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rainecreatesstuff · 3 years

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Chapters: 2/4 Fandom: Minecraft (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit & Ranboo, No Romantic Relationship(s) Characters: Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF) Additional Tags: Goat Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Platonically Married Ranboo and Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo and Toby Smith | Tubbo Have a Child Named Michael, Ranboo Tubbo and Tommy run away from the SMP, Kind of like a fix-it fic but not really, sorry I’m not great with tags aha, Fluff, Family Fluff, just so so much fluff, Queerplatonic Ranboo and Tubbo, bee duo, Bench trio, Technoblade is a softie, TommyInnit Needs a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Needs a Hug, TommyInnit Gets a Hug (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Gets a Hug, Traumatized TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Traumatized Toby Smith | Tubbo, lots of hugs and cuddles, Phil Watson is Called Philza (Video Blogging RPF), I don’t think I need any trigger warnings, but If I do please let me know and I’ll add them :), Snowchester on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Relationships, Platonic Cuddling, TommyInnit Has PTSD (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo Has Horns, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has Mental Health Issues, Ranboo Has a Tail (Video Blogging RPF), Ranboo Has Mental Health Issues, god i hate tagging things, no beta we die like tommy- wait- shit no, no beta we die like Wilbur- FUCK-, NO BETA WE DIE LIKE UHHHHH MEXICAN DREAM, Rated T for Tommyinnit Swearing, and tubbo swearing, and maybe phil i don’t remember, point is, Swearing, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort Series: Part 1 of Runaways AU

Takes place between Tommy’s revival and Wilbur’s. ALL names in this story are referring to the CHARACTERS of the Dream SMP, NOT the CCs. If any ccs state that this fic makes them uncomfortable, or it crosses boundaries, it will immediately be taken down. Please be respectful in the comments. :)

Chapter 2 under the cut! :)

Tubbo was shaking with excitement.

Finally, after months and months of shoving the thought away, it was happening. They were leaving.

Tubbo rushed around his basement, grabbing as many resources as he could and shoving them into his inventory haphazardly. Not much thought went into it, if he saw something he thought he might need he’d toss it in. If he forgot anything he could just ask Ranboo for it anyways.

With his stuff packed, he headed upstairs to check on Michael quickly before leaving. The toddler was still sound asleep, clinging to his chicken plush fiercely. Tubbo gently kissed his forehead, tucking him in tightly, before making his way back to the ladder.

He locked the hatch behind him, just in case. You could never be too careful when you were married to a main character and best friends with a protagonist. He shrugged on his coat and slipped on his combat boots, exiting the house and locking the door behind him. He ran to the hyper-tunnel, tridenting through and flying out the other side.

He made his way to Tommy’s land, where he found the blond sitting on his bench and staring at the horizon.

“Tommy!” Tommy’s head shot in his direction as he yelled his name.

He ran onto the property, practically throwing himself at Tommy and head-butting his chest.

“Fuckin- Ow man, what the fuck’s gotten into you?”

Tubbo grinned up at him, springing up from the bench and flapping his hands back and forth.

“Okay, okay, okay. So. Um, basically, you know how everything’s pretty much gone to shit on this server? And how we’re like, constantly in danger of someone trying to kill us?”

Tommy raised an eyebrow.

“I’d say I’m well aware of it, yeah. Didn’t expect you to be so excited about it though. Seriously big man, I haven’t seen you this excited since the bee farm you built way back before L’Manburg.”

Tubbo faltered for a moment. This was going to be difficult.

“No, I’m not excited about that.” He took a deep breath and calmed himself down, falling back onto the bench.

“So, I’ve been thinking about it for a while, a long time, actually, and I was talking to Ranboo and he kind of just asked me why not, and now we’re doing it, so.”

Tommy laughed nervously.

“You still haven’t told me what ‘it’ is, Tubs.”

“I’m getting there. You’re just. You’re probably not gonna be too happy about it at first, but I want you to take some time and actually think about it because I do genuinely think it’s the best option for us.”

Tommy looked at him warily.

“Alright. I’ll think about whatever you say, promise.”

Tubbo nodded.

“Okay, good, so…”

He looked over to Tommy, sucked in a deep breath, and blurted it out.

“What if we left?”

Tommy froze.

He stood from the bench and made his way back towards his house, and Tubbo ran after him.

“Tommy, I know it’s scary, and weird, but honestly-“

“No.”

Tubbo froze as well.

“You promised you’d think about it.”

“Yeah, I did think about it, and now I’m fucking shaking, so sorry, Tubbo, but it’s a fucking no from me.” Tommy finally turned to look at Tubbo, and tears were pooling in his eyes.

Tubbo swallowed.

“We can’t keep living like this, Tommy. I can’t keep going week by week not knowing if my best friend, or my kid, or my husband, or myself are gonna make it to the next one.” Tubbo reached for Tommy’s hand, but the taller boy yanked it away.

“Then leave. Fuck off with your perfect little family. See if I care.” Tommy growled.

Tears threatened to spring to Tubbo’s eyes, but he held them back. Tommy didn’t mean any of this. He was scared, and he felt threatened, and he was responding with anger. Tubbo had seen him do it time and time again. This was nothing new.

Didn’t exactly make it hurt much less though.

“I’m not leaving without you. You are my family.” Tubbo reminded him gently.

Tommy practically snarled at him.

“Remember- remember what Puffy was saying? About using anger as a coping mechanism for fear? You’re doing it again, Toms.” Tubbo did his best to keep his voice from shaking.

He hated it when Tommy got like this with him. It’d happened far too many times and ended far too horribly each time. He wondered if it was his fault.

Tommy’s eyes widened for a moment, and he seemed to shake himself off, taking a deep breath before stepping backwards.

“Just- just give me a minute.” He turned and ran into his house.

Tubbo watched his retreat, and began shaking. He’d known Tommy wouldn’t take well to the idea, but he didn’t think it’d upset him this much. Was it worth it to try to convince him? Even if it would spare them both a lot of grief and suffering in the long run, he couldn’t bear to make Tommy feel that anxious.

He took a deep breath, and thought it all over again. He had wanted to leave because he wanted to feel safe. He wanted his loved ones safe. That was okay, it was good.

It was… a good option, all things considered. He knew if Wilbur were here, he’d scold him for running away from his problems. But Wilbur wasn’t here, and Tubbo wasn’t running away. He was escaping.

Tommy finally emerged from the house, looking a bit more confident with himself than he had before. He looked up at Tubbo with his hands busying themselves with his sleeves. Tubbo opened his arms, and Tommy slid into a hug.

“I know you’re not keen on the idea. And I know it’s stressful, and new, and I know you don’t like new. But please just let me explain. Because I don’t know how much longer we can go like this before something happens.” Tubbo spoke in a hushed tone.

Tommy pulled away, nodding and leading Tubbo back to the bench.

They sat down, and Tubbo took a deep breath and began.

“Okay. So, I’ve had this plan, kind of sitting in the back of my mind for a while. Wasn’t even really a plan at first, just a daydream.”

Tommy caught his eye, and nodded for him to continue.

“It must’ve been a few days after you got out of the prison. I just remember seeing you trip and fall, and god, Tommy, you looked the same way you did the day of the festival, in that goddamn pit…”

Tubbo looked away from Tommy, who reached over and grabbed his hand, holding it in his own gently.

“You were shaking like a leaf, and your breathing was all funny, and all I could think about was how none of this would’ve happened if we’d ran off that day, when we were talking about it.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment. Tommy stared out at the twilight growing sky, eyes tracing the newly revealed stars.

“Thought we’d agreed that was dumb. We still had stuff we had to do.”

“We did,” Tubbo bit his lip, “We did agree. Back then. But, I don’t know, I started letting myself think about it, and like… I just want to live. Like actually live. I don’t wanna be so scared out of my mind that I have to build fucking nukes to keep my family safe. I don’t wanna wake up every morning and not be sure if my best friend is still around until I see you.”

A tear ran down Tommy’s face, and he pulled Tubo into another tight hug.

“I can’t leave. I have so much work to do.”

Tubbo huffed, squeezing Tommy back.

“Like what?”

Tommy let his head rest on Tubbo’s shoulder, and his arms went slack against Tubbo’s back.

“I have so many people I have to apologize and make it up to. And I’ve got a reputation to fix. And I have to kill Dream.”

Tubbo pulled away, staring Tommy down.

“Ignoring that other stuff for a moment, you don’t have to kill Dream.”

Tommy frowned.

“Yeah, I do. He’s too dangerous to be left alive. If he brings Wilbur back he’s gonna hurt so many people. I don’t- I don’t wanna kill him, I don’t wanna kill anyone, but I have to, because nobody else will.” Tommy spoke it like it was a mantra he’d been taught.

Tubbo felt like he’d been taught it as well.

“But it’s not your job. It’s not your responsibility.”

“Tubbo-“

“No.” Tubbo stood from the bench.

“No, it’s not, and you’re not getting me to agree with that. Dream is fucking insane, and he’s hurt a lot of people, and you don’t have to deal with him. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone, Tommy. I know we’ve had it drilled into our heads from the moment we joined that goddamned revolution that we should aspire to be martyrs, but we shouldn’t.”

Tommy stared at him with something sad, and something akin to awe.

“We have every right to live and be safe, Tommy. We’ve done our part. We’ve fought wars we shouldn’t’ve had to. We get to be free from it all.” Tubbo paused for a moment, sitting back down.

“Dream isn’t your responsibility. Maybe he’s Sam’s, or his own, who knows. But he’s not yours. You don’t have to be the one to prevent his actions.”

Tommy breathed in shakily, and nodded.

“I hear you,” He spoke quietly, “Not sure if I quite get it yet, but. I do hear you.”

“That’s all I ask for.”

Tommy took a deep breath.

“So, you’re suggesting we just disappear into the night?”

Tubbo smiled sheepishly.

“I mean… essentially, yeah.”

“And you’ve been planning this for how long?”

“What time is it?”

“How the fuck would I know? Probably around nine or something?”

“Alright, then like… forty five minutes.”

Tommy stared at him.

Tubbo stared back.

“I’m gonna kill your husband.”

“Wha- it’s not like it’s his fault, I’m the one that brought it up-“

Tommy groaned.

“No no no, this has Ranboob written all over it. He probably made you get all nostalgic and shit and then proposed this and now we’re leaving.”

Tubbo’s ears pricked up, and a small smile wormed its way onto his face.

“So you’re coming then?”

Tommy groaned again, leaning back against the bench.

“I don’t fucking know Tubbo. You’re sure this is what you want? Like 100% sure?”

Tubbo ran a hand through his hair.

“Pretty sure it’s all I’ve wanted for a while, boss man.”

Tommy pulled his knees up to his chest.

“So you’re really okay just leaving all this behind? L’manburg, and the bench, and Snowchester?”

“Honestly? As long as I have you, Michael, and Ranboo, I couldn’t give two fucks about any of this. But… I understand if it’s harder for you.” Tubbo spoke gently, as if Tommy might startle.

Tommy hummed, and let his eyes fall on the horizon again.

“It’s weird to think about. And it makes me feel scared. Like, there’s all these places here that have so many memories, and one day we might come back and they’ll look completely different.”

Tubbo watched his friend quietly for a moment. He probably should have come prepared for a deep conversation. Tommy was having those a lot more often with him. And he was proud of Tommy, god, he was so proud of him. But it served as a bit of a reminder that things would never go back to the way they were before. There’d always be something weighing them down.

… If Tubbo got his way tonight, he hoped it would take a bit of that weight off.

“Isn’t there kind of beauty in that, though? New people will show up, and walk the same ground as us, and make new memories in the places we made ours. Someone else will sit on this bench one day and it could be the best day of their life, and they’ll watch the sunset and celebrate, just like we did, and never even know it.”

Tommy caught his eye again, a look of contemplation in his gaze.

“And like, nothing’s ever permanent, Toms. You and I of all people know that. If you decide you want to come back, I’ll come with you. It’s me and you ‘til the end, right?” Tubbo held up his arm, hand fisted, and smiled as Tommy did the same and bumped their arms together.

“Always.”

Tommy sighed.

“Guess I better get packing then, huh?”

Tubbo grinned.

“I’ll meet you at my place in, let’s say, an hour?”

“Sure big man.”

The two hugged once more, then separated. Tubbo nearly had to stop himself from skipping down the prime path.

Tommy did have a point, it was weird to think he might never walk this path again. That sickly fear of being forgotten crawled it’s way into his chest, and he decided to get rid of it as soon as possible. He’d made his mark well enough, if he said so himself.

There was an entire crater that people would tell stories of for decades that he’d had a huge part in. Couples would settle down in Snowchester years from now and see his name etched into the stone, and know him as their founder. Teenagers would dare each other to walk through a button-filled ravine and the nerds among them would tell the story of Pogtopia, of the president that went mad, and the legendary warrior, and the determined hero, and maybe, hopefully, even the crafty spy. He’d made several farms and trading posts that would be used for generations should they be upkept. And he’d never upkept them, so he didn’t see them falling into disarray the moment he left.

Tubbo had left his mark on the land. On the history of the server. Still, the tightness wouldn’t leave his throat.

He grabbed a knife from his pocket and stared at the prime path for a moment before kneeling down. In sharp, clean letters, he etched “TUBBO_BELOVED WALKED HERE.” It was simple, so utterly stupid compared to the other things he had done to mark up the server. But it made him laugh, and it made the tendrils of fear loosen from his lungs, for whatever reason. And so he decided to be proud of it.

He made his way back home and practically flung open the door, making his way to his bedroom and closet. The moon was well underway on its journey through the sky, the silver light illuminating his room through the windows. He grabbed an assortment of clothes and piled them into a backpack. Several green shirts, some hoodies, a t-shirt that definitely had belonged to Ranboo at some point, jeans. He threw in everything he could. His hand brushed on a coat, and he pushed the rest of the clothes to the side.

His presidential jacket hung neatly in the corner of his closet. That’s right, he’d stored it away before Doomsday. Hadn’t been sure when he’d need it again. He slipped it off its hanger and shrugged it on. He looked at himself in the mirror.

It still looked too big.

“Tubbo?”

Tubbo glanced to the corner of the mirror, where Ranboo now stood in his line of sight.

“Hey boss man.”

Ranboo strode up to him, and hugged him gently from behind, his elbows resting on Tubbo’s shoulders.

“You ready to get going?”

“Just about. Gotta get Michael’s stuff together still.”

“Mm.”

They stood like that for a few moments, until Ranboo gently head butted Tubbo’s head, and moved away, gently slipping the coat off of Tubbo. He put it back on its hanger and slid it back into its place in the closet.

“I vote we leave this one behind.”

Tubbo hummed, a smile making its way onto his face.

“Can't say I disagree.”

Ranboo grabbed a few more things from Tubbo’s closet and threw them to Tubbo, who caught them and folded them, placing them carefully into his bag.

“Guess you don’t like me in a suit then. I’ll make note of that.”

Ranboo froze for a moment, then flustered, slapping Tubbo gently on the back of the head. Tubbo giggled, zipping up his bag and slinging it onto his shoulder.

They made their way out into the living room, where a duffel bag already sat on the floor beside the couch. Tubbo threw his bag down next to Ranboo’s, and jumped when the duffel moved.

“Hey, Boo?” Tubbo whisper-yelled.

“Yeah?”

“Care to explain why your bag is shaking and purring?”

They stared at each other, Ranboo freezing like a deer in headlights.

“… I couldn’t just leave Enderchest.”

Tubbo laughed fondly. He knelt down and scratched the cat’s ears, which earned him a louder purr.

“Guess I understand. Cats have got to stick together after all.” Tubbo grinned.

Ranboo groaned across the room.

“Catboy, little meow meow, my meow meow catboy, little baby man.” Tubbo strode across the room, smooshing Ranboo’s cheeks with his hands.

“You are a menace to society.”

Tubbo cackled evilly, and moved one of his hands up to scratch around Ranboo’s ears, laughing again when a soft rumble came from his husband’s chest.

“This is not funny.” Ranboo could barely stop himself from purring long enough to say it.

“Mhm.” Tubbo rubbed Ranboo’s ears and the purring grew louder.

“I hate this.”

“Tell me to stop then.”

Ranboo flushed, and Tubbo laughed triumphantly, bonking his forehead with Ranboo’s and leaving him be. He made his way up to Michael’s room, followed closely by Ranboo, who held another backpack in his hands and was yet to stop purring.

They moved in tandem, grabbing and folding their toddler’s clothes and placing them in the backpack. They also brought an assortment of books and little trinkets they’d collected for Michael over the past few months. Finally, they grabbed some blankets and folded them neatly, stuffing them into the backpack and zipping it up. Ranboo swung the backpack over his shoulder and shimmied back down the ladder.

Tubbo sighed, and sat on Michael’s bed, gently carding his fingers through his son’s short mane. Ranboo came back up, and sat beside him.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this.” Tubbo mumbled, half to himself.

“Can’t believe in a bad way, or can’t believe in a good way?”

“The good way.”

Ranboo leaned against Tubbo, resting his cheek on Tubbo’s head, careful to avoid the horns.

“Should we wake him up now and get him out to a boat, or should we wait for Tommy?” Ranboo swung an arm around Tubbo’s waist lazily.

Tubbo leaned into the gesture. It was quite bizarre. Ever since his execution, physical affection had left him uneasy and anxious, but for some reason it was different with Ranboo. Maybe it was how unsure of it he’d seemed himself, or maybe that he hadn’t known Tubbo before the scars. It made Tommy jealous, Tubbo was well aware of that. But at the moment, Tommy was only just getting back to being able to handle hugs, so Tubbo wasn’t sure cuddling would do either of them any good at this point.

“Bo?”

Tubbo snapped back.

“Right, sorry, yeah, let’s uh, let’s wait for Tommy to get here. He’ll probably wake Michael up with his knocking anyway.”

Ranboo hummed amusedly, and Tubbo smiled. He glanced out the window, and watched the waves for a moment.

“You wanna go for a quick stroll before Tommy gets here?” Tubbo stood, offering Ranboo a hand up.

“Sure.”

Ranboo took it, and they made their way to the doors, Tubbo slipping on his coat as they left. They wandered around for a bit, chatting idly, reminiscing on stupid and funny moments that had happened in the little town of Snowchester. They eventually ended up on the docks, and Tubbo sat down, swinging his legs over the side. Ranboo sat beside him, his tail wrapping around towards Tubbo.

Tubbo shivered, and leaned into Ranboo, who held him.

“So this is it then. Anywhere you wanna visit before we leave? L’manhole, maybe?”

Tubbo smiled.

“Nah. I’ve said my goodbyes to that place. I’m all good to go.”

Ranboo laughed quietly.

“Not to question you, but for someone who spent several nights awake making layouts for his builds, you don’t seem all too sad about leaving them.”

“Well, I mean, yeah. It kinda sucks, but at their core, they’re just builds. I’ll think back on them one day and cringe at how I styled them. You and Michael and Tommy being safe is far more important than whatever project I’m focused on at the minute.” Tubbo said quietly.

Ranboo hummed.

“And you know you’re the same for me, right? You’re always gonna be one of my top priorities.”

It felt a little uncomfortable to hear, but Tubbo knew that was just his messed up brain doing its messed up little thing. And so, pushing down the feeling of twisting in his stomach, he leaned closer to Ranboo.

“Thanks, boss man. I’m glad.”

They sat for a moment in silence, listening to the waves lap at the sides of the docks. Tubbo checked his communicator for the time. Tommy should be getting here soon. Thank god, he was getting a bit anxious to actually get on the road. He was, of course, still grateful that the universe had decided to give them a moment of peace before the inescapable chaos that would be travelling a long distance with a toddler and Tommy- so, basically two toddlers- for several days. Hell, maybe even several weeks.

So, of course, Ranboo had to ruin the peace.

“You’re actually talking about your feelings. A big win for the Tubbo_Beloved community.”

Tubbo huffed out a laugh, gently slapping Ranboo’s chest.

“Oh, shut up.”

Ranboo giggled, his tail wagging happily and hitting the stone.

“OI TUBBO! BOOB BOY! I’M HERE!”

Tubbo let out a sigh and turned to see Tommy standing on his porch, waving his arms around like a madman. Ranboo laughed, bonking their foreheads together. Tubbo groaned, letting his head fall onto Ranboo’s chest for a minute.

“Ready to spend several days on end with the one and only Tommyinnit?” Ranboo’s voice was light, lighter than he’d heard it in a while.

Tubbo smiled.

“Gods help our souls.”

Ranboo laughed, loud and clear, and Tubbo grinned. He pulled back, and Ranboo stood, helping Tubbo up as well. They made their way back to the cabin, Tommy tapping his foot impatiently like a cartoon character. Tubbo walked up the steps and made eye contact with Tommy, asking a silent question.

Are you okay?

Yes.

Are you sure you wanna do this?

Yeah, I’m good.

Tommy swung an arm around Tubbo’s neck, pulling him in quickly for a side-hug, then relaxing and dragging him inside.

“Your gremlin’s awake by the way. Couldn’t handle the might and power of the great Tommyinnit.” Tommy grinned as he tossed his bag next to Tubbo’s beside the couch.

Tubbo rolled his eyes, and motioned for Ranboo to go get Michael with a nod. Ranboo laughed quietly, and went upstairs. Tommy released Tubbo from his hold, and plopped down beside the bags, petting Enderchest, who seemed somewhat apprehensive of the new person.

“So did you say goodbye to everything?” Tommy scratched behind Enderchest’s ears and the cat immediately warmed up to him.

“Nah. I’ve made my peace with this place. Just waiting to leave now.” Tubbo sat down beside him, taking a few locks of Tommy’s hair and beginning to twist them into a braid.

“Saw your message on the Prime Path.”

“Yeah?”

“Made one beside it. Now it says ‘TUBBO_BELOVED and BIG MAN TOMMYINNIT WALKED HERE.’”

“Pffft- I’m glad, now everyone will know the true owners of the Prime Path for generations to come.” Tubbo tied the braid together loosely, then sat back.

“Fuck yeah they will. Big Man Tommy’s legacy is going nowhere.”

Tubbo laughed, and Tommy smiled gently.

Tubbo’s ear flicked as the hatch to Michael’s room opened, and he looked over to see Ranboo carrying a very sleepy Michael down the ladder. The toddler was wrapped in his favourite blanket, one he’d been given by Foolish, and was clutching his chicken plush against his chest with one hand. His other hand gripped Ranboo’s shirt, rumpling the thin fabric, and not assisting in keeping the toddler in Ranboo’s arms in any way, shape, or form. Tubbo stood, making his way over and taking Michael from Ranboo’s arms. Michael gently headbutted his chest, and Tubbo did the same to Michael’s forehead.

“Did you tell him what’s happening yet?” Tubbo asked as Ranboo made his way down the ladder.

“Not yet, figured we should tell him together.”

“Mm. Fairs. Mikey?”

Michael gazed up at his dads sleepily. Tubbo’s heart clenched at the sight.

“You awake there, buddy?” Ranboo asked, running a hand through the toddler’s mane.

Michael grunted and hid his face in Tubbo’s shoulder, causing a soft laugh from Ranboo. Tommy snorted from across the room.

“Can we talk for a minute Michael?” Tubbo placed a kiss on his son’s forehead, and Michael looked up at him, then Ranboo, and nodded.

“Alright.” Tubbo carried Michael over to where Tommy sat, and returned to his place on the floor with Michael in his lap.

Michael’s eyes shot open when he saw Tommy, his mouth gaping in surprise. He squirmed out of Tubbo’s grasp and walked right up to Tommy, placing his tiny, hoof-like hands on Tommy’s cheeks.

“Mimi.” Michael stated with a seriousness that bordered that of a commander’s.

Tubbo burst out laughing, and as Ranboo slid onto the floor beside him, he could feel his husband shaking trying to hold his own laughter back. Tommy sighed dramatically, but smiled.

“Yes, it is me, your saviour, Mimi. I’ve arrived to make sure those two don’t bore you to death.” Tommy nodded in Tubbo and Ranboo’s direction.

Well, he tried to. He did what he could with toddler hands holding his head in place. Michael followed his gaze, and looked between his dads like he was contemplating something very important. He looked back to Tommy and nodded. Tubbo gasped.

“Have we been betrayed?” Tubbo looked back at Ranboo, who grinned.

“I think so, I think so.”

“We’ve been betrayed by our only heir. Oh woe is me.” Tubbo fell back dramatically into Ranboo’s arms, and Michael giggled.

Tubbo reached his arms out in Michael’s direction, and Michael waddled back over to him, sitting squarely in his lap, and looking up at him expectedly.

“Alright. Serious talk time,” Tubbo squeezed his son, and Ranboo nodded in agreement, “I’m gonna tell you straight up, because I know you’re a big kid and you’re gonna be okay. But it’s okay if you feel upset at what I tell you, okay?”

“You’re allowed to feel however you do, I promise your Bee and I won’t ever get mad at you for that, alright?” Ranboo gently squeezed Tubbo’s shoulder as he spoke.

Michael looked between the two quizzically, and then looked back down at his lap. After a moment, he looked back up, and nodded seriously.

“Alright. So, we’re going to be moving houses, and it’s probably gonna be really far away.”

“And we probably won’t be back for a very long time.” Ranboo added.

Michael’s eyebrows furrowed, and Tubbo would have cooed if he wasn’t worried that Michael was upset. The toddler jutted his thumb out in the direction of the mansion, and Tubbo is quite proud of himself, because he at least had the decency to look sheepish at it. Tommy had to suppress a laugh, hiding it behind a cough. Tubbo glared at him. Ranboo snorted from behind him.

“No, Mikey, we’re gonna travel for a while and then build a new house, far away from here.”

Michael frowned, and took his chicken plush back in his hands, placing it in his lap. He squeezed it gently a couple times as Tubbo ran his hand through the toddler’s mane. Michael eventually looked back up at him, and signed something that Tubbo recognized as “Mimi come?”

“Yeah, bud, Mimi’s coming too.” Ranboo smiled patiently.

Michael squeezed his chicken plush again, then stood, pointing to the ladder.

“You need back up, Mikey? What’s up?” Tubbo asked.

“Need clothes and books and toys.”

“Oh, we’ve already got your stuff packed! Come look!” Ranboo reached around Tubbo and grabbed Michael’s backpack, a yellow one with a bee embroidered on the front.

Ranboo unzipped it, and Michael ran back over, gripping the backpack and looking inside. Ranboo helped him push the blankets aside, and Michael looked at all the clothes and toys they’d packed. He tapped his chin, and Tubbo had to hold back another laugh, because where had he even learned that from? After a couple moments, Michael zipped up the bag himself, and nodded firmly at Ranboo.

“You’re ready to go?” Tubbo asked.

Michael reached for his chicken plush, and Tubbo handed it to him. The toddler nodded.

“Alright. Are you feeling okay about it?” Ranboo placed the backpack beside the other bags as he spoke.

Michael frowned again.

“I don’t know.”

“That’s alright, bud. Do you feel sad?”

Michael shook his head almost immediately.

“Do you feel angry?”

“…No.”

Tubbo watched the interaction with a certain fondness. Ranboo was always so careful with explaining emotions to Michael, and trying to help Michael understand his own. It was sweet to watch.

Tommy obviously didn’t share the same sentiment. He didn’t say anything, but Tubbo noticed his fingers drumming anxiously against the floorboards. His other hand pet Enderchest with a fervour that the cat probably didn’t appreciate. Tubbo would have to thank him later for being so patient with Michael. Or, at least trying to.

“Do you feel nervous?”

Michael stopped for a minute, clutching his chicken close to his chest and mulling it over. Eventually he nodded, and Ranboo smiled gently, the way he always did when he spoke to Michael.

“That’s okay. Your Bee and I are gonna be right beside you the entire time, okay? And if you’re ever feeling nervous, you can tell one of us, and we’ll try to help. Is that okay?”

Michael nodded, and opened his arms for a hug, his chicken falling into Ranboo’s lap. Ranboo pulled him into a hug, not letting go until Michael did. The toddler then turned to Tubbo and did the same. Tubbo held him close to his chest, rocking them from side to side gently. Michael pulled away, and Tubbo did too, gently bonking their foreheads together before completely pulling away.

“You’re very brave, Michael. It’s not easy to do things you’re nervous about. We’re proud of you.” Tubbo ruffled the kid’s mane as Michael grinned.

“Alright. We’re gonna leave now, and you can sleep on the way, okay?”

Michael smiled and nodded, grabbing his blanket from Tubbo’s lap and wrapping it around himself haphazardly. Tubbo stood, followed by Ranboo, who picked up Michael and carried him over to the door. Tommy scratched Enderchest’s chin, then gently zipped up the duffel a bit more. He stood, grabbing his own bag and slinging it over his shoulder.

Tubbo grabbed his backpack and did the same as Ranboo buttoned Michael into his coat. Tubbo grabbed Michael’s hat and slid it on the toddler’s head before helping him with his boots. Tubbo slid on his own boots, tying them tightly. Ranboo grabbed Michael’s backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, then grabbed his duffel bag carefully. Tubbo picked Michael up, and they left the house.

They made it to the front yard, and Tubbo turned around one last time.

“You wanna say bye to the house, Michael?” He murmured.

“Bye bye house.” Michael’s words slurred together with tiredness, and Tubbo awed quietly.

He turned and began to walk away, but Michael grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled it gently, just enough to sting.

“Ow- what the-“ Tubbo took a deep breath, “What’s up, Michael?”

Michael pointed at the house.

“Picture.”

Ah. Of course. Ranboo had shown him their camera a few days ago, and the toddler had loved it. Of course he’d want a picture of the house. Tubbo turned to look at Ranboo, who shrugged, then slid Michael’s backpack off and grabbed a camera from inside. Tubbo sighed. One more quick detour wouldn’t hurt.

“Alright. Let’s go stand by the door.” He carried the toddler back up the front steps, and turned to face Ranboo and Tommy.

Ranboo readied the camera, before being slapped gently in the back of the head by Tommy. He looked back at Tommy with confusion, and Tommy rolled his eyes.

“Go stand with your family, dumbass.” Tommy held his hand open for the camera, looking everywhere but at Ranboo.

Tubbo laughed to himself as Ranboo visibly softened, handing Tommy the camera and making his way up the steps. He stood behind Tubbo, gently placing a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder.

They smiled, and the camera flashed a few times. Tommy pulled back, inspecting the photos for a minute, then gave them the thumbs up. They walked back over, and Michael poked Tommy, pointing at the camera.

“There you go. These pictures up to your standards Big M?” Tommy asked, showing them the camera.

Michael looked at the pictures, then nodded seriously.

“Good, wouldn’t want to disappoint.” Tommy ruffled Michael’s mane, then handed Ranboo the camera.

Ranboo carefully slid it back into Michael’s bag, and the four made their way to the docks.

Two boats were already tied to the docking points, and Ranboo must have set them up when Tubbo wasn’t looking, because Tubbo definitely hadn’t. Ranboo carefully made his way down the ladder and into the first boat, standing with his feet wide. Tubbo bit his lip.

This probably wouldn’t be a fun time for Ranboo, he wasn’t exactly great around water, for good reason. With any luck, they’d only need to travel by boat for a few hours, then they would find land and borrow (read: steal) some horses and travel horseback from there.

Ranboo gently placed his duffel bag in the bottom of the boat, sliding off Michael’s backpack and placing it beside the duffel. He then reached up towards Tubbo, and Tubbo carefully handed him Michael. The moment Tubbo let go, Ranboo sat down, clearly not trusting himself enough to hold their kid above water.

Tommy made his way into the second boat, tossing his bag on the floor as well. Tubbo climbed into Ranboo’s boat, but passed his backpack to Tommy, who put it beside his own. Tubbo sat down, then reached for Michael again. Ranboo handed the toddler over, then stood, untying the boat from the dock. Tommy did the same in the boat next to them.

Michael made himself comfortable in Tubbo’s lap, and, almost instantly, fell back asleep. Tubbo laughed gently and looked up to Ranboo, who was watching them with a look of fondness clear on his face.

“Alright, you guys can make doe eyes at each other once we get there, c’mon.” Tommy grinned as Ranboo spluttered, then began rowing.

Ranboo huffed, but followed suit. They began travelling Northeast.

“Our arms are gonna hurt so bad tomorrow.” Tommy stated tiredly.

“Worth it.” Ranboo smiled.

And they were off.

They’d done it. They’d escaped.

5 notes · View notes

winchester-fantasies · 5 years

Text

Even Better

Summary: After you’re almost attacked by demons at the dog grooming boutique you work at, Sam and Dean Winchester take you under their wing. When an unexpected member is added to your group, Dean realizes he may have feelings for you.

Word Count: 3876

Warnings: fluff, show level violence, gruff Dean, sweet Dean, some swearing

Pairing: Dean x Plus Size!Reader

A/N: This was written for an anonymous request: Can I request a dean x plus size reader where she a dog groomer and demons almost attack her at her job and dean and Sam have to watch her to make sure she safe, while they are protecting her dean starts catching feeling for her sweet, animal loving personality and confess his love to her when they get drunk one night! Sorry this sounds so awkward haha 😊😊 Thank you for your request! Hope you like it!! ❤❤

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

The first thing you noticed when you walked through the door of the dog grooming boutique you worked at was the flickering of the lights you had left on overnight. You thought it was strange; you’d replaced the bulbs just a few weeks before. You stopped to watch the light fixture, flipping the switch off and then flicking it back on. The flickering stopped, but the next second you frowned as it started back up. You sighed heavily as you walked behind the counter, depositing your purse in the cubby under the counter. You’d probably have to end up calling the electrician. The last thing you or your boss needed was a short to have to deal with.

You flipped open the scheduler on the counter. Your first appointment was with one of your usuals - a poodle named, Maxine. She was one of your favorites to work with and you couldn’t help but smile whenever you saw her name on the schedule.

You yawned and rubbed your bleary eyes. You sighed heavily. You really shouldn’t have stayed out so late drinking the night before even if it was your best friend’s birthday. You needed a coffee, and desperately. You seriously considered running over to the café next door and grabbing one of their German chocolate flavored coffees. But it would have to wait until later.

You had just stooped down to grab your name tag from the cubby when the bell over the door tinkled. You straightened back up, finding a man and woman standing a little ways from the counter, both dressed in suits.

You smiled in acknowledgment. “Good morning,” you greeted. “How can I help you? Do you have an appointment?”

The man eyed you up and down before clasping his hands in front of him. “Of sorts,” he said vaguely.

You frowned in confusion. “Do you have a meeting with Margo?” you asked, glancing at the scheduler in front of you, searching for an appointment for your boss but finding none.

“No,” the woman clipped.

“Then why are you here?” you asked uneasily, suspicion forming in the back of your mind.

“We’re here for the shears,” the man stated as if you would know exactly what he was talking about.

“I’m sorry, but we don’t sell shears here,” you said. “If you go right down the street, though, there’s a….”

“Stop playing games!” the woman snapped. Her eyes were suddenly pure black. You screamed in terror, backing up and tripping over the chair behind you. You felt yourself falling backwards just as the door burst open. You caught a glimpse of two men rushing in right before you fell to the floor with a thud, your head making contact with the tile with a crack.

Your head was spinning as you struggled into a sitting position. You heard two agonized cries and a sound like sparks crackling in the air before two heavy thuds followed. Silence filled the building and you were about to attempt to get to your feet when one of the men who had rushed inside rounded the side of the counter.

His brooding, green eyes met yours, a look of relief crossing his face. “You okay?” he asked.

You nodded as he extended his hand to help you up. You eyed the dagger in his other hand cautiously, not trusting anyone. Especially after what you’d just seen.

“C’mon,” the man said in exasperation, motioning with his hand impatiently. When you made no move to take his hand, he rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, dimples forming on either side of his mouth. He resheathed the dagger before reaching out for you again. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he reassured.

You looked at him carefully for a moment more, gauging if he was being truthful or not. Something in his eyes told you you were better off with him than those black-eyed freaks. You took his hand, his strength surprising you as he hoisted you up in one swift movement as if you weighed no more than a leaf. You weren’t exactly small. Not with your wide hips, curves, and thick thighs.

“We gotta get outta here,” he said, jerking his head towards the door. You nodded, looking around for the other man who had come in with the one in front of you. But he was nowhere to be seen.

You glanced down to the two bodies on the floor, blood pooling beneath them. “Don’t look,” the man said, his voice gruff and authoritative. He reached for your hand, leading you outside.

The other man was standing behind a black Chevy Impala, the trunk open wide as he rummaged through a duffle bag. He glanced up as you approached. He shot you a thin-lipped smile, dimples appearing on his cheeks.

You didn’t have time to return his smile as the first man opened the back of the vehicle and gestured to the back seat. “Get in,” he commanded.

You hesitated for a moment, staring into his face. Was it really a wise thing to get into the car of two strange men?

You didn’t have time to think more about it or even protest as he all but shoved you into the back seat. “Get in!” he snapped again, slamming the door closed after you. “Sam! Come on! We gotta go. Now!” He rounded the car quickly before climbing into the driver’s seat.

The taller one came around to the passenger’s side after a few moments, shooting you an almost apologetic smile as he squeezed himself inside.

The vehicle roared to life, the tires screeching soon after as your green-eyed savior peeled out onto the road. Soon you were heading south, the scenery growing denser and the population thinner. A sense of uneasiness once again filled your mind as you listened to the two men talk, their voices low and muffled by the rumbling of the Impala’s engine. Every once in awhile, the taller man would glance back at you, his brow furrowed and hazel eyes filled with concern. You didn’t know what was going on, but the longer you traveled the more questions arose in your mind that needed answers.

You licked your lips and darted your eyes between the two men, the one who’s name was apparently Sam, pulling his phone out of his pocket and opening his web browser. “Where are you taking me?” you finally dared to ask, your voice wavering.

“Somewhere safe,” the driver clipped, never taking his eyes off the road.

You swallowed hard. You weren’t entirely sure you believed him, but nevertheless you nodded.

“I’m Sam, by the way,” the man in the passenger’s seat said, turning to look at you, his dimples once again appearing as he shot you his first genuine smile.

You couldn’t help but grin back. “(Y/N),” you said.

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N),” Sam said. “This is my brother, Dean,” he added, gesturing to the man beside him.

“Oh,” you said simply, not really sure what else to say.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions,” Sam commented.

You huffed out a harsh chuckle. “That’s an understatement.”

Sam chuckled before turning back around and looking at his phone again. “We’ll explain everything. But right now, we need to get you to safety.”

You nodded again before settling back into the seat, wrapping your arms around yourself and looking out the window at the waning light.

**********

You must have fallen asleep because when you next opened your eyes it was completely dark outside and the car had stopped in front of a shady looking motel. You winced at the crick in your neck, rocking your head side to side, trying to loosen up the tight muscles.

You jumped just as the back door was pulled open, Sam stooping down to look inside. “Hey, you’re awake,” he said with a grin. “Thought I might have to carry you inside.”

You chuckled lightly before climbing out of the car and stretching your body, muscles aching from the stressful day. You followed Sam to Room 111, finding the room clean and surprisingly put together despite the off white walls and stained carpet.

Dean was sprawled out on one of the full sized beds, arm under his head and eyes closed. You stopped, looking between the thinning sofa and other bed, biting your lip. “You can take the bed,” Sam offered as if reading your thoughts.

“Are you sure?” you asked hesitantly. “I don’t mind…” you said, gesturing to the couch.

“No, really,” Sam insisted. “It’s fine. I guess you don’t have a change of clothes do you?”

You bit your lip and shook your head. You’d left everything back at the boutique - your purse, phone, wallet...everything. You looked down at the knee length skirt and peasant top you were still wearing; the clothes on your back were literally the only possessions you had to your name.

“She can borrow one of my shirts,” Dean’s gruff voice broke the silence. You nearly jumped at the sound; you thought he’d already fallen asleep. Instead he sat up with a groan, his eyes tired looking.

He stooped down to rummage through the duffle bag at the side of his bed, pulling out an old and faded Led Zeppelin t-shirt and tossing it to you. “Thanks,” you said, catching it and haphazardly folding it.

“You wanna get a shower?” Sam asked gently. “Might help you relax after everything that happened today.”

You smiled your thanks and nodded before walking to the bathroom. The water pressure was shitty; the water itself barely lukewarm. And the fan in the ceiling did diddly-squat to help circulate air and by the time you were done showering, the small room was hazy with steam.

You quickly dried off, folding your dirty clothes into a semi-neat pile before pulling on Dean’s t-shirt. It swallowed you, the hem falling nearly mid-thigh. You didn’t feel like you were a thicker girl; in fact you felt sexy.

You walked back out into the main room, finding the lights off and both Sam and Dean already in bed, covers up over their bodies. You tiptoed over to your bed, placing your clothes on the nightstand. You were about to pull back your covers when your stomach growled. You grimaced at the sound as it seemed to reverberate around the room.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you carefully considered what you should do. You didn’t have your wallet, but you thought maybe you had some loose change in your skirt pocket from when you’d stuffed it after getting gas that morning. You unfolded your skirt, quietly rummaging through its pockets, coming up triumphantly with three quarters.

You made your way to the door, silently unlocking and unchaining the door. You took one quick look at Sam and Dean, making sure you hadn’t woken them before slipping outside. The night was cool; the hint of fall in the air. Your bare feet padded across the cold concrete before rounding the corner, finding two snack machines crammed into the corner.

You stopped at the first one, surveying the offered items. Most of them were candy bars and chips, which were to be expected you supposed. You knew you needed something more nutritious, but with nothing else to choose from, you finally settled on a Twix. You deposited the quarters, pressed the keys of the slot you wanted, and watched as it dropped to the bottom of the machine. You grabbed it up, turning and hurrying back to the room, the cold starting to seep into your bones.

You rounded the corner again, but stopped dead in your tracks, your heart in your throat. There, not even three feet away, stood a Cocker Spaniel. Its hair was matted and body thin, but its tongue hung loose and happy-go-lucky and tail wagging. It couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old, judging by its height and the puppish-looking face staring back at you.

“Hey, there, cutie,” you crooned, walking slowly over to it, stooping down and extending your hand. Its tail went wild and it - he, you could now see - bounded over to you, practically jumping into your arms and licking your face with wild abandon. You giggled and petted him until he calmed down enough for you to check his collar. You frowned when you found none. “That’s strange,” you said, looking into his soulful, dark eyes. “Do you have a home, Fella?”

He licked your face once more in response. You chuckled before straightening and looking down at him. You glanced from him to your motel room just a few doors down from where you stood. You didn’t know if Sam and Dean would appreciate waking up to a dog, but you couldn’t just leave him alone and homeless.

“C’mon, Fella,” you called, clicking your tongue and patting your leg. Fella immediately responded, loping to your side and easily falling into step with you as you made your way back to the room. “Be quiet,” you whispered, turning the knob and pushing the door open quietly. Fella bounded inside, making a beeline straight for Dean’s bed. “No!” you hissed just as Fella jumped into the bed, landing full force onto Dean’s sleeping form.

“What the fuck?” Dean bellowed, all but jumping out of bed. Sam shot up at the sound of his brother’s exclamation, his long hair askew and eyes dazed. You flipped on the light to see Dean sitting straight up in bed, his face a mixture of shock and confusion as Fella cowered on your bed, apparently having run away at Dean’s outburst.

It finally seemed to register that Dean was looking at a dog because his brow suddenly turned down into a scowl. “What the fuck?” Dean asked again, looking from Fella to you, still standing in the open doorway.

You swallowed hard as you turned and closed and locked the door behind you. When you turned back, both Dean and Sam were staring at you. “Uh, this...this is, Fella,” you said, trying to add as much pleasantness to your voice as you could muster.

Dean looked back to Fella who’s fear of Dean had apparently abated a bit, but who still sat, gauging the still scowling man suspiciously. “You can’t just bring a dog here!” Dean finally snapped, his green eyes blazing as he turned his wrath onto you.

“I...I’m sorry,” you stammered. “It’s just...he was outside. And it’s getting cold. And he didn’t have a collar and it’s not like I could just leave him out there.”

“No,” Dean said, his voice gruff, shaking his head staunchly. “Absolutely not. We’re taking him back to the bunk….”

“Dean,” Sam interjected, finally finding his voice after the initial confusion. “C’mon. We can’t just leave him. He doesn’t look like he’s been fed or had a home in weeks.”

Dean grumbled, his frown deepening before he settled back down, turning away with a loud huff. “Fine,” he clipped. “But we’re not keeping him. As soon as we figure this whole demon thing out and get (Y/N) back to her place safely, he’s gone.”

**********

Dean awoke the next morning to a pair of dark eyes staring into his soul. Fella’s tail was wagging as he scooted forward, his wet nose booping Dean’s before the dog’s tongue licked a stripe over Dean’s mouth. He shuddered and rolled over, throwing off the covers as he sat up.

He found (Y/N) and Sam still asleep, (Y/N)’s body sprawled out on the opposite bed, arms and legs both twisted at angles Dean would never be able to get out of. He shook his head before getting up and going to the bathroom. He was about to close the door when Fella decided he needed to join him, pushing past the half-closed door and stopping just a few feet away and looking up at Dean with pure adoration.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Dean asked, scowling. He turned around, lifting the seat and relieving himself, feeling Fella’s eyes on him the entire time. Once he was finished, he jumped into the shower, letting the sweat and grime from the day before wash off.

He’d almost forgotten Fella had decided to join him as he stepped out of the shower onto the grimy linoleum floor of the bathroom. He reached for a towel and started drying off when he felt something wet and rough meet the skin of his leg. Dean jumped away, looking down to find Fella languidly licking the water droplets off his leg. “Seriously, dude?” Dean asked, biting back the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Dean threw back on his boxers and t-shirt before exiting the room, finding both Sam and (Y/N) fully awake and ready for the day. (Y/N)’s face lit up as her eyes settled on Fella. “Hey, there, cutie!” she greeted, bending down and laughing as Fella threw himself into her arms and licked her face.

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but feel a tug at his heart as he watched (Y/N) interacting with Fella. Dean cleared his throat as he pulled out a fresh pair of jeans and a flannel and pulled both on before zipping his duffle back up. “We need to be outta here in ten,” Dean said, turning around and heading for the door.

Sam and (Y/N) nodded in acknowledgement and soon enough they were back on the road, heading for the bunker. Dean kept glancing in the rearview mirror at (Y/N). Her face was more often than not lit up in a wide grin as Fella stayed glued to her side. Dean swallowed hard, shoving down the foreign feeling in his chest and tried to ignore the butterflies he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager fluttering in his stomach.

Along the way Sam gave her the whole monster spiel, her eyes widening in shock and fear as Sam explained that it was demons who had almost attacked her. Sam and Dean thought it was part of a deal that one of (Y/N)’s old coworkers had made with Crowley, the King of Hell; ancient and magical shears in exchange for a life of wealth and fame. But of course there was always a catch. Her coworker’s soul would be Crowley’s in ten years...but they didn’t tell (Y/N) that.

By nightfall they were back at the bunker. Dean climbed out of the Impala, going to the trunk and taking out his duffle and hurrying to the bunker’s entrance. He had to get away from all the overwhelming emotions swirling in his chest. He couldn’t decipher exactly what was going on, but it felt akin to the few times he’d been put under a spell.

His eyes seemed to have a mind of their own as he couldn’t seem to take them off her. He seemed to notice everything about her; the way her hair fell to her shoulders and cascaded down her chest and back; the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed at Fella or at something Sam had said - and god...that laugh. It was like tinkling bells. He bit his lower lip as his eyes followed the way her hips swayed as she made her way down the hall to the bathroom. Fuck, was she the finest specimen of a woman he’d ever laid eyes on. He frowned as she disappeared around the corner. When had he become so sappy? Fuck, he needed a drink.

He got up from the library table, going to the kitchen and pouring himself a good sized cup of whiskey. He took a big swig, relishing the sting as it settled in his stomach and almost instantly relieved some of his nerves.

But in an instant his butterflies were back as (Y/N) walked into the kitchen. “Hey,” she said, her lips turning up into that gorgeous smile of hers.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his voice coming out higher than he’d intended. He cleared his throat and gestured to the bottle on the counter. “You want some?”

“Uh, sure,” she said, coming to his side as he took a tumbler from the shelf and poured her a glass. She smiled her thanks before taking a sip and hissing. “That’s good,” she said. “Been a long time since I had whiskey.”

Dean smiled before making his way to the kitchen table and sitting down, (Y/N) joining him a few minutes later. “So you like animals, huh?” Dean asked, taking another sip of his drink.

(Y/N)’s eyes lit up and she nodded briskly. The next thing he knew, he was listening in avid interest as she explained that she had always loved animals and after she had graduated from cosmetology school, she had decided to invest in that passion and put her skill into practice.

By the time she was done talking, they had both almost finished the entire bottle of whiskey. His mind was fuzzy and all he could think about was how easy it would be to reach across the table and kiss her.

He was still thinking about how her lips would feel against his when Fella sauntered in, immediately going up to (Y/N) and showering her with wet and sloppy kisses. She giggled, leaning down and kissing the top of his head that she had yet to clean.

Dean smirked, that tugging at his heart happening again, this time stronger. “Who gave you the right to be so damn sweet?” Dean slurred. He hadn’t even realized he’d said it until (Y/N) looked up at him, her beautiful eyes filled with both mirth and confusion.

“What?” she chuckled.

“You heard me,” he said, fiddling with his tumbler on the table. “You’re so sweet. And drop dead gorgeous, I might add.”

“Oh,” (Y/N) murmured, her cheeks growing red. She dropped her gaze, but the next second raised her eyes to meet his as he pushed back from the table and walked around to her side. Before she could even register what was happening, Dean had taken her hand in his and hoisted her up. He wrapped his arm around her, his hand pressed to the small of her back as he held her close against him.

He raised his hand to her face, his thumb tracing her cheek. “And I think I’m falling in love with you,” he breathed. Her eyelids fluttered in shock and he heard a soft but audible gasp leave her mouth. He glanced to her lips, so plump and supple. He locked eyes with her again, finding her pupils wide. “I could kiss you right now,” he whispered, his eyes darting to her lips once again.

They formed into a smirk before he looked back to her face, her eyes holding a sultry and enticing look. “Then why don’t you?” she asked.

And he did. Her lips formed around his own, the taste of whiskey on her tongue as she allowed him to deepen the kiss.

It was just as he’d imagined. No, he thought, his grip on her tightening as she wrapped her arms around his neck.... This was even better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! If you liked what you read, let me know!! ❤❤

***Please do not share my content on any other platform without my consent.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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159 notes · View notes

authorialarcanist · 3 years

Text

Gracidea Blossom Chapter 5: Mischief of a Noisy Girl

(Pokémon Diamond, Pearl, & Platinum x Little Busters!)

Mirror Links: AO3, Pokécommunity, Spacebattles

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Previous - Next

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“My name’s Haruka! And - Poison Sting! - You’ve left yourself open!” Haruka smirks at Riki, and he whirls around to see her Tentacool whip a thick grey tentacle out of the water. It lashes out at Terra, and the Turtwig recoils from its stinging venom.

“Ah— Terra! Use Tackle!” Although Terra tries to retaliate, Haruka’s Tentacool hastily drifts backwards to the middle of its pool. Terra skids to a stop before it can plunge into the water. No matter what angle it tries to approach from, it can’t get in range of Soap - ‘Soap’, I can’t believe I thought Kyousuke’s names were unoriginal - because of the size of the pool. Soap, on the other hand, gleefully slips closer whenever it can find an opening for another Poison Sting, before swimming back to the middle any time Terra seems about to retaliate.

Riki orders his Pokémon to Withdraw the next time Soap comes around for an attack, and this time the Tentacool’s tentacles slip ineffectually off of Terra’s shell as it hunkers down. Trying to ignore Haruka’s gleeful cheering, Riki thinks the situation over. Terra can’t reach the Tentacool to attack it, and although its shell can deflect many of Soap’s attacks, some are still getting through. Staying on the defensive without any way to retaliate is a clear shot to being whittled down, and while Sly can attack at range with Rock Throw, it would be at a disadvantage against a Water—wait. Riki flips open his Pokédex and points its camera at the Tentacool, bringing up the species’ profile after a moment. He scrolls through the abilities typically displayed by Tentacool, and decides to take a risk. Most members of its species don’t start using Water-type attacks until they’re fairly strong already, so…

“Terra, return! Go, Sly!” His Pokéball shoots a beam of light to recall the Turtwig, and Riki returns it to his belt, fumbling for a moment as he switches it for Sly’s ball. He sends the Bonsly out with a solid overhand throw, but Haruka takes advantage of the momentary opening.

“Use Toxic Spikes!” At her order, Soap spits out a multitude of spiky caltrops accompanied by a glob of venom. They scatter across the battlefield where they land, and Riki’s Bonsly gives a plaintive cry when its Pokéball opens and disgorges it on top of several spikes, puncturing its feet and delivering venom directly into its system. Riki can’t help but groan as he realizes they’re another hazard that’ll need to be cleaned up.

“Sly, use Rock Throw!” Sly turns to Soap with a growl, and starts batting scattered chunks of rock at it. Although many of them miss their target, the cave floor holds ammunition to spare, and soon more and more are striking true.

“Pretty bold of you to use a Rock Type against Water, Riki!” Haruka flourishes dramatically, pointing her left hand at Sly. “Do you really think your Bonsly can stand up to a Bubblebeam?” Riki’s heart skips a beat, but the Tentacool just glares balefully at its trainer. “…Is what I’d say, if Soap had learned it yet! Go, Thumbtack!” A shaky beam of light recalls Soap to a Pokéball clutched in her right hand, and a moment later she tosses a new ball into the middle of the fray. The Pokémon that emerges appears to be a grey cloth puppet suspended in the air by some invisible force. It has an ovular head with a thin mouth and wide, angry eyes. On top of it is a horn longer than the head is tall, and beneath the head the cloth pools out and wavers mysteriously in the air. This is the Ghost-type Pokémon Shuppet. It looks around and immediately gets beaned in the face by a thrown rock.

“Attacking before I’m ready isn’t very nice,” Haruka complains.

“You’ve done it multiple times already!” A vein bulges in Riki’s forehead.

“Oh, well, can’t be helped, can’t be helped~” Haruka’s sing-song voice rings out as she circles the battlefield to a new vantage point. “Use Curse - whoops!” There’s a muffled thud as she bumps into something.

“Oh? What’s going on here?” That something turns out to be Kengo as he and Masato finally catch up to the others. He watches curiously as the Shuppet punctures itself with spectral needles, sacrificing its own vitality to begin sapping Sly’s health. Between its poisoned status and the Curse, Riki’s Bonsly is starting to flag. Still, it’s not ready to go down yet, and it keeps pelting Thumbtack with rocks. Haruka shouts a command of her own and the Shuppet’s eyes begin to glow purple, causing Sly to shiver under the Night Shade attack.

Still, Sly’s assault together with Thumbtack’s own sacrifice prove too much for the Shuppet, and after another direct hit with a rock, it finally gives up the ghost. Haruka returns her dazed Pokémon to its ball before it can hit the ground. Her easygoing expression falters for a moment.

“Tch… fine! Soap, you can still finish this!” With a strong overhand throw, the Tentacool appears in its pool once more. “Poison Sting!” Soap tries to stun Sly with its tentacles. The Bonsly brushes off the stinging toxins and hits it with a rock dead-on, causing Soap to recoil backwards. The Tentacool is on the ropes… But it’s at that moment that the poison and the Curse on Sly finally finish their jobs. The Bonsly wobbles and drops to the ground, pretending to be a harmless potted plant in one last attempt to deceive its attacker.

“Sly, you did well! G-go, Terra!” Riki stumbles over his words as he switches back to his remaining Pokémon. Even as he swaps his Turtwig back into the battle, he knows that he’s lost - and that Haruka knows it as well. Thanks to the poisonous spikes covering the battlefield and the width of Soap’s pool, all Haruka has to do is have her Tentacool hold back while its poison whittles Terra down. Although Riki shouts at his Turtwig to Withdraw and protect itself against attacks, he’s only delaying the inevitable.

“W, well, that got a little close there, but it looks like that’s going to be another win for the amazing Haruka!” The girl in question wipes sweat from her brow as she speaks, panting a little and trying to catch her breath. Her Pokémon floats just outside the edges of Terra’s range, occasionally slipping closer to probe the Turtwig’s defenses. Terra growls and snaps at its tentacles each time, seemingly frustrated that it can’t retaliate.

Riki doesn’t respond, focused on the battle as Terra takes more and more hits. He can’t see any way out of this situation, but at least he can see it through to the end. “I’m sorry, Terra… You tried really hard…” He hangs his head. The Turtwig, however, growls in frustration and stands tall. With what looks like immense effort, the leaf on its head begins to glow, causing wispy motes of green to pull themselves out of Soap and flock to its leaf. The red welts down Terra’s sides heal a little and it glances back at Riki defiantly, as though to ask him if he still wants to give up.

“Eh? She’s learned Absorb?” Haruka stares at the Turtwig. “Um - doesn’t matter! She still can’t hold out for long against Soap’s poison!”

Riki is stunned for a moment, himself, and it’s only after the Tentacool goes for another Poison Sting that he snaps out of it. “Terra! Use Absorb again!” With each attack, Terra heals a little - but the special attack is still clearly draining it. Still, Sly’s rocks wore Soap down badly enough that it’s just a matter of which exhausted Pokémon falls first.

“Poison Sting!”

“Absorb!”

“Poison Sting!”

“Absorb!”

“Poison—” With a burbling cry, Soap floats lower in the water, too tired to respond. Haruka returns it and grimaces, reaching for a Pokéball set on the back of her belt… And then her hand drops. “…W…well, I guess that’s it, huh? You win, yahaha…” She chuckles weakly.

Riki blinks. It’s hard to believe he actually won — and whoops, there goes Terra. The Turtwig stumbles as the poison keeps up its work, and Riki hastily returns it to its Pokéball.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Riki looks back up to see Kengo clamp his hand over Haruka’s shoulder, as the latter appears to have inched several feet down the path through Mt. Coronet while he wasn’t looking. “Riki, what were the terms of the battle?”

“Huh? Umm…” Riki pauses for a moment as his brain catches up, and then he registers what Kengo was asking. “Wait, that’s right! You have to help us clean this place up!”

“Eh?” Haruka sweats. “I, oh look! It’s a UFO!” She points at the cave ceiling past Riki. He doesn’t look. “…L-look, isn’t that Mew behind you?” There’s a quiet creaking sound as rock settles somewhere on the mountain. “…o…oh my… don’t look now… but there’s a… a…” She trails off. “…Aw, I hate cleaning…”

——

Five friends (and one detainee) crouch around a cave entrance, sweeping spikes and marbles into neat piles out of the way of the main path.

“Trainer’s log… Day… I’ve forgotten how many…” Haruka mutters to herself in a dead voice, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’ve lost all will to escape. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I last ate. I think… I think this is the end…”

“It’s been an hour at the longest. Stop complaining.” Kengo glares at her from his post on the other side of what had been her and Riki’s battlefield.

“Why did we have to get dragged into this, anyways?” Masato whines as he hops in place, trying to yank a spike out of his shoe.

Kyousuke sighs. “Well, you know Riki, he’s always concerned about things. It’s not like we could move on without him.”

“Isn’t it your job to be worried about this?” Riki shoots back. If this is how Kyousuke always treats his Champion duties, no wonder he’s concerned about job-hunting…

“My first priority will always be to take care of you guys, Riki.”

Riki fumbles a handful of marbles, and hides his face rushing to pick them back up.

Haruka chuckles. “You’re all really good friends, huh?”

“Of course! That’s what the Little Busters are about,” Riki says with a smile.

She seems about to respond when Kyousuke speaks up. “Oh, by the way. Are you almost done over there, miss…” He pauses, “…Saigusa, was it?”

Haruka freezes.

“Sorry, was that not your last name?” Kyousuke continues casually.

Haruka responds after a moment, voice chilly. “That’s not really your business, is it?”

“Um… Kyousuke? I don’t think Haruka told us anything about her last…?” Riki looks back and forth between the two, uncertain.

“Ah well, I guess it’s not important. Just trying to learn more about the people we meet, you know.” Kyousuke turns back to his cleaning.

“Well, then, if it’s so important for your dossier, you’ll want to know I prefer my first name. I’ve cleaned up this end - that is what you asked for, right?” Haruka pushes herself to her feet. “Oh, and… Riki?”

“Hm? Ow!” Riki rubs his forehead, and the marble that just hit it falls into his lap.

“Keep it. As thanks, since you’re disposing of the spikes for me!” Haruka breaks into a run.

“Huh? Wait, hold on. I don’t know how to get rid of these! Come back here!”

“Bye-bye, Riki!” Haruka gives a jaunty wave and disappears around a corner.

“HARUKAAAAA!”

——

Riki finally steps out into the open air, laden with a bag of poisonous caltrops, and is met with a chilly breeze. Most of the afternoon has passed, and gray clouds hang heavily over Route 207. Like Route 208, very little plant life grows in the rugged terrain cradled by the mountain. Route 207 is more level than its eastern cousin, however. The road west is mainly a straight shot, carved directly out of the mountain’s rock. There’s a more mountainous stretch south of the main road, but the group ignores it. At this point, they just want to get to Oreburgh.

“You’re being awfully quiet, Rin. Is your leg alright?” Kengo’s concerned voice cuts through the tired atmosphere. Rin is walking a little behind the group, with a slight limp. She’d hurt her ankle when she and Riki fell earlier; Riki shrinks a little at the reminder that he’d been too distracted by the battle to notice until afterwards.

Rin shakes her head with a quiet jingle. “No, I’m okay. That girl was just…” She looks away, dazed. “She was noisy.”

She really does seem out of it; even when Kyousuke pats her head, her retaliation is half-hearted. Still, they’re all tired out. Hopefully, having a good sleep in Oreburgh will put her right.

After another half hour of walking, Riki notices something odd in their surroundings. “Hey, Kyousuke?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know what those are?” Riki points at a small pipe sticking out of the side of the road at an angle. Gaps in the metal open into what looks like a hollow center leading down. Little flecks of blue paint are scattered across the exterior, evidently remains from a once-careful paint job, but now the metal just looks rusty and poorly-maintained.

“Ah…” Kyousuke scratches his head. “That’s part of a ventilation system for the Oreburgh Mines. Apparently, there was a program a couple decades ago to expand the mines out further under Sinnoh. They laid down these pipes across the eastern side of Mt. Coronet, to provide them with fresh air, but in the end the project fell through.”

“Oreburgh fell on hard times after that,” Masato adds. “The mines are getting more and more obsolete, so they stopped maintaining the outer regions. At this point, the accessible areas are mostly just a training ground for people who want to fight wild Pokémon.”

“Huh. I didn’t expect you to know that much about something other than muscles,” Riki says.

“Yeah, well, you pick it up.” Masato turns to Kyousuke. “We only have to stay here for one night, yeah?”

Kyousuke nods. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back on the road first thing tomorrow.”

“Good,” Masato grunts, and picks up the pace.

Riki lowers his voice. “Is it just me, or is Masato acting unusual?”

Surprisingly, it’s Rin who replies. “I don’t think he liked it here much.”

“Wait.” Riki turns to her. “You mean Oreburgh is his hometown?”

“Mhm.” Rin’s bell rings gently with her nod. “Kyousuke and I were on a trip when we first met him.”

“Huh…”

Soon, the rock and dirt turn to scraggly grass, and the road forks. Trees dot the way north, leading to the elevated Cycling Road and eventually Eterna City. However, the Little Busters turn south towards Oreburgh instead. The terrain gets rockier again as they walk, until suddenly Kyousuke stops and Riki bumps into him.

“Ah - sorry, Kyousuke!” Riki rubs his forehead, where repeated trauma is beginning to grow a bump.

“It’s okay, Riki. Look.” Kyousuke points in front of him, and Riki follows his gaze to where the road turns into a short, messy cliff. A mud slide has blocked off the usual path down to the city. “Do you think you can climb down that safely?”

“Um… I think it should be okay, if we’re careful.” Riki glances around the group. “What about Rin’s leg, though? It’s probably not a good idea for her to try and climb on that.”

“As long as it’s just her, it should be fine. Go, Louis!” Kyousuke sends out his Nidoking, which stretches in the open air. “Rin, you can hold on while he uses Rock Climb to get down. Does that sound good?”

“I guess that’s fine.” Rin climbs onto Louis’ back, and the Nidoking carries her down the cliff while Riki and the others look for a reasonable descent. Kengo finds a jagged chunk of cliff face with several footholds sticking out, and calls them to follow him while he lowers himself carefully down. A few minutes later, they’re all on solid ground again, and Kyousuke withdraws Louis. After leaving the small patch of grass they touched down in, the group only needs to walk south for a couple minutes before they’re within city limits.

Oreburgh is an industrial city, grown off the back of its mining industry. Aside from a few potted shrubs outside houses here and there, there’s almost no greenery; the whole town is built on dirt paths. The wind whips up eddies of coal dust, and makes Rin sneeze. Tall buildings are scattered around, and when Riki looks south he catches sight of the huge conveyor belts that hang above the entrance to the mine proper. He doesn’t linger, however; the group makes a beeline for the Pokémon Center instead. Their Pokémon are exhausted, aside from Kyousuke’s team, so Riki, Rin, Masato, and Kengo line up in front of the central counter to check them in for healing. Riki warns the nurse at the counter about his Pokémon’s poisoned status, and then after handing over their Pokéballs he follows Kyousuke up an escalator on the east side of the building. Pokémon Centers are meant to be central stops for Trainers, so they typically come with sleeping quarters for travelers on the move.

After checking into one of the openings, Riki collapses in a chair.

Kyousuke sits down next to him. “Quite a first day, huh?”

“Yeah…” Riki wipes some sweat off of his forehead. “Are all of your trips this busy?”

Kyousuke chuckles. “Don’t worry, Riki. You’ll get used to it with time.”

“Is it really that important, though? I mean… this isn’t going to be that long a trip, is it?”

Kyousuke pats him on the shoulder. “It’s important to be able to count on yourself, Riki. You had fun, right?”

Riki sighs. “I mean… Kind of, yeah. It’s always fun, running off on one of your missions. But… At the same time… Finding the path blocked, running into a family of wild Pokémon, getting randomly challenged by that girl… A lot of it was honestly just stressful.”

“…” Kyousuke doesn’t seem sure how to respond. After a moment, he gets up and turns away. “Come on, Riki. We should go get something to eat.”

As Riki follows, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s said something wrong.

#Little Busters!#Pokemon #fanfiction #Naoe Riki #Saigusa Haruka #Natsume Kyousuke #Natsume Rin #Miyazawa Kengo #Inohara Masato #Gracidea Blossom #Sinnoh

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nazariolahela · 5 years

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Something Domestic: Chapter 4

A/N: Hey y'all! This is a new TRR AU I’ve been working on. This story is told in first-person narrative, from Riley’s (MC) POV. There will likely be smidges of canon in this, but not too much. Thanks for reading, and please leave feedback, and/or if you would like to be tagged.

Catch up here

Series Tags: @burnsoslow @aworldoffandoms @dcbbw @ladyangel70 @texaskitten30 @sunandlemons @jlynn12273 @indiacater @jared2612 @rainbowsinthestorm @drakesensworld @badchoicesposts @msjr0119

Synopsis: When Riley Brooks takes a new job as a nanny for the affluent Rhys family in New York’s Upper East Side, she assumes she’s just going to care for the children of the couple who hired her. But instead of just school pick-ups and afternoon snacks, she also finds herself spending time with Liam, the handsome divorced dad. Can Riley control her feelings for Liam while still performing the job she was hired for?

All characters are the property of Pixelberry Studios. Thanks for allowing me to borrow them.

Chapter Summary: Riley and Hana celebrate their new jobs and meet some new friends.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Hana’s voice rings throughout the apartment. I spring from my bed, dropping the book I was reading, and rush out of my room to find her standing in our living room, holding a thick white priority mail envelope.

“What’s going on?” I ask her.

Her eyes travel from the envelope to mine. “It’s a letter from Valtoria High School.” She flips the envelope over in her hand and slides her finger under the flap. Her eyebrows pinch together as she slides the letter from the envelope and begins reading. Suddenly, her eyes widen.

“Oh my god, it’s my acceptance letter!” she shouts. “I am officially the next music teacher at Valtoria High School!”

I leap across the room and scoop her up in a crushing hug. “Hana! That is so amazing! Congratulations!” We both start jumping up and down squealing as the envelope slips from her hands and falls to the ground with a light thud. She stops jumping and looks down to where the envelope landed, giggling as she picks it up.

“What else is in there?” I ask.

She pulls out the remaining contents of the envelope and spreads them out on the coffee table. I glance over her shoulder to see a brochure, two pamphlets, some documents, a map of the school’s campus, a bumper sticker, a pencil, and a notebook with the school’s logo on the cover. I walk over to the couch and take a seat, picking up the brochure. I open it up to a random page and scan the content until something catches my eye.

“Is that what I think it is?” I ask, re-reading the list of donors for the school. Hana leans over and shrugs. “Oh yeah. His company is a major donor. I think they sponsor a bunch of the school’s extracurricular events. Gotta love those tax write-offs.”

My eyes glance back at the page, and it’s like the words are slapping me in the face.

GOLD LEVEL SPONSOR: Cordonia Enterprises

Fucking hells. Of course, he gives a shitload of money to the local schools. He’s one of the richest men in the city and he obviously gives a shit about someone other than himself. The woman who ends up with him is a lucky bitch. Fingers crossed it will be me.

“I wonder if he’s willing to donate to the “Riley Brooks is a Broke-Ass Bitch and needs money to pay off her student loans Foundation,’” I say.

Hana giggles. “He is. It’s called your paycheck.”

I narrow my eyes at her and chuck a throw pillow in her direction, narrowly missing. She ducks out of the way and sticks her tongue out at me in triumph. “Okay, enough fantasizing about your new boss’s bank account. I’m officially employed, so this calls for a celebration,” she declares.

“You thinking what I’m thinking?” I grin suggestively.

“Put on your best drinking dress. We’re going to the Double Tappe.”

***

We arrive 45 minutes later to see a line outside, which is weird because this place is rarely busy. It’s one of the reasons why we like coming here. I scan the line of people. The crowd doesn’t look like our usual mix of college students and barflies. We make our way up to the front where the bouncer, Spike, stands with a permanent scowl and a clipboard in his hand.

“Hey, Spike. What’s going on here?” Hana asks.

Spike turns his head and sees us, and his demeanor instantly changes. “Hey! My two favorite patrons. What are you guys doing here on a Saturday?” he asks. Hana and I haven’t gone out on a Saturday since we were in college. The type of people who barhop in this city on a Saturday night aren’t really the type of people we usually associate with.

I sling an arm around Hana’s shoulder. “We’re celebrating mine and Hana’s new jobs.”

He grins wide. “That’s awesome! Congrats, you two.” He cocks his head toward the line. ”Unfortunately, we’re having a private party tonight. Some big wig and his older brother are having this company get-together. Invite-only.”

My pulse quickens. Could it be? I ponder name-dropping him to gain us entrance. I mean, what good is working for a billionaire if you can’t throw his name around to gain perks in this city? I try to sneak a peek over Spike’s shoulder at the guest list.

“Any chance there’s someone on that list we could pose as to get in?”

Spike shakes his head. “No can do, girls.”

Hana frowns. “Come on, Spike. We’re regulars. One drink. We’ll be in and out before anyone notices.” she pleads.

He looks between us sympathetically, then down at his clipboard. “Tell you what. Sneak around to the back and knock twice. I’ll text Chuck to let you in. If anyone catches you, say you work for the catering company and get the hells out of there. Got it?”

We both side-hug Spike before sneaking down the alley towards the back. We maneuver around the dumpster, reaching the back door marked “Deliveries.” Hana lightly taps twice on the door, and a couple of minutes later, a large man with a red beard pokes his head out the door.

“You Hana and Riley?” he gruffs.

“That’s us,” I reply. He nods and steps aside, allowing us to enter. We weave our way through the kitchen until we reach the bar. The lights are dim, and the walls are covered in kitschy decor. A five-foot mahogany bar runs along the back wall, where bottles of various liquors adorn the shelves. Not surprisingly, the whiskey takes up two shelves.

Two pool tables take up one side of the bar. A single dartboard hangs on the wall near the back. On the other side: one of those state-of-the-art jukeboxes where you can select songs from an app on your phone, and a 10x10 dance floor. This place is the definition of a dive bar.

I’m shocked at the size of the crowd. There has to be at least 100 people here. I don’t think the Double Tappe has seen this many people at once. Pretty sure this place is overcapacity. I hope the fire marshal doesn't show up.

The owner Drake is standing behind the bar — a dish towel draped over his shoulder — talking to two men, one younger, one older. The younger man’s hands gesture wildly as he speaks. He then says something to the older man and elbows him. The older man looks over at him for a split second, before scowling into his tumbler of scotch.

I grab Hana’s hand and pull her to the bar. “Hey, Drake. Two whiskey sours, please,” I say, holding up two fingers. He looks over to us, and his eyes light up.

“Hey girls. Fancy seeing you here,” he replies. “It’s about time someone orders a normal drink.” As he gets to work mixing our drinks, the younger man to my right turns to me.

“He wouldn’t know a real drink if it slapped him across the back of the head.”

I turn to get a better look at him. He has olive skin and dark brown coiffed hair, He’s wearing a silk black dress shirt with gold leaf details and dark washed jeans. The older man sitting next to him is wearing a maroon blazer and navy turtleneck with charcoal-colored slacks. The two of them couldn’t be more night and day if you tried.

“Come on now, whiskey sours aren’t so bad. In fact, they’re my favorite drink.” I reply.

He smirks. “You clearly haven’t tried anything with Viniq. I think you’d like it. You seem like the type of girl who enjoys a shimmery cocktail.”

Drake looks up from what he’s doing, shooting the man a death glare. “We don’t serve that garbage here, Maxwell.”

He laughs. “Dude! Do you realize how much more money you could rake in every night if you stocked it?”

“Glitter doesn’t belong in drinks. That’s a hill I’m willing to die on,” Drake growls as he sets our drinks on the bar in front of us.

Hana and I giggle and take them. I scan the crowd once more as Maxwell and Drake continue to bicker over alcohol. The patrons are all dressed to the nines, sipping colorful cocktails. Some of them are wearing the latest pieces from Fashion Week. I’m pretty sure that woman by the jukebox is wearing a tiger print jumper. These people definitely aren’t your typical Double Tappe customers.

Maxwell turns back to us. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your names. Are you some of Bertrand’s new hires?”

Hana and I pause, glancing at each other. She busies herself with the straw in her drink, leaving me to explain our presence.

Shit, Riley. Think. What was it that Spike told us to say if we got caught? “We… we’re with the...uh… the catering company,” I stumble. He cocks one eyebrow at me before turning to the older man on his right.

“I thought all the caterers left, Bertrand. Didn’t you send them home after dinner?”

The older man turns to his left, looking me up and down skeptically. “Yes. They were dismissed an hour ago,” He scowls. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead woman right now. “You do realize this event was by invitation only, correct?”

Our cover is blown. “Uh…” Abort! Abort! I grab Hana’s arm and start to slip off my barstool when a warm hand settles on my shoulder and squeezes firmly. “She’s with me.”

Hana’s eyes widen. My heart stops. That voice. I turn around and sure enough, there's Liam. He smiles down at me and I'm pretty sure my soul just left my body.

”What are you doing here?” I ask him, confused yet relieved.

“I’m on the guest list.”

Of course, he is. His best friend owns the bar. He probably just walked in — like an episode of Cheers — and everyone knew his name.

”You know these two?” Maxwell asks.

”Well, I don't think I've been introduced to this lovely woman here, ” Liam says, gesturing towards Hana, ”but Riley works for me.”

”Ah, another office drone, huh?”

Liam chuckles. ”She’s the kids’ new nanny.”

Maxwell smiles knowingly. ”Ah. So this is her. This guy’s been talking a lot about you.” He winks and cocks his thumb towards Liam “Well, it was nice to meet you, Riley. Riley’s friend. Have a good night.” He slides off his barstool and drags Bertrand towards one of the pool tables.

Liam extends his hand and introduces himself to Hana. He then takes the empty barstool next to me. He’s dressed down, wearing a black sport coat over a tight-fitting grey t-shirt and dark wash jeans. How does this man look so good in everything he wears? He motions to Drake, and a few minutes later, two fresh drinks appear in front of Hana and me.

”So, you’ve been telling people about me, huh?” It’s dim in this bar, but I can definitely make out a blush. “Why am I not surprised you’d be here tonight?” I say as I sip my drink.

He smirks and the butterflies in my stomach flutter. You’d need a chainsaw to cut the sexual tension in this room. His eyes look to Hana, then back to me. “Can I make a confession? I was hoping I’d run into you here tonight. I knew you hung out here a lot, and even though this was a private event, part of me was hoping you’d show up anyway.”

“We actually weren’t planning on coming out tonight, but Hana got a new job too, so we decided to celebrate.”

“Congratulations,” he says to Hana. She lifts her glass to his and nods before downing it. Liam eyes my drink. “Next round is on me.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I say. “We’re the ones who crashed your friend’s party. We were only supposed to stay for one drink.”

He shakes his head and waves Drake over. “I insist.”

I nod as Drake approaches us. “Hey, Li. Another scotch on the rocks?”

“Actually, three shots of the finest tequila.”

Drake nods and reaches up to the top shelf and grabs a bottle of San Matías Rey Sol Extra Anejo Tequila. He places three glasses in front of him and pours the shots, before handing them to us.

Hana picks up her glass and observes it. ”Wow! I've only ever read about this tequila. They say it has notes of vanilla, caramel, and spice.” She brings the glass to her nose, inhaling deeply like some sort of tequila sommelier.

”Wait a minute. This tequila is $400 a bottle! We can't accept this,” I say, pushing the glass away from me.

Liam frowns. ”Why not? I offered to pay. I'm not expecting anything from you for it. You work for me now and I want to thank you for taking on the task of caring for my children.”

Isn't that what my paychecks are for? I stare at the shot for a few beats, contemplating what the gesture means. He said he wasn't expecting anything. Maybe he means it. Stop overthinking it and take the damn shot, Riley. When are you ever going to get the opportunity to try something this extravagant?

I shrug and pick up the glass. ”To new opportunities,”

”To new opportunities,” Hana and Liam say in unison as we clink our glasses together. We each take the shots, garnering different reactions. Liam nods in approval. Clearly, he drinks this stuff on the regular. Hana’s eyes light up and she swishes the tequila around in her mouth, enjoying the different flavors. My face puckers and I struggle to swallow, the shot burning as it goes down. Obviously, I don't drink tequila that often.

”That was incredible. I hope I can one day afford to buy a bottle of this for myself, ” Hana says, licking the remnants of the tequila from her lips.

“It’s perfectly okay to treat yourself once in a while,” he replies. He looks down at his watch and frowns. “Well ladies, fatherhood calls. Thanks for having a drink with me.” He motions to Drake for his bill and I sneak a peek as he pays the tab. That’s a lot of zeros! “Have a great rest of your evening.” He leans over to shake Hana’s hand then rises from his barstool and leans down towards me. His hot breath tickles my ear and my face warms. Obviously from the tequila, right? “You two have fun tonight,” he whispers. “Don’t drink too much. I’ll see you bright and early Monday morning.”

He smirks as I sit there trying to catch my breath, and just before he turns to walk away, he winks at me. Then, he’s gone.

#trr au #trr fanfic #something domestic #liam rhys #riley brooks #playchoices fanfic #nanny au #nazariolahela fanfic

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yourastrosea · 6 years

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Paper Planes

Klance oneshot inspired by @yaboykeiji art

If you haven’t seen their art yet (how?) check them out! They’re a super cool and talented person!! They also have a Patreon with so many amazing pieces on it already, that you should check out if you can!

Beta read by the precious @tinycosmicangel who is an amazingly talented writer and loving being who seriously belongs with the stars!

Lance couldn’t recall when he had first started folding the small slips of paper and flying them across the room. But it had become often enough to become a soothing habit. The calming process of writing a note, folding it up in the shape of a plane, and then watching it fly to its destination. Whether it was to his mother with reminders or the lyrics to her favorite songs; to his dad with questions or random facts he had learned during the day; to his siblings with small notes of encouragement or reminders to get rest, or just annoying notes to get on their nerves.

But at the Garrison, he had learned that he had to cut his paper planes to a minimum since instructors wouldn’t appreciate them being flown around the classroom. But luckily, he had Hunk as his roommate. Big ol’ sweet Hunk who managed to keep Lance out of some trouble, though Lance would drag him into more trouble than he would like. There were times when Hunk would overreact and get nervous over the small things, so he never minded the small planes Lance would fly across their shared room, nor the small notes of encouragement written inside them. There were times when he'd convince Hunk to join him in the hall and race their small paper planes. It had served as a distraction for Hunk and himself, a small reprieve from the stress of all their coursework.

He remembered one day when he had put just a little more force into his throw as he was trying to impress a few classmates, sending the point of his plane directly into the side of Keith Kogane’s stupid head when he had been walking in their hallway. He remembered the absolute death glare Keith had targeted at him and the way he had crumpled the weak paper in his angry fist. Which, was completely uncalled for, if you asked Lance. It wasn’t like in middle school when a kid would get hit by a misaimed basketball. Keith should have counted himself lucky Lance hadn’t had a basketball in his hand at that moment.

But with the passing months, Lance was learning that it was really hard to fold a paper plane in space when the castle-ship only had those really thin tablets. No notebooks. No loose-leaf paper. No, everything was digitized and typed. The only paper Lance possessed was from the little notepad he had in his jacket pocket the day they left Earth. It certainly wasn't enough for Lance to write and fold as many planes as he would like, but it was enough to show his team how much he cared for now. He would just need to ration the slips until they went to a space market where he could find paper or a material that resembled paper enough for him to use.

Keith’s limbs ached as he made his way down the hall after a full workout, but it was a pleasant ache. An ache that made him giddy as it said ‘good job’, and deserved a nice soothing soak. Maybe, once he figured out how the Altean pool worked, he could get that well earned soak.

“You can’t send that, Lance.”

Keith hesitated at the sound of Pidge’s voice before he turned towards the doors that opened to the common room. Well, it wasn’t like Keith was in a rush to go shower off anyway. He shrugged, allowing his curiosity to win, and walked through the automatic doors that slid opened for him.

“Come on Pidge,” Lance whined from his stretched out position on the far right couch. “It’s not bad!”

“No Lance,” Pidge answered without looking away from their laptop screen.

“But Piiiiiidge!” Lance kicked his legs up as he whined.

Keith rolled his eyes with a small smile. He doubted there would ever be a day where Lance wouldn't find a chance to be dramatic. “What are you whining about?”

Lance squawked as he sat up and pointed a finger at Keith. “Don’t sneak up on people!”

“Um,” Keith raised an eyebrow as he walked further into the room. “I wasn’t sneaking? I just entered through the door?”

“Whatever,” Lance huffed as he crossed his arms. “You were still being all quiet and sneaky.”

“Whatever,” Keith sighed. “What are you blabbering about anyway?”

“Lance is just complaining about a note he wants to give to Shiro,” Hunk spoke up from his seat beside Pidge as he continued to tinker with the small mechanical cube in his lap.

Keith frowned as he glanced between all three of them. “What does the note say?”

Pidge placed their laptop on the seat before turning to cross their arms over the back of the couch to look at Keith. “It says he should shower,” they raised an eyebrow, “with Lance.”

Keith frowned as his brow wrinkled before he glared at Lance. “Don’t you dare send that to Shiro.”

“Um, excuse me?” Lance asked as he raised an eyebrow. There was no way he was going to let Keith boss him around.

“I said.” Keith’s glare turned even more deadly, as if that was possible. “Don’t send that to Shiro.”

“And why not?”

Keith threw up his hands. “Because it’s rude!” Which should have been obvious.

Pidge smirked at Lance over their shoulder. “Told you.”

“Um, excuse both of you.” Lance waved the slip of paper. “I can send whatever sort of note I want.”

“Oh yeah?” Keith raised a brow. “Do it. I dare you.”

Lance waved the slip more aggressively as he jumped to his feet. “Well you know what, Keith? If anyone deserves a shower, it’s you! Look at you, you’re all sweaty!”

“Oh yeah, Lance?” Pidge grinned as the light reflected off their glasses. “Are you offering to shower with Keith?”

“What?!” Lance’s squawk really did remind Keith of one of those strange tropical birds on Earth. “No! God no! Of course not!”

Keith had never seen Lance’s face that red before. It was as red as, well, Red. Keith would laugh if it wasn’t so mortifying to watch.

“Sorry buddy,” Hunk shrugged. “But you kinda just did.”

“Hunk…” Lance whispered in disbelief as his mouth fell wide opened like a trout before he snapped it closed and pointed at Keith. “Well showering with me would be the only way for that greasy mullet to get clean.”

“What’s that Lance?” Keith smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You want to wash my hair?”

“No!” The slip of paper crumpled in Lance’s hand as he waved it around more. “No! Quiznak no! Shut it Keith! That’s not what I said!”

“Whatever,” Keith shrugged as he dropped his arms to his sides. “But I really do need to go and shower.” He turned back towards the doors before glaring over his shoulder. “Just don’t send that note to Shiro or I will knock you on your ass.” Keith said before he walked through the automatic doors.

Lance stuck his tongue out at the closed doors before falling back onto the couch. “Whatever. I’m not scared of you. Stupid, smelly Keith.”

“You should be,” Pidge replied as they sat back down with their laptop. “And you should be a little more considerate towards him.”

“Considerate?” Lance slapped his palms to his thighs. “To Keith?”

“Well duh.”

“And why would I do that?” Lance crossed his arms as he raised an eyebrow.

“Cause he’s your teammate and friend,” Pidge frowned at him. Was Lance really that stubborn? Or just plain stupid?

“A pretty stupid friend,” Lance muttered under his breath as he sunk deeper into the couch.

Pidge raised an eyebrow as they looked at him. “Do you really hate Keith that much?”

“I don't hate him,” Lance shrugged. “But we are rivals so…”

Pidge rolled their eyes as they held up the small paper plane Lance had flown at them earlier. “So, any reason you never send one of these stupid planes at Keith?”

“They’re not stupid,” Lance huffed as he stretched his legs out on the couch. “Right Hunk?”

“That’s right Lance!” Hunk offered one of his giant, pure smiles from next to Pidge. “They're super cool.”

“Then why haven’t you sent one to Keith?” Pidge raised an eyebrow as they tucked the paper away. “As your rival, don't you think he deserves one?”

“Ummm no?” Lance cocked his head as he raised an eyebrow as if it was the most obvious thing. “He wouldn't even want one of those.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Cause he's Keith,” Lance flapped his hand around. “He probably just thinks they're stupid and would laugh in my face.”

Hunk frowned as he gazed up at the ceiling. “I don't think Keith would laugh in your face. He's not mean, dude.”

Pidge pointed at Hunk as they nodded. “And don't you think it's a little rude and mean of you to send one of those planes to everyone but Keith? Even Coran?”

“Okay, come on,” Lance smiled wide at the funny memory. “How could I not send one to Coran when I had the perfect opportunity to land it in his mustache?”

“That's true,” Hunk chuckled as he nodded. “And it was such a nice glide, Lance! The perfect glide into the spectacular ‘stache.”

“Right?” Lance sat up as he held a finger over his own lips. “the spectacular 'stache.”

“Whatever,” Pidge rolled their eyes with a smile. “Don't you think you should still include Keith?”

Lance rolled his own eyes, about to offer another rebuff, before Hunk chimed in. “I think Pidge is right. It's never fun to be the one left out. Even if you don't think it matters, it might mean a lot to Keith.”

“Maybe,” Lance pouted as he tapped his foot on the floor. “I'll think about it.”

“Good,” Hunk smiled before frowning. “But you really shouldn’t give that note to Shiro. I think Keith really will punch you if you do.”

Pidge snorted. “Oh Keith will definitely knock your lights out if you hand that note to Shiro.”

“I don’t see why he would care so much,” Lance crossed his arms as he frowned. “Unless…”

Pidge raised a brow as they looked at him over their laptop. “Unless what?”

“Well...you think he and Shiro... shower together?” Lance asked with hesitation as he looked to Pidge.

Hunk coughed as he choked on his own air, slapping his own chest with watering eyes. “Dude.”

Pidge just rolled their eyes. “You are so hopeless, Lance.”

It hadn’t taken long for Keith to form a routine while they were in space. A routine that included training, rinsing off, eating, and the observation deck. Which was how Keith found himself staring out the large windows of the observation deck before he would head off to the training deck. And maybe it was a little stupid to do a session of training after a battle, but Keith’s limbs were still buzzing with adrenaline. So training seemed to be an efficient way to ease that adrenaline out of him, even if it wasn't ideal.

Even after all the months in space, Keith still found the view outside the windows stunning. Being able to look out the observation windows to see the beautiful creations that formed the galaxy was the possibility of dreams. With the castle-ship constantly on the move, the surroundings outside were almost always different. Though there were the times when there was just darkness, Keith still found it incredible that just out those windows, was the vastness of space. They were actually here, in outer space, a place few Earthlings had ever journeyed. Because even though Keith wasn't completely human, Earth had been all he had known, and he had never came to the assumption that he would actually make it out of that atmosphere.

But here he stood, on a castle-ship out in some unknown part of the universe. And he wasn't alone, he was here surrounded by his teammates and close growing friends. They had started this adventure out as strangers, with only Shiro being the one he knew and could trust. Shiro still remained his closest friend, the one he could always rely on and find honesty and guidance with. But, he was learning that the others could and would offer support as well. And Keith was nearly frightened to realize that the one he was finding himself drawn to the most as a friend and partner, was a loudmouth idiot. The loudmouth idiot who was gently opening the door in Keith's wall; a door that had taken Shiro more than a couple of months to forge. The loudmouth idiot who Keith found himself soft around, and had found he didn't mind being soft around.

The loudmouth idiot who wasn't as idiotic as he had first seemed, as he proved to be a brilliant strategist who knew how to speak well in diplomatic settings to make everyone pleased. The loudmouth who could be a quiet and calming presence when the moment called for it. Keith was finding that Lance was actually a very caring individual who brought their team together when disagreements arose. Lance was someone who didn't hesitate to help someone else, to step up when a hand or hug was needed. He never hesitated to offer others support and encouragement. To take his time to write out a thoughtful, encouraging note to fold into the shape of an airplane, and then send that not to one of his friends. To everyone in the castle. Everyone but Keith.

And it would be a lie if Keith said that didn't sting. Keith was familiar with being left out in situations, but it hurt to find the person he was becoming close to, specifically leaving him out. Especially when he thought things were going well between the two of them, that they were forming a friendship that was built from competitions, but also solidarity and teamwork. Because the competitions that Keith had first seen as annoying were fun. Working on a team with Lance, whether they did well or not, was always an exciting experience. There was finally someone who could keep up with Keith, who wouldn't back down or ignore him. He enjoyed those spontaneous competitions, those shared wild grins as they'd look at each other. Keith hadn't expected to become so close with Lance, but somehow, he had found himself always gravitating to Lance in different situations.

Keith sighed as he looked out the observation window, to find a cluster of stars with different colors reflecting off the surrounding dust. The colors red, blue, purple, yellow, and green reflected to form a strangely warped rainbow. The corner of his mouth lifted as he became captivated by the beautiful sight. A beautiful sight he wished he could share with someone.

Keith's gaze moved to his reflection on the glass. He looked so tired and lonely, standing on the empty deck, still dressed in his bulky Paladin armor.

Keith went to high school, so he was familiar with being surrounded by children passing notes. He was also familiar with watching the passing of notes and not actually being passed a note. He was familiar with the snickers and side glances as he was isolated from the other children. And he knew, he knew that wasn’t what was happening here. But it still hurt to see Lance fly a note to everyone on the team, but him.

Keith released another sigh as he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. Of course now he felt guilty. Lance was doing something kind for everyone, and all Keith could do was think of how left out he felt. He feels the familiar, hot weight of anger in his gut at his own selfishness. At his own tangled thoughts that can't escape the idea that Lance doesn't care for him. That he doesn't contribute to the team that Lance cares about. The team that Keith cares about.

A small whoosh sound had Keith raising his head, frowning at the sound of rustling. He raised his hand and brushed it through the strands on the side of his head until he felt a different material hidden there. He untangled the small material out of his hair and held it out in his hand. Keith stared down at the little paper plane lying in his palm. It was so tiny, barely the size of his pointer finger. His brow wrinkled as he slowly opened the plane, treating it gently so as not to rip or damage it.

Hey

Keith frowned at the one word sentence before turning the small slip over.

Good work today.

Keith's expression became even more confused as he stared down at the note before glancing up to find Lance standing a few feet to his side. He was still mostly dressed in his Paladin suit like Keith, but had swapped off his chest plate for his familiar green jacket. It looked soft and warm. A small(large) part of Keith wondered how it would feel against his fingers and how it would smell.

Lance was biting his lip as he regarded Keith, but as their eyes met, he quickly looked away and out the observation windows. “Hey man.”

Keith felt his own lips lift up as he looked at Lance. “Hey.”

He definitely didn't mean for his voice to come out that soft or breathy, but for the way Lance looked back at him with a small smile, Keith was grateful for it. Keith was worried that the slightest movement would dispel the comfortable atmosphere they were in, but at the end, his curiosity won.

“So...” he raised the small note as Lance looked at him. “what's this?”

“Oh!” Lance's smile turned sheepish as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Sometimes I like to hear I did a good job at the end of a mission. Soo,” he glanced at Keith from beneath his lashes. “I thought you might like that too?”

Keith blinked at Lance for a moment before a loud laugh escaped his throat.

“Hey!” Lance's hand dropped as he tried to glare at Keith, which he was finding difficult since Keith was fucking adorable when he laughed. “You don't have to keep it if you don't like it.”

“No, no it's not that,” Keith tried to speak through his laughter as he smiled at Lance. “It's just so...dorky.”

“Dorky?!” Lance gasped before narrowing his eyes as he placed his hands on his hips. “excuse me, but that note is not dorky.”

Keith smirked as he looked the note over again. “You sure? Cause it looks pretty dorky to me.”

“Oh whatever,” Lance huffed as he crossed his arms. “Hunk and the others didn't think they were dorky.”

Keith hummed as he regarded the note. “So…” he hesitated, worried that he really was going to break the friendly exchange they were sharing.

“So…?” Lance prompted as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Pockets that looked pretty roomy to Keith.

“What brought this on?” Keith glanced back down at the note and away from Lance's earnest gaze. “You never shared a note with me before.”

“Oh,” Lance sighed as he stepped closer. “That's kinda why I decided to make one... Pidge and Hunk pointed out how I was isolating you by not sharing one with you.”

“Ah,” Keith's shoulders dropped as the corners of his lips fell as well. He knew he probably looked like a kicked puppy, but he didn't really have the energy to fake a smile. “So this was a pity note.”

“What? No!” Lance raised his hands as he shook his head. “No way man! That's a honest note there!”

“I'm sure,” Keith huffed. “Listen Lance-”

“No.” Lance grasped Keith by his shoulders. “No, Keith, you listen. I'm sorry for being an ass and isolating you before. I never meant to do that and I'm sorry I did.” Lance smiled, a subdued smile compared to his other smiles, but it was an honest smile that warmed Keith's chest. “You deserved a note. You deserve hundreds of notes.”

“Oh…” Keith blinked slowly as he stared up at Lance's face that was much closer than before. “thanks.”

Lance's fingers tightened on the hard pads of Keith's suit as he gazed down at him. Standing this close to Keith, he could really see how beautiful he was. From the unique purple of his eyes and the thick, long lashes that framed them to his pouted lips that were turned down in confusion as he looked at Lance. As stoic as Keith always seemed, he was actually very much expressive when it came to his facial expressions. From his furrowed brows and scrunched nose to his lips that always seemed to tease Lance. He wasn't even sure if Keith realized what his lips did to Lance, but it should have been filed as illegal. “I was embarrassed and afraid, to be honest.”

Those damn lips turned down in confusion again. “What were you afraid of?”

Lance honestly couldn't understand how someone as strong and cool like Keith could be so cute. Keith, who was the sort to actually mean it when they said they could knock someone on their ass. Keith, who could easily take out three sentries with his sword. He faced off against Zarkon on his own for goodness sake! Yet, all Lance wanted to do was hug and cuddle the damn boy. And as feral as Keith seemed sometimes, Lance honestly believed that Keith wouldn't attack him if he offered a hug. “That you would think they were stupid,” Lance muttered.

Keith's eyebrows raised at that before he suddenly grabbed Lance by his upper arms. “I don't think they're stupid, Lance.”

And there was that intense look on Keith's face. The look that had fire behind his eyes and spoke of complete honestly. The look that made Lance's legs weak, and the desire for Keith to hold him in his arms strong. “Come on Keith, no reason to look so serious.”

“I am serious,” the corner of Keith's lips tilted up. Just like that, the serious expression melted away to a softness that slid right between Lance's ribs and pierced straight (heh) into his heart. “I think your notes are amazing, Lance. They make everyone so happy and help them when they're stressed or struggling.” Keith’s lashes lowered as he tucked his chin closer to his chest. “I’m not that great with words, so I wouldn't be capable of writing notes like the ones you write that can help the others. But I'm so glad you write them, Lance.” Keith tilted his chin up and smiled at Lance. “They mean a lot to the others.”

“I hope they start to mean a lot to you as well,” Lance smiled as he leaned forward. “maybe they can mean as much to you, as you mean to me one day.”

Keith gazed up into Lance's blue eyes that seemed brighter with the teal lighting of the castle-ship, and snorted. “That was super corny, Lance.”

“Corny?” Lance gasped in mock disbelief, a wide smile cutting across his face. “Come on, we were sharing a moment!”

“Oh?” Keith smirked as he crossed his arms. “So that's what you consider a moment?”

“Keeith,” Lance pouted as he cocked his hip with his hand on it. “How long are you going to hold that against me?”

Keith shrugged as he grinned at Lance's stupidly handsome face. “Probably until you do something else that unbelievable that annoys me.”

“Wow,” Lance actually looked somewhat in awe. “You are savage.”

“Perhaps,” Keith shrugged before he smiled up at Lance. “You must have really talented fingers.”

The blush went from the top of Lance’s cheekbones, all the way down to his neck as he stuttered. “U-um what?”

Keith raised the small note between two fingers. “This slip is so small. You must have really talented fingers to be able to fold such a small paper.”

“Oh!” Lance cleared his throat as he nodded with vigor. “Yeah definitely! Definitely. I definitely have some talented fingers.” His lips tipped up in a smirk as he raised an eyebrow with a tilt of his head. “Maybe I'll show you sometime.

Keith shrugged with a smile, “and maybe I'll show you how to properly use your sword sometime.”

“W-what? Keith!” Lance frowned “I know how to use my sword!”

“You know some of the basics of using your sword,” Keith turned away and started towards the doors. “But you still lack when it comes to your stance and defense.”

“Keeeeith,” Lance groaned as he quickly followed after Keith. “Don’t insult me like that!”

“Don’t worry,” Keith waved his hand lightly. “We’ll head to training deck now and work on your defense skills.”

Lance huffed as he fell against Keith's back and wrapped his arms around him. “You’re a real quiznak, you know that?”

Keith couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face as he wrapped his fingers around Lance’s wrist. “You really need to learn the right way to use that word.”

#voltron #fic #klance #this was fun to write #mars art is so beautiful #please check them out #my writing #this is the first thing I've shared on here #i feel so weird #but hope you all like it #huge thanks to my heart-sister for looking it over!!#i need more practice writing soft

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thoughtsofdarc · 6 years

Text

The Butterfly Effect - Part 9 - The House.

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 2046

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to @thing-you-do-with-that-thing as she spottet the mistake I made in the last chapter. Clint did of course not know Steve and Peggy’s kids, as they are Bucky’s friends ;) Instead it has now become Sam’s kids. I’m sorry if that confused anyone along the way.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

It's been almost a year since Natasha and Clint's wedding and life has been good. I'm finding myself to be happier than ever and I'm enjoying every day more than the day before... It's like I'm riding a never-ending high. Bucky and I are doing great, he's the best boyfriend a girl could ask for and I still get butterflies in my stomach when I look at him.

We are more or less always together, most of the time I stay in his apartment. It's closer to my job and to the garage where he's working and it's just so easy to go there after work. During the weekends we often end up staying at my place, just because it's stupid to have a place that I don't use.

I think I have at least as many things in his apartment as he has, and he has the same amount in mine.

Natasha is teasing us, and telling us that we should just sell one of the apartments and move in together officially, and while we're at it, we should get married too. She thinks we are acting more like a married couple than her and Clint is. We're not oblivious, and we have talked about actually doing it... Moving in together that is. But right now, life is just lovely as it is. And we both agree that we aren't in a rush, since we have all life together.

All life together... It's the first time I've had a boyfriend that actually thinks about the future where we're both included. It's also the first time I have a boyfriend that I actually wants to spend my future with. It makes me smile!

Today however, we're not going to look for a home for our selves... No, Nat and Clint have bought a house in the suburbs and today is the day that they officially get the keys. Bucky and I are going to meet them and see the house for the first time.

Pulling up the street where the house is, Bucky slow down as we watch the houses and front yards. He turns his head so I can hear him before he says "I like this place! It seems so nice and quiet, but still it's close to everything" I agree and hug myself closer to him as we roll down the street to find our friends.

I spot their car further ahead and point. Bucky nods and drive up behind the black SUV, where he park and turns off the bike. Nat and Clint jump out of the car and come to greet us.

"What took you so long? I've been dying to go inside and have a look again!" Nat almost screams in eagerness when she throws herself around my neck. "Well, hello to you too Mrs. Barton!" I chuckle as I hug her back and wave to Clint with a smile.

"Welcome to our new home" He says as he gesture towards the big house in front of us and all four of us turn to have a look.

It's big, it's beautiful and it's so Nat and Clint.

The guys are already chatting away and are not paying any further attention to us. They have become close friends over the last year. Nat has her arms wrapped around mine while holding my hand, as she leans her head on my shoulder

"Isn't it beautiful?" She asks, all dreamy and happy. I have to agree, it really is.

"Let's go in, come on!" She says eagerly, almost childlike as she bounces up and down, smiling from ear to ear. We all walk up the few steps to the porch and to the door, where Clint unlocks it and open up to their new house.

He places a peck on Nat's lips as he say "You and Y/N just go on, Babe... Buck and I will catch up" before he turns to Bucky and adds "She hasn't done anything than to talk about how much she has been looking forward to show Y/N the house. Sometimes I think that it's the two of them moving in together, and I'm just the one who pays" Nat hits his shoulder and pretends to be offended, but the smile shining in her eyes gives her away and she quickly kiss him back "See ya' later guys!" She says as she drags me towards the first room of the house.

"I have to give it to you Nat... It's a really great house. A part of me is envying you for moving in here!" I chuckle as I look around in the master bedroom "There's so much room and the garden is fantastic" I add as I look out the window and down to the garden where the guys are chatting away.

I see Clint talk and wave his arms around. I'm imagining that he is telling Bucky about the plans they have for the place and Bucky, always able to live himself into things, are just as eagerly pointing and drawing invisible things in the air. I smile at the image before me and ask myself how I have become so lucky in life.

"I know, right? I'm so happy we got this. It's in good conditions and to a fair price. The neighborhood is just great and we're not too far away from the city, but still far enough away for this area to be safe and quiet" She smiles at me, so happy and content and I swear she's glowing. "But the rooms Nat... There are so many rooms! You have to have a whole bunch of kids to fill this place up!" I joke with a laugh, but stop when I see her face

"NO! Are you serious??!" My jaw drop, when I see her wide eyes, trying to hide the happiness and the smile on her lips "Are you really pregnant?!" She nods and tears start to pool in her eyes as she grins at me "Yes! I've wanted to tell you for so long, but I wanted to be sure"

I almost knock her over when I throw myself at her in the biggest hug known to mankind with a shriek so high it's only heard by dogs and bats.

After the tour and me promising not to tell anyone about the pregnancy we meet up with the guys again, so Bucky and I can go back home and let the two of them enjoy their new house alone.

"It's such a nice place guys... I'm so happy for you!" Bucky says to Clint as he grabs our helmets. "It really is! A perfect area if you ask me..." Clint beams "There's a house for sale further down the street. We were looking at that too, before we decided on this one. Maybe you should make it official, buy a house and move in together" He winks at the both of us and makes me chuckle.

"You only say that, cause you know that Nat would spend all her time over at my place, and then you would be free to watch all the games in TV that you'd like" I mock him and Bucky smiles at our banter.

We say goodbye and congratulates both Clint and Nat with their new house again and then we're on our way back towards the city. At the house Clint mentioned Bucky stops to take a look. It is very beautiful and we can't stop ourselves from imagining how it would be to live there.

And when Bucky says that the front yard would be the perfect place to teach our future kids how to play ball, my heart grows two sizes. God I love this man!

*Ding*

A text message pops in 5 minutes before I get off from work. There's nothing more to do today and I've practically already packed my stuff and am ready to go. I look around, everybody is occupied by something else, so I sneak my phone up from my purse and take a look Handsome Park Guy: "Hi Snow White, I'm parked outside! :D I have a surprise for you, so hurry down when you get off"

I smile at the phone and quickly type a reply: "I'm already on my way down, babe... see you soon! <3"

Once I'm down I speed walk through the hall and out the door, just to get greeted by Bucky on his bike, a picnic basket strapped to it and him holding my helmet in his hands, ready to drive me off into the world.

I make a little jump on the spot when I see him as I squeal in delight by the thought of going on a bike ride to have a picnic somewhere. He chuckles and kisses me deeply when I get over to him

"Hi Doll! God, you look great. Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, almost..." I say, making him look at me questioning "... I just need one more of these" I put my hands on either side of his face and put my lips to his, enjoying the warmth of his soft lips "Now I'm ready!"

He laughs and shakes his head at me but I just shrug and smirk as I give him a wink before I jump up behind him and wrap my arms around his waist and lean in close.

I know we're going, before we even arrive. The park, to the place where we first met and later ha our first date and I get so excited by the thought.

Bucky parks the bike, takes my hand and leads me to our tree, where he puts down a blanket and takes out all the treats from the basket.

He's beaming and the happiness radiates to me while we eat and drink the things he brought. Laughing, talking and joking our way through most of two ours.

When were done I lay down with my head in his lap, as I watch sunrays peaking through the leafs of the tree. Bucky plays with my hair just as he knows I like while he looks down at me, a little smile curling the side of his lips.

"Are you ready for your surprise, Doll?" he asks and I look up at him wide eyes. "Isn't this my surprise?" I ask and gesture to the remains of the meal we just had. The one side of his mouth goes further up in a crocket smile, his blue eyes shine down at me as he shakes his head.

"No, I have something for you" He says and reaches for his jacket, to get something from the inner-pocket. He gives me a box, neatly wrapped with a bow on top "Here you go Snow White"

I sit up to face him as I carefully take the box from his hands and gently lift the top. Inside is a golden key, the head of it formed as a bright blue butterfly. It's pretty, beautiful even, but I don't understand why he's giving me a key.

When he sees my confusion he purses his lips in an amused expression.

"It's not a real key, Doll. It's a symbol" He looks into my eyes and takes a deep breath as if he's suddenly nervous "you remember the house Clint mentioned a few weeks back?" I nod as my eyes turns wider. How can I not remember, we booked an appointment to go see it, just for the fun of it.

"I've talked to the bank and the real estate agency... The house is ours if we want it. We just have to sign the papers and it's ours" Bucky takes my hand and press his lips to it.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, would you move in with me?" I don't answer, I can't, my words won't come out. Instead I throw myself around his neck, tumbling us both to the ground as I kiss him deeply, with happy tears streaming down my face.

When we have to break it off to get air, he chuckles and say "I take that as a yes?" I smile wide and brightly as I look into his eyes "A definite yes!" I agree.

Part 10

Did you like this?? Let me know what you think, good or bad… and I’ll love you forever! :D

Tags: @fangirling-all-the-way-tbh @owhatshername1 @sinceimetyou @alextittle @todorath @tbetz0341 @fortheloveoflamp @hippie-taco-lady @buckysjuicyplums @mynameisreallycoolbutitstoolong @kalisaysfuck @shitmymomsay @mjgonzalez-01 @projectxhappiness @kuollut-talven @lol-haha-joke @caplansteverogers @loki7ms @who-cares-rn @bexboo616 @cc8302 @buckysarm4 @altyex @happylittlethingsss @mizzzpink @silver-starburst @buckybarnesappreciationsociety @yknott81 @marvelite1998 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #Bucky x reader #Bucky Barnes x reader #The Butterfly Effect #Bucky x you #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky x y/n #Bucky Barnes x y/n #bucky imagine #Bucky Banres Imagine #Bucky Fluff #Bucky Barnes fluff #Bucky fanfic #Bucky barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #Bucky Fanfiction #Natasha Romanoff #Clint Barton

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gabriellapatterson-blog · 6 years

Text

What goes bump in the night? More like who steals shoes in the night.

A/N thanks for the RP @natalyabloom and @wyattschreave

I sat in bed dangling the small phone about arms length above my head watching a youtube video called “only 1% of people will figure out these insane riddles” I knew I wouldn’t be able to get it but I loved the “OHHHHH DANG” moments.

Suddenly my grip faltered and smack the phone went on my nose. “Ow ow ow ow!” I yelped as I picked the phone up off of my face and rubbed my nose. “Alright, that’s enough of you.” I mumbled to myself as I got up and returned the phone to my desk. I paused for a moment and looked at the picture of Emma and I. I sighed a bit to myself. I missed Emma deeply, I missed my goofy friend who would watch videos with me. I need some friends here too.

I “plopped back down on my bed and started to think of the girls. I could approach someone from my group from the political lessons? Maybe they’d want to be friends? OH NATALYA. I should do apologize to Natalya. We argued back at the lessons but she seems like a smart girl, maybe we could be friends.

I got up from my bed and walked over to her room and then knocked on her door, “Hi Natalya, it's me Gabriella from the political lessons.” I introduced from outside.

A maid came and opened the door, “Excuse me, Miss. I hope you won’t mind coming back later. Lady Natal-”

Suddenly Natalya appeared standing next to the maid in her reading glasses and spoke softly to her maid, “I told you to stop calling me that. I’ve got it from here, Raylen. You can go back in and…I don’t know, the bathroom is covered in soil.” Soil?

“Yes?” She asked addressing me.

“Oh! Hi yes! I was hoping I could talk with you for a moment, may I come in?”

She turned around quickly and went into her room, “Watch out for the floor.” The floor? As I walked in there were plants everywhere. It was so cool. This had to be the best decorating job in the palace.

“Oh wow! Your room is so cool it’s like a mini garden!” I exclaimed.

Natalya sat down on her bed next to a stack of books, “Yes, I guess it’s sort of my thing…So, what is it?”

“I like animals myself but plants are really cute too and oh right! I just wanted to make sure you knew I was sorry for the...debate during the lessons today. I can get kind of competitive so I got a little too into it. You seem like a super smart and interesting girl though so I'd like to try and be friends with you if that’s alright.” Maybe that was too direct.

She slightly adjusted her glasses, “A surprising amount of you girls are awfully blunt. But…I guess I should apologize too. I was out of it that day.” She then flattened her hair a bit, “Still am.” She added.

“I prefer to be direct. It makes things much more simple. Why do you think you were out of it? Did you get enough sleep?” I asked.

“Not exactly. Being Selected is much more stressful than I thought.” I wonder where she gets stress from? I think this is fun. We’ll the lessons were stressful but overall this has been more fun and exciting than stressful. I suppose though that’s because I’m spending a lot of time with Ben and he’s fun and exciting to me.

“Hmmm, well what's something that you love to do back at home. I normally visit the ocean when I'm stressed which has been helping me…” I paused and looked around, “Do the plants help you?” I asked.

“Botany, the science of plants, though some of them dive more into the field of hydroponics, still a part of botany. So, yes.” ????

“Hydro what now? Sorry I'm a bit of a moron. The caste of a 3 is misleading.” Hydro means water. I got that far.

She smiled a bit. Yes! She’s warming up to me, “The science of growing plants without fertilizer or dirt.” WHAT

“What the!? That sounds amazing! How do they do it?” I asked honestly eager to learn. I loved learning new things and this just seemed so interesting.

“It involves mixing nutrients usually found in fertilizer into the water. I could show you if you want. It’s not all that complicated.” She can show me? Like right here? This is like an episode of Bill Nye.

“Please do, it sounds so cool! I always sucked at growing plants. I'm too forgetful for them, I did have a cactus that lived a long time though. It was a good fit for me.”

She stood from the bed and made her way over to a drawer, “You probably weren’t all that bad. Cacti are actually surprisingly hard to maintain.” She then took two bottles out of the drawer and began to shake them, “The gardens here are maintained wonderfully, though.”

“I had them in my windowsill so they got plenty of sun, when they had those like purple flowers blossom it was really pretty. I was very proud. Somehow I've managed to take care of our dog Gregory though. He's a very silly dog. A very big diva.”

She brought the bottles over to one of the plants and poured the nutrients into what almost looks like a small pool of water that the plant sat in, the colors of the shampoo swirl around and disappear quickly, like a small leaf tornado. “You have a dog too? What kind?”

“Oooh! That was cool! And he's a poodle. Fitting for his personality. His favourite color is salmon. Not a hue off.”

Natalya and I seemed to get along well. I’m glad we were able to get through all of that drama from the political lessons. As I thought back to the lessons my idea for vengeance on Wyatt came to mind. Natalya seemed to like Wyatt though, not in a romantic way of course that would be inappropriate and I really don’t know her too well. But, she didn’t seem to dislike him. I suppose you could say the same for me, I just had a slight annoyance for him here and there but he was still interesting to talk with. Anyways, maybe I should just ask instead of trying to guess her perspective.

“By the way you acted really well with prince Wyatt. Are you two friends?” I asked deciding a lead in would be best.

She sat up suddenly looking startled, “Uh, yes, I think I’m close with the prince.” She answered. Huh. Maybe there is something more there. That’s a rather large reaction to a small question.

“Do you think he's slightly deserving of being pranked? Two times now he's been kind of rude to me, not rude enough for like pain but for sure pranking. I need a partner in crime.” I asked deciding to brush past my suspicion. If she had feelings for him that was between the two of them. If later she decided to talk to me as a friend that was up to her, but I wasn’t going to prod.

“I’ve never pulled a prank on anyone before.” She answered. First time for everything.

“I have many times. I'm actually pretty good at it. I got the idea early on to switch all of my horrible heels with his nice comfy shoes. You can add yours to the pile if you'd like. You in?” Maybe she would be tempted by the idea to lose her stilts too.

She sighed and pet her hair down, “Well, I have a pair of bright purple six inch tie ups I’m sure he’d look gorgeous in.”

I smiled widely, “Wonderful. We can lipstick so he knows what to match them with. Can you ask one of your maids for like a cart so we can roll the heels upstairs. Oh! Wait one us distract him while the other goes in.” I suggested. I should probably distract, if I did the sneaky work we’d end up with all of his shoes falling in the hallway and the cart toppled.

She agreed and said one of her maids should be able to get the cart for us. We gathered the heels and began to push the cart up. We used one of the elevators that the staff used when taking carts of food to people. Soon we made it sneakily up to the royals hall.

I turned and nodded at Natalya to let her know I was moving out and went down the hall to his room and promptly knocked on his door, “Wyatt! Come quickly! Its Gabriella!” I shouted.

There was the sound of clatter as he seemed to rush to the door knocking over things on his way out, “What?! What’s wrong?” He asked as he looked me up in down probably for an injury. He seemed to notice I was fine and straightened himself up, “How did you even get up here?” He asked.

“Doesn't matter. Come look at this!” I replied loudly so Natalya would hear and grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hallway.

He seemed surprised as I pulled him down and looked back over his shoulder once more, “Where are we going?”

“It's something amazing. you'll love to see it. I thought of you right away. It has to do with one of your many interests.”

He looked confused as I looked back at his face, my eyes quickly catching a glance of Natalya as she made her way into Wyatt’s room. “My many interests?” He asked as stopped walking, “Gabriella, what’s this really about?” Crap crap crap we weren’t to the vase yet. I need a conversation topic. I glanced around quickly.

“Oh we're here!” I said and gestured to the wall, “ It's your favorite thing. A wall. They're very interesting right. But this wall, is really cool because like look at it it's so cool. They wall paper looks more like it's painted than it is just with a paper over it.”

He looked blankly at the wall for a moment before turning and ripping my soul out of my body with an ice cold glare and throwing it in the trashcan of hell. This is it. This is how I die. Murdered at the hands of Wyatt.

“Alright don't be mad.” I said and put my hands up defensively. Natalya isn’t out yet, oh fiddlesticks. A new conversation topic. Um….BEN.

“The truth is.......I need advice...it's just awkward to ask....ummmm......” I said making long pauses to insure I was stalling well.

He pressed his lips together for a moment before he let out a sigh, “ About what?”

“well it's about your brother, so I'm trying to figure out what I should get him for his birthday. My family has a tradition of making...well, I'll keep that part hidden. But we do handmade gifts but I know some people don't like them so well I was wondering if you knew if Ben did?” I gave a small fib to add a little extra time. Yes my family made handmade things as a tradition but we didn’t make one specific thing. I just figured the awkward pause would give Nat some more time.

“Handmade gifts?” He asked with a snort, “Have you met him? Yes, he likes them. Though... I guess it depends on how weird you make it.” What would I make that would be weird?

I chuckled, “They're not too weird. Just small little things. What are you getting him? Or doing for him?” I asked trying to move along the conversation as I waited for Natalya.

“How do I know you’re not going to tell him? Maybe this is all a plan to figure out what I’m getting him ahead of time.” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion, “He always does that.” He always sends a spy to find out what Wyatt got him for his birthday?

“Why in the world would I try and tell him that.” I trailed off for a moment as I saw natalya pulling out of there and heading for out meetup location, “I'm a fan of surprises so if you're just trying to keep it a secret then I get that. Anyways, I have something to go do now, so I'll talk to you later.” I exited and pat him on his shoulder as I past him and briskly made my way to natalya.

“wait—“ He said and started to follow me.

“Run. Run. Run.” I ordered to natalya as we made it back together and made out escape.

“HEY, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?” I heard him yell. We stopped and waited a moment a little curious of the aftermath.

“OH, YOU LITTLE—” There was distant yelling as he seemed to realize that he had been hustled. I couldn’t help but to burst out in laughter as we had won and made our way back to his room.

Turns out Wyatt had tiny feet. So small his shoes didn’t fit either natalya or I. So we decided we had to send them back. But- not that simply. Wyatt would be gaining his shoes back one left shoe at a time.

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andrewmoocow · 7 years

Text

Clod on the Run chapter 2: Suffragette Beach City (originally posted on May 21, 2017)

The Guardians of the Galaxy were zooming through the galaxy for their newest job. They were hired by Yellow and Blue Diamond of the Gem Homeworld to hunt down a traitorous Peridot on Earth. Star-Lord was flying their ship while jamming out to Brandy (You’re a Fine Girl) by Looking Glass, Rocket was preparing his surplus of weapons for an eventual battle, Drax was giving Groot a trim and Gamora was just sitting quietly. “Hey G, what’s up?” Star-Lord said turning around to his emerald crewmate. “You’ve been pretty quiet lately since we met the Diamonds, but I guess that’s pretty normal for you.”

Gamora could only groan as she finally spoke. “Do you really want to know guys?” All of the others were curious. “Come on Gamora, we are your friends.” Drax said. “I am Groot.” Groot added. “Yeah, what they said!” Star-Lord replied.

“Alright, you got me.” Gamora stated. “I’ve actually met one of the Diamonds.” The gang could believe what they just heard. “It was before I met all of you, when I was one of Thanos’ minions.”

“Lord Thanos, we are approaching Earth as we speak.” a grey-skinned alien in a black cloak announced to his master. He was Corvus Glaive, member of the Black Order and right hand man of Thanos the Mad Titan. The titan in question was a muscular, intimidating purple alien clad in blue and gold clothing. “Very good Corvus.” the overlord thanked his minion. “I wish to speak with the Diamond controlling this planet and see if the Authority is willing to ally with me.”

“Thanos came to Earth seeking to gain the Gem Homeworld’s trust, but we all know he would’ve betrayed them.” Gamora narrated. By the Mad Titan’s side were three humanoid alien warriors. One was Gamora herself while the other two were a blue-skinned woman with prominent cybernetics and a dark-skinned man with piercing blue eyes. They were Nebula and Korath, Gamora’s two adopted siblings.

“I want you three on guard in case anyone gets suspicious. In that case, attack and kill anyone who dare try to oppose me.” the Dark Lord ordered to his three assassins. “Yes master.” the trio complied. The aliens then touched down on an ancient cloud arena where they came face to face with many Gems of different shapes, sizes, colors and types. “Do not be alarmed.” Nebula announced. “We are here for Pink Diamond.”

“Allow me visitors.” a Gem stepped forward. She was a tall lanky one with flowing pink hair and her gemstone on her midsection. “I am Pearl, Pink Diamond’s servant.” The Pearl extended her hand forward. “I am Thanos of the Titanians. I request an audience with your superior.” Thanos introduced himself to Pearl. “Yes sir, right this way.”

Pearl led Thanos and his children through a crowd of nervous looking Gems to a large pink palanquin where another Gem clad in pink clothing sat. She was guarded by two other Gems, one with orange skin, white hair & her gemstone for a nose and the other was very humanlike in appearance with pink ringlets. “Salutations visitor.” The larger Gem said from her palanquin. “Who are you and what brings you here?”

“Greetings Pink Diamond, I am Thanos of Titan.” Thanos greeted Pink Diamond as he stepped forward, bowing while his minions kneeled. “I have come to your planet wishing to form an alliance with the Great Diamond Authority.” Pink Diamond rose from her palanquin as her two guard followed behind. “Please state your reasoning.” the Diamond spoke.

“You see, I have been hunting for six ingots of awesome power known as the Infinity Stones.” Thanos explained as he brought up a hologram of the artifacts in question. The Stones were of multiple colors ranging from blue, yellow, red, purple, green and orange. “These stones represent a different part of the universe and when brought together with the Infinity Gauntlet, would grant the user godlike abilities.”

All of the Gems present were intrigued by the visitor’s proposition, except for the orange guard. “I don’t like this.” she said.” “You’ll probably just betray and shatter us all!” She tried to attack Thanos but was stopped by her companion. “Jasper, please don’t provoke him!” she cried. “No Rose, we have to protect Pink Diamond!”

“Silence orange fool,” Thanos ordered Jasper. “Your attitude is like a pouty child! Now remain silent or I will have to end you.” Gamora, Nebula, Korath and Corvus pointed their weapons as she shouted “ATTACK!”

The Gems within the arena followed her orders and summoned their weapons. “Very well.” Thanos answered as he snapped his fingers, summoning his army of Chitauri, Sakaarans & Deviants and unleashed them on the arena. The battle was long and hard, with many Gems poofed or shattered during the conflict. Eventually Thanos won after he poofed both Rose Quartz and Jasper.

“I am appalled at such disrespect coming from a servants of the Diamonds!” Thanos boomed in disgust as he handed the gemstones to Pearl. “Forget the alliance, I will find the Stones myself.” He motioned his assassins to follow him as he departed the arena. “Mark my words Pink Diamond, when I gain ultimate power you will be the first to fall.”

“Later on, we received news that Pink Diamond was shattered by one of her own Rose Quartz but Thanos took it as a sign of surrender and remains enemies with Homeworld to this day.”

Gamora finished her story as the Guardians sat there completely stunned. “Jesus.” Peter said. “Hey Quill, did you turn on autopilot?” Rocket asked. “I don’t know, I thought you did.”

That’s when they all realized they were going to crash. “What did you do you idiot?!” Rocket exclaimed as the ship fell downward, catching on fire in the process. “I don’t know, I just got distracted by Gamora’s story!”

“Don’t even think about using that excuse!” Rocket shouted back. “My friends, it has been an honor adventuring alongside you.” Drax proclaimed. “If I die here, then I will die with all of you by my side!” He then pulled Rocket and Gamora close, hugging them incredibly tightly much to their chagrin. “Let go of me you moron!” Rocket exclaimed as he tried to wriggle out of the destroyer’s grasp. “Let my muscles be your shield!”

As the Milano dived closer to the ground, Peter took the wheel and tried to steer them away from their grisly fate, but it was too late.

The Milano was reduced to a pile of scrap metal when it crashed, but luckily nobody died. Peter was the first to awaken. “Oh geez what a fall.” He groaned getting up. “Anyone okay? Raise your hand if your head is still attached.” Groot excitedly raised his hand. “I am Groot!” he cheered as he got up. “Yeah, we’re still conscious Quill.” Rocket said as he popped out of Drax’s tight hug. “Looks like Drax’s abs did save us after all.”

“Yes, my abs are heroes!” Drax shouted as he released Gamora from his grasp. “You know, we could’ve survived crashing if Peter turned on the autopilot beforehand!” Gamora shouted. “Hey, don’t go blamin’ me here G!” Peter said trying to avoid getting in trouble. “Rocket was the one who did it!”

Rocket got angry at Quill trying to place the blame on him and pulled out a rocket launcher. “So I’m to blame for your idiocy?” Rocket barked. “Y'know what, screw Peridot! We’re taking you back to the Diamonds so you can get jammed into the human zoo when we get the ship fixed!”

Star-Lord then pulled out his laser pistol in retaliation. “Not if I bring you in first!” The two aimed their weapons at each other when Groot tried to break up the fight. “I am Groot, I am Groot!” The tree exclaimed as he pushed the two away from one another. Rocket sighed. “Groot’s right, kickin’ each others asses wouldn’t help us get rich.” He then put away his rocket launcher and tried to apologize. “Sorry for lashing out Pete, I guess we were both the idiots here.”

“Apology accepted Rocket.” Peter said ruffling his fur. “Now where can we find some new parts for the Milano?” Groot then pointed towards what looked like a barn in the distance. “I am Groot!” he said. “That’ll do.” Star-Lord said.

The group made their way to the barn, which looked much different from the typical barn. There was a silo jutting out the side, a pickup truck above the entrance with a TV in the back and a small pool near it. “Oy, what a dump.” Rocket said looking at it. “I mean, this place looks like a hodgepodge of useless crap!” Everybody else was quick to agree as they went inside when suddenly they were attacked by several armed drones, but Rocket shot them all down.

In the barn, they were met with what seemed to look like art like a broken tape recorded with a bow on it, a simple leaf taped to a rock and a lineup of toilets. “Is anyone here?” Drax asked around.

“Hey guys check it out, it’s a bunch of toilets!” Star-Lord called pointing at the toilets, laughing. “Very cheeky Quill, but we need to find a way to search for our target.” Rocket said examining the silo that was turned into a makeshift aquarium. There weren’t any fish except for a green alien creature with white stuff coming out of a hole in its neck. “Hate to be that guy. Wonder what happened to him.”

“Hey everyone, I found a vehicle that can get us somewhere!” Gamora called from outside. The other Guardians rushed outside to find her driving a tractor and not doing so good. “It may be slow, but it’ll do.” she said.

“I like your idea Gamora, but it’s gonna need a few modifications.” Rocket stated. “Groot, do we have any spare parts from the Milano that haven’t been destroyed in the crash?” Groot immediately saluted and charged towards the wreckage. “Heh, dis gonna be a cakewalk.” the animal smirked as he placed his hands behind his head. “Oh, are we having cake?” Drax asked.

The Guardians were now on their way to their destination on the tractor, which was now souped up with a turbo engine. They were zooming through the highway, past a pizza-themed car with a few teenagers driving it. “What’d I tells ya gang, this gonna be a piece of cake!” Rocket exclaimed as the wind rushed through his fur. “You said there was cake, but I don’t see anything!” Drax shouted. “I’ll explain later Drax, right after we become rich!” Rocket replied.

Suddenly, the engine broke down and the gang were stuck in front of a sign. “I thought the turbo engine was intact when we crashed.” Star-Lord said. “But the good news is the sign here must mean something good.” The crew got off the tractor and walked around the sign to see that it read ‘Welcome to Beach City.’

“Beach City, eh?” Star-Lord said. “Looks like we might have some fun in the sun when we finish our mission.” The Guardians then looked forward at the town. It looked pretty standard for a seaside town with a boardwalk and amusement park, but one feature they took notice of was a large hill with a stone hand sticking out the side. “Well guys, let’s get cracking.”

The Guardians walked through the streets as they got odd looks from the locals wondering why a cowboy was hanging out with a green girl, a shirtless man, a raccoon and a tree. “You think we look out of place here?” Gamora asked. “I don’t know, maybe it’s because we look like a bunch of freaks!” Peter exclaimed. “We might be tracked down by the government or become topics of crazy conspiracy theorists!”

“Yeah, especially people like that one.” Rocket added pointing to a small child with an onion-like head staring blankly at them. “What’re you lookin’ at kid? Scram!” The child continued to stare at them until he turned and ran, dropping a map from his pocket along the way. “Well that was oddly convenient.” Rocket said as he picked the map and opened it, revealing several locations circled with red marker.

“Okay, listen up folks.” Star-Lord announced looking over the map. “We’re gonna comb the town for our target and we won’t stop until the job is done. Also from now on we’ll be using codenames. You can address me as Eagle One.”

He then gestured towards Drax. “Drax, codename Been There Done That.” Then he moved to Gamora. “Gamora is Currently Doing That.” After trying to high-five her and failing, he pointed at Groot. “Groot is It Happened Once in a Dream.” Finally he pointed towards Rocket who was crossing his fingers. “Rocket is…..Eagle Two.”

“Oh thank God.” Rocket sighed in relief. “So where do we go from here Quill?” He started pointing at various locations on the map. “How about this,” Star-Lord stated. “Groot goes to the donut shop here.” Before he could finish, Groot was already charging to the donut shop. “Guess somebody loves donuts.”

“Rocket, you go the amusement park.” Rocket got a bit excited, wondering about how much junk he could get from there. “Drax, you search the boardwalk and Gamora & I will search the boardwalk. As the legendary Fred Jones once said, let’s split up gang!”

They all dispersed as a curly-haired woman wearing glasses and a short black man watching them turned towards each other. “Say, didn’t that cowboy look a bit like Danny from Fields and Relaxation?” the woman asked.

Groot had already made his way to the big donut when he noticed the large donut sign that read “Big Donut.” Walking inside, he met an orange-skinned teenager with a red mohawk-like haircut and rather peculiar earlobes. “Welcome to the Big Donut, how can I…..” the boy began to speak before realizing that he was speaking to a giant tree thing. “I am Groot.” Groot said. “Nice to meet you Groot, I’m Lars.” the boy, now named Lars greeted nervously. “I am Groot.” Groot replied. “I know that, and I am Lars.” Lars answered.

The exchanges of “I am Groot” and “I am Lars” went on for a while until a short girl around Lars’ age came out of the back door.

“Hey Lars, what’s up?” the girl asked. “This guy came in and all he can say is 'I am Groot!'” Lars replied. “Here, let me talk to him.” The girl walked up to Groot and began to introduce herself. “Hi there uh…Groot, I’m Sadie.” she greeted. “I’m pretty sure you already know about Lars here.”

Groot extended his hand to Sadie. “I am Groot.” he said shaking her hand. “Hey buddy, can you move outta the way?” a voice asked. When Groot turned around, it was an old man with a mustache and sunglasses talking to him. “Yeah I’m talking to ya Deku Tree, you’re holdin’ up the line!”

“I am Groot, I am Groot.” Groot apologized to the man as he began to walk out of the building, but not before taking notice of several paper bags with “Sadie” written on them and taking one. “Hey wait, those aren’t for sale!” Sadie called out as Groot exited. “And he’s gone.”

“What a weirdo.” the old man said. “Now where’s my nut dog?” he asked. “Coming right up Mr. Lee.” Lars said.

Rocket meanwhile was digging through trash at the Funland Amusement Park. “So this is what these so called 'raccoons’ do, just dig through useless garbage?” he asked himself before finding a tin can. “This might be useful.” As he lept out of the trash can, he was suddenly hit by a broom. “Get outta my trash varmint!” the man holding the broom shouted. The man was tall, bald and wore a shirt with various shapes on it. “Who you callin’ varmint big boy?” Rocket shouted back.

The man was completely stunned to see a talking raccoon rummaging through his garbage. “Whoa mama!” he shouted. “A talking raccoon?” Rocket was also stunned. “Seriously, the hell’s a raccoon?!”

“You see little guy,” the man said. “It’s what you are. Bushy striped tail, those ears, that mask around your eyes….” Suddenly he was interrupted by the roller coaster beginning to fall apart. “Dang it Onion!” he screamed as he ran towards the ride. “If you hadn’t blown up my phone, I would’ve called your parents by now!”

“Well,” Rocket said to himself. “That was weird.”

Drax was searching across the boardwalk in search of Peridot, asking various people. He went to the pizza place, the arcade, the fry place and the beach but nobody saw her anywhere. He was about ready to give up and report to his teammates when he heard a small voice.

“Excuse me, have you seen my dog?” the voice asked. Drax looked down to discover that voice belonged to a small green child with triangular hair looking up at him. “What did you say?” he asked back. “I said, have you seen my dog?” The child was very persistent when asking him. “What does your dog look like little one?”

“My dog is orange, chubby, has little legs and a green tail.” the child answered. “I’m sorry, but I do not know about a creature like that.” Drax answered much to her dismay. “But if I do find it, I’ll come tell you.” The child beamed at Drax as she hugged his leg. “Thanks mister!” she said as she let go and ran off. Drax smiled back at her, as she reminded him of his late daughter Kamaria.

But that’s when he realized the child looked very much like the Gem they were searching for. “Wait a minute.”

Star-Lord and Gamora were walking through the streets of Beach City looking for someone who might know the Peridot they were hunting. “Are you sure whoever works at this car-wash might know about her?” Gamora asked. “I’m pretty sure.” Peter replied. “I mean, there’s nothing that can distract us now!”

Then ironically enough, he got distracted by the white van that had the words “Mr. Universe” on it and was immediately starstruck. “Are you alright Pete?” his green compatriot inquired. “Of course I’m alright,” Peter shouted. “That’s the van of Mr. Universe, pretty much one of the greatest musicians on Earth!”

The two walked up to the van to find a beach bum strumming his guitar when he stopped to notice them. “Oh hey, didn’t see you there.” he said. “It’s not often we get visitors that don’t want to destroy Earth.” While Peter was still in awe, Gamora on the other hand was very confused. “This is the legendary Mr. Universe?” she wondered pointing to him. “He doesn’t look like a star.”

“I may not look all that cool now, but I’m still a cool guy to be around.” the man said getting up and reaching his hand towards Gamora. “Name’s Greg Universe.” She reluctantly shook it. Greg tried to get Peter to shake his hand but he was too busy fanboying. “HI MY NAME IS PETER I’M ONE OF YOUR BIGGEST FANS I REMEMBER WHEN MY MOM TOOK ME TO ONE OF YOUR CONCERTS IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST EXPERIENCES OF MY CHILDHOOD!” he blurted out before fainting.

“I’m sorry about your friend sir.” Gamora apologized to Greg. “You see, we came here looking for someone named Peridot. Do you know her?”

“Oh yeah, I do know Peridot.” Greg answered. “She’s one of Steven’s friends who pushed me off a barn roof.” Just then, Peter regained consciousness when hearing about Peridot.

“Wait, who’s Steven?” he asked. “Steven’s my son, a really sweet kid like his mother.” Greg replied as he pulled out a picture of him a picture frame of him and a woman with big pink hair who resembled the Gem from Gamora’s story. “That’s me and her way back when. Her name’s Rose Quartz.”

Star-Lord got quite curious. “What happened to her?” he asked, which made Greg turn quite dour. “She died giving birth to him.” he said. Star-Lord started feeling sorry for him as he already lost his mother when he was a boy. “That’s rough buddy.” he replied. “So anyway, we’re gonna go now.” Gamora interjected grabbing Peter by the shirt collar. “See ya later Greg!” Peter said. “But can you sign my Walkman first?”

Greg was happy to oblige as he pulled out a marker and wrote “To one of my biggest fans, from Mr. Universe” on it. Peter couldn’t help but squee as he was dragged away.

“Anything guys?” Rocket asked as the group reassembled at the shore. “I am Groot!” Groot said happily as he munched on Sadie’s bag. “I met a child looking for her dog who resembled our target quite a bit.” Drax said. “Quill fanboyed over some hopeless bum who used to be a rockstar from his childhood.” Gamora said as Peter continued to stare at his music player.

“I got beaten up by some guy at the park.” Rocket said pawing his face. “Face it, it’s all a lost cause. Might as well give u-” Suddenly he was interrupted by a weird feeling in his tail followed by barking. “Alright, who did that?” he demanded.

“Don’t look at me, it was Drax!” Star-Lord claimed pointing at Drax. “I do not make noises like that, blame Groot!” Drax added. “I am Groot!” Groot exclaimed pointing at Rocket’s tail. There was a small orange creature biting it that looked like a cross between a pumpkin and a puppy. “That’s it!” Drax bellowed pointing at the creature. “That’s the girl’s dog!”

“Wait a minute, what girl?” Rocket said as the child Drax met earlier rushed to Rocket and grabbed the creature. “Pumpkin, I’ve been searching all over for you!” she shouted as she hugged it. “Lapis, I found Pumpkin!”

The Guardians looked up to see a blue figure flying through the sky with wings made of water. When the figure landed, it was actually a blue Gem wearing a blue halter top & skirt with dark blue triangles on them and her teardrop-shaped gemstone on her back.

“Wait, there’s more of them? Star-Lord wondered. “Quiet Quill!” Rocket shushed him. “Thanks for helping us find Pumpkin.” Lapis said to Drax. “Peridot told me you would look for him.” Rocket’s ears started to perk up again. “You’re very welcome miss. I suppose you must be her mother.” Lapis started to look a little sheepish. “No, just her friend.” She then turned around to Peridot. “C'mon Peri, we’re supposed to be visiting Steven today.”

As the two walked away with Pumpkin away from the Guardians, Rocket jumped up and clung to Drax’s chest. “YOU IDIOT!” he screamed in his face. “You had the chance to capture her right then & there and you just let her leave?!” Star-Lord pulled his furry crewmate away from Drax and set him down on the sand. “Hey, no need to start yelling at Drax.” he said. “Besides, we need to follow those two. They said something about visiting someone named Steven.”

“Wasn’t this Steven supposed to be Greg’s child?” Gamora asked. “Yeah, maybe he knows those two.” Peter replied as he glanced toward Peridot and Lapis. “Now how can we follow them without getting caught?” Just then, they noticed a pink lion walking out from behind the Big Donut. “Is that a lion?” he wondered as he and the others watched in confusion. “Why is this animal pink?” Drax asked. “Beats me,” Rocket answered. “Let’s see if it’s friendly.”

The group walked to the lion as it started looking at them. They all stared at each other for a bit until the lion started scratching Groot, which made him giggle. “Yep definitely seems friendly.” Star-Lord said. “I wonder how fluffy his mane is?” He reached out to pet it when it tried to bite him. “Whoa!” he shouted as he pulled his hand out of the way. That’s when he got an idea.

“I have a plan!” he declared. “Oh God no.” Rocket moaned, fearing what he had planned. “We make Rocket pretend he’s roadkill, have the lion bring him to those two and then we break in & attack!” Rocket couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Why do I have to be the bait?” he complained as Gamora picked him up. “Why can’t we just rip off Groot’s arm and pretend it’s a tree branch?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted to do this job for 5,000 units?” Gamora asked as she stuck her gun-toting chum into the lion’s mouth. “Yeah but not like this!” he cried. “Alright, I’ll play dead.”

“Alright now go to your home.” Drax ordered the lion. It obeyed the destroyer’s command and raced off, with the Guardians in pursuit.

“I’m really starting to regret stealing those Quartz gems.” Rocket moaned as the lion stopped at a beach house sitting beneath a statue of a giant woman with four pairs of arms. “Hey Lion, what you got there?” the voice of a boy asked as it walked outside to the lion. From what Rocket could see, the boy was roughly around his height with brown curly hair, a pink T-shirt with a star on it, blue jeans and pink sandals. “Is that a raccoon?”

As Rocket was pulled out of the lion’s mouth, he tried his best to play dead. “Is he dead Lion?” The lion quietly shook its head. “I’m not sure either, maybe the Gems can help.” The boy rushed Rocket inside the beach house as the other Guardians spied on him. “That small Earth child is the lion’s master?” Drax questioned. “It would’ve eaten him alive by now!”

“No time for questions Drax.” Quill said as he got out of their hiding spot and moved to the beach house. “We’ve got a job to do.”

The boy went inside the beach house with Rocket in his arms and laid him on a table. “Guys, come quick!” he called and five females ran to his side. Aside from Lapis and Peridot, the first was Garnet, a Gem with shades and a square afro. With her was Amethyst who was short, purple & had long pale lavender hair and Pearl, a thin white Gem with her gemstone on her forehead.

“Steven, why did you bring that animal into the house?” Pearl asked. “I don’t think it’s feeling well.” Steven claimed. “Aw come one Ste-man, it’s a raccoon.” Amethyst said. “They’re bound to play dead.”

“Amethyst has a point.” Garnet agreed. “Well, let’s try my healing spit and see what happens.” Steven licked his hand and tried to touch the raccoon with it before it grabbed his hand. The critter was now awake!

“Get your slimy hands offa me twerp!” Rocket shouted. “Wait, it can talk?” Lapis exclaimed. “Of course I can talk,” the furball proclaimed. “There ain’t anybody in this universe like me except me!”

Just then, Drax burst through the window armed with his daggers, laughing like a maniac along the way. “You fell for our trap!” he shouted as he got up. He continued laughing as Star-Lord opened the door. “You know Drax, you could’ve just kicked down the door.” Peter said as he let himself, Gamora and Groot inside. “I know, but jumping through the window is much cooler.” the destroyer replied.

“Okay, first the talking raccoon, then the beefy guy breaking the window and now this?” Amethyst exclaimed. “Who are you?” Garnet shouted as her hands turned into gauntlets. “We’re the Guardians of the freakin’ Galaxy,” Rocket said dusting himself off and joining his team. “And we’re here for that Peridot of yours!”

The words Rocket said alone were enough to get Peridot freaking out. “I knew it, Yellow Diamond has come for me!” she screamed as she hid under the table.

“We won’t let you take Peridot!” Pearl shouted as she took a spear out of her gemstone, followed by Amethyst summoning a whip and Steven a shield. “Yeah, try and stop us chumps!” Amethyst added. “Who you callin’ chumps shorty? Now it’s war!” Rocket exclaimed as he pulled out his laser cannon with Gamora unsheathing her sword, Star-Lord loading his pistols and Groot putting up his fists.

The great battle between the Guardians of the Galaxy and the Crystal Gems has begun.

#guardians of the galaxy #steven universe #fanfiction #crossover #clod on the run #star-lord #gamora #drax the destroyer #rocket raccoon #groot #steven demayo #garnet #amethyst #pearl #peridot #lapis lazuli #pumpkin dog #lion steven universe #cameos from thanos and pink diamond

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everlarkbirthdaydrabbles · 7 years

Text

Happy Birthday Everlart!

Happy Birthday @everlart! We here at @everlarkbirthdaydrabbles hope that you've had a fantastic day. Here's a little gift for you, penned by the always amazing @javistg!

A Knock at the Door

AN: Happy birthday! Hope you’re having an amazing day :)

“Soon after I go to bed, there’s a quiet knock on my door, but I ignore it. I don’t want Peeta tonight. Especially not with Darius around.”

CF p220

Canon divergent. What if Katniss had opened the door?

Dinner goes by in a blur. Katniss pushes her peas around her plate and struggles with the fact that the avox standing next to her is none other than Darius.

After dinner, she wedges herself between Haymitch and Cinna to watch the recap of the Quarter Quell’s opening ceremonies. Her heart sinks as she follows her competition on the screen. The parade of aging victors looks pitiful in her eyes.

With a quick goodbye, Katniss heads back to her room and gets ready for bed.

She’s already tucked in for the night when she hears a quiet knock on her door. Peeta.

Her first instinct is to ignore him. To hide under the covers and hope her district partner goes away.

But, as she burrows deep into the blankets, she’s hit by how mad she still is at him for laughing at her, for betraying her to the other victors by joining in their mockery and ridicule.

Suddenly, the burning anger which has been simmering inside her all night takes over. With a determined huff, she jumps out of bed and rushes to open the door.

The door swings open and Peeta takes a step back; blue eyes wide and alert as he takes in Katniss’s sudden appearance.

Her tone is clipped, businesslike. “What do you want?”

He clears his throat. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”

Katniss’s eyes narrow, sending steely gray arrows straight into Peeta’s chest. “I’m doing fine.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he deadpans.

A moment later, Peeta sighs, his whole body seems to deflate as the air leaves his lungs. His eyes, soft and pleading, find hers. “I also came to apologize.”

“You’ve done that already,” she grumbles, crossing her arms as she desperately tries to ignore the way his presence soothes her. She needs to stay mad at him, if only for tonight.

Peeta nods, the tiniest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. But, somehow, I got the feeling that it didn’t take. So, I’m here to try again.”

Katniss shrugs. “Fine, whatever, apology accepted.” She takes a small step back and moves to close the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Peeta lunges forward, placing a firm hand on the door. “Wait! Katniss, please, don’t shut me out.”

His words rekindle her fire. Months of longing and frustration finally come pouring out of her like an avalanche of feelings she’s unable to control.

“Cause that’s your job, right?” she yells, “Keeping me at arm’s length, treating me like I’m nothing but a body you can mold and train, something to bark instructions at. After all these months of being nothing but my trainer, you suddenly want to be my friend? What makes you think I even want you here?”

Peeta stills and stares at her, his knuckles white as he holds the door open.

Startled by the vehemence of her own words, Katniss steps away from him and buries her face in her hands.

Her mind reels. She desperately wishes she could take it all back. Because, even if she’s mad at Peeta, and she knows he deserves her anger, he doesn’t merit her hate, though. Never her hate. Not after everything he’s done.

Silence stretches between them, thick and oppressive, charged with sorrow and regret. They’ve spent so many weeks dancing around each other, leaving things unsaid, that they don’t know how far they can go with each other anymore.

When she finally brings herself to look up at him, she notices that he hasn’t moved an inch. A mix of surprise and hurt clouds his features, making him look so much like the 11-year old boy who threw her the bread that she can’t stop the tears from pooling in her eyes.

She wants to run into his arms, to throw herself at his mercy and ask his forgiveness for hurting him yet again. But she’s stubborn and afraid, so she stands there, feeling guilty and small, trembling like a leaf in a storm.

It doesn’t take long for Peeta to snap into action. Wordlessly, he closes the distance between them. His arms reach out for Katniss and pull her to him.

She mirrors his motions, automatically wrapping her arms around his broad frame. She’s so hungry for his touch that she buries her face in his shirt and breathes him in, filling her senses with the musky scent of cinnamon and spices she knows can only be his.

His arms tighten around her. She melts into his embrace, tightly clutching his sleep shirt in her fists and pulling him impossibly close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into her hair.

Peeta’s tender words touch something deep within her. Suddenly, all the walls she’s carefully erected to protect herself come crumbling down. Unguarded, Katniss cries.

Fat, sad tears stream down her cheeks, warming her face and soaking Peeta’s soft shirt.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta repeats, pressing his lips to the top of Katniss’s head.

Sobs wrack through her body, and she holds on to him, desperately, like a girl shipwrecked at sea grasping at the last piece of driftwood within her reach.

Peeta doesn’t let go. His warm, steady hand strokes her back, and he begins to sway, rocking in a gentle, soothing motion.

Katniss’s tears slowly run out, turning her sad whimpering into a round of hiccups that make her whole body shake. Annoyed, she loosens her hold on Peeta and steps back just enough to see his face.

Peeta’s eyes are puffy and red. He’s smiling softly at her, but he still looks as broken and defeated as she feels.

She reaches up and, with tender strokes, brushes his golden waves away from his face. “I’m sorry… Peeta,” she whispers between hiccups, “I didn't… mean that.”

Peeta’s smile widens. “Hold your breath.”

She rolls her eyes but does as she’s told, dramatically using her fingers to block the air flow from her nose. As soon as her lungs begin to burn, she lets go of her nose, happily expelling all the air from her chest before greedily taking her next breath.

With her breathing under control, she turns to Peeta once more. His eyes find hers. There’s a spark in them that makes her skin tingle.

Suddenly, the words she wanted to say to him when they stepped off their carriage earlier in the day rush back into her mind. Fighting the soft blush that’s creeping up her cheeks, Katniss clears her throat. Her shy voice fills the air between them. “Glowing embers suit you, you know? You should wear them more often.”

Peeta’s eyebrows shoot up. His playful smile lights up the room. “Oh, yeah? I’ll let Portia know, maybe she can do something about that,” he says with a wink.

Katniss chuckles. Stepping closer to him, she places her outstretched palm over his chest, eager to feel the steady beat of his heart under her fingertips.

Peeta’s hand covers hers. His mirth is replaced by nostalgia when he says, “That was the first time you ever kissed me.”

Katniss nods. She’s blushing furiously now, but her proximity to Peeta is making her reckless, so she pushes through. “I thought you were messing with me,” she admits, “that you were trying to distract me, or something.”

She feels him tense under her touch. His walls are coming up. “Is that why you kissed me, to distract me?”

Katniss bites her lip and nods lowering her eyes to the ground. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she feels so close to him right now that she can’t bring herself to lie.

Swallowing thickly, she admits, “That’s what I thought at the time. But I’m not so sure anymore.” Her heart’s beating a mile a minute, it’s making her lightheaded. “I’m sorry I lashed out at you today. I really have no right. You don’t owe me anything, Peeta.”

Hooking his index under her chin, Peeta lifts Katniss’s face. Ocean blue eyes, full of kindness and affection look down at her. “Maybe I don’t. But I’m still on your side, no matter what. And I don’t care what anyone thinks. In my eyes, you’re perfect, Katniss. You’ve always been.”

She pulls her face away from him, simultaneously rolling her eyes and fixing him with a murderous scowl. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” she huffs.

Peeta laughs, it’s warm and contagious. It makes her heart flutter.

“And miss out on that fierce scowl of yours?” he asks, “No way!”

She crosses her arms and drops her chin to her chest. “You’re an idiot,” she grumbles through her smile.

Peeta chuckles. After a moment, he sobers up. Slowly, he reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Are we ok?”

Katniss nods.

“Good.” His fingers slide down her messy braid, giving it a soft tug when they reach the end. “Alright, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He’s almost out the door when Katniss calls out. “Peeta?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think… Could you stay?”

It takes Peeta a full second to process Katniss’s request. It’s hard to focus on her words when his heart is beating so fast he fears it might explode. With a deep breath, he steps back into the room, quietly pushing the door shut behind him.

He looks at Katniss. She’s standing a few steps away, waiting for him, looking frazzled as she anxiously fiddles with the hem of her sleep shirt.

He doesn’t move, but he smiles at her and watches as her face immediately lights up with something that’s both foreign and achingly familiar. Hope.

He wants to run to her, to repeat the promise he once made, to tell her that he’ll stay by her side, always. But he knows how uncomfortable those words make her. And, given how little ‘always’ amounts to under their current circumstances, he decides to avoid any grand gestures and settle with a simple “Yes.”

To be continued…

#happy birthday to you #submission #everlark birthday drabbles #javistg #everlart

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vellumsheets · 7 years

Text

Life and Death - Chapter 1

Summary: They had nothing to do with each other. He was the Lord of Life and she was the Lady of Death. But there was something about the other that drew them together, like moths to a flame. Consequences be damned.

Chrobin.

Greek Mythology AU. Romance. Drama. Some fluff here and there.

Read on AO3.

“Olivia, what’s the surface like?” It was an innocent enough question. Stella was the goddess of the underworld and had no real reason to venture above. And even if she did, she always went straight to the heavens, finished the task at hand, then went straight back home. Unlike the other gods, she never really dawdled in the realm of the mortals, even though she could. Perhaps it was because she ruled over the dead and had no business among the living. They would come to her soon enough. But lately, she found herself wanting to go up to the surface to see new things. Staring at dark rock and ominous foliage tended to get boring after so long.

“Green…?” Olivia offered, trying to be helpful. “Well, not always green. Sometimes other colors too, depending on the season.” Olivia sometimes ventured out, usually to buy trinkets in the market. Lon’qu, her overprotective husband, accompanied her as well, mostly to keep the naive and sweet Olivia from getting scammed. “Want to go, Stella? I’m sure there’ll be a lull soon and you can take a couple of hours off without too much trouble.” Olivia smiled, putting a hand on Stella’s shoulder. The goddess shrugged, blowing a stray lock of white blonde hair away from her face.

“Not particularly. I was just wondering. Too much work now. I heard the goddess of love did something to spark a war with the Trojans,” Stella replied a little dryly. “Something about wife stealing and armies sailing to Troy for vengeance.” Olivia nodded somberly, not a fan of things that drove people to their deaths sooner rather than later. Stella opened the book beside her, new names appearing on the vellum pages, one side filling up more quickly than the other. “See what I mean, more work. Call Lon’qu and tell him he has many souls to wrangle this time. I’ll meet you both in the throne room.” Stella quickly shut her book as she stood, her simple cloak and tunic transforming itself into a magnificent dark violet and black gown, a gold-wrought laurel wreath weaving itself into her hair.

“As you wish, my lady.” Olivia picked up her skirts as she rushed to find her husband, more work coming in thanks to the war. It wasn’t terribly difficult, but there were many souls to guide to their proper places in the afterlife. The sheer number made her work and that of Lon’qu’s long and arduous. It was Olivia’s job to heal the souls of their regrets before leading them Elysium and to keep watch over the rivers and fields, Lon’qu’s to wrangle the misfits and miscreants to eternal damnation, subjugating any demons and upstarts who threatened the underworld. Stella’s work was less time consuming but more draining and mostly unconscious. She didn’t have to think much, she just did, her powers flowing out of her to maintain the five rivers and Elysium, quell most of the rebellions of the unhappy denizens of the underworld, and to judge all who die.

The throne room was darkly furnished, faint beams of light peeking through the windows in the high vault ceilings. Low burning fires crackled in the stone insets, all freshly filled with chips of cedar and sandalwood. The heady aroma of the woods was sharp and soothing, like incense, the white smoke curling upwards slowly and gently. Stella was seated at the end of the long room, her throne carved from rock that jutted out from the center, worn down smooth by water. She raised her hand, fingers folding over as she beckoned to those beyond the hulking doors. Olivia and Lon’qu took their places to her right and left respectively, wailing souls entering, some Stella’s powers compelling them to regroup either in front of Olivia or Lon’qu.

“The dead, my lady,” Lon’qu announced tersely, left hand resting idly on the hilt of his sword. His eyes glinted like steel, the few souls who had inadvertently caught his gaze shrinking. “What is your judgment?” His voice boomed loud like a thunderclap, the dead before them suddenly standing ramrod straight as if afraid to incur their wrath.

“Those before you, to damnation,” she uttered, her eyes dull and unfeeling. Stella waved a hand over the wretched souls, strong shackles binding their wrists and their legs. Lon’qu nodded slowly, drawing his sword and dragging the blade behind him as he cut through the stone. A chasm opened and engulfed the thousands of damned, dragging them to the depths of the underworld as Lon’qu gracefully followed, an imperceptible devious smile on his face. When the stone righted itself, closing off the screams.

“And these souls, my lady?” Olivia’s hand swept across the smaller number left, the dead shifting uncomfortably as images of curses and fire plagued them.

“Paradise.” Her eyes gained back some life, her smile warm as sighs of relief escaped from the ones left. Olivia slowly moved forward in a dance, a soft glow enveloping the entranced dead. All the pain was washing away, their meager clothes transformed into rich garments as they followed her into a portal to a vast field, to hard earned and justly deserved rest. The room was empty now, all souls judged and accounted for by the Hadean Grimoire, usually the case but there were instances when actions and motives did not quite line up, prompting a more thorough investigation.

A sigh of relief escaping Stella as she slumped down in her throne. The sheer number of dead today was particularly brutal, much of her power focused on suppressing any of the wretched from trying to escape before judgment. Her hair tumbled down, the wreath vanishing, her dress slowly changing back to her simpler cloak and tunic. Stella wasn’t much for the pomp and circumstance of judgment, sitting alone in her cold throne as she watched souls move to their lot in the afterlife. Something shifted in front of her, landing softly in her palm as she stretched forth. A green leaf. Her lips twitched into a small smile.

“Maybe I should go up next time.” She rubbed the leaf in between her fingers, what she assumed to be the smell of fresh cut grass wafting gently.

—x—

“Oh come on Blue, don’t be such a spoilsport.” With a flick of the wrist, a dagger flew gracefully, lodging itself on some cork hung up on the wall across, whizzing by the man called Blue. Or, more appropriately, Chrom, the god of weather and seasons. With an annoyed grunt, Chrom moved back to his desk, a large map unfurled.

“Gaius, I’m still not done with work. Unlike you.” Chrom paused, fingers idly running over the map on his desk. “Do you even work?” Gaius gasped, in mock offense.

“How dare you Sir, how dare you!” Gaius shook a fist at Chrom. “Of course I work. Pulling people into hijinks and shenanigans is my work!”

Chrom rolled his eyes, looking back at the maps for the last time. “Seriously?” Gaius made an affirmative snort, picking up another dagger and flinging it expertly at the cork, landing right beside the earlier knife.

“Not the trickster and thieving god for nothing, Blue!” Gaius chirped, shuffling over to the wall and picking up the daggers he had been throwing for fun. “Now when are you going to finish so we can go and raid for sweets?” Gaius’ eyes were glimmering.

“I’m visiting Mother after,” Chrom replied simply, drawing the sword at his waist as he moved to the pool tucked at the far end of the room. Various colors were swirling, mesmerizing in its beauty.

“Oh. How is she?” Gaius sobered up.

“Not good.” Chrom lifted his left hand, fingers brushing against the liquid colors as he brought it level to his face. He flipped his hand flat, moving his arm left to right as he manipulated the tumult of chroma.

“Sorry.” The orange-haired god scratched the back of his head, unsure how to deal with the talk of death. Gaius’ mother was an immortal creature like them, his father a god, so death wasn’t really in the cards. There were stories of beings like them dying, but they were few and far between, and it took much more to snuff them out compared to mortals. Chrom’s father was the sky god, hence being the god of something, but his mother was just a mortal woman.

“It’s fine. You didn’t know.” Chrom stretched out a measure of the liquid, hand moving up and then stopping abruptly before moving back down to thin it down. At the desired length, his sword, the Falchion, hummed, metal ringing as he brought it to the edge and cut through, the rest of the mass of colors falling back down into the pool, the ribbon he sliced off floating gently in the air. It was a mass of mostly green and pink, faint speckling of yellows, whites, and light blues all around. “A good spring day for tomorrow.” He gently dropped it in a shallow bowl set atop a pedestal, the colors swirling around the marble as it slowly evaporated.

“Should have checked in with you more. I know you have Emm and Princess but…” Gaius trailed off, uncomfortable with the subject. And he called himself Chrom’s best friend.

“I didn’t tell anyone.” He loved his half-sisters dearly and they loved his mother to an extent, likely because she was the mother to their only brother, but they had their own lives and mothers to deal with, father excluded. None of them were particularly close to him, but then again he didn’t make any effort to get to know them and the siblings had long given up. “She’s even asked me to lessen my visits because of my work but I didn’t listen.”

“Good man.” Gaius thumped Chrom lightly across the back.

“I offered her ambrosia and she refused. Mother doesn’t even want to think about becoming immortal.” Chrom looked imploringly at Gaius. “What do I do when she’s gone? I love her.”

“Learn to be at peace with her decision?” Gaius shrugged, knowing his answer to be unhelpful but said it anyway. Chrom sighed balefully, unsure why he even asked a full god. Then again, demigods like him were few and far between. “Sorry, not helpful, but I’m not sure either.”

“I have to go. She doesn’t have a lot of time left.” Chrom smiled sadly, waving goodbye before disappearing to be with his mother. Gaius gave his back a two-fingered salute, leaving his friend’s office quietly before skulking off to look for his fiancée. All this serious talk made him sad, sad for his friend and his mother, sad because he couldn’t offer any support or a helping hand. Maybe she’d know what to do. He remembers her saying that she often met with the goddess of the underworld for work.

When Chrom arrived, his mother had some company, a childhood friend and her daughter, who blushed at the sight of him. Not many knew Sofia’s son was in charge of the seasons and the weather, it was to him they prayed for an agreeable day. They just knew he worked elsewhere, necessitating a move, but visited as often as he could, sweet boy. “Ah, I see you have guests. Should I perhaps come back later?”

“We were just about to leave.” The other woman stood up, smoothing away the wrinkles of her skirt. She beckoned for her daughter to follow, cheeks dusted red. “Agatha. This is my daughter Daphne.” Chrom nodded slowly, eyes warily reading the plans that seemed to be whirling in her head.

“Hello.” Daphne shyly waved, her voice clear but soft.

“We’ll leave you two alone. We’ll bring over some dinner. Daphne is wonderful at cooking.” The pair excused themselves, Chrom left to wonder what he could say to refuse the food. He planned to stay the evening but didn’t normally eat what mortals did. He indulged at times, but with the way Agatha and Daphne were acting, it seemed like they were going to try to rope him into marriage.

“Forgive them. Agatha has been trying to find a husband for her daughter and ever since she found out I have a son…” Sofia trailed off, smiling wistfully as she took in the form of her only child.

“It’s fine. I’ve just never been accosted.” Chrom strode over to the bed, fluffing the pillows slightly as he pressed a tender kiss to her cheek. Sitting down by her bed, he held her hand gently. “How are you?”

“Tired. Grateful.” Sofia placed a gentle hand on Chrom’s cheek. “You?”

“I’ve been a bit busy with the passing of the seasons but it’s been settling down.” It was always tough to wrangle out the right mix of colors and weather patterns as the seasons changed, the liquid in the pool being particularly violent during those times. “Also trying to avoid being pulled into Gaius’ latest scheme.”

“Your thieving friend?” Sofia laughed slightly but doubled over as it turned into a cough, her shoulders heaving. Chrom shifted, alarmed, but a raised hand from his mother stopped him from moving. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Chrom brushed her hair behind her ear, as if the simple act would satisfy his need to take care of his mother.

“Are you sure you don’t want the ambrosia? With your talents and knowledge, I’m sure you could easily rule over something.” His mother loved books, her walls filled from top to bottom with bound pages. Some of them he gifted her, but most were there ever since he was born. Her favorite one was on her lap, pages well worn from constant turning. “I could call Lissa to heal you of your malady and bring the ambrosia to you.” It wasn’t very often that a mortal was turned into a deity but he had received permission for her. She had birthed one of the most powerful gods in existence. Despite his half human heritage, he was bestowed more power than even his half-sisters, both born of a goddess, different but deities nevertheless. He became a central god, the Falchion picky as to who its wielder would be.

“I don’t want immortality, Chrom,” Sofia said firmly, flipping their hands so her smaller, frail hand was carrying his. “Remember what I taught you about life?” He nodded slowly, the words faint in his heart, but present just the same. “Life is beautiful precisely because time is limited. You see things very differently than I, dear son, because my lifetime is just a blink of an eye to you, but it makes me appreciate everything life has given me.”

“But you’re too young .” Chrom pleaded, eyes misting. Much of what fascinated mortals was mundane to him, which was why he watched them from a distance with amusement. He mingled among them from time to time, but never fully understood.

“We all have our lots in life. This is mine.” Sofia felt her heart hurt, trying to hide the pain with a smile. “You must learn to accept you can’t change everything in the world.”

“But I can change this .”

“No, you know you can’t.” She smiled sadly, almost too weak to squeeze his hand. “I love the life I led, surrounded by my books, blessed with a wonderful but stubborn son.” Chrom smiled sadly, disappointed he couldn’t convince his mother to take the elixir but not surprised. He got his hardheadedness from her. “I love you, you know that?”

“Yes Mother, I know. I love you too.”

“Get married and have children okay? Tell them their grandmother loves them, even though she’s never met them.” Her voice was growing softer, eyelids drooping slowly.

“Mother!?” Chrom’s eyes widened, his mother’s hold on his hand slacking. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers. He couldn’t lose her, not now!

“Chrom, I love you, heart of my heart.” Summoning the last of her strength, Sofia defied all odds and pressed a last warm, tender kiss on Chrom’s cheek. He closed her eyes, pressing a kiss against each cheek as he whispered goodbye, cradling his mother and taking her favorite book, carrying her to the skies. She refused immortality, appreciative of her lot in life, but as his mother, was entitled to a grave honoring the few of their kind. She would be buried in the heavens and a tree planted in her honor, bearing the most delectable of fruit. He enchanted the house, locking the doors and freezing everything in place. He would come back, perhaps, and collect memorabilia from his childhood home. Now, all he wanted to do was grieve for his lost mother, the only one who took care of him before his father yanked him to the heavens to work as a god.

Gaius had been out in the fields, having just narrowly avoided his fiancée after swiping some cakes from the kitchens. He was just about to offer the remainder of his loot to Chrom when he saw him carrying a slight body, his friend standing straight but not for much longer. He offered to help bury her body, Chrom thankful for the gesture. After the work had been finished, planting seeds into the ground just above her body, Chrom finally broke down, tears flowing unbidden as he mourned for his mother.

“I heard from Cordelia you can visit the souls of the dead in the underworld. Pray that you reach her before she receives judgment from the goddess.” Chrom gazed at his friend, unmindful of how terrible he looked as he cried.

“Show me where to go,” he croaked, clutching at the hem of Gaius’ cloak.

—x—

Stella’s hand twitched as she ran her fingers against the spine of the grimoire. There weren’t supposed to be any more dead today, but her bones could feel the arrival of another. She wondered why they didn’t arrive all at the same time today. Though they all died at different times, they were all summoned before her at once, groups picked up at various points along the River Styx, the ferryman a stodgy creature who circled around until it was certain that all souls for the day were collected. It was only then were they brought before her, fearful of the judgment that lay before them. This one soul, however, was different. Stella’s clothes transformed back into the gown, hair gathered into a delicate bun as her gold-wrought wreath wove itself into her white blonde locks.

“Hello. It seems I was scheduled to meet you today.” A beautiful woman with the richest blue hair appeared in front of her. Stella’s heart squeezed painfully. The soul radiated the feelings of a mother and Stella had always the want of one, her own dying after her birth. “Strange, I thought I would meet a god, not a goddess. No matter, I’m glad to meet you.” Realization slowly dawned on Stella, wondering why the soul before her was conversing with her. Most were stunned into silence, and those she had to question before she could judge properly were often magicked into speaking, their fear crippling their voices.

“You… who are you? What are you?” Stella rasped, climbing down from her pedestal, walking forward to stand in front of the woman. It wasn’t protocol, but it didn’t matter. The recently passed mortal in front of her was conversing with a goddess as if it were nothing.

“Sofia,” she offered simply, a peaceful smile on her face. “A simple woman with a love for books.” Stella’s ears perked up at the last word, deciding she might delay judgment if only to talk about the books of the surface, if they were different from the books of the underworld and of the heavens. “You are?” The goddess smiled, amused at Sofia’s daring to ask her name, but she felt rather indulgent.

“Stella.” She paused, taking in the strange sight of a serene soul in front of her. “You aren’t afraid of me?”

“I’ve had time to grapple with the fact that I was dying. My stubborn son hasn’t. I suspect he might be arriving here soon. I can feel it in my bones.” Sofia paused, laughing at her last statement. “Do souls have bones?”

“No, I don’t think so.” A wry smile twitched at Stella’s lips. “Did your son die as well? I’m sorry to hear that.” It was a stiff attempt at condolences.

“He’s not dead. I doubt he’ll ever die.” Sofia brushed away a stray lock of hair delicately. “My son is no ordinary man. Well, I don’t think he’s even a man. He’s a god, or demigod because of me.” Stella’s eyes widened. That was why Sofia was perfectly comfortable in her presence. She had never met another deity’s mortal parent, most of them having passed on when her father was the god of the underworld. Heavy doors pushed open as footfalls grew louder and louder. “Ah, I believe he’s arrived.”

“Mother!” The young god strode forward, barely managing to stop before he realized that there was another in the room. “Ah. My apologies for trespassing in your domain.”

“It’s alright. You didn’t come here with a sword in hand, trying to claim justice for the dead.” Stella smiled wryly, gaze resting on the sword at Chrom’s hip before meeting his eyes. “Though I suppose you came ready for that.” Chrom blushed lightly, pushing his sword belt back just a touch. “What is your business here? Come to claim the soul of your mother? The minute she passed into my world, I’ve had rights to her soul.”

“No, I… I just…” Chrom shifted uneasily in his place. Why did he rush down to the underworld?

“Reckless son you have here, Sofia.”

“Just one last time,” he begged, hand resting on his mother’s shoulder as he held Stella’s gaze. “One more conversation then I’ll let her go.” Was that a slight hitch in his voice? She assessed the god before her, then his mother. “I wasn’t ready.”

“Most people are not,” Stella replied evenly. His face fell at her words and his expression actually hurt her. Who was this god and why did she feel so drawn to him? She sighed, fingers rubbing her temples as she felt a headache coming on. Most of the loved ones of the dead simply left their mourning to the surface, although most could not reach the underworld even if they dared. There were a few who braved it, like that musician who wanted his wife back but did not have enough restraint to keep his eyes forward until they reached the surface, the soul fading back into the underworld the minute he turned around.

“Chrom, let me go. You’ve troubled Stella enough as it is.” Sofia lightly scolded her son, patting him on the arm as she shifted. “I am at peace and ready to go to where she deems fit.” Chrom opened his mouth to protest but was quickly shot down with a stern gaze from the smaller woman. At the sight, Stella couldn’t help but laugh, peals of genuine delight echoing in the somber room.

“I’ll leave you two for a few moments. I have something to attend to and it doesn’t seem I have to keep an eye on a mischievous soul trying to escape.” Stella turned around gracefully, the back of the gown dipping so lowly that the cloth came to rest just barely above the base of her spine, a delicate chain of jewels strung just below her shoulder blades, connecting the thick but soft straps. “I’ll be back soon.” Truthfully she could have easily cast judgment upon Sofia, but seeing her interactions with her son made a warm, pleasant feeling thrum through her.

“Thank you,” Chrom all but whispered, a pleasant smile gracing Stella’s face.

“Don’t make me regret it.”

When Stella came back, Chrom was less resistant to his mother facing judgment. Sofia assured him she was more than prepared, as she had insisted from the beginning. Chrom gave one last kiss to the cheek and embrace to his mother before stepping aside, eyes misty as he listened to Stella pass judgment. The blonde woman gently took Sofia’s hand, the free one opening a portal to a lush green field.

“I’ve sent word to Olivia. She’ll meet you at the gates and heal you of any regrets before you step into Elysium,” Stella instructed. She squeezed Sofia’s hand before letting go, moving aside.

“I was a woman of action, often taking charge so as not to have any regrets,” Sofia smiled ruefully before glancing at Chrom. “Though perhaps my greatest regret is not to see Chrom married with his own family.” The god blushed. Stella laughed and pressed a kiss on both of Sofia’s cheeks.

“Rest now, you deserve it.”

With one last nod, Sofia passed through the portal, the lines and fatigue falling away from her face as she moved on.

“Well then, would you like to see a little bit of the underworld while you’re here?” Stella turned to face her remaining companion, hair falling down in waves as her clothes transformed back into her simpler garb, offering a hand. It was only now Chrom finally took the time to notice the goddess.

“S-sure.” Chrom struggled to fight down a blush starting to creep on his cheeks, taking her smooth hand in his sword-calloused one. It was only now Chrom realized how pretty she was, pale skin and doe eyes, slightly upturned nose and faint freckles dusting her cheeks.

—x—

“Thank you.” Chrom pressed his weight down, palms digging into the slightly jagged outcrop of rock they were seated on. His eyes watched in amazement as he took in the sight of the five different rivers, calm in some places, thrashing in others. Stella left them no more than a few minutes, but enough time for him to say goodbye to his mother and to thank her for everything she had done for him. When the goddess of the underworld came back, his heart ached but knew he couldn’t delay any longer.

“No problem. You’re the first god to have visited in a long time, outside of Cordelia, but she’s only ever here on business.” Stella resisted the urge to lean against his shoulder, the breeze cool and comforting and making her unusually sleepy. “Well, maybe not to visit me but still, a visit.”

“I apologize for rushing in like that.” Chrom shifted his hand slightly, fingers grazing against hers unintentionally. At the sudden warmth, he pulled back but only just. What little he knew of Stella, he liked. She wasn’t a terrifying goddess at all. In fact, she was lovely with her soft gaze and warm smile, frightening when she had to be but she didn’t need to be around him.

“I understand. Perhaps I would have rushed down like you too, if our places were switched.” Chrom turned to look at his companion, her gaze wistful as she continued to take in the sight of her domain. “My mother died giving birth to me, my father just cast her soul aside the minute I was pulled out of her.”

“She was human too?” Chrom placed his hand on top of hers, giving a gentle squeeze in reassurance.

“Mm.” Stella didn’t pull her hand back, appreciative of the gesture. “I don’t know much about her, only that she was probably lucky not to have experienced more of the ruthlessness of my father than she already did. Terrible thing to say, isn’t it? Being glad that my mother is dead.”

“What do you mean?” Chrom’s face twisted in confusion. The little he heard about the underworld was often marred by his father’s biases against it. Not too many of the other deities dealt with those under Stella’s rule because of whispers of their inhumanity, how they delighted in death. Yes, there were war gods, their domain contributing much to death, but it wasn’t death specifically that they revelled in, but a show of strength and dominion over others. People dying was an unfortunate consequence.

“Souls go to one of two places, depending on how they lived their life. The bad ones go to eternal damnation for punishment, the good ones go into Elysium, where Sofia is, into paradise and rest,” Stella explained, gaze shifting towards calm plains off to one side. “When someone dies, their name appears on a page in the Hadean Grimoire, most pages marked for a particular destination. Most times, judgment is just a formality, the last gate before true afterlife. Sometimes though, a soul with a morally ambiguous life comes along, their name posted in a blank page. Those souls I have to judge more carefully, coaxing out their hidden reasons for terrible deeds or their inaction, before I send them to damnation or paradise.”

“Sounds tiring.” Chrom relaxed his grip but kept his hand atop, thumb rubbing idly against the back of her hand. His gaze turned back to the rivers before them.

“It is. The work itself is not particularly difficult, the powers I have seem to just let me know but the upkeep of this place can be exhausting. Still, a far better way to do things than my father’s.” Stella paused, sucking in air as though to steel herself. She distantly wondered why she was intimating much of her story to a god she barely knew, but the warmth in his eyes and his devotion to his mother inexplicably endeared him to her. “He simply banished everyone to damnation without a care in the world. The other lesser deities of the underworld couldn’t do anything, no matter how unfair his judgments were. He delighted in hearing the tormented screams of the dead.”

“So you overthrew him?”

“Ungrateful bitch he called me.” Her heart squeezed painfully as she remembered her father, blood either caked or dripping everywhere as he lay flat against the floor, inky darkness shaped into a sword pressed sharply against his neck.

“You fought for what you thought was right, that there were mortals in the world who did good and deserved their just reward for doing so, not shucked into the fires of hell.” Stella’s eyes widened, amazed that Chrom didn’t seem the least perturbed that she had rebelled against a god, her own father. She seized power from the former god and had taken it as her own, becoming the new ruler of the underworld in his stead. “What happened to your father after?”

“Dead,” she said simply. “It’s not impossible to kill a god, difficult but not impossible. Imprisonment was one thing but I couldn’t risk him gaining back his powers and taking back this mantle. He used to live in the heavens until he got cast down. Apparently he used to be a war god but revelled too much in death and destruction, so the other deities bound him here and made him master of what he loved. As long he was out of sight, they didn’t care much for what he did to human souls.”

“Oh. You didn’t need to share so much. Gods we may be but we’re still strangers.” Chrom boldly took her hand in his, intertwining fingers together as he let his warmth mingle with hers. His mind screamed at him for daring to but something else just pulled at him to show signs of comfort and affection. “But thank you for trusting me enough to speak.”

“Thank you for listening.” She turned to face him, plush lips twitched up in gratitude. “In case you didn’t notice, not like I have much company here.” Chrom shifted his gaze back to her, barely registering his audible gulp. He wanted to kiss her right then and there.

“If I may be so forward.” Chrom whispered as he moved to crouch in front of her, their eyes level. Stella barely had time to ask what he meant before he leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead. She fought down the blush rising to her cheeks as Chrom pulled away. “Thank you. I know you let me talk to my mother as a favor.” Dusting off the dirt as he stood up, Chrom smiled. “Shall we have tea next time?” Stella’s heart skipped a beat.

“Next time?” She squeaked softly, hand brushing against her forehead to push away hair. The skin where his lips touched was still warm.

“Yes, next time. Unless this is the last time we meet?” The thought that they might never meet again crushed him. They ruled over very different phases of time, him over life and her over death, but he couldn’t help but seek her out again and again.

“Sure, I’ll send you a message.” A small smile played on Stella’s lips as she looked up, a warmth she had never felt before spreading slowly. Who was this god in front of her and why did he make her feel something strange?

“Would you be so kind as to bring some fruit for next time? I’m interested to find out how they taste.” Chrom gestured towards the cluster of trees behind them, fruits breaking up the green of the leaves.

“I can’t. If you eat our food, you’ll be bound to the underworld. I don’t think the others will take too kindly to that.” She smiled sadly, chewing softly on her lower lip.

“But you can leave?” Chrom sounded hopeful. Is that why they’ve never met before, because she was trapped below the earth?

“Yes, I am its master. I can leave for longer than most of its denizens but I’ll still have to go back. I grow weak if I’m away for too long.”

“Can’t have that now can we,” he murmured quietly, pulling her flush against his chest. Chrom couldn’t resist anymore, a strange magnetic force simmering between them. His eyes focused on her lips, ruby red and swollen. Entranced, he angled his head lower and kissed her: soft, tender, and sweet. Stella yelped in surprise but quickly and easily melted into his embrace. They were breathless when they broke the kiss. “Sorry,” he mumbled half-heartedly, not meaning the apology.

“Chrom…?” She looked up, confused, but didn’t pull away.

“I’ve seen humans do that, in greeting or to say goodbye.” His eyes were half-lidded, vaguely wondering why he kissed her but firmly deciding he didn’t regret it.

“Oh?” Her voice sounded naive and sweet, accepting his explanation but somehow still suspicious. Stella didn’t know much in the matters of love and desire but she could still feel some heat behind his kiss.

“Sometimes.” Chrom shrugged, putting a hand on top of Stella’s head before letting it slip down and rest on her cheek. He hoped that she would never show that expression to anyone else but him. He let his thumb run smoothly above her cheekbone, pulling a small smile out of her. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” Her voice was whisper soft but he could hear her disappointment.

“I’ll take you to the surface and show you around next time. I promise.” He pressed another kiss against her forehead before vanishing, Stella’s knees buckling as she dropped to the ground, her emotions a tempest inside of her.

“What was that…” she whispered, fingers resting on her still red lips, eyes hazily focused on where Chrom had been standing.

—x—

She craned her neck, listening for any sign that a sword swinging cleanly through the air would stop. It was early morning and Lon’qu was often in the courtyard, religiously training. Olivia was likely drawing him a bath. Stella was timing her escape, when Lon’qu ducked back into his quarters and Olivia helped him set aside his things. ‘Though why I’m trying to escape like a little girl, who knows. I mean, they can’t even get mad at me. Or can they?’ Stella scrunched her face, her thoughts running wild with reactions of her friends. Guardians. Underlings. She had to settle the matter as to what to call them. If anything, she was the one who got mad when something went awry because she was the one who had to pick up the mess.

Soon enough, Lon’qu sheathed his sword and walked away, boots falling heavily against the stony path. When the footfalls were distant enough, Stella opened a portal and quickly left, cloak wisping behind her. She left a note somewhere for them to find, a short message along the lines of sorry, got bored, wanted to go up and explore written neatly on it. She could have easily just teleported to the rocky outcrop where she and Chrom had talked but she wanted to make a clean getaway. There were times when Lon’qu or Olivia dragged her to fix something but Lon’qu’s morning soak was the one time they never looked for her.

“Ready?” Chrom pushed himself off of his seat, smoothing his pants. He offered his hand, Stella graciously accepting.

“What are we going to do?” She distantly heard a strange and loud noise, a high-pitched squeak mixed with a rumbling growl. ‘I’ll deal with their outrage later. They must’ve seen the note before Lon’qu settled in the water.’

“Let’s just go with the flow.” He smiled, free hand tucking her hair behind her ear before he turned around. Chrom tore through space and gently pulled her through, Stella’s grip tightening slightly as she followed. The sun shone gently, warm on her face, a cool breeze making her cloak billow behind her. Stella squinted, eyes unused to such brightness, slowly adjusting as shapeless colors were finally taking form.

“It’s beautiful up here,” she whispered breathlessly, unaware that her free hand clutched Chrom’s arm, her held hand still loosely entwined with his. She opened her eyes wide, now used to the sunlight, taking in the sights before her. “I wonder why I never ventured out,” she mused, her heart bursting with wonder. “There’s so much more to see here.”

“Shall we go?” When was the last time he felt this relaxed, that just sitting in her company would make his day.

The rest of the day was spent dawdling around, looking at trinkets that merchants were offering, filling up a basket that Stella didn’t notice Chrom had with food of all kinds. She was like a little girl, flitting around from point to point, taking in everything with a sense of wonder and amazement at seeing these things for the first time. Chrom good naturedly followed her behind, thankful there was no one who recognized him. Children danced around them happily, the younger ones innocently asking if they were married, their parents pulling them away and apologizing but with a knowing smile on their faces. It was the first time that children approached Stella and clung to her, the first time someone so alive and happy embraced her because they thought she was pretty. They weren't scared of her. They rejoiced around her.

The sun was starting to set when they found themselves propped up against a tree, Chrom lazily draping his arm across her shoulders, Stella pressing herself against his side, head positioned comfortably on the crook of his neck. “Thank you,” she murmured, her left hand playing with Chrom’s free one, finger tips dancing lightly across his palm. Chrom suppressed a shiver, her breath warm against his skin. He turned slightly, pressing a kiss on her hairline before pushing his forehead lightly on her hair. She smelled sweet and intoxicating.

“Did you have fun?”

“Very much so.” Her fingers curled against his palm before opening them again, nails grazing his skin slowly. She idly continued scratching his skin, amused as she watched his fingers shiver slightly, a sudden sharp intake of breath betraying him. “Ticklish?” She pulled away slightly, turning her head to face him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled half-sleepily, flipping his hand to tangle their fingers.

“Such harsh language,” her tone droll as her eyes twinkled. Sighing, she glanced back at the horizon, sun dipping lowly. “I have to go.”

“No you don’t.” His lax hold on her tightened, not possessively but enough to tell her he didn’t want this to end.

“Yes I do.” Stella pulled away. Chrom didn’t resist. Standing over him, she smiled shyly, pushing back a strand of hair behind her ear. “Today was lovely.” Chrom grunted, heels digging into the ground as he pushed himself straighter against the tree. Grabbing her hand, he tugged Stella back down, the goddess finding herself straddling him as her cheeks reddened.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded, hands pressing against the small of her back as he kissed her. Chrom felt her smile against his lips.

“There’s always another day. This doesn’t have to be the last.” She kissed him this time, lingering before pulling away.

“Have you ever seen the ocean?” He kissed her again.

“No.” She leaned into him, fingers tangling in his hair.

“You’ll love it.” This kiss this time was more heated, Chrom lightly biting her lower lip as she groaned into him.

“Bye Chrom,” she whispered, pulling herself away, palms digging into his chest. Her hair was mussed, chest rising and falling quickly as she tried to catch her breath. “Whisk me away to the ocean next time.” Chrom watched Stella disappear back to the underworld, no doubt a long night of work ahead of her with today’s delay. The last thing he remembered was her swollen, ruby red lips upturned into a satisfied smile.

‘I think I’m falling in love with her.’ His cheeks reddened slowly as he let that thought sink in.

#fire emblem awakening #fire emblem awakening fanfiction #fe chrom #fe robin #chrobin

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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Neil Young’s Lonely Quest to Save Music https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/20/magazine/neil-young-streaming-music.html

For those of us that are of the age to have experienced the 'Golden Age' of vinyl records, 'Rock N Roll' and coming of age during 'Woodstock' this is a must read article. It will bring back wonderful memories!!!

It also touches another heart ♥️string reaching those with disabilities through music!!! 🎵🎶

🔈🖤💜💙💚💛🧡❤️🎶🎼🎵🎷🎹🎺🥁🎻

"In that moment, talking about our sons, I realized how all of Young’s obsessions fit together: They are centered in a common understanding of experience and how it shapes us. Human development is led by our senses. Our senses exert a formative and shaping pressure on our brains. So if our experience of the world around us can damage our brains and our souls, it makes a kind of intuitive sense that music can also help us feel better. Every musician, and every music fan, believes that."

Neil Young’s Lonely Quest to Save Music

He says low-quality streaming is hurting our songs and our brains. Is he right?

By David Samuel's | Published August 20, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 20, 2019 1:31 PM ET |

Neil Young is crankier than a hermit being stung by bees. He hates Spotify. He hates Facebook. He hates Apple. He hates Steve Jobs. He hates what digital technology is doing to music. “I’m only one person standing there going, ‘Hey, this is [expletive] up!’ ” he shouted, ranting away on the porch of his longtime manager Elliot Roberts’s house overlooking Malibu Canyon in the sunblasted desert north of Los Angeles. The dial thermometer at the far end of the porch indicated that it was now upward of 110 degrees of some kind of heat. Maybe the dial was stuck.

When you hear real music, you get lost in it, he added, “because it sounds like God.” Spotify doesn’t sound like God. No one thinks that. It sounds like a rotating electric fan that someone bought at a hardware store.

No one in their right mind would choose to live in the canyons outside Los Angeles, especially in the summertime between noon and 5. There isn’t enough water or shade. After a few months of summer heat, the scrub on the mountainsides is baked dry. Then someone gets sloppy with a stray cigarette butt or a campfire or the power company fails to maintain a power line and a spark accelerates into a terrifying wildfire that sends up pillars of thick smoke that from a distance hovers over the canyons like an illustration from an old Bible. News crews record burning mansions, which are intercut with the winsome llamas of the rich and famous that have been safely removed to Zuma Beach. Stragglers are incinerated in their cars.

The view was incredible, though. Young has been living up here on and off for decades. At one point, he owned more than 1,000 acres of much-coveted Malibu real estate, where movie producers and actors and billionaire tech tycoons build mansions with supersize swimming pools, grotesque advertisements of corruption and hubris, which are some of the major sins that Young rails against.

I enjoyed listening to Young rant on about the modern condition. We were vibing. He is passionately opposed to global warming, genetically modified seeds, corporate greed-heads who are despoiling Mother Nature and an assortment of other sinners who interfere with our God-given right to happiness. His ire this afternoon, directed through me and my notebook and my Sony digital recorder, was focused on the engineers of Silicon Valley, against whom he has been zealously waging war for decades. Silicon Valley’s emphasis on compression and speed, he believes, comes at the expense of the notes as they were actually played and is doing something bad to music, which is supposed to make us feel good. It is doing something bad to our brains.

The same goes for everything else that Silicon Valley produces, of course: the culture of digital everything, which is basically a load of toxic, mind-destroying crap. It’s anti-human.

“I’m not putting down Mark Zuckerberg,” he continued, his voice taking a turn. “He knows where he [expletive] up. Just the look on his face,” he said, wagging his finger toward a television screen inside Roberts’s living room, where the Facebook chief executive was giving sworn testimony before a panel of lawmakers investigating Russian interference in the 2016 election. “You know, he came to me in a dream the other night, and I felt really sorry for him,” he said. “He was just sitting there sweating and kind of didn’t know how to talk, because he [expletive] up so badly.” There he was, Zuckerberg, on the large-screen TV, sweating bullets.

Young was no longer the righteous wandering hippie avatar of his early album covers. He’s an old man now at 73. He’s fleshy and jowly and red-faced, with long, stringy hair. He looked like a prosperous prairie farmer (hogs or cows, some form of livestock) minus the overalls. You can imagine Farmer Neil attending church every Sunday and preaching manic sermons from the pews. What’s still the same are his eyes, smoldering like two hot coals stuck beneath his overhanging brow that featured so prominently on the cover of “After the Gold Rush,” his third album, released in September 1970, back when young people, stoned on primitive weed, might plausibly spend an entire weekend listening to his visions of a lone wanderer adrift in a lost Eden.

As we went back and forth about the dynamics of digital sound-compression and the general evil of big tech, Young got mad about his Facebook user agreement, which not even his high-priced lawyers can untangle. “I’m pissed off about my user agreement,” he says. “I’m pissed off about my privacy policy.”

Yet I could tell that this wasn’t what he wanted to be talking about. Young doesn’t want to be a downer. He is passionate about music. The point of music, and of Young, is to make people feel less lonely. I had taken him to a dark place that he didn’t want to go.

“I really wish this interview hadn’t happened,” he later said, seeming more downhearted than angry.

“I feel horrible,” I answered, and I did. I was hoping to soothe the old rock star, who spoke to me through the headphones of my Sony Walkman at the moments I felt most isolated and alone. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel bad. It felt awful. What I wanted was to hear him play music and to write more songs. “I mean, the worst thing I could have done is to make you feel defeated,” I told him, “and now that’s what I’ve done.”

Neil Young has always been a little too hot to handle, so passionate and smart and always a little bit off his rocker, which might be part of the glory and also the downside of being Neil Young. Yet what weirds me out most about his emotional weather patterns, which are superfamiliar to me from my teenage Walkman years, is the new sense that each of his individual miniflights and tantrums was being processed by a tiny hyperaware control freak who lives inside Young’s personal control tower. The little man charts every little fragment of new meaning or awareness and what its trajectory might potentially signify on a giant whiteboard. Young hears you listening, and he is hip to that angle, and he incorporates that in his next riff. Polite conversation under such conditions can be a baffling and frustrating type of experience. After an hour, we agreed to turn the tape recorder off, and Roberts orders pizza. But the little man in the control tower was still up there, watching.

My diagnosis, after a lifetime of listening and an afternoon on Roberts’s porch and a couple of longer off-the-record interviews about his life and work, is this: Neil Young is trapped in a cycle of second- and third- and fourth-guessing, which is an affliction that is not unique to his brain. To escape from this cycle, he is continually forcing himself back into the moment and then trying to capture that feeling and energy, which is a specific kind of artistic choice. That larger cycle, combined with his magnificent control over his art, is what makes him such a uniquely vital and generative artist, at an age when peers like Bob Dylan, Paul McCartney and Mick Jagger have become skeletal holograms of their former selves. When he looks back, which is something he did often during our conversations, it is toward the specificity of what some younger version of Neil Young did in a particular moment when he really nailed it. The latest live album he released was recorded at a gig in 1973, in Tuscaloosa, at the University of Alabama; it is part of an archival series, and they are all miracles. As Young once put it, “I’d rather play in a garage, in a truck or a rehearsal hall, a club or a basement.” What he is after is not some ideal sound but the sound of what happened. The missed notes and off-kilter sounds are part of his art, which is the promise of the real, but also, even mainly, of imperfection.

The idea that big technology companies are engineering all that back-and-forth out of his music just kills him. It’s gotten to the point where he doesn’t want to write music anymore, he admitted. I tried once again to console him.

“The songs always came to you in bunches,” I said. It’s an encouraging thought. But Young was only willing to meet my optimism halfway.

“I’ve got great melodies, and the words are all profanities,” he answered. “I was just telling Elliot the other day, I’m not interested in making any more records,” he insisted, plunging us down once more into the void. “They sound like [expletive].”

Young’s belief in the saving power of music couldn’t be any more personal. In 1951, at age 5 in Ontario, he got sick with a fever, which turned out to be polio. His father, the hockey writer Scott Young, chronicled the Toronto Maple Leafs and wrote young-adult novels about stouthearted boys on ice that were a staple of Canadian boyhood. Neil was not meant for hockey. His mother, Rassy, was a sharp-witted panelist on the popular weekly Winnipeg television show “Twenty Questions”; she was always intensely protective of her son. When I asked him about what it felt like to be a sick child and to grow up lonely, he said: “I loved playing music, and I wasn’t that alone. You know that’s what I wanted to do, that’s what I wanted to do with my life, and that’s all I paid attention to.”

Maybe Young could have become a big rock star without that childhood illness, without being so complicated. His peers talent-wise, at 19, included genius musicians like Stephen Stills, Duane Allman, Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix, the last of whom was the greatest American popular musical talent maybe ever. What set Young apart from that company was his sustained refusal to bend to anyone else’s idea of what audiences wanted to hear. His signature move was to accomplish something amazing and then blow it up, in the pursuit of something that would sound even more real.

“Neil Young,” his first solo album, recorded in 1968, at 22, after his departure from the supergroup Buffalo Springfield, showed off ageless melodies combined with clever, wised-up lyrics (“I used to be a folk singer/keeping managers alive”). The album failed to sell. The sound was too pretty and too clever at the same time. His second studio album — and first with his longtime band Crazy Horse — “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere,” is my personal favorite Neil Young record, and was also Elliot Roberts’s favorite (he died two months ago). It introduced what became Neil’s defining edge, i.e., the sound of his ruminations, distortions and mistakes. The album made it to No. 34 on the American charts, and included the hit “Cinnamon Girl.” He wrote much of the album while running a fever of 103.

Young joined with Stills, David Crosby and Graham Nash (my personal ordering of talents) in the supergroup Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, with Young positioned as the defiant outsider against the gorgeous harmonies of the latter three. CSNY turned Joni Mitchell’s song “Woodstock” (she watched the festival on TV) into a generational anthem, and then imploded. (Side note: The year after Neil Young got sick as a child, Mitchell — then a young girl living in Fort Macleod, Alberta — contracted polio during the same outbreak of that disease. She also found herself in writing songs. Maybe something about that childhood illness, which left both children weakened for several years, altered the way that Young and Mitchell processed the evidence of their senses. The dreamy harmonics both favored, and the way that the music and the words shade into each other, suggests both the wooziness and the emerging clarity that a child coming out of a fever might experience.)

Young’s fourth solo album, “Harvest,” distilled his songwriting gifts, which had been given broad exposure through the supernovalike appearance and implosion of CSNY, into a collection of Southern California-inflected hits like “Heart of Gold,” “The Needle and the Damage Done,” “Old Man” and “Words (Between the Lines of Age)”; it became the best-selling American album of 1972, despite critics labeling the raw vulnerability of the songs as off-putting, self-pitying or as one critic put it “embarrassing.” The AM radio success of “Harvest” cleared a path toward the stratospheric levels of commercial songwriting success and luxury-hotel-suite destruction enjoyed by the Eagles, a supergroup of superbrilliant songwriters who, unlike Young, preferred highway driving.

In response to the success of “Harvest,” Young switched up his style again, obliterating his hit radio melodies with epileptic seizures of dissonance and feedback. (Young himself suffered from epilepsy, to the point that he would have seizures and sometimes black out.) “Heart of Gold,” as he explained it in his liner notes, “put me in the middle of the road. Traveling there soon became a bore so I headed for the ditch. A rougher ride, but I saw more interesting people there.”

For the time being, there would be no more pretty melodies and note-perfect guitar playing. Instead, Young’s music centered on a distinctive alternation of melodic beauty, earsplitting feedback and passages where he seemed to be playing his guitar with his fist. On a third or fourth listen, these passages often revealed themselves to be part of larger, deliberate, gorgeous patterns that bent the listener’s ear in the directions that he wanted it to go. You had to listen to the whole albums all the way through to really hear the songs. Young’s own guitar playing sounded too deliberate to express the fullness of his own sound, so he often featured the rhythm guitar playing of Frank Sampedro, who played loud rock ’n’ roll in his garage, which was the sound that Young was after in perfecting imperfection.

Within his own specific lineage of deeply melodic rock-guitar playing, incorporating infinite branching possibilities and a taste for soulful, aggressive dissonance, Young is great to listen to. But a better pure player than Young would be a guy like, say, John Frusciante, the former guitarist for the Red Hot Chili Peppers, who is wildly talented. Give both men 30 seconds to solo, and Frusciante would blow Young off the stage, just as Duane Allman would blow Frusciante off the stage. Young is something else, though. He’s a genius, a word that can be usefully defined as the ability to create and realize an original style that, in turn, can for decades generate its own genres of music containing the DNA of deeply original songs by other extremely talented, original songwriters and musicians, all of whom owe something to him. His music helped shape the melodic-depressive post-Beatles catalog of Pacific Northwest angst, which was brought to its songwriting peak by Kurt Cobain of Nirvana and Elliott Smith, the Irving Berlin and Cole Porter of suicidal ideation and addiction. Cobain committed suicide on April 5, 1994. Smith, who was an even more intimate songwriter, in the same catchy, brilliant, self-pitying vein, stabbed himself through the heart and bled to death on Oct. 21, 2003, in an apartment in Los Angeles. While the circumstances of both deaths are disputed by conspiracy theorists, Neil Young is indisputably still here.

But he is stumped. Let’s take a moment to look at the future of recorded sound, the topic that has got him so overheated. The invention of the phonograph in 1877 by Thomas Alva Edison, a k a the Wizard of Menlo Park, and one of the great visionaries in American history, marked the culmination of several decades of attempts to capture the magic of sound in physical, reproducible form. Early sound recorders used a large cone to capture the air pressure produced by sonic waves created by a human voice or an instrument. The cone directed sound waves against a diaphragm attached to a stylus, which thereby inscribed an analog of those waves onto a roll of paper or a wax-coated cylinder. The use of electrical microphones and amplifiers by the 1920s made it possible to record a far greater range of sound with far greater fidelity.

Magnetic tape, which was pioneered in Germany during the 1930s, propelled another giant leap forward in fidelity, while also beginning the process of freeing sound from the physical mediums on which it was recorded. Tape could be snipped and edited and combined in ways that allowed artists, producers and engineers to create symphonies in their own minds and then assemble them out of multiple takes performed in different places and at different times. The introduction of high-end consumer digital-sound-recording systems by companies including Sony and 3M further loosened music’s connection to a physical medium, thereby rendering sound infinitely plastic and, in theory, infinitely reproducible. Then came the internet, which delivered on the mind-boggling promise of infinitely reproducible sound at a cost approaching zero.

At ground level, which is to say not the level where technologists live but the level where artists write and record songs for people who care about the human experience of listening to music, the internet was as if a meteor had wiped out the existing planet of sound. The compressed, hollow sound of free streaming music was a big step down from the CD. “Huge step down from vinyl,” Young said. Each step eliminated levels of sonic detail and shading by squeezing down the amount of information contained in the package in which music was delivered. Or, as Young told me, you are left with “5 percent of the original music for your listening enjoyment.”

Producers and engineers often responded to the smaller size and lower quality of these packages by using cheap engineering tricks, like making the softest parts of the song as loud as the loudest parts. This flattened out the sound of recordings and fooled listeners’ brains into ignoring the stuff that wasn’t there anymore, i.e., the resonant combinations of specific human beings producing different notes and sounds in specific spaces at sometimes ultraweird angles that the era of magnetic tape and vinyl had so successfully captured.

If you want to envision how Young feels about the possibility of having to listen to not only his music but also American jazz, rock ’n’ roll and popular song via our dominant streaming formats, imagine walking into the Metropolitan Museum of Art or the Musée d’Orsay one morning and finding that all of the great canvases in those museums were gone and the only way to experience the work of Gustave Courbet or Vincent van Gogh was to click on pixelated thumbnails.

But Young hears something creepier and more insidious in the new music too. We are poisoning ourselves with degraded sound, he believes, the same way that Monsanto is poisoning our food with genetically engineered seeds. The development of our brains is led by our senses; take away too many of the necessary cues, and we are trapped inside a room with no doors or windows. Substituting smoothed-out algorithms for the contingent complexity of biological existence is bad for us, Young thinks. He doesn’t care much about being called a crank. “It’s an insult to the human mind and the human soul,” he once told Greg Kot of The Chicago Tribune. Or as Young put it to me, “I’m not content to be content.”

I was surprised to find myself talking with Young at all. He only really agrees to speak with the press, or to the press, to publicize something new and weird, like his 3,000 square feet of miniature Lionel train track that he housed in his barn or the experimental film he recently made with his wife, Daryl Hannah. For years, Young also put on a benefit concert for the Bridge School, which educates children who have cognitive and sensory disorders. Young’s sons, Zeke and Ben, both have cerebral palsy.

That’s another thing about Young that rescues him from nihilism and self-pity: He does stuff, even if what he does sometimes seems loony. He made a documentary and a YouTube channel about converting his 1959 Lincoln Continental to operate on alternative fuels, and he has been known to distribute unlicensed non-G.M.O. seeds at his shows, from which his fans can grow their own, uncontaminated grains. A few years ago, he appeared on David Letterman’s show to introduce his PonoPlayer, which was his first attempt to right the wrongs that streaming music is doing to our brains. “It means righteous in Hawaiian,” he told Letterman, who seemed both impressed by the device and thoroughly perplexed by the need for it. “Is this a digital way of recording analogous sound?” Letterman asked. “I’m struggling here to find something I can understand.”

His next remedy, which is why he invited me out to Roberts’s home, is a website that he calls the Neil Young Archives: a digital repository of his recorded work that he introduced last summer at considerable personal expense. (“Let’s say, ‘Well over a million dollars,’ ” Roberts suggested to me later, with a sigh.) The interface for the Archive looks like a set of old file cabinets that might have been heisted from an old-time bail bondsman’s office. By clicking open the various cabinets, you can stream every song that Young ever released and a growing portion of his unreleased songs in information-rich file formats and play them back through a DAC, which is a digital-to-analog converter device that approximates the sound of good vinyl.

“What I do with my life now is I try and preserve what I did so that decades from now it will still be there,” Young said. “I wish I could do this for Frank Sinatra. I wish I could do it for Nelson Riddle. I wish I could do it for all of the great jazz players. I wish I could do it for all the great songwriters and musicians and everybody who recorded during the time and before the time that I did. But I can’t.”

There are audiophiles who mutter politely but approvingly about Neil’s crusades. And there are the non-gear-heads who remain passionate about American popular music and the miracles it contains. Ooooh-la-la-la, la-la-la-la. That’s the harmony on “Down by the River,” and it’s glorious, right? Your whole brain relaxes in a warm bath of sound. Now try to feel that pure glory and relaxation, that sense of wide-open spaces, the unique confluence of cultures and sounds that together make up America’s purest and least-expected gift to humanity and all the history and pain and loneliness and satisfaction behind it, in a lo-fi digital stream.

At the center of Young’s efforts are his own engineers, who are at least as important to him as Old Black, his favored Gibson Les Paul. “He wants the honesty of what went down, not some pasted-together overdubbed representation that’s not the truth,” Jon Hanlon, one of his favorite engineers, told me from the modest beach house where he takes breaks from recording and remastering miles of Young’s tapes. When we met, he had just completed mastering a 1973 live performance at the Roxy of “Tonight’s the Night,” which is one of Young’s finest and most harrowing records. The rawness of the anger and the sorrow and the joy that are all mixed up together on that record transcends any particular cut. “The truth is that the human condition is imperfect,” Hanlon says of that record. “He captures that imperfection. He wants to capture it in its birth, at the moment that it happens.”

Hanlon has spent years working his way up the Young recording hierarchy, at the topmost rung of which lived an engineer and producer named David Briggs, whose driving, funny, off-kilter personality is best captured in a photograph that shows him in a cowboy hat holding a long black rifle; the gleam in his eye suggests that he wouldn’t mind shooting someone. “That’s the guy that I wanted to find out about,” Hanlon recalls. When Briggs died, Tim Mulligan, who had been mixing Young’s live shows since the 1970s, inherited some part of Briggs’s mantle. Then came Hanlon, who was brought up to the ranch in 1990 to engineer “Ragged Glory.”

“He’s a control freak,” Hanlon says, in a tone of complete approval. “If he wants your opinion, he’ll ask for it. If he doesn’t, it’s foolhardy to wade in. He’s 10 steps ahead of you in his thought process.”

Young’s favorite place to listen to his own songs isn’t the studio, Hanlon says. It’s behind the wheel of his car. Consciously, you’re driving the car, which leaves your mind more open, which is a trick that Briggs taught Young. “We get on the two-lane blacktop,” Hanlon explains. “There’s something that happens when you drive, without trucks. You hear what comes to the top without focusing too hard.”

The physical condition of 40- and 50-year-old master tapes from the golden age of rock ’n’ roll depends on how they were recorded and stored and on what kind of tape, which is why remastering old recordings is such a pressing necessity and why digital-recording technology, as opposed to low-quality streaming services, can be a gift to musicians, properly deployed. While some types of tape, like Scotch 250 tape, are usually fine, even after decades in storage, other forms of analog tape haven’t fared as well. “Ampex 456 half-inch, quarter-inch tape,” Hanlon says, when I ask about the worst offender. Run it through a pinch roller to play it, and the backing comes off as an oily gunk. You need to bake it in an oven at low heat to reconstitute the backing and make the tape usable. With Young’s old Buffalo Springfield stuff, you could see right through the Mylar, Hanlon says, which means that the music on those tapes, or some of it, is simply gone.

Tim Mulligan has worked together with Neil since “Harvest,” in 1971. His first session was a remote in the old hay barn where Young recorded “Words,” along with “Alabama” and “Are You Ready for the Country.” The guy who knew how to bake Ampex tape, he tells me, was George Horn, a mastering engineer who worked at CBS San Francisco and later at Fantasy Studios in Berkeley. “George had a crude setup using a hair dryer and cardboard box,” Mulligan recalls. “We then upgraded to a convection oven with a candy thermometer and timer.” The tapes were carefully rewound, then cleaned, lubricated and repaired until they were playable again and could be rerecorded. After a few precious days, the old tapes turned back into gunk.

The master tapes for “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere” were in particularly bad condition, Mulligan recalls. So it’s important to get the work done right and get it done now.

Even engineers in Silicon Valley can hear a difference in the stuff they are selling and what Young’s team is so desperately trying to preserve. As Tim Cook, the head of Apple, recently told a reporter, without any evident trace of humor, “We worry that the humanity is being drained out of music.”

Steve Jobs, Cook’s predecessor, was also a big music fan. “He listened to vinyl in his living room because he could hear real music,” Young told me. “ And he loved music.” When I ask if he ever spoke directly to Jobs about turning Apple’s iTunes into a platform for music that didn’t sound bad, Young nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” he answered. “He said, ‘Send us your masters and I’ll have my guys do what they can with them to make them sound great.’ I said, ‘Well, that’s impossible, your iPod won’t play anything back.’ ”

Jobs disagreed. “He said, ‘Well, our guys can make it so that your music can play back through it.’ And you know he was right,” Young said. “It does play back, and you can recognize it.” He pauses. “But it’s not my music.”

When Jobs’s biographer asked him about Young’s offer, as related in the biography “Becoming Steve Jobs,” Jobs snapped, “[Expletive] Neil Young.”

All of my life, I had never rid myself of the preposterous idea that someday Young would vouchsafe to me some life-altering truth, until one day it happened. My younger son, Elijah, I told Young, has a great ear for music, but his ability to process sensory information is off, which means that he has been drowning since birth in an ocean of sound. This has led to problems with language and balance and nausea. From the time he was born, his hands were also clenched into tiny fists, and they remained that way for over a year. He seemed to be in some kind of pain.

Otherwise, he is a bright, intensely curious child, who is fascinated by the workings of cause and effect and understands language at a normal 5-year-old level but repeats words with great difficulty. To compensate for his deficits, Elijah was blessed with a rock-star smile that can light up a room — a smile so bright and warm that he learned to use it to distract people from his obvious physical discomfort, in a world that was always wobbling and flipping over, and from his inability first to talk and then to pick up small objects or insert a screw into a bolt. Instead, he smiled at people. When they asked him his name, his inability to produce intelligible sounds made him turn away quickly in frustration, which was usually interpreted as shyness. He would try to build a tower out of blocks, then knock down all the blocks. Then he would turn back to them, laugh and flash that smile.

A child in pain is a tragedy and a burden that can be all-consuming, but that’s not how I experience Elijah. He is my friend. He is a source of joy and love and warmth, who has also been the cause of several hundred sleepless nights, which can in turn be the source of soaring anxiety. Thanks to Elijah, I have become aware that speech is a conscious act that requires the coordination of 32 muscles in the mouth, 16 of which affect the shape and positioning of the tongue.

It could be cerebral palsy, a light case, perhaps, Young replied, in an oblique reference to his sons. It is something like that, but it’s not that, so I wasn’t sure exactly how to answer. It’s not genetic. It’s not fatal. Something was inflaming his young brain, disrupting the formation of healthy neural connections; the cause might be historical, or ongoing. Either way, there were kinks in the channels through which sights and sounds flowed. Either those channels had to be ironed out or new ones had to be opened up.

I asked Young what it does to a marriage to have a child like that. Neil has been married three times. His ex-wife, Pegi, Ben’s mom, was a singer-songwriter and environmentalist but died on Jan. 1, 2019, of cancer. She had worked with Young, to whom she was married for 36 years, before divorcing in 2014, to establish the Bridge School.

“It’s good for the marriage,” he said firmly. “If it’s a good marriage, it brings the marriage even closer together. It’s one of life’s great experiences. It’s an enriching thing because it teaches you the value of love.”

Young’s immersion in a program of intensive therapy for his son Ben led him to become obsessed with new ways of hearing and modulating sound. His album “Trans” was a monument to his attempts to communicate with Ben and to find a musical language that could convey what Ben was hearing — and perhaps even serve some therapeutic purpose. As Neil put it to his biographer Jimmy McDonough, the album was “the beginning of my search for a way for a nonoral person, a severely physically handicapped nonoral person, to find some sort of interface for communication. The computers and the heartbeat all have to come together here — where chemistry and electronics meet.”

In that moment, talking about our sons, I realized how all of Young’s obsessions fit together: They are centered in a common understanding of experience and how it shapes us. Human development is led by our senses. Our senses exert a formative and shaping pressure on our brains. So if our experience of the world around us can damage our brains and our souls, it makes a kind of intuitive sense that music can also help us feel better. Every musician, and every music fan, believes that.

It was this belief that led me to the work of a French doctor named Alfred Tomatis, who, in the late 1940s and ’50s, began manipulating sound in the hope of healing people. Among his patients were opera singers and fighter pilots, whose brains had stopped processing sound correctly as a result of work-induced auditory trauma. Because our fight-or-flight response is connected to our auditory system, any disturbances can cause a host of physical symptoms. Tomatis came up with a treatment that involved decreasing or emphasizing specific frequencies of what he believed to be particularly salient forms of music — including Gregorian chants and the music of Mozart, which is perhaps the most perfectly structured and at the same time most effortlessly fluid sound that human beings have ever made (at once the most human and the most perfect music on the planet). These interventions helped retune the muscles that control the auditory pathways through which sound makes its way to the brain.

In the 1950s, Tomatis successfully used his techniques to help opera singers whose prolonged and eventually traumatic exposure to their own vocal extremes left them unable hear high and midrange sounds. After graduating from medical school, he worked for the French Air Force, where he noticed that prolonged exposure to certain ranges of sound produced by factory machinery and jet engines produced a range of negative physiological and psychological effects, in addition to hearing loss.

But Tomatis’s methods languished in relative obscurity for the second half of the 20th century in part because they didn’t align with the then-dominant machine model of our brains, which suggested the organ contained a set of parts that performed specific functions. Once broken, those functions could not be restored.

The machine model of the brain “has been a disaster clinically,” says the psychiatrist Norman Doidge, who over the past decade has popularized much of the pioneering work in the science of neuroplasticity in two best-selling books. “We now know that mental and sensory experience and activity actually change the brain’s ‘wiring’ or connections,” Doidge told me. As Eric Kandel, one of Doidge’s teachers at Columbia, defined it, “Neuroplasticity is the ability of the brain to change its behavior as a result of experience.” In 2000, Kandel was awarded the Nobel Prize in medicine or physiology.

At dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in Toronto, I told Doidge about Elijah. What particularly interested me, I said, was that his symptoms mirrored those of a child to whom Doidge had devoted a case history in his second book. Could he help us?

Maybe, he said. With proper reshaping of his auditory cortex, Elijah’s balance might get better and his nausea might stop, which would in turn make it possible for him to develop more normally. Doidge suggested that we take Elijah to the Listening Center in Toronto for an assessment. The center is run by Paul Madaule, who was first Tomatis’s patient in France, then his assistant.

Coincidentally, I added, Young experiments with masking and distorting sound contained some similar ideas. He had two sons with cerebral palsy. “He was probably on to something,” Doidge said.

Spending a day and a night in downtown Fresno, Calif., is like walking into the dreamscape of a midperiod Neil Young album, with once-glorious movie palaces taken over by churches that minister to addicts and drunks. The signs along the way advertise Aladdin Bail Bonds, the Mezcal Lounge and the Lucky You Tattoo parlor. One of the messages of Neil Young’s music has always been that flat spaces are lonely, and the people who inhabit them feel small.

In the next year, Young would announce that he was releasing a book about sound, “To Feel the Music,” written with Phil Baker, who helped developed the PonoPlayer. He also found enough new inspiration to record an album with Crazy Horse, his first in seven years, called “Colorado.” While I was in town, I was able to catch a show.

Fresno’s sizable vagrant population was distinguishable from the concertgoers clustered outside the Warnors Theater mainly by the amount of dust on their shoes. The concert had been announced only a week earlier, which meant that pretty much everyone there was a local — the kind of audience that Young likes best. The inside of the Warnors Theater has been perfectly restored, with a high gilded ceiling and gorgeous acoustics.

“I’m still living the dream we had/For me, it’s not over,” Young sang onstage, facing his band, Crazy Horse, with Nils Lofgren on guitar. There was something clumsy and vulnerable in the way that the men faced each other onstage, bowing back and forth as they soloed in a show of old-school male competitive affection.

“Thanks for coming out,” he told the crowd when he was done. “We appreciate it. Glad you could get those tickets. I like seeing you people here.” A cigar-store Indian hovered over his shoulder. I counted only four people in the audience who were holding up phones. He played “Tired Eyes,” then “Powderfinger,” flailing away at his big old guitar laid across his bouncy gut. “You are like a hurricane/There’s calm in your eye/I wanna love you but I’m getting blown away.”

“God bless you, Neil,” an old hippie lady in a blowzy floral dress shouted. Maybe he only looked cranky. He finished another song and gazed up at the ceiling in wonderment, admiring the great cathedral of sound in which he was standing.

I don’t know if the evils that Neil Young is warning us about will come to pass. I don’t know if G.M.O. seeds are truly killing us or if all the missing information that Silicon Valley is engineering out of music and the rest of our lives is doing something truly evil to our brains or whether these are simply the latest obsessions of a habitually cranky, inventive, restless man.

There are plenty of neurologists who remain skeptical of the idea that sound can help rewire people’s brains. What I can also tell you is this: I listen to rich audio files through a decent-quality DAC and I hear more, and it makes me feel better. Also: I don’t know when or how or if certain parts of my son’s brain will get unstuck. I don’t know whether he will learn to talk in a way that his friends or teachers or people besides me and my wife and his brother and sister can easily understand. I’m not even sure what degree of change is desirable. Some brains, like Neil Young’s and Joni Mitchell’s, are just wired differently.

That said, I will never forget watching Elijah during the first week of his therapy in Toronto, as modified Mozart was piped into his brain and he just suddenly looked down at his little fist and started opening and closing his hand for the first time — because suddenly, he could. After the second session, six weeks later, his reflexes and fine-motor skills had markedly improved, to the point where he could catch a ball or slap his mother across the face when she says “no” to his request for another marshmallow. He isn’t nauseated anymore. He can walk and even run, while continuing to be a joy to be around. Just the other day, in the bath, waiting for his mother to come home, he looked at me and said, “Oh, me home, Mama!”

I listened to the tapes that Elijah was hearing, on which Mozart’s perfect sound was continuously interrupted by filtering that sounded like static, before it then reasserted itself — an effect that is familiar to any Neil Young fan. The filtering effects had helped in whatever way to heal Elijah’s brain. So what is the effect of engineering so much complexity out of the music we listen to, and replacing it with fake, jacked-up sounds, doing to my brain and to yours?

It’s strange to imagine that Young might be a prophet of sorts — but maybe not. His lesson is that everything human is shot through with imperfection. Filtering that out doesn’t make us more perfect; it is making us sick. He’s a great artist, which means that he sees and hears more, which may make him a loon, but is also why he is still worth listening to.

“These places are so great,” Young said onstage in Fresno. “We’re so lucky they’re still here.” He sang, in fine voice: “He came dancing across the waters/With his galleons and guns.” At 73, he is still a man walking through a hurricane, which begins inside a perfect melody that dissolves into dissonance and feedback, inside of which there is something wonderfully, miraculously whole.

David Samuels is the author of “The Runner” and “Only Love Can Break Your Heart.” He last wrote for the magazine about Ben Rhodes, President Obama’s foreign-policy guru.

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