#sorry I’m adding so many tags because I want everyone to weigh in here

[analoceits]

mushroom rings & faery things chapter 1: loyalty

A03 link

note:

thanks to ChaosIsMyName on A03 for reading this over!! theyre the fucking best and yall should read their shit.

also uhh. felt fair to warn that i do NOT pull any punches on my body horror. its brief and skippable but i do get pretty intense when i do go with it soo, yeah. as well this is probably one of the darkest and messiest chapters in this whole fic, and the full promise of older brother remus wont come in till later [like chapter 3] so yeah 3 it will happen eventually but right now everyones too messy to be sweet. you can see the seeds of it start to grow tho!!

tags:

Disabled Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders-centric, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Fae, Body Horror, (for like 1 or 2 paragraphs but yknow), Fae Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Light Sides As Family (Sanders Sides), Found Family, Things look Worse Than They are, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, implied/referenced suicidal ideation, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders has a Cane, Remus Typical Gore Discussion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Discussions of Death/Grief, no one dies tho,

-

I’m so sorry,

I know you don’t want me to do this, but I know I need too. I can’t go another day not sure if Roman will live or die, and I doubt you guys can either. No matter what you say, I’m indebted to you. It’s time I pay that back. Go to the edge of the woods, my gift will wait there.

With endless loyalty, Virgil.

Virgil pocketed the note in silence. It was the last of many ugly, emotional, gut-wrenching drafts and the only one he could imagine having them read. The only one he had managed to write without crying. With it completed, he had nothing left to do here.

He took one last look at his room from the bed. It didn’t look familiar; he had cleaned up most of his things so they wouldn’t have too while grieving. Still, there were some marks of himself that he couldn’t hide under the bed. 

A scuff in the tile from his boots, old purple sheets torn where he pulled on them too hard, a single blind tied to the rest with green string where he broke it. Family carved into a bed post. Despite his best efforts, there was proof he had lived.

With that bittersweet thought, he pulled himself up off the bed and steadied himself with his cane. He smiled just barely, slowly making his way down the stairs and around the hall. As soon as he was off the stairs, his eyes locked on the front door, but he silently shook his head.

There was one stop before he had to leave.

It took care to ease the bedroom door open silently, but as soon as he did he was at Roman’s bedside. He couldn’t help the way his stomach twisted with guilt at the sight - white bandages wrapping around his stomach where a red sash should be. The only red left was that pouring out of his guts, now.

Between bouts of crying and frantically checking his bandages, Logan had called it a godly miracle he survived. That was, of course, right before Patton physically dragged him to bed for his own sake, but it still held some weight. Their luck couldn’t last them forever, though. 

His eyes darted down to his cane when the thought hit him. The cane was a gift from Roman, one he had carved for hours on hours with painstaking care after Virgil started to complain of his pain. The one with from your family carved under the handle in gentle letters. Virgil had to hold back tears of joy when he first used it.

It was the last gift Roman was able to give him, a gift to make sure he wasn’t in pain. Even with the cane, he couldn't help Patton forage, or Logan shop, or Roman hunt. The thought sent a strange spiraling guilt through Virgil, but it didn’t matter.

It didn’t, because he knew he could fix it anyway. No matter how high the price may be.

He slipped the note out of his pocket. It was so small in his hand, but it must’ve weighed ten thousand pounds with how hard it was to hold. He tucked it in between Roman’s fingers with painstaking care. It was the only spot he could think to leave it.

Sparing one last glance to Roman’s limp form, he turned his back on the bed. The satchel felt practically weightless when he pulled it over his shoulder - if you could even call it that. It was tiny, only enough to fill a small cup of milk and a tiny jar of honey. That was all he needed.

Right as he went to stand up, a sharp whimper sounded from behind him. He glanced back to Roman, twisting and turning fitfully in his bed between little cries. Right, nightmares. They had only gotten worse since his accident, Logan had mentioned.

He hesitated before turning around, but he knew he didn’t have the guts to leave him like that. He was loyal to him. His hands were practically shaking as he nervously brushed the hair out of Roman’s face and shushed him, “shh, it’s ok.. there you go, there you go bud. You ain’t got anything to fear, Ro.”

Slowly, Roman stopped his twisting and turning, quieting down. Still, there was the slightest furrow to his brow and Virgil couldn’t help the fond way he sighed. He leaned down over him, brushing a finger over his brow as he kissed his forehead.

As soon as he drew back up, there was a hand softly grasping at his wrist, and it took all his willpower to pull out of the grip. “I know,” he said as he fit the sheets back over Roman, “I don’t want me to leave either.”

It wasn’t hard to open the house door silently and it wasn’t hard to pace down the stone path without his boots or cane making a noise. No, that wasn’t hard, he had practiced. It was hard to not look back. It was so hard, to swallow his guilt and grief and not look at those unlit windows. 

He kept walking anyway.

Their house was near the edge of the woods, so he knew it wasn’t going to be a very long walk. Still, his entire body ached and he stumbled down the path as it turned from stone to gravel, then to dirt, then to overgrown grass. Brambles thickened on either side of the trail.

Finally, he reached the edge of the woods, and it was just as great and imposing as he remembered. Dark, thick leaves hung overhead and any trace of moonlight would be gone as soon as he passed under those trees. He knew he wouldn’t need the light, the path painstakingly memorized but the darkness felt endless nonetheless. 

With one deep breath he pushed between the leaves and made his way onto a deer path carved in the grass. There was just the barest shine from moonlight that managed to worm its way between leaves, and he thanked the heavens for that.

Every passing step through, though, had the moon’s light fading until pure black clawed at the edges of his vision and he could barely see his own boots. The old growth of the forest thickened around him as he went on.

He kicked through undergrowth and slapped at brambles with the edge of his cane. Thick brambles and thorns caught on the edges of his pants, as if the forest itself was pleading with him to head back, but he simply kicked through and continued. No matter what anyone said, he had a duty.

The walk was an hour at most, but it felt like ages. Every step he took he wanted nothing more to turn around and bolt home, but he was not a coward. He was loyal to a default; he would not give up when he was needed. Even if he couldn’t think to call himself a good person, he payed his debts.

Even with the misery, he had a slight bit of company. The sounds of nature churred around him; a breaking stick and then the delighted chirp of grasshoppers, a shrill whistle cry of a bird and then a distant splash from a pond out of his view. The closer he got to his destination, the louder and more frequent the noises became; an accompanying orchestra. He didn’t know if it was a hopeful heroic swell or a tragic one.

Finally, the woods started to clear around him; giving up on fighting him. Slowly, at first, brambles let up and the barest glint of moonlight shone through the trees, and then all at once as the last bit of undergrowth caught on his boots and he stumbled into the clearing.

It was uncomfortably beautiful. The full moon was bright, shining and hearty (he was sure it had been a half-moon when he had entered, but he didn’t think that mattered where he was.) The stars glittered above head along with it and it felt like they were winking down at him for some inside joke he was now in on.

The main thing that caught his eye, however, was the ring of mushrooms. They were stark, bright red and it briefly reminded his of Roman’s garish sash - then it reminded him of his blood, and his heart sank. It was fine, he told himself, he was making it up now.

He took a few paces ahead and then dropped to his knees right in front of the faery ring, carefully and slowly removing the pack from his shoulder and unloading the contents. Milk, honey, and a bowl. Perfect.

A strange sense of calm came over him as he placed the bowl in the farthest point of the ring. It was a painful, aching calm; like he was planning his own funeral. A singular mourner holding vigil for his own life, a living corpse. It was grim, but more than fitting.

The milk and honey smelled disgustingly sweet as he poured them both into the bowl, even if his hands were shaking. The moon and the stars glowed overhead like lanterns - no, eyes, eyes burning into the back of his skull. They waited to see what he would do next; lions waiting to pounce on him.

As soon as the contents were poured out, he lifted himself up with cane and took a step into the circle. His body rocked with invisible force until he dropped and was kneeling, hands desperately wrapped around the still up-right cane like in prayer. It wasn’t really that funny to him, but he didn’t try to move.

Instead, he bowed his head, terror suddenly pounding through his ribs and lungs like a horribly off tune song. Grief ran through jaw and throat, wrapping around it like a snake and making it hard to breath. Grief for himself and grief for growing old with them. Even if he knew he needed to do this, he missed home.

Still, through the aching pain, a deep, indescribable burning set ablaze in his finger tips and deep in his chest, and every spot where Roman’s nimble fingers would cart through his hair when he needed it. He thought that warmth might be called loyalty.

“I have an offering,” his voice was more hoarse than he had expected, but it was good enough. For a brief, but completely nauseating moment, nothing happened. The stars continued to blink above and moonlight danced in his vision.

Then blood welled through the grass, and the earth became an open wound. Dirt pushed itself apart and away, grass seeming to sway to avoid what was crawling out of the earth. Blood and sap, wood and flesh arose all at once in a spiraling tower of something, something that should not exist. Skin knit over pulsating, ugly flesh and a pair of eyes stared at him for something that was supposed to be a face.

Finally, something human like was formed. Human-like, because those few seconds taught Virgil that whatever fae were, they were not human. It stared down at him, a strange blank curiosity on its features. 

As he stared back at it, something suddenly clicked in his brain and he was sure he was going to be sick. He wanted to be wrong, but the only question left was a simple one. Why the hell was Roman here?

No; it wasn’t exactly Roman, but at the same time.. it could only be him. It was a strange, gross sight. The same dorky smile that showed just one too many teeth, but the teeth were as sharp as blades. The same striking green eyes, but an odd cold rested behind them.

The figure - person - fae, fae, had scars littering up and down his skin and ungodly green eyes and a wide smile. Passion and adventure and want burned behind his eyes but it was wrong, scarily feral, scarily.. animal. 

At a closer look, he was far too old as well. A decade older than Roman, at least. Age weighed on his face in the form of crows feet and a thick mustache, the same color as his hair. It was as dark as Romans, to be sure, but colder - without the red tinting it warm.

Was this.. some fucked up joke? Was this a near death hallucination? Or maybe, maybe this was the first form of torture planned for him, a reminder of why he was here. Either way, the sight made it hard to breath.

The fae spoke first, “I’m Remus, your local fae prince.” With the word Remus sickness and the cold scent of pinewood rushed through Virgil so hard he leered. The prince of the fae, the actual fucking fae, just gave him his name. Freely, just as that.

Virgil realized what it was a second later - a show of power. A quiet, but impactful way to remind Virgil that no matter what information he had, no matter how hard he fought, he was powerless here. It made his heart sink.

“Thank you,” Virgil whispered and in the same breath he cringed from his own words. Right, no thanking them. How had he forgotten? “I’m here to offer myself to you, on one condition.” It felt incomprehensibly stupid to speak of conditions when he was on his knees.

“I love conditions!” The too-shrill voice practically squawked out, leaning one elbow on Virgil’s cane nonchalantly. “What do you want, little stormcloud?” He grinned down at Virgil, clearly awaiting his response with delight.

“.. I have a friend,” Virgil carefully avoided his name, “he is gravely injured and, though stable, will not survive winter like this. I have another friend - he is trying to make a remedy. Theres one last ingredient he needs, a flower - oleander.”

Remus gave him a look, a single eyebrow raised at him. “Stormy - can I call you stormy? - Cool, thanks. Oleanders a poison, at least to you little.. flesh beasts. I don’t think your thinking of the right flower. It’d be cool to poison him and all, but y'know - doublechecking.”

Virgil thought over the words for a second, because he knew it couldn’t be a lie - even though that was exactly what his knee-jerk reaction wanted to say. After a second, he forced, “no offense, but I trust his medical knowledge more than yours.”

“Well, if you insist,” Remus shrugged then grinned, “still, that’s all you ask for your life!? Most ask for more than that. Money, power, fame, love - and lust~, of course,” the creature wiggled his eyebrows and Virgil bit back the urge to gag. “You can ask for more, you know. A lifes worth more than a flower.”

Virgil looked up, mildly stunned by what he heard. Was Remus.. trying to help him? The thought sent a feeling of vertigo through him, but he hesitantly spoke, hand picking each word that slipped out of his mouth, “there won’t be any extra.. stipulations because of this, will there?”

“Nah! I’m just bored, you see, and I love doing those little tasks for you mortals. They always go through the same cycles. First their filled with delight and shock at their new gifts, then grief and disgust as they ask why their daughter, or lover, or brother has went.” Remus turned his head back and practically cackled through out.

“.. Alright,” Virgil knew the fae couldn’t lie, and he couldn’t find much of a loophole in the words, no matter how.. depressing. “Some money to be comfortable for the following years, good fertile land to plant on, and a hunters blessing. For my family, please.” Virgil stared down for a reason he himself didn’t quiet understand.

Remus looked down at him with a strange expression. It took Virgil a moment to process it as curiosity, but before he could comprehend that, the fae spoke. “Man, you’re weirdly humble. Don’t even want any good shit! Or just, well, shit. Do you know how many farmers have asked for good manure?” He turned his head back and laughed, before looking back down, “well, they don’t usually offer their life for it.”

Virgil turned his gaze to the side. The words weirdly burnt at his chest. It was the reminder, he realized. He wanted to go home so fucking bad. The rough dirt made his knees ache and his hands blistered against the wood he held so tight and he wanted nothing more than to step out of the mushrooms, come home, and hug his family so close he didn’t have words for it.

“Will you stop mocking me?” Virgil hissed through his teeth, fear burning in his heart at every word that slipped out of his mouth without his permission, “I just want to get sacrificied in fucking peace before I spend the rest of eternity dancing as my skin burns off and muscles rot away, and- and-” suddenly, it was hard to breath. His lungs felt tiny and air was too large to choke down.

The fae thing gave him a strange look from where he hovered over Virgil, watching him have a panic attack like he was a mildly interesting rock. After a weird long moment of that, he spoke with delight, “wow are you killing yourself by self-suffocation!? That’s so cool!” 

That startled a laugh out of Virgil’s chest, then a few awkward coughs as his body readjusted to breathing again. He stared up at Remus awkwardly. “Nobody’s had a panic attack while sacrificing themselves to you before me?” He choked out.

Remus propped his hands up on his hips. “Not until you, stormy! You’re the first,” he said without a single sense of the weight of the words. For a fae, creature known for their odd but strict manners, he was wildly impolite.

Virgil couldn’t help but cringe with it, then awkwardly bark out a few laughs. “I can’t even kill myself right, can I?” He didn’t realize what he was saying until the words came out of his mouth, and then he closed said mouth tight.

The fae was giving him another one of those peculiar looks again before continuing to speak. “Man, is this meant to be your suicide? You’re like, really bad at that then because I have no plans to kill you!” The grin was strangely warm, now.

“Look, I- I’m gonna be basically dead by the end of this anyway. No old life to get back to,” he sighed quietly, before asking, like a slight plea, “can we get this over with, now? I don’t wanna spend longer here.”

The smile dripped off Remus’s face and Virgil felt oddly guilty. “Well, if you’re so impatient, then lets get this over with, stormcloud. You know what to do to stop it. Just give me your name.” The weight of the phrase was more than ever.

Suddenly, hearing the words - Virgil realized how badly he didn’t want to get it over with. Like a desperate idiot avoiding the death he handed himself, he stalled. “What, you don’t want this to end? You having fun chit-chatting here?” He said easy as you please, tilting his head to the side. The false confidence was familiar.

That startled a laugh out of Remus, who cackled so loud and shrill that Virgil could hear the birds flee. “Wow, seems like our little stormy has himself a sharp tongue. Wonder how long that will last you.”

“Long as it takes for you to get tired of me and cut it off,” Virgil hissed through his teeth, a sly grin on his face. It felt as natural as breathing, and just as fulfilling as it. Something that he knew from memory.

He realized the memory was of Roman.

Remus didn’t notice his realization of course and continued without a single hitch, “I wonder if it will be like a lizard tail, still wriggling and writhing after I cut it out of your wordy little mouth! I mean, I’m sure I can make that happen.”

Virgil faked a gag and turned his gaze up to Remus again, “you’re real disgusting y’know, for being a fae, a creature of manners and politeness, you’re real gross. How do you even get away with your wordy little mouth?” Virgil asked, half teasing and half genuine.

“Well, manners are oh so subjective,” Remus grinned, seemingly preening with delight at this fact, “and so, with just a little bit of squirming around through loopholes and the like - you really can get away with most things.” His satisfied grin seemed to light up the clearing.

Or maybe that was the sunrise, peaking over the horizon like an unwelcome guest. Remus turned his head back to stare at it. “Oops! Looks like your time is up, my dearest storm. No more stalling~.” He turned back to Virgil. “May I have your name?”

The words carried the weight of ten thousand stones.

Virgil knew what to do though, and he spoke his name, tearing it out of his throat and soul as the sun rose along with bile in his throat and as the moon fell along with his bloody heart. He whispered the first two words that would be in his obituary, “Virgilius Sentinel.”

A coldness wrapped around him, tight and binding. It was like a promise; a cruel, sickening promise, the type that edged on threat. His body shook, lungs wheezing through breaths that couldn’t make it all the way into him. 

Even though he could still see Remus above him, staring down at him with that cruel grin and hands on his hips, he could feel his hands on his face, holding him still. They were as cold as he imagined, but not as painful.

Despite the terror, breaths slowly became easier as his body became more used to the feeling, the control, the vulnerability of it all. He adjusted to it, the world spinning around him as he learned to breath with smaller lungs. Maybe, this wouldn’t be as painful as he worried.

Right as he adjusted, though, there was a sudden burning in his chest and around his lungs. It was the kindest fire and the sweetest pain, and his lungs were aching as if he had managed to breath too much. It felt familiar; it felt like being held by warm and gentle hands. The fire chased off the cold.

As suddenly as the flame overtook him, it drew back. The feeling of being held turned to the feeling of being dropped, and the cold leapt back in as soon as the warmth left him. He shook just a little with the nauseating feelings. No matter the attempt at a fight, it was too weak.

Still, it left a small thought: something else had its own claim on him, separate from Remus’s. He silently reeled from that, but before he could think too hard he heard that barking shrilling laugh again and the world fell from under his feet.

[chasingpj]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

"Bye, for now, puddles."

pairing: percy jackson x child of hecate!reader

words: 6,220

warnings: a little angst, missing a meal, death of a parent, i believe that is all.

timeline: post sea of monsters

if you want to be tagged every time I update this story, click here

a/n: hi hi! I'm so excited to finally get this chapter to you guys. I'm sorry this literally took a month. i was taking two writing-intensive courses this summer and i was just burnt out. i hope you enjoy it!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten

A grunt escapes you; your contorted body weighs down the top of your suitcase as your damp fingers slip off the metal zipper. The unforgivingly humid weather provokes the heat of your efforts, adding to your discomfort. There’s urgency in your fingers, your frustration growing at each failed attempt to close your suitcase.

“Y/n! Hurry up!” Atticus shouts from outside of the Hermes cabin. As the zipper slips out of your grasp once again, you throw your head back in annoyance, hand coming up to push away wisps of hair that fall on your face. A familiar chuckle comes from the corner of the room, grabbing your attention from the wooden ceiling. Connor sits on the side of his bed; his comic book forgotten beside him as you fussing over your suitcase seems to be more interesting to him.

“It’s not funny,” you grumble, sitting onto your heels.

Connor rises from his bed, shrugging his shoulders with a smirk. He kneels by your suitcase, “It’s kinda funny.”

The corners of your mouth almost curve up, but you stop yourself, opting for a roll of your eyes instead.

“What the hades do you have in here?” The tips of his fingers turn white as he pulls on the little piece of metal. You shift your weight to the corner he works on, but it helps him as much as it helped you earlier.

“My brother’s left a bunch of books behind, so Lou Ellen and I split them up. She’s taking half, and I take the rest. We’ll study them and then exchange notes.” A hum of acknowledgment comes from Connor’s lips as he inches the suitcase closed.

“You guys are a bunch of nerds.” You squint at the other with a playful offense, and he laughs at your hardened features. “I bet you guys study more than the Athena Kids,” he teases.

“There’s a lot to learn,” you say simply, watching as he brings the zipper to the end. He leans back on his heels, and you move to take in the half-empty cabin.

The sight of the Hermes cabin being this tidy was foreign. There aren’t any sleeping bags on the floor; the belongings of your many cabin mates didn’t clutter the walls or the corners of the room as they usually do. It’s funny. There are always complaints of the cabin being too small, but it appears bigger without the mess.

“Will you and Atticus visit throughout the year?” Connor’s expression is hopeful. As the last day of camp approached, Connor’s wishes of a full cabin all year round became more apparent. The shift from a max-capacity cabin to a half-empty one must be a tough transition for social people like Stoll Brothers. If it were you, you’d be counting down the days of everyone’s departure.

You ruffle his brown locks, “we’ll probably stop by for, maybe, spring break?” Connor’s hopefulness begins to sag, and you frown. Spring break is pretty far from now, huh? “Depending on how mortal life treats us. You know, we might be back soon,” you add on quickly, hoping to lift his smile.

Though you wish to go home, you’re dreading all the supernatural activity you’ll have to deal with once you leave. Your father works tirelessly to protect the house, but entities always manage to get in. And if they can’t, they don’t mind hanging outside.

The hopefulness that faded from Connor’s face restores, and he gives you that famous mischievous smirk. “Well, I hope the ghosts bother you guys enough to come to visit early.” His tone is playful, but you can tell he meant some of his words. You laugh hesitantly and nod, rising from your suitcase.

“I’m glad you’re that eager to see us again.”

You thank him as he leans down, lifting the heavy suitcase from the ground for you.

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” You tug on the handle, glancing at Connor. “The year will go by fast, and soon this cabin will be bursting at the nails with new unclaimed people. Atticus, Lou, and I included. Anyways, you have your brother. You guys will find something to entertain yourselves.” You nudge him as you make your way outside.

“Yeah, you’re right. You will write to me, yeah?” Connor asks.

“Of course. I’ll send you snacks that you can’t buy at the gas station.” Connor’s arm pumps back to his side, hand in a fist as he hisses a “yes.”

The corners up your mouth hesitantly pull up as you push open the cabin door, finding Atticus and Travis talking on the porch. For the past week, the anticipation of your departure was killing you, but now that it was time to leave, you feel gloomy.

You knew the cause of your heavy heart was the uneasy tone of your going. Living day by day with the intention of moving on was hard. Because every time you look at their newly occupied beds, the sinking feeling in your chest returns. Every time you find yourself wandering in the forest, the memories of your often chaotic magic lessons flood your mind. You remember when Alice misaimed her wind spell, shooting Alabaster far into the trees. While you all rushed to check on him, Alice burst into tears because she was convinced she killed him only to approach a laughing Alabaster who shouted, “Right on!”

Every time you were in the Arts and Crafts center, you remember how you, Sage, and Lou would do Tarot Readings for the campers and how you would argue with the Apollo kids when they insisted your tarot cards are as honest as fortune cookies.

At the armory, you remember how Ambrose ran into James so hard, he stumbled and knocked down half of the shelves of weapons.

In the courtyard, you remember how Ernest, horrified by heights, produced the highest pitch scream he possibly could as he rode a pegasus for the first time under the persuasion of Alabaster.

All these memories, whether hilarious like your spell mishaps or bittersweet like when you and your sibling’s group hugged around Sage when she cried about her abusive stepmother, held a special place in your heart. Because the times where you laughed and cried together reminded you of the genuine bond, the family that was ripped away from you overnight.

“We'll see you guys soon. We should go. Argus will leave without us," Atticus says, relieved that Argus is still waiting for you on top of Half-Blood Hill.

“Have a safe trip, guys,” Travis says, patting Atticus’s shoulder before reaching out his arm and giving you a short side hug. You grab your things, hastily saying a final goodbye, and soon, you and Atticus are trudging up the hill.

Your free hand pats the pocket of your shorts, calming your worry of forgetting the necklace at the cabin. What rests in your pocket is a raw tourmaline crystal, now smooth with the help of Beckendorf, encased in a silver spiral cage.

You and Atticus carry protection crystals all the time, and they help with staying out of the radar of monsters and entities. After hearing Percy’s many stories of monsters bothering him, you figured he couldn’t be too cautious. Then after finding a spell in Alabaster’s many books that can dim down a demigod scent for a while, you decided to make him an enchanted necklace to wear.

You pack into the truck with Atticus right on time. Atticus sits in front of you, chatting away with Cecil as you make yourself comfortable in the back row with Ambrose. You frown; among the three other campers in the van with you, Percy isn’t one of them. Argus peeks into the back, doing a rough headcount. Great, now you’ll have to wait until next summer to give it to him.

Right, when you were going to chastise yourself for not giving him the necklace yesterday when you were done with it, a distant voice shouts, "wait!"

Argus halts in the middle of closing the sliding down and turns around. He shakes his head with disapproval while opening the door all the way, revealing out of breath Percy.

A smile widens across your face as he gets into the back seat with you, and you nudge Atticus’s seat.

"See, I told you we wouldn't be the last ones here.” You side-eye Percy, seeing the corners of his mouth pull up in amusement.

“Some people just don’t know how to get to places on time, huh?” Atticus says, and his eyes flicker to Percy before giving you a wide grin.

“Didn’t sleep in today, firefly?” There is a playfulness in Percy’s voice, and you smile proudly,

“Nope, not today.”

“It’s a miracle,” Percy mutters, loud enough for you to hear, and you scoff. Atticus snickers and nods in agreement.

“We were supposed to gang up on him, not you two on me.” You stick your tongue out at Atticus, and he returns the action.

“It’s more fun making fun of you,” Atticus teases.

“Rude,” you mumble with a slight smile on your face. The two boys chuckle, Atticus turning more into his seat to tell Percy something about a new Marvel movie. Excited voices fill the van as the other boys join in the conversation, and soon they are debating if Batman is really a superhero or just a rich guy in a suit.

You had to admit, as the conversation became more passionate, you were pretty entertained, but as you catch sight of Camp Half-Blood growing farther in the distance, you’re reminded of the ache in your chest. It’s only a temporary leave, but when you return, things will never be the same, and the false hope of your siblings returning has been proven to be foolish.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

Following a ghost dog while weaving through the hustle and bustle of Grand Central is almost impossible. Atticus’s hand is latched to the straps of your bookbag as you move through people, trying not to roll your eyes at the way Ambrose turns to bark as if he was reprimanding you for being too slow. Easy for him to say when he can walk through walls and people.

“Track 28,” Atticus reminds you as your eyes find the number written on the tan bricks of the high walls. You make a sharp left towards the entrance of another hallway, ignoring the groans of a grouchy bystander that you may have cut off. The next hallway you enter is a lot less crowded than the main floor, and you slow down your pace.

“Where do you guys live again?” Percy asks as he jogs up beside you. He had insisted on walking you guys since his train departs in the same station.

“Sleepy Hollow.” Percy scrunches his face as if he recalls something, and you smile, waiting for the question everyone asks when you say you live there.

“Have you seen the headless horsemen?” Percy asks, half-joking. A snort leaves your throat, and you look at Atticus, who’s equally amused.

“Oh yeah, plenty of times.”

“Really?” Percy asks, his eyes wide with surprise, and you laugh.

“No.” Your response makes his face drop comedically fast, and Atticus bursts into laughter. “It’s just a story, but there’s a lot of history there, so the place is crawling with ghosts. We’ve met the guy who wrote the story, though,” you mention.

“No way,” Percy squints his eyes in disbelief.

“I’m serious! Atticus and I take walks in the cemetery sometimes. We leave drachmas on the graves of newly passed people, so their venture into the underworld is smooth, but some people like to wander.” You shrug. “Washington Irving is one of those people.”

“Cool,” Percy says with such enthusiasm that it makes you smile. Ambrose turns around and barks again, standing at the golden entrance that leads to the grey tunnel lit with fluorescent white lights where your train waits beside the concrete platform.

“He always rushes us,” Atticus complains, and Harvey lets out a coo that sounded close to a groan as if he agreed with him.

The marble floors turn to concrete as you enter the tunnel. The blue and silver train on your left hums as it sits dormant in its station. Ambrose trots ahead, peaking into the doors and windows to find an empty cart to occupy.

As you follow a few feet behind him, your fingers fiddle with the necklace resting in your pocket. You’re regretting not giving it to Percy earlier because, for some reason, the idea of giving it to him now was more intimidating than if you had done it earlier on the bus.

Ambrose decides on a cart, and Harvey jumps off Atticus’s shoulder, squealing happily as he follows the hound while completely ignoring a worried Atticus trailing close behind.

"I, uh, made this for you," you sputter, the words coming out fast like vomit. Your fingers pull out the crystal necklace abruptly, and you put it in the palm of his hand. "It's black tourmaline. It has protective qualities; good at keeping negative energy, negative auras, things like that. I put a spell on it to dim down your demigod scent for a while, so you catch a little bit of a break. It'll last for a few weeks, maybe a month or two if the spell caught on well."

You bite your lip as Percy studies the necklace resting in his hand. "Wow, really? Thank you, Y/n. This is great.”

Nervous, you shift on your feet under his bright, smiling orbs. "It's no problem. After everything that happened at camp, I think it’ll be good for you to have one.”

Percy nods, his features softening all of a sudden, and he shifts. “Thanks for protecting me,” he says, and you feel heat rush to your cheeks. “Getting rid of that thing became more than you expected. I felt bad that I couldn’t help. Swords aren’t really useful when it comes to demons, huh?”

A small laugh of agreement leaves your lips. “It was nothing. I wasn’t going to let you be tormented by that thing if I could help it.”

An announcement echoes in the hall, reporting the departure of your train in a few minutes. You glance over, catching Atticus, Ambrose, and Harvey with their noses practically pressed against the window as they witness your interaction with Percy. The amused smirk on Atticus’s face makes you roll your eyes; he’s definitely going to tease you when you get on the train.

"I should go.” You face Percy again, catching him securing the necklace around his neck. The stone rests a few inches under his camp half-blood necklace. "Thanks for walking us here. Be careful getting home."

"You too…” he trails off, noticing your brother looking out the window. For a second, he seems as embarrassed as you do and a nervous chuckle leaves his lips. “Your brother is waiting."

“He’s so annoying,” you complain, and Percy’s next chuckle doesn’t sound as hesitant this time. "Well, uh, bye, for now, puddles,” you tease, butterflies dancing in your stomach.

"Bye, for now, firefly."

You both awkwardly wave at each other before you turn around, getting on the train with Atticus. With your gaze fixed on the floor, you plop into the seat next to him. You don’t even need to look to know he is smiling teasingly at you.

"How cute,” he teases, nudging your shoulder repeatedly with his own.

"Ew, shut up.” You shove at his shoulder, your nose scrunching as he flails his arms against yours as if you were fighting. Atticus chuckles and a string of sounds come from your familiars as they join in to tease you, and you couldn’t help but laugh too.

☆’.･.･:★:･.･.’☆

The suburban streets of your neighborhood are filled with the chirps of birds and bugs and the sounds of cars that pass every once in a while. There isn’t much conversation between you and Atticus as you trudge up the hill leading to your dead-end street.

“Gods, I hope we can get inside without being seen,” you manage to say through your heavy breaths, lazily holding on to the handle of your suitcase as it rolls behind you. Ambrose’s nose nudges the back of your knees as if to encourage you, but it’s more cute than helpful.

“There’s no way that we are. Janie and Celia are always sitting on the neighbor’s porch.” You grunt in acknowledgment, knowing that Atticus is right. The neighborhood ghosts are friendly enough, but their company can be annoying.

As if on cue, you hear a delighted squeal from ahead the moment you reach the top of the hill. Two ladies wave their handkerchiefs in the air a handful of houses away.

Celia, the tallest of the two, wears a steel blue dress with a high neckline and a big bow tied on the base of her neck. She has a jacket button closed over her corset with a frill at the end of her sleeves. Her skirt is floor-length and complete, with ruffles cascading down its entirety. And, of course, no one can miss the high-crowned hat decorated with fake flowers, bows, and crimped fabric as it all sits on top of her blonde hair in an intricate updo. Janie, her sister, wears the same style of dress and headpiece only in a burgundy red. The resemblance between the two makes it clear that they’re siblings close in age. They have the same high pinched noses that jut in the air; both of their faces are regal like those in renaissance paintings.

You’ve seen them around for as long as you can remember. They were two sisters who died of scarlet fever a year before their first courting season, which was a big deal according to their constant moaning and groaning about it.

You look ahead, your expression blank as if their high-pitched voices didn’t fill the streets and they weren't racing toward you with their skirts in their hands.

“My word! It’s the end of summer already?”

“Atticus, you’ve grown taller!”

“What a handsome boy! Y/n, your shorts are too short, don’t you think?”

“It’s quite bizarre how such clothing is acceptable these days.”

“How beautiful you’d look in a gown like ours!”

“Where’s Alabaster?” Janie asks, attempting to circle her arm around Atticus’s, but he raises his arm to push back his damp hair to avoid the contact. She scoffs at his rejection and sighs.

“Alabaster was sweeter to us than you guys!” Celia pouts. Your heart sinks a little at the mention of him. Of course, they’d ask about him, and of course, your father will ask too.

Gods! Your father will ask about him.

You had forgotten you’d have to break the news today. These past few weeks, you debated whether or not you should do it by letter, but it felt wrong. It was only right that he’d find out in person.

“We know you can hear us,” Janie huffs.

“I hope dad doesn’t work late tonight. Do you think Grandma will be waiting for us?” You ask. As annoying as it was having spirits follow you, it was a little fun ignoring them when convenient for you. Atticus nods,

“Probably-”

“No one’s home,” Celia cuts in, and Atticus pretends to shoo a bug away to conceal that he paused from her interruption.

“But I don’t think dad is going to take long. He said his last lecture ended at three,” Atticus continues, and you nod.

‘I hope grandma came by to visit. I missed her.”

“I just said no one’s home.” Celia snaps, and you press your lips together to hide your smile.

Atticus sighs. “I know, I’m dying for those moon cookies she makes us.” At the mention of those cookies, your stomach grumbles. You hope Celia was wrong because you’re suddenly craving your grandmother’s cooking and her company. Her funny stories and voice that’s always a little too loud for the indoors never fails to cheer you up. As short and frail as she is, her voice and personality could fill a room.

“Me too,” you say shortly.

“Hello?!” Celia waves her handkerchief in your face, and you persisted in ignoring her. Suddenly, a sound of disgust comes from Janie as she brushes off her skirt.

“Y/n, retrieve this monster of yours!” She squeals as Ambrose bites the fabric of her dress, tugging on it with a growl.

“Damn this dog,” Celia shouts, attempting to shoo him away, but yelps in surprise as Ambrose snaps his jaw shut near her hand. “Get this thing under control! Y/n!”

Your hand comes up to cover your smile even though the two are shuffling behind you and a stifled chuckle comes from Atticus. The sound of Janie’s heels on the concrete becomes louder as she rushes beside Atticus again, and your smiles drop. The sight of your house comes into view, and you tilt your head confused; your father’s car is parked in the driveway.

“You said no one was home?” You say out loud, and Celia gasps beside you,

“Now you speak to me?” She snaps, halting as you approach the fence. She stands tall, hands folded in front of her elegantly as Janie’s expression is gleaming like a child on Christmas. “Your father requested to keep it a secret, so I obliged his wishes. He canceled his last lecture today to make you both a meal. What a lovely man.”

Your hand finds the latch for the white picket fence as you smile at the familiar narrow victorian-style house ahead of you. A path of cobblestone leads you to the brick steps of the small porch.

Your home sticks out from the more modern American houses that surround the area. It’s an antique, a snippet of history, as your father likes to say. The house is a russet brown only because the bricks are so old they’ve darkened in color. The house accents such as the window trims, porch overhang, and columns are copper, and the hipped roof has brown tiles that look like fish scales. Beside the porch, the bay windows from both stories stack on top of each other, and above the porch roof is the dormer that’s a part of your bedroom.

Gods, you’re yearning to be in your room. You just want to pull out your Murphy bed from the wall and bury yourself in your sheets. The idea of being in bed puts a pep in your step, and you are careful to avoid the salt ring that surrounds your house.

A butterfly passes by your face, flying to the bunchberry bushes your father has planted in the front garden. Among the grass, there are various flowers and herbs that your father grows in the summer. You’ve inherited many things from your father, but his green thumb isn’t one of them. He takes his gardening seriously while you can barely keep the cacti in your room alive.

“Enjoy your meal! Come talk to us one of these days. We missed you two!” Janie shouts after you as you make your way up the stairs. You turn around, Atticus smiling at them.

“We missed you, girls, too,” he says as if he didn’t want to admit it. Janie squeals something about how handsome his smile is, and you scoff, amused as you grab the doorknob.

Once you push the door open, you're hit with a rush of deja vu. The history channel plays faintly in the next room as you take in the home you’ve missed dearly.

There are two bookshelves against the wall on your right, a wide ledge with pillows under the bay windows. A messy coffee table filled with letters and stacked with books sits in front of the comfy reading nook, letting you know that your father was recently hanging out there.

There is a brown mahogany staircase that ascends upstairs to your left, and right beside it is the altar for your mother. A statue of her rests in the middle of the rectangle table covered in a black table cloth. On top of it lies the many offerings for your mom. Herb-dressed candles burn beside bowls of fruit, bouquets, a crystal enamel wine glass filled with alcohol, feathers, and other things. You ignore the altar as you put down your stuff beside the door, following Atticus as he takes off his shoes.

“Kids?” You hear your father call enthusiastically from beyond the foyer, and you persist forward into the entryway ahead of you.

“We’re home!” Atticus announces as he enters beside you. Ambrose barks making a beeline to the right and behind the kitchen counter. He jumps on your father with so much force he stumbles back.

“Gods! Why does he look even bigger?” Your father exclaims through a laugh, fixing the round glasses that threaten to slip off his nose as his other hand grips Ambrose’s paw. He yelps in surprise as Harvey's claws rest on top of his head, clinging to his hair to steady himself.

The warmth and smell of home fill your senses as you catch your dad’s gaze. “Well, come here! Are you going to hug your pops or what?”

You rush over with Atticus. Both of you hug your dad tightly on either side of him, and you smile as he presses a kiss on your temples. “I missed you guys so much!”

“We missed you too!” The smile on your face falters as he looks up, scanning the archway as if he was waiting for someone else. You shift, not ready to be faced with the question, and you peer around his body to look at the food on the stove behind him.

Your father notices your interest, and he chuckles. “Come on, let’s eat. You guys came right on time.”

You shuffle through the kitchen with Atticus, making your way to the rounded table at the end of the kitchen.

“Dad, what have you been up to?” Atticus asks teasingly, and your father perks up.

“I've done a lot of things to keep me busy. I volunteered to teach summer classes while you were gone. I’m reading this book with a fascinating perspective of the shift from Paganism to Christianity in Rome. It’s an amazing read; I highly recommend it. Though, I don’t quite agree with it.” Your father hums thoughtfully. “Oh! And I bought gnomes for our garden! And the thrift store had this little house and this old lady figurine! I put it on the porch. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she’s the official guard of the door," he declares proudly. "And…” He twists and turns before heading to the bookshelves in the living room area. He grabs something from the shelf then he showcases a cartoon Dobby bobblehead with wide arms. A high-pitched cackle leaves his lips. “It completes our collection!”

“Woah! Where did you get it? We went to three different places for it, and we couldn’t find it.” Atticus matches your father’s excitement, and you snort at the two.

“I went to a mythology convention in Boston a few weeks ago. There was a game stop across the street from the center, and I thought, ‘why not?’ I went in, and I saw this little guy by the register.” Your father is giddy as he nudges the head and watches it jiggle in his hands.

You think of what your grandmother’s reaction would be if she saw all the things he bought on his trip to the thrift store. She’d definitely complain. She always said that even growing up, your father had a liking for knickknacks. On your shelves and counters, there are always little trinkets lying around. It even extends to the walls, a variety of paintings and diagrams are neatly hung beside each other. From the state of your house, it’s clear your father is a maximalist in its purest definition.

“Wow! That’s awesome!” Atticus reaches out his hand for it as your father brings over his entire collection of Harry Potter bobbleheads, the toys huddled in his chest before he places them on the dining table. “The whole gang can hang out with us for dinner.”

“I hope they like pasta,” Atticus comments, lining them up as your dad retrieves the pan of food.

Your stomach grumbles at the sight, and you’re quick to serve yourself as Atticus and your Dad talk about anything and everything. You guys discuss what your grandmother has been up to, how your father’s classes were going, which led your father to ramble so much he formed a tangent on top of another. The conversation was going so well that you were sure he wouldn’t ask about your summer, but you had assumed too soon.

“So enough about me! How was Camp?” Your father chirps, and you shift in your seat.

You smile with confidence to hide the wariness you felt. “It was great!” You figured if you keep your answer short, you could move past it quickly.

“Yeah, the usual. Fun as always,” Atticus adds.

Your father’s eyes flicker between the two of you, and the first thing he notices is the way your smiles don’t reach the rest of your face.

The clanging of metal utensils on glass plates fills the room as the both of you fixate on your food but neither take a bite. The camp was never a touchy subject. The sudden unwillingness to speak about it makes his eyebrow cock up in suspicion. His eye averts to the empty dining chair beside you and the dinner place settings that remained untouched. Alabaster was supposed to join your return home. At least, that’s what he had assumed.

“Did Alabaster decide to stay at his foster home?” There’s caution in his tone, and he’s taken aback at how both you and Atticus tense up. The clings of metal halt abruptly, and slowly, you move to glance at your father.

“Dad, something happened at camp this summer.” Now, it was your turn to have a tone laced with caution. Alabaster lived with you for months and quickly became a part of the family. Your father saw him as his second son, and you were afraid to break the news that he may never see him again.

“What happened? Did he get into trouble?” You frown at the sudden edge in his voice. Atticus shifts beside you,

“He took the others to go fight for the Titan Lord.”

“What?”

“Mother came to speak to him and told him that it was best to fight for the other side since their chances are better,” you say slowly. “They left at the end of July. Only Atticus, Lou Ellen, and I stayed at camp.”

Your father’s expression darkens, grief written all over his face. “And you haven’t seen them since?”

You shake your head, not wanting to delve into the details. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing them again in a while and not in the best circumstances.” Your father nods, understanding the implication in your words. “Mother promised that she’d take care of them if they fight for the other side. I didn’t want to go; it wasn’t right.”

“That must be why everything is rotting,” your father mutters more to himself. You furrow your eyebrows.

“Rotting? What’s rotting?”

“Our offerings to your mother,” he clarifies. “All the fruit I leave on her altar goes bad in a few days. The flowers wither quickly too. The garden, in general, hasn’t been doing well either. I didn’t understand why.”

Your focus returns to your plate. Suddenly, you weren’t that hungry anymore.

She must be angry, you think to yourself. A part of you wanted a sign from her to let you know if she was bothered you didn’t join. When the sign didn’t come, you assumed she didn’t care; that, in a way, you were dead to her. It didn’t dawn on you to ask how the altar or the garden your father dedicated to her was doing.

“Can I be excused?” You strain, your face a little hot, and you’re not sure if it was from your anger or from the tears you’re blinking away.

“Of course.” The warm smile on your father’s face fails to budge the dread you’re feeling. “You can be excused as well, Atticus.”

You miss the way your father and Atticus exchange looks as you stood up. There wasn’t a verbal agreement, but Atticus stands up tall, determined to make you feel better. He trails behind you, and suddenly, he slings his arm across your shoulders. “You know what’s one of the things I missed at camp?”

“What?” You ask, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in your chest.

“Beating you at Tekken,” Atticus teases. Your lips curve slightly; his playful nature manages to brighten up your mood a little bit. “Let’s play. I’ll go easy on you, but I’m sure you’ll still lose regardless.”

“You’re on,” you nudge him, and Atticus chuckles, walking ahead of you and up the stairs. Your hand grips the railing, and you walk up a few steps before halting, and your eyes find the front door.

“You don’t get it!”

“I don’t.” You shrugged, amused at the way Atticus’s eyebrows knitted in disbelief. He ignored you, grabbed the remote, and played the Star Wars movie again. You groaned, seeing the slanted letters move up the TV screen. “Atticus! I can’t watch this!”

“Why not?!”

“Well, first off, my dyslexia won’t let me read that quickly, and if a physically written prologue is needed before a movie… it’s not a good movie!”

“How dare you!” You threw your head back as a laugh bubbled in your throat. The exasperated look on his face was too funny. You had no desire to watch these movies, and you figured if you bothered him enough, he’d give up trying to show them to you. The shrug of your shoulders made him scoff. “Just watch it!”

A huff left your lips, and unwillingly, you returned your gaze to the screen. Suddenly, a hollow knock came from the front door.

“It’s late,” you said, but Atticus was too caught up in the beginning battle of the movie to pay any mind to you. Rarely did you get visitors, definitely not past midnight on a Friday. Cautiously, you rose from the couch and moved toward the door.

Rain erratically hit against your curtain-covered windows; the wind and cold made the walls around you creak as they adjusted. Whatever waited for you at the door, you just wished it was a person, not a weird ghost or monster. Your finger latched on the side of the curtain, allowing you to peek through the glass of your front door.

A gasp left your lips. Alabaster, soaked from the ruthless rain outside, was the last person you expected to see. But even though you didn’t expect him, you had an inkling as to why he was here.

Hastily, you unlocked the door and flung it open. “Al?” You sputtered; his green orbs were surrounded by tired eyes and puffy skin.

“He died this morning,” he strained. Your expression softened, and before you could say anything, Alabaster stepped forward and hugged your shoulders tightly. The raggedness of his breath, the shutter of his body, sent your chest a weight of sorrow. You couldn’t imagine being in his shoes and losing your father to a long battle with cancer at 14. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes; the person you looked up to the most was breaking down. You never thought he would need your help for anything, but it seems that you were wrong. “I’m sorry. You guys live the closest to me, and I didn’t know where to go-”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted. “Oh, Al, I’m so sorry,” your voice cracked, hands rubbed his back as a sob left his lips. A creak of a floorboard caught your attention, and you turned to see a confused Atticus emerging from the living room. With a sad look, he understood what happened, and soon his expression was mimicking yours.

“I’ll wake dad and get clothes,” he said, then rushed upstairs.

Your father didn’t even hesitate to help Alabaster, opening the doors of your house to him. In his greatest time of need, the three of you stood beside him, and overnight, he had a place in your home and in your heart. The three of you spent so much time playing video games, getting into trouble around town, learning magic. All the good times you and Atticus shared with him, were they really worth throwing away to fight with Kronos? You realize now that his departure was never only a betrayal to the camp but to you, Atticus, and your father, and you couldn’t help but think perhaps, you guys didn’t mean as much to him as he meant to you.

A shaky sigh leaves your mouth at the thoughts persistent to ruin your mood. The desire to leave camp was to avoid all the things that reminded you of your siblings, but now that you returned home, you realize that running away isn’t as easy as you thought.

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[miyanom]

I DREAM OF YOU ALMOST EVERY NIGHT

MASTERLIST | JEAN KIRSTEIN X F!READER

synopsis: in which you and jean talk about your plans for the future after a particularly rough mission.

warnings: Season 2 spoilers, nothing else I think but tell me if there is!

notes: I feel like it strays from the original request quite a bit, but I tried sticking to the idea of comforting someone after they get injuries in battle. I hope you enjoy!!

Sneaking into each other’s room in the Barracks was commonplace after the long, exhausting expeditions they had been part of. Not many would say anything to Jean and Y/N on those nights where they seeked out each other’s company.

Everyone knew what the expeditions were like, to come home alive was one thing, but to have the people you loved return as well… That was everything.

And so, on those specifically torturous nights where the events of expeditions weighed heavy on everybody’s shoulders, Y/N would find herself curled up in Jean’s bed, neither of them willing to let go of the other as they basked in the realisation that they had both made it out alive.

Today, however, was different.

Rather than whispering about their future and the dreams they had for when they retake Wall Maria, Y/N was asleep in the chair she had dragged over to Jean’s bedside.

He had sustained injuries after falling off his horse when Reiner — no, the armoured Titan — was throwing Titans in their direction. Jean had been lucky that Armin was there to help him, Y/N knew that. But her mind still continued to think of the worst possible scenarios.

The idea that Jean might not have made it back to Wall Rose plaguing her mind ever since they returned over a day ago.

It’s not like he hadn’t woken up in that time, no. He had told Y/N to stop sulking and lay next to him multiple times because “I’m injured, Y/N, I could really use a hug.” but Y/N didn’t want to risk hurting him any more than he already was.

Jean stared at Y/N sleeping form. She laid sideways on the chair, her legs thrown over the arm rest as she twisted her body around slightly to rest her head against the back cushion.

There was no way it’d be comfortable, he had told her as much. But Y/N refused to lay in his bed and she refused to go to her own one, and there wasn’t much Jean could do about that.

Jean’s eyes flickered to the window, the sun had risen not too long ago, rays streaming through the curtains to illuminate the once dark room.

As Jean pushed himself up, hoping to sneak out of the room before Y/N would wake up and notice that he was ignoring the ordered bed rest he had been placed under, the girl began to stir slightly in her seat, attempting to get comfortable in a chair that would never be.

Jean let out a sigh, reaching over slightly to lift her blanket back up over her shoulders. Though as his knuckle gently brushed across Y/N’s upper arm, her eyes shot open, her reflexes kicking in as she turned and punched the boy. Almost falling off her seat as she did so.

“Y/N?!” The two stared at each other in shock.

“Jean?!” Y/N’s eyes widened as she realised what she had done. Immediately pushing the blanket off her legs, she stood up. “I’m so sorry, oh my god. I… I didn’t know it was you!”

“Who else would it be?!” Jean asked, one of his hands coming up to tap the side of his face that would no doubt he bruised later.

Noticing the way Y/N had taken a step back and begun fidgeting with her hands, he could tell what was about to happen. She was going to leave, and probably not come back till she convinced herself that he hated her.

“You know, after adding another wound to my list of injuries, you could at least come lay down with me,” Jean commented, moving to lift up his blankets for her.

Jean didn’t know if his begging had just finally annoyed her, or whether she felt that bad for hitting him out of reflex, but Y/N gave in.

Careful not to touch any of the bruises she knew already lingered on his body, she laid down on his bed, being pulled closer by Jean as he wrapped an arm around her waist.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, her forehead pressing softly against his chest.

“It was an accident, calm down,” he chuckled. The laughter vibrating through his chest and making Y/N look up to make sure it wasn’t a fake laugh of reassurance.

When she was sure that he was genuinely okay with what happened, she leaned closer, kissing him softly as her hands came up to cradle his face.

Jean immediately melted into this kiss, his calloused fingers rubbing gently against her skin as his hand moved up the side of her shirt — his shirt, he had noticed.

When Y/N finally pulled away again, Jean noticed the tears pricking the corners of her eyes. “I thought… I thought I was going to lose you,” she whispered.

“Hey,” Jean spoke softly, taking his hand out from her under her shirt so he could wipe away the tear that had fallen down her face. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

“I just- I saw you and Armin, and you were knocked out, and it didn’t look good for any of us,” she began to ramble, only stopping when Jean leaned in, his forehead resting against her own.

“We’re alive. That’s not going to change any time soon, I promise.”

It was a promise he couldn’t keep, they both knew that. But Y/N didn’t have the energy to argue, so she kept quiet instead, allowing Jean to continue.

“We’re going to see the ocean Armin told us about,” he stated, bringing up one of the dreams they often talked about in moments like this. “Both of us.”

“And then we’ll find a place in the interior,” Y/N remembered the next part of their ideal plan. “One big enough for the both of us, and our kids one day.”

Jean smiled softly as he kissed her forehead. He knew there was a long, hard path ahead of them before they could even truly consider a future together. But he didn’t care.

He just wanted to be Y/N’s side for as long as possible. Wherever that took him.

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[rainydaydream-gal18]

(Clone Wars) Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader: Here to Stay a Little Longer

Author’s Note: In this fic, reader is a jedi who volunteers to care for an educate younglings in the order. Just wanted to say I know a few teachers and caretakers, and I just wanted to say the amount of respect I have for people who dedicate their time to little ones whether it be for a job or because their your own little ones!

    “Good work today.” 

    There was no stopping the affectionate smile that bloomed on your face as the youngling chirped in response to your affirmation.  You could sense his happiness at the lesson being over for the day.  He wanted to take a nap.

   “Me too, Grogu,” you sighed.  “Me too.”  He waddled over to you, and you lifted him into your arms.  Another jedi would be coming to take him back to the nursery for rest. 

   “___________?” a voice asked.

   “Hm?” you turned to see an elderly female jedi at the doorway to the training room.  “Oh, jedi Lilanou.  You are here to take Grogu back to his quarters?”

   “Yes, indeed,” she said with a smile, outstretching her hands.  They were weathered but ever so gentle as you transferred the tired baby to them.  He waved at you, and you laughed and waved back.  “Grogu will see you later this week for another training session.”

   “I will be expecting him.”  You nodded.  Grogu wasn’t quite like the other younglings.  He was more developed mentally for one so small, and he was much older than the others.  This meant he started training, but only a little since he was still a baby.  As Lilanou carried him away, you felt sadness creep its way into your feelings.  No doubt your attachment to the young one went beyond what it should.  You felt that way about most of the younglings you volunteered to look after and train before they became padawans and were assigned to mentors.  It was hard to let go when that time came, but the need for jedi to step up and help the next generation of younglings drew you in again and again.

   With the absence of Grogu, your afternoon was free.  The rumble in your stomach told you it was time for a meal.  You released a sigh and stepped out of the empty room into the vast halls.  Jedi walked to and fro, some in pairs while others had their noses in datapads.

   The sound of children’s laughter weighed your steps until you stopped altogether.  It was a collective laugh as if it was one shared by an entire class.  You started back on your way again before it rang out once more.  It was indeed a class that occupied one of the nearest training rooms, and from where you stood outside the doorway, you could hear Yoda’s voice instructing.

   “I’ll just stop in for a minute,” you said, grinning.  “Lunch can wait.”  As you approached, Yoda paused the lesson to meet your gaze.  As he greeted you, the younglings that were all seated in a semi-circle turned their heads to look in your direction.  Their faces lit up in recognition.

   “Ah, _________, how nice it is to see you,” Yoda said.  “Younglings, say ‘hello.’”

   “Hello!” they chorused.

   “Hello everyone!” you gave a nod of greeting before turning your gaze back to Yoda.  “I was just wondering if I could sit in on class today?  And maybe help if you need any assistance?”  It felt like a silly question to ask.  He was Yoda.  He’d been training many generations of younglings since long before you were born.  Nonetheless, his features softened as he motioned with his hand for you to enter.

   “Needing a lesson to refresh your memory, are you?” he joked in a good-natured way.  You chuckled as you took a seat on the far right of the semi-circle.

   “Something like that.”

   “Good, your timing is.”  He nodded.  “Discussing the process of constructing lightsabers, we are.  Perhaps, share with the class your experience, you could.”

   “That’s right,” you mused.  “Many of you are nearing that time.  Oh, yes Ganodi?”

   The Rodian girl lowered her hand, galaxy eyes averted shyly for a moment.  “Was it hard to build your lightsaber?”

   “It was a challenge,” you admitted.  “But it wasn’t meant to be easy.”  When you noticed her nervous expression, you added, “I’m sure you will do well.”

   “I’m excited to build mine!”  Petro exclaimed.  “I can’t wait!”

   “All in good time,” Yoda told the enthusiastic youngling.  “Anyway, back to our lesson, we should get....”

- - - - - - 

   After the class had been dismissed by Yoda, some of the younglings stuck around to talk.  Yoda walked over to you.  “Thank you for your help today.  Warms my heart, it does, to see your compassion and willingness to nurture the next generation of jedi.”

   You smiled.  “It warms my heart to see them so eager to learn.”

   After he left, you found yourself in the middle of a game of tag with the younglings in the classroom.  Katooni was “it”, and the rest of the group scattered.  She was fast for a youngling!  You raced past Byph, and he got tagged instead.

   “Sorry, Byph!”

   You were so captivated by the game that you hadn’t noticed a new presence.  “I thought I’d find you here.”  You skidded to a stop, looking over to see Obi-Wan Kenobi standing at the doorway.  Your heart did flips at the sight of that smirk of his while he stood there with his arms folded across his chest.  He had left on a campaign weeks before, and his return to Coruscant was a surprise to you.

   You turned to the group, who didn’t seem to notice him.  “Give me one second, guys.”  They continued to run around, and you walked over to the jedi, out of breath.  “It’s good to see you.  How are things on the front?”

   “Well, we were successful,” he replied.  That smooth voice was like music to your ears.  As you listened to him describe the gist of the mission, your mind wandered to silly little things like his velvety hair that shone in the light or his soft blue eyes or the way his lip quirked when he spoke.  It was just so nice to see him, to be able to take it in that he was there.

   “Sounds like an interesting time.”

   “Oh, no.  Not interesting in the least,” he said sarcastically, the shine of amusement in his eyes.  “How have things been here?”

   “Same as ever.”  You smiled and nodded in the direction of the younglings playing their game.  “These ones keep me occupied.  It’s not fighting Separatist battle droids, but…”

   “It’s an important duty.  I can hardly think of a more noble endeavor,” he told you, eyes looking distant and warm as the younglings’ laughter carried.  “I myself hope to dedicate more time to the cause.  I haven’t been as involved as I’d like to be.”

   “Well, we could always use the help.  Besides, you have become a sort of legend around here.”

   Obi-Wan’s brow lifted curiously.  “Is that so?”

   “It is, and you have Anakin to thank for that.  He stops by every now and then and shares a story or two about his and your adventures on the battlefield.”

   “That sounds like Anakin,” he sighed.

   “He’s an inspiration to the younglings, as are you,” you paused.  “To me as well.”

   “Obi-Wan!”

  “Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan!”

   The group began to gather around the two of you, their eyes wide with admiration and curiosity.

   “Well hello there,” he said.  “I was beginning to think I’d gone unnoticed.”

   “Where’d you go? Did you fight Grievous?” Petro’s questions poured out quickly.

   “Was Anakin there?” Zatt asked, tipping his head to one side.  “He said he was going on a mission too.”

   “Alright, alright,” you laughed.  “Let’s not overwhelm him.”

   “I’ll tell you all about the mission another time,” Obi-Wan assured them.  “For now, you might want to run.”

   “What?  Why?”

   “Because it looks like Byph is still ‘it,’ and he’s sneaking up behind you.”

   “Ahhh!”  They burst into laughter and screams as they scattered once more, leaving you and Obi-Wan chuckling.  One of the smaller younglings fell down in front of him.  He simply took her hand and gently pulled her to her feet.

   “Careful, little one.”  His warning was tender, and you watched the scene with heart thumping.  Obi-Wan was always good with younglings.  His kindly nature and humility made him quite popular. 

   He’d make a good parent, you thought.  Realizing where your mind was taking you, you shook your head.  That was hardly appropriate for one to think about a fellow jedi.  Romantic feelings were normal, but these were driving you to imagine a life with him outside the order.  You imagined a loving man with whom you could have your own children with.  The way he was gazing at you made you feel embarrassed, as if he sensed your thoughts.

   “___________?”

   “Yeah?”

   “Are you hungry?”

   You glanced down at your stomach as it gave another rumble.  Ah, right.  You skipped out on lunch to join the youngling class.  How embarrassing he heard that!  “Uh yeah, I missed lunch.”

   “I’m rather hungry myself,” he said.  “Shall we go get something together?”

   You nodded, smiling.  “We shall.”  You looked at the younglings.  “I’ll see you all soon.”

   “Okay, bye ___________!”

   “Bye Obi-Wan!”

   They headed out the door, their chatter echoing down the hall.  You walked alongside Obi-Wan on your way to get something to eat.  He was always pleasant company.  He walked with his hands folded behind his back and his gaze occasionally resting on you.  You had longed to see him again, but when the moment was finally there, you weren’t quite sure what to say.  Finally, you thought of something.

   “Did you need me for something?”

   “Pardon?”

   “You said you might find me there with the younglings,” you said.  “Does that mean you were looking for me?” 

   He opened his mouth as if he had a clever response, but his voice came out in a subtle stutter before he found the words. “I thought I’d pay you a visit since I arrived back on Coruscant.  I merely...wanted to see you.”

   “Oh, I see.”

   “Is that a problem?” The question wasn’t irritated.  His eyes searched you with genuine concern.  He had made it known that he sought you out for no reason in particular other than his enjoyment of your company, and he didn’t want this knowledge to make you uncomfortable.

   “No, no, not at all.”  You shook your head.  “I’m glad you did.  I’m pleased to see you.  It was only a few weeks, but it felt like so long.”  You went silent after that statement, unsure if you crossed a line either.  You were supposed to be a jedi free from attachment, and the last thing you wanted was Obi-Wan Kenobi to think you were needy.

   “I know exactly what you mean,” he muttered in agreement.  His eyes went to the floor in a way that suggested he had something on his mind.  The implication that he may have missed you too made you want to hide your face shyly, but you remained nonchalant.

   “When do you leave Coruscant again?”

   “Not for some time, I hope.  Like I said, I’d like to be more involved with training the next generation for a while.”  He glanced your way, eyes crinkling as he smiled.  “But my apologies, that means you’ll have to see more of me.  I know how much of a burden I am.”

   “Indeed.”  You returned the smile.  “How terrible.”

   The warmth between you two was unmistakable during the playful banter.  Part of you was thrilled that he would be around, that you wouldn’t have to say “goodbye” for a while.  The other part was worried what it might bring upon both of you.  If the two of you spent more time together with the younglings, it would do you no good as far as dismissing the attachment you had to him.  And what of the Council?  Would they take notice?

   Obi-Wan sat across from you at one of the long dining tables, and those doubts one-by-one went out the viewport.  He spoke about his mission away and then listened as you told him about some of your adventures on Coruscant.  Some involved your travels outside the jedi walls while others were about your daily struggles and victories with the little ones.  You told him of a youngling still in the nursery that ran off without their robes that you had to chase down and dress.  Fortunately the nursing droids had proper security so the youngling didn’t leave the nursery.  Obi-Wan’ laughter rang out clear as a bell as he tipped his head back at the outrageous tale.  Something fluttered in your chest as he lost himself in the humor for a moment before taking a breath and sighing.

   “Well it seems I have much to look forward to,” he chuckled.  “I recall once you said you wished you had some war stories to share, but it seems you do now.”

   “Some days it is a battle,” you agreed.

   “Believe me, I know.”  He gazed at you then, that glint in his eyes as he smiled tenderly.  You found yourself unable to look away.  It was like a magnet pulling you to him, and if there weren’t a table separating you, you might have even leaned in for a kiss.  It was like electricity crackling between you, and you had to force yourself to glance down at your now-empty tray.  The time working with Obi-Wan again would be interesting.  Even after only a few hours together, you felt that same pull that you fought for years.  You wondered how long you could go without giving in.  You wondered if he felt it as strongly as you did.  By the look flashing in his eyes as you leaned in ever so slightly to scoot out of your seat, you figured he might.

   An interesting time indeed. 

[chyrstis]

WIP Saturday!

Tagged by @shallow-gravy @chazz-anova @adelaidedrubman and @starsandskies thoughtout the week, and while I feel like I’m playing a bit of catch up right now, I didn’t want to miss out on this at all. Thank you all! <3

@writerofblocks @hunnybadgerv @painterofhorizons @cobb-vanthss @amistrio @ma-sulevin @tommymillers @jackiesarch @shellibisshe @redroci @unlikelynick @fadedjacket @faithchel @risenlucifer @tomexraider @weekend-writer @vasiktomis @consumedkings @scarlettkat86 @aceghosts  but no worries or obligations intended either!

I’ve been having fun dipping back into an earlier idea with Hana and Sharky, mostly because it was supposed to be a simple chat over a cigarette (and a silly exchange about tootsie roll pops), but it decided to get a little more serious than that, and I can’t be mad about that at all. 

---

“Now that’s impressive.”

“Huh? What is?”

“Hurk.” Sharky’s eyebrows rose, and she laughed. “I’ve had a few partners before that snored, but this? This would’ve had me on the couch in ten minutes flat. There’s no set of ear plugs strong enough to block that out, not that they’re selling anyway.”

“Huh.”

“You’re fine, though,” she added quickly.

Sharky had been scratching his goatee, lost in thought, but snapped back to attention. “Wait? For real?”

“Yeah, you’ve never-I never noticed. Not enough to smack the pillow or poke you at least.”

There might’ve been a time shortly after they’d started traveling together where he’d rolled over during the night, all but snoring in her ear, but she’d dealt with it. Maybe even let him repeat it once or twice, and wasn’t about to bring that up now. 

“Never thought much of it before.” He went back to mulling it over, and jabbed a thumb towards Hurk. “I mean, Hurk’s always been like that, rattling blinds and shit once he really gets going.”

“You don’t say?” Hana winced, and it didn’t take much to imagine the sound. 

“Yeah, but that’s after we have a real rager. The kind everyone talks about, and it’s been way too fucking long since we’ve pulled one off.”

“’Cause of the cult?”

“’Cause of the cult. A few of them got real bent out of shape even at Nick’s barbeque a couple years back - which was one kick-ass place to be - and that didn’t even have half of the shit they say they have problems with. Just good food, good company, and some pretty all right tunes, short of whatever the hell the Seeds were trying to pass off as food.” He sighed, and his whole body sagged with it. “Cults, man. Ruining shit for everyone since day one. Ain’t that right, cuz?”

Hurk snorted almost in perfect time to agree, but stayed exactly as he was. Sleeping better than anyone had a right to out in the woods like this. 

---

Also, another excerpt from the John the jerk bonanza, maybe? Sorry, Han :( and part of me’s tempted to add just a bit more to it so I can go ahead and post it on its own b/c it’s still pretty far down the fic timeline

---

“Which should be first? Greed? Envy? Pride? Lust? We have some fine candidates to consider, but to choose…oh, to choose. ”

He kept on going. Kept talking, monologuing, raising his hands to add emphasis to every word, and it was all drowned out. All through the blood rushing through her ears.

But it eventually died down. Eased off just enough for her to breathe and be able to think again, catching a few scattered words of his that filtered through, even as John gesticulated for no other reason than he wanted to, and she made a promise to herself then and there.

She’d make it through this. Push past it and find a way to Joey somehow, because that was all that mattered.

So if he wanted to do this - and the sinking feeling in her gut told her that this was only the tip of the mindscrew - she’d do it on her own terms, dammit. Diving in feet first if she had to.

“….John, just get it over with.”

“-thout sin, and you-” John paused, and raised one eyebrow then the other at her. “Hmm?”

Canting her head at him, Hana blew at the bangs that had fallen into her eyes, scattering a handful of the dark red strands without really moving them, and settled as hard a stare on him as possible.

“Sure we could have a field day with the others, but you’re already getting off on this, so why not start with the old L-word. You know the one. Lust,” she breathed, letting her head fall back as she arched into it, only to snap another sharp look off at him. “Just go straight for the shameful shit and run right down the laundry list of people I’ve fucked, since you’re going to want every last dirty detail anyway.”

John opened his mouth, but slowly closed it, narrowing his eyes at her. “Deputy, what do you think I’m going to ask? How many partners you’ve had? Specific acts? Preferred positions?”

Yes. She bit the inside of her lip to keep from saying it, and hated how her face burned in response. “You’ve got to have something to judge, might as well. Direct demonstrations are right the fuck out, however.”

---

And just a short bit that I’ve added to an earlier John and Faith idea where I was trying to feel a potential intro out, and I think I can totally work with this. 

---

She was late.

John checked his watch. Could almost hear the seconds tick by as he stood out on the balcony, drumming his fingers along the wooden railing.

While not uncommon, it always dug in just enough. Being forced to wait when he’d already put everything else on hold for her, even if she promised him it would be worth it.

His dear sister tried, but very few things were worth that loss of time, and that was one of their most precious resources nowadays. The only thing he couldn’t measure, weigh, or record, and not even Joseph could give him more than an indeterminate soon at best in terms of when it would finally run out.

So, with soon weighing over all of them, the Collapse reduced to nothing else but that, he was left to stand here.

To wait.

To welcome his sister’s visit with open arms - and he would still, even now - when he’d been left idle long enough for anyone, not just the Deputy to take advantage of it.

The tapping stopped, and John let his fingers lay flat. Let them start to dig the slightest into the surface of the wood.

And where was she now? That deputy...

He’d lost track over the past day, with nothing useful coming in through the cameras or his Chosen. She didn’t disappear. Couldn’t, not with how she dressed, how she looked, or the company she kept, but she’d somehow managed it, and hadn’t headed north or to the east.

[beyond-the-mirror]

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Chapter 7 is finally here! As I have mentioned a couple posts ago I am going to focus solely on this story for the time being. I will try my best to update at least once per week so stay tuned.

Warnings: A little angst in a few parts.

Tagging: @thedyingmoon​ @minteyeddemon​ @vampiregirl1797​

If you wish to be tagged in this story let me know in the comments.

………………….

Chapter 7: Nightingale in the Cage

“So Bishop, would you mind explaining to us the reason you decided to become a patron for the Opera house?”

“Oh not at all.” Sanctus took a deep breath before speaking again. “As you may have heard in the local news, an estranged brother of mine passed away some time ago, may his soul rest in peace. Days later I received a visit from his lawyer, apparently he had accumulated quite the fortune and his testament determined that I would be the sole heir of all his possessions and shares.” The Bishop made a brief pause, the death of his brother still weighing down his heart. “I actually have no need for such a large sum of money, which is why I only kept a modest enough amount for me and decided to donate the rest in favor of the conservation of the arts.”

“A rather noble cause indeed Bishop, our sincerest apologies for your loss.” Monsieur Andre added.

“Thank you for your condolences. All my life I’ve considered myself to be an admirer of the fine arts. There’s nothing I wouldn’t love more than to finance Fortuna’s famous Opera House and support the careers of its many skilled artists.”

“And we shall be forever grateful for your patronage bishop.” Monsieur Firmin mentioned before lifting his champagne glass. “Let’s have a toast for the future of Fortuna’s Opera House.”

“For the future of this new society.” Raoul finished before the men raised their glasses together in glee. The vicomte, however, seemed to have a sense of sadness in his eyes that he hid all too well from everybody. How he wished to spend more time with you, but didn’t find you at the party.

Maybe you were too exhausted to attend and went home instead? Whatever it was, he wished you were okay.

………………….

‘The newest play from Fortuna’s Theatre Company, Hannibal, has been critically acclaimed by specialized press, scoring an impressive average of 4.6 out of 5 stars’

‘The exquisite acting and choreography are to be praised. However, its most prominent figure is the miraculous voice of the main singer, who has replaced iconic soprano Carlotta Guidicelli as the protagonist.’

‘Step down Carlotta! A new queen has arrived and the spotlight is all hers!’

‘In a shocking turn of events, Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, believed to be the company's successor to legendary soprano Kyrie Eleison, has been overshadowed by a new rising talent. A humble fortunian songstress by the name of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’

‘(Y/N) (Y/L/N). The break-through songstress that has captivated the audience’s hearts. Is this the birth of a brand new star?’

Reviews, articles and blog posts about the company’s new soprano spread around the internet like wildfire, every single one focusing on the same subject: The mysterious soprano that took Fortuna by surprise and dethroned 'La Carlota’ herself.

The girl had become the theatre’s own Venus and Aphrodite, a muse that inspired all the souls touched by her melodious voice. A nightingale turned human, an angel descended to Earth.

But as her performances continued and her fame grew, a few observant enough would take notice of certain… details regarding her.

The truth behind this? A sinister shadow was tormenting the theatre’s beloved angel, one that threatened to consume not only her, but everything around.

………………….

“I refuse to accept this!” Carlotta stomped her heel on the marbled floor of her lavish bedroom, taking a sip from the almost full glass of wine in her hand.

Ever since that fiasco when she stormed out of the theatre during the rehearsals for ‘Hannibal’, the soprano’s life seemingly started turning for the worse, all because of that girl that once dared to collide with her during rehearsal. She had insisted the dancer had done so on purpose, envious of her great talent.

And now it turns out that dancer is the same one that took her role as the main protagonist! Carlotta felt offended by such a decision, she was a professional while that girl was just a simple amateur

Still, she had to admit this (Y/N) had a gifted voice. What she could not explain is how she managed to perfect her skill to such a high level if she claimed to be an inexperienced singer? As talented as one could be, it takes years of work and practice to master one’s craft, the only explanation she could come up with was that the girl had to have a special tutor, and an exceptional one at that.

But who?

Realizing her glass was already empty, Carlotta hurried to refill it again. She had believed that with Kyrie gone to Broadway, she now had the stage clear for herself to finally shine above everyone else, after all, the only voice above Signora Carlotta could only be that of Fortuna’s legendary songstress herself.

Such hopes were now broken. She had a new competitor, one that was already stealing the spotlights.

As she turned to the broadcast of the company’s most recent play, she huffed when the camera focused on the new main singer. The audience had fallen right into her trap, and now she had them all wrapped around her lithe finger.

“I don’t know what they see in her, she’s nothing special and she’s not that pretty. Especially with those dark circles under her eyes, does she even sleep? Careful girl, you are already losing your youth.” Carlotta snorted before downing her glass of wine.

………………….

“Vicomte Raoul! Bishop Sanctus! We weren’t quite expecting your visit to our Opera House. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

Messieurs Andre and Firmin almost tripped over their own feet as they hurried to attend the Opera House’s important benefactors. Raoul managed to hide his laughter at their eagerness, while Sanctus simply offered the two a gentle smile.

“Do not worry for us, messieurs. This fine theatre holds so many precious memories of my youth, so I thought it appropriate to drop by and watch the rehearsals take place if you don’t mind us.”

“Oh, not at all Bishop! This way please.”

As the four men approached the hall, a melodious voice resonated through the walls.

“Ah! You are in luck. Our lead singer seems to be on stage right now practicing one of her numbers.” Firmin noted just as he opened the door to the main hall.

Madame Trish was supervising as usual, you stood at the stage performing an aria while Monsieur Reyer directed your voice through the song’s notes. As he took a seat near the stage next to Sanctus, Raoul was mesmerized by your singing figure, the passion and dedication you imprinted on your work palpable and strong enough to touch the hearts of others.

“An utter beauty, isn’t she?” The elder’s voice snapped him out of his trance. As he turned to face Sanctus, he noticed the soft smile and knowing look in his eyes. He gulped, were his feelings that obvious? Then again, Sanctus has seen and learned a lot during the many years of his long life, wisdom comes with age after all.

“Ah! Young love! Perhaps the purest and most innocent of them all.” The bishop gave a hearty chuckle. “Miss (Y/N) is definitely special. Her voice alone holds so much power, enough to make the entire audience bow to her, and yet she still remains humble and authentic.”

Raoul turned his attention back to the stage where you were now conversing with Trish and Reyer about your routine during the number. The vicomte could see what Sanctus meant, you weren’t arrogant or prideful like Carlotta, but rather attentive and open to the feedback and mentoring offered to you.

A smile grazed his lips. He had just met you and already you were taking over his heart and mind.

Still as he observed you going through the song one more time, there was something off that caught his eye. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The heave of your chest whenever you ended a verse, the slight trembles of your feet whenever they moved along the lines marked on the stage by Trish. 

You looked… tired? Exhausted, perhaps? No... more like detached.

But you continued the rehearsal with no trouble. Maybe your sudden growing popularity was already taking its toll on you, as well as all the performances you had to do at the theatre. For anyone without experience, such exhaustion is understandable.

In the seat next to him, Bishop Sanctus was also studying you. However, his expression seemed more preoccupied than that of the vicomte. He too had noticed some kind of dark aura looming around you, and he pondered what this could mean for the Opera House’s future, and for his plans too.

………………….

petite.aerette  I can’t believe I finally got to watch #Hannibal. So happy to know the Opera House is on the rise once again. #FortunaOperaHouse #theatre #musical

alya_hyacinth  You saw it live? Girl, I’m jealous!

dramaqueen101  Aaah I was there too! I wish you told me you were going, we could have gone together and have our seats next to each other.

petite.aerette  Sorry! Mom surprised me with our tickets that same morning. Did you see that new singer everyone is talking about? She is awesome! I already love her voice and acting!

dramaqueen101  I know right?! In fact I caught a glimpse of her after the play when she retired to her dressing room. I wanted to go talk to her but it was too crowded and she seemed to be in a rush. However I noticed she looked a bit tired? As if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep.

………………….

Free time had become a luxury for Nico. There was always something to fix, something to supervise, something to check. Whatever breaks she would get, she welcomed them with open arms and relaxed as much as she could before it was back to work again.

It was in one of these breaks when she ran into you, what better way to enjoy some free time than with a dear friend?

But as she approached your figure, Nico took notice of your appearance. Your skin was now as pale as a ghost, your eyes were heavy with sleepiness and dark circles framing them. You looked as if you were about to collapse at any given moment.

“Hey, you alright sugarcube?” Nico’s hands went to your arms by instinct, just in case you were feeling sick and you needed to be rushed to the infirmary. But with a small smile, you tried to ease her worries.

“Couldn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Uh huh…” Nico was many things, highly perceptive was one of those. Many have found out the hard way that she was not an easy one to fool. Of course, it was no surprise that she could see right through your words. “Come. Let’s get you some warm tea.”

Stern and maybe a bit harsh, but caring when the situation called for it. That was Nicoletta Goldstein for you. One of the most surprising things about her is that she made the best tea in the world according to the people working at the theatre. 

“This should ease you a bit, honey. Careful, it’s still hot.” As she handed you the small cup, she looked at you with worry in her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead she waited for you to open up and tell her what was wrong.

You could already picture the almost dead look you must have had. With slightly shaky hands you held onto the porcelain cup, raising it to your lips and gently blowing the steam to cool it down a bit. As a warm earthy flavor filled your taste buds, your body could finally ease up and relax even if just for a little while, granting you a moment of much needed peace.

Still, you didn’t find it in yourself to tell her.

Luckily for you, Nico knew better than to keep insisting. She figured that whatever was worrying you, you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. Nonetheless, she stayed right by your side in a comfortable silence with a cup of tea of her own.

It was a nice and peaceful moment, at least until she was called to check on one of the moving stage props.

And so she excused herself, but not before reminding you that you could always count on her for anything.

What Nico didn’t know, however, was the reason for your silence.

You didn’t tell her because something was forcing you to. 

………………….

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And soon enough, time itself began to blur.

Ever since that night at his sanctuary, everything felt… off.

You had woken up in your bed, feeling dazed and lightheaded, perhaps the effects of the turmoil from the previous night.

V. The first thing on your mind as soon as you recovered your consciousness was him.

You wanted, no, needed to find him and get some answers. Why did he disappear so many years ago? Why was he hiding his true identity from you?

… What were those black markings scarring his face?

There was just one problem, you didn’t know where exactly was his sanctuary located. The secret passage behind the mirror in your dressing room came to mind, but in order to navigate the underground canals you needed a boat, not to mention that it was easy to get lost in there. Maybe you could ask the authorities for help, but how could you explain your story and make them believe you?

You made your decision on the way to the Opera House. You would start by telling Nico for the moment, you trusted her enough and she often gave the best advice on any matter.

But the moment you spotted her in the distance and tried to approach her, something strange happened.

An unseen force lodged itself in your chest, holding your voice and your heart in a vice grip that burned through your entire body. All the air in your lungs escaped you, and the feeling of daze you felt that morning returned in full force. You tried to scream, call for help, but no sound would come out of your lips. All words died as soon as they left your vocal chords.

You watched Nico leaving after someone required her assistance, and as soon as she disappeared from your line of sight, the pain stopped. As sudden as it had arrived.

You remained frozen in your place, goosebumps raised on your flesh. The moment some sensation came back to your legs, you ran away.

The day continued with relative normalcy, but your mind remained perturbed. And hours later, just as all the scheduled performances had ended for the day, you headed for your dressing room.

Once inside, the mirror opened, and everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, it was already morning the next day. Once again you woke in your bed, feeling as dazed and lightheaded as the day before. But the feeling didn’t go away, and with everyday that passed, it only became worse.

Strangely enough, your performances never faltered once despite the unknown illness weighing you down, almost as if you were doing everything automatically, like a machine following its program. You were thankful for this apparent ability to keep it together, but soon you started feeling detached. It reached a point when you could no longer feel your own body, or the melodic notes leaving your lips. You were no longer living, but rather watching your life unfold itself without any input of your own.

Many times you made an attempt to tell someone, anyone, about this; but you found that every single time you were about to do so, that terrible pain would return until you desisted. Soon, you were conditioned to stay quiet.

One day Nico began noticing your predicament, but by then that obscure force had you under its control already. She was right there, concerned and willing to help. And yet you didn’t dare to speak up.

Panic often filled your mind, hopelessness flooded your soul. You prayed and prayed for this nightmare to stop.

After another successful performance, the last one for the day, you found yourself inside the main dressing room as usual.

And as usual, the mirror opened, letting out the hidden darkness that haunted the Opera House behind everyone’s backs.

………………….

Poor unfortunate Joseph Buquet. 

Ever since that incident with the falling curtain, Nico had him double checking pretty much everything. Every rope, pulley and mechanism had to be meticulously examined in order to prevent another incident like that from happening again. Now he understood why it was such an important and critical matter, the least he wanted was for anybody to be harmed due to a malfunction after all, but his own anxiety over making a mistake and causing another accident was already getting him. The poor man would triple- no, cuadruple check every single detail in an almost paranoid way. Not a single nook or cranny would be left unattended by this dedicated worker.

So it was no surprise that today was especially bad for the nervous Mr. Buquet, for his trusty utility belt had been misplaced, making him search the whole building for his precious tools.

Only after finding his utility belt did Buquet allow himself to feel relieved, a heavy burden lifting off his tired shoulders. He was making his way back to the fly floor when the sound of hurried steps nearby reached his ears, as he turned at a corner he caught a glimpse of you closing the door to your dressing room shut. Noticing the way you entered the room in such a haste, he worried something might have happened to you. Maybe you were feeling sick and needed to rest? These days you had been looking paler than usual, and the man had to admit that seeing you in your current lamentable state tugged at his heartstrings.

Walking to your door, Buquet politely knocked at the wooden surface “Miss (Y/N), is everything alright?” But no answer came back.

He knocked again, this time a bit louder. “Miss (Y/N), are you there?” Again, no answer.

Now he was getting genuinely concerned. He even pressed his ear to the door in an attempt to hear whatever was happening inside, but he found only silence.

“Miss (Y/N) I’m opening the door right now!” Buquet immediately took hold of the knob and slowly cracked it open, merely peeking inside just in case you needed some privacy after all.

The sight that greeted him sent chills to his very bones.

A tall shadowy figure towered at the back of the room, its arms wrapped around your unconscious body in a seemingly possessive manner. Like a ghost, it moved towards the mirror and disappeared with you in its arms.

Buquet stood frozen as his mind tried to process what just happened before him.

He had heard the stories, rumors about an entity that haunted the Opera House. Some workers would mention seeing shadows through the corners of their eyes, others would claim that low growling noises could be heard at the hallways when they were empty enough, and a few would tell how they found strange iridescent blue feathers in the most bizarre locations inside the premises.

His mind pictured the heavy curtain that mysteriously fell on Carlotta. Then, the strange Box Four that always remained unoccupied despite the concierge’s claims about hearing a voice coming from inside.

They called it different names. A poltergeist, a monster, a demon… a Phantom…

But this time they hadn’t moved a prop or taken a simple object with them.

This time, they had taken a person.

………………….

Locked inside one of the restrooms designated for the staff, Mr. Buquet did his best to calm himself down. He had just witnessed the kidnapping of a promising young woman by the hands of an… an entity.

His hands flew to his hair in panic. What could he do? Nobody would believe a phantom had spirited away the company’s Prima Donna!

He… he had to have been hallucinating! Yes, that had to be it. For years the staff has accused the Phantom for all the minor inconveniences that often sabotaged rehearsals and productions, but this was an entirely different story, a songstress was just kidnapped for Lord Sparda’s sake! Urban legends or not, the supposed Phantom had never gone to these extremes before.

Splashing some cold water on his tired face one last time, Buquet finally exited the restroom and made his way back home, all the while reassuring himself that what he had witnessed couldn’t have been real.

‘Tomorrow Miss (Y/N) is gonna come to work as always. Nothing bad happened to her. Right now she is at home, resting on her bed.’ He would repeat himself over and over.

And the next day, Buquet got his much needed relief when he saw you rehearsing at the stage as if nothing had transcurred the night before. He almost let out an euphoric laugh when he saw you safe and sound and that he had been anxious for nothing.

Concluding that the constant burnout was the cause of his hallucinations, Mr. Buquet requested for a few days off to recover, a request that Monsieur Andre approved without thinking twice. 

Everything was going to be okay… or so thought Joseph Buquet.

Castings for a new production called ‘Il Muto’ were about to start in a few weeks, and everyone was about to witness how a single wrong decision could unleash the most gruesome of horrors.

[spencers-renaissance]

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.7

a poem begins in the lump in the throat

Chapter Six

This is the seventh chapter in my ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Last Chapter: Aaron went to Spencer's apartment and found him in a depressive state. Lots of cuddles and comfort ensued.

In This Chapter: Aaron and Spencer go to a museum with Jack, but it is definitely not a date. And Spencer's depression definitely does not get in the way.

TW: same as usual — as well as additional ones for a trigger scene and depictions of caring.

Word Count: 4.8k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

A poem begins in the lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. — Robert Frost

The day after Aaron had turned up at his flat, he’d rung Penelope who had not-so-guiltily confessed to sending him his way. He wasn’t upset though, quite the contrary. A kind, cuddly, caring Aaron showing up in the middle of a minor depressive episode was exactly what he needed, and the evening they’d spent together had burned its way onto the tissue of Spencer’s heart. It was one of the happiest moments he’d experienced in a long time, despite the weighty, persistent, downward tug on his mood.

He’s been over every day the team has been home in the two weeks since, Penelope taking over when he’s away, and as exhausting as Spencer has found human company in the past year, neither Aaron’s nor Penelope’s presence drains him in the way everyone else’s has. They accept his low mood, not blinking an eye when he doesn’t have the energy to respond to something they say or when he zones out and stares blankly at the wall for minutes at a time. He can’t even find it in him to care that both of them have seen him naked now.

Their company starts to chip away at the glacier of loneliness that had spread itself across his chest, inching its freezing border ever closer to the corners of his ribcage as he pulled away and watched everyone else do the same. Aaron and Penelope simply aren’t having it, and their determination to show him love and friendship and warmth is slowly but surely melting his isolation to a puddle on the floor, soon to dry out and be forgotten.

Penelope had come with him to his first psychiatrist appointment, though she’d sat in the waiting room this time, and it had been incredibly relieving to be able to properly let go of some of the heavy burden that had weighed so heavily on his shoulders all this time. He’d kept him on the same antidepressants Dr Reese had prescribed him, and although he hadn’t felt a huge difference yet, Dr Parker was incredibly reassuring and he was trying not to assume defeat so early in the game.

He did feel slightly better, though, as he came out of the dip in his depression that had come on the day after his day out with Penelope. Once Aaron had noticed his mood brighten and his energy levels increase slightly — evidenced largely by Spencer not immediately falling asleep on the sofa when he comes back in from work — he’d suggested getting out of his apartment and doing something.

Spencer was apprehensive at first: the idea of willingly putting himself in a position of proximity with strangers and unpredictable circumstances made his skin crawl. But then Aaron had proposed a quiet trip with him and Jack to the Natural History Museum, maybe a walk in the park if the weather was nice. Spencer had found it hard to decline.

The last few weeks had only solidified Spencer’s feelings for Aaron further, intensified by both his persistence in being close to Spencer and his relentless kindness, and he had begun to feel something like real, genuine hope stirring on the surface of his soul.

He’d caught Aaron looking at him a few times when he thought he was asleep or zoned out, and the softness on his face felt reflective of Spencer’s own expression when he looks at Aaron. He couldn’t imagine him being so insistent on taking care of anyone else on the team, and since he’d left the BAU anyway, he had no obligation to be so dutifully kind.

Yet, he shows up before and after work every day the team is in Virginia, no matter how far out of the way Spencer’s apartment is, making sure he eats, showers, has clean clothes. Making sure he knows he’s loved. (Something whispers deep in his heart that maybe that love is the kind he’s dreamed of.)

On bad nights when he was still working at the BAU, he’d hug his knees to his chest and imagine Aaron curled up behind him telling him how much he loved him, telling him that it was going to be alright. He could never look the man in the eyes the next day at work, but that didn’t stop him. It worked better than anything else he tried and now it’s a reality he can’t pinch himself out of.

Truthfully, in the weeks between quitting the BAU and Penelope forcing Aaron and herself back into his life, he’d desperately missed his time in Aaron’s apartment, playing with Jack and pretending his life wasn’t splitting at the seams. The idea of spending a whole day with them — without the added baggage of trying to box up his increasingly untameable depression — was something he actually looked forward to. It’s a nice feeling; admittedly one he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Penelope comes over the morning of the outing.

(“I’m not about to let you flush this down the drain just because you end up having a tough morning,” she’d insisted when Spencer told her she doesn’t need to. “I’ll come over and force you out of bed and into a nice little outfit if I need to. You are going on that date with Hotch. Sorry: Aaron.”

“Shut up,” Spencer had said weakly. “It’s not a date.”

“Irrelevant,” she’d sniffed and levelled him with a glare he couldn’t argue with.)

He’s pretty sure that her insistent and relentless protectiveness and aid is part of her very focused mission to make up the last year to him. In fact, he’s almost certain, considering every time she sees him he’s bombarded with yet another apology and a small present for him. He’s not sure how to get through to her that he’s already forgiven her.

“Have you eaten yet?” she asks as she walks into the living room to see Spencer curled up on the sofa with a blanket pulled over him. He had actually made it to bed last night, but the only way he could pull himself out of bed this morning was to promise himself a few minutes on the sofa, exciting day ahead of him or not.

He shakes his head. “Not hungry,” he sighs, picking at a loose thread of his blanket.

“That’s okay,” Penelope says lightly, dumping her handbag on the armchair before breezing into the kitchen and setting the orchid she’s brought with her on the windowsill. He hopes she knows she’ll be the only person around responsible enough to water it. “We’ll find you something small. How does a little bowl of cornflakes sound?”

“Fine.”

She puts the coffee machine on before bringing him a bowl of cornflakes that is decidedly not little. He hates that her tactic works and he eats the whole thing. “Why do you always have to be right?” he grumbles as he polishes off the bowl and puts it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know, baby genius,” she sighs exaggeratedly, sagging into her armchair. Spencer doesn’t know what he’d do without Penelope Garcia and her incessant dramatics. “It’s truly an affliction.”

“Mhm.” Spencer raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, but Penelope’s saved by the coffee machine beeping and she stalks into the kitchen to pour him a cup. He has no idea how early she wakes up to make it over to his house dressed to the nines with a full face of make-up on at eight am. He smiles fondly at her as he takes the proffered mug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says brightly, sitting back in her chair and sipping at her own cup. “So, how are we feeling about our date today?”

As much as Spencer does not appreciate her suggestive eyebrow waggling, he can’t help but smile at her antics. He also can’t help but blush. “It isn’t a date, Penelope, I’ve told you this.”

“Right, right,” she says drily. “I think I’d have an easier time believing you if you weren’t constantly sending one another heart eyes and weren’t clearly half in-love with one another already.”

Spencer decides it’s probably best to avoid mentioning that his feelings have definitely progressed past the ‘half in-love’ phase, and just looks down. “Jack will be there,” he points out instead, “and the Natural History Museum isn’t exactly a steamy date location, is it?”

“No, that’s exactly the point. It’s a Dr Spencer Reid date location.”

Spencer looks at her a little speechless for a moment. Unfortunately, she’s right. He’s privately thought about getting married in one of DC’s many museums, and science and history are two of the subjects even a casual acquaintance would know he’s fascinated by. Plus, it’s also something he’s bonded over with Jack.

All of that may be the case, but it doesn’t change the fact that he absolutely cannot let himself consider this a date.

He’s already let himself fantasise enough about Aaron returning his feelings; not letting himself think of this as anything other than platonic is the only thing he can hang onto to protect his fragile heart. Getting his hopes up only to find out he’s wrong would crush him, and he can’t risk a devastation of such proportions right now. He’s barely getting out of bed in the morning as it is.

Penelope seems to catch on to his spiralling thought process and leans over to lay a hand on his knee. “Hey, I know it’s intimidating,” she says gently, “and you don’t have to think about it as a date if you don’t want to, especially if you’re apprehensive because he hasn’t said anything explicitly. I just don’t want you to doubt yourself. I promise you he has feelings for you, too, okay? You need to trust me on this one. That man is absolutely gone for you.”

Despite himself, he finds himself smiling at her as her words warm him from the inside out. Even if he knows he has to be careful with his heart, he can’t help the optimism his head conjures up at such a promise from someone he trusts with his life. “Okay,” he whispers shyly.

“Right,” she says, putting her half-empty coffee mug down on the table and gripping Spencer’s free hand to pull him up from his pathetic sprawl across the sofa. “Come on, you. Aaron won’t be long, let’s get you looking at least half-human.”

He only agrees because she lets him bring his own coffee mug with him to the bathroom. She’s a good friend.

Penelope slips out a few minutes before Aaron is set to arrive per Spencer’s request, and he sits nervously on the sofa, waiting for the doorbell to buzz. He’d chosen his favourite shirt and tie combo and gone with a lilac sweater under his smartest navy coat. He holds his scarf in his fidgeting fingers, ready to put it on once they get outside, but he still feels naked. Suddenly, everything that’s riding on this day out fills him with a sort of dread and he feels vulnerable, scared of all the endless ways this could go so wrong.

Before he can spiral properly though, his intercom buzzes and he rushes over to answer it, even though he knows who it is. He’s glad he does, because Jack’s voice crackles its way into the quiet of his apartment. “Spencer, Spencer, come out, we’re here,” he shouts excitedly, and even though Spencer winces at the feedback his high-pitched voice elicits, a fond smile still finds its way onto his face.

“I’m on my way down, buddy,” he says back, with as much enthusiasm as he can muster, before patting his pockets to make sure he has his keys, phone, and wallet. He locks his door carefully and makes his way down to the front of his building. Apprehension balls in a pit in his stomach, but it loosens as soon as he approaches the pair waiting in the cold outside the front door.

Jack runs up to him and he crouches down to give him a big hug, wishing he had the strength and confidence to pick him up and twirl him around like he’s seen Aaron and Derek do so many times. Jack doesn’t seem bothered, though, an excited grin painted across his face as he pulls back from the hug.

“Hey,” Aaron says once Jack has let Spencer go and he stands back up straight. He presses a hand gently to the middle of Spencer’s back and the touch spreads warmth up to his shoulders as he watches the curve of Aaron’s smile. “How are you doing?”

“Rocky morning,” Spencer admits — he’s almost certain Penelope sends Aaron status reports, so lying is pointless. “Penelope helped.”

“She always does,” Aaron says warmly, keeping one hand on Spencer’s back while the other holds Jacks as they walk to the car parked a little way down the street. A little spark of excitement rushes through Spencer’s body as he briefly lets himself think about what casual passers-by might assume about the three of them. “You still up for the Natural History Museum?”

“Of course,” Spencer replies, as brightly as he can, trying to ignore the pull of sorrow still weighing his gut down. “Are you looking forward to seeing the dinosaurs, Jack?”

“Yes!” Jack shouts eagerly, letting go of Aaron’s hand to unzip his little puffer coat to reveal his long-sleeve t-shirt. A big, green t-rex stands out against the blue background, and Jack’s never looked prouder. “Dinosaur, see?”

“I do,” Spencer laughs. “It’s a great shirt, Jack.”

“Hey, let’s zip that coat back up, buddy, well done,” Aaron says gently and Jack does so obediently. “He insisted on wearing it,” he tells Spencer once Jack’s hand is back in his and he’s securely wrapped up. “He wanted to show you.”

They arrive at the car before Spencer can reply, and Aaron opens the passenger door for him to get in before strapping Jack into his car seat and setting him up with a few of his toys, including his favourite dinosaurs. It’s only a fifteen minute journey to the museum, and they pass the first half of it in a comfortable silence, but eventually, Spencer works up the courage to ask the question that’s been at the tip of his tongue the past two weeks.

“How’s work?” he asks, trying to be as innocuous as possible, though his awkward avoidance of Aaron’s eyes probably gives him away.

“It’s good.” He’s clearly treading carefully as he eyes Spencer for a brief moment before he returns his gaze to the road. “We’ve only had one major case since you left, and we muddled our way through it, got it solved. Everyone does miss you, though, Spencer. They really do.”

It’s a concept he still can’t really get his head around. He hasn’t been around for a year, not really, and they didn’t miss him then. It feels almost… convenient, to Spencer. Guilt is not remorse.

“Have you found my replacement yet?” Spencer surprises himself by not feeling any jealousy at the prospect of someone taking his position on the team. He’d long ago accepted how replaceable he is socially, and it’s not like the pool of talented, intelligent prospective agents is exactly small. He also has no desire to be around his old team; not as they were in the build-up to his resignation, not like that. He still has Aaron and Penelope, but he’s only just starting to trust that they’re not going anywhere.

“I think so,” Aaron sighs heavily. “As long as her paperwork goes through, she’ll join the team later this week.”

Spencer nods, not really knowing what to say to that. Aaron reaches his right hand across the console and rests it on top of Spencer’s clasped hands, the warm reassuring weight of not just anyone’s touch but Aaron Hotchner’s turning his insides into a melted puddle as his heart beats faster. He hooks one of his fingers over Aaron’s, a silent message to keep his hand there, and he doesn’t worry about what to say next. Nothing needs to be said.

Spencer knows the Natural History Museum like the back of his hand, so he directs them to the best parking spot before taking the lead and walking them into the gorgeous, open foyer. Jack bounces excitedly between them, so Aaron lifts him onto his shoulders to reduce the likelihood of a disaster.

“It’s not too busy for a Sunday,” Spencer observes, half trying to calm himself down in such an unfamiliar environment, “so we should be able to see everything we want to. Jack, do you want to see the dinosaurs now or later?”

“Now!” he shouts loudly, wiggling as happiness floods his little body. Spencer smiles fondly at the pair, and a little more of the apprehension he’d felt at leaving the house melts away.

“Well how could I refuse that request?” he chuckles, leading them towards the dinosaur exhibit. His breath catches when he feels the back of Aaron’s hand brush the back of his, and in a moment of bold and brash insanity, he interlocks his pinky with Aaron’s. After the moment in the car, he feels such an action is warranted, but as soon as he does it, panic sets in.

Before he can retract his finger though, Aaron takes Spencer’s hand properly. The feeling of Aaron’s big hand gripping his own in a gentle but firm hold makes his stomach dip, and goosebumps find their way up his arms and down his side. He’s never felt safer than right in this moment — never mind the crowds of people they’re passing through; the insecurity of being outside his flat; the uncertainty of what could happen — never mind all of that, because his hand is in Aaron’s and Aaron keeps him safe. He doesn’t trust much anymore, but he will always trust Aaron.

Jack babbles eagerly the whole way to the dinosaur exhibit, repeating some of the facts Spencer had taught him in his previous visits to the Hotchner household in a “did you know?” format, leaving both Aaron and Spencer chuckling fondly, trying to encourage him as much as possible.

Spencer shows them around the exhibit, acting as their tiny group’s personal tour guide, and Jack couldn’t be happier, insisting on walking instead of being carried so he can press his face up as close as possible to the displays, his breath fogging up the glass as he leaves fingerprints all over the cases. They spend nearly an hour walking around the exhibit, playing with the interactive toys and examining each and every display in a close-up fashion.

Once they wrap up their dinosaur exploring, Spencer brings Jack to a bench and asks him what his favourite thing he learned is.

“Uhh,” Jack hums, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that reminds him so much of Aaron it’s almost uncanny, “oh! They were terrible and they were stupid!”

Spencer’s confused for a moment before laughing as he manages to decode what Jack is trying to say. “Dinosaur does translate to ‘terrible lizard’, well done,” he agrees, “and you’re right, they weren’t much smarter than reptiles these days. Good job, Jack!” He raises his hand for a high-five, and Jack doesn’t waste any time in slapping his palm to Spencer’s.

“Can we get ice cream?” he asks eagerly, widening his eyes in a plea as he looks at Aaron who's been observing the unravelling scene from the pillar next to the bench.

“Go on then,” Aaron concedes, grinning at his son’s uncontainable happiness as he wiggles around next to Spencer.

They head to the museum’s cafe and all order ice cream, taking a seat in the middle of the canteen.

“This reminds me of field trips back in school,” Spencer muses, gesturing to the surrounding noise with his spoon.

“Yeah?” Aaron asks while Jack picks distractedly at a scratch on the table, licking his ice cream cone happily.

“Before I was identified as a gifted student and sent years up the grade school ladder, I was a fairly normal kid in a fairly normal school. We went on a field trip to a museum in first grade, and I loved every minute of it. I got to impress all my friends by sharing all my memorised facts about space, and we ate our packed lunches in a canteen like this. My mum was still on her meds back then, and she’d cut all my ham sandwiches into dinosaur shapes.”

Aaron’s smiling at him as he talks, and he realises that it’s probably because it’s the most he’s had to say in weeks, much less something anecdotal and personal. Spencer realises belatedly that it’s the sort of thing one might share on a date, but there’s nothing he can do about it now.

“I’m glad you have nice memories from your early childhood, Spencer,” he says, and his hand reaches across the table to find Spencer’s again. “It’s the least you deserve.”

He averts his eyes as he blushes, suddenly feeling a little overwhelmed by the attention, and focuses on his ice cream for a few minutes before he’s cooled down a bit. “What about you?” he asks, meeting Aaron’s eyes again. “Any field trip memories?”

“I made out with my ninth grade girlfriend at the planetarium once,” he admits quietly, a mirthful chuckle finding its way into his voice.

“Maybe minutely better than dinosaur shaped sandwiches,” Spencer says, a little shyly.

“Ooh, dinosaur sandwiches!” Jack chimes in, suddenly aware of the conversation the adults are having. “Can I have some?”

Spencer’s phone vibrates just as Aaron goes to appease Jack’s enthusiasm for novelty shaped lunch food, and he pulls it out curiously. These days, the only people to text him are Aaron and Penelope, and Penelope had told him she was going out with a friend today.

Hey, pretty boy — Spencer’s heart sinks as he reads the first line of the message, tears immediately springing to his eyes — I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch. Hotch said something about personal stuff going on? Anyway, I thought I’d text you to tell you just how much we miss you at the BAU. Life isn’t the same without you, and it was hard to not even get a chance to say goodbye. Any chance we could meet up at some point? We don’t have to go out if you don’t want to, we can just go grab a coffee or something. D

Aaron must read something off in his face — it’s not exactly like he’s trying to hide it — and he immediately slides closer to him on the circular canteen bench. “Hey, hey, Spencer,” he says soothingly, “you’re alright. What’s going on?” He just slides the phone over to show Aaron the message, and he immediately gets it. “I know that must be overwhelming, and we’re in public which can’t be helping.” He glances over at Jack who’s looking worryingly at Spencer, clearly confused. “Why don’t we go back to our place? Jack and I will help you feel better, won’t we, buddy?”

Jack nods at that, pressing himself into Spencer’s side and wrapping his tiny arms around him. “Yeah, we make you feel better.” He reaches up and clumsily brushes a tear away from Spencer’s cheek before kissing it. It makes his heart warm that this is how Jack treats someone sad: he must be emulating the behaviour adults have shown him in these situations, and Jack only ever deserves the absolute best. Especially after losing his mom.

“Thank you,” he whispers, pressing himself closer to Aaron. Every time he’s upset he seems to lose his inhibitions around him, but he can’t help it. He needs the comfort only Aaron can provide, and after denying his starving heart the love and reassurance it's been begging for for so long, he can’t help but indulge himself now it’s finally an option.

They make their way back to the car and Spencer’s in such a haze of confusing emotion the only thing he can really ground himself in is Aaron’s arm wrapped around his waist and Jack gripping his hand on his other side, sending him worried looks. If he had the wherewithal to feel anything other than a deep sense of grief combined with rising panic he’d feel guilty for ruining such a nice day out, but as it stands he’s spared that particular brand of misery.

The drive back to Aaron’s is a little longer than the first journey of the day, but Spencer just clings to the hand Aaron offered him as soon as they got back in the car and tries desperately not to spin completely out of control and start hyperventilating in front of the five year old strapped into his car seat behind him.

Jack is asked to play in his room for a bit once they get home and he obeys, aware of — if not entirely comprehending — the tension in the air. As Spencer sits on the sofa waiting for Aaron to get back with a glass of water, the grief and panic clear a little. He hates himself for the relentless gravity of his depression: the way it pulls down even the brightest of days, the way he can physically feel his insides being sucked downwards into the blackhole of desolation.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks gently as he sits next to Spencer on the couch, close enough that their arms are touching. Self-loathing is the only thing preventing him from leaning into his comfort like he did at the museum, like he did in the car. Instead he pulls away and curls himself as small as possible into the corner of the sofa. When Spencer doesn’t reply, Aaron takes a risk. “Do you think you might be so upset because somewhere, deep down, you want to see Derek too?”

He snaps his head up at that, surprised Aaron would say something so blunt and, as much as Spencer doesn’t want to admit it, truthful. After a good few moments of contemplative and patient silence, his thoughts are ordered enough to voice them. “I miss them all,” he admits quietly. “I desperately want to see Derek. But the Derek I left hurt me so much I wouldn’t know where to even start in trying to reconnect with him.”

Aaron nods in understanding from his spot in the middle of the sofa. Spencer longs for this pit of self-loathing to melt away so he can feel confident enough to crawl back across the cushions and share Aaron’s personal space again.

“That makes a lot of sense, Spencer,” he says, resting a gentle hand on his ankle, and it’s such a casual, intimate touch he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He settles on not moving even an inch, lest Aaron pull his hand away. “For what it’s worth, the others have started to piece together why you left. I know they’re all regretting how everything played out, and everyone on the team misses you sorely.”

Spencer ponders that for a moment. He doesn’t know how it makes him feel: it’s nice to be missed, and a sick sort of vindication flourishes in the less savoury side of him at the idea of the others realising the crippling, world-changing pain he’s been in for the last year, right under their noses.

He misses so much about the others, but that’s not new: he’s missed JJ’s hugs and Derek’s teasing and Emily’s friendship for close to a year now. Sitting at his desk in the bullpen next to Derek and Emily’s private bantering, sharing an inside joke he didn’t understand towards the end of his career at the BAU had cut deep, reminding him just how achingly alone he was.

“I don’t know where to start,” he says hopelessly, feeling like he’s repeating himself. Tears spring to his eyes again, spilling down his cheeks relentlessly, as though the second he’d let one fall, they toppled down his face like river water desperate to escape, unsure of when the dam will close again.

Aaron scoots himself over to Spencer’s end of the sofa like he can’t help himself, and this time he lets himself fold into Aaron’s warm embrace. He cries as quietly as possible, but it’s hard when he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than sob helplessly. He can hear himself; he knows he sounds like a broken, defeated man, but he simply doesn’t have the power to care.

As his sobs start to dry out, he sees that Aaron is crying, too. He’d noticed his wet eyes the last few times he’d cried in his presence as well, and he has no idea how to feel about it. If Aaron is seriously going to cry every time he does, though, then he’d better strap in.

“Why don’t you have a nap?” he suggests, wiping a tear from the sensitive skin under Spencer’s eye so tenderly it makes his heart clench. “Then afterwards, we can think of a way to go about this. Maybe we could start with a short text back. How does that sound?”

Spencer nods tiredly, and lets Aaron help him get into a comfortable position on the sofa. A warm, soft throw is draped over him and Aaron half closes the living room blind, but the day is dark and grey enough already anyway. As he’s falling off to sleep, a hot water bottle is tucked under the blanket and he instinctively curls up against the warmth, but he knows that the real comforting soporific is the man reading quietly in the armchair next to him.

For the first time in a long time, Spencer looks forward to waking up.

Chapter Eight

Rereading Penelope in this chapter when I came to edit it made me want to take a second to recognise all of the unofficial carers out there <3 I've been a carer for both my mum and my grandmother at various times in my childhood and teens, and it's tough going. If you're looking after a friend or a family member, please remember how amazing and wonderful you are, and also remember that it's okay if it's too much, and it's okay if you need to cry or scream or break down. You are still just as brilliant no matter your emotional reaction to what is an exceptionally difficult situation to find yourself in. I love you, and I'm always here to talk to you about this (or anything that comes up in this fic!) <3

If this chapter brought anything up for you, hotlines are in the endnotes of the AO3 version of this fic. Bigger countries are listed and a link is included if you live somewhere else in the world. I love you <3

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @marvel-ous-m @oliverbrnch @sbeno22 @aaron-hotchner187 @kuolonsyoja

[achubbydumpling]

[unfinished] Pile It On

Rating: Explicit

Words: 1561

Relationship: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Not underage, Fat camp, Stuffing, Weight Gain, Fat!Bucky

So, I had a great conversation with @wotvagyok about my fat camp AU Bucky and what might've led to Bucky breaking a bed like I mentioned in this ficlet. Thanks for the inspiration!

(I'm sorry, I can't think anymore right now. I'll fill in the spaces tomorrow, but if I don't publish this right now I'll probably not finish this challenge at all.)

“Team Cap sets up their attack, Wanda touches, high ark to Wilson, Rogers is probably their best chance at winning… but, no, Wilson sets for Barnes, is that the right decision? Let’s see if he can even get off the ground to—Barnes kills it! Stark can’t block that and with that his team is out! 21-19! A neck-and-neck race all the way. Congratulations, Team Cap!” Thor excitedly commentates jumping up from the beach.

The entire team piled onto Bucky to hug him and scream in his ear. Steve gave him a very bro-hug, grinning wide and shouting at Bucky.

“That jump was insane!” Steve yelled at him again.

“You’ve said that.” Bucky’s cheeks ached from how much he was smiling.

“I know!” Steve said in the same tone of voice, then squeezed Bucky tightly one last time and quietly added, “See you after lunch” with pointedly raised eyebrows, like Bucky wouldn’t immediately get what he was hinting at.

Read on AO3

They’d worked out a pretty good system over the past few summers. Plus, Bucky knew that quiet tone of voice all too well and Steve basically saying out loud that he’d sneak away to Bucky’s cabin in his lunch break? For a second everything outside of those words and Steve’s body pressed against him faded away.

However, the chatter of all the other campers came crashing back into Bucky’s consciousness when Steve turned away and started directing the other campers to the dining hall like he didn’t just—

Breathe, Barnes, he chastised himself and made his (very sore) legs to the dining hall. Scarf down the bland food, charm (beg) his way into seconds, head to the cabin and eat whatever Steve stashed there during his morning “contraband” sweep.

[...]

“Yeah, to make sure no one would find everything. Why didn’t you check the top bunk?”

“It says on the bed post the top bunk is only rated for 300 pounds?”

“Oh. Well, you don’t weigh that much more.”

“Yeah, just like 100 pounds.” Another cramp from his overstuffed belly forced a groan out of him. “Feels like double that right now.” Steve quirked his eyebrow and flicked his eyes at the ladder to the top bunk. Steve’s blue eyes darkened with the fantasy he was clearly playing out in his head right now. The air punched out of Bucky’s lungs.

“What if I break it?” he whispered. He couldn’t force himself to speak up. This— Sure, a flimsy chair had broken under the weight he’d piled on, but a bed? He’d have to tell someone. A sickeningly hot twist of pleasure raced down his spine. He’d have to admit out loud—

“Go on,” Steve interrupted his thought process, pushing Bucky to say that out loud.

“I’d— Fuck, I’d have to tell a counsellor. They’d probably take me to see Fury.” Steve swallowed drily.

“Why would they take you to the director?” Steve’s hands were clenched in fists on Bucky’s gut, belly rub forgotten for the moment.

“Get me weighed.” Steve nodded encouragingly, whispering “Why?”

“If I broke it now— Must’ve gained weight.” Bucky whined low in his throat and grabbed uselessly at the expanse of his belly before him.

“You’ve been here three weeks, you really should’ve lost some weight by now.” Steve pushed himself up from where he was sitting next to Bucky and straddled him. He pushed both his hands into the fat overhang spilling over his waistband and heaved Bucky’s belly up. Muscles and tendons working in his forearms.

“But I can barely lift this thing up.” Steve teased, then let go, letting all the fat slap back onto Bucky’s legs. That jostled his overstuffed gut so badly, Bucky wanted to curl into himself, but he was effectively immobilized by the weight of his gluttony.

The heat of his humiliation sparked his arousal like tinder. He was achingly hard. Trapped against his own fat. Twitching. Trying to rut into that friction. Steve shoved his hand between his fat pad and the fat hanging over it to blindly grab for his dick. When he found that bit of hardness, he squeezed. Tight.

“Not yet. You eat what I give you.” Bucky screwed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“Can’t,” he whined, shook his head again. Steve’s unyielding grip kept Bucky from coming all over himself at just imagining himself crawling up there and eating even more.

“Yes.” The command pierced through Bucky’s middle, making him squirm.

[...]

Dry heat raced through his core, having him press his hand over his dick. He was riding that edge so violently he felt like he should be coming all over his own fingers, but his briefs were still only stained by that spot of precum.

“Oh, fuck, get down here. You just— Bucky!” Steve was scrambling at his back, helping him back down the ladder. Once he was firmly back on the floor, Steve plunged his hand into Bucky’s briefs. Mouth on his neck. Other hand on Bucky’s sweat-slicked sides.

Steve jerked him fast and inelegantly, but Bucky didn’t care in that moment. Too consumed by the realisation that he’d gained enough weight to break the top bunk without even putting his full weight on it. Steve gasping, “you cracked the slats,” finally got him over the edge. Coming over Steve’s hands in his brief.

Bucky’s knees finally buckled under him, and Steve manoeuvred him to lie back down on the bottom bunk, which he was also rapidly outgrowing with the amount of calories he was consuming daily. Bucky was still caught up in the afterglow to help Steve much with getting off. He just felt bone-deep tired.

Steve was standing in front of the bed, one arm propped against the frame and resting his forehead against it. Bucky felt impossibly fatter when he let his head fall forward to look at Steve. He could feel his double-chin bunching up around his neck. His body taking up half his field of view.

Bucky couldn’t even see Steve’s hand on his dick, just the repetitive movement of his arm. The way the muscles moved, his right pec flexed and relaxed again and again. His whole body slightly jerking every time he fucked his hips up into his own fist. The bitten-off moans on his lips. All that over Bucky. The milky soft mountain of fat sitting on his upper body. The solid mass of food rounding out his stomach.

Steve’s forehead slipped off his arm and he just let his head hang for a moment. Then snapped up and locked eyes with Bucky. His pupils blown wide, lips bitten raw and coming over his own hand and torso.

Something fluttered and clenched when Steve climbed slowly onto the bed, wiped them both down with Bucky’s discarded shirt and tucked himself into Bucky’s side.

Bucky’s head reeled with a sudden realisation.

“What are we going to do about the bed?” Instead of answering Steve curled further into himself and hummed noncommittally.

“Hey, I’m serious. I don’t want to get kicked out.”

“Slat’s barely cracked, ‘ll tell Fury after end-of-summer check-in. They’re not gonna kick you out.”

“Maybe not, but I don’t think they’ll let me back in next year.” Bucky rubbed at the back of his head. “Maybe you could—I don’t know—come up to my place or something.”

Steve opened his eyes again but didn’t look at Bucky. Instead, he started playing with a loose thread on the comforter.

“One more summer. Then I’ll—” Bucky sighed, his hand found its way into Steve’s hair.

“I know. I know. Degree, then job. Wherever that takes you. Just thought it’d be— We’d have more than like an hour and a handful of moments to enjoy… this.” Bucky gestured very specifically to his middle and did not think about what else he’d like Steve to want. “What if they won’t let me come back next summer? Don’t really think I qualify for the asthma camp across the lake.”

“Fury’s determined to help everyone lose weight and Stark’s stubborn as hell.”

“They’ve failed three years in a row. This time pretty hard. Y’know after breaking camp property because I gainedweight while being here.” Steve stayed quiet for a long moment. They’d had this conversation a few too many times for them not to know all the arguments by now.

“You don’t think the sneaking around’s kinda fun?” Bucky just wanted to sighed. He felt the urge to shake Steve and make him see that Bucky was in this for a whole lot more than sneaking around to fuck like high schoolers.

“Speaking of your time’s up.” Bucky felt Steve moving up, about to lie down on Bucky’s chest and say those familiar words, “just five more minutes, Buck” but when Bucky kept his eyes firmly trained straights ahead the words died in his throat. Steve sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, then pushed himself up with a deep breath.

“Do you want anything special for tomorrow?” Bucky shrugged. His eyes suddenly felt to heavy to keep them open.

“Surprise me.” A barren olive branch.

Steve disappeared into the bathroom and Bucky finally let the sigh, that had been trapped against his chest, out. He stayed on the bed with his eyes closed until Steve padded out of the bathroom, across the cabin and pushed the squeaky door handle down.

“One more summer.”

[kumeko]

A/N: For the End of the Universe Zine, I wanted to explore a small story in a dystopian world

Summary: In a dystopian world, Keith took his small pleasures. His drives while dropping illegal goods. His ever-complaining mechanic and his low repair prices. The rare night with Shiro. He didn’t need more than that.

He definitely didn’t need Shiro’s dreams of saving everyone, of saving anyone.

…

…

…

…

“Jeez.” Hunk squatted down next to the dented motorcycle, his hand hovering over the metal like he didn’t know where to touch. Horrified, he looked up at Keith. “What’d you do this time?”

“Nothing unusual.” Keith shrugged, his hands in his leather jacket. Considering how fast he had driven to reach here, his black clothes stuck to his skin uncomfortably and he really wanted a shower. “You know how it is.”

“I don’t.” Hunk tied a dirty bandanna around his head. Keith was never sure if that was to protect his hair or if he just thought it looked cool; if it was the former, judging by the dirty overalls and grease stains on his face, it was a failed effort. “I thought transporters had to be careful.”

“Careful and quick,” Keith corrected, walking over to a side table. Pushing away the cigarette butts and bottle caps, he picked up a newspaper. Replicants Stage Coupscreamed the top headline. “And even then it’s hard to avoid the government dogs.”

Hunk tapped the side of the motorcycle and the pedal fell off with a loud clatter. Groaning, Hunk shot Keith a baleful glare. “Why? I give you a great bike and every single time you break it.”

“It’s either that or my life,” Keith pointed out. He flipped through the newspaper quickly, scanning headlines. Issues with the current president, interest rates rising again, a food shortage with no end. The same old fare, nothing at all unusual about the headlines. When Hunk didn’t say anything, he rolled up the paper with a sigh. “Sorry. I’ll be more careful next time.”

“…that’s what you always say,” Hunk grumbled, accepting the apology nonetheless. Pulling out his tool kit, he sat down next to the bike. “It’ll take a day or two to get in top condition.” Pointing a wrench at a grey box perched on a chair, he added, “Oh, and deliver that to Pidge while you wait.”

“Huh?” Keith crossed his arms. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a transporter?” Hunk rolled his eyes. “It’ll be the easiest job you’ve had. Nothing dangerous inside, no one chasing you. Just do it.”

Keith raised a brow. “And how much are you paying me?”

“I’m fixing your bike.” He tapped the back threateningly with the wrench. “You wanna get stuck here forever?”

“Fair point.” Picking up the box, he almost dropped it in surprise. Considering his job, Keith was pretty strong but that would just barely help him with this package. “What do you have in here? It weighs a ton.”

“Spare parts, an engine to take a part, the usual things.” Already in work mode, Hunk absentmindedly waved him off. “Just get it to her today, she has a client.”

-x-

The streets were as dirty and crowded as ever, with throngs of people flowing to and from work. Or to and from the pleasure district, to be exact. Popup shops crowded every corner, offering anything from drugs to weapons to the latest stolen technology. Neon-coloured signs hung off various buildings, enticing pedestrians to enter.

Keith pushed his way forward, his gaze firmly fixed in front of him. He hadn’t missed any of this while he was on the road. There wasn’t really anything keeping him here, fixed to this city. Hunk was a great mechanic but they were a dime a dozen, one in every town. No, to be exact, every town was the same. The same grey, the same dirt, the sense of loneliness and loss.

A world in greyscale. The only time he saw colour was when he was racing down the highway, an illegal package in his satchel.

-x-

The bells chimed as he entered Pidge’s repair shop. A small space, squeezed into the very end of a depilated building, Keith had walked past it three times before spotting it. Inside, the white shelves were lined with the latest in limb replacements, fine technology that actually made it better to lose a body part than to have it.

“In the back,” Pidge called out cheerfully, followed by the sound of metal clicks. She was with a customer then.

“I swear your place gets smaller every time I come,” Keith said dryly. A lightbulb flickered as he made his way to the back room. Even the space between the shelves felt narrower than the last time he came.

“Or you’re just getting fatter,” Pidge shot back, a pleasing lilt to her voice. Someone was in a good mood today.

“Like that’s possible.” Keith snorted, waving a package as he entered Pidge’s unofficial clinic. “Hunk wanted you to have this.”

At one point, the room had probably been a manager’s room or something like that. Now there were curtains on windows and a long bed for the particularly strenuous limb repairs. Not that Pidge’s current operation seemed like one of those. Seated on a worn-out chair, she had her latest patient sitting across from her, his mechanical arm in her lap. A man with a streak of white hair. He glanced up and Keith almost forgot to breath.

Shiro.

Shiro was back.

“Must be the parts I ordered.” Still tinkering with the arm, Pidge glanced over her shoulder. “Just put it on the table, I’ll take a look after.”

“Sure.” Keith tore his eyes away from Shiro long enough to set the box down. Shiro was back. Trying not to sound overeager, he asked, “What happened to you?”

“The usual.” Shiro winced as Pidge tried to reconnect the arm. “There was a trap. We almost got caught.”

“And then your hand got caught instead,” Pidge chimed in, closing an eye as she examined her handiwork. “What’s this, the tenth replacement? There’s a reason you’re my best customer.”

“Eleventh,” Shiro corrected with a sheepish smile.

“Ugh. It’s a good thing I don’t paste my name on these babies, otherwise I’d be dead right now.” Pidge grimaced. Somehow, Keith didn’t think that would save her for too long. Her work was too advanced, too impressive, and all it’d take was a couple of questions to find out just who made the rebellion’s general’s arm.

Taking a deep breath, Keith finally turned around and gave Shiro a proper once over. Dressed in a tank top and sweat pants, it was easy to see that there were no injuries on him. There wasn’t any blood or bandages. A relief, considering it all. It was a rare time when Shiro got away with just a broken prosthetic. Noticing his stare, Shiro smiled. “We didn’t lose anyone, at least.”

That wasn’t what he was worried about. At all. Keith crossed his arms, his eyes roving over Shiro’s biceps, his well-defined chest, and trying not to remember what it felt like to have that body curled over his. To have those hands on him. “I didn’t think you did. There was nothing in the newspapers.”

“Yeah, I guess they’d mention it if they caught us.” Shiro lowered his gaze. “Especially if they caught Allura. The rebellion would be over in an instant.”

“Rebellion.” Pidge clicked her tongue, finally setting down her tools. “You’re making it sound better than just a rag-tag of people who still think they change something.”

“We can,” Shiro answered simply.

No, you can’t, Keith thought, and perhaps more so than the world they lived in, that was the real tragedy: hope.

-x-

This wasn’t love. This was sex, pure and simple. A raw need, a primal urge. A way to forget the present. A way to feel something other than despair.

Keith bit Shiro’s throat, feeling the resulting rumble tremor through this body. Shiro’s hand interlaced in his. His nails scratched on Shiro’s back. All he could smell was Shiro’s musky scent. All he could feel was Shiro’s touch. Nothing else existed—not the road, not the government, not the possibility of death.

“Keith,” Shiro moaned, but Keith didn’t say anything back. He refused to.

This wasn’t love and therefore, he didn’t have anything to lose.

-x-

Through the half-open blinds, neon lights spilled into Keith’s bedroom. It was a spartanly furnished room, consisting of just a bed and a table. And now, Shiro, who was lying face down in a pillow to block out the light. The pinks and oranges from the street signs painted Shiro’s pale back and Keith traced familiar patterns over the many scars that littered his partner’s skin. The one on his shoulder blade, from when he’d been thrown in prison for eight months. The one on his side, from when a gun had almost hit his stomach.

Propping his head up on his hand, Keith idly touched the scar on Shiro’s lower back. Hearing Shiro’s breathing change, Keith asked, “Why do you fight?”

For a long moment, he thought Shiro was going to pretend to be asleep. Instead, he finally turned over, the sheets tangling up around his legs as he stared up at Keith. His single white lock glowed in the dim light. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

“There’s no right, not anymore. Not here.” Keith dismissed the argument entirely. That was old world crap. His nail scratched line left by a blade on Shiro’s chest.

“There’s always a right. Especially here, especially now,” Shiro countered, grabbing Keith’s hand. “If I don’t fight, then who will?”

“Someone else.” Keith lowered his eyes. They had this same discussion every time, this useless argument that never changed anything. Soon, Shiro would disappear again, off on some doomed rebellion plot or the other. Maybe he’d die this time, his picture plastered on the photos.

“There’s no one else.” Shiro tightened his grip, interlacing their hands. “Just us.”

And maybe that was true too. But Keith wouldn’t stay around to find out—if he was going to be left again, he might as well leave first. There was always something that had to be transported, some job that needed doing. He’d find one as soon as his bike was fixed.

Instead of answering, he pressed his lips on Shiro’s chest, his hand already reaching down. At least during sex, he didn’t have to think these useless thoughts.

-x-

“All done.” Hunk proudly wiped his greasy hands on a dirty towel and Keith wasn’t sure if his hands or the towel were dirtier than before. Holding onto the handlebars, he glared. “At least give it a few weeks before you break it.”

“No promises.” Prying the bike free, Keith gave it a once over. It looked almost new, except for the scratch on the side. “Impressive.”

“Of course it is! Who do you think you’re talking to?” Excited, Hunk tapped on the engine. “I also spruced up the engine a bit—it’ll go a little faster than before.”

“Nice.” Sling his leg over, Keith slipped onto the seat. Turning the key, the engine purred under him. “I’ll take it for a test spin.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll count the cash.” Hunk picked up the metal box Keith left by his workbench. “It’s all here, right?”

“Yep, paid in full.” Keith revved the engine and closed his eyes. Yeah, that sounded right. “Got a job lined up for tomorrow, so you finished just in time.”

“I finished exactly on time—I said I’d be done now!” Hunk rolled his eyes, popping open the box.

Pulling out of the garage, Keith felt his mood brighten. There was something about the open road, about the one thing, the one place where he wasn’t restricted. There was freedom in flying down the road, the wind in his hair, and nothing but an archaic vehicle to keep him safe. It was a simple happiness.

There weren’t too many of those anymore.

-x-

Shiro was still at his place when he returned, and that was an oddity. Keith had almost expected to find an empty bed, their usual arrangement. Instead, Shiro was brazenly sitting on his kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee.

“You’re here,” Keith said, more a statement than a question.

Shiro looked just as surprised as he felt. “I thought you left.”

“I had to grab some supplies.” Keith set his helmet on the table. Shiro was drinking from the wolf mug. His favourite mug. Did Shiro know that?

“Oh.” Shiro’s fingers curled around the table’s edges. “I was just about to leave.”

“It’s fine.” Keith entered his bedroom. It was funny. Shiro’s scent still lingered on his sheets. Picking up his first aid kit, he glanced back at the kitchen. At Shiro’s back, at the weariness in his shoulders.

It wasn’t that easy to be optimistic, was it. It wasn’t easy at all. His feet moved automatically and before he knew it, his hand was on Shiro’s shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“Keith?” Shiro asked, looking up curiously.

“I’ll help,” Keith muttered. A pile of newspapers was stacked in the corner, remnants of him checking for any rebel news. Any sign that Shiro had died. He did that every time he arrived at a city and maybe it was time he stopped lying to himself. It wasn’t love but he would be heartbroken nonetheless if he just read about Shiro’s death and did nothing to stop it. Maybe he could show the futility of it all and drag Shiro out of the mess entirely.

“Keith…” Shiro smiled at him brightly and Keith swallowed.

It wasn’t love.

Maybe, if he said it enough times, his body would believe him.

[petekaos]

2020 creator wrap + a follow forever

rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

hiii hello everyone! sorry it’s taken me so long to get on this BUT it’s all for good reason! i thought i would combine this post into me sharing some of the works i am most proud of this year as well as spreading more love in this wonderful little community because i truly love you all tons and being a part of such a lovely group of people has made me beyond happy this year. it’s been a difficult year for all of us and i’m just so glad that i can give back the love and care y’all can give to me 💛

onward to spreading love to people who tagged me, in no particular order! thank you all for tagging me, it means so much and know that i have read through your posts at least twice with a smile on my face.

@wjmild: kylie!! you constantly surprise me with how kind and insightful you are, as well as your dedication to watching absolutely every show with lee thanat in it. you are so smart and educated and every time you talk about your research and your studies i can’t help but feel so incredibly proud of you. i really hope life brings you the peace and fulfillment you deserve. i love you!

@gigiesarocha: cata - it is always such a pleasure to see you on my dash. i can rely on you losing your shit over ingredients every two weeks and every time i see jeff doing things it 100% reminds me of you! you possess such a kind soul and i’m so glad to have had the pleasure of following you this year :’)

@yihwas: sometimes i still can’t believe you know who i am and that we’re grouped together, soph! your blog is such a refuge to me, i adore scrolling through your replies and laughing at all the witty things you say. you are simply so kind and thoughtful in your responses and criticism and you have such talent in gifmaking! i am forever grateful to you for introducing me to new lakorns and to you and shannon for creating @lakornladies​. 

@morksuns: sumaya! my url twin! i absolutely love seeing you on the dash, it really is that trans desi solidarity, no? your moodboards are always so aesthetic and your blog is so soft and calm. i see you sending such lovely asks to people, including myself, and i truly admire your personality so much!

@gayvlad: nico, my sibling! i love you so much and seeing you on the dash always makes me smile. sometimes you’re too hard on yourself, but that’s okay, because i’m always here for you. i loved your reactions to dbk in live time, and that you’re now as attached to the show as i am. we love a lot of the same things, and i’ll forever be grateful to you for indulging my headcanons and developing them with me, like the ram and bohn friendship. the ram fic of him finding the gym as a home was developed through much of your influence, and i’ll never stop being astonished at how kind and supportive you are. i love you! 

@khaotungthanawat: saaaam! your gifs are always a beauty to behold. i admire you so much for making those bl compilation gifsets because that takes so much patience and dedication, especially to find all the moments. i can always count on you for underrated gifsets, too, and i smile every time you send me an ask!

@tanwirapong: roa! oh i adored getting to know you better this year through the gifted gays gc. i remember still when you made a post about there’s an art to honesty and it truly made my day - i sent it to my partner and best friend and they were so fond as well! i will always be so happy about the fact that we both lose it over petekao every now and again, it means the world to me :’)

@emisfritish: your wisdom and way of expressing your thoughts will never fail to amaze me, emma. i can always count on you for calling things like they are and writing out well-worded, thought-provoking posts that express everything i have ever thought about fandom but could never quite write down. it’s such a pleasure seeing you on my dash and honestly, whenever i see tay, he reminds me of you!

so that was everyone who tagged me, for which i am eternally grateful! (if i missed anyone... i am so sorry ily...) now onto me rambling about how much i love specific people in the fandom generally that i haven’t already mentioned.

@earthfluuke: maddie... where do i even start. getting to know you this year means the absolute world to me and i love how many thoughts we can share together and how many aus and ideas we can plot out to the finest detail, but i also love how we can talk about serious topics and irl issues affecting us both and know that the other person will be there. i admire you so much for going on and persevering despite the many difficult factors in your life right now. know that i will always be there - to listen to you, to support your gifs and fics, to develop characters with you, to weigh in on problems or ideas you have. i love you!

@asianmelodrama: faiza!! i can never address you without immediately adding ‘jaan’ after it honestly. you are a sister to me in all things and knowing you has been such an honour. your wise words, your calmness in dealing with things, your infectious excitement - they are all facets of your personality that i both admire and adore. whether it’s getting angry about shitty muslim rep or freaking out about a movie, i know that i can always count on you to be there for me if i ever need it. i hope light and love touches your life always, and you find peace in everything you do. if i ever happen to be in england, i am definitely coming over for your chai :’) i love you!

@yioh: yura my laddoo! i say this all the time, but i simply am so grateful that we met. i love seeing your tags on my posts and i just... adore seeing you doing your thing on your blog, your posts always make me smile. i know school is hard right now, but know that i’m always rooting for you and believe in you completely. words cannot express how happy i am to have found another tamil lgbt person who can understand the same experiences, it really does mean everything to me. and know that i will begin reading tyk soon, i promise, and i’ll tell you all about my thoughts! i love youuu!

@1akorn: shannon!! i still cannot believe people group us together because i’ve always admired you from a distance - imagine my absolute surprise when i found out that you followed me! i 100% rely on you for the good mek content and love your gifs so much. you’re so articulate and speak your thoughts incredibly well, which i truly admire.

@brightwin: jelly - you already know the amount of love and fondness i hold for you. you’re such a kind and bubbly person and your personality shines not only through your tags and responses to people, but also through your gorgeous gifsets that are just so warm and lovely. i can always rely on you to give me updates on all things related to brightwin and 2gether. you’re wonderful!

@yibobibo: aamna! i know i can always get my yibo content from you, and i adore it. i love seeing updates about your bunnies and your kind responses to your anons, you truly are a ray of light! you’re also one of the fairly concentrated cql blogs i follow - and for that i am always grateful.

@metawwin: ali! your gorgeous gifs are always such a light on my dash. i remember once you called me ‘rahulito’ and it made me so soft. your voice and songs are so lovely and i don’t even know where to begin thanking you for sharing your art with us. i know it means a lot to me, and it means the same to many others.

@taytawan: nuriaaa! i remember seeing you so often in the petekao tag and i gotta say that your sets of both petekao and sarawatine, especially the heart eyes series, always make me so soft. and of course, the fact that you gifted me this wonderful url! i will always be thankful for that and for your general kindness and warmth that you bestow upon everyone.

@piningbisexuals: axelle! although we don’t talk that much, i always love seeing your gifs and your thoughts on shows on the dash. i’m wishing you all the best with your thai classes and hope that everything goes well with you! also, you should know that i read that manboss fic you gifted to me at least once a week because it just means that much to me - and i’m so glad i got you into this little silly ship of mine. 

@sunsetchimyeon: nene, my pk anon! i love seeing your asks in my inbox and writing essays as replies. having conversations with you was one of my absolute highlights and i’ll always be blown away by how kind and calm and supportive and patient you are! i hope life is treating you well, my friend.

@toptaps: zey!! oh i love seeing your gifs and kindness on my dash and know that whenever i see toptap in anything, he always reminds me of you! also your gifs of sammy? absolutely gorgeous!

@giftedgays: i love you all SO much it is truly insane. being part of our tumblr gc that evolved into a discord server with a thousand channels has been one of my 2020 highlights. i loved yelling with you all about tgg every week and i must thank you all for sitting through my chanonpom breakdowns every second day. 

in particular: 

@pangwave - dawnie, i love you! i admire you and your no bullshit attitude so much. i know you’re going through a process of change right now, and i could not be prouder of you for persevering through it, regardless of the painful and strange circumstances we find ourselves in. i have full faith in you, and i know that you got this. we’re all here for you! 

@doctorbahnjit: - alexa! i still remember when you wrote the first manboss fic and an anon sent me a link regarding it. you are genuinely one of the funniest people i know and you deserve the absolute world. i read out of the blue every day, no kidding, because it means so much to me! thank you for being my fellow chanonpomer, my fellow manboss-er, and just being an all around ray of absolute sunshine.

@gunatps: vee! i have already embarrassed myself enough in my post to you but it’s worth repeating. i adore our eden chanonpom breakdown sessions, which we should have again soon when you have time, and i love us roasting modi in the chat, it truly cracks me up! we have so much in common and i just want to say that i am so proud of you for studying and taking your exams - i know how difficult they are. 

@wavelovespang: cass!! how i adore your analyses and breakdowns of scenes and relationships, you have so much insight and wisdom that you spread in such thoughtful ways! you’re so supportive and kind and such a great teacher, i know that. your writing is so wonderful and i’m truly so honoured that we all get to read it, it’s a gift!

@class2clown: angel! i cannot say this enough but i admire your art so much, it’s so so beautiful! you’ve always been so kind and lovely, and just like with cass, thank you so much for organising the gifted week events! although i couldn’t properly partake this year because of time constraints, i loved seeing everyone’s creations and it was super thoughtful.

@soulmatelines: i’ve said this before, jo, but it must be said again: i cannot believe you thought i was cool. i’ve always adored your gifs from afar and you’re such a sweet person! i love love love talking with you in the kpop channel (even if you personally hate 3racha smh), and you truly do bear the novel agenda! i’ve learned about so many more novels i must read and for that i am so grateful :’) 

@billkinpp: violet, i will never fail to crack up at a) your and kylie’s plans to run away and get married, and b) you having a thousand sideblogs and complimenting yourself on your own gifs in the tags, as you absolutely should! i hope the next year is kind to you and that your sleep schedule isn’t too fucked up :’)

@vihokratanas: mel, i will always be in complete awe of your gifs! they are always so clean and crisp. i remember still when you were fondestphan and my phannie days flashed in front of my eyes fhsnfg but either way, you’re so kind and sweet! 

@pvrrish: eleni!! i don’t think i’ve ever told you this before but i’ve always loved the 2gether poster that you made, i sometimes go on your blog to look at it for like 5 minutes, it’s truly so beautiful! i hope you’ve had an okay year, all things considered, and that life is kind to you!

@lee-thanat: another leesbian, ke! y’all always crack me up in the lesbians for lee thanat channel truly. your simping for ms ladda is so valid, i miss her so much honestly. i hope that the coming year is kind to you, and that you find the peace you deserve!

okay, so i think that’s everyone that i either talk to regularly or admire a lot! in case i didn’t mention you, please please feel free to reach out to me because i mean no offense at all - my brain is small haha. would also like to shout out all my anons who send me asks and bear with my late responses these days because of life, i adore you all and i love answering your asks.

if you’re still reading after this... whole monster of a post, i’m just gonna quickly mention some things i’ve been proud of either writing or making this year. in no particular order:

1. my weary heart has come to rest in yours. this is a fic i wrote in an... interesting headspace, and i was really going through my chanonpom feelings at the time. i’m really proud of how it came out and i adored writing chanon through pom’s pov. also i kinda love how i tied in p’bird’s song prip dtah in with the fic because i adore the song and it fits so well with them.

2. petekao week 2020. i guess this is sort of cheating, because these are technically 7 fics, BUT. i am actually proud of myself for writing seven, and i think they’re all of fairly good quality. i just really love this little universe i created for the dbk characters after the show and this whole week was just so warm and lovely to be a part of.

3. this set of num and prang from a gift for whom you hate. this moment really stuck with me from the finale and i actually am really proud of the colouring and how it came out! i think the blues really popped and i managed to lighten this dark ass scene without whitewashing mek or aye. the fireworks gif also is one of my favourites i’ve made! num and prang’s whole relationship was so pure throughout the entirety of this show, i adored them. 

4. but love is impossible and it goes on despite the impossible. this is the longest fic i’ve posted so far and i’m super proud of it - it’s also my most well-received fic. the yunmeng brothers mean the world to me and i just... wanted to write about jiang cheng and his love for his brother and give them a somewhat happy ending, in one future at least.

5. there’s an art to honesty. i think i really nailed my version of kao in this work! i just really loved writing this fic so much, especially because it was right after the whole ‘scandal’ with new happened. i was really just finding a way to separate kao from him, and i delved into my feelings with this fic as well, because i relate to kao in multiple ways. either way, i thought writing this fic was fun and a lot of people loved it too, which made me so soft!

if you’ve read this far, i personally adore you! while this has been a difficult year, i am blessed to have been part of this loving community, and i really hope that next year will be kinder to us all and give us good shows and discussions! i love you all. stay safe and stay kind, friends 💛

[slimepuparibaba]

Starconches and Windwheel Asters | Chapter 1: A Bet Sealed

In which Childe and Lumine have a talk on the beach and make a bet...

Okay, I am so sorry in advance, but this one is painstakingly long. I sincerely did not mean for it to be this long, but it's hopefully fluffy enough to make up for it. These first few chapters are going to need fluff. And... and I mean it. Seriously. Childe might seem a little OOC and all over the place, as will this chapter. Hopefully, I managed to capture how scattered Childe's thoughts are. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Full fic below the cut!

Masterlist -> Next

You can also read this fanfic on AO3!

"Hey, girlie, hold still!"

Those first four words made Lumine's heart thump in her chest.

She will never forget the day she met that Harbinger, the one she was supposed to call her enemy. His codename was Tartaglia, though he went by Childe. He was cunning, bold, and sly. The first day they met, Childe wasn't hesitant to reveal his intentions to her and Paimon. He was here on Fatui business, to fulfill the will of the Tsaritsa.

Even then, Lumine fell.

It wasn't a subtle type of thing, either. Everyone who traveled by Lumine's side noticed that, as soon as she returned to the inn they were staying in, she was giggling to herself... almost on cloud nine.

Kaeya was one of the first to notice it. He had left Mondstadt to ensure Lumine safe travels throughout Teyvat; and, since there was no calvary to be the captain of with the Knights, he wasn't exactly "needed", per se. Besides, Jean and Diluc were still there; surely, the Dandelion Knight and the Darknight Hero would be able to take care of any issues.

Kaeya could easily see through Lumine. He was there when the encounter between Lumine and Childe first occurred. As soon as the ginger gestured her to follow, the knight could tell how smitten Lumine was. And, while the one she happened to fall for was a Fatui, Kaeya wasn't entirely against it. He was glad to see her mind taken off the whereabouts of her brother, after all.

Barbara was the second. She was one of the members of the team to easily read the faces of everyone, whether they seem troubled or happy, or in this case, madly in love. She was hesitant that Childe was the one to sweep Lumine off her feet, but the nun shrugged it off and decided to support Lumine.

Whenever the young Harbinger was spotted nearby and approached Lumine, Barbara and Kaeya weren't hesitant to push her towards the object of her affections. They gave subtle tips, hoping the Traveler would catch on and at least attempt to make a move.

Of course, though, Lumine's comrades weren't the only ones to notice.

Childe was, of course, very aware of the Outlander's affection towards him. In fact, he somewhat formulated it. He heard of the "new girl" in Teyvat who saved Mondstadt and learned she was heading towards Liyue. Since he was already stationed there for the Rite of Descension, he decided that it was best to gain the trust of her and her acquaintances before pulling the rug out from underneath them when the time was right.

He had done this before. He would make many swoon for him and gain the information, or the Mora, that he needed. After all, he was Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger. This kind of work was as natural to him as breathing was.

Thus, he decided to pull the strings on this strange yet powerful visitor...

"Running... errands?" Lumine asked.

"Yup! Exactly that." The ginger teen was leaning against the bar the inn had owned, his blue eyes filled with playfulness. "I've seen how your little tour group over here is faring, and I couldn't help but notice the lack of ingredients and materials you have in that inventory of yours." When he said that, he gestured towards Paimon, glancing at the floating being. Everyone else did the same, glaring at the mascot.

"Hey! What did Paimon do?!" She squealed.

"You ate most of the Sunsettias in the middle of the night?" Amber said.

"You also used our Mora to buy an entire feast for yourself..." Noelle added.

"Paimon, maybe Lumine was right... maybe it's time you become emergency food." Beidou finished chugging one of her jugs of alcohol, slamming it onto the table next to her, and smiling almost wickedly at Paimon.

Paimon was in the midst of a panic, waving her arms around. "No, no! P-Paimon meant to share it with everyone! Really! Honest! P-p-pinkie promise!" At that, Childe let out a hearty laugh.

"Well, as you can see, your team is desperate for some supplies." He looked back at Lumine, who was watching the fiasco take place directly in front of her. She was giggling at the scene, and the sound of that laughter slightly made the Harbinger's heart flutter.

I'm sorry, my heart did what? Childe tried to snap himself out of it. We're here on a mission. We have to find the Gnosis and hand it over to the Tsaritsa... this is just the usual seduction routine we've used before. Stay on track, Tartaglia!

He cleared his throat, continuing. "So, ojou-chan..." He leaned closer to the girl, flashing that signature smile that he always wore. He could tell Lumine was swooning just from the slight red that started spreading on the tips of her ears. "...how about it? You and I can round up some food. After all, I do have lots of Mora, and you are the team's leader. You should know what everyone wants." The blonde started to ponder on it, weighing her options carefully. "Oh, and you need to ditch the small child."

"HEY!"

Paimon let out a loud yelp, taking offense to the last-minute comment that Childe tacked on to his proposition. She angrily huffed, looking to Lumine and telling her to turn down Childe's offer, because it was "not fair to Paimon" and Childe was "super untrustworthy". The ginger reiterated his proposal, putting extra emphasis on the "ditch Paimon" condition, and Lumine had her mind made up.

"Alright. I should be fine around three."

"LUMINE!"

Paimon continued to throw a hissy fit, whining about how she has to come with Lumine because, without her help, Lumine wouldn't be able to hold the food. Even then, Lumine still confirmed that she made up her mind.

This was working smoothly for Childe. He would be able to get Lumine, the foolish girl, alone. No Paimon or teammate could get in between the two of them. He would easily be able to squeeze out all of the information he needed. And, if the time came, maybe the two of them could've even had a sparring match. Oh, how fired up he was just to cross blades with the Traveler.

However, he then realized that it wasn't up to just Lumine to make this decision...

"Alone? With a Fatui?" Amber spoke up, having an obvious opposition to this outing. "Traveler, with all due respect, you may be the Honorary Knight, but he's a Harbinger! You can't trust him that easily. Remember what happened with the Fatui in Mondstadt?"

Lumine looked up at the Pyro Archer and smiled nervously, correcting her statement. "I mean... if we are being technical here, it was mostly the Abyss that was involved with the Stormterror issue."

"And Venti?" The girl responded, crossing her arms. "You told me that La Signora harmed him pretty bad. Signora is also a Harbinger. I don't know what she did to Venti," Amber said, crossing her arms and standing firm, "but I know that it was bad. All Fatui are the same, especially when it comes to the Harbingers. You can't trust them--especially not one like this guy." She glared at Childe, who just flashed a smile her way.

Childe was used to this by now. When he first got promoted to being a Harbinger, everyone that used to be close to him stood far away. Not even his fellow Harbingers could trust them--in the Fatui, you had to learn to trust no one but yourself. Because the Fatui was a place for those who were used to scheming and lying for the sake of the Tsaritsa. That was what he signed up for, anyway.

The archer continued, suggesting that Lumine at least take someone with her, or let them tag along from behind. She claimed it was safer that way so that Childe wouldn't try any "funny business." "You can take Kaeya with you, or even Lisa," she suggested. "Anyone would be fine... just please, don't go on your own with him."

"Well..." The Traveler looked around at the people who were gathered near her. They all seemed to be nodding their heads in agreement, and she felt the atmosphere became much tenser than it was minutes before. "...um, if that's the case, then--"

"Actually!"

One person raised their hand from amidst the group. The Calvary Captain himself, Kaeya, stood up from his seat and approached Lumine from behind, patting her on the shoulder.

"Lumine is more capable than we would like to think. I think she'll be fine," the blue-haired man stated. He made it clear to Lumine that he was on her side--he already knew of her little "crush", anyway, and was willing to play the wingman. "She's strong enough to defeat Stormterror. Who's to say that she can't deal with one lousy Harbinger?" Kaeya chuckled, turning to the rest of his friends and teammates. From the crowd, another figure emerged, standing right beside Lumine.

"Mhm! I think she'll be fine, too!" Barbara clung onto Lumine's arm, backing up Kaeya's stance on the matter. "She's able to harness both Anemo and Geo now, and she's already proven how strong she is in Mondstadt! I know she'll be okay!" The two Mondstadt citizens glanced at each other, nodding their heads in mutual agreement. Truly, those two were on the same wavelength.

"But... but Paimon doesn't trust him!" Paimon shouted out, zooming across the room and staring Childe right in the eyes. "You can see it in his eyes... yeah, like Kaeya said! His eyes... they're suspicious!" Ironically enough, Kaeya pushed Paimon away from Childe, gesturing her to back down.

Kaeya and Barbara gave Lumine the thumbs up, almost as if to say that they would take care of the others and that it was best for the two of them to be on their way. So, catching onto their cue, Lumine coughed and looked up at Childe.

"W-well, n-now that I think of it," she stuttered, trying to smoothly change the topic. "I just realized that I am... not busy right now?" She tilted her head towards the exit to the inn, and Childe smiled softly. He understood clearly.

"Ah... then, shall we head out?" The ginger offered his arm to the girl, and she took it with glee. "Well, then, I'll be taking oujo-chan out now!"

"Bring her back home before dinner!" Beidou called out, gaining a chuckle from Childe. "Or else..."

"Yeah, yeah! I hear ya, Miss Pirate," he laughed. Looking down at the blonde, he smiled. "Now then, shall we get going, Miss?"

Oh, dear Archons, his smile was enough to make Lumine die and revive on the spot. Forget Mora Meat or Qingce Stir Fry--if Childe smiled at her like that, she would instantly have buffs and infinite health restoration!

Slowly melting from his charms, Lumine nodded.

"Yeah...! Let's go!"

Liyue Harbor is a beautiful place.

Childe knew this, considering he had been there for a while. And yet, for some reason, just walking along the beachside with Lumine made its beauty all the more noticeable.

He was able to finally get the Traveler all to himself, and seeing how easily she went with him, squeezing information out of her should be easy. He was slightly disappointed, though. Considering her title as the "Honorary Knight of Mondstadt", he was expecting her guard to be a bit higher. And yet, she came willingly without any additional convincing. How he so wished for her to put up more of a fight...

Lumine, however, noticed Childe's watchful eye on her. She ran ahead and bent down, digging into the sand beneath her. Her intentions weren't exactly clear until she gently cradled a small shell in her hands.

It was a starconch.

The blonde looked back up at her acquaintance and smiled. It was one of the goofiest grins anyone could ever have seen. She seemed almost proud of it like she needed praise for digging up such a small shell.

"Well, now," Childe teased, "must I give you a gold star for digging this up?" He was slightly amused at her actions and wasn't sure what she wanted to do with the shell. "What? Does this ojou-chan want to build a sandcastle?" Childe kneeled and leaned in closer, peeking over Lumine's shoulder. He's done this before--it's just the normal routine. He'll tease them with the possibility of a kiss and then treat them to dinner, before gaining every possible piece of information he co--

"It's for you, actually!"

...I'm sorry, it's for what now?

Lumine giggled, grabbing Childe's hand and placing the small starconch in his. Man, her hands are small, Childe realized. She's only two years younger and yet she's so tiny... so tiny that it's kind of cute...

Wait, cute? No. Not cute! Snap out of it, Childe! You're a Harbinger! What are you doing, falling for the one who's supposed to be doing the falling?!

In an attempt to ignore the feelings plaguing his heart, he cleared his throat and asked, "For me? Your enemy?" He held it up to the sunlight, inspecting it further. "Hm... and, what exactly is your intent with this, Traveler?"

Lumine brushed a stray hair behind her ear and smiled. "Well, I just wanted to give you a present. I can do that, can't I?" Once more did she flash that small grin of hers, piercing Childe through the heart. He even dropped the starconch into his lap when she did that, causing Lumine to giggle even more.

Okay, so maybe she's cute. Fine. She wins that.

"That, and..." The girl looked out to the seaside, watching the waves meet with the sand before retreating away. "...I'm not dumb, you know." Without looking Childe in the eye, she stated ever so calmly, "I know you want information."

Shit. I got caught.

So, this Outlander isn't as dumb as Childe initially believed. Good. That made the challenge all the more fun to him, after all. If it was to be easy, it practically felt wrong and would've been much more boring.

The ginger smirked, taking a seat right next to Lumine on the sand, gazing at the ocean as well.

"Well, well. So, you caught me red-handed," he laughed. "What? Did you pull me over just for that, ojou-chan? Hm?" He glanced at the girl beside him, who was enjoying the calm sea breeze.

She looked quite beautiful in the sunlight, now that Childe thought about it. The sun reflected off her golden hair at just the right angle, and the way she seemed so calm was just something else to him.

"Not exactly," Lumine answered, snapping Childe out of his trance.

Seriously, stop daydreaming and focus, dammit!

Lumine continued, "Actually... I only agreed to come with you because I feel like I can change your mind about some things."

Oh? Change his mind? That was new.

"Change my mind? Hah, on what, girlie?" He scoffed, intrigued. "Being part of the Fatui?" Surprisingly, however, Lumine nodded her head. Childe stared at her for a second, astonished. They... they only just met? Why would she care about him being in the Fatui? "You're... you're joking, right?"

"Nope," Lumine stated, bluntly. "Not joking."

"..."

After a few seconds of silence, suddenly, the ginger started to burst out in laughter, clutching his stomach and rocking back and forth. To him, such an idea was so outlandish that he didn't expect this Outlander to even admit such a thing! Him? Leave the Fatui? That was such a stupid thought that even Childe wouldn't dream of pursuing such a path.

"L-Leave the... hahaha...! L-Leave the Fatu... Hahahaha!" The boy was practically cracking up, still in disbelief. "M-Man...! When did you become so funny, huh, ojou-chan?" He attempted to catch his breath, and yet, he kept laughing. He was in hysterics.

In response, though, Lumine shook her head. She stared directly at the Harbinger, resting her head on her knees. The look in her eyes told Childe the truth.

Lumine was definitely not kidding.

Childe ceased his laughter, an eyebrow raised in confusion and intrigue. What was the purpose of this, he wondered. Was Lumine that smitten that she believed she could reform Childe? That kind of plot-twist was one that was unimaginable to him, so that couldn't be it at all. Did she think that having Childe out of the Fatui would be beneficial to her? Now that option seemed much more plausible.

He sighed, lying down on the sand and looking up at the sky. "Really, now... this is one of the first times I've heard that in years. But..." He turned his head to look at Lumine, a slight chuckle in his voice as he softly smiled, "...I never expected it to be from you."

The girl picked back up the starconch that Childe had dropped onto the sand and placed it back into his hand once more. She curled his fingers up so that the shell wouldn't fall out of his grasp, and she gripped his hand in hers, nodding.

"Well, guess I'm full of surprises." This Traveler was somewhat unlike anything that the Harbinger was able to grasp, but he found that it just made things more interesting. "I... want to make a bet with you, actually."

"Oho, a bet, you say?" Childe sat up, leaning in closer. "Continue... I'd like to see what's on the line. Our lives? Dignity?"

"How about..." The girl started to trail off, looking away before snapping her fingers and glancing back at Childe. "...your title as Harbinger?"

Oh, so we're playing that game now.

"My title? As the 11th Harbinger? No, no, no... see, even if I did take you up on that offer," the ginger stated, before hastily adding, "Which I'm not if I need to make that clear..." He sighed, closing his eyes before continuing with his reasoning. "...I had to go through a lot of stuff just to get that title. There's nothing, and I mean nothing, that you could bet on that would match up with that."

"Well," she trailed off, looking down at her feet and tapping her boots together as if stalling. "...you're right. I have nothing to offer." She looked back out to the horizon, watching the sun slowly start its descent. "You're a Harbinger, and asking you to leave the Fatui isn't something I can just ask you to do."

"Exactly."

"And... I'm sure that you're convinced that we're enemies and that you'd never want to leave in the first place."

"Mhm. Right on point."

"But...!" Lumine tried to continue persuading him, and finally decided to reiterate, "You don't have to give it up if you don't want to by the time this whole thing is over." Childe became even more curious. By the time what is over? "I want to take you sightseeing around Liyue Harbor while we run errands."

Ah, so a date...

...wait, hold up, a date--?

Aren't we moving too fast? We literally just met! Should I even be doing this on duty? Wait, what am I saying?! I'm her enemy! Why am I worried about moving too fast? It's not like I want to... or... d-do I? Damn it, Childe, get your act together!

"And... this time..." The girl, while Childe was in the middle of his own internal monologue, continued with her proposition. "I want you to take a good look and see the people as what they are--people." She emphasized this point, losing the light-heartedness that was once in her tone. "Not as people you need to collect debt from, need to defeat, or need to conquer. Just... as people with families, with lives!" She looked at him with the most sincere gaze. Her amber eyes were sparkling with a glow that was drawing Childe in, almost convincing him--hypnotizing him--to accepting the deal.

Her eyes are actually really pretty now that I have a good look at them...

"I want you to see them as an average human being, just like you and me. If you can do that... then... at least consider leaving the Fatui. I'm not forcing you to leave, but I just want you to keep it in mind, okay, Childe?" When Lumine was finished with her speech, she noticed Childe was just staring at her blankly. It was almost as if he was in a trance, which was uncharacteristic of him. "Um... Childe?"

Were her eyes always that pretty? It's like looking at the sun, but...

"Childe?"

...why can't I look away?

"Childe!" Lumine called out, snapping him out of it. He jolted, just realizing he was in a daze. "Were you even listening to me?" Childe was about to lie and say he totally did until he saw Lumine's pouting face. Her cheeks were slightly puffed, her eyebrows furrowed, and yet she was incredibly...

Adorable.

"U-uh..." Holy fuck, she's cute.

"Hello~?" Lumine started to call out to Childe, waving her hand in front of his face. "Teyvat to Childe. Can you hear me?" Little did the Traveler know the number of jumbled thoughts going through Childe's head.

It was a mess in there. Mountains of gushing ramblings about her were starting to pile on top of each other with some logical part of Childe's conscious trying to compress them and hide them far away into the back of his mind. Even then, the loud thoughts kept bleeding through. He was starting to lose focus.

She's just so cute.

In fact, he was so broken that all that left his mouth were broken words and jumbled up sentences. "Um... sorry, what? I was... um... uh..."

Come up with an excuse, you dimwit! Don't make a fool of yourself! You know better than this!

"I was looking at that... o-other starconch!" Childe stammered, trying to search desperately for some convenient starconch that was placed out in the open. Sadly, he couldn't find one, so he just pointed in a direction, hoping Lumine wouldn't catch on to his poor acting skills. "Y-yeah! That starconch, haha! Over there!" Lumine was about to check in that direction, but Childe immediately tugged on her arm in hopes he wouldn't be exposed.

...wow, he thought, mentally facepalming. This is... a complete and utter trainwreck. Good going, Childe. Good. Fucking. Going.

The Traveler, realizing how off track he was, decided to cut him some slack and summarize it in a few short phrases. She sighed, saying, "Look, I just think you're not as bad as everyone thinks you are." She hugged her knees tighter to her chest, seeming quite sincere about such a concern. "You're a lot nicer than a lot of people would think you would be, even if you're a Fatui Harbinger... you just... need to learn to put down the act, you know?"

How would you know how nice I am? Childe began to wonder. For all you know, I could be deceiving you and ready to kill you at any moment. So why... why are you letting down your guard for such a flimsy hypothesis? Are you choosing to believe that I'm nice just because you've fallen for me? He scoffed, deciding to scold her for such an unusual mindset.

Ojou-chan, that's truly sweet of you, but being smitten for me doesn't change the fact that I'm your enemy...

"Even if you are my enemy..." Lumine responded, stopping Childe from continuing his internal narration.

Shit, did I just say that out loud?!

"I think you're... way too humane for me to brush off as a totally bad person," she explained before turning her head and smiling at him.

Did she just gloss over the whole 'smitten' part? God, why can't I think straight today?!

While she was definitely very pretty whenever she smiled, Childe's thoughts were all over the place that he was just picking out things that he probably shouldn't have been paying attention to. Truly, the Harbinger was completely off his game.

"Haha... hah... humane, you say?" He nervously chuckled, trying to regather his thoughts (as well as what little left of logical thinking he had). "Girlie, with all due respect, I'm a Fatui Harbinger. You know that I'm not here for good reasons, and yet, you still want to deny that?" It was admirable, really, it was. The fact that Lumine was completely ignoring Childe's position as a Harbinger and seemingly not minding it at all was something he hadn't seen in a while, but it was dangerous for her. She was on a quest: a journey across all of Teyvat, fighting against the Abyss and the Fatui alike. So why was she disregarding Childe's position as Harbinger? Why was she denying it?

"Well... yeah," Lumine answered. "Of course I'm denying it."

"But why?"

"Because..." The blonde girl shifted her eyes away from Childe, murmuring something under her breath. Even though she tried to avoid him hearing it, the Harbinger could make out a few words: "...you keep looking lonely..."

Oh? Him? Childe? The 11th Harbinger? One of those appointed and trusted by the Tsaritsa? The one who always shows up wherever the chaos is? How could he be lonely? If anything, he was far from lonely. He was surrounded by colleagues who feared and respected him, who would listen to his every word! How was that lonely?

Lumine, still avoiding Childe's gaze, let out a sigh and said in such a small voice, "I... caught you alone once. You were... writing a letter to someone, if I remember correctly."

Oh.

…oh.

His letters.

The letters that Childe would write to his siblings back in Snezhnaya whenever he had the time; letters talking about the things he had seen, sent over with an abundance of gifts that he so wished he could give them in person but can't; the letters written with stories he wanted to tell by their fireplace back home, where they could all eat Calla Lily Soup together and laugh at the shenanigans Childe was up to.

Those letters.

The letters that he had to send from nations away because the Fatui didn't trust him to stay in Snezhnaya.

The letters that he sent constantly because he felt homesick and wanted to be with his family.

…yes, those were such letters.

How could he be so stupid to let his guard down and have Lumine, his enemy, of all people, see that?

Childe fell silent, not saying anything. His silence spoke volumes to Lumine, confirming her suspicions. She saw the look on his face and seemed to take pity on him, to which he didn't want from her. He was seen at one of his most vulnerable times--when he was homesick and hoping the best for his family. He didn't want the one he was to cross blades with one day see such a thing.

"...you seemed kind of sad writing it." Lumine looked up at the sky as if searching for someone. It was almost as if she knew the feeling Childe had felt when he was writing those letters. "...you must miss them, the person you were writing to." The atmosphere grew tense, with the girl continuing to gaze at the sky with such a sorrowful look in her eyes; the boy, remaining uncharacteristically silent. "...maybe you just joined the Fatui for the sake of that person..." She looked back at Childe, with what seemed to be a look of pain on her face. "Right?"

Why? Childe wondered. Why is she looking at me like that? Like she would know. And why would it matter to her why I joined the Fatui? I'm still her enemy in the end... He looked at the waves touching the sand gently before they moved away, back to the ocean. The waves would touch the sand, then part with it... touch it, then part... what a somber feeling he felt, just from this one conversation.

Was this her plan? The ginger kept pondering. Did she pry into my private life in hopes that she can let my guard down? In hopes that she can strike me down faster that way? Childe was slowly growing paranoid, not believing Lumine's intents to be pure. He kept searching for reasons to antagonize her, to make her the enemy. He kept grasping at straws.

The thumping of his heart, though, kept telling him otherwise.

This entire time on the seashore of Liyue Harbor, Childe was at war with his heart and his head. His thoughts were all over the place, he couldn't understand a thing, and he was making no sense. He was quite lost, though he hated to admit it. The only thing he could make out clearly was the sound of Lumine's voice and her ethereal figure as she sat there, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning.

So maybe that's why he accepted her offer. Maybe that's why he decided to let his guard down, just this once. Maybe... just maybe, that was the reason that he took up Lumine on her offer.

"...so," he quietly murmured, breaking the silence between them. "...you just want to take me on a date around Liyue and convince me to be... what? Merciful?" He had a slight smile on his face, hoping to lighten the atmosphere. Thankfully, to his benefit, it worked.

"Something like that--wait! Date?!" Lumine almost instantly regained that innocent glow she had before, giving in to Childe's antics. "D-da... it's not a date!" she screeched, turning to him and pounding her fists into the sand. The Harbinger covered his face to avoid the sand from flying into his face, starting to feel a bit giddier.

"Hahaha, yeah, sure! Okay, I totally believe you," he laughed, lowering his arm to catch a look at the flustered girl.

"I'm serious! It's not a date!"

"Oh, then what is it? A business outing? Hahaha!" Ah... she really is a bit cute.

The lighthearted atmosphere that was with them in the beginning returned. For now, Childe told himself, he'll let his guard down. Just this once, he'll try and let Lumine do as she pleases. Some part of him was telling him that it was alright to just be a human rather than a Harbinger around her...

...and for the first time, Childe listened.

[dinosaurtsukki]

haikyuu!! music idol au (karasuno ver.)

at long last here it is!! also most of this is based on my knowledge about kpop groups and the industry (as a kpop fan) but i made a lot of tweaks and i’m basically imagining this in a world where the kpop industry wasn’t so hard on its idols and churning out commodities. but yeah! this is going to be the first part of a series so stay tuned for more! also this is p long because i added hc’s for kiyoko and yachi >~<

okay so in my head karasuno (or KRSN im sorry im bad at coming up with names) is like one of those really large groups that hav sub-groups kinda like NCT

they're from a fairly small entertainment company called umm KS Entertainment (im sorry im bad at names hnghn pt. 2)

its headed by ukai who's also like a really awesome choreographer and takeda who's like YG if YG had an exact opposite really kind twin who actually values their idols

(sorry im really salty)

takeda is honestly the sweetest, he's responsible for scouting and judging auditions

he'll basically let anyone who appears to put their all in pass the audition

he also likes to take care of all the trainees and make sure ukai hasn't made them dance to death

production crew are: ennoshita, kinoshita, and narita

kinoshita's like responsible for planning the concepts for every comeback

sometimes he thinks of really wild ones and ukai's jus like whoa there lets tone it down a bit

narita tag-teams with kinoshita by being karasuno's amazing stylist

his favorite person to style is suga but dont tell anyone that

and lastly we have ennoshita who singlehandedly produces every track on every album

he's also a really good vocal coach

and he's very tired because he's the producer and he also has to deal with tanaka and noya knocking on his door every five minutes

subgroup (night) KRSN-N

consists of: daichi, suga, asahi, noya, and tanaka

ok so karasuno has basically two main types of concepts: night (which is more like rugged and bad boy) and day (which is more boy-next-door and sweet)

the night subgroup has like a very strong rap line consisting of daichi, noya, and tanaka while for vocals we have suga and asahi

daichi is their leader ofc

he, suga, and asahi were in the same batch of trainees and had to (survive) live with each other for quite a while

his rap skills are really consistent and he has really good flow. also tends to start off their songs

his dancing skills are also impressive and basically just a great all-around guy

he's also really stressed from managing his group members esp because they're all children

asahi is one of their only two vocalists but he also has some good skills with music production and likes to work with ennoshita

he has a really deep but mellow voice

really shy when it comes to being onstage and meeting fans but he has the sweetest smile

tanaka is part of their dance line because boy can he bust out the moves

doesn't mind performing without a shirt. kinoshita has styled with him just wearing a jacket most of the time

his stage presence is just woah

the kind of performer who'd really get up close and personal with cameras and also people's phones

everything about him screams bad boy except for when he's really sweet in fansigns

noya is like their lightning-fast rapper who always comes in during the bridge

takeda heard him rap for barely a minute and quickly signed him in

more often than not enters the stage while piggybacking tanaka or asahi

also an amazing dancer who does all the gravity defying flips and jumps

he was invited more than once to collab with other artists

he and tanaka are trainee buddies and were inseparable ever since they ran into each other naked in the shower room

now for suga

he's like main visuals also main vocals also main dancer

was talented ever since he sprouted from the womb

he actually didn't audition his mom posted a video of him covering 'euphoria' by jungkook which takeda happened to come across

his voice is very high and he often harmonizes with asahi during the chorus

also tends to be really affectionate with daichi onstage and everywhere basically

so many 'daisuga being karasuno's parents for 15 mins' videos

subgroup (day) KRSN - D

NOW WE HAVE THE CHILDREN CHILDREN

okay so these guys have been together since their trainee years and basically had to live in the same room

which was like chaotic because they were always fighting and only yamaguchi knew how to do laundry so everyone was trying to be his friend

until daichi and takeda gave them a little pep talk so they don't hate each other so much now

n e weigh

first up we have yamaguchi who is basically jus very boy-next-door and also the unofficial leader of the group

he has an amazing voice and can hit the highest notes and he has a tendency to wink at the cameras

main vocalist and visuals

his fans love him because he's just so sweet

sometimes daichi comes in to check on how he's doing and treats him to a meal

he likes to check on other members during live shows

looks stunning in white suits also the fans made a petition for him to grow out his hair and now his hair is long

he and tsukishima have both dreamed of becoming idols and auditioned together

tsukishima's the main (only) rapper of the group

my brain: hnGhh rapper tsukki nskdkssm

he had to work on his stage presence but when he finally Got It he is such a master at it

also had to work on his dancing because he looked like a wiggling beanpole at first

most of his lines are actually written by him esp because he didn't want to say anything that felt embarassing for him and ukai was like 'why dont u write ur songs then?' and he's like 'mAYBE I WILL'

hinata's our other main vocalist, also main visuals and main dancer

his voice is p ordinary but whats great about him is that he's able to keep it consistent while busting out the hardest moves

personally learned a lot of his dancing from noya and tanaka

also he's always in the center because he's short and he looks adorable

he can nail the high notes too btw

he's the kind of idol who has the most random and funniest videos on twitter

kageyama's like their genius maknae

he had been training for such a long time and he actually wanted to be booked for another entertainment company but was rejected (hmm i wonder which company this was ??)

but he was a fan after seeing suga practicing when he toured the company and decided to join KRSN

he's in the vocal line as well and also main dancer

his voice is a lot lower so he harmonizes with yamaguchi and hinata

he and hinata were very competitive when it came to dancing during their trainee days

but they balance each other out pretty well and like to choreograph dance breaks together

super shy around fans and fansigns

most of the pics of him have kageyama doing the peace sign because he's awkward af

KRSN as a whole

takeda and ukai really encourage all of them bonding together and taking breaks in between all the stress of practicing and performing

they all live in one big house and its really chaotic

very few people know how to cook and do laundry

also there is an average of 2 accidents per week

but they do get along when it comes to practicing for the next comeback, especially when the subgroups have to collab

ennoshita's studio is a mess of sticky notes and crumpled up paper with probs asahi, daichi, tsukishima, and ennoshita napping on a couch

suga loves being able to train hinata and yamaguchi with vocals and they have a project of covering a new song every week for the fans

tanaka, noya, kageyama and hinata also spend a lot of time in the dance studio

whenever there's a new song they like to come up with movements to add to the choreography

after a really hard day of dancing they end up falling asleep in the studio and waking up to take-out courtesy of takeda

photoshoots and styling sessions take forever since there are so many of them but also its a good time for the members to get some sleep

but kinoshita and narita do not but in the end its all worth it when they see the photos and the reactions from the fans

their music and performances are very varied since they like to show that they're versatile as much as they can

they don't really prioritize being precise and flawless, more on channeling the emotion of their songs and power in their dances

no two performances of the same song are ever the same 

KIYOKO

okay so takeda also had this genius idea of bringing out solo acts and after another round of auditions, kiyoko caught his eye

she's a bit older with idol training and recently left the group she was supposed to debut with because the company didn't treat them right

my girl kiyoko knows her rights

she's basically an all-around talent: good at singing, dancing, rapping, and visuals

takeda knew he would be dumb to overlook her and even though they've mostly been producing boy bands, maybe they'll have success with a solo female idol

kiyoko was very clear abt wanting to have more control over how she was going to be presented and also wanted the opportunity to write her own songs

and takeda and ukai were jus like well yeah duh, that's why we scouted you

kiyoko was like an immediate success

her style is def very sassy and sexy, especially with her dancing ability

kind of like Chungha or Hwasa

but her fans also like her more melancholic and deep songs that are accompanied by her piano playing

she's also super confident and loves to use her platform to empower women

sometimes she does get together with the KRSN members

she collabs pretty often with suga esp when it comes to dance covers and performances

the day she asked tanaka and noya to be back-up rappers for one of her songs was the happiest moment of their lives

kiyoko's a fucking queen

HITOKA

because i wrote hc's for kiyoko i have to make one for yachi too

she's quite interesting because yachi joined like one of those idol training shows and kiyoko happened to be a guest judge

watching yachi sing made her sense some sort of potential so kiyoko being the bad ass bitch she is convinced takeda and ukai to work with her

yachi almost died hearing that Queen Kiyoko thought she had potential

her first years training to be an idol were really tough on her, esp since she was aiming to be a solo act

but she spent a lot of time training with the KRSN - D group and they really helped boost her confidence

everyone in KRSN and kiyoko asked their fans on twitter to support her when yachi's first album dropped

yachi's music is super mellow and light and she has a very sweet, high voice

comeback stages and music video shootings are pretty scary for her but she really shines in live, studio sessions

also knows how to play guitar

writes her own songs !!!

during her first fan meeting she prepared a bunch of presents for her fans and was scared that no one would come but a whole bunch of people did and she was so happy she almost cried

haikyuu!! music idol au series: karasuno vers., seijoh and shiratorizawa vers., nekoma and fukurodani vers.

[fizzingwizard]

I fell asleep so here’s day 5 a bit late to party... Day 6 will surely be late too xP Again, thanks for the comments last time, I enjoyed them, even the ones hidden in tags haha.

Koushirou and Taichi have a talk post-Bokura no Mirai. Watch out, cuz both boys have mouths on them. Taishiro if you squint.

---

Tri week day 5 - Survival - They Make Miracles

Taichi texted him wanting to hang out over after school, and as Koushirou had spent the day at the office, that meant Taichi came there. He spread out on the couch, flipping through the pages of some comic book. Koushirou sat at his desk. They had a bottle of cold oolong each and a bowl of shrimp crackers. Out the window, the din of rush hour traffic filtered in from the Tokyo streets below.

Some might look at them and think they were ignoring each other, each occupied in separate activities, only looking up to acknowledge there was someone else in the room when their hands bumped reaching into the cracker bowl. But their friendship worked like this. In fact, if the long stretches of silence bothered Taichi at all, he would have ditched Koushirou way back in elementary school.

That was something about Taichi not everyone understood: he could get as wrapped up in his own head as Koushirou did. Sometimes it seemed like Taichi sought him out because he wouldn't have to feel pressured to make small talk. He wanted to think, and he wanted someone else to be there while he was thinking, but not Sora, who would want give him advice, and not Yamato, who would stay quiet but coiled with tension until Taichi finally said something to bring them back to known waters. Koushirou, at least, understood the need for privacy for his thoughts, even if he didn't quite get why Taichi still wanted another body there anyway.

So it came as a surprise when Taichi shattered the silence, a page of the comic book suspended in the air as he paused mid-turn. "I'm never going to know if it was a mistake or not, am I," he said.

Koushirou looked up. Taichi's gaze was fixed on a random spot on the coffee table. But then he straightened, throwing his arms over the back of the couch in a deceptively casual move. His face, though, he kept turned away.

On days like this, Koushirou tended to be so involved in his work that, even if Taichi did have something to say, all he'd get in reply was a vague "Hmm." Later he might not even remember that they'd talked. It was a habit that drove Mimi up the wall, but once again, Taichi never seemed to mind that much. Of course, most of the time the conversation was along the lines of "Look at the cool play this soccer star made," or "Can you believe Satou-sensei expects us to finish the group project by tomorrow?" and "Hmm" was, more or less, all the response needed. Plus Koushirou was pretty sure Taichi sometimes took advantage of it to insist he had agreed to things he couldn't recall ever discussing.

Too bad he couldn't pretend this was about a mistake on some test.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard while he weighed his options. "... The world isn't divided into good and bad, Taichi-san," he said at last, though once the words were out, they felt pale and trite horribly inadequate. "For what it's worth, I think you made the right choice. Really the only choice."

He didn't add the rest: that he viewed killing Meicoomon as akin to chopping off a gangrenous limb. A terrible choice to make, but without it, the necrotic tissue would continue to spread and infect until there was nothing left. The metaphor worked, but he felt pretty sure the depersonalization wouldn't sit well with Taichi.

Taichi made a noncommittal noise. Something knotted in Koushirou's stomach. Probably, more than any of the others, Koushirou was the least upset with how things had ended with Meicoomon. In his wildest dreams he'd never imagined separating a Chosen from their partner, let alone - let alone killing one. When he'd realized Meiko might know the password to unlock the Digimons' sealed memories, hope had struck him like a bolt of lightning: all those dark predictions he couldn't see his way out of were about to be swept away by a miracle. Just like when they were kids.

That was the fatal error. There hadn't been any miracles when they were kids.

It had only felt that way because they didn't know how else to explain the unexplainable.

He and Taichi had talked many times over the years, about the fact that they were killers. The others didn't get a lot out of putting it into words like that, but it was true. They'd been killing since they were ten years old, killing to protect, killing to survive. It was just that, this time, they'd killed someone that loved.

"I just," Taichi swallowed thickly. "At the time, we... there wasn't any more time, but... now I just wonder... no one else wanted to do it, they all followed my lead and maybe... Sorry, I'm not making any sense..."

"We followed your lead like we always do, Taichi-san, because you lead us well." In a sudden fit of nerves, Koushirou pushed off the polished surface of his desk and stood. Once standing, though, he felt infinitely more awkward and wished he hadn't.

He was trying to think of an unobtrusive way to disappear behind his workspace again when Taichi at long last gave up staring at the wall. He looked over at Koushirou with liquid brown eyes. It was only the briefest of glances before he hunched over on the edge of the couch, fingers digging into his scalp.

His next words were muffled and wet-sounding.

"Nishijima-sensei died. I was - I was so messed up. I shouldn't have made that decision. I shouldn't have made any decisions. I was - what's the word they use -"

"Compromised?" Koushirou offered.

"Yeah, that."

Fuck.

Why did Taichi have to come to him for comfort? Yamato or Sora would be so much better at this.

If they were better, he would have gone to them, Tentomon's matter-of-fact voice in his head pointed out. Tentomon was in the digital world at present, but Koushirou didn't need him there to know what he'd think about this.

Then another voice, one that didn't sound like Tentomon at all, added: Maybe comfort isn't all he wants.

"You witnessed something... unspeakable," Koushirou said gently. His feet seemed to move as if on automatic, making a winding path around the desk to stand at the coffee table's edge, an arm's length away from where Taichi had begun to collapse in on himself. "It had to affect your judgment."

A beat. Taichi gave a tremulous nod.

"It doesn't follow that your judgment must have been mistaken, Taichi-san."

The hands smoothed down his face. "But I'm never going to know," he said in a dull voice.

Folding his arms, Koushirou sat down on the opposite seat. "Let's not deal in vagaries. Here's what I know," he said, careful to keep his tone level, bussinesslike. "I know the world was going to change, at that moment, one way or another. I know a lot was at stake." Lives, the entire world - Mochizuki and Meicoomon. Taichi was certainly thinking it on his own. Koushirou forced himself to hold his gaze as he went on. "I know Meicoomon's data had been corrupted beyond recognition. I know Yggdrasil and Homeostasis both intended to move regardless of how we felt about it. I don't know how much was ever really salvageable. But I know you salvaged control. We're not their unwitting pawns, and that's thanks to you."

A slow smile crept over Taichi's face, brittle at the edges. "Isn't that thanks to you? Every time we need a miracle, Koushirou, you -"

"There are no miracles," Koushirou interrupted, with a stubborn set of his jaw, "that don't sacrifice on the altar of mysticism the ones who broke their backs to make them happen."

Stunned silence. Taichi gave a startled laugh. "Wow... I'm not sure I understood all the words there."

"Maybe there was a way to save Meicoomon." The words spilled out like a runaway train, and he had no idea if he was helping or hurting, but he couldn't stop now. "And maybe there was a way to save the digital world that didn't involve abducting eight children from their homes and making them fight for their lives, resetting their innocence, teaching them how the world assigns value, whether something is cheap or precious, based on circumstance, on convenience. We all handled it the best way we knew how, and sometimes - sometimes that way wasn't very good. The whole time, there was one thing that got us through it, day after day. Taichi-san, do you know what it is?"

Taichi looked as if he were hanging onto what Koushirou was saying like it were a lifeline. He nodded. "It was hope."

"No, Taichi-san," Koushirou said viciously. "It was you."

Taichi's throat worked, and his long, dark lashes stuttered. He seemed to try to answer, but lost the words he'd been looking for. "Fuck," he choked out after a while, head tilted back to stare at the ceiling.

Koushirou gave him time to get a hold of himself. He'd seen Taichi cry before. Always out of guilt. Well, not this time - not if he could help it.

The ping of an incoming message lit up his computer, followed by an insistent buzz from his phone a moment later. He didn't get up.

"I-I wish-" Koushirou listened in silence as Taichi tripped and stumbled over his unruly emotions. He suspected it had been a while since Taichi had done any sort of maintenance on them. Not since Meicoomon, probably.

"I wish we could have saved Meicoomon, Koushirou." He'd never sounded so much like a child, not even when he was one.

"We all do."

"But I don't know if it's because I regret what I did, or because I don't like the way Yamato and Sora treat me now, like I'm about to break down any second, or because Hikari will never look up to me the same way again-"

"None of the above. It's because you're a good person, Taichi-san."

The look on Taichi's face was somewhere between bleak and utterly desperate. "How can you be so sure about that?"

"I know many things," Koushirou said. "I think you'll agree with me there. I could be wrong about any of them, but not that one thing." He didn't smile, he didn't let his gaze waver. "Never that."

I don't wany any leader that isn't you.

"Fuck you," said Taichi, voice breaking, but there was unexpected laughter at the end of it. "Geez, Koushirou. What am I supposed to with that?" He shook his head, looking exhausted. "I couldn't talk about it before. I couldn't - make things all about me, when Mochizuki's the one who-" He stopped, fists curling and uncurling on his knees. "Yamato will beat me up if that's what I want from him. Sora will tell me everything's fine even if it's not what she really thinks. Hikari won't talk about it all. I figured you at least didn't hate me for what happened. Out of all of us, you would have thought everything through for yourself. At least your opinion would be your own."

"It is," Koushirou promised.

Taichi nodded. The color had begun to return to his face. Slowly, as if carding through his thoughts, he said: "I'll never know if it was a mistake. But it's done."

"It's done."

"That's not much of a balm for the soul," Taichi sighed.

Koushirou looked down. "I guess not," he said. "It's real, though."

Another silence followed. Like the calm after a storm, Koushirou thought. He did feel as though they'd just weathered some catastrophe, or perhaps escaped it by a hair.

"She says she doesn't hate me," Taichi said after a few minutes passed in therapeutic quiet. "Mochizuki."

"Ah."

"But she's... y'know. Kind. She's the type to blame herself for things that aren't her fault."

Koushirou shrugged. "Seems like you two are a matched set, then."

Taichi gave him a sharp look, but didn't say anything. He took a deep breath, whole body swelling like a cresting wave. Then he reached for a shrimp cracker.

"Damn... heavy talk makes me hungry."

Koushirou couldn't help it. He laughed. And reached for his bottle of oolong. He was parched.

"Koushirou..." Ah, he knew what was coming now. "Thanks. When I came over, I didn't mean for..."

"I don't want thanks. Or apologies." I just want you. But, no, that... he wasn't at a point where he could say that just yet. "I just want you at your best. I still think we can change the world, Taichi-san."

A hesitant grin. "That's a promise," Taichi said, only it sounded more like "fash a fwomish" with his mouth full of cracker.

Demons couldn't be defeated in a single afternoon, over oolong tea and shrimp crackers, despite best intentions. Koushirou knew that. He'd dealt with his fair share of demons and they were intractable little brutes. But Taichi could out-stubborn anything. He wouldn't have been able to lead them this far if that weren't true.

As for Mochizuki Meiko - even if Taichi couldn't quite admit it yet, Koushirou thought he understood why she was being "kind." Because though what they'd taken had been enormous, they'd done their utmost to give back what they could. It might be small, but seeds always are. Mochizuki had a future stretched out before her too, free from the designs of any government organization or mysterious otherworldly power. Teeming with possibilities, neither good nor bad. Simply there.

Taichi was going to change the world. Koushirou meant to do the same. People would say they made miracles, but the two of them would call it something else.

They would call it living.

---

as usual i am an overdramatic bitch

side note: I was gonna have Koushirou call out Taichi for saying Yamato would beat him up, but just didn’t find a spot for it. So for clarity’s sake, this is Taichi being hard on himself, not indicative of what Yamato would actually do. We all saw him cry after losing his bestie *wibble*

I don’t know how they can both reach the shrimp cracker bowl if Koushirou’s at the desk and Taichi’s on the couch, by the way. I guess it’s hovering in the air between them, or they both have Elastigirl arms :P

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Ma'am- how dares thou leave us off on a cliffhanger for both Empires on the Horizon and Kingdom Collisions V >:L I demand to know whats going to happen next!! (also take your time to write them lol )

Ah my friend you are right I am sorry for being so rude😭👀here's a Kingdom Collisions update. Please forgive me?🥺

Y’all know the drill by now. This is a fic i’m writing to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing. I do not have pre-written chapters so we’re both lost on what comes next or when the next update will be?! Please enjoy!

masterlist

TW: Suicide mention

Kingdom Collisions VI

Once upon a time in a land known for water and jewels there lived a young boy. He had skin the colour of soil and eyes the colour of oceans and were your gaze to ever fall upon this little figure you knew the earth was created just for him. The boy lived in a white-stone castle, surrounded by guards in clanking silver armour and blue-feathered helmets. Swords gleamed with their newness. They are decoration, a rite of passage. They only reflect the water. Children darted between their legs as they swoppeed shifts and if you looked closely the boy was often one of them. The castle stood proud and tranquil in the kingdom and gave the people hope.

If the white walls stand tall the queen will rise above all. 

A piece of poetry long since washed away.That single line ran through the city streets like rain water. Ran into people's homes, and under the wheels of rumbling cars. Generations had forgotten the poem to time but that line for it's power and rhyme had weathered the changing tides. If you listened closely the trees still knew the words. But nobody ever heard. The world was too busy and the day too new to remember what it was like to become one with evergreens.

Percy Jackson wakes up with a gasp, heart beating like conga drums. His fingers curl into his chest, leaving red marks as he winces sleep away. The world is still pitch black; stars hidden behind a blanket of storms. He wonders if they find comfort wrapped in the clouds. If those white puffs feel as soft as they look. Sleep is faraway, a distant friend stuck at a cold airport terminal. So he drifts to the window, ignoring the wind prickling his skin and sits down at the bench. The chiffon curtains rustle softly, talking to him in a language he hasn't quite yet learned. He knows they're saying something important. They must be if they brush against his legs every few minutes. Everyone is always trying to tell him something important. Something life changing and groundbreaking. He wishes he could pause time for a little while. Stroll through the gardens and into the ocean without anybody running after him.

The curtain drifts towards him again and he sighs as if the universe has made him designated driver. An unwanted, unwilling task.

Somewhere a bird caws and he snorts softly, "Okay, okay. I'm handling it."

He let's the sounds of the wind take him through the endless corridors, let's it carry him like a dying flower, like autumn leaves, like bonfire embers. The stone floor is cold under his bare feet and his body is littered with bumps. He misses the warmth of his castle. Misses the warmth of the hearth in every room and the smell of the sea that drifts in through open windows. Mostly, especially, he misses his mom. There is something distinctly missing from the Castle of Caelum. He hasn't quite put his finger on it but it doesn't feel right.

He doesn't have time to delve into that thought because all at once everything goes quiet. A large door looms before him.

"So this is it huh?" His voice is soft, afraid to disrupt the silence.

Taking a deep breath, filling up his lungs with the air of the Kingdom of Wind, he knocks on the wood. It is gentle and solitary and he's almost certain no-one heard it but his ears perk up anyway. He knows you can't pick up footfalls on stone but it doesn't stop his heart from racing in anticipation. The door opens with a soft click and tired eyes look at him.

"Percy," Jason's voice is raspy with crying and his heart shatters.

"Hey, can I come in?"

The blonde looks at him, brows furrowed and tear stains carved into his cheeks. Percy can see the tiredness in the prince's bones, like x-rays of exhaustion. He's about to say nevermind, about to walk away, walk past his own chambers and into the lifeless night. But the Prince nods once and moves aside.

He feels almost disappointed that he couldn't escape. Disappointed he couldn't just go back and never return. His mother's voice flitters into his head.

When your people are suffering you must lie down with them and ask them to tell you their story.

Why mom?

Because little one when the time comes you will know what to do.

How momma?

We are made of stories little one. We are made of all the things people tell us. Our dreams and hopes and memories are just threads in a tapestry and every person is connected to it.

I don't understand momma?

She smiled at him, perfect white teeth and dark blue eyes: When you think of me little one, what comes to mind?

Ten year old Percy frowned, Chocolate chip cookies, and your bedtime tales, and the beach, and hugs.

And what do you think about Grover?

Percy's green eyes had lit up like the sun: Play time and movies and ice-cream!

She laughed: And what about Dad?

His little brows furrowed: Fancy clothes and swords and paper and cuddles.

And Princess Piper?

His nose scrunched up: Cooties! He squealed and then he was running around the room; the world a flowing river, him a little fish learning its current.

You see little one, you didn't think about bones or skin or blood. You thought of memories and stories. Do you understand now?

He nodded as he scrambled into her lap: I think so momma. So if my people tell me who they are I can use their stories to help them when they're sore?

Almost little one. Half of hurt is because nobody listens. If you just listen to what your people are saying they will not hurt so much.

Is that because we have to tell our stories momma?

"Exactly. That is how we live. And live on."

Prince Perseus Jackson takes a deep breath and steps into the room. Immediately he can feel the icy wind, so much colder up here, stinging his bare arms, chest, legs. Save for the small silk boxers covering his most sensitive parts his body is exposed to the brutal temperatures and he cannot hide a shiver as he settles on the couch. The fire has died long ago, maybe not even put on for the night, if the grey ashes and lack of heat are indication enough.

"What are you doing here?" The blonde prince looks at him.

"The curtains told me to come."

"What?" He can hear the confusion, but more than that the weight of a thousand heartaches.

He wonders if every person who has their heartbroken feels like they're the first to ever go through it. If that feeling is so perfectly human it feels unique and special to each one.

"Sometimes the world talks to me and sometimes I listen."

"I don't really know what game you're playing but I'm not in the mood so if it isn't an emergency," Those eyes are ice blue, "And I honestly wouldn't care even if it was, please get out."

"I cannot." He shrugs and pulls a velvet blanket over him.

"I'd appreciate," Jason's teeth grit, "If you respected my boundaries enough to leave. I am not in the mood."

"The window is open, there is paper sitting on the desk and many crumpled pieces on the floor, and I can see you haven't even sat on your bed, never-mind slept in it. What do you plan to do Grace?"

"You know what." That voice is hard, malicious with fear, pain.

"I will not leave. And you will not either. You can sit there on your bed hating me till the sun graces us once more. You can punch me until I am the same colour as the dusk but I am not leaving."

"I hate you. Leave me alone." He can hear the tears hit the cold stone. He doesn't react. A shadow blocks the moonlight finally peaking through the clouds.

"I said leave me the fuck alone!"

"I cannot do that Prince."

"Don’t call me that." He snaps, pushing his face into Percy's, "Go away! I want to be alone."

"I can't Jason,"

"JUST LEAVE!" Golden fists pound at his chest, droplets of salt soaking into his skin, as if trying to wash away the bruising.

He grabs his husband's hands gently and pulls him to the couch.

"I'm not going to leave you."

"They all left." Jason gasps, "They left. HE LEFT!"

The scream draws blood from his ears, pulls oxygen from his veins.

"I'm here. I'm not leaving. I am here."

"Please," Sobs wrack that broken body, and Percy can feel the first cracks in a kingdom. "Please don't leave me. Please, please please."

He rubs his hand over a shaking back and mutters over and over again, "I will not leave you."

Prince Jason Grace cries a new ocean and he names it after the fire that caused it. When the sun peaks over the horizon, fracturing a wall of crystal, and attempting to warm those cold grey stones, Percy Jackson takes his husband to bed and ignores the fissures running under his feet.

Once upon a time in a kingdom known for storms and gold there lived a little boy. He had eyes of lightning and skin the colour of sunlight and if you ever caught a glimpse of him you knew only the darkest nights could ever produce something so beautiful. The guards are bathed in riches, weighed down by diamonds cut from dreams and earrings weighted with the pureness of gold. Swords are varied and prized. Bred for fodder. Used at will. He lived in a castle made of grey stone and it loomed over the kingdom like a black cloud. The people looked at it and shied away. For they too had a poem about their crown but they remembered every line. 

Those who fell under the shadow of stone were sure to be left to ruin by their king and cursed forever alone. A young boy with hair spun from starlight is trapped inside. Who will save him if he cannot hide?

Forgetting was a death warrant.

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

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@leydiangelo

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[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Sick Little Games: Nine

Now

Clint opened his eyes slowly. He wasn’t asleep, but with his hearing aids out, it wasn’t your walking towards him that prompted it. It was the light touch of your fingers on his shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sitting up, worried. “Are you okay?”

You nod slowly and take a deep breath, “Can I sleep with you?”

He felt his heart flutter, and he smiled, “Forget your teddy bear?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, cheeks heating.

“Come’er,” he coaxed, shoving the quilt aside to pull you onto the couch with him. He’s dimly aware that he could sleep with you in your bed. But if that’s what you wanted, that’s what you would have said. You wanted to be here. So here he’d keep you. He holds his arms out, and you go. Snuggling close, your head on his shoulder so you can bury your face in his neck. It reminds Clint irresistibly of a little kid seeking comfort in a storm. And he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t doubt that you’ve had trouble sleeping. And been emotional. He’s seen you tear up at the drop of a hat again and again. And he has questions. A lot of questions. 

But they can wait. 

Because lying in the semi-darkness, staring at the moon out the window, he can almost understand what you mean when you say that the moon is singing as he watches dustmotes and fireflies. Because you’re here. And you’re safe. And because he’s sure that he loves you. He loves you in ways he can’t put to words. But he knows because you feel like home. The smell of your shampoo and the warmth of your breath tickling his neck. The feel of your fingers tangled in his shirt, clinging to him for comfort like a teddy bear. It’s home. This is home. And even if he never gets to do this again, he has right now. And it’s perfect. So perfect. And he never wants to go to sleep. But, like any time he wants to stay awake, there’s no running from rest. It sneaks up on him like you do during laser tag. And then, all he knows is nothing. Nothing except the best sleep he’s had in 10 years. 

In the morning, he wakes up alone, but the smell of coffee breakfast cooking gets him to his feet. He finds his hearing aids, putting them in as he wanders into your kitchen, “Hey,” he said softly. 

“Hey,” you answer, “Hungry?” You hold out a cup of coffee, and he crosses the floor to take it. 

“Starving,” he said, taking a seat at the breakfast bar to watch you work.

“I hope you like blueberry,” you say apologetically, “I bought way too many at the farmers market.”

He grins and tilts his head, “Babe, when have I EVER complained about pancakes?”

“True,” you answer, flipping a cake onto the plate and adding a couple more with butter and bacon. 

He takes the plate and groans, “This looks amazing.”

Your cheeks heat, and you don’t answer right away. Turning to start doing some cleaning up. “I’m sorry I woke you up last night.”

“I’m not,” he garbled around a mouthful of food before he swallowed, “That was the best sleep I had in forever... Forgot how good I sleep with someone cuddling me.”

He knows he’s probably making you anxious. That you don’t know how to handle someone refusing to let you feel bad. But the thing is, he hates that you do that. That you flay yourself over any little thing. And he refuses to let you. Not over something as small as asking for comfort. 

“How do you feel?” he asked after the silence had stretched on for a few minutes. 

You sigh, and he can see you weighing an answer. “It’s... weird,” you tell him. “I don’t regret my choice. But my hormones fucking do. So I can logically think about what I’m feeling but... Fuck if I can do anything effective about it.”

Clint blinks for a second. He hadn’t considered that. It just wasn’t on his radar. “That- that sounds like hell,” he murmured. 

“It is,” you say, exhaling slowly, “But- it’s for the best. I can’t- I mean. Looking after me is a full-time job... And I can’t really see Bucky helping me do little league or girl scouts.”

Clint snorted bitterly, “No. Probably not.”

He wanted to add that he would. But this wasn't the right time. You were tearing up again and trying not to cry. 

You look away for a minute, and Clint stays quiet, eating and wondering if you’re going to make a plate or if you just cooking for something to do. When you put the rest of the food away without a dish of your own, he winces, “No breakfast?” he asks gently.

“I tried a bite earlier. It didn’t work.”

Clint cock his head, “Didn’t work?”

“I couldn’t swallow, and it just didn’t taste good.”

He still doesn’t get it. It’s amazing. But then. Food was a tricky thing for you, and it had been as long as he’d known you. Sometimes shit like that just happened when you didn’t feel well. Nothing tasted good. You had to struggle to eat.  Or other times, you ate fine. There was no rhyme or reason to it. 

Clint nods and goes to wash his plate, “Well, what do you need, babe?”

“Just some time,” you tell him with a small smile, “maybe some cuddles. I came out here to basically wallow and wait for the storm to pass. Plan my next move.”

“Home,” Clint insists, “Please come home.”

“Why?” your tone is soft. You genuinely want to know. It’s not sarcastic or bitter or angry. You just want to know.

“Because it is home. Because I- Because we love you,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead. “Because Dr. Strange isn’t as fun on missions. And because everything feels weird without you.”

You sigh, “But-”

“I know,” he said, “You’re scared to go back. To face Bucky. But you’re gonna be fine, baby girl. I’m not gonna let him hurt you. Whatever made him think this was okay, I’ll beat it out of him if I have to. I mean, hell... I think Bruce was just gonna go beat him to death. And not as the Hulk.”

You open your mouth to answer, and he puts a hand over it gently, “You don’t have to decide now,” he soothes, “Just let me be here for you. I mean. I have no idea what I’m doing, but... Please don’t just wallow out here alone.”

You wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his chest, looking for comfort, and he sets his plate down, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your head. “You have time,” he reminds gently, “So take it.”

You thud your head against his sternum and groan, “I can’t- I just. I knew he didn’t love me, but-” you trail off and swallow hard. 

“You wanted him to,” Clint finished, “so when he started being nice, you kinda forgot.”

“I just. I wanted it so much.”

Clint nods, “I had that. A few times. And I still haven’t learned.”

He tilts your chin up and smiles a little, “How old were you when you left home?”

“I was 12 when they threw me out,” you murmur, “I got my period and my powers in the same week... They threw me out after my stepdad was screaming at me for... fuck knows what. He was about to shove me, and I yelled, “Stop... and he did. He fucking froze mid-swing at the top  of the stairs.”

You snort, “Not even an hour later, I was on a greyhound bus going who knows where... Worst. Birthday. Ever.”

Clint smiles a little, “Have you seen anyone since?”

You shake your head, “They reported me as a runaway, but then... after a few days, everyone just kinda stopped looking.”

“You shoulda joined the circus,” Clint teased. 

“And step all over your tragic backstory?” you counter, “Fuck that. I needed my own.”

Clint is quiet for a long minute, and you sigh. 

“Sometimes,” you say slowly, “I wish my mom was someone I wanted to call.”

“You can call Nat,” Clint said, “She’s low key worried about you.” He knows it isn’t the same. But he wants to remind you how fucking loved you are. That you deserve the love, they’re all giving you. Even now. 

“I know I can,” you answer, “I could have- probably should have told her everything but-”

Clint kisses your head, “But you didn’t want to be told what to do or how to feel.”

You nod.

“I know we treat you like a baby,” he says, “But... you are. I mean. You’re a baby to all of us in different ways.”

“What about you?”

“You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he says, grinning, “but Christ, are you cute.”

“Clint-” you start.

“I mean, I love you. I really love you... I don’t think I figured that out until you were demanding that I bring Lucky to see you, though... Such a brat.”

He smiles a little sadly, “I know you’re all heartbroken and shit. I know you probably never want to have anything to do with men again, but... Just know. I’m not laying in wait. I looked for you because I missed my friend. And if all we ever are is friends, babe. That’s all I need. So don’t- I mean. Don’t feel like obligated or anything. I mean. Lucky needs a mom, but you can be his favorite person without dating me.”

You giggle, and Clint lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Clint, you dummy,” you groan, voice muffled by his chest, “I love you.”

“I know,” he answers, resting his cheek on your head. And he did know. It was an immutable fact. The sun was going to come up, and you loved him. The way you loved all of them. And that- even if it wasn’t romantic, was no small thing. Even if it didn’t mean getting married and having babies, it was still comfortable just being near you. 

“But, he rumbles, “If you go be with Bucky after all this...”

You shake your head, “If I ever see him again, he’s gonna wish he’d just killed me,” you say. It isn’t a threat. It’s a promise. Punctuated by a casual tilt of your head that makes your neck pop. And Clint shivers reflexively. The last time he saw you do that, you were getting ready to rip someone’s head off. Literally. 

“I’m not sure if that just made me scared or Horny,” he said out loud.

And when you laugh, the butterflies in his stomach take wing.

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