#like who else is alone at the edge of the universe humming a tune but him?

[enihk-writes]

[alone at the edge of the universe humming a tune]

characters: chung myung

summary: it was hard carrying what seemed like the weight of the world on his still-young shoulders

word count: 0.36k

author's note: trying my hand at an experimental writing style, might be shit,,, very rushed stream-of-consciousness narrative in chung myung's pov and im not going to use personal pronouns and uh.... (checks notes) im not really referring to the source material since i haven't finished reading it hahaha....

═══════════════

it's weird, isn't it?

feeling as though his arm was loped off, and the numbness spreading from his shoulders up to his neck and down to the tips of his fingers. it takes a few tries before he finally could sleep well for the night.

even then, in the solace of the walls of his mind, he was plagued with memories, distorted through the lens of his own grief he had yet to lay at rest.

he doesn't tell anyone about this heavy heart of his.

what use was a lifetime's worth of supposed wisdom when he never had to face a single loss until the end of his life? what use was the number of years he had spent alive if all he could ever do was act like the coddled child he had been all this time?

he looks at the kids of the new generation, and he wonders if he has the right to look upon them as children. technically, he was one too, wasn't he?

and like a child, he wants to lay his head full of worries in the arms of the only person who came close to loving him unconditionally.

his sa-hyung.

a boy who was barely an adult himself when the responsibility of raising the infant chung myung fell onto his hands.

all things considered, he thinks his sa-hyung did a fantastic job. had it been anyone else from the sect raising him, he wonders if his undying loyalty to mount hua would have even been there.

it probably wouldn't. though, he was now living a reality where everything he had loved or known was now a fragment of the past, history that had been wrongfully and unfairly erased.

he doesn't want that sort of cruel fate to ever befall the new children of the sect. because, despite everything he said he was, chung myung was a kind child.

for mount hua so loved the world that they gave their kindest child.

and

for the world that grieved so at the loss of his life that the heavens let him come back to fulfil his regrets, so his soul could rest easy when it's time inevitably comes.

[bucksfucks]

  𝙜𝙤𝙡𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙗𝙤𝙮 ; 𝘀𝘁𝗲𝘃𝗲 𝗿𝗼𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀

summary┃you’ve always called steve the golden boy, but he snaps one night and decides to show you he’s anything but.

pairing┃roommate!steve x f!reader

word count┃2,382 words

warnings┃hangover, drinking, tipsy sex, pining, teasing, makeout session, dirty talk, praise kink, size kink, steve doesn’t think he’ll fit but he makes it, use of toys (vibrator), mocking, edging, hair pulling kink, fingering, oral, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, steve finishes on readers back, steve is lowkey a fuckboy — 18+ ONLY//MINORS DNI

notes┃presidential alert 🚨 the girls, gays, and the they’s are horny

     The shower was already running when you had walked out of your room and into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea.

    It was Saturday morning and despite your best efforts, your body never let you sleep in last nine in the morning.

    You may as well start your day at 8:48 am.

    Steve had gone out last night, but you remember the door shutting at three in the morning and a faint shhh falling from his lips as he spoke to whatever inanimate object was making noise.

    In your sleepy daze, you didn’t really mind. Instead, turning your pillow onto the cool side and drifting back to sleep.

    The kettle was boiling and the bread was getting warmed in the toaster when the shower finally stopped running.

    It was a little unusual for Steve to shower for so long, even after his morning runs or workouts, he’d never need more than 10 minutes.

    When the door opened, and a groaning Steve emerged, you knew exactly what the problem was.

    “Mornin’, Golden Boy,” he didn’t even have the energy to grimace at the sound of his nickname.

    His bare feel pattered against the wooden floor until he dropped his large body in one of the bar stools.

    “Someone had a fun night.” You mumbled with a small smirk as you slid him a cup of coffee which is took between his fingers.

    “I don’t know how Sam and Bucky roped me into shots,” he said into the cup of coffee as he took a cautious sip.

    You just rolled your eyes playfully and plated the toast that had popped out a few seconds earlier, slabbing a large helping of butter before adding honey and sliding the plate over to him.

    “Eat.”

    He groaned again, but put the coffee down in place for the sweet honey toast.

    “I can’t drink like I used to, I think I’m dying,” he was being dramatic, a playful glimmer in his eyes as he took a bite and hummed.

    “You’re 27, Rogers. I think someone’s being a little dramatic,” you teased with a smile.

    You are your breakfasts in silence for the most part, the painkiller Steve had taken not yet kicking in until both of your plates were cleared.

    “Did you get lucky last night?” You asked with raised eyebrows as you both placed your plates in the sink.

    Steve just laughed, “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

    You had to admit that your heart dropped, the same twinge of jealously starting to bloom in your chest as you imagined him with someone else.

    “Proud of you, Golden Boy.” You fake cheered, biting your tongue and swallowing your pride.

    Above everything, Steve was your friend and he deserved to get laid.

    He laughed, “you should’ve come, Bucky couldn’t stop asking about you.”

    You rolled your eyes again, slightly in annoyance.

    “He knows I’ll never sleep with him,” you sang song, helping Steve dry the dishes as the sink stopped running.

    “You never told me why, you know that?” You scoffed, “and for good reason.”

    The reason was simple; you didn’t want Bucky, but instead his best friend and your roommate, Steve.

    “I’ll get it out of ya one day, sweetheart.” Steve chuckled and you felt your heart sink a little further, “whatever helps you sleep at night.”

    The rest of the day was uneventful, nothing to do on a rainy New York day other than read as Steve fiddled with his sketchbook while an old sitcom played on the television.

    Steve’s hangover either disappeared or he was great at hiding it, whatever it was, he was humming along to the show tune.

    “Pizza and beers for dinner?” Steve asked as he was putting the final touches on his sketch making you laugh.

    “What happened to I can’t drink like I used to?” You said, echoing his words from the morning as he shrugged.

    “It’s a lazy day essential, now what toppings, and don’t say pineapple.” You acted shocked, mouth twitching into a smile.

    “You don’t know anything about good pizza,” you huffed as he tore his eye away from his sketchbook to look at you.

    “Pineapple on pizza is a crime, sweetheart. Now if that’s who you are I can’t judge, but I’m jus’ sayin’,” he said raising his hands in mock defeat.

    “Whatever Golden Boy, just say you’re a vanilla type of guy,” you winked, standing up to put your book on the shelf as the sun began setting to cast yellow and orange hues over the apartment.

    Steve snickered, “whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

    The low timbre of his voice, your own words echoed from this morning sends a shudder down your spine as he grabs his phone.

    “The usual?” You manage to nod your head, smiling as you try to distract yourself from the sudden and very evident ache between your thighs.

    30 minutes later and the pizza was here, still hot and greasy as Steve set it on the wooden coffee table as you grabbed two beers, scratch that, four beers.

    “Cheers, Golden Boy,” you offered with a soft smile as you both clinked your bottle necks against each other before pizza was being devoured.

    You didn’t know what it was, but cheap greasy pizza and a cold beer always soothed the soul. No matter how heartbroken you had ever been, or upset at the universe, beer and pizza were always there for you.

    As the hours went by, the bottles emptied and the pizza slices disappeared before you and Steve were sat on the couch laughing and giggling at the time Steve locked himself out in nothing but his underwear.

    “And where were you to rescue me!” He bellowed, throwing his head back at the memory.

    “I was in the shower, you know I blare music. I’m sorry Stevie, I promise the next time you’re locked out and naked I’ll rescue you.”

    He shook his head, “well I wasn’t naked.”

    You felt a little dizzy, body lighter as you finished off the second beer. You weren’t drunk, but loose enough to rest your head against Steve’s shoulder.

    His phone buzzed then, grabbing it off the table as Bucky’s name lit up across the screen.

    Steve ignored it.

    “He’s jus’ gonna ask me to go out again,” he said before you could ask, seemingly reading your mind.

    “Plus, I’m perfectly content right here,” he smiled, finishing off his second beer as you playfully rolled your eyes.

    “You’re such a sap,” you teased, “that a bad thing?” He asked and you felt the air around you grow more tense.

    “‘Course not, you’re just Stevie,” you tried to explain as he furrowed his eyebrows.

    “Stevie?” He asked as you sat up and crossed your legs under your body.

    “Yeah, you know,” you tried to find the words, “Golden Boy.”

    He hums in response, “golden as in pure?”

    You nod your head, “pure, sweet, innocent.”

    You weren’t sure if you had struck a nerve, but Steve smirked as he leaned into you.

    “‘M not so innocent, sweetheart. Not everything is as it seems.” His voice was much lower, raspier as you could smell the beer on his breath.

    “Is that so?” Your voice was just a little above a whisper, heart racing in your chest.

    “I could even show you, sweetheart, but you gotta answer one question first. Sound fair?” He asked.

    You nodded your head slowly, eagerly awaiting his question.

    His hands fell to your knees, sliding up until he pulled you into his lap.

    You looked up at him, craning your head only slightly as he craned his at you. He was warm, and broad.

    “Why,” his voice was low, “won’t you hookup with Bucky, sweetheart?”

    Your breath hitched, teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you ran your hands up his chest until they rested on his shoulders.

    “I think you know,” you whispered as he shook his head and chuckled.

    “Uh uh, I wanna hear you say it.” He purred, brushing his nose against yours.

    Your eyes fluttered shut as you smelt his oaky, but sweet body wash. Something like bergamot and oranges.

    He squeezed your hips, a soft moan falling from your lips at the sensation.

    “It’s because,” you swallowed thickly, “because I want you, Stevie.”

    He hummed, hand on the back of your head as he pressed his lips to yours.

    You kissed back, the realization hitting you it became hotter and more desperate as you slid your tongue past Steve’s lips.

    “All you needed to do was say those words and you could’ve had me all to yourself.” He smirks against your lips making you whimper.

    His fingers are digging into your ass, rocking your hips over his. It’s the right amount of friction to have you melting into his touch.

    When he picks you up, carrying you into his room to toss you onto his bed, you know you’ve made the wrong assumption about him.

    “Now there’s nothin’ wrong with a man who likes vanilla,” he hums, hands exploring your body.

    “But I’m a man who prefers a little more,” he meets your eyes, a devilish smirk and twinkle in his eyes, “flavour.”

    He’s hovering over you, lips on your neck and jaw as his hips rut over yours.

    “Go get that goddamn vibrator of yours,” he breathes as you look at him bewildered.

    “You know that one, you like the third setting the most on it.” He winks standing up as your eyes trace along his body and to where his cock is straining.

    “Go on, don’t sit there actin’ all dumb,” you spring to your feet, tripping over them as you quickly fetch it from your room.

    “Good girl, lie back down on the bed, but get naked first.” He instructs you sternly.

    You’d never had anyone tell you to strip, let alone have someone eyes so focused on you as you place the vibrator in his larger hand.

    Starting with your sweater, you tear it off—chest exposed as Steve licks his lips.

    “Go on, don’t be shy. You’re makin’ him real happy,” he smirks, squeezing his dick through his pants.

    You tug your leggings down until you’re in your panties and Steve is giving you a look that tells you to continue.

    It’s a thrill, stripping for him and watching his cock twitch at the sight of your curves, dips, and the marks you hate.

    “Look at you,” he groans, “perfect little thing aren’t ya? Now I gotta be honest,” you swallow thickly.

    “‘M not sure if he’ll fit like I planned, but we’ll make sure to get you warmed up,” he says before placing your hand over his dick.

    It causes goosebumps to prickle your skin as he pushes you down onto the bed fully naked now.

    “Now this,” he says, holding your vibrator, “isn’t even gonna compare to me by the time I’m done with you.”

    It’s a promise that you know Steve will keep as he kneels between your legs.

    “I expect you to keep these open, okay? Unless of course,” his cocky attitude breaks through, “you’re squeezin’ my head when you cum.”

    You can’t even chide back, all thoughts gone at the sound of the click of your vibrator.

    Steve wastes no time, spreading your folds and exploring you with his tongue before he connects the silicone tip to your clit.

    It causes your body to jolt and Steve has to keep your legs open.

    “What did I say, sweetheart. Keep ‘em open,” he reminds you as he slips a single fingers in you.

    It’s already ten times better than your own, longer and thicker as they curl against your sweet spot.

    Your walls squeeze him, fluttering as you grip onto his unmade bed sheets.

    He teased you, edging you until you’re begging him to let you come with a dry throat.

    “Steve, c’mon. ‘S’not fair,” you whine, tugging at his hair. He groans, hips rutting into the bed and you know you’ve found his weakness.

    Two can play at this game.

    You tug at his hair again, “please, Stevie? Wanna cum so fuckin’ bad—all over your face.”

    He groans vibrator tossed on the bed as his mouth wraps around your clit, “fuck, baby.”

    It’s a lewd sound, your wetness against his fingers and mouth, but it’s enough to send you over the edge.

    “Make a mess, sweetheart. Gotta taste ya,” he groans against your core as you’re nearly suffocating him.

    It’s intense, washing over you like a wave followed by a series of smaller ones until he’s flipping you over and your ass is in the air.

    “Not so fuckin’ vanilla anymore, huh?” He slaps your ass, a squeak leaving your lips.

    “Gonna have the taste of you on my mind for days now, practically have me pussy whipped already.”

    His clothes are gone, all necessary ones before he’s bending his body over yours, “grip onto the headboard baby, you’ll need all the support you can get.”

    And he’s not wrong, sliding into you and stretching you out as you wrap yourself fingers around the wood until he’s fully seated inside of you.

    It’s a new fullness, one that you’ve never experienced and something you never want to forget.

    “Bounce, baby.” He then says, as you look over your shoulder.

    “Ride me, use the headboard and make yourself cum.” He smirks, slick coating both of your thighs.

    Everything is new to you as Steve lets you take control, yet, you’re never truly in control.

    “That’s it baby, such a good girl. Look how desperate you are to cum,” he taunts making you whimper.

    He joins in soon, meeting your thrusts with his own until you’re both grunting and he can’t hold back.

    “Fuck, fuck, gonna cum.” He hissed, quickly pulling out to paint your back as he rubs your clit with his free hand and you feel the white hot explosion of pleasure for the second time that night.

    You’ve both made a mess by the time you’re done, Steve cleaning you up with his boxers as you’re collapsing beside him still trying to catch your breath.

    “You’ve ruined my vibrator for me,” you chuckled breathlessly as he turns to you with a smirk, “well it’s a good thing I’m your roommate then.”

[kythed]

“almost funny”

synopsis: suna rintarou thinks you’re out of his league, and you think he’s out of yours.

tagged: general dumbassery, fwb-to-lovers, some profanity, sexual references but nothing explicit.

commitment level: 5.6k words.

It’s almost funny, really. It’s funny how what started out as a purely physical transaction has now transformed into a one way ticket to Simpville with the name Suna Rintarou stamped on it in big red letters. Suna runs a hand through his hair in frustration as he stares down at your sleeping form, curled up in his SF Giants tee that fits you like an oversized nightgown. He loves how you look there, wearing his clothes, bed head resting on his pillows. It’s almost embarrassing how much he loves it. How much he might love you. 

He doesn’t really remember when he started seeing you as more than a good fuck. Maybe it was that time you told him he looked pretty with your lipgloss smeared across his mouth. 

“That’s a nice shade on you,” you’d laughed as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “You should wear it more often.” 

Then, before he could respond, you’d yanked him back in by the collar, licking into his mouth, deep and dirty. He shivers now even just thinking about it, recalling the taste of that lipgloss. Strawberry lemonade, the sort that comes in little bottles at the dollar store. However “pretty” he might’ve looked in that moment, he’s sure you looked a hundred times better. You always do, and you don’t even have to try. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even in your worst moments. 

Or maybe it was the time you remembered his birthday when no one else did. January 25th; all his friends had taken off on their ski trips or tropical vacations, but you showed up to his apartment toting a cupcake and a single candle, belting a loud, out of tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ until he shut you up with an impulsive kiss on the lips. You’d been surprised, but not so surprised you couldn’t kiss him back. Suna’s pretty sure most friends-with-benefits don’t do that sort of thing. They don’t sit across from each other at the kitchen table, splitting a vanilla cupcake and laughing over matching frosting mustaches. They don’t hug each other goodbye after two hours of scrolling through YouTube and nothing else, content to linger in that air of tentative familiarity and pseudo-friendship. 

Whatever the reason, whenever it happened, all Suna knows now is you’re more than just a fuck buddy. He doesn’t even want to associate the term with you — it feels disrespectful. He wishes he could just stop pretending. Stop pretending he doesn’t want you to be his. 

“Hey.” 

Suna grins at your low, throaty morning voice. It’s cute. 

“Hey,” he responds, reaching forward to flick your shoulder. “You slept in.” 

“Did I?” You blink the sleep from your eyes and squint at Suna’s bedside clock. 9:06. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.” 

You fly out of bed, wiggling into your jeans and tossing your hair into a careless ponytail before frantically scanning the room. “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

Suna exhales through his nose before getting up and walking over to his closet. “I hung it up last night so it wouldn’t be wrinkled.”

You freeze in your tracks, slowly turning with a teasing grin plastered on your face. “Oh? How considerate of you.”

Suna shrugs, avoiding your gaze. He feels a flush rise to cheeks and desperately hopes it doesn’t show. “Just being polite.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a little crush on me,” you crow before taking the sweater from the hanger and slipping it over your head. 

“You wish,” he snorts, but all he can think is you’re absolutely right. 

You ignore him and begin shoveling all your things into your purse: a compact mirror, lipstick, house keys. You glance at the clock again. “I’m gonna be so late to this lecture. Damn. Maybe I can text Aiko and ask her to record the first part for me.”

Suna raises an eyebrow. He remembers your friend Aiko from a party last year, before you and he began your… arrangement. She’s outgoing, friendly, and probably the flakiest person he’s ever met. “She’s not gonna do that. Just let me drive.”

“No, it’s fine,” you automatically brush him off, heading into the bathroom to splash your face with lukewarm water. “You probably have your own shit to take care of.”

Yeah, you, he thinks, but instead he says, “Not really. Plus, you’ll probably miss the whole thing if you try to bike to campus. Let me take you in the car. I’ll strap the bike onto the back.” 

You give him a look. “Are you sure, Rin?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he says, throwing on a shirt. “Outside in five, and I’ll have you there by 9:30, easy.” 

After a few more weak protestations, you finally agree, and as he drives you to your university, he lets himself pretend you’re his girlfriend sitting there in the passenger seat. He turns on your favorite artist’s Spotify mix on the aux and smiles to himself when you hum along, watching the city fly past out the window. What he wouldn’t give for that reality, one where he can love you without all these restrictions, these tricky boundaries between friends and lovers. When you jump out of the car, calling a cheeky “I’ll text you!” over your shoulder, he pretends it’s an affectionate “I’ll see you for dinner tonight!” instead. He pretends that instead of rushing to get away from him and into the lecture hall, you kiss him on the forehead and squeeze his shoulder, reluctant to leave.

“Fuck me,” Suna says angrily before slamming his palm into the horn, scaring a few freshman walking to class. “And fuck you too!” 

He’s not sure who “you” is. Maybe the universe. 

No, Suna Rintarou doesn’t know why or how it happened, but he’s in too deep now. And he’s pretty damn sure you’ll never feel the same way. 

+

You slide into your seat beside Aiko just as the guest lecturer pulls up his power point, breathing out a sigh of relief. Aiko shoots you a grin, waggling her eyebrows. Suna? she mouths, and you roll your eyes, nodding nonetheless. Aiko can hardly wait until after the lecture to start pestering you about it. 

“So,” she says as you leave the auditorium together. “Did you tell him yet?” 

“Tell him what?” You dig in your bag for your water bottle, groaning when you remember leaving it on the edge of Suna’s sink last night. 

“Tell him that you’re in loooooove,” Aiko sings, nudging your shoulder. 

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, I don’t love him.”

“But you like him,” Aiko persists, and you hold up a finger. 

“And second of all, even if I did, I would never tell him.” You yawn, rubbing your eyes before realizing you hadn’t taken your makeup off and thus probably have awful raccoon eye bags. “He’s so out of my league it’s not even funny. It’s kind of pathetic for me to think he’d ever like me back.” 

Aiko scoffs. “If anything, you’re out of his league. You could pull any guy you wanted to. And when I say any, I mean any. Like, I bet you could even get Jake Gyllenhaal.” 

You laugh. “Why specifically Jake Gyllenhaal?”

Aiko shrugs. “Dunno. Just the first hot guy that came to mind. But forget him. My point is, Suna Rintarou is definitely yours for the taking. All you have to do is —”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt. “All I have to do is confess.” 

“Exactly,” says Aiko. Before she can open her mouth again, you cut in. 

“Okay, but listen, Aiko,” you say. “Suna’s the kind of guy who doesn’t let himself get attached. He fully admitted to me when we first hooked up that he’d never had a girlfriend. And that’s obviously not from lack of female interest. It’s because he doesn’t want one.”

“Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t found the right person yet.” Aiko starts heading towards the campus coffee shop, and you follow her. 

“Sure,” you say, getting in line. The cafe is crowded with students getting in their daily caffeination, inhaling sugary lattes and bitter espressos just to stay awake through their next class. Ah… college. “Or maybe he just. Doesn’t. Want. One.” 

Aiko keeps arguing all the way up until you reach the cash register, where you realize you haven’t even decided on what to order yet. 

“Hey there,” says the cashier, smiling sunnily. “What can I get for ya?” 

You blink. He’s attractive. Very attractive, actually. Bleach blonde, a crooked grin that screams trouble in the best sort of way. Miya, says the little name plate pinned to his shirt. “I, uhh…”

“Take your time,” he says leaning forward like he’s about to tell you a secret. “Between you and me, we have an excellent mocha latte. Not too sweet, y’know?”

You find your manners. “Oh, um, yeah. That sounds great, actually.” 

“One mocha latte, then?” he asks, picking up a cup, and you nod. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of serving today?” 

When you tell him your name, he smiles to himself and scrawls it on the cup. “Pretty.”

You flush and pay, hands shaking a little when you slide your card down the side of the machine. The cashier notices and shoots you a knowing look. Five minutes later, when you pick up your drink from the other side of the counter, you see not only your name written on the lid, but a phone number, too, along with a tiny winking face. 

“What’d I tell you?” exclaims Aiko shrily when you leave the shop. “Any. Guy. Period.” 

You shake your head in exasperation, but you can’t help but throw a final glance over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of the cute cashier one more time. Maybe Aiko does have a point. 

+

That weekend, Suna’s stretched out on his couch, dangling his feet over the armrest and staring up at the ceiling. It’s one of those lazy Saturday afternoons, and usually he’d be enjoying his alone time. Not today, though. Today there’s something — someone — on his mind, and that someone is spelled y-o-u. His phone pings, and he snatches it up with embarrassing speed, groaning when he sees it’s just Atsumu. 

“Bastard,” he mutters, not even bothering to open the message. Probably just asking for the O-chem lab answers. 

Suna rolls over onto his stomach, pulling up your contact name. What he really wants to do is see you, but how is he supposed to do that without sounding weirdly desperate? Hey, he types out. Wanna come over and watch a movie? He pauses for a moment before adding, Pizza’s on me. 

He buries his face in his hands and deletes the text. That makes it sound like he’s asking you out. Well, that’s what he does want to do, but you can’t know that. He’s fairly certain if you knew how he felt about you, you’d freak out. Girls don’t like to be tied down, he reminds himself. Suna groans again, grabbing two fistfuls of hair in irritation. 

“Why are women so complicated?” he says aloud, letting the words echo in his empty apartment. He takes a couple seconds to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and unlock his phone again, this time settling on a simple Come over. Short, sweet, and to the point. Well, not exactly. That makes it sound like all he wants to do is sleep together, when he’d really rather just… talk. Spend time with you. 

“Oh, God,” he mutters. “I’m so done for.” 

It takes what seems like forever for you to arrive, breathless from biking, hair slightly mussed. Suna grins, biting his lip. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. Even if all he can get is the sex, then he’s sure as hell going to appreciate it. You smell like lavender laundry detergent, he notices when you press yourself into him, fumbling to close the door behind you without breaking the kiss. 

“Well, hello there,” you laugh when he finally breaks away and draws in a shaking breath. “Somebody’s eager.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “As if. You just took so long to get here.” 

You cock an eyebrow. “You texted me like half an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and you’re half an hour too late.”

You snort and hurl a pillow from the sofa at him. He catches it and smiles, taking your wrist and drawing you in for another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

“Sorry that I don’t have the power of teleportation,” you quip, laughing when he pulls you into the bedroom. Suna resolves to take his time with you today, undressing you carefully, trailing his lips down your sternum and collarbones, grinning to himself whenever you gasp. He almost catches himself saying “I love you” at one point as you cling to him, mumbling his name, but he placates himself with kissing you extra hard at the end instead, pulling you into his chest and falling back into the pillows. 

Usually, you’d take a few minutes to lay in silence, tracing shapes in his skin, and he’d lean back with closed eyes, imagining what it would be like to be loved by you. Slow early morning kisses, skin on skin, whispering and giggling and everything cheesy he used to hate but now wishes he could experience with you. Today, though, you peel yourself off of him and grab your phone as soon as it buzzes, fingers flying in response to whoever had texted you.

“New boy toy?” he jokes, almost choking when you don’t immediately say no. Oh, shit. “You’re kidding.”

“Just a guy I met the other day,” you say casually. Suna stares, slack jawed. “Works at the coffee shop near the quad.” 

“Coffee shop?” He furrows his brow. Doesn’t he know someone who works there? He internally scowls, digging into the back of his brain. Aran? Osamu? 

“Mm,” you say, suppressing a smile as the nameless suitor sends another text. “His name’s Atsumu Miya.”

Suna’s heart nearly falls right out of his chest and cracks at his feet. “No.”

You look up, raising an eyebrow. “No?”

“Not him,” Suna says, forgetting himself, forgetting the nature of your relationship. 

“I didn’t realize you were in charge of who I can and cannot be interested in,” you say bitingly. 

Suna sits up. “I’m not. It’s just, Atsumu… he’s not your type.” 

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” Suna says, thinking back on his days observing the Miya twins’ antics. “He’s not your kind of guy, trust me.”

“Pray tell then,” you say. Oh, fuck. You’re irritated. “Who exactly is my kind of guy?” 

Me, he thinks. I’m your kind of guy. “I don’t know. Just trust me though, okay? Atsumu… he’s difficult.” 

“Thanks, Suna,” you say, tone tinged with sarcasm. Suna cringes. You only ever call him by his surname when you’re upset with him. “But I think I can go out with whoever I want to go out with.” 

“Fine.” The word tumbles out more harshly than he’d meant it to. 

You stare at him in disbelief. “What, are you mad at me or something?” 

Suna exhales heavily. “No, I’m not mad. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. I just wanted to give you a little guidance. As your friend.” 

“As my friend?” you repeat. “My friend?”

Now it’s Suna's turn to be confused. “Are we not friends?”

“I don’t know, Suna,” you say, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, pulling your clothes on. “You tell me.” 

“I’m not sure what you want me to say here,” he says, watching as you struggle to pull your shorts back on. He knows what he wants to say. No, we’re not friends. We should be together. Isn’t it obvious? 

You huff, grabbing your bag and the water bottle you’d left behind the other day. “You know, I don’t really know either. Forget I ever said anything. I guess I just thought…” 

You trail off and shake your head, heading towards the door. Suna scrambles out of bed to follow you, pulling on his pants as he hops down the hall on one leg. “What’s that?” 

“I said forget it,” you call over your shoulder, trying to slam the door, but Suna catches your wrist. As you stare up at him, he thinks he sees your lip quivering, eyes shining with half-formed tears. “Let me go.” 

“I’m serious,” Suna says. “What did you think?” 

You draw in a deep breath, and for a second, Suna thinks you’re about to say the words he’s always wanted you to say. Then you look away. “Let. Me. Go.” 

Slowly, Suna releases you from his grasp, and you stumble backwards, wiping your eyes on your sleeve. 

“Don’t call me.”

“Wait, no —”

“Don’t call me, Suna!” you say loudly, before turning on your heel and speed walking down the stairs. 

Oh. Oh. Suna stares in shock at the place you were just standing on his doorstep. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.” 

When he heads back inside, head empty but for the single thought, I’ve just lost the best thing that ever happened to me, he glances at his phone on the counter. In an instant, he’s opening up his messages, pulling up Atsumu’s. 

Met a cute girl LOL. Gonna bring her to that party on Friday. 

Then, in a separate bubble — Btw: chem answers? 

+

“And then he called me his friend,” you say angrily, handing Aiko the box of Oreos. The two of you are sprawled on the floor of her dorm room. “Just like we were two bros who got together to play XBox every once in a while, instead of two people who had literally just banged.” 

Aiko takes a cookie before handing them back to you. “Asshole.”

“I mean, I know technically we were ‘friends with benefits,’” you say, stuffing an Oreo in your mouth. “But I guess I thought we could be something more. I thought there was no way he could kiss me like that, look at me like that without feeling something. Guess I was wrong.” 

“Screw him,” Aiko says. “You’ve got boys lined up around the block, and he thinks he can treat you like rubbish? Absolute bullshit.”

“I don’t have boys ‘lined up around the block,’” you remind her, smiling regardless. “Just one.”

“And that one is hella cute!” Aiko says. “You’re way too cool to pine over some guy who thinks you’ll just answer his every beck and call without even committing to a relationship.” 

You sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… ack. I don’t know. Am I jumping to conclusions? He seemed like he wanted to talk to me more, but I kind of stormed off without saying anything.” 

“Seems like he was pretty clear,” Aiko says with a shrug. “Your call, though. If I were you, I’d forget about him. Plus, you have Atsumu now. That’s a promising route.” 

You smile down at the Oreos, thinking about the cheery bottle blonde. “Yeah… he invited me to a party this coming Friday.” 

Aiko gives you a look and nudges your knee with her own. “You’d better wear that black dress.”

“You think?” you laugh, momentarily forgetting about Suna. 

“Oh, definitely. Gotta look your best on the first date.” 

“Right, and then after that I can just dress like a bum,” you joke. You purse your lips. “Rin might be there. Apparently he and Atsumu are pretty close.” 

“Even better,” insists Aiko. “Make him suffer a little bit. He won’t like seeing you all dolled up on Atsumu Miya’s arm.” 

“I’m not gonna try to make him jealous, Aiko,” you say, and Aiko shakes her head.

“No, I just think he needs to understand what he lost,” she says. “You don’t even have to pay attention to him at all, though. You should try and get to know Atsumu a little better.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, before reaching down for another cookie. “Oh. We’re out.”

“Gas station run?”

“Gas station run.” 

+

When Friday rolls around, you’ve successfully managed to avoid thinking about Suna the entire day. You have a calculus exam in the morning, and then a club meeting in the afternoon, and by the time you get done with everything it’s already time to get ready to leave for the party. It’s across town at someone’s loft apartment, so Atsumu offers to give you a ride, rolling up in a shiny Lexus, a sharp contrast from Suna’s old Chevy. 

“Hey,” he says, getting out to open the door for you. “You look great.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you say. “Although, I might prefer the work uniform.”

“Oh, please,” Atsumu says with a grin. “That apron does nothing to flatter my figure.” 

“Mhm.” The ride there is a slightly awkward one, but that’s normal, you tell yourself. You’ve gotten so used to the easy, teasing camaraderie you and Suna have that you’re rusty in regards to flirting. Atsumu has a different sense of humor, too, nothing like the dry sarcasm Suna’s such an expert in. You shake your head. Stop thinking about him. 

Even sitting next to a new guy, you can’t help but run last weekend’s drama over in your head. The past few months have been a jumble of mixed signals, and last Saturday was no different. How he tenderly brushed your hair from your face as he hovered over you, how he pulled you into his arms afterwards … how he seemed almost jealous when you mentioned Atsumu. Was it really jealousy? Exactly how much does Suna Rintarou care for you? You roll the numbers inside your head, trying to quantify the soft touches and lingering stares. He’s not easy to read; trying to understand Suna is like trying to decipher Greek without ever taking a single class. 

Even trying to get a measure on how much you care for him is difficult. You definitely like him as more than a friend. The only reason you agreed to the whole friends-with-benefits thing in the first place was because of a little crush that grew, that fed on that intimacy… but you’re not so sure now. 

“Here we are,” says Atsumu, jolting you from your contemplation as he pulls up alongside the curb. When you climb out of the car, he takes you by the hand, flashing you a quick smile. Your heart trips over itself, and you smile back. “Let’s do this.” 

+

Suna doesn’t show up to the party. He spends most of Friday busying himself at home, paying off a couple electricity bills, cleaning out the fridge. He even does a load of laundry. That’s how bored he is. By the time the clock strikes eight, he feels as though he’s Swiffered every single kitchen tile, folded every shirt, and wiped down every counter in the entire apartment, all to avoid stewing over you and him and all the ways he keeps messing up. But after doing everything on his to-do list and watching a movie and cooking his own dinner (unheard of!) he finds himself pacing around the living room, biting at his nails and thinking about you. More specifically, you and Atsumu. He hopes you’re not wearing that little dress you wore to the club with him a couple months ago. Not that you don’t look great in it — you do, and that’s the issue. The better you look, the more likely Suna will never get a chance to be with you again. 

To be fair, he’s not entirely sure how much of a chance he’s ever had with you. You’re incredible, plain and simple. Gorgeous, intelligent, the best player two on every video game he’s ever played with you. You’re not especially adept at the games themselves; no, there’s just something about you. There’s always just been something about you he can’t seem to find anywhere else. 

“Damn it,” Suna grunts aloud, flopping down on the couch. It’s nearing half past eleven now. He wonders what you’re doing. Dancing to some shitty music in some crowded living room. Sipping a can of cheap liquor. Letting Atsumu touch your waist, his hand dipping lower and lower until — 

Suna buries his face in the couch cushion. He’s usually not one to let his imagination run away with him, but tonight seems to be one of many recent exceptions. If only there was a way to know where he stands with you, or at least where you stand with Atsumu…

Well, there is a way, actually. Almost of its own accord, his hand inches towards his phone, sliding it open and somehow finding its way into his Snapchat. Fingers shaking, Suna clicks on Osamu’s story. It’s dimly lit, a mass of bodies, loud, drunk guys and scantily clad girls. The music is too loud, even through the phone. Suna squints at the screen — there’s Aran, even Kita’s there, quietly sitting in the corner, but no sight of — Suna’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Because there you are, and you’re not alone. You’re sitting on Atsumu’s lap, but he can’t see your expression because Atsumu is kissing you sloppily, and — oh, God — it looks like you’re kissing him back. 

And you’re wearing the fucking dress. 

“Damn,” Osamu says in the background. “Looks like he’s getting some tonight.”

Suna throws his phone across the room like it’s a grenade, staring down at his empty hands in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Not to him. Not to you. 

For the first time, Suna Rintarou thinks he understands what it really means to want someone. Not in a sexual way, but in the deepest sense of the word. Want. He wants you, and he’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anyone or anything quite so much in his life. 

All of a sudden, before his brain even has a chance to catch up, Suna finds himself shrugging on a jacket and snatching his keys from the table, dashing out the door like he’s being chased. If he leaves now, he thinks, starting the car and nearly slamming the door on his foot, he can get to the party before you leave. And then, well, then he’s not quite sure what he’ll do, but he’ll do something. 

Again, though, it seems as if the universe might be against him, because there’s an accident on the highway and it takes twice as long to get across town as it should. Suna cusses loudly over the incessant honking and chews on the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. When the traffic lets up and he finally pulls up to the apartment complex, parallel parking in a spot that’s probably illegal, he races up the stairs and into the loft, grabbing the first partygoer he sees. The poor kid’s plastered beyond belief and stares at Suna like he’s an extraterrestrial, eyes glassy.

“You see a girl leave here? ‘Bout this tall, probably left with some douchey looking blonde dude?” 

The kid blinks, hard and slow, before nodding. “Yeah, man, you just missed her. That your chick or somethin’? Because she was sucking face with —” 

Suna spins on his heel before the kid gets a chance to finish his sentence. He’s lucky Suna doesn’t deck him the head, he’s so irritated. 

“Sucking face,” he mumbles, climbing back into the car. He has the route to your house memorized (although he’s not sure how), and he’s pretty sure he breaks about twenty traffic laws trying to get there, so it takes significantly less time to arrive, but to Suna, it feels like an eternity. How did he ever sleep soundly at night knowing other guys had a shot at you before this? He doesn’t know, and he hopes he never has to worry about it again. Not after tonight. 

He gets there just as Atsumu’s pulling out of the driveway. Suna flashes him a mental middle finger and resolves to kick his ass later. No time for that right now. You’re still standing on the front porch, and when Suna stumbles out of the car, you turn towards him, mouth agape. 

“Rin? What are you—”

“Give me a chance.” He’s breathless, eyes wide and hair whipping around his face in the cool breeze. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like it’s about to burst blood vessels.

“Huh?”

“Give me a chance,” he repeats, reaching forward to take your hand. Your palm is cold against his. “I can do so much better, I promise.” 

You furrow your brows. “What in the world are you talking about, Rin?”

The dam breaks. The dam breaks, and everything — the longing, the frustration, everything — comes pouring out in a waterfall of rushing words he doesn’t even have time to think over before they splash at your feet.

“I can do so much better than Atsumu. He doesn’t know you. I know you, and I, well, I’ve liked you since forever, okay? I know your favorite color and your birthday and which Chinese place you like to get takeout from on Saturday nights.” Suna clears his throat. “I know that you like to be hugged from behind and that you hate it when people see you cry. I know so many things about you, and I want to know more.” 

“Rin—”

He holds up a hand. “Just listen. I know we’re just fuck buddies, or friends with benefits, or whatever the hell you want to call it, but I want to change that. You mean so much more to me than the sex. God, even if we never slept together again, I would still love you.” 

You stare at him. “Love?”

Suna swallows hard. “Yeah, fuck it. Love. I love you. Whatever that means to you, it means to me. I love your stupid jokes and your stupid laugh. To be honest, I’m so in love it feels like I’ll never love anyone else.”

He stops to take a deep breath and a shaky laugh. “Pathetic, right? I know it is. I can’t help it. I’m well aware that Atsumu is way more charming and outgoing, and I was probably wrong when I said he wasn’t your type… but I just need to know if I have even the smallest chance of winning you over.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Then another one. You’re gazing at him, head cocked, and the seconds tick by. He still has your hand in his, growing warmer via body heat. Suna feels himself grow increasingly nervous at your expression, curious and almost apathetic — until a wide smile breaks across your face. You laugh, and he thinks it must be the best sound he’s ever heard. 

“You weren’t wrong.”

“What?”

“He’s not my type,” you say. “We didn’t click.” 

“But — I saw, uh — Osamu’s story,” Suna stammers. “Sucking face.”

“Sucking face?” You squint in confusion before chuckling again. “Ah. Yeah, I kissed him. It was part of some stupid game. He’s kind of bad at it.” 

“Atsumu’s a bad kisser?” 

“Well,” you say, drawing the word out. “I wouldn’t say bad. It’s just… you’re better.” 

Suna’s silent for a second, letting the words ricochet around his brain. He’s better. He’s a better kisser. It was just a game. You’re not into Atsumu. “So… does that mean…?” 

“I love you, too.” You smile, and it’s not like your usual cocky grin. It’s sweet and almost… shy. 

“You love me, too?” Suna repeats in utter shock. He hadn’t expected to get this far.

“That’s what I just said,” you say. “What are you, a parrot? Speaking of which, though, I think that whole speech was the most I’ve ever heard you talk.” 

Suna doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a step closer and pulls you in for a hug. A real hug, not like the hesitant embrace you’d given him on his birthday, or the side hug he gave you after running into you at the grocery market a few weeks ago. No, this is a true, bona fide hug, and he translates everything he’s ever wanted to tell you but couldn’t into his arms wrapping around your waist. 

“So… wanna come in and watch a movie?” 

+

A little while later, Suna’s stretched out on your mattress with you between his legs, chin resting on the top of your head. You’ve changed out of your dress and wiped the makeup from your face, and Suna catches you yawning in the corner of his eye. There’s a trashy romcom droning on your laptop at the foot of the bed. To any outside onlooker, the scene is mundane, just a typical couple enjoying each other’s company. To Suna, though, this is paradise. 

It’s almost funny. It’s funny how, a week ago, Suna was a boy pining for a girl he thought he had no chance with. He looked at you and saw something unattainable, someone who would only ever want him temporarily. (And, unbeknownst to him, you felt the same way.) He experienced an overwhelming amount of want, heart knotting in on itself and twisting and turning until it pushed him over the edge, forcing him to confront his own desires. His own inadequacies. 

It’s funny how love is what everyone longs for, but it’s also the hardest reward to earn. It’s the most uncomfortable, heart-wrenching, nerve-wracking, anxiety-inducing pathway to happiness Suna’s ever seen. But still… he’d do it all over again if he had to. The months of headaches, the overthinking. It’s worth it. You’re worth it. 

Oh, well. What can he say? Suna leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your temples, and you tilt your head up to smile at him. Love’s a funny thing. 

Fortunately, Suna’s always down for a good joke.

[curlybookwriter0294]

Birds and Bees

Summary: Dick Grayson just wanted to make some coffee before morning training with the team. He was not exactly inspecting to discover that Damian and Raven are in a relationship and were having a make out session in the kitchen and he was also not inspecting to have a very specific conversation with him about it either.

Oh, what a lovely morning.

Disclaimer: As always, I do not own anything from the DC universe or the Teen Titans :)

Notes: We get to see Dick being a big brother to Damian 😁

It had started out as a decent morning so far for Dick Grayson. He woke up when the sun rising with different patches of pink and oranges surrounding the room of his Tamaranian girlfriend that was sleeping soundly next to him.

He turned from the window to lean down to kiss the top of her hair before he got up from the bed and grabbed some clothes that was scattered around the floor below him and quietly slip out of the room to get started on coffee before the start of morning training with the team. He hummed a random tune as he made his way down to the kitchen to get started but suddenly paused his moments because of hushed voices that was coming from the kitchen.

“What if someone walks in?” Said a voice that sounded a lot like Raven.

Dick’s eyebrow lifted with interest as he leaned against the wall that would lead him to the kitchen, wondering who the quiet empath was talking to and what could she be doing.

“No one would dare to interrupt us Raven.”

Dick’s mouth fell open when he recognized Damian’s low voice. What was Damian Wayne doing in the kitchen with Raven? Granted, ever since the lavender eyed empath had brought in the Great Dane puppy named Titus now three years old, he had noticed that they’ve gotten closer ever since. In his eyes he shouldn’t even be surprise that they would be in the kitchen probably making tea. Maybe with the way things were said made him think that they were talking about something completely not so innocent things.

He was about to walk in to greet the young hero birds when suddenly things had gotten quiet, and it made him pause his steps when he started hearing what it sounded like heavy breathing. Seconds later, his whole body froze when he started hearing kissing noises. A sound that he was too familiar with because he had shared a ton of kisses with Kori.

Wait, kissing noises?! Since when have these two started kissing? And why in the kitchen of all places?! That’s why there’s tons of room in the tower! They cook in the kitchen!

“Damian….” Dick heard Raven muttered breathlessly. “We should really go somewhere else with this.”

“Don’t worry about it, Raven.” Damian told her, reassuring her before the sounds of kissing and heavy breaths resumed.

Dick shook his head as he rakes his fingers through dark hair as he started pacing in circles, wondering about what to do in this situation. He wants to know why him of all people that he had to be the one to catch them kissing in the kitchen? Should he even interrupt them?

His blue eyes widen as more thoughts entered his mind. What if—they’ve been doing more than just kissing? Dick shook his head at the thought, but he knows that he should do something and fast. He sighed heavily when he realized that he very soon he was going to have a very serious conversation with the teen hero. A conversation that he was all too familiar with.

Dick squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before striding into the kitchen and found the teens leaning against the counter making out with their arms wrapped around each other. Dick smiled at them when they had pulled away quickly once they had noticed that they were no longer alone in the kitchen. “Good morning!” he said, humming when he had walked over to start the coffee pot. “Don’t mind me, please continue!”

“Grayson…” The youngest Robin said through clenched teeth. “How long were you there?”

Dick eyed the annoyed former assassin that was standing very close to the embarrassed empath with a protective arm wrapped around her. Dick shrugged his shoulders when he smirked at him. “Not long don’t worry. How long has this been going on? I am extremely curious.”

“That’s none of your business.” Damian said, narrowing his emerald eyes at the older raven-haired man.

Dick rolled his eyes when he turned around to put creamer in his coffee, making sure to stir it with a spoon that he had grabbed from a drawer before taking a small sip. “Then you should’ve gone somewhere with a bit more… privacy,” he pointed out to him nonchalantly. “After all, there are hundreds of rooms in this tower.”

Dick cocked his head to the side as he tapped the edge of the coffee cup with a finger, watching Raven remove herself from Damian’s hold that he had on her protectively. “I should…” her violet eyes looked at his ocean ones for a moment before her eyes looked down elsewhere to avoid his curious stare. “Take Titus for a walk.” He smiled at her as he watched her walk out of the kitchen to leave Dick and Damian alone.

The two of them held contest and Dick never removed his azure eyes away from the forest irises as he continues sipping his coffee slowly on purpose, waiting for the youngest hero to say something to break the silence that had fell between them after she had left. He chuckled when Damian folded his arms tightly over his chest and Dick assumes that he was probably plotting at least over a hundred ways to kill him right about now.

“So…” Dick began, clearing his throat as he sat his coffee down on the counter next to him and leaned casually against it. “You and Raven huh? I am quite surprised,” he told him truthfully, scratching the back of his neck. “How long has this been going on?”

His lips curled up in a lopsided smirk when he saw a flash of pink on Damian’s cheeks. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about Damian. Though, I need to know something.”

“And I told you before Grayson,” Damian muttered out through clenched teeth. “It’s none of your damn business. So, there’s nothing that you need to know about what’s going on between Raven and I.”

The former Robin rolled his eyes at the hostility that he was receiving. He knows that the son of his mentor can be difficult at times and he had hoped that he would be willing to open up or at least talk to him rather than the Dark Knight himself. Maybe if Dick haven’t been teasing him about the new discovery of Damian’s relationship with Raven, he would’ve had a different outcome. He sighed heavily as he thought of another way to ask him questions.

“If we are done here…” Damian said, making his way out of the kitchen after he had grown tired of Dick’s pestering but stopped on his heels when he heard the older hero clearing his throat and he looked over his shoulder with a tight frown. “What?”

“I… am happy for you Dami,” Dick ignored the scowl that the youngest Robin was giving him at the nickname. “It’s just, uh,” he muttered as he tried to come up with an idea on how to start this conversation in a way that wouldn’t be awkward for the two of them even though it was mainly about the younger male. “I know that it’s not my business, but I think we need to have a conversation about something.” He nodded his head towards the medium size kitchen table, lifting a brow when he had walked over to sit down in one of the chairs and pointed to the other one that was across from him.

“What kind of conversation Grayson?” Damian asked, trying to decide if he should walk over to the chair or to just simply walk away from him all together. He doesn’t have time for riddles or games with the annoying hero that was waiting patiently for him to walk over to sit with him. “Tell me now. I do not have time for this.”

“Oh? Then I guess we should hurry then so you can get back to Raven.” Dick didn’t miss the way Damian’s cheeks turn slightly pink at her name. He smiled when Damian finally decided to walk over to across from him reluctantly after a few seconds of silence. “Good. Good,” he pushed back a few loose strands of his hair as he chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully as he tries to figure out on how to start the conversation.

“Well? Out with it. Or I will walk out of here.” Damian told him, breaking into Dick’s thoughts. He folded his arms over his chest and shot him a glare. “Now,” he demanded when Dick didn’t say anything more.

“Are you two…” Dick started to say before stopping himself as he tries to think of a term to say. He could tell from the annoyed stare that Damian was giving him that he was about two seconds away from leaving the kitchen all together. “Active?”

“What do you mean by active?” Damian asked, knitting his brows together.

Dick shifted awkwardly in his chair as he tried not to let the young hero know that he was quite uncomfortable in this situation. He rubbed the back of his neck and sucked in a breath. “Are you two sexually active?” he tried again with more confidence this time. “You can be honest with me, Dami,” he added when he saw Damian narrowing his green irises at him.

“ I told you before that it’s not your damn—”

“Business? Yea, I know. You’ve told me that at least twice now,” Dick interrupted with a sort, shaking his head when he had leaned forward in his chair. “Listen. I want us to be honest with each other alright. Can you please just answer the question.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what sexual intercourse is. We don’t need to have a conversation about this.” Damian huffed out with a roll of his eyes as his patience started to grow thin.

Dick mentally groaned at Damian’s response of the topic and pursed his lips together in a thin line. “Just because you know about the basics of it doesn’t mean you actually know what it is,” he pointed out, folding his arms over chest as he tried not to smirk when Damian eased his glare at him. “That’s what I thought. Now,” he tried again, sighing heavily as he uncrossed his arms. “Have you two…”

“We haven’t…. not yet,” Damian jumped in, clearing his throat as he tries his best to avoid Dick’s ocean stare from across the table.

Dick released his breath that he didn’t realize he was holding when the teen had finally answered his question. He felt relieved at his answer and knew it must’ve been awkward for him. He had felt that way before when he was his age, but his conversation was with the Dark Knight and it had gone quite differently with him. Dick knew that he was different from Damian’s father and yes there were times that he needed to be serious especially on missions but overall, he believes that he has an interesting personality. At least, that’s what Kori would tell him.

“Good! I mean…” Dick paused when the former assassin narrowed his eyes at him. “That’s not what I meant. Promise,” he added quickly. “What I mean is that’s good that you two haven’t yet. That means that there is still time to…” he glanced up at the ceiling as he tried to collect his thoughts together. “Talk about it. Yea, that’s it!”

Damian lifted a brow at the former Robin. “So, what you are telling me is that I should simply ask Raven if she’s willing to copulate with me?”

Dick stared at him blankly at his choice of words that came from the raven-haired teen and had completely forgotten his brain works differently than his and he knows more vocabulary than him. “Yes…” he responded slowly, shaking his when his mind went back to the word that Damian had used. “But don’t use that word. You might get sent to a different dimension if you do,” he warned him. “You have to be more romantic about it and less you about it,” he explained to him.

“How Grayson?” Damian asked slowly. “I’ve done romantic things with her before,” he told him, and Dick’s lips turned upwards when he saw Damian’s olive cheeks turn pink. “But not like this,” he admitted quietly.

“Oh?” Dick wanted to tease the little Robin again about his new relationship, but he held back instead. He could tease him later. He was honestly shocked that Damian even had a romantic side to begin with. “I see,” he said, changing his teasing tone to a calmer one. “Just do what you would normally with her and when the timing is right you bring it up casually. Also,” he paused suddenly as he tried to think of a way to bring this side of the topic up. “You have to make sure that you use protection.”

“You can say condom Grayson. I am not a child. Anything else?” Damian asked, pushing his chair back and was about to get up from the table. “Anything else Grayson?” he asked when Dick didn’t answer right away.

“You need to be…careful with her Damian,” Dick told him after a lull of silence. He made sure to look directly into the young Robin’s emerald irises as he said this. Dick could tell that the teen was confused by what he had meant as his brows furrowed together. “It could hurt her. The first time I mean,” he explained to him slowly. “You have to be gentle with her. You can’t be rough with her. You must communicate with her. If she says to stop…you stop. It’s not all about you. Understand?” he asked in a stern voice.

“I…understand.” Damian said, balling his fists at his side. “I would never to something that could possibly hurt her.”

Dick nodded his head, knowing that Damian had meant what he said and stood up from his chair to walk over towards him. He watched the young hero look at him curiously when Dick reached over to ruffle his hair playfully. “Little D, I am glad that we had this talk,” he told him, chuckling when Damian swatted his hand away from his hair.

“Grayson… enough with the nicknames,” Damian huffed out with a roll of his eyes when he tried to fix his hair the way he had it earlier. He sighed in frustration when his hair wouldn’t go back to way it was before and decided to leave it be. “I’m going to check to see if Raven is back with Titus,” he told him, walking over to the open entryway that separates the kitchen and the living room. He paused his moments and looked over his shoulder to see the older hero making another cup of coffee with two cups instead one and knew that the other cup was for the red haired Tamaranian.

Dick could feel the pair of forest eyes on him as he put sugar in the coffees but didn’t turn around. “Got something on your mind?” he asked as he used the same spoon to stir the creamer he had poured in Kori’s coffee.

“I would like to thank you,” Damian said, and Dick smiled as he looked down at the light brown liquid. “And I will take heed your advice.”

“You are quite welcome D,” Dick said, turning around to face him with two mugs in his hands. He smirked as he walked by him. “Raven is a nice girl. Just take care of her okay?”

“She is… quite nice,” Damian agreed with a nod as he tried his best not to blush as he thought about the woman with maroon eyes and short plum hair. “And I will take care of her with my life. You have my word.”

“I know that you will.” Dick said, nudging his shoulder lightly against the youngest Robin. “Just…” he grinned wickedly as he quickly walked a safe distance away in case of retaliation. “Make sure you guys don’t do it in the kitchen. I’m so damn glad that I didn’t see anything weird besides kissing when I had walked in.”

“Grayson, I am plotting your demise as we speak.”

AN: Hi! I always feel Damian and Dick get along extremely well and I can picture them having this sort of conversation lol and Dick would definitely tease Damian about Raven too lol. Hope you guys liked it!!:)

[agustdakasuga]

You Never Walk Alone | Chapter 2

Genre: Werewolf!AU, Poly!AU?, Mate!AU, romance, fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Student!reader, Omega!Seokjin, Alpha!Yoongi, Beta!Hoseok, Alpha!Namjoon, Omega!Jimin, Beta!Taehyung, Alpha!Jungkook

Summary: You live a quiet life in your late grandfather’s cabin in the woods. You go to school just to graduate and get your diploma, not to make friends or stand out from the crowd. That was until one day, you enter your home to see a pack of wolves that need shelter.

You cannot stop thinking about the wolf. You felt a strong bond with it despite it only being around for a few hours. A part of you dreads going back to the quiet house without him there. 

“Did he get back to his pack safely?” You sighed as you looked out the window. For some reason, the wolf couldn’t leave your mind. You wondered how he was, if his bandages came loose, if he found his home. 

All the more your bullies were annoyed that you weren’t even sparing them a glance today. Your mind was somewhere else, thinking about someone else that they seemed invisible to you. Lifting your hand, you remembered how soft his fur felt against your fingertips. 

“God, he’s a wild animal who just needed shelter for the night. He’s gone.” You scolded yourself mentally. 

But for some reason, you were so captured by him. The way he would whine or grin at you like a person would. Or how he scoffs or rolls his eyes at your words, as if telling you to shut up. 

If not for his looks, he could be human. 

Maybe this was the universe telling you to get a pet and stop being such a loner. You couldn’t help but scoff at that thought.

“Omg, she has officially gone crazy. She’s even talking to herself.” Someone pointed at you, snickering. Everyone laughed alone. You just rolled your eyes and rested your chin in your palm. 

After working, that evening, you got down at the bus stop and headed through the forest track that you always took to get back to your wood cabin. You had your earphones blasting music in your ears as you walked. The darkness didn’t scare you. There weren’t many wild animals to be afraid of anyways, well... except now you knew there were wolves. 

*howl*

You pulled one earphone out when you heard a distance howl. Your heart grew warm as you thought that it could be your wolf. 

“I hope you found your family.” You smiled and continued on your path. When you reached your home, instead of going into the house, you sat on the log outside, admiring the stars. 

Hearing footsteps, you turned your forehead to see him. He walked over casually, planting his butt down next to your feet. You blinked at him. 

“You’re... still here?” You were confused. 

“Don’t you want to find your family?” You stroked his head. His head dropped and ears drooped at your words, letting out a whine. Did he not have a family like you? Was he also left behind? Sighing, you continued to stroke his head and even rubbed his ears. 

“Guess we’re both alone, huh?” You chuckled bitterly. 

"Well, at least we both have each other to count on now.” Jimin barked.

“Alright. You can stay here with me if you want.” You rolled your eyes as you shook your head. 

He stood up and smiled at you, wagging his tail as he let his tongue fall out of his mouth. You laughed but was caught off guard when he pounced on you, showering you in licks. 

“Yah! Yah! Stop!” You laughed. 

“Never!” Jimin laughed as he continued to shower you in kisses. He backed away and sat back down as you pushed yourself up. 

“Alright, let’s get dinner.” You dusted your clothes before unlocking the door and entering. As you left him to go shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You couldn’t stop smiling. You touched the mirror, it has been so long since you’ve even seen yourself smiling. There has just never been a reason to smile so you never did. 

You came out and changed into comfortable clothes. When you came back down, the wolf stood up and headed to you. 

“After dinner, we’re giving you a name. I don’t think you really like the name ‘wolfie’, huh?” You patted his head and he let out a bark in agreement. 

It was a dinner of mixed noodles for you and for the wolf, the same boiled chicken. He was not impressed, his expression was a dead giveaway as you put down the bowl in front of him.

“I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow, okay? This is all I have.” You said defensively. He huffed but dug into his food anyway. You sat on the couch to eat. 

As you watched your show, you felt something wet on your cheek, making you jump. 

“Yah! I should seriously attach a bell to you. You walk too quietly.” You scoffed as he used his nose to boop your cheek. You slowly inched away, only to have him step closer to you. He eyed your food and blinked up at you innocently. You knew what he was hinting at. 

“Nu uh. This is mine. You already ate your share.” You held the bowl away. He whined, staring into your eyes. 

“Sorry but puppy eyes don’t work on me, mister.” You scolded as you continued eating. He gave up, lying down next to you, resting his head on his front paws. 

After you were done, the wolf waited for you to wash up and do the dishes. He tilted his head, looking at you curiously as you pulled out a chart. 

“Here. Choose your name.” You pointed to the Korean alphabet. 

“Do you even know how to-”

He cut you off by stepping forward and using his right paw to tap at the alphabet. You quickly wrote down wherever he stepped on and put it together. He sat down and waited for you to put the words together. He smiled at the way you stuck your tongue out of your mouth as you were deep in thought. Finally, you slammed the writing pad down, making him jump. 

“Oops. Sorry... Jimin.” You looked up at him. 

“You got it!” He barked and you smiled, throwing your hands over him to pull him into a hug. 

“You like the name Jimin?” You asked again and he barked. 

“Nice to meet you, Jimin. I’m (y/n).” You pulled away. He barked and turned around, chasing his tail, making you laugh before falling onto his back and rolling around in joy. 

“(y/n)! What a beautiful name for a beautiful human.” Jimin softened. You smiled at Jimin and patted his head. Looking at the clock, you went upstairs to do your homework or it would be too late. You didn’t know that Jimin followed you. He watched as you settled in front of the desk with your books. 

“What are you doing in here?” You giggled. Jimin stood on his hind legs, resting his front paws on your thighs as he sniffed. 

“It’s math. You know math?” You chuckled, stroking his head. 

He jumped down and curled up next to my chair on your rug. You turned back to do your word. Jimin chuckled as he heard your occasional cursing as you wrote the workings wrong. 

“She reminds me of Jungkook...” Jimin looked at you fondly. But immediately grew sad at the thought of his youngest brother. How was he doing? Was he okay? 

After a few hours, you stood up and stretched your arms. Jimin lifted his head to watch you. You moved around the room, packing your things. He admired the way you would hum a random tune as you did your things like packing your bag and organising your messy desk. You were so amusing that he could watch you for hours. 

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You said, making Jimin blink. 

“You probably don’t understand that.” You laughed, patting his head as you walked past. 

“Hmm... Tomorrow is Friday but I’m not working this weekend. Maybe we can have a picnic by the lake.” You checked your calendar. Jimin stood up and barked in approval, wagging his tail. 

“Maybe I can find my pack!” Jimin thought excitedly. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve been on a picnic.” You sat on the edge of your bed, a sad smile on your face. 

“What’s wrong, (y/n)? Don’t be sad, please.” Jimin whimpered, resting his head on top of your lap. You shook your head with a forced smile. Standing up, you went to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you returned, dressed in your pyjamas. 

“Your bed is in the living room, mister.” You pointed. Jimin whined. 

“Fine! You can stay here but on the ground. You haven’t had a bath yet so you’re not coming on my bed.” You glared and went downstairs to grab the blanket that Jimin used. 

“Here.” You laid it over him and slipped into your own bed. 

“Goodnight, Jimin.” You said, a smile on your face as you turned to lights off. You haven’t really wished anyone goodnight in a while and it made your heart grow warm again, you didn’t think Jimin would melt the loneliness. 

That night...

“No...” Jimin’s head perked up as he heard you. Standing up, he headed over to your side, seeing you toss and turn. You had a frown on your face and cold sweat covered your forehead as you whimpered. Jimin changed back into a human, covering his naked body with the blanket before he cupped your cheek, stroking it gently with his thumb. 

“You’re okay, (y/n). I’m right here.” He whispered with a soft smile. 

“Please don’t... leave.” You cried. 

“I’m never leaving you. I’ll always be here for you.” He leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. You slowly calmed down, the frown disappearing from your face. 

Satisfied, Jimin turned back into a wolf. But this time, instead of going back to the rug, he curled up on the ground by your side of the bed. 

[Dream]

“(y/n)... Wake up.” A voice spoke. You opened your eyes and looked around. How did you get into the middle of the forest? The last thing you remembered was your nightmare, it was dark and lonely.

“(y/n).” The same voice called and you turned around to see a boy standing there. He was so good looking, almost like an angel. As you faced him, a smile grew on his face, his eyes turning into crescent moons. You blinked in confusion as he waved at you to come over. 

“Who are you?” You tilted your head. 

“Come on, you know me. Think about it.” He held your hands in his, his light laugh filling your ears.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognise you.” You admitted in embarrassment. 

“Ah... I guess that’s okay. We’ll meet soon.” He tugged you towards him so he could hug you tightly. He pressed his face into your shoulder and you couldn’t help but melt at his warmth. 

It felt so different from your nightmare. That felt cold and dark. But with this mysterious boy, it was warm and bright. He pulled away and planted a kiss on your forehead that you swore felt real. Almost like lips were really touching your forehead. He pulled away with a big, bright smile. Waving, he ran off into the forest while you just stared blankly. 

“Oh, (y/n)!” He called, breaking your stare at you looked at him. 

“No more boiled chicken please! It’s too bland!” He laughed and realisation hit you hard as he said that. 

“J-Jimin?” You finally blurted out. 

“Hey! Wait! Jimin, don’t go!” You reached out to him but he disappeared behind the trees, leaving you to stand there alone. Was that boy really Jimin? That was nonsense, how could you dream of a wolf as a person? 

You stirred awake when you felt something wet on your cheek. Your eyes shot open and you recoiled in shock, only to see a curious Jimin sitting there, staring at you with his head tilted. 

“You scared the hell outta me!” You put a hand on your cheek. He let out a low howl and nodded over to your nightstand. 

“Oh damn! I forgot to set my alarm! Thanks, Jimin!” You rushed out of bed. Luckily Jimin woke you up only 5 minutes after your supposed alarm time so you weren’t that late. You brushed your teeth and took a shower, changing into your school uniform. 

“Jimin! Breakfast!” You called and he trotted into the living room. As you set the plate down, you remembered what human Jimin said in your dream. 

“No more boiled chicken please! It’s too bland!”

“Hmm...” You looked down at Jimin who just blinked back at you. 

“Nothing, go ahead. I’m just insane, as usual.” You scoffed and dug into your own eggs. Jimin inwardly sighed at the chicken but ate anyway. Being a wolf meant his appetite was huge. He was always hungry. 

“I’ll drop by the grocery store to get more meats for you, okay? But let me warn you, don’t expect Korean beef cause I’m not spending that much.” You folded your arms and Jimin grunted at that. You cleared up the kitchen as you ate. Jimin frowned in disapproval at that but he knew you were pressed for time and didn’t have time to properly clean. 

“I have to go!” You grabbed your bag and slipped your shoes on. Jimin sat in front of you patiently. 

“You can go back to sleep, Jimin.” You stroked his head. Jimin just sat there stubbornly. You shook your head with a smile and stood up, beginning the walk to the bus stop. Jimin stayed by your side until the main road. 

“People may see you.” You smiled down at him. 

“Like I care.” Jimin rolled his eyes but still stood by the edge of the forest to watch you. You watched him as you waited for the bus. 

When it finally pulled up, you gave him a small wave and he smiled, his tongue hanging out of his house. Once your bus disappeared out of sight, Jimin turned to head back into the forest. But instead of heading towards the forest, he went to the lake that you were supposed to go with him to tomorrow. 

“Please.” Jimin stepped closer to the water and drew a symbol into the surface, causing a rippling effect. 

“Thank God.” He let out a shaky sigh of relief as he saw the image 7 lit crystals appear. That meant his brothers were still alive, he could still find them. 

Being the head pack of their region, they had almost the status of princes. They each had their own coloured crystal that could appear in water if their pack symbol was drawn. 

Each symbol represented a member of the head pack. If one member died, they crystal’s light would die down as well. 

“I hope we find each other soon.” He said to his pack’s broken mind link and walked away from the lake, going back to the house. He entered through the side door that you now left unlocked for him to come in and out of. 

“Time to stretch.” He turned back into his human form. Even if he was alone, he wasn’t going to walk around naked so he wrapped a towel around his waist as he lounged inside the house. He felt like he could relax a little, knowing that his family was still out there. But for some reason, he didn’t want to leave you to find them. The thought of you coming back to the empty house again hurt him.

-

You grabbed a cart and pushed it through the supermarket. You had your usual music playing in your ears and people were looking at you, a girl in high school uniform, grocery shopping at close to 10pm. 

“What choice do I have? I had to work.” You mentally sighed as you grabbed rice and placed it in your cart. Then you went to the meat counter. 

“Girl, there’s a sale on beef since it’s the end of the day.” The butcher told you.

“But let me warn you, don’t expect Korean beef cause I’m not spending that much.” 

You smiled as you remembered what you told Jimin this morning. Maybe you should surprise him and treat yourself. You got the beef, some pork and chicken to store in the freezer. After that, you went to get some vegetables. Do wolves eat vegetables...?

“He’ll just learn to eat vegetables then.” You shrugged and placed an assortment in the cart, as well as some fruit. Once that was done, you paid and began to make your way home. 

“Jimin!” You called as you dragged the bags of groceries through the door. Jimin trotted over, staring as you fell down from the weight. 

“Sorry I’m late. Let’s have dinner.” You began to keep everything. Jimin poked his head into the plastic bags curiously, sniffing around to see what you bought for him. 

“What did you buy?!”

“Hey, no snooping.” You lightly hit his muzzle. He snorted. 

“Go on. I’ll make dinner now.” You said and began to prepare dinner. Heating up the pan, you dropped the steaks into it to sear it. You seasoned yours while leaving Jimin’s plain. From the living room, Jimin was smelling the amazing scent of meat being seared that he had a strong urge to just turn back into a human and eat it. 

“Dinner!” You called and he dashed over, sliding and knocking into your legs. You chuckled and took the plate with his food, putting it down. 

“It’s beef! No more disgusting chicken!” Jimin smiled in excitement, barking and jumping up and down. He happily dug in while you slurped your ice noodles with sliced beef on the side. 

“Enjoy it, babe.” You patted his back with a chortle. You made some lettuce wraps for yourself. 

“Want?” You casually held out a piece of lettuce to him. Jimin leaned forward to sniff a little when you grabbed a piece of beef off his plate. He growled. 

“Calm down! Geez, I just wanted to make a wrap.” You scoffed and wrapped the piece of beef in the lettuce, holding it out to him for him to eat. He sniffed it again and opened his mouth. You laughed and pushed it into his mouth. Chewing, Jimin opened his mouth again. 

“Huh... A wolf does eat vegetables.” You made another one for him to eat. 

After dinner, you showered and settled on the couch with a cut apple. Jimin sat next to you, his tail swaying for side to side as he waited for you to feed him. You focused on your drama, taking one bite and holding it out to Jimin. 

“Pay attention to me!” Jimin rolled his eyes. He leaned down to nibble to half bitten apple slice from your hand. 

“Look, Jimin!” You patted on him, pointing to the screen with a puppy. 

“Do you seriously think that pup is cute?! You seriously have not seen cute.” He shot you a flat look but of course, you didn’t notice as you were busy cooing at the puppy on the television screen. 

He sighed and laid down, putting his head on your thigh. He whined cutely and you looked down at him. 

“What?” You run your fingers through his fur. He stared back up at you as you turned back to the television. Jimin rolled down so you were rubbing his belly instead. His hind leg kicked in satisfaction, letting out sounds of happiness as his tongue rolled out the side of his mouth. You couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your lips. 

“You’re a puppy too, aren’t you.” You teased.

~~

Tag list

@georgie-me-myself-i​ @tatastaetaemainblog​ @dragoste-lunes​ @lil7bluedragon​ @amber-thumbs​ @greezenini​ @jisoosbitch​ @taozibun1​ @ghostkat23​ @fullvoidmoon​ @lovelyseomin​ @aclp-jb1d​ @mrcleanheichou​ @smallbaby-cat​

[god1ngs]

━‎ visitation

synopsis; a certain someone pays a visit

contains; major angst, arguing, one mention of vomit, swearing

day two + 1.6k wc

note; sorry this took so long! but here is day two :]

previous part ; seven days masterlist ; next part

   your rage fit from yesterday had calmed down, allowing you to be at peace once you awoke. the ache of your knuckles, red and scraped, had reminded you of it ─ the anger that coursed through your feelings, for not only your nation but yourself as well.

   the deal you made with dream hasn't, and won't, gone away. how you wished it was that easy. how you wished the contract would leave you alone. the nagging of his words, constantly on repeat in your head, made your everyday life harder and harder.

   knowing when you would die haunted you.

   it was the second day, you had noticed. you didn't want to get out of bed, didn't want to face the world that morning. however, life didn't quite work out in your favor. you sighed, dreading the hours that would follow once you got up.

   a banging at your door had been the push to get you out of bed. you frowned, almost ignoring the other before getting out of bed. you frowned, an anguishing weight being shoved on to your shoulders as you got up. you pushed open the door, revealing a familiar brunette.

   wilbur, who had been making his daily rounds around the crater that was his country, had decided to come check up on you. the state you were in yesterday had worried him, not allowing a peaceful night. he gave a small, yet weak all the time, smile. a hopeful flame ignited in the smile.

   "are you alright? i wanted to check on you." his thick british made you more hopeful of a greater future, one where you weren't threatened by the laws of the land. you have a sigh, nodding your head before apologizing for your outburst. wilbur, in his naturally good nature, waved you off with a smile.

   "don't worry about it, [name]. we all get mad sometimes. i'm just glad i found you before you hurt yourself more." the brunette said, placing a hand on your shoulder. wilbur was someone who always knew how to calm others down, someone who could pick a persons brain in a matter of moments.

   you leaned into the touch, one of the only comforting feelings you've had in days. dream's words came to your mind, making you shudder. wilbur, having noticed, spared you a glance. "are you cold?" he asked and, although you wanted to say no, you couldn't give any indication that you were scared.

   at your nod, wilbur stripped himself of his suit jacket, placing it over your shoulders. the man smiled at you, truly a gentleman. "it is a bit cold around here. you can keep my jacket until you find one for yourself, yeah?" he told you, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

   wilbur had always been kind like that, gentlemanly in his own sweet ways. the brunette had always acted like this around you, giving you his jacket whenever you were cold or shooting you a smile whenever you were sad. he was like your rock in hard times.

   he was one of your most trusted friends, you could even say you would trust him with your life.

   you and wilbur talked more, although the conversation was mostly him. dream's words still haunted you. they replayed in your mind like a broken record, scratchy and out of tune, yet terrifying all the same. you weren't ready to face death yet.

   you weren't ready to die.

   you still had so much to live for.

   and yet, fate worked in cruel ways.

   wilbur had noticed how weird you were acting. he had always been observant, coming with his natural person and his role as president. you weren't there, off in a distant world doing god knows what. he wasn't the one to be nosy, but he was curious as to what was on your mind.

   the birds chirped their melodious tune, a peaceful melody to interrupt the dreadful silence.

   explosions cut through the silence. loud and abrupt, the explosives at the entrance of l'manberg, already blown up beyond recognition, exploded. people came rushing out of their homes, scared and confused and tired. the war was still taking its toll on them.

   always making the grand entrance, stood dream. his smiley face mask, chipped at the edges from years of wear and tear, stared back tauntingly at the citizens; it mocked their fear. he didn't say anything for a moment, only staring. waiting and watching for someboy else to make the first move.

   "for fucks sake, dream," shouted tommy, irritated. "what do you want now!? you already blew up l'manberg and now you're doin' it even more!" the tangent he was about to go on was interrupted by wilbur placing a hand on his shoulder, silencing him. wilbur stepped up, appearing to not be afraid of stepping up to dream.

   "what do you want dream?" he asked coldly, eyes of steel narrowed at the other man. dream only snickered, his smirk obvious. he only came to taunt you all, to shove his win in l'manbergs face. the face that l'manberg wasn't free overjoyed him.

   "oh nothing," dream said in a sing song tone. "just wanted to come by to see one your people, wilbur." wilbur hadn't known what to reply, the response from dream confusing him. he opened his mouth to speak, yet you couldn't hear or decipher his words.

   dread washed over you. it enveloped you in its cold embrace, smothering you while you begged for it to stop. you almost wanted to plead, to plead dream to leave you alone. you swallowed harshly, nervous as dream scanned the crowd ─ presumably for you.

   maybe you could leave. if you slipped out quickly, no one would notice. you could leave so easily, without interfering with what was happening. although it would be a cowardice move. you blinked back your fears as you stood there, silently hoping he wasn't there to see you.

   the universe didn't seem to hear your pleas.

   dream had came up to you, grinning and glowing with glee. "[name]!" he exclaimed, the sadistic undertone clear in his words. "how've you been?" you could only stand there in shock, all eyes on you. your next few moments depended on this, for you could lose your life within a few minutes.

   your lack of an answer clearly displeased him, his grip on your shoulder increasing. you winced, hissing underneath your breath. "i've been okay." you stammered meekly, reluctant in answering his question. he only smiled wider, letting go of your shoulder.

   "good, good! i came to remind you of our little deal. remember what my words were, okay?" your blood ran dry at his words, and so did everyone else's judging by their reactions. dream only turned, saying goodbye to the citizens of l'manberg and being on his way.

   all eyes were still on you when he left. they didn't leave you even as you crumpled in on yourself, grasping at whatever warm skin you could find. shouting began quickly. tommy was shouting, yelling at you for what deal you had made with dream.

   you could see wilbur's shocked face. disappointment shone on his features, his creased brow in confusion making you want to vomit. he stopped tommy yelling, although only a short amount of time before it began again, while walking up to you. "you made a deal with dream? the villain?"

   you couldn't speak even if you wanted to. words wouldn't make it past your throat, you almost clawed them out. you only choked on them, eyes wide and panic filled. you were scared of losing your friends, as well as your life.

   telling them about the deal would be going against him, right?

   you nearly started sobbing. the reminder that you were around people who expected you to be strong stopped the urge. you sniffled, opening and closing your mouth to speak yet no words making it past. wilbur's disappointment strengthened.

   "[name], tell me what deal you made with dream." the firmness of wilbur's voice had been one you hadn't heard directed at you before. to tommy, and sometimes tubbo, but never you before. you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that voice came with. he put a hand on your shoulder, and the familiar comfort didn't come with it this time.

   "i can't, wilbur..." you choked out, the fear of power from dream outweighing any of your friendships. you couldn't bear your death coming earlier, as well as your friends having to watch it. tears steamed down your face, lip quivering and eyes fluttering. wilbur showed no pity. he wasn't the kind man who had offered his jacket before.

   "i'm sorry, [name], but until you tell us what deal you made with dream, you can't be here anymore."

   the words taunted you. they laughed and mocked and jeered you while you sobbed. you could only look up at wilbur, stammering out words you don't even know made sense or not. he apologized again and, with that, escorted you out of l'manberg.

   you cried as you left.

   you had no where to go. your home was l'manberg, and now you had been escorted out by your friend of years. you didn't know where else to go except the lake. the lake you had met dream only days ago, your own pathetic relfection staring back at you. your eyes were red and puffy, a significant indication you had been bawling.

   footsteps approached you, and much like that night only days ago, there dream stood.

   you flinched as he sat next to you. he hummed, leaning back on his palms, grass blades tickling his fingers. he looked up at the sky, the twinkling night stars. you sniffled. he let out a sigh, one of content and pleasure.

   "this is going to be the worst week of your life, and i'll make sure of it."

   he would keep his promise.

taglist, (open)

━‎ ‎ ‎@paradigmax ; @pachowpachowbucket ; @acatstalkingyou ; @angelicaschuyler-church ; @saucey-kneecapzz42020 ; @piano-boo ; @i-need-hugs ; @strawbrinkofdeath ; @halloweenpoison13 ; @boiled-onionrings ; @feverish-dove ; @ahmya-4 ; @queenwastaken

[five-rivers]

Oooh, I just saw the big about prompts!

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.”

(Can be inspiration or an actual quote; do what ya want! :P)

The world ended on a Saturday, and it wasn’t Danny’s fault.  Even if that Saturday happened to be his sixteenth birthday.  

Okay, maybe that was a bit overdramatic.  But, honestly, neither he nor anyone else he’d ever spoken to knew why or how things had turned out this way.  Just that, one morning, reality shook, shuddered, and took a few steps to the left.  

Humanity woke to green-streaked skies, a rainbow sun, and a lot more universe than they were used to.  So did ghosts.  

This was a problem.  It might even be deemed the problem.  Humans and ghosts didn’t exactly get along, and even when neither the ghosts nor the humans involved particularly wanted to fight, the new laws of nature and the few who did want to fight tended to ruin things for everyone else.  (Cough, GIW, cough, Walker, cough.)

Hence the end of the world.  Or, at least, most large-scale governments.  

It could have been worse.

Amity Park stopped being a city that day, fragmented with Ghost Zone wilderness, landscape and spatial dimensions shattered in a spiderweb centered on Fentonworks, the portal a wellspring of wild power and unpredictable translocations.  Danny had worried that the portal had been the cause of the whole thing, but Amity Park was far from the only place with similar issues (look at New York), and Danny eventually was able to accept that not every bad ghost-related thing that happened was on him.  

(Probably.)

Honestly, once everything calmed down a bit, the new world was much more comfortable, physically and mentally, for Danny to live in.  Which was weird, but made sense.  The new world was split between human and ghost, just like him.  It was everyone else who was uncomfortable, now.  

Which, again, he felt guilty about, but, yeah.  He couldn’t do anything about that, so feeling guilty was counterintuitive.  Thank you, tiny Jazz in his head.  

It was Saturday again.  Time for the market fair.  

“Mom and Dad are already out?” asked Danny, leaning over the banister.  

“Yeah,” said Jazz, not looking up from her work transcribing an old ghost text into something more palatable to human eyes.  She adjusted her green lenses to sit closer to her eyes.  “An hour or two ago.  Some guys from Chicago came in last night, apparently, and they wanted to get a head start.”

“Okay,” said Danny.  “I’m going, too.  You want anything?”

“Nope.  I’d be going myself if I did,” said Jazz.  

“You sure?  Nothing for dinner?”  

“Nope, I’m all set.”

“Cool,” said Danny, padding towards the door.  He pulled his nice, dark coat, the one he’d gotten from Dora, off the hook, and shrugged into it, pulling up the hood.  

“No shoes today?” asked Jazz, who had finally looked up.  

“Eh,” said Danny.  “I guess not.  Doesn’t really feel like a shoe kind of day.”  He flexed his toes.

“Well, avoid blackberries, then,” said Jazz.  

“They should avoid me,” joked Danny.  “Good luck with that book!”

“Thanks,” said Jazz, waving as Danny left.  

Fentonworks was the same tall, brick-and-UFO building as it had always been, but now it stood alone on top of a small hill rising from a distinctly purple forest.  The dark grass waved back and forth like the tentacles of a sea anemone.  Bright green portal streaks, cracks in reality, stood out against the foliage, along with a few other buildings that had once belonged to the Fentons’ neighborhood.  The sun was blue today, but Danny predicted it would be green by nightfall.  

Danny walked down the path, the dirt on it declining to adhere to Danny’s feet.  He hummed, quietly, a tune he half-remembered from before the apocalypse.  He would not be walking all the way to the market fair, it was too far.  His parents had taken the Speeder.  

Danny, on the other hand, had a shortcut.  

He reached one of the portal-fractures and passed through to a part of the forest where the trees whispered to one another.  He took a moment to reorient himself, and continued to the next portal fracture.  

As far as he knew, he was the only person who could reliably travel like this.  He could have flown, but the market fair was busy, and he preferred to maintain his peaceful life.  Phantom was still a celebrity in Amity Park.  Even more so now, than before, as ghosts were no longer shot on sight.  

Some ghosts even came to Amity Park’s market fair.  

He walked through a wider-than-usual fracture which deposited him just outside the main fragment of Amity Park, near the erstwhile mall.  The mall and its attached parking lot being the place the market fair took place.  

It was busy.  There were trucks stamped with the seal of Illinois parked on the edges, presumably belonging to the delegation from Chicago.  There seemed to be more ghosts than usual as well, enough of them to make Danny shiver.   Had they come from Chicago, or was it just a coincidence?  If they had, that would be nice.  Chicago had a lot of local influence, and was one of the places that was still trying to hold together something like a national government.  If they accepted ghosts, others would follow more readily.  

Peace between the two worlds in places other than Amity Park would be very nice.  

Danny wandered down the paths of the market fair, not in any particular hurry to get to his parents’ booth.  He was always more interested in the other things at the fair.  Even if he rarely bought anything.  

People seemed to be mostly moving in one direction.  No, they were being drawn in one direction, with people tugging their companions onward.  Danny, not having anything better to do, went with the flow.  

Which led back to where the Chicago delegation was set up.  Several people were standing in front of the trucks, arguing.  

“How can you lose an entire bevy of ghosts?” demanded the man who appeared to be in charge.  

The target of his ire merely shrugged.  

“Can’t lose people like that, bub!” shouted someone from the crowd.  There was a titter of laughter.  

“Didn’t you have a big, fancy announcement, fed?” 

More laughter.  

“Yeah, what did you want to say?”  This voice had an echo to it, and the the man looked extremely aggrieved.  

Nevertheless, he took a deep breath.  “We were led to believe,” he said, cheek jumping, “by certain ghosts, that there was a way to negotiate with the ghosts and... reverse this nonsense.”

Wow.  So, Chicago got scammed.  That could have repercussions.  Danny hoped Amity Park wouldn’t see too much of the fallout.  

“Wouldn’t you jump on any chance to stop this?” demanded the man in response to the jeers, gesturing at the sky and its pulsing bands of light.  

“Tell us a better story!” shouted Ember, who had struck up a much more cordial relationship with Amity Park after the apocalypse.  “One that we’ll remember!”

The man turned away, throwing his hands in the air.  “Go find them!” he shouted, presumably to his subordinates. 

The crowd broke up.  

Danny was curious.  It was one of his defining characteristics, both as a human and as a ghost.  He followed one of the Chicagoans as they walked into the market turning this way and that.  

“So,” he said, “what story was your boss fed?”

The woman jumped and looked down at him, disconcerted.  (Yes, he was short.  That wasn’t his fault.  Except that it probably was, via the portal accident.)

The woman sighed.  “Why not, it’ll be out before too long.  We were told that the rightful king of ghosts was in hiding here, or something stupid like that.  I don’t think they ever said he could fix the world, even.  Only that he could be negotiated with.”  She kicked the ground.  “This is so stupid.  There’s no ghost king.  This is never going to get fixed.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” asked Danny.  

“How old even were you when it happened.  Ten?” asked the woman.  

“Excuse me, I was sixteen,” said Danny, crossing his arms.  

“That’s cute,” said the woman, dragging her hand down her face.  “You’re like thirteen, tops.  Not nineteen.  Jesus.  Go bother someone else, kid.”

Danny rolled his eyes.  “Well, you aren’t wrong that there’s no ghost king.  Last guy who called himself that got beaten up and locked in a sarcophagus forever.”

Then, just to mess with her, because she’d been rude, Danny turned invisible and left before she turned around.  

Now...  He should probably try to warn people about the scam artist ghosts.  Or would they know from the other people watching?  

Danny flicked back into visibility and continued perusing the various stalls, making small talk with the owners, bringing up the Chicagoans when it was appropriate.  

He was passing by the covered entrance of the mall, one of the most crowded spots in the market fair, when his ghost sense went off, indicating an unfamiliar ghost was nearby.  He scanned the crowd for the ghost.  He didn’t have to look very hard.  Strange ghosts tended to draw eyes, even in Amity Park.  

Especially ones that looked like this.  Inhumanly tall, cloaked, and moving smoothly.  Glimpses under their hoods showed faces riddled with decay- or at least the appearance of decay.  The three of them held instruments.  Flute, drum, and summoning bell.

Danny stood to the side to let them pass.  After all, they weren’t doing anything bad as far as he could see.  

They did not.  Instead, they stopped in front of Danny.  Typical.  

Then they started playing their instruments.  And kneeling.  

Aaaand the crowd was getting bigger.  There was the person from Chicago, too.  Could he escape without turning invisible with all this attention on him?

Probably not without showcasing his ghost powers.  There were people who knew him in this crowd.  Like Paulina.  And Star.  

“Um,” said Danny.  “Hi?”

The leading ghost looked up as the sun’s light turned emerald green.  

“Blessings of rot and petrichor, my prince. May you have a home in the dark, and may the distant stars you reach for never fade.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Danny saw the Chicagoan’s jaw drop.  

“I think you might have the wrong guy,” said Danny.  “I’m not anyone’s prince.”

The ghost grinned, sharp and white.  “We came to give our blessings, my prince.  You do not need to accept them for them to exist.  We offer, also, our service and our hope in this new world that you are so suited for.”

Yeah.  This was going to be a problem.  

[tenspontaneite]

The Ceracurist (Chapter 1/?)

Rayla has been at university for nearly three months, trying and failing to take care of her horn upkeep alone, before she admits defeat and goes to visit a professional horn salon.

It ends up being somewhat less of a terrible experience than she expects.

-

(“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body.)

(Chapter length: 6k. Ao3 link)

---

Rayla pushed through the doors of the salon with a bearing that would have been better suited for heading into battle. Regrettably, there was no one she could legally fight here, so she slunk cautiously in, grimacing at what she saw. She might have hoped to find somewhere to lurk and get her bearings unnoticed, but there was no hiding in that open and well-lit reception area, and no disguising the way that the bell on the door chimed cheerfully at her passing. It was altogether a terrible start to what she fully expected would be a mortifying experience.

A Sunfire elf looked up from the desk and smiled. Their dark skin and hair was typical enough, but the horns caught her eye; she stared for a second before she could avert her gaze. Far from the usual plain gleam of Sunfire horns, these had been carved into elaborate patterns and dyed in an astonishing gradient of red and purple. She’d never seen anything like it outside of the mageskein, or maybe the cover of a magazine. “Welcome!” the elf chirped, friendly. “Do you have an appointment?” Beside them, on the desk, a potted melodaisy sang a tune that she vaguely recognised. It was weirdly anachronistic to find melodaisy music in a place as modern-looking as this.

Rayla stopped short, tension locking her joints. Her neck prickled with self-consciousness. “...Do I need one?” she asked, after a moment, with an edge to her voice. She eyed the door, already wanting desperately to escape. Shouldn’t have listened to Ethari, she thought morosely. This had been a bad idea from the start.

The receptionist inspected her, and in that moment Rayla was entirely certain that they knew exactly what she was about. It was unnerving, the calculating weight of that look. Then it passed, and they waved dismissively. “If you wanted something complex done, yes. But I’m guessing that’s not what you’re here for.”

She gave serious thought to the idea of just...walking out. She could do that, right? But then she’d have to explain the cowardice, such that it was, whenever she next called her family. And what a stupid thing this would be to lose her nerve over. “No.” She agreed grumpily.

“Touch up?” The receptionist questioned. “Basic buff and polish?”

Her shoulders hunched. “Just the filing and buffing,” she relented, in the end. “I’m not here for anything fancy.”

“Polishing is part of our standard service, I’m afraid. Nothing fancy about it, as far as we’re concerned.” The Sunfire elf smiled at her in a placating sort of way. It grated. “Why don’t you go take a seat and I’ll see who’s available?” they gestured at the row of seats, smartly upholstered, arrayed along the wall. Again, Rayla eyed the door. This was apparently noticed. “It’s alright, we’re used to first-timers,” they assured her, already receding from the desk and heading for the door into the salon proper. “It’s really not that scary. Just wait a minute, alright? I’ll be right back.”

They couldn’t have known it. Or maybe they did? But Rayla heard ‘scary’ and stiffened before she could help it, setting her jaw. Very stubbornly indeed, she stalked over to one of the chairs and planted herself in it, staring grimly at the assorted posters and advertisements on the walls. They were, of course, largely advertising different things one could have done to one’s horns. Because this was a horn salon. A horn salon that her entire family had suggested, implied, or outright stated she desperately needed the services of.

It wasn’t her fault that it was hard to get to the undersides of her horns on her own. Even using a complex set of mirrors, working on what you couldn’t see was decidedly challenging. She’d filed off the nasty parts, but apparently, that wasn’t good enough, and she looked unkempt, and undignified, and how do you ever expect to follow your parents into their line of work looking like that, Rayla-

“Ugh,” she muttered to herself, disgruntled, and folded her arms. She glared at a poster that implored her to, in very bold and cheerful lettering, ‘Ask about horn art today!’. Rayla had absolutely no intention of asking about horn art today.

While she was waiting, a Skywing elf emerged from the same door the receptionist had entered, and approached the desk curiously. He turned to her, and as he did, the light caught on his horns. “Did the receptionist leave?” He asked, and Rayla tried very hard not to stare. Not only did this elf have elaborate patterns carved into the horns, but there was – some sort of silvery metallic inlay in there, gleaming bright and almost liquid in the daylight filtering through the window. She hadn’t even known people did that. It was startlingly striking.

“Er,” she said, and “yeah, I think they’ll be back in a minute, though.” The unfamiliar elf accepted this agreeably enough, and stood by the desk to wait.

Sure enough, the receptionist returned in short order, pausing briefly in the doorway to do a double-take at the man waiting there. “Oh, so that’s why he was free,” they muttered to themself, just about loud enough for Rayla’s excellent ears to pick up. More loudly, they said “Tairas! You look fantastic! Glad you decided to try the metallics after all?”

The elf, evidently some sort of repeat customer, chuckled at them as they strode back up to the counter. “Yeah, I wasn’t sure at first, but-“ he waved expressively at his horns. “-wow, right? You’ve got some serious talent working here.”

“We’re very glad to have him, yes,” agreed the receptionist, and then conducted what ended up being a rapid exchange of a staggering amount of currency. Apparently, fancy horn-decorating did not come cheap. Rayla glanced uneasily at the price lists on the walls to reassure herself that what she was here for wouldn’t be so extortionate. Finally, the customer with the fancy metal-patterned horns left, and the receptionist approached her again. “Well, you’re in luck, Callum finished up with Tairas just in time for you,” they told her. “So I can take you through now.”

“Great.” Rayla said, unenthusiastically, and the receptionist snickered at her.

With a friendly pat on her shoulder, they said “It’ll be fine, trust me. And Callum’s one of our best ceracurists anyway, so you’ll be in good hands.”

The words didn’t soothe her. They’d be stranger’s hands, no matter their skill; that was what had unsettled her. Of course it was what had unsettled her. What else?

Still. She supposed if she had to have a stranger’s hands on her horns, at the very least it could be a stranger who knew what they were doing. Rayla sighed, resigned, and followed the receptionist through to the treatment area. She entered a long corridor with yet more doors arrayed along it; some further down its length marked ‘staff only’, others nearer and unadorned. The receptionist took her into the closest, revealing a large room lined with curtained-off booths. The sounds were precisely what she’d expected; the buzz of a half dozen electric buffers in operation, the hum of voices, the shuffling of feet. She could smell keratin dust and horn polish on the air. Horn oil, too.

It ought to have unsettled her further, and it did, a little. But the sight of the curtains had soothed her at once, with all their attendant implications of privacy. Somehow, she’d anticipated something far more open, where she had the sight to go with the sound of however-many elves having their horns groomed. She’d anticipated that others would be able to see her, sat beneath the ministrations of a ceracurist who she didn’t even know.

It had been a stupid expectation, in retrospect. For all that it was more common in the larger cities for elves to see a ceracurist when they needed to, they still had their dignity. Of course there’d be booths. Of course they wouldn’t be able to see each other. Of course.

Her relief at the realisation sustained her until she was led a little further down the room. Only one booth was open and empty, and within it she saw what she expected: a chair, a basin, a mirror. A table of tools. There was no one waiting there for her, but she tensed regardless.

“He’ll be here soon,” reassured the receptionist, as if mistaking the source of her anxiety. “He’s just changing. The metallurgy is careful work, you know.”

She didn’t know, in fact. She didn’t particularly care, either. “Right.” she said, terse, and eventually allowed herself to be prodded over to the waiting chair. Stiffly, she sat. And then the receptionist left her there to wait.

It didn’t take long. On-edge as she was, her ears twitched at the footsteps in the corridor long before anyone entered the room; she traced their approach, staring at the sight of her own terse expression in the mirror. Then, finally, the person drew near enough to pause at the edge of her booth. She could see the edge of their body in the mirror, wearing some sort of dark apron over a uniform.

“Hey there,” he said, friendly, and there was the sound of a curtain being drawn. “So you’re my surprise appointment, huh?”

“Suppose so,” Rayla muttered, eyes on her hands as they tightened in her lap. She still hadn’t looked. She didn’t really want to look at him. This was the person who’d be handling her horns. A stranger. She wasn’t quite ready to put a face to the voice yet. But, ready or not…he stepped into view.

Startled, she blinked up at him, and registered several things in rapid succession. The hair was a little surprising; brown, but smooth in a way you didn’t often get with Sunfire or Earthblood elves, and his skin was pale. Eyes a pleasant forest-green. Cute, Rayla’s mind supplied after a moment, as though to distract herself from the far more obvious conclusion of-

“You’re human?” She blurted, unthinking, and the smile he’d been wearing went momentarily fixed. A little more professional than it was genuine. Then he huffed, an easy laugh, and she felt herself go red around the ears.

“What gave it away?” Her ceracurist asked, dry, his grin a little lopsided.

Rayla stared, taken off-guard, and gestured expansively at his entire body. The lack of horns, the rounded ears, the – the five-finger hands, so strange in their shape that for a moment she couldn’t pull her eyes from them. It wasn’t as if she’d never seen humans before. But these circumstances were weird.

“Yeah, that’s fair.” He acknowledged. He stepped up to the table of assorted tools, inspecting them, and nodded before returning his eyes to her. Again that lopsided smile. “Don’t worry, though. I promise I’m good at my job, even if I don’t have my own horns to practice on.”

Her face burned, blood flushing hot in her veins at the sudden and abrupt reminder of what she was here for. Of what he was here for. “…Is that something people worry about?” She found herself asking, struck by how practiced those words had seemed, like he’d said them – or some variation of them – a great many times.

“Eh, sometimes.” He shrugged, then went over to pull the rest of the curtains closed. “It’s not something people expect, anyway. A human ceracurist, I mean.”

“I definitely didn’t,” she muttered, not quite under her breath, and he snickered.

“It’s okay, I’m used to it.” He offered a smile, and then – to her surprise – a short polite bow, in the human style, fist clasped over his heart. She’d not seen anyone do that since she was a child. “I’m Callum, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

Thoughts suddenly muddled by some very old memories, she blinked, then nodded cautiously. “Rayla.” She hesitated. “Same?” Under the circumstances, she shouldn’t have found it nice to meet him. But, unaccountably, she did.

“Is it okay if we get started?” He asked then, nodding to his table of implements. “Don’t want to hurry you, but this does take a while.”

Whatever ease she’d managed to find in the brief conversation abruptly fled her, and she went still and wordless. She glanced at him, at his face, for all of a second before the mortification overcame her and she had to hide behind her hands. “Moon above,” she muttered, into her palms, shoulders hunching. “Ugh.”

There was a pause. “You alright there?” His voice was only half joking.

“…Yeah.” She said eventually, and forced her hands down. “Just…”

He sounded sympathetic. “Never had your horns done outside the family, huh?” She made some sort of affirmative noise, and he nodded understandingly. “It’s okay, we get a lot of that here. If it helps, just remember that it’s a professional setting, and doesn’t come with the normal implications, okay?”

She sighed. “I’ll do my best.” Despite that resolution, though, she still couldn’t help the embarrassed grumble when he draped a gown around her front and shoulders, ostensibly to shield her clothes from horn debris, and leaned the chair she was in back towards the basin.

“Do you prefer to have a hair-shield on, or to have your hair washed afterwards?” He asked, after a moment, and she balked. She hadn’t even realised that was an option. But – of course, otherwise people would have to leave the salon with their hair wet with horn-oil and full of disgusting keratin dust and flakes…

“Hair shield,” she opted, quickly, and he hummed his agreement.

“No problem.” He pulled something from the table with a rustling noise. “Does mean I won’t be able to get at the first centimetre or so of your horns, though, so keep that in mind.”

Worth it, she thought. It was something of a mercy, even. The horns themselves were just insensate keratin on the outsides…but the skin at the beds? That was sensitive. She’d be glad to avoid that particular intimacy.

Even as she thought it, the ceracurist lowered something over one of her horns, and then the other, perceptible by the light and gentle weight grazing over them. She went utterly still, and peered up to try to see in the mirror what he was doing. It was a kind of…hood, or shroud, with two horn-holes in it. And some sort of drawstring around both holes. She watched with a bizarre and anxious tension as he pressed the hood down and then tightened the drawstrings around the base of her horns until they were flush with the hornbeds.

Then, visible in the mirror, he paused and looked her horns over. His expression didn’t change much, but she could see the minute lift of his eyebrows. Her face burned. “Been a while,” she offered, by way of explanation for the state of them, and she saw his smile in the reflection.

“You’ve done a pretty good job by yourself, really.” He said generously, dipping something into the basin with a distinct watery splash. “The oversides are pretty neatly filed.” Briefly, there was the lightest sensation of weight on her right horn, like he’d touched a fingertip to it. A shiver of apprehension stiffened her shoulders. “You’ve done this ridge a bit flat, though. And the undersides…” He paused, like he couldn’t think of anything charitable to say on that moment’s notice.

Rayla closed her eyes, embarrassed and unnerved at once. “Ugh.”

“They’re hard to get to, I know,” he soothed, and then planted a wet soapy cloth on the horn in question. “It’s okay. I can fix it up.”

She sighed, neck prickling with tension. “Sure.”

The next few minutes she sat silently warring with her impulse to twitch at every touch on her horns. Given the ceracurist spent said minutes washing those horns, this was a considerable challenge. The sensation of heat from warm water radiating through the keratin wasn’t unfamiliar, and neither was the scrub of the brush – but she’d never experienced either outside the company of family before. It was unsettling. Reminding herself that it was professional didn’t help that, either – all it did was calm the flush in her cheeks a little.

“I’m guessing you moved here recently, then.” The ceracurist – Callum – said after a while. “Away from family.”

She startled a little, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. As best she could, anyway, with her head tipped mostly backwards. Her nose obstructed most of her view from this angle. “…Yeah. Few months back.”

He paused. “You’re a student?” He guessed, and she supposed it wasn’t a difficult leap to make. She was the right age, this part of the city was packed with students, and the first term had started nearly three months ago in March. The conclusion was obvious. She offered a vague hum of agreement to confirm it, and he was silent for a while. “That’s actually kind of impressive,” he said at last. “Most of the other new students with tricky horns gave up trying to do it themselves after like, a month. Not three. You’ve been managing pretty well.”

Rayla snorted. “Tricky horns?” She repeated, ignoring the rest for now, and he huffed at her.

“Moonshadow, Skywing, you know. Tricky horns.” He elaborated. She could practically hear the smile in his voice. “The Sunfire elves manage pretty well, theirs are simple enough.”

“And meanwhile we have the most annoying kind of all,” Rayla muttered, of her own race. “Stupid ridges and all.”

“Well, if you’ve not seen a Skywing elf when they’re casting their shells, maybe hold off on making that call.” He sounded amused. “But yeah, you guys don’t exactly have it easy. We get a lot of Moonshadow elves coming in here for horn help.”

“Students?”

“Mostly. But there’s other elves around who don’t have anyone in their personal lives they’d trust enough, too. So they come here.” He removed the brush, wiped her horns off, and went for a distinctive tool on the table. An electric buffer. Considerably faster and more effective than doing it by hand, she knew, but they were expensive enough that a lot of elves didn’t have one. Her family had, though. They all shared the tools. So she knew what to expect.

The noise of it started up, and accordingly their conversation dwindled. She felt the buzz of the buffer against her right horn a moment later, angled carefully into one of the ridges there. As always, the sensation hummed straight through the keratin to the vaguely-sensitive skin beneath; it tingled. The next while passed like that, with the ceracurist occasionally sitting her up and coaxing her to move her head this way or that to get better angles on her horns, paying particular attention to the neglected undersides. She didn’t even want to think about how many keratin flakes must be littering the gown he’d put on her.

Her inner-horn had gone thoroughly numb from the vibrations by the time he switched the buffer off and set it aside to get the cloth again. “I’ll just wipe this down and go for a second run, then do the same on your other horn, alright?” He said, soothingly, probably seeing how she twitched at every motion, uncertain what he’d do next.

She tried to relax a little. It was uncomfortable, yes, but…this was his job, and it – that was all it was. Plenty of elves had their horns done by ceracurists. It was fine. “Right.” She muttered, and tried not to flinch when she felt the weight of the cloth on her horn again. More to distract herself than anything else, she asked “How long have you been doing this?” Except, once she’d actually asked, she was curious. How did a human even end up working in a horn salon? Why was he in an elven city in the first place?

The ceracurist huffed, and said, impishly, “This? Probably coming up to ten minutes, so far.” He tapped her horn cheerfully, as if to indicate it, and went back to wiping. Her cheeks heated instantly; she couldn’t exactly help it, with that very direct reminder that he was touching her horns.

She rolled her eyes anyway. “Ha-ha,” she said, dryly, and he snickered at her.

“About two years, now.” He relented after a moment. “I’m only in a few times a week, but, eh. It’s a hobby. And I get paid for it, so.” He shrugged, then went for the buffer again. Accordingly, there was no more talking for a while, but in that interim her interest grew. He looked around her age, or maybe even younger…and he’d been doing this for years?

She’d assumed, from his accent, that he came from one of the human countries. Possibly even Katolis, though she wasn’t great at telling the different West Xadia accents apart. But if he’d been living here for years…was he a resident? Long-term? That was rare. The curiosity nagged at her enough that she half-forgot the embarrassment of having her horns handled by a stranger, and when he put the buffer down again, she said “You don’t have a Gullcrest accent.”

“That’s probably one of the politest ways anyone’s tried to ask me where I’m from,” he mused, and for a second she felt like an absolute racist boor before he waved dismissively at her. He explained “It’s fine, people get curious, I don’t mind. I didn’t grow up here or anything, I just came for the university.”

Rayla startled. “You’re a student?”

He smiled, and this time he looked decidedly proud of himself. “Mastery student, even.” He agreed cheerfully, and she stopped short, turning her head over her shoulder to squint at him. “You know, it’s hard to work on your horns if you’re facing me,” he told her, very reasonably, but she was busy inspecting his face. He had to be around the same age as her, surely. And he was on a masters degree?

“How old are you?” She demanded, suddenly completely uncertain of her ability to judge human ages.

The ceracurist looked pleased at the question, as if he relished every chance to show off the absurdly young age at which he was pursuing a mastery in…whatever it was he studied. “Eighteen.” He said, and then gently nudged her into turning around again. She made an incredulous face at him, but obliged after a moment. “How about you?”

“Nineteen,” she answered, distractedly, trying to parse the mystery of her ceracurist’s unlikely academic circumstances. Generally people were only allowed to pursue a mastery when they’d done an apprenticeship or undergraduate degree already, and those were never less than three years long. An apprenticeship, then? She couldn’t imagine a fifteen-year-old being let into the university…

Unceremoniously, the buzz of the buffer interrupted her thoughts and the conversation, so they fell quiet again. It was him who spoke first when he was done with the first pass on her other horn. “What are you studying?”

However logical it was as a follow-up question, it still caught her off-guard. “Er.” She scrambled for the name, mind suddenly blank. A moment later she supplied “Professional Security. And Tactics.”

“Huh.” He sounded bemused. “I know someone on that course, actually. He’s second year now.”

Rayla snorted. “How’s he finding it?”

“Says there’s way more math than he thinks is fair. And he thinks Professor Sadris is evil.”

That neatly matched her observations thus far, at least. “Sounds about right.” After that, the second buffing run silenced them again, and she was left in thought. What would a human be studying at Gullcrest at a mastery level? How long had he lived here? She’d seen a handful of humans at the university, but…well, they stood out. There weren’t a lot of them. Had she seen him before, perhaps? There was something weirdly familiar about him…

She was all set to come out and ask one of the dozen questions on her mind when the buffer stopped, but he just said “I’m about done with this now, so it’s onto the polishing next. That won’t take as long, but there probably will be horn-polish splatter, so…brace yourself, I guess.”

“Isn’t that what the hair shield is for?” She asked, neatly distracted, and was surprised to realise that most of her nerves had disappeared, somewhere between her curiosity and the human ceracurist’s efficient work.

“And the apron,” he agreed. “But it does still get messy. You want any colours?”

“Colour?” She echoed, disconcerted, and he seemed to understand what she was asking.

“Horn polish can come in colours, with dyes in it. It’s a really easy way to add colour to horns. If you’re just here for basic care, though, that’s fine.”

“Er.” She thought for a moment on that startling gradient of colour on the receptionist’s horns. Was that how theirs had been done, or was there some other method needed for something that striking? Either way… “No, no colours. Thanks, though?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’ve got a nice base horn colour, anyway.” He said, as if making comments like that was the most normal thing in the world. For a ceracurist, it might well be; but her cheeks flushed an instant and virulent red regardless. “It’s a good clear dark purple. It’ll look great when it’s polished up.”

Rayla wondered, amid her embarrassment, when she’d last seen her horns polished. Her parents did the buffing, sure, but polishing…not so much. It was a lot of work without the special oils and tools. She thought maybe they’d done it once, when she was pretty young, for one particular formal occasion. Aside from that, though… “I don’t even know what my horns look like polished,” she admitted, flustered, and he paused for a moment.

“Huh.” He said, just a little surprised. “Well, the colour goes darker, and a lot shinier. Looks really nice, I think. You’ll see.” And, with that, he uncapped the horn polish, the smell hitting her like a slap to the face. Her nose wrinkled, and she wondered how many times she’d have to wash her hair to get the residual stink of it out. The hair shield probably wouldn’t be able to keep all of it off, after all.

Her ceracurist seemed entirely oblivious to how awful the smell was at close range, but she supposed he’d had practice withstanding it. Either that, or he’d burned out his sense of smell in the first week of his alleged two years. She closed her eyes a couple of minutes in, the acrid reek of the stuff making them water and sting. It felt like she was dousing her sinuses with acid every time she inhaled.

Callum chuckled at her, as if he knew precisely what she was thinking. “The stuff we use is a lot stronger than what you’re probably used to.” He said cheerfully. “Has a pretty interesting smell, right?”

“It feels like it’s burning my nose,” she complained, lifting a hand to rub at it with annoyance. “And it’s making my eyes water.” The sensation was rather alike being too close to the epicentre of a very enthusiastic onion-chopping endeavour.

“Yeah, we have spells on to keep it out of our eyes so we can actually see what we’re doing,” Callum said, uncapping the bottle again. It decanted a fresh wave of acrid reek into the surrounding air. “It’s not harmful, though, just sort of stings. Plus, I’m only using the full-strength stuff because your horns haven’t been done in a long time. It’s a lot weaker when it’s just a normal touch-up.” Though she couldn’t see his face, she could practically hear the grin. “Come back a little sooner next time, and it won’t smell this bad.”

Come back? “Ugh,” she said, en lieu of addressing that statement properly, and fell quiet to ruminate disconcertedly on what he’d said. Come back? She hadn’t thought about it, but – of course, she’d need to come back. She was going to be at university for years, and would barely be home for any of that. If she didn’t want her horns to get disgusting again, trips like this would have to be an ongoing thing.

“Every month, is usually a good bet,” Callum said, as if she’d actually spoken the question that was suddenly on her mind. “Usually between half-moon and new moon is the best time for you guys. You get a lot more active keratin growth around full moon, so if you wait till later, the work we do will usually stay put until the next month.”

Rayla frowned at the mirror. “Do humans have some kind of mind-reading power I don’t know about?” Her tone was dry, for all that she was a little off-put at how well he could apparently read her. It…well, it was useful information, though. She hadn’t known that keratin grew faster around Full Moon, for all that it made sense. She wondered if she should be bothered by learning something about how her own horns worked from a human.

He snorted, but took a few seconds to respond. “Not me, that’s for sure.” He said, lightly, and finally put the stinking polishing-stuff down. “Can’t speak for other humans, though. I think we probably don’t have secret mind-reading societies anywhere, but you never know. Weirder things have happened.”

She thought of the huge scandal of a few years back and made a face. “True enough,” she sighed, turning her neck to inspect what he was doing. “Are you done yet?”

Having moved enough to have eyes on him, she was able to watch as his lips turned up in a wry smile. “You’re that eager to escape, huh?”

Rayla rolled her eyes at him. “Escape the polishing? Yes. It stinks.”

He snickered, but nodded, and went for a more normal cleaning cloth that she was deeply glad to see. “Yeah, that part’s done. I’ll rinse off now and then put some oil on to dry, and that’ll be it.” He wrung the cloth over the basin and then coaxed her head around again, lifting his hands to her horns.

She blinked. “What, ‘it’ as in done?”

“Yep. I like to think I’m pretty speedy at the whole buff-and-polish thing by now.”

“…Huh.” Nonplussed, Rayla went quiet.

She could hear the smile in his voice. “Wasn’t as bad as you thought?” He guessed, as on-point as ever, and she felt her cheeks heat again. It was quite a question for someone to ask when their hands happened to be on your horns.

Rayla folded her arms under the protective gown. “….Maybe,” she admitted, begrudgingly, and sat there while the warmth of the water and his hands crept through her horns. The gentle slide of the cloth was easily perceptible, a shift of weight and echoing sensation in the living core. A stranger’s hands, and she was just…sitting there. She couldn’t quite get her head around it. But he was right. It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be.

“Make an appointment for next month, when you’re on your way out,” he suggested, setting the cloth back and uncapping some other sort of oil. This one, in sharp contrast to the polish, let off a surprisingly pleasant smell. Faintly sweet, and reminiscent of the lighter oils Ethari used on some of his woodcraft. A pang of nostalgia, just shy of homesickness, stabbed through her gut. “That way it’ll be all sorted for next time.”

“Mm.” She shrugged lightly, noncommittal, a little perturbed at the little secretive thing unfurling in her chest that wanted to come back. Not for the mortifying ordeal of having her horns handled, certainly not, but…

With the finishing oil applied, Callum released the drawstrings from around her horns and pulled the hair-cover away. “All done. Take a look,” he invited, nudging her head up, and reached out to remove the gown while she automatically looked where he’d pointed her. For a moment, she was utterly stunned, wide-eyed at the unfamiliar sight of her horns gleaming darkly in the mirror, perfect to the every ridge. She was still silent when he spoke again, saying “See? Just like I told you. Your horns polish up really nicely.”

She looked up reflexively, expression unguarded, and could do nothing to stop the quicksilver flush that his words brought to her cheeks. He was smiling at her, wide and genuine and a little lopsided.

It took what felt like far too long for her to manage to speak. “I suppose?” She offered, averting her eyes to the mirror, where she watched herself schooling her face into something a little less transparent.

He patted her shoulder, friendly, then reached out a hand – five-fingered and alien – to help her up. She stared at it for a moment, then took it. His fingers were warm, and soft from horn-oil. She could feel a trace of it left on her skin when he let go. “It was good to meet you, Rayla,” he said, with that same smile. “Maybe I’ll see you next time.”

She averted her eyes for a moment. “…Maybe.” She agreed, finally, and managed to master herself enough to flash a tentative smile back at him. “Er. Thanks, Callum.”

Rayla was a little too busy trying not to look outwardly flustered to pay much attention to the next few minutes, but as she found herself escorted back to the reception area, she felt strangely disappointed to see the door close on her ceracurist. The receptionist was eyeing her appraisingly as she eventually summoned the presence of mind to go fishing for her money.

“Looks like he treated you well enough. You’re not all tense anymore.” They observed, looking pleased for some reason. “Good on you for not making a fuss, either.”

She blinked, drawn out of her reverie. “What would I make a fuss about?” She questioned, taken-aback.

“He’s human,” the receptionist said, like it was obvious. “People can be stupid about it sometimes. But you weren’t, which is nice, because otherwise we’d have had to throw you out with bad horns, and that would be embarrassing for everyone. I assume I’m booking you in for next month?”

Rayla was still trying to process the words and didn’t register the question for a moment. Distractedly, she said “Yes? I think?”

The receptionist eyed her. “Three weeks,” they decided. “We’ll book you in for waning crescent. Callum works weekends and Wednesday afternoons only, so if you want another time, you’ll need to go with a different ceracurist.” They looked at her expectantly. For a second Rayla was flustered by the implied suggestion, but then she realised that it was probably just standard practice for people to see the same ceracurist every time. Certainly it would be less uncomfortable that way. She couldn’t even imagine having to put her horns into the hands of a new stranger every month.

She cleared her throat, blinked, then tried to consult her mental schedule. “Three weeks…” she muttered to herself, thinking. “Er. Wednesday afternoon?”

They flipped through their papers, squinting. “Four-thirty? He’s pretty booked for the rest of that window.”

“That works,” she said, hoping her voice sounded normal and not-flustered, and supplied her name to have it written into the schedule. It was another weird anachronism; most people would have written it into a computer, but here this elf was using a notebook instead. It was set aside by the potted plant once closed; the plant in question broke off from its recitation of music to mimic the sound of the doorbell note-perfect. That was the problem with melodaisies. You could teach them all the music you liked, but as soon as they heard someone whistling, they might well just start imitating that instead.

“Thanks for coming,” the receptionist said, after shooting an exasperated glance at their plant. “We’ll see you next month.”

Rayla took the hint, and went at once for the door. She escaped with the ring of a bell, a palpable sense of relief, and considerably shinier horns than she’d gone in with.

 ---

End chapter.

 Notes:

Welcome to the first meet-cute I’ve ever written! Also the first story whose entire purpose is essentially romance. Because it’s me, there is a broader potential plot thread at work, as well as cool worldbuilding, but given I have no idea how much of this I’m actually going to write, I’m not really worrying about that too much at this point.

Hope everyone had fun with this first chapter, and that everyone is curious about what the heck is up with Callum.

 Story notes-

 Setting:

I’d loosely describe the setting as canon spliced with piaj twisted by most of a millennium of alternate history and technological development. Essentially, it’s sort of a modern AU, but not really.

Because this story is for fun, I’m wiping real-world-modern vibes over it wherever I want to/think I can justify it, and same goes for my own personal university experience vibes.

 Worldbuilding:

A great, great deal of the worldbuilding is taken from my primary project – Peace Is A Journey – and adapted for the alternate historical context that this setting involves. I have even borrowed several elf OCs (at least three) from piaj and its sequel. History in this setting diverges from canon some time after the banishment of humans from Eastern Xadia – though I’ve not narrowed the timeline down precisely, it’s likely that the first couple hundred years of history went very similarly to how I’ve ironed it out in piaj, though this isn’t likely to be hugely important.

However, despite the similarities, this AU’s broader global history and foundational metaphysics are completely different to piaj. Worldbuilding and metaphysical specifics that aren’t incompatible with this difference, which is most of them, remain.

I’ve involuntarily put a fair amount of thought into the setting’s worldbuilding, and a lot of it is pretty cool, but considering it is a for-fun project, I’m not too concerned about specifics or ‘balancing’, so to speak. This means that I will be trying not to put huge amounts of thought into why some technologies are advanced and some aren’t. I am trying to keep the Worldbuilding Complexity setting to a dull roar, pretty much, and only develop the stuff that matters.

 Glossary:

Ceracurist: a professional horn-salonist; one who cares for horns. From Greek ‘keras’, horn (same root as keratin or polycerate), and Latin ‘cura’, care (same root as manicure or pedicure or even cure). Technically this sort of root-mixing is sometimes seen as bad form, but it works just fine in context.

Mageskein: magic internet, pretty much. This is used almost exclusively in Eastern Xadia.

Gullcrest: an elven city located along the southern coast of Eastern Xadia. The majority of the story will take place here. The base concept and location of Gullcrest was taken from piaj worldbuilding and heavily adapted for the Ceracurist setting.

 Extras:

A picture demonstrating an unpolished and a polished bull horn from the same pair, to demonstrate how much of a difference it makes.

[one-mopeyboi]

Ralsei and Dream Sweet In Sea Major (part 1/2)

The piano chord progression [*] in Acid Tunnel of Love on 0:10 sounds vaguely like Dream Sweet In Sea Major by Miracle Musical (the “you look quite divine tonight…” part)

[* I don’t know if that’s what you call it. I haven’t played piano since I was 7, and I wasn’t taught in English. If I made a mistake feel free to correct me!]

So that got me thinking about some of the other lyrics and the Secret Boss Ralsei theory and Deltarune in general. (Kris = they/them, Player = They/Them)

”Alone at the edge of the universe humming a tune, for merely dreaming we were snow” - Ralsei was previously all alone in the edge of his universe ; his Dark World. He is aware of certain things, that he has a role in a grand story as a tutorial NPC and merely just that, his set role is as significant as fallen snow.

“A siren sounds like the goddess who promises endless apologies of paradise, and only she can make it right. So things are different tonight.” - Ignoring the feminine pronouns, only the Player is able to see the game and every character’s stories to conclusion, hence being the ”only one who can make it right”. The wording “goddess” makes me think of an “Angel” as well, like the Angel’s Heaven. Ralsei considers that They also have the potential to manipulate certain Lightners into killing, and he will have to covertly work against Them to stop that.

“We’ll go together in flight” - Ralsei exercises his free will by going with Kris and Susie [in flight]. In some old literature, to fly could also mean to escape/flee, or in this case Ralsei escaping his own strings.

“Await somnambulant directives to take the helm” - The Dark Worlds are associated with sleep ; they can be accessed through sleeping in Kris’s bed if the Player has completed a chapter at least once in a previous save file, Susie tricks Noelle into believing she is dreaming.

“Un ensemble d’infants, la galaxie s’étend. Jardin de l’imagination.” - A group of children : that’s what the Fun Gang is. The Lightners (Kris, Susie, Noelle, Berdly) are able to make “gardens of their imaginations” by creating Fountains and making Dark Worlds to their will.

“She knows you heard her, staging music murder.” - Again, ignoring the feminine pronouns. The Player knows Kris and Noelle [”you”] can hear Them in the Snowgrave Route and can command Noelle to murder Darkners.

“It feels like flying but maybe we’re dying” - could allude to Spamton literally attempting to fly if defeated by snapping his strings, but falling (or “dying”), and Jevil being convinced he is truly free whereas he’s not. If Ralsei is another Shadow Crystal holder, he would have the illusion of choice is not free due to being controlled in part by the Player who has the potential for evil and can make him fight.

Nothing else relevant comes up until Verse 3. Here’s the full extent of the lyrics.

You look quite divine tonight.

Here among these vibrant lights.

Pure delights surround us as we sail.

Signed, yours truly, the whale.

Joy mirage’s kingdom come.

No one left at stake.

Now that existence is on the wake…

let’s see what we can make.

“You look quite divine tonight” up to “signed, yours truly, the whale.” could be Ralsei addressing the Player by playing up the flustered boy with a “crush” to appease Them in his fear of Them. The next section is Ralsei talking to Kris in whatever explanation he gave them during the “so that’s why” conversation that was cut off when Susie comes back from the Ferris Wheel ride with Noelle. He tells them that both of them, as puppets of the game, can prevent “kingdom come” or the Angel’s Heaven and remove themselves from control now that existence is on the wake - or, there is imbalance between the Light and Dark.

When I make sense of Verses 4 and 5, I’ll make a part 2 to this post.

[golddaggers]

girl crush

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader;

warnings: none really just a smidge of angst but plenty of fluff. 

a/n: so here we are! i just ask of you to go kind on me because this is my first time, ok? and sort of self indulging. anyway. leave a comment/reblog if you do like it!

word count: about 2,8k. it’s a quick little thing.

It was a typical Tuesday, I’d woken up, drank my large-sized cup of coffee, and then spent almost five hours straight staring at my computer screens. Not that all of those hours had been any good, I searched and searched, but still hadn’t cracked just how I was supposed to solve the problem. Hell, about three times I was yelling at the machine, calling it ‘bloody stupid’ before trying another approach, still proven worthless. 

Lunch had been skipped, I barely took a bite of my grilled sandwich before diving back to the code lines, analysing. I’ve always been so good at cracking things, finishing hard puzzles… At least I needn’t worry about a deadline breathing down my neck, this particular feature would only be out to the end-users on the major release. 

Either way, the idea of not being able to come up with a solution bugged me. I could never leave things well enough alone if they were unsolved. It was only when one of my friends texted me about some old high school chick we both used to hate that was pregnant that I realised how late it was. My back hurt from spending too much time sitting down on my chair and I could feel my eyes tired, staring at a computer screen for so many hours wasn’t exactly too healthy. 

At least it put the tornado of thoughts I’ve been having for the past couple of weeks to ease. I didn’t want to think about how I had the worst timing ever. Or how I was a big coward for keeping this to myself. 

But… I couldn’t just tell him. Falling in love with your best friend seems easy in the movies, in reality, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Harry and I grew up together, we were inseparable from the first time we shared toys in our old town’s playground. Never before I would’ve thought I’d be here, with butterflies rioting in my stomach when he flashed his green eyes at me. It’d be easy if I could just open up, only opening up meant I could lose our 20 and something years of friendship. That was just too much to lose.  

Now it seemed as if I had lost my chance. He’d gone out on a date with a girl. They’d been going out for a while. She was… breathtaking. Golden hair, brown eyes, freckles, and a body I wouldn’t ever have. Harry wasn’t the easiest to commit to someone, not that he was a womaniser or something within those lines… He just had problems. Like we all do, I suppose. He seemed genuinely interested in her, though, and it killed me inside to realise it. 

I looked toward a corner where a tiny pink ukulele rested and decided I could do with some singing. So I go over to pick it up, playing a couple of notes to see if it was tuned. It’d been a while since I last took it between my hands. Hadn’t enough time to do anything, if I was being honest. 

Sat back on my chair, I take my time to reminisce over a song I heard him humming a few days ago. Harry had been doing the dishes, something he hated, but I’d cooked for the two of us, so it was the least he could do. He laughed like a child all the way to the sink, even put on my pink apron. It wasn’t unusual for him to do them when he was in fact at home - which happened only a few handfuls of weeks at a time. 

Leaning against the counter top, I watched him. Then the humming began. One would think a singer would get enough on the stage, well, maybe they do, not him though. In the shower, sending texts, doing the dishes… Harry was always singing something. Low and more to himself. I couldn’t lie, even if I wanted to, that I love when he’s home, his entire being enough to warm up the place. 

That night I had been wearing one of his old tees, he leaves them everywhere. And it wasn’t unusual for me to “steal” some for myself, besides being comfy, especially the cotton sweaters, they all smelt like him. Felt homely to be inside them, as if he were sleeping next to me. 

“I’ve got a girl crush…” I start, unsure if I’ve got the tone right, “Hate to admit it, but I got a heart rush, it ain’t slowing down.”

My legs are crisscrossed as I rest further back onto the black cushion of my chair. Each note fueled the turmoil growing inside my chest. It was so true, every time I looked at her, the pictures on her Instagram were flawless… I wanted to have everything she had. Because if I did, maybe he would look at me differently, he’d see me in a different light. 

The very instrument on my hands had been a gift from him. I have always enjoyed playing the guitar, I came to write a few songs myself… But I’ve never seen it as something I’d want to do for a living. Didn’t like the spotlight very much, not that being friends with a worldwide known popstar helped. Paps seemed to be everywhere. It was just annoying how we couldn’t enjoy a single outing without being awakened with a buzzing phone. My other friends texting me the several headlines saying “Harry Styles has been seen yet again with childhood best friend, could they be dating?”

Got worse when we moved in together. The thing was… We didn’t really live together, yes, the house, more like a mansion if I was being honest, belonged to him and he stayed there whenever he was in London, which, if he was working too much, seldom happened. So no, we didn’t live together. Harry just thought it’d be nice for me to stay there since it was so empty all the time and I only said yes because I needed saving money to pay off the loan I had taken to cover my university tuition. It felt like a lifetime away. 

I stayed because I had grown spoiled. At first, I was annoyed he didn’t let me pay for the expenses whenever he was away, I was nowhere rich, but now I made more than enough to cover the bills, even for a house as big as this one, since most of it was inhabited. He insisted on me keeping it, doing fun things I wanted to do, and I shouldn’t worry about anything else. A couple of months later, I saw the appeal to his offer. I also knew my best friend well to know he was a stubborn son of a bitch.  

Everything changed when Harry told me about his golden girl. After so many years, we had grown aware of the other’s quirks, as I like to put it, we knew how to deal with one another. My point being was… Harry could be a bit sensitive when I told him about my dates, now it lights a spark of hope within me, back then, however, I brushed it off as him trying to act as a protective big brother. He, on the other hand, never had problems when talking about the people he dated to me. Often I wouldn’t care. This time… It happened right after the fatidic Tuesday. 

The pain stung like a sharp edge of a knife against my heart.  

“I wanna’ taste her lips, yeah, ‘cos they taste like you… I wanna’ drown myself in a bottle of her perfume...” The notes come out soft, I can hear a little metallic sound as my hands switch the notes and I keep singing the sad lyrics, “Yeah, ‘cos maybe then, you’d want me just as much...” 

“Thought I had a nightingale in this room,” His accent slipped through the sentence like butter on a warm toast, “‘lo, love.”

His presence startled me, I almost dropped the ukulele. It was way too early for him to be back home from his date. Part of me wanted to ask how it’d gone and in any other situation, I would’ve. Not tonight, though. Didn’t wanna know if she had kissed him good night. If he gave her his signature green-eyed glare when he wanted something… If he’d asked for another date. My heart wouldn’t be able to cope. 

“You scared me.” 

“I reckon you said I was fit like a daydream,” He stuffed his chest and I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Are you actually quoting your ex-girlfriend?” Harry rolled his eyes, dismissing my comment completely, “Why are you home already?”

“D’ya want me to leave?”

“You are ridiculous,” I say as I stand up, the Fleetwood Mac tee I had on falling to my mid thighs. It was oversized because it didn’t belong to me,  which doesn’t go unnoticed by him, who has a cheeky grin directed at me. “Stop looking. You keep ditching them and I just happen to like these shirts.”

“I didn’t say anything, doll. But I was looking for that one, though I settled for that old pink striped sweater of yours.”

“So it’s with you?” My indignation seeps through, “I went nutty looking for that.”

“Looks better on me anyway.”

“Nonsense.”

The laughter shakes his whole body, yet again I am plowed with our childhood memories, that right there hadn’t changed. Harry still laughed like a little child, a boy with his blue truck toy. I felt warm inside, to watch him like that. To still have, after so long, a friend like he was to me.  

Harry goes quiet then, bright green staring right at me. I know what’s coming. It’s happened before - I sang about the boys I liked quite often, I suppose. So it was obvious he wanted to know who was stealing my attention this time. He wanted to know who I was singing about. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Wha’? I didn’t even open my mouth.” 

“I know you,” Back on my feet, I grab my plate with the remains of what was supposed to be my lunch and head out to the kitchen. He followed me around like a stray puppy. 

The kitchen is an enormous place. Wooden cupboards with just about every piece of china one could dream of, fine crystal glasses for wine and champagne, bowls, plates, even goblets could be found. Inside the several drawers, besides the silver cutlery, I had managed to fold some table sheets I bought at a flea market. Harry would lose his mind if he knew where they came from. On the left corner, a tall two-door grey fridge, with a shopping list on its door to remind me that I needed to go out tomorrow to get things. Next to the two basin sink, was an electric cooktop that had become my best friend, I loved to cook there, staring out the window - the yard was beautiful, green grass all year long, though during spring the most gorgeous flowers blossomed. I loved that place very much.

Right in the middle was an island, my lone cactus trying to make it a little less plain. Which wasn’t that hard, the dark marble surface glimmered under the led light.  

After I threw out the sandwich and put the plate on the sink, I started pacing around to gather things for dinner, fresh tomatoes to make the sauce with homegrown onions and garlic. I liked cultivating my food. I got flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt. It was all I needed to make the dough.  

I could still feel his eyes on me, as I moved effortlessly through his kitchen, collecting everything I needed. 

“What do you want?”

“You’re too stressed,” Harry says, standing up straight and standing next to me, “Is it about the boy you were singing about? Or girl. I dunno.”

“Seriously?” Can’t help but shake my head, “That’s your approach? ’M not telling you, H.”

“Oh, you’re keepin’ secrets from me. That’s new.”

He grabs the knife on my hand, starting to chop the onion into tiny cubes. Always skillful with his hands, he was.

“‘M not keeping secrets. It’s just none of your business.” 

“Ouch.” Harry pours the onion into the pan, stealing the tomatoes to start chopping them as well. I focused on the dough. “You’re so adamant about not telling me I’ll start thinking it’s me.” 

The entire world stills for me when he says that out loud, and I don’t know what to say, so I keep cracking the eggs, pouring them over the flour then adding, by eye, what I considered to be enough of olive oil. At last, I put two pinches of salt into the mix.  

My silence seems to annoy him further. 

“C’mon, it was a joke.” He tries, gently grabbing my arm and I see myself having to stop mixing, “I really want to know, though, have to make sure you’re with someone worthy of you.”

“Why?”

Couldn’t look him in the eye, I have them glued to the bowl with the sticky batter. The hand on my arm sneaks to my back, he’s warm and I tremble under his touch, my breath comes out a bit harsher. 

Harry takes a deep breath before answering, “I care about you, bunny.”

“Is that all it is?” Now I dare to look up, to find those emeralds. I liked quite a lot to look at them, they were akin to shiny jewelry and I was the dazzled child. Right now they showed nothing but a shade of confusion. 

“What else?”

A tightness in my chest grows, I know right away I am about to cry and I don’t want to. Don’t want to fall apart in front of him. In the middle of cooking. When things seemed to be going amazing for the two of us. Despite my most intimate wishes, I ended up doing just that, my dirty hands falling limp as he held me in his arms, asking over and over what had happened. 

His chin rests on the top of my head and I can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. My bottom lip is quivering. I was so tired of being tough, I just wanted to be loved. To be loved by him. 

“I need to tell you something,” A sniff makes me sound whiny, “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Never,” Harry speaks so quietly I believe him. “Could never be mad at you, bunny.”

“Okay…” 

I bring his much bigger hands into my own. They warm up under his touch. If I’m being honest, I warm up completely. Body and soul. He gives a soft squeeze, urging me to speak. It’s needless to say that he’s anxious, always being the curious one between the two of us.

“The song… Well, um, I was singing for you.” It was as quiet as a whisper, “I like you.”

“Don’t be silly.” His face goes serious, “You’re not kidding me, are ya?”

“Do you think I would?”

There’s a lump at the bottom of my throat, tears still falling. I didn’t have a problem being vulnerable with him, or opening up - now I was embarrassed. I would apologise if I hadn’t felt his warm lips start kissing my salty-teared cheeks, only to finish up with a chaste kiss on my own. 

“What are you doing?” I pull back, shocked that he’d kissed me. “Do you...”

“I am so glad you’ve said first, fancying you for the longest time hasn’t been easy. But I suppose it gave me quite the inspiration.”

“You’ve written about me?”

“More times than I am proud to admit.”

This time it’s me who kisses him, standing on the tip of my toes, losing my fingers into the soft curls. It seemed very much unreal to me. He never struck me as the type to keep feelings in check or to himself. I should’ve seen something. Or maybe I did and didn’t want to face that the best person I could’ve fallen for was right in front of me. 

Then I think about her. The golden-haired beauty. She wouldn’t be too pleased.

“She’s just a friend, bunny.”

“Reading my thoughts now, Styles?”

“Nah, just know you too well.”

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

Harry lifts me, kissing me again. And I can’t help but feel whole. Like a bit of me that was missing had been set on its place. 

Bless the will to play a song. 

[stainedglassfish]

ok guys i am once again posting this story i wrote but this time with a fancy tumblr thing check it out under the cut (reblogs greatly appreciated)

At the very end of the universe there was a town. Not a large town, just an average sized town. Don’t ask how it got there, nobody knows and it’s possible there is no answer. It floated gently on the endless cosmos, drifting towards infinity and destruction. A gigantic wall surrounded it, 30 feet tall. Nobody had ever been over the wall. Nobody had ever tried. 

Life went on. Everyone knew they were very close to their own demise, but nobody really minded it. Life was rather bleak when you were with the same 300 people your whole life and had no concept of exploration or curiosity. Everyone went about their business and society made no progressions. 

Now, one day something very odd happened. In a dusty alleyway a man appeared in a bluish flash of light. He stumbled slightly and leaned against a wall, gasping for air. He was a time traveller, from way back in a distant age. In fact, he hadn’t meant to come here. He had technically died, but all his tamperings with the space-time continuum had brought him here instead. Brushing himself off, he wandered out into the main street. Everything froze. People around him stopped halfway through words, mid-step, and all eyes turned to him. The only one who remained oblivious was a woman who seemed to be mopping the grass. The newcomer strolled down the street with a slight swagger. He had no idea where he was or the importance of it. At length one of the villagers ran off, returning with two others. One was the mayor of the town. She was short and businesslike, and she appeared struck dumb upon seeing the man (whose name was Fread. He hated his name, as it reminded him of bread, which he despised), in sharp contrast to the man next to her. He was rather long and gangly, and his eyes had a misty, sad quality to them, as if he was only half in this world. He was the town scholar, the only one there who still had any passion towards knowledge.

“Who- what-?” The mayor found her voice and stepped closer to Fread, peering up at him.

“My name is Fread. Where the hell am I?” He was utterly perplexed by this reaction to him, as nobody had even seen him appear.

“You mean… you mean you don’t know this place?”

“I think maybe we should go elsewhere…” Fread had a few things to explain. He was silently led away to a building in the far west. 

The room was startlingly empty, and out the window Fread could see the wall. He still couldn’t see over it though. He had haphazardly explained his predicament to the mayor, who had since scurried off looking dazed. Fread was left alone with the scholar. Outside life was returning to normal. The people had already brushed aside what had happened and had gone back to sluggishly working on things that did not matter. Turning to the scholar, Fread tried to think of something to say.

“So uhh….. What do you do?” Fread had never been much of a conversationalist, but he wanted to know more about this place and about the man standing before him. He saw within him something he couldn’t quite place, a sort of twisted despair.

“I am the scholar here. Everyone else has rather… abandoned the arts and literature. They do not seek knowledge or enrichment,” replied the scholar. He seemed to be avoiding getting any closer to Fread.

“Why?”

“Everyone’s lost hope. Nobody knows when all this is going to end, nobody sees any point in improving.”

“Oh,” Fread wasn’t sure what to make of this. This was the fate of humanity? To give up when growth and development was such a crucial part of society? “By the way, what’s your name?”

“Peter.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Fread. With an A,” He added with distaste. He was beginning to realize that he didn’t know how to get back to his own time, “Uhh, Peter, I don’t know exactly how to say this but…. I’m not sure how to get back.”

“Back?”

“Back to my home. To my--” He paused, tears suddenly springing to his eyes, “Y’know, there’s not a lot back there for me.”

“I am sorry. If you would like, you could stay with me, in my house,” Peter’s voice took on a quality of near excitement, but he still looked mournful as ever.

“I think I’d like that,” but Fread was crying, and though he looked forward to getting to know Peter more, he wished it didn’t have to be at the end of the universe. Hesitantly, Peter approached him, and Fread fell into his arms, trying to focus less on his predicament and more on the sensation of Peter’s hands rubbing his back gently, on the sound of his heart beating lightly in his chest. Eventually they broke apart, and Fread was feeling significantly better. 

They dined together that night. The house was filled with books on shelves, in towering stacks, scattered about. At a desk, papers and art supplies littered the surface. Peter made incredible soup and bread, and Fread found that he hardly missed his life back home. Peter explained the wall to him, and Fread was extremely curious.

“So nobody knows what’s over it?”

“No, nobody. It has never been crossed as far as I am aware.”

“But who put it there? Why?”

“I do not know. We assume it is there for a reason, and nobody here is brave enough to cross it.”

“I’d do it.”

“You would?”

“I don’t have much to lose, anyway. And you never know, maybe there’s a whole world out there.”

“But how would you get over it?”

“I saw that water tower near the wall. I could climb that, and then take a rope down,” Fread was getting excited. This was an adventure, and it was true, he didn’t have much to lose. Except Peter, and that’s what got him.

“Could you…. Do you think you could come with me?” He asked Peter, who looked down at his soup thoughtfully.

“I do not think so. The people here need someone to hold them together, to keep anything alive. You would have to go alone.”

“Oh,” Fread said sadly. He was still going to do it though. He was filled with a burning need to find out what was behind the wall, and he could tell Peter was too.

The next day he spent with Peter. He was risking a lot, and though he felt it was important, he was not ready to go after just one day. Peter never seemed to run out of things to talk about, and he told Fread about plants and animals and space and literature and though Fread didn’t really understand it, he liked listening to Peter talk. 

After a while, Peter fell silent, and they both ruminated on their time together and what was ahead. Fread had his head on Peter’s shoulder, curled against him and nearly falling asleep.

“Peter?” Fread asked quietly, unsure what exactly he wanted to say.

“Yes?”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“I don’t know. I just have, like, a bad feeling. That there’ll be nothing over there, or- or that it’s dangerous or I won’t be able to get back, or-” he trailed off. Peter, putting aside the book he had been reading, pulled Fread into his arms and held him tightly, humming a tune Fread didn’t recognize. Eventually Fread fell asleep, and Peter stayed there, not wanting to disturb him. He smelled nice, anyway. After about an hour he picked Fread up and carried him to bed, and they slept that night cuddled together.

In the morning Peter made eggs and toast for breakfast. Neither of them had much to say, but they were never more than five feet from each other. Fread enjoyed the food, but he couldn’t eat much as his trepidation grew. Peter read a few poems to him from a large leather-bound book, but in the end grew silent and just hummed to himself, running his fingers through Fread’s hair.

At last the time came. A crowd gathered around the water tower as Fread prepared to climb up and over. He had a rope slung over his shoulder, and he was trembling slightly with nerves and excitement. Peter stood at the front of the crowd, his brows knitted slightly. Fread was resolute, and though his emotions ran high, he did not cry and he felt no need to. After steeling himself for a moment, he prepared to begin the climb. As he was about to begin, Peter rushed forward, grabbing him by the arm and wheeling him around. Almost under his breath, Peter spoke to him, sounding slightly choked.

“If you… if you don’t come back from this, I want you to know that you are the best thing to have come here in all my time. You’ve… you’ve given me new hope and new motivation and I- I love you,” And Peter kissed him, gently, but lingering just long enough for Fread to know the feeling behind it. But it was over too soon, and Fread had to turn away to climb, murmuring a goodbye that did not feel like enough. He could taste Peter’s tears on his lips.

And when he reached the top, and looked back, he could not find Peter in the crowd. He could not have, as Peter had returned to his home, unable to watch as Fread disappeared over the edge. Fread tied his rope to a rung of the tower, and began his descent. Reaching the bottom, he rubbed his eyes, confused. Before him was an endless expanse of nothing. Not a single sound, no color or rocks or sand. Fread couldn’t decide if it was black or white or some color that he couldn’t even comprehend. As he stared into it, trying to make sense of it, he saw something on the horizon (or what he supposed was the horizon, there wasn’t exactly a sky or land.) It was getting bigger and bigger, and Fread felt his heart leap to his throat as he watched it. It was a sort of swirling mass, at once misty and sharp. It advanced upon him, and Fread found that he could not move. He watched as it advanced, and when it reached him he knew no more. He was swept up and torn apart, and the mass crushed the wall as if it were made of paper, devouring it and shortly after, the town. Nothing remained, no color or light or earth or buildings, no consciousness or thoughts or emotion. And the mass, having finally won out against the town at the end of the universe, expanded until it was everything, and then nothing was at the end of the universe.

[therenlover]

Five More Minutes (aka A Ten Minute Break with Imaginary Zemo)

(So uh, this is a weird little writing project I did. It’s kinda experimental and a deep dive into my messy little brain, so that’s that. I hope you guys like it, because it was just a warm up, but I decided to post it cause it didn’t turn out half bad. Sorry that it’s uber specific to me, lol)

Synopsis: A writer imagines her muse as she struggles through anxieties and self loathing. Sometimes it’s easier to pretend you’re being cared for than it is to care for yourself. 

Rating: T

Warnings; Swearing maybe? Vague references to depression and general trauma

Word Count: 2000~

------

Zemo walks through the door while I’m taking a break. 

He’s soft around the edges, watching me with a gaze that seems intent on telling me he doesn’t approve of whatever it is I had done this time. I simply regard him with a quiet nod and let my eyes drift closed once again. The bed is warm below me but a cool spring rain pours down heavy and hard outside the open window. I like to write with the breeze flowing. It helps me focus on more than wanting to sleep. This is a break, though; a small allowance of time where I can fold my hands behind my head and relax without worrying about my next deadline. I stretch my legs out further, recumbent, as he sits at the end of the bed. 

“Look who decided to come back home,” I taunt him, “How long has it been? A week? Two?” The bitterness is a farce, a facade I put up more for my own benefit than his. 

Helmut sighs before he replies, “I shall always return when you call me, Schatz,” 

“It doesn’t feel like you will.”

“Despite that, it is true,” Slowly, from behind the darkness of my still-closed eyes, I hear the soft clink of china. Interesting… I let one eye open just a sliver to peer down the bed. Helmut is sitting there, eyes full of that special adoration he holds just for me, and in his outstretched hand, he holds a steaming cup of tea. Hedging my bets, I begrudgingly set my laptop aside and reach down to take it from him. Something is better than nothing and I haven’t had water in hours, maybe days. He knows that all too well. Why else would he have brought tea?

The first sip is taken silently while Zemo simply gauges my reaction to his presence. He and I both know that I can be… picky when it comes to his affections. If they come at the wrong time I am almost certain to deny him. This time, though, he arrived at a just-right place between sleep and work that allows me to give in to his endless and thorough affections. The tea is warm and sweet, and I finish the cup less than a minute after he handed it to me. 

That makes him smile. It’s infectious. Less than a minute later I’m smiling with him. In a simple moment, all the ice that had built on my heart in the wake of his absence had melted. All it took was some good tea and his presence, strong and constant at my side, to ease the discomfort from weeks apart. 

Helmut is the one to break the silence. 

“Did you get my gift a few nights ago?”

I nod, sitting up a bit to scoot to the end of the bed. “You were the one who dropped off dinner?”

“Of course it was. I’m here to aid you, my love,” for an instant he pauses, something akin to jealousy flashing across his face, “I may be… absent sometimes, but no one else here can help you the way I do. I don’t really see why you keep them around, quite honestly. Most of them are selfish pri-”

“Helmut,” I warn him, and he backs off. He always does if I ask him to. His loyalties lie firmly in my comfort and my comfort alone. 

“The point is, you are mine and mine alone to care for. If not always, then when I can,” 

“Well, I appreciate it,” 

A practiced hand makes its way to my bare knee, exposed by my shorts. I don’t complain. Helmut is here to help, and if rubbing away the aches caused by the rain is what he wants to do, I have no objection. His digits massage it with care. The constant steady pressure is grounding. To ease the process I beckon Helmut further up onto the bed. In just a moment of shuffling, I find myself between his legs with my back to his chest as he restarts his gentle probing of my knee. I let my head rest against him and just breathe. There’s a peace to it. 

Neither of us feels the need to move. 

Somewhere outside the room, we can hear Andrea begin to practice his violin. The sweet sounds are more relaxing to me than they are to Helmut, who hates the reminder of his housemates, but he can’t deny that the boy plays well. He would like to think, though, that he plays better. I don’t pick favorites, but it’s one battle that I wouldn’t want to miss, should things come down to it. 

We stay like that for a while, him massaging my aching joints while I use his broad, soft chest as a pillow, but eventually, he speaks again. We both know what’s coming. I’m just not quite ready to acknowledge it yet. He always broaches the subject when it’s time. 

He knows I couldn’t do it if I tried. 

“You’re pushing me out again,” his voice is a low hum, “why must you always push me out just when I’ve gotten close to you?” He presses soft kisses to my hair as I sigh. It’s my turn for words but I know I can’t say them. Not to him and not to anyone else. Instead, I let myself turn cold again. 

“Maybe if you were more useful, I’d keep you around more often. Besides, you’re a grown man. You can come and go as you please. If you wanted to stay, you would,” 

“We both know that’s not true,” 

Helmut’s right. He always is. That doesn’t mean I ever listen to him, but when he softly coos in my ear about eating or resting he’s always right, I always need it. Sometimes I think it would be better if I gave in. I never do though, it’s not worth the fallout that would follow. 

Still, I let myself get a bit closer to giving in this time. Just close enough that I won’t feel so raw once he’s gone again. A modicum of extra comfort can be allowed from time to time if used sparingly, and I take the word sparingly very seriously.

“Five more minutes,” I whisper into his warm skin, “Please, I just want five more minutes,” It’s not a question, it’s a plea, and not to him. No, it’s a plea to the universe, to the cruel god that separates us…

To myself. 

Helmut removes his hand from its place rubbing out the aches in my wrists and lets his arms wrap around me, encasing me in his warmth and holding me tight to his body. He’s warm. So, so warm against the frosty chill of my own skin. 

“Of course, Schatz. I will always have five more minutes for you,” 

If Helmut had his way, he’d have every minute of my day. He doesn’t, though. He can’t. Five extra will just have to do until he finds a way to creep back through my door and into my good graces. Then we will have five more minutes again and again until there’s nothing left of us and no more minutes left to spend. Until then, the game goes on. 

Outside, the rain pick’s up its pitter-pattering into a full downpour. 

The water comes in through the opened window, but neither of us moves to close it. Water damage doesn’t matter where we are anyway. Especially not when the timer is ticking down. 

I cry when I croak out words again. 

“I don’t understand why I can’t let you stay,” I say, throat dry with angry tears, “I don’t understand why I do this to myself,”

It’s a lie, we both know exactly why I push him away, but Helmut bites his tongue. We don’t speak of those things, the things that creep deep in my mind and pull the strings of my marionette. That’s not his job. Part of me wishes it was. 

Instead of trying to explain away my reasons for doing what I do, though, Helmut simply holds me tighter. “Someday, you won’t have to. You will be happy, Schatz; happy and free to rest whenever you feel the need to. I may not be here to see it, but it will happen, and when it does you’ll know just how proud I am of you,” 

“You promise?” 

“I promise,” 

His heart thuds heavy under my ear, his weight a constant against my shoulders. If I close my eyes tight enough I can hear him humming a tune. The clock ticks down the seconds till his departure. I cling to him for every last second that I can. 

“Should I send someone else in when I leave?” He asks softly. 

I shake my head no. 

“Not even Laszlo?”

“Not even Laszlo,” I sigh. What I don’t say is that the pain of his absence will numb me of everything once he’s gone. What he doesn’t need to know can’t hurt him. Instead, I offer up some half-assed explanation from nowhere, just to make myself feel better about the lie. “He only helps me write the academic stuff. Fiction isn’t his wheelhouse,” 

“Ah,” Helmut whispers, and as he does I can feel him start to shift away. Five minutes always pass too fast in the arms of a lover. I wipe my tears as he collects my teacup. “When will you call me back to you,”

“Soon, I hope,” 

“But when?” 

He asks not for himself, but for me, because he knows what happens when I don’t call him back to me. He’s seen it in the circles rimming my eyes and the ribs that jut painfully from my skin and most of all in the wheezing coughs and winces that escape my lips when I breathe too deep. It’s my choice to make, though, and mine alone. 

I hate that I can’t give him a straight answer. 

“Maybe tonight, if I’m lucky, you can come in and hold me while I sleep,” It’s an empty promise, just short of a lie. It doesn’t matter though. It’s as close to the truth as I can bear to acknowledge for myself when my eyelids droop lower by the second. Unfortunately, I probably won’t sleep at all. 

“No dinner?” There’s no disappointment in Helmut’s voice, but I wish there was. Instead I’m met with acceptance. he knows me well enough that there is no fighting my self destruction, only easing it. 

“I’m too behind,” I explain, “It would take too much time. This break was already pushing it. I have three fics to finish by Friday and if I don’t…” The consequence went unsaid. 

Helmut nods, stoic. “I shall see you again when you call on me next, Schatz,” 

With that, he’s gone again and I’m alone. The chill from the rain sinks deep in my bones as I scrub the remaining tears and sleep from my eyes before grabbing my laptop again. Maybe if I worked a little harder, I could manage to sleep through the night or eat a whole meal. Helmut would be back then, as real as I could will him to be, to serve as a reminder and a companion through it all. 

The words on the screen seem like a foreign language. Sleep that has evaded me for days threatens to creep into my mind but I shove it out forcefully and turn up the brightness. Sleep won’t help me now, not with the aching in my heart that screams at the slightest bit of rest. The ache doesn’t have a name like the self care does, or the softness or the anger or the book-smarts. The ache is just me. 

The rest are too, but less so. They’re easier to accept that way. 

I push on.

Just a little more work… just a couple more tens of thousands of words…

Alone again and wetted by rain and tears, I weep and write.

------

a/n: Basically, Helmut is a personification of my ability to care for myself. I always want to, and I resent myself for not doing it more, but I just... can’t. Andrea and Laszlo are both also technically representative of feelings in my brain, but those feelings aren’t specified here. I hope you enjoyed that weird little ramble, though! It was nice to deep dive into my brain in a weird way and do some good, old fashioned therapy writing. I’m a slut for a good extended metaphor.

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

I didn’t remember the exact words I used in the request😂, but I thank for not deleting the translator’s history (I always use it to check that my sentence makes sense) 😅🤦 I wrote: “Ok, as I love the angst even though it hurts, after the end of the Onyx season I need drama. He could request that Vinca seriously injure MC to force her to kneel and Onyx arrives at that moment and sees her injured bleeding. Thank you” Thanks again❤

Warning: Mentions of injury.

…

You’re alone, again. Alone with Vinca, right after she dragged you away. Her expression is, for once, carefully blank. A far cry from her cocky smirk, dangerous edge, and intimidating presence. She still towers over you, nails digging into the skin of your arm, keeping you in place. Her gaze is still intense and powerful, hard like ice, too cold, too sharp, too deep. But it doesn’t have the same effect it usually does, like it’s muffled, like you are facing not the almighty Pride but the shadow she casts.

She almost seems resigned. Tired.

“You really think you’re something special, don’t you?” She murmurs. The knifes adorning her dress glint under the lights, blinding you this close to her. Her voice falls over you like a heavy blanket and you find yourself incapable of ignoring her. “That you can swoop in and save Onyx, just like that? As if this is a fairytale and you are its heroine?” Her lips peel back into a silent snarl. Every word courses through your body like lighting, and you take a second to wonder how you ended up like this, slumped in her hands as if you were a broken marionette. You should be doing more than this. You should be fighting the very universe for Onyx.

Instead you gaze up at Vinca’s eyes, and feel miserable.

“Do you seriously think you matter that much?” She continues. “Don’t be ridiculous… the only one who knows what Onyx really needs is me, her sister. And believe me when I say… she’d be better off without you.”

Green eyes as clear and pure as life itself. A smile as sweet as your favorite dessert. Her melodic voice and its alluring accent, ringing inside your dreams and hopes and future. Her warm touch and comforting embrace.

You scowl up at Vinca, still miserable, hurt by her words, but refusing to back down. So what if you were in over your head? What if you were tricked in the beginning? What if you had to endure demons and magic and mind-reading? Your emotions and feelings were still true. You should – no, you would fight the very universe for Onyx. You shouldn’t hesitate.

So Vinca knows what’s best? You can only think of one thing in response to that, after recalling long nights with Onyx, her nostalgic whispers of a better time: bullshit.

“Say what you will, Vinca, but I won’t kneel.”

Vinca grumbles. Pierces you with another half-hearted glare. “All this fighting makes me sick. Doesn’t it tire you, too? Don’t you want it to be over?” She urges, tightening her grip over your arm, pushing you down, down, down. “Don’t you want her to be free?”

“She will, but not because of you.”

She dodges your punch with barely any effort, expression tight with fury. She doesn’t retaliate when you pounce on her, attempting to knock her down, to land a single kick, to show her how wrong she is.

She groans with frustration with every attempt you make, bristling.

“You can’t say I didn’t try.” She hisses, and suddenly Pride is back at the next blink. Her gaze burns your very soul with its sudden intensity, and she dances out of your reach. She’s clearly toying with you, like a cat with its prey, knowing it has the upper-hand and allowing the prey to believe it has a chance at all.

It feels like that when Vinca suddenly switches to offense and you see you never had a chance at all, no matter how good you’ve gotten at fighting. It’s the same overwhelming feeling of helplessness that convinced you to leave med school, only a hundred times stronger.  You can’t land a punch, straining to keep up with her, while Vinca has enough time to flick several knifes at you, each drawing blood. You must have a dozen or so wounds at this point, if not more, and they only increase with each passing second. Eventually, your defenses fall – you are too tired – and Vinca manages to grab a handful of your hair, a sick, almost maniac smirk on her face. She smashes your head against the nearest wall at the next second. Pain explodes inside your skull, throbbing, overpowering everything else. Dazed, you try to recover, try to defend yourself, but a knee collides against your side with the strength of a raging bull and you can’t help but double over, trying not to fall. Vinca finishes your pitiable attempt with a clean hit to your exposed nape. You collapse at her feet with a groan.

“I’ll make you regret everything, Victoria.” You can barely make out her voice thanks to the ringing in your ears. You can barely see how she drops down in front of you, everything is too blurry. There’s something glinting by her hand… one of her knifes?

You shudder, trying to escape, but you’re still too disoriented and Vinca is too fast. She hums a lazy tune, as if she’s in no hurry, and you hiss when you feel how she grabs your shirt – the shirt Onyx spent so long working on – and pulls you upwards, moving your body as she pleases. You try to wriggle out, try to fight how she bends your knees and forces your gaze downwards, but she’s stronger.

You choke out a strangled gasp. Try to push her away with increasing desperation, then cry out thanks to a sudden, sharp, stinging pain in your arm… there’s no doubt Vinca just cut you, and deep. Warmth floods your arm as blood flows out. You blink down at it, trying to get your eyes to focus, to assess the wound.

But it’s over. You’re kneeling.

“How does it feel, Victoria? Still think you’re the heroine?” Vinca asks, toying with yet another knife. It hovers just over your exposed stomach.

You push her away, trembling. “Leave me alone.”

Vinca looks at you with disgust. “You need to learn.”

But before she can get any closer, there’s a blur of golden. Vinca lets out a surprised yelp, and suddenly Onyx is there, standing where Vinca had been, green eyes wide with worry as she takes you in.

“Your arm – Victoria, your arm.” She whispers, hands hovering over your skin as if she’s afraid to touch. “B-breathe, Victoria. I’m here. I’m here.”

“About time you showed up.” Vinca snorts somewhere to your right, sounding vaguely amused. Onyx barely gives her a glare. “Looks like your oh so wonderful girlfriend failed, Onyx. How does that make you feel?”

Onyx grits her teeth. Continues to ignore her in favor of reaping some of her clothes, trying to tend to your wound. Your senses are returning.

“That’s enough, Vinca!” Someone – Wrath, you realize with a relieved smile – barks. “Don’t move.”

“You just like making everything more difficult, don’t you?”

There’s a growl. Demons pour out of the shadows like rabid dogs, snapping to attention at Vinca’s command. You see Cal drawing closer to you, giving you a worried glance that barely lasts a second.

“We need to go.” He informs you, shooting and kicking any demon that gets close enough.

“Right! Right.” Onyx replies, but she’s pale. Her hands are shaking over your arm, taking in the hundred cuts you are sporting. “Don’t leave me, Victoria.” She murmurs. “Please, don’t close your eyes.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I didn’t… I didn’t lose too much blood.” But you definitely have a concussion. Your ears are still ringing, and the world spins when Onyx carefully helps you up. Seeing how pained she is makes you want to scream. This wasn’t supposed to happen – maybe Vinca was right, you do want to be some kind of heroine and save Onyx from everything that ever burdened her. You should have stalled. Done something else.

And Onyx looks so scared. God, so, so scared. It’s not fair to her.

Not for the first time, you curse Vinca, Dorran, and every single demon you’ve ever come across.

[secretlysheikah]

Tower troubles: Journey To The Spring

Another chapter for you all to hopefully enjoy!

As always I don’t own the Linked Universe the honor belongs to @jojo56830, check them out their comic is amazing!

Once again I claim no ownership over any of these characters, I am but a humble “writer” who likes angst way too much for their own good.

Start here:

When all was said and done Wild had six bottles of stamina elixirs of various strength and the honey candies Wind gave him to work with. He was even able to scrape enough ingredients together to make energizing honeyed apples for the group for breakfast. All together It wasn’t much but it would have to do. As the sun broke over the horizon and the smell of the sweet honeyed apples wafted through the camp it didn’t take long for the assembled heroes to stir and take their place around the fire. Soon everyone was munching on their light breakfast Wild had prepared and Time and Twilight began to discuss their plan to get to the spring.

“Alright the trek to the spring from here is about a day and half walk. It shouldn’t be too difficult to get to there, but there are some things to keep in mind.” Twilight said around a mouth full of apple.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full” Time admonished gently and gave Twilight a look of disapproval. There was a chorus of poorly disguised snickering and Time gave them all a good natured glare. Twilight made a face as he swallowed his mouthful of apple and sighed dramatically. He rested his apple on his knee and wiped his sleeve across his mouth before continuing.

“As I was saying there are some things to keep in mind.” Twilight started again his face stern as he waited for everyone to settle once again. Slowly the snickering died down and he was able to continue.

“Between us and the spring are a few challenges. There’s a couple of monster camps that we should try to avoid as well as some deku babas scattered around the forest floor that-” Twilight said and was promptly interrupted by Hyrule.

“What is a deku baba?” He asked before taking another bite of his apple.

“Oh, they’re basically a giant plant monster that pops out from the ground and bites you.” Twilight explained simply and was about to continue until Legend piped up from his spot next to Sky.

“A plant monster? You’re telling me you have plant monsters? Why is this even a thing?” He grumbled unhappily and Twilight only offered a shrug in return.

“Well any pointers on how to kill them then?” Legend asked holding the remains of his apple aloft in front of his chest and slouching against the stump behind him.

“Slice them at the stem with your sword and don’t let them bite you.” Sky answered distractingly as he took a small bite from his apple. Sky hadn’t eaten much, appearing too deep in thought to really pay the food much attention. Wild watched him closely, the abrupt conversation they had that morning was still fresh in his mind.

“Don’t get bit? No shit, thanks for the tip.” Legend snorted as he popped the last bit of his apple into his mouth and chewed grumpily. Twilight eyed Sky for a moment before he continued once again.

“You can also stun them by shooting them with a sling shot or an arrow. That should make it easier to get to the stem. They are also hidden but you can usually spot them before they pop out. It’s hard to explain what to look for so I’ll just show you when we come across one.” Twilight said and hurriedly talked about other aspects of the trek ahead before anyone else could interupt. Wild slowly turned his own apple around in his hands and tuned Twilight’s monologue out. 

He nibbled at his own apple dispassionately, his stomach still felt like it was tied in painful knots. Honestly he still felt slightly flu-ish, but he knew if he didn’t eat something there would be a decent chance that his stomach would reject the stamina elixir outright. Seeing no way around it, Wild slowly ate away at the sweet flesh of the apple and prayed it wouldn’t make him puke. In an attempt to distract himself, he cast is eyes back towards Sky and watched as the soft spoken hero turned his own apple around between his fingers. 

Sky didn’t look great. Dark bags clung heavily to the underside of Sky’s eyes and he slouched forward like something was weighing him down. It was almost eerie seeing him that way, like it was somehow fundamentally wrong. Suddenly Sky lifted his eyes towards Wild and Wild looked away quickly not wanting Sky to feel like he was being judged. Wild took another bite of apple and grimaced at the way his stomach flipped dangerously. He felt Wind lean in close as he eyed Wild’s barely touched apple. 

“Are you going to finish that?” Wind whispered and wordlessly Wild shook his head and handed the apple over. Wind grabbed it quickly and scarfed it down greedily, like he hadn’t eaten in days. Hell, for all Wild knew it was entirely possible that the whole group hadn’t eaten much considering he was out of commission for the past few days. Wild grimaced at the pang of guilt he felt deep in his chest. He would have to make a special dinner for them all as a thank you. It was the least he could after everything they’ve been through because of him.

“how does that sound Wild?” Warriors called out to him and Wild’s head snapped up in surprise. He hadn’t realized he was being spoken to and his mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to form a coherent response to the question. 

“You didn’t hear a word I just said did you?” Warriors asked with a sigh and Wild could feel heat rushing to his face. 

“I’m sorry, could you repeat what you were saying?” Wild asked quietly avoiding eye contact with Warriors as he tried to force back his embarrassment. 

“I was just saying that we should keep you to the center of the group to make sure you don’t get left behind or attacked.” Warriors explained and Wild nodded along quietly. He didn’t really like the idea but Warriors was right. He was in no condition to defend himself properly let alone fight. His thoughts drifted back to the coded drawings Time and himself had exchanged that morning. 

‘Don’t trust me.’ 

‘Keep an eye on you?’ 

‘Take us out, one by one?’ 

As much as he hated feeling dependent on the others, keeping himself in the middle of the group was for the best. He had no idea how in control he was, and frankly he didn’t want to risk anything happening. He didn’t want to risk hurting the others. 

“Alright, if I start to slow the group down just shock me with an shock arrow to keep me moving.” Wild joked weakly and Warriors snorted out an amused laugh. 

“Don’t worry about that, we’ll just have Wind give you a piggyback ride. He’s eaten about three of those apples you’ve made and it seems he’s practically ready to run to the spring.” Warriors laughed and he nodded his head towards Wind. Wild followed Warrior’s gesture and his eyes landed on Wind who was now sitting next to Sky, his legs bouncing slightly as he sat. Wind fidgeted around and his eyes were wide and bright, he practically oozed energy. He gave Wild a jittery thumbs up and Wild felt his lips twitch up at the corners in poorly concealed amusement. Though at the same time Wild felt slightly concerned that the youngest hero might explode if they didn’t get moving soon. 

Luckily enough the travel plans concluded not too long after that and thanks to Wind’s boundless energy camp was packed up swiftly. Still Wild kept an eye on Sky, he seemed to be moving around just fine. Sky was talking to the others like nothing was wrong and Wild could have sworn he heard him humming when he walked past. But still he made sure to kept an eye on Sky. For some reason he couldn’t get his mind off the idea that there was something wrong.

Much to Wild’s dismay Time and Twilight seemed determined to carry all of his things. Time had grabbed his bed roll and Twilight stuffed Wild’s pillow into his own pack despite Wild’s protests. He argued that he could just store his stuff in his slate and save the hassle. But Twilight had only shook his head and made the point that if for some reason Wild was some how incapacitated then they wouldn’t be able to get his sleeping things from the slate. Wild had begrudgingly agreed and only just managed to keep hold of hip pack saying that he wasn’t an invalid and for the love of Din, he could handle carrying some spare bandages and water. They had thankfully left him be after that and soon after they headed out towards the spring.

It didn’t take long for Wild to feel his body begin to protest. His limbs felt heavy like they were tied down with heavy weights and he could feel the pain he was so careful to keep in check this morning begin to wear away at him. He had taken another stamina elixir when he stumbled over a rock and was caught by Warriors who was walking next to him. Warriors didn’t mention it but Wild could feel his eyes dart to him every few minutes to make sure he wouldn’t stumble again. The elixir helped, he felt energy coursing through his aching muscles and he was able to keep his footing on the uneven ground for a little while after that.

Conversation was scarce. Wild could hear the quiet chatter of half hearted conversations but they all seemed to fizzle out quickly. Everyone seemed to be in their own heads as they walked. Wild watched their eyes scan the field around them wearily. Wild could tell they were all on edge and he didn’t blame them. He could feel how his own instincts would snap his attention to the slightest noise around them. They had been walking for about an hour when Twilight let out a small cry of triumph and made the group stop.

“What’s the hold up?” Legend complained from his place just behind Wild. Twilight held up a hand and moved slowly closer to whatever he had seen.

“I found a deku baba, everyone look closely so you know what to look for as we walk.” Twilight said and gestured for the group to move a little closer. Wild took up the spot next to Twilight and leaned in to get a better look. He could see a grouping of large leaf clusters fanned out in a large circle on the ground. The leaves were a reddish color at the tips and they faded out to a dark green at the center where an odd mound of foliage clustered around a hole. It didn’t look to impressive but when he made to take a step closer he found his way blocked by Time’s outstretched arm. Wild shot him a confused look before he cautiously took a step back.

“That doesn’t look too impressive Twi, are you sure this is it?” Hyrule asked as he stood on tip toes to get a better look at the leaves. Twilight didn’t say a word, only pulled out his sling shot and aimed at the center of the leaf mound. He loosed a stone and the group heard the muted thump of stone on plant matter. There was a second of baited silence and then the huge bulbous head of the plant rocketed into the air, mouth champing at Hyrule who had been slowly moving closer. Hyrule let out a cry of alarm and stumbled backward, arms pinwheeling in fright as he lost his footing and fell on his back and scrambled away. As a testament to the group’s mood no one laughed, only watched the plant as it thrashed around searching for a target.  

Wild felt his eyes widen in horror. The plant was absolutely huge. If he had to guess it must have been at least eight feet tall and it’s stem was covered in long sharp looking thorns. The head of the plant was a bright blue, with a large mouth that practically bisected the almost absurdly large, oblong head in half. The mouth itself had large, thin, sharp teeth the length of his hand. Wild felt revulsion creep into his throat as the creature’s long whip-like tongue thrashed back and forth as it snapped and quested for whoever was dumb enough to get too close.

“By the love of the Goddess, I think my heart stopped for a minute there.” Hyrule breathed out quietly as Legend helped him to his feet.

“It’s like some deranged jack-in-the-box” Legend breathed out seemingly awestruck by the sight.

“No kidding” Four agreed holding his sword aloft in his hand. He was tense, like he expected the plant to suddenly sprout legs and run after them.

“They’re definitely vicious little things.” Warriors sneered when the plant whipped his way and snapped at the air in front of him. He glared at it as he drew his bow and shot an arrow right in the creature’s mouth.

The plant let out an eerie wail and stood straight up, it’s tongue lulling out of the side of it’s mouth as it swayed. Wasting no time Twilight ran forward and with a mighty sweep of his sword sliced right through the stem of the plant. It collapsed to the ground and writhed for a moment before it shriveled up and died.

“Now you know what to look for. So please be cautious as you walk.” Twilight said as he sheathed his sword and gestured for everyone to begin moving again.

The day passed slowly, and the longer they walked the more Wild could feel himself growing more exhausted. He found his mind constantly drifting between hyper focusing on how tired he achy he felt to half heartedly scanning the slowly encroaching woods around them. He was so exhausted that he hadn’t even noticed that the group seemed to be rotating around him until he felt the small hand of Four tug at his sleeve to get his attention. Wild blinked slowly at Four for a moment before he unstuck his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 

“When did you get here? Where did Wars go?” Wild asked in bemusement as he looked blearily around at his traveling companions. Four raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve been walking with you the past half hour. Wars is right behind us. Don’t you remember us rotating?” Four asked and Wild could only shake his head. He must really be loosing it if he hadn’t noticed people switching positions. Noticing the blank look on Wild’s face Four grabbed his sleeve lightly, making sure Wild focused on him.

“Twilight asked you if you wanted to take a break?” Four asked and he gestured to Wild’s other side. Blinking tiredly Wild swung his head to look at a very concerned Twilight.

“Yeah, we’re taking a break. You need to sit for a little while.” Twilight said not even waiting for Wild to reply.

It was just past noon when the group sidled off the path and found some shade just under a small copse of trees. Wild sat down heavily and found to his dismay that his hands were shaking. He leaned back against a tree and took slow breaths, willing the shaking to stop. He felt his chest spasm and he coughed and wheezed. It was getting harder to keep the pain under control and Wild clenched his fists in frustration. 

‘I’m better than this, I’ve been through much worse. I can handle this.’ He thought to himself as he rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes and took a minute to collect himself. But all he could think about was how tired and achy he was. Wild let out a small groan, all he wanted to do was just lie down and not move for another hundred years. He let out a frustrated sigh and let his hands drop away from his face. He just needed to walk a little further and then he could rest. he could do this. 

“Cub? Hello? Did you even hear a word I said?” Twilight asked quietly and Wild let out a small yelp of surprise. Wild blinked owlishly up at Twilight as his tired brain tried to form an answer. He hadn’t even realized that Twilight was there let alone talking to him and he could feel a flash of heat rise up his neck. Twilight shook his head and sat down just in front of him, and for the second time that day Wild tried to swallow back his embarrassment.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you doing okay?” Twilight asked again and leaned forward to get a better look at Wild’s face. Wild made a point not to not make eye contact, he didn’t want Twilight to see how embarrassed he was.

“It’s okay, I guess I was just lost in thought.” Wild said with a small laugh, trying to play off his earlier distraction. He dared flick his eyes towards Twilight and saw his unconvinced expression. Wild rolled his eyes and lifted his hands in supplication. 

“I’m doing alright really, just tired.” Wild sighed and he could hear Twilight suck on his teeth for moment before he responded.

“We can stop for the day. We’ve made good progress and I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

Wild shook his head fervently, his hands already grasped at his slate and opened up his inventory.

“I’ll be fine, really Twi. I have enough elixirs to keep me going for a little while longer.” Wild reassured, his fingers tapping on his slate and making a bright green elixir appear in his hand. Wild could see Twilight’s lips press into a firm line.

“How much farther do we have to go anyways?” Wild asked casually when he saw Twilight’s stern expression. 

“Well, if we walk until sundown and we get a relatively early start tomorrow we should reach the spring by midday tomorrow. But I’m not going to risk your health for the sake of making progress.” Twilight said with a hint of a growl in his voice as he eyed the bottle in Wild’s hands.

“That’s doable, I can manage that far, and if for some reason I can’t you’ll be the first to know. I promise. ” Wild said firmly as he met Twilight’s stony gaze. Twilight looked him up and down again before he spoke.

“Be sure you do. Because If I so much as see a flicker of discomfort on your face, we are stopping for the night.” He warned and Wild nodded stiffly. He knew there was no point in arguing with Twilight. When it came down to his health he knew full well that his mentor would stop the earth just to make sure he would rest, no matter how much Wild complained and argued to the contrary.

Seemingly satisfied that Wild understood the terms of his warning Twilight stood and stretched.

“Drink some water, we are leaving in a few minutes.” He said and left Wild to down his elixir and get himself ready to set off again.

***********

They had been walking for another hour when Wild felt his mind begin to drift again. He tried his best to stay focused. He kept his eyes moving, alternating between scanning the the ground for the odd leaf piles and looking around at the woods that were starting to move in closer around them but he still felt himself begging to drift. The elixir worked through his system quickly and before long he found his feet beginning to drag again and he was forced to down another to keep himself upright.

A cough snapped Wild’s attention back to reality and he found himself blinking in the beginning rays of sunset. There was another cough and Wild slowly moved his eyes to his left to see Legend walking beside him. Wild felt his eyebrows raise as he stared at him, waiting for Legend to say something.

“So, Hyrule thought it would be a good idea for us to talk.” Legend began awkwardly and Wild felt his eyebrows creep further up towards his hair line.

“Is that so? Maybe you just want to offer me some more of that special tea of yours and save yourself the apology.” Wild said coldly and was graced with a sneer from Legend. Wild didn’t care, he could feel a spark of anger settling in his gut and a large part of him desperately wanted punch Legend in the face.

“I’m not going to apologize, I did what I thought was right.” Legend said and Wild snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Oh please, spare me the self righteous spiel. It doesn’t make what you did right. You didn’t even talk to me about staying put that night.” Wild began but was interrupted by Legend’s own snort of poorly concealed frustration.

“Please, like you would have listened to reason. You’re always so damn stubborn.” He spat and Wild’s let out a small laugh of indignation.

“It still doesn’t make it right Legend. You lied to me outright. You didn’t even pause before you promised me that you would convince the others to leave. Then to make matters worse, you just kept lying right to my face.” Wild could feel an angry blush color the tips of his ears and he had to look away and breathe. After a moment he managed to get himself back under control to finish his train of thought.

“How. How can I possibly trust you if your knee-jerk reaction is to lie first and apologize never?” Wild finished hotly, his arms moving up to cross in front of his chest.

“I did what I thought was right for your safety. You were in no position to be moved and you would have just caused yourself more harm.” Legend spat back harshly avoiding looking Wild in the eyes. 

“Doing things because you think it’s for the best is a slippery slope to becoming a monster.” Wild hissed viciously and was surprised when Legend let out a bark of humorless laughter.

“Who says I’m not already a monster.” Legend muttered darkly and Wild suddenly felt off kilter. For the first time Wild noticed how Legend was toying with the rings on his fingers. It was a nervous habit that Wild had noticed when Legend was in stressful situations. His anger suddenly forgotten he let his arms drop to his sides and he tried to catch the veteran’s eyes.

“Wait, what? Legend what-” Wild began but was suddenly cut off by a surprised shout.

“Bomb!”

There was a split second where time seemed to slow to a stop, and then everyone scattered raising their shields as they went. Wild had just enough time to summon a shield and take a few hasty steps back before the bomb went off. He could feel the thunderous explosion rock the ground beneath him, the shock wave made his chest shudder. Even with his shield raised Wild could still feel pieces of dirt pelt his head, could feel hot shrapnel slice small cuts into his exposed legs. Wild staggered back, his ears rang painfully and he blinked stupidly as he looked around at the chaos unfolding around him.

An ambush, he thought sluggishly, watching as the others yelled and fought against odd looking monsters. Bokoblins, these were Twilight’s bokoblins... yeah, that’s right, they were in Twilight’s Hyrule. Wild shook his head trying to bring himself back to the present. After what felt like an eternity but was in reality only a few seconds the world slammed back into full speed and the ringing his ears dissipated with a small pop. Adrenaline coursed through him and in a swirl of blue lights Wild summoned a sword and made to to run into the fray. He only managed a coupe steps before he heard a shrieking laugh and felt a heavy weight slam onto his back. He was sent careening to the ground chest first, his left arm twisting painfully under him and he felt all the air shoot out of his lungs.

He would have cried out if he had the air. The pain was all encompassing. All the pain that he had been carefully managing since that morning came back with a vengeance and it was all he could do just to stay conscious. He could feel whatever was on top of him jump up and down in delight crushing his lungs even further and making his broken ribs pop and grind together. He could taste blood in his mouth and as hard as he tried he couldn’t get the leverage to lift himself and throw the weight off him. He turned his head to the side and was just able to see a wild looking bokoblin standing on top of him, arms raised high in the air with a sword poised to pin him to the ground like a butterfly. 

Wild distantly heard someone yell his name but he couldn’t do anything to respond, couldn’t do anything to save himself. Useless, he was useless and pinned down by bokoblin of all things. He watched with wide eyes as the creature began to bring it’s sword down, watched the blood lust sparkle in it’s eyes as it let out a triumphant cry... and then it was gone. There was a streak of red and blue and the bokoblin was suddenly off his back and he was able to suck in a choked breath of air. 

Wild lifted himself on shaky arms and watched as Legend and the bokoblin tumbled to the ground and began to grapple. The bokoblin let out a screech of rage and kicked Legend off as it sprang to it’s feet with a snarl. Legend landed in a crouch and lifted his sword, matching the beast’s glare with one of his own. He spat blood onto the ground before he banged his sword against his shield. It was a clear challenge and the bokoblin accepted as it launched itself forward with a screech to trade blows.

 Legend moved almost inhumanly fast, his blade appearing only as a motion smear in the air around him. Wild watched in awe as Legend matched the monster’s wild swings with his own graceful parries and sword thrusts. Watching Legend fight was like watching a trained dancer command a stage. He was lighting fast and precise in all his movements where the bokoblin was savage and crazed. Wild couldn’t fathom how the monster was able to keep up and judging on the intense glare on Legend’s face it appeared that he wasn’t too sure how it was doing it either. Legend let out a frustrated cry after the bokoblin managed to evade his blade once again and with a heavy swing he locked swords with the beast.

 The pair stood in a silent struggle of wills as each of them tried to force the other to break the lock, their chests heaving with the effort. Wild watched in surprise as the bokoblin braced it’s back leg in the dirt and with the other delivered a harsh kick to Legend’s chest sending the vet staggering back. There was a sudden whoosh of air and Legend let out a pained cry as the bulbous head of a deku baba clamped down around his chest. 

That was it, Wild felt himself suddenly snap out of his pained stupor and he rushed forward with a new surge of adrenaline. Before the bokoblin could turn to face him Wild brought his sword down in a deadly slice and practically chopped the monster in two. There was no time to watch it fall, instead Wild dropped his sword and shield to the ground and summoned a bow and lined up his shot. He felt a fiery burn in his chest as he drew the string back, his ribs screamed a muted cry of agony and with a cry of his own his shot the head of the plant. The thing screeched and released it’s hold on Legend who fell to his knees and clutched at his chest. Wild didn’t waste a single second before dropping his bow and scooped up his sword again running forward and slicing through the thick stem of the plant. It crashed heavily to the ground with a dying wail and writhed before finally laying still at Wild’s feet. 

Wild felt all the adrenaline leave his body as quickly as it had arrived and with a sigh he too crashed face first to the ground next to Legend. Dark spots flooded the edges of his vision as he laid there, winded and pained. They didn’t say anything to each other for a little while, only listened to the fighting around them slowly die down. 

“Are you okay?” Wild panted out when he finally got some of his breath back. Legend let out a pained gasp of his own and threw himself down to the ground next to him. 

“Aren’t I supposed to ask you that? You’re the idiot who ate dirt back there.” Legend snapped and then grimaced at his tone. “Sorry, that was meaner than I intended” He apologized quickly. Wild took in a shuddering gasp and laughed weakly. 

“It’s fine, I was an idiot. That thing had me dead to rights. I should be thanking you. How did you get there so fast?” Wild mumbled as he tried to flip over on his back. He felt a hand on his back and he grunted and stopped moving. 

“Pegasus boots. Don’t try to move, we don’t know how hurt you are yet.” Legend warned and Wild huffed out a tired breath. 

“What about you? You’re the one that got munched on by that damned plant.” Wild said before moving his hand to his mouth to wipe the blood from his lip. 

“I was able to shield myself for the most part, got some cuts and I can feel where some of the teeth punctured my back but I don’t think it hit anything vital.” Legend muttered grumpily and Wild couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that escaped his throat. 

“That’s something at least. I think my arm is broken” Wild said as he flopped his left arm out with a hiss of pain for added emphasis. Legend turned his head and fixed him with a flat look. 

“I swear we can’t take you anywhere. What about your chest?” Legend asked and Wild blinked lazily at him. 

“Oh you know, the usual. Though judging by the sheer amount of extra pain I have right now I wouldn’t be surprised if I broke some more ribs.” Wild hissed out painfully as he once again made to move on to his back. 

“Stop doing that. By the Goddess how are you even still trying to move?” Legend asked exasperatedly as he pushed down on Wild’s back again. 

“Sheer force of will, with a sprinkling of stubbornness. Also I don’t think the pain has really settled in yet.” Wild said with weary grin that was met with a worried look. 

“Please tell me you’re not going into shock.” Legend moaned, suddenly sitting up with a groan and knelt over Wild’s prone form. 

“Haha, no promises...” Wild slurred and was met with a light smack to the back his head for his trouble.

“Shut up, I’m going to check out your back and then I’ll see if I can flip you over.” Legend said as he grabbed at the hem of Wild’s tunic and pulled up. Wild felt cold air on his back and he shivered. Legend said nothing and only poked at different parts on his back and hummed when Wild would let out soft groans of pain. Legend’s fingers felt slightly sticky on his back but Wild didn’t comment on it. Instead he tried to crane his head so he could get a look at Legend’s face. 

“What did you mean earlier?” Wild asked after Legend finally pulled his tunic back down over his back and moved to his other side to get a better look at the wounds left behind by the shrapnel.  

“It looks like you popped the stiches on your leg.” Legend said dispassionately acting as if Wild hadn’t said anything. 

“Great, just great. But that’s not what I was asking about” Wild pressed and he yelped when he felt Legend grab his left arm and began to press into the bruised skin. Wild cursed and tried to yank his arm away from Legend’s probing fingers and Legend tsked. 

“Yep, that is definitely broken. I’m going to have to splint that.” Legend said pointedly and dropped his arm back down and ignored the gasp of pain Wild let out. Undeterred Wild pressed on.

“Legend, you implied you were a monster. What were you talking about?” Wild hissed out between gritted teeth. He was once again ignored and he could feel Legend move to his other side once again. Once there Legend leaned over top of him and grab at his opposite shoulder.

“I’m going to flip you over. This is going to hurt.” Legend said tightly and without preamble pulled until Wild was laying on his back. Wild gasped as his back thudded against the ground and he felt tears spring to his eyes. He was left gasping and it took him a minute to catch his breath again. 

“By the Gods, you have to work on your bedside manner.” Wild wheezed out and glared at Legend with squinted eyes. 

“And you need to know when to stop asking questions.” Legend snapped back and Wild drew his lips into a firm line. 

“I just want to understand what you meant.” Wild said quietly and he watched Legend’s ridged form slump ever so slightly. 

“I really don’t want to get into this. Not right now.” Legend said as he rubbed at his eyes. “Can I check your chest?” He asked and Wild nodded his consent. Legend worked Wild’s tunic up and began to prod at the skin once again. This time Wild tried his best not to make a sound, his mind was racing and curiosity burned through his thoughts. Legend apparently could tell what he was thinking because he sighed and paused in his examination. 

“When you’ve been on as many adventures as I have you’re bound to mess up. It just so happens that my mistake was catastrophic in the extreme. All because I did what I thought needed to be done. In the name of doing the right thing. And no I don’t want to talk about it, it wont fix the things I’ve done and it won’t bring them back.” Legend said quietly and Wild thought he could see tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He felt Legend’s hands twitch and he tugged Wild’s tunic back down. 

“Everything looks just about the same, I’m going to get Hyrule to see what he thinks.” Legend said his voice barely above a whisper. He made to stand but Wild shot out his hand and grabbed his wrist, he could feel a slight tremor running through Legend’s arm. 

“From one monster to another, don’t let past mistakes define you. They could be used to beat you down later.” Wild said surprising himself with how stern he sounded. He could see Legend’s throat bob as he swallowed. Slowly Legend nodded and Wild finally let his hand fall away. Legend didn’t say another word, only stood the rest of the way and walked off to collect Hyrule. Wild was left to stare off into the quickly darkening sky above him. Lost in thought he watched as the stars bobbed and spun above him. Though he closed his eyes when the motion made him feel sick.    

[mihidecet]

To Lean on Somebody

Set in a Dream SMP alternate universe where everything from before the festival didn’t happen (I’m not in denial you are ;-;), two friends find a moment of comfort and honesty.

I am begging you, on my knees, to not take this as ship content. PLEASE let us normalize platonic cuddling and being close with your friends without it being sexual I am pleading.

I am but a touch starved dumbass, I hope you enjoy <3

It happens one late evening.

Quackity enters Schlatt's office at around midnight, tired, stressed out from the upcoming meetings, and almost lets all of the documents he's holding fall to the ground in surprise. 

He hadn't expected to find the light still on and for a moment he stares, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, at the ram hybrid still intent on finishing his own reports. And for a moment - right before Schlatt's eyes raise towards him, right before he notices he's not alone in the room anymore - Quackity just sees him. Shoulders tense, hair a mess and way too long, some curls reaching the tip of his nose, the darkness under his eyes as if he's been punched. 

Yellow eyes blink slowly at him. 

"What are you still doing up?" Schlatt asks, monotone betraying nothing of the tiredness his whole body is emanating. 

"I could ask you the same thing." Quackity quips back, moving closer to the table to place down his finished work - Schlatt's eyes soften for a moment, gratefulness evident only to a trained watcher. 

"Are you almost done?" The younger man asks, leaning into the desk to peer at the document still under his president's hand. At Schlatt's positive hum, Quackity simply hums back. 

A thought hits him, a plan subtly forming in his brain as his eyes move from the document to Schlatt's hand as he tucks a stray curl behind his right horn with a huff. 

He ponders for a moment. Meditates on possible outcomes. Prepares for the worst.

"Do you want me to cut your hair?" Quackity's voice asks, out of the blue, the traitorous fool, before he can figure out a way to properly construct his question. 

Schlatt looks up, blinks at him. 

Looks back down at the document, only silence passing between them as Quackity both tenses up and laughs at himself for the silliness of the question. 

"Sure, why not. Shit's getting annoying, anyway."

Quackity discusses with himself the benefits of cutting his friend's hair at one am, and finds no reason why he shouldn't do it. It's not like he's that tired anyway, his brain always takes a while to turn off after he's finished working, and this way he can make sure Schlatt won't change his mind. 

As soon as the man is done with his paperwork, he escorts him to his bathroom, where he has all the things he needs. 

"Are you sure you can cut hair?" Schlatt asks, eyeing suspiciously the scissors and clippers Quackity is taking out of a specific drawer. Quackity just sighs with a smile on his face, waving his worries away. 

"Now, we don't really have a proper place to do it. You can sit on the chair and lean back, or we can use the bathtub." Schlatt turns towards him, a sardonic smile on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"You know, if you wanted to get me naked-"

Quackity raises his index finger towards him.

"I will stab you. I'm giving you enough time to get ready and when I'm back I'm cutting your hair or something else. Up to you."

Schlatt chooses the bathtub. 

Sue him. 

He needs a bath anyway, this is just saving time. Also, there is no way in hell he is bending over backwards to have his head fit into the sink, his back is already fucked up enough. 

For all that he jokes around Quackity, he knows that what they have can live through this situation. They're friends, in a way that honestly baffles Schlatt a bit too much. He doesn't know what he did to deserve somebody that clicks so well with him. Not that he's gonna say that out loud, but-

Maybe he should have just gone to sleep. 

He is tired. But the prospect of a bath - and of freedom from his overly long hair - is too tempting. 

When Quackity enters the bathroom again, he's silent. He makes no note nor quip about Schlatt's decision, he just goes and grabs what he needs and places it down on a chair, moving another one so that he can sit right behind Schlatt. 

Everything is very still and silent around them, which could be weird and awkward but it's not. They're both tired, and there's not much to talk about that they can't talk about when they're both awake. 

Quackity grabs a small plastic bowl and scoops up some of the water in the tub.

"Tilt your head back a bit?" He asks and his voice is so quiet, so soft - it's the voice he uses when he's helping Fundy with his projects, or when he's reviewing Tubbo's blueprints.

Schlatt raises his chin a bit, unsure of how much is required, until Quackity's hand gently rests over his forehead, pressing down just a bit as the man whispers.

"Close your eyes." 

The water runs through his hair once, then a couple of times as Quackity repeats the process until his hair is properly wet - never once does water get in his eyes, even though Schlatt does feel it linger over his forehead, unable to move due to Quackity's hand. 

His brain is tired, and the most he can think of is that it's a nice gesture. 

Then Quackity grabs a bottle of shampoo - which smells oh so nice, like lemons and something spicy that makes him want to smile and reminds him of summer - and starts to lather his hair. 

And oh. 

The way his fingers run through his hair, slowly, picking up stray strands to make sure all of them are getting cleaned. The way the pads of his fingers press gently against his scalp, rubbing small circles at the nape of his neck, then behind his ears. 

The way he traces the edges of his horns, where bone melts with cartilage and skin, before lightly pressing down and rubbing some more foam into it. 

It takes a while, but Quackity's subconscious eventually brings him to much simpler times, and a familiar but long forgotten tune erupts from his heart in the form of a gentle hum. 

Forgetting he should be cutting some hair, his hands move to his friend's shoulders, tense and rigid as if they were made of stone, and he figures that he can allow himself to try and lessen the knots of tension there too. 

About a minute later, he catches himself pressing down on Schlatt's trapezius, huffs out a breath at himself and returns to the main task at hand. 

Washes out the shampoo, then grabs some more and begins his lathering process once more - he just wants to make sure the hair is properly clean.

Meanwhile, Schlatt is in paradise. 

He hadn't realised how much he needed something like this before, but oh does he not want this to end ever. 

He feels relaxed, content in a way he'd forgotten he could be. 

Each and every point of contact that his scalp has with Quackity's fingers are like beacons of calmness, turning his body into putty at an embarrassingly quick speed - his entire being concentrating around this focal points of just touch.

He doesn't realise he's crying until a quiet sob makes his shoulder shake. 

Sudden fear grips at his insides, because oh no, not him, he is not crying because his best friend is washing his hair and treating him with a gentleness and kindness he doesn't deserve-

"Are you cold?" Quackity asks from behind him, the slight edge of worry in his tone, and Schlatt instinctively shakes his head no, realising his mistake as he does. 

There's a perfect chance of saving it.

"A bit." Is what he tries to say, but his voice is thick with the tears he's been crying, it cracks in all the wrong places and it ends with a chocked sob. 

Fuck, he is a mess. 

When all that follows is a stunned silence, Schlatt feels his walls slamming down, shoulders tensing up as he moves away from Quackity.

"Fuck, shit- get out. Get out. Right now."

Nothing, no answer. Not enough venom.

"Get the fuck out!" He yells out, arms wrapped around himself, another sob working its way up his throat but he stomps it down- fights with it for a good second as he waits, too aware of the fact that Quackity is still in the room. 

A moment passes. A shiver runs through his body, despite the room being heated up and the water still being definitely warm.

 There's a sudden point of warmth as Quackity places a hand on his shoulder, slowly, lightly, as if dealing with a wounded animal. 

Schlatt doesn't know what to do with himself. All of his instincts yell at him to fight back, to yell, to hurl insults until whoever is behind him will leave. 

But this is Quackity. His best friend. 

So when Quackity pulls him back, gently, he lets himself be brought back. Back, until his back is against something soft - Quackity's sweater, which has got to now sport a wet and soapy patch on the front. 

Still, his friend doesn't seem to mind. 

"I've got you" he whispers, and his words are like the final dent in the dam of his emotional walls. 

One hand moving to grip at Quackity's arm, Schlatt almost doubles with the strength of his next sob, a gut wrenching sound that leaves his throat raw and heart weeping. And he cries. 

All the stresses, fears, doubts, all the stuff that had been piling onto his mind just come crashing down - and he would have toppled with it, if it hadn't been for Quackity's firm but kind grip on his shoulder steadying him. 

And he sobs, lets himself cry - because at that point, who even cares? Once he would have shrugged, shaken his head dismissively: nobody cares. 

But the thing is, Quackity cares. 

Quackity, with his bright smile and infectious laughter, with his gentle touches and firm hugs. 

A solid anchor in the tempest of emotions he is finding himself stuck into. 

Quackity holds him, free of judgement, lets him cry his heart out and then more.

And when things calm down, he picks up his hummed tune - a lullaby of sorts. 

Between one sniffle and the other, Quackity rinses his hair out. Starts cutting his hair, brings it back to a respectable length. 

Spends too much time carding his fingers through the strands, then takes out a hair mask and spens even more time massaging it into his scalp. 

There are a couple of times when exhaustion - physical and emotional almost make him fall asleep in the water, but he stays awake, if anything to not miss a single moment of the experience.

And when Quackity whispers to him to turn towards him, they both have red rimmed eyes. Neither makes a comment on that. 

Schlatt raises his hands from the water, shakes out some excess droplets, and figures it's the least he can do as he places both palms on his friend's cheeks and wipes away the couple stray tears he finds there. 

Quackity smiles softly, ever so softly, and leans into the touch, eyes briefly closing. 

"Thank you, mi amor." Schlatt croaks, wincing a little at how weird his voice sounds after crying for so long. 

Quackity huff out, eyes crinkling with humour; when he answers, his tone is so thick with fondness it makes Schlatt melt.

"You're a dumbass." 

Despite it all, Schlatt finds it in himself to smile cheekily, hands coming to rest at his sides as Quackity goes back to working.

He lets him do his thing, not wanting to disturb the process. It would be rude to do so. 

When Quackity places his scissors back down, it feels like the moment is ending, and yet his fingers go back to his face once more. 

Gently tracing his horns, thumbs resting on the side of his temples as he rubs circles with the rest of his fingers on his scalp. 

Then, moving his palms to rest on the sides of his head.

Schlatt, who'd been keeping his eyes closed, opens them right on time to find himself staring at Quackity's chin. A split second later, lips press against his forehead, fingers still rubbing circles through his hair. 

A sudden rush of emotions overcomes him, the tenderness almost too much, and his eyes water again as he grips at Quackity's arm like a lifeline, holding on through the onslaught of feelings that hit him like a shockwave. 

Quackity lingers, and whatever he is trying to convey Schlatt feels. He understands. He squeezes his eyes and squeezes Quackity's arm, hoping, needing his friend to understand that yes, he knows, he understands, he feels the same.

And when Quackity leans back, eyes shining, a bittersweet smile on his face, Schlatt can't help but chuckle wetly. 

"I'm going to wait outside, alright? I don't want you to get cold. Let me know what you think of the cut, alright?" Quackity says after a moment, then stands up and leaves, gently closing the door behind him. 

He understands, it's all a bit overwhelming. 

What's important is the fact that they understood each other. 

Schlatt raises from the water, quickly drying himself up - his muscles ache from staying in the same position for too long, and his heart aches for a whole another reason, but he feels better than he's felt in a long while. 

He shoots a look in the mirror: his hair isn't getting into his eyes anymore, and it looks good. The length is enough for his hair to actually start to curl up at the bottom, and once it'll be dry he assumes it's going to feel very soft, due to all the care it went into it - and products, but still. 

He fixes his clean shirt, smoothing away inexistent dust, and ignores how puffy his eyes look. 

That was one hell of a haircut. 

[imagineclaireandjamie]

I’m in desperate need of some Tagalong escapism. A happy family moment would be just the ticket. 🙏

anonymous asked: Has Tagalong Roger discovered his talent for music and singing yet? Imagine Jamie and Claire et al. realising Roger can sing like a thrush 😄

Tagalong One Shot #3

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen, Part Eighteen, Part Nineteen, Part Twenty, Part Twenty-One, Part Twenty-Two, Part Twenty-Three, Epilogue; One Shot #1; One Shot #2

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

It began as a sort of game between Roger and Fergus when no one was around, a way to deal with Roger’s homesickness, especially in those first months. What things from their lives in the future did they miss the most? Football. Bicycles. Their friends from school. Going to the cinema. Listening to the radio.

Playing in the woods when their chores allowed, Roger would imitate the broadcasters or recall commercial jingles with a clarity that had Fergus doubling over with laughter. 

But the underlying sadness was more than Fergus could help his friend with alone. So he volunteered them to help Claire on one of her gathering trips in the woods. When it was just the three of them, Fergus began the game and Claire joined in.

She had spent far more time in the future. Like Roger, she was of the future in a way neither he nor Brianna were (young as she was, she had already lost her memories of where and when she was born).

When the game petered out, they continued their scavenging quietly. At least, until Roger recognized the song Claire was humming and began to sing along.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way...

Fergus recognized the tune but couldn’t remember the words and certainly wouldn’t have sounded as good as Roger did.

Claire joined Roger, grinning along and dancing a little making both boys laugh.

When they’d finished the song, Claire complimented Roger on his singing and asked if he’d picked up any of the songs Mrs. Crook knew (she always sang quietly as she went about the kitchen, though she wasn’t particularly good). 

Roger hadn’t but the seed was planted and Roger had a new hobby.

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

“He has a surprise for us,” Claire informed Jamie as she tidied him up. There were dried leaves in his hair which needed to be trimmed or the dun bonnet would be useless for covering the distinctive hair of Red Jamie. 

“And do ye have any idea of what his surprise may be?” Jamie asked. He winced as Willie gnawed on one of his fingers.

“Hold still,” Claire scolded, smiling behind Jamie’s back as their three-month-old son gurgled in his father’s lap. She knew how much it meant to Jamie to have been there for Willie from the beginning (how bittersweet that Brianna couldn’t remember being without him). It was also a minor miracle that Jenny had goaded him into giving up the cave for the priest hole while winter bore down on them. 

And it would take another for her to convince Jamie it was safe enough for him to make an appearance at the Hogmanay festivities (having been so recently arrived the previous year, they’d kept the day as a family but learned of the tenants’ disappointment soon after). It would mean a great deal to so many for a glimpse of the true laird with his family reunited as the British army continued to raid and terrorize the countryside even three years after the loss at Culloden.

“As a matter of fact, I do know what it is, but telling you would mean ruining the surprise for both of us,” Claire informed Jamie, “And it means too much to Roger for me to do that so you will attend and you will be surprised. And you will enjoy yourself,” she tacked on as an afterthought.

Jamie rolled his eyes at Willin in the mirror. The babe ceased gnawing on Jamie’s finger in order to giggle.

“Alright. Time for you to have a proper wash so we can get the rest of this rat’s nest under control.” Claire took Willie from Jamie, holding him so he could watch as his father sighed and reluctantly stripped and climbed into the lukewarm tub, the chill in the room having quickly sapped the water of its heat. 

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

Despite Claire’s assertion, Jamie remained reluctant to risk being seen too publicly.

“I can stay above stairs wi’ Willie and Brianna,” he told Claire. “Have Roger tell ye when for the surprise and I’ll slip down for that bit.”

“If it makes you more comfortable, I believe you can enjoy his surprise from the banister upstairs,” Claire compromised. “I’ll let him know he’ll be able to spot you there.”

So Jamie made sure he was in place as a handful of tenants arrived for the modest festivities (given the universal hardships, the family had decided to rotate who would be invited year to year). 

Willie was teething and fussy in Jamie’s arms as he looked around for Roger in the small crowd below. He spotted Fergus first. The lad was helping guide a few men bearing instruments to one side of the hall, ushering folks to clear the space for imminent dancing. Roger was close behind conversing with a man carrying a fiddle.

There was something in Roger’s arms but none of the others took it from him when the group settled in their places, laughing as young couples eagerly gathered ready to dance. Roger ended up shuffled off to the side but still stood with the players.

The largest and oldest of them looked around at the others, nodding as fiddles and flutes were raised. Then he motioned to Roger who began to beat a steady rhythm on his bodhrán. Soon the others joined in and the couples began to clap along and dance. 

Jamie couldn’t follow the music itself very well, but he could pick out Roger and that steady bodhrán beat, keeping time for everyone else. At the end of the first piece, Roger glanced up to where Jamie stood at the railing with Willie. Jamie gave him a proud smile and nod, then lifted Willie’s hand in a wave. Willie fidgeted and bounced enthusiastically. He squealed with delight as they began the next piece.

Jamie stood watching through three more songs before carrying Willie off to put him to bed and check on Brianna. Besides, they’d be sending the firstfoot out soon and they’d want him safely tucked away for that. 

Claire ushered Roger and Fergus up to bed a short time later, the festivities downstairs winding down. 

“You played beautifully,” Claire told Roger, sitting at the edge of his bed and brushing his dark hair away from his eyes.

“Alec Mackinnon said he’d continue to teach me the songs he kens,” Roger said with a tired but somehow still excited yawn. “No just the bodhrán either. Though, it doesna quite feel like Hogmanay wi’out… you know.” He raised his eyebrows at Claire who smiled in a way Jamie recognized too well. She never wanted the children to think she was laughing at them, no matter how amusing the things they said might be.

“You’ve done very well not to say anything about it,” Claire commended him. “But now it’s just us. It should be safe now and, I agree, it doesn’t feel complete without it,” she said with a conspiratorial glance to Jamie and Fergus who were both baffled.

Roger smiled and sat up in bed. Fergus lounged with his head propped up on his hand. Jamie took a seat next to Brianna’s cot where she and Willie slept. They’d take Willie to his cradle when they returned to their own room for the night.

“Softly now,” Claire reminded Roger before nodding for him to start. 

Should auld acquaintance be forgot…

Claire dropped off after the first chorus but Roger remembered and sang the second and third verses as well.

“You sing as beautifully as you play,” Claire assured him. “Like a songbird.”

“A smeóraich,” Jamie agreed. When Claire gave him a confused look, he explained, “A thrush.”

“Time for bed, smor– how do you say it again?”

Jamie repeated it for Claire a few more times, eliciting giggles that turned into yawns. She gave up and tucked Roger back in.

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

“The song you and Roger sang earlier… It’s of the future?” Jamie asked as he held Claire in bed a short time later. He’d be back in the priest hole the next day but refused to spend the first night of the new year anywhere but next to Claire.

“Yes and no,” she said with a sigh. “It will come to be associated with celebrating the new year in the twentieth century, but the words will be penned by a great Scots poet in another decade or so.”

“A great Scots poet,” Jamie mused, grinning in the dark.

“Mmmhmm. And it’s not just in Scotland that he’s celebrated or that song that gets sung. It becomes popular the world over… At least, to my knowledge. There’s even a night celebrating his birth that’s a sort of unofficial holiday.”

Jamie scoffed. “Now ye’re teasin’ me, Sassenach.”

She curled into him and nuzzled against his chest. “Not at all,” she yawned. “I’ve been to my share of Burns Night celebrations over the years.”

“Hmmm… Sounds nice,” Jamie murmured as he drifted off to sleep, the words of the song – which he’d had Claire repeat for him slowly – ran through his dreams. 

We’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet, for auld lang syne…