back when he pressed his lips to yours. His lips were soft, his hands too as he cradled the cheek he smacked, the contact causing you to gasp in pain. His other hand was on your waist, holding you steady in place. You were sure you couldn’t move if you tried, but you didn’t bother, allowing his tongue in your mouth. Part of you wanted to bite him, for spite and to see what would happen, if he could even feel something like that, but you decided against it when he brushed his thumb against your sore cheek again. He’d use any excuse to pull more tears from you.

You put your hands on his, hoping he could at least feel you trying to push them away. “He’s waiting for me.”

“‘Course he is,” he sneered, gripping your waist a bit tighter before releasing you.

The room was silent for a few moments before you said, “See you around.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don’t bet on it, sweetheart.”

As soon as he stormed out of the room, you could feel yourself breathe better. You hurriedly ran into a nearby bathroom to straighten out your appearance before returning to his father’s office, giving a courteous knock before hearing a muffled ‘Come in!’

The ashtray was considerably more full than when you’d left, and the cigarette between Cliff’s fingers was steadily smoldering down to a nub. You figured it best not to ask him about it.

“What took you so long?” Cliff asked.

“Ben and I were just catching up.”

His eyes landed on your bruised cheek, and his tongue darted out from between his lips. “Alright. I suppose we should get back to it, then.”

Nodding, you went over to your bag in the corner of the room, searching for the measuring tape you’d been using while trying to ignore your patron’s burning gaze you felt on your back. The irony wasn’t lost on you that like your parents, your livelihood depended on him. You wondered why Ben so desperately wanted that same fate.

By 1952 you’d gotten married and promptly divorced after less than a year and a half of marriage, moving to Los Angeles and setting up shop there not long after the deaths of your father and mother in quick succession. Both decisions took you out of Cliff Conway’s good graces, though your reputation and talent preceded you. Within a few months of opening your new shop, your clientele had expanded to Hollywood stars, and you had to hire a handful of employees to help run the front end of things while you toiled away at your sewing machine most days. As awards season rolled around, you found yourself turning away customers as you simply didn’t have the time or resources to handle them all.

Plenty of people you’d never expected to see in person came into your shop, but you were particularly taken aback a week before the Oscars when a no-name starlet bleached hair and what you could assume was equally bleached teeth came ambling in with Ben–no, Soldier Boy, right behind her in the same costume he had been wearing the last time you saw him in 1945. The two of you made eye contact, and though he gave you the slightest smile, he made no other effort to indicate he knew you. Discretion, she was the jealous type.

You’d found the starlet’s dress, pointing out the customizations you’d done based on her request. She beamed at you before disappearing into one of the dressing rooms with it.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said.

“Me either, ‘til Darlene mentioned the shop name, same one as back in Philly.”

You shrugged. “Things aren’t so bad out here. Fresh start after the divorce, ya know?”

“You seeing anyone?”

“No, but you are.”

He scoffed. “She’s an easy fuck, besides MGM is paying me out the ass to bring her as my date to the Oscars.”

“Congratulations on the Best Picture nomination, by the way,” you said.

You had seen the movie, his fabricated life story, but the rage you felt upon seeing him seven years prior was no longer existent. He’d cemented his place in American history on lies, and there was nothing you could do about it. Besides, you felt too old and far too busy to let yourself get mad about things like that the way you used to.

“I think we got a pretty good shot of winning,” he said. “It’s all about who you schmooze, and I doubt Gene Kelly’s got a company like Vought sending blank checks and gift baskets to the Academy.”

“You never know.”

His response was interrupted by a squeal, though you couldn’t tell until the girl shuffled out of the dressing room whether it was in horror or delight. To your relief, it was the latter, an almost painful looking smile plastered across her face as she posed in her dress for Ben.

“So? Isn’t it perfect?” she asked, nearly glaring at Ben for not complimenting her quickly enough for her liking.

“Goddamn honey, you look like a million bucks. They’ll start casting you instead of that Marilyn Monroe girl.”

You nearly snorted. Marilyn wasn’t all that well known, but she had the makings of a star, and the kindness that made her one of your favorite customers as opposed to the more demanding clients that would come in and expect you to drop everything for them. It was almost painful watching the starlet fawn over herself while trying to pull as many compliments from Ben as she could. What a floozy. Then again, you hadn’t done much different when you were first starting out in your own career.

Finally, when it seemed like she had enough of herself, she retreated back into the dressing room to change.

“You know, I’m staying at the Roosevelt.”

“That’s nice. They have a great bar.”

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink later, then?”

You nodded your head toward the dressing room. “She won’t have a fit?”

“She’s got a place with half a dozen other MGM broads,” he said. “She can cry on cue, but it’s still not as pretty as when you do it.”

You narrowed your eyes a bit, considering the implications of his proposal. The judgment you’d made on him years ago came back to you, he’s just Ben, and he cheated. Though not on the same scale, you supposed you had too. Besides, Los Angeles wasn’t Philadelphia, both of you could get away with a lot more here than under the watchful eye of his father. 

Grabbing the nearby receipt book, you handed him a pencil and pointed to a blank receipt, his conspiratorial tone rubbing off on you. It was odd, him speaking to you as if you were old friends or partners in crime, even. You’d never considered him like that, the differences in status made apparent to you from an early age. Even still, you certainly weren’t America’s hero.

He scribbled the room number and reservation onto the paper. “It’s under a fake name.”

“Alright, maybe I can get there before midnight. No promises,” you said, flipping to a new page just as his date emerged from the dressing room, her Oscar-night gown back in the protective bag you’d provided.

The dress had already been billed to MGM, though you knew by now it came out of whatever stipend the production company gave her, a move meant to make up-and-coming stars seem more important than they were in hopes of catching the attention of the right people. She had to know her chances were slim to none on her own, it was for everyone. For a moment you felt a bit bad for being so quick to judge earlier, even if you didn’t particularly like her attitude, she wasn’t the only one trying to claw her way to top billing in a uniquely cannibalistic city. In the nearly two years since you’d opened the shop, it stopped surprising you when certain clients wouldn’t come in anymore or would come in months after whatever event you’d styled them for to sell their dresses back to you to make rent. 

Ben glanced at you one more time before the starlet eagerly dragged him out of the shop, onto the next pre-Oscars errand. Funny, him putting up with a day of bullshit just to see if you’d be here. Maybe he’d find an excuse to blow her off now that he did what he’d set out to do. You looked at the clock on the wall and then to the unfinished orders laying on your sewing machine or draped over mannequins. There was no way you’d make it to the Roosevelt before midnight, and you weren’t sentimental enough to feel particularly bad about it.

[romeoandjulietyouwish]

potato salad

read on ao3

this is based on an hc by @stayinggoldforpony

Pony didn’t even think about it, not even once during the lead up to the fourth. The gang was excited, Darry was going to cook hot dogs and burgers and they were going to sit on the porch and watch the fireworks. 

The fourth of July was one of the few days of the year that neither Darry nor Soda had to work. And now that Ponyboy and Darry were on better terms, he found himself actually looking forward to it. The better part of the day was spent lazing around, the other boys drinking. Even though both Darry and Soda were younger than him when they started drinking, Pony still wasn’t allowed to. So he smoked instead. 

After losing more than a few hands of gin rummy, Darry got up to start cooking. Not wanting his brother to do all the work alone, Ponyboy trailed after him. When Darry saw him coming to help, he smiled and squeezed the back of Pony’s neck. 

“Thanks, kid.”

Pony shrugged, “I figured if I help, I get first dibs, right?”

Darry chuckled, “Sure thing.”

It took a good while to fix everything up, cooking for five boys was no easy task. Especially when one of them (Two-Bit) ate like four. But eventually they had a massive pile of burgers and hot dogs as well as a bowl of potato salad.

Darry shouted to the gang that dinner was ready, sounding like an old man summoning the wild youths back to roost. Pony made sure to tell him that, earning himself a light thump on the back of the head. But Darry still let Pony serve himself first, so it was worth it.

They sat on the front porch steps as the sky darkened. Soda and Steve kept stealing from each other’s plates, nearly spilling everything to the ground. Pony watched, laughing the whole time. It felt good to laugh like that, deep and from the belly. None of them did that much anymore. 

It was nights like these that always made Pony miss Dally and Johnny. They were all supposed to be together, shooting the breeze and laughing until their heads hurt. Even though he was happy, it always felt like there was something missing. Johnny should have been at his side. Dally should have been right in the middle of all the chaos. It was a little emptier without them.

Seeming to sense his morose mood, Darry nudged Pony’s shoulder as he sat down beside him. “Head in the clouds, Pone?”

He shrugged, “I guess.” Pony moved some potato salad around on his plate. 

Darry sighed, “Just don’t get lost up there, savvy?” Pony nodded and Darry moved away with an affectionate squeeze on his shoulder. 

The sunset passed too quick for Pony’s liking. He wanted to savor it, but it was gone in a flash. Cheers started coming from the streets and the park as fireworks were being readied. Two-Bit was hollering enthusiastically, waving his beer around. He and Soda started singing some patriotic song, their voices so pitchy and loud that it was impossible to make out which one. 

Ponyboy felt a smile coming back to his face but it vanished immediately when the first firework went off. 

As he watched red and orange and yellow sparks shower through the sky, the thunderous noise echoing through his bones, Pony was seized by fear. In a flash, he was back in the church, fire surrounding him. Johnny was screaming as the beam fell on his back. Pony was choking on smoke. Dally was dying in front of him, merciless cops standing over him.

As the memories crashed through his mind, Pony did what he does best. He ran.

But outside wasn’t safe. There was fire outside. Johnny and Dally were dying outside. So he fled through the front door and through the hall to his bedroom. As another firework exploded outside, Pony gasped, throwing himself onto the bed.

It was safe there. Fire couldn’t reach him in there. Johnny wasn’t dying-

Stay gold. Stay gold. Stay gold.

Pony pressed his hands over his ears. He curled into a ball, pressing his face into the pillow. 

“Pony!”

He flinched at Soda’s voice, startling him as more fireworks went off outside. He whimpered and tried to hide again. 

“It’s okay, honey,” Soda said urgently.

Pony felt the bed shift as Soda laid down beside him. His brother wrapped him into a tight hug and tucked his head under his chin. Feeling Soda’s breathing and smelling the alcohol on him centered him just a little. Enough for him to open his eyes and see Darry lingering in the doorway, looking stricken. 

Pony’s breath hitched and he reached out for his big brother. In a second, Darry pulled both of them into his arms. 

“Fire,” Pony stuttered. “Johnny’s in the-the fire. Dally he-he-he won’t get there in time. 

“Shh,” Soda soothed, kissing the top of his head. “There’s no fire. You’re home, it’s alright, baby.”

Ponyboy shook his head frantically. They didn’t understand. He looked at Darry desperately. Darry knew how to fix things. He fixed roofs. He could fix what was broken in Pony’s mind. Thankfully Darry seemed to understand. 

“What do you smell, Pone?” Darry asked. He ran his fingers through his thick hair. 

Pony took a shaky breath, “Beer. Mustard. Soda’s gross cologne.”

Darry laughed, “That’s right. Do you smell any fire?” Pony shook his head into Soda’s shoulder. “Exactly. There’s no fire. It’s just fireworks outside.” Darry rubbed his back as he flinched from another loud explosion. “We got you, little buddy.”

“The kid okay?” Steve was standing in the doorway, Two-Bit behind him, for once looking sober. 

“He’ll be fine,” Darry assured them. “Wanna keep us company?”

“Hell yeah.” Two-Bit pushed into the room and jumped to land on the bed. “Fireworks are dogshit anyway.” Darry smacked the back of his head for cursing. “Tell you what, Horseman,” Pony grimaced at the name, “next year we’ll go up to the lake and teach ya how to swim.”

“I know how to swim,” Pony grumbled petulantly. He was still encased between his brothers so he thought he was allowed to be just a little petulant. 

“Sure you do, colt,” Soda murmured. Pony tried to twist around to elbow him, but wasn’t able to. He settled for grumbling under his breath for a few moments. 

The four of them kept talking around him, laughing and joking. They pretended not to notice when Pony flinched at the fireworks and one of his brothers whispered comforting words. Though the fireworks continued, so did the talking. Their conversations only got louder and louder, rattling the walls until Pony couldn’t hear the fireworks anymore.

[separatist-apologist]

Straight To My Head

I want to be where you are

Summary: All Nesta wants is to live outside of London in peace. She would like nothing more than days filled with books and quiet- a dream made impossible by the Scotsman determined to relive past battle glories on her front lawn

Big thanks to @dustjacketmusings who gave me the idea of LARP-ing Cassian, and @the-lonelybarricade for being my UK consultant once again.

Part 2: Where You Are, I Call Home | Read AO3 | Part 1

Nesta didn’t want to stay the night and as it turned out, neither did Elain. Nesta might have missed her sister sneaking out of the castle had she not been heading to the kitchen for tea, certain it was far too early to bother her. Elain hadn’t been able to meet Nesta’s eyes as she said she had things to finish and a deadline to meet, and Nesta didn’t push her. 

Though, she was curious as hell. 

And though she and Cassian had left things at a mostly decent place, Nesta was strangely embarrassed by the entire thing. It had been a moment of weakness, kissing him, and if she hadn’t just been bombarded by Tomas, she might have resisted him.

She felt immense shame Cassian had guessed what had happened with Tomas and more shame still that he wanted to avenge her. She could take care of herself. She didn’t need him. 

Elain and Nesta drove in utter silence. It was so unlike Elain not to fill the void, but everytime Nesta looked over at her younger sister, Elain was chewing on her bottom lip, her knuckles white from how tightly she gripped the steering wheel. And Nesta knew better—would have wanted the same silence had it been her lost in thought. Maybe Elain was regretting her choice to leave Graysen. Nesta could admit Feyre and Rhys seemed very in love, and their wedding had made her heart thud, had made her conscious of just how close Cassian was on that altar or how every time she dared to look at him, he was staring back with those burning eyes.

More brown than green.

Shut up, Nesta.

Elain dropped Nesta off at the train station, though she offered to take Nesta the entirety of the way. Nesta could see Elain wanted to get back—was already so far out of her way, and another three hours would be cause for Elain to spend the night before she could head back. So Nesta said no, pretended like Elain’s relief didn’t bother her, and finished her journey just in time to beat sunset.

She crawled into bed and tried very hard not to think of Cassian’s mouth, or his hands, or how he’d stopped her when she’d tried to find out what was under his kilt. 

She failed, of course. Nesta was wound up, had used her fingers instead of getting up to dig out a vibrator, while imagining it was Cassian’s mouth between her legs. She’d come, and though it was hardly satisfying, it did help her sleep. Nesta meant to sleep in. There was nothing on the schedule, and Cassian was a good three hours away from her. He’d be drinking with Rhys or Azriel—maybe flirting, maybe—

A pounding on the door pulled Nesta from sleep at seven am. She could hear it echoing through the castle, so loud she swore the walls shook. Nesta kicked off the blankets, still in a thin strapped, too clingy red night dress that cut just to her mid-thigh. Still foggy from sleep, it didn’t occur to Nesta that it wouldn’t be the police on the other end, come to warn her of some terrible tragedy.

Just a very, very irritated Cassian. She yanked open the door, eyes wide to find him with one hand raised. It fell the second he saw her, his lips parting as if to say oh.

“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest in both an attempt to hide her breasts and to convey her irritation. “You scared me half to death.”

He was staring at her face like he’d never seen her before. “Ye left, ye…yer hair.”

Nesta blinked. “Yes? What about my hair.”

“I’ve never seen ye wear it down,” he finally said, cocking his head to the side. Nesta swallowed, resisting the urge to touch it. Her hair was long, the tips touching the swell of her ass. Nesta’s mother had always cut her hair, brushing the strands with gentle fingers all the while cooing how lovely Nesta was.

My pretty girl.

Usually such words were reserved for Elain, but in those moments, Nesta had all her love and affection. After she died, Nesta had tried only once to go to some woman in London. She’d been fine, but when she called Nesta pretty, Nesta had started screaming at her to never say such things again, and afterward, refused to let anyone touch her hair. And while Feyre had kept her hair just beneath her shoulders, and Elain at her waist, Nesta would have let her hair fall to the floor before anyone ever took another pair of shears to it. 

“It’s a nuisance,” she said to Cassian, wishing he could just be normal and ogle her. 

“It’s lovely,” he breathed, taking a step toward her. Nesta slammed the door between them, stopped by his foot wedged between the frame to keep her from pushing her out.

“I thought we were done with this,” he said, some of his anger returning. That was better. She could work with that. 

“Why? Because you pushed me against a wall and kissed me–”

“Ye kissed me back,” he all but growled. Nesta scoffed, as if she hadn’t touched herself to that very mouth now twisted with anger.

“A moment of weakness,” she replied, holding his gaze. “It won’t be happening again.”

His brows shot up. “Oh? Is that so? Won’t be happening again, ye say?”

“Yes, Cassian.”

“Is this because I wanted tae take it slow? Ye’re mad—”

“No!” Nesta snapped, hating how her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “That would have been a mistake. It’s all a mistake.”

“Ye know what I think?”

“I think you’re going to tell me, regardless of my opinion,” she said dryly, though in truth Nesta wanted him to push open that door and force his way in. Wanted him to shove her back against the wall and kiss her until she didn’t hear the sound of her own thoughts.

“I think ye talked yerself out of me. I think yer scared I’m like tae other bawbags—”

“I’m not scared of you,” she lied. His eyes flashed, a smile creeping up his face.

“Ye are. Ye don’t need tae be, but ye are. Why, mo chridhe?”

“You’re delusional,” she retorted, heart hammering in her throat. “You’ve convinced yourself there is something between us—”

“There is something between us,” he replied, smug and self-assured. “And ye ran off yesterday instead of talking tae me about it.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

Cassian withdrew his shoe, stepping back into the Highland gloom. She knew what he expected—for her to slam the door in his face, to shut him back out. She wanted to want to do that…but the idea of closing Cassian out entirely made her stomach churn. So Nesta kept the door cracked, looking at him through the sliver, and Cassian remained where he was.

Watching. 

Waiting for her to slice him to ribbons—she could see the set of his shoulders, the way he held himself, slightly hunched as though he were physically preparing himself for a physical blow. Had she done that? Nesta swallowed.

“I’m not that kind of girl, Cassian. Alright? I just…let it go.”

“Ye are,” he murmured, his voice so impossibly soft. “Yer mine, Nes. Ye don’t have tae be that girl for anyone else—ye already are, tae me.”

“Cass—”

“I’m not going anywhere. Even if I have tae stage loud battles all day, every day just tae get ye to come out and shout at me.”

“I will,” she warned him. 

“I’ll hold ye tae it,” he replied, an easy smile gracing his features.

-*-

Nesta ought to have known she was way over her head the moment Cassian first kissed her. Certainly, by the time he’d come to her door to declare she was his. Nesta had always been good at lying to herself, and for a week, she managed to convince herself that he’d tired of her and her refusal and moved on. Sure, he kept coming back to the lawn with his canons and guns and tourists, yelling louder than before in a bid for her attention.

And yes, he was walking groceries up to her door each evening, clearly hoping she’d eventually invite him inside. Unaware she watched from a window overhead, willing herself to thank him but never actually doing it. 

Nesta could have done that forever, had she not had to go into town. It was, as usual, all Elain’s fault.

“What do you mean, masquerade ball?” Nesta hissed, the sun beating down on her neck as she made her way down the drive.

“I didn’t think I needed to explain,” came Elain’s snappish voice. What had gotten into her, Nesta wondered. Perhaps her tenant had finally chased away her sweetness. That, Nesta thought, wasn’t such a bad thing. 

“I’m not going—”

“You have to go,” came Elain’s no-nonsense tone. “People already say we ran away, that we’ve become spinsters—”

“Maybe they’re right. You go, tell them I’m…dead—”

“Nesta! Don’t make me do that. It’s one night. Bring anyone you like or no one at all. Feyre will be there with Rhysand and he’s still shiny enough to distract people from your non-existent love life—”

“And your broken engagement?” Nesta asked, trying to get a rise out of Elain. All she got was an exasperated sigh. 

“Exactly. People will stop gossiping about us so much if they see us looking healthy, and they get to talk to an actual duke, and you won’t have to come back until Christmas.”

“And you’ll be there?” Nesta confirmed.

“Of course. Where else would I be? I love parties, after all.” But there was a sour note to her words that Nesta couldn’t decipher. 

“Is everything fine?”

“Of course,” Elain, that liar, replied. As if Nesta, the queen of lying about her feelings, didn’t recognize what Elain was doing. “Make sure you’re there. If you need a dress, send me your measurements and I’ll have one shipped to you.”

And that was that. Elain ended the call before there could be any more questions and Nesta didn’t particularly care to push. Nesta made her way to Emeries, thinking of this end of the summer party her father was hosting. It was so transparent, so pathetically obvious he was trying to use Feyre’s new husband to enrich himself that Nesta nearly texted Elain she wouldn’t go before turning her phone off for a week. 

She didn’t trust Elain not to march across the country and drag her there herself, and that seemed humiliating. Nesta would go, just to see her sisters, drink on her fathers dime, and vanish before anyone had the chance to question her about how many cats she owned.

None.

Yet.

“Ye alright?” Emerie asked when Nesta pushed in, rising up from the chair behind the counter. 

“Just my ridiculous father and his ridiculous parties. My sister wants me to go–”

“What kind of party?”

“A masquerade,” Nesta replied glumly. “I don’t understand why people love them so much.”

“Romantic, I suppose,” Emerie said with shining eyes. “Yer going, then? Do ye need anything?”

“Not unless you know someone who can make me a floor length dress in a month and a half. In black,” Nesta added, cackling privately to herself. Everyone would be in warm colors—except her, the spinster.

The bogwitch. 

“Actually, I do,” Emerie said brightly. “I could, if ye like. My mum was a seamstress and I’m pretty good with a needle.”

“I’d love that,” Nesta replied. It was that easy to make Emerie happy, to set down roots in the form of friendship, and annoy her father, all at once. Which was all Nesta wanted, truly. She returned later that evening for a pint in the privacy of Emerie’s shop where Emerie gave Nesta a history of the gossip she normally provided, and convinced Nesta to stuff herself with cheese while taking her measurements. Nesta was used to the opposite—being told to fast for a solid day in order to seem thinner for the gown.

She much preferred Emerie’s way. 

The downside was, by the time they finished it was incredibly dark, not that the tourists had gotten the memo. Nesta didn’t want to tell Emerie she was afraid of the dark, nor did she want to walk up that hill. That left her with the Ensnaring Snake’s hidden passage, and the packed crowd inside. She kept her head down, trying—and failing—to not see Cassian. It was impossible not to notice him lounging in a chair like some conquering hero. 

Nesta made it all the way to the bar before she was stopped.

“Where’re ye going, lass?”

“I—”

“She’s with me, Angus,” Cassian’s smooth, if not unwelcome, voice replied. He slung his arm over her shoulder, pulling her intimately close which earned a wolfish grin from the bartender.

“Aye, behave then,” was all Angus thought to say.

“What are you doing?” Nesta demanded, shoving his arm off her shoulder the moment they were in the back,

“Walking ye home,” he smiled, pulling open the door that cut through the hillside. “And putting ye in bed.”

“Alone,” Nesta replied, though some part of her very much wanted to see him in her bed. 

Is that a question? Because I’ll hold ye tell ye fall asleep, tae. Ye only have tae ask.”

“I’m never going to ask, Cassian,” she said, plunging into the darkness with a boldness she felt only because he was with her.

“Yes, I’m starting tae think so, tae.”

“So maybe you should move on,” Nesta said, inhaling the scent of musty air in an effort to escape the richness rolling off him.

“Impossible,” he replied, grabbing her hand as they began to walk over loose stone and dirt. “I don’t know how anyone gets over ye.” 

Nesta felt as though she couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in on her, pressing her closer and closer to Cassian until she was gripping his hand so tightly she might have been hurting him. In the dark, unable to see him, Nesta could say all the things she didn’t dare when his eyes were on her. 

“No one feels that way about me. They never have. This will pass.”

“It won’t,” he replied, his voice cracking ever so slightly. “Stop speaking for me. Ye don’t know how I—ye don’t see yerself right. Ye see what those bastards see, because they’re scared of ye.

I’m not, Nes. And ye cannae make me change my mind, either.”

“So what, then? You’re just going to be at my doorstep until we both die?”

“Ideally you’ll be letting me inside, but yes, that’s exactly how I imagine us.”

Nesta stumbled over the first step. “Imagine us?”

“Ye don’t?”

“I–”

“Don’t lie to me, Nes.”

“I can make it the rest of the—Cass—” 

Cassian pulled her against him, stopping mid-step to kiss her in the dark. Nesta raised her hand to slap him. She swore she did. His audacity knew no bounds, he was utterly ridiculous. Which was why, when her fingers found his skin, she plunged them into his soft hair and yanked him closer.

Cassian groaned, hauling her up easily, like she was little more than a sack of feathers. Eyes closed, Nesta used her hands to map him, forgetting where they were–though she had the sense he was somehow still walking. Not that it stopped him—Cassian was a man possessed, his tongue in her mouth, tasting her with near mindless enthusiasm. 

“Like when ye call me Cass,” he groaned against her neck. How, she wondered, had they made it to the top of the stairs? Cassian was pushing open the iron door of the dungeon, still holding her in one arm though she knew he couldn’t continue on as he was. He’d have to set her down.

And he did, if only to grab her by the back of the neck and kiss her again. His teeth grazed against her bottom lip, hands cupping her face.

“Show me yer room,” he growled, eliciting a shiver from Nesta. They were still in the brutal dark, close enough she could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

“Cass—”

He reached for the top of her dress and without preamble, ripped clean down the middle. Buttons flew in every direction, scattering loudly over the stone. Heat flooded between Nesta’s legs, her breath catching roughly in her throat. Neither of them moved, breathing softly as they waited for the other to make a move. 

He’d done it, though. Hadn’t he? Her dress was ruined and his hands were hovering between them, waiting for her to say something.

“You’re a fucking animal, Cassian,” she told him, unable to hide how breathless she was.

“And yer pussy is dripping, isn’t it?” he all but purred in response.

“Fuck you,” she whispered.

“Take me upstairs.”

Nesta grabbed him by his kilted waist, hauling him forward like she held a leash. Their teeth crashed together, inelegant and messy and yet she’d never been more turned on in her life.

“I’ll show ye a fucking animal, mo chirdhe,” he breathed, licking the column of her neck as he said it. Nesta shivered, and just because she wanted to prove she had some control, rubbed the heel of her hand against his straining erection. 

Cassian exhaled, biting the lobe of her ear. “Upstairs. Now.”

She thought it would be awkward to fumble their way through the dark, and worse still when the lights hit them. Cassian groaned softly when he saw her, breasts spilling over the ripped fabric of her dress. They collided again, this time his hands reaching for her, covering each breast easily. Callused fingers brushed her nipples, drawing what might have been an embarrassing moan had Cassian not ground himself against her.

“What’s under this?” she asked him, thinking maybe they ought to just fuck in the hall. Right up against the wall like they were no better than animals. Just like he’d promised. 

“Find out, Nes, please touch me.”

Cassian couldn’t have been shorter than six foot five and was built like a celtic warrior. Nesta, at five nine, had always felt dainty beside him—and in that moment, Nesta swore their positions reversed. He was looking up at her somehow, pleading for her to give him something.

Nesta slid her hand beneath the fabric of his plaid to find he was wearing nothing at all. 

She also found she’d been right about him. Everything about Cassian was large. Her fingers just barely curled around him, and that first pass told her he was not just thick, but long, too.

Cassian growled a string of words in Gaelic, spoken too quickly for her to make sense of. She didn’t care when he kissed her again, rolling his hips into her hand as she stroked. Nesta was careful to go slow, wanting to drag him out for as long as possible.

“Bed, Nes.” Cassian’s spoken order made her shiver. 

“I like touching you,” she whispered, kissing just beneath his ear. Cassian moaned in a huff, like it escaped him against his will. 

“Ye will just as soon as I have ye in bed,” he replied, hauling her up off her feet like he was so prone to do. Not over his shoulder, like usual, but in his arms like she was precious. Nesta ran her hand up his chest before directing him to the room they’d share tonight. 

And maybe again, after that, if she worked up the nerve. She could find a way to keep him with her, ensuring they wouldn’t be separated, which meant they could continue to have sex until she died.

Cassian kicked open her door and Nesta felt like she was the heroine in one of her novels. This was happening. It was nearly the way she imagined when she was alone, made better by the look on Cassian’s face. Tossing her to the bed, Cassian whipped off that black t-shirt before Nesta had managed to even catch her breath.

“That day at tae loch,” he breathed, removing his shoes and socks quickly, all the while watching her, “I nearly had ye in the dirt. Was so close tae begging ye I had tae walk away. Yer eyes, mo chirdhe…”

“What about them?” she asked, her heart pounding in her throat. Cassian sank to his knees at the edge of the bed, reaching for her legs, hidden in her dress. Given the top half had been ripped open, it hardly mattered when he began pulling it down. It left her only in a plain pair of underwear and nothing else. 

Cassian’s gaze flicked to her face. Running his palms up her thighs, he murmured, “I see yer eyes when I close mine. I used tae think ye were haunting me.”

“And now?” Her breath hitched when he kissed just below her knee.

“I know ye are now,” he replied, dragging his tongue up to the fabric still hugging her body. “There’ll be no getting rid of ye.”

She opened her mouth, unsure of what she was going to say. Cassian cut her off. “I don’t want tae be rid of ye, lass. I keep telling ye, but yer not listening. I think I need tae show ye.”

“Cass—” He kissed through her underwear, pouring warm air from his mouth against her aching pussy. 

“Tell me tae stop.”

“Don’t.”

Cassian groaned, resting his forehead on her leg for only a moment before pulling the last scraps of fabric off her body.

He whispered something in audible, something that sounded distinctly like a prayer. Nesta was squirming, felt so exposed beneath his gaze, his fingers. If he didn’t do something, she was going to explode. 

“Cass,” she said, trying it out for the first time. 

He shook his head, his expression so utterly and thoroughly wrecked. “Don’t beg. Not yet.”

“Not yet, what does that—” she choked on the rest of her words the moment his tongue slid up the center of her. His rumbling groan vibrated through her, settling in her chest. Nesta drew her legs up, planting her heels against the edge of the bed to spread herself wider and Cassian seized on the opportunity to explore. His tongue was everywhere, teasing and taunting as he dipped into her body before dragging back up to her clit. There was a distinct lack of elegance to the act, something selfish about the way he was going at her—as if this were as much for him as it was for her. 

Why had she denied them this for so long? Cassian’s mouth was bliss, pulling moan after moan from her until Nesta was grinding her pussy against his face, desperately chasing the gathering release that threatened to unmake her. Cassian gripped her ass, spreading her apart, kneading her skin as he drove her higher. Nesta didn’t want to be done, wanted to draw this out for as long as she could.

And she wanted to know what it would be like to have him inside her. Nesta reached between her legs, carding her fingers through his hair. Cassian moaned when she pulled while Nesta nearly screamed as one of his fingers invaded her body. She clenched tight around him, trying to breath through her nose, to calm herself down. 

“Cassian,” she pleaded, though for what, Nesta didn’t know. It wasn’t as if he was going to stop. He began to work that finger, and then a second, into her, pumping in and out as he licked and sucked at her clit. Gripping the sheets so tightly she pulled one from the corner, Nesta could do nothing but take this onslaught of pleasure. 

Nesta was grateful there was no one but them atop this hill. When she came, it was with a strangled scream that betrayed her. No one but Cassian bore witness to it, which was exactly how it ought to be. Nesta was on fire, was made of nothing but pure heat in that moment, drowning in pleasure so exquisite she could have died right there. 

Cassian kept going, discovering a secret only Nesta knew about herself. Given he was the first man who’d ever made her come, or who’d ever been interested in making her come, she supposed it made sense he’d figure it out. Cassian was still licking, his fingers curled in her body as he fucked her. Nesta had only barely come down when she was dragged right back up, shattering tight around him.

Cassian’s head snapped forward, lips glistening in the warm lamplight. “Did ye—”

“Come here, come here,” she said, wiggling further up the bed as she beckoned him. Cassian crawled after her, eyes wide and dark. 

“Have ye done this before?” he whispered, laying himself over her, still in his kilt. 

“No,” she finally admitted. 

“And…” he bit his bottom lip. “And has anyone taken it from ye—”

“No,” she breathed, cupping his face in her hands. “No. Just you, Cass”

His eyes fluttered shut. 

“Only me,” he agreed, rising up on his knees to undo his kilt. She’d never realized it was merely one long, pleated piece of fabric until he unwound it from his hips. He was naked then, his cock resting over her still convulsing pussy. Feeling and seeing were two wholly different things. Nesta raised up on her elbows to look, to drink in how obscene they were, how thick and long he was. 

“I want this,” she told him, pushing aside her nerves. “I want you.”

“I’ll go slow,” he swallowed, taking himself in his hand. 

“I know you won’t hurt me,” Nesta replied, holding his gaze. He nodded, notching himself against her, only to rub the blunt head of his thick cock through the silken, wet mess still dripping from her pussy.

“Are ye always this wet for me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, because there was no use lying to him. 

“Wasted time, mo chirdhe,” he grunted, pushing himself into her. Nesta gasped, digging her nails into his biceps. It didn’t hurt—but the stretch was uncomfortable. Cassian halted, eyes searching her face.

“Don’t stop,” Nesta managed, certain the discomfort was short lived. Even women liked sex, which meant she merely needed to get through this hurdle and then she’d be free to enjoy him the way she’d been imagining. “Please, don’t stop.”

It was the please that got to him, just like she knew it would. Cassian’s emotions were all over his face. He’d never been able to hide them, but now he might as well have been screaming what he felt to her. He wanted to make her happy—wanted to do whatever she said.

So he kept going, pushing himself into her while Nesta closed her eyes and forced herself to relax. To let go, just this once.

He wouldn’t hurt her. He’d stop if she told him to. He’d get dressed, he’d walk out the door right that second if Nesta changed her mind. It was that realization that allowed Nesta to let go, to invite him into her body until she’d adjusted to the feel of him. 

Cassian seated himself with a soft grunt and a jumble of swears in both English and Gaelic. 

“Is it how you imagined?” Nesta asked, betraying her own insecurities.

“Better,” he kissed, withdrawing only an inch. Nesta gasped when he pushed back in, delighted to know she’d been right. That stretch faded into pleasure, frazzling up her spine like a shock of electricity. 

“Do it again.”

“Don’t think I could stop,” he admitted, pumping his hips. He kept his eyes on her face, memorizing her reactions. As if this was the last time she’d invite him into her bed. Nesta didn’t know how she’d manage it, but she knew she wanted him here, just like his, for the foreseeable future. 

Forever. 

She clung tight to his tattooed shoulders, face buried in his neck. It was all going to be over soon, so Nesta indulged in the feel of his muscles shifting beneath his skin, drinking in each ragged groan, each whisper of her name. Cassian was becoming erratic, his careful movements rougher, almost punishing as he pounded himself into her. 

Nesta turned his face, her own building orgasm threatening to make a fool out of her. She wanted to say too much, to reveal all the messy, ugly parts of herself to him and see if he kept looking at her like that. She kissed him instead, chasing away her fears with the taste of him.

She came, not with a scream, but whispering his name into his mouth. It was pleasure unlike anything else.

Cassian was unlike anything else. He would be her ruination, and as Nesta drifted in the warm abyss, cradled in his arms, she thought there were far more terrible things than falling in love with this man. 

“Nesta,” he whined, thrusting deeper into her. “Tha gaol agam ort, Nesta—”

He came, clutching her so tight there was no escaping. 

Nesta was exactly where she wanted to be. 

-*-

The thing about Cassian, Nesta learned, was his work ethic. She’d woken after that first night pleasantly sore, hoping to go again only to find the sounds of battle echoing up from the lawn. Her bed was empty, though Cassian’s presence lingered. He’d left his socks on her floor and a note on the side table. 

Lunch?

Dinner?

My whole life? 

-Cass

He’d given her his phone number, too. Nesta shot him a quick text, thinking ahead.

How about we start with dinner? 

After all, if he came over later in the evening, he was less likely to spend the night in the tavern with his friends, with the other women always fawning over him. He’d spend the night with her, and she’d get him all to herself. 

He didn’t respond until he was long gone from her lawn. One word was all it took to make Nesta’s heart pound.

Done.

And he came, with a bottle of cheap wine they drank on a balcony. It was here that Cassian told Nesta about his life, clearly hoping she’d reciprocate. He told her about his mother who’d died at the hands of his violent father, who’d left him in the care of relatives that didn’t particularly care much for him. It was how he’d met Rhys, a snotty boy at a stuck-up boarding school trying to live Cassian’s life for a few hours.

Cassian laughed when he told Nesta how he’d beaten the piss out of Rhys, stolen his wallet, and taken off with all the money inside. And how surprised he’d been when Rhys came back with a bruised eye and bloodied nose for his wallet the next night—and Cassian had liked him enough to give him the alcohol he'd been trying to smuggle back in. How they’d become friends, and Cassian felt like he had actual family for the first time in his life. A brother.

She wanted to tell him about her life, too. And what was there to say? That she felt overlooked and neglected as a girl? Buried under the pressure by responsibilities and expectations she’d never once actually taken on. That had been Elain, ultimately, who scooped up all their fathers wants and heaped them upon her shoulders with a smile. 

She felt ashamed to tell him her problems, even when Cassian turned those bright, hopeful eyes onto her. Lips curved in a smile, hand balancing on her knee. 

“Ye don’t have tae tell me anything,” he finally murmured, and she knew she was a coward for wanting to pretend he didn’t mean anything to her. Especially when she pulled him back into her bedroom and spent the night silently apologizing with her lips, and tongue, and teeth. 

It was like that every night. Cassian did most of the talking and Nesta listened, her head in his lap while he’d run his fingers through her hair. She learned that the laughing, likable man was a facade, a wall he put up so no one really saw him, much like her own. Cassian needed everyone to love him to prove he was worthy.

And in turn, she couldn’t allow anyone to love her in order to prove she was exactly as awful as she’d always suspected she was. Only, Cassian didn’t seem to think so. He kept coming back night after night, kept telling her all his secrets knowing full well Nesta could use all of it to break his heart. 

Nesta woke two weeks after her and Cassian had begun to the shrill ring of her cellphone. She’d been charging it again, if only to know when Cassian was making his way up to her—and to tell him good morning, not that she’d ever admit it. 

“What?” Nesta grumbled. It was early enough that Cassian was still there, one arm flung over her back, face pressed into a pillow. 

“You haven’t RSVP’d,” came Elain’s too cheerful voice.

“Elain, it’s six in the morning. Go back to bed.”

“Are you going? And who are you bringing?”

Cassian opened his eyes, mouthing, going where? She could invite him—and watch her father eviscerate him for being a bastard born no one. 

“I said I would. I’m going alone, and I’m not staying so don’t bother making up my room.”

There was a beat. “You’re not going to invite Cassian?”

Cassian had heard. “Don’t,” Nesta retorted. “I said I’d be there. Let it go.”

She hung up before Elain could press her. 

“Go where?” Cassian asked instantly. This was a test and she knew she was going to fail it. Knew the minute he dragged her back against him and pressed a kiss to her neck that she was going to fuck this all up.

“Back home. It’s nothing, Cass, really—”

“But I’m invited?”

“No.”

The easy smile on his face faltered. “Ah. Ye’d rather go alone?”

“I’d rather not go at all,” Nesta clarified, untangling herself from his grip to rise from bed. “I never want to go back and I certainly don’t want to subject you to my family—”

“I’ve met yer family.”

“No, you met Feyre and Elain. They don’t count.”

Cassian sat up, muscles gleaming gold in the early morning light. “So what, then, Nes? I’m just…I’m just the bloke yer fucking out in the country that yer London friends can’t know about?”

“What London friends, Cassian?” she snapped, pulling a robe around her body. “I have no friends back home. If I don’t go, no one would miss me—except Elain, which is why she won’t let this go.”

He watched, eyes tracking her around the room. “Are ye ashamed—”

“No,” she hissed before softening her tone. “No. I’m not ashamed, Cassian. I…”

Nesta curled her hands to fists, trying to find the exact right words that would placate him. 

“I can handle myself around that lot,” Cassian told her, and of course he could. He was best friends with a duke's son, after all. The problem was her. Nesta took a breath before walking back to the bed. She sat on the edge, looking over at him.

“I know you can. It’s me, Cass. It’s just…”

“Yer father?” he guessed. 

Nestas fingers twisted around each other violently, nostrils flaring as she tried to get her temper under control. “When mother got sick, he withdrew. He couldn’t stand to see her suffer. And all she wanted was him. She’d beg me to go get him, and I would and he’d tell me to tell her he was coming right up…but he never did. Sometimes I’d hear him walk to the door but he’d never come in. It was grief, but…”

Cassian ran his hands over the tops of her arms. 

“But ye were a wee girl, Nes.”

Nesta nodded her head, swallowing so he wouldn’t see her cry. Cassian crept forward, pulling her between his thighs so she could rest her back against the solid wall that comprised his muscled chest. She sighed.

“I can’t stand the thought of you going and standing before him, a better man than he could ever dream of being, and still being forced to endure his scrutiny. It’s one evening, Cassian. I’ll be back in the morning and I won’t have to go back for months.”

He pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. “Aye. If that’s what ye want.” It wasn’t. Nesta so badly wanted Cassian to come with her. She wanted to go everywhere with him. Nesta forced herself to twist, to smile and say, “You’d hate it, Cass. There is so much dancing–”

“Do ye dance?” he asked, eyes alight.

Nesta nodded. “Until my mom died. I had lessons, I—” She almost told him that she loved it. 

Cassian smiled, kissing her cheek. 

“It’s nice tae learn something about ye, Nes.”

“You’re not angry?”

He kissed her again, dragging her back to the mattress. “Mad at ye? Mo chirdhe, that’s not possible.”

-*- 

But maybe it was. Cassian had begun skipping their evenings together in favor of seeing his friends. He still came, but not as often, or far later than before. He said he was finishing up the end of the season, that it was always hectic in the last few weeks of August, but Nesta was afraid that Cassian was pulling away. 

Nesta had to leave without telling him goodbye in person like she’d hoped. Instead, Nesta texted him, feeling stupid for letting her guard down. For believing that he liked her just as much as she liked him. 

She couldn’t stop herself from texting him.

See you tomorrow?

Cassian was quick with a response.

Yes. Miss you. 

It was, she supposed, enough for now. Nesta made her way back to London, miserable and moody and wondering why she couldn’t just tell Cassian the truth.

I’m in love with you. 

It was too late to invite him, but not too late to tell him she missed him, too. Nesta waited until she was in the dress Emerie had made for her—beautiful, shimmering black with a plunging neckline that was going to absolutely make someone’s aging grandfather angry—to text him back.

I miss you. 

She had to slip her phone into her clutch. Nesta wasted an inordinate amount of time putting on makeup and pinning half her hair off her face before she finally called a cab and made her way across the city for the theater her father had rented out to host the absurd event. With a lacy black and red mask careful stuck to her eyes, Nesta made her way into the open atrium. Feyre was there and had clearly the same thought Nesta had, if the gauzy black and silver dress all but painted to her skin was any indication. A pretty silver mask clung to her skin, making her eyes seem like concentrated starlight. 

Beside her, Rhys’s unnerving blue eyes cut around the room with amusement, his hand firmly on Feyre’s bare shoulder as though she were his shield from the nearby people looking in his direction. Desperate, Nesta thought, to talk to him. He wore a kilt with a suit jacket, which felt perfectly normal given the limited information she had about him. 

“Oh, thank God you came,” Feyre breathed, making her way to Nesta while Rhys trailed just behind like a dark shadow. 

“Where is Elain?”

“Phone off—missing,” Feyre said, eyes narrowed. “After begging and pleading for me to be here, I think she skipped out.”

Nesta only laughed. “Not Elain. She’s probably caught in traffic.”

“With a dead cell phone?” Feyre demanded archly. 

“She’ll be here,” Nesta said, only because it felt impossible that Elain would go to so much trouble to ensure both Feyre and Nesta came knowing she had no intention of coming herself. “I’ll bet she’s already inside and you just missed her.”

“She’s not,” Feyre protested as Rhys swept an errant curl from her ear. 

“I’ll prove it,” Nesta said, gliding over the glossy marble floor toward the man who’d checked her. A line of guests waited to enter, all fascinated by the dark haired Rhys still casually touching his wife. 

“Has Elain Archeron checked in?” Nesta asked, ignoring everyone as though they were little more than dirt beneath her shoe. An exhausted man dressed in tails and a top hat, flipped through his sheets before nodding.

“See–”

“She’s not in there,” Feyre repeated, clearly annoyed. Behind her, Rhys nodded silently which only served to annoy Nesta. She hadn’t asked for his smug agreement. Elain was here. 

“Fine. Let’s go look, because it says she’s here.”

Feyre fell into step with Nesta, clearly wanting to be there when Nesta was proven wrong. Ordinarily that would annoy Nesta—the only person more stubborn, more obstinate, more competitive than her was her baby sister. They elbowed their way through the golden archway, half jogging down the sweeping steps to the open ballroom teeming with people. A massive chandelier glittered overhead while rows of white lace tables were arranged around dancing couples, served by a staff of waiters in the same tails the man at the door wore. 

“All this for your stupid husband?” Nesta hissed, earning a smack against her stomach from Feyre. 

“And Elain. Father things she and Graysen will reconcile and he’ll have two daughters distantly in line for the throne,” Feyre replied without any true ire. 

“Ugh,” Nesta scoffed. 

“Of course,” Feyre mused, eyes sweeping the room with a creeping smile. “Elain is living with a Vanserra—”

“Don’t be disgusting,” Nesta interrupted, thinking of that dickish old man harassing their middle sister. 

Rhys laughed, stepping from behind his wife with a delighted smile. “Ye bastard.”

Feyre was grinning, and when Nesta turned, she understood why.

Cassian.

In his kilt and a black jacket. The waves of his hair had been carefully brushed while his beard was neatly styled and trimmed against his truly beautiful face. He was looking at her sheepishly, apology etched against his expression. 

Cassian and Rhys embraced loudly, two Scots among the polite, quiet English. Their raucous laughter made several people near them jump, which earned a very exaggerated eye roll from Feyre.

Nesta crept forward, trying to make sense of Cassian—he’d had to have left hours before her. “How—”

“Yer sister,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She ah…she called me a couple weeks ago, asked if I wanted to go. Said ye were too proud tae ever ask and that she wasn’t coming—”

“I told you!” Feyre crowed. 

“Why isn’t she coming?” Nesta asked. 

Cassian only shrugged his shoulders. “I didnae ask. I ah…I wanted tae surprise ye.”

“It worked,” Nesta said, realizing Cassian was without a mask. Rhys had foregone one, too, so Nesta supposed it would be a Scottish tradition, then. As if anyone didn’t know exactly who they were. 

Cassian rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders set in that familiar, defensive stance. He’d come, knowing it was likely to make her angry all because beneath all that, she’d wanted him to. Nesta swallowed, nearly as tall as he was in her heels, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I’m glad you're here.”

And she was when people finally became curious enough about Rhys to ignore how rude they were, interrupting the four of them sitting at a table drinking and otherwise trying to while away the time so they could respectively escape. Elain never did come, and Feyre was too busy smiling beside her husband to be a fun conversationalist once things picked up in earnest.

Nesta would have been alone—again. Miserable and frustrated until she inevitably snuck off, all the while wishing she was with Cassian. 

“Dance with me, mo chirdhe,” he murmured, pulling her from her chair.

“Since when do you know how to dance?” Nesta demanded, though she followed him all the same.

“Ye don’t ask me any questions,” he said with a smile, pulling her into the proper stance for the waltz currently playing. Of course her father would have hired a live quartet, trying to seem posher than he was.

“What questions should I be asking, then?”

He lowered his face until his lips brushed over the shell of her ear. “What I’m doing at night when I’m not with ye.”

Nesta jerked, looking up at him. “You were with friends, right?”

“I was doing this,” he explained, stepping so precisely it was clear he’d only just learned the steps and wasn’t yet comfortable enough to be fluid. “I know ye said ye weren’t embarrassed but I figured ye’d be steaming, and I didn’t want tae give ye any more reasons tae be angry.”

“Oh, Cassian,” she murmured, squeezing his hand. “I’m not angry. I was wishing you were here right until I saw you.”

“I know,” he agreed, glancing at his feet for only a moment. He was doing so well that he almost seemed effortless. But even if he’d been tripping over his feet, he still would have been the best partner she’d ever had. “I can see yer feelings on that bonnie face of yers.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

“It is,” he replied smugly, handsome as ever.

“Then you must be aware that I’m in love with you? And there's no need to say it?”

Cassian stumbled. “I—ah—what?”

Nesta’s cheeks burned. She’d never said those words before and the flustered look on his face did little to calm her nerves. 

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he said, something he’d been saying since they’d first had sex. She remembered it so clearly, had been too afraid to look it up. Foolish.

“Oh,” she murmured, unable to stop the smile creeping up her face.

“Maybe since I first saw ye,” he added, his steps falling out of time with the music. Nesta didn’t care, so long as he kept his eyes wholly on her. So long as he kept his arms around her. “I was stupid, though. Couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t keep away from ye.”

“You sure know how to make a lady feel special,” she teased, still holding his gaze. 

“Let me make it up tae ye when we leave,” he replied, eyes glinting with mischief. “We’ll play sexy Scottish prisoner, cruel English—”

“Oh, stop it,” Nesta interrupted with a laugh. “We’re always roleplaying that.”

“That’s right, mo chirdhe,” he said, taking their joined hands and pressing it against her heart. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The music ended, though neither of them moved. Barely breathed. “Good,” she replied, swallowing hard. What else could she say to that? 

Cassian grinned. “Now. Where’s yer father?”

And Nesta, smiling so wide it threatened to split her face, merely pointed in his direction. She’d take Cassian to him.

They’d go together.

[scriberye]

Nightshade (3/?)

         ➥  Ghost x GN!Reader     |     1837     |     Ao3

⚠️ Violence, Anxiety, Comfort, Some cozy smoochin', Medieval AU The danger makes himself known, and Ghost tries to keep you all to himself. a/n: This was originally suppose to just be a Ghost/Reader fic, but then König happened. Then Soap happened. So, here's the deal. Do you want to stay loyal to Ghost, or should we embrace the power of a harem anime and go wild? one - two

Time works its magic. With each passing day, Ghost’s injuries continue to improve, and you forget about the foreboding crows. From your workbench, you watch as he dons his armor. A gentle melody of leather whispers against leather, and the soft clink of metallic buckles as he ties, tightens, and latches everything into place.

The more severe of his injuries is still healing, and one careless movement causes him to flinch. He brings a hand up on instinct, resting it over the tender spot. Progress is progress, you muse, turning your attention back to your work before he can catch you watching him.

Despite his restlessness, Ghost stays at the cottage.

He takes it upon himself to help you with your work. From grinding herbs when your arm grows tired, to tying up bundles and hanging them for drying. Before you realize it, Ghost is becoming a part of your life. He fills the space your mentor left behind with her passing, and soothed the pain that came with it.

Ghost empties the crushed herbs into a jar and seals it shut, just as you taught him.

“Oh, would you mind grabbing some firewood from outside? I think it’s going to snow tonight.” The skies have been gray and overcast since dawn. Experience tells you to prepare for an unforgiving and chilly night.

“Sure,” Ghost rolls his shoulders, making his way toward the door.

“Thank you!” You say with a smile, looking back over your shoulder in time to see him waving as he slips out the door.

Outside, the snow crunches under Ghost’s boots as he makes his way toward the modest woodshed, its thatched roof shielding the logs from the whims of the weather. He stops before he’s halfway there, a sense of being watched putting him on guard. He reaches for one of his daggers, scanning the tree line.

Behind one of the thicker trees, a figure lingers. Impossibly tall, with their face hidden beneath an all too familiar executioner hood. The intruder’s fingers constrict around the handle of an equally imposing axe, the blade sharp and glinting in the sunlight. Their eyes lock. The tension promises violence.

“Shit,” Ghost mutters. Guess you’ll have to wait a little longer for the firewood.

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

You find yourself absorbed in your work, unaware of the world around you until an unfamiliar sound draws your attention away — a faint, metallic clanging from outside. You frown, the sounds growing steadily louder as you approach the door. Heart pounding, you nudge the door open.

You gasp at the scene unfolding outside.

Ghost is locked in a fierce battle with an imposing stranger, a black hood obscuring his face. Despite his size, he wields a massive axe with deceptive ease. That hood. You remember the warning from days ago. The chilling realization sends a shiver down your spine. Your heart races and the icy grip of fear squeezes your throat tight.

It’s him — the one who slaughtered an entire village.

Him.

You cling to the door for support, fingers trembling as they dig into the cold wood. Terror and the ferocity of the battle paralyze you, rooting you in place.

“König! We don’t have to do this!” Ghost stumbles back, narrowly avoiding the wide swing of the axe as it slices through the air.

“Nein!” König’s eyes are wide and filled with unbridled rage. This isn’t just a fight between opposing sides — it’s personal. He moves with the momentum of his axe, swinging it back around and raising it high over his head. “There is no other way!”

Ghost raises his sword in defense, the metallic clash echoing through the air as König brings the axe down with brutal force. Ghost struggles under the weight bearing down on him. He grits his teeth and pushes back.

A sudden arrow pierces the crisp air, whizzing past König and Ghost before landing in the snow with a muted thud. The unexpected appearance catches everyone’s attention. Between the trees, a man with a mohawk knocks another arrow onto his bow, the bowstring creaking as he draws it back. His deep blue eyes narrowed and focused on König.

“The next one won’t miss, bastard!”

With a growl, König slams his boot against Ghost’s chest, the impact sending him sprawling backward into the snow with a pained grunt. For a brief, frightening moment, König’s eyes meet yours — he’s seen you. You exist to him now. He takes a step back and retreats, disappearing into the woods, leaving you with a conflicting mix of fear and relief.

“Ghost!” You find your voice, rushing to his side and helping him up from the snowy ground. A sharp pang of concern pierces your heart. You didn’t want to lose him. You frantically brush away the snow that clings to his armor, inspecting him for any new wounds, but all you find is cold armor. No blood. Nothing.

“I’m fine. Look at me.” Ghost’s voice is steady as he grips your chin, tilting your head back and forcing your gaze to meet his. Your breath catches. “I’m fine. He didn’t land a hit on me. Breathe, sweetheart.”

“You’re fine,” you echo, sucking in a deep breath, the frigid air stinging your throat and lungs.

“That’s right.” Ghost tenderly cups your jaw, the cold leather of his glove warming as his thumb caresses your cheek.

“Oi! Get a room!”

The voice startles you both, and you jump away from each other. Flustered, you press your hands over your cheeks, the chill of your bare fingers burning against your flushed cheeks. Ghost lets out a weary sigh, crossing his arms over his chest as if to shield himself and keep any more emotions from slipping out.

“Soap,” Ghost’s tone is unamused.

“Ghost! Where the hell ‘ave you been?!” Soap marches over, each stomp leaving behind an imprint in the snow. “I thought I’d be draggin’ your corpse out of some hole in the ground, but you’re here! In the middle of the damn woods!”

Soap turns to you, his tone and expression softening. “Not mad at you. Hello, lovely to meet ya by the way. I’m mad at this bastard.”

Ghost rolls his eyes. “You would’ve if it wasn’t for this one,” he gestures towards you, “Took me in, kept me alive.”

“No joke?” Soap looks you up and down, appraising you before extending a gloved hand. “Looks like we owe you one for keeping this stubborn idiot alive.”

“Oh, um, I’m happy to help.” You smile, feeling self-conscious as you reach out to take his hand. A rush of warmth spreads across your cheeks. Oh, but he is charming. There’s a playful twinkle in his blue eyes, and his confident smirk makes your heart flutter.

Ghost clears his throat, positioning himself between you and Soap, using his body as a barricade. He stares Soap down. “Right then, you found me. Now go home, Johnny.”

“Not without you.” Soap narrows his eyes, refusing to back down from Ghost’s attempts at intimidation. “It’s getting late, so we’d better be going, eh?”

“I don’t think anyone should travel tonight,” you interject, eyes darting back and forth between the two men. A sudden sharp gust of icy wind makes your teeth rattle. “It’s going to snow. Stay the night, and you can leave in the morning.”

Ghost immediately protests, “No.”

Soap, on the other hand, looks delighted.

“Oh, that’s so thoughtful! Let’s get inside, eh? I’m freezing my tits off out here.” He slaps the other man’s shoulder with more force than necessary, his cocky grin never leaving his face as he pushes past Ghost. Soap knocks the snow from his boots, leaving a small mound by the door, before confidently strolling into the cottage.

Ghost lets out a long, suffering sigh.

You give him an apologetic smile and follow Soap inside. You felt a twinge of selfish guilt. If they were to leave now, the coming snowfall would surely catch them. Yet, deep down, you needed them to stay. König is still out there, and at least with Ghost and Soap nearby, you’d feel a little safer.

The sun sets, and dinner is a simple affair. You eat together, all gathered on the rug in front of the hearth. The crackling flames bathe the cottage in a cozy glow. Soap doesn’t comment when you settle in close to Ghost’s side, a knowing smile on his lips. In between bites, Soap regaled you with tales of his escapades with Ghost — like the time Ghost opened the wrong door.

Your home, a little cottage in the woods — a sanctuary you shared with the only family you ever knew — was overflowing with warmth and laughter, making it feel alive again. Silently, you wish morning never comes. For time to stand still.

Soap is the first to fall to exhaustion after dinner, leaving you and Ghost alone.

Ghost playfully rolls his eyes, watching Soap sleep. “Look at him. Hogging the fire to himself, not a care in the world.”

“Guess he wore himself out telling stories.” You smile, wrapping your arms around yourself, hoping to hide the shiver from the chill of being far from the fire. Ghost notices in an instant.

“C’mere,” Ghost says, his voice low and rough, as he extends his arm and silently beckons you closer. And who are you to deny him? You scoot toward him, sighing as you make yourself comfortable nestled against his side. He drapes his arm around you, enveloping you in his warmth.

“Better?”

You hum in contentment, pressing your cheek against his shoulder. He’s radiating warmth, as if he’s a fire himself. Is it him, you wonder, or perhaps it’s from being so close to him that’s kindling a different fire in you. The cottage falls quiet; the silence is broken only by the occasional snap and pop of the firewood. Ghost’s fingers trace absent patterns on your arm.

You enjoy the comfortable, intimate silence together.

Ghost stirs, his hand drifting down from your arm to rest against the dip of your waist. You lift your head from his shoulder, your gaze meeting his, deeply intense and darkened with unspoken want. The sight of your tongue moving across your lips catches his attention, and his eyes dart toward your mouth.

You reach up, slowly lifting his mask, just as he does when he eats.

His breathing quickens. You can feel it in the rise and fall of his chest. Time seems to slow as Ghost leans in, his lips rough as they press against yours in a feather-light kiss. You can feel his hesitancy. This kind of intimacy makes him vulnerable, and he holds himself back from fulling giving in.

Your eyes flutter open as Ghost pulls back. His gaze meets yours, searching for even the faintest hint of hesitation or discomfort. Any reason for him not to do this. A soft, dreamy smile forms on your lips. You reach up, your fingers brushing against the nape of Ghost’s neck, and draw him back in for another kiss.

[saturn-sends-hugs]

Fuck it, I’m seeing a lot of talk about Echo being a picky eater recently and I think I want to add my two neurodivergent cents to it lol

Firstly, I think it’s important to note that Echo is autistic. I know this hasn’t been stated anywhere or anything, but listing out his character quirks makes it pretty clear.

He repeats orders, arguing with his batch when they don’t follow them, and worries about doing things wrong. This feels like a safety thing to me, almost like telling kids in class to be quiet when the teacher is talking for no other reason than it feels right and them breaking rules is stressful. (can you tell I’m speaking from experience cause this whole post will be me speaking from experience bkshsjsks)

He reads and memorizes the reg manuals, liking to be caught up on the latest versions. Again, this feels like a safety thing; him wanting to know how things will work ahead of time so he can be prepared in every situation.

He doesn’t like being wrong, like when we see him refusing to back down on thinking the Seperatists Senator’s distress call is a trap (Avi Singh I think?). Even when the evidence starts poking holes in his theory, he doesn’t want to let it go. I’m not sure how to explain how this relates to autism other than that fact that autistic people just don’t like being wrong? Like it’s just hard to admit that and it’s almost scary to change your mind like that sometimes? Idrk honestly, I’m DEFINITELY not an expert lol, just saying my piece

So many of Echo’s character quirks relate directly to autism, and all of them are things I strongly relate to. (yes this is why he’s my favorite shush)

But most of all is his picky eating. And uh, this might actually get a tad heavy here but I hope this can maybe share an accurate perspective on it?

Many autistic people are fairly picky eaters, something I’ve definitely struggled with since I was born. We see Echo being skeptical of food multiple times, especially when they’re new to him. We see him eating rations bars, which would be familiar, without a second thought, but new things he’s extremely hesitant to try.

With that in mind and the headcanon (kinda) that he’s autistic, this sounds a lot like ARFID to me.

ARFID (Avoidant Restrictive Food Intake Disorder) is tricky to describe since there’s nothing conscious to it, its just somewhat of a mental hurdle? Like there’s a point you just can’t cross no matter what, a bit like ADHD and executive dysfunction, expect a lot stronger lol. It’s pretty much just picky eating to the extreme that a person cannot control and just makes your choices extremely limited when it comes to food.

This makes it difficult (ahem, impossible) to do seemingly basic things like trying absolutely any new foods. There are a few safe ones, maybe even a category of foods that are almost completely safe (for me: most deserts or fruits), but anything outside of that is different, it’s new, and it does not feel safe. When I say picky eating to the extreme, I mean extreme. If I’m literally starving, haven’t eaten in way too long, but the only things available aren’t safe foods? Well too bad guess I’m not eating today 🤷 It’s not much of a choice, it’s just being trapped by your own neurodivergent brain 🫠🫠🫠

It can feel childish and incredibly alienating to constantly turn down new foods or restaurants, or to order the same thing every time from a restaurant, off the kids menu or with special requests, and I just think that piece is being missed in Echo’s picky eating. Now I’m not telling anyone to stop making it a humorous thing cause it totally is in the show, but hey, I’m always here for the angst potential :)

Like what if the reason Echo still looks malnourished after joining the batch is because his safe foods like typical rations just aren’t readily available after the Empire springs up? What if the batch is on shore leave and decide to go to a restaurant and Echo has to either turn them down and explain, or force himself to go and try to tough it out? What if one of the batch makes a joke about Echo’s picky eating, just trying to make conversation or something, but Echo just fully shuts down? Maybe even Domino would joke about it at first, until Fives learned better and started helping Echo, but uhoh now he’s gone and Echo has to figure things out all over again with a new batch 🥲

Is this a fictional character that was grossed out by foods like two times and I’m just heavily projecting onto? Yeah, sure, but hey, I’d love to see more people recognizing this side of it and maybe connecting with it too :)

@gentle-hero-blog thanks for letting me sob abt this literally the minute u got home bkshsjskk <3333

[epitaph-for-a-good-girl]

La Filosofia del Cane

Darkwood x Arcane

Pairing: Singed x OFC Language: English  Words: 3,977  Chapters: 1/5

Summary: Had she had a name, The Doctor, would have known how to deal with her. How to call her. After all, even "doctor" was something; a position, a qualification, a juncture to a past life he kept carrying around stuffed in his old tools' bag. A distant echo, something more than just "girl". The girl, however, was just that.

Warning tags: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, vomit, guns, and some mild gore.

Had she had a name, The Doctor, would have known how to deal with her. How to call her. After all, even “doctor” was something; a position, a qualification, a juncture to a past life he kept carrying around stuffed in his old tools’ bag. A distant echo, something more than just “girl”. The girl, however, was just that.

Not a savage, despite the ruffled hair from which twigs and dry leaves sprout clumsily as it happens to many of those beasts. No, too calm, too polite in her resigned wary way of sitting on the rotting table in the middle of his shelter.

Not a villager, the doctor knew them all, and although from his banishment to date at least five years had passed at a guess the girl’s age ranged from twenty to twenty-five. Not a day less.

An Outsider then.

But stranger, outlander, wanderer -god forbids foreigner- didn’t fit her at all. Girl. Only that fit her; not too much not too little.

Extremely meager though. 

- Circa August 1980; from the doctor’s diary. Entry number 5:

The forest hasn’t spit out bodies in a while. It is all too quiet, the lack of new subjects is tragic; the latest experiment has been a failure and the more time passes the more substances I produce deteriorate. Without fresh subjects cultures do not survive. Even the Industrialist trades slower; slower and with a very steep price.

It didn’t use to be like this, but then again, even the trade of corpses ends up spiking in value inside a forest that devours even the dead. -

The air in the old forest is unnervingly dense and foamy. The doctor sits on the porch, the bandages on his face screeching in the unnatural dry air. Around his shelter howl those beasts that had once, perhaps, only been rabid wolves; the forest is surprisingly inactive. His cells are empty, and blood and mud have been drying for days on the slab of his crude operating table.

The Industrialist has not been seen in days; the weeping of the banshee no longer echoes among the branches in the night, and only the whining of wounded dogs populates the dense clearing of dark trunks that surround him.

Something’s wrong.

And the doctor can’t tell if that is the calm before the storm or just the last gusts of a hurricane that throws a few fleeting drops as a last farewell to the rubble of its destruction.

A shot in the distance breaks through the still calm of the forest. The doctor loads the revolver. Twelve nights have passed since the last body was found near the edge of the woods, the count will not start again with his own. In the absurd silence of the early hours of dawn his ears seem able to pick up any noise between the barricade of bark, a feeling of bravado he had learned to control despite the fictional sense of protection it offers him.

A second shot, clearly closer, the crows’ croak, flock in a swarm from the northeast part of the fronds; The doctor aims. Broad shoulders and clear view, arms outstretched but ready to receive the recoil.

Frantic sound of footsteps, a third shot, silence.

- Paranoia chases him like a rabid dog, at the well while quenching his thirst, with the axe in his hand as he uselessly gnaws at the edge of the woods. The Industrialist shows up late at night, the grotesquely disfigured eye shining in the dense fog of the darkness. «Madness is eating at you doc!» He laughs, the enormous weight of the cart that drags after him physically impossible to be hold on his shoulders alone.

The air around the being stinks of death and wet earth -in this specific order-, on the leather aviator jacket stands out the single wound that must have ended the life of its previous owner, a bloody bullet hole straight to the heart. The doctor rarely lingers in frivolous gossip but the currencies used by the forest are devious and multiple, unfortunately sometimes a shred of information is worth more than a whole tank of gasoline.

«What can you tell me about the shots?» The man whines in laughter, the ravenous scar on his face clamps into an evil snarl giving him a somewhat animalistic expression. «Carcasses trying to survive doctor, there is little to no use for the bullets they so desperately cling to; they all end up in my hands sooner or later.»

It’s a nice way of saying he doesn’t know shit about it; the doctor can only afford one dead man for his cultures, the Industrialist doesn’t do discounts.

The sunset pours from the barricades into the windows and hangs its terrible scarlet light to the splinters of the boards that grant him the peace of an empty shelter. Another night, of pricked ears and a few hours of sleep stolen from the terror of simply existing, is approaching.

- What wakes him up is the cold bite of his own scalpel, two yellow eyes in the night, mountains of hirsute and black hair, the wild look of someone ready to kill. «One misstep and I swear on my life I’ll take yours.» The blade of the knife presses malignant on his jugular, the soft weight of the intruder presses on his chest, the doctor is the victim of a cage of thin limbs that just vaguely bend out of nature. «You have my word I will do no such thing.»

The little devil huffs and puffs, a weird mixture of desperation and impish satisfaction from being able to put him against the metaphorical wall swirling on a crazed face covered in dried blood and scratches. «I need to pass the night.» Another struggled breath. «In here.»

- The girl looks like the malformed breed between a banshee and a savage; what in the night had looked like a dark mane, in the faint lights of dawn tames itself into a skein of dirty and knotted hair; sickly yellowish scleras follow his every movement with little than less of fervourus madness; the bright gaze that in the night had filled him with terror now only the ashes of a flame stuck on a dull and tired face.

Outside the refuge some dogs sniff and howl possibly drawn by a novel smell. The girl doesn’t seem hurt; despite being covered in splotches of blood no oozing cut appears to be feeding the still scarlet halos in her clothes.

The doctor’s old bones, hunched over in the stiff position, are beginning to creak and give way with each change in his posture, and he is beginning to resent the chair he had chosen for the night. The girl just sits there. If not for the pin-like irises she keeps glued to his figure he would have assumed she was dead. In rigor mortis even.

But she is not, weirdly perched up on the mouldy table, she dangles every now and then a thin leg all bruised up and scratched. It’s not a nervous movement; it’s irregular and way too distanced in between to look somewhat unconscious. She is doing it on purpose as if the sporadic movement was aimed at giving her a more human-like appearance.

Had he not heard her speaking with his own ears, the doctor, would have guessed her a clone, the deranged replica of some poor girl who was by now dead in a ditch near the edge of the forest. Her clothes could have been something to go by in determining if she was part of The Forest or not, except the little menace doesn't allow him to sit, walk, or straight out exist in her immediate proximity, let alone have a proper look at her clothes.

At that distance -however- they look somewhat detailed.  She seems to wear some sort of sports uniform for a team the doctor could never guess the name of, a pair of beaten-up boots completely out of place with the rest of her attire, and a couple of elbow and knee pads.

«I want you to go to the bathroom, shut the door, and count loudly and slowly to a hundred, once you’re done I won’t be here.» There it is. She has a lisp, her esses almost hiss in her mouth and the sound of the speech impediment makes her voice old, yet somehow youthful; rough, broken yet similar to a mouse’s squeak. It has a rusty-like quality to it, as though it has been suppressed for a very long time and yet it also sounds like it’s her first time using her own voice.

Click The next bullet enters the chamber, the barrel clicks and the pistol dangles in front of his vision. During the weirdly spaced hours of the night, in between a groan of the wood and the cry of a Banshee in the distance the girl had switched her preference from the scalpel to the gun; his bag, kicked open while he was still asleep, lays at her feet in the empty space underneath the table she sits on.

The doctor is not above admitting she looks like a proper little killer, not the beast he had imagined her to be while pressing down on his ribs and up on his throat with the blade, but still a proper inhabitant of the forest.

The doctor hums, gets up, and shuts the door behind him.

One minute she’s in, the next she’s out, in, out, in and out. The girl knows she’s not supposed to be there, not because she shouldn’t but simply because why would she?  It’s like a fever dream, one step she knows why that is the wrong path to walk on the next she’s completely lost to the very reasons of: why in the first place she is supposed to be walking in the middle of a forest.

She knows why she’s in shorts and knee pads but not her name, weird. No, give it a minute…

…There, now she doesn’t know the reason behind her wardrobe choice either.

- The man looks -quite frankly- easy to put down. But nothing really seems to stay dead in that godforsaken place, so she better not cry victory yet.

— She kinda feels bad about it. Not in a traditional way and not as much as she should but she does feel bad. The man sits uncomfortably between fifty and sixty of age and for all she knows he could have been her father, her teacher in middle school or the driver of the bus she used to take every day to get to work. His face, lost to her the moment she steps foot outside the refuge, holds a somehow warm feeling in her memory.

The forest feels empty and vast; her stomach growls and the need for food starts to nag at her senses; her gait is swinging and with each step she takes her stomach digs deeper into the empty muscles of her belly. It feels like she’s digesting herself, a weird sensation that makes her curse the Gods for not having demanded food back at the man’s house. She had a gun, the old man underneath her, and clearly the upper hand. Yet; still, here she is, starving in the middle of a clearing that reeks of mould and spores. 

She desperately wants to sit, to fall to her knees and then face-first into the gruff, dry grass under her boots. She shouldn't; she can still see the man’s house, although almost completely closed off from view by the thick fronds of the surrounding trees, and so she should also get the reasoning behind why it’s still not safe to just give up and rest for the day; but the missed night of sleep the previous day and the hunger that is devouring her insides are just not cooperating.

It was purely out of luck that she stumbled upon the man’s refuge, covered in blood and panting like a dog. She had been attacked, by whom she cannot recall; she just hopes by three and no less, otherwise the other her had just wasted precious bullets.

She can feel the forest changing her, exchanging a naivety she no longer feels her own for a callous way of existing. It’s weird, revolting, and world-changing, a sensation that curls its fingers into her brain and twists and pulls until she is swaying the way it wants.  The girl loses her balance, the protection on her knees only vaguely defusing the impact; the entire clearing is spinning around her, a sense of dread and angst clawing at the back of her throat settling in her solar plexus- 

Something warm and wet soils her hand and licks a long stipe up to her elbow. «What the fu-»

The thing is big and pastel purple. And so, so out of place.

— It’s not following her. It just sits there with glossy, big, and bulging eyes staring straight through her. Furthermore, it looks harmless, not in general, just towards the girl —nothing like the beasts she has encountered navigating the forest, looking ready to kill her at any given opportunity. No, the thing is almost quirky and uncanny, but in a sweet and funny way.

Apparently, it’s also a decent deterrent for dogs, when whistle to it follows the girl and overall looks pretty well trained. Tamed may be better to say. The salamander-like animal has a long row of teeth that snaps occasionally at the few wild dogs the duo encounters, someone clearly tempered with it, three metal tubes enter its abdomen on each side leaving behind gaping holes oozing a purple substance that looks sticky and unsafe.

Nonetheless, the girl is happy she is no longer roaming the woods alone. 

- Along the paved dirt road there is a tractor, some crates engulfed by the growing moss, and a couple of sturdy roots peaking from the earth they inhabit. The girl lacks a reliable method -or the patience- to pry most of the crates open, she manages to smash in the moist plank of one of the oldest but loses her temper at the others, kicking and wasting energy on petty displays of her disappointment.

The first real structure the party encounters is a house half eaten by an old extinguished flame, charcoal black walls stand unfazed by time and the moss growing on them.

It looks manageable, somewhere The girl could live, at least for this night, she is not sure she will be around the next day, it’s a sensation she has been carrying with her since she flew the scene of an almost kidnapping -on her part-, it’s like being already dead, she imagines it’s the sensation a death row inmate feels while waiting for his execution.

Well, all of these things don’t really matter though because the girl has eyes and thoughts only for the middle of the room.   On a splintering table sits a chipped plate, on the dusty ceramic slab: a sandwich.

There is mould festering on the rock-hard bread but the girl’s stomach is growling, an empty pit swallowing her pride and disgust. The girl licks her lips and stares emptily at the disgusting sight, a small flock of fruit mosquitoes is buzzing around the rotting meat inside, the animal snuggles its bony head on the palm of her hand, uselessly dangling at her side, her brain too starved to consume energy on the circular and repeating thoughts that are feasting with her rationality.

She’s starving, and there is nothing easier to chew on than hunger itself. 

To no one surprise, she pukes.

- Circa August 1980; from the doctor’s diary Entry number 6:

Rio is gone. I would love to think the girl responsible for that, but a hundred seconds are simply not enough to convince that beast to move. It must have wandered away in the night. Still the girl’s fault, even if indirect, but at last something less deliberate. -

When she comes back to her senses a stray ray of sun is filtering through the fronds of the woods above her head, she’s lying on the collapsed ceiling of the building, the salamander curled against her is framing with its massive body the side of the girl that was facing the missing wall of the room; a couple of steps to her right a puddle of puke still reeks of rancid but it looks like something was dragged over it partially cleaning but also smearing the liquid. The animal yawns and licks its lips with a slimy three-forked tongue. “Ew.” is the only thing the girl can think of when the realization hits her, only half expecting for the sound to never leave her mouth. What purpose would it have?

What she isn’t expecting though is the second figure in the house. «You were knocked out pretty good now weren’t you, little lamb?» The animal spins around, enclosing the still-sitting girl in its long tail, teeth bare and a recognition for the voice that the girl would find calming if not for the aggressive reaction it elicits. Rifle on his shoulder and leg propped against the remnants of the doorframe a man is waiting for her next move.

The pistol tucked in the waistband of her sports shorts is heavy with a relevance for the situation the Girl is too stunned to understand. She only has three bullets, maybe not enough, perhaps too many, she can’t calculate the probability of her success.

Seconds tick away longer than minutes then, finally, she speaks: «What do you want?» The man dismounts the rifle from his shoulder, a dangerous warning she’s sure he’ll go through with if compelled to, a lazy expression on a half mauled grin now fully at her display. «I’m a businessman lamb, the right question to ask here is what do you want. Little thief.» The last sentence is punctuated by a click of the rifle and its swinging in the opposite direction of the girl, the long barrelhead now pointing at the salamander.

«I’m no thief!» asserts the girl, the beast circling her in an anxious attempt to protect its territory, looking for comfort the girl simply doesn’t know how to give.

«Are you not?» A moment of silence. Is she? She can hardly recall the encounter with the man the night before, how is she supposed to know if she ever stole something in her entire life? She had been a teenager, now did she? She feels old, she knows she had lived before this, but she doesn’t know how or when or for how long; she had been petty and stupid, a long time ago, maybe in a mall, maybe rummaging through her mother’s purse but now she is nothing but a pile of flesh and muscles, completely deboned of every structure that once held her very unique shape.

«No.» it’s her last verdict. Although shaky.

The man hums. «Very well little lamb, if you are no thief then I suppose we could trade like the two honest people we both are.» An amused laugh, softer than the scarce wind that is able to surpass the thick wall of wood.  «Shall we?» And with this said, he lowers his gun.

He does have things she needs, a couple of wires, some matches, and a watch he laughs at her for even looking at. She refrains from looking at the ammo, not everyone in this hell must know she has a gun; if they all want to paint her as a defenceless little girl so be it, she’ll get the element of surprise in her favour.

She trades a few scrap metals and a couple of pills she would rather die than try for herself found in the only crate she was able to smash into.

Besides looking terribly dangerous the man is chatty in an obnoxious way, almost annoyingly so and despite knowing he’s not supposed to be amusing, terror is simply something he doesn’t stir.

He’s not that tall, around 5 foot 8, relatively skinny, clearly disfigured but still pleasant to the eyes. 

At least she’s wary of him, it’s not enough but it’s something. The girl curls into her own growling stomach, her back the arch of a question mark «It recognises you.» if the man likes to speak why not try her hand at some useful information? «He sure does.» hums him popping two of the pills she just traded with like they were candies. «Why?» She’s not good at it. Too assertive and too invested in the conversation to sound casual. As if on cue the man barks a laughter and moves some lazy steps in her direction. «You are so bossy lil lamb, what’s in for me?» «What?» «For the gossip, what do I get in return?»

The girl looks around as if to try and find something that could pique his interest; the gun pressed to her lower back burns to be used, as a threat or as a bargain she’s yet to decide. «I’ll do you one for free. -he precedes her- One on the house since you managed to survive in this silent, silent forest.» The man, once again, eats away at the distance she so desperately relies on, lazy steps that contrast so strikingly with her vigilant state, he leans in, the beast feral with anxiety, as if to murmur her a secret. «He’s the doctor’s. Have you met the Doctor?» She swallows, hand still, the girl doesn’t want to reach for the weapon, even if every fibre of her self is screaming for it. «No.» A wide smile, sharp teeth and the stench of flesh and blood. «Good for you. He’s not very friendly.»

The girl doesn’t know who “The Doctor” is, the information is of no use to her, unless…

«And how much do you think The Doctor is willing to pay for the animal back.» A beat of complete silence then the roar of a laugh.   She shouldn’t have said that.

«You’re smart aren’t ya? Not enough to shut it when you get a good idea tho.» 

The man looks like he’s about to grow a full set of sharp teeth and clean her flesh straight from her bones. Now he’s frightening.

And only now did the girl seem to notice that the scars on his face look like the striping of a wolf’s fur. A terrifying sight on a face so disfigured in certain areas and yet so pristine in others. The girl feels uneasy staring and yet she can’t seem able to stop, the scars catching on the low light of a sun engulfed in murky leaves twisting and stripping his muzzle of any friendly attributes it might have had.

She’s no frightened kid though «He doesn’t seem to like you that much, would you be able to wrestle him all the way to the doctor’s house alive and well?» It’s a weak strategy, a desperate attempt. The wolfish man sneers. «You’re a smart lamb.» It sounds more like a retortion, something she shouldn't be proud of, The Girl flies a hand to her back, the cold metal of the gun a few inches from her fingertips, the animal puffs up in defence, making itself bigger. The man growls and then yells.

A low, powerful, bark; the growling of teeth as sharp as kitchen knives. The salamander whines and scurries away in fear, the body of the girl used as a shield. «His name’s Rio and he’s a fucking coward.» He's so satisfied it makes her blood boil, expression lax and a toothy grin on his disfigured face. He shrugs once, and then twice as if the first one wasn’t directed at her, nothing more than an afterthought. «Have it your way lamb; I’ll see your corpse at the Doctor’s liar.»

Dividers from the insanely talented @saradika-graphics here on tumblr To be specific this is their "The Last of Us" dividers set <3

[lycanbucky]

yeah dude the way caesar reacted to your ask seemed excessively defensive. i think that on some level there should be an expectation/responsibility for compassion when we are posting about violence like animal cruelty online (even as a meme), at least on blogs where it is not something you would reasonably expect to see. and i guess it is his choice not to, but it is definitely not ridiculous of you to ask. he said its your job to create your own experience, but if everybody randomly posted animal violence and then got angry would somebody asked for it to be tagged, then that would be impossible. his own logic relies on the (correct) premise that other people are less of an asshole than him.

Exactly! I absolutely agree that we need to create an online environment that’s safe for ourselves and our personal needs, and to expect some amount of deviation outside of our comfort zone.

But using tags is rendered completely useless if even one person refuses to use those tags, especially for commonly upsetting or triggering content. And like you said, in cases where it’s not something we’re expecting to see. So if I’m the one responsible for curating my online experience, but I’m not being given the context to do so, somehow I’m the one at fault for asking for the proper filters. Ok. 😂 I understand that we have no way of predicting what will upset those around us, but a certain amount of empathy and understanding is needed if we’re going to get anywhere in life. It costs nothing to be kind, and to instead react with purposeful and inflammatory misinterpretations (to the point of negatively impacting their own well-being, it looks like), says a lot more about them than it does about me. Plus, they literally told me to block them, since they would be refusing to use tags. So I did. And apparently that was an issue, too, lol.

It’s just wild to see how far they’re going to misinterpret what I wrote, and to project their clearly significant issues onto my words. I made a request, and was denied, so I followed their suggestion and blocked them while acknowledging that I wouldn’t be getting that kindness from them. And somehow that translates to (and I quote, because I just checked and they’re STILL going on about this, lmao), “framing them as a huge piece of shit,” “lashing out,” and “harassing them to all hell.”

Like, my post is right there. All I said was, “I clearly won’t get any compassion here, so I’m peacing out, and I hope nobody treats you in this way when you’re upset and need kindness.” And they’re making post after post about it, talking about how I’m accusing them of being a horrible person, how I’m in an echo chamber of entitlement, etc.

I don’t know who they are or what they’re going through, but they’re clearly in a rough place if they feel the need to latch on this strongly to a simple request and unfollow. They made the choice not to use the tag, so I acknowledged that and blocked them, yet they’re the one creating a whole ruckus about it. They didn’t have to post it publicly, but I guess they needed the validation. Who knows.

Thank you for your support in this, though! It’s been a while since I’ve been caught up in any internet drama, so I guess it means I’m managing to surround myself with kind-hearted people outside of this. 😊

[bettathanyou]

Babysitter Blues, Pt. 3 Finale!

If any of you talk about how late this last part is, you're bullying me. Nah jk but a million apologies for it being so late.

If you need a refresher to the previous two parts, here is part one and part two

Anyways, enjoy! 🐟

The voice calls out to you again, this time with more concern.

"Mr. Cedric? Hello?" You hear footsteps shuffling closer to the door, and instantly your body is snapped out of its trance.

Tripping over your own feet in an attempt to reach the door first, you stumble directly into it with a loud thud. You curse loudly, forehead throbbing from the impact; but you choose to ignore it for now.

You ease the heavy door open a crack, your terrified eyes locking with bright blue orbs.

"Oh, (Y/n)! I didn't know you were here..." Princess Sophia trailed off awkwardly, giving you an apologetic smile.

You try to give a reassuring smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. You quickly wipe the grin off your face, trying to seem as normal and not panicked as possible.

Ignoring Sophia's last remark, you decide to cut right to the chase so Sophia would leave as soon as possible.

"Um...well. Cedric isn't here right now if you're looking for him." You fumble over yourself, your eyes fighting to maintain eye contact with the princess.

Sophia was an incredibly sweet girl, but you also knew she was as smart as a whip and had razor sharp intuition. Lying to her would be next to impossible, and half truths were already daunting enough.

"Oh? But Calista said that Mr.Cedric was here just a while ago..." Sophia trailed off, and your heart skips a beat.

"Shit, I forgot about that..." You thought to yourself, your palms starting to become slick. You stare in silence at the young teen, your unease festering in your gut.

The princess then shrugs her shoulders, a slightly disappointed look on her face.

"Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter much anyways." She spoke casually, and you exhale a huge sigh of relief. As you were about to say your goodbyes, however, the princess spoke up again.

"I mean, I just need to borrow a couple magical ingredients. Mr. Cedric doesn't mind that." She spoke cheerily, her hand reaching for the handle of the door.

You look on, slack jawed in fear as the princess approaches the door. Your pulse racing, you desperately clawed at the back of your mind for any worthy excuse to stop Sophia.

"Wait-!" You blurt out, your voice echoing off the stone walls of Cedric's staircase.

Sophia flinched at your sudden outburst, her blue eyes wide in shock. You immediately feel awful for scaring her, but you swallow your apologies for now.

"Ah- I-I should've mentioned this before; Calista is napping right now, so I think we shouldn't disturb her." You speak quickly, holding your breath as the princess processes your words.

"Oh... O-kay..." Sophia says with a troubled look, frowning at her shoes.

"I can get you whatever you need though- as long as you stay outside." You add breathlessly, your hand squeezing the door frame from tension.

"Um... Sure," Sophia gives you a weird look, but it disappears as soon as it came. Her face lights up again as she flashes you a smile.

"Thank you, (y/n). I appreciate it." Sophia finishes, giving you a thankful nod.

"Of course, your highness." You mutter weakly, nodding back politely.

"So, what do you need?" You asked tentatively, ears perked up to give Sophia your full attention.

"Oh, just some enchanted morning dew and moon dried flower petals." Sophia chirped, and wordlessly you close the door and turn to fetch them for her.

You scan the room in front of you, realizing now that your search will have to be done in the dark. You sigh heavily in annoyance, glaring at the baby sorceress sleeping in Cedric's bed.

"Why of all things, did this happen to me..." You glowered, mumbling curses as you walk towards the drawer holding Sophia's ingredients.

You had a good mental map of Cedric's workshop from occupying it so much, so your footfalls were confident through the inky blackness.

However, as you neared your destination, your foot caught on an unknown object mid step; you throw your arms out in a vain attempt to right yourself, but instead you found them entangled with the obstacle.

Crying out as your body buckled beneath you, your knee banged into the object as you came crashing down onto the stone floor. Momentarily stunned, all you could do was lie there in pain and bewilderment.

"Y/n?! Are you okay?" Sophia cried out from behind the door, and you begin to see a sliver of light emit from her opening the door. Your heart leaps into your throat, making you voice feel impossible to reach out for.

As you begin to open your mouth to prepare a response, the achingly familiar sound of infant fussing begins. You can barely see Calista's wiggling form in the bed, but you know that if Sophia hears her then you'll be screwed.

"I-I'm fine...! Just stay there, princess!" You answer weakly, the desperation in your voice feeling like a confession in itself.

Head whipping over to Cedric's bed, you try to scramble off of the floor. As you put your weight on the knee you banged up, shockwaves of searing pain radiates up your thigh and nestles into your gut.

You groan in pain, but with clenched teeth you grab a hold of Cedric's desk to prop yourself up. Hobbling over to the upset infant, you sit on the bed in an attempt to soothe her.

"Shhh, shhh... It's okay, you're okay- I promise. You can go back to sleep...!" You plead with Calista, your hand softly stroking her cheek.

Calista whines in protest, and you can feel the situation beginning to slip through your fingers. You realize now that you're completely cornered, and by children no less.

Perhaps Cordelia was right to doubt your competence.

You begin to feel tears well up behind your eyes, but you don't fight them this time. You hang your head in defeat, your own composure matching Calista's upset state. Your tears fell silently into Cedric's bed, and a harshly bitten lip was the only thing keeping your sobs back.

You begin to hear the door creak open again, but with your fight gone you don't move to stop Sophia. Instead, you sit; still as the stone gargoyles that stood guard at Cedric's door.

"Y/N?" Sophia calls out to you tentatively as her heels click softly on the cobble floor. You don't respond, the lump in your throat once again rendering you mute.

"I heard crying... Are you okay?" The girl cautiously steps towards you and Calista, the infant letting out a whine in response to Sophia's question.

You hear Sophia stop in her tracks, and you can almost feel the wheels turning in her head. A beat of heavy silence passes, and within that silence you decide that the truth is the only way out of this situation you found yourself in.

As the princess processes, you silently get up from your resting place. Limping over to the heavy satin that obscured the window, you drew the curtain back with a heavy pull.

The darkness evaporated instantly from the workshop, sunlight now overwhelming your senses. Sophia and Calista both yelped in protest, and you halfheartedly mumbled an apology.

You turn slowly to face the young princess, waiting with dread as her eyes adjust to her new surroundings.

Sophia slowly opens her eyelids wider and wider, until finally she's able to take in the sight before her. Her eyes shift from you over to where Calista lay, and the infant locks eyes with Sophia.

Despite her needy cries just a moment ago, a smile broke out on her chubby cheeks as her and the princess shared a look.

Princess Sophia, however, did not look nearly as happy to see Calista.

The royal sputtered in disbelief, the whites of her eyes growing by the second. Her jaw hung open in shock, and with each passing moment you die a little more inside.

"Is that... Calista?!" Sophia exclaimed loudly, turning to you for answers. Her eyes were full of fear and confusion, making it hard to maintain eye contact.

You could only offer a meager nod of affirmation in response to her question.

Sophia immediately demands to know what happened, and you quickly rehash the events leading up to this moment.

"Then, that's when you knocked on Cedric's door. That's everything that's happened thus far, princess. I'm sorry."

You bow your head in apology, your heart sinking as you replayed today's events in your mind.

"I... See." The princess finally replied, biting her lip nervously. She stares at the ground for a moment, and you can tell she's wracking her brain for ideas.

Sophia was always the sort to help those in need, and her quick wit always did come in handy.

In this case though, you already knew what the answer to this problem was. You just weren't ready to face it yet.

But with no other foreseeable options left, the gnawing pit of dread pooling in your stomach was leading you to a swift and final solution.

You had to tell Cedric what happened.

As if right on cue, Sophia popped the question you had been terrified of.

"Did you tell Cedric about this?" Sophia asked urgently, her eyes searching for confirmation.

You let out a heavy sigh, trying to expel the crushing weight of your guilt. Even though you didn't cast the spell that turned Calista into a baby, Calista was still under your care. Cedric trusted your word when you said you'd keep her out of trouble, yet within ten minutes of being alone with her you managed to find yourself in a situation like this.

Even worse, your lacking skill in reversing the spell drives home the insecurity you felt under the scrutiny of Calista's mother. With her own child being transformed under your watch, her previous alluding to your legitimacy now have merit- and admitting that to yourself at the time felt like an even bigger issue than Calista's current state.

Even so, you knew there wasn't a reason good enough to justify your actions.

"No, not yet. I know it was wrong of me to put off asking for help..." You respond in a small voice, balling up the fabric of your clothes in your hands.

"But I just wanted to try and fix Calista on my own first, before asking Cedric- that's all." You finish quickly, your voice low with shame.

"Why does it matter who does it first..? Shouldn't we just focus on getting Calista back to normal?" Sophia asks with a raised eyebrow, exasperation quickly lacing her tone.

"Well, yes, of course-!" You sputtered, your cheeks growing red in embarrassment.

"I-I just..." You trail off, your words hanging in the air as you try to wrack your brain on how to explain yourself to Sophia.

She stands silently as you try to answer her question, but you quickly realize that anything you could say would just sound even worse aloud. You sigh in resignation, your eyes downcast.

"Well, that doesn't matter now..." You mutter, your eyes glancing over to Calista. Her doe eyes lock with yours, and it felt like the world had come crashing down on you all over again.

Ignoring the clawing at your heart, you continue.

"You're right, princess. What matters right now is getting Calista back to normal. Have you seen where Cedric may be?" You speak this time with more confidence, tearing your gaze away from Calista's deep brown pools.

"My dad said he had to speak with Mr. Cedric today; maybe they're still around?" Sophia offered, her eyes wide with a hesitant hope.

"Well, it's a start at least. Cedric told me he had errands to run for the king." You confirmed, nodding in affirmation.

"Alright, let's go!" Sophia exclaimed, already turning towards Cedric's door.

"Pr-princess, wait!" You cry, hurriedly bundling Calista into your arms. The sudden movement earned you a babble of frustration from her, but for the most part she complied without too much fuss.

Trying to keep up a fast pace without upsetting Calista more, you make your way towards where Sophia ran off to.

Inching down the steps with a wriggling baby in tow, you see Sophia waiting for you at the bottom of the staircase.

"We better hurry, y/n! We might not catch them in time!" Sophia speaks quickly, motioning for you to descend faster.

"Well, I'm trying! But I'm scared I'll drop her if I go any faster..." You squeak back, your eyes glued to your feet. Normally, the steep, rounded staircase wouldn't be so daunting to traverse; you've taken it a thousand times, after all. But a chubby baby girl makes for precious cargo, and the intrusive thoughts of her slipping from your grasp makes you cling to her all the tighter.

Seeing your pace not pick up any faster, Sophia sighs in frustration.

"Okay, then I'll go on ahead! I'll bring Mr. Cedric to us!" Sophia calls back with conviction, your eyes locking with hers.

You open your mouth to respond, but Sophia hurries down the corridor in a maelstrom of purple and pink silks.

You scoff at her sudden departure, but with a defeated sigh you continue your descent.

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

Quick P.O.V. Change to Sophia!

This will be the only POV change lol

"Please let them be here..." Sophia whispers to herself as she strides across the castle grounds. However, the looming empty halls and the echo of her footfalls was the only answer she got in return. Turning another corner, her ears pricked up as familiar voices linger in the air.

Stopping for a moment, she closes her eyes to concentrate on the sound.

"-majesty, in regards to-" Mr. Cedric's voice drones on, explaining his magic request in detail to her father. Sophia hears her dad say something in response, his confident voice ringing loud and clear.

Sophia's heart leaps into her throat as she pushes off from her idle state. Her legs pump faster down the hallway, the various tapestries and paintings adorning the walls becoming a colorful blur.

"Mr. Cedric!" Sophia calls out in earnest, skidding to a stop as she approaches the two men.

Cedric's eyebrows shot up in shock at Sophia's unannounced arrival. His eyes dart to Roland, and they equally share a look of confusion and surprise.

"Sophia, what's-" Her father starts, but without hesitation she grabs Cedric's hand and starts dragging him away from his sorcerer duties.

"I can't explain right now, but I need to borrow Cedric *immediately*!" Sophia calls back, a prick of guilt stabbing her heart.

In any other situation, of course Sophia would ask politely for Cedric's time. However, in times like these, Sophia learned that sometimes asking for forgiveness is a better option than asking for permission.

"H-Hey! What is the meaning of this, Sophia?!" Cedric cries out, looking back at the king in a desperate attempt to save him. Roland stands frozen for a moment, his mouth agape in shock.

"I'll explain on the way! But you have to come with me right now, Mr. Cedric. It's super important, so you just have to trust me!" Sophia exclaimed, her head barely turned back to address Cedric.

"It better be, if you're pulling these theatrics while I'm working!" Cedric scolds the princess in an annoyed tone, his body continuously being dragged along by Sophia. His breathing quickly turns ragged, and his rising anxiety quickly turns into raging irritability.

"How long are we going to continue running!?" Cedric cries out, and Sophia huffs in annoyance. Taking a moment to collect herself, she answers.

"Just a little longer, I promise!" Sophia calls back. Ignoring Cedric's cursing under his breath, she continues her march towards you without stopping.

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

Back to Our Scheduled Program!

You hear the duo long before you actually see them. Cedric was complaining about not being able to breathe, and Sophia was trying to be encouraging- but you knew those kind words fell on deaf ears. You feel your legs start moving on your own accord, towards the source of their voices.

You felt your pulse race hearing Cedric say he "couldn't breathe", but then quickly remembered he just doesn't have good stamina.... For running, at least.

Wiping the sultry grin off your face, you quicken your strides down the hallway and make a left.

There, you see the princess and Cedric. Cedric was leaning against the stone wall, and you can see how flush his face looked. He was trying to catch his breath, and in between gulps of air was a colorful array of curses.

Princess Sophia was urging him to go "just a little farther, Mr. Cedric..!", and it seems like they haven't noticed you yet.

"Hey..! I found you." You raise your hand to give an awkward wave, and Sophia gasped in a mix of surprise and relief.

"(y/n)! You're here! Thank goodness..." Sophia sighs heavily, and you can see the tension in his shoulders begin to relax.

You give her a weak smile, and with great effort you redirect your attention to Cedric.

His normally bright golden eyes were blown wide, his stare frozen on the child in your arms. You feel like a deer in headlights- exposed, frozen, and terrified of what Cedric's reaction will be.

Cedric cautiously inches towards you, and you wish you could evaporate into thin air in that moment. His eyes were still fixed on Calista, his thousand yard stare and suffocating silence making your nerves shot.

Cedric now stands in front of you, his hands reaching for his niece; however, you notice he's hesitating to even touch Calista; as if he's afraid that doing so would cement the truth. You see his hands shake, and it feels like swords are being buried through your heart.

"I'm so sorry, Cedric." You speak softly, your eyes pleading with the man in front of you. Cedric doesn't break eye contact with the infant, and he makes no move to acknowledge you. You shift your weight anxiously, feeling tears at the back of your eyes.

"I tried everything I could-" you croaked, attempting to beg for forgiveness; however, before you can continue, Cedric pulls his niece out of your arms and into his instead.

It's.... It's really true.." Cedric murmurs, looking down at Calista. Multiple expressions flash across his face as he processes: shock, horror, anger, worry.

Your stomach churns at the sight of it, so you fix your eyes on Calista.

In contrast to Cedric, Calista seems to be the happiest you've seen her as an infant. She smiles up at her uncle, her stubby fingers grasping his plum robe as she babbles happily. Even as you're overcome with dread, seeing the child react so warmly to Cedric forces a bitter smile on your face.

"Do you remember the spell Calista cast, (y/n)?" Cedric asks you suddenly, and your body flinches at the direct question.

"Ah..." You hum nervously, scrambling through your memory of today's events. It feels like sand slipping through your fingers, pooling into nothingness. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to envision Calista casting the spell- you remember the sound of her voice, confident and eager to show off.

However, no matter how desperately you try, the words won't come to you.

With tears threatening to fall, you shake your head in a meager response. Your arms cradle your midsection as you shrink into yourself, trying to physically and mentally keep yourself together.

Cedric takes note of your body language, quickly coming to your aid.

"It's alright, darling. We can still fix this." Cedric spoke delicately, his hand on your arm feather light.

Though you knew he was trying to comfort you, Cedric's reassurance only made you feel more incompetent. You feel invisible walls barring around you even higher, closing yourself off from Cedric.

"How?" You and Sophia speak at the same time, and your eyes dart to the young princess beside you. You had almost forgotten she was there, and for a moment it snapped you out of your haze.

Cedric draws in a long breath, exhaling loudly. You see his brows knit together tightly, and his lips form into a straight line.

"...Cordelia is how." Cedric says hesitantly, and your eyes widen at his proposition. Every fiber in your being rejects the notion of telling Calista's mother what happened, but even in your silent protest the solution clicks in your mind.

"She created the spell, so she's the one who can break it." You murmur aloud, and Cedric nods in agreement.

You tentatively make eye contact with Cedric, and you both share a long, complicated look. For the sake of Calista, you both will have to share the brunt of Cordelia's wrath. Even so, you could sense the mutual feeling of dread hanging between you too, weighing you down like a corpse.

"That's awesome! We just need to find Ms. Cordelia then!" Sophia cuts in, breaking the two of you from your trance. Her eyes were fiery, ignited by the clear goal ahead. The innocence in her ambition was somewhat infectious, and you find yourself feeling a little lighter.

"Oh, we don't need to find her. I can lead her straight to us, princess." Cedric speaks confidently, a knowing smirk plastered on his face. Both you and Sophia shoot the sorcerer a questioning look, but he shrugs it off.

"We'll have to go back to the workshop, and quickly; I don't need... This-!" Cedric lifts up the infant cradling in his arms, "-getting out to anyone else."

Both you and Sophia hastily agree, and with the goal set, you backtrack to the workshop.

As Cedric nears his door, he turns to you sharply. "Can you hold her for me, (y/n)?" He asks, already putting the child in your arms.

"Yeah, sure." You reply, rolling your eyes as you cradle Calista close to your chest.

Opening the door to his tower, Cedric wastes no time bolting to the familiar cabinets you've seen him use a thousand times.

You and Sophia both usher into the room, Cedric's back to you as he searches the cramped and clutter shelves.

"Merlin's mushrooms, of all times for me to forget where I put it..." Cedric cursed in frustration, fidgeting with the strewn magical items in front of him.

"Forget what?" You ask, but the moment the words leave your lips Cedric cries out in triumph.

"Aha! Yes, I remember!" Cedric snaps his fingers, and a tiny drawer in his desk magically flies open at his command. Cedric holds up his hand, palm outstretched as if waiting for something.

You watch, transfixed as a small round object from the drawer floats into Cedric's hand. You take a step towards the round oddity, taking it in with more detail.

It was no bigger than a pearl, with a dark green iridescent sheen to it. Though the sunlight dampened the effect, you were almost positive there was a light glowing inside it.

"A summoning stone?" You guess, unsure of your answer but also not sure what else it could possibly be.

"Precisely; very good, (y/n)." Cedric praises you, a tinge of pride in his voice.

You flash him a half hearted smile, unease rising within your belly.

"Once I throw the stone onto the ground, Cordelia will be conjured from wherever in this world she's in." Cedric explains aloud, addressing Sophia.

"I didn't really think I'd willingly use this... I suppose there really is a time for anything." Cedric muses, eyeing the stone with the same cat eyed stare he'd give to any of his magical projects.

"Here goes nothing, then..." Cedric mutters under his breath, lifting the stone above his head. His arm comes crashing down, flinging the summoning stone hard against the hard flooring of the workshop.

A loud pop! echoes around the room, with a light green mist rising from the impact. The mist rises in height and thickness, swirling around itself. The green vapours begin to solidify, turning more into a thick green cloud; the puffy cloud-like substance begins to take on a vaguely familiar humanoid shape, and suddenly you see Cordelia begin to manifest from the very cloud itself.

Although you knew the magic in the stone was objectively simple, you had to admit it was strikingly beautiful, with an added flair for the dramatic. It seemed like that was the kind of magic Cordelia was so well known for, and you understood why.

"Ceddy, you better have a damn good reason to be summoning me now, or else I swear to Merlin himself...!" Cordelia's face contorts in anger, the cloud-like mist making her appear more intimidating.

As the green vapor dissipates, Cordelia turns to face her brother. In the middle of her turning, she suddenly stops as something catches in her peripheral vision.

Her eyes land her daughter, her previously angry face going completely blank. You freeze, your eyes wide in terror as you stare at Cordelia. Your mind goes blank, and all you can do is stand helplessly against the rising tide of a mother's wrath.

"If this is your idea of a joke, this isn't funny, Cedric." Cordelia snaps her head towards him, her voice abnormally abrasive and quiet. Even from a side view, you see how scorching her green eyes are- like the most volatile of dragon flame.

"Co-Cordelia, I know this is sud-den, but you have to hear me out." Cedric choked out, his eyes looking like a trapped animal begging for mercy.

You feel a shiver go down your back, and you scream internally for your body to do something, anything. You feel your voice just on the tip of your tongue, but it was as if you were looking at a carriage wreck and you couldn't move, yet couldn't look away either.

"Hear you out? What can you possibly say that will justify what you did to my daughter?" Cordelia spat, her body visibly shaking in anger. Though she didn't move from her locked position, she didn't need to. Her presence alone filled the room, suffocating everyone of their words.

Even so, the zealous accusation had tested Cedric's resolve, and he proved to show a bold display of courage.

Straightening his posture, his eyes held a certain woundedness that carried over in his following words.

"Cordy, I'd never do anything to hurt Calista. You know that." His amber eyes clashed against the hard edges of Cordelia's gaze, and the two exchanged a silent conversation with a look that only siblings could decipher.

After a moment of tense silence, Cordelia relents first.

".... Of course I know that, Ceddy." She replies bitterly, offering the closest attempt of an apology to Cedric given the circumstances.

Before Cedric could respond, Cordelia is quick to cut him off again.

"That still doesn't explain what happened, or why my baby is still-" Cordelia pauses, crossing the room in stride as she snatched her daughter from your arms, her long nails scratching your skin.

Calista gives out a yelp of protest, the violent disruption making her upset.

"-a baby, apparently." She sniffs as she looks down at Calista, the baby now giving frustrated cries.

"Calista used a spell that she learned from you." You blurt out, and instantly as the words leave your lips you wish you could catch them in your hand to stop them.

Cordelia finally looks at you head on for the first time since she was conjured, and her look of puzzlement was quickly extinguished under the depths of her rage.

"Excuse me?" She speaks flatly, cradling Calista closer to her bosom.

With all eyes fixed on you, your heart races even harder. You knew you had to tell the truth, but the odds of Cordelia being calm as you bring to light her aging spell seem slim to none.

Even so, you had to try.

"Calista told me that she learned the spell fr-" you start, but just as Cedric has told you before about Cordelia, once she's started talking it's hard for her stop- for better or worse.

She quickly holds up a well manicured hand to stop you, as well as a death glare that made the words in your throat shrivel up and die on your tongue.

"I would never teach Calista such a treacherous spell! Nor do I know of such horrid magic!" Cordelia hissed, and you feel your palms turning slick.

"I didn't mean it that way, Cordelia. I know you wouldn't do such a thing." You speak the last part gently, your eyes searching hers for any shred of leniency.

Cordelia's tensed muscles give slightly, but she looks at you with a heavily guarded stare.

"If you know that, then you know better than to accuse me, her mother." The woman's voice cracks, but her tone shifts as her guarded stare turns to one of suspicion.

"Did you do this to her..?" She growls at you, and instantly the hairs on your arms stand up.

"What? No! I've been trying to fix her all day!" You cried defensively, but you realized that your poor choice of words were easily countered. You stand in horror as Cordelia processes your confession, and your eyes shift Cedric to help save you; however, all you find is an equally horrified Cedric to witness your error.

"So you knew of this, and hid it from us?!" Cordelia screeched, her voice echoing off the stone wall surrounding you all. Calista's upset whimpers were now turning into full on sobs, adding more pressure to the situation.

"I-" Your voice cracks, tears welling in your eyes as your nervous system becomes overwhelmed. You want to tell Cordelia everything, but she refuses to let you get a word in. Even if you do speak, she doesn't allow you to tell her what happened in context.

Now, your body is shutting down against your will, sealing your words off from everyone else. Once again, in the midst of chaos, your eyes search for Cedric.

His eyes find yours, and while normally you can't look at anyone in the eye when tears threaten to fall, you had no other choice now.

As if on cue, Cedric snaps out of his stupor and rushes over to your side. His back is instantly positioned in front of you, a buffer between yourself and his sister.

"Cordelia, enough. Your anger is blinding you." Cedric's voice was cool and steady, and you can feel from his shift in composure that he was practiced in the art of taming her sister's tempest of rage.

"Those rose colored glasses you wear are blinding too, Ceddy. You heard what she said, didn't you?" Cordelia says with fervor, but you can't see the look she gives Cedric.

Cedric doesn't respond immediately, and the continuing cries from Calista only make your apparent guilt look even worse.

Your blood rushed in your ears at the accusation, and you feel woozy. You stare at the silk threads of Cedric's plum colored robe, trying to calm yourself down.

"You don't have the full story, Cordelia. You can't accuse anyone you'd like without hearing them out first." Cedric scolds her, his hand briefly touching your arm in a show of solidarity. His eyes barely flick back to you, but it's enough for you to catch and make you feel safer.

"Why should I believe a word of it?" Cordelia cries out, her anger seemingly replaced with the beginnings of panic.

"Cordy-" Cedric spoke softly, easing away from you towards his sister. With your line of sight cleared, you see that the anger was draining from her body. Her tense frame now sagged, and her back leaned on the wall behind her for support. Her green flaming eyes now looked waterlogged, glistening with unshed tears.

"How can I believe any of it when I went the whole damned day not knowing what happened to Calista?" Cordelia blurted out, her rapidly cooling anger now becoming more like desperation.

"What if something worse happened? What if she got hurt? Would you still keep that from me too, Cedric? (Y/N)?"

Cordelia whimpers, her crying now in time with Calista's own upset cries. Both of you remained speechless at her question, both unable to justify it with an answer.

This time, Cedric looks over to you. You turn your head, your eyes meeting his.

You both have a look of pain, guilt, and a brief flicker of understanding for Cordelia. You don't know who reached out for who, but somehow your hands found each other and gave a gentle squeeze of affirmation.

"I'm sorry, Cordelia- it was wrong to keep any of this from you. We should've been honest about what was going on." You speak tentatively, your breath seeming to catch against the syllables of your words as you speak.

Cordelia doesn't answer, and her eyes are now only glued to Calista. You give Cedric a pleading glance, and his golden eyes were pained he exhales slowly in response.

"What if, instead of telling you what happened, we showed you instead?" Cedric offers as he approaches his sister, his arm reaching out for her.

Cordelia raises her head in puzzlement, but her eyes still remain wary.

"The looking back glass, remember?" Cedric prompts, looking at her expectantly.

Her eyes widen, and you see the shine in her emerald eyes flicker for a moment.

"Yes... You're right, Ceddy. That will do!" Cordelia crows as she pushes off the wall, manifesting her wand from thin air.

With an expert flick of the wrist, a large mirror is conjured inside Cedric's workshop. You stare as you feel the buzzing of magical energy emanating from it; whatever this was, it was old, and it was powerful. However, as your eyes are cast into its reflection, nothing seems out of the ordinary in contrast to a normal mirror.

"If what you're telling me is true, (y/n), the looking back glass will prove it. It shows you any point in the past- all you have to do is ask." Cordelia says stoically, her eyes tired and wet.

Your nerves begin to fire up again, and paranoia eats away at you. What if you misremembered what happened? You already don't remember the spell Calista used, what if there were other missing pieces left out?

You then shake your head, trying to silence the doubt building up inside you. You know what happened, even if small details are missing.

With bated breath, you place your hand on the smooth pane of glass. With as much confidence as you can scrounge up, you open your mouth to speak.

"Show me Calista talking about the "pretty spell" she cast, please."

As soon as the words leave you, you feel the rigid surface begin to ripple, as if it transformed into water before your eyes. You reflexively gasp and jump back, your mouth agape in shock. As your mind and eyes reel to discern what's going on, an image clear as day of you and Calista (at her appropriate age) is shown on the mirror.

"Excellent. Now all that's left is to enter." Cedric comments, his hand finding yours again. You give him a sideways glance, but as you fix your gaze on the mirror you find Cordelia halfway through it.

Trying to keep your reaction to yourself, you follow Cedric's lead through the mirror itself.

As you step through, you realize that what Cordelia said was true. It was like you were transported through time, rewatching the horrible events unfold again. All three of you watch the scenes play out once again, and your eyes always go back to watching Cordelia's reaction.

Surprisingly, she does a damn good poker face throughout the scene unfolding. At this point, Calista is rehashing the spell that got her in this mess. You then see Cordelia's eyes light up, presumably in recognition.

You don't feel courageous enough to ask if that was the spell Calista told you about, so you stand in an awkward silence. Cedric seems to read the room, and he stays silent as well.

At this point, the mirror begins to show your drastic attempts to quell Calista's wailing at her wand being taken. You look on, embarrassment fully flooding your body at your inexperience being on display. You sigh deeply, looking away.

Suddenly, you hear a noise coming from Cordelia. Confused, you turn your head more towards where she stood. Cedric seemed confused as well, which in turn seemed to egg Cordelia on more. After a couple seconds, you realize that she's laughing.

"Oh my, now this is a sight for sore eyes, isn't it Ceddy?" Cordelia chuckles, her eyes full of knowing as she looks at Cedric.

Caught off guard, he gives her a curious glance. A second later, his eyes widen.

"Ah... You mean when Calista got colic-"

"-and you had to watch her during the night, every day for a month!" Cordelia finished his sentence between fits of laughter, her face breaking out in joy.

You laugh nervously, unaware of where the conversation was going but somewhat relieved she wasn't angry anymore.

"Gods, I haven't thought about that in... Six years, Cordy." Cedric smirks as he holds in a laugh, shaking his head.

"Six and a half, darling. Can't forget the half, you know. Calista would be devastated." Cordelia chided her brother playfully, and this time you genuinely chuckle alongside Cedric.

"Well... I suppose we got what we came here for. Now, to undo this mess!" Cordelia readies her wand, and with a booming voice uttered the counter spell you had tried to search for.

A bright light envelops the bundle in Calista's arms, growing brighter with the second. You see her body morph back into the age she was at the start of today, the familiar silhouette making your heart soar and tears prick at your eyes once more.

Just as the divine light appeared, it was gone in the wink of an eye. Calista, now her proper six and a half years of age, was standing before everyone.

You let out a choked noise that you couldn't hold back anymore as your knees feel weak. You tremble as your balance tips, and suddenly you crumple under your own weight. Tears were falling again, and the sheer relief flooding your veins overpowered whatever embarrassment you felt from breaking down in front of everyone to see.

"Auntie!" Calista cried in alarm, quick to move from her idle position and over to you. You tear your gaze from the floor to the child in front of you, rapidly swatting at your eyes.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" Calista fires off her questions, kneeling to meet your eyes. You shake your head rapidly, a bewildered laugh escaping you.

"Now that I know you're okay, I am too." You smiled at the girl; the answer you gave seemed vague to Calista, but to you it was the undisputed truth that came from the bowels of your soul.

Calista gives you a concerned and equally confused stare, then suddenly looks around her, as if just noticing where she was.

"Wait, this is...!" Calista gasps, taking in the scene in front of her.

"We're in the looking back glass!" Calista exclaims excitedly, turning towards her mother and uncle with shining eyes.

"That's right- but you shouldn't look so happy about it, Calista." Her mother speaks flatly, giving her daughter the signature glare that all mothers give misbehaving children.

"I don't understand, mummy..." Calista says in a small voice, the light dimming in her eyes.

"Then you should watch for yourself, Calista." Cedric adds sternly, doubling down with a menacing glare of his own. At this point you almost feel bad for the child, but also... She did put you through a lot today.

Cedric kneels to grab Calista's shoulder, pointing to your silhouette in the rocking chair, holding her infant form. Calista turns, her large brown eyes processing what she was witnessing.

"You caused a lot of trouble for all of us today, Calista. You used your mom's spell to turn yourself into a baby!" Sophia explains to her, and once again you're taken aback at Sophia's presence.

In all the nonsense of today, you forgot Sophia was still with you. Seeing her brought you an odd sense of comfort, and a ghost of a smile tugs your lips.

"What? That's not what the spell does! It's supposed to make people even more pretty! Right, mummy?" Calista begs her mother to back up her claims, but instead of backup all Calista received is a tired sigh.

"I'll explain it all later, Calista." Calista's mother says with a sigh.

"I can already feel a migraine coming on." Cordelia groans, rubbing her temples as she squeezes her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry, mummy." Calista apologizes solemnly, her doe eyes full of regret as she looks up at her.

"I know, dear. Although, I'm not the only one who you owe an apology to..." Cordelia's jewel toned eyes land on yours, and Calista follows their gaze to you.

"I'm so sorry, (y/n). I didn't know that would happen!" Calista exclaims, her hands clasped in earnest as she apologized.

Before you could reply, Cordelia also steps forward.

"I apologize too. I shouldn't have accused you when all you did today was look out for Calista. Thank you, darling." Cordelia offers you a slender hand, and it takes more of your strength not to cry on the spot rather than getting up.

"I-I accept, both apologies." You choke out, hoping that your answer will satisfy the two of them.

Cordelia nods in return, and Calista clings to your leg in a hug.

"However... If you're going to.. ah, "babysit" for Calista again, perhaps it's better you have a way to reach me directly, hm?" Cordelia gives you a wry smile, and you chuckle a bit sheepishly in agreement.

The sorceress holds out your hand to you, and with a confused glance you copy her movement. With a couple of magic words, you feel something small and round within your palm. Pulling your hand back towards your body, your eyes widen in recognition.

"A summoning stone!" You exclaimed in surprise, rolling the fine orb in your hand.

"Indeed." Cordelia nods her head in satisfaction.

"Do be careful, they are fragile." She adds quickly, closing your hand around the stone.

"Right. Thank you, Cordelia." You speak softly, a hesitant smile spreading across your face.

"Of course!" She flashes you a bright smile, a stark contrast to the attitude she showed you earlier.

"Let's get out of her now, shall we?" Cedric chimes in, glancing between you, Cordelia, and the children.

"Ugh, yes! I still need to finish my hair, but I suppose that can wait. I just want to go to sleep after today!" Cordelia chirps, and you vocalize your agreement.

"But mummy, I still need to see the sunset lilies!" Calista whines, but another searing look from Cordelia quickly shuts down the notion.

You can't help but smile at the interaction, even though you feel bad for Calista.

All of you exit the mirror, its surface shimmering once again before solidifying into the fixed glass that fits into the frame.

Cordelia and Calista quickly say their goodbyes to everyone, and you can't help but feel a little strange with the normalcy of it all after such a heated fight. Even so, you dare not question the validity of it.

Cedric's relatives soon leave, and Sophia leaves quite soon after.

With just you and Cedric alone again, you feel like you can actually take in a full breath. You both stand in silence for a bit, both decompressing from the rapid turn of events.

"..So much for first impressions, huh?" Cedric broke the silence, elbowing you.

You bark a laugh, running your hand through your hair. Your fears about meeting Cordelia suddenly feel miniscule compared to this morning.

"How does she handle that child all by herself?" You ask half jokingly, a tired sigh escaping your lips.

"Well, as you can see, Cordelia approves of us both being babysitters." Cedric snickers, and you aren't sure where the joke ends and the truth begins.

Either way, you throw your head back as you laugh.

"You really think Cordelia likes me now?" You digged, your question becoming more somber as your laugh dies down.

"This week, sure." Cedric shrugs, and you can't help but slump your shoulders.

Cedric gives you an apologetic smile, and he moves to envelope you into his arms. You inhale his scent deeply, feeling yourself ease up in his embrace.

"Either way, she trusts you with Calista. That's her world, that girl." Cedric mutters into your neck fondly, holding you close to him.

You hum in acknowledgement.

"I can see why, after taking care of her. I'm never doing that again, though." You shake your head in refusal, laughing to yourself.

Cedric snickers, pulling away as he looks deeply into your eyes. You startle a bit at the shift in body language, but you maintain eye contact.

"Next time, I'll stay with both of you. I promise." Cedric swears to you, his face set in a serious manner.

"I'll hold you to that." You reply back, your eyes lingering on his.

"Now, Cordelia mentioned going to sleep after this... I think she had the right idea." You smile up at Cedric, walking towards your shared bed as you tug him along.

"For once, I think I agree with her." Cedric grumbles as you both set on retiring early for the day.

[bookns]

what the fuck do you mean Can I Be Him is coming out a day early. This is for you @ethereal-maia you are amazing as a friend and as an editor.

“Let's just go once more, Annabeth.” A voice from the sound booth echoed in the stadium. Her long time friend and her sound system operator, Will Solace's voice rang through the sound speakers.

Eyeing him from the stage, Annabeth nodded and adjusted the volume of her headset to her latest song Out Of The Wood. Hearing the queue of the backtrack playing in the echoes of the stadium, the memory of her and her producer, Clarisse La Rue creating it, made her smile as she started to sing. 

Although this was just a rehearsal for the show that she was going to perform tonight, Annabeth sang as if she was already performing for the thousands that would arrive. The ending of the song surpassed all too soon for Annabeth as she was too caught up in her performance and the music to notice. 

“Well done, Annabeth.” Will exclaimed through the speakers. 

“Well done, indeed,” said a voice beyond the stage's eye. 

Annabeth’s eyes scanned the grounds, searching for the voice. Percy Jackson came into view, clapping as he did so. 

Annabeth grinned when she saw him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to get a taste of the stage, and was welcomed by a voice that was serenading me.”

“Very funny. The show isn’t until tonight. We were just finishing rehearsals for my part. You and the rest of the band have rehearsals later tonight.” 

“Perfect timing on my end, then. Are you ready for a break?”

“I am,” she said, “Just let me finish up with the sound check, then we can leave.”

.o0o.

Sound check, to Percy, was a funny thing. It wasn't always needed. Before the band joined Annabeth, back when they were on their tour, they used to only soundcheck once a city. 

However within the past few weeks of getting to know her, he realized that Annabeth is a perfectionist. Whenever he, or anyone else in the band is looking for her, her manager Silena would lead them to the recording booth. She would always be writing a new song, or adding some hidden detail to an already produced song to surprise that night of fans. 

He knew that Annabeth was born for the stage. Anyone with ears would be able to tell you that but being alongside her, working with her and the rest of the band has been the best experience Percy has had. 

She knew what she was doing, and it was evident with the packed bleachers and the screaming fans that listened to them play each night. 

.o0o. 

“You ready?” Percy called as he knocked on her dressing room door.

The door swung open and Annabeth stood there, a smile growing on her face. 

Last he saw of her before she had disappeared into the outskirts of the stage, she was still wearing her costume that would be for the show that night. It was bright blue, extremely sparkly, and impossible to miss. Now she was dressed more casually with a pair of jeans and a white sweatshirt with the words ‘Harvard 1989’ printed on it. 

“Yeah let’s go,” she replied. 

Percy smiled and they guided each other out of the stadium. 

Once they got outside, the raging autumn air felt chilly against his cheeks.  

“Oh god, I do not remember Philadelphia being this cold.” 

Percy chuckles at her weak attempt of warming her hands. 

“You’re from California, right? I guess that they don’t get winter like we do here.”

Annabeth smiled. 

“Well, I’m originally from Virgina but I moved to California when I was younger.”

He whistled. 

“That had to be a big change.”

Annabeth nodded. 

“I don’t really remember it that much. I was only seven when we moved to California, so it wasn’t like I was all that in touch with my southern roots. I wasn’t even that in touch with my Califronian self despite looking like a California surfer girl. I moved away to New York when I was 16.”

“Sixteen,” Percy gaped at her, “That’s just a kid.”

“I know, but it was needed. I was stuck at a house that wasn’t going to support my career,’”

Percy stared at Annabeth shockingly.

“Damn, I always knew I got lucky with my mom always supporting me, but I never knew that you had to go through that.”

“My dad’s a History professor at Harvard. He doesn't care about music”

“But you do?” 

His question wasn’t accusing like she thought it would be. Most people would immediately judge her for her ‘impossible’ dream, but Percy didn’t. Then again, Annabeth realized Percy wasn't like most people. He understood her drive for making people listen to her music. After all, he was in the same industry. 

Annabeth knew that Percy would understand her need for sharing her music. 

“Music is permanent. People have always loved music, whether it be a folktale from the thirteenth century to Mozart or hell, current day pop. It creates stories and allows truth to be told.”

Percy nodded along. 

“I get that. I got into music to tell my own story, the story of the lost kid that listened to music on his single mom’s radio while she took care of me all on her own. It helped me calm down, and got me to stop getting into trouble. Writing lyrics gave me a vision. I never thought I could do this as a career,but I’m so glad it did happen. Meeting Beckendorf, Thalia, and Grover changed my life. I wouldn’t have made it through middle school, much less anything else without them. 

She smiled. 

“Meeting Thalia changed my life too, so I understand it. Thalia always had a thing for finding the troubled. She is the one who took care of me when I ran away from home, you know?”

‘You ran away? I thought that was just some sort of metaphor that is in your music.” 

She nodded. 

“I wish. When I was 16, my dad didn’t take music seriously. He didn't think I could make it as a career. So I ran away. I hung out on Thalia’s couch for months, writing and practicing.”

“How did you even know who Thalia was? She never mentioned that she knew you.’

“Thalia was my babysitter when I was younger on top of taking care of me when I was 16.”

“Thalia babysat?” His shock made Annabeth realize that, despite being in a band with her, maybe Percy didn’t know Thalia at all. 

“She did for years. She used to watch me for days on end when my dad was too busy studying for his exams to notice me. Most of my childhood was at Thalia's house and the sundaes she used to feed me for breakfast. 

“That sounds like Thalia. She never really did give a damn about the rules. Growing up, she was the reason me, Beck, and Grover got in trouble so much.”

Annabeth giggled.

“I would like to say I don’t see it from you,” but she eyed him up and down, “trouble is all I see.” 

He chuckled. 

“Seems like you aren’t an angel yourself, Miss Chase.”

“I’m plenty angel. Ask anyone? Hell, ask Silena” 

“Speaking of Silena, how did you two meet?”

“Me and Lena met when I just started in the industry. My first album had just come out, and I was in desperate need of a manager.” 

Annabeth snorted. 

“It was actually my ex-boyfriend who introduced us.” 

Percy raised an eyebrow.

“Really?” 

Annabeth sighed.

“His name was Luke Castellan. Silena used to manage him before she became full time for me. 

“Wasn’t that a little weird? At least for you, I mean, when you and Luke stopped going out?”

She scrunched her nose. 

“Not really. By then, me and Silena had finalized the papers for her to work for me, and he was so toxic. He’s actually the one who I wrote my songs "Would've, Could’ve, Should’ve and White Horse about.”

Percy sighed in relief. 

“At least it worked out for the best. You get to create songs over awful guys, and Silena gets a job out of it.”

“It’s been only a few years of Silena working with me. She’s still new to the managing world, and we’re learning together, I guess.”

“Well it seems she might have a new band to manage if her and Beck continue forward” 

Annabeth laughed.

“Why do you call him that? Beckendorf? I know it’s his last name, but it’s odd. I thought only sports players only called their friends by their last name.” 

“Well, a long time ago, when we were kids, Grover, Beck and I all went to the same summer camp, and we used to have homemade jerseys that my mom would sew up for us. One day I just started calling him Beckendorf, and it just stuck.”

“That was sweet of your mom.”

Percy smiled.

“My mom was always doing stuff like that during my childhood. It was just me and her growing up, and we didn’t have much money. She would always figure out how to sew jerseys for us, or bake blue cookies each time I would come from camp.”

“Blue cookies?” 

Annabeth’s puzzlement made Percy laugh even harder, making the cold air flush against Annabeth’s skin .

“I lied about saying that it was just me and my mom. I had a step dad, but he was more of a monster than man. He didn't believe in blue food, so she used to dye everything blue. I’m surprised that my teeth aren’t permanently indigo. It was like our little act of rebellion against him.”

Sympathetically, Annabeth said, “Step parents are rough. Believe me, I know.” 

She stopped to look at him as the red of the stop light glowed in the night.

“Gabe was one for the dramatics. Always begging for money for his poker games, and other addictions. Was yours like that?” 

“My stepmom was never a horrible person to anyone else. She treated me like I was, though. They got married when I was seven like i said, and ever since then, I was treated like i don't belong in that house. I was on my own, for at least it felt like it, the rest of my life.”

“My mom saved me,” Percy says, “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like to grow up in a house where you felt so alone.”

Annabeth grew quiet as they stopped at a corner, the harsh lights of a diner in their rearview being the only thing that allowed Percy to see her gentle shivers in the cold.

“It got better as I got older. I met Thalia, started creating music, and suddenly they didn't matter. I created my own family. What’s the word?”

“A found family?”

“That’s it.”

“How does one become a part of this found family?”

“I won’t kiss and tell.”

“You have to kiss me to tell me, is what I’m hearing,” Percy said slyly. 

“If that’s what you want?”

Annabeth leaned up on her tip-toes as Percy wrapped one of his arms around her waist.

His lips nearly touched hers, he could almost taste her lips on his.

Using what was left of her height, Annabeth met his lips with an urgent reverence. 

Within the safety of his arms now fully wrapped around her, Annnabeth explored his mouth.

He bit down on her lip causing her to gasp, and groan.

She broke away from the kiss, her hands still on his chest, heaving as she began to process what had just occurred. 

 Days of writing about a first kiss that leaves her breathless, Annabeth realizes that this green-eyed boy had a lot more than she realized.  

“Percy, do that again.”

Hoarsely, Percy chuckled and Annabeth felt it in her core. 

“I will do whatever you want, Beth.”

Can I Be Him is my Annabeth Chase and Percy Jackson as Taylor Swift and 5 Seconds of Summer - 2nd chapter out now.

[lilac-melody]

Fantasia LOVE&KISS Novel Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I’m not a professional translator

Masterlist here

🎤

“Don’t make me repeat myself. That’s not it!”

An angry voice echoed throughout the rehearsal room, and all of the actors stopped in fear.

Yujiro faced the director, Okido. Two weeks had passed since the start of rehearsals, and Yujiro and Okido were clashing on a daily basis. Each time it happened, the rehearsals were interrupted, which meant that they were falling behind schedule.

Aizou, who was watching from a corner of the room because it wasn’t his turn yet, looked at his partner, who was wiping the sweat from his face with a towel draped over his shoulder.

“You said something different yesterday...”

“Don’t talk back to me! I’m telling you how to do it now!”

“I guess I just don’t know how to do it then.”

“You’re a cocky little brat. Just keep doing it until you figure it out!” Okido snapped, before whirling around. “Take a break, everyone!” He said angrily before leaving the practice room.

“How long will this go on..?” A man who stood near Aizou muttered. When his eyes met Aizou's, he made a face of disgust and quickly walked away.

It was not hard to understand why he was fed up with the situation. Most of the rehearsal time was spent listening to Okido and Yujiro argue. From the outside, Yujiro's performance was perfect. However, Okido was not convinced.

They were probably both a bit too stubborn for their own good. But this was too unreasonable.

Yujiro looked down for a while, clutching his towel tightly. The reason why Okido never said anything to Aizou was because he thought he wasn’t worth mentioning. In short, he had been completely abandoned.

On the first day of rehearsals, he was told “just forget about it. Just sing and dance!” He was never taken seriously. When it came to his lines, he would be told “that’s enough. Let’s just move on to the next scene.”

It was painful, but Yujiro, who was the one who got yelled at everyday, didn’t seem any better off. He got a drink from the vending machine and chugged it down before angrily throwing the trash into the trash can. He was definitely in a bad mood.

(I wonder how long he can endure it...)

It had, unfortunately, turned into a patience contest between Okido and Yujiro. It was going to continue until one of them lost their patience. But if this continued, the frustration of the actors and staff around them was going to grow and they were going to get frustrated with Yujiro.

If Yujiro broke down and apologized, Okido's mood would be restored for the time being. If Yujiro becomes too self-centered, he would cause trouble for those around him. Even Aizou thought that Yujiro as being overly stubborn, and it would seem that this was even more so to others.

The atmosphere had become so tense that even the staff was getting irritated at the smallest of things. It was impossible to move on from how things were right now. Something had to be done, but there was no solution. Okido wouldn’t even take Aizou seriously.

(Even if I talk to Yujiro, he won’t listen...right?)

He shouldn’t be worrying about Yujiro when he couldn’t even get him to give him acting lessons. All he could do was leave Yujiro to Yujiro.

It was stifling to be here. Besides, Aizou himself had another reason why he couldn't be bothered with others.

_

“Okay, stop!” Ikezaki, the singing and dancing instructor, clapped her hands to stop the lesson.

“I’m sorry...one more time, please?” Aizou squeezed his eyes shut.

“Aizou, this is the fifth time you’ve done it today. This is a musical. It's not enough just to sing. Do you understand? If you don't put your feelings into it, you won't be able to convey anything to those who are listening,” Ikezaki put her hands on her hips as she stared at him.

“I understand...I’ll do it over and over again...”

“You say that, but will you really be able to get it?”

Aizou lowered his gaze. “Yes...”

The stares from those around him were piercing. Aizoy was the only one who was always getting scolded by Ikezaki. Yujiro, on the other hand, was rarely told off about his singing and dancing.

This was the exact opposite of the acting instructions. The reason why Yujiro was not told anything was because there was nothing to say. He was completely different from himself, who had been let down during the acting lessons.

Aizou was confident in his singing, so he was almost depressed when he was told that his singing was not good enough.

(Am I the one dragging everyone down..?)

“Aizou, are you listening?” Ikezaki asked in an annoyed tone.

Aizou’s head snapped up. “Yes! I’m listening!”

“Then tell me what emotion you’re singing about right now.”

(Huh? What does that mean..?)

Aizou glanced at the music sheet, and Ikezaki spoke up again.

“You don’t need to think about it. How you sing depends on what emotion you put into it. Read the script again. If you had a better grasp of the lyrics, thought about the meaning, and understood the emotions involved, you would never sing the way you do now. The way you are singing now, you are just singing well. That's not what I want here."

Without being able to look the teacher in the face with his arms crossed, he mumbled. “Yeah.”

He knew that he read the lyrics and the script thoroughly, but he guessed that he still didn’t understand it very well.

“Also, your voice isn't growing. You could sing a little better, couldn't you? You're the star of the show. Don't forget that."

“I’m sorry...one more time-”

“No matter how many times we do it today, it’s a waste of time!” Ikezaki pointed her finger at him. “For now, just work on it until next time.”

(Keh...how strict...)

After practice was over, Aizou sat on a bench in the hallway in his jersey. He had no energy left to open the coffee he had bought from the vending machine next to him.

(I can’t do it! I really am dragging everyone down...)

He wiped his forehead with his hand and exhaled quietly. Even though he had only been practicing for two weeks, he didn't think he could make it to the stage properly if he kept going at this rate.

There was going to be a photoshoot next week. It will be announced by the end of this month, and all of their fans will be paying attention, too, since it will be LIPxLIP’s first stage performance.

He didn't want them to be disappointed by his poor acting and singing.

Aizou wanted the show to be a success. He wanted everyone who came to see the show to be happy, and he wanted them to be impressed that it was the best performance ever. But as it was now, he could only picture himself messing up and being humiliated.

(Yujiro’s like that too...I really hope he’s okay...)

He knew that sitting around like this wouldn't help, but his stomach was heavy with anxiety and pressure. He had been somewhat optimistic that he would be able to handle his first stage performance because he had been doing well so far, with fans cheering him on at live shows and making a scene because he was an idol, and he had been doing a reasonable amount of work.

He felt as if he had been knocked flat on his ass. It wasn't that easy.

While he was at a loss for what to do, he heard a voice talking. It was Inokawa Rino, who played the princess, and Kurashita Aoi, who played her sister. Both of them had probably just changed and were on their way home. They were chatting and laughing.

He often saw them together during rehearsals, so it seemed that they are good friends. Rino was an actor who made her debut as a child when she was in elementary school and has appeared in many movies and TV dramas. This was not her first experience on stage either. 

She was currently working while attending college. Usually, Rino was a calm and timid character, but as soon as she gets into a role, her expression, mood, and language changed drastically.

In this performance, she played the role of a princess, but her arrogant and insolent attitude and mannerisms made her a completely different person. In the tense scene with Yujiro, even Okido could not be difficult and just watched in silence.

When they noticed Aizou sitting on the bench, they stopped.

 "Oh...” Rino cringed and quickly hid behind Aoi.

“Good work today...” Aizou said, a bit confused as to why they seemed startled.

“G-good work today...” Rino said while Aoi protected her. Her voice was normally so clear during rehearsals, yet now, they were both backing away from him, trying to keep a distance.

It was the same kind of reaction one would have if they encountered a lion at a safari.

“Let’s go, Rino-chan!”

“Um...yeah,” Rino let herself be pulled along by Aoi, quickly bowing her head to Aizou.

Seeing them rush away, Aizou quickly stood up.

“Inokawa-san!” He called. Startled, Rino let out a small shriek.

“What do you want with Rino-chan?” Aoi hugged her friend and glared at him suspiciously.

“Ah...um...you don’t have to be alarmed...I’m not going to...do anything..?” 

“I know what you’re trying to do! You’re trying to ask Rino-chan out! Well, it won’t work because we’re going to go out and eat a lot of garlic dishes!”

“Huh?” Aizou’ eyes widened.

(Do they think that...I’m someone who picks up a lot of girls..?)

“No, no! This is a big misunderstanding!” He shook his head rapidly and held his hands up.

“Stay back! We know about you, you know. I hear all kinds of rumors about you. You're famous for hitting on your female costar's one after another!”

(I’m famous for...hitting on girls, one after another..?!)

“Can I pick you up tonight? My honey~” Aizou tried to picture himself with a girl clinging to his arm while he smiled charmingly.

“HAAAA?!” Aizo screamed loudly in horror without thinking. He thought about it for about three seconds, but he had no idea who it was. There had been a few girls he had talked with, but he had only greeted them and talked with them in a casual way. He had never shown any attitude that could be misunderstood. To begin with, he was not good with girls and did not want to get involved with them outside of work. There was no way he would have wanted to ask them out.

So why were these rumors spreading without his knowledge?!

“Yeah, you’ve been playing around with girls since middle school! I’ve heard you made a lot of girls cry!”

(That’s definitely not me!!)

In middle school, he was not only not a playboy, but he avoided talking to girls before his debut. He was considered a cranky and unapproachable person even among his schoolmates. He had no desire to fall in love with a girl, and of course, he’s never had a girlfriend.

He was sure he was being mistaken for someone else. And he had too much of an idea of who that someone might be.

The source of the rumors was none other than him. It's a completely unfortunate story, but it seemed that he was secretly thought of as a shallow, slimy guy who put his hands all over his costars and the girls at school.

It was just a rumor, so it's probably exaggerated. Still, he felt a bit dizzy and put the back of his hand on his forehead.

“You’ve got it all wrong...”

“Then what is it?!” Aoi stared at him suspiciously. 

Aizou sighed tiredly and glanced at Rino, who was still hiding behind Aoi. 

“Look, this is kind of embarrassing, but this is the first stage performance I’ve ever done, and I don’t know...what to do,” Aizou confessed, running his hands behind his head and searching for the right words to get his point across.  The first thing to do is to make sure that he had a good idea of what he was getting into.

"Inokawa-san, you have stage experience and are a very good actor. Can you at least teach me how to properly recite a script?!” He asked boldly.

Aoi rolled her eyes. “That’s just an excuse to ask her out!” She accused, jabbing a finger at him.

“No, no, no! I’m serious!” Aizou shook his head.

“...You’re not going to ask Yujiro-kun?” Rino asked softly. Aizou glanced at her for a moment, before looking away.

“He...doesn’t seem to really be up for anything right now...” He mumbled. The atmosphere that hung around Yujiro lately made Aizou a bit too nervous to ask him. And besides, lately, the two hadn’t been talking very much outside of rehearsals. They were silent during their breaks and when waiting for their manager to pick them up.

“Anyway, I can’t ask the others too..!”

“Let’s just go, Rino-chan!” However, as Aoi pulled on her, Rino stepped forward hesitantly.

“...Okay.”

“Really?” Aizou asked her, stunned.

Rino nodded and looked up at him timidly. “In exchange, I have a favor for you too...will you teach me how to dance?”

“To dance?”

“I’m so embarrassed...I couldn’t do it at all earlier...” Rino buried her face in her hands.

(Come to think of it, Inokawa-san was scolded by the instructor many times...)

Her dancing didn't match up with those around her, and she often did the wrong steps at the wrong times. Aizou was often scolded about his singing, but not about dancing.

He supposed dancing was still the one thing he did well with.

“You’re a really good dancer, and I always wondered how you were able to do it...so, please!” Rino lowered her hands and bowed.

(She’s such a great performer, though...)

Everyone had their own strengths and weaknesses, and they are all struggling to overcome them. He wasn't the only one who was struggling with his own inability to do it. He was a little relieved to know that. He was relieved to know that he wasn't the only one who was struggling to overcome this problem.

“Oh, then I want you to teach me too!” Aoi raised her hand, a bit awkwardly.

It seemed that she was also struggling with dancing.

“Okay. I’ll teach you two together,” Aizou said. This wasn’t just a stage, it was a stage where everyone had to work together.

🎤

The next day, during practice, Aizou was called in by the woman who was in charge of the costumes. While he had his costume adjusted, he watched Yujiro, who was still rehearsing.

Yujiro and the captain of the guard argued, and the staff watched them in admiration. They had a good paced fight and their interaction was the highlight of the scene.

After that, Aizou would also appear, but it felt like it would be a while before they got to that point.

“I’m sure the townspeople are concerned about that, as well as the demons that appear in this town at night. It’s reassuring to see the guards warning us like this. I hope the smugglers get caught quickly,” Yujiro recited.

“So you’re saying you’re not the smugglers?”

“Perish the thought! We are traveling performers who earn a little money a day by singing and dancing from town to town. We have never committed such a daring misdeed such as smuggling. If you have any doubts, please feel free to investigate. We can prove that we have nothing to hide!“

Even though Yujiro’s lines were long, he didn’t hesitate or make any mistakes. It was almost completely perfect, and yet, Okido didn’t look like he liked it.

He tapped the arm of the chair he was on with his fan.

“Who are you talking to? You’re not supposed to say the line that fast!”

Surprised by Okido's loud voice, the woman in charge of costumes dropped her sewing box. She picked it up in a panic. Both Rino, who played the princess, and Aoi, who played her younger sister, watched from the side and their faces scrunched up. The crew stopped moving for a moment, but soon returned to their work. Even though Yujiro and Okido always clashed during rehearsals, today it seemed extra bad.

Aizou couldn’t even say how many times they had to redo this scene. They’d done this scene for well over two hours now, with Yujiro repeating the lines over and over again. Yet, no matter how he said it or acted it out, it was never satisfactory.

It must have been really hard for him, because he was starting to look genuinely fatigued.

“Do it again!”

Yujiro and the captain of the guards returned to their initial positions.

“I’m sure the townspeople are concerned about that, as well as the demons that appear in this town at night. It’s reassuring to see the guards warning us like this. I hope the smugglers get caught quickly.”

“So you’re saying you’re not the smugglers?”

“Perish the thought! We travel from town to town...and..we...” Yujiro blinked and put a hand over his mouth.

“That’s the first time he fumbled with his line..?” Aizou mumbled.

“Do you not have any motivation?!” Okido threw his fan on the floor and stood up angrily.

They’d been on their feet for over two hours and not once had they had a break. Aizou gritted his teeth in annoyance.

(I’m getting...really sick of this old guy!)

Yujiro bowed his head. “...I’m sorry. I’ll do it again.”

“Is this seriously all you got?! You’re not doing it good enough!” Okido spat out. Which basically meant that it was time for them to leave.

Yujiro’s lips tightened and he walked out of the practice room.

(Yujiro...)

Aizou took off his hat and gave it to the costume lady. “Excuse me. I have to go.” He hurried after Yujiro.

He managed to catch up with him in the dimly lit hallway. “Hey!” He rushed over and gently grabbed Yujiro’s arm.

He stopped but didn’t look at Aizou, remaining silent.

Aizou stayed silent too. He honestly had no idea what he could possibly say, but it didn’t feel right to leave Yujiro all alone.

He had to try to be there, as his partner. “Are...you okay?”

“...What?” His gaze lowered a bit as the lights above them flickered a bit. “Don’t worry about me. Just worry about yourself...” Yujiro pulled away from him and walked away.

“Hey!” Aizou clenched his fists tightly. “Why don’t we just quit?!”

At once, Yujiro stopped walking.

“It’s not fair. That old man is out of control! We can’t keep up with him...” 

It might be irresponsible to drop out of a role in the middle of a production. It would be a huge inconvenience to the crew, the other actors, and everyone else involved.

But everyone’s patience had a limit.

Even the president and manager both heard about it by now, and the other day, he’d been called into the office and asked what was going on.

“If it’s bad, you can tell us.”

That’s what they’d said.

The president and Manager Uchida would not object if he said he wanted to step down. But if he didn't make a decision now, he would have no choice but to finish the job, and he wanted to fulfill his role.

But he believed this would be the right time to pull the plug.

Yujiro turned around and slowly looked back. The voices of the staff coming from the practice room sounded distant to the two in the hallway.

“...It’s fine, isn’t it?” Aizou, who had been facing Yujiro at a distance from him, lowered his gaze slightly. He knew my partner was stubborn and he hated to lose. He also knew that he wouldn’t want to break down on his own.

“Don’t you want to just stop..?” Aizou looked up at him again.

Yujiro looked away from him. 

“You can’t do this to yourself anymore. No matter what you think...”

“I’m fine. But Aizou, if you want to stop, then you should.”

“Why!? The old man is being unreasonable as hell! Why would you choose to stay, just to get yelled at and criticized?! The old man will never recognize our efforts because he’s hated us from the beginning!” Aizou shouted, his voice echoing in the hallway.

It was pointless. Why did he have to keep going, even when he was being trampled on and hurt? There was nothing beyond that. Even if they accomplished this stage, there was nothing left for them.

“Why...you are so stubborn about this. Giving up is the right thing to do!”

“Because if I back down now, then it’ll just confirm everything he’s said about us!” Yujiro cut  him off. He would much rather endure being trampled on and hurt than have to go through that humiliation. That was what his eyes seemed to say.

Aizou stared at him, speechless.

“But...if quitting is what you want to do...if you really hate it...then you don’t have to go along with it. I think that...that is also the right thing to do...” Yujiro looked down and turned away from him, before walking away.

(That’s...right...he’s...)

He was someone who was really stubborn, and once he set his mind to something, he couldn’t be swayed.

He knew that, but Aizou had misjudged his strength.

💮

After attending school for the first time in days, Aizou headed to the familiar music store ran by Morita.

Manager Uchida had given him the day off today, so he had no lessons or work to do.

He came to the store to read the script in the practice room he rented from the owner, Morita, but when he went up the narrow stairs next to the store and went to open the door to the room, he heard the sound of a piano inside.

Apparently, it was already in use. Aizou had been using this room since before his debut, and Yujiro often visited to practice on his own because of the piano, since Yujiro didn’t have a piano in his house, this is probably the only place he could practice.

(That’s the song...where I sing...)

In the ruined cathedral, Aizou was supposed to sing a five minute song alone to the accompaniment of Yujiro's organ. This scene was Aizou's highlight, but he was also under considerable pressure to sing this long song alone. He was supported only by Yujiro's accompaniment.

Moreover, he still wasn’t doing so well in singing that. He had to be given special lessons for it, but he had been told “you can’t sing on stage if you don’t change.”

He had to draw the whole audience in with his songs. There was no room for mistakes. If he sang badly, the whole scene would be ruined and his reputation on the stage would be at stake.

The thought of it was heavy on his mind, and he was at a loss, with the number of tasks increasing with each lesson.

Yujiro was also supposed to perform on stage, so he must be practicing in this way. However, his sound was sharp, as if he had been frustrated by the practice sessions.

Usually he played more carefully, but today's tempo was very fast and the sound is strong. Hesitant to go inside, Aizou sat down next to the door, leaning against the wall and listening to the sound, and he quietly sang along. His voice was so faint that Yujiro, who was playing, probably did not hear him.

“...Really...it can’t be helped...” Aizou mumbled. He didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore.

If he didn’t stay and fight through this, then he would be running away and leaving Yujiro behind, and he knew he would regret that forever.

He didn’t want to be such a coward.

Without seeing Yujiro, he quietly closed the door to the practice room and went down the outside stairs. When he entered the store, Morita was gone, or perhaps he was out.

As usual, the store was empty, so there were no customers.

Aizou entered the counter as usual and sat down on a chair. Ever since middle school, he had often been asked to watch the store, and whenever Yujiro took over the practice room, he spent his time here.

He took out a script from my bag, which was covered in sticky notes, and started reading. But it didn't really sink in, and after reading a few pages, he flopped over on the counter.

“What am I going to do..?!” He groaned in anguish. Yujiro had already made it clear that he wasn’t going to quit, which meant he was going to finish, no matter what.

(He’s so stubborn!)

He really wished he thought it through.

(Then again...I can’t quit either...)

Now that it's come to this, they had no choice but to be prepared. There was no time for whining. He had no choice but to do what he could do.

However, he already failed in singing, and he already failed in acting. The only thing he could do was dance. He felt as if he was going up against a blazing dragon without any weapons or equipment.

"You don’t have to force yourelf to play the role of Aizou-kun. I think you’re fine as you are.”

Aizou recalled what Rino said to him the other day when she taught me how to properly read a script.

(That’s what Yujiro said too...)

It was the day they received the script and looked it over for the first time at the coffee shop where Koudai worked part-time. Even though he was told to just be himself, he didn't really know what that meant. 

“Don’t think about it too hard. Just relax and enjoy your role.”

(Enjoy the...role...)

Aizou read the script again, with the advice that Rino and Aoi gave him being written in the margins.

“When I read the script, I thought your character would be very fun to play. He’s a very sympathetic and empathetic person, and even though he is a bit of a goofball, he is very funny, cool, and dependable when the situation calls for it. I think everyone in the audience would agree. I think it would be good if we could see more of that...”

She had practically rambled on.

“You said it was your first time on stage, but the tempo of his lines is not bad and your voice is clear, so you’re easy to listen to. I just think you need to be careful about the parts where you choke up on your lines or rush them. Also, your reactions could be more exaggerated.”

“I think it's important to move more than usual to be seen by the audience. If you don't move more than usual, the audience can't see you on stage. Isn't it the same for Yujiro? Aren't your movements larger than usual?”

(Come to think...)

He didn't know how to act, and he was so preoccupied with saying the lines without making mistakes that he didn't pay attention to his movements. Maybe he should try to move more boldly. Rino also mentioned that it was important not to make the stage look small.

(It’s okay to just be me, huh...)

As he sat there, mumbling and pondering to himself, he felt something rest on top of his head.

“Ah, hot!” He grabbed it with both of his hands and saw it was a pack of takoyaki. Morita stood behind him, smiling.

“Yujiro-kun’s in the practice room.”

“I know...that’s why I’m here,” Aizou said, resting his cheek on his hand. “Thanks for the food.”

He opened the packet. The dried bonito flakes were fluffy on top of the takoyaki, as if it was freshly baked.

“What are you studying?” Morita peeked at the script. “Oh, you’re doing a play?”

“Yeah, a musical.”

“That’s good. Have fun.”

“I’m trying but...I don’t get it at all,” Aizou sighed involuntarily.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. Why not just be yourself?”

“This is the third time someone’s told me that...” Aizou mumbled, “is it really okay to be funny, though? I don’t think I’m that funny.”

“I think you’re funny enough,” Morita said, crossing his arms.

Aizou raised his eyebrows.

“If you really don’t understand, you should just ask around. I’m sure they’d say the same thing, won’t they?”

“The play isn’t a comedy! Everyone’s affected by this hopeless situation...it’s such an awful atmosphere...”

Aizou didn’t have the guts to try to act funny in such an atmosphere. He was sure that if he did, Okido would turn into a demon, point at the door, and scream at him to “get out!”.

“Aizou-kun, I don't know anything about the stage or musicals...but I'm sure it's important to make the audience cry or be moved or whatever, but it's just as important to make them laugh or be entertained. Isn't that what an entertainer does? You’re an entertainer, Aizou,” Morita patted his head and laughed. “So just do what you normally do. Now, I have another pack of takoyaki, so you should take it up to Yujiro-kun.”

“Ehh...me?! Morita-san, you should take it!”

“You’re his partner, so it’s your job. Besides, I have a meeting I have to attend!” Morita whistled and walked into his office in a good mood.

(A meeting? It’s another drinking party, isn’t it?! And don’t ask an idol to watch over your store!)

If his fans ever caught wind of it, it would be difficult for him to stop by the shop. If it was possible, he wanted to keep this place a secret. Aizou looked at the bag on the counter. He had no choice but to get up.

After pushing a pack of takoyaki onto Yujiro and returning to the shop without much conversation, Aizou sat down on a chair at the counter and flipped through a script.

Aizou played the role of a traveler in search of a jewel that will grant his one wish. He arrives in a town with a legend of dragons. That was the beginning of the story.

The "him" in the story may have thought somewhere in his mind that what he was pursuing could only be found in a dream, and that it could not really exist anywhere in this world. Maybe he was about to give up on the idea that his wish was unfulfilled and that it was inevitable.

That was how uncertain he was about what he had been looking for. Relying on what little information he had, he arrived in town and heard from the townspeople that there was a traveler who was also looking for the jewel. He did not know for what reason the other traveler was looking for the jewel. However, when "he" found out, he must have been happy.

It was the first time he met someone who shared the same goal. And yet, he made the worst impression when they first met, and they immediately began to argue.

Aizou almost laughed as he read it, because such a part of the story was the same as the encounter between himself and Yujiro.

The two decide to cooperate with each other in order to get the jewel. Perhaps meeting his partner, played by Yujiro, has made "him" believe that what he has been looking for is indeed out there somewhere in the world.

No matter how many obstacles stand in the way, “his” partner never wavers in his convictions and tries to move forward believing that "it is there". It really was just like the two of them. Aizou suddenly looked up from his script as he thought of this.

(Ahh...I...I see now...)

There was nothing difficult to think about. There was no need to try to be someone else. What is depicted in this script was not someone else, but himself.

(It really is okay to just...be me...)

Yujiro, Rino, and Morita were right.

He didn’t have the acting ability right now to be someone else.

Then, he should just throw himself into the story as it is. Just think of “him” as himself. 

The moment he realized that, the meaning of the "his" lines in the script and the reasons for his actions all seemed to connect, and he felt as if they were coming right into his mind.

“I can do it!” He shouted unintentionally, a huge smile breaking out across his face. He stood up quickly and shoved his script into his bag.

“Aizou, it’s nothing to get all excited about...keep your voice down...” Morita, who was red in the face, returned.

“Sorry, Morita-san! I’ll be back!” Aizou ran out of the store.

He felt that he had finally found the breakthrough that would change the current situation he’d been searching for. As he looked up at the sky, which was now completely dark and twinkling with stars, he heard a soft thumping sound coming down the outside stairs.

With one hand in his pants pocket, Yujiro stopped when he noticed Aizou in front of the store. Aizou looked up at his partner, who was looking down at him halfway up the stairs, and remained silent for a few moments.

“The truth is...I wanted to run away.” 

Yujiro listened in silence and lowered his gaze. It was much easier to just give up and let it go.

The cold wind shook Aizou's slightly longer bangs and his tied-back hair. When he looked at Yujiro with a clear face, he made a fist and thrust it straight out.

“But if you run away, you won’t get what you want!” He smirked. “Isn’t that right?”

Yujiro’s eyes widened in surprise, and he slowly came down the stairs.

When they were standing next to each other, their gazes met.

“...You just realized this?”

“Sorry about that!”

Yujiro looked down and let out a soft laugh. Ever since the start of training, he’d only seen Yujiro with a grim expression on his face, so it’d been a long time since he had seen him genuinely smile.

Yujiro put his hand over his mouth as his shoulders shook in amusement. “Why are you...trying to act all cool, sticking your fist out like that?”

“Hey now, I’m just showing off my determination!” Aizou’s face turned red and he started to walk away, while Yujiro kept laughing and walked with him.

Yujiro will definitely take care of himself. So, he just has to trust him and leave it to him.

(That’s right...and as for me...I have something to do.)

After dropping Yujiro off at the station, Aizou ran into a bookstore that was about to close and grabs some magazines and books on theater and musicals.

When he put it all together and took it to the counter, the woman at the register looked surprised.

Back at home, he went into his room and immediately went to his desk.

Turning on his desk light, he piled up the books he had bought and picked on of them up.

He knew he didn't have enough time to read everything, like cramming for a test. But it was better try to do it it than not to do it at all.

If he didn’t even know the basics, they won't take him seriously. He opened a new notebook and wrote down the important things, the main points.

The door opened and a voice said, "Hey, I'm going to take a bath.”

When he didn't answer, the door slammed shut. Kuro climbed up on the desk and rolled over, mewling sweetly.

Aizou looked at his cat lying down and sighed.