#just. idk I think it's an issue that needs to be examined more carefully when it comes to internalized biases and careless fanonization

[flowerbloom-arts]

To be made an Other.

-

I was looking at an old post and a certain line still hits me so I decided to make it a dedicated comic.

[friendly-alien-fucker]

Heyyy I hope I'm not bothering,, I saw your requests are open and all 👉👈

If it's alright could you write how a yautja would react to his future s/o refusing his gifts continuously and when asked she says it's because she feels uncomfortable receiving gifts when she did nothing to deserve it, feeling unworthy of the gifts?? Or idk,,,,,just refusing his whole courtship because she thinks she's unworthy and he'll regret it later on........

Yea I have issues but reading fanfics is better than sorting them out 😭🤚 I love your blog btw 💕💕🌸

I'm so sorry in advance mmmmm

Yautja with an s/o that feels unworthy of their gifts

Warnings: mention of blood, mention of skulls, a little bit of angst and a lot of fluff to mend a broken heart

Thank you @redalive0 for your request, I hope I met your expectations! 💖

(also you're not bothering anyone! The more requests the better <3)

____________________________________________

The door slammed shut and familiar clicking echoed through the house, a sign that they were back from whenever they might have been. Yet you didn't move from your place on your bed, well aware that you didn't need to tell them where to find you.

Any normal person would be scared if an alien stepped into their home, let alone an alien that was double their size and strength. And you'd be scared as well, if you hadn't grown accustomed to this gentle giant.

You once found them bleeding out on the ground, a wounded warrior on the brink of death. And putting your fears aside, you decided to help them. Since then they'd always leave you for a few days, just to return to you again.

And after some time, you'd grown to like them. Even to the point where you'd feel a certain emptiness anytime they'd leave your house. Though as much as you wanted to ask for them to stay, everytime you faced them you couldn't bring out the words.

You just didn't feel you had the right. A great warrior, a creature with superior strength and intelligence, who were you to ask for their presence? Surely they had better things to do. And with any day they spent away from you, that feeling of unworthiness grew more and more.

Their heavy yet slow footsteps continued through the house, growing louder the closer they came to your room, until they came to a stop. Your e/c eyes moved from the book in your hand to the alien in your doorway, closing it.

And as you took in their giant physique, all you could think was: beautiful

"Welcome back" you smiled, turning to face them. They clicked in response. You were never quite sure if they understood what you were trying to say, but you still spoke to them, hoping that the fondness in your voice somehow exceeded the barriers of language.

Eyeing you carefully, they slowly made their way over to you. And even though you were aware that they could practically snap you in half had they wanted to, the way they looked at you- it was like they were making a silent promise that you were safe with them. That they would never hurt you.

"I haven't seen you in some time, have you been well?" you asked gently, swallowing the lump in your throat as you thought about your last encounter. It had been three weeks since you had last seen them. Had they not missed you while they were gone? Did your presence mean so little to them? Were they only returning because they felt they had to?

You snapped out of your depressing thoughts, your eyes now focused on the blood-covered cloth they had put in your hands. You looked up at them with a confused expression, yet they simply continued to stare at you, expectantly. You looked down again, examining the beige fabric closer.

The cloth itself was nothing special, but what was gently put inside of it made your eyes widen with wonder.

Inside was a skull. Which creature it belonged to, you didn't know. What you knew though, was that it was beautiful. It was clean and smelt surprisingly nice, the mixture of flower and lemon scent taking over your senses and plastering a teethy smile on your face. You gently traced your fingertips along the sides of the animal head.

"it's beautiful" you nodded as you stretched out your hands go give it back to them. Yet they only shook their head, their long braids clicking against their armor as they pointed a clawed finger at you, indicating that it was supposed to be a gift from them. Your breath hitched for a second as you understood what was happening, and you couldn't help but feel excited by the prospect.

They had not forgotten about you. In fact, they were so enamoured by you, that they went out of their way to retrieve a gift for you. You gently pressed the skull against your chest, warmth spreading to your cheeks. The alien tilted their head and knelt down so they could inspect your reaction further.

You directed your eyes back to the figure in front of you, and as your e/c eyes met with their glowing yellow one's, you couldn't help but let your insecurities slowly sink back in. You didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve them. You pushed the skull away.

"I'm sorry... I can't...I shouldn't." you say quietly, averting your gaze. You heard a huff, and felt them gently hold the sides of your legs. When you looked back at their face, which was now directly in front of yours, their eyes narrowed and furious. They studied you for a second, seemingly lost in thought, mandibles stretching before pulling in again. You heard them growl quietly, and you watched in confusion as they kept making the same grunting noise over and over again. It took you a minute to realize that their 'grunting' was actually an attempt at communication.

"Why not?" You heard them huff. Their voice was deep and gravely, yet clear enough to understand. Your eyes widened as you took in their words.

"I didn't know you could...speak" you muttered as you absentmindedly cupped their cheeks. They flinched slightly at the action, yet didn't pull away. Their skin was warm and surprisingly soft, and you were struck with the realization that you hadn't touched them once until today. You were always too scared to attempt it, yet now that they were kneeling before you, you understood that you shouldn't be scared of them anymore.

You smiled at them, though even an alien could see that it wasn't genuine. "You should give it to someone else. Someone who deserves it." someone worthy of your love. You almost wanted to say, but stopped yourself before you could.

The alien, however, did not seem to accept the rejection, and they stood, pulling you up along with them. They glared down at you and you felt a shiver run up your spine at the sight. That combined with their deep voice, you felt like fainting. "Are you questioning my skills?" they growled.

"No, of course not but-" but they didn't let you finish, they just stepped closer to you, and you could feel their breath against your head. You only now realized how tall they were compared to you. "You are more than a suitable mate, intelligent, kind, strong. You stand before me without fear, and even have the nerve to deny me, yet you still worry you are not worthy of my affections?" Their voice was gruff and their pronunciation shaky, but you could still make out the amusement in their words.

"I just...don't want you to regret this later..." you huffed, avoiding their eyes, but they were having none of it. "Look at me," they put their hands on your shoulders, and you had to bend your neck to look at them face-to-face, which obviously amused them further. "I know oomans mate for life. I know you require constant courtship. I am also aware that I will outlive you by many years, yet I am willing to put all my resources and energy into mating you. Do you believe me foolish enough to pursue this only to regret it later?"

In a last attempt to talk them out of it, you muttered "You never know..." but it was clear they had already made up their mind.

You followed them with your eyes as they picked up the skull once more and put it in your hands, along with theirs, and you cracked a small smile as you heard the rare purring that came from them when they were comfortable- that you, until now, only had the privilege of hearing when they were fast asleep, or thought you weren't in the room with them.

"Will you accept it?" They asked, expectantly.

And this time, without hesitation, you smiled up at them.

"I will."

[wolfeyedwitch]

I want to send Celeste something but idk what. I guess I’ll send her some fluffy blankets, a blood bag, and some water bottles.

Tobias finds a box on the doorstep, labeled for the vampire. He takes it warily inside.

He sets it down and opens it carefully, inspecting the contents. Several bottles, some with water and some with blood, all wrapped in blankets.

He takes each item out for a closer examination. Nothing seems tampered with. He can't see any metal flakes in the water or blood, nothing that would poison the vampire from the inside if she drank it. The blankets seem fine too; no holy symbols stitched on, no sneaky silver embroidery.

Hm.

Well, it's not his risk to take, in the end. The vampire deserves the ability to make her own choices.

"Hey, kid?" he calls out. He still doesn't know her name, and she won't talk at all. So, nicknames were what he had. "Can you come here for a minute?"

The vampire appears at the doorway almost instantly. Tobias internally curses himself. He needs to find a way to talk to her without making it seem like orders. But that's a problem for later.

"Someone left this package on the doorstep," he explains, gesturing to the items. "It's for you. I don't know who sent it, or why. I checked as well as I could for anything wrong with it, anything that might hurt you, and I can't find anything. So, it's your choice. If you want it? Go ahead, enjoy. If not? That's fine too."

The vampire hesitantly makes her way closer, glancing between Tobias and the items. He tries to encourage her with a smile. It must work, at least a little, because she goes for the items without any more hesitation.

She runs the back of her hand gingerly over one of the blankets, like Tobias might hold a hand close to the stove to judge the temperature. It must pass whatever test she's doing, because she then runs both hands through the soft blanket, curling her hands in it.

Next, she tries the water. She opens one bottle and pours a drop onto the back of her hand. Nothing happens, which seems to surprise her. She opens the other bottle and does the same, with the same result.

She hesitates before opening the bottle of blood. She sends a furtive look to Tobias, like she's expecting to be hurt for her daring.

"It's yours," he says gently. "Go ahead."

With the encouragement, she opens the bottle of blood. She repeats the same test as with the water, pouring a drop onto the back of her hand and waiting for a reaction. When nothing happens, she raises the hand to her mouth.

Then she stops, like she's been shocked into stillness. She darts her eyes towards Tobias, looking terrified and guilty.

Tobias can't claim to understand what the vampire is thinking. She's been through so much shit; she's almost guaranteed to have issues from it. It's a little aggravating to have to give permission for every little thing, but he'd much rather give permission for things that shouldn't need it than not give permission and find she's hurt herself by denying her needs.

Tobias meets her gaze as steadily as he can, making sure to keep his expression calm.

"Go ahead," he says with a smile. "It's yours."

The vampire hesitates a moment longer, watching Tobias like she's expecting him to change his mind. He just nods to her.

Finally, she lifts her hand to her mouth and licks off the drop of blood she'd spilled there. Her eyes flutter shut, and her entire posture softens a touch. She opens her eyes again and gives Tobias a little bow.

Her obedience and what he can only call groveling make Tobias extremely uncomfortable, but again. He'd rather be slightly uncomfortable than unintentionally hurt the vampire.

So he gives her a smile. "Good?" he asks.

She nods vigorously.

"I'm glad." This time the smile isn't nearly as forced.

She goes to gather the items in her arms, glancing to Tobias for permission and reassurance. At his nod, she holds the bottles and blankets close. She gives another bow.

"You're welcome, kiddo."

@kim-poce

[lunarreaper-ut]

Do they have chronc illness? Having long(er) lives doesn't mean they can't feel it xD

So nighty, isn't corrupted but has some Kind of phantomn tentacles, interesting. Which makes me curious about killer and about his soul state? Is it like canon killer or... ??

I want to know... I really really do... Are there any rumors going around the castle? Especially about nighty and killer and their... Nightly visits~ uwu do people mistake it AS something else like *cough*naughty*cough* things or maybe believing nighty is torturing killer or idk, any Kind if ridiculous story? Do people even now that killer chills in nightys room (where he actually gets storys read by the king of night himself, lol. Its so cute i swear! Oh if they would know haha 🤭<3) And also ... Do they sometime uumm.. (Obliviously) happen to Cuddle while reading/listening to each other, sometimes???

Oh and Pls tell me... Do any of them have any Kind of habbits? Im curious^^

Ps: will u maybe make something like an relation chart someday??? Dont have to, just asking. :3

Oh these are good questions! All your questions are good but nonetheless >w<

Let's get into it!

Do the Kings have any Chronic Illnesses?

I'm not sure exactly what you mean, but I assume you're talking about like disabilities? Like how some people headcanon (me included) that the original Nightmare has back problems because of the tentacles?

If that's the case, then technically Nightmare does have one, but it's not the back issues. Nightmare has minor vision issues in his right eye, because of an injury in the past. He also has a pretty obvious scar, which makes him rather intimidating. I haven't mentioned it because I haven't finished his design yet and I haven't really had a reason to mention it >w<; (Honestly I haven't really described any of them o.o)

The Kings aren't really all that affected by their age, but they are capable of being scarred or permanently disabled. Their particularly strong immune systems also makes it hard for any serious chronic illnesses to afflict them. It's another one of those "It's not impossible, but it's certainly not likely" situations >w<

Is Killer's soul similar to his canon soul?

Yep! Killer's soul does appear outside of his body, but it is visually different from the original Killer. KV!Killer's soul seems to have a white pupil, like an eye! Killer is also able to move his soul around slightly, though only to position it differently around his body. (Such as moving it into the palm of his hand, or around his torso, though it takes a fair bit of effort and he never has a reason to do so.)

Killer's soul is also similar in that it can change into a heart shape when he's feeling particularly positive feelings!

Are there any rumors about Killer and Nightmare's late night visits?

Thankfully for them, no not yet! People don't really pay much attention to the King of the Night or his Guard, and Nightmare usually stays in his office until most of the staff have already gone to sleep. (He works late, Killer has been trying to break him out of the habit.)

Killer and Nightmare already walk around and spend a lot of time together (Since Killer is his Royal Guard), so the idea that Killer would escort Nightmare to his room isn't unsurprising even if someone saw them. If someone were to see Killer going into Nightmare's room, they'd probably just assume it was for some sort of check or precaution. Killer doesn't really sleep in there often either, so there's never been an incident of someone seeing him come out of Nightmare's room in the morning.

Do they cuddle during their late night visits?

Hehe >w< Killer tries to respect Nightmare's boundaries, so he doesn't really do a lot of physical contact with the King, but there are some times where they're a bit more comfortable with each other~! Killer might lean against Nightmare while he reads, or even lay his head in Nightmare's lap when he's feeling particularly bold, and Nightmare allows it.

When he asked what Killer was doing, he just said he was getting comfortable, and Nightmare left it at that. If Nightmare were to ever initiate any physical affection, Killer wouldn't even question it, and would just enjoy it!

So they don't really full on cuddle (yet), but there's some physical affection >w<

Do any of them have any habits?

I assume this is for the main four, so I'll go ahead and answer for those four!

Nightmare

Nightmare has a habit of working late (as previously mentioned). By the time he's finished, most of the castle have retired for the evening (other than those who work night shifts.) He's also developed the habit of scanning the rooms he enters before fully stepping in. That developed because of the assassination attempts.

Nightmare also has the habit (in private) of holding or squeezing comfort items, like the plushy he was gifted. If he can't do that, he taps surfaces. It usually ends up making him look impatient.

Dream

Dream has a habit of talking over people sometimes. He doesn't really mean to, and has been working to fix it. Being the King, he's never really had to fight for someone to listen, so he sometimes forgets that he should be the one listening. He mostly does this to Nightmare, but it truly isn't intentional.

He also has gained the habit of needing to touch Cross in some way if he's nervous. It's usually grabbing onto his clothes or even his hand, but having some contact with Cross is a comfort.

Cross

Cross' habits are mostly in relation to his training. He's developed such a strict routine over the years, that straying from it usually makes him feel off for the rest of the day. He has to do things a certain way or it just doesn't feel right.

Non work related habits though? Cross separates his food on his plate. He's not sure where the habit came from, but he likes keeping his food separated, even if it seems childish. He'll also end up grabbing food or drinks that Dream likes when he means to get something for himself.

Killer

Killer also has the habit of checking a room before entering it. This stems from his years running from the Guardsmen though. Not having eyelights makes it easier for him to carefully examine places or people without getting suspicious. He also habitually cleans his knives. He has to do it at least once a week, but he also does it when he's bored with nothing else to do.

If he's able to, Killer will count the people in the rooms he enters too, and keeps track of who leaves and who comes in. He makes note of people who might be issues, and never lets anyone get within a certain distance of Nightmare without him being certain they can't or won't do harm.

Most if not all of Killer's habits are related to his past or his current job, but there is one that I can think of that isn't job related! Killer has the habit of looking at Nightmare after he tells a joke or a pun. He wants to see Nightmare's reactions.

As for the relationship chart? I'm not sure! I could do one, I just haven't done one before so I dunno how I'd set it up >w<

[wish-i-wasnt-a-coward]

Breaking the mirror

Janus is happier, Virgil helps, and the twins are still a raging homosexuals

Part 1, Part 2

Pairings: Roceit very background Intuality and Analogical 

Warnings: bleach, biting someones hair (idk man), potential second hand embarrassment 

✿ﾟ‘ﾟ･✿.｡.:*.:｡✿ﾟ‘ﾟ*’‘✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*¨ﾟ･ ✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*ﾟ¨ﾟ･✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*ﾟ‘ﾟ･✿.｡.:*✿

Janus stared at themself in the mirror. They looked better now, makeup on their eyes but birthmark uncovered. Their hair was curly and free and they wore a yellow button-down open over a shirt with snake facts. They looked a lot more like Janus, though traces of Damian seemed to cling to their thin face. 

Tomorrow they were going to get face and ear piercings with Remus and Roman. They were ridiculously excited. Virgil had jokingly suggested that they get snakebite piercings and, after finding out what that was, Janus had to get them.

Another big issue was their hair. The black locks were something the Mandax family prided themselves on, so of course, Janus hated it. They ran their fingers through the curls, Virgil might have some hair dye but would it show up on the black? Maybe they could just bleach it. 

“Oh virgilll” Janus sang, leaning against the doorway to Virgil’s room. The emo looked up annoyed, “what” he snapped. “I require some assistance, I want to bleach my hair and you have the hair dye. Help me?” they said examining their nails. “Yah sure, go get Patton, he wanted to dye his hair too, and meet me in the bathroom,” Virgil sighed pulling themself out of bed. Janus grinned and sauntered off to find their bubbly roommate.  

10 minutes later the three were situated in the bathroom, Virgil mixing a tub of light blue hair dye and Janus shaking a bottle of hair bleach. Patton was excitedly shimmying watching the two. Virgil turned around with a brush in hand. “K, Jan I trust you not to chemically burn us all. The door stays open for fumes and don’t get it in your eyes” Janus nodded, “Pat, you ready” Virgil asked laughing at the giggly boy who nodded vigorously, “alright, sit still”. With that, Virgil began brushing the blue gunk through Patton’s curly blond locks. 

Janus carefully opened the bottle and poured some into their gloved hand, it was far more liquid than expected and ran into the tub instantaneously. Giving up that idea Janus tilted their head back and poured a part of the bottle on their hair, rubbing it in. After around half the bottle was gone they reached for a plastic bag and wrapped their hair in it. 

Patton stifled his giggles, “what!” Janus questioned indignantly, “you look really silly” Patton giggled. Janus scoffed, “you’re one to talk,” they said pointing to the blue gunk covering most of their hair. Virgil smiled, their attention not wavering, “hair dye is a process, it looks ridiculous at first but you gotta trust the process” Virgil stepped back, “alright pat, I think you’re good to go” Patton grabbed a plastic bag, “35 minutes right?”, “right”

✿ﾟ‘ﾟ･✿.｡.:*.:｡✿ﾟ‘ﾟ*’‘✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*¨ﾟ･ ✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*ﾟ¨ﾟ･✿.｡.:*.:｡✿*ﾟ‘ﾟ･✿.｡.:*✿

Patton’s hair, now washed and dried, was a bright blue that suited Patton perfectly. It reminded Janus of cotton candy. Remus was going to put it in his mouth at some point, it was inevitable. But it did look really good. Janus carefully pulled off the plastic bag keeping their eyes closed to keep the bleach out. They put down the bag, took a breath, and opened their eyes. Their hair was blond. The teen felt giddy, they looked so different! They rushed through the washing process, drying it thoroughly, and looked at it again. 

It was fluffy and curly and blond!!! They looked at their face carefully, this is who they were. The traces of Damian were gone, only Janus and a mop of yellow gold hair left behind. Janus laughed running their fingers through the platinum hair, they loved it. 

There was a knock on the door, “you good in their lord of the lies?” Virgil checked, “yep,” Janus choked out, “I’m good”. They took a moment to compose themself and swung open the door dramatically. 

Patton was instantly on them, “OH MY GOSH ITS SO FLUFFY!!!!!” he said, reaching up to mess with Janus’s hair. Janus grinned, ruffling Patton’s hair as well, “yours looks like cotton candy,” they said grinning. A gasp was heard from the couch, “OH MY FUCKING GOD IT DOES!!!! Babe, can I eat your hair!!!” Remus called from the back of the room. 

“This is bullying, you knew that would happen” Patton wined at Janus as Remus scooped him. “You’re my little candy puff!!! Nom” Remus said, biting Patton’s hair. Patton giggled and pushed his head away. “No!!”. Janus moved on, as cute as they were they did not need to vomit on their new shoes. 

They flopped onto their bed, Virgil complimented their hair on their way back to his room, leaving them alone to take a nap. Janus stretched out on the bed and closed their eyes, they were safe. 

When they opened their eyes again light streamed through the windows. Janus blinked the sleep from their eyes and sat up, looks like they had missed dinner. Sadly, Patton had made perogies. They pulled themself up and stumbled to the kitchen where a surprised Roman sat eating toast. “You changed your hair!” Janus nodded, too tired to respond. “Looks good,” Roman said, blushing furiously. Janus just nodded again, shaking their head to clear it, “thanks, Verge helped yesterday” They mumbled. Pouring themself coffee. The two sat in silence for a minute as Janus woke up. 

“So, uh I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Roman said, still blushing, “about the, um, the kiss”. Janus pushed down the worry creeping up in their throat, “yeah?” they said as smoothly as they could. “I don’t want to assume anything, but I don’t want that to be a one-time thing. And… I would like to, maybe, if you wanted, to go on a date?” Roman stared at the cup of tea in his hands, his face was flushed and he was shaking a tiny bit. Janus nudged his side, “I don’t want it to be a one-time thing either” Roman looked into Janus’s yellow eyes, “And I would love to go on a date with you”

Roman ginned, pulling Janus into a hug. “I’m glad,” he mumbled. Janus just laughed and pulled his face up. The two stood barely inches apart before Roman muttered, “you’re so… beautiful Janus” the person in his arms flushed, “just shut up and kiss me”

[kimberly-spirits13]

Right Hand Man (Loyal to the End) Pt. 6

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: You were like Talia’s daughter. The only thing was that you weren’t and instead, you had grown up in the foster care system and at a young age were taken by and personally trained by Talia. Along the way, you meet Damian and the two of you start to work side by side and eventually, after some time become closer and closer. However, when disaster in the league strikes, you face balancing an old, forgotten life as a normal child and the burden of right hand to the demon heir.

Note: I know that this is long and that there are a good number of time skips, but I didn’t want to make this into a series and just wanted it as a long fic because .... well because I can lol

Also, I didn’t want to have Damian so young in this so just go with it. I’m thinking maybe early 15 or almost 16 at the most. Idk I just don’t like writing for young Dami.

Warnings: trauma induced habits (it’s really not anything serious), unhealthy sleep habits but I'm pretty sure everyone here has those

Word Count: 1897

Masterlist for Series

It was three days later since you had mistakenly slammed Dick into the mats. You and Damian hadn’t talked about it at all seeing as you were trying to avoid the topic like the plague. Darkness had settled over the manor. Bruce and the rest were just back from their patrols and you were just getting ready for yours. It was unofficial at least. Today would have been your turn for the 2:30 am shift of patrol at the league. You couldn’t sleep at all with the thought of your responsibilities running through your mind. 20 minutes had passed of you battling yourself on the aspect of going out. It would be unnecessary, Mr. Wayne has the best security money could buy or make. You thought it through over and over again. What if an alarm didn’t trip off when an intruder came in? What if the manor was attacked and nothing happened to prevent it. With these thoughts overpowering the logic you tried to introduce, you got up and changed into your suit.

        Exiting from your window, you went on top of the manor. The roof was pretty massive seeing as this was a mansion. You looked up seeing the stars and thinking back to what it looked like at the compound. The biggest difference here was seeing the lights from the city in the distance and pine trees instead of endless mountains. You jumped from different points, quietly landing on others. As you did this, you scanned the area and moved on if you didn’t see anything strange.

In the Manor:

        “It looks like she’s patrolling the area.” Bruce said sitting back in his chair in front of the computers that were installed in the cave, “I don’t like it.”

        “Master Bruce, Miss. Y/N is merely practicing habit. Leave the child be.” Alfred said as he cleaned up his first aid tools from tonight’s patrol.

        “She could be plotting something. Getting intel, either way, she’s triggering my alarms.” Bruce responded.

        “Master Bruce! Enough of that.” Alfred raised his voice in disapproval, “This isn’t a normal household as you might have gathered. Everyone here deals with trauma differently. As a child when you picked up strange habits after ... your own set of traumas, I did nothing to stop you of such actions. I knew you’d grow out of it.”

        “I guess you’re right.” Bruce muttered.

        “Nothing new Master Bruce.” Alfred remarked walking into the other part of the cave.

        Bruce eventually left, turning the system off. He knew Alfred was right and even though he wanted to, he knew that there was no ill intent in your actions.

_______________________________________________________________________

        Back outside, you were still well underway in your patrol. You had only thirty minutes left and then you would be able to return to your bedroom. Everything was silent but for the crickets and occasional fire fly here and there. You marveled at their beauty once you figured out what they were. That was strange to see for the first time. Other than that, the only other sound was a new pair of footsteps coming from behind. You knew who it was without turning around.      

        “I thought I would find you here.” Damian said.

        “Well, I guess you thought right then Damian.” You replied perched on the side of the manor.

        “I assume this patrol is stemming from previous habits of yours?”

        “One might say that.” You gave him a side glance seeing that he was coming to sit by you, “Old habit.”

        “Closer to, a sign that you really aren’t taking this move well and are actually covering it up for the sake of reputation and your own personal expectations you have set for yourself.” Damian commented making you roll your eyes some.

        “Wow, caught red handed.” “In all actuality, you’re correct on many levels.” “I just needed something ... normal for a change.”

        “I understand.” He said shortly, “I heard father talking about a gala. Something to parade us around to the rich snobs and media as an introduction. I do not look forward to it.”

        “That sounds like one of the worst ideas I have heard in quite a long time.” You huffed, “And that’s saying quite a lot.”

        He chuckled but after that, everything fell back into silence. You carefully looked out over the grounds before being startled by the vibration and alarm of your phone.

        “Looks like my patrol has ended.” You said turning off the alarm, “I shall return inside. Care to join me?”

        “I will.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        From there, sleep was impossible to come by. You were plagued by nightmares which you never had before. It was probably since you weren’t constantly focusing on training or a mission you had convinced yourself. What you needed was something to focus on and that was what you got. You didn’t rely on coffee like Drake since you never had it to begin with at the league. For the first few days, no one noticed anything. That was what you had planned, however it was of course Damian who raised the first alarm. You were in the library catching up on some studies for ancient history and astronomy. The sunlight was streaming in golden beams through the windows and you were sitting at one of the tables wrapped up in one of the long jackets that you had gotten. Damian walked in to see you hunched over one of the books with your hair in a messy bun.

        “Y/N?” He asked quietly as to not scare you.

        “Mhmm?” You hummed in response giving him a quick glance of acknowledgement, flipping the page to a star map.

        “With all due respect, you seem tired as of late. When was the last time you slept?” He questioned sitting next to you examining the pile of books you had pulled.

        “Last night?”

        “But did you actually sleep an entire night last night? That is the real question.”

        “Why are you concerned on the hours of sleep I got Wayne?” You asked in return.

        He didn’t answer. The truth was that he was worried more than he’d care to admit. He knew that you had terrible dreams like he did, neither of you cared to talk about them at all. The memories of mornings where you’d come for training with dark circles and eyes flooded his conscious. Those days you were scarier and had less patience, though he’d never blame you for it since he understood the feeling for some part.

        “You never answered my question.” You said pulling him from his thoughts.

        “I-I... no reason, I was just making sure my right hand was in stable mind.”

        “Well, I am fine.” You glared at him for the comment, “I’m perfectly stable demon.”

_______________________________________________________________________

        That was a few days ago. You kept the exhaustion hidden well, especially considering you were in a house full of detectives. That didn’t mean you didn’t feel it though. You were bone tired and almost lagged along. Focus became harder to maintain and you felt yourself drifting on and off into sleep. Now you were in the training room running a simulation. It was an easier one you had to admit, but nothing enough to give anything away. Your moves weren’t sloppy, just not as pristine as typical. You also didn’t notice Damian walk inside of the cave to watch you. Rubbing your temple as you finished, you grabbed your water bottle and splashed some of the cold liquid on your face to wake you up. You turned around and were startled by Damian.

        “My apologies, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said reaching to grab your arms to keep you from hitting him from habit.

        “It’s fine.” You replied, “I just didn’t realize you were there.”

        “You never drop your guard like that. I think it’s time for you to sleep L/N.” He said, “I know you haven’t been getting any.”

        “I insist that I am fine.” You went to grab your duffle bag off of the floor with the intention of showering in the cave showers near the back. Standing up was the issue. With the worst light headed feeling you’d had in years you fell back down.

        “Y/N!” Damian grabbed you before you had totally hit the floor, “That makes it final, I’m making you sleep.”

        You mumbled an argument before totally passing out. There was no way of avoiding the obvious of you being passed out as he took you to your room.

        “Damian, what happened to Y/N?” Bruce asked alarmed standing up to see you completely out. Bruce wasn’t fazed by much, however, he wasn’t ready for that at all.

        “Lack of sleep.” Damian said shortly, “I think I know why.”

        Alfred followed him up the stairs explaining that he’d need to make sure you were okay other than not sleeping. He was sure that after a good night’s rest or so, you’d be fine. Damian knew though, that that was asking a lot from you no matter how simple it might be.

_______________________________________________________________________

        You awoke suddenly in your bedroom only to be surrounded by darkness and the light, delicate streams of moonlight shining dimly across the objects inside. You felt someone taking hold of your hand and immediately looked to see that it was Damian. Next to you, he was sitting in a chair with his head resting on the side of the bed and his hand around yours. With the shift in motion that you had caused, Damian awoke.

        “What are you doing?” You asked, a blush creeping across your face.

        “Oh- I,” He let go of your hand and rubbed the back of his neck, “I knew you needed to sleep and I also knew that you wouldn’t unless there was someone with you.” “I just didn’t think you’d want me to be in the be-“

        “I-I understand.” You replied, “Thank you.”

        “I will leave now.” He got up.

        “Damian I ... you were right about the sleeping bit. I actually wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

        “I see.” He sat back down in the chair.

        “Damian, I’ve known you since we were three, you can sleep in the bed.” “If you’d prefer, there’s an extra quilt you could use in the closet.”

        “Are you sure?” He asked standing back up.

        “Positive.”

        Damian retrieved the quilt from your closet and returned quietly, getting on the bed. You stayed under the original bedding and he slept on top of it. There was a distance that was kept between you two since it would be strange for you to be any closer. You were just close friends and nothing more. Although, that thought made you a bit upset. When you did finally awaken however, you were startled to see that you were tangled in the covers laying as close as possible to him. Damian’s arms were draped over you holding you tightly and neither of you cared to talk about it.

        That did however start a routine of going into each other’s rooms for sleeping. You didn’t classify it as a romantic or intimate thing. It was saved for whenever either of you had dreams terrible enough that you didn’t want to be alone anymore. At night, you might have been awakened by Damian coming into your room and getting into the bed only for you to keep close to him or it would be the other way around.

Tags-

@idkmanicantenglish​ @queengeorgiaaa​ @lucy-roo​ @reclusive-chicken-nugget​ @random-fandom-girl-24​

[todo-ho-ki]

LONG POST

⚠️MHA SPOILERS⚠️ thru CHPT 321

People that would’ve made sense to make LGBT in MHA, despite my inability to perform in depth character analysis:

Bakugo: not that I necessarily honestly think he’s into anyone, maybe at the very least asexual, but if he’d confessed to Midoriya, it would’ve made sense. They CLEARLY have a hold on each other in some way, and with the way his character development is going, would it really be surprising if he starts having feelings he didn’t realize he had before? A confession would’ve been unexpected, but him being even just..NOT straight and having to figure out how to deal with it would’ve added such a true realness to his arc

Hawks: I WILL be dying on this hill. if anyone would have made sense, it’d have been Hawks for a LOT of reasons, the least in depth being he gives off bi energy and the most in depth would be examining him as a character and shoving him in the closet as a way to showcase the hold the hero commission has on him, while he has everything to lose. It also goes into exploring his similarities to Dabi, the way they’re two very different sides of the same coin.

Shoto: This boy struggling with figuring out who he is after the shit he’s been through would have also been an excellent examination of his character. Him deciding to tell Midoriya how he feels after everything he allowed himself to work through after fighting, came to his aid with absolutely no hesitation, spent his internship with him, has been with him basically every step of the way would make sense. Even just as an exploration of boundaries and social cues and being confused by the first person to show you something different, it would’ve made sense.

Dabi: Already has nothing to lose, and while I also genuinely, HIGHLY doubt Dabi experiences physical/sexual attraction, his parallels with Hawks would once again make this an interesting dynamic. On top of that, being LGBT doesn’t mean JUST gay or bi, he could be aro/ace, pan, ace but biromantic..they could’ve even explored demisexuality/romanticism,which again, would’ve been very interesting to see in terms of the relationships he HAS formed, good or bad especially when you combine them with the trust issues. Hell, any orientation put to Dabi’s name could’ve been interesting.

On top of this all, Horikoshi chose…the least likeable character to come out. It’s hard to tell if it was born out of..spite for people begging for stuff like this to happen, or if maybe he thought people would like Mineta more after this, or if he pulled the classic “we don’t want to upset majority audiences by making a main, important character gay, but we need to keep the gay ones around too”

Idk a lot of characters would have at least made sense, a few would’ve been surprising but reasonable to get behind, but this is…SO far out of left field that it feels like a slap in the face. NOTHING suggested this was always coming, though I don’t suppose it had to. At the same time, Horikoshi is excellent at dropping clues and hints. Hell, most people reading the manga knew Dabi was Touya LONG before it was revealed in the manga. Just by context clues. It was obviously something he planned on from the second he designed Dabi to look like Endeavor, to look like Shoto, to have the same powers but stronger, to have the pitfalls of his mother’s tolerance to heat and more firepower than even his father. It was obviously carefully and lovingly constructed. There aren’t a lot of twists and turns in MHA that I’d say I didn’t see coming, except perhaps Midnight’s death because what the fuck was that, but everything else, no matter how exciting, made SENSE.

It’s just so fucking…

WEIRD

it’s so weird what a fucking weird, random choice

Does it mean anything in the grand scheme of things? Most likely not, but…what the FUCK

[dwarrowdams]

Okay, so I am saying this here because saying it elsewhere might just be the end of my (fledgling) career as an author.

I’ve previously read and enjoyed books written by Brooklyn Ray/Taylor Brooke (a queer + nonbinary white author), but their social media presence was...not my fave.  I saw them drag readers over small things and eventually I couldn’t take the negative vibes so I just unfollowed them, even though something told me that there was more than just ~bad vibes~ going on here.

Giving myself some space helped me to figure out what about them rubbed me the wrong way.  Was it that they RT-ed a tweet that amounted to “free menstrual products are important, but please don’t bash on free condoms bc activists worked hard to make that happen” by saying the OP was tone policing people who menstruate?  Was it the fact that they said that you can’t be Christian and a witch?

Neither of those rubbed me the right way, but the thing that got me was them saying that they disliked POSE because of the queer stereotypes.

That didn’t sit right with me, because POSE is one of very few pieces of modern media that centers Black trans women.  If you don’t like it, whatever, but saying that it’s stereotypical ignores the fact that so few Black trans women have been allowed to exist in queer spaces.  Stories of queer folks with AIDS (or queer folks who are homeless) usually center cis white people, so seeing a story like this focus on Black trans women as stereotypical is...odd, particularly since Janet Mock (a Black trans woman) writes, directs, and produces the show.

Tonight, it all clicked into place.

The comment on POSE.

Their positive review of a book that readers of color have called out for racism (and of course their review doesn’t mention that there’s anything racially problematic in the book).

(White reviewers have mentioned these issues as well.) 

The fact that they released an anthology of stories by nonbinary authors and only two authors included were POC (again, please correct me if I’m wrong).

While that might seem fine (it’s the same number of authors of color as the recently released romance anthology He’s Come Undone, after all), there are nine stories in Behind the Sun, Above the Moon.

There are five stories in He’s Come Undone.  So compare the 40% ratio of authors of color in He’s Come Undone to the 22.2% ratio of Behind the Sun, Above the Moon.  It’s pretty damn telling.

Brooklyn Ray/Taylor Brooke is one of the White Queers who does not acknowledge the white privilege they have.  They are sidlining and ignoring queer/trans people of color and from my knowledge, they have not taken a step back and acknowledged that any of these actions are problematic.

I am tired of seeing white queers who don’t examine their white privilege and racial biases—and I’m white, so I can only imagine how tired queer people of color are of seeing white queers doing this.

While it may be tempting to do so, please do not @ them on social media about this—they can get really nasty with folks over very little, even if those folks are calm and polite (see image below or click the link).

(context: Taylor had vague-tweeted about an article praising Leigh Bardugo’s NINTH HOUSE and someone was asking for the link to the article)

Just stay away from them and use your energy to support trans authors of color: today, this month, and every damn day.

If this is something you want to talk about on Twitter, do so very carefully because I’ve also seen this author post screenshots of tweets where their name was censored out.  (Did someone send them the pics?  Did they poke around looking for their censored out name?  Idk, but something is definitely rotten in the state of Denmark.) I do hope that they learn to be a better ally to QTPOC, but I don’t want any of y’all risking your mental health by trying to confront them directly.

Fellow white queer folks, we need to do better so that the people of color in our queer community can openly be themselves without being criticized for not fitting the White Queer Ideal.

Update: As of today (6/29/20), Brooklyn Ray/Taylor Brooke/Taylor Barton has been dropped by their agent and all of their publishers. However, they are planning to self-publish the books they wrote as Brooklyn Ray (and perhaps others) using the same pseudonym and the same book titles.  The fact that they felt the need to harass me for telling others not to buy their books bc they’re racist + for speaking out against their harassment of other writers says a lot.

Also worth noting: the fact that everyone they harassed when they reactivated their @/BrookieRayWrite Twitter a couple days ago is a) a new writer with fewer industry connections b) trans/nonbinary c) a person of color, or some combination of A-C, is pretty damn telling.

Obviously they have not changed and their apologies were not sincere (especially not the “wah my team made me apologize” one).  They are not worth your time or energy.

(Note: I apologize for not having links/screenshots for all of this—I didn’t think to screenshot the tweets mentioned early on because I didn’t imagine I’d have to make a post like this, but I did try my best to find what I could.)

(Another Note: Edited to include the link to the screenshotted tweet and added links to reviews of Docile by white reviewers that address the racist issues of the novel.)

(A Third Note: Edited to reflect that there was one author of color in the nonbinary anthology; my thanks to the anon who corrected me.)

(A Fourth Note: Edited to reflect that there was another author of color in the aforementioned anthology; my thanks to the anon who corrected me.  Also added update on the situation and deleted the call for folks to share their experiences bc they absolutely have.)

[arthur-morgan-slap-my-ass]

The Progress of Arthur Morgan | Chapter 3

A/N: I’m sooo sorry I forgot to post yesterday! I got too caught up playing TLOU for idk, the 5th or 6th time because I’m a dirty rat and would totally suck Joel’s dick? Anyways, here’s the conclusion to this thrilling saga, by yours truly! As always, please, give the feedback! Thanks for reading in advance!

Playlist

Word Count: 8,200 words oof

Chapters: 1 | 2

Arthur had started greeting you with a kiss on the cheek about two or three sessions ago, and you were taken aback by the sudden change in behavior — usually he’d stick to the trivial nod of head, maybe a shake of hands, but this was a bit over the top.

You had blinked at him, flustered at the sudden easiness in which he seemed to touch you. With a sudden wave of uneasiness, you took in the small details, his trimmed hair and carefully shaven face, clothing on the nicer side of his wardrobe and a terribly good smelling sandalwood cologne.

Over the past weeks, he had made considerable improvements on his self-image and body language, seemingly more at ease with himself at each session, his behavior growing more flirtatious and teasing with time. It made you happy, to see Arthur progressing like that, but that last bit worried you. It wasn’t unusual for patients to feel attracted to their therapists, but it was rare for them to actively pursued it.

It took half a heartbeat for you to realize that you were most likely in deep shit.

“How are we doing this week, Arthur?,” you had asked him with a tight smile, ignoring the flutter of your stomach at the way he smiled at you, as if aware of the effect he had over you.

“All good, I s’ppose,” he shrugged lightly, apparently not too keen on highlighting any moment of his week, “same old, same old.”

“Same old would be a lie,” you laughed at his offhanded comment, moving to take a seat at your armchair, all too aware of the way Arthur was watching you. “We’ve come a long way since your first session and you seem far better, from my point of view.”

Arthur scoffed, averting his gaze with a flustered look. He soon chuckled, smile widening at your words. “Geez, doc— you can’t go ‘round blurtin’ out stuff like that.”

Was he blushing?

Crap.

“I’m just saying the obvious,” you tried to contour the situation, feeling the twist of emotion in your stomach. “I mean, you’re clearly taking better care of yourself, dressing better—“

At this, he smirked, fixing you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Arthur shrugged again, as nonchalant as he could be. “S’ppose I have, don’t have to mean anythin’.”

“Arthur Morgan,” you said in a secretive voice, curiosity dripping from your words, “don’t you dare shit me.”

He laughed warmly, the light of it making the corner of his eyes crinkle, no longer hiding behind his hand. Arthur was charming. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t noticed it before. “Let’s say there’s someone,” he started, seeming to be examining you for a reaction, “would you look down on me ‘cause of it?”

“Why would I do such a thing?,” you inquired, wary of the nature of the conversation.

The man huffed out a breath, leaning forwards in his seat in an intimate way as if to tell you a particularly nasty piece of gossip. “Well, all things considered, I just got out of a sinkin’ marriage, doc,” his eyebrows shot up, as if stating the obvious. “Sure sounds weird, me suddenly goin’ ‘round with someone else after barely a couple months, ain’t that so?”

You mouth suddenly felt dry, but you nodded nevertheless. “Each has their own time to heal, I suppose… but if you need to hear it, I wouldn’t look down or think less of you because of that.”

He seemed satisfied, a sheepish little smile blossoming on his full lips. The man seemed almost boyish with the way his eyes fixated on you, the warmth in it threatening to smother you. “Ain’t sure if she likes me yet,” Arthur said quizzically, smile broadening at your nodding answer, “but I sure am tryin’ to catch her eye.”

“It’s good to see that you’re allowing yourself room to grow,” you spoke gently, fighting the urge to prod on the subject, “it makes me proud knowing you’re reaching out for the things you want, Arthur.”

The man cocked his head to the side, an enigmatic little smile playing on his lips as he watched and you could swear his eyes dallied a second too long on your left hand. “Yer told me you’ve divorced too” he started casually, a teasing lilt in his voice as he leaned back, “never told me how that went down for you.”

“Ah,” you gasped out as your eyes widened in surprise, caught off guard, “I don’t think— I mean,” you smiled nervously, fixing your hair, “it’s— it was okay for me.”

Arthur laughed softly, amused at how he had been able to knock you off your feet. “Don’t tell me I’ve ruffled your feathers, doc,” he teased, “why did you divorce?”

Because my husband was a lying piece of garbage who had been fucking the desk attendant, of all people, behind my back as I worked my ass off sounded a bit too extreme, you decided. With a placid smile, you answered:

“I suppose we couldn’t see eye to eye anymore,” your hands tightened on your lap and you trained your gaze on some point above Arthur’s shoulder, “eventually, other people came around and we grew distant.”

He watched you, as if absorbing that piece of information and deciding if he should ask more on it. “Did he cheat on you?,” Arthur asked, all the amusement and jeering gone from his voice, replaced by genuine worry. You had a hard time trying to remember if you’ve seen him this serious.

You turned your head to the side, running away from the question. “I believe we should be talking about you, Arthur—“

“I’m tired of talking ‘bout myself,” Arthur interrupted in a soft voice, “we been seein’ each other once a week, for months now. Figured I should get to know yer a little more, ‘s all.”

With a steadying breath, you rubbed your lips together, tasting the sweetness of your lipgloss. What was he trying to do, cornering you like that? “I don’t think—“

“Don’t give me the ethics talk,” Arthur complained, sighing wearily, “think we’re well past that. ‘sides, I just asked yer a question,” his eyebrows jutted up, a soft smile playing on his full lips. “What’s wrong with that?”

You flirting with me is everything that’s wrong with it¸ you thought to yourself, trying not to seem too closed off, and the worst part is that I want to flirt back.

“I see your point,” you spoke up, in your best nonchalant voice. “I suppose that’s fair.

“Well?,” Arthur probed further, gently. “Don’t have to tell me if I’m pushin’ too hard, doc. I’m just curious ‘bout you, ‘s all.”

“He cheated on me,” came your quiet confession, gaze resting on his eyes, so blue now you swore you could drown in them. You wanted to cry. “With one of our front desk attendants, about 2 years ago.”

Arthur nodded comprehensively, wary not to abuse his already stretched thin luck. You swallowed thickly, trying hard not to seem too sensitive over it. “We divorced and split the money, I got the house and he took the car, nothing new there. I’m okay with it.”

What an awful liar.                            

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “didn’t mean to upset yer, doc.”

“It’s okay,” you turned your attention to him now, forcing a smile, “it’s behind me.”

Arthur blinked, letting the silence settle in until you squirmed. And then, suddenly, he reached forwards, slowly, offering you his upturned palm. “Thanks for tellin’ me, doc.”

You hesitated, the few centimeters between you both diminishing by half. Your own hand moved, brushing his fingers before gently allowing him to hold it. Arthur’s hand squeezed yours and you noticed how warm his touch was, almost comforting, like a long waited embrace. You gasped out quietly, allowing the tears to pool in your eyes before wiping at them.

“It’s okay,” you repeated, listening the thunderous beating of your heart, hoping it wouldn’t give you away. “It’s okay, Arthur.”

He squinted at you, smiling so softly it made your heart clench — and you had to restrain yourself not to pull away in distress. “It’ll be.”

You pushed the entrance door open, the well known jingle of the bell ringing over your head.

The café you usually went to wasn’t a busy one — a small little thing, a family business with an incredibly sweet Italian cappuccino, just the way you liked it, with an adorably white-and caramel themed decoration —, and today wasn’t any different. With a pleasant smile, took a deep breath in, the smell of coffee and delicacies filling the air as you scanned a good spot to sit down at and maybe update your logbook.

You refused to actively address the issue at hand, opting for avoidance rather direct confrontation.

Arthur had been a recurring subject on your mind for the past few weeks, and what with after the little display a couple days ago, the presence of his character only intensified itself — much to your despair. His hands had felt so incredibly warm against the cool tips of your fingers, gentle and steady, much like his very presence and overall disposition whenever he walked into the listening room lately.

You were satisfied for him, really, proud of the path he had taken towards self-improvement and acceptance — Arthur was far better than when he came to you all those months ago, the curling satisfaction in your chest doing all the more to have you feel like an important part of it. Arthur needed reassurance, a little bit of recognition to realize his own self-worth, resourcing to it every once in a while, which you were all too happy to provide. The look in his eyes whenever you said something kind to him made your heart beat faster — the warmth there, the satisfaction on top of the inherent need to have someone to simply listen.

Scouting a place to sit was easy enough, your gaze sweeping through the few occupied tables to find a quiet and secluded spot for yourself, where you could possibly dissect your feelings revolving Arthur—

Until you found him sitting at the corner of the shop.

Arthur had his chin resting on his hand, holding a pencil as he scribbled something away in the journal you had gifted him — and your heart swelled with affection for him, tinged with a little bit of satisfaction by having him actually enjoy something you had given to him. There was half an empty cup of coffee at his table, beside a plate with half of a sandwich and you figured he must’ve arrived not too long ago.

He didn’t seem to have noticed you, too focused on the task at hand to actually pay much mind to whatever was happening around him. The thought had you smiling with fondness, for some reason.

Your hand tightened around the strap of your shoulderbag. You wanted to sit with him, you realized with a shocking realization; maybe have a coffee and chat a little. Arthur was by no means a bad company, he was funny and witty, having an air of caring disposal to his personality that made you enjoy every minute you could get with him.

It was just a chat, a little voice at the back of your mind reasoned. Just a casual conversation. There would be no harm in that. You were simply being amicable, weren’t you? Friendly, just plain and simple. With a steadying breath, you moved towards him, smile automatically broadening as you got closer.

You were in deep shit.

“How are we doing today, Arthur?,” you asked in your therapeutic voice and Arthur perked up immediately.

He turned to you, setting the pencil down as soon as soon as his eyes caught yours and you could tell he was surprised, but wasted no time on getting to his feet. “Hey, doc,” he spoke casually, bending down to press a polite kiss to the side of your face like he’d done a thousand times. You felt your face burn up just a little. “didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You nodded, absolutely not regretting it. “It’s a small place, yes; I confess that’s the main reason why I like coming here. Also, it has a really good cappuccino.”

Arthur chuckled, the sound of it familiar and comforting to you at this point. “Yeah, well, just got here myself. Was workin’ at the journal and I have to admit, you were right ‘bout it. It’s quite calmin’.”

“I’m glad to see you’ve enjoyed it, really,” you offered gently, feeling brave enough to risk a fleeting brush to his shoulder. You marveled at the way he always seemed to feel so warm and solid every time you touched him. “Like I said, it’s a good way to voice your feelings, quite soothing.”

He smiled softly at you. “Yeah, good excuse to practice my watercolor too,” Arthur motioned towards the leather bound journal, obviously at ease, “good pages for it, too. I’m surprised you knew.”

You shrugged lightly, quickly avoiding your gaze before looking at him again. “I just had a hunch, I think.”

Arthur breathed out a laugh, sitting back sideways on the white cushioned chair in order to face you. “Wanna take a look at it?”

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the offer. It was innocent enough, but it still made your heartbeat raise a little, and you hesitated. “Oh, you don’t have to show it to me—“

“Nonsense,” Arthur waved his hand dismissively, motioning for you to sit across from him at the beige colored sofa-booth right beside the window, “wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want ya to take a peek, ‘sides you’re yet to see some art by me, right?” He smiled softly, in an inviting way, “tell me what you think.”

It’s okay, you told yourself, just take a look at it, maybe have a coffee and—

Who said anything about coffee?!

With a mortified sense of self-awareness, you made your way to the sofa-booth. It was an intimate way to sit with someone, especially with the small table and warmth emanating from everywhere around you. Arthur picked up the menu, passing it to you with a sweet smile.

“Order somethin’ for yourself, doc,” he drawled, in voice that could only be classified as teasing, as if he knew the effect he had on you. “Now yer obligated to spend some time with me.”

Laughing, you took the menu from him and set it down. “I guess you caught me in your trap, Mr. Morgan. How rude of you.”

Arthur hummed, trying to look smug. “I’m smarter than I look like.”

“Quite,” you agreed, smiling at the flustered look that passed through his features for a split second. “Won’t you order me something, since you’re so smart?”

He watched you for a moment, almost surprised, before deciding on it and picking up the discarded menu. “Let’s see,” his gaze lingered on your face, flicking every so often downwards, “you seem like the kind who goes by somethin’ sweet,” he spoke more to himself and you couldn’t help but laugh at it.

“So does you,” you motioned towards the half drained mocha coffee sitting by his hand, “although I’d never have guessed. You seemed like the type to take it straight to me.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up, a light chuckle at the back of his throat. “Good to know I can still surprise you somehow, doc.”

Oh, he had no idea.

“What do you have in mind, then?,” you asked, trying to peek at the menu, only to have Arthur pull it more closely to him with an amused laugh.

“I’ll say either Italian cappuccino or mochaccino,” he announced with finality, putting the little booklet aside and moving to his own cup of half finished coffee. “I’ll let you pick which, cuz whatever you’re having, I’ll want one too; if you don’t mind.”

You tried to hide your smile, looking over to one of the waitresses and signaling for her to come over and take the order. Arthur stayed silent, watching you somewhat fondly, until the waitress left, taking the empty cup and the plate in which only a small portion of his sandwich remained after he had said he wouldn’t be finishing it.

“Are you going to show me your journal,” you started casually, pointing to it, “or was it just a way to trick me into having a coffee with you?”

Arthur raised his hands in mock surrender before speaking up. “Maybe a lil’ bit of both, I’ll admit. Just hope you don’t mind much.”

You sighed, cocking your head to the side with a sense of familiarity. A tiny voice whispered at the back of your mind that you were taking things too far; but you preferred to ignore it in order to have Arthur looking at you the way he did now. “Very well then,” you acquiesced gently, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “let’s see what you have.”

“Ain’t much writing,” he explained, picking it up and passing it to you “just drawings n’ such, few watercolors, ‘s all.”

His fingers brushed yours when you touched the leather cover, which made you startle slightly, coughing a bit to diffuse the tension. With a little surprise, you noticed that Arthur had nearly used half of the pages already. “You sure liked the idea, don’t know why you never took to it before.”

Arthur shrugged, watching you open the journal and examine a particularly skillful work of a riverbank forestline, the goldish-orange hue of it making it clear which season it was. “Just needed the right push, s’ppose.”

“That’s…,” you ran your hands over the picture, turning to see a pencil sketch of a bird on the next page, beside what you thought was the perfect representation of a tree leaf on the other side. He was skilled, definitely. “Arthur, that’s so beautiful…”

The man scoffed a little, clearly embarrassed. “Ain’t much, but thank you—“

“No,” you interjected softly, turning to the next page for a particularly good-looking representation of blue flowers, which you recognized to be a clump of forget-me-nots, their name written below in neat calligraphy with Arthur’s signature beside. “I mean it, they’re really beautiful.”

“Ah,” he gasped, standing up and quickly moving to your side and you unthinkingly made room for him to sit beside you. “I forgot to give this one to you,” Arthur pointed to it, “thought you deserved a little thank you for… well, you know, didn’t have to buy the journal, but since you did—“

You turned to look at him, the realization and embarrassment slowly creeping in and covering your cheeks in a pinkish hue. “Oh, please, you don’t have to—“

“Aw, c’mon, doc,” he gently pulled the journal from your hands, steadying the pages to rip off the one with the watercolor meant for you, “it’s the least I could do.”

He passed it you, feigning nonchalance, but you noticed how nervous he was; so you took it in your hands, marveling once more at how beautiful it was. “I don’t know what to say, it really is beautiful, Arthur,” you glanced up at him, smiling, “thank you so much.”

“s nothin’,” he half muttered, with a sheepish little smile, pushing the leather bound book back to you, but he didn’t move to go back to his chair across from you. “Just thought you’d like it, ‘s all.”

Trying to repress your own smile, you averted your gaze and set it aside to keep it from crumpling or staining, turning your attention once more to the journal. This was a red light, a big red light — and you tried to play it off as a gentleness, nothing more than that, just Arthur being kind to you. He was an artist, you reminded yourself, and he painted things all the time. It was okay.

You turned the pages idly, examining animal studies and plants, coupled with a few other watercolors — from childhood memories, a few other landscapes, a perky looking brownish dog which Arthur explained to be the one he owned when younger.

“Hosea and Dutch took me to the animal shelter, couple weeks after I came ‘round. Love at first sight, I say,” Arthur chuckled, scratching at his chin, “he was one mad pup, always had his snout where it shouldn’t be.”

“You never mentioned you had a dog,” you commented idly, turning to look at him with a pleasant smile, “I didn’t think you were a dog person.”

Arthur snickered, resting his elbow on the table and leaning into it a little. “Never got the opportunity to mention, ‘s all.”

You watched him for a second, taking in the soft smile on his lips and the warmth of his eyes; so incredibly open you could barely believe how clamped up he had seemed to be when you first met. The coffee had come and was gone now, with how entranced you were by the conversation — and so was Arthur, to your absolute glee —, and you were entertaining the idea of ordering another one just to not have to leave.

Politely skipping Arthur’s writings, you preferred not to pry on his thoughts, instead focusing on his artwork — which were, once more, breathtaking. He paid close attention to details, you noticed. There was a myriad of subjects, but it was clear that Arthur had, indeed, a keen interest in nature. You didn’t know why, but it made you smile. As much as he was willing to share things with you, there was still a lot to discover.

“I wonder where you picked up drawing from,” you whispered outloud, caressing the page of a watercolor of the silhouette of a hare standing out against the sun as it set.

“From Hosea,” Arthur said, leaning closer to the book in order to examine the art himself. Christ, he smelled perfect. “He taught me most of it, but I just got better with time, y’know.”

You nodded, smiling. All you wanted was to lean sideways and rest your head on his shoulder, but you held back, instead turning the page.

And at that, you cocked your head to the side.

It wasn’t the recreation of a budding flower or a bird spreading its wings ready to fly, there was no landscape or careful study of animal anatomy; no leaves

Instead, you looked at a picture of yourself.

You were standing, about half of your torso in it, next to the desk you kept at the listening room; a serene, yet focused expression on your face as you read through the stack of papers there, the profile of your face highlighted beautifully in Arthur’s skills. The colors he had picked for you were soft, pastel-like, putting together an overall dreamy picture and you could see everything, you noticed; the tiny strands of hair, the glimmer of your eyes, the gentle way that your shoulders slouched a bit. Your lips were pulled up slightly, in a quirky smile and there was an overall soft pink hue to your cheeks.

It was simply beautiful.

Turning to look at Arthur, you found yourself out of words. You tried to say something — anything! —, but you could simply look at him, either in shock or realization, you couldn’t really tell. His eyes drifted to yours and he smiled sheepishly, looking way softer than he had ever in the whole time you had known him. His presence now was nerve-wracking, every inch of your body responding to him as if to electricity.

Arthur leaned closer to you, his breathing fanning warmly against your face at his proximity and it felt almost surreal as his lips pressed softly to your cheek. His hand touched yours, cradling it in his touch as he took the opportunity to brush his nose gently against the sensitive skin. You unconsciously leaned into it, closing your eyes.

It was sweet, achingly so, the way he touched you; almost as if you were made of spun glass, a precious treasure to keep. His fingers tangled with yours and he sighed, pulling back to look at you with half-lidded eyes. The same smile was still there, only softer this time, more of admiration and tenderness than anything else.

With a pinkish hue creeping to your cheeks, you noticed the way which Arthur’s gaze dipped ever so slightly to your lips, coming back up a couple times. He wanted to kiss you, came the realization. You reached out, touching his warm cheek with the tips of your fingers, running them around to the back of his neck, making Arthur close his eyes.

There was a pause as you took in the softness in his expression, the way which he leaned into your touch like a something he’d craved for a long time; his free hand coming up to wrap on your wrist. With a flutter in you stomach, you finally caved, leaning towards him for a kiss.

The kiss was so gentle, the soft press of his lips to yours smooth and perfect. Arthur sighed into it, squeezing your hand fondly as he coached you to open your mouth and give him entrance; a request you could never deny. He was surrounding you, the warmth of his touch on your hand and the sweetness of the cappuccino on his tongue a constant reminder.

Your fingers tightened on his hand, unwilling to let go.

You were fucked, you realized instantly.

You brushed your hair slowly, pensively at the vanity of your bedroom. The moon was high in the sky as you stared at your own reflection. Had you committed the worst mistake in your profession? Allowed yourself to catch feelings for your patient, as well as captivating them in him? There was no way of knowing for certain.

Nevertheless, the treatment had seemed to be nearing the end. You’d close off Arthur Morgan’s file and hopefully drown your feelings in an unholy amount of ice cream and vodka, like any divorced woman would.

He was handsome, you reasoned with yourself, and so unbelievably sweet. Such a good kisser, too, gentle and loving. Even with his tendency to clamp up, Arthur was willing to let people in if they cared enough to stick around for him. It made you wonder if he really was so bad that his ex-wife had wanted to divorce him, but…

Did you even know Arthur?

Well, you felt like you did. People never lied in therapy and it was easy to follow things through and the diagnosis would come together and you figured out where to work, plus you had the reference contacts. It all matched. Sometimes people just wanted to talk and it was easier without the judgment of someone they knew — hence the reason why there couldn’t be a prior contact between patients and therapists aside from the listening room.

You set the brush down, watching yourself in the mirror. It was obvious that you had made a mistake. You were still recovering from your own failed marriage, your ex-husband having been a poor excuse for a companion for the past 8 years of your life. You were confused, Arthur was caring and you got carried away. That was it.

If he had been anything like Arthur, a tiny voice whispered at the back of your mind, you’d probably still be married. Maybe even with children.

“What the fuck,” you whispered at yourself, “what the actual fuck—“

You started entertaining the idea of referring him to someone else, a colleague maybe, someone who wouldn’t catch feelings for him but then—

Arthur has trust issues, you reminded yourself angrily, if you refer him to someone else, especially after that long of therapy, he’ll feel dejected. We’re speaking of lives, here. You know the prognosis. You can’t.

Even if you wanted to.

“Fuck,” you sighed, feeling the start of a migraine building up. You paced in an antsy manner in your bedroom before deciding to storm towards the office. You needed the files.

The room was clear, with hues of soft blues and white furnishing to keep your books and logs into shelves. Tying your hair back into a loose knot, you fished Arthur’s logbook from between a disarray of books that looked the same for anyone else asides from you, flicking the pages quickly until you found his entry. You felt as if you were intruding, checking at his logbook like that, even though you were his therapist. You were supposed to accompany his case and make sure he was progressing, not risking your career as a whole because of an infatuation—

You put your reading glasses on with an annoyed sound at the back of your throat.

-> Patient seems to have become less intolerant towards his emotions, displays more willingness to talk about them occasionally + improved verbalization and recognition;

-> Has stopped shying away from family topics; speaks blandly about early childhood;

-> Settled divorce has caused relief, patient has started to develop more self-confidence + vocalization of his wants;

-> Has shown a willingness for connection with others;

-> Patient has shown uneasiness about the ending of treatment; possible codependency?

-> Difficulty when it comes to reaching out for things he wants + unbelieving of self-worth on certain situations (needs work); strives for reassurance every now and then.

Frowning you set the logbook down, with a shivering sigh. Just a couple months more, until the end of the six months period and you’d be able to breath properly — maybe even talk to a colleague about your situation.

When it came to Arthur Morgan, all the years of experience dried up as if an empty well.

With a sickening drop of your stomach, you sat down on your office desk, pulling out a clean paper branded with your name and wrote down a patient referral letter alongside a clean copy of Arthur’s logbook. You decided to keep the flirty behavior and professional boundaries crossed aside, not wanting to get in trouble, alleging that you felt like you could no longer help your client. The moonlight filtering through the window seemed to be the only witness of your deeds, silent and judging.

There was no way you could keep seeing Arthur, you told yourself with a painfully tight tinge of pain in your chest, not when he messed with your head like that, the way you had kissed; and with you willing to bend the rules and blur the lines between your relationship just to indulge him, the memory of the kiss still fresh on your mind. You were no rookie, no fresh-out-of-a-classroom therapist, with only theories to guide you.

You were a seasoned therapist. You had experience and an outlined career path, with good mentors, of a decent formation. You’ve always had a good way with people, always been told you were a good listener. It’s not supposed to happen like this, you kept telling yourself as the letter came to be. It simply isn’t.

You signed it off with a flourish, like a death sentence. You’d make sure to find a colleague who’d suit his needs, better than you ever possibly could — and to call his referral contact, Hosea, later tomorrow. It’s for the best, you told yourself.

Freud had once said that psychoanalysis is, in its essence, a cure through love. It was healing, pure and nurturing, but the love in which he referred to had nothing to do with developing affairs with your patients. You were supposed to listen to Arthur, help him realize his own inner strength and send him off back on his way; and you had done it a thousand times before, with countless clients.

Your eyes welled up with tears of frustration and you leaned forwards to press your forehead against the sealed off envelope on your desk, as if hoping it’d give you the answers you needed.

>

The day dragged slowly, with you delivering the letter to one of your colleagues of a different clinic, who had experience around the same area as you — he was polite enough not to ask about your sudden decision, looking suspicious, but took the document nevertheless. You passed along details regarding referral contacts and little conjectures on diagnosis and approaches for Arthur — how he seemed to be fond of humor when nervous, his eye contact avoidance when uncomfortable and etc.

Your colleague took notes slowly, fixing you with the look of someone who wanted to ask more, but decided against it.

After getting the worst part of it done, you left the clinic, walking out in the brisk autumn air towards your car, sighing loudly once the door was shut. “Fuck,” you muttered in the deafening silence.

Might as well get it done with. You fished out your cellphone, quickly finding Hosea’s number and dialing to explain the situation for him, doing your best to sound calm once he his voice came up from the other side of the line. “Hello?,” there was a clattering of dishes in the background and you supposed he was in the kitchen.

“Hello, Mr. Matthews,” you said softly, trying to avoid a tremor in your voice, “it’s Arthur’s therapist, I was wondering if you had some time to talk?”

“Ah, yes,” he replied promptly and you heard a door being closed and shuffling, someone asking about the call. Maybe he had gone to the garden? “Has something happened? Is Arthur okay?”

“No need to worry,” you bit your lip, closing your eyes, “Arthur is completely fine. I’m just calling to let you know that unfortunately, I won’t be able to stay with him for the remaining sessions of our treatment—“

“He hasn’t offended you, has he?,” the man asked suddenly, sounding worried, “boy has a poor filter, but his heart is right.”

“No, he…,” you gulped, shaking your head as more tears welled up, “he’s a good patient, but I do believe that your son would be in more capable hands with another therapist.” Hosea hummed thoughtfully, considering your words. “I took the liberty of putting together a referral letter, with all his documentation and information and passed it along to a few colleagues and fortunately one of them replied to me,” you pushed your hair back, trying to keep the tremor off of your voice, “I just left his office, actually.”

“I see…” Hosea sounded surprised, even though he agreed, “that’s a bit sudden, though. I thought you were getting along nicely, weren’t you?”

Perhaps too nicely, you wanted to reply.

“We are, I’ve built a strong bond with Arthur, but I feel like his situation is now beyond my capability as a professional, unfortunately.”

The man hummed, considering your words. “Huh,” he sounded wary, as if not entirely pleased, but understanding. “Will you pass me the information on your colleague then?”

“Yes, absolutely,” you sighed out thankfully, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel, “do you have paper?”

It was wasn’t until a month later that you heard of Arthur, mind constantly wandering off to conjure him in the empty seat of the listening room. The brown throw-pillow of the loveseat seemed far too neat for your liking now, and you picked it up slowly. You missed him, you realized with a sudden wave of emotion. Was it possible to mourn a romance that never came to be? Did he miss you too? You couldn’t possibly know, nor shouldn’t. It was for the best if you severed ties with him.

As if on cue, your phone started ringing, snapping you out of your daydream. Frowning, you recognized the name as the one of your colleague which you had referred Arthur to, and you flopped down on the loveseat with your arms wrapped protectively around the cushion, like Arthur used to do before picking up.

“Hey,” the man greeted you lightly, “do you have some time? I was hoping to ask you a few questions, could be over the phone if you’re in a hurry.”

“Sure thing,” you agreed promptly, “I’m between breaks now, but I can talk. What’s the matter?”

“It’s about the patient you’ve referred me to, some…,” he paused for a moment, as if reading a file, “Arthur Morgan, I believe.”

Your throat tightened and you felt the cold pinpricks of needles at the back of your neck. “Yes, Arthur. What do you need to know, then?”

“I was just wondering if he had the habit of skipping sessions,” your heart dropped at it, “it’s been a month now and he hasn’t showed up for about… six sessions I think, with the reschedules of course.”

“He never skipped with me,” you said in a levelled voice, devoid of any emotion, “maybe he’s having a hard time readjusting with the change?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “I called the referral contact, his father I believe? Hosea Matthews?”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Matthews,” you agreed.

“Well, I called and he said he couldn’t convince Arthur to finish the remaining time in therapy. The patient seems reluctant, apparently, he says that he doesn’t need it anymore and I grew worried because according to the information you passed me along—“

Your mind zoomed out, the words falling on deafened ears. Fuck.

What would be of Arthur now, with an incomplete treatment? What if you had left him scarred for life, breaking his trust like that, without so much as a warning? Your stomach twisted painfully at the memory of the kiss, the growing anxiety creeping around you and seeping into your bones.

All because you were too scared to access your feelings, choosing to play on the safer side and pushing him away. There were ways to make it work, you knew — loopholes and technicalities —, but you clamped up at the prospect of letting him get any closer. You felt your eyes burn with the warmth of unshed tears, reaching for the tissue paper to keep your emotions from ruining the light makeup of the day.

Someone calling your name snapped you out of your haze.

“Are you still there?,” your colleague asked, as if expecting an answer.

“Sorry, I kinda spaced out here,” you said, fighting against the waver in your voice, “I didn’t quite catch it.”

“I asked if you could come in contact with the patient or his referral, just to be sure. I don’t think they trust me enough to handle it.”

“Sure,” you muttered out with a dry mouth, “I’ll try to reach him, do you want me to get back to you—“

“With all due honesty,” your colleague spoke softly, making you want to cry even more. Had he heard the silent despair in your voice? “I do believe that you should figure out what you really want before anything else.

Silence stretched for a few seconds before you recovered. “I don’t know—“

“I won’t tell,” he said gently, “I can vouch for that.”

You closed your eyes, allowing the tears to gather there. It wasn’t unknown to most of your profession colleagues about the nasty breakout with your ex-husband and your self-induced behavior of isolation. You took a deep breath before speaking again. “Thank you.”

You parked the car in front of an apartment complex, in a nice little residential neighborhood. The building was somewhat stocky, with only eight floors, with white and dark blue tiling. Drumming your fingers on the steering wheel, you started to fidget anxiously.

You had rushed to your desk, fingers running through patient files until you found Arthur’s — complete with contact, address and etc. With a resolute sort of conviction, you set out, asking your front desk attendant to reschedule any appointments you were to have later that day. Tucking the file below your arm, you took the car and set the GPS to the address.

Now, standing at the final destination, according to your cellphone, you looked up at the building. Coming closer to the intercom, you searched for the right name, reading the freshly scribbled “Morgan” in pen and paper, in contrast to the others, which were clean slates.

“Okay,” you pressed the button, listening to the telltale buzz of the call being ensued, “right.”

It rung until it didn’t anymore, your anxiety growing by the minute. With some sense of impatience, you pressed the button again and the faint sound started once more. You pressed your hands together, shivering at the cool wind blowing through the street. The afternoon was clear, but you had forgotten to grab your coat on your way out of the clinic and the autumn chill was exerting its power.

“Who’s it?,” came Arthur’s annoyed voice from the intercom, sounding annoyed. “Ain’t got no time—“

“Arthur,” you said his name gently and he quieted down. It was uncomfortable, you had to admit. “Arthur, I need to—“

“What do you want?,” he muttered out, sounding defensive.

“Can you buzz me in, please?,” you asked with a tight knot in your throat, “I need to see you.”

You heard him huff from the other side of the line, unbelieving. “Do ya, now?”

“I know,” you acquiesced, feeling your desperation growing by the minute, “I know, but we need to talk, please?”

He stayed quiet for a while, your heart pounding in your chest at his silence. “I’m not… sure if I want to see you, doc.”

“Arthur,” you pleaded, “I’m not here as your therapist, that’s not who I am,” your voice wavered as you pressed your hand to your lips to keep check of your own emotions. You had missed his voice so much. “I’m here as your friend, please.”

Arthur sighed and you could feel the tension rolling off him in waves. He seemed unwilling to say anything else.

“I just need to see you,” you whispered to the intercom, voice cracking at the emotion of everything, “I just— please, Arthur,” you breathed out shakily, “please.“ The gate buzzed and you startled, before pushing it open hesitantly. Your hands felt clammy despite the cold.

Gathering the little courage you had left, you walked into the building with a growing sense of dread, your heart fluttering in your chest like a caged bird. Did he really want to see you now? Arthur wouldn’t have let you in, if he didn’t want to. He wouldn’t. You felt as if your legs might give out.

There were some people walking about the hall, some chatting casually at the common area, but no one paid much mind to your presence. Fidgeting with the sleeve of your blouse as you walked towards the elevator, you turned your gaze down to your phone where the number to Arthur’s apartment appeared in the notepad — 302. Swallowing down your anxiety, you pressed the number three and watched as the doors closed.

You weren’t sure what to say to Arthur. Should you confess? Was that too cliché? You should tell him the truth, though. That’s what he deserved, after wall, the reason why you had come all this way. The elevator was taking a long way up, thankfully, and you were left to your own thoughts.

No way in hell you were ready for what was to come. There was nothing about it in the books back when you studied — and even if there were, you’d have brushed it off as some hypothetical situation that could never happen to you because you were too disciplined. A pretty little tale spun for those who were romantic at heart, but not you. You knew how to behave, or at least thought you did.

It hurt your head to think.

The elevator came to a stuttering halt, the doors hissing as it opened and you stepped out into the equally well-lit hall.

“Three o’ two…,” you muttered, rubbing your hands together as your head turned from one side to another, squinting slightly and moving towards it once you located the door.

You stood there, for maybe a few seconds, before knocking gently at the door; once, twice. There was silence from the inside, but soon enough you heard it unlock and Arthur appeared in front of you, worse than you had ever seen him. There were dark bags under his eyes, a day or two beard sprouting on his face with a greasy mess of curls on top of that. He looked tired, in a simple grey tee and some sweatpants in the middle of the summer. Far too tired. Had he just woken up?

With a tight press of your lips, you felt your eyes watering. Had you done this to him? “Arthur,” you choked out his name, raising both your hands to the lower half of your face, “I’m so sorry…”

He didn’t say anything, but you could sense the surprise in his demeanor before sighing tiredly and averting his gaze to the floor. “You never told me anythin’…”

“I know,” you cut in with a teary voice, wiping away the stubborn tears that insisted on streaking down your cheeks, “I just didn’t know what do when you— when we… I got scared that you—“

The man reached out, one calloused hand curling around your forearm in a gentle motion as you allowed yourself to be drawn in by his presence, warm and solid. Arthur made a noise at the back of his throat, something choked with emotion, when you threw yourself into his embrace, clutching to his tee with all the might you could muster up. “I was so scared, I thought it was my fault—“

Arthur shook his head slightly, staggering out a shaky breath himself. “’s okay, doc…”

“Please,” you hugged him tighter and you still could smell the sandalwood cologne on his skin, subtle but definitely there, “I never meant to…,” you trailed off, shaking your head, “I like you, Arthur. More than I probably should, but…”

“I want you to stay,” Arthur whispered suddenly and you were highly aware of your own lack of words after it. He circled your waist, fingers digging gently into your back as he took a steadying breath. “I need to know, I need to know if I can love you, so please— I don’t wanna do this if you’re not… I gotta know if you’ll stay with me. I need to.”

You pulled back from him, eyes watering and searching into his teal colored ones and this time you allowed yourself to take in just how handsome Arthur really was, as your hands cupped the sculpted marble of his face. He shuddered at it, closing his eyes and leaning forwards to press his forehead to yours with a quiet sigh of someone who’d been denied for far too long.

“Let me kiss you again,” Arthur pleaded in a whisper, calmly and too benevolent for you not make a sweet sound at the back of your throat, “please.”

You closed your eyes, taking a steadying hold of his neck. “Next time,” you whispered back, thumb caressing the sensitive skin under his eye, gently wiping away the dampness that had gathered there, “you don’t have to ask.”

He took a gentle hold of your hand, pressing his chapped lips to your palm like a caress, his demeanor sweet and reverent; and with a twinge, you realized that Arthur was far too good for his own good. “I want you to stay,” he said again, moving on to your forehead and pressing another kiss there. You shivered, tilting your face to allow him better access. “Wanna be with you,” a press of lips to the space between your eyes, “make yer happy.”

At this, you hummed lightly, breathing out shakily. Arthur cupped your face, bringing you closer to him, if that was even possible. His lips caressed your cheek and the subtle curve of your jawline before finally pressing to your own. When it came, the kiss was sweet, so frail and light you could almost believe it wasn’t happening, even if the pressure of Arthur’s hand on the base of your neck was enough proof to you. He muttered your name, trying to pull you more closely against his body, and you gave in with a sigh.

There was a shy prod of tongue against your lips and you complied promptly because oh, it just felt so right — the moment, with him, right then and there. The voice at the back of your mind quieted down immediately, its last murmurs of protests dying out in face of Arthur sweet humming. He pulled you backwards with him, into his apartment, and you pushed the door closed before he could press your back to it with a desperate little gasp.

“Stay with me,” Arthur whispered and God, consequences be damned, you wanted to. His nose brushed against yours, so intimately you could swear you were dreaming, “don’t go.”

You answered by pushing back the soft tresses of his hair, pulling away and making Arthur close his eyes with a soft complaint at the back of his throat. “I’m not going anywhere.” His breathing quickened as he pressed his head to the crook of your neck and you were somewhat amused, fond of the sweetness of the act. “I’ll stay here.”

[arcanaheadcanons]

Carmen Meets Muriel

over my vacation, when i wasn’t on the internet because the place i was at had very sketchy free internet that probably would have given my laptop an std, i wrote a li’l oneshot fic. it was one my ideas for a carmen comic but it would have taken too much effort to draw soooo it’s written now. idk what tumblr’s post limit is but i doubt i’ll go over it (seriously it’s less than 2k) so i’m gonna paste it under the cut and we’ll see what happens.

word count: 1899

description: muriel has to talk to carmen (character concept here) and he’s not very happy about it

The sun had disappeared under the horizon and darkness was washing the last orange stains from the sky when Muriel, cursing himself for even being there, approached the shop. He had one final errand left in the day, and it was crucial: he had run out of angelica. The herb, a thick stalk with umbels of little white flowers, was sometimes used for medicines and sometimes used in spells for protection. In Muriel’s case, it was a necessary component in the wards he had placed around the forest, which were in need of replacing. As angelica favored a colder climate than sunny Vesuvia, he had to rely on the magic shop’s supply. Asra was always more than happy to lend him a hand free of charge, but the magician was currently unconscious in a magic circle on Muriel’s floor while his spirit roamed the realm of the Arcana. Which meant that, if Muriel was going to an Asra-less shop, he would have to deal with…

…his apprentice.

Muriel winced as he heard a muffled, off-key sea shanty coming from the upper floor. To his knowledge, Carmen had never set foot on a boat. However, as she kept sneaking off to the south end of town ever since her incident, it made sense that she had picked up a thing or two from the local color; the “local color” being every seedy bar in the city. He knocked on the door and almost hoped she didn’t hear him. The singing stopped.

“Closed!” she half-shouted, her voice coming from the back of the shop this time. She must have moved closer to the stairs to allow the sound to carry.

It would have been so much easier for both of them if he could just leave – if he could go back home and let her think he was just another customer who hadn’t noticed the porch light was out. But he didn’t have the option. He imagined the wards he had placed breaking, Lucio’s ghost being allowed full strength, and Asra, unguarded, out cold in a hut in the middle of nowhere, and knocked on the door a second time.

“Ohhhhmygodddddddddddddddddd whyyyy.”

A string of irritated muttering started up and ended just as quickly as it was replaced by the sound of someone falling down a flight of stairs.

Muriel froze, concerned and unsure of what to do about that, but soon enough the door opened and Carmen, slightly frazzled, looked out into the space she typically expected a person’s face to be. That space was located squarely in the middle of his chest.

She slowly corrected her gaze to meet his, almost having to crane her neck to do so. “Well, damn,” she said. Muriel had seen her mouth those words during other chance meetings of theirs, but this was the first time she said them aloud. He didn’t like this. His face was getting hot. He had to explain himself, finish his errand, and leave as soon as possible.

“I’m–”

“Muriel, right?”

What.

Carmen opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Come on in. I’ll uh, make tea? Or something?”

What. Why. How. What was going on. Muriel entered the shop and watched as she sifted through the jars of herbs on the shelves in search of tea. He noticed as he looked away that the front of the shop was the only area that hadn’t gone to complete disarray. Everything from the base of the stairs to the back was covered in a mishmash of belongings. Trinkets and clothing were heaped into piles with no immediately apparent category, flanked by an unsettling amount of empty alcohol bottles.

“Sorry about the mess.” Carmen resurfaced from the shop’s stock with a short, squat jar full of the blooming tea that Asra made. “I was. Well. Y’know. Looking. Through stuff.” She began her quest to the stairs, carefully stepping around the stacks with amazing precision for someone who was having balance issues. “This is what happens when I’m left unsupervised. Be right back.”

As Carmen went to the upstairs kitchen and started a new batch of worrying clanking sounds that aren’t typically associated with the tea making process, Muriel wandered over to the jars and picked out the angelica. He counted out the necessary number of stalks, placed them in one of the pouches tied to his belts, and returned the jar to the shelf. He strongly considered leaving the shop then and there, but there was a question gnawing at his guts and it couldn’t be ignored, no matter how much he wanted to ignore it. While he waited for Carmen’s return, he busied himself with reorganizing the jars that she had disturbed.

Fifteen minutes later she came back down the stairs with a large soup mug filled with green tea and a larger bottle that, judging by the scent, contained brandy. As she gave to mug to Muriel, he noticed that she must have spent the extra time and effort looking for a cup that fit his hands. The emotional impact of her thoughtfulness was interrupted when she ripped the cork out of the brandy with her teeth, spat it into a corner, and took a deep swig.

Once she came up for air, he decided to confront what had been bothering him. “How do you know about me?”

She lowered the bottle and stared at him in mild confusion. “Was I… not supposed to?”

Muriel didn’t know what to say to that, but apparently the look on his face spoke for him.

“Oh. Oh, whoops. Sorry about that. I, uh…”

He continued to stay silent so that she could elaborate.

Carmen set the brandy on the shop counter and turned towards the piles. “The old me kept some notes on you,” she started. She reached out to one of the piles and a notebook shot into her hand. “Because of the whole Forget-Me thing. She made sure to jot something down every time you met before the spell kicked in.”

She offered the notebook to him, and he set down his yet-untouched tea to flip through it. It was a small, flimsy thing, and he had some difficulty picking the pages apart. Sure enough, there were several notes on his appearance and habits, the entries of which were no more than a few words long, and they were dated some years ago. Back when her hair was short, and her smile was wide, and wildflowers grew in her footsteps. When Carmen continued talking, he remembered the dull-eyed stranger she had become and snapped back to reality.

“So yeah, with hints like ‘about seven feet tall’ and ‘GREEN EYES’ written in capitals, it wasn’t too hard to recognize you,” she said. She studied him intently. “You know, I didn’t know what she meant by using capital letters, but I get it now. Your eyes are really green, like–” Stopping herself, Carmen winced and looked away, blinking hard as if she were trying to wake up from a dream. “Sorry. I’m losing my mental filter. What were you here for again? Asra’s out of town if you were looking for him.”

“I know,” Muriel said. He dug through his belongings until he found a pouch full of myrrh and tossed it to her.

“Oh! Um… thanks?” Carmen opened and closed the bag. “What is this for?”

“To ward off the spell.”

She looked even more confused than before. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to know about you?”

“You already do, and I don’t want to have this conversation again.” He turned to leave. At this point, he had far exceeded his limit on social activity. “Thanks for the tea.”

“Huh? But you didn’t even have any– aaaaand he’s gone.” Carmen’s words faded as he shut the door behind him.

 It was well into the night when Muriel returned home. The journey was long enough already, but the added detour he took to replace all the wards by the roadsides added a considerable amount of time. He would have to rest a little before replacing the rest of them. The hut was a welcome sight after the day’s adventure. Though cramped, it was a safe haven from the rest of the world; a place so deep in the woods that it was rarely stumbled upon by strangers. He examined his house’s ward – a bundle of sticks hanging from one of the great tree roots that engulfed the structure – and decided that it was strong enough to leave as it was. Then he opened the door.

Everything was exactly as he had left it. The runes in the magic circle on the floor were thankfully undisturbed, and Asra was still sleeping at its center under a thick blanket, which Muriel had given him when he had to extinguish the hearth on his way out. In the corner, Inanna stirred from her makeshift bed and trotted over to him.

“I’m home,” he said redundantly.

The wolf acknowledged this by placing her head firmly under his hand for scratches. Muriel gave her a standard head-pat and asked her to wait while he restarted the fire in the hearth. When he returned, he pulled up a chair and complied with her request. With his free hand, he began removing pouches from his belts and putting them on the table with the intention of reequipping the ones he’d need before he next left the hut. His task was stopped when he took a pouch he couldn’t recall the contents of and Inanna abruptly leaned out of his grasp to smell it.

Curious, Muriel opened the pouch and pulled out the little notebook that Carmen had handed him earlier that day. He must have absent-mindedly pocketed it. He had no idea when, how, or even if he’d be able to return it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to. It was bad to take someone else’s property, but now that Carmen had some myrrh, she wouldn’t need to read about him to know who he was. He idly opened it to a page somewhere in the middle.

“Doesn’t like to talk. – May 11”

“Shame, he has a nice voice. – May 27”

“Wears a big tattered cloak with a hood. – June 9”

“Likes snow. – July 30”

“WHY DID NONE OF YOU WARN ME HE’S SO HANDSOME – November 3”

Face burning, he closed the book. Inanna, sensing that he was done with it, moved closer and gently took the notebook in her teeth. He released his grip and she retreated to her bed with it.

“You miss her, huh?”

Inanna nibbled on the notebook a little before putting her head down and sighing gruffly.

Muriel looked at Asra and watched his chest rise and fall to confirm that he was still breathing normally. The magician and he had been closer than siblings ever since they were young, and Muriel could feel the emotional weight of the past three years on his shoulders. Even though Asra raised her from the dead, Carmen – their Carmen – would never come back. It had been a bittersweet victory, embittered even further when they realized how truly unhappy she was without her memory. Tonight was not the first time that Muriel had found her seeking refuge from the bottom of a bottle, and it wouldn’t be the last.

When Inanna turned her attention back to the notebook, so did Muriel.

“Yeah… we miss her too.”

[magpiefngrl]

Hello my magpie, my darling, my love! When you get the time, I would love love love a flower shop AU!!!! Idk why this is even a trope in my mind, but it is and I adore it and I think you would probably write the best one of all time

My dearest @o0o-chibaken-o0o, 

I’ve thought flower shop would be the hardest trope for me to write, but as it turned out, it’s my longest lol. It’s canon universe, so magical flower shop, and I’ve had a lot of fun writing it! Hope you enjoy it, too!

Many thanks to the lovely Bixie for her betaing

Sometimes a man needs (~5k, Explicit)

There were many things Harry considered harder than minding Neville’s shopin Alfriston while Nev was off traipsing in the Amazon in search of thecackling coconut groves. Harry’d written Divination essays; he’d looked afterBlast-Ended Screwts; he’d suffered six years of Snape’s enunciation; he’d evendefeated a Dark Lord.

However, he was reconsidering the above list as—for the third time thisweek—silver-haired Mrs Embres pinched his cheek and blabbered about hergranddaughter.

‘…Ortance is a beauty,’ she explained, holding the telepathic tulipsHarry had given her ten minutes ago. ‘She’s back from Beauxbatons and lookingto make some friends. Perhaps I’ll tell her to stop by the shop for a chat.Would you like her Floo address? You can pop your head in anytime and have achat, she’s a lovely girl.’

Inwardly, Harry cursed Neville for neglecting to warn him about his sweetbut pushy customers. Outwardly, he plastered a smile on his face and decided totake drastic measures. ‘She sounds great, but, actually, girls aren’t really mything. If you know what I mean.’ He fervently hoped she knew what he meant soshe’d stop badgering him.

Indeed, she raised her eyebrow. ‘Oh,I see.’

Harry braced himself for a frown of disapproval or even a hint ofhomophobia, but he was disappointed on both counts. ‘My brother owned agentleman’s bar back in the 20s,’ Mrs Embres smiled. ‘He told me all thestories.’ She added, ‘Come to think of it, my sister-in-law’s nephew, Charles,is—’

The silver bell tinkled. ‘A customer!’ Harry exclaimed loudly, turningtowards the door, which revealed—

Malfoy.

Mrs Embres took his arrival as her cue to leave. ‘I’ll stop by on Tuesdayand perhaps bring you Charles’s Floo address?’ She gave Harry a meaningfulsmile as she left; the meaning being that she wouldn’t stop until he caved, andHarry wondered how far Neville’s admonition that “the customer is always right”stretched.

In the meantime, he had to deal with Malfoy, the last person Harry expectedto see in the placid village that Neville had set up shop. Telling himself itwas due to curiosity because he hadn’t seen the man in over three years, Harryspent a quiet moment examining him, as if he could tell by visual cues alonewhat the man had been doing all this time. Not that he cared what Malfoy hadbeen doing. Harry just wanted to have something to tell Ron and Hermione whenhe saw them at the weekend. In the end, his examination proved futile: Malfoylooked as expensively dressed, aggressively hair-styled, and disdainfully boredas he always did. The fact he’d grown to be rather fit was something Harrydecided to omit from his future conversation with his friends.

Malfoy had taken in the wild disarray of flowers, the Snarfalump pots andthe budding Mimbletonias, the fire-spitting orchids and the whispering dahliasbefore his cold, arrogant eyes settled on Harry. ‘I’ve been told ahorticultural genius owns this shop. Have I been lied to so shamelessly?’

Once a git, always a git. ‘Neville’s out of the country for a month,’ Harrysaid. ‘I’m looking after his shop. Do you want anything?’ Harry hoped Nevillewould never find out how rude he’d just been. He’d impressed upon Harry theneed to be polite to customers, although he’d neglected to mention if this ruleapplied to former school rivals.

‘Why else would I enter this establishment? For the pleasure of yourcompany?’

Harry counted to five and reminded himself that politeness was a virtue.Then he opened his mouth and said, ‘Will you tell me what you want or do I haveto read your mind?’

Malfoy sneered. ‘As if you could. Anyway, I have to be somewhereposthaste so here’s what I need: I’ve been told you carry a rare type ofroses…’

‘The golden ones.’ They were an extravagance Neville kept only for hiswealthiest customers, of which there weren’t many. In fact, Malfoy was thefirst person interested in them since Harry had been working there. ‘How many?’Harry called as he walked to the cabinets in the back wall and removed theImpervious spell keeping the flowers fresh.

‘How many do you have?’ Malfoy asked.

Harry popped his head around a silver fern. ‘They’re a hundred galleonseach.’

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. ‘So?’

‘We have nine.’

‘I’ll take them.’

Harry brought the flowers over. They were truly something else; the colourof their petals was almost liquid, shimmering in the sunlight streaming throughthe shop window. Even Malfoy looked satisfied as he examined them.

‘Terrific quality,’ he admitted as if it pained him. He signed a Gringottsorder for the flowers and then pulled a slip of parchment towards him. As hewas writing on it, he spoke, not looking at Harry. ‘I’d like you to make abouquet and—no, hold that thought. I’d like you to go find someone with tasteto make the bouquet, and then deliver it to this address with this note.’

Harry crossed his arms. ‘It costs extra to find someone with taste.’

Malfoy folded the note and pushed it towards Harry. ‘I’m aware. We’re arare species. Actually, I don’t trust anyone you might find.’ Harry rolled hiseyes. ‘I’ll give Theo an owl to drop by; he’s good with these things.’

Malfoy eventually buggered off, taking his insults and his cologne and hisstupid hair with him, and Harry stewed in irritation for a while at Malfoy’s consummatearrogance until the belligerent begonias started fighting and he had to go andseparate them. At least, he reasoned, hands full of aggressive stalks, he got agood sale out of it.

When Theo arrived half an hour later, he was much easier to talk to afterthe initial awkward exchange of ‘sorry your father died in prison’, ‘that’salright, he was an arsehole and my mother and I are better off for it.’ Theochose some green leafy branches and a dark, almost black, sweet-smelling orchidto create the bouquet, and it looked spectacular; even Harry could see that.

Picking the flowers up carefully and sliding Malfoy’s note in the middle,Harry followed the apparition coordinates and arrived at a crumbling mansion bythe Devon coast, where Astoria Greengrass, a young woman in all-black withlarge gold-rimmed glasses, rolled her eyes at the bouquet and passed it with scarcelya glance to her sister.

Harry thought that had been it. Malfoy had come and gone from his life likea comet, and if Harry spent ten—OK, twenty—minutes in the shower that nightpicturing him naked while stroking himself, well… that was nothing to lose hishead over. Curiosity, really. In the first few months after the war, Harry hadoften wondered what the Malfoys had been doing—besides escaping prison andkeeping all their assets—but as the years passed, he’d put Malfoy Junior out ofhis mind. It really wasn’t fair of Malfoy to show up and impose himself onHarry’s consciousness again, Harry reasoned, while he touched himself andimagined wiping Malfoy’s stupid smirk off his face by sucking his cock. A bitof an unorthodox method to wipe smirks off faces, granted, but Harry hadn’tslept with anyone in a while. A man had needs, after all.

To his surprise, the next day around noon Malfoy returned. Harry had beenin the back room with a cuppa and the latest Quidditch Today issue whenhe heard the bell ring.

‘Missed me?’ Harry asked.

Read on AO3

More AUs:

Mermaid AU

Dare Dating (8th year)

Pirate AU

Durmstrang!Harry and Beauxbatons!Draco AU

Royalty/Arranged Marriage AU

Musicians AU

Medieval AU

Fae AU

Adventure AU

Firefly/Space AU

Buy me a kofi

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[sophia1644]

The One

Pairing: Liam x Reader Warnings: swearing, angst, jealousy, anger issues Liam Summary: Liam overhears Y/N talking to Theo during a lacrosse game, and gets jealous, almost turning on the field. Y/N follows him to the locker room to see what’s up and he ends up confessing something to her. Word Count: 1.9k A/N: My tumblr app on my phone has been rlly annoying tbh, and idk what’s going on like it just crashes randomly all the time. But, anyways hope you guys like this one bc I do. (I’m also writing another imagine rn too so look out for that.) . . I bite on my lower lip, standing on the tip of my toes to peer over the mass of umbrellas. Being short had its struggles in lots of parts of life, but at lacrosse games, it was definitely at the top of the list. I roll my eyes as the person in front of me raises their black umbrella higher, a sound of annoyance leaving my lips unintentionally. The guy whips his head around, his slanted eyes shooting death glares at me. “Am I bothering you young lady?” He growls, the question coming off as more of a warning. “Not at all,” I reply with fake sweetness, my smile not reaching my eyes and my lips twitching at how badly they wanted to frown. The man rolls his eyes, similar to how I did to him a few moments earlier, and grumbling incoherently. “Well that guy’s an asshole,” a voice I recognize mutters behind me. I turn towards the voice, my suspicions of it being Theo correct. He’s wearing a black hoodie and jeans, his hood up to cover himself from the droplets of water slowly pouring down from the sky. I nod my head vigorously at him, rolling my eyes for the second time. “Can’t see,” I explain, motioning towards the group of people crowding the bleachers in front of us with umbrellas in hand. “You’re a shorty, that’s why,” he laughs, reaching out his hand and messing up the strands of hair I took an hour making look perfect. My eyes go wide at his action, my jaw dropping slightly. “You did not, Raeken,” I mumble through deep breaths. “What?” He asks, playing dumb, suddenly gaining interest in the two strings attached to his sweatshirt. I push him playfully, the action barely having any affect over the boy as he just chuckles at me. The people watching the lacrosse match all suck in their breaths simultaneously, our attention being drawn back to the field. “Ow, that was a bad hit,” a brunette girl in my chemistry class states to her freckled friend. I scan the field quickly, hoping that it wasn’t what I was imagining. Nope, the universe hates me. The jersey number 9 belongs to the player lying on the ground; Liam. My brows furrow, knowing that it wasn’t like him to get hit ever, and the few times that he did get hit, he didn’t take it very well. I watch as Scott rushes out onto the field, kneeling down to Liam’s face and saying some words I couldn’t make out. They were way too far away, so I take to other methods. “Can you hear them?” I ask to Theo, his eyes focusing in on them and his whole body tensing in concentration. “Scott’s trying to calm him down and… the cause- is, well um…” he pauses, looking down at his sneaker-clad feet and shifting his jaw left and right. “What?” I push, not understanding why he couldn’t give me the truth. “It’s me-” I look at him questioningly, still not understanding. “He went down because he was too focused on us talking.”

My brows knit together even deeper, lines creasing my forehead. I know Liam had a jealousy issue, but getting angry about me just talking to another guy was bonkers. What was the issue with a friendly conversation? “That’s crazy,” I say, then I see Scott’s eyes trail across the bleachers until landing on me, his hands motioning for me to get on the field. Scott’s lips move and I look to Theo again. “Liam needs you,” he translates. “Wha-” “Just go,” he commands, nodding his head towards the field, where Liam is starting to get up and head off the field, presumably to the locker room. “Okay,” I respond, getting the point, tugging my hood on tighter and saying a bunch of ‘excuse me’s to make my way through the metal stands. Once I walk into the school, I tug off my hood carefully, taking in a deep breath and slowly walking towards the boys’ locker room. Eventually, I reach the door, gently knocking on it and calling out Liam’s name, but there’s no answer. “Liam,” I call again, opening the door and pacing cautiously into the room. “I know you’re in he-” I stop mid-sentence, examining the punched in blue locker. I look around again, noticing blood stains along the tiled floor leading to where the showers were. I follow the trail of bright red, winding the corner and finding Liam sitting under the first shower, his fists clenched and his eyes flashing every millisecond from baby blue to a golden. “Liam,” I whisper, treading carefully because the worse thing I could do right now was to piss him off even more. His expression softens at my voice, his eyes darting to me, my jeans and converse surely drenched. I take off my rain jacket completely, tossing it to the side and sighing, sliding down against the wall to sit next to Liam. At this point, I wasn’t worrying about me getting more wet; I was worried about Liam.

“Li, come on, just talk to me,” I gently encourage, shivering at the cold water pouring down over me. “Liam, you can’t ignore me forever.” Without thinking, my hands wrap around his clenched fists, the tension in them diminishing at my touch. I lean my head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Every second of this position was slowly unraveling his anger, his head soon resting on top of mine. “Li,” I mumble again, through gritted teeth, the cold really affecting me now. Liam realizes this, his eyes widening and his previous rage fully gone and being replaced with concern. “Y/N,” he says, looking up at the water still splashing down on us, then dragging me out of it with himself. He pulls me by my wrist to his locker, the one right beside the one with the dent. He shuffles with his lock, getting the combo wrong a few times and frustration boiling up inside him again. “31-1-35.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, trying the combination and pulling the lock down, it clicking open. “What? How do you know th-” “You remember at the beginning of last year, when you asked me to get your History textbook in here, for whatever reason?” He nods his head slowly, after looking up at the ceiling to recall the memory. “But, that was like forever ago, like that happened before Scott bit me.” I stare at him blankly. “What, I have a good memory?”

Liam smiles at me for a few blissful seconds, before realizing what he was originally doing, his jaw dropping and shuffling into his locker. He grabs a white towel from the top shelf, wrapping it around my shoulders. “There you go.” I smile appreciatively at him. Small things like this were the reasons why he was the one. The one who I wanted to fall in love with deeper and deeper everyday. The one who I wanted to wake up with every morning. The one I wanted to tell about every little accomplishment or issue I had, and didn’t have to worry about judgment. The one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. And the one I was willing to risk it all for. But, of course, this wasn’t the cliche teenage movie, and the best friend never gets to be the love interest. I loved him and he didn’t love me back. I’d always been and always will just be the best friend, nothing more. He was the one, but I wasn’t his. My thoughts are suddenly clouded by what happened earlier, images of him lying on the turf flashing back into my mind. “So,” I begin. “What happened out there?” His facial expression changes from gentle bliss to discomfort in a matter of milliseconds. “Erm, well, I was focusing in on something other than the game, that I probably shouldn’t have.” “Um, what were you focusing on?” I query, curiosity blazing through me. He looks down at his soaked cleats, mumbling something under his breath really fast.

“You know, I’m not a werewolf, so I don’t have enhanced hearing like you do. So, I didn’t catch any of that.” His chest and shoulders raise as he heaves in a breath, then reiterates what he just said, but slower and louder. “I was listening to you and Theo.” “What?” I question, disbelief lacing my tone. I had to have heard that wrong. “You were, erm, flirting with him. And i know I really shouldn’t mind that because, I mean, you’re not mine or anything, but he’s a bad guy and you deserve better, likemaybesomeonelikemeifthatsokay.” My heart begins to pound in my chest, surely loud enough that even non-supernaturals could hear. That time, I must’ve heard wrong, because the words that just spilled out of his mouth had to be a figment of my imagination. I must’ve been in shock for a long time, because Liam looks back up, probably wanting me to say something, anything. “Li, I don’t know how to res-”

“No, it’s fine, Y/N. I get it you don’t like me like that, but whenever you say Li, goddamn, please can you stop that because every single time you say that I want to fucking kiss you so bad,” he interrupts me, and somehow during it, he gets closer, his hands gently holding onto mine. I look down at our intertwined fingers and Liam follows my gaze, his eyes going wide and trying to pull away, but I stop him. I hold onto him and his eyes look back up to me frantically. “But, I thought th-” “Li, do you want to kiss me?” I ask, the possibility of him saying what I want him to say causing my body to gravitate even closer to him, if that was even possible. “Yes,” he replies sheepishly, blushing a bit. “Then do it.” And he does just that. Without letting another second pass, he reaches out and grasps my chin, pulling my face towards his. The kiss is delicate, his lips tasting of sweat, but I couldn’t care less. “So you don’t like Theo?” Liam asks, unsure. “No, Li,” I answer, gouging his reaction to the nickname, which he previously declared made him want to kiss me. He groans, licking his lips. “Now, you’re just saying it to mess with me.” “Li, why didn’t you kiss me sooner?” “I didn’t know you liked me back.” “That’s what I thought, Li.” “Fuck, stop doing that.” “Li, Li, Li, Li,” I laugh, as his face morphs into playful anger, a smile plastered on his face. “You’re so gonna get it, Y/N,” he yells. I run away, still laughing, dropping the towel somewhere on the tiled floor behind me. Strong arms hug me from behind, Liam picking me up and swinging me around as I kick my legs up in the air like a child. After a while, he drops me back down. I turn around to face him and stand on the tip of my toes, grabbing the side of his face in my hand and planting my lips on his. Being short had its hurdles, but this one, I didn’t mind. I finally had the one and somehow, I was his.

[zenyattayatta]

Could i request a hc or small ficlet about Genji and reader who used to work together in blackwatch reuniting at the recall and Genji is suddenly hit with feels for reader that he had brushed off in his blackwatch days because he hated himself.. i guess how would he react, would he confess? would he try get close to them again? bonus points if reader used to have a serious sexual attraction to blackwatch genji. idk if that made sense.. but yeah lol.

We Meet Again

A/N: I got excited to work on this one in all honesty. This turned out to be 7 pgs long. ^^”

Genji scanned the room unfamiliar to him with keen eyes. Thesmell of oil, rust and metal filtrating into the cowl of his lower face. The sounds of whirling machinery drawing his eyes towards your general direction.

“Oh!” You popped up from behind a large stack ofmechanical parts, a welders helmet staring the cyborg back. Genji cringed atthe sight of himself having yet to been accustomed to his new body. “So you’rethe infamous new Blackwatch recruit I’ve been hearing about?” You stood from yourworkbench, placing the prosthetic arm you worked on into the pile on your desk.  “Nice to meet you.” You greeted him introducingyourself with an extend of your hand.

Genji watched you, well his reflection, as you waited forhim to shake your hand. An awkward silence claimed the room, his eyes lockedwith himself too distracted to remember you in front of him. You raised a browunder the helmet, suddenly remembering your manners.

“Oh geez,” You muttered, flipping back the front of it inorder to see him face to face. “I always forget to take this damn thing off.”

He’s taken back by your appearance, gentle eyes with abright smile awaiting his introduction. He gives you a curt nod beforemuttering “Genji Shimada”. He doesn’t take your hand to shake, simply staringholes down at you.

You nod back at him, pulling back your hand with snap ofyour fingers. “Alright Genji, why don’t you take a seat while I see what’swrong.” You motion to a medical examination table on the other side of theroom. He moves to do so as you walk to your computer.

“So, how’s Blackwatch treating you so far?” You look forGenji’s file, clicking on it when it appears on the data base. You don’t noticehim not replying as you read over the technical issues Angela has written thatneed your fixing. “Oh that’s an easy fix but I can see why it would have Angelaworried.” You look over to Genji, who sits minding his business. “Genji, can youlie down on the medical table. Face down preferably, the problem seems to bewhere Tracer hit you on your back.” He nods doing as you instructed promptly.

The creak of your chair signals the start of your work. Thesilence quickly shrouding out as you being your routine of casual conversation.Asking him the regular questions of how he is and what he’s been up too. His silence,however, turn out to be unbreakable. After a few minutes of prodding, with noreply, you pucker your lips coming to a conclusion.

“Well how about this?” You begin as you move to work on thedamaged wired. “I talk and you just listen, alright?” You stop to look over athis face. The same red irises staring at you with what looked like scowl. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Whenhe says nothing you open your mouth to begin ramble away once more.

The procedure takes about an two hours before your finallydone. Dismissing him with a clean bill before turning back to your computer to update his file accordingly.“If you ever needsomething fixed, don’t hesitate to find me. My door is always open.” You smile. He watches youfor a moment before nodding and taking his leave.

He reappears again the following week, a loose wire causinga short circuit in his arm. You’re a bit taken back by how fast he’s back inyour lab but move to assist him anyway. He takes a seat on the table awaiting andyou continue on similarly to the prior visit. You talk and he listens.

By his 3rd visit, you talk about some of yourhobbies. Stopping every now and then to ask if he’s tried or is interested inone. For once, he nods and shakes his head when you ask him questions. It’s onthe 8th that when you talkabout the places you’ve been that he replies vocally, small sentences but wordsnonetheless. It takes 18 visits before he begins to talk back to you, askingquestions of his own. About your life and your family. Your favorite will alwaysbe around his 20-something visit that you accidentally slip on oil that you makehim laugh. It was short and he tried to cover it up by coughing but you heardit nonetheless.  A smile tugs your lips notingthe progress you make with him.

Eventually you lose count of times he’s been here. They’velong far stopped being for just fixing and tune ups. Sometimes he just loiters aroundyour lab when you are present. On good days he chats with you. On bad days it’syou who mainly does the talking, recanting funny stories that have happened toyou as a way to cheer him up. Every so often you have a CommanderReyes barging in to take your companion away and back to the duties he shrinksaway from.

It’s after an extremely back mission that you’re overly concernedwith how often you have to repair him. You aren’t fond him getting into so muchtrouble as much as you enjoy his company. The bruises, lashes, and stitches matching up with the significantdamage to his metallic body look beyond painful. It hurts your chest seeing himwith a limp, pieces of his arms or legs missing, wires sparking up and out in waysthey shouldn’t. 

“It sounds as if you care what happens to me.” He speaks playfully when you decide to bring it up. You stop to move the protective helmet back and place your hands on your hips.

“I do, Genji.” You pout puffing your cheeks. “You’re important.”

“Important?” He scoffs, turning his body to look at you. Theloose wires of his body swinging as he does so. Before you can protest himmoving he speaks over you. “Important to who? You or this organization?”

You give him a look. “Genji, don’t be like.”

He sits up fully. You place your tools back in your toolbox along with your welders helmet seeing as he’s changing the subject.

“Just…answer me.” He sounds exasperated,as if it took all in him to ask this of you.

”Does it matter?” You stand fromyour seat to match him. The look in his eyes answers your question. You sigh. “You are importantto this organization, yes. But” You throw caution to the wind. “You are moreimportant to me than any file or record may say.”

You can see where his shoulders drop, the tension in themvanishes. He looks at you carefully, the red in his irises dim and his gazesending chills down your spine. Carefully, he raises his hands up towards hishead. It then you can see the last of the walls he’s built crashing down beforeyou. He leaves himself open you and only you.

His lower chin guard comes off with a click. A wave ofsorrow runs through your eyes at the scars on his full face. He’s missing hislower jaw, replaced by a synthetic one made of dark grey carbon fiber.  His lips ,although plump, are dried out andcracked. His eyes watch your expression and immediately he regrets his decision.

“This was foolish.”

You grab at his face, forcing him to look at you. “No it wasnot.” Your fingers thumb over his cheek bones and he closes his eyes enjoyingyour touch. “I’m just…surprised is all.” You smile. “You kept all this handsomenesshidden from me? How rude of you, Genji. To think after all the time we’ve spenttogether.”

He snorts softly, you catch it in time before he masks itwith the resting angry face he’s come to carry. Silently, you look him over andhe does the same. Your thumbs continuing to softly swipe at his cheeks. Hisgaze wonders to your lips and you can see how he inches towards you. You callhis name before closing the gap between the two of you.

It’s a sudden rush, one moment your standing with him atyour lips the next your sitting on a lab table. The gadgets and projects pushedaside to make room for you while he kisses you vigorously. Your hands tangle inhis hair while his momentarily wander your back and hips only to end up clenching at your inner thighs. His tongue teases yourlips in as you open your mouth to welcome it. His body moves to be pressedtightly close to yours spreading your legs for him to stand between them. He bends you back slightly, his kissing becoming desperate as touch starved as he is.

“Genji…” You moan, the sound of your voice snappingsomething within him.

This is wrong. Hethinks. He doesn’t deserve you. You deserved a man that is whole. Not a man whocan’t even look at himself without seeing a stranger. The rush of passionsturns to anger. He hates himself. He hates himself for craving someone as you,you don’t deserve to settle for him. As fast as he was on you, he pushes himself off.Your hands leaving his hair roughly.

“Genji?” You ask a bit breathless. He looks at you a bit lost for words before his gaze shifts downat himself with an angry expression. His fingers twitch and the muscles of hisarms flex, aching to grab and pull away the false skin and metallic plates ofhis body. The red lights of his body begin to glow angrily while his eyes move overhis body rapidly.

He bolts out of the room.

You sit at your work desk, shocked. The heat of your lower stomachhas yet to extinguish as you shift around still hot and bothered. A frowncrosses your lips as questions run through your mind. Did you do somethingwrong? Had you read the situation wrong? Did you overstep his boundaries?

Your head spins in a mess of thoughts as the heat of yourbody remains prominent. You groan, hoping off the table and busing yourselfwith work instead. A small but futile attempt at distracting yourself.  You’ll apologize to Genji the next time hecomes around.

Genji doesn’t return in the weeks to come. Quite frankly,you haven’t seen in him around the base either. It’s not until you ask Angela wherehe is that you find out he’s left without a word as to where he’s gone.

It’s been years.

Genji knows this better than anyone.

It took him years to finally be at peace withhimself. To learn the mechanics of his body, the limits of what it can withstandand to love himself knowing that he is worthy of this second chance.

But yet he hesitates at the door. 

The sounds of chatter andmachinery at work coming from the other side. It sends a wave of nostalgiathrough him. Remembering how he would wait long minutes gathering the courageto see or even speak to you. Now, however, he knew it was different. He was older, at a better place with himself.

But, oh god, he’sso nervous. It’s been this way since he first saw you step foot off the dropship with a smile on your face and bag of tools in your hands. The sound ofreintroduction’s as you hug Mercy tightly with excitement. He couldfeel his heart begin to race. The resurface of old feelings bubbling in his stomachand mind. He needed to speak with you.

There’s moment when the whirling stops and all he can hearis the sound of your laughter emanate through the door. He decides then, hecannot wait any longer walking towards the automatic door. 

“Yes, and then it turns out I switched the wires by accident.He started speaking another language and we were all confused!” You laughedloudly, the sound tugging at Genji’s chest. His eyes move from you to Zenyattawho lays before you on the table, something similar to medical examination table.

“That sounds like quite the predicament.” He chimes in withchuckle. You nod, switching tools as you quite yourself down. It’s then themonk notices the new presence in the room. “Ah, my student. “Hechimes happily.

“Oh, master.” He seems a bit embarrassed, walking in whileyou are working but doesn’t make a move to leave. “Is everything alright?”

“I’m sure.” He states while gesturing to you. “I am in goodhands.”

You smile, taking the small wrench you held clench betweenyour teeth out after adjusting a screw. “Just one more screw and you’ll be goodto go.” You purse your lips in concentration. “Do be careful next timeZenyatta. I was able to fix the dent but I had to replace a few of the metal plating.”

“I understand.” The monk nods. “My thanks for your assistance.”

You shake your head. “Noneed, my friend. Just glad to be able to help.” You tighten the last boltbefore motioning to him that you have finished.

The omnic floats on and off the table, giving you a properthank you with a bow before leaving the room. You lift the sanitary paper offthe table before throwing it away.  “Sowhat can I do for you?” You ask placing your hands on your hips. Genji stands awkwardlyas you give him a once over. “Hm…nothing looks broken. Do you need sometweaking? A tune up?”

“I…uh…” He takes a deep breath. “Wished to speak to you.”

“Oh?” You raise a brow when the man in front of you simply stares back insilence. Genji finds it hard to find his voice. He feels nervous, the samenervousness he felt under your gaze so many years ago.

“Um…” Your beginning to feel uncomfortable, shiftingthe tool in your hand awkwardly as your eyes shift around the room. “Look, if it’snot important do you think we can discuss this later?” You move another workbench and begin rearranging your tools hoping he’ll leave.

He calls your name bringing you to halt. Something about itis familiar and it grabs a hold of your attention. The cyborg takes a deepbreath. “It’s…It’s me,” He nears you slowly. “Genji.”

There’s a clatter of tools. He sees where your eyes widenand your mouth goes slightly agape. “Shimada?” You ask. “Genji Shimada?”

He nods, hands reaching to the clasp behind his helm. A puffa steam is released and his brown eyes meet yours. You note how he no longerhas red irises but his eyes are the same. Though, where there was anger, thereis now kind warmth. The scars of his face have faded slightly but remain everypresent.

“Oh.”

A mix of embarrassment and anger blushes your face remembering your last encounter. There’s an awkward silence betweenthe two of you as he watches for your reaction. Awaiting what you will say or do. 

“I wished to apology-”

“Look Genji, I shouldn’t have-”

There’s a pause as you both look at each other a bit surprised.A light laughter from you at the way you two talked over each other.

“Forgive me,” Genji motions to you. “You wished to saysomething?”

You smile a bit sheepishly with a nod. “I wanted to say sorryfor what happened before. I read the wrong signals and I shouldn’t have pushedmyself on you like that.” You rub the back of your neck, heat beginning to riseover your face. “I was in the heat of the moment and I took advantage of it andI really shouldn’t have.”

Genji shakes his head. “No, it is not you that should beapologizing.” You tilt your head. “I…did like you. Very much so, I was very…” Helowers his head down slightly, his eyes scrunching up as he smiles. “I was very attracted to you. It was one of themain reasons I always had you patch me up but I was still at a very bad placewith myself, with who I was.” He looks back up to you, his face switching to sucha saddened expression. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. Given you such hopeand then leaving without even offering an explanation or apology.”

“I was upset.” You confirm.

“I apologize for upsetting you as well.” He hangs his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, Genji.” You assure him. “I wasupset, for a time at least. But I remembered our time together. The way youlistened to me ramble on and on without question. The times I’d made you cracka smile even though you thought you hid it well. Hell! Even when you kissed melike no tomorrow.” He looks up when you place a hand on his shoulder. “I knewyou wouldn’t hurt me on purpose. That there must have been a reason  as to why you left.” His eyes look at you asif you are some godly being. “I’m happy you sought help. That you learned tolove yourself as I loved you.”

His face heats up, eyes dipping to your lips then back at your eyes. He’s so happy he could kiss you all over. However,you release your hold on him drawing the Shimada out of his thoughts. 

“Is there…a chance we can get to know each other again?” He asks, hopeful.

You opt looking away to wipe the grime off your tools with arag. “We’ll we’ve both grown.” You hum. “There is more we can discover aboutone another.”

His head perks up seeing as you’re on board with the idea. “…andwe can see where it goes from there?” He asks, leaning close to try and catch aview of the smile on your face.

You tilt your head to spare him a teasing glance. “And wecan see where it goes from there.” You affirm. The cyborg claps his handstogether, startling you slightly. The lights of his suit glow brightly as hebeams joy.  You giggle at his antics beforewaving your hands to shoo him away playfully.

“Now go, I have a lot of work to do.” You stop to lean onyour desk. “We’ll talk more late, alright?”

“Alright.” He smiles, clicking his face plate back in place.He moves towards the door hovering by it for a moment. “Thank you.”

You let out a content hum, moving to work behind a differentlab desk. “Oh and Genji,” He turns from the door at his name. You lean on yourforearms, a smile on your face “If you ever leave me bothered and wanting likethat again,” You squint, your smile suddenly mischievous. “I’ll see to it thatyour next full body tune up is with Torbjörn.”

He flinches slightly at the thought but laughs nonetheless.

“Understood.” He assures before taking his leave.

[peter-pan-hoe]

Another World Entirely pt11

Final Chapter

Warnings: Swearing, hearts n stuff. maybe fluff? idk

Word count: 1,967

Thanks to everyone who has been keeping up with this series. It’s been fun. Now that Another World Entirely is done I will have more one shots out soon.

MASTERLIST

PART 10

I struggled to climb back through the eye socket, weakened by the amount of power I just used.

I tripped over my own legs as I stumbled my way towards Peter and Henry.

I pulled myself along on my hands and knees until I reached them, Using Peter’s stilled form to pull myself up I gently placed my outstretched hand on Henry’s glowing golden heart.

Strength flooded through me from a single touch. I was revitalised.

I sighed and sat back on my heels as I felt my strength returning. I waved my hand over Peter’s form and he was revived. 

He looked slightly panicked as he stared at the Heroes glaring at him and Henry in their frozen form. Then he looked confused by their stillness. 

I giggled a little as I stood.

   “What’s going on?” he asked.

   “I wasted myself freezing them so I could get to Henry’s heart,” I smiled at him. 

I turned to Henry and carefully pried his heart from his small hand.

In my hand in was revived also. I pulsed with a bright red light, no matter what angle I looked at it, it appeared outlined in gold.

   “Beautiful,” I hummed as I examined it.

   “Are you going to fill me in on that plan of yours now?” Peter smiled expectantly.

   “Indeed I am,” I smiled back at him. “Now comes the tricky part. I’ve had to improvise and alter the original plan slightly since I couldn’t hold off the eclipse but this is the gist,”

I gripped tightly to the heart with both hands and gave a sturdy but gentle twist.

There was a slight squeaking sound like glass under pressure and the heart broke into 2 perfect halves.

   "I didn't even know you could do that," Peter breathed.

   "No one does, yet," I put the halves down on the ground and held my hands open, palms up and thought really hard of a replica heart, until one appeared in my hands. "Nice,"

I smirked in triumph as I did the same as before and gently twisted the fake heart in my hands until it split in two.

   "What do you mean 'yet'?" Peter asked.

   "Well after these Heroes return home they're going to eventually run into an issue that requires them to split a heart," I explained as I put down one half of the fake heart and picked up a half of the real one.

   "What are you doing?" Peter asked.

   "Saving you and Neverland," I said with a 'duh' tone. "I'm kinda evil now but I'm not about to kill this kid. He's important anyway,"

Peter nodded as I lined up the two halves of the real and fake hearts. I held them together and there was a slight fizzing sound as they fused together.

I did the same with the other halves one the ground and held one whole heart in each hand.

Slowly they both started glowing as bright as the whole heart did which confirmed my theory about splitting infinity.

   "There," I sighed happily. "Now we have two hearts of the truest believer. I'm going to give one back to Henry and keep the other while I hide with this one. You're going to allow him to keep his one and then they'll all think you and Neverland have died and they'll never come back to bother us again. Sound good? Good,"

I stood up and placed one of the hearts in Henry's hand just like the full one was before.

   "Y/N..." Peter breathed. "You're amazing,"

I turned to him to see him smiling the biggest smile I think I'd ever seen on him.

   "I know," I grinned. "We'll celebrate after they're gone,"

I kissed Peter on the lips with a much passion as I could fit in the small amount of time before running off to hide once again.

   "Now," I called out to him over top of the stone skull. "Play dead!"

I waved my hand and Henry and the Heroes unfroze.

   "Henry wait!" Neal shouted.

Henry turned to look at them, heart in hand.

He was about to speak but Peter, due to my wave of magic, crumpled to the ground, unconcious.

   "What the hell?" Regina exclaimed.

They all ran to Henry and guided him away from Peter's unconscious form.

while they we all turned away from Peter, I waved my hand again and blinked him to my side, replacing him with a decoy rigged to 'die' as soon as someone touches him.

   "What happened to him?" Henry asked, being his typical naive self.

   "I think he's fainted," Emma suggested.

Regina slowly moved forward and crouched down Next to Peter.

I held my breath as she reached out to take his pulse.

When she felt nothing, she withdrew her hand and looked back at the others with a confused look.

A gasp from Emma had Regina looking back at Peter to discovered his body aging very quickly.

Regina stood up as Peter’s body briefly resembled his former self before aging even further until his body was withered old man.

But the aging didn't stop there. The decoy body continued to age, slowly drying out and the skin began flaking away from the bone structure, which in turn cracked and broke until all that was left was a body shaped dust pile.

   “Oh my god,” Emma breathed. “Henry come here,”

Henry stepped closer to his mother while Regina moved away from the dust pile and to her son’s side.

   “Let’s put this back,” Regina smiled to Henry while she gently took his heart from him.

She held it against his chest and gently shoved it back into place.

I sighed happily as no one seemed to notice the different in his heart.

The Shadow appeared by my side and looked as if he was waiting for instructions.

   “Go tell them Peter has died,” I whispered to him. “Tell them that Neverland will soon disappear and they need to leave as soon as possible,”

He nodded and floated over to the Heroes who all readied themselves into defensive stances.

   “What now?” Emma asked angrily.

   “Leave,” The Shadow said in his eerie ghostly voice.

   “What?” Regina looked confused. “You’ll let us leave now?”

   “Pan is dead,” The Shadow said. “With him, the island will die too. If you do not wish to die also then you will leave this place,”

The Heroes exchanged looked then with a few nods they turned and headed down the stairs.

   “Wait,” Shadow said suddenly.

What are you doing?! I thought worriedly.

The Heroes came back and looked at the Shadow expectantly.

   “Here,” He tossed them something.

Emma caught it  and looked confused at Pandora’s Box in her hands.

   “The Dark One is trapped there,” Shadow said. “Now go,”

They nodded again and ran down they stairs once more.

I stood up and stretched as I stepped out of my hiding place.

   “Thank you Shadow,” I sighed.

He nodded then flew away.

I crouched beside Peter’s unconscious body and gently stroked his face, rousing him.

He groaned and sat up looking at me with a small frown, like that of a child who doesn’t want to get out of bed.

   “They’re leaving,” I hummed.

   “Really?” He raised his eyebrows.

I nodded and looked at the second heart in my hand. 

   “Let’s go watched them leave,” I smiled. “But we have to get back to the boys before the Heroes convince them to leave with them,”

   “This is a good plan,” he chuckled.

   “Ready?” I asked, holding out the heart to him.

He nodded and braced himself as I held the heart against his chest.

With a slight push, the heart was absorbed into him. There was a fizz in the air and a gentle light bursting out over the room.

He sighed and smiled at me before jumping forward and tackling me into a kiss.

I laughed and kissed him back.

   “We have to go,” I reminded him.

We stood and he smiled, feeling his magic return to him.

   “Let’s fly,” he grinned at me and offered his hand.

I took his hand excitedly and he puled me to him before lightly jumping off the ground, floating up into the air.

We soared through the eye of the skull and over the island until we landed at camp.

   “You go hide,” I told Peter. “They can’t know you’re still alive. I’ll go get the boys, We’ll meet you at the Thinking Tree,”

He nodded and vanished.

I looked around and saw only Snow and Charming awkwardly standing guard over the boys.

I took a deep breath and waved my hand and froze the two Heroes.

revealing myself with a smiled, I skipped up to the boys and they all cheered.

   “Calm down guys,” I laughed as I untied Felix. “Have they offered to take you with them yet?”

They all nodded.

   “Do any of you want to go?” I asked carefully. “If you do we won’t stop you, we’ll just be sad that you’re leaving,”

They all shook their heads and some verbally said they want to stay.

   “Well then,” I said with a smile. “I’m going to unfreeze these two once you’re all untied and then I want you all to run to Peter’s Thinking Tree as fast as you can. Felix I want you to hang back a bit and tell them you are all loyal to Pan and will stay here for as long as the island exists. Got it boys?”

They all agreed and I nodded then ran to hide.

I waved me hand and unfroze them.

The boys looked at me from where I was out of Snow and Charming’s view and I nodded, signalling them to move now.

   “LATER TURDS!” Curly screamed, jumped up and sprinted off into the woods.

The boys laughed and followed suit leaving Felix with two very confused Heroes.

   “We thank you for your gracious offer,” Felix said sarcastically. “But we are loyal to Pan. No matter what happened to him or the island we will willingly remain here,”

Then he turned and ran.

Snow and Charming looked at each other in astonishment and I ran after the boys.

I caught up to the boys easily enough and we all ran along side each other to Peter’s Tree. It took us about half an hour to get there on foot, even with our fast speeds.

   “The Shadow has just told the Heroes are leaving,” Peter informed us upon our arrival.

The boys cheered and jumped around.

   “Are we still going to watch them leave?” I asked. “They’re docked just below the cliff,”

The boys all thought this was a good idea so we made our way to the edge and lay down on our stomach to look out over the edge.

The Jolly Roger was already a decent way from the shore.

   “So,” Peter said as he nudged me. “Did everything go to plan?”

   “It didn’t go exactly to plan but I’m good at improvising I’ve learned,” I laughed. “I’m just glad I kept the timeline mostly,”

   “So the timeline is fine?” He asked.

   “Oh god no I totally fucked it up,” I admitted. “There’s so much I’ve ruined. You aren’t going to take over Henry’s body, you won’t create a curse that send them all back to the enchanted forest which means at least two babies won’t be born. Yeah it’s all pretty fucked up at this point but It wont effect us so it doesn’t matter,”

   “Am I really the cause of all that?” He looked at me with raised eyebrows.

   “Yep,” I smiled. “Peter Pan never fails,”

   “Wow,” he laughed.

A flash out over the horizon caught out attention.

We watched as the Jolly Roger disappeared into a portal.

   “Well Y/N,” Peter said triumphantly. “Consider your promises kept,”

The End.