#that's sort of unusual but mkay

[non-un-topo]

Time to shift into academic mode and close all my fun tabs ;_; (ao3, google docs, research I was trying to cram in so I could write a short fic before the semester.... rip)

[hedghost]

alessia russo | stubborn love

at any given time, alessia's actions were determined by one of two opposing thought processes. number 1, she was incredibly sensible, and number 2, she was unforgivingly stubborn. predictably, the latter normally won out, especially when she wasn't feeling well.

in which alessia spends the day insisting she's fine. you know better.

word count: 4.6k

when you wake that morning, it's to the sound of light rain against your window. you absentmindedly watch the sliver of grey skies through the crack in the curtain, as you prepare yourself for the day ahead.

alessia is still asleep. even now, she maintains her tight grip around your waist, one hand splayed protectively over your chest. this is nothing unusual. from her position nestled against you, you can feel her soft breath against your collarbone, can feel the gentle brush of her hair on your neck. you pull her impossibly closer and close your eyes, drinking in the sensation of her body entangled in yours. even asleep, her presence is a calming force, anchoring you to her.

these are the moments you have come to adore. your alarms will go off soon, and the matchday routine will begin. for now, however, you are perfectly content to hold alessia close and listen to the rain.

the shrill noise of your alarm cuts through the calm. alessia only groans and tucks her head into your neck even more. reaching to turn it off, you smile softly and nudge her.

“come on, love,” you murmur, “time to get up.”

“five more minutes,” she groans, her voice croaky with sleep. you stretch as best as you can with her still pinning you down, successfully dislodging her a little.

alessia rolls off you, lying on her back as she yawns and rubs her eyes. you stand once she does, readying yourself to begin your game day preparations.

“i’m gonna hop in the shower - don’t go back to sleep, mkay?” you say, leaning over to press a kiss to her forehead. alessia clears her throat and nods.

the warm water washes away the last remnants of sleep, and you emerge out of the bathroom fully focused on the game ahead. you get dressed quickly, smirking as you watch alessia try to wake herself up a little more. you’ve been together long enough to know she is not a morning person.

“god, i’m tired,” she whispers, finally pulling herself to her feet and towards the bathroom.

you press a kiss to her temple as she passes you, and she smiles gratefully.

“i’ll get some food going,” you say.

alessia pads into the kitchen as you finish plating up breakfast, her hair still a little damp. you pass her some food before taking your seat in front of her. you coax a little conversation out of her as the two of you eat, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. she seems a little out of it this morning, not her usual match-day laser focus, but it’s been a long week. you’ve both been busy. it's probably just that. still, you know her routines well enough to know when she’s acting even a fraction differently.

“you okay lessi?” you say, noticing she seems to have zoned out once again. at your words, she snaps her attention back to you.

“hmm?”

”just checking you were alright, you're a bit quiet this morning?”

“oh right sorry, yeah i’m good,” she gives a sheepish smile, swallowing before speaking again, “just haven’t really woken up yet,”

you think you catch a hint of strain in her voice when she speaks, but, like she said, she’s probably just tired. you shrug as you stand, having finished your breakfast well before alessia.

“fair enough love, want me to make you a coffee?”

“i can do it,” she says, starting to rise in her seat, but you put a hand on her shoulder to keep her from standing.

“its cool, i got it. finish your food, it'll go cold,"

the smile that finds its way onto your face is not intentional, but when you’re with alessia, they rarely are. something about her, about being with her, just brings you a content warmth. an early-morning sort of peace. you’d do just about anything if it meant her day ran a little easier.

“here,” you say as you hand alessia the travel mug. “ready to go?”

“yeah, let me just grab my bag,” her words are punctuated with a light sniffle, so slight you almost miss it. you watch out the corner of your eye for any sign she might be upset, or on the verge of tears, but you see nothing. it slips your mind as quickly as it came.

the drive over to where you'll meet the team bus is quiet, only the hum of the engine and the faint patter of the rain hitting the windscreen. at any other time, you and alessia both favour loud music blaring from the speaker, alternating between constant chatter and pealing laughter about something trivial, but before games, you both appreciate a little peace to get in the zone. you focus on the road while alessia sips her coffee next you, watching the cars pass by.

the quiet is interrupted by the sound of a harsh coughing fit. you turn your head to see alessia slightly bent over as she tries to get it under control.

"whoa, you alright?" you say, flitting your eyes back and forth between the road and your girlfriend. she nods, pausing to catch her breath.

"yeah sorry, coffee went down the wrong way," she gives you a weak smile, clearing her throat again. you laugh and accept it, but when you turn your attention back to driving, you catch another sniffle, and your scepticism returns. you have a funny feeling you know what's up. you make a mental note to keep an eye on her, hoping your worries are unfounded.

despite your concern, alessia gives no further indication that she's feeling anything but her best for the rest of the drive. you walk onto the bus together, both putting on your headphones as you take your seats. as usual, she sits next to tooney, with you across the aisle. you watch her out of the corner of your eye as much as you can, but it's hard to gauge much when she has put a little distance between you. again, this is nothing unusual. she's always quiet at this point before a match, running through the gameplan or mentally dissecting the opposition.

you think alessia seems tired still during pre-match warm up, a little distracted as you walk the pitch as a team. to anyone else, its probably entirely unnoticeable, and you shake your head. you're probably just being paranoid. you turn your attention to the grey skies above, it looks like the rain is likely to get worse.

once you head back in, the changing room is alive with its usual buzz, a mixture of pre-match jitters and an itch to begin play. you plop down next to alessia, who sits rather reservedly as she pulls her socks on.

"hey less?"

"mhmm?"

"are you feeling okay?" you talk quietly, knowing she wouldn't appreciate the rest of the team hearing your question.

"i'm fine y/n," she shrugs off your question, not exactly the bright, bubbly alessia you're used to.

"are you sure? you can tell me if you don't feel w-"

"i said i'm fine," she says shortly, a little harsher than you would expect from her. you can tell she wants you let it go, but that only encourages your badgering. you try a softer approach.

"less, baby, it's me, come on,"

she takes a deep breath in, then turns to you, offering a smile again.

"i'm good love, just a little tired, i promise," her defensiveness is gone, and you scan her face for any indication she's lying, "sorry, i'll be fine once we start playing,"

you nod, biting your lip. you trusted alessia, you knew she was sensible. you know she wouldn't lie about something that could affect the team's performance. you also knew that she could be undeniably, unwaveringly stubborn, but you choose to let it go. you decide to accept her word, to chalk her bad mood up to pre-match nerves, and the culmination of a long week.

"alright love, ready to go?" you stand as the team begins to filter out for the start of play. "how about we have a chill day tomorrow, huh? have a lie in, maybe go out for lunch, just you and me?"

she takes your hand, squeezing it gently as you walk out together.

"that sounds nice,"

the game begins and, almost immediately, the weather takes a turn for the worse. the team plays well despite the conditions, with you leading the impenetrable back line, and alessia wreaking havoc up front. at half time, you’re one-nil up, and all equally drenched. you gather around on the benches as marc begins his half-time talk.

you've all changed into dry kits, but you can still feel alessia shivering next to you. you had no cause for concern on the pitch, focused only on the game, but now the worry is back in full force. you always could read her like a book. you can tell she's only half-listening, attention seemingly elsewhere. you sidle a little closer to her, hoping your presence can offer a little comfort, but she doesn't seem to notice.

pressed up against her, you feel, more than hear, her sharp intake of breath. alessia turns away to sneeze breathlessly into her elbow. you place a hand on her thigh and rub it gently, settling for another small gesture of comfort. you want to wrap her up in a hug and not let go, but you can't do that in front of everyone. you know her well enough to know the last thing she would want is you drawing attention to her, especially like this. someone blesses her, and she blushes.

"sorry," she murmurs, and marc continues speaking. you make a note to check if she’s okay when you can get a more private second with her, but you already know your fears have been confirmed with that single sneeze. your girlfriend is definitely coming down with something.

marc concludes his speech, and the team disperses to brave the rain again. you try to grab alessia's attention, but she successfully shuts you down by practically marching back onto the field.

the next half of the game is cagey, and this time, you keep your attention on alessia. now that she's given you an almost confirmation that she's getting ill, you know what to look out for. even if she felt okay before, she's undeniably getting sicker. she still plays well, of course she does, but to someone who knows her as well as you do, the signs are all there.

alessia is breathing a little heavier, recovering a little slower after making a run. she seems a little more hesitant to be involved in those heavy challenges, and when she does inevitably get knocked over (nothing unusual, even on a good day alessia is never that great at staying on her feet), she takes a little longer to get back up. you see her cough into her fist a few times, stopping occasionally to sniff or wipe her nose. even when she scores, her celebration seems lacklustre, smile barely lasting long enough for you to make your way over and pull her in for a hug. she pulls away just as quickly.

you hope it’s nothing, maybe just a small cold, but when the game is finally done and you enter the changing room, you’re kicking yourself for even letting her play. everyone else is celebrating the win exuberantly, but alessia's smiles are subdued, a ghost of her usual self. your teammates clap you on the back as you walk past, and you echo their congratulations with a big smile, but your attention is solely on your girlfriend.

you know she won’t admit anything or accept help here, not in front of everyone else, so you have to be subtle in your comfort. coming to a stop in front of the bench where she sits, you run a hand over her hair and rub her shoulder. she leans her head back against the wall and looks up. her face is flushed, hair dripping from the rain. you don't press her with questions, knowing you'll only get shut down again. besides, you think you have your answer just by looking at her.

"well done today less, that was such a sick goal,"

she smiles, leaning ever so slightly into your touch. she looks shattered, like she could fall asleep right there and then. you open your mouth to speak, but before you can, she clears her throat and cuts you off.

"i'm fine, before you say anything," her guard is back up, but her voice is scratchy when she speaks, and you know she's anything but. she levels her gaze at you, daring you to argue with her, but the overall effect is lost, the challenge not quite meeting her tired eyes.

"yeah i know. you're fine, i wasn't going to say anything," you hold your hands up in surrender.

clearly she wasn't expecting that response, and the fight deflates out of her, with a small 'oh, yeah'. you both know she's lying, but when she realises she might have convinced you to drop it, at least for now, she relaxes a little. she knows you're in her corner, and you know that pressing the issue in front of the team will only end badly. like you said, she's stubborn, and she'll deny feeling unwell for as long as possible. you just have to go about your comfort in less direct ways. you smile down at her.

"tired?" you say, and she nods. at least she'll concede this to you. "you can have a nap once we're on the bus, yeah? come on, let's go shower," you pull her to her feet, and she stands dutifully. you pick up both of your wash bags, before practically dragging her towards the shower room.

the two of you enter into neighbouring cubicles, and you relax into the warm water, a welcome change from the cold rain. you wash yourself quickly, not wanting alessia to have to wait for you. as you do so, you hear her let out a few harsh sneezes in quick succession. you wince at the sound. that’s confirmation of a cold if you ever did need it.

you're dried and changed before alessia exits the showers. she emerges looking a little more refreshed, but now you can see how flushed her face really is. you know the rest of the girls will take a while to get showered, still chatting and revelling in the win. someone has put a speaker on, and you think you see alessia wince at the loud music. it makes you wonder if she's got a headache too.

"wanna head on to the bus? these lot will be a while," you say, and alessia hesitates. clearly she doesn't want people to think something is up. you change tactics.

"please babe," you say, loud enough for the others to hear, "i'm knackered and this music's giving me a headache,"

its a lie of course, and alessia knows this, but she nods and takes your hand.

"see you on the bus guys!" you call over your shoulder, before wrapping your arm around alessia's waist. she relaxes imperceptibly.

there are fans waiting outside as you walk to the coach. you mean to keep walking, but alessia breaks apart from you to sign a few things, so you do the same. their shouts for autographs and photos increase in volume, and you sneak a sideways glance at alessia. she's not talking much, and you can tell she's putting up her best front for the fans. it might fool them, but it's certainly not fooling you. your heart melts, and you place a hand on her back protectively. you shout a quick excuse and goodbye to the remaining fans, who groan at your quick departure, but your only concern is getting your girl onto the bus, and away from their loud voices and prying eyes.

this time, you sit next to alessia, letting her take the window seat. you pick seats at the front, knowing it'll be quieter than the rest of the bus. she settles into you as you place an arm around her. alessia lets out a few more coughs, and you pass her a water without a word. you subtly dig around to see if you have any tissues, but come up short, instead praying alessia won't need them.

soon enough the rest of the team file onto the bus, and you begin the trip home. you watch as alessia fights to keep her eyes open, and you stroke a finger down her nose. its something you do sometimes, when she can't sleep, having inadvertently found out it worked at the beginning of your relationship. back then, the two of you had still been nervously figuring each other out, still discovering where the lines between the two of you met.

"just get some sleep less, we'll be home soon,"

sure enough, she’s asleep in minutes. you listen to your teammates conversations, joining in occasionally, but always mindful not to wake the girl nestled into your side. you watch her as she sleeps, as her breathing becomes heavier, her lips parted, her nose stuffy. when you arrive, you press a kiss to her hair to wake her. she blinks up at you, doe-eyed and half-asleep.

"come on less, lets go,"

the drive home is short, and quiet. the music is low enough for you to hear how alessia is still fighting to hide her coughs and sniffles from you. you have to admire her dedication, even if she's not fooling you in the slightest. you know you'll have to force her into confession when you get in, and you prepare yourself for a very stubborn alessia as you head into your shared flat.

you lock the door behind you, and turn to confront her. now that it's just the two of you, you can speak plainly and firmly, and you hope it'll be enough to make alessia admit she's sick.

"right less, the jig is up, i know you're-" you cut yourself off as you catch her expression. she looks utterly miserable, those bright eyes staring up at you with unshed tears. she sniffs, and you aren't sure if its from her cold or not.

"i don't feel well," she whispers. just speaking seems to tickle her throat, and she's hit by another violent cough, almost as though to prove her point. not that it needs any proving.

you hadn't expected her to give in this easily, and it's only now that you realise just how bad she's feeling. all the fight you had prepared rushes out of you, leaving only crushing guilt that you hadn't clocked the extent of her illness, and a strong desire to wrap alessia up in blankets forever. your hopes that it was just a little cold are well and truly gone, and all you want to do is make it all better.

"oh darling, i know, i know," you breathe out as you pull her into you. she practically falls into your embrace, and you hold her close. "it's okay love, you don't have to pretend anymore," she presses her face into your neck and nods, sinking impossibly further into your arms.

your hand finds the back of her head, and you thread your fingers through her still damp hair. you know you need to get her into bed, but she seems reluctant to let you go, and so the two of you stand there for a little while, two silhouettes locked together in the dim light of the hallway. you press your lips to her temple, feeling the warmth coming from her skin. alessia's breath hitches, and she tries to pull away, but you don't move your arms.

"y/n, i need- i need to sn-sneeze,"

"oh right sorry," you say, and she moves away from you to desperately sneeze twice into her hands. the force of it almost bends her double, and even the sneezes sound exhausted. you place a steadying hand on her back.

"oh sweetheart, bless you, let's get you into bed hmm?" you coo, and she nods miserably.

"do you have a tissue?" she says shyly as you lead her into the bedroom, "need to blow my nose," she mumbles the last part, clearly embarrassed, whether about being ill or asking for help, you aren't sure. you choose to ignore her hesitance, just glad she's finally asking at all.

"yeah, i'll go get you some. you just go get changed yeah?"

you grab her an old t-shirt of yours to sleep in, one you've caught her wearing when she's been upset or ill before. you bend to brush your lips to her forehead as she sits on the bed. alessia just about manages a grateful smile, swallowing through the pain in her throat.

you rush through the flat, on a mission to gather anything alessia might possibly want or need as fast as you can. you didn't like the idea of leaving her alone for too long. you knew alessia was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but that didn't mean she should have to, for god's sake. you flick the kettle on, then set about grabbing tissues, cold medicine, an extra blanket, anything you could think of that might make alessia feel just a fraction better.

making your way back into the bedroom, you were greeted by alessia rummaging through your kit bags. placing your wares on the bedside table, you walk up and wrap your hands around her from behind. you can feel her shivering against your front.

"less, what are you doing? you should be in bed,"

"i need to put my things away," she mumbled, her voice stuffy, consonants rounded out by congestion, "i know you don't like things left out, it'll only take a second,"

"less, don't be stupid, you can barely stand," you sigh with an exasperated smile. she starts to protest, but you pull her towards the bed, "i'll do that tomorrow, it's fine, come on. bed now,"

she gives in easily, and your heart melts for the umpteenth time that day. you tuck another blanket over her and pass her a mug of tea.

"did you put honey in it?" she asks shyly as she wraps her hands around it, appreciating the warmth. you smile down at her.

"of course i put honey in it. i know what you like,"

"thank you," alessia's voice is low, almost reverent. she looks down, seemingly wanting to say more, so you remain quiet.

"i'm sorry," she eventually whispers. at this, you move to sit down on the bed, brushing a stray lock of her hair back, and rubbing her cheek gently with your thumb. alessia leans into the touch.

"darling, what are you sorry for?"

"i just- i was horrible to you today. i knew you were only trying to look after me, and you were being so nice, and so caring, and i just-" alessia sniffs and looks up, blinking back tears, "i felt awful all day, and you know me so well so of course you could tell, but i just kept lying to you, and i could've cost us the game and i-"

you shift on the bed, wrapping your arm around her shoulders, and placing a hand on her thigh, mindful of the mug of tea she still held.

"shh less, its okay. that doesn't matter,"

"but-"

"no buts. you were ill, and you wanted to play. and you played well despite it all too. you're tough, to do that. i mean, also stubborn and a bit stupid, because i think you've only made yourself worse, but it's okay, alright?"

"i don't deserve you," she exhaled.

"i don't deserve you, you stubborn idiot," you smirk, and she laughs weakly.

"i'm not that stubborn," she mutters, but there was no bite to it. you were just glad to have coached a little smile out of her. she turns to cough harshly into her fist again.

"yes. you are. but i love you for it." you say, standing to get changed. you soften your voice when you next speak, "now shut up and drink your tea. it'll help your throat, okay?" for once, alessia obeys you.

"do you need anything else before i come to bed, love?"

alessia shakes her head, "just you,"

"sap," you say, climbing under the covers. alessia shivers as you pull them back. she sits up to let you position yourself behind her, before nestling into your arms. she sniffles again.

"how are you feeling? be honest this time" you say, passing her a tissue.

"not good," she murmurs, "my throat hurts and my body hurts and my head aches and my nose is so stuffy,"

"poor baby," you say, rubbing her arms. once she got past the initial denial stage, alessia could be a bit dramatic when she was ill. you didn't mind too much.

"and i need to sneeze again," she whines, moving to sit up. you push her back down. "what are you doing? i don't want to get you si-," alessia cuts herself off with another sneeze.

"bless you love. i won't get sick, and if i do, i don't care." you press another kiss to her forehead. "besides, i don't think its going to make a difference if you sneeze here or a foot away from me. especially not when we're sharing a bed,"

"i'll make you sleep on the sofa," alessia mumbles, before sniffling again.

"no, you won't," you knew alessia couldn't go without your comfort when she was sick.

"no i won't," she concedes with a sigh, "i don't want you to catch this though," her breath hitches as she speaks, and you smirk.

"are you going to sneeze again?"

"no," alessia denies. you raise your eyebrows, the challenge present in your expression. you smirk as she clearly tries to hold it back.

"so stubborn,"

alessia tries to respond, but the tickle in her nose gets the better of her. she whines after she sneezes, burying her head into your chest.

"y/n, i feel like shit," her words are muffled against you, and between her blocked nose and scratchy throat, its hard to hear exactly what she says. you get the gist though.

"i know love, i know," she buries further into you and you stroke her hair, noting the way her skin feels warm and clammy to the touch. "i've got you. try and sleep now, i'll be here if you need me, okay?"

you hear her mumble something else into your chest, but you dont quite catch it.

"what was that love?" she looks up at you, cheeks flushed and nose pink. even when sick, she looks impossibly cute.

"will you read to me?" she repeats, shyly. you beam down at her. god you love this girl.

"which book?"

"i don't mind, one of yours?"

you were an avid reader, and had quite the collection. alessia meanwhile wasn't much for books, only reading occasionally when on holiday, or on a long flight. at times like this however, when she didn't feel well, or she'd had a bad day, or even just couldn't sleep, she'd ask you to read to her. you adored it; the fact that just your voice alone was enough to calm her, make her feel better, make her feel safe enough to drift off when she was struggling.

you lean over to grab a book you kept on your dresser for these exact times. the book changed of course, sometimes it was poems, sometimes a novel you'd read a thousand times over, but always something you knew would calm your girlfriend. you begin to read.

alessia burrows into you, closing her eyes. she listens to the murmur of your chest as you speak, lets your soft words drift over her. it doesn't take long for her breathing to even out, but you keep reading aloud until you're sure she's fast asleep.

you put the book down and gaze lovingly down at your girl, feeling her light breath ghost over your collarbone, watching her eyelids flutter in her sleep. she snuffles and snores lightly, her cold blocking her nose. you smile softly at her perfectly parted lips, at the light flush that spreads over her freckles. you press a light kiss to her head, whispering a soft declaration of love into her hair.

"night darling, i've got you now,"

a soft little sickfic for you guys, hope you enjoyed it <;3

can't lie i love writing fluffy hurt/comfort ones like this so if you liked it please send in similar requests! i'd willingly write a part 2 to this one with absolutely zero plot lol

all love, hedge xx

[stuffkin]

sojiro and ryuji bond over animal crossing

ao3!

Sojiro is leaning idly against the counter, chipping away at a crossword while the TV buzzes some ad or another, when the bell tinkles merrily. Finally, Sojiro thinks, because it’s been a slow day, slower than usual, and while he doesn’t mind the quiet, it feels monotonous. Mind-numbing.

But it isn’t a customer. At least, not a usual customer. A familiar shock of artificially blonde hair bobs as its owner pads over to the counter.

“The kid’s not back yet,” Sojiro tells him. “But you can go on upstairs to wait if you want to.”

“Know,” Ryuji says, and slides onto one of the stools. “‘s it okay if I wait down here?”

Something’s off about this troublemaker from a whole gang of troublemakers. Sojiro doesn’t hate the kid, not by a long shot, but when he’s around, somebody’s bound to get riled up. Somehow, it’s usually that damn cat.

“Well, sure.” Sojiro raps his knuckles against the counter. “You want a soda or something?” He doesn’t look at him, not directly, but he doesn’t miss the way he straightens up. Not a red flag, but a flag nonetheless. It isn't until he speaks again that Sojiro realizes what the problem is: he's too quiet.

"Can I have an iced cocoa? Please?"

Another flag. Sojiro raises a thin eyebrow. “Sure thing.” As he sets to work--not too many people ask for cocoa, let alone iced cocoa--he keeps an eye on Ryuji. “How’ve you been, kid?” He asks it like he hadn’t seen him yesterday, or the day before that, or the day before that. But Ryuji still blinks in surprise. There’s a quiet thump as his heel bounces off the leg of the stool.

“‘M okay.” He fiddles with the sleeve of his school blazer. Loose threads hang loose from the hem; Sojiro briefly wonders what on earth Ryuji had done to it, but ultimately decides he doesn’t care. Yet the universe provides answers in the form of the sleeve slipping between Ryuji’s teeth once Sojiro’s attention is (mostly) off of him.

It sort of reminds Sojiro of Futaba.

“Learn anything interesting at school?” he asks, fishing a clean mug from the shelf and giving it a cursory wipe down. Dust always settles quicker than he can find it.

Ryuji’s voice comes out a little muffled. “Nope.” It’s all the information he’s going to give, Sojiro thinks; he’s watching with hawk-eyes as Sojiro pours the cocoa into the mug.

Well, at least that’s not a surprise. Sojiro huffs a quiet laugh before sliding the mug over. “Here. Drink up.”

This time, Ryuji releases his sleeve. “Thank you.” He carefully lifts the mug and takes a slow sip. His eyes light up.

“Good?” Sojiro leans against the counter.

Ryuji nods, humming happily. Yeah, he’s definitely quieter than usual, but he’s happy, and it isn’t like Sojiro minds the quiet. And the company’s nice.

"Just let me know if you want anything else."

"Mkay."

Sojiro picks up his puzzle once more, and the shop falls into an easy quiet. Not unusual for the place. Unusual for the company he has. More than once, Sojiro finds his attention straying, just wondering what's going on in that head of his. More than once, he reminds himself it's none of his business. It's not like it affects him either way. Besides, it's more effort than it's worth. He has enough to worry about.

Yet he keeps checking on the kid. Quick glances. A second iced cocoa. Napkins and a quiet word when some spills.

Something's definitely up with him, especially with the damn near inaudible responses Sojiro gets. But, Sojiro thinks, as long as he's here, he's safe from whatever's bothering him. Maybe that's why he came here to begin with.

Or maybe Sojiro's just getting ahead of himself. Akira lives right upstairs, after all. Just a kid waiting for his friend.

A soft humming tugs the train of his thoughts back onto its tracks. Time enough for self-deprecation off the clock. Sojiro listens for a while, idly scratching down answers, but eventually curiosity gets the better of him. A side-effect of Futaba, no doubt.

Ryuji, tapping away at his phone, glances up when Sojiro says his name. This isn’t the first time Sojiro’s seen the wide-eyed look but he has yet to figure it out. Surprise? It’s almost...childlike.

In any case, he drums his fingers against the counter. “What’s that you’re playing?” Because the more he thinks about it, whatever Ryuji is humming sounds strangely familiar.

The way the kid lights up? Blinding. Ryuji wiggles a little as he answers. “Animal Crossin’! Wanna see?”

Three things cross Sojiro’s mind. One, recognition; he does in fact know the game, thanks to Futaba. Two, surprise that it’s something Ryuji would even play. It’s a pretty simple thing. Cute, too, not that he’d ever admit it. In any case, it doesn’t match up with the rough-and-tumble persona Ryuji displays at (nearly) all times.

Third, Ryuji can never find out Sojiro has it on his own phone. He has his reputation to uphold, after all.

“Sure, kid.” Sojiro sets his pencil aside and leans against the counter. Ryuji slides his phone across the surface. While Sojiro doesn’t open the app all that much (except when Futaba pesters him) it’s clear to see that Ryuji’s put in the hours. The campsite is elaborately decorated, divided into different sections. One area has a treehouse; another, a gym with all the fixin’s. Every time they pass a camper, Ryuji makes his little guy run around them. He also recites what sounds like an entire biography, complete with what he personally likes about them. Turns out Apollo and Scoot are his favorites; if Sojiro tucks that information away for later, well. Who has to know?

The kid’s a chatterbox on the best of days, but this is a whole new level, even for him. It’s also a stark contrast from when he first arrived. It’s rather heartwarming to see. And yet, when the time comes for Ryuji to show Sojiro the inside of his RV, he hesitates. Face pinched, he taps the side of his phone.

“You don’t have to show me everything today,” Sojiro reminds him. While he’s not quite sure why, his gut instinct tells him to match Ryuji’s level. Easy now, or he’ll spook. “There’s no rush.”

“Mm.” Ryuji mulls it over. Then his face sets in determination. He taps to enter the RV.

Like the campsite, there’s a clear theme happening. But it’s not anywhere in the realm of what Sojiro envisioned. Instead of sports or game equipment, instead of bold colors, what greets Sojiro is a room plastered in soft pastels and filled with child-like comfort. The bed tucked into the corner is simple, recognizable even to Sojiro as the first one a player could obtain; next to it is a soccer ball lamp. A box spilling with toys rests at its foot. In the center of the room is a low table with snacks strewn across it. Sitting around the table are a group of teddy bears.

It takes a moment for Sojiro to connect the room to the boy sitting across from him. It takes another moment to realize that Ryuji is watching him warily. Once more, a voice in his head says, easy, easy.

Sojiro smiles faintly. It isn’t difficult to do. “Well, doesn’t this look cozy.”

Ryuji perks up again. “Mhm!” He points to a bear sitting next to what looks like a cup of coffee. “That one’s Boss.”

“Boss--hey, now.” Sojiro chuckles when Ryuji grins cheekily, his tongue poking out from between his teeth.

They’re still chatting when the door opens with a merry jingling of the bell. Sojiro waves his hand. Ryuji freezes until he realizes it’s just Akira. Sojiro wonders.

He isn’t allowed to think about it too hard, though, because Ryuji is spinning the stool to face the other kid. “‘Kira!”

“Hey. Sorry I took so long.” Maybe Sojiro’s imagining it, but Akira seems to be looking between the two of them warily. What he’s measuring, Sojiro has no idea.

“‘S okay, Boss kept me company. I showed him all my campers!”

“Yeah?” Akira ponders, tilting his head as he studies Sojiro. Whatever he’s thinking, Sojiro isn’t sure he likes it. Akira nods resolutely. “I bet we could get Yusuke to draw him as Brewster.”

“Who?” Sojiro asks, but it’s drowned out by Ryuji laughing. He shakes his head. “Alright, skedaddle. The evening crowd should get here soon.”

“We get crowds?” Akira muses as he gently nudges Ryuji towards the stairs. Sojiro raises an eyebrow at him in warning. Before he can say anything, though, Ryuji turns back.

“Thanks for talkin’ to me,” he says, beaming.

Sojiro waves him off. “Of course. Anytime, kid.”

Once the boys have disappeared into the attic, Sojiro sighs and resumes his crossword. The quiet settles once more. But with the presence of the boys, it’s just a touch warmer than before.

But you didn’t hear that from Sojiro.

[isha-feinberg]

end transmission | isha & rosa

@rosastein​​:

isha-feinberg​:

when: wednesday 12th april 2163 where: a corridor, by a supply cupboard who: open!

[So many black clothes. Isha doesn’t like cleaning them as much; white clothes are easy because you can bleach them. Dark clothes show every little hair and bit of fluff, and she’s spent the better part of the last hour with a lint scraper trying to clean up everyone’s funeral clothes. When she gets send off to get some more laundry detergent, she suspects it’s because she keeps sighing so fretfully while everyone else is chatting and trying to establish some sort of normality after Kaiser’s death.

Isha is fine with that, gliding down the corridor and slipping into the nearest supply cupboard. She has to stand on the lowest shelf to reach the detergent, which is far back on the highest shelf, and while she does so the door swings shut behind her.

It’s very dark, all of a sudden. Isha always needs to know where the nearest exit is, and she fares poorly when she’s trapped somewhere like this. Her PDD does nothing to open the door, but it won’t bend to brute force either; why doesn’t she know how the bloody doors work? Is it a mechanical error? A computer thing? Someone in the tech department is playing a joke on her? The light of her PDD is painfully bright as she types out an indignant message to the first IT person she can think of, that Paxton person, to say that she’s stuck.

In the meantime, she’ll try slow deep breaths like they always tout in therapy. It’s only when she hears someone coming along the corridor outside that she slams her palm against the door.]

Excuse me? Hello? [She manages to sound rather annoyed for a woman hoping to get some help. She doesn’t want to admit to the pounding in her chest or the strangling feeling in her throat. She just wants to get out of this stupid damn cupboard.] 

[ The week had gotten off to an unusual start, which isn’t so much a complaint as an observation: she’d moved house, more or less, and a man died. Or was murdered. From what Rose can sus out, there doesn’t seem to be a general consensus among the masses. Just a thick air of mixed sadness and apprehension, with a dash of suspicion to taste. She doesn’t know what to think about it all herself, doesn’t know enough about the place to discern whether murder is something anyone here is capable of. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make it any less terrifying to be shaken from ones thought by a loud noise. Nor does it make it any less likely to scream at the aforementioned loud noise. ]

…What the sh-!  [ She shoots a fist out and raps on the nearest wall, all strength and not even a pretense of technique. Some might call it an offensive reflex. Rose would call it an offended reflex. (The trainers back in Sixteen would call it a stupid reflex.) Regardless, her heart is pounding, and now her hand hurts. ] Fuck! [ Tight-lipped and high pitched. As she clutches throbbing thing to her stomach, Rose looks around belatedly in search of the source of what spooked her. The rattling of a nearby supply closet seems to be the most likely offender. Frowning, she approaches. Slowly presses her ear against the frigid surface of the door. ]

God, what… are you trying to kill someone else? Hello?! [ Only once she’s yelled at what looks like no one does it occur to her how unhinged this must look. The subsequent tapping of her PDD a bid to feel less embarrassed about the whole thing  – she’s certain some security camera caught her physically and verbally assaulting colony infrastructure. Admirable second day behavior. But once the door opens, and whoever is inside can explain themselves, it’ll be fine.

Naturally, nothing happens.

Typical. ]

…Yeah, mkay. Sure. 

[Isha is not easily startled, but the sudden heavy thwack that resonates through the wall makes her jump. Thank goodness nobody can see her. As it is, she startles and takes a step back, hand jumping to her sternum and pressing against it as if to coax her heart into a slower pace. She wouldn’t be so damn jumpy if she wasn’t stuck in this absurd little cupboard.

She knows she’ll get out sooner or later, particularly now somebody knows she’s in here, but she’d just really rather it was sooner and not later. It’s dark and cramped and the smell of cleaning products is pressing against Isha’s head. The person outside seems to be just as upset as Isha, and that makes her feel a little better. It’s probably not precisely what they mean when they say a trouble shared is a trouble halved, but Isha likes not being the only on in distress.

Perhaps, Isha thinks with a private sense of amusement, this person had thought she was a ghost. Isha doesn’t believe in such things, but if she were the sort of person to hold those beliefs then this draughty old school building on this breezy little island would be a likely candidate for a haunting.

It’s difficult to hear through the door but she thinks she can make out the sound of whoever is out there trying to open it, unsuccessfully. Of course. The tip of Isha’s thumb makes its way unconsciously between her lips so that she can chew on the nail, which is a habit she trained herself out of long ago.]

...Did you just hit the wall? [There are better questions to ask, but it’s the one Isha wants to know the answer to. She thinks it’s a bit funny, the idea of having startled someone so well that they lash out blindly against a wall. It doesn’t make her feel any more in control, but it makes her feel at least a little less alone in her stress.] 

[vintage-squid]

A Little Out of the Ordinary

Summary: A vampire and their host, a singer and the fae he sold his soul to. When two unusual couples become one unorthodox group, they don’t care what humans would consider ‘normal’ for a first date.

Pairings: Virgil/Logan; Patton/Roman; Virgil/Patton; endgame romantic LAMP 

Rating: T Warnings: Vampires, fae, immortality, blood, drinking blood, mythological references, negotiating/discussions of polyamory On AO3

Surprise @mintydoesart I was your secret santa this year! I really hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it for you! Here’s to a fantastic 2020! 

————

The sun was a few hours past its zenith, dipping closer to the horizon but still managing to shine through the cloud cover which had brought a dreary drizzle over the city for most of the day. In the golden rays sneaking through his storefront window, Patton danced around full blooms and under hanging vines, skillfully wielding his watering can while whistling to the greenery filling the room.

The cool scent of petrichor filled the room, sourced not from wet soil, but from the florist himself as he encouraged his plants to flourish in the gift that was the cool rainwater he collected from the basins out back.

To his beloved customers, who returned time and time again for the lush, hardy plants he offered, eager to learn just how he achieved such growth, he said the secret was in this water. While not a complete lie, Patton didn’t want it to get out to the general public that their favourite florist was actually a Spring fae, thousands of years old, and fluent in the fluttering language of flora. It was far more easy to nurture a plant to its fullest when you could understand exactly what it needed from you.

Even easier yet was stealing parts of his customers’ names, luring them back again and again to care for his precious children in their own homes for him.

The day had been a quiet one for business, as humans did not seem to appreciate being out in the rain and getting wet in the same way as the Seelie. Thank the Royal Court that Patton’s partner loved to dance in the rain with him; perhaps he should close early and see if Roman had finished his rehearsals for the day…

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the front door was thrown open, a person crashed into the store, dripping wet, eyes panicked and wide behind the bangs plastered to their forehead. Their chest was heaving like they had sprinted here from a great distance, but - Patton cocked his head to the side as he regarded the stranger - there was no air being pushed or pulled into their body.

Beyond that, Patton was struck by how handsome they were, even in their state of disarray and panic. Their bright hair, reminiscent of the gorgeous blue lotus flowers that Pat had upstairs in the apartment, was a stark and wonderful contrast to the warm chocolate tones in their skin. They were dressed in all black, but for a unique sash slid through the belt loops of their skinny jeans and tied on their left hip to hang down to their knee. The edges were lined boldly in gold, and around their waist were squares of green, red, and blue, with thinner lines of gold between them. Where the sash hung free from the knot, a deep blue colour dominated until mid thigh, where the remainder shone the same brilliant gold as above.

Letting the door shut behind them, the curious figure rapidly glanced around the shop, stilling only when their eyes landed on the burly florist. There was a brief pause as their eyes met, before the stranger darted over faster than any human could conceivably move. They stopped mere inches before their feet would have crashed into Patton’s, muscles visibly trembling in the short distance between them as they finally spoke, looking down at their hands and gesturing wildly.

“Thank Anpu you’re still open! I need your help, and I ran all the way here from the cabin - I mean! Hah! I didn’t run! That’s crazy! Humans can’t run that far - and I’m human, I should know! Fuck - ignore everything I just said. I need your help, please! It’s an emergency!”

“Whoa, whoa! Easy there, kiddo!” Patton took the stranger’s (much smaller, oh daisies they were so cute!) hands in his own, running his thumbs over the other’s knuckles in what he hoped was soothing for the bedraggled man in front of him. He couldn’t help but note just how very cold the stranger’s skin was. Sure, Patton ran warmer than most mortals, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d say the person in front of him was dead! But he did know better; something more odd than a tulip with thorns was afoot here.

Focus Pat! Ponder later, help now!

“Just take a deep breath, alright?” And wasn’t that just an ironic request. Still, the stranger nodded, closing their eyes and going through the motions of breathing, pushing their chest in and out as if expanding under the pressure of air. “There we go. Now, what’s got you so riled up?”

Blinking their eyes open again, the stranger glanced up at Patton’s face for the first time. They blinked again, eyes widening, and Patton was sure the palest pink peony blush would kiss across their cheeks, an almost indiscernible tint on that chocolate skin, any moment now. But the physiological reaction that (in Patton’s experience with humans - specifically his romantically over-inclined partner) always accompanied such an expression, never came. Instead, the stranger leaned back, their eyes seeming to feast upon the florist’s broad shoulders and muscular arms, traveling down to where their hands were still joined. They stilled for a moment, before snapping their gaze back up to Patton’s forest green eyes.

They took another breath, still absent of oxygen, and finally began to answer.

“I really need some flowers. I- I need to help, uh, a friend find the perfect bouquet as a part of the surprise for their four- forty year anniversary. I, uh, they forgot the centerpiece to the whole set up and their husband is going to be home soon and I don’t know what to get!”

“Okay, okay, easy there, we can get this sorted out nice and easy. Now, can I have your name?”

“Uh.. Virgil? I’m nonbinary, they/them.”

“Alrighty then, Virgil -” The person in question didn’t even flinch at the use of their name, and Patton could feel none of the magic normally associated with the theft of even a partial name - very curious. Like the pro he was, however, the Seelie continued without a visible falter. “You can call me Patton! Patton Patters! A name so nice, you say it twice!”

He giggled at his own pun, still just as tickled over it as the day he had chosen the moniker, and smiled even wider at the quiet, huffed chuckle he got from Virgil. Another lover of wordplay! Excellent!

“Why don’t you come sit down, and I’ll put together that will make your, as you say, friend’s partner smile, mkay?”

Leading Virgil behind the counter, Patton urged them onto the stool, giggling as they started to rock on the uneven legs Pat had never gotten around to fixing. Then he turned to face his beloved plants, tapping his fingers against his cheek as he tried to decide which of his beauties would be leaving tonight. A cheerful whistle filled the shop, Patton’s way to speaking to the eagerly trembling foliage, the fae weaving his way through the aisles and plucking perfectly prepared sprigs as he went.

Gladiolus first, for the centerpiece. Their name meant ‘sword’, which came from that funny Latin language a few thousand years ago, as well as their long, slender shape. They were often used in celebration of fortieth anniversaries and remembrance of old bonds, while their rapier-like form represented how the receiving-partner had pierced the giving-partner’s heart. Patton lovingly selected a blue bundle, the blooms singing to his ears to be chosen.

Next, a handful of cream coloured tulips. A simple choice, perhaps, but Patton had a nagging feeling that their whispers of ‘I will love you forever’ were well fitted for this unknown couple.

Finally, nasturtium, to hug the bouquet with a petal’s kiss. These gorgeous lovelies represented a couple’s victory together. Usually red flowers were used in association with a wedding anniversary, but a stalk of purple grew over all others in its desperation to be chosen and, well, who was Patton to neglect such an act?

It wasn’t the most traditional looking bouquet, but he had never been concerned with silly little things like human traditions. The way of the fae was so much better, after all.

Returning to the counter, Patton smiled - a bit too wide for his face - and set the flowers down with a flourish.

“Tah-dah! One bouquet, as promised!” He began to intricately wrap tissue paper and ribbon around the stems, watching Virgil’s face as he worked, hands moving confidently on their own. “I’m sure your partner will love it!”

“Uh - my friend’s partner,” Virgil corrected, glancing away and back again.

Patton’s eyebrow rose as he blinked slowly at his mysterious visitor. “Right,” he deadpanned before finishing the wrapping and breaking into another dazzling smile. “There! All set to go!”

Virgil gaped at the unusual, but undeniably perfect, bouquet and scrambled to fetch their wallet. “Holy shit you’re good! How much do you want? You’re such a life saver, I’ll pay whatever the cost -”

“Monetary payment won’t be necessary tonight; this one won’t cost you a penny,” the florist cut in, shoving the artfully wrapped flowers into Virgil’s arms. There was something deeper, more intimate, behind this quest for flowers than Virgil was saying, and Patton had always been a sucker for a romantic mystery. Besides - “I sure would like to see you here again soon.” He leaned on crossed arms over the counter, grin softening as his eyes feasted upon Virgil’s features. “If you would like to come back and visit little ol’ me sometime, of course.” Still no blush, no racing pulse, how intriguing…

“Um- heh, yeah, that - that sounds really nice, actually.”

“Good.” Patton cocked his head to the side, swooning further with a besotted sigh. He blinked down with a small, surprised “Oh!” when he felt the whisper of a caress at his elbow. A yellow daffodil had crept along the tabletop, growing longer until it could nudge against the fae. Picking it up, Patton cooed as the stem broke off and closed itself at the base: a willing sacrifice. He sniffed it delicately, before reaching out, pressing it to Virgil’s cheek in a petal-soft kiss, and tucking it behind their ear. “Yellow daffodils,” he murmured, almost to himself. “They represent strength, resilience, and new beginnings.”

Shaking himself mentally, he focused back on those gorgeously dark eyes. “My best wishes to you - and your friends. A love that has lasted for so long is something to be celebrated and cherished.” He smiled again, his inner mind overlaying wild curls and warm smiles with this chocolate beauty (oh he was hopeless!), and bopped Virgil on the nose.

Almost comically, Virgil’s eyes followed his finger, crossing in the middle. Was that a squeak? Ah, daisies and dandelions that was a squeak! Then, they cleared their throat and slid off the stool to edge around the counter - and Patton - shuffling towards the door. “Well! Thank you, again, so much, for the bouquet. Seriously, you’ve helped make tonight perfect. I should really be going though - gotta get these flowers where they need to be, after all!”

“Of course! Merry met, Virgil!”

With a lopsided grin and two-fingered salute, Virgil was gone, darting out of the store and down the street faster than the eye could follow. As soon as they were gone, Patton couldn’t hold it in anymore. He squealed loudly, clutching his chest and dancing in place with a smile wider than any mortal face could encompass. His plants quivered around him, cheering him on in their own silent language.

Locking the door, he tossed his apron on the counter and dashed through the back of the store and up the stairs to the apartment he shared with his first love. Patton burst into the living space with a call for his beloved.

“Ahh! My little turtle dove! I’m in love!”

Roman had set down his cooking utensils as soon as he heard the excited footsteps clambering up the stairs, smiling as he wiped his hands on his apron. Just as he stepped out of the kitchen, Patton was throwing himself into Roman’s arms. Catching his darling fae, Roman laughed and spun them around with hands held securely under Pat’s thighs, dancing them into the living room.

“Oh? Which little morsel has caught your eye now, mi orsetto?” Roman nuzzled their noses together, sitting on the couch with Patton in his lap, their hands now joined as the fae wiggled with excitement. His darling Spring tended to fall hard and fast, leading them to share more than a few romantic flings throughout the centuries together. But even then, Roman was always the one to hold Patton’s heart entirely.

“One of the most handsome people I have ever laid eyes on - though no one could ever compare to you, my beauty - they just came into the shop! They were on a quest for a bouquet for an anniversary of a ‘friend’.” Patton leaned back to give the appropriate air quotes, trusting Roman would hold onto him and support his body weight easily. “The plants seemed to know otherwise, because the bouquet they called to make was clearly for that stunning bloom. I hope they and their partner are open to group loving! I want to introduce you!”

Roman grinned and tenderly kissed his Spring. “I would bet the store that they’re still thinking about you too. Anyone would be, after meeting you.” The moment paused as they touched their foreheads, sharing their love through the breath between them. Lost in his love’s eyes, Roman was shaken from his literal reverie by the growling of his stomach. Patton giggled loudly at his darling’s blush.

“C’mon, you.” Roman picked him up again and headed towards the kitchen. “I made steaks for dinner - yours is extra rare, just as you like it.

Patton couldn’t help but grin, the expression pulling too wide, and his teeth too sharp, to be anything but inhuman.

——-

The silvery light of the evening shone over the water, bright and blessed by Khonsu, deity of that very same moon, though he had long been forgotten by all but the ancient Egyptians - and the pair currently curled together on the beach. With a blanket to protect them from the sand, a small fire crackling nearby - more for aesthetics than any real need for warmth - and the tide low enough to not be of concern, Virgil and Logan were more than happy to devote their undivided attention onto one another. On the blanket, too, were the remains of a supper, with only one plate, and two half-drunken glasses of red wine, though one was darker and more viscous than the other. Nearby lay a book, bookmarked two-thirds of the way through, and a gorgeous bouquet of gladiolus, nasturtium, and tulips.

The pair were reclined together, pillows surrounding them, cushioning them as they looked up at the stars, Canis Minor twinkling back down at them. Virgil was snuggled against their husband, head tucked against his chest. They briefly tipped up to kiss the bite marks on Logan’s neck, usually covered by his collar and tie, or the occasional turtleneck, but now exposed for Virgil to worship.

“Happy anniversary, hayat alby. Here’s to another four thousand years of happiness together,” Virgil murmured, rubbing their nose against Logan’s cheek in a lethargic nuzzle.

Holding Virgil a little closer in his arms, giving a gentle squeeze, Logan hummed quietly and pressed a tender kiss to the top of their messy blue hair. “Happy anniversary, rohi. Thank you for the wonderful surprise, and the stunning flowers. I am relieved the weather cleared up as well; it’s been too long since we’ve had a chance to stargaze together. It’s a nice treat for the girl’s to play in the waves, too.”

The couple peeked up at their pair of Tesem hounds romping around in the water, their lithe, unique builds allowing them to sprint after one another in their play. As if feeling the two watching them, both dogs stopped and perked their ears in the direction of their people. Logan and Virgil only had a moment to prepare before the two wet hounds were leaping on top of them and covering them in loving, slobbery kisses.

“Ack! Khufu! Akbaru! Heel!” Virgil cried out, covering their head - and hiding a smile - with their arms. The hounds obediently backed off, sitting on the blanket, their tails wagging fast enough to slap Logan’s calf repeatedly. Grumbling, Virgil pushed themselves upright before helping Logan find his glasses, cleaning them carefully and sliding them on their husbands face. There was a beat of silence as they made eye contact, then the pair burst into laughter, leaning heavily on one another as they were overtaken by the ridiculous situation.

When they finally calmed enough for Logan to breathe evenly again, he took one look at their bedraggled states and cleared his throat. He gestured to the wet dogs and their now equally wet clothes. “Allow me. I believe I have something to remedy this situation.”

He exhaled deep and long, as if clearing his lungs of any remnants of air, before drawing back in a full breath. Muttering a few words, he blew out once more, heavy and fast, like he was attempting to blow out a cake covered in candles. The tips of the nearby trees began to quiver and sway as a breeze picked up, moving quick enough to wick the moisture from their clothes without ruffling them any more aggressively. Then, just as suddenly as it had arrived, it was gone again, leaving behind a calm night air.

“Nice one, Lo, you’re getting better at that.”

Logan cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses with a small, but proud, smile. “Ah, thank you, beloved. I have found the element of air to be the easiest to work with, surprisingly.”

Even Virgil looked impressed at that. “No kidding? I would have thought for sure that earth would be your calling, Mr. serious-and-stubborn-Shae,” they teased with a smirk.

Logan’s smile softened into something fond and indulgent, before he tilted Virgil’s face up with a knuckle under their chin. “What can I say, Mx. Shae? I lose my head in the clouds when I’m with you.” Admiring the twitching expression he knew to be his husband’s equivalent of a blush - he had been the cause of it countless times, after all - Logan leaned in for a kiss so tender and loving, like their very first millennia ago.

They drew back, touching their foreheads together for an eternal moment, lost in the endless expanse captured in the eyes of their truest love. Sneaking one more kiss, they moved apart only far enough to resituate themselves in their pillow nest, this time with Khufu and Akbaru snuggled up with them. Virgil lay their head over Logan’s still beating heart and traced swirls over the exposed skin of his opposite hip, where his shirt had tugged up.

“I met someone today,” they murmured into the peaceful quiet of the night.

“Oh?”

“Mhm, when I was picking up the bouquet for you. The florist made it for me, and gave it to me for free. He knew exactly what I wanted - and even I didn’t know what I wanted! I think he was some sort of dryad or nymph? Lots of plant energy, y’know?” Turning to look up at their husband, another not-blush pulling at his face. “Very cute, and very much your type too.”

Logan blinked in surprise before melting into a smirk, nuzzling their noses together and holding his husband a little tighter. “Why Virgil, are you suggesting, on the eve of our four thousand year anniversary, that we proposition another? The scandal! Imagine what Anubis would have to say if he could hear you!” Khufu and Akbaru perked at the name, jumping away with excited yips as Virgil cried out in complaint.

“Loooo! I cannot believe you just brought my dad into this!” They playfully shoved at Logan’s shoulder, careful of their own strength, before the pair dissolved into giggles together. Slumping on top of Logan, Virgil crossed their arms over his chest and propped their chin on the back of their hand. “You’re not really upset, right?”

Holding Virgil’s waist with one arm, Logan ran his free hand through their brightly dyed hair. “I promise, I was only teasing; I’m not upset. The timing may seem inappropriate to anyone else, but I have known you for many times longer than any human would know their true love. I trust you. I know you would not be unfaithful to me. If anything, I am intrigued. It’s not often someone catches your eye, especially so quickly. I would enjoy assisting you in courting this… what did you say his name was?”

“Patton. He called himself Patton.”

“Called himself..?” Logan leveled his love with another look. “And you call yourself an immortal vampire. Rohi, I believe you met one of the gentry, not a simple nature spirit. Most likely one of the Seelie court, perhaps a Spring, if he’s working with growing plant life.”

Virgil gaped, mouth opening and closing a few times in succession, then buried their face into Logan’s chest as he laughed, not unkindly, at them. “I swear on the Nile, I am an idiot,” they muttered, voice muffled by the soft blue sweater their husband wore.

“Perhaps, but you are my idiot.”

Peeking up with a glare that carried no heat, Virgil stole a kiss and settled down again, rolling their eyes. “So will you help me?”

“Only if you intend on sharing.”

Virgil braced up on an elbow and caressed his love’s cheek. “Until death do us part, and for an eternity afterwards, hayat alby.”

——

In the early hours of the morning, after the pair had packed away the leftovers of their picnic and called the dogs back inside, Virgil and Logan curled together on their couch and began to plan their grand courtship of the handsome fae.

That was how the vampire found themselves awake early for a second day in a row, though for them that meant it was around early evening. They thanked their father under their breath for the overcast weather still casting its gloomy shadows over the city, allowing them to visit the flower shop before it closed. Walking as quickly as they dared with humans milling about on the streets, Virgil clung to a small terracotta pot with both hands, rhythmically tensing with anxiety before easing their grasp so they didn’t shatter their gift. A small blue barrel cactus was nestled inside, a few small, yellow flowers beginning to bloom at the top. It had been Logan’s idea, a gesture of intention that had died out of use by most mortals, but continued to live on in the millennia old couple. Virgil could only hope Patton wasn’t insulted by the gift, or even worse, judged them for such a small plant when the Seelie’s own shop was over-abundant with growth.

They glanced up at the high ringing of a store-front bell, a stranger paying them little attention as they departed the flower shop. No more time. They had arrived.

With one last breathless-sigh to settle their shoulders, Virgil pushed the door open and stepped inside. The store looked much the same as it had during their last visit, not even twenty-four hours ago, though this time there was no Patton in sight. Biting their lip, Virgil walked down the first aisle, glancing around as they went.

—–

Roman knelt as he counted the bills before removing them from the register, taking care of the front of the shop while Patton had an evening conversation with the carnations. They had been upset by a rude crow and he was calming them down, though to hear Patton’s lament it was as if someone was bullying his child! The singer chuckled and shook his head. Patton had so much heart, he couldn’t give it away fast enough!

Roman froze when he heard the bell ring, groaning internally. It was dark out already, who could it be at this hour? Maybe if he pretended no one was here, the late customer would leave and he could close early! He bit his lip to keep from grinning too widely at his perfectly planned plot, until -

“Um… hello? Patton? It - It’s Virgil. Are you there?”

Not a random customer, an acquaintance! How rude he was being to one of Patton’s friends! How dare he! Roman shot up as fast as he could, voice loudly and congenial.

“Ah my good friend, let me grab him for-” His eyes widened at the sight of the startled patron who fit Patton’s starry-eyed description of the stranger from last night to a tee. Bitten lips, bangs falling in front of their face, clothes darker than the night, and - was that a present? A cactus present!? A large, satisfied grin took over the singer’s face. The romance of the moment was entirely too much for him as he leaned over the counter, almost, but not quite, knocking over several things in his efforts to appear charming.

Virgil jumped back as a man shot up from behind the counter, nearly tripping over their own feet in their hurry to get away. Clutching the cactus to their chest - which would have been rapidly hyperventilating if they could breath - the vampire gaped as the newcomer draped over the counter like he owned the place. Well, maybe he did, if he were another one of the fair folk with Patton. He was certainly just as attractive with his tanned skin, modern-styled pompadour, and warm brown eyes Virgil could absolutely see themselves getting lost in.

The man certainly wasn’t as graceful as Patton, however, nearly knocking over a large jar of brightly coloured decorative pebbles. Virgil winced as the jar tipped before settling again; they did not want to have to explain why it was vital they count every single one of those stones if they spilled.

“Virgil, wasn’t it?” The mystery man cut into their thoughts. “Patton spoke very fondly of you, and I would have to agree with his descriptions, handsome. You just wait right there like the absolute gem that you are, and I’ll fetch him for you.“ Roman looked Virgil over shamelessly, admiring his love’s taste. Then, with a blown kiss, he disappeared into the back, all pretenses gone as he excitedly skipped up the stairs to their apartment.

"Darling! I have something much better than carnations for you~!”

—–

Virgil had just enough time to catch the man’s elevator eyes and flirtatious wink before he was gone, darting into the back room behind the counter.

Awkwardly standing in the middle of the shop alone, Virgil rocked on their heels before shuffling towards the counter. They held their gift safely with one hand, tucked against their middle, while the other, freed, reached to run the pads of their fingers down the soft petals of a lynchpin bloom growing nearby.

“Aren’t you a pretty one,” they murmured with a small, nostalgic smile. “I used to have a whole garden of you when I lived in Egypt…”

—-

Roman’s gushing was so close to incoherent that Patton had to hush him with a sweet kiss before the message came across. Virgil. Downstairs.

Cactus?

In a literal blink of an eye, the fae was standing in the doorway between home and store, his glamoured wings all but vibrating against his back. A shocked smile slowly lifted the edges of his breathless gasp. Virgil had sought out the lynchpin near his window, affectionately and carefully brushing his fingers over it. The plant (the fae could tell) was beaming at the attention, and that private little smile… Patton swore he could melt right then and there.

“Virgil… It’s so good to see you again!” He came out from behind the counter, looking down at this precious preternatural person with an excited giggle. “After dark as expected,” he added with a wink, before his attention was drawn to the adorable little succulent in his visitor’s hands. “And you’ve brought a friend! Oh, she’s so lovely and round!”

Virgil startled a second time at the sudden appearance, fighting back a small smile as they recognized the fae who had popped in next to them. Patton was just as gorgeous as he had been last night - even more so now, in fact, as Virgil didn’t have the weight of panic hazing his vision - with his tall stature and broad shoulders, his freckle kissed skin, and those muscular arms that looked like they could lift Virgil easily and protect them from wooden stakes and people who hated Brenden Urie.

Biting their lip as they daydreamed, Virgil was jolted back to awareness when their fang nicked a little too deep. They cleared their throat, realizing Patton had been standing in silence with a besotted-looking smile while he waited for Virgil to reply.

“Uhhh- Yes! Hi! For you!” Thrusting the cactus forward, Virgil didn’t release their grip on the pot until they were certain Patton had it safely cradled in his large hands, so gentle despite their size….

“Oh! Thank you so much! She will look wonderful on the kitchen ledge!” He pressed a kiss to the air just above her needles. “I think I’ll name her Blue, both for her species, and to remind me of the handsome fellow who brought her to my home.” Patton winked, admiring Virgil’s stunning hair and setting the pot carefully on the countertop before turning back to them with a bright smile.

“So do you make a habit of giving the gifts of charming plants and your good looks to all the florists you meet, or am I special?” The fae grinned flirtatiously, cocking his head to the side. As if Ra were blessing Virgil’s choice, or teasing his great great great great grandson’s son (probably both, truthfully), a thin ray of sunlight seemingly appeared from nowhere, kissing across those cheeks full of smiles and mischief. Patton seemed to glow ethereally before Virigl’s eyes.

“You are very special,” they whispered, the corners of their mouth twitching as they realized what had just snuck past their lips. Well, when in Rome, right? Straightening their shoulders, Virgil reached out and gently took both of Patton’s hands in their own, smiling softly as the fae gasped with stars in his eyes. “When I came here last night, I was actually looking for a bouquet for my husband…. it was our four thousand year anniversary.” When Patton only nodded, unbothered by the admission, Virgil felt one of the knots in their chest slide loose. “I never expected to also find a handsome fae who could easily lift us both at the same time, and, well, I told him about you. Your smile, your kindness, did I mention your arms? I definitely told him about those too, like damn, Pat.”

Patton giggled, slipping his hands free of Virgil’s so he could draw the shorter being close in a loose embrace. He booped the other’s nose with a finger before looping his arms around Virigl’s waist. “And what did your devoted husband have to say about all of this?”

Not-blushing aggressively, Virgil leaned into the tall gentry and hummed. “He would love to meet you, actually. I came to invite you over for dinner with us tomorrow, so long as you don’t mind arriving around nine? Typical human supper time is just a little early for a.. a vampire, heh.”

“Ohhhh! How did I not put that together!” Patton laughed, a warm, full sound that reverberated through Virgil’s smaller body. “I’ve been trying to figure it out, but it all makes sense now!” With a wide, accepting smile, the fae nodded eagerly. “Nine works just fine, if you don’t mind, I also bring along my partner? You met Ro earlier.”

“The guy with the fancy hair?” Virgil lay their head against Patton’s chest, very pleasantly surprised to find they only reached the other’s collar bone, and easily found themselves picturing Ro joining them to complete a wonderful set of four. “Yeah, he is more than welcome to come over too.”

“Perfect! We will see you tomorrow then!” Patton all but squealed, leaning in to press an enthusiastic kiss to Virgil’s cheek and giggling loudly as the vampire all but short circuited.

Virgil gathered themselves together long enough to scribble their address out on a scrap of receipt paper and daringly press a kiss to Patton’s cheek in turn, before they waved farewell and darted back out the door with a rushed, “Can’t wait! See you at dinner!”

Once he was alone, Patton cradled the scrap of paper to his heart and sighed, smitten and soft, as he leaned against the counter. He grinned sappily when an arm slipped around his waist and a fluffy head of hair snuggled up on his shoulder. Kissing Roman’s head, Pat settled in against his beloved.

“That sounded like it went well,” Roman murmured, having been listening from just behind the back door the entire time. He kissed Patton’s cheek, linking their free hands together. “Should we wear those matching jackets tomorrow?”

“Hmm I think I’m going to wear my nice sweater that matches the new dress I bought you.”

Roman grinned, shifting to stand in front of his beloved and cup Patton’s cheeks. “I love the way you think, mi orsetto.” He dragged his partner into a tender kiss, melting as Pat tugged him closer.

The shop did end up closing early that night.

—–

As soon as the car was settled into park and turned off, Roman checked his eyeliner one last time in his compact, tilting this way and that to examine the equality of his wings. Patton kissed his cheek. “Honey, put that away. You look perfect! And Virgil already thinks you’re a tall drink of sparkling water~” Roman snapped it shut with a dramatic sigh, leaning against his partner.

“I know they do, but what if their husband has a more discerning eye?! You only get one first impression, and I want to knock their socks off!” The pair clambered out of the vehicle as Roman spoke, circling around the front to link hands and make their way up the gorgeously carved front steps of the cozy little cabin. Roman’s high-heeled pumps thunked satisfyingly against the wood with each step as his deep burgundy dress flowed around his ankles; a silken scarf draped over each elbow and around his back completed the ensemble.

“Oh, you’re right! Next time we can bring them new socks!! Virgil did gift us our precious Blue, and-” The fae stopped himself at the door and shook his head, fluffing out his oversized teal sweater and ensuring it was still tucked neatly into his pencil skirt. He wasn’t wearing any shoes. “-we’re bringing them us in exchange tonight! I think we’re a pretty good gift!” The earnest shine in Patton’s eyes was hard to argue with. Roman relented with a smile, reaching up to give him a proper kiss before ringing the doorbell.

They were greeted with the sounds of excited barking and nails scrabbling on the hardwood from behind the door before an unfamiliar voice called out, “Akbaru! Khufu! Heel!” There was a pause as the barking quieted, Patton and Roman glancing at one another then back at the still closed door.

“Good girls. Now shoo, go get ren. You can visit our guests once they have settled in.” Two yips answered the voice before the dogs could be heard trotting away deeper into the house. Then the handle was turned, the door finally opened, and - the pair were left speechless at the sight of the man who greeted them.

Around the same towering height as Patton, who was a smidge taller than Roman, the man was more slim in frame. His long hair was tied into a neat braid that hung down the center of his back, the colour of the darkest midnight. He wore a dress shirt and tie, though the sleeves were neatly rolled up to show off a multitude of tattoos down his forearms, and the tie was patterned with the night sky. A handsomely cut face nodded to them with a polite smile.

“Ah, you must be Patton and Ro, welcome. Please, come on in.” He stepped aside and gestured for the pair to enter. “You may call me Logan, I am Virigl’s husband.”

Patton perked at the introduction, surprised to find, yet again, the name did not trigger any spark of Seelie magic within him. What a curious pair, these two. Smiling wide, the fae flounced into the entrance way, Roman easily keeping stride. “Hiya! It’s so nice to finally meet you! You’re even more handsome than we imagined!”

They then got the honour of watching Logan flush a very attractive shade of red as he shuffled in place and fidgeted with his tie. “Ah, yes, well,” he cleared his throat, closing the door behind them. “I can certainly see why Virgil would not stop talking about either of you as well. It would seem my spouse has a type, if you will.” Logan gestured between himself and the pair, all of them standing nearly at eye level, whereas Virgil would be significantly shorter than all three.

Roman snorted a laugh, muffling something behind his hand that sounded suspiciously like climbing them like an eager squirrel, but their mirth was cut short by the feisty vampire themselves.

“Are you three going to stand by the front door all night, or will you be joining me on the back patio anytime soon?” Virgil smirked, crossing their arms and leaning against the wall. The trio turned together, eyes roaming up Virgil’s tightly fitted pants, over their usual sash tied in place at their hips, and up to their equally as black shirt and open hanging vest.

“Oh Virgil,” Patton breathed, darting forward to cradle the now startled vampire in a loose embrace “Pecans and petunias! If I had known you could get even more attractive, I would have asked you out the first night we met!”

Roman crowded in next, leaning his arm on the wall above Virgil and gazing down with so much adoration in his eyes, they swore they could see hearts rising behind his head. From where they were tucked into Patton’s perfect arms, Virgil had a wonderful view of Roman’s heart-stopping smile.

“We meet again, fair prinx. I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself last we saw each other; you may call me Roman.” He winked, about to lean closer before Logan swooped in to save his husband from succumbing to a swoon.

Pulling Virgil along with him, a soft, indulgent smile adorning his face, Logan pressed a tender kiss to his spouse’s besotted expression. “Come now, food is ready for us outside. Let us not tarry, else it will be too cold to enjoy.” With his arm snug around Virgil, Logan led them through the halls and kitchen to the back patio, looking over his spouse’s head to wink at the pair behind him.

Patton and Roman shared a sappy, eager grin. They had shared many lovers over the years together, but humans could only last so long, and usually lost the pair’s interest long before then. Could this unlikely pair finally be their perfect matches?

The question would have to be tabled for the time being, however, as a grand evening was literally laid out before them. Piled tastefully around a low standing table were large floor cushions of varying size, texture, and colour, with a collection of warmly glowing lanterns lighting the area. A number of dishes were set out, all sorts of meats and finger foods, with a couple bottles of wine to wash it down. One bottle was shorter than the others - perhaps a special blend?

The hosts of the evening moved first, settling themselves comfortably onto a pair of cushions, Virgil tucking their legs underneath their rump before waving their hand at the spread. “Please, make yourselves at home?”

Patton glanced to his beloved, smiling wide when he got a nod and grin in return. “If you say so!” He chirped at their dates, dancing over and scooping Virgil into his arms before sitting cross legged with the vampire in his lap. His arms draped over their legs, one thumb rubbing Virgil’s ankle where their pants had hitched up a little. “This okay? I can move if you’re uncomfortable.”

Sneaking a look at Logan, who appeared to be smothering a laugh, Virgil huffed at their bangs and leaned back. Patton was warm and solid behind him, and created an amazing hide-out to sit on. “Nah, you’re good. This is pretty cozy, actually.”

Meanwhile, Roman had approached a still chuckling Logan, and gestured to his lap. “May I?”

Nodding, Logan gave his thigh a pat. “By all means, I am not bothered by the contact; I am far too old, and have been with Virgil for all but my youthful years, to be concerned over human standards of propriety.”

As Roman settled himself comfortably, Logan leaned to the side, pressing his arm against Patton’s while the man in his lap carefully lay his legs with Virgil’s. The four of them here together like this, with the pair of dogs tucked around each other and snoozing on an opposing pillow, felt fundamentally right.

Laying his cheek atop Roman’s head, Logan nuzzled him briefly before leaning forward for the bottles. “Would anyone care for a drink?” At the round of affirmatives, he skillfully poured three glasses of wine around Roman in his lap, and handed two to their guests. Setting his own aside, he reached for the shortest bottle and poured a fourth glass to hand to Virgil.

“Whatcha got there, Virgil? Something a little stronger than the rest of us?”

Virgil shared a smirk with their husband, sipping at their drink with a refreshed sigh. “Not quite,” they grinned, swirling their viscous red drink idly. “I can’t have any of the food you all get to enjoy; this is my drink and my meal. You could say Logan prepares it specially for me.” They took a longer drink, maintaining eye contact with Roman until the man smacked his own forehead.

“Nevermind. Vampire, right. I’m a moron.”

The group shared a laugh, before the three who could eat physical food tucked into the fancier snack-styled meal. As the others munched happily, Virgil enjoyed another sip of blood and laid their head back on Patton’s chest to look up. “So, how did you and Ro meet?”

Patton sighed adoringly, resting his chin on Virgil’s head and gazing over at his partner. “Well, it was a long time ago. Roman wanted to be a performer, to sing for the crowds more than anything else in the world, but he fell dangerously ill as a child. He recovered, but his voice was never quite the same. So, he turned to the courts in the woods near his town. I was the one to make a deal with him: I would restore his voice even better than before, and in return, I could own a year of his life for every performance.”

“At first I attended his shows to ensure my gift wasn’t being misused. But then… then I found myself falling for this silly little human. This man who had dared come to the fae for help, ultimately not for his own gain, but so he could perform and bring happiness to those around him. I was smitten.”

Roman glanced over from where he was sharing food with Logan, grinning at his beloved before diving back into their culinary exploration.

“I began to grow worried the more he performed, for crowds big and small, charming all of them and ensuring each one left for home with a little more joy in their lives. He owed me centuries, but when I finally confronted him about it, he said-”

“I said that you already had my heart, and I wanted you to have the rest of my time for eternity as well.” Roman lay his head on Logan’s shoulder, reaching over to link his hand with Patton’s. “And I meant every word, mi orsetto. So this lovely fae, was swept off his feet, and we’ve been living happily ever after ever since. For every performance I give, my life is prolonged by another year because I can’t die until I pay my debts to Pat.”

“Wow… that, is really gay.” Virgil cackled as Roman playfully kicked at them, tucking their legs up to hide in the safety of Patton’s lap. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Lo and I have an equally sappy story,” they laughed, the rough housing settling down.

“You two know I’m a vampire, but I’m technically also a minor deity. Anubis is my dad. This sash was actually his, and it’s all I have left of his physical form.” Virgil waved the end of the band around his hips, smoothing his fingers over it in his lap. “I can always head to a local cemetery to summon him for a chat, if I really need.

Way back in Egypt, when people still worshipped him properly, Logan was a priest chosen for the sacred and honorable duty as consort to the gods. Basically it meant he got to give his life blood to sustain me in the mortal world, and in turn our bond keeps him immortal too. Same as you two, what started as a transaction turned to fondness and love. By the time the pharaohs had fallen, Lo proposed and together we escaped a changing Egypt to travel the rest of the world. Akbaru and Khufu,” they nodded towards the Tesem hounds, “were gifts from my father and our other closest companions.”

“It has been four million years of adventure, that’s for certain,” Logan murmured, leaning forward to smooch his spouse. “The titles of host and husband fit me well, but…” He snuggled Roman closer in his lap and leaned further into Patton’s side. “Maybe it’s time to add a few more?”

As one, the quartet shifted nearer to one another, limbs tangling together in a goofy, ridiculous pile for how nicely they had all dressed. Excitedly yipping, the pair of pups scrambled over to the pile, eager to join in the snuggles, squirming their way between bodies to lick their people’s faces. Laughter and shocked squeals rang out, the night air full of warmth and the blossoms of new love.

A vampire and their host, a singer and the fae he sold his soul to. Two unusual couples merging into one unorthodox group. Tonight, they dined and laughed and learned. Years down the line, they would cry and smile and share vows over bands of copper fit perfectly onto left fingers.

[yeenybeanies]

A Little Tipsy

i was semi-productive, so i’m rewarding myself with self-indulgent nonsense. shoutout to the anons that suggested drunk!devin. not a whole lot of shenanigans, but it's still nice :>

arthur morgan & devin clarke ( oc )

1436 words

language & alcohol warnings

reblogs > likes!! feel free to leave comments in the tags!! 

Borrowing is tough. Being a borrower and having to borrow is tough. Borrowers, of course, know this, and anyone lucky enough to know a borrower knows this. Being only a few inches tall comes with a countless many risks. Danger is everywhere; nearly everything is a threat.

Naturally, bearing all of that in mind, it would be completely asinine for a borrower to partake in certain human pleasures, such as gin or whiskey or ( the debatable pleasure ) moonshine. With intoxication comes lowered alertness and reaction time and coordination––all of which can be fatal to a wandering borrower. While it’s not typically a spoken rule that borrowers shouldn’t get drunk, that they should avoid the liquors and beers and wines humans so enjoy, it’s common sense.

And it is common sense. Devin has that common sense. They understand the logic. They really do.

But goddamn, everyone has moments of weakness. Even the most sensible of borrowers break sometimes. Well––Devin wouldn’t say they’ve broken; they’d say they’ve just . . . cracked a little. Temporarily. They’d say they deserve this little pleasure, even if it tastes awful. What’s a couple of drops from a toppled bottle of moonshine going to do? Who’s going to miss it?

Hindsight is sure to have a few words with Devin later, but, right now, they can’t stop giggling. It’s loud, too––loud enough for Arthur to hear them from under the wagon next to his bed. The gunslinger sits up, brows furrowed, and peeks through the wheel spokes. He knows the voice, of course, but he’s never heard them so . . . bubbly.

“ Devin . . .? ”  Worry pricks his mind as he scans for the borrower. This is highly unusual behavior; Devin is not the kind to be noisy––especially not in the camp!  “ Devin, what’re you doin’? Where’re you at? ” 

“ ‘m over here, ”  comes the tiny voice. Devin steps out from behind a crate, wobbly, still giggling. They grin up at him, and Arthur’s finds himself a little taken aback. He’s seen this plenty of times before in many a man and woman, in himself, but never in Devin.

The borrower’s drunk. They’re either drunk, or under some other form of intoxication. Arthur closes his journal with his pencil holding place for the drawing he’d been working on, and leans over, arm and hand through the spokes toward his friend. They lift one tiny boot, looking almost like they intend to step towards him, but their balance isn’t what it normally is, and they fall backwards, just out of Arthur’s reach. He curses a little under his breath and tries to push his shoulder more through the gap.

“ C’mon now, Devin. Work with me here. ”  He tightens his jaw, face pressed against the wheel, but he can only manage to graze one of Devin’s boots with his middle finger. A few seconds more of scrabbling, and Arthur’s ready to try this from a different angle when he feels a pair of tiny hands hook onto the tip of his finger. That finger quickly flexes, pulling Devin up and close enough for his hand to gently wrap around them. Ever careful, Arthur lifts them from the ground and brings them to eye level. They’re still giggling. His heart aches with how sweet a sound it is.

“ Now just what did you get into? ”  Fingers loosen a little with the borrower’s squirming, just enough for them to get their arms free, but not enough for them to wriggle out of his hold.

“ Arthur! ”  They yell, and Arthur flinches, eyes wide. Devin stretches their arms out towards his face, their hands beckoning him.  “ Come here. ”

“ I’m right here, Miss Dev––– ”

“ Closer, damn you! ”  They beckon again, and Arthur is at a loss. He hesitates for a moment, then slowly brings the little being nearer to his face––close enough for him to catch a whiff of the alcohol on them.

“ Christ, Miss Devin, what’d you get into? Is that whiskey? ”  Nose tipped up just a little, Arthur gives the borrower a sniff. They take an opportunity in the same moment, though, to freeze him right in his tracks. First they rest a hand on his lower lip, feeling across the ridged, sensitive skin; then they press their own lips to his upper lip. Arthur’s breath catches. He dares not move.

It’s got to be moonshine.

“ Mkay. ”  They pat his chin after a few seconds, and he pulls them away from his face, looking more surprised and bewildered than ever. Oh, and he’s blushing. Of course, Devin is a little flushed in the face themself. They can’t suppress their giggles.  “ Sorry, I––I dunno. First time I’ve, um, done anything like that. First time I’ve had moonshine too. ”

There it is. Moonshine.

Arthur’s fingers uncurl, and he brings his other hand up to cup securely under Devin. The corner of his mouth twitches upwards, despite his lingering fluster. He can’t smile, though! It quickly comes back to him that Devin is drunk.  “ Miss Devin, I seem to recall you explicitly sayin’ that it’d be detrimental to your well-bein’ if you were to lose yourself like this. ”  It’s not as harsh a scolding as perhaps he ought to give; it’s awfully hard to reprimand them when they’re so damn . . . cute. ( And they’re always cute, damn them. )

“ Don’t be mean to me, Arthur! ”  God! Bless their heart. Arthur tightens his lips and sighs through his nose.  “ I’ve . . . had a rough week. And I didn’t know it’d hit so fast. ”  The giggles die down with Devin looking away, now quite somber in expression. So quick is the change that it almost gives Arthur whiplash.

“ Hey now . . .. Stuff’s bound to hit fast when ya weigh about as much as a ball a’ cotton. ”  The gunslinger shifts his position, back now leaning against the wagon while he rests his hands on his stomach.  “ Wanna tell me what’s got you so worked up to drinkin’? ” 

“ Not really. I’m just . . .. ”  They trail off and wipe their eyes. For a moment, Arthur thinks he can see a minuscule tear being brushed away, but he can’t be sure. There’s nothing of the sort when Devin looks back up at him, giving him a reassuring smile.  “ I’ll be okay. Always am. Just had to . . . loosen up a bit. ” 

Mission accomplished.

A thumb lightly brushes the borrower’s shoulder. They respond in kind with their hand to the pad, fingers rubbing over the rough whorls. Arthur doesn’t care much for the answer he got, but he isn’t going to push. If Devin wants to tell him, they will when they’re ready. In the meantime, since they’re with him now, they can safely enjoy their buzz.

“ Were you drawing? ”

“ Hm? ”  Arthur glances down at the set-aside journal, page still kept with his pencil.  “ Yeah. Writin’ down some thoughts, sketchin’ some things . . .. ”  And again his cheeks warm.

“ Can I see? ” 

Warmer still. Arthur clears his throat. With the hand not supporting Devin, he takes the journal and flips it open to the saved page, holding it to where they can see. It’s a little embarrassing to him. Their silence isn’t helping much either. There are a few scribbles across the span, among them a detailed sketch of Devin themself. Arthur’s drawn them smiling, relaxed and sitting on the edge of something with one leg hanging down. It’s really a nice drawing.

“ That’s . . . me? ”  They blink, turning back around to look up at Arthur.

“ Yep . . . yeah. ”  He can’t bring himself to meet their eyes. It’s not uncommon for Arthur to draw people in camp, or people he meets, but Devin isn’t some normal person. The time they spend together feels special, intimate. Arthur hadn’t ever asked if it would be okay for him to draw them. Someone else might see his journal and see those drawings ( not that he couldn’t just say he had a bit of imaginative inspiration ). He’s about to backpedal, maybe offer to tear out any drawings of them, but they interrupt him before he can speak again.

“ Do you have any more? ”  Ah, they’re . . . blushing again. It seems they both have an uncanny ability to make each other red in the face. Arthur can’t help but smile as his fingers curl around them just a little bit more. They might be drunk, and that might be unwise, unsafe; it might warrant a scolding later on, once they’ve sobered up ( if the subsequent hangover isn’t going to be punishment enough ), but at least they’re here with him, where he can protect and watch over them. Damn. They sure wormed their way right into Arthur’s heart, softening the stone-cold gunslinger right up.

“ Sure I do. Here, I’ll let’cha see. ”

[planetbass]

toons?? Toons?????? Pls tell me about ur toons

heads up,, this boutta be long as fuck!

well,,, if you insist. first of all yes it is a kin thing and no i shan’t elaborate (unless you specifically want me to, then i shall).

so! i have 3. first up… mayhem mania!

mania is a toon that loves mischief and causing problems on purpose. just pure chaotic bastard. but they are very valid and have a big heart which they use to love their friends/found family so goddam much. until some shit happens later on, for a loooong time they don’t realize that like. they forgot an entire portion of their life. to their knowledge, they n the bros have existed for as long as they can remember. but actually ! there’s like. at Least a couple years of their life in toontown prior to that that they forgot about. basically they were pulled through a tv (by swing), dropped into toontown, and forgot their entire life prior to toonification and couldn’t properly retain memories, so they ended up forgetting a lot of their life without realizing it. whoopsie! they end up remembering, tho, after some series of events.

can’t forget the emotional angst, tho! their entire self worth relies on the approval/acceptance/love of others, so on their own they have no idea how to be happy. mania be like feels unwanted all the time! mania the funny talkative jokester not allowed to be sad so will stay in house for days when sad and mute! mania be like i will invite myself into situations and then feel bad about doing so but no it will not stop me from continuing to do that bc i have a desperate need to feel included so it is just a never ending cycle ! coinciding w some events previously mentioned, they get better tho :’)

but they love gags, tend to break the fourth wall a lot, gives everyone nicknames (ex. shortstop, buzzer, pinball, etc), and loves to be as irritating as possible. anvils are their favorite, and their trademark. arson’s also quite fun. think… spencer shay energy. 

well, that’s enough of that. now onto heartie! this one requires a lot of lore for context, so it’s gonna be long.

heartie is an artie. artie stands for uh *goes to look* “artificial replaceable toon-adjacent intelligent entity.” basically “artificial” toons that’re made for specific tasks and filler pieces (testing (possibly life threatening) gags, musical performances, janitor, selling stuff at disney kiosks, personal butler, etc) that have roles based on a poker chip in their neck! (kind of like a computer chip). they are all numbered and referred to only by “artie” or their numbers, unless given a nickname by their owner. they all have the same general appearance, but are slightly different depending on their roles and can be customized for specific look if wanted. arties are made in factories - and that’s where my heartie comes in! heartie is ARTIE#010, the Head Artie of the main artie factory. he runs the place! his nickname is originally hartie, bc h.artie (for head artie). he’s a little bigger than regular arties (who are in general quite small) bc 1. he’s Head Artie, and 2. he’s an earlier model, which are bigger in general. 

arties generally don’t have a lot of freedom. depending on who they’re ‘owned’ by, they have varying levels. heartie didn’t belong to any particular person, more that he belonged To The State. or the company itself, that is. so he had a lot of freedom - when the factory closed, he had his own house that he went home to (v unusual!). however, arties were starting to defect - as you. imagine they would eventually being what they are. this kind of Freaked Out the powerful toons, so what they did was limit them more! so arties couldn’t leave their required workspace. so heartie was stuck in the factory. eventually, when arties were still defecting en masse, they kicked heartie out. can’t trust one of ‘em to be making ‘em, can ya? since he didn’t actually do anything wrong they didn’t recycle him (which is a Whole Other Can Of Worms), but just. fired him? they didn’t really care what he did as long as he wasn’t in charge of the factory. so heartie was left without a purpose/job. eventually he became acquainted with other defected/abandoned arties and became the artie/toon repairman! and his name was changed to Heartie bc he was no longer head artie. someone also gifted him a heart patch that he put over the old company logo on his overalls. 

*exhale* OKAY. so for his ACTUAL PERSONALITY LMAO. he’s a very caring and lovely guy. he knows a lot about arties and is a great handyman! he’s friendly n charismatic but also just like A Normal Guy. he also sounds like fix it felix but with less of a southern twang. after being forcibly defected he becomes more impulsive/off the rails, but not in a bad way. just in a ‘no one can tell me what not to do anymore’ type of thing.

mkay. Finally we get to dawn. if the artie thing wasnt weird enough for ya, well, now we’re gonna talk about Gods. 

basically for some reason toontown has Gods. dawn is one of em, some sort of goddess of the sky. she has a light pink, rose-gold hair, long and wavy. she has freckles of stars across her face. and!! wings!! big white wings. i don’t have a drawing of her yet unfortunately. i tried to yesterday but was about to lose my mind bc it was hard lkdjfjd

i don’t really know yet what it was she Did (i’m thinking of like. similar to the role of Victory/Nike?) but i know for sure that she was Gay. her parter is iris, god of the rainbow. iris created the concepts for the toonbros and most of the toons i think, and also eventually gave color to toontown! 

but basically a. whole slew of things happened and dawn ended up sacrificing herself to save/heal iris, who was basically the god equivalent of bedridden and dying. another god (pinny, who took care of the garden, where each flower represented a soul in toontown and all the alternate universes), took what was Left of dawn after healing iris and put her into a flower and planted it. dawn was reincarnated as a mortal in toontown! her name is summer and i don’t remember much of what happens with her. but eventually iris found her and reminded her of everything, and iris gave up being a god to live as a mortal with summer/dawn. they get married and live out a wonderful gay life as toons.

i made that complicated as shit!!! so if u have any specific questions…………. feel free to ask jdfljdkf tho! probably send em to @mayhem-mania!! that’s m toon blog

[sassycassie-s-series]

All My Fault 28

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): DC, BatFam - Damian Wayne/Batman

Rating: PG/K+

Notes: (Masterlist) This has been a long time coming but thanks to @i-sttan I’m going to put up a lot of updates in quick succession because I keep forgetting to post them ‘XD (Sorry...)

Tag List (Open): @batboys-and-other-messes @haylo4ever @lostredrobin @na-n-na @probsjosh @rachelmorganroth @spooder-moon @welovegroot

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11, Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24, Ch 25, Ch 26, Ch 27

^^^^^

I glanced over my shoulder at Damian from across the Batcave to see him already looking at me over his shoulder. Our eyes met and after a moment we both seemed to realize that we were staring at each other and we quickly looked away, returning to our tasks in almost perfect sync. I noticed Dick look between us off to the side, like the movement caught his attention. It was an unusually quiet morning in the Batcave where everyone was doing projects more than training.

I shook my head to clear it—and to get the soft look on Damian’s face out of my mind’s eye—and went back to my research. I’d been brought up to speed on the Time Bombs enough that I could help the rest of the Bat-Family look for an origin point or any sort of clues.

It was boring, tedious work. I wasn’t interested in it and having a really hard time focusing. I kept tapping my foot and bouncing my leg under the table and drumming my fingers to no set rhythm and completely failing to accomplish anything.

I shot another quick peek at Damian. He appeared to be sharpening a batarang or his sword or something I couldn’t see very well. His shirt was a tad too small and it was stretched across his shoulders. That can’t be comfortable… I thought distractedly before nearly whacking myself in the face with the tablet I was holding. I really needed to pay attention to what I was doing. Why was I having such a hard time concentrating?

I got up and turned my tablet off. I went over to the training mat, stretched out, and started to do an escrima stick drill Dick had taught me. I was just trying to burn off some energy.

I didn’t cry out or make any typical noises the expel all the air from my lungs the way I normally would if I was actually training—because loud “Hyah!”s were meant to get all the air out of my lungs so that it was harder to knock the wind out of me—because I was just moving around, not hitting anything.

Instead, I slashed the practice escrima sticks through the air silently, twisting around as though fighting several enemies at once.

The sticks I was using collided with something else.

Damian’s wooden training sword. He smirked at me. “Do you think you can handle this?” he asked, tone bordering on playful.

I smirked at him in return. “Probably not. Only one way to find out,” I said.

We sparred. I knew Damian was going easy on me. He was an incredible swordsman and Tim and Dick had already beaten the snot out of me while I practiced with escrima sticks since I was so unused to them, but I was holding my own against Damian better than I thought. Which meant he was going easy. Or I was actually improving my skills fighting with Dick’s favored weapons. That didn’t seem as likely.

That wasn’t to say I didn’t get smacked a couple times with a wooden sword blade, but not as much as I got whacked by Tim’s staff or Dick’s escrima sticks.

We slammed to a stalemate, both of my escrima sticks holding back his sword. We panted for a moment, staring at each other over and around our weapons. Damian was smirking playfully. “Are you handling this?” he asked.

I grinned. “Yup,” I said. I locked one leg around his knee and yanked, pushing him to the ground and landing on top of him, my face knocking against his chest. Our weapons clattered out of our hands. I put my hands on his shoulders and pushed my face out of his chest. We laughed breathlessly. “You okay?”

Damian nodded. “I'm alright. Are you?”

“Yeah I'm good,” I said. His eyes were really green in the half-light of the Batcave. They had a glitter in them that I hadn’t seen before—a glitter of humor.

He chuckled. “Good.” He caught me and rolled so he was on top of me, grabbing his wooden sword and holding it to my neck. “How about now?”

I snorted, looped my right leg around his left leg and grabbed his left arm with both of mine.  I thrust my hips up and rolled to my right, knocking him off of me. “Ha!” I crowed triumphantly. “I can’t believe you fell for that one. Oldest trick I learned before I became Cloudburst.” I laughed as I got back to my feet, scooping up my escrima sticks.

“I'm playing fair,” Damian teased.

“You never play fair. That’s kinda the point, right?” I said. We clashed again. Loud clacks echoed through the cave as we sparred. Damian smirked and I snickered. He was definitely going easy on me. I could feel him holding back.

“Scared of me, Wayne?” I teased, ducking under a slash.

“Tt. You wish, McCloud,” he retorted. We both laughed.

^^^^^

“AAHH!” I shrieked, sitting up in bed, panting and looking around wildly. I clutched my covers to my chest and tried to steady my breathing. Panting and heart racing, I blinked rapidly.

My door opened. “Are you alright?” Damian asked, looking concerned but not frightened.

“Bad—bad dream,” I managed to get out. “It, uh, it… it hurt.”

Damian crossed my room, leaving the door open, and sat on my bed next to me. Silently, he opened his arms to me. I slipped out from under my covers and hugged him around the shoulders, burying my face in the curve where his neck met his shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around my back and the other scooped my legs up. He pulled me onto his lap and stroked my hair. “It’s alright. You’re safe. I'm here. I won’t let anything happen to you,” he said. I sniffed.

“Promise?” I mumbled.

“Of course,” he replied, squeezing me tighter.

I nodded. “Thanks,” I said.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I could feel his heartbeat against my own chest. His skin was warm and smooth under my chilly hands—except for the scars I could feel. My right hand found one on his back and began to trace around the outside edge of it, the motion soothing my heartrate.

“Do you wish to tell me what you dreamt of?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “But I… I will anyway.”

“No. No. McCloud, if you aren’t comfortable discussing it, I am not going to—”

“Damian,” I interrupted. “I need to get it out.”

He paused and leaned back enough to look me in the face. “Are you certain?”

“Yeah,” I said.

He held me close again. “Alright. But only tell me what you’re ready to say.”

I nodded into his trapezius muscle. “Right,” I mumbled. “I, uh, I was underwater. In Gotham harbor, I think. Like that time we were fighting a gang and I got knocked off the docks. Do you remember that?”

“Of course. It was only a month before the Time Bombs attacked your past.”

“Yeah. And it was dark and I could barely breathe and I could hear scary maniacal laughter. It was less Joker and more Scarecrow and it chilled me right to the bone. And then the dream jumped and I was fighting some bad guys in an alley but I’d forgotten my suit and I was literally in my bra and underwear and that was it and the bad guys were laughing at me. And then the dream jumped again and I was… I was…”

Damian brushed my hair out of my face. “It’s alright. If you don’t want to tell me, don’t.”

“No, no. It’s… it’s okay. The dream jumped and I was fighting you, Jason, Dick, Tim, and Bruce. All by myself. You were all shouting, telling me I had no place in this family anymore and I was no longer welcome to be Cloudburst. Someone was telling me to hand in my suit and then Dick pushed me off the docks and I was back in the water and it was cold and I couldn’t swim back to the surface no matter how hard I tried and then—and then I woke up.”

“McCloud. I assure you that no one in this family is ever going to kick you out. You belong here and Cloudburst is part of you. This family…” He paused. His fingers tightened their grip in a handful of my hair. “This family… loves you, Mc—Nora.”

“Thanks Damian,” I said. I smiled a bit at McNora.

There was another stretch of silence, during which I heard rain falling and a crack of thunder.

“Would… would you like me to stay here until you return to sleep?” Damian asked.

I thought for a long moment, just breathing in his scent. It was musky, but his aftershave had a spicy kick to it.

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled into his shoulder.

I felt more than heard his sigh. “Okay. I’ll be right here,” he promised. He cradled me to his chest and rocked me back and forth, lowly singing a melodic, pleasant song in what I knew was Arabic. I didn’t understand Arabic at all but I could recognize it when I heard it since Damian tended to rant in Arabic when he was frustrated or just simply speak in it some mornings when he was too tired to think about what language he was speaking in.

The tune must have been some sort of lullaby. It was short and it sounded soothing. I could tell he was repeating it over and over because I started to recognize the tune. He rocked me to the rhythm, slowly back and forth, lulling me to sleep.

I closed my eyes and listened, concentrating on the tune. Damian had a nice voice—it vaguely occurred to me that I’d never really heard him sing before and had never heard him sing in this future. But he carried the tune well and I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. He sounded so captivating. Like I could listen to his lullaby forever.

“‘S pretty,” I mumbled.

“Mm… my mother used to sing it,” he replied softly. “I'm here, habibi. I'm here.”

“You know I don’t know what that means,” I said.

“What, ‘habibi’?” Damian asked.

“Mmhmm.”

I heard a little snicker. “It’s nothing to worry about. It’s a compliment.”

“Mkay.”

“Try and go back to sleep. I’m right here. I’ll keep you safe.” He returned to his lullaby, rocking me back and forth. “Everything is alright. This family loves you and everything will be alright.”

“Mmm… Damian?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he whispered into my hair. “Now try to sleep.”

“Hmm… mkay…”

———

Next

[facetious-wanderer-blog]

“This is Hell’s territory and I am beholden to no gods.”

Calamity. Usually that was the title for a time when the earth beneath their feet would be terrorized. Life would be threatened and fear plucked a haunting cord in the hearts of the living. Fear led a many things in reaction. Good, bad, protection and selfishness. All sorts of thing would come, but one thing was above all else. Instinct. Instinct drove beings to continue forward, no matter what direction.

Primals had been heralded as Deities to Beast Tribes that sought out their power. Some could even be summoned by other means than a lot of crystals. Primals were usually taken care of by Warriors of Light. If left in the world, they could disrupt the fragile advances of survival. But how about keeping the power of a primal without having the primal around? The thought would seem to be such a foolish idea. Now, when beings with bright minds and clever tricks start at it.. they can do some pretty major things.

That Rufus ShinRa had plans. He wanted that power that Primals had, so a swift hand commanded his wishes to be done by any means. Something did start up, but it was rather secretive.. Even from most of the Turks. It was indeed a dangerous things they were working towards. Primal power infused weapons have been known to be a thing, though rare. Even as they were rare, there was also a rather.. complicated requirement for their usage.

~~

Bartz had been hanging around at times when bored. He was never told to LEAVE, but nothing told him to stay. Well, he had a feeling as of late that trying to leaving would provide complications. Nothing ever said, but it was something about what was in the eyes of the Turks he came across. Also something about how those eyes /followed/ him quite often. Oh well.

~~

Reno had ended up snooping where he shouldn't be. Curiosity brought him to this 'Secret Area' of totally super secret information. For why should something be denied to everyone while it was in the same building? It was fairly easy for him to sneak around and soon he came to the fruit of his adventure. Curious, it was just a box with some metal claws or something. They looked pretty cool though, so why not try them on? After putting them on, everything changed at a rapid pace.

Warm radiated from the claws as they gripped and tightened to the Turks' hands. Magic erupted from the claws, a miasma of amber hues. Something unusual about the magic, were the butterflies of bright lights that birthed from the magic and floated around him. Just to disperse, go back to the claws, and repeat. The power was overwhelming, and it simply just changed him. In a split moment of his humanity, Reno escaped far. A desire to protect others from himself? Or perhaps humiliated by his actions?

There was panic around the building. Murmurs fled around and the Warrior tilted a head in confusion. It took some aggressive encouraging on one of the lower ranked ones to get information out. The prime worry were High Priority weapons were taken. The other whispers were that it had been Reno. lastly, he heard mixed feelings about the situation. Some say he would have to die, others said they might could use him. Why were they talking like this? That Reno was the weapon now. Nonsense, Bartz just had to do something about this. After even more aggressive encouragement, he was able to get the info on the Turks location. He couldn't understand how they knew where he was, but weren't doing anything. What?

Well, he finally got to the location. A place of just dry land and no one around. Seeing Reno, he understood. Was that.. Was that even Reno anymore? Sure he wore his suit and had that bright red hair.. but those weapons corrupted him.

Magic had sort of.. altered his appearance. Well it wasn't physical but more like, the magic had created an image around Reno. Armor.. Multiple arms.. horns.. transparent wings. He knew what the look reminded him of and he could feel the magic. Ravana. Reno had the Dead Hive Claws.

No no no.. The weapons weren't supposed to do that. He knew primals weapons. It was like.. Like as if the weapon had been altered. Bartz was right of course. Those clever minds decided they wanted to amp up the power on those weapons.

Reno had seen Bartz walking over. When he straightened up and cracked his head over in the Warrior's direction, there was a pause. It was.. It was still Reno, right? "R-Reno?.. Hey.. Why don't you put those down, mkay?"

As Reno's arm raised to put towards Bartz, one of those translucent arms pointed a sparkling image of a sword. "Art thou Warrior, or Craven?" That voice was not Reno.

Hands came up in a calming gesture and he stopped his travel forward. "Reno.. Is me.. Bartz. Remember me, right? Hallway Gremlin? Constantly terrorizes you?" This wasn't looking good, not at all.

"Art thou a fool, then? I am RAVANA, fourfold master of the blade!" Arms were raised, magic being giving off of the claws in a rather proud fashion. A smirk spread across Reno's face as he peered over at Bartz again. "This is Hell's territory.. And I am beholden to no Gods! It is simple, fool. To live is but to fight! Life, or death?" A challenge as the primal that had possessed Reno would start to form a stance.

Primal weapons aren't meant for regular beings, Reno. Only Warriors of Light can wield them.. Maybe that's why I was being held along by a crimson thread. Those were meant for me to use.. You're just a fool that got to curious and had a burden thrust upon you.. that's okay. I'll fix this.

A shaken breath was taken before Bartz whispered to himself. "I'll save you Reno, and then we'll go home so we can get yelled at." A bit of a saddened smile was given towards the being before him. Arms came out before him as Light would start sparking. Moving his arms a certain way and the light started to form a physical appearance. The wind around him started to pick up, rustling through his clothes. He was blessed from a Crystal of Wind. He was also a Freelancer. As he was being held up in the air, the light arched and formed a large bow that was longer than his own body. Drawing back the fine thread of magic of bowstring, a large arrow was crafted. A mass of magic, of Light. When Bartz blinked, those pale eyes seemed to shine a bit more than usual.

I'll save you, I promise.

[living-for-fiction]

Mkay so like, a thought. We expect galra prisons to be inhumane and awful, and they are. But honestly, Altean prison cells aren't much better?! Completely bare except for a bed, with no bedding! Do they escort Lotor to use the bathroom and shower, forcing him to regulate his needs around when his captors will be available? Because that cell doesn't have a bathroom! Even inmates on death row in Earth prisons have access to toilets to attend to that need. Most prisons also allow some sort of entertainment in the form of books or art supplies, and Lotor has none of that. And time in the yard? I can't imagine they let him have a daily hour of outside supervised time.

Tldr; the conditions in which the paladins kept Lotor are literally a human (er, sentient being?) rights violation. This would be ruled as cruel and unusual, on Earth. I'm just saying.

[bforbookslut]

ARC Review: Jane of Austin by Hillary Manton Lodge

I received a copy of this book from the publisher via BloggingForBooks in exchange for an honest review. As this is an ARC copy, things that I discuss may vary and be different than in the published copy.

I have given this book ☆. 300-500 pages estimated as I read it in ebook format. It belongs to the Contemporary Romance genre. WaterBrook & Multnomah published it. I would not recommend it. The synopsis reads: “Just a few years after their father’s business scandal shatters their lives, Jane and Celia Woodward find themselves forced out of their San Francisco tea shop. The last thing Jane wants is to leave their beloved shop on Valencia Street, but when Celia insists on a move to Austin, Texas, the sisters pack up their kid sister Margot and Jane’s tea plants, determined to start over yet again.

But life in Austin isn’t all sweet tea and breakfast tacos. Their unusual living situation is challenging and unspoken words begin to fester between Jane and Celia. When Jane meets and falls for up-and-coming musician Sean Willis, the chasm grows deeper.

While Sean seems to charm everyone in his path, one person is immune – retired Marine Captain Callum Beckett. Callum never meant to leave the military, but the twin losses of his father and his left leg have returned him to the place he least expected—Texas.

In this modern spin on the Austen classic, Sense and Sensibility, the Woodward sisters must contend with new ingredients in unfamiliar kitchens, a dash of heartbreak, and the fragile hope that maybe home isn't so far away.”

Verdict:

I noped right out of there. Uninspiring and boring and annoying lead male. Sad though because Jane and her sisters are phenomenal characters.

In short, Jane of Austin, with its witty name, is a take on all things Jane Austen, featuring three sisters, reminiscent of Sense and Sensibility. The sisters run a tea shop but when their lovely landlord dearly departs, the sisters’ lives are turned upside down and they’re forced to leave their thriving hipster business because they can’t afford the rent and forced to move to Austin where they stay in a relative’s house, for free. Eldest sister, Celia, is dumped by her boyfriend before they leave town. While the middle sister and apparently, the most vibrant of the three (mostly because she’s a caustic and a little eclectic), Jane falls in love with wannabe singer whatshisface. But of course, whatshisface is not the hero here. But instead, moody and grumpy Callum is.

But I can’t really tell you what happens next because Jane of Austin is a DNF.

Jane of Austin starts off phenomenally well and I’m sucked into the story of the three sisters even though Margot is barely a person. She’s just mentioned once or twice and seems incredibly bratty. But then, Callum is introduced and he’s the most toxic and uninspiring lead male ever.

Be ready for a rant.

[contains spoilers]

Jane of Austin starts off like one of my favourite Lifetime movies, Scents and Sensibility. Their father is a corporate crook and the sisters set out on their own, building their own lives. And I love stories about sisterhood because I myself have a sister and much of my life surrounds our relationship. Because if you can’t count on family, who can you count on? Jane dropped out of school to look after Margot because their dad is awful and Celia works her little butt off to make ends meet at their cute little tea store.

Now, sisterhood is a great premise and then throw in some boys? What could be better?

Wrong, because once men were introduced to the story, the whole shitstorm began. It became less about women’s fiction and more about, how much dick can I get? Oh, I can’t get dick? The dick left me.

A couple of pages in and Celia is already broken up with Teddy, her longtime, why-aren’t-they-married boyfriend. When she moves to Austin, she’s fucking moping around and being all shady and not talking to Jane and basically driving a wedge between them because she refuses to talk about her relationship with Teddy to her sister. Fine, my sister doesn’t really tell me about her relationships either but come on, Celia and Jane were always tight and told each other everything. Boy comes in and fucks shit up.

Now, waltzes in cowboy central. Sean Willis is as charming as they come and immediately, Jane falls head over heels for him. I sort of do as well because he’s hot, and there are minute sparks. But suddenly, they go from rescuing-me-from-the-storm to dating. There was no precursor; there was no witty repartee, no long drawn out, pretty conversations. No. She just fell for him. I felt absolutely no chemistry. It was such a painful-to-read relationship. But I digress, Sean is the “darkest before the dawn”. They breakup because Sean wants to pursue his music in Nashville. LIKE THAT’S SOMETHING TO MOPE ABOUT??????? We all want careers, honey. He isn’t going to put you and your vagina first. Were you going to put him and his dick over your tea shop? I didn’t think so. So, don’t complain.

See where Jane of Austin is going? There’s just a lot of men. Highly doubt they’d pass the Bechdel test. That’s not what Austen was about, mkay?

Fine, I can put up with all this shit.

If only the lead male that Jane is supposed to fall in love with, was spectacular and phenomenal. Let me list all the problems with Callum.

1. When Callum first meets Jane, this is what he had to say:

“She did remind me of Lila; there was no denying the resemblance. But there was something…extra…about Jane. Almost like high school Lila, but grown and in Technicolour. Was it a fair comparison? Probably not. Lila had made her decisions and suffered when the man she chose failed her.”

I absolutely hate when love interests says that he/she reminds them of an ex-lover that they lost. And Callum did lose Lila to someone else and he practically shames her for it. Like, looook, if you were with me, you’d be better off because iM pErFeCt. And high school Lila? The last time this little fucker knew his ex-girlfriend was fucking high school. Let’s take a quick reminder that Jane is no longer in high school and is 26.

2. Callum is fucking hung up on Lila. Apparently, Lila called his father’s partner looking for a job but now that Callum is back in town, Lila is missing and he can’t reach her. Maybe she doesn’t want to be found, bitch. But, he believes its his sworn duty to make sure she’s safe because why would she ask for a job if she was okay/???? So this little bitch hires a private detective to find Lila. Like he’s some kind of fucking knight in shining armour. HE HASN’T SEEN THIS WOMAN IN AGES REMIND YOU. OR HAD CONTACT WITH HER. Wtf.

But fine.

3. Now, here’s where it gets really creepy. Callum is always stalking Jane or watching her from afar like a fucking creep. Exhibit A:

“From my room upstairs, I could see the way she clutched his hand, the way her head tipped back in laughter”.

“Watching Jane, I could immediately tell that Lyndsay landed on her last nerve. But as I watched Jane’s gaze flit from Celia to Lyndsay, her brows pressing together with that Jane-like intensity, I knew the sight of trouble brewing.”

THAT MUCH DETAIL??????? Because he stalks her and watches her constantly.

4. He uses the word possession to talk about Jane.

“But she wasn’t mine. She wouldn’t be.”

“Unless she was laughing with Sean. When that happened, I felt a little sick to my stomach.”

God, this was like the last straw. I wanted to throw up. I have a history of men subjugating and “possessing” women, cue family. And this just made my fucking skin crawl. And he talks about “claiming” here.

“Not a V-E Day kiss, not now, just a small claim on the corner of her lips that twisted with rueful amusement.”

5. He immediately girlfriend-zoned Jane. From the beginning, he thought she looked like his ex-lover and when his therapist asked him if he was interested in Jane, he came up fucking blank. Like some school boy who’s never had a date.

“Are you interested in her?”

“She’s seeing someone else. It looks serious.”

He doesn’t even bother being her friend or trying to get to know her as a person. He’s just interested in her. Let me remind you that I don’t have many highlights of Jane and Callum talking because they don’t fucking talk. He could have listened to her, gained her trust instead of being her mother’s cousin’s creepy friend who stays with them. All he wanted to do is “make her yours” and Callum keeps getting frustrated that she’s with some hotshot good looking guy.

He just mopes around, lamenting about how she can’t see that he’s perfect for her and not Sean. He just wonders why she doesn’t see that he’s interested in her.

I stopped reading once all the possession and claiming talk started. It just made my skin crawl and I wanted to throw up. Let me remind you that this was more than 50% of the book. Jane and Callum have absolutely no chemistry, they barely talk, he’s like the creepy uncle who lives in the attic and he’s barely got any character.

Not to mention, Callum is differently abled and suffering from PTSD which is not the greatest subject topic to be dealing with in a ROMANCE novel. Especially one that is so poorly written.

In writing this review, I took a look at the publisher’s profile to look for approval preferences and lo and behold, this is what I found, “publishing encouraging, biblical, trusted, and thoughtful Christian books.” It’s no wonder there was barely any sex in it. Or chemistry. Unfortunately, I did not check it properly on BloggingForBooks.

Perhaps Jane of Austin would have appealed whole heartedly to the right crowd of people where they like being possessed by their boyfriends and have their lives revolve around the dick. But I certainly hated it and did not finish it. It’s even lucky to receive one star from me because I loved the sisterhood part of the book.