#otherwise it’ll just be traditional expression stuff

[assortedmutts]

A X for the whole cast

Valentine’s headcanon meme.

A   :   AFFECTION.   how does your muse show affection?

Merc: affection, to him, means trust and loyalty above all. He likes for his partner to be able to rely on him, no matter what - be it in providing them with protection, comfort or support. He’ll lend them an ear and a shoulder to cry on and provide them with whatever acts of service he can think of - bring them food, take care of them (best he can) when they’re down, handle their enemies if such exist, back them up on anything and everything. Sometimes, it can be something as simple as removing their shoes from their feet after a long day, ironing their clothes, tidying up, or pampering them in bed if they’re up for it.

He’ll start taking pictures of places around the world that make him think of them, or buy them gifts. He likes putting thought into these and making sure they’re something special - something no one else would have thought to give them, a reference to a private joke or story, or something you cannot find anywhere else in the world.

Another way for Merc to display trust is that he gradually becomes more verbal and shares with them that way, be it in expressing his opinions or sharing stories from his past. Likewise, he’ll gradually become more comfortable with physical touch, and especially enjoys PDA (when he’s otherwise a very private person and likely would not have been seen with them publicly). He also likes taking them to his favorite spots around the city/country/world (depending on their mobility, I guess): skyscraper rooftops, places with pretty scenery, abandoned buildings that are fun to explore, his favorite food joints, markets, clubs, or the aviary where he keeps his pigeons. Anywhere that’s touched him or is dear to him in some way or another. 

Job: so much physical contact and PDA. He’s gonna have a hand on his partner wherever they are, whatever they’re doing, and he’s going to want to kiss them all the time. Likewise: all the sex they can possibly keep up with. Job’s sex drive is high at any given time and is his go-to way of showing affection, and it only becomes higher when he develops romantic feelings for another person. He’s also a service top through and through and will gladly do whatever his partner wants to please them. 

His loved ones are always on his mind and he likes showing them that whichever way he can: collecting little gifts for them from along the road, trinkets and jewelry/items of clothing from thrift shops, flowers he picks and dries among the pages of his books/journal, pretty rocks and seashells, etc. Since he’s unable to communicate with them regularly while he’s on the road, Job also likes writing to his partners - letters, postcards, love songs (which he will occasionally compose and perform for them upon his return). In addition to all the found/purchased gifts, Job’s favorite form of gift-giving is creating handmade things for his partners, if and when he can (say, if he’s working in construction and has access to woodworking tools). He may create little statues for them of things they like, pieces of jewelry or handy stuff for their home/kitchen like wooden bowls or chopping boards.

Additionally, he just loves hanging out with his favorite people and find activities for them to do together: he’ll take them out on picnics (both day and night; nothing more romantic than dinner under the open night skies), little concerts at parks or dive bars, thrift-shopping, etc., and there will always be food involved in these activities to some capacity or another. Little brings Job more joy than feeding his loved ones, and he will absolutely try to fatten them up with his home cooking if he can.

Saul: as he’s never been in love or involved in a romantic relationship, his means of showing affection lean more towards the platonic side. Like Job, Saul very much enjoys cooking for his loved ones and will happily labor in the kitchen the entire day just to see them enjoy their meal by the end of it, and he loves it all the more if/when they want to participate. He likes to include them in his family traditions if they’re not already part of them, such as inviting them over for Shabbos dinner or a major Jewish holiday and offer for them to partake by helping him recite prayers/practice rituals/even something as simple as offer them a yarmulke or head scarf so that they may show their respect to the occasion. While it’s worth nothing that he will respect their wishes if they don’t want to participate, it’ll likely be very difficult to impossible for him to maintain a romantic relationship with someone who never wishes to partake in his culture.

On the odd occasion that he does go on a date (more like did - don’t think he’s been on a date in, like, 10 years), Saul prefers to use his playing field (Manhattan) to his benefit - take his dates out for walks around Central Park (the High Line is also a favorite, especially at night), visit the MoMA or the Guggenheim, chat over a bottle of red wine and share a few courses in some cute little bistros he knows (LBR, he’s likely friends with the owners and gets to have some special shots/dishes sent over free of charge). 

It may also sound a bit funny but, Saul likes arguing? Maybe not arguing so much as debating. It’s no small part of Jewish culture and he loves sharp people who can keep up with his intellect and will always do his best to challenge them. Catch him debating something entirely theoretical and/or nonsensical to death just for the hell of it, just to see who can win the argument. On a similar note and, though he’s never done it before, he’ll also likely enjoy taking his date to his casino and watch them gamble the night away (wouldn’t mind paying for it, either). Bonus points if his date knows poker or blackjack and can challenge him at the table.

X   :   XOXO.   does your muse use / like pet names?

Merc: as is always the case with this edgelord, the answer is: outwardly no, but secretly yes. Obviously, pet names suggest an intimate relationship, which Merc very much prefers to avoid for obvious reasons.

He does appreciate being called pet names in both platonic and romantic relationships and is an absolute sucker for anything soft a partner might call him, such as baby, angel, princess etc., because he’s so often regarded as tough, monstrous, etc., and because his true identity is obviously a touchy subject. But it’s also worth mentioning that words - and names, at that, their meaning and the way that they’re used - mean a great deal to Merc, and that there’s value and intimacy in his friends and partners calling him by his real name. As he often introduces himself under either an alias or a nickname (even before he became Merc, he’s had more nicknames than he can count on both hands), this is a very rare occurrence and, depending on the circumstances, it could be either comforting or terrifying to be addressed by his real name.

With regards to his own use of pet names, he is far likelier to use derogatory terms as terms of endearment rather than actual pet names: rather than call someone baby or angel or what have you, he’s far more likely to call them a bitch, cunt, dickhead, cocksucker, etc. Helps ignore or come to terms with the level of intimacy that a pet name suggests if it’s derogatory or funny. He also often does the opposite and uses terms of endearment as derogatory terms - calling people darling, sweetheart etc. as a means of humiliating them and showing his disrespect.

With that said, though, it’s not beyond him to eventually drop the facade and use actual pet names for loved ones - namely love, pet, darling and sweetheart.

Job: yes to both!!! So much!!! He’s likely to address people by their official title upon introduction, as per his country manners, but he absolutely loves both using and being called pet names by friends, family and partners alike. Even in casual conversation, he’s likely to address someone as man, girl or dude (dude is used for all genders and is hence his go-to) rather than use their actual names. As for his partners, he tends not to prefer one particular pet name and will call them anything that he can possibly think of: darling, sweetheart, honey, sugar, baby... you get the gist. He also likes to play off of people’s names and create cater-made nicknames just for them.

Saul: yes, absolutely, and you can rest assured that they will be Yiddish pet names more often than not. His father used to do this all the time and, the older Saul gets, the more he takes after Menash, especially when it comes to speech patterns. I.e., he’ll often refer to Jess as boychik (as Menash used to refer to him). Among his favorite terms to use are zeeskeit (sweetness), sheifale (lamb), bubbeleh (doll), libe/r (love, female/male), oyster (treasure) and ketsele (kitten).

[pinkplantmakesstuff]

Introducing my newest Guild Wars 2 character: Proto!

There were going to be a bunch more drawings of how they worked but I kinda had a weird day so I didn't get round to it, but I’ll write up their info anyway! I’m gonna put it under the cut coz otherwise this post is LOOOONG.

General About

Proto is a small robot orb designed and made by the inquest - the point was to make a sentient weapon they could control that changes shape on the battlefield to confuse enemies and kill them with ease. Problem is this was the very first one they ever made, and Proto actually didn’t want to kill people or be told what to do. Before they could calibrate it or remove their sentience or whatever, Proto managed to escape from the lab!

Some balooney science coming up: but the orb that Proto actually is, is protected by the light shield that forms the form they are currently projecting. The shield/hologram feels like very hot glass (think a window that’s been in summer sun all day) and can shift into whatever form Proto wants. The larger the shape, the more energy it drains however, which is why they very rarely assume the form of a Charr or Norn. Asura form the can go without recharging for a week, Human or Sylvari Form they can go every couple of days, and Charr or Norn or anything bigger then a person they have to recharge within a few hours.

Their original form was obviously of a glowing red Asura, but to spite their makers they use the colour blue, and also personally feel uncomfortable with looking like an Asura, though they do often give themselves bigger ears like their creator.

Proto choose the name Proto them-self. They are a small orb with not much world experience (at the moment) and are now disconnected from any and all asuran networks. They didn’t want to be called Prototype Designation (And then a bunch of numbers) so they just took the first part of the word Prototype. Their name and the use of they/them is the only thing they know solidly about themselves. They HATE being referred to as an It and hate when people refuse to call them by their chosen name (Which I think makes sense and probably fairly relatable but also they are an orb so are desperately trying to cling onto any form of identity they can claim as their own)

They do however quite like the form I drew them in; I’m trying to find a way that they saw Casey (Alec’s friend who I still haven’t drawn or properly written about) and decided they liked the way she looked so assumed parts of that for their own appearance. 

Proto doesn’t use traditional weapons, instead their body shifts into whatever shape they need. They often shift their arms into very sharp swords for combat, though sometimes turns one arm into a bow to shoot protected light arrows. And yes the hologram/shield HURTS. It’s very very hot, incredibly sharp light so yeah that can slice you in two. The inquest knew (mostly) what they were doing when they designed Proto.

With enough force you can shatter the hologram shield though to reach the orb, I have a scene I wanna draw where someone does that and crushes the orb because I need me some edgy scenes.

If they get injured/damaged they cannot repair them-self and have to seek help.

Initially Proto doesn’t have any legs on the orb part so they have to roll around which they find humiliating (they only do this when they need to sneak away, have run out of enough power to form the shield hologram or are too damaged.) At some point someone kindly makes them some small stumpy robot legs that they will kick you with (though it won’t hurt at all) if you call their orb form cute.

Their orb form is just as expressive as their hologram shied form too, as I tried to show in the drawings. It’s about the size of a baseball I think.

Personality/Behaviour

Proto is very playful, they love telling jokes and tricking people for fun. The biggest problem is they currently have no real concept of what is and isn’t acceptable.

 They also have very very limited capacity of Action and Consequence. For example, they might push you out of a tree because it’ll be really funny, but they won’t want you to get injured. Problem is you have to hit the ground at some point and might break and arm. Proto didn’t mean for you to get hurt but in that moment they wanted to do something becasue it was funny but hadn’t thought it through. This is partly because they initially weren’t designed to think of things like consequences (they were designed to murder on a battlefield with no remorse) and they are a tiny orb with very small rooms for data processing  and very little outside experience/experience with dealing with people and how they work.

Proto also isn’t stupid by any means. They are actually very intelligent. The problem is they initially have very cheap and small memory/data banks much to their own frustration so they find it very difficult to currently learn and expand their thinking. And without being connected to any network they have to try and keep their knowledge of the world itself at the forefront so they can literally survive as this little orb in the big world of Tyria.

They can learn however with time and experience (and maybe some updated memory banks), but will still retain their love of playing tricks.

They can also feel emotions, albeit in a way that most people wouldn’t understand. A real life example would be that Proto has Alexithymia - they can have limited emotions but don’t have the capacity to understand or process them (And don’t come at me about “You can’t compare people with Alexithymia to a robot” Most people haven’t even heard of Alexithymia and it’s something I very much have and I specifically decided I wanted to write into Proto so I could characterise them in a way I could understand. Wick also has alexithymia and so does Axelia. If people want/ I might do it anyway, I think I’ll make a post about alexithymia coz it genuinely has a massive impact on how I interact with the world and people compared to others)

They actually have a voice and it’s the blooming Google US English robot voice synthesizer. So you can definitely hear that they aren’t a ‘real person’.

ANYWAY that’s MOST of the stuff I could currently think of, I wanted to do a bunch of drawings of their weapon form/asura form but I had a kinda weird/bad day so I didn’t get around to it but I still wanted to post this. Overall Proto is like a poltergeist who doesn’t actually mean harm and just wants to make friends. Also I haven’t made them in game yet. I’ll probably make them as a blue sylvari and then try really hard to get one of those fancy effects infusions, but I’ll do that...at some point XD

Also just saying...it’d be neat if other people came up with hologram orb things too XD

[macbookpro-hard-drive]

control [jeremy h. x squipped!reader] pt.7

wow it took 30 years didnt it. i did it, fuckers. please give me attention-

anyway, heres the final part :) do i know how to proofread? no. thats it thats all i was gonna say, i just dont know how to proofread.

warnings: uhhh none i dont think

                                                            -

              In the middle of August, the Ninja Sex Party dropped their newest album “Cool Patrol” and the two of you were in love. You were in Jeremy’s room, lying on his bed beside him sharing headphones as the album played, and it all felt so teenage rom-com that Jeremy was half-distracted the entire time by you and lost different lyrics because of that. “Orgy for One” played and you nudged Jeremy before mouthing “you” to him with a playful look in your eyes and a smile that set his heart racing. He laughed, and nudged you back just as playful before the beginning to “Danny Don’t You Know” brought the two of you back into reality. He was emotional, and so were you, and there was something about sharing an emotion with someone that was intimate enough to make his heart skip a beat. 

             Your phone buzzed after a while, and you sat up, pulling an earbud out. “Fuck, Jeremy-” You stood up quickly, scrambling to get your things together, “-my cousins were coming over to do that picture thing since we didn’t get a chance before - I gotta go, alright? I’ll text you in a bit.”

             He wouldn’t remember what he said to you, or the dumb joke you made as you were leaving his room. He would remember how the minute you left, he added “Heart Boner” onto your playlist with a devious little smile as if he were getting away with something. Just a little joke between friends. After all - you had that little moment together, how could he not not? 

                                                            -

             An hour after you left, Michael showed up with a plastic bag filled with Chinese takeout for three - eyes widening when he saw your absence. His smile fell as he looked towards the bag in his hand, frowning slightly as he began to delve into his thoughts. For what felt like minutes, the two boys just sat there in silence as Michael finally untied the bag to pass his friend his portion of their meal, frustration evident in the way he furrowed his brow and refused to look him in the eye.

             “They had a family thing,” Jeremy said. “Didn’t [y/n] text you?”

             “No,” Michael said, “they did not. I said I was coming with food and-”

             “It’s tradition,” Jeremy countered. “Y’know? It’s that little... sign-picture-thing. Some sort of family tradition their parents started when they were little.”

             Michael rolled his eyes at the sappy expression crossing his best friend’s face as he placed what had been your meal on the dresser, before collapsing back onto his bed - tilting his head back to maintain eye contact. “That’s cute and all, but what do I do with their orange chicken?”

             He shrugged, turning back to his computer to close out Spotify. “I dunno - we can go by their house later and see if they want it.”

             He heard his comforter shift and assumed that Michael rolled over onto his stomach. “But I have egg rolls for them,” he whined, voice muffled slightly by what Jeremy could only guess was Michael laying his face in his hands.

             A quick booting down of his computer. He shrugged again, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Just don’t eat them?”

             The moment of silence could have killed a man. “Jeremiah.”

             He spun to face him. “Michael.”

             They maintained eye contact for a moment, before Michael shifted so that he was now sitting up - pulling the plastic bag closer to him. “So did you two fuck yet?”

             A thousand broken words slipped past his lips as Jeremy struggled to say something - a question, a swear, something that didn’t make him look stupid. “Why would you ask that!?” he tried to ignore the way his voice raised an octave.

             Meanwhile, Michael seemed to have no problem with disregarding his panic. “So you haven’t.”

             “Uh. No? We’re just friends?”

             “You sure?” Michael asked, not even giving him the chance to answer as he looked away. “I don’t know, dude, you’ve been pining for a fuckin’ while now. Why don’t you just ask them out?”

             “I don’t like-” he paused, before shaking his head. If Michael knew, then he knew - there really wasn’t any point in denying it any further. “I don’t know, I like Christine still-”

             “You can like more than one person at a time, Jeremiah.”

             “I know, but...” “I don’t even know if they like me still.”

             “Dude. Bro. Homie. Broseidon. Buddy. They wanna fuck.”

             “Michael!” 

             “They’re at least interested in you,” he said with a mere shrug of indifference, “do you just not see how they look at you?”

             “I don’t-” Jeremy started, and then he stopped, the words he wanted to say sticky and catching in his throat like honey. “I don’t think-” He paused, shutting his eyes, “Michael, I don’t know why they’d still be into me. Like... they did the whole...” He tapped at his temple, “thing because of me.” He hesitated. That wasn’t entirely true, was it? “Or... they did it slightly because of me. I just - I don’t think they’d, uh, y’know... want anything to do with me like that.” 

             There was understanding in Michael’s eyes, lit up before he looked away to the carton in his hand. He dug through it with chopsticks, letting out a sigh, “Dude, I get that, but... they like you, dumbass.”

             Jeremy laughed it off. “Yeah, sure.”

             “I mean it!” Michael countered, before dropping the topic, “I’m gonna eat your food if you don’t.”

             “What-” Jeremy popped open his order, “fine, okay - but this conversation isn’t over, Michael.” 

             “Mhm. You’ll accept it later.”

             “That’s not what I meant!”

             “You really suck at hiding your feelings, y’know?”

             “Michael!”

                                                            -

             Two weeks later, and Jeremy wasn’t sure how to feel. 

             There were strings of these little... moments between the two of you. He realized how much time he was spending over at your house after Michael teased him over it, how often the two of you studied together and how flustered he’d get when you were close to him, how many times he found himself grabbing your favorite candy from gas stations just to make you smile. One Sunday night, he was sitting at the end of your bed with a pillow hugged to his chest, spending another night at your house while Michael was off spending time with his family (not that Jeremy wouldn’t have been there otherwise - he stayed over every now and then just because he wanted to. Movie nights were good. Dinner was good. Being around you was good). You sat at your desk, legs crossed awkwardly in your chair in a position that looked uncomfortable to him but you showed no signs of discomfort as you continued to draw. The two of you had been talking, and Jeremy had just sat there fascinated with watching you draw after years of not recognizing your progress.

             A question hit the air, heavy and loaded. “Would you have taken it?” You didn’t move to face him, the soft sound of your tablet pen tapping back against the surface as you scroll out and fumble giving away any nerves. “The... the SQUIP,” you went to clarify.

             But he understood, and he spoke quick: “no.” He shifted slightly, holding the pillow closer to himself, “not after what it did to you.”

             “But if you hadn’t known,” you said, pausing for a moment to gather your thoughts, “if... if it had been you, would you have done it?”

             “I mean... I don’t think-”

             “You can say yes, Jeremy,” you finally looked back at him. “I’m not gonna be mad or anything.”

             His shoulders slumped slightly, a bit relieved of the thought. “Okay, then... yeah. I mean, yeah - who wouldn’t?”

             You turned back to your work. “Yeah. Yeah, right? It sounds good. Like... you have a pill that’ll solve everything and tell you the right moves to make... who wouldn’t want that?”

             That’s when Jeremy realized you’d been doubting yourself. Blaming yourself for saying yes. “I think a lot of people would have taken it.” 

             “Yeah... I think so, too.” You stopped drawing after a moment, turning around fully to face him, “can I confess something?”

             He nodded slowly. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, sure?”

             “I don’t keep the Mountain Dew Red because I’m scared it’ll come back and destroy everything and leave me fucked,” you said in a rush of words, shutting your eyes for a moment. “Sorry. I just needed to get it off my chest but... I think it’s better this way.”

             “Hey, no,” Jeremy reached out, fingers brushing over your shoulder. “Michael and I would find more.” 

             You fumbled with your pen, it falling to the floor as you swore softly under your breath. Jeremy reached for it just as you did, foreheads clashing in cliche fashion as you immediately push back. A moment later, he offered your tablet pen back to you.

             He spoke after you took it. “Hey, uh, c’mere for a minute.”

             So you dropped your pen onto your desk and pulled your chair over to the bed. Uncharacteristically calm and soft, he took one of your hands in a motion less Jeremy and more... you... you weren’t sure. It wasn’t entirely Jeremy, that much was confirmed.

             “There was this stuff that mom used to way when I was a kid,” he said quietly, dragging his thumb over your knuckles. “It was this whole...thing about how the ‘loudest voice has to be yours’ when you’re doubting yourself and shit - I don’t know, it just kinda stuck with me and... I’m glad I’ve gotten to know you, because you’re... different? Like - you keep going, and, uh, you’re a big nerd who laughs at my stupid jokes and... I’m glad you’re you, I guess?” 

             You cracked a small smile as you pulled back from him. Before he can question whether he crossed a line, you answer, “I’m saving this. I can’t focus on art with your sappy ass saying shit like that.” You stood, tucking your chair under your desk as you sat on your bed. “Fuckin’ sweet dork,” you mumbled as you pulled Jeremy into a hug.

             He stiffened up for a moment, only to wrap his arms around you after a moment. He smiled into your shoulder, saying a muffled “Shut up” into it as you giggled.

             You pulled away with a smile. “Why don’t you make me, Jeremy?”

             One of his biggest regrets was not asking to kiss you right then and there.

                                                           -

            Days later, you were in his room for once, sitting on his bed beside him. You were tired, far more than he was, looking at math problems that were blurry to you as you stifled back another yawn. Jeremy had stretched out, awkwardly leaning against his headboard as he tried to stay away until you finally resigned for the night - shutting your notebook and tossing it towards your backpack with a noisy clamor. You leaned against him, mumbling words long forgotten into his shoulder - likely about hating numbers - only to whine when he sat forward a moment later. Soon enough, he returned to be your pillow once more, laughing softly as you curled into his side contently and making some joke about how you only wanted him around for this reason.

            “Nope,” you had hummed, “too bony. Bad pillow.” 

            He snorted a little, reaching up to tuck back a strand of hair out of place. “You seem happy.”

            “I am,” you hummed. “Since it’s you.”

            He reached up, gently tugging you closer to him in order to worm an arm around you. “You’re tired.”

            “Mhm.”

            “Sorry I kept you up.”

            “That’s okay,” you mumbled into his shoulder, shifting slightly to be closer to him. “Math is stupid.”

            “It’s not stupid,” he countered, “you just aren’t good at it.”

            “Thus making it stupid, Jeremiah.”

            Eventually, you went quiet. At first, Jeremy thought you’d fallen asleep, but you sat forward slightly, looking up at him and it was almost like there had been magnetism between you. You had leaned forward, and he gently reached up to guide your face to his, and the two of you kissed for a soft, quiet moment. Soon enough, you had drawn away and cuddled back up to him. He wasn’t sure if he fell asleep first, but he remembered how warm you felt against him and he remembered feeling nothing but warmth in his chest as he eventually dozed off.

            There were a few things that hit Jeremy when he woke up. The pain in his back from falling asleep half-sitting against the headboard of his bed, the weight on him that confused him for a moment for a millisecond before he felt your hot breath tickling his skin, face buried in his neck. Then the memory of the night before - of a clumsy kiss he’d been craving for so long, and the way you kissed back and maybe that was his imagination? He wasn’t sure, but the thought was enough to nearly make him jolt - but you were enough to keep him as still as he could be. He looked at how peaceful you looked, and he felt his heart swell at just how warm you were against him and the memory of your lips haunted him as he felt his skin grow hotter. If remembering kissing you was enough to make him completely flustered, anything more would probably kill him.

            Eventually, you woke up, groggy and sleep-ridden still at first as you sat forward and rubbed at your face. “Jeremy, I hate to break it to you-” You paused, yawning, “-but you aren’t a great pillow.”

            He chuckled at that, sitting forward. “Hey, uh... sorry to, uh, ask, but, uh, do... do you remember anything about last night...?”

            You stared at him, uncertain at first before you thought back on what had happened. You threw your notebook at your bag. And then... It came back to you, striking you hard and fast. “Oh.”

            “I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, “I just - I was tired and I wasn’t thinking and I shouldn’t have...” 

            And he slowly trailed off when he saw the way you were looking at him, voice caught in his throat as your gaze flickered from his eyes to his lips and then back. He heard you whisper something - “fuck it,” he was pretty sure - before you started going in for another kiss - and he leaned forward to meet you halfway, a hand sliding into your hair as you grow closer to him. The night before had been gentle, sleep-ridden and warm - and now the two of you are awake and clumsy and so wonderfully alive during this messy kiss. His teeth had clashed against yours, your forehead bumped against his, but you correct. A little less force, a little more gentleness, a changing of an angle - the tiny ways to make things better and less awkward.

            In a bold move you definitely didn’t expect, Jeremy’s hand falls to your hips, pulling you closer to him by your belt loops (a cruel reminder that you were asleep in jeans). His kisses grew slightly more frantic, more hungry, more needy - the tiniest little whimper slipping past his lips once you finally pull yourself back, breathing softly as you stared at him. His hand slipped back to your jaw, thumb grazing your jawline slowly and gentle.

            “Jeremy?” you whispered, staring at him, “wait, you-”

            “I... I know we were gonna try to be friends, but... I think I like you.”

            You stared at him, flustered as he tore his gaze away from yours - a pretty rosy hue decorating his skin, blotchy and creeping up his neck to the tips of his ears. 

            “I, uh, I mean, I didn’t... I never planned on, uh... I just - I don’t - I, uh, I think you’re... a big nerd. You... you laugh with me and you, uh, you care about things - and you... you remember things about me - and, uh, other people do but... you’re just... you’re different.” He trailed a thumb across your skin. “You... feel like home. Even, uh, even if this... doesn’t really go anywhere, I - I’m glad that I know you and- I understand if you don’t, uh, don’t actually want this to go anywhere but-”

            And you laughed. At first his stomach dropped, anxiety taking over as he grew nervous over the thought of you rejecting him - but something about the way you laughed made his heart flutter, one hand steadying yourself on his shoulder while the other hid your face.

            “I... I don’t really know how to explain it better, but... can I, uh, can I kiss you again?”

            And you laughed again, reaching up to brush back hair from his face. “Yes, Jeremy. You can kiss me again.”

[tortoisesshells]

Six Sentence Sunday: Buying Time (1/3, ~1450 words, some salty language, people coping with grief poorly)

this was supposed to be modern!fake-dating!AU for Customs and Duties, but, so far, there’s no dating, fake or otherwise - just a lot of pottering around an antiques shop, with a side helping of cocktail-party knowledge of clockmaking and 19th century US naval scandals. I have a plan. maybe. I also may be sorry.

The first time Nellie Treat met James Norrington, esq., he was already drunk at 2:30 on a winter Tuesday. It was Tuesday simply because it was the day after Monday, and it was 2:30 because sometime after lunch the new-old naval clock had struck five completely uninspiring bells – and it was still light outside. A sixth bell rang from the door swinging open, and Nellie had glanced up from her unending round of correspondences and deep-internet trawling to see a tall, cleanshaven man glancing about himself with complete bewilderment, as though he’d been expecting Narnia – or maybe a drop into a bottomless pit.

“Welcome,” Nellie’d said, with her polished customer-service smile, “Can I help you find something specific? Do you have an inquiry?”

“I drank too much,” the tall man replied, gesturing vaguely behind himself down the main drag, to any number of establishments, “I’ve walked around for an hour but I left my coat somewhere.” He paused expectantly, as though what he said had made any sense whatsoever.

Unbelievably (or maybe believably – she was a widow with two children and wasn’t getting any younger, and it wasn’t like she got out much), this had been the start of a fairly interesting friendship  –

Even if he had spent the next hour rambling about the duel between Decatur and Barron and the Chesapeake-Leopard Affair.

*

What Nellie Treat learned about James Norrington, in fairly short order thereafter, was this:

(1) He was a graduate of Princeton, Yale, and Harvard, in some combination of B.A.s and M.A.s and J.D.s which, as a proud graduate of a state school, she forgot as quickly as she could,

(2) He had upper-class-WASP-male-appropriate love of all things maritime, which led her to believe there was probably a daysailer, at the very least, in a marina somewhere, and she would have bet Sam’s grandmother’s pearls that there was at least one model ship in his office, and a collection of Samuel Eliot Morison’s histories on his shelves, somewhere,

(3) He’d just been dumped by his fiancé at a political fundraiser luncheon in Boston, which didn’t precisely explain why he was here. “95,” was the closest thing she’d gotten to an answer, which she supposed was technically correct, and,

(4) He was both sharp and a little stuffily polite, because not two days after their inauspicious first meeting she’d received an immaculately-penned note thanking her for her coffee, her argument, and her kindness. A few days later came a formal inquiry through her shop’s email: he was looking for a shelf clock from a particular Newport maker she’d never heard of. Was this a commission she was interested in undertaking?

Considering Mary had one more year at Stanford, yes. Yes, she was.

*

God, that fucking clock.

*

There wasn’t any particular reason to believe that Elinor Coggeshall would have turned into a respectable antiques dealer, since as a kid the only thing old stuff meant to her was the endless round of family hand-me-downs. Antiques had been Sam’s thing – in part, he guessed, because he grew up around the stuff (that hadn’t been donated to places like the MFA or the Wadsworth Atheneum or even, in the case of his great-great-something-great Uncle’s punchbowl, with its bold maker’s mark, “REVERE”, in the Metropolitan). The other part had been his love of stories and people and the endless revolutions of historical rumor and gossip mills. So, Nellie had married into the business.

And then, after ten years of marriage, Sam started complaining about headaches. Six months later, he was gone.

Ridiculous as it was, she observed some of the old mourning traditions – she lived around the things that had seen it firsthand, over a century ago – and it gave her something to do, covering mirrors and tying black ribbons on her framed photos, and spending an atrocious amount of time on the internet only to discover no one really made mourning crepe anymore, because, well – who did that? Who needed it? She must have worn the same three black turtlenecks and the same two pairs of black slacks for three months, until Aunt B had kindly but pointedly told her she looked more like a beat poet than a widow. Polly and Sam seem pretty relieved, too – and Mary, all the way from Stanford, pointedly sent her a beautiful and brilliantly colored floral scarf, to mark the change.

And business went on. What else was she supposed to do? No amount of crying would ever bring Sam back – and it wouldn’t pay the grief-counseling bills, either.

*

Where the clock was concerned, she had little luck – furniture, really, was what she knew best, and sure, yes, there was a fair amount of overlap between cabinetry and clocks, particularly when, before the mechanization of clock production in the wake of Eli Terry’s innovations, clockmakers had really only focused on the gears and mechanisms, and left the housings to carpenters and cabinetmakers – but she’d never really dealt in clocks besides a novelty one every now and again. That was mostly for her own amusement, anyway – like the naval clock over the door to her office, or the clock in a fake old-fashioned diver’s helmet that she’d found at an estate sale and given to her brother, who laughed for a good fifteen minutes over Skype because of it.

At the end of the first month, she’d sent an email to Mr. Norrington, esq., reporting very nicely and not in so many words, that she’d found sweet fuck-all, but there were these promising leads on clocks similar in build, mechanism, or origin. She didn’t expect any of them were good enough, and, Mr. Norrington emailed back politely that he appreciated her effort, but none of these were correct, and he’d like her to keep looking.

March was much the same, as was April: Mr. Norrington, here are these clocks that aren’t exactly what you’re looking for; thank you, Mrs. Treat, but I’d appreciate it if you continued to look. There were a few more pleasantries from him, with reference to a short article on Decatur, belatedly making the point he’d tried to make but for the scotch those three months ago. It made her laugh a little, even.

May was shaping up to be much the same, save that, shortly before noon – an unimpressive seven bells, that was punctuated, again, by the ring of the shop-door-bell as it opened. “Welcome,” she said, looking up from her emails and list of estate sales she wanted to buzz through either for out of town friends or from her own sense of piratical treasure-hunting – and the intellectual challenge of getting in and out with two children at ten and eight in tow. It had been a good month since her last major commission.

At any road, she’d set aside her pen and paper, looking up with her placid expression, and –

“Ah, Mrs. Treat,” said Mr. Norrington, “Good morning.”

Nellie had a sudden presentiment that he’d come to thank her but dismiss her in person, since he seemed a thorough, conscientious, and probably old-fashioned sort. She probably should have expected that, and she smiled a little more determinedly and plastically as a result.

“Good morning, Mr. Norrington. How can I help you today?”

“I was passing through, on my way to New York,” he said, by way of explanation, “And I wondered, in light of that, and the work you have done for me, if I might not suspend the monthly email in favor of a short conversation?”

“All right.” She gathered her notes and her tablet under her arm, and gestured towards her office at the back of the shop. “It’s not the neatest place in the world, but it’ll do. Do you want some tea?”

“Would you like lunch? On my tab. I’ve never seen so many diagrams of mechanisms and assemblages, and I’ve certainly learned more about hardwoods than I ever expected. You must have gone cross-eyed, Mrs. Treat.”

Nellie protested that it was far too generous an offer, but Mr. Norrington pushed back that he had hardly discharged her – her kindness (he said, vaguely, a little color rising in his cheeks at the memory) towards him, from those months ago.

So, a little while later, that was how Nellie found herself locking up and setting the security system, setting her quaint little Out-To-Lunch sign that Sam had penned in during his calligraphy phase in the door, and poking her head into Hancock’s to tell Lydia that she’d be back in an hour.

[enavance]

i think like  . . .  in terms of the final fantasy setting itself,  i’m honestly not sure if estinien and cherry would ever get married by nature of being the kind of people that they are.  they are both so similar in their values and the way they react and their cold and distant exteriors,  and marriage has never been something on cherry’s mind,  mostly out of fear,  but estinien being so similar to cherry,  i can’t imagine that he’d feel too strongly about it either,  even though he and cherry are  . . .  quite in love but.  like.  they love each other and i think have come to terms with,  enough at least,  the prospect of maybe losing each other because  . . .  that’s one of cherry’s biggest fears,  you know.  getting close to people and loving them only to lose them.  she can’t fathom that hurt.  and like,  to cherry,  she doesn’t necessarily see it like being a difference to the relationship itself,  it’s more a status thing to her and perhaps the intimacy of the ceremony is something she might come around to wanting to experience but.

i like to think that some day they might  ‘  settle down  ’  together,  even if that means continuing to wander the world,  either together or alone on their own respective adventures and jobs,  but i can’t really imagine them being overly domestic,  certainly not cherry.  maybe sometimes,  just as a change of pace and sense of calm and to slip away from the world,  but not often.  they’re both loner types who like to keep moving and just.  i don’t know.  they’ve always had an understanding of each other,  especially after estinien shared his backstory and all,  and cherry eventually shares hers too,  way down the line.  not because she had any intention of spilling anything,  but sometimes,  cherry talks and gets deep without really meaning to and she says things so casually in a reminiscent manner and she shares more than she realizes,  but that just goes to speak on how much she trusts whoever it is she’s talking to,  and in this case if it’s estinien,  she’ll trickle out more words than she likely meant to.

i don’t know.  i think the idea of cherry getting married is a beautiful concept because all of her friends could gather at the ceremony and i think it’s something i want for her,  but it might take some time for cherry to get there herself,  no matter how much she loves someone.  i bring estinien into this because  . . .  that is my favorite cherry/npc ship,  but this is relevant for any ship,  really,  npc or otherwise or crossovers or whatever.  trying to touch on romance with cherry is a very long and hard process and she’ll more likely get scared and run and prefer to be friends with most people.  estinien is just one of those few exceptions just because of their similarities,  both in personality and lifestyle,  and their shared trauma bonding experiences and stuff.  easing into romance with cherry will  . . .   never be easing in.  it is rocky,  turbulent,  because she will get scared and run and push you away and if you’re her type at all and you’re lucky enough to break under her skin through countless trials again and again,  well  . . .  she will still never be soft,  or overwhelmingly loving or the doting type.  cherry can be affectionate,  but she’s affectionate in her own way.  she’s not good at expressing herself or being open or vulnerable and doesn’t like to do so in traditional ways,  and that’s why she and estinien work so well,  too.  her preferred partners are people who are like that and aren’t so doting.  she doesn’t care for really mushy people at all because while cherry does enjoy affection,  after the 435834795 years that it takes to break through to her,  she doesn’t really like to be doted on.  at least,  not too much.  the peak of her tolerance was like laying her head in haurchefant’s lap and he pets her and kisses her but like.  then again.  haurchefant was another special case so.  dfjkbdfv yeah.

even in like a modern setting,  her approach to relationships is more or less the same,  but she may be more willing to think about things like marriage in the modern world.  but it’ll still come with this trouble.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Kiss It Better

Prompt: #57 + #96 for anon – “I never meant to hurt you.” + “Come here, I’ll give you a hug.”

Anonymous said:

hey chelle! are you still accepting requests for your youxidol drabble game? if you are then can i please get number #57 with #96 for seventeen's jun? thank you so much!☺️

Pairing: Wen Junhui x reader

Genre: friends to lovers

Warnings: none

A/N: I changed the second prompt a tiny bit.

Word count: 1166

“To the left,” he directed, moving slowly towards that part of the room, watching out for you since you were walking backwards whilst carrying your end of the bookshelf. Jun then nodded. “Okay, we’re there. Gently, gently.”

“I know how to put it down safely, Jun,” you remarked, letting go of the bookshelf a little higher than your friend anticipated. He gaped at you and you shrugged in response, wiping your palms on your jeans before stepping around him. He turned and watched as you headed for the exit. “Come on, slowpoke, we don’t have all day to move you into this apartment!”

Jun wondered if asking you to help him was a good idea now. Of course, as his longest friend, you wouldn’t disagree about giving up your Saturday to help him move homes, but he should have expected you would be eager to get it done too. Following you out to the trailer where the rest of his belongings were, you gestured to the bed. “Let’s do this next.”

“It makes more sense to remove everything else since it’s all around it,” Jun mentioned with a shake of his head and you groaned.

“If we leave the bed until last, will we have enough energy left to lift it inside? I think not. Come on, with a little wriggling, it’ll come out easily. I’ll climb up into the trailer and push it out. Deal?”

“I still think-” Before he could refute your idea, you were already up in the trailer, swinging under the cage bar and scooting over the top of his desk. Jun lurched forward at your reckless approach, unsure if he was more worried about you or his belongings in the process. “Just be careful!”

“Of course, who do you take me for?!” you cried from in amongst his stuff, reappearing from behind the bed smugly. “Alright, I’m going to push it up and over the bar. Get ready to catch it for me.”

“Y/N, just go really slow.”

“I know what I’m doing!”

“Yes, but this bed will be heavy and I don’t want to end up – OW!”

With a shriek, you peered around the side of the base, gasping when you found Jun holding one hand on the bed and the other over his face. You bounced up and down in the trailer in your frazzled state and Jun hissed at you for shaking the bed even harder. “Oh, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I thought you had it!”

“Well, I didn’t until my face caught its fall,” he grumbled, lowering his hand enough to glare at you. Despite the pain, he composed himself and took hold of the base with both hands. “Okay, this time go really slow.”

You didn’t shoot back a response, slowly edging the base out until you were both free from the trailer and able to take it inside. You were silent as you listened to his instructions, setting it down in his bedroom and then immediately came to his side, worriedly examining his face. You gasped. “Oh no, you’ve started to swell! I never meant to hurt you, are you okay?!”

For a moment, he merely stared at you and then shrugged, turning away before your expression made him feel any warmer. He was used to your bold, confident personality. But whenever you softened, it made his insides mush together. He didn’t want to admit for a long time now, he had hoped your friendship would blossom into something more.

You didn’t let him walk off as he planned, your hand reaching out for his forearm. Moving in front of him again, you focused on his right cheek where most of the pain resided, expression troubled. And then without any warning, your lips pressed to his cheek, a hand now on his shoulder to balance your sudden movement. Despite not expecting your gesture, Jun reached out to support you as you stood on the top of your toes, your lips falling from his cheek just as fast as they touched it.

His skin burned.

“Wha-what was that for?” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck when you stepped out of his arms.

You were equally as affected, giggling awkwardly. “Well, my Mum always used to kiss my booboos better, right? I figured since I caused it, I should kiss it better for you.”

Jun didn’t reply and you grew further uncomfortable. “I’m sure it will stop stinging now, right?! Anyway, we better get back to it.”

Spinning around hastily, you went to leave the room but caught your foot on the base of the bed, soon catapulting into the wall across from you with a thud.

And then all was silent.

“Are you alright?” Jun enquired, stopping when you held out an embarrassed hand in warning. He chuckled. “Do you want me to kiss it better?”

“Nope!”

“How about a hug? Come here, I’ll give you one.”

Shaking your head, you leapt away from the wall and smiled briefly. “I’m fine! Don’t worry about me!”

You headed out of the bedroom and Jun followed, catching you before you stepped back outside. Wrapping his arms around you from behind, he then rested his head on your shoulder. “My cheek hurts.”

“I’m not going to say what hurts on me,” you murmured and he glanced at your reddened face. “You’re definitely not kissing me there.”

He noticed the way you held your chest and Jun chuckled, stepping in front of you and smiled. “How about I try anyway?”

“No, I-”

Softly, he captured your lips in his own, pressing into them before moving languidly. He didn’t want to be too fast with the kiss, worried you might freak out. Instead, he knew when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer that you were more than happy with this embrace. He smiled against you and you couldn’t help the giggle that erupted within the kiss.

“Do you feel better now?” he asked when he pulled away, heaving in a deep breath.

You frowned, contemplating an answer. “Well, I’m not too sure.”

“Need me to kiss you better again?” he offered and you tried to remain nonchalant, your eyes letting him know otherwise. You wanted more. And he couldn’t help but feel empowered by it.

Except this time, the kiss deepened and he knocked his cheek against your face right when you hissed about your chest pressing too much into his body. Falling apart, you laughed at each other. “Maybe we need something more traditional to feel better. Do you have any Ibuprofen?”

“Should we go get some when we stop for lunch?” Jun suggested and you nodded, both heading out to the trailer and eying all of his belongings tiredly. “But first we need to move all of this.”

“I guess until we get medicine, we’ll just have to keep treating one another to keep the pain at bay, right?”

He smiled. “If that’s our only option, I’m not going to complain.”

_________________

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[sweetheart-minnie]

On The Top Of A Ferris Wheel || Minzel

Summary: Minnie convinces Marzel to go on the Ferris Wheel with her during the Fall Carnival

Trigger Warnings: None this is purrree

@marzelsoto

MINNIE

Minnie had pulled all the stops necessary to get Marzel to go to the carnival. She had the day off and wanted to enjoy the carnival but not alone. Of course, she could be with Peri but she didn't want to be a third wheel between her and her boyfriend, so she dragged Marzel.

"Ever got on a ferris wheel before?" She asked all while enjoying a huge thing of cotton candy she had gotten herself.

MARZEL

Marzel wasn’t intending on going to the carnival, his sister had suggested that he go but he hadn’t really had a need or a want to. Somehow though with a pouting Minnie in front of him he agreed and now here he was in front of a giant wheel and apple cider in his hands.

“I haven’t. How does it even work?” Marzel questioned trying to figure it out though for a moment he forgot that was something a human would know.

MINNIE

Aw, Marzel had never enjoyed a ferris wheel ride. Minnie didn’t know why she found that so endearing, but she did. She was also glad to be the one to introduce him to what was practically a Fall tradition in Swynlake. 

Minnie was sure that there wasn’t an old timer in town who has not ridden the Ferris Wheel during the annual Fall Carnival.

“You’ll love it then! The first ride is always the best one, so you see those seats there.” The brunette freed one of her hands so that she was able to point at the seats on the ferris wheel. 

“We’ll be sitting on one of those and the Ferris Wheel takes a slow spin completely around, stopping pretty frequently to unload and reload. The best is when we are stopped at the top because you get a beautiful view of town from there, especially if you can catch the sun setting.” 

MARZEL

Marzel followed her hand to look over the ‘ferris wheel’ it looked precarious if he was to be honest. How could anything be safely built in the span of a few days and then be taken apart and removed just as easily. 

But he was also intrigued. And so many people seemed to enjoy it so really what was there for him to fear?

Hopefully nothing.

“Well we may not get the setting sun but I imagine it will still be a nice view?” Marzel stated simply still amazed and worried about the ferris wheel as they moved to line up. “By the way can I try a little bit of your cotton candy?”

MINNIE

“It’ll be great. The sky is clear and there isn’t a hint of rain. It’s perfect even if the sun isn’t setting yet. I always love going on the ferris wheel. I didn’t get to go on it last year. I volunteered to help with the setup of the festival and then had to go to work that night for a twelve hour shift.” 

It had been a switch Minnie had agreed to for Lily, so that her friend could come spend some time at the carnival with a date. Honestly, how was she to say no to that?

“Super glad that isn’t the case this year.” 

She perked. She had the entire night off and was just as happy that she wasn’t going to have to get on the ferris wheel alone. Sure, the view was beautiful either way, but it was always better when she wasn’t seeing it alone. 

Plus, she always liked spending time with Marzel. 

Smiling, Minnie inched her cotton candy closer to Marzel. “Of course. It tastes great. How’s your apple cider?” 

MARZEL

Marzel wasn’t even that surprised. Minnie worked too much and that was a simple fact that he already knew very well. But Marzel wasn’t about to let her duck away for a shift unless it was an absolute emergency. 

Until then they just needed to enjoy themselves at the very least.

Reaching out Marzel took a piece of the sugar, too nervous to have bought one himself without trying it. It was so cloyingly sweet he couldn’t help grimace a little. “I think I prefer the cider to that.”

MINNIE

Minnie couldn’t help but to laugh even though she had tried very hard to keep it in, really she did. She hid her face with her cotton candy until she finished laughing. 

“I’m so sorry but your face was priceless.” 

It had been cute how it had gotten all wrinkled and taken aback. It wasn’t an expression Minnie was used to seeing in Marzel. He was always so serious, in this brooding type of way that Minnie had grown fond of. It was nice to see this side. 

“You didn’t like it? Maybe I should have warned you that it’s very sweet.”

MARZEL

Marzel blushed, the tips of his ears completely red as he lifted his hand to hide his cheeks. A human should have known. He should have been aware and yet for a moment he had been truly surprised at the taste and hadn’t even tried to mask it.

“I know it’s called spun sugar but I don’t know what I was expecting. If I was expecting anything else.” Marzel admitted slowly. “I don’t think I like sweet things all that much.”

MINNIE

Normally, Minnie was the one who always ended up blushing because it was just so easy to get her to blush, but seeing it now on Marzel was a nice refreshing switch, although she kept that thought to herself. 

Instead, she laughed a little more giving Marzel a mock studied look before concluding with a nod of her head. 

“You know, I can see that. I would peg you for a no sugar or cream in your coffee type of guy just straight black. Whereas with me I welcome loading my coffee in all the cream and sugar. Never try any of the pastries I eat at Hatter’s if you can’t handle this cotton candy.” 

MARZEL

Marzel had to look away from Minnie, the laughter and everything too much that he wasn’t going to be able to stop the blood rushing to his face. “I do prefer it more bitter than sweet.” But Marzel also drank more tea than he did coffee and tea had a lot more flavour to it.

“Perhaps this is how you survive all the shifts that you work?” Marzel questioned as they were ushered onto the ride and Marzel threw out his now empty cider.

And he paid careful attention to see how to buckle up correctly.

MINNIE

“How did I know.” 

Minnie teased, popping a little more of her cotton candy into her mouth before she followed Marzel in the ferris wheel seat. She too made sure to buckle up correctly, not that she was thinking that anything bad was going to happen during the ride, but one never knew. 

And they did live in Swynlake after all.

“And absolutely.” She admitted with no shame at all. “It’s my secret weapon. One coffee before starting the shift and another one once the shift ends. If the shift is really, really, bad then I go for a third cup in the middle of my shift for a pick me up. Coffee is a life saver.” 

Ever wanted to make Minnie’s day? Just bring her coffee while at work. 

“Any hospital worker that tells you otherwise is lying.” 

MARZEL

Maybe Marzel was too forthcoming, maybe he was too obvious. Maybe Minnie paid more attention then he gave her credit for. Maybe Marzel should have been creating boundaries instead of saying yes and coming out here with her.

“I’m afraid you’re the only one I know so you could lie to me and I would have no choice but to believe you.” Then again he was sure Minnie could tell him anything and he would still believe it. 

Creak went the wheel as it started to bring them higher.

MINNIE

“Well, you’re in luck then because I am a horrid liar.”

Not that Minnie would lie to Marzel, she never felt the need to do so. It was probably one of the many reasons she enjoyed spending time with him. She never felt like she had to be anybody else around him. He took her as she was even with every shaken head at her hectic schedule and sad inability to say no.

“I ramble when I lie, like embarrassingly so, so you would know right away if I was. I literally cannot get away with anything.”

She rambled when she was nervous too and whenever she got worried. 

“I’m also an emotional eater, like when I’m angry I like to stuff popcorn while venting. I ate a whole bag and a half of popcorn once while angry, not one of my proudest moments if I’m honest.” 

The ferris wheel took off and Minnie’s eyes shifted a moment to look through the open space of the ferris cart. In a few they’ll both be able to see the whole of Swynlake and Minnie was super excited for that. 

MARZEL

There was an innocence to Minnie, the inability to lie but the fact that she didn’t mind. The fact that she owned that. It was kind of adorable...for a human. It was a reason he trusted her so much at this point. Even holding himself back he had found himself trusting her.

Hence being trapped in this machine that he didn’t understand.

It was shakier than expected but maybe he was just more sensitive to the motion and as he glanced over the edge Marzel immediately wished he hadn’t. He was used to being below sea level or on the ground.

“T-that’s higher than ex-pected.” And damn his voice stuttered too.

MINNIE

There was a shakiness to Marzel’s voice that was very foreign to Minnie’s ears. In fact, she was pretty sure it was something she hasn’t heard out of him. Marzel always held a strong air of confidence to him. 

He knew who he was, knew what he believed, was always solid.

And maybe this was the wrong reaction, but Minnie was smiling. It was by no means at his expense, but here she was learning these little hidden pieces of Marzel. They were those pieces that were kept tucked away, the ones everyone had but never wanted to admit. She was given the chance to peek in and see.

These weren’t thoughts Minnie should be dwelling and so she pushed them aside and carefully moved herself so that she was sitting beside Marzel.

Minnie hoped that the close presence would bring some ease. “This is about as high as we get. You’ll be seeing the cotton candy stand very soon.” She teased.

MARZEL

Marzel knew that Minnie had slipped over though his eyes had stayed focus on the ground. How did people like to be up this high and look at it. He had taken a plane here of course but he hadn’t needed to see any of it. He hadn’t even really thought about it and now there was no way to ignore it.

With both their hands on the seat Marzel didn’t even think before he had reached out taking Minnie’s in his own.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Marzel questioned turning his attention to her and trying to ignore the passing ground.

MINNIE

Marzel placed his hand on her’s and Minnie didn’t know how to react, or maybe she did because she didn’t take her hand away. Truth be told, she didn’t want to. Marzel holding her hand felt comfortable, it felt warm, like it was supposed to be there fitting perfectly well with her own.

Minnie could hear her own heart picking up in pace within her chest, the sound drumming hard against her ear drums. She was probably making this more than what it was and if she didn’t stop all these thoughts there would be a burning red coating her cheeks soon. 

This is why they say not to have feelings for your friends. It blurred the lines and made it messy. It was why the brunette was always constantly denying it. 

Marzel turned to look at Minnie now, a smile lining her lips. “Maybe just a little.” She admitted with a playful teasing air. “You don’t have to look out of the carriage.” The brunette gave his hand a small gentle squeeze. “It’ll help if you don’t.” 

MARZEL

Minnie had squeezed his hand and for the first time Marzel realized he had grabbed onto her hand. He shouldn’t have done that but he found that he didn’t really care that he had. The ever present thought that Minnie was a mundus human was not at the forefront of his mind.

His fear was. But at the same time it was this kind girl in front of him as well.

This wasn’t like what it was with Adella either, he had jumped into that head first without even meaning to. Before he could say no he was in water he had never navigated before.

But here it was soft, the slow ever presence of gentle waves coaxing a shy fish out before showering him with sunlight. That’s what Minnie’s laughter and smile had accomplished, even as it inched toward sunset she offered a gentle warmth. 

Marzel didn’t want to lose that, and he wasn’t sure at what point he had become determined to keep her friendship in his life. From the walks home or the slow experience of new things on both their side. Or re-experience for Minnie.

“That would mean I would be focusing on you for the rest of the ride, Would it not?” Marzel questioned lightly, carefully, an attempt to now send a school of fish fluttering away at the sudden sound.

MINNIE

Minnie’s cheeks began to glow a burning red and she wasn’t sure how much was showing through the strands of her hair. For once her hair wasn’t up in a bun where it typically lived because of work. Still she could feel the warmth of her cheeks and she wasn’t even touching them. 

Her heart was still raising and Minnie could have sworn that it had even picked up more in pace. 

She felt like a fidgeting school girl who had this massive crush but didn’t know what to do with it. Her nerves were all tangled and she felt like mush. All of this because of a question that was asked of her, just one simple question. She wasn’t sure how she was not a physical jittery mess on her seat right now, but that wasn’t something the brunette cared for pondering at the moment.

Not that she could’ve even if she tried, her head was literally firing in every single direction. It was a mess. 

“I guess that would.” Minnie was still smiling and had she leaned in closer? She felt like she was closer or the carriage had somehow grown smaller in size around her. “I don’t think that would be such a terrible thing.”

MARZEL

Marzel had quickly forgotten about the potential to plunging to his death when he found himself focusing on Minnie. Her eyes seemed to grow in size and he couldn’t help focusing just on her. She drew in his full attention and Marzel had nothing to spare anyone else and he could only be thankful that no one else was here at the current moment. 

He would surely be ignoring them if that was the case.

Reaching with his free hand Marzel gently placed it onto her cheek his thumb running across her cheek. “Is this alright?”

MINNIE

Minnie’s heart was beating so loud she wondered if Marzel could hear it. She wondered if the pad of his thumb could feel the deep heat emitting from her cheek. His touch felt so gentle against her skin, soft, welcoming and warm. 

It was something she could get used to. 

It was something Minnie wanted to get used to. She wanted this, all of this. All the little moments she could share with Marzel no matter how small or simple. She wanted him around, wanted him to hold her or for her to curl herself snuggled against his chest where she could hear the steadiness of his heart beating. All the walks home she wanted her hands in his and she even wanted all those wrinkled faces he made whenever he tasted something sweet.

Truth be told, she has wanted all of it for a while but she always denied it, and when Marzel began dating Adella she had pushed it away even further, suffocating it all down. It felt like everything was busting open now. 

And oddly enough, it wasn’t all bunched nerves and skittish energy anymore, she felt calm and at ease. Being with Marzel always felt so comfortable and right.

Minnie’s smile grew softer as she nodded her head. “I’m not opposed to it.”

MARZEL

Marzel hadn’t planned on getting this far, part of him wanted to run far and fast. To not look back and hide. There was part of him that didn’t want this. To attempt to give his heart to another all the while fighting with some of his most basic instincts.

But the thing was there was more to that then when he had first come to Swynlake. His hatred had lessened, his anger had started to mellow. He was around more good humans than bad ones and he didn’t mind being around some of them.

It wasn’t hard with these realizations to lean closer and it wasn’t hard at all for Marzel to set his forehead against her, sharing the air between them with bated breath before he leaned in gently to steal a kiss.

MINNIE

It felt like an eternity, that in-between moment, that small window of time that was probably only a few measly seconds in real time, it still felt like forever. Even if Minnie was perfectly happy right where she was, getting lost in Marzel’s eyes, the space between them almost non-existent. 

That was the thing though, she was so wonderfully close, so temptingly close that Minnie was debating just leaning right in. Screw blurred lines, as far as she was concerned, that line was hopped, skipped, jumped right on over already. 

But Marzel had beat her to it and when his lips had touched hers, it made every little second of that eternity worth it.

His kiss was tender, gentle, and sweet. It was the kind of the kiss that made butterflies go all wild in one’s stomach and would steal the breath right out of the lungs. It was everything Minnie never even allowed herself the chance to think up because she thought this was something that would never happen.  

Minne inched in even closer, her free hand moving so that it gently wrapped itself around the nape of Marzel’s neck. She didn’t care if the ferris wheel was ascending, descending or whatever the hell else, even if it would stop right this very second and show everyone this current scene, she wanted this moment. She figured if everything went to hell in a hand basket after this, she at least wanted this memory to have and keep safely tucked away for herself.  

MARZEL

Marzel's hand moved from Minnie's cheek to her chin. It wasnt as if she was going anywhere but that didnt mean that he wanted to let go of this breath of fresh air.

It was silly how much he had fought this very idea. That he had struggled with it. The memories of his knighthood screamed that he was an idiot for wasting time and the memories of his pod and Valentino screamed at him for being an idiot.

He leaned into the former for the time being. 

Minnie was gentle as she was kind. Soft as she was patient. Each breath shared between them was a warm summer's breath and he loved each moment.

Pulling away Marzel only had a moment to admire Minnie before the ride stopped at the bottom and voices urged them to usher off. With pink cheeks Marzel stood and offered his hand to Minnie.

MINNIE

Their carriage came to a full stop more suddenly than Minnie had expected, but then again she had stopped paying attention a long time ago. She was actually sort of upset that it had come to an end because that meant that she had to reluctantly pull away from the kiss that she was very happily enjoying. 

Minnie let out a brief bubble of a laugh, skin flushed, and a smile glowing on her features as she got up as asked, happily taking Marzel’s offered hand. They stepped out of the carriage, Minnie tucking herself by Marzel’s arm as the pair of them walked away from the vicinity of the ferris wheel.

The brunette knew she could suggest doing something else in the carnival, play like they hadn’t just shared a kiss on top of a ferris wheel, but that wasn’t Minnie now was it? 

She needed to say something if not she would get stuck in her own head and well her head space sometimes was not the best place to get stuck in, so Minnie stopped the both of them from walking and turned to look at Marzel. She was still holding his hand, and could suddenly hear the rapid beating of her heart all over again. 

“I like you.” 

She paused, taking a breath in because she just admitted out loud the one thing she had been suffocated down for so long. “I mean not like a friend, not that you’re a bad friend because you are definitely not a bad friend at all by any means whatsoever.” It was part of the reason she had stood quiet so long she didn’t want to lose Marzel all together because of her feelings. 

“But as more than a friend.” 

MARZEL

Marzel wasn’t quite sure what words needed to be said, or could be said. He had kissed Minnie and now they were holding hands but that didn’t mean that Marzel wanted to let her go. He held her close to him just incase the crowds wanted to pull them apart. 

But he heard her voice and quickly tuned in.

Stopping them close to another food stand Marzel nodded. “I like you too. More than a friend.” Marzel offered gently. “I’m not quite sure what to do with this information though.”

MINNIE

Minnie found herself smiling upon hearing that Marzel had liked her too. In all honesty, she didn’t know what to expect after she had just admitted to her own feelings. She didn’t know what Marzel would end up saying. For all she knew he could have felt the complete opposite of how she felt.

Her chest had been fluttering a mile a minute waiting to find out what he would say. 

But now Minnie was glowing as she took a step closer to Marzel and gently squeezed his hand.

“We don’t have to figure that out just yet. We can figure out as we go.” 

There wasn’t a need for everything to be rushed in Minnie’s mind. She was more than perfectly content with just being able to have Marzel close and spend time with him. 

“But for right now, we can enjoy some more carnival fun?”

[loukja]

The Princess and the Guard - Nerissa

Then sun sparkled on the exquisite chinaware that was arranged on the table. There was too much there for a tea party of just two.

“More tea?” Nerissa lifted the teapot. She had sent the staff away. They were both used to being waited on, but it was always weird to have someone hover around when it was just the two of them and they were talking about personal stuff.

“Yes, thanks,” Aurora held her cup out to her sister.

“Feels like ages since we last did this, doesn’t it?” Nerissa poured them some tea, then leaned back on her chair and let her eyes travel over Aurora.

“Well, it’s been over a month, so it basically was ages ago.” She put some sugar in her tea before focusing back on the cake on her plate. Her sister had a lot of responsibilities and could not always make time. But the time without her did not stretch endlessly anymore, not since… Aurora allowed herself a short glance at Vexx through her lashes. He and Nerissa’s guard were positioned at the entrance of the terrace, standing at attention, as if anything could happen to their charges in the royal gardens.

“There were more negotiations about the wedding this morning,” Nerissa took a sip from her cup. “At this point I’m pretty sure it’ll happen.”

“That’s great!” Aurora couldn’t say that she was too interested in her brother’s marriage, but a royal wedding was one of the few events she would be allowed to attend. There would be pretty dresses and dancing and all the glorious food one could imagine. But then again she would never be allowed to dance with the person she wanted to dance with most. Would he have agreed to a dance if she had been allowed to ask him? He would definitely have mocked her for asking, teased her that she only wanted an excuse to get close and touch him or something like that, but maybe he would still have said yes.

“In a way, yeah. But you should see what they are planning to spend on it,” Nerissa crinkled her nose in disgust. “But my last proposition was declined because ‘we don’t have money for humanitarian aid right now’. I wouldn’t say that fixing what we broke is humanitarian aid. It’s just the right thing to do.”

Aurora’s smile faltered. Sometimes she found herself focussing on the wrong things. Like, seeing a wedding as a chance for her to get out, and not as a decadent slap to the faces of their subjects who lived in poverty. “Can’t we, like, connect the wedding and the humanitarian aid? I mean, the people who attend are all rich. Everybody who attends could be required to spend a minimum sum towards a cause, but they could spend more if they wish. And the bride and groom would decide which project the money went to. We could make it a tradition.” Her mind went over all the possibilities. Nerissa shared many of her ideas with her, ideas for orphanages, shelters for the homeless, free meals, projects to educate kids and keep them out of trouble.  

This made her sister smile, but it had a melancholy edge. “That’s a nice idea, and I can try to suggest it. But I’m sure father won’t like it. He’ll probably say that it’s begging, and that royalty does not beg.”

“No, royalty should give. Because we have more than our people do.” Aurora felt anger rise in her. It was infuriating, how little their father seemed to care about the people he reigned over. So frustrating to watch Nerissa fight against windmills, never getting anywhere with all her ideas, her brilliance, her goodness. One day she would be queen, and she would be better.

“You’re right. I’ll try to persuade him. Trust me, I will.”

“I know you will. You are already doing all you can…” Aurora picked at her cake, her appetite gone.

“On a lighter note,” Nerissa leaned towards her and said in a conspiratorial tone, “Your new guard really keeps a close eye on you, doesn’t he?”

“Huh?” Aurora followed her gaze. She met Vexx’s eye, but his face stayed neutral for once, as if he did not dare to smile with Nerissa paying attention. “Oh. He takes the job very seriously,” she said, turning back to her cake, but Nerissa had seen her blush.

“Is that so?” Aurora could basically hear the grin in her sister’s voice. “He does look pretty serious. But handsome, if you’re into that kind of guy.”

Giving her sister a short glare, she shook her head. “I’m not into him. And he is not always serious. Actually, he’s pretty nice and funny, once you get to know him.”

“Oh? I guess I ought to meet him, then.”

“What?” she looked back up sharply, but Nerissa had already raised her hand and was waving Vexx over. He approached, all professional, and bowed when he reached them.

“Your highness?”

“Lieutenant Serif, isn’t it?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Sit with us, would you?”

His expression shifted slightly, and he looked over at Aurora. She gave him a slight nod and an apologetic smile.

He opened his mouth, as if to protest, but then thought better of it and took a seat. His posture was stiff, and he sat on the edge of his chair, ready to jump up again.

“We haven’t had the chance to talk before. I always like to know the men who protect my darling sister.”

That was a blatant lie. Nerissa liked to know about the men protecting her, but she had never invited one of them for tea.

“Of course,” Vexx said, keeping his masklike neutral expression.

“So, do you like your position?”

“Yes, your highness. It’s a great honour to protect a member of the royal family.”

“Oh, come on, I’m sure you have a better answer than the official one,” Nerissa tilted slightly forward, like a friend about to hear a secret.

Vexx’s brow twitched, ever so slightly. He was trying to read Nerissa, to judge what kind of situation he was getting caught in. “Well, some of the classes the princess has to attend can be rather dull and I really don’t envy her for having to participate in them. But otherwise I really do like my position.”

“Ugh, etiquette, right? ‘Stop holding that cup like that, young princess. You are not a barbarian!’” Nerissa’s impression of the etiquette teacher was spot on and Vexx actually gave a little amused snort. The future queen looked pretty pleased with herself. Still, Vexx’s expression immediately settled back into careful neutrality.

Aurora nudged her foot against Vexx’s under the table. “You can relax, she’s alright and she has already decided that she likes you,” she said in a soft voice, catching his eye.

“Well, I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt, because my sister seems to like you,” Nerissa corrected with a smile. “But she’s right, you should relax. I’m really just interested to get to know the guy who keeps Aurora company. It’s not my place to judge your friendship and I certainly won’t tell anybody about it.”

Aurora shrank again. Up until this moment she had been so sure she could call Vexx her friend, but having her sister say it out loud made her doubt it again. What if Vexx was just bored enough to talk to her and did not see her as a friend at all?

“You’re pretty straight forward, your highness,” Vexx noted.

“Stop it with the titles. You can call me Nerissa.”

“If you wish it, your… Nerissa.”

And while Vexx remained cautious at first, he seemed to warm up to Nerissa over the course of the afternoon. When they made their way back to Aurora’s rooms later, she turned to him, almost giddy to get his opinion on her only other friend: “So, what do you think?”

He cocked his head slightly, considering. “She’s… not at all what I expected, I guess.”

Aurora smiled. “No, she’s so much better, isn’t she?”

For a moment there was a weird expression on his face, one she was not able to read, but then his smile was back. “Yes, she is.”

[bigskydreaming]

Imagine that Dick and Jason liiiiiive to synchronize their Let’s Be Shits schedules just in time for any posh gala the Wayne children are expected to attend.

Some Douchebag is like “So, Richard. What is it you do, these days?”

And Dick just plasters on the most vacuous smile in existence, like the kind that could only be engineered in a lab by combining Brucie with a Colgate commercial for sparkling teeth, special effects included.

And he’s like, “Oh, I’m an instagram model and social influencer.”

And then Jason appears out of nowhere, swaying on his feet and throwing an arm around Dick’s shoulder as if to support himself, hiccuping a little and splashing some of his wine over the edge of his glass (its apple juice, of course).

“So am I,” he says, punctuating with another hiccup. “But only like. Ironically.”

Dick leans in towards the Douchebag as if to confide a secret, as the latter tries to lean away whilst still figuring out what expression his face wants to produce. 

“He keeps saying that like it means something, but I’m not sure it does. I think he saw it on a youtube video and just started copying it. That’s not copyright infringement right? Bruce’ll probably be pissed if he has to pay out another lawsuit for copyright stuff after I just got in trouble for trying to sell tickets to my band’s show without getting permission to use all the songs we did. Like, how was I supposed to know you needed permission to sing songs? Isn’t this, like. America?”

The Douchebag starts stammering and attempting to edge gracefully away - hell, he’ll settle for not gracefully, he really was never even looking for an answer in the first place, just a soundbite he could reenact for his snobby friends later. This was more than he was actually prepared for.

Jason meanwhile surges forward and grabs a hold of Douchebag’s suited arm, acting like he still needs the support.

“Hey. It does so mean something, and I came up with it on my own, I didn’t steal shit. If I was going to steal stuff, I’d go for the silver, not words, how dumb do you think I am? He’s always doing this,” he complains to the Douchebag. 

“Just because I didn’t start school until the sixth grade and had to bribe our little brother to take all my tests for me, he acts like I don’t even know what words mean. But he’s the one who only passed his senior year of high school by getting Playgirl to do a photoshoot of him when he turned eighteen just before finals, and then most of his teachers just made sure he passed so they wouldn’t feel pervy because they’d gone gaga over his photos and then he got held back a year and they had to see him every day and feel sketchy.” 

Dick spreads his arms wide as if an extremely self-explanatory point has just been made.

“Hello? Is that, or is that not, a display of genius?”

“Really, I do have to be going, I think I see my old business partner waving at me from over there - “ the Douchebag says somewhat desperately. 

“Dammit Jay, look what you did.” Dick wails dramatically. He even stomps a foot for good measure. Jason’s struggling not to laugh. “You’re embarrassing us in front of one of Bruce’s guests. Now he thinks we’re low class and its going to be all over the news and this is gonna be the last straw and Bruce’ll get fed up and say we can never go to these things again and its going to be all your fault and none of this would ever happen if you weren’t always like. Ugh. What’s the word.”

The Douchebag is hastily assuring them he doesn’t think they’re embarrassing or low class and he’s not going to tell anyone otherwise, while still trying to pry his jacket sleeve loose from Jason’s iron grip. Jason meanwhile appears oblivious to anything the Douchebag says or does, as he fixates on his brother and starts waving his own arms around dramatically....which sends Douchebag stumbling in the process, all without either brother seeming to notice.

“Well I’m sure I can’t help you, since I don’t know words so good,” Jason hisses equally dramatically. “I’m just a fucking dumbass from the Narrows, isn’t that right. I’m not some fancy circus boy like you were, all I had to practice reading on as a kid was my rap sheet.”

He moves to fling his arms over his head in exasperation, and tears the Douchebag’s suit sleeve with a resounding ripping noise in the process. Douchebag stares at the remains of the jacket that cost several thousand dollars that he doesn’t have, because he’s a pompous jackass who lives beyond his means in an attempt to fund his social ladder climbing expeditions.

“Now look what you did,” Dick cries, flinging his head back as if in total despair, the black locks of his hair flying from side to side in theatrical disarray. “Do you even know how much that poor man’s suit must have cost him? Probably more than my parents’ trailer, I’ll bet you that much.”

“Really, its quite alright,” the Douchebag tries to insist through clenched teeth. It wasn’t, in his eyes, not by a long shot, but he forced himself to remember that for whatever reasons, these two...peasants were still Bruce Wayne’s chosen wards....or well, worse yet...adopted sons. God, but that man’s abyssmal IQ was an absolute plague on Gotham’s high society. “It could have happened to anyone.”

“No, please, don’t try and cover for him, he’ll never learn that way. You must let us pay for the damage, Bruce will just take it out of his allowance, it’ll be fine,” Dick says, patting at the man’s arm feverishly as if he can smooth out the gaping hole left by the flap now hanging limply down the man’s sleeve.

“Oh, I’ll never learn? How about you, destroying Bruce’s grandmother’s antique china at the birthday party you tried to throw for Damian after Bruce specifically asked you not to try and play host anymore?” Jason gets in his brother’s face, liquid sloshing over the side of his erratically swinging glass and in the process splashing all over the back of the Douchebag’s neck.

“I was trying to actually do something nice for someone else, not that you’d know anything about that,” Dick hisses obnoxiously loudly. “How was I supposed to know you weren’t supposed to use steak knives to cut up food on china? Its not like plates come with instruction manuals!”

“Not like you’d know how to read them if they did!”

“Have you never heard of Youtube tutorials?”

“Have you never heard of shut the fuck up, you absolute dillhole?”

“Would both of you stop it? You’re causing a scene!” The two’s younger brother Timothy arrived on the scene, smoothly sliding between them and the ecstatically grateful Douchebag, who backpeddles out of the way at the first available opportunity. Tim throws him an apologetic glance, but the Douchebag barely notes it as he furiously makes for the side entrance as fast as he can, with the less people seeing his disheveled state the better. 

So much for the networking he had planned on doing the rest of the night. He firmly vowed to steer far clear of the eldest two Wayne buffoons at all future events Brucie insisted on inflicting the oafs on the rest of them.

All of which of course means he completely missed the way the brothers’ dramatics hushed into heated whispers upon Tim’s arrival, or the high five Dick and Jason slipped each other discreetly.

“Let’s see Brucie top that,” Jason says smugly.

“Oh god. You’ve finally done it. You’ve turned a charity event into a war games scenario.”

“Oh please. All of that money goes straight into the board of directors’ pockets,” Dick says dismissively. “The only actual money being raised for charity tonight is from the jewelry Selina’s liberating from the guests. And Damian and Cass already called dibs on helping her with that, and Duke’s already doing the scorekeeping for when that inevitably turns into a competition, so we were bored. And left alone to our own devices. So really if anyone’s to blame its everyone but us.”

“Sides, this is a time honored tradition for us,” Jason adds with a smirk. “We call it guerilla class warfare. We’re sleeper agents for the working class, see.”

“You’re the reason the Valentinos never show up to any Wayne Enterprise hosted events anymore, aren’t you?” Tim realizes.

“Some of our best work,” Dick reminisces fondly. Their little brother sighs.

“Please at least tell me you never actually posed for Playgirl.”

Dick shrugs. “Oh, they offered, but even when Bruce and I were at our worst, its not like I ever actually wanted to give him a stroke.”

“Continuity error,” Jason points out smugly. “Total amateur move.”

Dick merely arches a brow. “Not when I can simply claim Bruce must have paid to cover it up for the sake of the family image, and was absolutely furious at my besmirching of the good Wayne family name. And wait a second, weren’t you the one who introduced that into the scene in the first place? I just yes and-ed according to the rules of improv, like the professional that I am.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound right,” Jason says, completely unperturbed. Not an ounce of perturbed in sight. He continues on smoothly. “And if Sir Douchely of Douchington actually digs a little deeper and yet can’t seem to find anyone who recalls ever actually seeing this oh so salacious spread?” 

Dick’s shit remains unphased.

“I’ll simply flip the script and release the hounds aka Steph, Harper, Cullen and all three dozen of their twitter handles, wondering all over the Gotham social media highways just why someone of his standing is so intent on tracking down the homoerotic depravities of the eldest Wayne heir, given that despite his unjust leapfrogging up the social ladder, he is still ultimately a....commoner.”

“Ah yes,” Jason nods sagely. “And as all Gothamites know well, if you prick us, we doth not bleed blue. Just a terribly pedestrian red.”

“Oh the humanity,” Dick sighs. He joins his younger brother in nodding the slow, steady head-bob of the intellectually validated, their seeming rivalry melting into sibling synchronicity.

Tim eyes them and shakes his head side to side instead.

“You two disturb me.”

Jason shrugs. “Well, that does make sense. Don’t get me wrong, you’re our little brother and we’re terribly fond of you now, Timmers. But when the revolution comes, we will have to turn on you as well.”

“Fair is fair,” Dick hums in agreement. “We can’t play favorites. That’s how you get an upper class in the first place.”

“Yeah I don’t know what to do with this,” Tim sighs and heads off in search of Steph.

“Just FYI, your girlfriend’s Team Proletariat too. She’s got the T-shirt and everything,” Jason calls after him.

Tim swerves in mid-step and redirects himself towards Kate. At least their cousin slash-aunt-slash-nobody’s-bothered-to-parse-the-actual-relation-there could be counted on to be somewhat normal. Her idea of making a scene was to simply start a brawl, and Tim had overheard Bruce specifically elicit a promise from her earlier in the evening that she would throw no punches or kicks or headbutts or judo throws, nor any manner of actual or improvised weaponry.

[nadziejastar]

(Sorry if this has already been asked!) Your opinion on Eraqus? (Think he's a bit of a zealot myself)

Vanitas can feel some of what Ventus feels, and he says Terra is the key. Ventus has loved Terra like a real brother ever since he let him keep his old wooden Keyblade.

Nope. Haven’t been asked.Yes, I agree. Judging by the way BBS was written, Eraqus was intended to come across as a bit of a zealot. The relationship between Terra and Eraqus was always one of the most interesting things to me in BBS. It’s one of the relationships that had the most impact on me, because it wasn’t black-and-white (no pun intended). And because the role of most characters’ parents never mattered much in this series. We never learned anything about Sora’s parents for instance. 

Ven longed for a brother figure more than anything. The day his light returned was the day Terra gave him the wooden Keyblade. And Terra was the loose thread in his heart. While Aqua and Ventus’ main priority was always their friend trio, Terra seemed to take it for granted most of the time—at least at first. What he longed for more than anything was a father’s love. I don’t know what the situation was with Terra’s father, but he clearly didn’t have a biological dad in his life. And it seemed like that was the root of his issues.

My brother pupil Eraqus thinks only in absolutes. He has persuaded himself that light is the only way, but forgets that light cannot exist without shadow. I believe a balance of light and darkness is what sustains our World, but too much of the darkness has been stamped out, disrupting that balance. Someone must tear down this tyranny of light and reorganize the World around the darkness which then creeps back in.

When Eraqus was younger, he didn’t seem like he was super serious or rigid in his thinking. He was more playful than Xehanort was, anyway. So, I think his rigidity was due to his upbringing. He was taught to think in absolutes, and that he had a duty to maintain balance in the world. That’s a lot of pressure. 

Upon reflection, my life underwent the most considerable sea-change when I arrived at that place. Yes, it began when I found a Master, and another I would later call my brother—when I found a new home.

Also, I think the trauma of Xehanort’s betrayal played a major role in his paranoia, too.

And on the topic of darkness: we must speak of another matter that concerns me, one related to the upcoming ceremony. When I visited several years ago, your pupil Terra drew my attention. His power is immense, to be sure, but within his heart I could see darkness just waiting to be awakened. I know this is none of my business, but I have reservations about welcoming Terra as a true Keyblade Master without taking certain precautions. The traditional examination, perhaps, to see if he has the Mark of Mastery? The choice is yours, and I will humbly respect your decision.Take care. I eagerly await our long overdue reunion.

Xehanort was like a brother to him. To have someone he considered a brother turn around and betray him—I’m sure that influenced his opinions on darkness. He didn’t think Terra could fall to darkness because he was such a bad person with dark inclinations. He would have passed the test if Xehanort didn’t interfere.

“Not your concern.”

With those parting words, Xehanort strode away. Eraqus slammed a fist into the floor as he watched him go.

Why did I fail to stop him?

Is it my fault?

Where did I go wrong?

Is the darkness itself what beguiled him so?

Must this plague steal my dear friend from me?

Eraqus’ personal experience taught him that darkness can take anyone at any time, no matter how normal and innocent they seem. And Xehanort was not named successor, while he was. Aqua was the successor, while Terra failed. In his mind, that might lead someone to darkness. Eraqus also grew up believing that he has to put aside his personal feelings to protect the world. That’s a lot of pressure on a person, and it made me feel sorry for him. He never felt free to listen to his heart. I wish we got to learn more about his past.

I had not visited this second home of mine for some time, and discovered Eraqus had already found two pupils of his own. Within one of them, Terra, I sensed something. The boy, though well-intentioned, seeks power single-mindedly. And that kind of hunger is a seedbed for darkness.I had found my vessel.

But yeah, I definitely think that Eraqus was the reason Terra was predisposed to darkness. He taught Terra to fear darkness and not show any weakness, otherwise it’ll corrupt you. When Terra was possessed by Maleficent, Eraqus was the personification of his darkness. Disappointing his master was the reason he was so afraid of losing. He lived in constant fear of being a failure. I don’t think Eraqus had any idea he felt that way, though. He didn’t express his love to Terra as openly as he probably would have wanted to, because Xehanort had hurt him so badly in the past. It made it difficult for him to be as affectionate and easygoing as he was when he was younger.

“You’re quite the picky eater, Terra.” Master Eraqus gave his student a light pat on the back as he approached.

“…It’s only sweet stuff that I’m not into. How come you, Aqua, and Ven are so crazy about it?”

“I could turn the question back on you and ask why you aren’t,” Master Eraqus retorted with a smile, then strolled over to the dining hall with a spring in his step.

Terra started after him, a little gloomy.

Eraqus definitely had a special relationship with Terra, so he must have thought his love was obvious. I could tell that he was closer to him than Aqua or Ven. I think Eraqus could relate to Terra in a way he couldn’t with anyone else. Terra had no father and was so eager to please him. And Eraqus had lost Xehanort, who was like a brother to him. He was probably eager to have another person he loved as a family member. He loved Aqua and Ven, too. And it’s not like he wanted to destroy Ven or anything. But…he cried when he thought he would have to destroy Terra.

Eraqus: You must know, I care for you like my own son. If I could have my way, I would name you Master in a second. But, how can I, when you are so obsessed with power? Terra, you mustn’t be afraid of losing. Fear leads to obsession with power, and obsession beckons the darkness. You must never forget.

Terra: Thank you, Master. I swear…I will not fail you again.

He absolutely thought of him as a son. He had been around him for a lot longer than Ventus (not sure about Aqua). I got the sense that he’s been in Terra’s life for a pretty long time. But I still got the impression that Eraqus didn’t raise Terra from childhood or anything.

Eraqus: No, you were right. I failed you, Terra. Perhaps I’ve no one to blame but myself for the darkness inside you. And now I’ve done worse–raised my Keyblade against you and Ventus. My own heart is darkness!

Terra didn’t call Eraqus his father until after he died. I could tell that was a HUGE step for Terra to take. I doubt he ever called Eraqus his father when he was alive. Terra was never too sure up until that point if Eraqus truly loved him. He felt insecure and almost seemed to have abandonment issues. It’s common in people who grow up without either parent. Older children especially will have a very hard time trusting parental figures, like foster parents, for instance.

Terra: No… I succumbed to it. Just like when I stole Princess Aurora’s heart of light. I can never return home now. I’m a failure.

It’s why I would always feel kinda defensive of Terra when I would see people bash him and call him stupid or naive, for trusting the villains like Xehanort too quickly. He seemed to get a lot of undeserved hate from the fandom. It’s true that he didn’t always make good decisions. But…that’s what happens to most young people who are orphaned or abandoned by a parent. They act irrationally at times because they don’t feel lovable, and they don’t feel safe in the world. 

Growing up in the world without parents is tough. It’s why Terra was one of the characters I personally related to the most (after Lea and Isa). Lea lost his childhood and was pretty much alone in the world. He latched on to Roxas and Xion because they provided him comfort and emotional security—something he lacked. Terra latched on to Xehanort because he was desperate for approval from an adult figure. He was Ven’s protector, but he longed to feel protected himself.

Yen Sid: To arrive at the truth, perhaps you should approach things differently–first consider them one and the same problem.

Terra: Master Xehanort and the Unversed are connected somehow?

Yen Sid: I must not make assumptions… Find Xehanort, Terra. That is where you should begin.

Terra: Yes, sir.

He didn’t automatically trust the villains, either. He just wanted to give everyone a chance and tried to not judge by appearances. Yes, the audience can tell that Xehanort is evil. But to Terra, he was Eraqus’ best childhood friend and a respected Master. Nobody told him all the bad things Xehanort had done previously.

“Master Xehanort—I have been to other worlds. I know all about the things you’ve done. I just don’t understand why.”

Though Terra started in with the questions immediately, Master Xehanort shook his head quietly. Now then, how best to guide Terra into becoming his vessel?

The fierce light in Terra’s heart also empowered the darkness within him. The stronger the light, the deeper the shadow, and that would be Terra’s path into the darkness.

Master Xehanort would play the part of a contrite old man with regrets in the past. Exactly like this foolish boy who only believed he stole Princess Aurora’s heart, and never stopped to question the source of his anguish.

It was Terra’s light—his kindness and sincerity—that made him a good candidate for darkness. The stronger the light, the deeper the shadow. Maybe the same principle was at play with Isa as a Seeker of Darkness. Maybe Isa’s strong light in the face of darkness was another reason Xehanort took an interest in him as a vessel.

Terra’s kindness—the intensity of his light—led him to seek strength. Before long, that fixation would beget darkness in his heart. Thus, Master Xehanort’s vessel was chosen.

“Master Xehanort…Ventus has gotten a lot better since then. You shouldn’t blame yourself for trying to save him,” Terra offered.

Master Xehanort looked up. “Well…Thank you, lad. You know how to put an old man’s heart at ease.”

The sincerity of this oh-so-thoughtful boy was plain on his face. Master Xehanort would need to usher him along slowly if he wanted to change that sincerity to agony and stain it with darkness.

Xehanort was grooming Terra. 

“The Unversed!” Terra gasped. He wasn’t slow on the uptake; his light just prevented him from seeing lies for what they were.

“He has no control over the darkness in his heart. The Keyblade is not his to bear. He’s an abomination beyond hope of salvation. Lend me your strength, Terra. Right this wrong that I have wrought.”

Master Xehanort shook his head, playing up his grief. He knew Terra would never refuse the plea of a foolish old man, and that was why he wove bits of the truth into his false tale.

“But I have no idea where to find him,” Terra muttered, contemplating. He was so amusingly ensnared now, and Master Xehanort kept up the pressure.

It’s why I was very disappointed that Eraqus just hijacked Terra’s body as soon as he went to confront Xehanort. I wanted to hear what he had to say to the man who possessed him for 10 years and plunged him into darkness and sleep. Sure, I think Eraqus and Xehanort needed closure and deserved a moment to themselves. But, Terra needed closure as well. He was horrifically abused by Xehanort. But because the full story was never even told after BBSV2 was cancelled, Eraqus’ immediate forgiveness of Xehanort felt totally out of nowhere. 

And maybe Terra’s perspective on Xehanort was something BBSV2 was supposed to delve into more, so his confrontation was just left out (much like Riku and Terra’s relationship). The entire scene honestly left a poor taste in my mouth. Because we never saw their past, it came across like Eraqus cared more about Xehanort than the children whose lives he destroyed. I actually felt really bad for Terra, Aqua, and Ven who had to watch Eraqus warmly embrace the man who sadistically abused them, while Eraqus’ reunion with them felt more lukewarm in comparison. I didn’t feel closure with ANY of these relationships. Not Eraqus/Xehanort, Terra/Xehanort, Eraqus/Terra, or Eraqus/Ven & Aqua.

[deepdaleducks]

Embers (Slow Burn 3/Fire Series) - Dele

Author’s Note - again a massive thank you to everyone for reading this series. I’m gonna write three more chapters so keep an eye out for those! Before you read this make sure to read part one and two otherwise nothing will make sense. Hope you enjoy feedback is more than welcome (it makes me so happy so PLEASE give it)

Part One - Slow Burn

Part Two - Flicker

There’s not much thought that goes into the decision to ignore every single one of his texts and calls. Your text chat a one-way stream of baby please call me, I’m sorry, please just let me explain, if you let me explain it’ll all be okay, can we talk about this, you can’t ignore me forever, baby please, I love you, I’m sorry. His name appearing multiple times in your call log, each one with the red phone next to it to show it went unanswered. The flowers he sent to your office on Thursday on your colleague’s desk instead, after you had tried to throw them in the bin and she’d insisted they were too pretty to go to waste. The week goes by easily, your friends coming over for dinner to distract you from the thoughts in your mind. Another half a series of Grey’s Anatomy finished and three empty bottles of red wine in the recycling bin.

On Saturday, Chloe calls, claiming her week has been busy and she’s been dying to here about how things with Dele are going. You laugh aloud at her wording, telling her that things aren’t going anywhere at all and if anything things have back pedalled so far that you might as well pretend you have never met. Explaining the situation to her helps you to mull it all over in your head clearly. For five days you’d been thinking over it all in a million different ways. So with her, you start again from the beginning, like sifting through a freshly opened jigsaw and finally putting pieces together. You discuss how you met, how he tried to kiss you that first night, how you became friends because you were dating someone else, him meeting Ruby, your break up, him trying to set you up with other people. She listens to your every word and by the time you even get on to talking about his break up you’re forty-five minutes into the phone call.

“I just don’t get why he was constantly going back to her.” She says, huffing in annoyance. “Like, if he knew you were in love with him, and that’s why their relationship ended, why on earth was he still sleeping with her? Actually, more importantly why was she still sleeping with him?”

“Have you seen him? That’s why,” you reply, attempting to laugh whilst you do so.

“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be hating him right now? God, he’s such a fucking dick…”

And you continue with your story, everything he said in the kitchen last Saturday night, how things could have gone in the living room on Sunday night. When you get on to the events of Monday night she starts yelling, screaming that she’s going to come and ‘punch him to France and back’. After a while, her doorbell rings and she says that she has to go as Marcus’ girlfriend has arrived and they’re having a sleepover before going to watch the game tomorrow. She hangs up and you absentmindedly turn on the TV, Match of the Day immediately coming on. Reaching for the remote, you go to turn it off when they begin to show the highlight of Spurs’ game against Burnley. Your heart aches at their 2-1 loss, knowing how angry he will still be at his injury, how he would be grumbling at the tv saying what he would have done differently if he’d been able to play. The battle in your mind begins again. Your thoughts once again torn between the love found in years of friendship and the hurt caused by his actions. Your complete lack of trust acting as the canyon between the two feelings.

  Your doorbell rings early on Sunday morning and you’re pleased to find your best friend, Amy, stood on the porch. She takes you for brunch, refusing to let a Sunday tradition die, even though you had to change your brunch partner. Afterwards you go window shopping and browse various furniture stores, planning your dream houses of the future. She tells you about her date last night and gives you gossip about her sisters, trying everything to not let you think about your own love life. The darkness begins to settle in after your early dinner and you both head to your cars to go home. For the first time all week, your phone doesn’t light up with his name, and you think that maybe he’s given up. Maybe he’s gone back to her again, and maybe he’s happy.

But when you arrive home, there he is, sat at the breakfast bar, back facing you and head hung low. He doesn’t turn around when he hears you come in, only lifting his head slightly to acknowledge your presence, planning to let you speak first. You move closer warily, a whole list of questions forming in your mind. You’d ask how he got in, why he’s here, what he wants. But you already know the answers. He’s here because you’ve been ignoring his calls for a week. He’s here to talk; to plead his case. And he’s here because of a small, carved piece of metal that you had given him once, back when he was the person you trusted most in the world. You notice it sitting on the counter in front of him, single and alone, not even attached to a ring or a chain. Walking past him, you tilt your head to look at the key, not bothering to glance up at his face.

“I gave you that for emergencies…” You trail off in a harsh and cold tone. “And for watering my plants when I’m away.”

He finally lifts his eyeline further to gaze up at you on the other side of he breakfast bar. “Well I figured that since you haven’t answered any of my calls and texts all week, maybe you’d dropped off the face of the earth and your plants might need a water,” his voice is spiteful but comes with a humour underlayer that attempts to break through your stone-cold expression.

“My plants are just fine without you. I am just fine without you, thank you very much.” You lie, brave face feeling weaker by the second.

“I’m not.” He replies, lowly. You take a moment to look him over, eyes dull and hollow, hair tousled and messy, skin paler and cheeks a little gaunt. He looks like he hasn’t slept or ate in days, and as bad as it seems, it makes you feel a little better to know he’s been suffering. “I’ve been going out of my mind without you. What you saw on Monday, it wasn’t what you think. I went out and I ran into her.”

“Okay so you ran into her when you were out, how the hell did she end up in your car on your driveway?” You interject, unwilling to hear his spiel.

“How was I supposed to know you’d be there to see that? You told me you were going out with Amy.” He defends, not doing himself any favours in his wording.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now, Dele? Do you even hear what you’re saying?” you yell back, throwing your hands in the air in exasperation.

“She was there to pick up the rest of her stuff! Okay?” He cries, temper rising to your level. “After what happened on Sunday, I didn’t want that to happen again. And she still had stuff there. I know we’d been broken up for weeks, but she still had some clothes there and make up and some fucking shampoo things in the bathroom. I didn’t want you to have to see that. I was planning to throw it out, but then I saw her, and I figured that she should just come take it instead, rather than throw it out.”

“Oh yes because now was the perfect time to be acting in favour of the environment, congrats, Del.” You retort, flicking on the kettle a little more aggressively than necessary.

“Maybe I don’t know what I was thinking. Maybe it wasn’t the most well thought out of ideas. But I wanted that stuff gone, and she was there, and its her stuff. Look I might not have made the most sensible of decisions, but at least I’m not the one who chose to completely misread a situation. And I’m not the one who’s so immature that I ignored your calls and texts all week and didn’t even give you a chance to explain.” Defensively, he pleads his case, moving from his seat by the breakfast bar, to come stand in the centre of the kitchen with you. His words do nothing but rile you up further, but you let your anger show through silence. The air between you falling flat, you stand on opposite sides of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.” He pauses. “I’m sorry about all of it. I should have texted you, I should have told you that she was coming over. I- I just thought that because you were out, you would go home and that I could just tell you the next day.”

“Actually, I don’t think you were thinking at all.” You take a breath and look him in the eye, smiling slightly to lift the atmosphere, “but when do you ever, right?” Your joke helps to subside some of the anger building inside you. As if on autopilot, you reach into the cupboard and pull out two mugs, making two cups of tea, one with one sugar and one with a splash of milk. He mumbles a thank you when you pass him a steaming hot mug, the two of you now a little closer together.

“Her stuff is gone. She took a taxi home. I haven’t seen or heard from her since Monday.” He says, defeated. You look him in the eyes, trying your best to decipher if he’s telling the truth. “I know you don’t trust me right now. And I know that my actions in the past don’t exactly make it seem like I’m telling the truth. But I promise you, I am. I love you. And I’m so sorry that I might have ruined this. I just really want to work on this with you to fix things, because I know that we can be happy together. I want to be the person making you happy, and it kills me that I’m the one making you hurt right now.” You break eye contact in an attempt not to crack and fall straight into his arms.

“I really want to believe you, Dele. I really do.” You pause and let out a shaky breath. “Just after everything. After hearing you say its over so many times and then watching you fall straight back into her arms. You told me you loved me. How do you think it made me feel to see you with her again? It’s like none of it meant anything. I’ve heard you lie an awful lot, but I never thought you saying you loved me would feel like a lie.”

“It’s not a lie. I do love you” He interrupts.

“Yeah, but it still felt that way and I can’t change that. I wish I could, but I just can’t” You huff, you mug already forgotten on the side. “God, the amount of shit that went through my mind. I’m a worst-case scenario person, you know that. I just kept thinking that you were planning on sleeping with her again. That it was really that easy. That I was nothing to you.” He opens his mouth to speak, but you stop him. “I- I think for now, we need distance. I need to learn to trust you again. You can say you’re sorry and that you love me a million times over, but I think that to move forward from this, and I do want to move forward from this, we need to go back to square one and build something from the ground up.” You give him an earnest look. The thought of losing your best friend outweighing any anger you could harbour. He nods slowing in agreement, choosing not to talk and instead finishing his brew. He moves closer to you, extending a hand out in front of you as if he was greeting his boss. You raise an eyebrow at him in confusion, and he draws your eye line down to his hand. Tentatively, you lift your own and slip your palm into his, shaking his hand lightly.

“Hi, my name is Dele and I’m 99% sure that you’re my entire future. Can I take you out on a date next Friday?” He introduces himself. “Square one, right?” He smirks at you, proud of his ability to worm his way back under your skin.

“How come you’re only 99% sure?” You ask, lips pursed together defiantly.

“Oh no, I’m 1000% sure, I just didn’t want to scare you,” He responds, causing you to laugh out loud. “I’m gonna go. I’ll text you during the week maybe,” He hesitates, nervously. “But you can, erm, you can call me any time – if you want to. And I’ll pick you up at 7 on Friday?”

“Sounds good to me,” You say as he grabs his belongings, noticeably leaving the spare key on the kitchen counter top. You follow him out into the hall, and he opens the front door, before he steps out into the cold, you stop him. “Hey, Del,” you say to get his attention, reaching out for his wrist to pull him back and into a gentle hug. The week of not seeing him and being in his arms making you ache for his touch. When his hands settle round your back and his face rests in your hair, he lets out a sigh, and the both of you relax for a moment. “We’re gonna make it, Del. I know it.” You whisper quietly into his ear, pulling away and brushing a faint kiss on to his cheek. It feels shy and new and reassures you that things will be okay eventually. He lets his hands fall and wishes you a final goodbye, baby before turning and disappearing into the dark of the night.

  You next hear from him two days later through a text message. No hello, how are you just a picture of some paint swatches and the words ‘which of these do you prefer? I’m not good at this’. You might have decided to go back to square one, but he was certainly texting you like you’d been friends for years, which technically you had.

              Me: Are you redecorating?? Which room? My answer definitely depends on the room.

              Del: Whole house. So I’m gonna need a LOT of advice.

              Del: Do you wanna just come over to help?

              Del: I’m sorry that might be too far. It’s okay if you don’t want to.

Across town he sits in his living room, surrounded by paint samples and colour swatches, nerves coursing through his veins, eagerly awaiting your reply. At home, you type a reply, excitement spurring you on.

              Me: No, that’s okay. I’d love to come over. See you in twenty? X

Hitting send, you head off around the house to grab your belongings; car keys, mint gum, jacket from the stairs. You drive the roads to his house without thinking, mind knowing exactly when to turn from completing the journey so many times in the past. He welcomes you at the door, taking your coat and ushering you into the living room, decorating books sprawled out on the floor, small swatches of paint already drying on the walls.

“So, erm. Dare I ask what’s brought this on?” You ask humorously as you slowly make your way around the room looking at his work so far.

“I guess I just wanted a fresh start you know. I don’t want to move because I love this house, but I feel that it’s just a bit dead. Like it could use a bit of life breathing into it.” He replies, joining you on the floor to look over colour samples. A thought forms in the back of your mind that maybe he’s doing this for you. Maybe he’s erasing every trace of her in this house. Maybe he’s really serious about starting from square one. But then you mentally slap yourself for thinking that he’s changing the world for you, when you never asked him to; for thinking more of this than just a man repainting his house.

The two of you sit there on the floor for a while, mulling over colour samples and interior design magazines. Discussing which colour would look best in the kitchen and the dining room. He says he’s already settled on a light blue for the master bedroom, showing you a sample of the paint that he’d picked up at B&Q earlier. The sample being the exact colour of your favourite dress and flower. You smile at the idea of him painting your favourite shade of blue in his house – in his bedroom – and you let yourself dream of a future here, with him, for a minute.

Your conversation drifts from decorating to friends and work. You ask him how his recovery is going, confessing that you’ve still been worrying about him all week. He tells you that he’s still not able to play and that he’ll be attending tomorrow’s game as a fan once more. The idea of him sitting there alone in the stands, dying to be on the pitch, saddens you and before you can stop yourself, you’re letting yourself open up to him again.

“I could come with you? If you wanted, that is. I haven’t been to a Spurs game in ages.”

  He picks you up right on time, as promised. On the drive into the city you discuss the game, who he thinks will be playing, how he thinks it will go. He asks about your day at work and you tease him saying that your colleague appreciated the flowers he had sent her last week. Pulling into the car park, you open the car door to be hit with an unseasonably warm February evening. Feeling a little hot, you stop to tug off your jacket, forgetting about the shirt you picked out earlier that sits underneath. Turning back to grab your bag from inside the car, he notices the name emblazoned across your shoulders. His name. His old shirt, actually. Gifted to you after the first game of the season. When you realise what he’s seen a blush slowly creeps on to your cheek as he smirks at you.

You sit there in the stands together, cheering and yelling, both enthralled by the game. He throws his hands in the air in frustration when the ref blows his whistle for a foul, claiming that it wasn’t a foul at all. His passion for the game distracts you and you find yourself watching less of the game and more of him.

After the game ends, he takes you down to see the rest of the team, all the guys greeting you with hugs and hellos, some of them mentioning that its good to see you. Eric pulls you into a hug, dragging you off down the corridor away from the group.

“You know he’s really sorry, right?” He says lowly, trying not to be overhead by the crowd of people congregating down the corridor. “He should have explained sooner, he fucked up, but he’s been going crazy and he really loves you.”

“Eric,” You cut in, “I know. We’ve talked it all over, and its going to take us a while and a lot of work to get to where we want to be, where we should be. I know you’re his best friend, but you don’t have to plead his case for him.” You nod at him reassuringly.  He smiles back at you, his eyes still boring it to yours worryingly.

“Are you okay? He’s my best friend, and you’re his best friend, so I wanna look out for you,”

“I’m on the way to being okay,” You reply to his question, swinging an arm around his waist and walking back to the group with him.

  Dele drives you home, conversation sparse between songs coming through the radio. His company feeling comfortable the way it used to. He pulls into your driveway, tyres rattling over the gravel. Killing the engine, he turns to look at you.

“About Friday, I want it to be a surprise, but don’t dress too fancy, dress practical.” He says, looking you in the eyes seriously. You crack a smile at him, confused by his statement.

“Dress practical? What’s that supposed to mean?” You question, imagining a whole series of activities he could have planned for you.

“It’s a surprise!” He insists, “just wear like jeans and some trainers or something. I like you like that.”

And so you agree, laughing slightly at how ridiculous he is. “I’ll see you Friday,” you say sweetly, reaching over to kiss his cheek, as a way to reassure him that this is working; that you’re making progress together. He waits in the driveway till get in your house, turning around for one last wave before entering. A blush creeps onto your cheeks making you feel like a teenager again, cursing yourself for being so weak to his charm.

  Friday rolls around once more and you find yourself standing in front of your wardrobe, attempting to find an outfit that was suitable enough to meet his practical dress code. You settled for a classic ‘jeans and a nice top’ look with dark blue jeans and a white blouse, paired with white converse. Hair curled and make up natural, you head to the door when he rings the bell. He stands there in the doorway with a bouquet of your favourite flowers, dressed neat but casually. You invite him in, heading into the kitchen to put the flowers in a vase. He refuses to shed any clues as to where he’s taking you and its still unclear as he drives you into the city. He pulls into a parking garage off Brick Lane and together you walk down the street, still unaware of your destination. You stop in front of a mini golf club and you turn to look at him in disbelief.

“Seriously?” You ask, a little in shock that he would plan something like this; that he would remember something like this.

“First time we ever met, we snuck off from that fancy dinner and went to all night arcade. And you were gutted when we found out that the mini golf was shut.” He states, looking at you with a proud grin on his face. “I promised that I’d take you some other time and I never did.”

“I can’t believe you remember that.” You beam at him, “I’m going to be so happy when I completely wipe the floor with you. You do realise you’re about to get absolutely hammered, right?” You mock, heading through the door with him.

He leads you over to the counter where he collects two balls and clubs, ordering two beers to go along with it. Handing you a beer, the both of you cheers your glasses.

“To starting again,” He says, looking you in the eyes.

“To winning at mini golf,” You say, and he looks away as he laughs before taking a sip. “Oh! You broke eye contact, that’s seven years bad sex for you, mister!”

He looks at you in shock. “That’s not a thing,” he protests, but you adamantly insist that it is; that your German friends from university had taught you the tradition. He smirks at you, “Besides, I don’t think I’m going to be having any bad sex any time soon,”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not going to be having any sex any time soon,” You retort, walking away from him towards the first hole. He feigns hurt as he follows.

The two of you take turns attempting each course. You perform a lot worse than you had expected, your competitive nature with yourself causing extreme disappointment. He misses the easiest of shots, racking up his points to be higher than yours. And when you finish, your score is 9 points lower than his, making you winner. You brag about the win over French fries and milkshakes, laughing at his defeat. His competitive nature fails to make a show, as he shows pride in your success, beaming at you as you lift the plastic trophy provided for you when you handed in your clubs.

The night drifts on and the dark sky calls you home. Your hand finds his over the console, the touch helping to mend the bridge between you, fingers laces together as he drives. He walks you to your door, asking if you want to go to the game with him in the morning. Instead of answering you reach up a lightly brush your lips over his, timidly, a little bit more of your heart open to him. He’s taken aback initially, allowing you to take the lead. Your hands wind our way around his neck, deepening the kiss. Shocks flow down your veins, only encouraging you further. It feels good be to back in his arms, connected once more. Your fingers weave their way into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer, not wanting to be apart from him anymore. Mind wandering, you forget everything that has happened last week, every shred of self-restraint you once had gone with the wind. With no intentions of stopping it, you open up further to him and he immediately pulls away. Shocked and hurt by the action, you pull back, unwinding your hands from his hair and brushing your hair out of your eyes. Despite it being your decision to take things slowly, his hesitation stings.

“Breakfast tomorrow at half nine before the game, I’ll pick you up.” He says, leaning down to kiss you softly again. It’s quick and leaves no time for you to attempt to pick things up again. You watch as he turns and heads back to his car, shaking your head as a you see him go to attempt to stop thoughts of him from running around your brain.

“God, that boy,” You whisper to yourself, stepping through the door. His charm and gravity pulling your closer back towards being his again with such ease. You could make him grovel all you liked but it wouldn’t take long for him to soon be in your arms again.

Let me know what you thought in my ask box or in the comments and what you wanna see happen next. I have an idea but suggestions are welcome x

[ilovemygaydad]

Friends in Dark Places [ch 12]

pairing: moxiety, eventual logince, background eventual remile, background eventual remy/emile/deceit

WARNINGS: sensory overload, panic attacks, self hate, school dances, swearing, food mentions, kissing, embarrassment, rumors, eating, possibly something else

tag list: @hufflepuffgirl01 @cocobearthe4th @cas-is-a-hunter @band-be-boss-blog @theunoriginaldaisy

a/n: so i have to repost all of these in a different format! yay fucking me!!!! please consider reblogging these if you’re a fan of this series because it’s all fucked up now

first - previous - next - companions

consider buying me a coffee (please)

-

“So, Virgil. Are you going to prom?” Roman casually asked before popping a french fry in his mouth.

“Um, I don’t know. I wasn’t planning on it.” Virgil absently dipped a chicken nugget into the pool of ranch on his tray. He really hadn’t thought about prom that much. Plus, the thought of a whole bunch of his peers stuck in one room together, probably grinding with their respective dates, was not a pleasant one.

“Awww, kiddo! You should go! You could come with us; we’re going to grab dinner and everything,” Patton whined.

“I mean, I guess?” Virgil grimaced as he weighed the options. “But don’t I have to rent a tux? I don’t have money for that, especially not after what happened on Monday. I’d be surprised to find my credit card still working with all of that in mind.”

Logan jumped into the conversation. “You would have to rent a tux, yes, but the three of us would be more than happy to help cover your expenses. We value you as a member of our friend group, and we wouldn’t exclude you from something just because you couldn’t afford it.”

Virgil opened his mouth to argue, but Roman interjected, “Dude, seriously. Just let us do this for you. It’ll be fun!”

“Plus, Ro already bought you a ticket,” Logan added and held out a small slip of cardstock. Westview Junior Prom.

Well, Virgil Thomas was now going to prom.

---

“Hey, Pat? Can you help me with my tie?” Virgil called from his bathroom. He had been struggling for the past five minutes trying to figure out the witchcraft behind ties, and he still had zero clue as to what he was supposed to be doing.

“Be right there, kiddo!” It was only a few moments before soft footsteps could be heard approaching, and Patton walked into the bathroom. He’d already mostly finished getting ready sans the fact that his hair was a catastrophic mess. Virgil could guess that he’d been trying to fix it when he’d been called into the other room.

“Alright. Work your magic,” Virgil smirked. In a matter of seconds, Patton had looped and pulled the tie into place, gently tightening it around Virgil’s neck. It was deep purple, picked out specifically because of his dislike of most other colors, and it went very well with the blues and reds of the others’ ties. The tie also matched the freshly dyed purple hair that Roman had forced his three friends to do along with him earlier that afternoon. What an ass.

Virgil admired his reflection. “Dude, what the fuck? How did you do that?” He felt oddly confident in his skin. The same feeling had come about a few times since he’d met Patton, and he had to admit that it was nice. Pat’s happy-go-lucky attitude somehow perfectly meshed with Virgil’s own doom-and-gloom one, forming a hilariously compatible friendship.

Patton smiled and ruffled Virgil hair, much to the other’s dismay. “Now that I helped you, will you please fix my hair.”

“Ugh, fine.”

“I mean it, Virge! Look at this.” Pat ran his fingers through his hair and aggressively tugged when he reached a clump of knots.

“Okay, yeah, we’re fixing that right now.”

---

“Dinner? Really, Patton? You guys couldn’t have told me about this before?” Virgil whined as the four walked into the diner. Yes, a diner, which meant that they were ridiculously overdressed; every other patron was wearing some sort of flannel and jeans combo. It smelled great, sure, but it was so unexpected that he couldn’t help but feel on edge.

“It’s our favorite restaurant,” Logan explained. “We always come here before school events. Roman has coined it as some sort of weird ritual, but it’s mostly tradition.” He led Virgil to the booth that Patton and Roman had already rushed to sit in.

“Plus, we’re friends with the staff,” Ro started with a smile. “You’ll love them; they’re all super nice. Speaking of, here comes Emilia.”

A young lady with brown hair walked up to their table, pulling out her small notepad. “Well, who do we have here? Another addition to our little group of customers of the month for every month since 2014?”

“Hey, Emilia!” Patton said. “This is Virgil; he’s a new friend of ours. He’s been living with me for a few weeks while his dad is out of the country on business.”

“That’s sweet, Patton. Now, what can I get for you guys?”

The three regulars spouted off their orders, clearly versed in what they wanted to eat. Suddenly, all eyes turned to Virgil. He’d barely been able to look over the menu in the time the others had taken to order.

“Uh… I… Um…” He stuttered. Every drop of intelligence that he had in his body was gone in an instant, and he was left a bumbling mess.

“He’ll have a cheeseburger and fries, thanks,” Patton cut in, saving his friend from any further embarrassment.

“Alright! I’ll be back in a few with your food and a pitcher of water!” Emilia gave the boys another smile before she walked back behind the counter to tend to other customers. Almost immediately, Patton and Roman launched themselves into a fast paced discussion about the upcoming festivities. Virgil, unsurprisingly, not only felt anxious, but he also felt like a complete idiot. He was just ordering dinner--there was no reason for him to have been so freaked out.

Virgil felt a hand rest on his left shoulder, turning to see Logan with a worried expression etched on his face. “Are you okay? Do you need to step outside for a moment to regain composure? I’d be willing to go with you if you don’t want to be alone.”

“Uh, no. I’m okay. I’m just a little worried. I mean, this is my first proper school event in, like, ever, and it’s freaking intimidating. You guys go to these things multiple times a year?” Virgil ran his hands through his hair, distressed.

“I understand. When Roman and Patton first made me come with them to homecoming, I was so nervous that I nearly passed out on the way here. Thankfully, I wasn’t driving us everywhere back then otherwise that would’ve ended in a disaster.” Logan gave Virgil a small smile, adding to the tiny--yet slowly growing--list of his outward displays of emotion. Virgil knew Lo wasn’t an emotionless android, but Roman and Patton were so all over the place that someone needed to play the calm and collected one.

“They can be pretty intense,” Virgil commented with a smile at the enthusiastic conversation across the table from them. Both of the teens were grinning and flinging their hands around in wild gestures, barely avoiding impact.

“Yeah, they sure can.” Logan glanced at the other side of the table with a fond expression, but he quickly snapped out of his reverie. “Don’t worry about the dance. Oh, here!” He pulled a pair of earbuds out of his inside jacket pocket and held them out to Virgil. “It gets pretty loud at these dances. I’ve observed that you put on headphones when it gets too noisy, so I brought these just in case you didn’t have your own.”

Virgil pocketed them just as Emilia finally returned with their food. The other three immediately began to dig in while he hesitantly poked at his burger. He picked up a fry and lazily popped it into his mouth.

He picked at his fries for a few minutes, but he eventually worked his way up to taking a bite of his burger. “Holy shit! This stuff is great--wait, why haven’t you taken me here yet?”

“I was trying to ease you into our friend group, so I thought eating dinner at my house would save you some unnecessary interaction,” Pat explained. “Obviously, that was a crime against your taste buds.”

“Of course it was, Patton. Depriving anyone of this blessed food is practically a war crime!” Roman dramatically stated, throwing out his arms. Virgil snorted at the theatrics.

They continued to eat, and all but Virgil had finished their dinner when Emilia returned to their table for dessert orders. Logan ordered a slice of pecan pie for himself, a chocolate lava cake for Roman, a hot fudge sundae for Patton, and a caramel shake for Virgil. Patton, of course, began to spout off a review of all of the desserts they’d ordered, even though Virgil wouldn’t be eating most of them. They all listened politely, not really absorbing any of the information, until their orders arrived. Within a nanosecond, Pat’s face was stuffed full of vanilla ice cream and fudge sauce, easily and efficiently shutting him up.

They ate in near silence, save for the “light” discussion of whether cake or pie was better (Patton eventually had to cut in when Roman threatened Logan with a butterknife). Pat covered the whole bill once they’d finished, claiming “it’s my way of thanking you guys for putting up with my shenanigans.”

---

“Three, two, one!” Roman dramatically counted as he threw the doors to the venue open. Time seemed to freeze as the four friends stepped in; all eyes snapped to them. It had been days since they’d been the topic of gossip at school, but that didn’t mean the student body had lost their interest in the boys.

Roman was at the front of the group, confidently striding to the grand staircase and adjusting his red tie. Logan followed close behind, who looked absolutely stunning in the sharp suit and deep blue tie. Then was Patton, who was marveling at the cascading flower vines and glittering fairy lights. And last but certainly not least…

Virgil. He had a wary smile on his face, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his slacks. The boy made absolutely sure that he didn’t get lost; he kept eyes on Patton the entire time they descended the stairs.

Logan had been right; it was fucking loud. People were screaming left and right, and the music was so loud that Virgil could feel every beat vibrate in his chest. He was lucky that he’d put the earbuds in before they’d arrived, or he never would have stepped inside the venue.

Patton turned around to check on Virgil, obviously sensing the tension building in his friend. He held out his hand for Virgil, who hesitated for just a moment before gently taking it. If people wanted to believe they were together, that wasn’t his problem. It was no skin off his back.

They talked and danced for what felt like hours, and Virgil even joined in on a few of the dances he knew. He was having fun. He smiled and laughed, and it was all genuine! In just a few short weeks, Patton had actually transformed him from a suicidal nightmare into someone who found joy in life. It was a stupid sentiment, and he knew it, but it still brought Virgil a bit of warmth in his chest.

The DJ announced a slow dance. Ugh, how awful. He had nobody to dance with; it was just—

Oh.

Patton tugged Virgil’s hand lightly, pulling their bodies closer together. “Wanna dance? We don’t have to, of course, but it would be a fun first experience for both of us!”

“I—Uh, sure,” Virgil mumbled, trying to hide his gently growing blush. Pat gently guided Virgil’s hands around his neck and placed his own on Virgil’s waist. For the first time, Virgil noticed that he was just an inch or so taller than his friend. Reveling in the warmth and closeness, the two swayed together to the gentle rhythm.

The song ended, and Virgil stepped back, shoving his hands into his pockets. He was extremely grateful that the low light hid his pink cheeks. The screaming resumed as couples broke apart, and early 2000s rap boomed out of the speakers.

And then just like that, Virgil was attacked by anxiety. His hands started shaking, and he rushed away from the small group he was in, mumbling something about going to the bathroom. He calmed slightly when he had made it outside, where he simply collapsed to the ground, but then his panic picked up again when he realized how fucking alone he was always going to be.

Nobody would love the weird guy who rushes out on social gatherings for no fucking reason! Why should they? Virgil had nothing to offer; he was just a guy who had snark to rival Roman and barely two cents to his name.

Tears streamed down his face, running in dark gray streaks as they mixed with his black eye makeup. He could feel his chest heaving, but little air actually made it into his body. Everything was working overtime yet nothing actually happened. Virgil stayed sobbing on the ground. Nothing. Changed.

“Virge, honey? Do you need me to call my mom and have her pick us up?” Patton slowly lowered himself next to Virgil, talking softly so that he woudn’t stir up anything worse.

“N-No! I’ll… I’ll… Fuck!” Virgil cried as he ripped the earbuds out of his ears. He threw the cord a few feet away, instantly regretting it as the sound of shattering plastic reached his ears. He’d have to buy Logan new ones. He couldn’t afford to replace them.

“Goodness gracious, Virgil. It’s okay. I’m going to call Logan, and we’re going to get you out of here—“

“I-I-I don’t… want t-t-to… ruin… night…” Virgil sputtered. He was having trouble pushing the words out; all of them got stuck in his throat.

Patton carefully began to comb through Virgil’s hair with his fingers in an attempt to soothe the attack. “Don’t worry about that, kiddo. There isn’t much more fun to be had, anyway. We still love you—I still love you.”

That’s it. That’s what he felt. Love. He loved Patton.

All of the impulse control he had—though, truthfully, there was very little to begin with—left his body. He reached out and brought Pat’s face to his own, lightly kissing him. Patton stiffened for a fraction of a second before relaxing into the kiss. They were both going to regret this later, but what did that matter in the moment?

next

[smallnico]

your gender thing struck a cord with me in a way-in middle school i felt like i didnt want to be a girl, or that i wanted to be a girl and a boy (didnt know that was a thing at the time) bc i felt like being a girl was too limiting. i didnt identify with what i thought a girl was supposed to be. as i got older tho, i realized that i didnt have to be a certain way to still be a girl (part one)

(part two) and that all being a girl meant was identifying as one. so now i id as a woman, but recently still struggled with my gender identity. i realize after much analysis its not bc im trans, but bc gender roles are just SO limiting and there's still outside pressure and expectation to present and behave in ways that dont suit me, so being perceived as a woman, even tho i AM, makes me feel burdened.

(part 3) its not being a woman thats the issue, its what society thinks that should mean is so limiting and untruthful to who i am, that it sometimes makes that identity itself seem repellent to me. for me, i find a struggle to take back my womanhood and defend it from my own skewed views due to society. i dont need to perform my gender to be valid. so i dont see myself as "gnc" so much as gender role irreverent. I am who i am

part 4- i by no means mean to imply that people who feel uncomfortable with their gender are just struggling with internalized misogyny- i'm no terf, and hope i don't come across that way. This is just about my OWN very personal experience with struggling with feeling weirdly at odds with my gender despite being cis. and i'm sure me being queer has impacted this disconnect as well (u can post these if u like)

i think i will post these, because it also pretty much resonates beat for beat with my experience. the way i interpret “gender nonconforming girl” as a label is really also just “gender irrelevant”, i just prefer it for myself because it allows me the freedom of expressing comfort with my body and the way i was born while also dismissing the notion that i feel any sort of obligation to conform to the expectations of that gender. i am a girl, objectively, in the same sense that a trans girl is objectively a girl, because it’s how i’m comfortable identifying. i’m just not a Girl™. and that’s not like, a “i’m not like other girls” sort of internalized misogyny thing -- i have absolutely nothing against girls or femininity, traditional or otherwise, and i celebrate and support people who find it empowering -- it’s more a discomfort and resentment toward a flawed and limiting mode of human categorization.

but yeah, in middle and high school, it was kind of a thing i held against girls and femininity. i went out of my way to avoid wearing skirts and dresses and bright colours, i stopped shaving, i kept my hair short, all because i didn’t want people to think i was Trying To Be Feminine. i was torn between wanting to try wearing makeup and never wanting to touch the stuff because of its association with feminine expectations. i experimented with my gender identity because i didn’t know what i wanted to be, all i knew was that i didn’t want to be stuck performing femininity my whole life because as soon as i started doing it, it was what people expected me to keep doing. nowadays i sort of associate that internal conflict with choosing a life path when applying for university -- i didn’t know what i wanted to do in particular, all i knew was that i never wanted to be asked to do math again. i didn’t know how to feel about my gender, except that i was tired of being asked to Do Woman, because i wasn’t good at it and didn’t think it was worth the hassle. 

(sidenote, i agree that this is inalienably linked to my queer identity, and the other and better meaning of “do woman”. i’m bisexual, but i was first driven to consider queer sexuality as a part of my identity because i So So Badly did Not want to fill the role of “woman” in a relationship with a man, and realized that actually, maybe i don’t have to, because i’m also attracted to women and nonbinary folks. it’s taken me the better part of 7 years of sexuality questioning to accept that i’m also attracted to men for this reason.)

of course, it’s not like that anymore, my life’s gotten a lot better since i decided to stop putting any energy into gender performance and start putting energy into “just doing what i want with myself”. i wear skirts and dresses now, because i just decided to stop associating them with feminine presentation and start associating them with things like “cute stylish outfit” and “i don’t have to wear pants and nobody will care”. i haven’t shaved since high school, not because i’m rebelling against the concept of femininity, but because i just don’t like shaving. i don’t bother with makeup because i’m bad at it and don’t feel like any reward i get from it is worth the strain it would cause me, financially or energetically. i can’t stress enough how little gender (consciously) factors into any of the decisions i make about the way i present and socialize, to the point where if someone accuses me of being “unladylike” or whatever, my first emotional response to that is confusion, because i wasn’t considering gender as a factor in my behaviour to begin with. it’s not very exciting, but i dress and present and perform as androgynous mostly as a coincidence, cus that’s just what happens when i don’t care about filling the requirements to qualify for a certain identity. as always -- no shade to people who do find comfort in doing so. you’re valid, i love you, and i admire your resolve.

this of course, again, isn’t meant to discount or dismiss the experiences of anyone who doesn’t feel this way about gender. i’m also not unaware of the privilege i hold to not be given shit for the way i present -- i am white, slim, nonreligious, middle class, and afab, all things that factor into society’s general acceptance of my deviance from gender performance that may not factor into others’ experiences. i’m not here to tell anyone that they should be like me and also eschew gender-related identity concerns (though feel free to give it a try, if you think it’ll empower you to live your best life), and i’m aware that it isn’t as easy as just deciding not to care anymore. this isn’t advice, nor is it a guide to any sort of universal experience. it’s just my personal experience. 

but if it resonates with you, i’m always glad to help people feel like they’re not the only one. thanks for sending this in, anon! i hope it doesn’t seem like i’m trying to talk over you, or anything, i just wanted to expand on my earlier point, given that it struck a chord :>

[impandagrl]

I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In

Meeting a sweet, attractive, customer at work is an innocent enough coincidence. What could go wrong?

Home Is Wherever I'm With You - Part 1

This story starts off a little sweet and tame, but builds. I wouldn't call it a slow burn, but it might take a few chapters to get the feel for this fic. This is just where the story started, bear with me. If you'd like a list of known future tags/warnings, shoot me a message because they contain spoilers.

If you'd like to be tagged in subsequent chapters let me know. I have six chapters written so far, I'll be uploading them on a random as-I-have-time/energy-basis.

I would not have been able to write this story without guidance and encouragement from my wonderful, infinitely talented, and long-suffering betas @justawaywardwinchestergirl and Edge_of_Clairvoyance

I've tagged a few people who showed specific interest in the one thing I posted like a year ago; I have no idea if this is something you'd like, so I won't bother you with any other tags in the following chapters unless you let me know you want to be tagged.

This is my first A/B/O fic. I never thought I would be attempting this, but the story has been building in my head the last several months. It is just a story I wrote for myself. I wouldn't say it's traditional anything, although there is smut in later chapters. I do my best to separate the smut from the story so those who want to skip those scenes can do so without it interfering with following the plot. Or, I guess if you only want to read the smut with minimal plot, it would work for that too . . .

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, Meet cute, Fluff, Possibly triggering if you've worked customer service, Mild Hurt/Comfort

“One large americano with a vanilla scone…” the customer in question came to retrieve their order, barely sparing her a glance. Well, they hadn't yelled at her, or tried to hit on her; she was going to call that interaction a win. She was still trying to shake off her encounter with one particular alpha earlier, whose deodorant had been overpowered by the sour tang of his ill-temper - the scent of which was still lingering in the air.

Her migraine was starting to flare up again and she still had several hours to go before this nightmare of a shift was over. She saw yet another customer approach out of the corner of her eye and mustered up the brightest smile she could before turning to face them. It wasn't their fault she was exhausted and in pain, or that she'd had to deal with a string of rude customers.

“Good afternoon! What can I get you?” her heart stuttered, but she was pleased to note she kept her voice and facial expression steady. He had to be one of the most beautiful people she'd ever seen. He had a smile for her as well and she braced herself against the counter, taking a moment to catch her breath under the force of it, combined with dazzling hazel eyes, gorgeous hair, and the perfect amount of scruff.

“Thank you, I'd like a medium black coffee. For here, please.”

“Coming right up! Would you like to try a quinoa muffin? The cranberry orange is delicious . . .”

His expression turned thoughtful and she found it almost as adorable as his smile. “Sure, why not? Thank you,”

“May I have your name for the order?” She waited expectantly.

“It's Sam.”

“That'll be $3.83, Sam.”

He gave her a five and declined the change.

She was granted another smile and a thanks when she presented him with his order a couple of minutes later and he took it to sit alone at one of the tables, grabbing two cream packets on his way over. In between helping other customers, she caught a glimpse of him reading from a worn, hardback book, taking careful sips of his coffee, but she didn't see him leave.

That cute guy with the nice smile stuck with her as a bright spot in her otherwise dreary day, but she didn't think much else about it.

Next week her Thursday shift was going a bit better, but that didn't mean she didn't get a thrill when she saw chestnut brown hair and twinkling eyes over the shoulder of the customer she was currently serving.

“Well, hello, Sam! What can I get you today?”

She was rewarded with a grin like pure sunshine, and she was surprised to note his eyes seemed more blue this time. “A medium black coffee, please. And, that quinoa muffin was delicious, did you say they come in other flavors?”

“Let's see, besides the cranberry orange, we have blueberry lemon, cinnamon apple, and coffee nut.”

“I think I'll try the apple - for here, please,”

She was heating up his muffin when he cleared his throat behind her. She turned to see a bashful smile. Gah, did he possess any facial expressions not specifically designed to steal her breath away?

“You know my name, but I don't have yours . . .”

“Oh,” She reflexively reached down to fix her nametag. The darn thing was always getting twisted around until it was unreadable. “Y/N, sorry about that.”

“No worries, just be glad I wasn't with the name tag police, I would've had to write you up,” the sarcastic humor on his face made it difficult for her to rein in her laughter to a polite chuckle.

She handed him his order and he looked - adorably - chagrined, “Sorry, that was terrible. I'm ashamed.”

“Not at all!” He gave her a reproving look that, even in jest, left her weak-kneed, “well, maybe a little, but there's no need to apologize: it *was* funny,”

“You're too kind. I'll see you next time, Y/N,”

Next time!? She would not say no to seeing him again, but did that mean he was specifically looking forward to seeing her again? Was this going to be a regular Thursday thing? She wouldn't say no to that either. She felt a fluttering in her stomach causing her to muse ‘uh oh, Y/N, I think you're in trouble. . .’

She couldn't believe she'd let her hopes get up so high, but she didn't even want to admit to herself how disappointed she was when the next Thursday came and went without any sign of her favorite customer.

The following Monday was hellish, and she could have sworn her week just went downhill from there. She couldn't help waking up a little hopeful that Thursday that Sam would make an appearance. She could use a pick me up.

Those good thoughts were driven from her head the moment she walked through the door. Her manager, Terri, was there freaking out because the GM had popped in for a surprise visit. The manager started in on her, insisting that she was late, even though she'd definitely arrived two minutes early. Terri then followed her around as she set up the store to open, criticizing every move she made. “Is it so hard to just use common sense?”

She swore she was going to end up punching her manager, or yelling back before the day was done, and she could not afford to be fired.

Then her coworker showed up (late, as usual, but of course Terri had nothing to say about that) and proceeded to spend most of the morning whining about personal stuff and avoiding doing any work, instead of actually pitching in to help her.

Of course the morning rush was brutal and didn't even slow down enough she could take a lunch break. Finally, a customer who had clearly asked for an iced mocha, went ballistic because, “I ordered a hot mocha! It's freezing in here, why would I want it iced? Are you deaf, or just too stupid to understand the difference between hot and cold?”

Terri swooped in, “I'm so sorry for the mix up! We'll definitely make it right, your hot mocha will be on the house! I'll make it myself; it'll be out right away.”

Y/N didn't hear any more, because she was heading for the restroom trying to keep her head up and hold back the tears until she reached her refuge. Damn it! The ladies room was locked. Not only would she have to wait, but whoever was in there would be able to see she was on the verge of crying when they passed her coming out. She turned, not sure where to go, and ran into a solid chest.

Two hands loosely gripped her upper arms and held her carefully as she caught her balance and looked up into Sam's face. His expression was full of concern (Yep, still too beautiful for words for those keeping score at home) and he didn't make a move to let go for a moment. “Hey, are you okay?”

She'd had such a suck-fest of a day, and he felt like safety, and care, and . . . home.  She nodded and then, ridiculously, the dam broke and she just burst into tears. He held her closer to him and shifted one of his arms so it was supporting her back. Within a couple minutes, she became aware that she was sobbing in a customer’s arms and, out of sheer mortification, forced herself to regain control, managing to mostly stop the tears. “Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!”

“You don't have to apologize.”

“That was so unprofessional . . . And I got your shirt wet,” she pointed to the damp patch in the middle of Sam's shirt, horrified.

“Honestly, it's fine, you've obviously had a day.”

She let out a weak chuckle. “You could say that.”

He steadied her and tentatively let go. He reached out a hand as if to touch her face, but pulled back at the last second, so that just the tips of his fingers brushed her cheek, wiping at a tear that was still streaking down it, “Do you have a break or something any time soon?”

She nodded, trying not get lost in his kaleidoscope eyes, “I'm supposed to get fifteen minutes for lunch.”

“Would you see if you can take it now, and join me?”

“I would be interrupting your reading time, I'm afraid . . .”

“You wouldn't be interrupting anything. If you don't feel up to it right now, I completely understand; I won't be offended, but I'd like it if you sat with me.”

“Okay, thank you.”

Sam nodded, “Thank you. I'll meet you in that corner booth?”

“Okay.” they both seemed hesitant to leave, but with a little nod Sam got in line to order, and Y/N went to let Terri know she was taking her lunch break.

Terri gave her a judgemental look meant to make her feel like she was slacking, but even her sour manager couldn't deny she was overdue for her break or legally say anything about it.

It was when she was grabbing her lunch from the break room that she stopped in her tracks as it dawned on her why that feeling of warmth and safety had come over her when Sam had touched her; why she even now felt uncomfortable standing still when he'd instructed her to do something. Her new friend was alpha. She really was in trouble.

But did that really change anything? She'd never met an alpha she felt that comfortable around - that's why it hadn't clicked right away. He was sweet and kind, and thanks to the best suppressants she could afford, she was safe from unwanted advances. And she was in a crowded coffee shop for crying out loud! She deliberated only a second, before heading over to wait at the corner booth.

Sam slid into the other side of the booth a few moments later with his plate and coffee. “I'm afraid you're probably sick of everything here, but I got two of the coffee nut muffins, just in case.”

She gave him a genuine smile, “I'll have one, thank you very much.” She caught a better glimpse of the book he had tucked under his arm. “The Two Towers? Are you a Tolkien fan?”

“Yeah, just rereading it for fun. You?”

She nodded, enthusiastically, “I love them. The movies are great, but they really short-changed several of the characters; there's just no beating the originals.”

“Oh, they butchered Faramir, for one!”

“Seriously! I was so pissed about that! I can watch them now, though. It sorta taught me not to demand perfection of movie adaptations. You have to treat them as separate entities. If you can't, don't bother watching them, you'll just be disappointed.”

“That sounds like good advice.” he chuckled.

“Sorry, I know I get too into that sort of thing.”

“Please, you don't have to apologize! It's refreshing, honestly, I've never been able to talk about Lord of the Rings around my brother.”

“Oh? Because he doesn't approve? Or he has a well-worn copy of the Silmarillion, and speaks Sindarin?”

Sam burst into surprised laughter, “Um, the first one, definitely! Although, I don't know, he's becoming more open about the ‘nerdy’ things he likes these days.”

“That's good. Life's too short to not enjoy the things you love. Are you and your brother close?”

“Yeah. I mean, we lost our mom young, and our dad passed a while back. We're all we've got.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be, he's pretty great. Just don't tell him I said that.”

“I would never!”

“What about you? You close with your family?”

“Um, I used to be. I haven't seen any of them in a while.” She didn't mean to sit awkwardly quiet after that, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

He seemed to read in her face the desire for a subject change, “So do you?

“Do I?”

“Have a well-worn copy of the Silmarillion and speak Sindarin?

It was her turn to laugh, “I always meant to read it, but I could never finish it.”

Their talk moved to other books on their favorites list and they were able to find quite a few that they had in common. Finally, she looked at her watch, “Shoot! I have to go, before Terri has a conniption. Will you be here next week?” The question had slipped out before she could think better of it, but he didn't seem to think it was weird or prying.

“I'm not sure. I travel for work, and I never know when I'm heading out. If I'm in town, I promise I'll stop by.”

She smiled, “Thank you, Sam. Today was going pretty terribly before you got here. Not everyone would do what you did.”

“I'm glad I was there to help. You made my day too, you know? I'll see you next week, hopefully.”

She waved and rushed back behind the counter before Terri could come looking for her. Not even her snippy boss could bring her down the rest of the day. A hot, kind, sweet alpha, that made her feel safe, bought her muffins, whose smile was like the sun coming up, and he was a book nerd? Oh yes, she was in deep trouble.

This way to Part 2

@pinknerdpanda @neversatisfiedgirl @amanda-teaches

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Heart Of Gold

Sam x Reader

Word Count: 2980? I have no idea how that happened, this was supposed to be ~1k.

Warnings: Angst. Somewhat sexy but not super-explicit stuff. Sam being called a cupcake. No, but seriously, it’s sad. 

A/N: For @impala-dreamer‘s Titles Are Hard Challenge! Thanks to the amazing @atwistoffate for her angst expertise/brainstorming help. 

The title is from the Neil Young song. It’s referenced obliquely, but it also just sorta sets the mood. 

When Sam remembers her, he remembers the summer they met. He was fourteen and she was thirteen, and he remembers thunder and the taste of salt and the thin cotton of her pillowcase under his cheek.

Her dad drops her off in the junkyard and she stomps away, and Sam gets a quick impression of a skinny little thing with her backpack slung over her shoulder and holes in her jeans. He tries to introduce himself as she passes him, but she rolls her eyes with a fury that makes him cringe, and he lets her go.

They circle around each other for the whole week she stays there. Sam has trouble looking at her for too long; it feels like looking straight into the sun. Sometimes he finds her staring at him like he’s a puzzle, something to be analyzed and put back together, but when he meets her eyes she always scurries out of the room before he can try to talk to her.

One day, when the rain comes down thick and hard and chases him inside, he goes upstairs to retreat to his room. He’s tiptoeing past her open door when he sees her, curled on her bed, her cheeks covered in tear tracks.

He slides in silently, not sure what to say, worried she’ll shatter or maybe just scream if he makes a sound. He sits down at the foot of the bed and waits, and when she doesn’t immediately tell him to fuck off, he lies down, facing her, watching another tear bead in the corner of her eye and roll over the bridge of her nose.

“My dad didn’t even tell me where he was going this time,” she says, and in spite of the tears, her voice is steady and furious.

He remembers watching a sitcom, one of those syrupy-sweet ones, and in one episode the little girl had fallen off her bike and skinned her knee, and the mother had smoothed a band-aid over it gently, and then kissed it, even more gently, “To make it all better.”

She looks like her world is one big skinned knee in that moment, and so Sam leans forward and kisses her, butterfly-soft, tasting the traces of tears left on her lips. He pulls away as soon as he realizes what he’s done, and she’s staring at him, smiling, like he’s shocked her out of her brokenness.

“What was that for?” she asks.

“Trying to make it better,” he mumbles, and it sounds painfully stupid when he says it out loud, but she’s still smiling, radiant and dazzling. He kisses her again, and the way her lip pillows between his makes him finally understand why kissing was invented in the first place.

Her dad picks her up the next day, of course, before Sam can work up the courage to suggest they keep in touch.

The next time he sees her is two years later. She’s sitting on the steps of Bobby’s house eating a popsicle, and her lips and teeth are stained blue when she grins up at him. Sam can’t breathe for what feels like a very long time.

It takes them a few days of circling nervously again, one ducking their head when the other smiles, trying to hide the way they’re blushing, but Sam eventually kisses her again. They curl into each other on the lumpy twin bed and kiss until Sam is dizzy and breathless, and a few days later, they lose their virginity together on that same narrow bed, fumbling and touching and exploring until Sam feels like there are lightning bolts in his stomach and crashes of thunder in his ribcage.

He scribbles his number down on a scrap of paper and slides it into her hand when he hugs her goodbye. She calls him, sometimes. They’re always shy at first, not sure what to say, and then words come easier and easier until Sam can’t get them out fast enough, and they always end up talking for hours, sharing more words than Sam says in the rest of the month combined.

The calls happen less and less, though. And then he tells her about Stanford, about getting out, and there’s not much left to say, then, because they both know it’ll be goodbye.

He thinks about her, sometimes. Sometimes he sees a smile that reminds him of hers, and his heart jumps into his throat. But mostly he’s busy, and he has Jess, and then Dean comes along and there’s the whole thing where they’re busy sorta accidentally causing the apocalypse… Besides, he’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to talk to him. She would’ve called, otherwise, right?

It doesn’t surprise him, though, when he walks into Asa’s and sees her. It startles him, makes him go hot and cold all over, but it doesn’t surprise him, because some part of him always figured they’d find their way back to each other. It feels inevitable.

She’s standing by the stereo, flipping through the CD collection, when Sam walks in. It takes him a few seconds to connect that smile, those lush curves, with the girl he’d met and her popsicle-stained teeth and her skinny arms, and then something in his stomach swoops like he’s missed a step going down the stairs. Someone is trying to talk to him but it sounds like the buzzing of a gnat, and he can’t take his eyes off the way she’s tilting her head, eyeing one of the CD cases with her bright eyes in a way that reminds him of a bird. The lamp just behind her illuminates her hair in a little halo of gold.

She shifts her weight from side to side as she puts in the CD, and Sam can’t help but stare at the soft curves of her hips, the grace in the way she moves. She puts on Harvest, and he can remember the day she first introduced him to Neil Young; Sam had made some comment about how terrible his voice was, and she threatened to break his nose.

When she turns around and catches him staring her eyes go wide and shocked, and for a long moment Sam is scared she’ll just turn back around and pretend she hasn’t seen him. Maybe she doesn’t want to see him. Maybe she really has forgotten him.

Instead, though, she smiles (and still, after all these years, it’s like staring into the sun) and walks over to him slowly, and before he can think of anything to say she’s hugging him, molding herself against his chest, and they still fit together so perfectly, and he would swear her hair smells like summer rain.

They sit down and catch up. The words don’t matter so much; it’s more about the expressions that flicker across her face and the way she squeezes his hand when he talks about Bobby’s death. He’s in love with her all over again by the time the album is over. Later, after the ordeal with the demon and the awkwardness of introducing her to his mother, he kisses her goodnight. Her arms twine around his neck and his thumb rubs gentle little circles in the hollow behind her ear, and they make plans to meet up again the next day.

Maybe it’s the history between them, the innocence of those first clumsy kisses in the thick summer air, but when they spend the night together again it’s so pure and sweet and breathtaking that Sam feels like he’s sixteen again. He wants to spend hours just touching her, trying to relearn the contours of her body, feeling this new way they fit together, all her curves melting against the planes and angles of him. He wants to spend hours kissing her, soft and languid, parting his lips to let her lick into his mouth while his hands cup her cheeks reverently. But she rocks forward against him, reminds him how achingly hard he is already, and the kiss deepens into something blistering-hot and needy, and everything sort of just speeds up and goes hazy. When she’s finally naked there’s none of the shyness he remembers, just her eyes fluttering closed and her ragged breath and her hands gripping his shoulders, silently asking him for more.

In some ways, everything’s different. He knows what he’s doing, now, knows the mechanics of how to touch her, but none of his experience could ever prepare him for the reality of what she looks like when he touches her, the rosy-red O of her mouth and the way she shakes and shudders when he crooks his fingers. She’s so goddamn beautiful, and Sam feels the same way he did that first night, his head spinning and his nerve endings singing, so overwhelmed he can barely see straight when he slides into the incredible slick heat of her.

Sam remembers her often, whenever he’s reminded of love or how things could’ve been.

Dean and Donna finally get married; took them long enough. Sam’s happy for them, so fucking happy it almost eclipses every other thought, but when he listens to the vows he gets choked up without warning. She’s still the only person he can imagine saying those words to.

When he closes his eyes he can almost see her there at the altar. She would want sunflowers in her bouquet, he knows that much. She might not go for the traditional white dress; she always refused to wear white, because she was so damn clumsy it never stayed white, and she was never much for tradition anyway. He can almost smell her, too, but smell is such a strange shifting unreliable thing to remember, and he always gets her perfume mixed up with the smell of summer rain falling on the dusty ground outside Bobby’s house.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers the little things. He remembers slow-dancing in the kitchen because her favorite song comes on while they’re making dinner. He remembers the way she sleeps, sprawled starfish-style across the bed, taking up every inch of space. He remembers going to the pet store together and making hopeful plans to get a dog.

Sam used to think he’d fall in love again. He figured it would happen eventually. It never really does, though.

Sometimes he meets someone, and something sparks, and he thinks maybe. But it’s not the same. He knows it’ll never be the same, he’s not expecting anyone to be like her, but he never feels anything remotely like what he felt with her. There was something magical about their time together. It was warm and bright and glowing, the way he felt with her, comfortable and shaky-scary-new all at once, and comparing other women to her is like holding up a candle to the sun.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers calling her “sunshine.”

They’re in a diner with Dean, one morning, a few months into their relationship, and when she slides back into the booth, he says, “Ordered for you, baby.”

She glares at him, and he raises an eyebrow back. “I don’t like that,” she says bluntly. “Baby. It’s belittling. Nicknames should fit the person. Pick something else?”

Sam sorta gapes at her for a moment while Dean makes a face into his coffee, but she’s looking back at him expectantly, so he considers it.

“Sunshine,” he says eventually. She smiles.

“Why?”

“When I first kissed you. Remember? It was raining, but the way you smiled at me… well. Yeah. Sunshine.”

Dean snorts.

“I like it.” She grins, and yeah, that’s it, that’s exactly what he means; he sees her beaming and he has to avert his eyes.

“What’s mine, then?” he asks.

“Cupcake,” she says promptly. Sam splutters. “Cause you’re so fuckin’ sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth.”

Dean snort-laughs so hard he almost chokes on his coffee, and she turns to him with a vicious little smirk.

“I’ve got one for you, too,” she says, all sugary in a way that Sam knows means trouble.

“Shoot, kid,” Dean says.

She makes her eyes go big and her voice go high, and calls him “Senpai,” in such a dead-on impression of an anime character that Dean actually does choke this time. Sam laughs until there are actual tears in his eyes.

When Sam remembers her, he remembers the way they found her.

The bunker is quiet, and he drops his duffel and strides through room after room, so excited to see her, to tell her all the mundane details of the hunt, to hold her again. He can’t find her in the library. He can’t find her in the kitchen. He knows she’ll be here, though. She promised she’d always be there waiting.

She’s starfished across their bed the same way she always sleeps, but it’s the middle of the afternoon and she’s cold. He remembers the confusion, more than anything, when he talks to the doctor and he’s saying something about an embolism and Sam doesn’t fucking understand, because he’d always worried about monsters and demons and instead he’s losing her to something he can’t fight.

God, he wishes he could fight something.

But there’s nothing he can do, nothing to be done, except keep moving, even though it feels like there are jagged broken edges inside him that could cut him to shreds if he moves the wrong way. For months, after, he can’t move through what used to be their shared space without feeling something catch and slice. There are so many open wounds where she used to be.  

He tries not to remember that, though. He remembers all the other homecomings, instead. 

She goes on hunts with them, sometimes, but mostly she stays home. The first time they’d tried it, working all together, Sam had been so worried about her he’d almost gotten himself killed; he was too busy watching her to notice the stupid rugaru creeping up behind him. Sam promises it won’t happen again, but the next time, she volunteers to stay home, and he’s secretly glad about it.

One day they come home and she’s not there. Her car isn’t in the garage. When he calls her, it goes straight to voicemail. He looks in every room twice, and she’s just not there, and in spite of himself he can feel the panic building in his throat, feel this cold steely thing clenching around his ribs, and he has to press the heels of his hands into his eyes to fight back the tears.

“It’s okay, dude, she probably just ran out for food,” Dean says, mystified. Sam nods tightly and goes to their room. He double checks their dresser, just to make sure; everything’s there. She hasn’t packed her bags. Still, Sam’s breathing has gone shallow and painful, and it’s not any better by the time she gets home.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, dropping her purse immediately and wrapping her arms around him.

He can’t get the words out. It makes no goddamn sense, of course. It’s fucking stupid, he should know better, but it’s all twisted up in his head and he can’t spit it out in any way that doesn’t sound pathetic.

“I should’ve left a note,” she whispers into his chest. “Fuck, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry.”

“My dad- people just-” he says, strained.

“Leave,” she finishes.

“I never get to say goodbye, and-”

“I promise I’ll always be here when you come home,” she says fiercely. “I promise. I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

She holds to it, from then on. He texts her when they’re getting ready to head back, and she’s always there, without fail, welcoming him home with that too-bright smile. She hears the roar of the Impala and she comes to the garage door to meet them, leaning against the doorframe. She’s always so happy to see him. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to that.

Turns out he won’t have time to get used to any of it, but those are still good memories.

Sam’s starting to feel the years, now. He’s starting to ache, starting to feel like maybe the next time he dies it’ll actually stick, and he doesn’t mind that too much, but for now there’s still work to be done. Dean and Donna moved out when they were getting ready for their first kid, moved to a real house with an honest-to-god picket fence where Dean cooks dinner every night. So Sam has the bunker to himself now. It would be lonely, but there are usually a couple visitors coming and going. Hunters pass through. Cas stays, when he feels like slumming it with the humans for a while. Jody comes to visit more often, now that she’s retired, and sometimes Dean drops off his kids for a weekend so that he and Donna can have a real date. Every time Sam thinks he’s child-proofed the place, they find a new stash of weapons somewhere.

But he’s taken on the work Bobby used to do, research and answering phones and passing along his wisdom, or whatever, to the new generation of hunters. He’s busy. He’s helping. He doesn’t usually feel lonely.

Sometimes, though, he remembers her. He’ll see someone in a crowd who has her posture, or her hair, and he’s choked with memories before he can even process why. Sometimes when it smells like summer rain he can close his eyes and feel her there, feel her fingers grasping at his shirt, feel her lips, feel her velvet-hot skin under his palms. Sometimes he’ll hear that Neil Young song she loved and he could swear she’s just in the next room, cocking her head to the side all bird-like and graceful, waiting for him to come dance with her.

He knows he’ll find his way back to her again, someday. He knows she’ll be there waiting for him.

.

.

.

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Tag time: @thinkwritexpress-official @mandilion76 @winchesterprincessbride @carryonmyswansong @ultimatecin73  @mrswhozeewhatsis @ridingmoxley  @mogaruke @happy-bun-bun @geekgirl1213 @laurafloradora @babypieandwhiskey @internettrashbag @superapplepie @tardisandtalisman @sleepless-sin @bambi95-blog @dalikah3

[reddie-steady-go]

119 Reddie

I am soooo so sorry this took me ages to get out! It’s kind of long, and also I kind of messed it up and it’s a tad cruddy, but I had fun writing it nonetheless and I REALLY hope you enjoy it! I really love the idea of Richie not being able to keep anything secret from Eddie, so that’s what I went with for this. Also I love the idea of Richie calling Eddie “your highness” and will take literally any opportunity to make that happen so that is a thing here too. Thank you so much for the request I love getting them!!!

@reddie-to-go, @thecastlebyers tagged, as requested! If you would like to be tagged let me know I would be more than happy to arrange it!!

#119: “Stop ignoring me”

Eddie’s eyesnarrowed, fixed thoughtfully on Richie through the library window. The curlyheaded boy sat within, laughing as Beverly extended her middle finger to him,no doubt a response to one of Richie’sjokes. The corners of Eddie’s mouthpulled unconsciously upwards into a delicate smirk. Richie had a penchant formaking the worst jokes in existence. Eddie had a penchant for always laughing. Buttoday, Eddie wasn’t laughing, and Richie wasn’t joking; not to him, at least.

“Hi Eddie,” Stan materialised beside him. Eddiejolted, the suddenness of Stan’s voicescattering his thoughts like leaves in a strong breeze. “You look worried. Well, more than usual,” He smiled dryly beside Eddie, hiseyes showing a genuine concern.

“Hmm? Oh yeah I’m fine,” Eddiesighed. Stan raised an eyebrow and gave him a sidelong glance, obviouslyunconvinced.

“You sure?” Stan waited, crossing his armsexpectantly. Eddie shifted his eyes downward. He wasn’t fooling anybody.

“I think Richie might beignoring me,” Eddie’s brow furrowed in a mixture of confusion and frustration.

“What makes you say that?” Stan’s eyesflashed briefly with something before returning to a curious shine. It was onlya second, but Eddie still caught it. It looked like, knowing? Understanding?Understanding what? Eddie’s ownconfusion deepened, muddying his thoughts, settling in his mind like a thickfog.

“Well, yesterday everythingseemed normal, but today, he’llbarely even look at me. Let alone talk to me!” Eddiepursed his lips in thought and worry, turning to regard Stan. “But I have no idea why he would beignoring me. And it’s my birthday tomorrow. Iknow I said I didn’t want to do anything, but it’ll still really suck if my boyfriendis ignoring me on my birthday.”

“Maybe he’s just busy, I’m sure everything will be fine,” Stan shrugged nonchalantly and gestured towards thelibrary doors. “Come on, or they’ll be wondering where we are,” Without waiting for a reply, hecontinued forward, stepping through the doors. Eddie lingered for a moment,eyes locked on Richie, before sighing, and following Stan.

“There you guys are. Wethought little Eddie might have gotten lost,” Bevchuckled as the duo approached. Eddie made a sour face at Bev and walked overto an open chair beside Richie, heart pounding. Almost timidly, he reached outto grab Richie’s hand and gave it a squeeze.Richie squeezed back, his larger hand fitting perfectly around Eddies.  Eddie all but cheered, relief flooding throughhim. Maybe he wasn’t being ignored after all.

Eddie’sallowed the din and buzz of his friends wash over him, before turning to Richie.

“Hey, you ready for cookienight?” he said hopefully, eyesfixed on Richie. “I thought we could watch thePrincess Bride,”

“About that Eds,” Richie began. Already Eddie couldfeel disappointment gathering hungrily, waiting to pounce. “I can’t docookie night. I have, er, a lot of homework,” Eddie’s face fell, disappointment and worrycrashing down upon him like waves in a hurricane.

“Oh,” Eddie breathed, his voice rife with dismay. “That’s okay.Next week then.” Eddie fought tears. What didhe mean he couldn’t do cookie night? It wastheir tradition! Every Thursday night they would get together, just the two ofthem, eat cookies, and watch a movie. They never cancelled.

“Hey, Eddie, Actually I waswondering if you could come over this afternoon? I need some help with some,uh, science stuff!” Ben chimed in, lookingalmost worried as his eyes darted between Richie and Eddie.

“Um, okay,” Eddie said slowly. Why would Ben askEddie for help? They weren’t evenin the same class. His eyes narrowed, suddenly aware that all the losers werewatching him intently, hanging onto every moment of silence. “What time?”

“Oh, about 3:45. That shouldwork,” Ben tried, and failed, togrin casually.

Suddenly the bell rang, it’scacophonous cry echoing throughout the library. Ben and the other losers shotup and darted for the door, uttering hasty goodbyes, leaving only Richie andEddie. Richie turned, and began to head for the exit before Eddie stopped him.

“Hey,” Eddie grabbed Richie’s arm,anchoring the boy. “Are you at least going to saygoodbye?”

“Oh, uh, goodbye,” Richie mumbled sheepishly. Eddieregarded him suspiciously.

“Can you stop ignoring me, and tell me what’s goingon?” Eddie asked, his voice taking afrustrated edge, eyeing Richie as if he was about to bolt. He certainly looks like he might, Eddie noted to himself. Richiestood in front of him, almost squirming at Eddie’s gaze.His normally pale cheeks were flushing pink, and his eyes darted around,refusing to meet Eddie’s.

“Nothing’s going on, Eds. And I’m not ignoring you!” Richie tried, his voice heavy withfalse reassurance.

“Really? Because I really feellike you’re ignoring me, you wouldn’t talk to me in English, Ben justasked me to go help him with science when we don’t evenhave the same class or teacher. Andeveryone else is acting really weird,” Eddiestood resolutely, eyes piercing through Richie.

“Pshhh Eddie what are youtalking about? We’re all cool as a cucumber!” Richie winced as he spoke, acutelyaware of the hollowness of his words.

Eddie crossed his arms, a slight furrow creasing his brows. “You just called me Eddie,” He said matter-of-factly. “You never call me Eddie,”

“I uh, have to go,” Richie whirled around, his cheeks ablazing crimson, beelining for the door before Eddie could stop him. Eddiestarted to protest before stomping off behind him, a frustrated huff escapinghis lips.

-–-

Eddie’sfrustration stuck with him for the rest of the day, swirling around him,gnawing at the back of his mind. It wasn’t justRichie now. All of the losers were acting strange. Eddie didn’t like it. Not one bit. Stepping uponto the Hanscomb porch, Eddie rapped on the door, resolving to interrogateBen. A few seconds of silence passed before Ben appeared, pulling open the doorand grinning like a madman.

“Hey there Eddie!” Ben seemed far too cheery forscience homework. Eddie felt again the confusion as it began to once againentrap his thoughts. He stepped forward, realising as he entered the home thatall of the lights were off. He knelt down and fiddled with the laces of hisshoes before pulling them off and tossing them beside the door. He straightenedhimself and peered at Ben, his eyes struggling in the dark.

“Can we turn on some lights?And I wanted to ask –” Thelights flashed on suddenly, blinding and garish.

“SURPRISE!!!” The cry came from six voices,jolting Eddie, who let out a small yelp. He felt something touch his head, andrealised he was surrounded by balloons, the colourful orbs floating lazily tothe ground around him. As his eyes adjusted to the sudden burst of light,Richie saw that streamers of nearly every colour hung from the ceiling andsnaked around the banisters. In front of him stood all six losers, crowding thedoorway into the sitting room, each and every one wearing conical birthday hatsand wide grins. Bev laughed at Eddie’sutterly stunned expression, and Ben giggled as he forced a cardboard crown ontohis head.

“Happy early birthday,Spagheds!” Richie elbowed his waythrough his friends and approached Eddie, wrapping his arms tightly around him.Eddie savoured the contact for the brief second that he could before five otherbodies crashed into them, enveloping him in a tangle of limbs. Eddie finallyescaped the pile, his crown tilted comedically on the side of his head.

“This way to the party, yourhighness,” Richie bowed low and tookEddie’s hand in his, bringing it upto press a kiss into the top. Eddie blushed as a chorus of awes erupted,smiling sheepishly at Richie. Any misgivings Eddie had about the behaviour ofhis friends shattered in his mind, scattered to the four winds.

“You guys, I told you that youdidn’t have to do anything,” Eddie said between giggles as Richiepulled him by the arm into the next room, the losers hot on their heels.

“Cram it Kaspbrak,” Bev laughed. “That’sexactly why we did do something,”

“Your throne,” Richie said stuffily, beforedepositing Eddie rather unceremoniously into a large, leather La-z-boy.

“Is this why you were allacting so weird?” Eddie laughed. “And why Richie was ignoring me?”

“Absolutely,” said Stan. “Do you know how hard it was to keep this secret from youwith Richie in the loop? We told him as late as we could, and made him avoidyou. Otherwise he would have told you about it almost immediately,”

“That’s definitely true I can’t keepanything from you I would have told you immediately,” Richie chimed in. “It wasfor the best, really,”

Eddie tossed his head back and laughed, realising that the sourceof all of his worry was a surprise birthday party.

“Enough talking! It’s party time!” Mike cried, shoving a noise-maker in his mouth andblowing on it heavily.

-–-

The party lasted into the night, until Eddie decided that hehad to go home to placate his likely hyperventilating mother. He had called herto tell her where he was, but he couldn’t imagineshe was pleased.

“Can I walk you home, your grace?” Richie asked in a poor imitation ofan English accent that made Eddie laugh.

“Of course,” Eddie bid the rest of his friendsgoodnight and stepped out into the night, the chill air swirling around him anddancing across his skin. Richie reached down and took Eddie’s hand in his, leading the two downthe sidewalk.

“Sorry I was avoiding you,” Richie said sheepishly. “I just didn’t want to give the party away. It was Stan’s idea so get mad at him,”

“Chee, its okay,” Eddie chuckled. “I’m justglad you’re not mad at me like Ithought,”

Richie stopped and turned to face Eddie. Wordlessly, heleaned in, and pressed his lips tenderly against Eddie’s. The feeling of Eddie’s lipsas they fit perfectly in his sent sparks tingling across Richie’s body. They must have kissed ahundred times. Yet every time it felt brand new. Richie pulled back and placed hisarms on Eddie’s shoulders, pulling him intoan embrace.

“Happy birthday, Eds” He whispered softly into the air. “I love you,”

Eddie felt weightless, the cold night-time air feeble andinsignificant against the warmth of Richie’sembrace. Eddie nuzzled into Richie, taking in the way he smelled, the softnessof his tee-shirt against his cheek, the warmth of his body, the beat of hisheart against his own. Eddie would never get over how perfect it felt, how right it felt. Eddie sighed contentedly.

“I love you too, Chee,” he said tenderly, exulting in thewarmth that shot through him as he said it. “Now canwe go home? I’m tired,”

Richie laughed, the vibrations comforting Eddie as he feltthem through his chest. “Surething, your highness,”

Eddie smirked. “I couldget used to being called that,”