#okay. enough incomprehensible gibberish from me

[honey-crypt]

hi hello me again with request because my brain cannot stop thinking abt elliott stardew,,

so elliott discovering that his farmer was planting pomegranate trees just for him bc I've been doing that.. like, there's a special area for pomegranate trees. My man would die on the spot cuz i know i would if someone did that for me LMAO

a/n: another addition to the ferzia & bee elliottverse LMAO it’s kinda short but i think it works haha, enjoy!!! and follow my moot!!!!

word count: 1.1k

summary: it’s just another day on the farm, the fall season settling nicely in the valley, when elliott finds a surprise on the farm from his beloved (y/n).

★ orchard - elliott x farmer ★

The crisp fall breeze ruffled Elliott’s hair, as he stepped out to the porch of the farmhouse. He inhaled the fresh air and exhaled deeply, admiring the little farm before him. The chickens clucked and the cows mooed, the fragrance of sweet corn and sour grapes coated the air, this little farm was truly home for the writer.

Elliott plopped down on the porch’s rocking chair and whipped out his notebook, “Another beautiful day to work,” he hummed softly to himself, as his pencil made contact with the paper and began to write. Camelia Station, Elliott’s first novel, managed to garner a dedicated fan base and his publicist informed him that getting another romance book on the shelves would only make his image as a writer better. Elliott didn’t mind his image, but he cherished his fans just as much as writing. Thus, he spent the last season or so on the porch, brainstorming and planning the next novel.

However, today wasn’t the day to write, as Elliott stared down the words he wrote out, a series of incomprehensible gibberish masking as literary genius. He huffed and set his notebook aside, Don’t let this end you, Elliott reassured himself, It’s okay to have a block. It happens to the best, but he couldn’t shake off the frustration bubbling up to his throat. However, a small meow greeted him and Elliott visibly relaxed, as Lobbie the grey cat leapt onto his lap and made herself at home.

“Oh, sweet Lobbie,” the redhead whispered to the cat while stroking her back, “I think today will have to be a lazy day for you and me,” the cat purred happily and kneaded on his thigh, “It seems that you’re in agreement, as well,” Elliott continued to pet Lobbie, his eyes fluttering with exhaustion. It was only seven in the morning, he shouldn’t be tired already. Yet, the amount of all nighters he pulled, anxiously writing out idea after idea at his writing desk, was enough to make the most energetic of people tired.

The sound of a rickey wheelbarrow echoed from a distance, the volume increasing as it got closer and closer. Elliott cracked one eye open and noticed you, his spouse, wheeling a pile of dirt towards an unused section of the farm. You unceremoniously dumped the dirt on the ground and returned the wheelbarrow to the nearby shed before noticing your husband on the porch. A smile graced your lips and you waved at him, which he returned with a smile and a wave of his own. What a hard worker, the ginger watched you head off to a different section of the farm, I wish I had their work ethic, his smile morphed into a frown, Maybe then I would have a solid idea of what to write next.

Lobbie hopped off Elliott’s lap and trotted off, perhaps to catch a mouse or one of the chickens. Elliott took the opportunity to stand and stretch out his long, wiry arms. He looked around the farm for you, seeing if he could be of some use for you, but to his surprise, you were nowhere in sight. Elliott knitted his eyebrows together, I swore I just saw them. Did they head off to visit Pierre’s or Robin’s?

He walked down from the porch and onto the farmland, rich soil beneath his loafers. Elliott checked the barn, the coop, the cave, and the greenhouse, but there was no sign of you anywhere. The writer lowered his shoulders in defeat and turned on his heel to return to the farmhouse when he heard the sound of water being poured. Elliott followed the sound, past the greenhouse and into the woods, “(Y/N)?” he called out to you, “My love, are you there?” the ginger scanned the wooded area before his eyes fell upon a simply spectacular sight.

An orchard, it was an orchard covered in a pheltora of fruit trees. They weren’t just any fruit trees, though; no, they were pomegranate trees, the sweet plump fruit hanging from the branches. It had to have taken months for these trees to mature to such a size and to bear such gorgeous pomegranates- and there you were! You were watering the closest pomegranate tree with the burgundy watering can Elliott gifted to you on New Year’s Eve. Elliott watched in awe, as you set the watering can down and reached for the lone pomegranate on the tree. You tugged at the fruit until it broke free of its branch and examined it for any irregularities. Once satisfied, you gently placed it in your wicker basket and moved onto the next tree.

“(Y/N)?” the writer appeared behind you, nearly making you jump out of your skin, “Elliott!” a yelp escaped your throat, “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” you scolded your husband. Elliott gave you an apologetic smile, “My mistake,” he eyed the surrounding pomegranate trees, “What’s all this, my love?”

“Oh!” your face heated up, “Damnit, I was going to show you this in a few days as your birthday surprise,” you pinched your nose with a sigh, “I guess I wasn’t that sneaky, huh?”

“You were pretty sneaky,” he answered, “It must have taken months for you to grow all these trees.”

“I started working on the orchard when we got engaged last summer,” you confessed sheepishly, “I wanted to have a piece of you as part of the farmland,” a nervous smile formed on your face, “I know how much you love pomegranates so I thought Hey, why don’t I grow some pomegranate trees? and next thing I knew, I had twenty or so planted and bearing fruit.”

“You did this all for me?” the writer’s expression was a mixture of surprise, bewilderment, and joy. You nodded, “I thought it would be a good birthday surprise since the trees’ maturity and fruit bearing overlapped with your birthday.”

Elliott suddenly pulled you into a tight embrace, nearly knocking the wind out of you, as he held you as close as he could in his arms. You hugged him back and felt his body shaky, as Elliott began to sob quietly in your arms, “You did this for me, all for me? You truly are a gift from Yoba, my love. This is the greatest act of love I have ever received or bore witness to, I- Oh, (Y/N)-”, you rubbed his back while he blabbered on and on how honored and overjoyed by your dedication to the orchard.

To you, creating the orchard was simply a gift, something you wanted your husband to enjoy, but to Elliott? The orchard was a sign that you were his soulmate, that the bond and love between you two was enough to foster great trees upon trees of delicious pomegranates.

After all, the pomegranate symbolized a rich, fulfilled life.

[lewkwoodnco]

omg hi you said you were opening requests for lockwood in general and not just songfics so i was wondering if you could write one where lockwood gets hurt in a mission trying to protect reader (they’re dating) and when they get back to portland row she gets mad at him and they have a really bad argument that ends up with the reader saying she doesn’t love him anymore (shes lying) and wants to leave lockwood and co !! (if it’s possible for you to end it on a happy note it would be amazing but if it’s hard to write there’s no pressure)

only love can hurt like this - Lockwood x Reader

Psst I now have a taglist! yippee!

A/N: okay SO I know the title is from a song but it’s nottt a song fic and gosh this made me realise what a crutch music has been in my writing 😭 if any of y’all have more non-songfic requests I would rlly appreciate it 🙏the beginning's a lil fluffy hehe, inspired by this post! P.S. condolences for shadow and bone </3, wc 4.7k She was in the kitchen when George and Lockwood returned from their case, dusty and exhausted, and fixed up some tea for them. George took his tea up to his room with a mumbled thanks and Lockwood pressed a distracted kiss to her temple as he pulled out the biscuit tin. She made a calculatedly casual remark about going down to the basement to help Lucy sort out their storage, at which he rolled his eyes and pulled her into the chair next to his.

But that was about an hour ago, and now she could hear the tired flipping of pages and stacking of files from the library, where he was buckling down to fight the growing pile of paperwork on his desk. He's facing away from her when she steps in, and from the looks of it, the paperwork seems to be winning.

"I know you wouldn't want to make a fuss..."

He stiffens, and when he turns there's an incredulous tilt to his eyebrows and the ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. She keeps a hand over the candle's flame as she walks in balancing a card and cupcake on her palm.

"How did you find out?"

"I badgered Barnes for your birth certificate. Took me months."

"That can't be legal."

"Don't think he minded much in the end. Anyway, the card was like a pound and the cupcake is a gift from Arif so you can't refuse either of them."

He smiles despite himself, glancing through the card with a bemused interest, red glitter coating his fingertips.

"Well, I didn't know I was your 'precious sweetheart.'"

"Oh, shut up. It was that or a condolences card."

"Hmm, this card really is the gift that keeps giving. 'To my dearest darling...'"

"Maybe I should have had a look through."

"...blah blah blah 'perfect day for my adorable sweetheart -'"

"What on earth kind of a shop is Arif keeping?"

"'Happy birthday handsome'?"

"I think we're done with the card!" She snatches it from him and stuffs it under the large stack of papers on his desk, face burning, but it still takes him a while to laugh it out of the system. It's an endearing sight to see him so carefree, if exhausted, and even after months of dating she watches him shyly through her eyelashes. His haggard face makes it easy to see him as far more than only a year older, but for now it's enough that he's laughing and alive.

"First and last time I trust Arif's judgement on birthday cards."

That sets him off again, though he has the decency to try and choke it down, but even his suppressed amusement is infectious enough to make her lips twitch. She hadn't realised what a stirring experience it would be to watch him celebrate another year alive. He looks like he wants to say something, but she's not sure she can bear it.

"Y/-"

"Shh, just blow the candle out. Wait! You have to make a wish."

He sighs dramatically, but acquiesces, briefly muttering invisible words under his breath with closed eyes before blowing out the candle. She tries to match the fluttering of his lips to words but nothing quite fits, and she half wonders if he's spouting incomprehensible gibberish just to appease her. It isn't until he pulls out the candle and jabs her with it that she realises she was staring.

"You want to know what I wished for?"

"It's killing me."

"I -"

"No! You can't tell me or it won't come true."

"Y/N, it's a candle in a cupcake."

"I'm not putting up with any of your cynicism on your birthday." She thinks about the overly zealous card, and the crumbling cupcake that would be gone in a few minutes. "Should have gotten you a gift. At least a small one."

"This is perfect. Really."

"Still. Could have scrounged up a keychain, or a mug."

"What, from the kitchen? My kitchen?"

"You know me so well."

"Well," he leans back in his chair, almost superficially nonchalant. "I suppose there is one gift you could give me."

"Anything."

"What's it going to take for you to read the card out loud?"

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

That day had a sluggish quality which made it feel like years had passed by the time they set out for their job at sprawling, if ancient, mansion on the outskirts of London. Looking up at the giant house that nearly completely blocked out the setting sun, relief over knowing where the haunting was centralised washed over her; she wasn't quite in the mood to be running up and down impractically ornate flights of stairs.

The neighbours had reported seeing a ghostly figure drifting aimlessly in one of the open-air courtyards, and occasionally it would appear on the balcony directly above the courtyard, climbing over the railing before vanishing into thin air. Lockwood and George were stationed at the courtyard, Lucy at the stairs, and she on the balcony.

She stepped onto the balcony hesitantly, eyeing a thin, jagged crack running through the stone. The house was too cavernous to be considered flimsy but some of the crumbling walls made her feel as though one good thump would bring the whole place crashing down. She started to unzip her duffel bag when an ear-splitting scream ran through the courtyard.

She jumped, her ear prickling unpleasantly. It was as though the visitor had been standing right next to her, but as her heart rate came down, she realised she wasn't even feeling chilly. She peered down, where George was squinting up at her, Lockwood already with one foot out of their chains. She shook her head, trying to muster a thumbs-up with her fumbling hands, but he was already walking towards the stairs briskly.

She wasn't sure how long it took him to reach her, but it definitely felt longer than it should have. The adrenaline from the scream had made her especially nervy, with a sickly fog of paranoia settling over her mind. Those trees seemed too lush, too dense, dark green leaves quivering under the whims of some invisible wind. She tried to think about the cupcake, and Lockwood's face when he first saw it, and it was enough to stop the balcony from dissolving under her fingertips.

But when he reached her, hair tousled, his grip on her shoulder just a little too strong to be entirely comfortable, she saw a very different version of Lockwood. His lips were moving but there was something rampant in his eyes, something that gave her pause. She glanced at the monstrous night sky, which seemed to threaten to swallow them whole, and then at the inky black heat in Lockwood’s eyes, and she suddenly felt overwhelmed by them both.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Wha - hm?"

"Are you hurt?"

“No, I’m fine. You didn't need to come up here."

His hand slipped from her shoulder, sliding down to her hand, which he stared at as if he couldn't quite understand it.

"Are you okay?"

He looked up, the furrow in his brows dissolving, though he didn't seem ready to let go of her hand yet. “Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. It's just...I...I could have sworn..."

“Breathe, Lockwood. You look like you’re stretched thin.”

"I'm fine," he repeated, but it's somehow more hollow than the last. Part of him turned to leave, but something made him stop. He opened his mouth, then closed it again as if he thought better of whatever he was about to say. The burning in her chest grew.

"You feel it too, don't you?"

He exhaled wearily. "He's playing tricks on us. Maybe Luce should join you here -"

"No, it's best she stay halfway. It'll be fine; we can see each other."

He nodded stiffly, before finally walking away with considerable effort. The balcony somehow felt more alive as Lockwood left, the trees rustling louder than they should as the air around her seemed to contract. It unsettled her.

Eventually the visitor made his appearance, and though her Sight wasn't the best it helped calm her nerves to have something solid to watch out for. He was in the courtyard, dodging Lockwood's salt bombs while trying to fly at George, who was desperately looking for the source. There was only so much help she could give as any flares she threw from her height were only going to hit George or Lockwood rather than the visitor, so she focused on hunting for loose panels or hidden latches in the balcony and the walls of the house from which it protruded.

When she walked back to the railing, she felt a stab of panic at the blanket of grey mist that obscured her vision of the courtyard. She gripped the railing, trying to calm down. She could still hear them, but given what Lockwood had said about the visitor playing tricks, she wasn't sure how much faith she could place in any of her senses. A crash sounded, as if one of the weaker walls had caved in, making her wince. She put her hand on her rapier, steeling herself to make the trip downstairs.

Another crash sounded, but this one seemed to resonate through the mansion's skeleton. There was an awful grinding sound and she felt the floor beneath her feet tilt. She clutched what she could reach of the balcony's doorframe, hanging on by her fingertips, not daring to even breathe as she desperately tried to plant her slippery soles onto the marble floor. Her palms were sweating, and her grip was slipping. She closed her eyes, fed up with the hallucinations, and braced herself for the fall.

Instead of the swooping sensation of falling, she feels strong fingers closing around her wrist. She opened her eyes to the sight of Lockwood pulling her to the safety with a badly scratched cheek, but otherwise unhurt. It makes her want to sob with relief, but she settles for scrabbling for his palm with numb fingers. She leans against the doorframe, reveling in the solid wall pressing against her back, though her relief was short-lived.

The visitor shrieked much closer now, startling her as she turned to watch it hurtling towards them, obsessively staring at the chalice in Lockwood's hand. The growing pit in her stomach swells as she rifles through her belt with increasing agitation, panic stabbing her in the eye with every empty pocket. Lockwood twisted his hand out of her relaxed grip, and in that split second she realised what he was about to do. He took a final step onto what was left of the balcony, and the whole structure came crashing down.

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

Among the roar of the rubble, she picked out what she thought was the sickening crunch of bones, and it took everything in her to fly down the stairs instead of jumping after him. Lucy was already there with George talking on a phone nearby, and their faces paled when they only saw her coming down the stairs. The three of them frantically started shifting through the rubble, yanking at the larger pieces together. She couldn't see the visitor as the dust settled, which saved her the trouble of ripping it to shreds, limb by limb.

She heard a familiar cough coming from under one of the pieces, and with strength she hadn't known that she possessed, she pulls the piece away to reveal a dusty, battered Lockwood. George and Lucy aren't far behind, quickly freeing him from the mountain of debris. This time she does cry out in relief, pressing her fingers into the skull behind his ears insistently, shaking from the blessing that it was to see him alive and breathing. He winces, and her grip on his head tightens reflexively.

"What? What hurts?"

"Your screaming, right now."

As the DEPRAC vans pulled up, George filled out the necessary paperwork on behalf of Lockwood, who was impatiently letting the paramedics check only for broken bones. As the relief of finding him alive faded, all that was left was a smarting irritation. Lockwood would forever and always remain addicted to playing the hero, she knew that, but it didn't piss her off any less, especially when he put his life on the line for it.

Once Lockwood finally managed to shrug off the last exceptionally persistent paramedic, the four of them trudged over to one of the cabs DEPRAC had flagged down for them.

"Hang on - what about the source?"

George turned and she followed his gaze to the team of DEPRAC officers delicately draping an iron net over the rubble.

"Given that it was the balcony itself, I think it's been taken care of."

As they settle into the cab, Lockwood carefully scans her face which is still as inscrutable as it was ten minutes ago. She relents, but only a little, giving his hand a light squeeze. She closes her eyes and leans her head on his shoulder, whispering quietly.

"I wish you'd let them look over you properly."

"M'alright. I can deal with a few scrapes myself. Fractures, not so much."

George's tired voice floats from the front seat.

"You better not have a concussion, idiot."

She feels him still next to her, and suppresses the urge to roll her eyes. Why couldn't he let the paramedics do their job properly? Why did he have to be so stubborn?

She thinks about a night from long ago, before they were dating and before she learnt how to bully him into taking care of himself. They had just come home from a case, and he was sitting in his room in a curious manner: staring at the wall without even realising his door was ajar, or that he was still fully clothed. The patches of skin peeking out from under his clothes were littered with scratches and cuts, but nothing major enough to warrant first aid, save for the bruise on the side of his face. She paused at his door, watching him, and wondered if he knew she was even there.

“No library?”

“Not tonight.”

She didn’t like the way he was speaking. The response wasn’t immediate, as if it had taken him a while to detangle himself from his absorbing thoughts. The tone of his voice was as cordial as always, but there was some kind of agency missing, as if he were in a trance, and it unnerved her. And yet, something tethered her to him, some desire to protect him from some violence brewing close at hand.

“You should really get some ointment on that.”

“I know.”

But he made no movement to do so, and she felt awkward leaving him alone. That was how she ended up sitting next to Lockwood on his bed as the sun started to peek in. There was a misty tinge to the first strains of light, and Lockwood looked so pale she wondered if he was fully solid. She had watched his fragile and ambivalent spirit restlessly pace in the room for the past few hours, while his corporeal form withered lifelessly, but she didn’t understand him any better.

She slipped her fingers in his own, mildly frowning, as if trying to hold on to an increasingly amorphous Lockwood. His fingers reflexively tightened around hers before relaxing just as quickly, his first movement in hours, though his face remained impasssive. His hand remained relaxed, but when she didn't pull her hand away, he allowed his thumb to rest on hers. She had felt some kind of tension then, between the part of him that wanted to drift away and the part of her holding onto him for dear life. But now, the Lockwood sitting opposite her at the kitchen table was slipping through her fingers like sand.

"Y/N, about those conflicting jobs in Hackney - do you want to split up or should I cancel?"

"I don't know, Luce. Why don't you ask Lockwood? Since he seems to always know best."

Lockwood frowns, briefly looking away from the torch George was shining into his eyes.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She ignores him, muttering under her breath.

"God forbid someone ask him to try to stay alive."

"Will you cut it out?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, which one of us has a head injury again?"

"I'm fine."

"How dare you lie to my face?"

George clicks the torch off, hastily moving to another corner of the kitchen, while Lucy's weary drifting slows down. Lockwood still looks peeved, but there's a hint of bewilderment on his face. She sighs irritably, pressing her eyelids.

"What I mean is...you don't look fine."

"It's only a bump. Not even a concussion - George checked."

"At least let me ice it for a bit."

"Don't fuss. I'm fine. Just sit and have your tea."

I’m begging you to let me help you, she wants to say. But she doesn't, because she's tired and angry and still very much scared, so she's in no mood for tea. He glances at her face when she continued to stand, and his jaw set when he sees she's in the mood to pick a fight.

"It's like you don't even think you did anything wrong." Do you know how much that terrifies me?

"I was only doing my job as your...employer, landlord, boyfriend...one of them."

"Why must everything be so complicated with you?”

"Fine. I'm sorry I didn't want to watch you break your neck."

And I didn't want to watch the life leave your eyes. "Oh, but yours is fair game?"

He doesn't respond, and it's almost as though she can see the invisible barriers he's putting up between them. She feels a brief stab of panic that she mistakes for anger.

Don't shut me out. "And now the silent treatment! God, you're such a child."

He stops drinking his tea entirely, and it doesn't give her the satisfaction she thought it would. Between the exhaustion from the case and the frustration over the brick wall that was Lockwood, her tongue gets the better of her and she sees red.

"Sometimes I wonder how I ever loved you."

The activity in the kitchen grinds to a halt for a few, terribly long seconds, before George walks out, Lucy not-so-subtlely following him with their tea. The anger on Lockwood's face evaporates, leaving an irritatingly smooth expression of mild surprise. She Silence suspends on the precariously thin string connecting them. He waits, but she doesn't backtrack. She turns away, unable to bear the look on his face.

"I'm...I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I've been thinking about leaving for a while."

"...leave...Portland Row? And go where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere's better than here." Anywhere I don't have to see you make stupid, reckless decisions because of me. Anywhere I don't have to look at you nursing fractures in barely-healed bones. Anywhere I don't have to watch you dither for peace you can never quite seem to reach.

He doesn't say anything, and she's not sure if there's anything he could say. She leaves the kitchen, dragging her feet up to their shared room. She empties the contents of her drawers and closet into a bag as if on autopilot, as she hid in some dark corner of her mind, waiting, begging for some force of God to tell her to stop. Her bags get packed, she gets undressed, and it is only after she turns out the light that she lets herself grieve the life she's leaving behind.

She's looking out of the window when the door swings open, warm light from the hallway spilling into the dark, illuminating her barren nightstand. He pauses at the threshold but she remains completely still, and after a moment or two he steps in, closing the door behind him. He shuffles about, getting ready for bed in the dark, and doesn't look at her face even when climbing into bed. She wants to tell him to try to get some sleep, but she isn't sure if it's her place, so the words remain unsaid.

He was so close she could just...extend her arm...brush her fingers on his back...clumsily soothe the unfettered demons which came out at night. There's a heady oppressiveness to the dark which weighs her down, not as cool and fluid as it normally is, waxing and waning around their shifting bodies and burning skin. The moonlight reflected on the pale patch of skin above the collar of his t-shirt, skin which looked like liquid glass. Close. She was so close to this delicate, temporal force which wrought a religious kind of faith from her hopelessly melancholic soul.

What a misery it was to love.

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

She wakes up to the sun streaming over the rumpled sheets of the empty bed. She sits up, the house significantly quieter than it usually is at this time of morning. In the kitchen, George is standing by the toaster and Lucy's pulling out the sugar bowl, making tea. Lockwood's sitting stiffly in his chair, and he looks much more whole in the daylight, though oddly fragile with the protection of his suit stripped away. Their eyes instinctively meet when she walks in, after which they avoid each other's gaze until much later.

She gently takes her mug from Lucy, brushing off her protests with a distracted pat on her hand. The emptiness from last night hasn't faded, and she puts together a cup of tea and collects 2 pieces of toast mechanically.

Without thinking, she swaps the mug Lucy's placed in front of Lockwood with her own, only realising what she's done when she feels three pairs of eyes on her, her own eyes fixed on the mug in front of him. She clears her throat awkwardly.

"Lockwood doesn't take sugar with his tea."

Lucy probably mumbles an apology, but she isn't entirely sure given how all she can think about is how close his fingers are to hers. She wills her hand to let go of the mug, and it takes a moment to reluctantly cooperate.

"Thank you."

Lucy takes advantage of her pause to place her mug next to his, so she hesitantly takes her seat next to him. She picks up a piece of toast and starts buttering it while Lockwood talks in an unfamiliar voice.

"So...any plans on where you're going?"

"I've got an aunt in Brixton. Might stay there for a while, until I sort out something more permanent."

He gives a half-nod, as if he hasn't bothered to listen to her words too closely. "Well, you're more than welcome to...stay, at least for a while. If you'd like."

"I...don't think that's a good idea."

"I see."

She can't bear the way his face falls before he attempts an unconvincing smile. It makes her heart ache. Even though they're sitting close enough to have their knees occasionally brush, here in this grimly-lit, transparent kitchen, she's never felt more disconnected from Lockwood. She wants to reach out, slip her fingers in his, btu all of a sudden she's paralysed by doubt and she doesn't know how. She slips the buttered toast into his plate. His lips quirk into a faint cursory smile, but it's gone as soon as he turns back to his plate, a vaguely miserable twist to his pallid lips. They eat in silence, and it's the hardest breakfast she's had to endure at Portland Row.

In another life I’m easier to love. I’m less complicated, less convoluted, less given to bursts of self-destructive/violent tendencies.

Afterwards, she gets dressed, but she cant bring herself to leave just yet, so she sits on the bed vacantly, looking up when he . He pauses at the door, looking at where his fingers delicately rest on the doorframe, the same way they always rested on her shoulder when he wanted to dip his head to whisper something into her ear, as if compelled by some unrecognised desire to hold her close. She steels her face but her eyes desperately drink him in, all of his rough edges and limp shadows, the hazy outline of his body. He holds out an envelope.

"What's this?"

"Your paycheck. The last one." He adds in the later bit almost as an afterthought, and it's almost enough to make her stay. She slips it into her bag, choosing not to point out how he had just given out their most recent paychecks just last week.

"I know I can't change your mind, so...thank you for...everything."

He glances at the birthday card on his nightstand, and any regret she had over buying the card instantly evaporates. At least she managed to somehow get out how she felt once upon a time.

"You'll get another next year."

"Don't think George shares my love for cheesy birthday cards quite like you do."

"Do you think I'm making a horrible mistake?"

"Y/N..."

She wants to feel the comforting weight of his hand in hers, wants to lean against him weakly and have him tell her everything would be alright. But her bags were packed, her dresser as bare as her heart, and she can't help but feel as though she would never be happy again.

"Humour me. Please."

He sighs, but relents.

"Up till yesterday I thought George didn't love me quite like you did, so, frankly...I don't know what to think."

"So...you want me to leave?"

"I didn't say that."

"So you want me to stay?"

"I didn't say that either."

"You make me…so scared, Lockwood. And...sometimes...I don’t think you realise it.”

He moves from where he's leaning against the doorway to sit next to her. She leans her head against his shoulder. He lets her.

"You and I both know I won't be around for long. I just want to keep you safe while I'm still here."

"You don't honestly believe that. Right?"

"It's...hard to say. Some days I feel normal. Mostly. Some days I feel like no amount of candles, eyelashes or wishbones can keep me from an early grave. I don't want you around to see it. I put you through so much, Y/N. I can't say you won't be better off without me."

"What about you?"

He smiles bittersweetly. "You're too...kind to see it now, but one day you'll realise that...it's what I deserve."

A silence fills the room, until she breaks it by violently chucking the envelope at his face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He gasps and splutters incoherently, still in shock from her attemoted assault.

"It's 'what you deserve'? What you deserve is a good knock on the head!"

"Fine, I'm sorry!"

"Don't ever let me catch you thinking like that again!"

"I won't!"

"What's it going to take to get it into your thick skull? I love you!"

"Okay!"

"I mean it!"

"I get it."

"And don't you forget it!"

"I won't." He wraps his arms around her, and she squeezes his torso aggressively, muttering increasingly extreme threats darkly under her breath. It's a sobering moment to hold each other as a new day blooms outside their window. "I won't."

They pull apart, but she still leans against him, and in that moment it's a dream to be sitting there, pressed impossibly close together, listening to each other breathe.

"I want to take evening walks with you. I want to watch you iron your ties on sleepy Sunday afternoons. I want to lose to you in chess. I want to manhandle you into celebrating your birthdays. I want to rub away the crease between your eyebrows whenever you’re thinking too hard."

Her hand drops from his waist to his wrist.

"Damn it, Lockwood. I want to hold your hand. I want to love you."

He interlocks his fings into hers, distractedly running his thumb over hers.

“Let me help you. Please.”

”I don’t think I know how.”

She tightens her arms around him again, overwhelmed by the burdens stretching out in front of them. Nothing was easy, not even this. Not even him.

"Just...hold on."

"I'm holding on. I'm holding on...to you. I'm holding on...for you."

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif

[ardenrabbit]

Do you have any tips on how to be more confident in what you write? I feel like no matter what or how I write, it could always be better, and I fall into the trap of comparing my writing to others.

I also feel like my lack of confidence is very apparent and worry that it annoys others or makes for a self fulfilling prophecy.

Ahh pls always take my writing advice with a block of salt! 😅 I'm by no means the most well-equipped writer out there, but I'm happy to share what I've learned.

I truly understand this feeling. It fluctuates for me, like, some days I feel like I'm a writing god, and then some days I feel like everything I touch turns to incomprehensible, structureless, stale, and poorly researched gibberish. Unfortunately, my confidence is largely at the mercy of a personality disorder. 😅 BUT! There are some habits and rules that I've set for myself that make it easier!

Your writing could always be better, and that's okay! You will frequently read back on something you wrote a year ago and wish you had written it differently. That's inevitable and normal. Most of the time, that's just a great indicator of progress that you've made in your writing skill. The important part to remember is that there is no perfect way to write, so cut yourself some slack and just write what you enjoy at the time. Yeah, endeavor to do your best and present a product that you're happy with, but don't ever expect it to be flawless. Embrace imperfection and keep going. It's the only way to practice and get better.

Everyone writes differently, and that's good too! It can be hard to see your own writing as good enough after you read the kind of content that makes you think, "That. That's how I want to write." There are works that have me screaming into my hands and wanting to hold myself to a higher standard, but I can't afford to let that paralyze me and keep me from writing to the best of my ability. The best I can do is take a deep breath, come to terms with the tragic fact that I will never have written Boomchick's No Water Is Enough, and take notes on what I liked about their writing and how I can learn from it. Don't do content that you admire the disservice of letting it make you feel bad about yourself. That's not why its author wrote it.

Do not show weakness. I definitely don't always follow my own advice here, but it's just like in art school: don't point out the flaws in your work to your audience, or it will be all they can see. Resist the urge to type out anything self-deprecating in the author's notes. If you start, hit that backspace key. You can trick yourself into thinking you were more confident when posting it, too.

If you feel like your writing doesn't come across as confident within the work itself—why? Are you pulling punches with narrative decisions to avoid confrontation? Are you leaning into patterns that you've already seen written because you're hesitant to branch out? Find out where and why you're doing it and rework it! Take risks! Ride the adrenaline! Be free!!

Periodically reread your own stuff and take note of what you like about it. Don't just nitpick at it; consciously and deliberately point out to yourself the things you think you did well. It doesn't have to be perfect or the best! Also take note of the things you had the most fun with. What lines of dialogue made you happy to write? What event made you happy to see executed? Example: I'm proud of how I handle characterizations and dialogue, and I have the most fun when there are big turns in events!

Along with that, pick a technical weakness you want to work on. Don't beat yourself up about not being the best in that area; instead, keep it in mind and put a little more effort into that when you write. Again, it's okay if it's not perfect. Don't agonize or let it get you stuck, but gently acknowledge that you want to get better at that specific thing. Shoring up your weak spots will make you feel more confident about the work as a whole, and it's reassuring to feel like you're strengthening your skills. Example: I feel like my weakness is scenery/environment, so I stop and try to add a little more detail about that in each scene that needs it (otherwise I will just breeze right over it and only write dialogue lol). It helps me feel like I'm taking control of my weak spots and improves the scene from the bottom up.

Above all, WRITE FOR YOURSELF. You won't make everyone else in the world happy, and you won't write anything you like if you don't write what you want to read. Be selfish when you write and just do what makes you happy! Dance like nobody's watching and all that.

I hope there was something helpful here for you! The best advice I can give is to be patient with yourself, keep practicing, and write what you're excited about. You've got this!! I believe in you!!

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

Okay so Trent absolutely knows shorthand and writes most of his notes in it right?

I think he probably also has horrible handwriting, he writes to fast and it makes his words incomprehensible. He's also dramatic enough to modify the shorthand he knows to ensure nobody knows what he's writing.

My point to all of this is, imagine him forgetting his notebook somewhere and someone from Richmond finds it, maybe Jamie or Roy or Rebecca and they're like "neat let's see what he wrote about me" only to be hit by complete nonsense (to them). Even the bits where he actually wrote something out are just indecipherable scribbles.

I think this is hilarious, the idea has been amusing me all day and I wanted to share it

what's hilarious is we have the same braincell, i literally also was like "does trent NEED to have personalized shorthand that's some sort of elaborate code he knows by heart so that no one can read his notes even if they had time? no. does he? definitely. if confronted he would claim that it's for journalistic integrity reasons, but truthfully it kind of makes him feel like a spy and he likes it." also because while some of it is genuine notes, some of it is just like. stupid shit. grocery list of shit he forgot to get earlier. jotting down a terrible pun ted made or some detail about something ted likes ("taking notes on your crush is both normal and regular behavior so long as no one ever sees or finds about it" trent reminds himself repeatedly)

and it's so much funnier if he also just has terrible handwriting and needn't have bothered bc no one could read it anyway. (same, trent, my brain goes faster than my hands. one time my dad's doctor looked at my handwriting when i was like, ten, and was like "wow, and you're smart kid, too. you should be a doctor when you grow up" dlfkgjdh)

ANYWAY i love the idea of them actively trying to snoop and it's just. complete gibberish. especially if then they're just like frowning down at it and then pan to behind them and trents like "looking for something" slgkjdfg

[erscogadatabase]

25 - The Void (Part 3)

Date: 7-28-2024 IDST

(You all approach the nondescript white building that is TreeGrass Institutes. The sign out front has the logo and name on it, unassuming and uninformative. The air here in the Second Circle feels a little clearer, although you still feel the distinct pull of the Circles below you, trying to bring you back in.)

Dukermin: *Doesn’t want to bring the kids into TreeGrass, but also doesn’t want to make Nalitie go in by herself* *To Nalitie* Are these GCL people good at babysitting at all?

Nalitie: I mean… they’re all teenagers that we’ve declared responsible enough to serve as a team of guardians for the multiverse, and Lisa and Leonarda are babies who don’t do anything because we strangely don’t have hunger or tiredness here? So like it’d just be Bee they have to worry about, I guess. 

Dukermin: Good enough. *To GCL team and Aubrey* Hey, we’re going to leave the kids with you six. *hands off Lisa to Melody* So you don’t have to go into TreeGrass, you’re welcome. Akeldama and Art, can you come with us? 

Nalitie: *handing Leonarda to Lian* 

Art: *awkwardly finding a place to put down Bee* If you think it will help.

“Fine, but it’s not my fault if these kids Fall further back into The Void,” Akeldama says. “And I doubt going in there is going to bring you any closer to leaving, but I suppose I’ve learned by now that you don’t see this as nearly as urgent as it is.” 

Dukermin: Wow what a kind thing to say! I promise we won’t take too long. *heads into TreeGrass*

Nalitie: *following*

Bee: *whines* *in Wingdings* don’t go :(

(Art waves goodbye to them, then follows you in, Akeldama close behind. You enter into the main area of TreeGrass Institutes, a hallway leading down to countless other doors. To your left is what looks like an office. The lights, thankfully, are on all the way down the hallway. The plates on all of the doors are blacked out, as if they’ve been redacted, but they look like classrooms.)

Dukermin: *checks the office* 

(The office has a desk in the center of it, with a blank nameplate sitting on it. It is covered in papers, but they’re all either blank or covered in gibberish. There is a stack of file folders on one end of the desk, in much the same condition. There are photos of people on the fronts of the folders, but you can’t make out their faces at all.)

Dukermin: So hard to tell if this is all weird void stuff or if TreeGrass is just like this. *pokes the paper pile*

Pile: *falls off the desk*

Nalitie: *is poking around through the papers and files* TreeGrass has been like this for a while, although this seems… somewhat worse?

Dukermin: So, lately the memories have seemed to be tied to the location they were from. So I’m guessing we’re gonna want to find someplace that maybe someone would have had you know… a strong memorable experience… unfortunately…

“Ugh, is that what this diversion is for? I thought I told you… ugh, nevermind. I’m going back outside. Find me when you’re ready to be serious about getting out of here.” Akeldama leaves. 

Dukermin: Oh is she going to check the other rooms - oh she’s leaving. Okay then. Let’s go down… this hallway. *heads deeper into TreeGrass*

Nalitie and Art: *following close behind*

(At the end of this hallway, there are two doors marked with actual letters! But they’re about as incomprehensible as before: one door is marked with “K------T------” and the other with what looks like either a “C” or a “K,” “a,” and “y.”)

Dukermin: Gggh *peeks into the K-T- one*

Nalitie: These are probably Kaytee and Kathrine’s offices. I haven’t been back here much since they came to Erscoga.

(The “K–T–” room is, indeed, an office. The walls are painted a soft lavender color, and there’s a desk in the center of the room. A comfortable-looking (if dusty) armchair sits in the corner near an equally dusty coffee table. There are papers strewn about the room, as unreadable as the ones you found earlier. Otherwise, the office is empty.)

Dukermin: Nothing in there. *cracks open the door to the other office and peeks in*

(The other office looks more like a small laboratory, with a lot of machinery you can’t place strewn about. Three women—one with short blonde hair, gray eyes, and an imposing figure; a tall redhead in a smart blue halter dress; and one with dark brown hair and a crazed look in her eyes—stand around a workbench in the center of the room staring vacantly into space like Aubrey was before she was awakened by Art.)

Dukermin: *slowly closes the door and turns around* Nothing in there either. Let’s go somewhere else! *turns around and goes down the opposite hallway opening every door along the way*

(Most of them are plain-looking classrooms, with lots of chairs, projectors, and whiteboards. One “classroom,” though, has a very gross-looking corner with an operating table in it, in addition to the normal chairs, projectors, and whiteboards. A variety of scalpels, chisels, and clipboards is also in the corner.)

Nalitie: *looks in and immediately steps back out* Nope. 

Art: ???

Dukermin: Very cool room, super normal. *Is suddenly reminded of their “bestie” Gaster for some reason hmm* Let’s go upstairs?

Nalitie: Let’s go literally anywhere else, yes. *absentmindedly rubbing her left forearm* *already leaving* 

Dukermin: *leads everyone upstairs*

Nalitie: *stops outside of one of the doors upstairs* You said the memories might be in people’s like… notable locations, right? If so, maybe we should try this room. 

Dukermin: *opens the door and checks the room*

(The room is small, maybe 10’ x 15’, with a rickety bunk bed, a wooden desk, and an empty chest of drawers that looks like it has been here forever. The walls are a plain white brick with peeling paint, and the carpet is a dingy gray color, faded in the middle from use and covered in suspicious-looking stains. The window is sealed shut.)

(At the top of the bunk bed is a cluster of pixels, wrapped in a bloody scrap of fabric.) 

Nalitie: *gracelessly scales the bunk bed* *flicks the fabric away, not sure whose blood that is* *unjumbles the memory*

(As you rearrange the memory, something suddenly clicks and the memory contained within the fragment plays in your mind.)

(She sits in the conference room, running the figures over and over again. This kind of population increase is unprecedented for Erscoga, and worse, she knows by the amount of Main Characters they have that it has to be compromising the other dimensions. She does the math in her head again, trying to discern the Chaos load Erscoga can take before it becomes a target. It doesn’t look good.)

(She sighs in frustration, and pulls up the folder of paperwork she stole off of the GCL computers. She can at least try to figure out where to put some of these people when they leave, she supposes.)

(You know immediately that the memory is yours, and the little fragment of your SOUL slots itself back into place.)

Nalitie: *suddenly remembers everything* *reeling a little* *stares intently at Art*

Art: *does not notice, is poking around the little room, opening all of the dresser drawers, wiping dust off of the desk*

Dukermin: *To Nalitie* So… how’s it going…?

Nalitie: … I think we’ve found all we need to find in here. Let’s go… *climbing down*

Dukermin: *leaves TreeGrass*

Nalitie: *pulls Dukermin aside as they all walk back outside*

Art: *goes on ahead towards the others, who are thankfully still there*

Nalitie: Hey uh… what’s the last thing you remember…? 

Dukermin: I remember giving the cabbage soup recipe to Art.

Nalitie: Yyyeah. So you don’t remember what happened after that and how we got here? 

Dukermin: No, I’ve been under the impression that we were too late and got got, but after hearing that one memory from Art I’ve been not-so-sure.

Nalitie: Right yeah, so… Um, the last thing I remember is him pushing us through… probably a portal or something, and it might have been something Undertale related because I think Alphys was there, and then we ended up here.

Dukermin: *gasp* Oh my goodness, I do remember falling now, and… it got all rainbow-y? I think?

Nalitie: *mutters* rainbow colors… *to Dukermin* That’s what I saw in that portal that I think our BFF Gaster came from. 

Dukermin: Does it seem suspicious to you that, okay. Aubrey recognized Gaster as Mr. Face Man, and Gaster speaks Wingdings and seems to have some sort of void connection, and now we think that we were voided through Gaster’s dimension in some way. And also that S. G. Art is, like, weirdly similar sounding to Gaster OMG it’s almost literally an anagram like if somebody just, like, forgot the E. 

Nalitie: Are you thinking Art is secretly our BFF Gaster? But they were in the same place at the same time and Art, like, has vocal cords which skeletons do not. 

Dukermin: Yeah, no I don’t think they’re the same person. But they’re obviously connected in some way. I’m not sure if Gaster and Art were working together, but Art was sort-of-kind-of in control of the portals - indirectly.

Nalitie: Hm… So… what’s the game plan now? Like, if Art really did put us here then why is he helping us leave? Or maybe he’s not…? But he’s really going along with a lot of this if he doesn’t want us to leave…

Dukermin: He probably wants to leave too. And is just hoping he can tag along with us. 

Nalitie: Probably, it sucks in here. But if we bring him back, is he gonna mess up Erscoga again? 

Dukermin: I don’t feel good about leaving him here. Or anybody for that matter. I want to know what his goal was. Maybe we should just be straight up with him at this point, confront him and see if there’s any reason for us to bring him back with us. At the very least we could return that memory because there’s no reason for us to keep it, especially if we decide to leave him here. I don’t know why I care so much about that, but something feels weird about leaving someone in that position.

Nalitie: True, true. Ok. Yeah, we can do that, now that we have the full picture. But we should probably keep moving.

(Behind you, as if on cue, the TreeGrass sign crumbles into pixelated dust.)

Dukermin: Ooh. Alright then. *looks around for other platforms*

“Are we leaving, finally?” Akeldama asks, her mood more sour than ever. “It’s difficult to stay in these upper Circles, especially with all of this debris you picked up on the way.”

Dukermin: Oh I love brie. Yeah, we should probably move a little quicker from here on out.

(Around you, the platforms have become sparse again. There’s one ahead with a checkerboard floor, and another with a disco ball. A pair of jorts floats past.)

Dukermin: *floats toward the platform with the disco ball*

(As you approach the disco platform, lights turn on on the floor, and you hear music. Additionally, the air around you lightens, looking visibly like TV static instead of the neverending darkness you’ve grown accustomed to. The silence becomes noticeably louder.)

“Ugh, thank goodness. We’ve finally made it. There should be a weak spot somewhere in this Circle; it’s the closest to reality by far,” Akeldama says. She starts looking around.

Magnolia: *frowns* Why does this look familiar…? 

Dukermin: Hmm, well it is the closest to reality, so maybe you’ve seen bits of it on your travels? We’ve definitely peered into the Void on occasion.

Magnolia: Maybe… 

Dukermin: So what other roadblocks could we come across when trying to leave? Will there be like… monsters trying to keep us in?

Art: *holding Bee’s hand again* I suppose the biggest problem you’ll face is that it’s not possible to simply walk out of The Void. You may find a weak spot, but not an open door. Akeldama is simply optimistic, I suppose.

Dukermin: Well if a closed door is the problem, we shouldn’t have to worry about that cuz I’ve still got my Key of Everything Opens For It.

Art: *under breath* Key of Everything Opens For It… curious. 

(Nalitie stands around on the disco floor with the GCL team and Aubrey while Akeldama floats around looking for a weak spot. She peers into the distance, looking around at the other platforms.)

Dukermin: So uhhh. We found another memory of yours, Art. Do you want it?

Art: *Oh… *putting a hand to his chest, over his SOUL* If you are able to, that would be much appreciated. 

Dukermin: *motions Nalitie over and does the goop transfer*

(The fragment of memory removes itself from your skin, reforming into a large ball of white light. You return Art’s compassion. The fragment reabsorbs itself into Art’s SOUL, but nothing dramatic happens.)

Art: Ah… oh dear… 

Dukermin: Yeah, so we should probably have a little conversation about all this.

Nalitie: *to Bee* Hey, Bee, let’s go play with the GCL team for a minute. Maybe Lian has her ribbon and can show you her dance. *takes their hand and starts leading them away*

Bee: *looking back at Art and Dukermin anxiously*

Dukermin: So obviously, we now know what actions were taken to result in all of us being here. We don’t understand what your and Akeldama’s goals were. Especially since you two are both trapped here with us as a result. 

Art: Ah… oh, my dears… I must confess to you, it was never in our plan to be here with you. I will admit, this entire thing has been a selfish diversion, the actions of a man desperate to leave this cursed place, willing to sacrifice the multiverse and his poor child in order to do it, and… … Children, you do not deserve to be here. I’m afraid no one does.

Dukermin: But you were already free. You were living in Erscoga, why would you destroy the place that was willing to take you in? And the people that rescued you to begin with?

(Art looks away from you, gazing in the direction of Akeldama.) 

Art: *turning back* I did not intend to destroy Erscoga, my dears. But bringing those refugees to your dimension, exploiting my dear Aubrey’s powers… This was the deal I made with Akeldama, that she would take advantage of your descent to trap Sans and Papyrus here for me, and I would attract the Apynteu to you for her. … Although now that I say it out loud, I am unsure why I thought those two skeletons were an issue in the first place. I apologize, my dears, I am afraid my memories are not what they used to be. 

Dukermin: What is your connection to Gaster?

Art: In countless timelines across that particular universe, the character you know as W. D. Gaster has fallen into this place in one way or another, and I was one of them. … Incidentally, it was through Observing these fragments of myself that I was able to rescue the W. D. Gaster you consider your friend before he was to be erased, through our dear Aubrey. … I must caution you now, though, that this particular fragment of me is more dangerous than you know, my dears. 

Dukermin: That’s becoming clear to me. Gaster seemed to recognize Sans and Papyrus from Erscoga, although they didn’t recognize him. 

Art: No, I suppose they wouldn’t… 

Nalitie: Ok, so assuming Erscoga is destroyed like we think it is… What do you mean you didn’t intend to destroy it? What did you think was going to happen when you deleted us?

Art: I will admit that I hadn’t been thinking as clearly as I ought to have. As you had been able to traverse here freely before, we had assumed that Erscoga would remain intact, and the only lasting consequence would be Sans and Papyrus’s absences, and that you would be able to return with Akeldama as if nothing happened. … And between us, I assumed that you would be able to handle the Apynteu’s presence upon your return. You have proven yourselves to be remarkably powerful Authors. 

Dukermin: Akeldama wanted the Apynteu to come to Erscoga. And you went along with it thinking we would just magically reappear and save everyone. Do you know why Akeldama wanted the Apynteu to come to Erscoga, specifically? 

Art: The Apynteu consumes dimensions to fuel itself. The locale you have created is unique, my dears, able to house a large population from diverse dimensions without having attracted its attention before our involvement. With the number of worlds associated with your dimension, the Apynteu would gain much power. 

Dukermin: So you were taking a lot of chances and messing with a very dangerous force just to… get rid of Sans and Papyrus. And you don’t remember why that was soooo important.

Art: Not only to remove them from the picture, but to finally be free from this not-place. I suppose I feared that they might put me back here, although I cannot think of a specific incident that would have led me to that conclusion. It is difficult to recall my past before The Void.

Nalitie: *thinking* That’s what all that was in that memory about Sans and Papyrus. How you were related to them but not related to them, and they were your brothers and sons and mortal enemies all at once somehow. 

Dukermin: It’s some sort of confusing dimension crossover. Like Santa, I think. How every Santa has all the memories of other Santas. Although, the Gaster that came to our dimension does not have that experience. As far as we know.

Art: No, I don’t suppose he does. Do you recall that strange duo who I brought to your world, Evelyn and Joy? The best I could explain it is more like that, where I have access to their minds and realities, but they do not have the same access in return.

Dukermin: So there are versions of Gaster that were deleted as a result of Sans and Papyrus’s actions. 

Art: Somewhere out there, yes. Your “friend” included. 

Dukermin: Right. But the Erscoga versions have no connection to Gaster and therefore have no reason to make that happen, unless, of course, some version of Gaster decides to do some silly crap like this. Self-fulfilling prophecy.

Nalitie: *staring off into the distance* Hey, not to interrupt, but does anyone else see that guy over there? *gestures to a house a few platforms away, with a tall, lanky, one-eyed guy on it*

Dukermin: *squinting* Oh yeah, I don’t recognize that person from Erscoga.

Nalitie: That might be… *also squinting* I think he might be from The Amazing World of Gumball? But that shouldn’t be here because of Erscoga, no. 

Dukermin: Hm, a character that exists in a show but is in the Void? Let’s go say hi! *floats over*

Nalitie: *follows her, gesturing for Art and the GCL people and Aubrey to come too* *has no idea where Akeldama is at but frankly doesn’t care because she’s been rude the whole time*

Dukermin: *waving* Hey, over here!

(The person looks up at you. You can see now that he has a big, gray, polyhedral head. One of his arms is comprised of TV static. He has a few planes on his head that look like brown hair.) 

???: … Hello?

Dukermin: My name is Dukermin, who are you?

???: My name is Rob. Um, you have a pretty big group here. Did you… come here on purpose? 

Dukermin: Ehhhh not exactly. Although it was all perfectly avoidable. We’re looking for a weak spot. Know anything about what that would look like?

Rob: A weak spot…? I don’t think there’s really a way out of here, unless the way you came in is still open. That’s how the last people got out. 

(Art is just staring at Rob, radiating an air of confusion.)

Dukermin: We entered way back in like… the 8th circle or something. So we’re not going back there. Where did the last people enter? Did they come here on purpose?

Rob: *bitterly* Yeah, they were looking for Molly. That closed right as we went through it, not that our world is still up anyway. I guess I could show you where it was, though, you seem confident that you have a way out.

Dukermin: That would be great.

(Rob shrugs and leads you off into The Void. You approach a big rock that looks like a ramp, leading up into nothing but TV static. The static here does feel a little lighter, buzzing with energy. The space around you looks... weird here. Like there's some sort of a weak spot in the fabric of The Void.)

Dukermin: Hey, look! A weak spot in the Void! Hey where’s Akeldama? I don’t really want to bring her back with us but you know it’s like when you know there’s a spider in your room and it disappears and that’s scarier somehow.

Nalitie: *looking around* I… don’t see her right now? I guess she’s dropped conveniently out of the plot for now, we took too long giving out exposition earlier. 

Dukermin: Oh excellent! Well, Art, here’s the deal. You can come back with us. But! Things can’t just go back to the way they were. You messed up and you’ll suffer the consequences. 

Nalitie: Yeah… we’re not doing this a third time. 

Art: … *form seems a little shaky* After everything, you would still release me from The Void…? 

Dukermin: “Release” is not the right word. We’re transferring you from one prison to another. If you’re really as dangerous as we all believe, we want to keep an eye on you. You’ll start off in a cell, and if you have good behavior we may find a different arrangement but that’s not for certain.

(He trembles and buries his face in his sleeves, where his hands would be. His face never changes, but you can see dark tears escape from his eyes, tracking down his face.)

Art: My dears, I’m afraid you don’t realize what a gift this still is. A prisoner in your world I may be, but having any role in a Storyline is far preferrable to nonexistence here.

Rob: *under his breath* I feel that. *to Art* I tried that whole villain thing back in my world after those guys brought me back, but it wasn’t really worth it. And I was pretty bad at it. It’s not as fun as it seems, weird shadow man. 

Dukermin: Hey, maybe you want to come with us! We could put you in a cell, too. Since you just admitted to being prone to villainy.

Rob: I mean, that was just the role that Gumball suggested for me, everything else was taken in our world… I don’t have to be a villain. 

Dukermin: Right, well until we find a better role for you, your role could be “guy in cell”. 

Rob: … oh. I guess. 

Dukermin: Or you can stay here. We’re a little wary of void strangers at the moment.

Rob: No, no, if you’re offering I’ll come with you. Shadow Man is right, pretty much anything is better than here. If you think you can get out of here somehow, I guess, it’s pretty much impossible to leave The Void unscathed… I’ll have to grab some things first, though. 

Dukermin: Oh sure, yeah pack your bags! We’re getting out of here!

(Rob disappears into the house. Nalitie keeps an eye out for Akeldama. The GCL teens entertain the children.)

Aubrey: You think we’re going to be able to get out of here? I’ve been trying with my powers, but… They haven’t been working since all of that stuff in Erscoga. I must have exhausted them or something with all of the portals.

Dukermin: We’ll figure it out. We’ve been able to leave before. 

(Rob returns, carrying a small wooden box. He trips over a stone, and a handful of oddly-shaped keys spill out.)

Dukermin: Whoops. *helps pick them up*

Rob: Oh, wait—

Nalitie: *also bending down to help*

(Dukermin and Rob pick up keys uneventfully. Nalitie picks up a brown, square key, turns to put it in the box, and it disappears.)

Nalitie: ???? 

)̸̨̢̧̖͇͖̙͍̥̰̫̠̪̞̫̾̿̈̑̕(̴̫̾̈́̊̚)̸̰͉̬͉̗̾̀͋̏͑͒̄͂͜͠@̴̧̞͚͔̥͖̪̯̇̐̋̅̽͑̓̋̔̿̀̄̚Ȏ̵̡̱̥̘̗̩̠̓̾K̷̡̩̞̗̫̗̣̤͓̱̥̩̜͍͋͋͌̂͑͋̓̉͗̄̔͜͝D̷̝͚̹̫̻̹͓̙͚̗͓̯̦̬̀̇̕1̶̧̮̰͕̫̯̫̤̏͛͐̄͆̈́̈̓̉̈́͋̚: Ah… how interesting. 

(The platform beneath you shifts, removing itself from under your feet. The keys that weren’t in the box float in the aether along with you, and Rob hastily puts them back in the box. Bee clings to the closest person.)

Dukermin: Oh hey! Long time no see!

Rob: Oh… it’s you…? 

Art: Dukermin, you are familiar with Our Friend, The Void Itself…? 

Dukermin: Yeah, we’re friends on Cosmail. And we chatted a bit ago, he gave us the test tube of stuff for returning memories.

Art: I see… 

9̸̜̣̱̱̉8̴̻̬̮͈̜̈́͊͐̒̏̑̊͒͝i̸̡̧̙̝̘̤̖̰͙͓̣̗̗̱͋͠ò̸̗͔̝̺̽ͅd̵̗̝̟̬̬̫͎͇͇̲́̍̀̚ͅć̴̱̗̤̞͙̣̯͎̩̺͉ġ̷̡͈̗̻̞̞͙̳̮̮͇̔̄̎̑̒̈͂͜͠]̸̘͙̩̟̲̻̫̬͇̘̟̺̀͋̂͆: Your journey has indeed been interesting, mortals… Amusing, certainly.

Dukermin: Yeah, and I think it’s coming to a close! I’d ask you if you wanted to leave with us but… This seems to kinda be your place.

į̷͕̫̻̽͗́j̷̢̡̲̘̼̝̰̆́͐͋̆̈́n̶̡̡̨̬̮̖̦̰͕͖̬̖̔̃̿̔͗̃̈́̎͆̎̀̍͜f̶̲͇͉̣̳̱̭̊͌̓̚ͅ;̸̧̢̛̛̯͙͎̺̹͓̒̉́̓̌̎̽̀̄͂͑h̴̨̧̢̛̜͚̻̰͇̩͑̓̓̐̋̃͌̈́́ų̵̹͉͈̪̳͚̦̞̝̯̾̊͑̿̍̈̓p̴̧̤͕̹̬̪̋̎̉̂́͛̑̆͘͝: *chuckles* I am certain your friend W. D. Gaster could tell you of the disastrous consequences of my last visit to reality… 

Dukermin: Righttt… anyway. I think we’re going to go. Do you have any tips on leaving and not getting all… messed up and weird cuz it sounds like that can happen sometimes.

-̵̟̈́9̵̡͈̭̼̘͙͋̆̍̎̒͌͌̒̚0̴͒͊̐͌̍̇̓̌̅̈́͑͘͜͝i̷̠̬̱͑̒̎̆͋̉͛̔͗'̴̢̟͔͓͓̦̥͋̀̽͋̿̃́̽̅̀̚͘͝p̸̛͈̉̋̀̌̐̊̈́̋̕͘͝k̸̛̛̤̓̇̐͒͋̍͗"̶̡̭͕͚̫̹̣̘̳̙̱̥̓̓̈͜: I’m afraid I am more the expert on living in this place, not leaving it. Certainly I am not what’s keeping you here… 

Dukermin: Oh good. Well, it’s been nice to chat in person, I’ll text and let you know how we fare on the outside.

\̶̡̡̢̢̛̫̖͇͇̪̝̂̂̀̊̌̎̃̃͒-̶̦͉͕̘̯͛͛͒̽͘ͅǒ̷̞̯̫̆͝â̸̱̮̬̜̻̏̔̔͌́̓̿̇͛̏͠p̴̢̞̤̖̝̞̥̦̜̜̘̟̳̞̫̏̍̇̓̈̈́̅̐̀̄̀̆̚͠f̶͔̞̝̜̦̹̬͚̻̠̩͐̈͂̐̌̈á̴̡̢̞̠͙̼͙͖͕́̈̾͜2̷̤͓̺̮̳̞̻͓͉͎̃́́̽͝: Either way, I am certain it will be… very, very interesting, particularly with the crew you have assembled: Dukermin, Scion of Limbo, Unfulfilled Promise of The Void; *turns to Art* W. D. Gaster, Scion of Wrath, Herald of The Void; *turns to Nalitie, who is inspecting the dark—familiar looking—key that has appeared around her neck* and Nalitie Wonka, Scion of Fraud and Treachery, Vagrant of the Multiverse. Yes, what an intriguing bunch. I am sure your futures will be… quite eventful… 

Dukermin: Oh… okay. That was a lot. Seems like a problem for another arc. Let’s get out of here before Akeldama shows back up. Art, you’re able to peek through the void into Reality, could you open a window so we can see where we’ll be entering? *starts floating up to the weak spot*.

Art: I suppose it depends on where you would like to go. I can Observe nearly anywhere from here, child, but I’m afraid those viewpoints only function as—as you said—windows. 

Dukermin: Well, let’s look at Erscoga.

(Nothing happens.) 

Dukermin: Oh right, it’s deleted. Uhh, how about Ask Erik!?

(Art obliges, opening a window peering into Ask Erik!. You’re viewing a quiet suburban street, lined with houses. The Void Itself watches in interest.)

Dukermin: Ok, everybody hold hands. I hope this works. *grabs Nalitie’s hand and pulls out her Key of Everything Opens For It*

From a distance, you hear Akeldama’s voice call out: “Oh, finally, you found it! Ugh, and that thing is here again, too.”

/̶͕̐̓͆;̶̨̫̩̞̪͇̩̫̟̠̟̇̓̉̿́̓͜͝Ĺ̸̤̥͖͚͔͚̼̗͓͉͙̿̎̇̏̏͝'̶̡͔̬̠̭͔͓͔͒͋̔̾͒̍͘͜p̷̢͇͉͚̖̝͇̲̣̀͌̇́̊̄͌͌̃͆͘͠i̶̛̯͉̠̲̰̼͎͍͗͆̑̿̉͑́͝[̷̧̨̡̛̝̫͈̘̞̤̼̫͇͔̿̓̐��̊̉̄́͑̋́͑̽ͅͅą̴̰͙̟̱̰̗̣̱͕͖͝: How rude… 

Dukermin: Oh this is awkward! 

Art: *quietly, to Dukermin* Child, I am afraid not all of us can leave here. The Void must always have a host, and if Akeldama comes with us, as far as I know it will be empty… 

Dukermin: That seems problematic, but we’ll worry about that later! *uses the key to unlock the window*

Akeldama is quickly approaching you. 

Dukermin: Hey G00pgas1, you should give Akeldama a piece of your mind about her rude behavior to you! *turns the key*

(The film between you and reality dissolves, and you can sense an overwhelming amount of things through the now-open door: a light breeze, the sounds of nature, the warmth of the sun.)

-̷̢̛̤̠̺̯͔̻̤̬͙͍̟̠̠̗̈́̈́̆͊̈̎̕̕͝[̵̟͔͇̖̣̻̣͔͎̯̬̝̯̎̈́̚͠ͅ9̷̟̐̍̓̊̚[̷̱̱͆̽̏̊͋͠p̷̛̝̟̱̯̘͊̓̒͆̂̒̂̉̀͐̂̕"̵̬̟̫̰̙̹̺̺͋̊́̓́̉̊̄̂̂̃̈́̀̄ͅw̵̗̠̳͚̹͖̤͍̞̃̆̏ȩ̴̨͍̰̹͈̲͍̘̼͙͓͙̯̤͋̍̒̌͊̐̃̅̆̎: I do not answer to you, human, friends though we may be. *is also a little salty that she didn’t take its dog advice*

Dukermin: It was just a suggestion! *turns to Nalitie* I’ll make sure she doesn’t go through. *moves to the side and starts pushing each person through the window*

(Akeldama pushes past The Void Itself, closing in on Dukermin. She reaches out as if to hold on to some part of her.)

Dukermin: *C’s a spear at an angle to block Akeldama’s grasp* *slips through the window*

(You go through the window, and you briefly see Akeldama press up against it, as if running into glass, just before it closes with a pop. Your surroundings are almost blindingly bright in comparison to The Void, and almost too loud. Bee covers their ears and cries in protest. The twins wake up, also crying. Nalitie pulls her children and her nephew close, sighing in relief. Art takes in his surroundings, holding his arms out wide.)

(Within Dukermin, Candle Grandma breathes a sigh of relief, and promptly falls asleep.)

Dukermin: *flops on the ground* Ahh… grass… Hey, that was a close one… *looks over to Nalitie* Wait a minute! What the heck!

(Nalitie, it seems, has aged at least 5 years in the span of an instant. She doesn’t look especially different, but you can tell that she’s far from teenhood, certainly a young adult now. Her children, too, seem different: Lisa and Leonarda are not quite as identical as before; Lisa seems a little older, and Leonarda seems significantly younger than before. Bee, too, seems older by almost a year.)

Nalitie: What? 

Dukermin: Uhh, come look. *Pulls Nalitie and the kids over to a dark window to look at their reflections*

Nalitie: … oh dang… *inspecting the children* Ok. Well, that’s weird, but… nothing we can’t handle, I guess. 

Dukermin: *Checks her reflection and sighs in relief to see she’s still the age she was when she entered the void.* Right. No big. I guess we can go back to Erscoga now? *goes back to the group* Y'all ready to go?

Magnolia: Yes, please.

Art: *sitting in someone’s yard, running his hands through the grass* *was not listening at all* 

Bee: *clinging to Nalitie*

Aubrey: I can’t believe we made it out, frankly… 

Dukermin: Alright then. *to Nalitie* This’ll be funny. *opens a portal directly underneath Art, intending to send him to the trampoline at her neighbor’s house.*

(Art falls into the portal, directly into a vat of baked beans. He curses.) 

Dukermin: *peers into the portal* Uhhh… minor problem. *carefully drops in, avoiding the beans.*

(You stand in the middle of the BeanCo. factory floor. Conveyor belts full of beans weave their way around the room, and thousands of workers silently and solemnly place lids and labels on cans. This is definitely not your neighbor’s yard.)

Dukermin: *helps everyone down out of the portal* 

Nalitie: Well. This is… strange. 

(To be continued…)

~•*•~

(Previous)

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(Table of Contents)

Featuring @zarla-s's goopmonster as The Void Itself (also references to Handplates!Gaster).

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

I’m just gonna say Non-despair AU cause I want everyone to be happy. I freaking LOVE Gundham so much, he’s wonderful and I’ve been wanting to write him for a while (but stalling cause of his DIALOGUE. It’s so hard). Buuuut I decided to finally give it a shot. And to kind of vent a little cause he used to stress me out in his dark coat and scarf in tropical heat. With Kazuichi because I want them to be friends, and because I seem physically incapable of not putting Kazuichi in every fic. COULD be seen as pre-soudam if you prefer, I didn’t write it like that but it could be if that floats your boat. I do like that ship, I just like other ones with Gundham and kazuichi more. Anyway, hope you enjoy - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33543364

Warning: descriptions of overheating, sickfic. Nothing really bad here.

Kazuichi wasn’t shocked to wake up sprawled across a towel with sand in his hair and a dry mouth, completely alone on the beach. This wasn’t even the first time it had happened. When his insomnia was really bad he’d always doze throughout the next day - for some reason he couldn’t sleep in his warm, comfortable bed at night but could drop off in seconds with his head on the breakfast table or against Hajime’s shoulder. His classmates never bothered to wake Kazuichi if he was somewhere he wouldn’t be in the way, so the beach was a frequent napping spot. They always made sure to leave him in the shade with a water bottle for when he woke, so Kazuichi didn’t mind. It was normal.

What was very much not normal was waking up to Gundham grasping the front of his t-shirt, shaking him violently and yelling some weird gibberish that Kazuichi was still too woolly-headed to understand.

“Wha..?” he muttered, trying to wake up properly. For a second he wondered if he was having a weird lucid dream, because Gundham never usually touched people, especially him - though he was shaking him by the shirt instead of the shoulders.

“You’re gonna stretch out my clothes,” Kazuichi whined, sitting up and scrubbing his eyes.

“As if your tattered garments are a priority right now! Answer me with honesty, lest the demons tear your tongue from your very mouth. Have you encountered the wrath of my Crimson Steel Elephant?” Gundham cried, far too loudly.

“What?” Kazuichi mumbled. “Gundham, I can’t decipher your witchy language when I’ve just woken up.”

“Foolish mortal! This is a dire emergency!”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I shall repeat myself just once more, so listen well. Have you encountered one of my Dark Devas of Destruction? Maga-Z appears to be missing,” Gundham said. Despite the grandeur and fancy words, Kazuichi could see he did look pretty distressed, holding the three remaining hamsters in his hand as if he was scared they’d dash away too.

“Oooh, okay. You’ve lost a hamster. That’s all you had to say, Gundham. One single sentence and I would’ve understood,” Kazuichi said.

“Do not talk so disparagingly! My Devas are far more powerful than mere hamsters. And Maga-Z has an independent spirit and often attempts to cause chaos alone. I have my concerns for the safety of everyone on this island if Maga-Z wields his destructive power without my guidance.”

Gundham was completely serious, but Kazuichi had to bite his cheeks to stop himself laughing, picturing a hamster storming across the island in a tank, decimating everything. But Gundham was clearly frantic, and Kazuichi was trying to be nicer to him recently, so he sighed.

“Okay, I’ll help you look for him. We should try to get the others to help too.”

“Indeed. You were the first mortal I came across,” Gundham admitted.

“Right, what does Maga-Z look like?” Kazuichi asked, taking a long drink of water. He felt like he’d be running around in the hot sun for a while now and wanted to drink while he had the chance.

“Your memory is abysmal.” Gundham seemed irritated that Kazuichi didn’t know the hamsters by sight.

“Look, I’m not exactly on nodding terms with your ham- Devas, am I? How am I supposed to know which is which? I only recognise the chubby one.” Kazuichi pointed to Cham-P.

Gundham reeled back like he’d been slapped, spluttering in outrage. “How dare you mock his corporeal form! If Cham-P was not so patient, he would obliterate you where you stand for such cheek.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to body shame your hamster,” Kazuichi said irritably. “I wasn’t mocking. He’s just bigger than the other ones.”

“He is of the Golden variety, of course he is larger in stature. It has nothing to do with his nutritional intake.”

“Are we going to search or not?” Kazuichi snapped. God, talking to Gundham for more than five minutes was exhausting. “Do you know if Maga-Z has favourite places to go or something?”

Kazuichi let Gundham lead and did his very best not to talk to his strange companion as they searched through bushes and inside cupboards, asking any of his classmates they encountered to look too. Gundham muttered to the remaining hamsters, but didn’t try to talk to Kazuichi much either except to order him around - though his grandiose tone was quickly becoming softer and more anxious.

“Maga-Z has never disappeared from my influence for so long,” he mumbled, pulling his scarf to cover his mouth. “I cannot contain this feeling of dread.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kazuichi said, surprising himself. “We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

Gundham blinked, then stood up straighter. “I assure you, I fear for the inhabitants of the island. Maga-Z will come to no harm.”

But he was worrying, and even Kazuichi could see it. His searching was becoming frantic, his usually careful hands clumsy, so he knocked things off their shelves and forgot to tidy up or close doors behind them. He started running between buildings and bushes, long coat billowing, calling out for his lost hamster.

“Gundham! Hang on a second,” Kazuichi gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

Surprisingly, Gundham did as he was told, leaning against a palm tree in the shade. He wrapped his arms around his chest, pale fists gripping his dark coat. His carefully styled hair was starting to droop in the heat, and his face was very pink. Kazuichi had never seen so much colour in his cheeks before. The three remaining hamsters cowered inside Gundham’s scarf, sensing his anxiety.

Kazuichi went to lean beside him, wiping the sweat off his own forehead. He didn’t know how Gundham managed in his black clothes every day.

“We’ll find him,” Kazuichi said again. “Ibuki and Twogami and Mahiru said they’d look. And Miss Sonia looked like she was going to cry when I told her Maga-Z was missing. She said she wouldn’t rest until he was found.”

“She has a good heart,” Gundham said softly.

“Yeah…” Kazuichi paused. “Hey, you didn’t say anything nice like that about me. I’m the one who’s been running around with you in the baking sun for hours.”

Gundham didn’t respond. He’d been talking a lot less in the past twenty minutes or so, though he’d originally been giving incomprehensible orders to Kazuichi every two minutes. Souda assumed he was just growing more concerned for Maga-Z the longer he was missing - so he was caught off guard when Gundham slumped over and fell limply against him, almost bringing them both to the floor.

“Dude!” Kazuichi managed to catch hold of Gundham. “What are you doing?”

Perhaps Gundham didn’t know what he was doing either, because he had a look of sheer bafflement on his face. He tried to pull himself upright, clinging to the rough bark of the palm tree, but each time he wobbled dangerously and Kazuichi had to grab onto him again.

“What is this..? I appear to be reacting negatively to your mortal world’s atmosphere.” His usually forceful speech came out laboured and slow, and Gundham placed a hand to his lips in surprise.

“What? You’ve been surviving in this atmosphere for ages already,” Kazuichi argued. “What’s up with you? You sound drunk. Can you tell me in plain English?”

“The temperature in this godforsaken land exceeds even the fiery bowels of hell,” Gundham hissed, having to cling to Kazuichi to stay upright.

Kazuichi took a second to disentangle Gundham’s web of fancy words. “Sooo… you’re too hot. I guess that makes sense. Who wears a black coat and a scarf in this heat? And I know you haven’t had any water since we started searching. I’d better take you back to your cabin,” he sighed.

“Unhand me this instant, you fiend!” Gundham growled, though he was the one using Kazuichi like a walking stick. “I could never rest while one of my Dark Devas of Destruction is unguided.”

“Well they’ll all be unguided if you get heatstroke and drop dead,” Kazuichi said. “Half the island is searching for Maga-Z - and I’ll go back out to keep looking as soon as I can, okay?” As much as Gundham might get on Kazuichi’s nerves sometimes, he didn’t want him to get really sick or hurt. He hoped Maga-Z had enough sense not to wander into the sea or something; Gundham would be crushed.

“Hmm.” Gundham didn’t look convinced.

“Your other three ham- I mean Devas probably need to cool down a bit too,” Kazuichi tried.

Another pause. “Very well,” Gundham sighed. “I shall retire to my artificially cooled domain until the effects of this oppressive atmosphere wear off. I trust you to ensure the search continues.” He turned on his heel and tried to walk on his own, staggering alarmingly.

“Hey, careful!” Kazuichi ran to steady him. “I told you I’d help you.”

Gundham slapped his hands away. “Fool! Have you forgotten I am cursed with poison?”

“Oh for God’s sake! Could you just give an inch for once! Why do you make everything so difficult?” Kazuichi cried exasperatedly.

Gundham stuck his chin in the air and started berating Souda again - but before he’d even finished the first sentence his words died away. He blinked several times, looking dazed, swaying where he stood.

“Gundham..?” Kazuichi said nervously.

Gundham didn’t respond. He took another few staggering steps towards his cabin, then crumpled as his knees gave way under him. Kazuichi cried out and hurried to catch him, their foreheads bashing together painfully. Gundham’s skin was clammy and damp, his face looking much more… alive than usual. Kazuichi realised it was because his pale makeup was running.

“Fucking hell, Gundham,” Kazuichi groaned, hauling one of Gundham’s arms around his shoulders. “Just hold onto me, okay? Try not to pass out.”

Surprisingly, Gundham nodded, staring down at his feet like it was taking a huge effort to make them move. It was clear he was trying to be helpful, but Kazuichi had to carry a lot of his weight and they were both breathless by the time they reached Gundham’s cabin. Kazuichi breathed a sigh of relief as the wall of cool air conditioning washed over them.

“Thank God for that,” he mumbled, dumping Gundham onto the bed. It was carefully made, which Kazuichi had never understood; why bother making your bed when you were just going to mess it up every night? The entire room was neat, though the giant cage meant it rather smelled like hamsters. “Right, get your coat and scarf off.”

Gundham glared at him viciously.

“Oh, that’s the thanks I get, is it? Well, no matter how annoying you might be, you’re overheated. No wonder, wearing that stupid dark coat. So get it off.” Kazuichi grabbed Gundham’s arms and yanked the coat sleeves off like he was undressing a sulky toddler. Gundham hissed a series of furious curses at him - one of which sounded like Latin, which was actually pretty impressive - and the three remaining hamsters hopped out onto the bed, startled.

“There. Was that so hard?” Kazuichi said silkily when Gundham was lying on the bed in his shirt and scarf, glaring. Kazuichi tried to take the scarf off too, but Gundham’s hissed threats became more vehement and he gave up. “Fine, keep it on then. Though I don’t think the gothic look is very sustainable in a tropical climate, man. Right, I’m going to get you something to drink.”

Gundham didn’t respond until Kazuichi had returned with a cup full of water from the bathroom. “I shall take advice from one with such abysmal fashion sense as yourself with a grain of salt, fiend,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster while tomato-red and damp with sweat on his bed.

Kazuichi had to fight very hard not to pour the glass of water directly over Gundham’s head, but he just about managed to help him drink it instead. Then he grabbed the little fan from the bathroom and placed it by Gundham’s bed, dampened a cloth and slapped it rather unceremoniously on his forehead. Gundham yelped and glared again, water trickling down his temples. Good. Serves him right for that earlier comment. “There. Keep your head back or you’ll smudge your eyeliner. And don’t move. I’ll try to find Mikan while I’m looking for Maga-Z, okay?”

Gundham turned his face away, cupping one hand over the Devas protectively. He mumbled something into the material of his scarf.

“What?” Kazuichi asked.

“I said I am grateful for your assistance…”

“Oh.” Kazuichi was surprised. He’d never heard Gundham acknowledge he needed any help before - though maybe that was Kazuichi’s own fault. He’d been the one to start up the whole stupid rivalry thing (which wasn’t ever a rivalry in the first place since the girl wasn’t remotely interested). Maybe this was a step towards a reconciliation.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna leave you to die,” Kazuichi added awkwardly.

“You are far more tolerable when you do not echo the Dark Queen like a parrot. I once believed you had no real mind of your own,” Gundham said bluntly.

Kazuichi flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You made yourself an extension of the Dark Queen. You never disputed her or challenged her. You agreed with her every word.”

“Well… I wanted her to like me,” Kazuichi mumbled. “Look, you don’t need to lecture me about all this. You know I’ve left Sonia alone.”

“Indeed. But you still wish to befriend her?” Gundham asked. Even weak and overheated as he was, his eyes were burning into Kazuichi’s with such a fierce intensity he had to look away.

“That’s her choice. Why are you asking all this?”

“If you still seek a friendly companionship with the Dark Queen, you should not forget she is a mere powerless mortal,” Gundham said. “She does not wish to be treated like she is extraordinary. She does not wish to be around those who only agree to please her.”

Kazuichi stared at him. Was Gundham really offering advice? Was this a weird way to repay him for helping out? It was pretty embarrassing to be given advice on how to make friends from Gundham, who openly distrusted everyone - but he was friends with Sonia. Maybe even something more, Kazuichi honestly didn’t know. He’d tried to stay away from Sonia as much as possibly, partly because he wanted her to be more comfortable and partly because he was pretty fucking embarrassed by his past behaviour. But he would like to be her friend. Nothing else - he knew that wouldn’t ever happen - but friends was good.

“Now make haste!” Gundham suddenly cried, making Kazuichi jump. “Continue the search! I shall rejoin you as soon as I am able.”

“No, rest. Don’t move and especially don’t put your coat on again. I’ll find Maga-Z,” Kazuichi said quickly. He dashed outside before Gundham could protest, groaning as the sticky heat wrapped around him once more.

He started searching again, after taking a quick detour to Mikan’s cabin to ask if she could go check on Gundham and make sure he hadn’t gone out into the sun again. Almost everyone on the island was searching now, splitting off into little groups to cover more ground. Nagito was one of the last to join in - and Hajime and Kazuichi watched in astonishment as he shifted the very first box he touched in the storage room of the old building and pointed. “There he is.”

“WHY didn’t I ask him first?!” Kazuichi practically screamed.

“Ultimate Luck seems a pretty useful talent,” Hajime murmured to him, not wanting Nagito to hear. It’d only start him off on a long self-deprecating rant. “Go on then, Kazuichi. Get him.”

Kazuichi peered behind the box on his hands and knees. Maga-Z was cowering in the corner, fur dishevelled and standing on end. He didn’t look too friendly. “Why do I have to grab the stupid hamster?” Kazuichi whined. “You grab him, Hajime. I don’t like them. They look like they know too much.”

“What are you on about?” Hajime sighed. “It’s just a hamster. You can’t be scared of a hamster, Kazuichi.”

“They’re Gundham’s hamsters. They probably like… worship the devil or something.”

“Hamsters don’t worship anything. They’re just hamsters.”

“Can I go now?” Nagito asked, looking like he was losing braincells just listening to this conversation.

“Yeah, thanks, Nagito. Unless you fancy grabbing this hamster,” Kazuichi said. He looked hopeful, but Nagito left without another word.

“I’ll do it,” Hajime said, exasperated. He reached behind the box to ease his hand underneath Maga-Z, but as soon as his fingers brushed fur, the hamster made a mad dash forward. Directly towards Souda. He squealed and hastily cupped both hands around Maga-Z, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh my God, oh my God, I got him… Oh God, he’s gonna bite me, I know he is,” Kazuichi whined.

“Hey, good job,” Hajime said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

“I’m not a baby, Hajime,” Kazuichi huffed. Then he whimpered in a very childish way. “Ugh, he’s wriggling around. Can I… put him somewhere? A bag or something? I don’t trust him.”

“Just shove him in your pocket and let’s go. It’s boiling in here. And Gundham will be stressing about Maga-Z. Do you know where he is?”

“I had to put him to bed because he nearly fainted. He was running around in his black coat all day.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Nobody on this island has any self-preservation skills.”

“At least Maga-Z is okay.” Kazuichi studied the little ball of fluff cupped in his hands. Somehow his little ink drop eyes did look menacing. “Hey, he really does look like he wanted to go off and cause chaos on his own, doesn’t he?”

Hajime gave Kazuichi a look. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Gundham today.”

Thankfully, Gundham was still in his room and looking a lot better, though still very visibly agitated. His colour had returned to ghostly pale (he must’ve reapplied his makeup) and his eyes were far more focused - they snapped to the door right away when Hajime opened it. When he saw Kazuichi, his hands still full of wriggling hamster, his brow cleared.

“Take him, quick!” Kazuichi said, hurrying over to the bed. “I’m sure he wants to bite me.”

“You fiend,” Gundham murmured, taking the hamster. For a second Kazuichi was offended, thinking Gundham was calling him names when he and Hajime had been nice enough to bring the hamster back, but then he realised Gundham was talking to Maga-Z. He spoke to them in exactly the same way he spoke to his classmates, no silly mushy voices like most people did with cute animals.

“I can only pray you have not caused too much destruction while unsupervised,” he murmured, smoothing Maga-Z’s fur. The hamster sat up to greet him like a little puppy, and Kazuichi noticed for the first time that Maga-Z’s cheeks were bulging.

“Did he really run off just to steal food?” Kazuichi groaned. “We’ve been so stressed and he was just eating!”

“Ah yes, a feast befitting the magnificent Crimson Steel Elephant,” Gundham said, gently placing Maga-Z with the other hamsters. They circled him joyfully, happy to be reunited too.

Kazuichi threw his hands up exasperatedly. “I give up. You’re all nuts.”

Gundham turned to Kazuichi, his face solemn. “I am deeply indebted to you, as is everybody who resides on this island. I cannot speak of the terrors that may have occurred if Maga-Z was without guidance. I shall spread the story of your triumph to every other mortal here so they can show you due gratitude,” he said.

“Oh… Thanks, man.” Kazuichi could see he meant well, but the thought of Gundham telling everyone Kazuichi saved the island from a hamster’s destruction was pretty embarrassing. He could already see Hajime smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“You should stay inside a bit longer though,” Hajime said. “Just in case. You need to make sure you’re totally cooled down.”

“Indeed. I have had ample excitement for one day,” Gundham said.

“Me too,” Kazuichi mumbled.

“If you’re feeling better, you can tell everyone about Kazuichi saving the island over dinner,” Hajime said, grinning. Kazuichi glared at him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as soon as they were outside Gundham’s cabin.

Hajime burst out laughing. “Maybe he’ll make you sound really gallant and fearless when he tells it.”

“Then everyone will know it’s a lie right away. And anyway, Nagito saw what happened. Even if you don’t give away the real story, he’ll definitely tell.”

“Probably. But you did save his hamster, even if you weren’t that fearless about it. Is there a truce between you two now?”

“I suppose so. He’s not so bad. Crazy and dramatic and difficult… but okay,” Kazuichi admitted. He paused. “I don’t know what half of the words he uses mean though.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. “I don’t either.”

[ridetherain]

Some Zelink parenting to make me feel better. Happy Mother's Day to the mothers.

Superpower

Words: 2094

"Link," Zelda said, "Can you hold the baby for Rhondson? She's agreed to fit me for that cold-weather gear we agreed on."

I gave her a swift nod and cautiously took the sleeping bundle. Rhondson spent a moment adjusting my arms and grip before she gave my head a pat and bustled behind a partition with Zelda.

I let the two women's discussion of what color and cut would be best for our adventures fade to the back of my mind as I wandered around the recently expanded shop. Rhondson had moved on from just Gerudo styles to add some Rito cloth (likely due to Fyson's enterprising) and even a few water-resistant options. None were as good as my Zora armor, but still quality fabric.

Zelda and I have spent the last several years touring Hyrule and stitching the disparate peoples into one community. Zelda steered any discussion of retaking the throne to a more democratic direction and, after we married, I understood her fear and supported democracy wholeheartedly. So instead, we found ourselves working as neutral parties and messengers throughout Hyrule.

The Rito outgrew their village a generation ago but resisted expansion into Hebra while the calamity ruled. Zelda and I were preparing for an extended survey of the mountains for a suitable location to build a new town.

I slowly circled the shop again and gave the baby a gentle bounce when Rhondson and Zelda's conversation turned into an argument.

"Rhondson! I'm going to be out in the wild for weeks! Roughing it! Sleeping in tents! Climbing mountains!"

"Just be careful! If you watch where you step then it shouldn't matter. You're the Princess! I won't have you leave this shop in anything but my best work! Besides, you said your jacket was white Before!"

"Hyrule is a democracy!"

I gave a little cough to remind them that other people exist. Zelda stepped out from behind the partition without a shirt on and glared at me. I smiled and covered the sleeping baby's eyes with one hand.

"Zelda!" I scolded, "Madison will see!"

She stuck her nose in the air and spoke to Rhondson without looking away or moving out of sight.

"Fine. Just do the pink then. Anything but white."

I smirked and tried to cover it by looking down and pretending to be fascinated by Madison's habit of sleeping while I'm holding her. Zelda hated pink. When I chanced a glance back up I saw immediately that I did not trick her and the thoughtful look on her face meant she was already planning her revenge.

---

Her revenge sucked. For me, anyway, I'm sure she enjoyed herself. My beautiful Rito set of winter gear was dyed. The jacket was a horrendous yellow and, predictably, the pants were pink. Every time she caught sight of me she started laughing. Worst of all, she clearly used some of our best ingredients to dye her pink jacket to a nice shade of dark blue so I'm the only one looking ridiculous.

The Rito children all loved my colorful appearance when we returned with our survey results. Kaneli was polite enough not to comment, but pretty much everyone else in the village did and by the time I got to the children I gave up and just let them hang on me and enjoy the mismatched clothes.

Zelda flashed me another smile at the sight of my clothes but stayed out of the fray with Amali.

"Mister Link? I'm tired."

"That's good," I said, "It's pretty late, so you're supposed to be tired."

Cree thought hard about what I said for a minute. Her little face scrunched up and I subtly glanced at my wife. She was glaring again. Cree gave a nod and wandered off to her bed with a sleepy "'night Mister Link" and the rest of the children followed her out. I gave Zelda my full attention.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

I sighed. She'd tell me eventually. Or maybe not. Sometimes she forgot. I suppressed a smile at the thought. She'd been ridiculous lately, but after the stress of this trip is out of her system I was certain she would get back to her usual self.

---

Zelda did eventually get back to her usual self. By the time we got back to Hateno, Zelda was on another project and writing furiously in her journal. For once she wasn't letting me in on the project and didn't think out loud other than complete incomprehensible gibberish. The notebook she was using had lists drawn up of completely random words under number headings with no context.

Whatever she was into this time was pretty big and was taking all her energy. She didn't consult books which probably meant she was working on ancient technology again. That's the only subject she knew better than any book written. Eventually, I decided I needed to say something. She wasn't taking proper care of herself. She was eating well, but she wasn't out walking as much and it showed a little. She would be angry with herself when she pulled out of her project and found herself unable to hike up to the tech lab with me.

"Zel? Want to come up to the pond with me? We can go swimming."

"No, sorry, I'm a little busy today."

"You've been busy a lot lately. What have you been working on?"

Zelda looked nervous when she flipped the pages back and turned them to face me. I looked curiously at the lists she's been working on.

"One... Significant people... Sleep... Sitting... What is this?"

"Developmental milestones."

I still didn't understand. She grimaced and pushed her hair back from where it had fallen in front of her eyes. It revealed the dark circles from lack of sleep.

"For children."

"Oh..." I looked at the list again, "Did Amali ask for help? Is something wrong with one of the girls?"

"No, it's not for her... It's for us."

I was going through each girl one at a time and considering the items on the list. None of them stuck out to me.

"I wanted a clear timeline. Amali said there wasn't a book on how to raise a child, but I'm so worried about forgetting something so I figured I would write everything I could think of down and ask as many people as possible."

It took a minute for her words to filter into my head. I decided that Kheel was a little behind her sisters, but that was fine because she was the youngest. And Madison was too little still for most everything on the list. My muscles seized up and my breath started coming quicker. I spent one terrifying moment tense without knowing why I was so afraid.

"For... us..."

The room was tilting. This must be what Zelda means when she says she doesn't like being on the Sheikah towers.

"Yes, Link. Who else would I do this for?"

Okay. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Zelda was still talking. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Make sure you understand.

"You're pregnant." I said, confirming.

"Yes."

"With a baby."

She scrunched her nose at me.

"Yes with a baby. What else would I be pregnant with?"

I finally looked up into her eyes and her whole face softened at me.

"Oh, Link, don't panic. Yes, I'm pregnant. We're going to have a little baby here next spring. You're going to be a wonderful father."

My heart stuttered in its rhythm at the word "father." My hyperventilating stopped. My breathing stopped. Something wet hit my cheeks and I realized I was crying. I looked through blurry eyes at Zelda and saw her smiling back at me.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I just panicked. And I thought you'd stop our Hebra survey early if you knew."

The happiness I had started to recognize was immediately shoved out of the way for my terror.

"You were pregnant!" I fairly screeched in her face. I opened my mouth to shout at her some more, but nothing came out. I didn't have words that matched my fear so I closed my mouth and stared at her with wide eyes. The hyperventilating was back.

---

I was unbearable. I know I was because Zelda told me so repeatedly. I was mostly fine until it became obvious that she was pregnant. Something about the visual of a bump made the child more real than her words ever could.

We visited Kakariko, but I refused to take her further afield than that. Madison was almost a year old now and we hadn't seen her since before I knew of Zelda's pregnancy. Rhondson sent letters and I know Zelda wanted opinions from another woman who had recently given birth, but it was too far and too dangerous. I flat-out refused to let her teleport with the Slate. She was so angry with me that she kicked me out of the house and I had to spend the night at our cookpot. I told her I took a room at the inn. When I tried to convince her to let me move the bed downstairs she finally put her foot down and I was left to grumble.

She's due in a couple weeks and I've timed myself at running to the midwife. It takes seven minutes for me to get there and it will probably be more to bring her back.

Zelda had her feet up in front of the fire since the winter chill hadn't quite left Hateno yet despite the start of spring. Her hand was rubbing gentle circles into her stomach.

"Link, I need your superpowers."

I smiled at our little joke. My skill at putting children to sleep extended to settling an unborn child's kicking. I sat on the floor next to her and leaned my head cautiously against her just in case the baby decided to kick me in the face. Again.

"Come on, kid. Your mom needs some rest." I took over the circling with my hand and hummed the lullaby Zelda taught me.

Zelda sucked in a sharp breath. I hummed a little louder and used my free hand to take hers and gave it a squeeze.

"Link?"

"Hmmm?"

"Don't panic..."

I immediately tensed at the words and looked up at her. Her eyes were tense and a grimace was frozen on her face.

"I need you to go get the midwife."

"You're not due yet," I said stupidly, "we have another two weeks."

Zelda gasped again. I shot to my feet and hovered over her.

"Okay, okay," I said, "Just... Stay here... I'll... Okay..."

I rushed to the door and wrenched it open. Seven minutes plus however much time it takes to get back. I glance back at Zelda. It goes against the grain to leave her in pain. Maybe this is why the other Hero's didn't marry their Zelda.

---

Purah heard my headlong flight through town for the midwife and came down to visit after a few hours. The midwife roped her into helping with the birth and kicked me out of the house. I ended up waiting at the cookpot again while Symin filled the silence.

I shook like a leaf at the sound of Zelda's shouts and gasps. The wooden door only muffled so much. But the moment my child cried nothing could keep me out. I slammed the door open and rushed to the midwife. The woman had no patience for my "hysteria." She made me wait while the baby was cleaned and swaddled.

Zelda was exhausted. She was damp with sweat and weak. I held her hand and pushed her wet hair from her face. I could only glance at her occasionally. My attention was caught by the screaming child at our kitchen table. My child. Our child. The midwife brought the bundle of cloth to us and placed it in Zelda's arms. I helped her keep ahold of the baby - her arms were about ready to give out. The child barely paused for breath between cries.

"Link?" Zelda said, "I need your superpowers."

My hands shook as I arranged my arms as Rhondson had taught me and Zelda carefully passed the bundle to me. I hummed the tune I had been using for months and my superpower held. The cries lessened, but wide blue eyes blinked at me instead of closing in sleep. After so much time worried about pregnant Zelda that I didn't think to worry about my child. I was going to be unbearable.

A daughter.

[mas-o-kissed]

Discovered (Short Hypnosis Story)

A short little hypnosis story that I ended up writing when I couldn’t sleep.  I’ve done a lot of writing, but this was my first time attempting to write anything like this.  There is some s*exual content, but it’s not very explicit.  

WARNING for initial nonconsent, some light humiliation, and forcefulness. Ends nice and happy.

❤️

I was awakened by the sound of my bedroom door opening.

“Hey, you awake yet?”

It was my boyfriend, Ian’s voice. I rubbed my eyes in a daze. “What time is it?”

“Eleven. You’re still asleep? For real?”

I always felt groggy in the morning after listening to hypnosis, but I’d never forgotten to set an alarm. As he approached my bed, the realization dawned on me and I felt a sudden surge of panic.

“Where’s my phone?” I asked, trying not to sound suspicious, but before I spotted it, he reached down over the side of my bed, my earbuds still dangling from the headphone jack.

The page with the hypnosis file I had fallen asleep listening to was still open.

“What’s this?” Ian asked with a wry smile, and I snatched the phone from his hand.

“Nothing,” I said, scrambling for a lie that could possibly explain why the words Submissive Fantasy Part 3 were displayed on my screen. I couldn’t think of anything. Instead, I mumbled, “Don’t you knock?”

I felt my cheeks get hot as my stomach turned.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he put a hand on my shoulder and I looked away, ashamed.

I have one vice. I don’t drink. I don’t smoke. I don’t even like to go to parties. I’d never told anyone. My desire to be controlled through hypnosis was far too embarrassing to share, even with partners I’d had in the past. It was a small, humiliating secret, just for me.

And now I was sure that my boyfriend knew all about it.

“You’re so innocent,” I could hear amusement creeping into his voice and my cheeks grew hot again. “I never would have figured you were into stuff like this.”

“I’m not...” I mumbled, weakly, “I was curious, that’s all. I-I didn’t listen...”

“Leo,” he interrupted my poor excuses, “you’re a terrible liar.”

“I have to get ready,” I started to get up off the bed, but he pulled me back down. I became acutely aware of how much stronger he was than me.

“I get that you’re embarrassed but... you don’t have to be.”

There was no way this was happening. There was a brief moment of silence between us as I searched my brain for something to say that would make him forget this. Instead, he said, “What if I were to pick out the next file for you?”

“W-what?!”

“You heard me,” he said softly. I was certain he was teasing me. I tried to get off the bed again but he held me back, gentle and firm. “I want to pick the next one you listen to. I want to see what it does to you.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw him pull my black work tie from where it had been hanging over my headboard.

“I bet you make a really cute face when you go into trance.”

“I don’t,” I muttered. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help but reflexively fight against whatever he said. “I can’t go into t-trance. It doesn’t work on me.”

He laughed as he pushed me down into my back, pinning my arms up above my head.

“Sure it doesn’t. You won’t mind if I satisfy my curiosity then, will you?”

He began wrapping my tie around my wrists. I struggled against him, trying in vain to move away, but there was nothing I could do to stop him from tying my wrists above my head, securely fastening them to the headboard. I was completely helpless.

“Let me go!” I shouted at him, but even as I thrashed on the bed I could feel myself getting turned on by my inability to break free, by his power over me.

“We’re not done yet,” he said, opening up my drawer and pulling out a scarf. I tried to pull my legs away, but as he bound them together I knew it was useless to fight. Even though I’d had partners in the past, I’d always been too shy to ask them to bind me. An overwhelming feeling of submission rose up inside of me. I was utterly humiliated, pathetically tied to my own bed, and what made it all worse was that I liked it.

“There. Safe and secure,” he said, gently running a hand up my body, from my thigh up to my neck. I shivered, suppressing a moan. My sex was already throbbing with arousal. He began brushing his hand softly across my inner thigh, back and forth in methodical motions. Pressing down. Teasing. Getting so close to touching my sensitive sex, but never quite reaching it. It turned me on so much I could barely stand it.

“S-s-stop it,” I stuttered out, as my own hips betrayed me, drawing upwards in search of friction. I whimpered as I tried and failed to stop myself from thrusting upwards. My breath quickened with the jerking motions of my body.

“Awww,” he teased, “look at you, pathetically bucking the air. It took so little to get you like this.” He removed his hand from my thigh, to my relief. I took a sharp breath and looked up at the bindings around my wrists, tugging at them.

He held my chin, forcing me to look up at him as he continued, “So helpless...” He ran his thumb over my lips, “I love seeing you like this.”

He picked up my phone, scrolling through the website. The expression on his face was my only hint as to what he had in store for me, and it revealed very little.

“Please...” I began, resolved to my predicament, “don’t pick something too intense. Please don’t embarrass me more.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he kissed my forehead. Despite myself, I felt so safe under his control, “Don’t be afraid.” He placed an earbud in my ear. “I just want to have some fun with you.” He placed the other earbud in. For a brief moment, I saw the title Silent Servant appear on the phone screen, before he tucked it out of my view. My heartbeat pounded in my chest, quickening as I felt his hand brush my hair off my forehead. “Just relax.”

He hit play.

As the words began through my earbuds, the soothing and familiar voice of the hypnotist flowed into my brain, and my thoughts began to slow. My body went limp. My mind was accustomed to going under for this voice from the many times I’d listened to the files on my own. I didn’t stand a chance. I watched Ian’s face as the voice counted down from ten to zero.

And then my mind went blank.

+++

“Welcome back,” Ian smiled, leaning over me. I blinked and tried to stretch my body, taking a moment to recall that I was bound in place.

“... l... ah...” When I opened my mouth to speak, it felt as though my tongue was thick and heavy. I tried to form words, but all that would come out was incomprehensible gibberish.

“I thought you said you couldn’t be hypnotized,” he mused. “You looked so peaceful.”

“Aa... ah!”

“You can’t speak without permission, hon.”

I grumbled. I felt hot tears of embarrassment welling up in my eyes as he began to untie me. I rubbed my freed wrists, staring daggers as he untied my legs.

“What are you looking at me like that for? It wouldn’t have worked if you didn’t enjoy it.”

I wanted to tell him it was different. That he was taking advantage of a fetish that I couldn’t control. That while some part of me had very much wanted it, had very much enjoyed it, the rational part of me would never have agreed to this. Instead, my mouth said, “Aaa... ah... mmfmm...” as I struggled to wrap my tongue around a word, any word that would get my point across. I could tell he enjoyed my building frustration.

“That file wasn’t just for speech restriction. You should also find yourself completely unable to disobey me,” he said, an evil look flashing in his eye. “You have to tell me the truth.”

I swallowed.

“If you didn’t like this, if you want to forget it ever happened, and for me to apologize for doing this to you, tell me. I’ll remove all the effects of the hypnosis, and I’ll never bring it up again. You’ll be able to speak coherently and tell me exactly this.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he continued.

“If you enjoy being controlled by me, if you want me to play with your mind as I see fit, say ‘yes, sir.’” He grinned and looked at me, “I think you would make an excellent servant.”

I knew the words that were threatening to escape my lips, and I clasped my hands over my mouth.

“Leo,” he repeated, “tell me the truth.”

“Yes, sir!” I blurted out. There was no denying it anymore. Despite my shame, I wanted this so badly that my feelings of desire threatened to overwhelm every part of me that held back. I looked down, half hiding behind my bedsheets.

“Very good,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. “That’s enough for today. You’ve been a very good boy.”

My face flushed, but along with it came a warm sense of comfort as he held me tight.

“A...mmm... ah...”

“I give you permission to speak.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[maandags]

can i have something with draco malfoy and plants

the Forbidden Forest is quiet this time of night.

granted, the Forbidden Forest is quiet pretty much always, which is mainly due to the fact that it’s — surprisingly — forbidden for students to roam and wander. for good reason, too; the man-eating spiders and the morally questionable centaurs that, among others, make up its population aren’t known to be particularly friendly towards Hogwart’s students.

this, like all the warnings your friends have bombarded you with to try and keep you from entering the Forest, did not deter you in the slightest. in fact, it just made you want to explore its woods more. and so that’s why, at twelve whole years of age, you first set foot in the Forbidden Forest. now, you only went maybe 50 feet into the Forest that first time, giggling to yourself, adrenaline coursing through your veins, hand gripping your wand — looking over your shoulder every couple of minutes to make sure the school grounds weren’t out of sight — but it was enough to give you a taste, show you the smallest of flickers of the life brewing deep inside the forest, and it left you addicted straight away.

now, four years later, your little excursions to the Forest are never more than a few days apart. you know its paths, know its flora and fauna, know every square inch of it like the back of your hand. you’re not scared anymore of going.

nevertheless, the first few steps are always a thrill. it’s the tangible change in atmosphere, the soft bed of grass beneath your feet making way for a layer of dead leaves and branches and rocks where the tiniest of creatures wriggle about. it’s not fully dark yet, so you walk slower than you usually would, allowing yourself to look around and try and recognise as many plants and beasts as possible. (another reason why you didn’t really want to stop your visits to the forest: your Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures marks have never been higher.)

after an hour or so, as you trudge deeper into the forest, the surroundings start to grow more visibly magical in nature. trees look blurred when you try to look at them directly. big leaves shift unnaturally in completely still air. sparkly birds let out trills that sound a little too human. a swarm of small, yellow-and-blue songbirds fly over. one of them swoops down and lands briefly on your outstretched arm, and you pet it, resisting the urge to bury your fingers in the fluffy plumage, knowing full well that instead of flesh and bones these birds are made of some sort of bluish-black goop that a) smells absolutely rank, b) along with sticky and very quick-hardening seems to be vaguely acidic in nature and c) is a major bitch to wash out of clothing.

the bird flies at your side for a while, trilling in response to your soft whistles, the tip of its wing tickling your cheek every other minute. you spot a few pixies, who respond to your cheery wave with a string of hoots and screeches, a cluster of three-feet-tall mushrooms pulsing with a harsh pink light, and a slow-moving cloud of gold mist, which you give a wide berth, holding your breath for good measure.

then an arrow whizzes past your ear, and your hand flies up with a gasp. your fingers come away red with blood.

you spin on your heel, hand pressed up to the side of your head, and narrow your eyes at the centaur standing ten feet away from you. ”haha, Brin. very funny.”

he levels an unimpressed stare at you. ”you know you’re not supposed to be here, Y/N.”

”you’ve been telling me that for four years now.”

”and you’ve been ignoring it for four years.”

”indeed I have.” you spin around, yanking the arrow from the tree it landed in. ”can I keep this?”

Brin glares at you. you roll your eyes but hand the arrow back to him. ”you’re no fun. that arrow has my blood on it, I should be legally allowed to keep it.”

Brin shakes his head, turning around and starting to walk back the way he’d (supposedly) come. ”I can’t even begin to explain how flawed that logic is.”

you snicker, hurrying after him. Brin might be a little stuck up, but he’s also one of the few friends you have in the Forest, and even then you don’t see him that much. ”so. how’ve things been here?”

Brin briefly glances up at the sky, and you immediately regret asking, already steeling yourself for an incomprehensible monologue about stars and the positions of planets and whatnot. if you were better in at astronomy, you probably would have been able to understand some of it, but you’re shit at astronomy, so it’s mostly gibberish to you.

but all Brin says is, ”things are stirring.”

you raise a brow. ”things?”

”are stirring, yes.”

”stirring.”

”yes.”

”the things.”

he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed. ”I really don’t know what more you want from me, Y/N.”

you look back up at him, unflinching. ”literally anything else. ‘things are stirring’ is all I got out of you, and that’s not much to go on.”

Brin sighs, short and sharp. ”I shouldn’t have mentioned anything. forget about it. it’s not something you should concern yourself with.”

you pretend to gag. ”you sound like Bane.”

Brin opens his mouth, about to object, but stops dead, narrowing his eyes and throwing out an arm to stop you. his tail swishes from side to side and he stands still, head cocked, listening intently.

for all your joking around, you immediately shut your mouth, the tension gripping Brin all of a sudden leaking into your body as well. it’s all fun and games until a centaur gets genuinely nervous, and in those situations it’s best to watch the aforementioned centaur and do what they do. your hand slowly creeps towards your robe’s breast pocket, where your wand is stored, but you don’t pull it out yet.

Brin’s eyes flick to you, irritation flashing in them. ”someone’s here.”

you pause, not sure if this is an inconvenience or a Bad Thing. ”um. elaborate, please?”

Brin takes a deep breath. ”one of yours.”

as if on cue, the silence is split by a blood-curdling scream.

your head snaps towards where the sound came from, but it’s too dark and too far away to see. ”shit,” you mutter under your breath, before summoning a globule of light to hover in front of you and taking off in the direction of the scream.

one of you. did that mean another human? a wizard? a Hogwarts student? but no, it couldn’t be — no Hogwarts student would be insane enough to venture this far into the Forbidden Forest this late into the night.

as you follow the strangled cries of panic and yelps of pain, you start to get a dim visual of what happened, and you curse again.

Devil’s Snare. the little shits are everywhere, their roots creeping along the forest floor and waiting for any living thing to stumble across them. you’ve since learned to look out for them, jump over them and walk just fast enough to avoid getting entangled, having had a few close calls yourself.

this Snare is a particularly nasty one. old, gauging by its height and the thickness of the vines sprouting from its core. strong. fucking hell. you stop just out of reach, sending a few more globules of light to surround it as to get a better view of what the exact fuck is going on.

the person is almost completely covered in vines at this point. struggling, crying out in fear and pain, gasping for breath. the vines, of course, only tangle further around his body. after a bit of heated internal debate, you begrudgingly admit that if you’re going to help this guy, you’ll need to get closer. so you do, careful not to get too close just yet. the light you’d sent up is not enough to make the Snare let go of its prey, but it is enough to (mostly) prevent any stray vines from grabbing hold of your ankles.

”stay still!” you shout, kicking a vine away and shooting three more lights to hover around the trapped guy.

he does not stay still. in fact, he doesn’t look like he heard you at all.

in the meantime, the smaller vines have taken more of an interest in you as you approach, and you growl, muttering a spell under your breath. a straight blade of white-hot flame sprouts from your wand, and as you calmly swing it in a wide arc, the light and the heat makes the plant recoil. as you pick your way through the branches and vines, getting ever closer to the guy, whose struggling is starting to get weaker, you cup your hands around your mouth, almost singing your eyebrows with your sword of fire in the process, and repeat, ”STAY FUCKING STILL!”

”what?”

”STAY STILL. I can’t help you unless you stay still!”

a faint groan sounds, and the figure stops struggling for a split second, but the vines tighten around him and out of reflex his arms shoot out, trying to fight the pressure off his chest.

”oh my god, I cannot believe I’m doing this,” you pant, closing the rest of the distance between you with a couple big leaps, landing smack in the middle of the biggest and nastiest vines, and that’s when you discover that the biggest and nastiest vines also have spikes, because the vine that immediately wraps around your calf digs its spikes into your flesh and you cry out.

a hand flails in front of your face. you grab the wrist to which it is attached. a plan forms in your mind — a crazy plan, an insane plan that just might be the death of both you and the unknown guy. but it’s the plan you have, and thus the plan you’re going with.

with your fiery blade you cut through a few of the vines that cross the guy’s chest — and then you put your wand away, extinguishing the fire and quickly stuffing your wand in your breast pocket.

”what are you doing?” he asks, and that’s when it clicks. the indignant tone he still manages to have even though he’s being crushed to death; the curl of his lip you can’t make out in the fray but can picture perfectly in your head.

you reel back, though it’s not as dramatic as you’d have liked it to be, because a thick vine has already snaked across your back (but that’s okay, that’s part of the plan, it’s okay, it’s fine) and you only manage to be pushed back into his chest with an oof.

you wrangle free, pulling back just enough to be able to make out his face. ”Malfoy?”

recognition flashes in his eyes — nothing more than two specks in the darkness — and he says quietly, ”Y/N.”

”fucking — ow —” spikes dig into the back of your thigh — ”the fuck are you doing here?”

”I think we have other things to worry about right now,” he says faintly, grunting as he’s pushed closer to you.

you scrunch up your nose but concede, promising yourself that you’ll question him later — if you even get out of this alive. ”if I die right now, Malfoy — for you — I will come back to life so I can murder you myself.”

he purses his lips, but nods, as if to say, ”that’s fair.” it is. it is fair. little shit.

you take a breath, steeling yourself, then dive down into the tangle of writhing vines at your feet, ignoring Malfoy’s shout of your name above you.

this is where it gets gross, and where you might lose a hand. one hand comes up to your chest and yanks out your wand, and the other searches beneath you — vines, vines, spikes (ow), more vines, a single leaf, and then, finally, the disgustingly soggy pulsing heart of the plant. you give a triumphant ”AHA!” then stick your wand into the core with a squelch that makes you gag, pull out your hand and shout the sword of fire spell. the flaming blade cuts through the heart. the vines shudder — convulse — and then go limp, and you shrug them off, staggering away, gagging, tripping twice before falling against a tree and retching, a hand pressed against your stomach, taking deep breaths, trying to blink the black spots away.

as soon as you feel like you can shout without throwing up, you march up to Malfoy, who looks about as good as you feel, tear out your wand and stick it under his chin and yell, ”WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?”

you expect him to yell back. that’s how the two of you have always functioned: you shout something, he yells something back. he yells something, you shout back.

but he doesn’t. he just stands there, looking deflated and shaky and frankly on the verge of tears. ”thank you, Y/N.”

it catches you off-guard. you pretend it doesn’t. Malfoy never thanks anyone. ”no, fuck you. answer my goddamn question. what are you doing here?”

”I was following you, all right? I know you’ve been going into the Forest for ages, and I wanted to know what you got up to. that’s it.”

you scoff. ”right. you were just following me. that’s not creepy at all.”

”listen, Y/N. I don’t know what else you want from me.” he sounds tired and defeated and it makes you angry, because it’s so Not Malfoy that it’s unsettling, and the last thing you need right now is ‘unsettling’.

you throw your hands up into the air and start stomping away. ”I don’t know! I don’t fucking know. just — ugh!” you kick a dead tree stump, out of which comes charging a single fat gnome, waving a small stick and shouting an incomprehensible string of what are without a doubt profanities you’ve never even heard of.

”Y/N.”

”what?!”

”you’re bleeding.”

you stop walking, dropping your face in your hands and bursting into tears.

ten seconds. that’s all you allow yourself. ten seconds until you’ve got to get yourself together; ten seconds to scream and cry and sob your heart out. ten seconds, and then you take a deep, deep breath, wipe your cheeks and say, ”right,” and start walking again.

for a moment you don’t hear anything, and you think Malfoy is going to stay behind — but then he sighs and jogs a few steps to catch up to you. you walk in silence for a long time. the only words you say is when you quietly warn him not to step too close to a certain rock, or not to touch a certain flower.

when you absent-mindedly pull a leaf off a green plant and press it to your nose, inhaling deeply, he looks to you in alarm. you roll your eyes. ”it’s mint.” you inhale again, letting your eyes flit closed. ”it’s comforting.”

a little bit later, and there’s a faint rustling to your right. Malfoy sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth; you rub a tired hand to your eyes. ”I was almost thinking you’d just left.”

Brin purses his lips, picking you up and wordlessly depositing you onto his back. you let your head drop against his back. ”thank you, Brin.”

”I would have helped you.”

”I had it under control.”

”I know.” he extends a hand towards Malfoy, who looks at it for a split second, then his gaze flits to you; you give a small nod, and a half second later he’s sat behind you, hands carefully resting on your hips.

”you…” your voice falters. ”you don’t have to do this, you know. Bane… and Magorian… surely they don’t approve of this.”

”they won’t know,” Brin says quietly. the forest around you slowly shifts back into a more peaceful atmosphere. the songbirds return. moonlight starts to filter through the foliage, and you take a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been needing.

a few hundred feet before the edge of the Forest, Brin stops. ”this is as far as I go.”

Malfoy slides off his back, then holds a hand for you to take, and you do, because you’re tired and wobbly and unsure whether your legs will hold your weight.

”thank you,” Malfoy says. you cast him a sideways glance. that’s the second time he’s thanked someone tonight, which is two times more than you thought he was capable of.

you nod curtly. Brin bows his head, then levels his gaze at you. ”I hope I don’t see you again, Y/N.”

you give him a lopsided grin. ”no promises.” and for the first time, something like a smile peeks through the centaur’s serious facade.

the last trek back onto school grounds is uneventful, bar the fact that the adrenaline has now completely worn off, and you start to feel sore all over, and you realise that your left leg — calf and thigh — is indeed bleeding. a lot. you have scratches on your arms and a nasty one on your cheek as well, and you’re covered in muck and grey slime. you probably look like something straight out of a Muggle zombie apocalypse film.

”you know the forest well,” Malfoy says as you step out of it.

you’re too tired to argue. ”yeah,” you reply simply. ”I love it.”

”you’ll be going back?” there’s a slightly incredulous hint to his voice, like he doesn’t quite believe it himself — you almost died. how could you possibly want to go back to such a place?

but the truth is that you do. you do want to go back. because the forest has been more of a home to you than Hogwarts has ever been. because you love its trees and its bushes and its weird magic plants and its pixies and centaurs and birds of enchantment. you love everything about it. even the near-death experiences. that’s what makes it fun.

”I will,” you say. ”I will be going back, Malfoy.” it sounds a little too much like a challenge. it sounds like you’re saying; try and stop me. I dare you.

he merely nods. he’s taken out his wand and cast a simple light spell, and the glowing tip of the wand sways as he walks. in the light, his eyes reflect gold. ”good.”

your eyebrows shoot up with the speed of a thousand Firebolts. ”excuse me?”

he grins; a boyish, sharp grin, that makes your stomach do a very irrelevant flip. ”I would have been disappointed if you didn’t.”

[shamelesslypoetic]

be still my foolish heart (don’t ruin this on me)

Summary: After the events of “Flirting With Social Anxiety” Roman and Virgil retire to Roman’s room, confess their feelings and have a well-deserved nap.

Wordcount: 2.7k

Pairings: romantic prinxiety

Warnings: Spoilers for the latest episode, kissing, cavity-inducing diabetes on the spot sweet fluff.

Ao3 link

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Roman was happy. Roman was so so happy he buzzed with it. Every fiber of his being sang with joy, his heart slamming against his rib cage in the best way, overflowing like an erupting volcano or milk left too long on a stovetop or a boy whose earliest dream had come true.

As Roman followed the one who helped him achieve said dream (and the most momentous victory to date) into his room, pride gleamed high and unbidden within him, intensifying tenfold the second they stepped over Roman’s threshold. 

Roman wondered if the rest of the mindscape could feel it too, the delicious rush in his veins, the exhilaration, the pure unadulterated euphoria. 

With how wide Virgil’s smile stretched, Roman thought it must be possible. 

They stood face to face, Roman in the doorway and Virgil leaning against the wooden end of the bed, both grinning at each other as their chests rose and fell with the depth of their breathing. Virgil’s was laboured and a little shallow, but continuous and steady. He was shaking and rightfully so after the sensational stunt he’d pulled that day. 

When the memory flashed into Roman’s mind, Virgil pushing Thomas in the truest display of courage Roman had yet to see, he wanted to hug Virgil so much his arms ached with it. He hadn’t wrapped him in a long embrace at the mall solely because he thought it would look weird but by Zeus, what was stopping him now? 

He took a step into the room as if to reach for Virgil but then stopped short as his eyes met Virgil’s radiant pair. Those eyes, glowing above two end-of-rainbow violet whirls, shone bright as the purest brown gemstone. Amber. Dark topaz. Jesper. Or perhaps a subdivision of carnelian? Roman would have to scour Logan’s collection of precious rocks for an exact shade later.  

For now he was content with gazing into them, their blinding light, the sugar-melt gum-drop fairy-floss sweetness of hope reflected in his companion. 

And well, if he was a little overwhelmed, a little overcome by such a vision, no one could blame him for wrapping his arms around himself instead of Virgil could they?

Virgil, ever the worrywart, peered anxiously over at Roman’s hunched form. 

“Is everything alright, Roman?”

Roman threw his head back and laughed -- airy and loud. It startled Virgil a little and Roman shook his head, wiping a tear from under his eye. 

“God yes. More than that, Virgil, it’s perfect,” he confirmed brightly. “You’re perfect.”

Virgil’s face colored with a pretty blush. Carnations, sweet strawberries, cherry blossoms. 

“Ro--”

“I really wanna hug you,” Roman interrupted, clasping his hands together. “Can I hug you please?” 

Virgil stared at him. He let a croaked questioning noise. “Ohuh?”

Oh. 

“Only if you want me to of course!” Roman blurted, mouth moving a million miles an hour; it was a miracle the words didn’t come out as gibberish. “I don’t want you to feel pressured I’m not desperate or anything, definitely not as desperate as I was at the mall haha, thank you again by the way--”

“Roman!” cried Virgil, snapping Roman’s jaw shut with the sheer force of his matter-of-fact stare. “Yes. Yes you may hug me.”

Roman froze. Then, in a flash of white and red and gold, surged forward, his arms pinwheeling ridiculously before he managed to get a grip on Virgil and crush him to his chest.  

“What?” Virgil wheezed as snarkily as he could through the chorded muscles trying to anaconda-squeeze him to death. “No comment about Logan’s grammar stickler tendencies rubbing off on me?”

“Not today, storm cloud,” said Roman, choked and fragile as he loosened his grip. 

Virgil patted Roman’s back, sarcastically sweet. “There there, Princey, it’s gonna be okay.

Roman shuddered as a sob-laugh wracked his frame. 

Virgil stiffened. “Are you crying?” He wrenched back, his hands skittering through the air. His long spider-leg fingers raced to wipe Roman’s tears. “Wait, shit, did I do something wrong?”

The tender touch was a bit much for our mushy-hearted prince, so it took him a moment to respond. 

“No no!” Roman grabbed Virgil’s hands gently, lowering them down before he let go. “I...I’m just. I’m just really happy, Virgil. Thomas is finally…he...my goodness are we actually ready for this?” 

Virgil didn’t answer. Roman’s heart rate spiked, his breath hitching with a worry so acute even the natural radiation of confidence his room emanated couldn’t stifle it. 

“Fuck, what if we aren’t? What if it goes wrong? He’s such a cool guy and Thomas finally has one thing to be happy about and if I ruin this too--”

“Roman stop!” cut in Virgil. “Breathe.”

“Yeah,” Roman rasped out, heaving. “Yeah, okay. Four, seven, eight right? 

Virgil smiled softly. “There you go.”  

It took a few tries before Roman’s inhales and exhales stabilized enough to use the countdown and somewhere in the interim Virgil had splayed his fingers across Roman’s chest to guide him through it.  

“Just relax.”

Roman snorted, too preoccupied to be embarrassed about the ingelancy of the sound. “You’re one to talk.”

“Shush,” Virgil tutted. “Panic attacks are no fun. I would know.”

To that, Roman couldn’t really say anything. Even though he wanted to, even though he wanted to offer up consolation or comfort, he knew Virgil hated pity so he stayed quiet. 

“Roman…” began Virgil. He glanced down at where his hands rested on Roman’s chest, blinking as if bewildered, as if they hadn’t moved of his accord. He stepped away, shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands into his pockets. His eyeshadow blackened back into dark gray and he wouldn’t meet Roman’s eyes. “What was that about you ruining this?”

Roman, slightly concerned by Virgil’s sudden withdrawal but trying not to show it, grumbled petulantly. “We weren’t supposed to angst today.”

Virgil’s eyes darted up to Roman’s and he smirked that one sourdough-crooked smirk Roman loved as much as it had infuriated him in the early days. “Excuse you, there’s never a bad time for angst! Angst makes for the best romantic tragedies.”

“Touché,” clucked Roman, almost disapproving of himself for agreeing. But when you literally worshipped Shakespeare you had to have a taste for tragedy, not that Roman would ever admit it. “I really don’t want this to end up a tragedy though.”

“Same,” said Virgil but he still had that probing poker face on, as well as the colorless eyeshadow.   

“Can we...check in for the Prince Roman woe program tomorrow?” Roman wagered. 

Virgil crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “We are gonna talk.”

“Yes I promise, but later. I...I just wanna bask in this for a moment.” 

Virgil deflated, arms dropping to his sides (ha) once more as he sighed. 

“And I’d argue you’re a bit too tired for serious-talk time anyway,” Roman added for good measure. It was true, Virgil’s slumped shoulders and drooping eyelids showed for his exhaustion. He’d really spent himself that day, panicking again and again. The dog had been the straw that broke the camel’s back and Roman, hopelessly fond and maybe a little lovesick, was torn between being proud and chastising his hardworking friend.  

Friend? Why did that not sound entirely right?

Maybe it was because of the way Roman’s heart fluttered or the way he was breathing in flowers and confidence and pride or the kinetic energy that freely flowed between them, Roman high on adrenaline, Virgil tired and yet so frenzied in a duality that honestly made him look stunning. Or...maybe it was the way Virgil was looking at him, head tilted and eyes shining, like Roman had handed him the moon on a silver platter.  

“Never too tired for you, Princey,” Virgil cooed mockingly. But he meant it. 

Roman rolled his eyes, ignoring him. “Lets go lay down okay?”

Virgil nodded. His expression subsided into something timid and gentle. “Okay.”

And that’s when it dawned on Roman. They were alone. Him and Virgil, Virgil and him. Alone in Roman’s room. 

Aphrodite have mercy on his poor soul. 

Originally they stumbled in to prolong the blissful feelings, Roman with the ulterior motive of ignoring the ever-crumbling reality awaiting him just outside, the one he’d been forced to confront in front of a public bathroom. 

But Virgil needed rest or he would run rampant for the rest of the day, expending himself even more. So perhaps Roman’s offer had been a little forward so what? Sue him for not wanting Virgil to faint.  

Still, with Virgil on the bed, his bed, Roman hesitated. 

Virgil made grabby hands in a request for cuddles and Roman thought he must be really far gone, exhaustion hooked too deep in his skin to keep up his tough-love emo character. Not that Virgil was disingenuous but Roman understood asking for affection “under normal circumstances” wasn’t easy for him, nevermind that Roman wanted to hold him forever reasons be damned. 

And there. There Virgil was, unfurled and willing and confident. 

Roman’s room had apparently worked its magic faster then usual, which wasn’t incomprehensible given the amount of energy electrifying Roman one vertebrae at a time, rolling down his spine in pleasant shivery waves. 

Roman had stood still for a moment too long and Virgil pouted. Roman, frantic to coax his face back into elated warmth, finally accepted Virgil into his arms, who wiggled to find the right position. The right position ended up being his face pillowed on Roman’s bicep with his legs draped across the top of Roman’s thighs, the sheets pooling with the scent of buttercream and freshly picked roses beneath them. 

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed, intercepted only by gentle breaths that had now settled down and Virgil’s absent drumming on Roman’s knee. 

Virgil broke first. “Roman?”

Roman typically would have responded with a “yes?” coupled by a nickname but he just hummed a pleased little sound as he pulled back to look Virgil in the eye, to indicate that he was listening.

Virgil said nothing and Roman waited patiently, expectant, when Virgil propped himself up and mashed their lips together. 

If not for the effects of his room, Roman would think he was dreaming. 

Their foreheads knocked and Virgil’s hands scrabble-squeaked on the bed like a tumbling mountain climber searching for purchase until Roman saved him from his predicament. He guided Virgil’s arms around his own waist and dipped forward over him, tilting his head into the kiss and savoring the licorice-plum medley playing on his tongue.  

The feelings that fire-crackered through him were liquid-fast, weaving up his veins, carving ornate shapes into his bones, dressing him in starlight that burst from the cove of his mouth and showered him in brilliant gold and silver sparks. 

Virgil felt like honey and hazel bloom, the cling of lipstick and chocolate and morning dew. Pink salt. Pearl ink. The orange blazes and reds pops and strokes of lilac that comprised sunsets. The softest velvet and sweetest birdsong. Treasure Roman cradled in his hands, hair that tickled his cheek like butterfly wings and shy fingertips that smoothed up his chest and caressed the hollows beside his neck. Lips, dry and cracked and bitten and slightly tangy but so very soft. Roman had never felt more alive, not even as Nico had led Thomas to his table. 

When Virgil finally pulled back, so close he murmured the words right against Roman’s mouth, Roman’s eyes remained shut. He was a little dazed, and despite that the kiss hadn’t been particularly heavy, utterly breathless. 

“Sorry,” said Virgil, breaking the spell. 

When Roman opened his eyes Virgil’s eyeshadow had glimmered back into purple and he grinned so wide Virgil’s breath hitched. Roman could see his adam’s apple rippling the long expanse of his neckline. He wanted to kiss him there, maybe leave a teeny tiny mark, but refrained, mentally waving away his room’s influence. 

“You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I’ve wanted this for ages.”

Virgil’s eyes widened, the purple underneath shimmering faintly. “Then why didn’t you--?” He shook his head, cutting himself off. “S-Still, I rushed in, I--”

Roman ducked and kissed the words out of Virgil’s mouth. The second time around it felt like a blazing forest fire. Or a cozy hearth’s flame. Or perhaps somewhere in between. 

“It’s okay,” Roman breathed out when they parted for oxygen. “I loved every second.”

Virgil’s shoulders fell from their tense line and he sighed shakily. Once, twice, then he smiled up at Roman. Small and precious as the first bud of spring. “I’m glad,” he murmured with a nonsensical gesture. “We um, took a huge chance today, ya know? I...I figured what’s one more.”

Roman grinned, caught Virgil’s frantically fluttering hand mid-air, and pressed his lips to the back of it. He held Virgil’s palm to his face, tilting his head to the side to kiss it as well. 

“Valid,” he generously allowed.

Virgil blushed, hiding in the crook of Roman’s neck as he tugged his hand back and curled it into his own chest. 

Sudden and too-bright in the calm joy of the room, Roman laughed. “God, Virgil, I love you.”

Virgil looked up at Roman, awed. His eyeshadow glittered. “You...you do?”

Roman stopped, slipping into a porcelain-perfect statue. Slowly, his hand rose as if to clamp over his mouth or slap himself. He lowered it back down. Roman then looked away, sheepish but smiling like a rising sun. “Yes, I do,” he whispered, afraid anything too loud would ruin the moment. “But I think that’s a conversation for after you wake up.”

“Fair,” conceded Virgil reluctantly. “I’m holding you to it though. I won’t forget, Roman. About either talks.” A threat and a promise. Exactly what Virgil was, exactly how Roman liked him. 

Maybe it was a tad underhanded, but Roman kissed Virgil’s forehead and flashed him another grin. “Kay.”

Virgil’s mouth fell open. He closed his eyes and sighed, brows upturned in fond exasperation. 

Roman cooed and pressed more featherlight kisses to each of Virgil’s cheeks. The tip of his nose. He stopped an inch above his lips. Virgil opened his eyes but instead of his perfunctory blank face, his eyes shone open and guileless. Limpid and hopeful. 

Before speaking Virgil closed the distance between them, pecking Roman to seal the deal. “And even if I do you’ll remind me right?” 

Roman’s face softened into resigned adoration. “Of course,” he promised, kissing each of Virgil’s eyelids. “Now sleep, my beautiful blackbird.”

Virgil’s face scrunched in mild annoyance but he didn’t call Roman on using enchanted fairy-dust to will him into sleep or the throwback. Instead, he looped his hands through Roman’s arm pits, clinging to his shoulders like a baby koala. 

Virgil yawned, rubbing his face on Roman’s undershirt that peeked from his collar. “Mmh, only if you do.”

“As you wish, my featherbrained fellow.”

Virgil gave him an unimpressed look. “Stop,” he deadpanned. 

Roman grinned obnoxiously, bumping their noses. “Never, my captivating corvid.”

Virgil groaned, tucking his face into Roman’s chest. “I hate you.”

Funny how the words sounded like an “I love you”, even though he hadn’t said it back the first time. 

“I love you too,” replied Roman, dropping one last kiss to the crown of Virgil’s head. 

He must have taken a moment to get the words out through the lump in his throat, because Virgil’s eyelids had slipped shut and his breath had settled into a rhythmic pattern. Washing onto Roman’s lips was peppermint, Virgil’s breath smelled like peppermint. 

Roman knew Virgil couldn’t hear but he said it again anyway. 

“Thank you, Virgil.”

Virgil, fast asleep, nuzzled into the rumble of Roman’s voice. 

With a snap of his fingers Roman cloaked the room in darkness and the fairy strings across the canopy of his bed glowed to life. Licorice and plum still tingled on his lips and even in sleep Virgil’s eyeshadow glowed with tiny divots of amethyst under the fairy light. Roman drifted off, content for the first time in months. 

Outside the mindscape, Thomas felt like he could do anything. Absolutely anything. 

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A/N: Please reblog, this took two hours formatting on phone cause Tumblr kept eating the post and I don’t have a laptop (yet). Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Don’t forget to drink your loving Roman juice. See you soon ❤

Tag list (ask to be added/removed): @drown-in-lava-choke-on-rubies @birch-pictures @ace-corvid @seouqi @ymmm-someone @coconut-cluster (obligatory prinxiety tag)

[joachimnapoleon]

The Flutist

This latest addition to my and @histoireettralala‘s ever-growing Trifecta AU was partially inspired by our love of the fact that Michel Ney played the flute, and partially by a scenario we randomly came up with one day regarding baby Louise Murat being fascinated with Ney’s red hair. 

... Also, partially by my constant need for Marshalate fluff these days. 

Enjoy! :)

***

[Age: 1]

Michel Ney can't remember the last time he's been stared down this hard by a baby. But he is prepared to give as good as he gets; blue eyes lock on to blue eyes. The contest commences.

He hasn't spent much time around this one-year-old who bears such a striking resemblance to her father. In addition to sharing his eyes (both in color and mischief), little Louise Murat has also inherited Joachim's dark, curly hair, rounded chin, and thickset lips.

His attention span, too, apparently, Ney thinks, as the baby quickly grows bored with the stare-down; the wide blue eyes shift upwards. Settling on Ney's hair, they widen yet further.

Murat, holding the squirming child, grins at Ney.

"You're the first redhead she's ever seen."

Ney can't help but smile.

A plump little arm stretches towards him. A stream of incomprehensible baby gibberish babbles forth.

"I think she wants to touch your hair," Murat interprets without missing a beat. "Is that okay?"

Ney chuckles. "Sure, why not."

Murat gently lowers baby Louise, guiding her wobbly steps--she has only recently started walking--across the narrow gap on the sofa between the two men. A moment later she latches onto Ney's shoulder, mouth agape in wonder as she continues studying the red hair intently.

"Bababababa," Louise says, staring Ney in the face.

"My, aren't you a talkative one," Ney replies. "Just like your Papa." He gives her a wink.

"She is indeed," Murat says proudly.

A tiny hand reaches towards Ney's hair.

"Gently, sweetheart," says Murat.

"It's okay," Ney reassures him.

Her face full of wonder, baby Louise pets and pats the strange red hair, narrating the exploration with a series of random coos and gurgles. Murat is smiling in delight; he pulls out his cellphone to take a picture--no, a video! Caroline and Aglaé will both love this!

Ney is beaming too--until Louise suddenly grabs a fistful of his hair and gives it a much sharper yank than he would expect from a one-year-old.

"AHHH-D-D-D-D-D" Ney grits his teeth, bending down slightly towards the baby to alleviate the pulling. He sees Louise opening her mouth wide and--Wait, is she trying to--

Yes. Louise is trying to eat his hair.

"JOAC--"

But Murat has already dropped the phone and is hastily reaching over to gently extract Louise's hand from Ney's hair, scooping the baby up into his arms. The little girl looks, for a moment, as if she is about to cry--she flails towards Ney, whining--but Murat is an expert at this sort of thing, and has her distracted and laughing again in no time.

Twenty minutes later, Murat has to take a phone call.

"Go on," Ney says. "I can keep an eye on her."

"Thanks."

By the time he returns, the reconciliation is complete: Louise is sound asleep, snuggling against (and drooling on) Ney's shoulder. She hadn't even tried to eat his hair again.

Murat reaches out tentatively. "Here, I can--"

--Ney shoots him an indignant look, unconsciously pulling the slumbering baby away from her father.

"Um. Okay then," Murat says, chuckling as he runs a hand through his hair. "Just, you know, make sure to give her back to me eventually."

"Do I have to?"

"Yeah. I've gotten pretty attached to her."

That makes two of us. He and Aglaé have four sons, but no daughters. He'd always hoped a girl would come along for them eventually, but it didn't seem to be in the cards. Now all of a sudden, tiny Louise Murat, with her wild curls and curious blue eyes and grabby little hands, has stolen his heart.

Either Ney's face is betraying his thoughts far more than he means for it to, or Murat is a mind-reader.

"Tell you what," Murat says with a knowing smile. "How 'bout if we share?"

"Deal."

***

[Age: 6]

Ney has been invited to a tea party.

Although he isn't entirely sure whether "invited" is the right word.

Actual invitations can be declined. But Louise has no sooner "invited" Ney to the tea party than she takes him by the wrist and begins dragging him up the stairs. He looks down at BunBun, being likewise dragged along by Louise's other hand. The giant, floppy stuffed rabbit has been Louise's favorite toy since Murat brought him home from a recent trip to an amusement park with Ney and Lannes. Apparently BunBun has been "invited" to the tea party too.

"Is there going to be room for both me and BunBun?" Ney asks.

"Yes," Louise says. "It's a big table. And you're my special guest!"

"I thought BunBun was your special guest?"

"BunBun lives here," Louise says dismissively. "You're my special, SPECIAL guest."

"Well then," Ney says, "I consider myself honored."

They finally reach the top of the stairs and Louise opens the door to Letitia's room, where all the tea parties are hosted.

Already seated at the table are Letitia, Mr. Bear, and Murat, the latter scrunched precariously into a pink plastic chair that is clearly much too small for him.

"Greetings!" Murat says with a broad grin. "I take it Louise invited you?"

"Indeed," Ney confirms with a nod. "I'm a special, special guest."

***

[Age: 10]

Ney's fingers flutter expertly over the keys of his flute; the cheerful notes of Bach's Partita in A Minor peal through the air. It is a difficult piece, but also a long-time favorite, and after playing it for so many years, he has little need to reference the sheet music in front of him anymore.

He had fallen in love with the instrument at twelve years old. The only boy in his school band to choose the flute, Ney had endured some teasing from his peers for picking what they considered a "girl's instrument," but it had never fazed him. In his eyes, it was their loss for not being able to appreciate the flute's beauty and versatility.

By high school he was the best flutist in his class, and his talents ended up earning him a college scholarship. In college, they helped him charm Aglaé, who played the clarinet in the college orchestra. And the rest was history; as far as he was concerned, Ney could trace all of his current happiness to learning to play the flute during his childhood.

He had hoped one of his sons would develop a liking for it as well, but so far they were all gravitating to--Ney grimaces inwardly--the brass section. Where did I go wrong?

Ney concludes the final notes of the piece, and is startled to hear applause. He turns to see Murat and little Louise, clapping happily from the doorway.

"That was so pretty Uncle Michel!" Louise exclaims.

"Incredible!" says Murat. "Why have I never heard you play before?"

Ney blushes. "I rarely play in public anymore. Thanks though, I'm glad you liked it."

"Well you absolutely should play in public more! Our friends would love to hear it! Isn't that right, darling?" he asks Louise.

"Papa is right! You play so good!" the ten-year-old says.

"Thank you, my dear."

"May I hold the flute? I've never held a flute before."

"Yes, of course!" Ney hands Louise the flute. The child studies the instrument in rapt fascination, running her littlefingers over the intricate keys and tubes.

"Next year she'll be old enough to play in the school band," Murat says.

"Oh yeah? Has she chosen an instrument yet?"

Murat looks down at his daughter, who is still captivated by the flute. He smiles.

"Possibly." ***

[Age 11]

The following year when Murat informed Ney that Louise had, indeed, decided she wanted to learn to play the flute for the school band, Ney had scarcely been able to contain his joy.

"Also," Murat began, "she's wondering if you'd be willing to teach her some of the basics, before her formal lessons begin next month?"

"Tell her I would be delighted to."

Sitting in the Murats' beautiful garden now, he has, so far, taught Louise how to put the flute together, what all the various parts are called, how to clean the instrument, how to hold it, and proper posture. Now, for the most important part: how to make the sound come out.

He shows her how to form the necessary embouchure--the positioning of the lips in relation to the blowhole of the flute--and demonstrates with his own flute: a clear, sonorous B-flat emanates through the garden.

Louise tries to copy his face, and blows into her flute.

PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH.

She tries again.

PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH.

And again.

PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH.

Louise is dismayed. It isn't working! Is her flute broken?

She hands the instrument to Ney; he holds it up, arranges his embouchure, and plays another B-flat.

"Your flute works perfectly," he says reassuringly.

Louise tries again and again, over and over, but still fails to get any sound to come out of the flute. Ney can see that she is getting frustrated.

"Don't be discouraged," he tells her. "This is usually the hardest part for every beginner."

"Was it hard for you too?"

"Oh yes. It took me hours to do it right the first time. And multiple lessons. I was in total despair after a while, but then I just... did it. Somehow. And once I made that first note, I didn't have any problems doing it again. It was like something had just clicked, and now I could play the flute. So, don't worry. You'll get it eventually, I promise. We're not going to give up. Okay?"

"Okay."

A little over an hour later, the PPHHHHHTHTHHTHTHTHHHHH suddenly morphs into a resounding OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Louise lowers the flute, staring at Ney with wide eyes.

"Uncle Michel!! I did it!!! I'm playing the flute!!!!" she raises the flute again and, making the same embouchure as before, plays a full, crystal-clear note.

Ney turns away just for a brief instant, to wipe away a sudden, unexpected tear.

***

Ney makes his way towards the front row, his eyes finding Murat's curly hair in the dim light of the school auditorium.

"Glad you could make it!" Murat greets him. "Caroline and I saved you a seat."

"Thank you," Ney says, sitting down beside his friend. "Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Louise has been working very hard for the past six months, and tonight is her first concert with the school band. Additionally--and Murat had barely able to contain his excitement when he'd told Ney--she was going to be performing a duet with another student. The band instructor had been so delighted with the progress of both girls so far, that he wanted to give them a moment in the spotlight to showcase their developing talents.

"Is she nervous?" Ney asks.

"Honestly, I think she's more nervous about playing in front of you than anything," Murat chuckles.

Ney grins. "I can't imagine why. We practice together all the time!"

"Yes, exactly. She's worried she's going to mess up and disappoint you."

"No, that won't happen," Ney says firmly.

The concert begins. While the band of eleven- and twelve-year-olds performs its ensemble, Caroline dutifully records it on her phone, Murat sniffles and wipes his teary eyes with a handkerchief throughout, and Ney wallows in nostalgia, vividly remembering his own days playing with the school band. He smiles at the sight of Louise, so poised for her age, playing every song without missing a beat, as if she'd been in the band for years.

"My little princess," Murat wibbles during the break between pieces, falling apart into the handkerchief again. Caroline smiles and runs her fingers through his hair, but Ney can't help but notice her own eyes are glistening in the darkness of the auditorium.

"You should've seen him when Letitia played the Butterfly Queen in her first school play," Caroline tells Ney.

Murat gives a shuddering sob into the handkerchief at the memory; Ney, shoulders shaking, conceals his laughter behind a hand.

Now it is time for Louise's duet. She is introduced to the audience. Only the firm hand of Caroline on his forearm keeps Murat from springing up out of his chair to cheer for his daughter.

"Don't embarrass her, dearest," Caroline whispers reprovingly.

"Right. Sorry," Murat says sheepishly.

Louise and her companion begin playing Beethoven's "Ode to Joy," with the band instructor accompanying them on thepiano.

Ney smiles. The Ninth Symphony has always held a special place in his heart, and now it is going to be even morespecial.

Louise hits every note perfectly.

The audience applauds after the girls finish their performance. Louise curtseys, lighting up at the sight of her parents and Uncle Michel in the front row. She gives them a wave before returning to her seat with the rest of the band.

Murat is a mess. But Ney is surprised to find his own face suddenly wet too. He fumbles through his pockets for a tissue. Damn it all. Probably should've anticipated this.

Murat hands him a handkerchief.

"I always bring a spare," he explains.

"Thanks." Maybe I should too. What is happening to him? He's slowly turning into Murat--a big, blubbery, walking catastrophe. Oh God.

After the concert, he stoops to give Louise a hug.

"Did I do good, Uncle Michel?"

"You were brilliant, my dear. I'm more proud of you than I can possibly put into words."

Louise is beaming. She hopes he'll come with Papa and Mama to all her concerts from now on.

"As your special guest?" Ney asks.

"My special, SPECIAL guest."

Murat claps him on the shoulder cheerfully.

"In that case," he says, "you might want to order some handkerchiefs."

***End***

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Barely Alive (Chris Evans) (Pt.1)

Characters: Chris Evans x short reader

Summary: A zombie apocalypse happened on earth. You've decided to do something impulsive which will lead you into a life or death situation. But despite that, an unexpected savior came to rescue you and he was far more scared for your life than his. (Part 1)

Warnings: Cuss words with a little bit of violence?

Words: 1,500 (Kinda short I think? For me? Hehehehe.)

A/N: Btw, English isn't my mother tongue. So, if y'all find some typos or wrong grammars please do correct me if I'm wrong. 😊 Thank you very much! 😊 FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED! THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT AGAIN!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.

Dedicated: @readermia​ @mcuclintasha​ @itsallyscorner​

"No, no, no, not my hand please--it hurts!--you fucktard!" You exclaimed, mentally weeping from the pain you were feeling. Basically crying out when the only last man standing was stepping on your broken hand to stop you from getting your pistol.

You have shot a bullet through his friends skulls because they were being disrespectful and when you say disrespectful then you meant that he had other wicked things in mind as he found you scavenging supplies for the whole team. Out of all the people that were left in your group, you were the most precised shooter than the rest and you decided to leave all on your own because nobody dared to.

They were too frightened to step foot out of the base besides the other set of people who comes in and out of the base to rescue survivors or bring in supplies which included you in that set of people who weren't scared for the outcomes of meeting an infected.

Target the head. That was all you guys needed to know to save yourselves from them. However, it's a different thing if you were about to encounter humans.

Nothing good happens when you leave alone, yes? Bad things always happen when you act impulsively without even thinking and you know this was karma for that.

"You little stupid bitch," The man seethed as he stepped on your hand a lot more. Igniting a brash scream out of you as drops of tears fell on the sides of your cheeks. It was stupid for other people to see however the pain was already too much.

It was tormenting.

Your body was already feeling all types of pain, from the way blood fell on your nose as the man named 'Caesar' kicked your face and stomach till the way he was torturing your broken right hand. You've made a stupid ass decision and deep inside you know it was.

In Chris's point of view, you surely did made a very big mistake.

"I've got eyes on the asshole," You've heard a very familiar tone in his voice. It was deep, low and sultry as it echoed out loud inside the huge abandoned mall. A helpless sigh left your chapped, bloody lips as you heard footsteps. Caesar's boots momentarily leaving your hand as he lifted his foot off the ground. Your eyes began to close, feeling the ache engulf on every part of your body.

A loud pitch scream left your lips when you felt somebody tightly grab onto the roots of your hair, tugging it rough enough till your head started to ache too. "Take your filthy fucking hands off her. I swear to God, I'm going to fucking kill you," Chris threatened as he slowly stalked forward. Voice frighteningly low. His gorgeous blue eyes turning a shade darker with the toughest expression that could make the earth wilt in fear.

The expression he had on his face became unreadable. From the way his eyes scanned your suffering body, he felt his blood run cold and felt his heart beat drop because of your bloody face. You were just fine before he last saw you, but because you were an impulsive one for not even listening to him, you were now in pain.

You were in pain. Chris bore in mind, watching you in the midst of fading.

He gritted his teeth as his jaw turned too tight to even notice, cocking the gun he had in his hand as another survivor suddenly came out behind 'Caesar'. Another healthy human who was included in your group and who came with Chris. He aimed the pistol at Caesar's head. Lips forming a thin line at the realization that some human actually hurt his friend to the bones.

Your savior uttered something incomprehensible before your eyelids fluttered shut and a loud shot of a gun came after. Subsequently, your head dropped on the floor with a loud thud and your heart began to soften its beat.

Indecipherable chatters and shouts followed. You could feel your face turning numb. Eyes never threatening to open because of how tired and painful everything felt from all the injuries you've gotten. The broken hand that was stepped was turning more insensible rather than the excruciating pain not a little while ago. Suddenly, you felt somebody hold you. Warmth wrapped you in a hug which made you moan out in pain, gibberish sounds coming out of your mouth as you couldn't form proper words because you could feel as if you were too tired and helpless to even talk.

"Hey? Y/N? Can you hear me?" Your body was lifted off the ground. Another incoherent moan was sent to the latter and with that, it made Chris more worried than he ever should. More worried than your boyfriend who happened to stay back at the base because he was too scared to even encounter an infected.

"She's not responding, Anthony! She's not responding, she's not talking, she's fucking bleeding! Damn it, she even broke her hand!" Chris panicked, his anxiety trying to grope him like he was being choked. There it was again. He was constantly checking your vital signs as he held you tight at the back of the truck, bringing a hand in front of your face to feel you breathing or even resting his ears on your chest just to check if you were still alive.

You were, but with the slightest beating of a heart. It was faint, certainly not normal for a healthy person.

"Chris," Anthony calmly started, yet driving faster than normal. He kept glancing at his rear-view mirror, keeping notice at how his close friend was going nuts for Y/N. A lass who was the same age as the kid named Tom Holland who happened to be his friend too and was staying at the base.

Anthony had his eyebrows cinched together as he drove as fast as he can. Never forgetting to look at Chris who had his fingers on her left wrist, checking her pulse. Both of his hands never letting go of hers which made Anthony grab his attention.

"Yo, Christopher."

Cuss words were on repeat, "Shit, shit, shit," he exclaimed like a broken tape recorder and Anthony repeated himself, his face serious yet calm. The actual opposite of what Chris had written on his face.

"Chris! Calm the fuck down,"

"I am! I am! I'm trying! But how can I?!" The panicked man replied with a threatened look on his face. Holding in deep breaths as he caressed your hair in the most tender way. You slightly groaned, hands weakly squeezing his which made him double-check your suffering state. His hands full of blood and dirt. Nevertheless, he never cared because all that mattered at the moment was keeping you alive and breathing.

You could hear everything, though you don't have the strength to do anything about it. Despite of the screams running inside your head, yelling a loud 'I'm okay,'. With how bruised you were, you just couldn't.

"We're close. Don't let her sleep. We don't want her risking a hemorrhage," Anthony Mackie uttered, his voice deep as he made a right turn. Entering an old, abandoned factory that had tents, gates and bonfires surrounding the place.

They were finally safe, yet Y/N was in critical condition.

COMMENT OR REBLOG IF YA’ WANT A PART TWO, TATER TOTS! Tell me what ya’ think about this one shot! 

XOXO, TATA

[ft-dads-au]

Spellbound - Chapter 2

Shadowlight Week 2020 Prompt: Fall Pairing: Sting x Rogue

A Collaboration by @mdelpin​ and @oryu404​

AO3 | Prev: Ch 1

Chapter 2: Fall

The sound of the backpack zipper opening seemed louder than it should due to the library being so silent, but the guy in front of Rogue didn’t seem to notice, muttering to himself as he emptied what must have been half its contents in search of something.

Rogue watched in silent fascination as a small pile of receipts, empty food wrappers, used paper products, and a few jewels of loose change littered the previously pristine table, finally ending when the desired item was found. A familiar book, one which he had just put away in his own neatly organized backpack, sat in front of the stranger.

Foreign accent, tall, blond, wearing crop tops… As Rogue observed him more closely, he was excited to realize he’d seen this guy before.

“You’re in my Bio class!”

“Really? I didn’t notice, classes here are so much bigger than I’m used to. The name is Sting Eucliffe,” he extended his hand out to Rogue in greeting, waiting patiently for him to shake it.

Rogue was amused by the formality, but he shook it nonetheless, figuring it must be more common wherever he was from.

“I’m Rogue Fullbuster,” he introduced himself, “Nice to meet you.”

“Same!” Sting beamed, again with that smile that was brighter than Rogue’s future, “Did you already do the worksheet?”

Rogue groaned, putting his head on the table for dramatic effect. The sound of Sting’s laughter surrounded him, making him lift his head again to see what Sting looked like when he laughed. Rogue should probably shush him, but he didn’t want to.

“It’s not that bad,” Sting commented, opening the book to the chapter Rogue had just closed.

“Easy for you to say,” Rogue grumbled, “I’m a creative writing major, all this stuff is just gibberish to me.”

Sting gazed at him in surprise, “Why are you even taking it?”

“It was the only open class that would fulfill the requirement,” Rogue sighed, cursing himself yet again for waiting til the last minute to pick his classes.

“That’s rough,” Sting commiserated, “I can try help you if you want?”

“That would be amazing!”

“Sure,” Sting grabbed his book and moved to the seat next to Rogue, once again sifting through the contents of the backpack that Rogue had begun to consider more of a trash bin until he retrieved his laptop and opened it.

While it was busy booting up, Rogue got distracted by the scent of whatever cologne or body spray Sting was wearing. It smelled nice, although he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. All he knew was that it was pressing buttons that should be left unpressed if he ever wanted to get that biology assignment done.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” he finally managed to tear himself away from his thoughts when he realized Sting was talking to him.

Everything about this guy was just a little too something, too loud, too messy, too handsome, a little voice inside his head added smugly, and he certainly couldn’t deny it.

“I was just asking how far you got?” Sting asked once again, looking slightly amused.

“Honestly?” Rogue grimaced, hating to admit he was having so much trouble, “I entered my name?”

And there was that laugh again, warm and full of mirth, lifting Rogue’s previous mood effortlessly. “Okay, uhm, let’s start at the first problem then.”

Sting began to explain the concepts that minutes ago had been incomprehensible. To his amazement, Rogue found that once he was able to concentrate on the words rather than the man who was saying them and his cute accent, he was actually able to understand some of it. Sting never lost patience with him, only stopping once to chuckle, “Wow, you really suck at this,” before launching into another explanation.

An hour later, they had both finished the homework. Rogue looked out the large library windows, not at all surprised to see it was already dark.

“I don’t even know how to begin to thank you,” he admitted, “there was no way I would have gotten that done without your help. I feel like I should make it up to you somehow.”

Sting was about to reply when his stomach decided to do so for him. With a slight tint to his cheeks, he asked, “I don’t suppose you know any good places to eat around here? The food at the dorm kind of-”

“Sucks,” they both said in unison.

“Let me buy you dinner, it’s the least I can do,” Rogue suggested, even though they’d been working on homework it was the most fun he’d had in a long time.

“Alright, I gotta warn you though, I eat a lot,” Sting had already begun to stuff his book and laptop back into his backpack, along with all the other items that he’d piled on the table.

Rogue wasn’t too worried, he ate a lot also. He had already put his stuff away, so he led the way to the library exit, mildly surprised to see Sting hurry ahead of him to open the door, holding it open until Rogue walked through.

Well, that was considerate, Rogue thought, once again flashing to his dream and the traits his dream self had written on the strips of paper. What had they been?

Oh, yeah, that’s right. Rogue could remember quite clearly the one that said nice ass, but that wasn’t something he was just going to check out right here and now...

That thought lasted a whopping 3 seconds before Rogue could feel the corners of his lips tugging upwards because who was he kidding, he totally was. And it was easy enough to be subtle about it. All he had to do was reach for his pocket to grab his pack of cigarettes- which he was going to do anyway- and pretend he was making sure nothing would fall out when in reality, he was looking just a few extra inches to his side.

Yep, it was pretty nice, and the rest of him wasn’t bad either. Rogue cupped his hand around the cigarette sheltering it from the wind while he lit it, already considering where to go for dinner.

He noticed the slight wrinkling of Sting’s nose at his smoking, but if it bothered him, he chose not to say anything, so Rogue decided to engage him in conversation.

“Anything you’re in the mood for?”

“I don’t suppose you know any good places that serve seafood?” Sting asked eagerly.

“Seafood?” Rogue was taken aback, that was definitely not what he’d been expecting to hear. “Uhm, I think there might be a place a few blocks away from here, my parents used to take us there.”

Rogue kept his cigarette in his mouth as he did a quick search on his phone for the restaurant he was thinking of, relieved to see he’d been right, the place was only a few blocks away.

“Looks like you’re in luck,” Rogue said, leading the way to the address listed on the site.

“Thanks,” Sting fell in step beside him, looking decidedly chipper.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Rogue smirked, “it might be terrible.”

“Can’t be any worse than what I’ve been eating lately,” Sting muttered, “Never thought I’d see the day when I’d tire of junk food.”

“I feel ‘ya, ever since my parents moved I’ve been eating crap too. Should’ve let my mom teach me how to cook when she offered,” Rogue laughed, remembering his few disastrous attempts at cooking for himself. “So, where are you from anyway?”

“Edolas,” Sting replied, and taking in Rogue’s blank expression added, “It’s an island to the east of here.”

“An island, huh? This must be pretty different for you,” Rogue commented, “What do you think of Magnolia so far?”

“I haven’t really got a chance to see very much of it yet.”

“Oh, that’s too bad, maybe I can help with that,” Rogue offered, hoping that Sting would take him up on it so that he could see more of him.

They chatted on the way to the restaurant, Rogue asking questions about Edolas and receiving responses that he only half-listened to, too intent on watching the way Sting’s eyes lit up when he was excited, or the way he used his hands to talk. Much too soon, they had arrived at the restaurant, which was a bit fancier than he remembered.

Enough so that he worried they might be sent away, given Sting’s outfit. However, the greeter only gave them the briefest of glances when he asked for a table, replying in an apologetic voice, “I’m sorry sir, we are reservation only and we are unfortunately all booked up for this evening. Perhaps you can join us another time?”

Rogue thanked her and went looking for Sting, who had somehow disappeared from his side. He found him standing in front of a lobster tank, which was full of the crustaceans, each with their claws held shut by a band.

He couldn’t help a smile, Sting was talking to the lobsters contained within, arms once again moving a mile a minute, but it was his words that he found amusing.

“Aren’t you a pretty fella?” Sting cooed at the largest lobster Rogue could ever remember seeing. “Bet you look even better inside my belly.”

“Making friends?” Rogue teased, ignoring the looks they were getting from the other people who were waiting to be seated.

“Oh, haha,” Sting replied, hand moving to his neck, “Never seen one that big before.”

“That’s what he said,” Rogue replied out of habit, but he was surprised to see Sting stare at him curiously.

“Oh, that’s just something my friends-, “Rogue began to explain but thought better of it, “You know what? Nevermind, stupid joke.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that joke before,” Sting clarified, “I was just surprised that you used he.”

“Is that a problem?” Rogue tensed slightly, he thought he’d gotten a certain vibe from his friend earlier, but maybe he’d been wrong?

“I’d hope not,” Sting laughed, turning back to the lobster tank and mouthing Thank You before cheerfully adding, “I’m still going to totally eat you, though.”

“I’m sorry to say, you’re not,” Rogue announced, “They’re booked for the evening.”

“Oh man, that sucks,” Sting whined, “I was looking forward to it.”

“I think the place next door sells fish sandwiches,” Rogue cajoled, trying to get out of the restaurant before they caused a scene.

“Not what I had in mind,” Sting pouted but seemed to consider Rogue’s offer nonetheless, finally turning back to the lobster tank and pointing at it. “Don’t look so smug Sheldon, this isn’t over,” before following Rogue out the door.

The place next door did indeed sell fish sandwiches, along with a host of other things, but it was also extremely noisy. Rogue didn’t mind all that much, he was used to Fairy Tail on weekends after all, and few things were louder than that, but Sting looked disappointed.

They put in their order at the counter and sat down at a table, waiting for their number to be called. Music was blaring from the speakers, and people were yelling in an attempt to be heard over it.

“This is worse than my dorm,” Sting yelled across the table.

Rogue shrugged, shouting back, “My band plays the bar circuit on weekends, I’m kind of used to it.”

“I know, I saw you guys play last weekend.”

“Oh? What did you think?” Rogue asked, he knew his guitar playing was decent, but he was always nervous to hear of what people thought.

Their number was called just as Sting was about to answer, and Rogue couldn’t blame him for hurrying to fetch their food, considering they were both starving, but it still made Rogue wonder if he’d been avoiding his question.

They ate their sandwiches, attempting some small talk, but as most of it got lost in the noise, they soon gave up and tried to get out of there as quickly as possible. In a record 15 minutes, they were back outside, and Rogue noticed Sting gazing at the other restaurant with longing.

“Fish sandwich not up to your standards?” he teased.

“It was alright,” Sting muttered.

“I sure hope so, you ate five of them!” Rogue laughed, “I thought that lady was gonna pass out when she saw how much food we ordered.

“Yeah, that was kind of funny,” Sting admitted.

Rogue looked at his watch and noticed it was getting late. Too bad it was Wednesday, else he could’ve asked Sting if he wanted to get some drinks. The dinner hadn’t exactly gone the way he’d hoped. “We’ll just have to make a reservation next time,” he suggested, already thinking of a retake at the fancier, more atmospheric seafood restaurant.

“Next time?” Sting raised an eyebrow, “I like the sound of that. Does that mean I can get your number?”

“Sure, but only if I can get yours too. I don’t think I’ll pass Bio without you,” Rogue retorted.

“Not the answer I was looking for, but it’ll do for now,” Sting winked, handing Rogue his phone so he could plug in his number.

0-0

October 10, 2012

Although Rogue was used to having an audience by now, it felt kind of weird to have a single spectator during a rehearsal. He wasn’t the type to enjoy being in the spotlight all that much, but when they played in crowded student bars, he’d quickly get swept up in the atmosphere and forget everything but the songs they were playing. That proved to be somewhat more difficult with someone as distracting as Sting watching them, as even though he was casually doing some homework, he’d break into a wide smile every time his eyes met Rogue’s, which happened, well…quite a lot of times.

And if that wasn’t enough of a distraction already, Rogue could practically feel Totomaru’s eyes burning into him, and he could tell by the fierceness of his drum playing that he wasn’t too happy about the situation.

Maybe he should have thought twice before suggesting Sting come along to band practice, but then again, it shouldn’t be such a big deal. The only reason why he’d come up with the idea was that they had agreed to study at Rogue’s place after, since the library had been so busy lately. If Maru wanted to have a jealous fit over that, it shouldn’t be his problem, right? They’d broken up, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

With that in mind, and because he didn’t want to get teased for being distracted later, Rogue doubled up on his efforts, and...okay, maybe he wanted to show off a little as well. It proved to be good motivation, and soon those pretty blue eyes became a muse rather than a distraction.

The love songs they often practiced suddenly took on new meaning, their words resonating as they flowed through him, making it difficult for him to meet Sting’s eyes, too afraid of exposing the feelings that he didn’t dare give a name to so soon.

At any rate, they played the stars from the sky, and satisfied with their progress, Gajeel called for a smoke break. As Rogue put his guitar away and grabbed his jacket, he was surprised to see that Sting was also putting on his coat, “Fresh air sounds good,” he smiled, turning to Juvia as he asked, “aren’t you coming?”

“The air is never fresh around those three,” Juvia snorted, and she grabbed a sketchbook and a pencil case from her bag to keep herself busy, as she always did.

They walked through the building to the alley where they smoked most of the time, so they wouldn’t block the sidewalk in front of the entrance.

“Are you really that cold?” Rogue frowned at Sting, who buried the lower half of his face inside his scarf, pulled the hood of his winter coat over his head, and shoved his hands inside his pockets. The big fluffy fur trim that encircled his face made him look like he was about to scale Mt. Hakobe, instead of merely joining Rogue in the alley for his smoke break and he found that kind of adorable.

“I’m from an island,” Sting whined, his voice sounding muffled from behind the scarf, “It’s so much more colder over here, we usually don’t get these kinds of temperatures until it’s almost Christmas. How are you two still wearing only a shirt and a leather jacket?”

“You should see my brother, he’s probably still walking around in just a t-shirt,” Rogue chuckled, lighting his cigarette and passing the lighter to Gajeel, who was holding out an open hand. “Does it ever snow in Edolas?”

He thought about the fun they could have once it was really starting to get cold, perhaps introducing Sting to some things that were entirely new to him. That is, assuming he wouldn’t have resorted to hibernation.

“It does, but like, very rarely? Maybe we get a day or two, or a week, at most? Usually, temperatures are well above the freezing level again by the end of January.”

“Heh, just wait until you’ve experienced a Magnolian January,” Gajeel snorted, exchanging a knowing look with Rogue and Totomaru, who lit up a cigarette as well, “You’ll be claiming we’ve hit an ice age.” He held his cigarette between his lips as he reached out to touch the fur trim on Sting’s jacket, his eyebrows knitted together in an apprehensive frown. “At least you’re already dressed for one, ’s this shit real?”

“Eww, of course not!” Sting exclaimed, slightly offended but seemingly not minding the intrusion of his personal space.

“Good.”

Gajeel backed off again, satisfied with that answer, and Rogue breathed a sigh of relief at the thought that they’d all been spared of one of his seemingly endless rants. But on the subject of personal space, Rogue considered his definitely invaded when Maru moved closer to him, putting his hand on Rogue’s shoulder.

“So, Sting-” Maru blew a cloud of smoke in Sting’s direction, “have you done a lot of sightseeing already?”

Waving the smoke away, Sting shook his head, “Not yet, I’m just starting to find my way around the university and stuff, but I was planning to do that during fall break.”

“Cool. You should take a day trip to Hargeon Port, oh, and try one of those canal rides here in Magnolia.” Looking at Rogue and giving his shoulder a squeeze, Maru continued, “We did that on some of our dates. It was really great, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, it was nice,” Rogue agreed with a forced smile.

They’d had a great time together, he couldn’t deny that, and even if he’d ended their relationship, he still valued their friendship. But Maru made it no secret that he still had feelings for him, and Rogue was getting more and more frustrated by his constant attempts at getting back together. He just didn’t know what to do to make him understand that without snapping and possibly causing a big fight between them.

He calmly removed Maru’s arm, taking the last hit from his cigarette before dropping it on the ground and stepping on it, “Let’s go back inside, we still have studying to do.”

“Sure, book nerd,” Maru teased, ruffling his hair.

“Knock it, skunk!” The familiar nickname slipped out before he knew it as Rogue tried but failed to swat Maru’s hand away, bringing him back to times when things were a lot less complicated between them. Maybe, hopefully, those times would eventually return, when Maru would move on just like Rogue had done.

“Come on, wouldn’t want you to freeze to death,” he joked at Sting, sticking out his tongue at the dramatic pout he received in response.

They went back inside and played a few more songs, the newer ones they hadn’t gotten a chance to practice last week since the studio had to close for repairs due to the fire. All the while, Rogue was dying to leave, for two reasons. He wanted to study, not just because that meant spending time alone with Sting, but because midterms were coming up. But the main reason why he wanted to get them out of there had everything to do with the way Sting was getting awkward under Maru’s scrutinizing stares.

He was more than relieved when the song they’d agreed to be their last had ended. Flashing Sting an apologetic smile, he quickly put his guitar into the carrier and grabbed the rest of his stuff. “See you guys next week,” he called over his shoulder as he led the way out of the studio, walking a little faster than usual.

“Sorry it took so long, we have a gig this weekend,” he explained, searching his pockets for his car keys, “Shall we get some food delivered? We can get started while we wait.”

“Yeah, good idea, I’m starving!”

“So, three large pizzas then?” Rogue grinned, already used to the ridiculous amounts of food Sting put away regularly.

Sting’s face wrinkled in thought, “You think that’ll be enough?”

“Gotta leave some room for dessert,” Rogue shrugged smugly, “Unless, of course, you don’t want any ice cream, or lava cakes, or…” Me, his thoughts happily supplied.

“There’s always room for dessert,” Sting replied very seriously, “it’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Dessert is not a meal!” Rogue laughed, and although Sting was trying to keep a straight face, he couldn’t hide the twinkle in his eyes.

“Yes it is. I say so,” Sting claimed, losing the ability to hold back his laughter before he’d finished the sentence.

They got into the car, immediately bickering over the music that played on the radio, and Rogue was amazed at how at home he already felt around Sting like they had known each other for ages rather than just a short week.

0-0

They were still laughing when Rogue opened the door to his house, although he wasn’t sure what they were even laughing about, he just knew it felt nice. He took off his shoes and showed Sting where to put his so as not to get any dirt on the floor.

Rogue led the way to the dining room table, where they both dumped their backpacks and Rogue’s guitar.

“So this is where you live,” Sting commented as he looked around.

“Yep, oh bathroom is that way if you need to go,” Rogue pointed at the door to the half bathroom that was located just off the kitchen while he looked up the number for the pizza place he liked.

“Don’t forget to get the lava cakes, “Sting urged, tossing his credit card at Rogue, “My treat this time.”

Just to mess with him, Rogue pretended to forget the lava cakes when he got the pizza place on the line and placed their order, only mentioning them at the very last second. The poor soul on the other end of the line probably didn’t know what hit them when Sting’s gape of horror had Rogue in tears, wheezing as he listed his address and managed a “See you later.”

As soon as he’d hung up and put his phone away, he knew he was going to pay for it. Sting came charging at him with one of the soft pillows from the couch, delivering a few well-placed blows as they tumbled to the floor.

Still laughing, Rogue held his arms up in mock defense from the continuing onslaught, “I give, I give!”

Sting let up, blue eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned ever closer before grabbing the pillow and getting up, leaving Rogue feeling incredibly disappointed. “Thought so!” he grinned victoriously, holding out his hand to help Rogue off the floor.

Rogue released a sigh, playing it off as a side effect from his laughing fit, “Alright, let me show you around the house, I doubt you’ll be focused enough to study with lava cakes on your mind.”

There wasn’t that much to show since Sting had already seen the hallway and the living room, which crossed into the dining room, but Rogue needed something to drag himself down to earth again. He showed Sting every room in the house except for his parents’ bedroom and their bathroom, finally ending the short tour in the basement.

“Guest bedroom-” Rogue opened the door to the room his dad and Gildarts had built for Cana when she, Gray and Rogue were in their teens, so she could have her own room and Gray didn’t have to share his with Rogue anymore. It hadn’t been used in a few years, and over time it had been filled with all sorts of old junk that his parents had meant to sort out and either donate or throw away.

“Still more tidier than my room at the dorm,” Sting chuckled sheepishly, “at least here you can still see the floor.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Rogue muttered under his breath before turning around to his favorite part of the house, “And last but not least, the entertainment room -,” he was about to say more when Sting interrupted him.

“You have a pool table?! That’s so cool, can we play a game while we wait for the pizza?” Sting asked hopefully.

“Sure,” Rogue shrugged, setting up the table while Sting grabbed some cue sticks, “You any good?”

“I’m alright,” Sting conceded, handing Rogue a stick while grabbing some chalk and applying it to the tip of his own.

“Well then, show me what you’ve got,” Rogue taunted, completely trash-talking cause regardless of owning a table he was only average at it.

“Alright,” Sting furrowed his brow in concentration and hit the cue ball as hard as he could, but even though it made an impressive sound, none of the balls went into any of the pockets. He bit his lip, looking at the floor. Clearly, that hadn’t gone like he’d wanted.

Rogue laughed, “Well that was, uhm… something. Wanna try again?”

When Sting nodded, he reset the balls and stood back. This time it went much better, and they started a proper game with Sting calling stripes.

“So, uhm, can I ask you something?” Sting was fiddling with his cue stick making Rogue awfully curious as to what he wanted to know.

“Could I even stop you?” Rogue snorted good-naturedly as he set up for his next shot.

Sting chuckled but wouldn’t meet his eyes, “What’s the deal with the drummer? He was definitely shooting daggers at me earlier.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” Rogue aimed the cue ball at the nearest solid ball, attempting to get it into one of the side pockets, not at all surprised when he missed. With a sigh, he added, “We used to date, but I broke it off. He’s just having a hard time accepting that.”

“I thought it might be something like that,” Sting commented, “Isn’t it hard to be in the same band?”

“He’s a good drummer, I’m kind of hoping he’ll get over it sooner rather than later,” Rogue heard the doorbell ring and put his stick away to head upstairs. “Guess that’s game.”

Sting followed, needing to sign the slip for their food. Once the door was opened, he moaned happily at the smell of chocolate wafting towards him, and if Rogue didn’t know better, he would have thought the idiot was getting ready to hug the delivery man.

“Down boy,” he muttered, feeling a tad jealous for no discernible reason, even as Sting looked back and grinned at him, arms laden with boxes.

“Food!” he cheered, carrying the boxes to the dining room while Rogue got some paper plates and sodas ready.

By the time he brought them in, Sting was already inhaling the first pizza. Twenty minutes later, there was nothing left, and after doing a quick cleanup, it was time to study.

“Do you want me to play some music or something?” Rogue asked.

“No, this is great,” Sting answered, looking down at his phone. “I work better without it, it’s one of the reasons I go to the library, there’s always music playing in our suite, and I feel like a jerk to ask them to turn-” he stopped in the middle of the sentence as he looked at his phone once again and started laughing.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, you should see this,” Sting laughed, “my roommate just sent me this great TikTok!”

“After we get some studying done,” Rogue reminded him.

“Right!” Sting gave him a mock salute, grabbing his backpack and opening it up to grab his laptop. “Oh hey, can I get your wireless password?”

Rogue tried to ignore the amount of trash that fell out of the backpack in the process, but it was a losing battle. “Do you want me to show you where the trash bin is?”

“Hmm?” Sting peered at him absently, still in the process of booting up his laptop.

“Nevermind,” Rogue sighed, entering the password and sitting down with his own laptop. He had a feeling that it wouldn’t make much of a difference if he got Sting to tidy up the backpack now, it would probably be just as messy again within a few days. Sting just wasn’t a neat person, which was just about the only flaw Rogue had found in him so far.

“We should start with Bio before we get tired,” Sting suggested, pulling his book out and opening it to the chapter they had been covering that week. For the next hour, Sting went over everything they were supposed to have learned, explaining it so that Rogue was able to understand it.

He took lots of notes, knowing he might forget when he had to study without Sting there, but once they were done and had each moved on to different subjects, Rogue mostly ogled his new friend. Biology was his weakest subject, and he couldn’t help but be fascinated by the way Sting’s forehead furrowed in concentration when he read something he didn’t quite understand, or how his tongue peeked out when he was doing math problems. It was very distracting, and Rogue couldn’t help but wonder what it would have felt like if Sting had kissed him earlier, rather than just teasing him with the pillows.

“Aren’t you going to study?” Sting interrupted his train of thought, which was probably a good thing.

“I sort of am, I’m thinking about this story I have to write for one of my classes,” Rogue lied, having not done anything but stare for the last thirty minutes or so.

“Funny, your thinking looks a lot like checking me out,” Sting grinned.

“Someone’s a little self-centered,” Rogue retorted, reluctant to admit that Sting had pretty much hit the nail right on the head.

Sting snickered but chose not to comment, going back to his book and making exaggerated expressions every few minutes until he was once again distracted by his phone.

Rogue made a point of opening a book and staring into it, embarrassed at having been caught. Would it have been so bad to admit it? Time passed quickly as they both tried to get their work done, and much too soon, it was time to drive Sting back to the dorms.

On the way back, he thought about how pleasant it had felt to have company, even if they had studied for most of it. Maybe he should invite Sting over to study more often, midterms were coming up soon, and he’d definitely need help with Biology.

“You’re a lifesaver,” Sting announced with great enthusiasm, “I got so much stuff done! It would have taken me days to get that done in my room or even the library.”

“Midterms are coming up,” Rogue dangled an unspoken invitation, waiting to see how Sting reacted.

“Oh that would be great, even only for a day or two,” Sting beamed, “That would be so much help.”

Maybe it was because of how much fun they’d had, or the way Sting made him forget so many things that had used to bother him. All Rogue knew was that his infatuation with Sting continued to grow in leaps and bounds, making him question whether he could possibly already be falling in love with the exchange student.

He wasn’t really the type of person to be spontaneous, but the reality was that he didn’t have a lot of time to figure out his feelings, not when Sting would return home at the end of the school year.

So before he could overthink it or let himself chicken out, he blurted out, “Why don’t you stay with me for exam week?”

[heartshredded]

@cremisidiviso

its a surreal dream where his mind decides to recount the past he cannot remember out of his own will, the world is burning all around and there are screams that play like a broken record, one sniff and the smell of ashes was so prominent. its suffocating and he can’t breath, people around him dancing while the hellfire never ends, when did this start and how did it escalate so far? he doesn’t know, but his heart beats painfully against his chest and there’s adrenaline racing through his veins.

his body isn’t even moving how he wishes for it to do so, instead it feels more like he was watching a memory through the eyes of someone else, but this was the fire he had read and heard about off of the news. his village, a place he called home for years, its residents and structures burnt to cinders, theres nothing left but a barren wasteland. he isn’t sure how he knows it was exactly that event from almost a decade ago, everything feels so familiar yet foreign. 

glancing left and than right, there was nowhere left to run and his parents are absent from sight, his body frozen in place as the pleads for help grow louder and desperate, begging him to help them as their skin melts with muscle and fats left to keep the flames going till there are only bones left. he swallows a lump of air as he forces himself to keep breathing, his mind is making him stay alive and circulating air through his lungs. 

the longer he lingers around, the more likely he will join them soon enough, the carbon dioxide would knock him out unconscious eventually if the flames didn’t get to him first. though he can’t bring himself to escape and fend for himself yet, his mind wanders off worriedly to the thought of his parents, even though he knows they are likely dead. a part of him wishes to rush back to their home, or stupidly run through the flames in search of them on the notion of hope that they were still alive.

yet a part of him knows it isn’t true, and with halfhearted determination he feels a force grabbing at his wrist and tugging him to safety, someone he could not see. their face was blacked out from the shadows and only the yellow, orange and red highlights from the fire in the surroundings lit up anything, and he barely recognises the familiar shade of purple. in this time of urgency, he doesn’t have the luxury to think further into those thoughts, but instead they are stored in the back of his mind. 

footsteps quickly come to a screeching halt as a corpse on fire approaches onto the escape route, the path between the sea of flames as endless sparks rose into the sky and at this point he almost feels like he can deafen out those horrifying screams. it was such an eerie thought, to be desensitized enough to filter out the suffering of others for his own sanity, how else would his mind cope with the fact that he was being selfish? he didn’t want to die, even if the rest were doomed to their fate. it mutters incomprehensible gibberish, the structure of bones showing as their flesh melted like wax, before they topple to the ground.

at this point all the sensations feel so real. the smells of burning flesh as the sight of lit bodies containing fat made for human candles, mouths yelling their pained music on their departure to the next world, his shaky posture as charred fingertips nervously fiddled with each other, and the only exit out of this hell was nowhere to be seen. the black smoke rising, it never ends, and the figure he had thought would help him merely stood there.

words choked in his mouth, nothing comes out besides a pathetic and rushed whine, why were they standing around just to die? why had he led him into a deadend, a bricked wall too tall and steep to even think of attempting, two pile of bodies belonging to different people resting at ground level as a trail of finger and palm prints of bloodied hands desperately trying to escape decorated the man-made wall. a wall meant to protect them, it trapped them in a box with no chance of escape. 

there’s a sinking feeling in his gut as the boy hesitantly turns to glance over his shoulder, and all he sees is a cloud of nothingness. coughing uncontrollable as his body tries to push out all of the carbon dioxide, the black smoke obscures everything before he can’t see anything anymore. in a void of pitch black darkness, his anxiety grew tenfold as he reaches out, if there was a ground beneath his feet or something in front of him. nothing, nothing, he feels nothing, but he hears a voice. 

...

‘ ..hey? hey?! can you hear me? ‘ strawberry calls out for perhaps the fifth time, growing increasingly worried when he realised the heavy amount of sweat his twin was drenched in, struggling to breath with his expression so pained as his eyes remained closed. he knew something was wrong, but nothing he did seemed to wake the other up. holding grape’s hand tightly despite at a loss on what to do after several attempts, he pulls the purple-haired male into a hug while chanting its okay. 

‘ its alright, its alright.. okay? keep breathing, i.. don’t know what you were dreaming about.. i wish i could. ‘ strawberry’s voice fades off near the end as his grip on the other remained firm as if afraid that he would lose him, giving the other a few reassuring pats on the back using his free hand as he leaned against the end of the bed frame. its midnight and the only thing illuminating the dusty old apartment was the moonlight. 

‘ it must have been painful.. but i’m here for you! you can.. you can cry if you want, crying making me feel better after a bad dream.  ‘ 

[duefaith-a]

          // @doctordonovan​ sent,  ∗ 1oo﹕ sender  has  just  died ,  receiver  finds  out .

          In hindsight, it’s there in the eyes of Colonel Chen as they pass in the hall, for all Cameron lacks the context to recognize it for what it is. It’s in the way she glances away, in the brief squeeze of his arm as she steps past. She looks haggard, like she’s been in a firefight, and whatever mission they were on ( Cam can’t place it now, though he knows he knew. There’s too much fog, too much daze, to recall anything clearly ) should not have entailed any such conflict. It’s meaningless observation, little more than idle curiosity, and he’s been summoned with the sort of firm insistence that Cam knows better than to tarry. After years, he remains too intimidated by Landry to treat such summons lightly.

          A knock upon Landry’s open office door, and the man glances his way from behind his desk. In hindsight, that look stretches too long before he gestures for Cameron to enter and close the door.   “Have a seat, Colonel.”    Cam obeys, of course, though a frown crosses his forehead. Something’s wrong if Landry’s asking him to sit, if a conversation with the general — a solo conversation with the general — will last long enough to justify having a seat. Landry knows, after all, that it’s never been Cam’s inclination to sit across that wide desk, preferring rather to stand, to lean against the table by the wall, to be anywhere other than seated square in the man’s gaze.

          ❛ Something wrong, General? ❜    And even though Chen was on her way out as Cameron arrived, even though he’s yet to see Maeve, and they’re so in the habit of ensuring they cross each other’s paths when they come and go ( assuming both are on base ), the potential troubles his mind conjures have rather to do with the IOA, with the U.S. officials, and with foreign governments.

          “SG-15 just returned,” the general begins.Cam’s lips part to offer a perplexed yes, sir, but  Landry holds up a hand, staying any interruption. “Let me finish, Colonel. SG-15 just returned, and Colonel Chen informs me they ran into unexpected resistance. Something about warring factions the Aluvianins didn’t bother to inform us about.” A pause, and the general takes a deep breath. “Colonel, Dr. Donovan didn’t return with the rest of the team.”

          Cam’s half on his feet, instantly certain where this conversation is going and jumping, as ever, immediately to action. There’s no panic, emotions after all this time schooled to a certain patience: they can have their moment once the matter is taken care of. Once she’s back home safe. For now, there’s only the perceived task at hand. His team’s not equipped, but,    ❛ SG-6 and SG-10 are here, I’ll… ❜

          “Colonel. I didn’t call you here to send you on a rescue mission. I’m afraid there’s no rescuing to be done.”

          ❛ Sir, if we gave up every time we thought a mission was impossible… ❜    Even under the circumstances, Cam nearly laughs at the preposterous possibility. They’ve done the impossible more times than he can count — and that’s merely since he joined the SGC, the tally run far, far higher.

          “She’s dead, Colonel.” It’s the bluntness that only Landry can be pushed to, the no nonsense, end of his patience bluntness that Cam has become familiar with over preceding years.

          And while the general’s words could not be clearer, somehow still they provoke only blank incomprehension, as if the syllables mangled themselves in the air between them and reached Cam’s ears as utter gibberish.    ❛ She… what? ❜

          Instead of repeating the words, Landry merely offers an explanation, as if that were all Cam sought. “A renegade faction of terrorists mined one of the roads out of the city. Dr. Shirdel and [RANK] Arora are in the infirmary right now with extensive injuries, but they'll both be okay. I’m sorry, Colonel.” The general’s hand lands heavy upon Cam’s shoulder, for just a moment, as he steps around his desk, and then he’s gone, whether because with task fulfilled he has no desire to address the matter further or because he perceives it better to leave Cameron with his own thoughts.

          Any potential action ( and the welcome respite it offers from terrifying reality of the moment ) denied him, all that remains is a strange, blank haze. Panic cannot reach in the aftermath of something already done, when no steps might preempt coming horror. And in not being there, having not borne witness to the events themselves, without evidence before his own eyes, there’s nothing to affirm the reality Landry describes, nothing to take the abstract — the inconceivable — and render it undeniably real. He sinks heavy into the chair vacated not all that long ago, for all it already feels like an age, the entire fabric of reality, of perception of the events, warped beyond recognition.

          He’s lost countless people before, a hazard of a military career, of overseas tours of duty in zones of combat, of ventures through the stargate, of war with the Ori and IOA’s blundering efforts to do what they perceived necessary for all they lacked necessary perspective. He can’t count the deaths he’s witnessed, though he knows the litany of names of friends lost by heart.

          Her name was never supposed to be among them.

          And perhaps they had merely deluded themselves for all these years, to believe that either of them could possibly survive this place. They’d defied the odds too many times to count, and surely it’s nothing short of inevitable that, sooner or later, those odds would catch up to them. Somewhere, fleetingly, there’s the thought that, of the two of them, it shouldn’t have been her. Somewhere too, there is anger. At a universe too cruel. At himself, for not being there. But that anger is distant, unaccessible. He feels only the weight of countless things he can neither name nor describe as it presses down upon shoulders, constricts ribs.

          Elbows rest upon knees, back hunched. It will ache later, but that might well be a welcome distraction, a welcome pain. Concrete and familiar and so much a part of him now that he can’t imagine being without it. Yet even the distant, half-acknowledged thought of later brings the last, horrible piece of this new reality crashing down. Later, babysitter will be preparing to depart for the evening, expecting their immanent return. Later, young girl — not yet fully outgrown toddlerhood — will ask for her mother. She’ll want now-familiar music, soft, steady melodies of the harp, to lull her to sleep. She cannot have these things, and she’s far, far too young to possibly understand why.

          Later, Cam will have to explain in faltering words that fall so far short of being enough why her mother’s not coming home. Not tonight, and not tomorrow, and never again.

          He runs a hand down his face, squeezes eyes tightly shut for just one fleeting moment, then stands. He doesn’t ask permission, and nor does he acknowledge any of those whom he passes in the hallways. He figures Landry won’t begrudge him an early departure, today of all days.

[randomnoteforfuturereference]

Aftermath: Bombshell

With Business Dealings showing off the Nurses’ response to the Zimbits kiss, I thought it nice to have a counterpoint piece with the perspective on Dex. Though “nice” may be stretching things a bit in regards to this one. Continued thanks to my awesome beta @kleeklutch.

Warning: this fic contains explicit homophobic language, bullying behavior from someone twice the age of the bullied, allusion to past physical trauma, anxiety, and allusion to the current opioid crisis. 

With that said, I hope you find this to be an engaging story.

It’s late, and half the village is either asleep or getting ready to sleep.

The rest of us? Well, the rest of us are crammed into Aunt Trish & Uncle Jim’s diner and focused on the diner’s new sixty-inch OLED screen, just as we’ve done for the previous six games of the Stanley Cup.

Except now we’re no longer at the edge of our seats and filled with the tension that typified all seven games. Fucking seventh game overtime…

Now we join the cheers coming out of Providence.

Jack raises the Cup, and we all raise our drinks and let out another collective holler that’s probably loud enough to be heard from Bar Harbor.

As everyone else goes from watching the broadcast to chatting with each other, I keep my eyes glued to the television to see if I can find anyone familiar.

And there he is.

Bitty runs across the ice right into Jack’s arms. Because of course. Still, even as I roll my eyes, I smirk and raise my bottle to them. Jack not only deserves the Cup; the two deserve all the happiness they can get.

I bet Ransom and Holster have to resist pulling out the sin bin. Because the way those dramatic saps are hugging, they’re probably close t—Oh.

My smile fades as blood drains from my face. They aren’t actually going to… They wouldn’t be so reckless… They wouldn’t… Would they?

Bitty leans back and stares straight into Jack’s eyes. Something’s said, and the serious look between the two turns into smiles.

Oh fuck. OH FUCK.

I scramble for the remote. Everyone’s having fun celebrating, so nobody should notice me turning off the television. 

Gotcha! As I mash the remote’s buttons, the room goes silent.

They’ll probably tell me off for messing with the controls. I don’t care. It’s not like there’s anything to watch now since it’s just the post-game. All I’m doing is keeping the electricity bill down.

Then I see the blue light reflected off the countertop. No. This isn’t happening. Nonono…

As I raise my head, my stomach drops.

In grabbing the remote, I hadn’t turned off the television. I merely muted it.

On screen, my captains are kissing. Not the affectionate pecks that garnered so many fines. No, it’s the intense lip-locked version that they indulge in whenever they’d think nobody is nearby; their expectation is frequently not the reality, but it’s not like we’ve let them know that.

The camera hasn’t moved on but instead is zooming in on them. In the background, other cameras are focusing in as well.

Leave them alone, you fucking seagulls!

Of course, they don’t. As there’s no way in hell the media’s going to look elsewhere, I turn away for them.

I immediately regret my decision.

Everyone in the diner has their widened eyes locked onto the screen. There’s no more joy on their faces.

Only shock.

I steel myself for what will come after that shock. I hope that they’ll accept Bitty and Jack, whom they were cheering just minutes beforehand. I prepare for the possibility that they may not react well to the news. To be honest, a cowardly part of me just feels relief that the matter will be settled one way or the other, and it’s not brought up by me.

Finally, Pa breaks the silence:

“Huh.”

… What.

I wait for the elaboration on that. Any kind of elaboration. Anything. Anything!

Uncle Miguel looks in my direction. Dammit, anything but focusing on me.

“The blond boy…” he notes, “that’s your captain next year, aye?”

I almost gag in my attempt to get my throat unstuck. “A-ayuh.”

“… Huh.”

Oh for FUCK’S SAKE!

Aunt Meg chimes in: “I mean, from what you told us about the blond one, I can kind of see it? Didn’t you say he’s a bit…?” She makes a limp-wrist gesture.

I’m saved from answering that by Uncle Jeremy saying, “Yeah, no surprise there. But Jack Zimmermann?”

By now, the whole diner is overcome by a low chorus of discussion, bafflement, and speculation. As well as those damn noncommittal grunts. Not to mention a bucketful of confusion from my younger cousins; one’s just asking me if that means Bitty is the girl.

The whole while, I’m trying and failing to make sense about the reaction.

While there are some comments of disapproval about how Bitty and Jack are making a scene, nobody’s explicitly disparaging or condemning the two. Which I guess is good? But nobody’s offering notes of support or at least acceptance either; though I suppose the comments about the “gutsiness” of the move count as a positive.

Overall, nobody seems to know what to think about this. If they do know, they certainly aren’t letting their thoughts be heard.

It’s pissing me off.

“So Zimmermann’s gay,” states a cousin.

“Bi,” I correct.

“Huh.”

Okay, that’s it! I all but throw my hands up as I move for the exit.

“You knew.”

The hissed accusation stops me in my tracks as I realize that there’s one person who would have a stance, and I turn to have Uncle Owen glaring right in my face.

“I… I—“

“You knew those two were screwing each other.”

Uncle Owen punctuates his statement by jabbing his finger into my chest.

In this moment, it doesn’t matter how much hockey has built me up. I feel like I’m a scrawny ten-year-old again, and each jab forces me backwards. Except for those in the immediate vicinity, most of the crowd is still too deep in conversation to notice.

“How long, boy?” he spits.

“Since…” I hate how small my voice sounds. I hate how those around me, even though they don’t like Uncle Owen, are curious for an answer. I hate how part of me wants to give more information than they expect but… can’t. “Since December.”

Actually longer, but nobody needs to know.

Nobody needs to know anything.

“Only two years in that libtard ‘school’, and you’re just full of surprises,” Uncle Owen muses. “Wasn’t the captain elected unanimously by the team?”

“Yes.” Shit! My answer comes out just as I realize why he asked that question. But it’s too late to take it back.

“So you knew the little shit’s a pervert and still voted for him?”

“He’s not a pervert.” I grit out as my hands ball into fists.

“So you say,” he sneers. “And I hear you’re spending the next year in the same house.”

A small part of me feels relief that he doesn’t know that I’m going to room with Nursey. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to control myself right now if the shit he spews goes in that direction. “The rent’s better.”

“Hah. Of course that’s your excuse: ‘The rent’s better.’” There’s a gleam in his eyes that’s too knowing for my liking. “What other faggoty secrets—“

“That’s enough, Owen,” Pa growls while shoving his way through the now-silent crowd. “Leave my son alone.”

My father may be leaning his cane, and he may have kept his right arm back home. But in this moment, he looks ready to kick any able-bodied asshole’s ass.

Uncle Owen sputters, “You’re willing to let this Cultural Marxism—“

“I don’t give a flying fuck if Billy has a Little Red Book in his back pocket. You say another goddamn word to him tonight, and I’ll convince Shannon to finally cut you out of her life for good.” Pa doesn’t even raise his voice, but it’s enough to make everyone take a step back. “That will be after I rearrange your face to be as ugly as mine.”

I don’t know how long the standoff lasts. I only know that Uncle Owen is the one to back down and storm out… and that the bloody crescents in my palms are probably going to last a bit.

As if to enforce a sense of normalcy, the collective conversation picks right back up where it left off. This is despite the subject of the conversation being anything but normal. Still, Pa and I spend a few more minutes milling around before he nods to the door. Then the two of us take our leave and begin the walk back home.

As the sounds of the diner fade, I finally check my phone. Surprise surprise, the chat feed is on fire. Right now it’s mostly incomprehensible gibberish; also Nursey’s making cryptic suggestions to check the national business news in the coming week.

Once everyone calms down, the team should discuss how to proceed from here.

Finally, I look up from my phone and back at Pa to state, “… You do know I’m no tankie, right?”

Pa chuckles, “I know. Just making a point.”

Heh, yeah. A point. He’s just saying that he’d love me no matter what. But would his love really be so unconditional if I actually started spouting commie, nazi, or beardie propaganda? I know mine wouldn’t.

So then why did he bring it up?

Uncle Owen was the one who said ‘Marxism’ first, and Pa was just taking the statement to its logical conclusion. Don’t think too much of it.

But did Pa rebuke Uncle Owen because what was being said was wrong? Or was it just because I was attacked?

If Uncle Owen made his language just focused on them gaysexuals, would Pa make the same statement except with the Little Red Book replaced by a rainbow flag? If he did, would that mean he considers being queer as bad as a communist?

I know that I should really be giving my father more credit than that, and there’s a weight in my stomach at the fact that I’d even have doubts. But still…

Pa nudges me. “Something on your mind?”

“Just… thinking about the coming year.” Which is technically the truth.

That gets a nod from him. “It will be interesting. No doubt about that.”

Yeah… interesting. I can just see the attention Bitty will get between him being Jack’s boyfriend and the first out NCAA ice hockey captain. Media may even come to Samwell.

People will know Bitty lives at the Haus. People will know where the Haus is; even if the media doesn’t divulge the location, it’s not like it’s hard to find due to all the damn kegsters.

What if we get paparazzi waiting for Jack to come to Samwell? What if there is paparazzi obsessed with Bitty himself? What if we get assholes who decide that spewing shit in a comment feed won’t cut it?

We don’t even keep the door locked. But even if we get the Haus secure, we have to walk to campus. Even in school, it’s not like they gate off the campus and limit access.

We should put in new locks and give out a limited set of keys. Convince the frats to install a surveillance system along the whole street. Maybe we’ll even have to stop hosting kegsters so often.

We should do something. We need to do something. We need to do something now! We need to try to keep several steps ahead of them even though they’ll keep trying to find a new way. That includes at our games.

The away games. Fuck. I forgot about the away games. FUCK!

Shit. We’re fucked. We’re so f—

“Billy!”

Pa’s voice forces me to stop walking, and it’s then that I see that I’m at least twenty yards ahead. Billy, you fucking idiot. Hell of a son you are.

“Shit,” I blurt out while rushing back. “I-I’m so—”

Pa cuts me off: “Enough of that. Right now, I just need you to breathe.”

It’s only at his request that I realize my breaths come in rapid gasps and that the hand I’m offering shakes violently.

I try to do as I’ve been taught, but I can’t seem to get anything under control. Pressure builds behind my eyes. Oh, now you’re going to cry about it?

A hand firmly clasps my shoulder, and I look up to see Pa heaving deep even breaths for me to focus on. It’s not easy, but eventually I force myself back on track.

Once stability’s restored, Pa tentatively asks, “What’s the matter, Billy?”

This time, I don’t have to make the truth a technicality: “Just wondering how the school’s going to deal with the media and security issues.”

Pa nods and thankfully doesn’t ask me to elaborate. “I’m sure they’ll figure something out.”

I’m also thankful that he leaves it at that and doesn’t try to further any reassurance as we continue walking in silence.

A silence which only lasts for another few minutes. “So… your captains are together.”

When Pa comments like that, without the crowds around, the situation feels even more naked than before. 

Maybe I can get something out of it though.

“Ayuh,” I mutter. “What do you think about it?”

Pa looks off at some unspecified point. “Well, I can say that my bombshell doesn’t compare to the one they set off,” he remarks with a wry smile and a waving of his forearm stump around the right side of his face.

Jesus Christ… “Jesus Christ, Pa.” It’s not like he hasn’t made similar jokes before, but I still fail to find them funny.

Pa rolls his eye and thumps me on the back. “To answer your question… I don’t know what to think. Though it’s not like it affects us,” he states with a shrug.

It affects us more than you think. “You do know that a lot of queer folk come Downeast, right?”

“Ayuh, and I know they help keep Mount Desert’s economy afloat. Make great music too. They still just pass through at most.”

So is that how it will be okay? As long as distance is maintained?

“Well one of them is going to be officially leading me.”

Pa creases his brow. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he.”

“The other did lead me, and it’s not like he became magically bi after graduation.”

“Hm…”

My jaw clenches. At least it’s not fucking “huh”.

Our porch light shines into view and guides us inside. Once we get to the kitchen, Pa takes his prescribed painkillers while I watch; I know it’s irrational of me as he hasn’t gotten hooked so far, and it’s not like I’m here all the time, but I can’t help it after a few recent cases.

As he sets his glass down, Pa sighs, “Look, Billy. I know they’re your friends. So maybe I don’t get it. Doesn’t matter. I trust your judgement.”

It does matter. But still… “Thank you.”

“Hell, they’re welcome to stop by.” Pa barely finishes his statement before barking out a laugh and shaking his head. For a brief moment my stomach clenches until he murmurs, “Like a Falconer would come here…”

I hide my relief with a huff: “You never know. You saw how full of surprises they are.”

That gets a much warmer laugh from him. “Ayuh. They really don’t do anything halfway, do they.”

For once, I allow myself to join in on the laughs. Maybe things can be alright. Maybe they will be alright.

Maybe… just maybe… “Pa, I—”

“Though I’m not sure if I can handle any more surprises,” Pa chuckles before looking up at me. “You say something?”

… it will be a disaster. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

I say goodnight, Pa pulls me in for a one-armed hug, and I make the obligatory noises of protest when he kisses my forehead.  

Then I walk to my room and shut the door to let darkness envelop me.

“Nothing at all.”