#the thought has not left my mind since the day it was thunk o-o

[ksrlvr]

does anyone else think about how gojo could use infinity on his dick whilst fucking you, making it girthier and bigger over all. splittin u wide open fr !!

[tennessoui]

i really am just so excited for part two of the roadtrip au and knowing it might be from obi-wan's perspective??? seeing obi-wan fawn over anakin while anakin dotes on him?? i'm losing my mind.

hey!!! bless!!!! i know i said it would be part 1, part 2, part 3, but i started writing part 2 and it's like already 2.2k long and they're just in Pennsylvania so i think we should all start thinking of this story as part 1 (finished, posted), ARC 2 (very long, is in segments, depending on what people wanna see and what road trip shenanigans i can think up), and part 3 (tbd)

anyway here's the 2.2k (squick: a/b/o, mpreg)

“Uh, sir? Are you...alright?”

That’s the gas station attendant. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to thunk his head on the side of the bathroom stall. The only thing stopping him is how absolutely unsanitary it would be, and he already feels dirty enough. He pulls a few more squares of toilet paper from the dispenser and wipes at his mouth.

Of all the pregnancy symptoms he hates, he thinks morning sickness is the one he hates the most. And it’s the one that seems to be, for some reason, sticking around the longest.

He’d never even known how much of a misnomer morning sickness is, but it’s not like it’s only happening in the morning. He’ll feel nauseous halfway through the day, mid-afternoon, early evening.

His doctor and close friend at the hospital, Bant, had assured him this was normal and nothing to worry about. But it’s hard not to worry about it, especially when he lives with an Alpha who worries about everything.

“Just fine, thank you,” Obi-Wan says politely as he flushes the toilet and leaves before he can watch his breakfast spiral down and disappear. That’ll only make him feel even more sick.

The girl wrings her hands as she watches him wash his, and he has to take pity on her. She can’t be older than eighteen. “Morning sickness,” he tells her, placing a hand on the virtually unnoticeable swell of his belly.

“Oh!” she says. Obi-Wan fights the urge to grimace when he sees her eyes dart down to his unmarked neck. He knows how it looks. He knows how it sounds. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s quite alright,” he says. It’s not, but it is. Obi-Wan doesn’t want to have this conversation, doesn’t want to talk to this girl anymore. They’re passing through a small town in central Pennsylvania. He’s a pregnant, unmated, thirty-eight year old male omega. A rarity. A talking point. He doesn’t want to talk to her, he wants--

There’s a loud knock on the door to the bathroom. “Obi-Wan? Are you alright? Is there someone in there with you? I thought I heard voices. Obi-Wan? I’m coming in, Obi-Wan.”

Anakin.

Obi-Wan gets halfway through drying his hands before Anakin’s there, crowding him against the sink and nosing at his face and neck.

“Sir, this is a bathroom for omegas only!” the gas station attendant protests, but Anakin growls at her.

As much as the pregnancy has made Obi-Wan lose parts of himself to his Omegan side, it’s been ten times worse for Anakin for some reason. As far as Alphas go, Anakin’s always been a thoughtful, respectful one. Quick to anger, perhaps, but never violent or suspicious.

Now it’s like everyone in the world has done something to personally offend Anakin. Everyone but Obi-Wan.

If he didn’t feel such a burning, unignorable need to get to Seattle, Obi-Wan would have called the whole trip off weeks ago.

But he couldn’t then and he definitely can’t now, not when they’ve both taken the time off of work and Obi-Wan’s let his doctor know he’ll be out of the state and they’re already in Pennsylvania.

He’ll just let Anakin do whatever he needs to do to feel alright with taking a pregnant, unmated omega across the country. It’s not as if it’s a hardship to put up with all the scentings and hugs and looming and protectiveness.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Which just makes Obi-Wan feel even more guilty, the way he’s using Anakin like this. His dearest, closest friend, who is helping him in such an amazing way, and every time he touches him, it’s all Obi-Wan can do to not arch up into the touch.

He wishes he could blame it on the pregnancy hormones, the way his instincts are going haywire to keep an alpha--any alpha--close. But it’s not. It’s Anakin. It’s the fact that Obi-Wan is hopelessly, irreversibly in love with the alpha.

The touches and the scenting don’t mean what he wants them to. It doesn’t mean anything, the way Anakin pushes his shirts and sweaters to Obi-Wan’s chest and watches him put them on. He’s an observant man, his alpha. He knows Obi-Wan likes wearing his scent now that he’s pregnant. It’s comforting.

So even though it doesn’t mean anything at all, the way Anakin’s hands roam over his waist and stomach and hips as he growls at the poor gas station attendant, Obi-Wan has to fight to not push back into the touches, to not scent him in return.

He’s afraid once he does, he won’t be able to stop. The thought of it, of marking the beautiful, strong, virile alpha with his smell, is too addicting to ever risk trying.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. It’s just a bit of morning sickness,” he says lightly, touching Anakin’s chest gently. “She was just checking up on me.”

Anakin glares at the girl and starts to herd Obi-Wan out of the bathroom. “Not hers to check up on,” he mutters, hands latching onto Anakin’s hips and guiding him through the aisles of brightly colored chips and candy.

Obi-Wan thinks that for both of their sakes he should remind Anakin that he’s not his to check up on either, but he doesn’t want to, not when he can pretend for a little bit longer.

“I think I would like to lie down in the back for a bit,” he says, holding his stomach. “Just until we get out of this state.”

Anakin agrees immediately, like he knew he would. “Okay, Obi,” he murmurs, opening the car door for him. They’d laid down their suitcases in the wells behind the two front seats, and Anakin had thrown a couple of blankets over the entire area to make a sort of makeshift nest for Obi-Wan to sleep in should he want to.

They’ve only been driving for four hours, but Obi-Wan already wants to. He’s painfully on edge.

He hadn’t understood how hard it would be to convince his hindbrain and body to leave the safety of their apartment, but all he wants now is to nest somewhere safe for him and the baby. It would have been impossible to do this without Anakin.

“Alright,” the alpha says. “Um. Wait. Here.”

He shucks off his sweatshirt, a faded college one that Obi-Wan’s been coveting with his eyes since Anakin had put it on this morning. “Oh, dear one, no,” he forces himself to say anyway. “It’s December. You need a sweatshirt.”

“I’ll turn up the heat,” Anakin holds it out insistently, stubbornly. “Take it, come on.”

Obi-wan can only make himself hesitate for a second more before he’s snatching the soft fabric that smells like sunlight linen honeydew out of his hands and holding it greedily to his chest. “Alright.”

Under the weight of the alpha’s watchful eyes, Obi-Wan crawls into the backseat and curls up with his head diagonal from the driver’s seat. He thinks it’ll be nice to wake up and see Anakin’s profile whenever he wants to without additional shifting.

“Oh shit,” Anakin curses suddenly. “I was going to buy a coffee.” The alpha pauses, clearly torn between going back inside and not wanting to leave the omega alone in the car. But Obi-Wan knows Anakin, and he needs his coffee.

“Oh,” he says as if he’s just remembering something himself, “can you get me one of those bananas on the counter? I think they’re good for babies.”

That, obviously, changes everything for Anakin who straightens instantly. “Bananas are good for babies,” he declares, nodding his head before narrowing his eyes. “Would you...can I lock the door? I won’t be long. Just for safety.”

Obi-Wan blinks and purses his lips to stop his little smile. His alpha can be so silly. Safety. In the middle of the afternoon in rural Pennsylvania. “Okay, alpha,” he agrees before he even realizes that he really shouldn’t be calling Anakin alpha. Especially not when the other man always reacts so strongly to it.

Case in point, he thinks to himself sadly as Anakin’s hand spasms on the car door handle before he slams it and hustles away, almost at a run.

With a long sigh, he flops back down into his nest and squirms until he gets comfortable. There’s a pillow close to his hand that he hugs to his chest when he realizes it’s Anakin’s pillow from his bed at home. It smells amazing, a mix of both of them together.

Ever since he’d told the alpha he was pregnant, Obi-Wan’s fallen asleep in Anakin’s bed more often than not. It’s a comfort thing, one that Obi-Wan feels intensely guilty about. Surely if he keeps being so clingy and whiny and Omegan, Anakin will get sick of him.

And this is just the beginning of the pregnancy. He knows rationally that Anakin loves him as a friend, a brother, but how long is that love going to last if Obi-Wan can’t get a handle on his goddamn hormones? Anakin hadn’t signed up for any of this. It’s not even his pup. How much is Obi-Wan willing to put him through just because he can’t imagine a life without the alpha in it?

Wouldn’t it be the best thing for the both of them to cut their losses now? Bail and Breha had told Obi-Wan he could move in with them for the duration of the pregnancy if he needed to. The only thing that stopped him from saying yes immediately had been the hope that Anakin would be willing to stay with him, keep living with him even after he’d fucked up so much.

And the alpha, by some miracle, hadn’t left, hadn’t moved out. But Obi-Wan can’t shake the thought that he will soon, that this will all get to be too much. Obi-Wan’s omega whimpers at the back of his mind at the idea that one day the alpha will be gone.

The scent of distressed omega fills the car as Obi-Wan feels his bottom lip start to wobble.

Alright, the influx of hormones that are wreaking havoc on his emotions is probably the pregnancy symptom he hates the most. But morning sickness is still up there, too.

He sniffs into Anakin’s college sweatshirt and tries to think happy thoughts. He shouldn’t make Anakin worry about his emotions when he’s already spending so much time worried about his physical health.

How much is Obi-Wan going to take advantage of Anakin’s kindness?

The doors unlock with a beep, signaling his alpha’s return to the car.

It doesn’t take Anakin even a second to catch onto Obi-Wan’s recent spiral of emotion, but at least he won’t know why unless Obi-Wan tells him.

“Obi?” he asks frantically, as soon as he opens the car door. “Obi, are you alright? Did something happen? Did someone see you--?”

“Put the coffee down before you spill it,” Obi-Wan instructs after peeking out of his sweatshirt haven. “I’m alright, Anakin. It’s just the hormones. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Anakin shakes his head. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

The statement pulls a wry smile from Obi-Wan. “Oh, I can think of a few things,” he murmurs, touching his belly with a pointed, gentle hand. Before Anakin can say anything about that, he continues quickly. “I was just wondering about something, I’m fine, really. Really.”

And then, knowing he shouldn’t but also knowing it’ll distract Anakin enough from this line of questioning, he tilts his head back to expose his neck and says, “Can we drive, alpha?”

The coffee cup still clutched in Anakin’s hands bursts open under the force of his grip. He really should have put it down.

Anakin curses up a storm as he shakes the hot liquid off of his skin, and Obi-Wan sits up worriedly. Anakin was bothered so much by Obi-Wan calling him that that he accidentally hurt himself. No more, the omega resolves. He can take a hint.

“Are you alright?” he asks, grabbing at Anakin’s hand to examine the red skin.

“I’m fine!” Anakin yelps, jumping away. “I just--I’m just going to go wash this off. Um. And get more coffee.”

He slams the door shut, and Obi-Wan wilts as he watches him go. He can’t even follow after him because Anakin’s locked the doors with his car key. He’s done enough already.

“Oh baby,” he tells his stomach. “I don’t think I’m ever going to have that alpha figured out.”

The baby is still and, of course, silent, but Obi-Wan takes comfort in their presence anyway. They can’t leave him. Not yet, at least.

Gingerly, he maneuvers his way out of his nest so he can reach his messenger bag he’d left in the foot of his passenger seat. It takes some finangling, but finally he’s able to fish out his headphones. As he resettles into his nest, surrounded on all sides by Anakin’s scent, he notices the bunch of bananas thrown in the driver’s seat.

Obi-Wan snorts at his silly alpha, but can’t deny that he’s touched at the same time.

It’s extremely easy to find the track he wants to listen to, what with how often he listens to it these days. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can get him to fall asleep.

He pulls up the downloaded homemade album Anakin had given him for Christmas four years back. When he presses play, his alpha’s deep melodic voice spills into his ears.

“Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote, the droghte of March hath perced to the roote…”

Of course he can’t be sure, but he’s fairly certain he’s asleep by the time Anakin comes back to the car.

[ofdragonsdeep]

26 (Star)

This was written as a fill for the quick-prompt for the week of 13th September on the Book Club discord, which I... cannot link because I am not an ~official author~ because I'm shy.

They are supposed to be 100 words or thereabouts. This... is not.

The eldest of the Durendaire children tires of misery.

(spoilers for early SB, Firmament quests, and minor AST nonsense)

The soft sound of the waves splashing against rock warred with the hustle and bustle of Limsa Lominsa for a place in the ears. Ar’telan, sat on one of the benches in the aetheryte plaza, watched the people come and go, locals and merchants and tourists thronging between docks and markets, watched over by stern yellowjackets keen to keep the peace. When he had first set foot in Limsa Lominsa, however many moons ago that had been, someone had told him that you could tell a native from an outsider by how much the salt spray settled into the crags in their face, consonants discarded from the speech like so much unnecessary ornamentation.

The Echo had taught him that people would hear what he wanted them to hear, when it wanted to work, but he had never been able to sound like a local. Even Reyner, the commander of the Yellowjackets and perpetual ‘proper’ speaker, still sounded more at ease in Limsa than Ar’telan did. Still, he was comforted by the familiar surroundings, sun reflected off white-bleached walls, the comforting thrum of life.

With a thunk of shoes on stone, Ar’telan hopped from the bench and began his walk around the city. He was here for no reason - not one that the fate of the world dictated, at any rate. It was nice, in the space between disasters, to find himself in familiar places without a pressing cause.

The walk took him to the upper decks, past the drunks and the hopeful street workers and the festive balloons in the Aftcastle. Melkoko waved to him from the door of the Missing Member, and he offered her a nod of greeting in return, not quite brave enough to actually go into the building and risk Rhoswen’s wrath for simply existing in a space adjacent to her. It was a little quieter in the Hyaline, the vendor at the counter ceasing her attempts to sell him ‘spice’ as soon as she recognised who he was.

“Fair weather, Warrior o’ Light! You got business with the Cap’n?” Heddyn asked, Ar’telan considering the stairs he guarded and the question he asked, weighing them in his mind.

“If he is free to speak, it would be nice,” he said, and Heddyn gave him a nod and a playful salute, vanishing up the stairs to check with his Captain.

A flurry of movement escorted Ar’telan up the stairs and into the back room of the Hyaline, an open deck which looked out over the flagship of the Kraken’s Arm and the many barges that surrounded it. Captain Carvallain had any number of ventures to his name these days, from exotic ‘spice’ (Ar’telan was still uncertain what, exactly, the word substituted for) to pleasure barges to trade in mundane goods from the far-flung port of Kugane. It was only the lucrative nature of that final venture that prevented him from attempting to skin Tataru alive whenever the Scions were mentioned in conversation, or so Ar’telan presumed.

“Ar’telan. Strange to see you here,” he greeted, a nod of his head the only acknowledgement of the miqo’te’s presence. “I do hope you have not brought any irksome companions with you this time.”

“Just me,” Ar’telan confirmed, noting the way that Carvallain relaxed, if only a little. Carvallain sounded like a Limsan local, even though he wasn’t, the Ishgardian lilt to his accent universally ignored by any who might think to note it. It had been many moons ago that Ar’telan had first taken notice - walking the snow-heavy road to Gorgagne Mills, the quiet farmstead bearing the same name that Carvallain had taken for a surname. He had dwelled upon it when he had spoken with Jannequinard, at the Athenaeum Astrologicum in Ishgard proper, and helped him and his Sharlayan friend with their struggles to see astromancy of the Sharlayan bent recognised within the city. It had come as no great surprise when Tataru and Alphinaud had used the ‘subtle’ arts of manipulation to use the entirely unconnected story of Count de Durendaire’s unfortunate eldest son, lost at sea, to convince Carvallain to ferry them to Kugane.

And now here they were.

“Good. The trade that your voyage to Kugane started has been good for our coffers, but I would rather that meddlesome little woman didn’t learn that I was grateful,” he said, examining his nails as he said it, as though it were nothing. “The rumour mill has told me some very interesting things about how you’ve been spending your time. Are many true?” Ar’telan grimaced.

“I’m not sure I could name half of them,” he replied. “I have mostly been in Ishgard, when not doing the tasks which make the news.” The cloud passed over Carvallain’s face for a moment, but it cleared before it could take a greater hold.

“Yes. One of the Houses is most fond of you, aren’t they?” he said, voice light. Ar’telan managed a nervous laugh.

“Something like that. But I know them all quite well, now,” he said, hopping up onto the wall and sitting on it, tail swishing in the breeze from the ocean at his back. “The old Count de Dzemael has been building structures for dravanians in the Churning Mists. I’ve been helping Francel with revitalising the Firmament. There was a call for aid from outside sources for that.” Carvallain nodded, his expression guarded now.

“We sold a few things to some interested parties, but that has been the extent of our involvement in the matter,” he replied. “I will confess, it is odd to hear Ishgard spoken of… positively. I cannot imagine the stubborn rocks in the nobility are overly fond of it.”

“Lord Speaker Aymeric has been doing good work,” Ar’telan said. “And you might be surprised. Count Charlemend has been working as a volunteer in a hospital for the poor.” Carvallain snorted at that, then paused, a frown on his face.

“...You are serious,” he realised. Ar’telan nodded, not elaborating for fear that he would be tarred with the same brush as Tataru, even though his motives were perhaps in the same venn diagram. “Unbelievable. The times are truly changing, I suppose.” He gave Ar’telan a searching look, his stance stiff and uncertain, an unusual look for the leader of pirates. “Bah, I tire of this pointless dance. Speak plain. Did you come here to bully me like your vicious little secretary?”

“Not intentionally,” Ar’telan replied, which was true, but not particularly endearing. “I just thought you might like to know. What you do with the knowledge is not my business.” Carvallain sighed.

“I suppose I am curious as to the lead-in,” he allowed. “Very well. Tell me what you know.”

---

It was not an easy conversation. For all that Ar’telan was aiding Charlemend in his sincere desire to leave the old ways of life, the pain that he had inflicted - on purpose or not - was clear to see. Carvallain’s brow still darkened at the sound of his name, and Ar’telan thought of Ronantain, desperate to mold himself into the image of the good noble that had been taught to him for all too long in his short life. He thought of Jannequinard, so brilliant and clever, throwing himself into anything he could enjoy that was just disrespectful enough to leave his betters despairing, but not enough to have him thrown from the parapets and disowned.

He thought of the knight, lost to grief after failing his charge, who had died in the mills that gave Carvallain his name.

But the conversation had left him with something most unexpected: an elegantly penned note, the calling card of the Kraken’s Arms, an offer in dispassionate ink on the back of it.

“You may read it, if you wish,” Carvallain had said. “I don’t imagine that much goes unseen by your eyes, these days.”

Ar’telan had put it in his pocket, and kept his gaze averted.

---

The cold air of Ishgard hit like a wall as Ar’telan teleported into Foundation, and he shook his head and shivered in its suddenness. He had long since lost his need for the warmth of his home in Meracydia, but La Noscea was far warmer than Ishgard, and it hit like a shock. He took his gloves from his pockets, pulled them on, and rubbed his hands together as he walked. The aetheryte shard network would have been faster, but for all its inhospitality, Ar’telan still longed to stretch the minutes he spent in Ishgard to bells.

The Athenaeum Astrologicum was busier now than it had been even at the height of the war, students of all stripes thronging in and around its walls. A few of them recognised him, for his work with the erstwhile management in the past, but without a globe at hand most of the students paid him little heed. Ar’telan found that suited him just fine.

Jannequinard was at the desk when he walked in, eyes buried in the pages of a book. He glanced up, looked back down when he noted that Ar’telan was not a nubile young woman ready to be talked into compromising positions by a dashing young fox of a nobleman, then looked back up again when who he actually was registered with his brain.

“This is a surprise,” he remarked, and Ar’telan grimaced.

“Anyone would think I never visited,” he said, and Jannequinard sighed. A card from the sleeve at his hip was wedged into his book, in a move that would have made Leveva bonk him over the head with the nearest sufficiently weighty implement, and he leaned forwards, head rested on his hands.

“You either have terrible news, or interesting news. If it is the former, I will have to ask that you leave. I have a date this evening.”

“You do?” Ar’telan asked, surprised, and Jannequinard sagged in defeat.

“Yes, yes, very funny. An actual date, with an actual, living woman, before you get as sarcastic as those two.” He shot a venomous look at the two astrologians who served as the Athenaeum’s formal welcoming committee, who did not even seem to notice it. Ar’telan assumed they got it a lot. “So nobody is dying? There has been no attack by mysterious assailants on important personages, abducted nobles, crying orphans, anything of the sort?”

“Not that I am aware of,” Ar’telan replied. “I could ask at Rolanberry Fields if you want a crying orphan, though.”

“The Fury blessed you with a streak of humour since we last spoke, I see,” Jannequinard said, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Then why have you come?” Ar’telan paused, not having actually considered how best to approach the situation. Jannequinard did not appear to be a subtle man, but he could be, when the situation called for it. Or when he thought the situation called for it, at any rate.

“I have something for you,” Ar’telan said eventually, reaching into his pocket and taking out the missive, putting it down on the desk between them before continuing. “From one of the Captains in Limsa Lominsa. An offer of trade, I think.”

“You think?” Jannequinard repeated, the suspicion plain on his face. “I will assume that you have misread the name, since you speed through all other matters, but I am not above a little spying, so I shall take this regardless.” He picked it up, looked at the sigil on the front with a mixture of concern and disdain, and flipped it over. Muttered fragments of words gave Ar’telan the very short version of the offer Carvallain had made, but it was when Jannequinard made it to the signatory that he stopped.

“Who gave this to you?” he asked, his cordial tone dropping several notches. Ar’telan felt like he might shiver despite the warmth of the Athenaeum’s fires.

“Captain Carvallain of the Kraken’s Arms,” he replied. Jannequinard shot his gaze around the room in a panic, before remembering that it was impossible to overhear the words of someone who was not actually speaking them.

“...Come with me a moment, will you?” he asked, getting to his feet. That was enough to draw the concern of the other astrologians in the room, but he waved them off irritably and escorted Ar’telan into the back of the Athenaeum.

---

The private study rooms were conservatively furnished, a small number of wooden chairs and great tables capable of holding the full breadth of an unfurled star map, and very little else. Jannequinard closed the door on the one he had appropriated, then almost forcibly sat Ar’telan in the nearest chair, despite his half-formed noises of protest.

“I know that a lot of people in this city think you are a fool with more goodwill than sense, but contrary to popular opinion, I am not stupid. You are aware of what happened to my… my brother, yes?” Ar’telan noted the way his voice caught at the admittance. It was not sorrow - Jannequinard had likely been barely more than a boy when it happened, though Ar’telan was not entirely sure how old he or Carvallain were. He knew Jannequinard chafed at the prospect of inheritance, to the degree that he had been a ‘maybe’ in the aftermath. Knew that Charlemend would not have taken his eldest’s loss well. Knew that he was opening old wounds. Maybe that had been Carvallain’s aim, after all, and he just the errand boy for it. But he had said that it was Carvallain’s knowledge to do with as he wished, he supposed.

“Yes. He was lost at sea. Pirates, they thought,” he replied. “It is why you did not wish to follow Leveva and I to Limsa Lominsa, is it not?” Jannequinard wrinkled his nose, annoyed that Ar’telan was both bringing up his past failings, and also seeing through his ruse.

“Perhaps. That is neither here nor there,” he dismissed with a sharp wave of his hand. “What matters is that you have brought me a missive from pirates, signed in the name of my dead brother, and you expect me to believe this is an accident.”

“I never said it was an accident,” Ar’telan replied, which caught Jannequinard off-guard.

“No, I suppose you did not,” he allowed, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am going to have to cancel my date, aren’t I?”

“I do not think the Count will mind if you leave it til the morning. He is busy with his work, these days,” Ar’telan offered, attempting to soften the blow. Jannequinard looked back down at the note.

“Did he give this to you himself?” he asked. Ar’telan nodded his head. “Did he- is he- Is it really him?” he managed, voice quiet. Ar’telan nodded a second time. Jannequinard swallowed, looking down and up again, a look of the lost on his face. “How long have you known?”

“I have suspected since I first met you,” he replied. “I have known for certain since just before the War of Liberation in Ala Mhigo.” Jannequinard attempted to process this, and utterly failed to do so.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked.

“Because it wasn’t my choice to make,” Ar’telan said. Jannequinard let out a long, defeated sigh.

“Yes. Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” he agreed. “If I had managed to escape our father I would not want some random adventurer dragging me back under his heel. Damn all of this.” He put the card into the space on his sleeve where the Bole-shaped bookmark had previously sat, scowling down at it as though it were razor-edged. “Very well. I shall inform the Count.”

“You don’t have to,” Ar’telan said, and Jannequinard stopped short, as though he had not even considered that option. Ar’telan didn’t imagine there was anything that Jannequinard did that did not find its way back to the Count, one way or another, but he had made a deliberate choice to give this letter to Jannequinard first.

“I… No, I shall tell him,” he decided eventually. “Carvallain de Durendaire died long ago, but by the Fury’s grace, if we can make peace with the Dravanians then perhaps what is left of my family can make peace with themselves.” He got to his feet, a scowl on his face. “I would have thought that something of this magnitude just might be predicted by astromancy, but alas.”

“Maybe it would have if you paid attention to Leveva’s lessons instead of the bosom of the nearest passing noblewoman,” Ar’telan offered, and Jannequinard showed his appreciation by accidentally stepping on his foot.

---

Jannequinard had insisted on Ar’telan accompanying him on his ‘dire quest’, a task to which the miqo’te had acquiesced without argument. Though Ar’telan was used to speaking with the Count in the Firmament, given the amount of time the both of them spent there, the evening meant that Jannequinard instead returned to the family manor with his sidekick in tow, a move which gathered quite a number of concerned looks from the manor’s guard. Ar’telan weighed the pros and cons of reassuring them that he was not Jannequinard’s unfortunate cancelled date, and decided against it.

Durendaire manor was a house of wealth, but it did not feel homely to Ar’telan the way that Fortemps manor did. Shields bearing the family crest adorned the walls, pictures of Counts past and their families between them. Fresh arrangements of flowers sat on marble pedestals, a luxurious red rug covering the polished blackstone floor, and the wallpaper looked to be made from astral silk or some other luxurious cloth. Ar’telan found it to be overwhelming.

A manservant knocked on the office door for them, and Charlemend looked between the two of them in concern that quickly changed to alarm as they entered.

“What has burned down?” he asked as the door closed, and Jannequinard made a frustrated noise.

“I can bring you good news,” he protested, gesturing to Ar’telan to take one of the chairs. With an apologetic look to the Count, Ar’telan shuffled into one, noting the tension between father and son with an increasing nervousness. “In fact, I am bringing good news. Ar’telan here has been kind enough to secure us a trade agreement with one of the prominent powers in Limsa Lominsa.” The distaste in his face was familiar to Ar’telan, from when they had been there on Ishgard’s behalf, with Francel in tow.

“We already have an agreement with those… with their prominent traders,” Charlemend said, the carefully-chosen words not masking his unhappiness. “Not that I expect you to know that, but it was Ar’telan who secured it.” Jannequinard looked over at Ar’telan, who offered an innocent shrug.

“There is more than one pirate in Limsa Lominsa,” he said. Charlemend made a distinctly unhappy noise.

“Yes, I am well aware. If it is worth disturbing me at this hour, and by the both of you, no less, I shall take a look at it,” he said. Jannequinard took the card from his sleeve, and passed it to his father.

“I would advise that you sit, father,” he said, stepping back as the Count took it. The suspicion was plain in Charlemend’s eyes, but he tempered it. Ar’telan was not sure if it was for his benefit, or Jannequinard’s.

“These are the same brigands we dealt with during Lord Francel’s attempts at trade outreach,” he murmured, seeing the sigil upon the front. “Their captain, ah- Gerald, was that his name? Was eventually willing to see reason.”

“Gerald is the First Mate,” Ar’telan said, glancing at Jannequinard as he said it. “But yes. I was surprised as well.” Charlemend offered a huff of annoyance, then turned over the card.

It was a harrowing transformation to witness. Irritance became disbelief, which became anger. He looked up at the two of them, Jannequinard with an uncharacteristically stony face and Ar’telan the picture of neutrality, and anger morphed to a deep and painful sadness without a single word. The card fell from his hands to hit the papers at his desk, his hands shaking.

“How long have you known?” he asked, his eyes on Ar’telan now.

“Longer than I have known you,” he replied. Charlemend’s hand curled into a fist, and he thumped the desk in despair. Jannequinard moved away from him at the sound of it - not in fear, but to head off the concerned manservant who threatened to manifest at the unorthodox summons.

“This is my fault,” Charlemend said, words uttered through gritted teeth to scattered papers rather than his visitors. “All my life I strived for the ideal that my father taught me. Accepted it - what else could I do? And in my sons, in my nephew, I passed down that same poison. Duty above all.”

“Father…” Jannequinard began, surprise clear on his features. It was not an unusual sight, not on Jannequinard, but the circumstance was strange.

“I was not ten yalms from him in Limsa Lominsa. They said he had listened in as we spoke,” Charlemend said, his voice barely a whisper. “Tell me - was it him? Was it Carvallain you spoke with?” Carefully, Ar’telan inclined his head.

“They could not believe it when he agreed to the contract,” he said. “But he had hope in Ishgard for change. In you. Enough to take a chance, but not enough to risk everything he had.” Charlemend ran his fingers across the card.

“What changed?” he asked.

“I told him of the Firmament,” Ar’telan replied. “Of your work at Saint Vandreau’s Grace.” He shook his head then, shuffling over to the side on instinct as Janneqinard returned to the second chair that sat opposite the desk. “Everything that happened with Maelie and Ronantain. If he had not heard you in Limsa the last time I do not think he would have believed me.” Charlemend put his head in his hands, and were it not for a stamina tempered by years as Count in the hostile environment of Ishgard, Ar’telan thought he might have cried.

“He will never come home, will he?” the Count said, his voice quiet and holding the weight of his years.

“No,” Ar’telan agreed. “Ishgard is not his home. It has not been for many years.” The Count let out a long breath, raising his head and running his hands down his face.

“Yes. You are right,” he said. “I will not - I cannot squander this opportunity. If he did not believe me capable of respecting his boundaries then he would never have sent this missive.” He nodded, apparently at peace with his decision. “Very well. The message speaks of a meeting, and though it does not specify a venue, I will not force him to even consider returning to Ishgard. Might I trouble you for an escort to La Noscea, Master Qin?” Ar’telan nodded, a smile on his face.

“Of course. Name the day.”

—

The sharp tang of salt in the airship’s propellors heralded their arrival to Limsa Lominsa proper. Ar’telan, possessed of far more of a head for heights than either of the Durendaires he accompanied, had watched the sea appear on the horizon over the side of the airship, Charlemend going more than a little green when he watched the miqo’te balance against the edge without so much as a rope around his waist. The Admiralty’s ships wound in and out of the harbour, the size of chocobo carts from their height, and in each separate berth sat the flagships of the three remaining bastions of pirate tradition, grand and imposing against the bleached white walls.

Both Charlemend and Jannequinard - the latter had not needed to come, but had insisted, a rare turn of events - seemed happy to get their feet upon solid ground again, even if Jannequinard eyed the creaking lift that took them down into the Drowning Wench with a dubious eye. More than a few of the Wench’s patrons eyed the Ishgardians as they passed, as even Charlemend’s attempts to be inconspicuous still screamed of his wealth, but after Baderon raised a hand and yelled a greeting to Ar’telan, they averted their gazes. Even V’kebbe, leaning against the wall and eating one of the Bismarck’s favourite sandwiches, only gave him a respectful nod of acknowledgement as they passed.

—

Every single member of the Kraken’s Arms in the Hyaline went tense as they entered. Ar’telan glanced back at the Durendaires, but even Jannequinard had picked up on the steely atmosphere enough to stop dead in his tracks.

“I see we’re popular here,” he remarked. Ar’telan sighed.

“I’ll talk to him. Wait here. Try not to get robbed,” he said. Charlemend looked offended, but Jannequinard only offered his empty pockets in demonstration of his intent.

There was a look of distaste on Carvallain’s face when Ar’telan crested the stairs, not dissimilar to the one that his father wore when discussing the topic of pirates. He, too, was as tense as his crew - not something that Ar’telan was used to seeing, not even when he had approached him to deal with the crew on Charlemend’s behalf before. His eyes, quick and clever, appraised Ar’telan as he approached, then went back to staring at elegantly manicured nails.

“The crew have told me. I suppose it is too late to change my mind,” he remarked. Ar’telan shook his head.

“He would leave if I asked,” he disagreed. Carvallain scoffed, but there was no force behind it.

“I suppose if I did not believe you I would not have extended the invitation to begin with,” he said. “Very well. Gerald, I believe the Misery could do with an inspection before we next depart.” Gerald offered a smart salute, understanding the assignment well enough to vanish down the stairs and pull the entire crew along in his undertow. “Fetch him. I will be expecting you to evict him if this turns sour, since this is your fault,” Carvallain said, his voice terse. Ar’telan did not begrudge him the order, in the circumstances.

“I will do my best,” he said, and went back down the stairs.

—

Charlemend and Jannequinard had made note of the piratical exodus, but neither had moved from where Ar’telan had left them - whether because they did not dare or out of respect, Ar’telan could not have rightly said. He could see the nervous vein ticking in Jannequinard’s neck, Charlemend’s uncomfortable posture, the way there was less distance between them than he had ever seen in Ishgard, and felt a little guilty.

“Follow me,” he said, and they both snapped to attention, Jannequinard taking a notable side step.

“I was concerned this had become a ruse to set pirates upon my person,” he said, but though Charlemend scowled at the idea, he remained unusually quiet.

—

The walk up the stairs felt like a funeral procession. Ar’telan tried not to think about how Charlemend had already buried his son, mourned his loss, and uprooted the corpse for this little dance. On the balcony, Carvallain stood with his arms folded, his trusty axe still notably at his back. At the top of the stairs, Charlemend stopped dead.

“...Carvallain,” he said, his voice quiet. There was no question in it, only the heavy weight of proof, the understanding of what it all meant - all the years, all the measures Carvallain had taken, all the times they had come so close and yet remained apart.

“If you wish for an embrace, you will not get one,” Carvallain said, but there was less of his authoritative bark than Ar’telan was used to hearing, less of his smooth command of the situation.

“Well, if I read the signs correctly, you offer them for a very reasonable price down in the docks,” Jannequinard said, and Carvallain laughed despite himself.

“I would charge a little more for one from me,” he replied. “...It has been a long time, father. Ar’telan here informs me that you heal the sick and bring orphans presents, and so forth. When precisely did the voidsent replace you?” Charlemend shook his head.

“I will not trade barbs with you, Carvallain,” he said, his once-proud posture sagging with the weight of years. “For so many years I hoped… After we buried your memory, I told myself it was cruelty to imagine. Yet here you are, a man grown and a leader both.” He did not attempt to cross the distance between them, but he did offer an inclination of his head. “You have flourished beyond any heights which Ishgard could have offered to you. I am proud of you.” Carvallain started at the words, a little of the stony facade dropping.

“I… I did not expect to hear as much from you,” he confessed. “In my earlier years, it brought me a kind of spiteful joy. Leader of a den of sin and iniquity.” He gave Jannequinard a searching look. “For all that some among our number might enjoy such things, that you can look upon all I have built and see it as the accomplishment that it is…” He sighed, shaking his head in despair at himself. “I do not regret my decision, though I did not precisely choose to be on a vessel abducted by pirates. But for the sorrow that I have caused you… I am sorry.” Charlemend took a steadying breath.

“It means the world to me that you trusted in me enough to reach out,” he said. “Thank you.” Ar’telan looked between the two of them, then to Jannequinard. The younger Durendaire still seemed ill-at-ease, but he gave Ar’telan a nod of acknowledgement, stepping to the side to let him retreat to the stairs.

From here, they could mend their own bridges.

[forbidding-souda]

Hello there! If I got it right, you're doing a prompt request? So, if yes, can I have some Kazu x reader and Hiro x reader with prompts 18+40? I just,,, feel like it'll be very neat. Thank you for your blog and works!! And for amount of a best boi Kazu on your blog!!! and sry if i misunderstood your reblog of prompts eheh......

18: “I’d do anything for you” with Kazuichi Souda 40: “I’m too afraid to fall in love” with Hagakure Yasuhiro

You got it right! I’ve actually never seen someone call him Kazu before, it’s so cute oml I love it. Your mind is so large for picking 18 with Kazu btw. I love this and I love you!! Team Kazu!!!

If you’re reading this - I also didn’t spell check this one so hopefully I didn’t make any pronoun or grammar mistakes. :D

-Mod Souda

Kazuichi Souda

Thunk, thunk. You drag your suitcase up the stairs, both of your shoulders occupied by colorful backpacks.

You lived far away from Hope’s Peak, of course, so you decided to move closer.

This means carrying all the stuff you brought.

Which was everything.

Your arms ached, as you are not the most hardworking person out there, and you definitely would rather pay a butler to do it.

“Woah, hey there!” A cheery voice calls out. When you turn to look, you don’t recognize him. Is he calling to someone else?

“Do you need help carrying all that?” So he is talking to you. His beady, pink iris’s meet yours, and for a second, your heart skips a beat.

But you play it off.

“I most certainly do!” You respond, letting his pale hands take the suitcase away from you. He’s even kind enough to slip one of your backpacks over his shoulders.

You can see his collarbones through his jumper, and how his face is angled and sharp.

Strong hands too.

And he helped you to your room, spending his time casually flirting.

Which you don’t pick up at all.

Then you say you are going to Hopes Peak and he !!!

“I’m going there too!”

Oh thank god at least you will recognize someone in the halls.

Ever since then, now that he knows where you live, he has taken it upon himself to walk you to school.

He likes doing kind things for you, things like opening the door and whatnot.

It makes him happy to see you smile.

And one day you’ll be feeling down, a solid 5/10, with your headphones on and your gaze to the floor.

He contemplates what to do, his brain is filled with ideas. If he buys you something, will it make it obvious that he likes you? He doesn’t exactly think he’s being subtle about it, but you were responding normally to his advances.

He spends so much time thinking about it that he doesn’t realize you both are already in the classroom.

You sit down, your cheek rested on your palm and your breathes slow and heavy.

Kazuichi can’t seem to take his eyes off of you. He watches you steadily, observing the way you move, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

Sonia even asks him what’s wrong, wondering if he’s gone ill or something, and he will casually brush off her worries and reassure her.

He pauses though, and then asks her what cheers her up when she’s down.

She puts a finger to her cheek, her soft smile still occupying her face as she thinks of an answer. “Maybe just spending time with all my friends!

“D-Does it work with anyone?” He whispers, in case you are listening in on the conversation. Sonia lets out a laugh and clasps her hands together, “I think everyone likes hanging out with their friends.”

He makes a note of all the things he would make you do after class ends. What about a picnic? Or going on a walk through the city?

Mentally he slaps himself. Those are all romantic things! What do friends do?

By the time class ends, he has definitely planned everything.

Is what he thinks.

But you leave first, making him panic!

Are you... mad at him for something? The thought hasn’t even crossed his mind.

Oh no, did he say something to make you upset without realizing it? He was always afraid of that.

When he walks outside he sees you by the door, waiting for him.

He freaked out over nothing! Wow, you can’t believe he overthought it.

“Ahaha, I thought you left me!”

You give him a small smile, “Eh, I thought about it.” With a tiny laugh, you turn and head down the hall.

“W-Wait, S/O!”

You turn, looking at him with bright eyes. It makes his heart melt.

“I just... how about we go for a walk today! Like, the two of us?”

Great job trying to be platonic, Kazuichi!

Of course you agree, because you would rather hang out with him than do basically anything. Extra time with him is worth it!

Once you two reach the trees, he cheerfully turns to face you. “Shall I carry your bag for you?”

Thoughtlessly, your hand goes to grip it tighter. “No, you don’t need to do that for me, I’m okay!”

“Oh please,” he teases, “I’d do anything for you!”

Your cheeks heat up, but you reluctantly pass over your bag anyways. His gaze falls onto your face, but you’re too embarrassed to look back at him.

His bumps his shoulder with yours. “You know that I am being honest, right?"

“I like you a lot, Kazuichi.”

Hm?

His brain lags and he stops walking.

“Yo-You like me? Like romantically or platonically, you know I can’t tell!”

You just smile at him, “I know I’ve been mopey all day but it’s just because I’ve been planning on telling you! Sorry if I scared you, Kaz!”

His eyes nearly forms into hearts.

He sighs in relief, “thank god because all day I’ve been worrying about how to cheer you up!”

“How about a kiss?”

Is this even real?

Is he dreaming?

He answers you, but not verbally.

Hagakure Yasuhiro

He watches you, keeping his eye on you as you doodle on the counter you work behind.

He has been stalking the aisles for at least an hour now, picking up worthless things.

Mostly snacks.

Quite the money savers.

He visits that corner store often, and will automatically leave if you aren’t sitting their behind the counter.

Though, you seem to always be.

You glance up, again, and look at him.

!!!!

He hides behind the shelves again.

“Hey,” you call out.

Oh no, he’s busted!

His heart is beating out of his chest. He can’t believe you noticed him.

But of course you noticed the man stalking around in your shop for nearly an hour.

“I’m not mad, I’m just curious.” Your voice coos out.

When he peeks over to you he sees your face, resting in the palm of your hand, and your mischievous looking eyes.

“Yeah, I’m just bad at shopping, you know?” He tries to excuse himself. While he talks, he talks steps closer to you, until you both only have a counter between you.

You watch him shift the weight between his feet, uncomfortably. You hide your laugh. “What’s your name?”

“Ehh... Yasuhiro.”

“Okay, what do you do, Yasuhiro? I see you in here a lot. Are you a construction worker? Clergyman?”

“I’m a clairvoyant.”

He seems almost embarrassed to say it.

The way you talk, the way you express yourself, is just so relaxed.

You’re intimidating to him.

Little does he know is that, internally you are a flustered mess.

You prop yourself up, eyes widen in pleasant surprise. “A clairvoyant? For real?”

Your excitement makes him feel a lot better, giving him the confidence he always lacks.

“Of course! Maybe next time I should bring my crystal ball in, eh?”

A crystal ball? He’s so cool! What if he gave you a reading?

Your cheeks heat up when you think about what your future looks like.

Would it be good? Hopefully.

He puts a hand on his chest, resting it directly onto his heart.

“Maybe I should give you a reading. The first one will be free but you’ll have to pay for the rest of them!”

You give him a small laugh. “I doubt I would need more than one, let’s see how good you are.”

As he walks home, he can’t stop thinking how excited he is. Tomorrow he’ll show you his talent! Even if it has a 30% of amazing you!

The next day he arrives, crystal ball in hand, only to find you missing behind the counter.

You tricked him, didn’t you? He should have seen it coming from the evil gaze you gave him.

He steps outside and gets distracted by someone calling his name...

And there he sees you, standing in front of the sun with a book bag around your shoulder.

“Aw, you didn’t think I’d leave, did you?”

His heart flutters, bursting alive out of his chest.

The warm colors of the sky; orange and yellow hues; highlight your figure as you walk past him. “Come on now, let’s go.”

You blow his mind! 

He doesn’t even know where you are leading him, he just follows behind you with his crystal ball tucked safely in his palms.

Eventually, he realizes, you are taking him to a nearby playground with a patch of grass and large, shady trees.

And in your book bag is a thin blanket for you both to sit on.

He sits with his legs crossed and you sit on your knees.

Excitement trickles through your bones but you try not to hide it.

You’re bad at hiding it, though, because you have a goofy smile on your face.

“Put your hands over it so it can absorb your energy.” He instructs. 

Following his orders, you begin to focus your energy into your palms, wondering if the power is even real or not.

You’d like to believe, but you’ve never seen it for yourself.

And when you feel complete, he closes his eyes, humming to himself before glancing into the ball.

Impatient, you are, and you almost jump him for the answers.

But he takes his time trying to interpret what the colors he is seeing mean.

“Ehm... so if I’m getting this straight... there are new awakenings coming to you that are very positive, indicating a new love... and or friendship... and or... I don’t know, something like that.”

His eyes glanced all over your face to see your reaction.

He is basically on a date with someone cute...

Date?

Is this a date?! He didn’t even realize! And he didn’t even wear his formal clothes!

“Oh, that’s interesting... love?” You ask, covering your mouth with your hand. “I don’t think I like that very much.”

His eyebrows furrow. “You don’t like love?”

An unease swoops in, overlaying the once bright coversation.

“I guess I don’t... I mean, I love my friends! It’s just... romance.”

He chuckles, trying to pry himself out of the situation he was forced into.

“Romance isn’t that bad! I mean, it can be cute sometimes.”

His words linger in your brain.

“Cute...”

He sits in silence, watching your eyebrows twitch and your lips part while you think.

Eventually, you just laugh into your fingers and eye him.

“I’m too afraid to fall in love.”

He responds quickly, nervous about saying things that are accidentally flirty. “Well, hopefully it’s easier this time around.”

You nod to him, smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind, Yasuhiro.”

His name flows easily from your lips, making him melt.

He sits up, fast, coming to his senses. “Right, the next reading--”

“Isn’t free, I remember that.” You wave him off.

He expected you to stand him, to thank him for the reading and be on your way.

But you stayed, looking at him with awe in your eyes.

Until your face heats and you rustle around in your bag. “I...I brought snacks, for us.”

When he doesn’t respond, you look up with soft eyes.

“For our date... okay?”

[sabraeal]

Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 7

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6

Obiyukiweek 2020, Day 4: Free Day

The air still smells like freesia and vanilla as Shirayuki returns from her shower, scrubbed clean and with the thinnest pajamas she can muster. Even now the heat’s starting to settle on her skin, turning her post-shower dew into regular summer sweat, and oh, she needs to get that fan oscillating stat, before she stews in her own juices like some Shirayuki-flavored pulled pork.

She settles on the bed, flapping out a hand to turn it on and--

Ugh, it’s just...pushing hot air around, at this point. Maybe if she’s sweats through another set of pajamas tonight, she’ll be able to convince Nanna she needs an AC unit in her window.

(Her room-- back when it was her mother’s-- had a unit, but after an unfortunate incident that involved her father, a thwarted clandestine encounter, and a hole in the garage roof, the replacement instead went into the kitchen, where it’s lived every summer until it malfunctioned and froze to the sill. Grandad’s replaced it since, but still-- it’s never returned to her window. Of all the sins of her mother Shirayuki’s had to answer for, this one is hands down the worst.

“Really?” Obi laughs, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt. She sees the barest hint of abdominals and suddenly, the orientation packet isn’t half as engaging as it was before. “Not the whole...’grandparents convinced their first great grandchild will pop out before graduation’ thing?”

“To be fair,” she manages, breath thin as the worn fabric drops back over her current distraction. “The point was pretty much moot until, um...”

Oh, that-- that grin is trouble. “Until you climbed on top of me and made me come hard enough to go blind?”

He really, really doesn’t need to say it like-- like that. “S-something like that.”)

She’s ready to just call it a day at this point-- and nearly does. Rolling up onto her side, she reaches for the cord to her lamp--

Buzz. Buzz.

Shirayuki blinks. That’s...that’s her phone.

She’s tempted to ignore it-- she does not need Kihal speculating about what her and Obi could get up to in the woods “all unsupervised” tomorrow, and Obi should still--

 9:12, her phone reads. His shift at the club is over, and by now he’s probably--

Home. Texting her. 

Shirayuki nearly drops her phone straight down the crack between her bed and nightstand, and oh jeez, it would be nice if she could just...calm down for once. Be cool.

It buzzes again. She yelps, trying to flick the screen on with a wild shake. She can save being cool for another day. One where she’s seen him more than once in two weeks.

hey, the text reads, nestled in its innocuous gray bubble, we should talk

Shirayuki experiences something that could medically be called an event. Is he upset? Has she done something--?

not a bad talk, he clarifies, just miss you

She rolls onto her back with a smile, thumbs poking at the screen to say, i miss you t--

mebbe a sexy talk tho ;3 i *rlly* miss u

:|

is that for the sexy or the bad grammar

Both.

She catches the call on the first ring, barely having time for a breath before Obi drawls, “You weren’t complaining about sexy things two weeks ago.”

With all the dignity of a mathlete champion, Shirayuki replies, “Hnn?”

(”Eek!” She yanks the controller up, to the side, anywhere that might help move her character away from giant beetle on the screen. “How do I--? Where do I--?”

Obi’s chest makes a hollow thunk when she rams into it. He coughs; it takes her a full, frantic second to realize it’s to cover a laugh.

“You know,” he murmurs, plucking the controller out of her hands, “joycons don’t have motion sensors.”

“I don’t know,” she returns primly, folding her legs back down over the edge of the bed. “And also you told me this game was easy.”

“Rune Factory is easy.” His mouth twitches. “Half the game is farming.”

“And the other half is fighting...whatever those things are.” She waves at the screen, scowling at the RETRY? stamped across it. “Which is hard.”

“It’s not,” He leans back, setting the controller on his nightstand. “You could even say...”

His arm hooks around her waist, dragging her on top of him. “...It’s as easy as I am.”

Her breath rasps out of her, and oh god, she can feel his dick pressing up against her thigh, so hard already. “You’re not making me feel very accomplished.”

“Well,” his fingernails scrape up the back of her legs, “we can fix that.”)

“You were very enthusiastic,” he remarks casually, “from what I remember.”

“Mm, well.” Two could play at this game...maybe. “It was two weeks ago.”

She may not be able to see him, but she can feel his grimace through the wire. Or well, the air? Wifi? Shirayuki wasn’t really up on how phones worked past the Edison era. It’s not like they ask how cell phones work on the SATs.

“Sorry,” he sighs, pillow audibly whumping over the receiver. “I know I warned you, but I really thought we’d have had more time to talk.”

“It’s okay.” She squirms against her sheets, fighting a shrug he can’t see. “I...I missed you, but I know how much the hours mean to you.”

“I missed you too.” His voice is so soft, so vulnerable, so unlike the boy who made her miss auditions a year ago. “I’m glad we’ll see each other tomorrow.”

“Me too,” she breathes, and oh, it doesn’t seem soon enough. Not when she wants to wrap her arms around him, lay her head on his chest and just listen to him breathe. “You could--”

Come over. Her teeth snap down on the offer. Sure, it’d be nothing for him to hop up to the garage roof, for her to leave the window open--

But that’s how she got here, and nope, no. Not happening.

“--come pick me up tomorrow?” she squeaks out instead, cheeks burning. There’s no way he won’t know she meant something else, that she was avoiding--

“What? Don’t want to be smooshed in the backseat of Big Guy’s swagger wagon?” She can hear the smirk on his lips. “I thought you were looking forward to it.”

“I don’t think Mitsuhide would appreciate you calling his minivan that,” she informs him primly, not a laugh in sight. It’s a feat only achieved by the judicious application of her teeth to her cheeks. “And I was! I mean, I am. It’s just...”

“Big Guy gives priority seating based on height?”

Well, that’s definitely part of it. With all five of them, she’s always left in the back seat, alone, and Obi--

“Gotta say, looking forward to all that leg room,” he drawls, “and getting an airbag all to myself. You think he’ll let me at the aux cable?”

“Never.”

“Aww.” Shirayuki knows he’s pouting; a full-on, little kid lip wibble. “You’re my girlfriend, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“You know what you did.” A two hour meme mix on the way to Laxdo. “Besides, I just thought it would be better if we, um, had some time to ourselves. Before.”

“Oh?” he hums, so curious, and-- oh, it doesn’t usually take him this long to pick up on when she’s trying to, um, tell him something. “I figured you wouldn’t mind since we’d have all day-- oh.” There it is. “You mean alone.”

“W-well, it’s been two weeks,” she hedges nervously. “And I’m not saying I couldn’t, um, behave--”

“Yeah, I’ll pick you up.” The words come out fast, pinched. Maybe she’s being too pushy; Obi likes to tease, but that doesn’t mean he’s always in the mood to-- “I’m definitely not going to be able to keep my hands to myself.”

“O-oh.” Well. That’s hitting different tonight. Maybe because it’s already over ninety, and her temp is climbing with it. Or maybe because she’s only wrapped up in the thinnest, most barely-there clothes she has; the kind he could rip like tissue paper--

Or maybe because it’s been two weeks, and despite going eighteen years without needing any sexual contact, she’s as tragically hard up as a teen comedy protagonist.

“I didn’t know you were...in a bind.” His voice drops to a rumble, and ah, that is not helping the situation. Her thighs slip against each other, trying to dull the ache. “You know I’m always happen to lend a hand when you need it, kid.”

“It not that bad,” she murmurs, but it’s starting to get there the longer he talks. The more she thinks about him showing up tomorrow, just them alone in her house-- “And you didn’t have time to come over.”

“I don’t need to come over.” He’s laughing, but there’s something in it that’s more, that’s almost a purr. “Come on, kid, I gave you those earphones for a reason. Hands free.”

“O-oh.” She’s all too aware of them now, clipped over her ears. Her hand’s only holding the screen out of habit. Hands free.

“I mean, if you’re really hard up,” he hums, “we could do something about it now. Take the edge off.”

She-- she shouldn’t. “Obi! You don’t really mean...?”

“Absolutely. I’d really like to--” his voice cracks,and oh, oh-- “it’s been so long since I made you come, babe.”

(”Well, that’s the last vote for Dreamiest Hair,” Shirayuki sighs, her flyaways dancing at the edge of her vision. “What’s the next category?”

Kihal glances down and grins. “Sexiest Voice.”

She gapes. “Is Mrs Gazalt really going to let us give out an award for that?”

“Mrs Gazalt takes her position of club supervisor very seriously,” Kihal informs her, “and by that I mean, she sits in the corner playing Words with Friends and just lets us do what we want, as long as it isn’t dangerous. Or illegal.”

“Still.” Her mouth pulls tight, a grim line across her face. If the rest of the club could see her now, her Cutest Smile win would be revoked. “That seems, I don’t know...”

“Like it wouldn’t be a contest? I know.” Kihal shrugs. “But that’s what the freshmen picked. I guess they’re just really hoping Obi will growl through his whole acceptance speech.”

“No, I-- wait, Obi?” Her mouth is dry suddenly. She crosses her legs beneath the table. “Why would--? Obi?”

Kihal rolls her eyes. “Oh come on, you’ve heard him over the headset. He’s got that whole like, gravel thing going on. And when he gets heated with someone, like that time with Raj, hoo--” she fans herself-- “I know you have a thing for Zen, but like, I still don’t know how you didn’t jump him.”

Her cheeks burn, painfully. “I-I don’t-- that’s not--”

“Come on, Shirayuki,” she clucks, rolling her eyes. “You have ears. That couldn’t have done nothing for you.”

At the time she’d been so mortified that Raj had not only followed her to the place that was supposed to be her escape, but that he’d brought up what happened, like it didn’t even bother him--

Well, sex had been the last thing on her mind. At least the actual, arousing kind. But now, now--

Listen, I’m sure you have a lot to say but I really can’t-- his voice breaks, and the phantom pressure of his fingers weighs on her lips-- I was supposed to have your back, and I fucked up. I know it doesn’t make up for what happen but I-- his breath rasps from his throat, so raw that hers hurts in sympathy-- I’m sorry.

--she gets it.

“Right, um--” it’s hard to think with her face so hot-- “we should still count the votes anyway.”)

(He wins in a landslide. His acceptance speech at the drama banquet is so suggestive that he ends up with half a dozen panties shoved into his pockets. They tumble out of his jacket when he leans over the console to kiss her, right over the stick shift and onto her lap.

What am I gonna do with a bunch of ladies underwear? he’d murmured against her lips, fingers toying at the strap of her gown, earning her own personal vote. You need any, kid?)

“O-okay.”

“Wha-what?” She winces at the loud bang over the speakers, followed by a softer, more distant “Fuck.”

“Ah, is everything--?”

“Fine,” Obi assures her, sounding like maybe some of his limbs are out of order. “Just...dropped my phone. I didn’t...are you sure?”

Her fingers clench in her sheets. “Yes. I just...don’t really know how to start.”

“Well.” His voice drops playfully low. “Are you in the position?”

“Is the position laying down?” she asks, nervous. “Because I’m laying down.”

He tries to smother it, but she would know his laugh anywhere. “Yeah, great. Good. You’re ready?”

Shirayuki squirms against her pillow, legs rubbing together so hard they should chirp, like some sort of horny cricket. “I guess...”

Obi doesn’t hide his laugh now, just lets it rumble out from his chest in a way that is...not helping. Or maybe it is, considering the whole...situation. “You guess?”

“I just--” am terrified-- “don’t understand.”

He grunts, and by the sound of rustling in her ears, gets comfortable. “What’s holding you up?”

Everything. “It’s better if we just wait isn’t it? I mean to do this, um...”

In person. With someone who knows how to touch her, instead of her fumbling around and showing just how bad at all this sexy stuff she can be.

“This involves sexy talking, doesn’t it?” If distress is a destination, then she’s already laid out a lawn chair and ordered a drink from the cabana. She’s hopeless when her speeches are planned and PG, let alone when she’s trying to improv and it’s about-- about-- “Do I have to talk about penises?”

He makes an ungodly noise. “Kid.”

“I just don’t think I have the experience to talk about them with any sort of authority,” she presses on, brain undaunted by how ridiculous she sounds. “Especially if I’m also supposed to be doing...other things. It’s really--”

“Shirayuki--” he says her name so soft, so fond, and she knows, she knows-- “you should learn how to do it yourself, too.”

--that he’s seen right through her.

“I don’t see why,” she mumbles stubbornly, fidgeting with the hem of her shorts. “You’re going to Lyrias too. Your room is in the building next door, and it’s connected to mine! I don’t really think I need to learn how to-- to--” she whines, the words sticking in her throat-- “this!”

“Kid.” He heaves a sigh, and even though she’s dying from the mortification of Being Known, it sends shivers right through her. “Just because you’re subscribed to Sexy Culinary School Weekly with Obi doesn’t mean you shouldn’t know how to cook on your own.”

“You magazine needs to work on its name.”

“Yeah, let me just go workshop it with Princess Prettymane and Calico Dog.”

“It’s duchess.”

“You know that doesn’t make it better, right?” he deadpans. “Princess Prettymane at least has alliteration. Also,” his voice lilts, playful, “you’re trying to change the subject. Which is cute, and really makes me want to kiss you until you worry that we’re going to ruin another pair of tights, but--”

“I’m not wearing tights right now.”

His jaw snaps shut.

“See,” he manages after a long moment, hoarse, “that is a very distracting thing to say.”

The gravel in his voice scrapes at an itch she didn’t know she had, heat painting a searing line down her spine. She’s already slick from sweat, but this adds another texture to it, one that’s growing more insistent by the second.

“And very confusing.” She doesn’t know what it says that even his complaints are doing it for her. “Since a few seconds ago, you weren’t sure if you could talk sexy, and now you’re telling me all sorts of things.”

“I was just...informing you. Of the situation.” Her nails pluck nervously at her waistband. “It’s summer, so, um, no tights.”

“Oh right,” he breathes, wry, “just setting the scene.”

“You know,” she tries again, too shrill, “I’m really fine with how you do it. I don’t really think-- I mean, is it really necessary that I have to--?”

“Kid, you’re the one that said okay,” he reminds her. “You don’t have to do anything. It’s just better for you if you know what you like. That way if you...”

His breath rasps from his throat. “...You should know what you like, separate from, ah, someone else.”

It’s a nice wrapping job he’s done on this baggage, but even with only a year under her belt, she knows what the tag on this one says. “I’m not going to go to college and suddenly not want you anymore, Obi.”

“I know that,” he says, but he doesn’t, not really. Obi doesn’t really talk much about before, about all the girls he’s snuck into his room or met at a party or whatever, but he thinks that all this, this whole wanting to put Tab A into Slot B thing, is the default. That you meet someone and maybe you talk a little and then bingo-bango-bongo, you know if you want to get on a horizontal surface with them.

He doesn’t get that this, for her, isn’t her normal. If Zen hadn’t been kind to her that first day, if he hadn’t helped Kihal with her Brecker problem, if the rumors surrounding them hadn’t whipped up to a fevered pitch so even she couldn’t ignore them-- well, Shirayuki wouldn’t have even been thinking about romance.

So the fact that she can look at him and feel like she’s walked into the country club’s sauna with her school clothes on-- that different. That’s special. That’s not going to just happen with someone she meets in an 8AM lecture.

If only she were as good with word things as her English grades suggested she should be, she’d be to tell him that.

“This isn’t about...” Obi lets out a disgruntled huff. “Listen, I know I definitely had some inspired ideas about what you would like from...before--”

(She’s still panting as she comes down, tremors zipping up and down her spine, “How did you...?”

Obi smiles, a wide Cheshire Cat grin. Fitting, since she definitely feels like she’s been dragged down the rabbit hole. “How did I what, kid?”

“Know to do that. With my hips,” She smooths her palms over where he’d grabbed them. They ache; it wouldn’t surprise her if she had hand-shaped bruises slapped across them tomorrow.

“Oh, I thought you’d like that.” Obi curls into her side, too pleased. He’s hard against her hip, but-- she likes it. “When I caught you coming off that ladder, you made that little hiccuppy noise, so I figured...pretty sensitive right?”

She stares.

He blinks. “What, did I say something--?”

“Obi” she manages, “that was four months ago.”)

“But if you knew what you liked...” She doesn’t need to see him to know there’s a feral smile stretching across his face. “I could do much better.”

Oh, that sounds...nice. She shifts, and she-- she leaks, thick slick coating the tops of her thighs.

“Besides, if we’re going to bring toys into the equation,” he continues, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of the conversation, “you should know what makes you feel good without any electronic intervention, if you know what I mean.”

Ah, she-- she definitely does.

“Toys?” she squeaks. “I don’t-- I don’t remember any, um, toy talk.”

Obi hums, amused. “Well, I did promise you a good graduation gift.”

“You--you already gave me one!” Her hand skips up to run over the smooth plastic. “I’m using it right now!”

“Mm.” He’s too pleased with himself, like he’s caught her scent on the air from all the way across town. “But you won’t need them much at school. So...”

“I won’t need t-that at school either!” She’s glad she’s got these headphones; her cheeks would be making her phone’s screen go haywire. “I’ll have you, and I’m very, um, happy with your performance. I don’t think we need to add, um, props.”

“As chuffed as I am to have you appreciating my prowess, kid--” oh he’s going to be unlivable after this, she can just tell-- “that’s all the more reason to have something in the wings to mix it up. Especially since we’re waiting t-to--” he stumbles, voice dropping to a murmur-- “I mean, since we both want to, um...”

He’s so tortured trying to talk about it without actually talking about it that she takes pity on him. “Since I’m afraid of penises, but we both like to touch each other.”

“I mean, since we’re waiting to have sex,” he manages, pained. “Or at least, the kind that involves dicks and, ah, going places.”

She’s been around him too long, because without even missing a beat, she claps back, “Oh, I didn’t realize yours was having its own hero journey.”

“It has certainly felt a Call to Adventure,” he mumbles, “and a Woman as a Temptress.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, a Meeting with the Goddess,” he amends, quick enough that she grins. “And once again, you’re trying to distract me. Though I thought it would more like ‘clothes I am missing’ instead of ‘Campell’s seventeen stages thesis.’“

“I’m sticking to what I know,” she tells him primly. “But I suppose I could tell you that, um, I’m not wearing a bra?”

He grunts, gutted. “Ohh, you are really just trying to make this difficult.” He adds, a little waspish, “All this trouble better be working for you, because it’s definitely working for me.”

“Oh, are you--” she swallows, hoping he can’t hear it-- “did you really want to try that?”

“Ah, I mean...” His breath comes sharp, short. “Yeah. If you would like to.”

Her breath catches. “I haven’t really, um...”

Done this. Ever. It would be so easy to say it, but it’s just-- belaboring the point. He knows. He just...thinks she’s a much better student than she is. At least about things like this.

“Listen, I haven’t...” He hesitates, and she realizes-- he’s embarrassed. “This isn’t something I’ve done with anyone before. You know I’m not really anyone’s...long term option.”

Grandad always says that she shoots from the cuff-- a nice way of saying doesn’t think before talking-- but she doesn’t regret it, not one bit, when she blurts out, “You’re mine.”

Obi’s breath rasps into the speaker. “Y-yeah. I know.” With a swallow, he adds, “And I know you think I have a lot of experience, but there’s a lot out there to try, and I haven’t even brushed the surface of it, you know? And I just thought, knowing you, knowing how curious you are...”

She blinks. “You mean...you’ve never been with someone long enough to, um, explore?”

“Ah, plenty of people would pick up Sexy Culinary Weekly up off the rack, but um--” he huffs out a laugh, soft and self-deprecating-- “you’d be the first to pick up a subscription.”

Shirayuki doesn’t like to pry, but for a good long moment, she considers asking for a list with some names. Just to talk, of course.

She takes a deep breath instead, trying to focus. “So you want to-- to explore with me?”

“If you want to,” he’s quick to say. “I know all of this is...new. I just thought since we won’t be doing a, ah, traditional progression here--”

“Traditional?”

He sighs. “You know, the uh, porn formula. Fingering, hand job, blow job, eating--”

“OKAY,” she yelps, clapping a hand to her face. “I get it!”

“Right, well, there’s a lot between what we’re doing and PIV.” She nearly giggles at how he says it, piv, like it’s a word and not an acronym. It's almost...cute. Like an adorable monster she could get a plushie of, instead of something that involved penises and could make her pregnant.

“And since we’re not doing any of that soon,” he continues, “we could, ah...take the scenic route. And maybe that would be a little less intimidating for you, since we’d both be new at...whatever we’re doing, instead of feeling like you had to catch up.”

Her heart flutters, and the warmth in her gut spreads up to her chest. “I think you’re mixing metaphors.”

“Sorry, I can’t think of cooking puns for everything,” he deadpans. “Think of it as not having to rush to read back issues, I guess.”

She hums. “I think you’re asking me to help with recipe development.”

“Well, if we’re going to embark on culinary adventures together--” he presses, voice bubbling like he’s trying to keep down a laugh. Several, if she’s anything to go by-- “then you should be comfortable with what your body likes before we add any...additional ingredients. You have to learn to do it the right way before we do it the easy way.”

“Oh,” she breathes. Obi was definitely starting to have a point about doing all this now. “Like New Math.”

“Wow, kid,” he deadpans, “really getting right down to the dirty talk.”

She flushes. Good thing he can’t see her. “I-I thought that was your job.”

He laughs, a rumble she feels right down to her bones. “You’re right. What are you wearing?”

She coughs. “Really?”

“I’m trying to set the scene,” he informs her, far too innocent. “This is a delicate shared fantasy we’re making. Wouldn’t want you to get thrown out of it because I mention panties and you’re wearing boyshorts.”

“I’m not wearing underwear,” she blurts out. “Wearing it overnight increasing the chance of yeast infections.”

Ah, there it is: the regret. It would be nice if she could just...not be like this. If she could just think through what she says when she’s nervous, instead of talking about diseased vaginas with her boyfriend while he’s trying to...make love at her, or whatever.

Now she has to contend with this endless silence, wishing that her mortification would at least dampen her desire even a little. Heaven knows they wouldn’t doing any recipe development tonight, after that. “O-obi?”

“Sorry, I just--” his throat makes a hollow thunk that echoes over the line-- “I got distracted.”

She blinks. “By what?”

“Thinking about how much I want to be there,” he admits, “and what I’d do to you if I was.”

“O-oh.” Maybe some culinary adventure wasn’t...so off the table as she thought. “A-and what would that be?”

A strangled groan tears between them. “I want to eat you out so bad.”

That-- that was not what she’d thought he’d say. “Really?”

“Yeah.” His sigh is strained. “You make such good noises.”

“You like it?” Her thighs clench, and oh, she wishes she knew what to do about it. “I figured it would taste...weird.”

Not that she’s ever tried. But she’s tasted blood (too coppery, bad texture), and well, boogers (too salty; thanks, childhood), and she can’t imagine that can taste much better.

“No,” he hums. “You taste just right. Are you touching yourself yet?”

There’s no way to explain she’s just been rating bodily fluids on a scale of most to least appetizing, so she settles with, “N-no.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, now that he’s reminded her that her body isn’t just some inconvenient appendage for her brain, Shirayuki can’t forget that it’s there. And she certainly can’t ignore the heat between her legs, or the way her skin feels as sensitive as flash paper, ready to burn up at a moment’s notice.

“You should do that,” he tells her, just short of a command, and ah, yeah, that’s sounding like a better and better idea every second. “What are you wearing?”

She’s out of cutesy stalling tactics. Or at least, she can’t think of any, not when her vagina seems to have a pulse of its own. “A tank top. And pajama shorts.”

“Sounds cute,” he breathes. “Put your hand down them.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. Pubic hair crinkles under the tips of her fingers, scratchy against her palm. It’s wet too, tangling when she tries to slide further down so she just..doesn’t. “What now?”

“What do you usually do?”

He’s panting just the barest bit, and the sound of him already so undone is what spurs her to admit, “I, um, usually don’t do anything.”

“But you’ve tried before.” She should have never told him that. “What did you do then?”

“I, um--” she licks her lips, nervous-- “put my fingers inside?”

“Right away?” He laughs, and it’s fond, gentle. “No wonder you’ve never gotten much of anywhere. How about you just cup yourself now.”

She does. Little hairs wrap themselves around her fingers, coming loose, and oh, those always refuse to wash off later, clinging to her with the same tenacity as glitter. It’s comforting to feel weight there, at least, even if it clearly isn’t Obi’s. Still, it’s...vaguely unpleasant.

“I don’t feel much,” she reports, trying not to let her frustration leak through. Maybe she just isn’t cut out for masturbation.

“You wouldn’t,” he confirms, “you need to part your lips first.”

She nearly does, until she thinks better of it. “What does that have to do with--?”

“Not your mouth.” He’s barely covering a laugh. “Your other lips.”

“O-oh.” Of course. That makes...more sense.

Her fingers splay, parting her flesh, and ahh, there is...a lot more of her than she remembers. She’s read about lips blooming like flowers before-- mostly in the books Nanna likes to read-- but nothing had ever...blossomed down there for her before. But it’s definitely all petals and sepals now, if things like that were made out of flesh. She saw something like that once, on one of those Syfy shows her grans liked to watch when she was a kid--

She jolts as something slaps her hard, right on the breast, and oh, she’s-- she’s forgotten she’s still holding the phone. Or at least, she was. Now her hand is boneless, empty, and her screen has belly-flopped right onto her boob.

“Oh, um, wait.” She fumbles with it, one-handed, trying to find some place to put it. “I need to--I need to put down my phone.”

He hums, bemused. “Two hands would help.”

Shirayuki’s definitely struggling with one, that’s for sure. Her bedside table is too far for her headphones to reach without tugging; the bed itself is just asking for her to squirm her way to an End Call. She’s stuck discovering all this with one hand plastered in between her thighs, dipping between her vulva in a way that can only be termed distracting.

By the time she settles it on her pillow, far enough away to avoid any mishap via cheek smooshing, she’s practically panting. Maybe she needs to take up a sport at Lyrias; Mathletes clearly isn’t cutting it.

“Okay,” she sighs, dropping back onto her bed. “Now I’m ready. I am parting my...myself. What’s next?”

“Are you wet?”

Well, if she wasn’t before, she certainly is now. “I, um, think so?”

“All right.” His bed groans, like he’s shifting on it, and oh, how she wishes she knew what he looked like now. “Just start sliding your fingers around. You know where your clit is, right?”

“Yes,” she manages, squirming as she rubs at her folds. “I’ve seen a diagram before.”

He laughs, a low rumbling chuckle that sends a shiver down her spine, and yeah, she can take a real good guess at where her clit might be. “Don’t touch it.”

Her fingers still. “Why not?”

“You’re sensitive,” he tells her, so casual. “You get squirmy when I touch it directly. I mean, feel free to try...maybe you’re a lighter touch than I am. You could like it.”

She’s about to balk-- if it doesn’t feel good when he does it, she’s not going to do any better-- when his voice drops and he adds, “Tell me if you do.”

Well, let it not be said that Shirayuki doesn’t believe in science. Which is the reason she’s doing this. Hypothesis testing. Not because her boyfriend asked in a ridiculously sexy way.

With a steeling breath, she swipes her clit with the pad of her finger and-- y i k e s.

She grits her teeth, nerves still jangling. “Um, yeah, that didn’t feel great.”

“Too bad.”

With a sigh, she stretches her neck, hoping to get that raised-hackles feel out of it and-- oh.

Rum Tum stares down at her with his glassy black eyes, mouth stitched into its permanent smile. That’s really...not helping.

“Um.” Duchess Prettymane is next to him, head tilted in question. Calico Dog is definitely just...judging her. “Give me one second.”

With her free hand, she turns each of her stuffies around, placing them in a line on her window sill. They don’t need to see any of this.

“Okay.” She settles back into her pillows. “So I definitely don’t touch that. I just...touch around it?”

“Yeah,” he huffs out, amused. “But no rubbing! Long strokes, just barely brushing it, both fingers, one on either side.” She can hear his grin when he adds, “You like to be teased.”

She wants to protest that; she nearly does, but--

Her fingers skid over her folds, tracing just around the lip of her slit, stopping just shy of her clit, and-- mm, all right, he, ah, definitely has a point. This feels much better.

Still, she’s so used to Obi’s touch; he lingers in all the right places, calluses catching on her clit in a way that makes her writhe. Her own fingers are too tiny and her movements too awkward. She’s too wet too; as much as it’s definitely helping with the, um, sensations she’s feeling, controlling her fingers makes her feel like a contestants on one of those Japanese game shows. Just when she thinks she’s gotten it, when she’s starting to build to something interesting if not good--

“How is it?”

She nearly nicks herself with a nail. “Better when you do it.”

“Ah, I see,” he hums. “A pillow princess--”

Shirayuki has absolutely no idea what that means, but she knows she’s being teased. “No--!”

A thunk stops her mid-thought. Her hand snaps away from her shorts. “Did you hear that?”

“Kid--”

She eyes the door warily. “Do you think it’s Nanna?”

Obi smothers a chuckle. “I’m pretty sure that was just your phone.”

“No, I put it behind my--” she looks down, and oh yes, there it is, right on the floor.

“Oh,” she breathes, mortified. “Oh. Right. Just, um, give me a minute.”

It’s a tricky proposition trying to fish it off the floor. For one, her bed is high and her arms are short-- oh, she was so committed to the whole fairy bower aesthetic of lofting her bed when she was twelve, but now it’s really inconvenient-- and for another, one hand is contaminated with, um, juices, and though she doesn’t want to smear any of that all over her phone--

Well, wiping it on the sheets is a bad decision. Nanna’s nose is sharp, and if there’s one conversation she doesn’t want to happen, it’s why does you bed smell like sex, Shirayuki? She’s done well not getting grounded so far, despite the number of times Obi’s been caught shirtless in her room, but she knows better than to try to test her grandmother’s patience on it.

Shirayuki drops to her belly, elbow digging into the mattress to ground her. Her finger are just long enough to brush the screen--

“Hey kid,” Obi sighs, “do you actually want to do this?”

She yelps. Only a quickly placed hand keeps her from meeting her carpet face first. She does have her phone though. “What?”

“I thought that this was going to be fun and sexy, but now...” He grunts, uneasy. “It seems like I might forcing you, and that’s really not what I wanted to happen. If you don’t want--”

“NO! I mean,” she manages, throwing herself back on her bed, “you have a point. Even though I prefer you touching me by lot--”

Obi hums, too smug.

“--we can’t always make the time to, um, do that.” It’s be nice if the bed could just swallow her whole right now, put her out of her misery, but-- she wants this. She wants him, and part of that is having terrible conversations that make her feel like a five alarm fire in a fireworks factory. “And if we’re having trouble just a few houses away, I’m sure we’ll find a way to have it when you’re only a few doors down too. Which is fine, it’s not like I have to, um...”

He makes a noise, intrigued, and oh, she really hates how badly she does want to keep this boyfriend. If only she liked him less, then she wouldn’t have to talk about any of this at all.

“I just mean, sometimes I think about you when we can’t be together--”

“Sometimes?”

“You know what I mean,” she snips, annoyed. “Sometimes I think about you in a specific way and I get a little, um, stuck. And that can be frustrating. So it’s probably better that I learn this now, than--

“Wait.” He’s breathless, unfocused. “Are you telling me you’ve been all...stuck lately?”

���N-no!” That is really not what she wants to be talking about right now. “I mean, a-a little? Kind of.”

She can hear the rush of his breath through his nose, his long thoughtful pause--

“Do you need some inspiration?” He’s eager, voice tight and nearly winded. “Purely above the waist, of course.”

It occurs to her that he means pictures; pictures of the adult variety. The yes leaps to her lips, but oh, what if Nanna saw it, and--

“Here, one sec.”

He’s not joking; barely a second later her phone buzzes, snapchat informing her that Obi has a new photo. She frowns, flicking open the app, and -- oh. Yes. That was. Definitely not there a few moments ago.

He’s naked from the waist up, lounging in a pair of gym shorts, his legs spread wide where he sits, and-- “Are you, um...?”

“Hot?” he growls playfully. “For you, yeah.”

“Hard,” she blurts out, since she never misses an opportunity to make a fool of herself. It would be nice if her curiosity could take a vacation for a day or two. Give her skin a break.

“Oh. Um. Yeah,” he grunts. “I mean, I’m trying to get you off, and I’m think about touching you. Sort of...a natural response.”

“But you aren’t touching yourself?”

“We hadn’t really talked about that,” he murmurs shyly. “This is supposed to be about you. I didn’t want to get distracted.”

“Ah...” That place between her legs throbs. She snakes a hand under her waistband, and oh, they’ve barely lost any ground at all. “You should.”

“W-what?”

“Touch yourself,” she tells him, running her fingers over her folds. “I think it would help.”

“Oh.” She might as well have hit him for the way that bursts out of him. “I didn’t--”

“I can give you inspiration too.” She whips off her tank before she can think better of it, struggling when she realizes, no, one hand will definitely not be enough to get the job done--

And then it’s nothing to take a picture, or to send it. A few taps and he’s choking, “Did-- did you mean to send this to me?”

It’s then that it strikes her: she just sent a naked picture to her boyfriend. Well, a half naked picture, but for what he could see she might as well have done the whole thing.

“Oh, is that-- is that okay?” She drags her safe hand over her face, sweat clinging to her palm. “I should have checked--”

“Yes!” he pants, half wild. “Yes, this is okay, Very, very okay. I just...you really want me to use this? For, uh, jacking off?”

“Could you?”

“Haah,” he breathes. “Yes. God, your breasts are so good, babe. And your face...”

“Then yes.” She licks her lips, nervous. “Please.”

“I don’t really need the help,” he warns, “I’m a real pro at this.”

“I want you to.” She doesn’t know how she says it without even a stutter. The thought of him touching himself like that, knowing that he’s thinking of her, just her-- “I want you to touch your-- you--”

“Really, kid, you don’t have to--”

“Cock.”

Just saying it shakes her up like a soda can, ready to burst, and she almost wishes she could take it back, that she could unsay half this conversation-- until he groans; the frantic slide of clothes loud from his end of the phone.

“What do you-- what should I--?”

He sounds so lost, his words hardly above a whine, and that’s the only reason she’s able to say, “I want you to, um, stroke it?”

“Yeah, I am-- I am already there, babe,” he assures her, voice throaty and strained. “You’re touching yourself too, right? You’re wet?”

“Y-yeah.” She slides her hand under the band, and ah, she hadn’t know it was possible to be wetter, that her thighs could be slick nearly to the edge of her shorts, but here she is. “I like hearing you. I-I mean...after graduation, when we went to the field, I--” she licks her lips, mouth so dry-- “I really wanted to hear you come again.”

“Jesus. Fuck.” His mattress creaks, distressed. “That was-- that was two months ago. You could have just--” he hisses, so sensitive-- “god, I would have come for you anytime.”

“Could you?” It comes out coyer than she expects, far too confident to sound like her, and she nearly apologizes, until he-- he--

He whimpers.

“If I asked really nice,” she hums, fingers skating along her folds, clit pulsing with how much she wants this, wants him. “Could you come for me again?”

He groans, pained. “Y-yeah. I could definitely arrange something.”

“Now?”

“Shit. Fuck.” He moans, but it trails off into a laugh. “Definitely won’t take long if you keep this up.”

“Good,” she sighs, pace quickening, her fingers daring to loop ever closer to the crux of her problem. “I want to hear you. It’s been so long...”

She hesitates. Obi is always the one to tease, and her the one that squirms away, the one that needs to be cajoled back into the scene, but now--

Well, the shoe is on the other foot isn’t it. “It’s been so long,” she says again, only this time she lets her voice go breathy, lets it linger on the cusp of whine. “Don’t make me wait, Obi...”

He doesn’t.

“Fuck,” is the only word he manages before he’s groaning, whimpering, making every sexy sound he can at once as he comes hard.

“Haah,” he moans, breath heaving. “That was-- that was definitely not how I expected this call to go.”

Shirayuki stills her fingers, mouth slanting into a smirk. She’d always wondered how Obi could watch her orgasm and not want to do it himself, not need to do it when she’s dying every time, but-- now she gets it. She may not have come, but there’s something supremely satisfying in watching-- no, listening to him fall apart instead.

“Oh?” She still sounds coy. Like Obi does every time she goes half-blind from the force of her own climax.

“You didn’t come, did you?” He’s put out, and she can tell his eyebrows are drawn, that his jaw is set. “I could--”

“No, no, don’t worry about me,” she assures him. “I’m fine. Besides, we have to get up tomorrow.”

“Ah, fuck, right. Senior Day.” He sighs. “All right, fine. But next time--”

“Next time,” she agrees. “Though I really enjoyed this time too.”

He makes a noise that sounds like dying. “Yeah, well, that’s great, but I’m not the one who needs to learn how to get off like a champ. But whatever,” he sighs, “we have all the time in the world for you to get it.”

Her chest warms, and she smiles against her pillow. “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow? Bright an early?”

He groans. “Yeah, yeah. Bright and early. Good night, kid.”

[butterflydreaming-writes-fic]

“And the One Time They Did”

“And the One Time They Did“ by Looks-Clear (that’s me, yo!)

Word Count: about 3,400     Rating: Gen

@sweetness47​, here is my gift to you for the Profound Bond Discord gift exchange! I hope you actually find it amusing. This is a “five times plus one time” fic, and since that’s such a well-used trope, I thought it would be funny to title each of the sections with an AO3 tag.

-o-

1. “that trope where it's a relationship told from an outsider's point of view”

The money is good, but the competition for gigs means that you take that delivery order even though it’s to a house way outside of town. Houses are good, though. Around here, that means honeymoon tourists and vacation renters, which might mean a better tip. “J. Page” is waiting for his order from Great Greens, so you pick up the bags from Yolanda’s new salad cafe and head out in your Jeep onto the river road.

The house is secluded on the less popular side of the river, off the narrow road that splits from the main. You don’t even see the black Chevy Impala parked along the side of the house until you’ve driven to the end of the tree-lined driveway. The two-story house is the kind of place you would love to live in if you wanted a lot of privacy. It’s well cared for to attract the short-term renters your town gets all summer. The house has a good roof, freshly painted siding, and healthy potted plants around the door you’re knocking on.

An upstairs window slides open with a thunk. Taking a step away from the door, you look up. 

“Oh, hey.” The man leaning out the window has a smile that immediately puts you at ease. The frame catches at his flannel shirt, exposing a flash of skin above his faded jeans. He’s tall, with long hair, and the breadth of his shoulders make you glad you took the delivery job. “Would you mind… there’s a kitchen door at the back of the house. I’ll be down in a sec.” He pulls back in before you can respond.

You hesitate, thinking about the seclusion of the house and potential danger, but your gut tells you it’s OK. Nothing about the house or the classic car gives you that red flag feeling. The sun isn’t down yet. Plus, your holding an order of salads and cheesy rolls, Yolanda knows you’re delivering them and to where, and you can’t imagine it’s the dinner order of a creeper.

Things are a little unexpected when you get to the back door, though. The tall man — and he really is tall, six-four you guess — is pulling the curtain away from the window beside the kitchen door, but the door remains closed. “I have your Great Greens,” you say, lifting your two hands. You glance at the receipt and tell him the total. The food was paid with a credit card. You’re starting to despair about your tip, the line left blank to fill in.

“Great! Thanks. We really appreciate it,” he says, from the other side of the window glass.

There’s a dog door in the house door. The man disappears from the window and the door flap lift up. An envelope flips out. The man appears at the window again.

“If you could, um, put the order through the flap?” he asks.

“You don’t want to open the door?” Gingerly, you poke the dog door inward and push the bags through one at a time. The envelope turns out to have a few bills in it, a nice cash tip. You straighten up again and dust your hands off on your jeans after folding the envelope and tucking it into your pocket.

He laughs. It’s a breathy laugh, embarrassed. He ducks his head. “Can’t,” he says. “We’re, uh, sort of under quarantine.”

A surprised “Oh!” comes out of you before you can stop yourself. You wonder who else is with him in the house.

He’s quick to reassure you. “It’s not contagious. We just can’t leave the house yet.” He gives you one of those quick smiles again. The effective is magnified from being eye level and within three feet of him. You're a little glad there’s a window between you for protection.

“Thanks again,” he says.

“No problem,” you answer. With a small wave, you start back around to the front of the house, and your Jeep, only glancing back for a moment. The tall man is turning toward others entering the kitchen.

Before the curtain closes, you glimpse two other adults. You can hear them plainly through the window. A deep voice is at first excited about the meals. But then, suddenly:

“Sonoffabitch! SAM! What is this? Salad? Where’s the real food!?”

Back at your Jeep, just as a precaution, you rub your hands with the lavender scented hand sanitizer you keep in the glove box.

2. “(in my head the reader is a female but i didnt specify ir anywhere so ye)”

It’s Friday and a busy night, but when you see the delivery request come up for that same address, you take it. This time it’s for burgers from Jen’s Magnificent, which is locally famous for the MegaBurger, a four-patty monster with the works. You’re not surprised when the bags are heavy with three megas, fries and onion rings. What else would anyone order from Jen’s? The name on the credit card slip is “S. Denny.” You are wondering if the hot tall guy knows he’s not getting any veggies that aren’t deep fried.

Of course, you can guess what happened, and when it’s a different man at the front picture window asking you to go around to the back of the house, your guess is confirmed. The one with the deep voice is tall too, not as tall and not as lean, but still with nice muscle structure and also in a flannel shirt. Brothers, probably. You can see some familial resemblance.

As with the first delivery, you meet him at the back window. It’s earlier than last time and still full light out. He’s pretty anxious for the food, bouncing a little on his feet as he waits for you to slide the burger bags through the dog door.

You can’t help yourself. “Where’s the other guy?"

"Which?"

You pass the food through, straighten up and assess him. The cute one. Your brother?”

The man is already into one of the burgers. He shoves it in his face — you can’t take a bite out of a mega, you pretty much have to smash it into your mouth — and the moan he produces is, frankly, pornographic. This is a man who loves juicy meat.

You kind of want to leave him alone to it.

“The cute one," he repeats with a snort. He wipes a napkin across his mouth. "Researching,” he answers you, chewing on a mouthful. “This burger is awesome. Have you had these?”

“Actually, yeah. She makes good shakes, too.”

“This is going on my list of best burger towns,” he states. The burger disappears and when his hands are free, he wipes them on a fresh napkin. “You a local?”

You nod. He asks you a few odd questions about the town, a little bit about the history, and some information about how often tourists come through. You end up talking about your Jeep Renegade and auto maintenance, which helpfully gives you some points to go over with Roxy at the garage.

You’re back an hour later with another delivery from Great Greens, a single kale salad. You’re not surprised. The cute one is happy to see you. That's nice.

3. “Spells in general. Just spells and spells and spells”

You’ve come to think of yourself as their personal delivery person, to be honest, and it’s not only because J. Page aka Sam is a bright spot any time day or night. Feeling bold one evening, you scribble your phone number on the receipt and tell Sam, “If you guys need anything like from the grocery store or whatever, just call me. Anytime is fine.”

You’re snuggled on your couch watching Netflix when you actually get a late night call from Sam. He sounds apologetic and, weirdly, a little drunk. “Hi… Hi!” he greets a little breathlessly. “This might be a lot to ask but if you meant it about the help, I… we need someone on the outside to get these things. They’re going to sound strange, but I can’t explain what they’re for. Is that OK?”

“Does it,” you ask, “have to be right now?”

“Please, yes,” he says, words breathed out like an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know if I can take close quarters with these two past another moon cycle.” He clears his throat. “Sorry, uh. It has to be tonight because of the first quarter.” He names off some flowers, and then tells you the last one has to be picked after midnight and before dawn.

You actually have some of the list in your kitchen, dried, though it's not fresh. “The rest I can get, but I don’t know where to find that,” you tell him.

“Come to the house. It’s in the garden.”

And that’s how you end up picking lemon verbena by flashlight, in a hoodie and pajama pants, while Sam watches you from the kitchen window and points out the plants he needs. He’s glossy-eyed in the way of someone who’s had more booze than a few drinks at dinner, and pushing himself to act sober like someone who was drinking for a reason.

When you hand over the jasmine and vervain, he’s sitting on the floor at the other side of the door. You catch the dog flap on the backswing and hold it open. “Is that enough? I can get the other stuff fresh from Dara’s tea store tomorrow.”

He leans down to see you better through the opening and keeps going until he’s lying sideways on the floor. He seems vaguely surprised that the world has gone horizontal. “This is what I need to get started,” he pronounces carefully. He seems to consider getting upright. Instead, he rolls over onto his back. His hair, long and silky, flops beside his head, except for an errant lock that lays across his forehead. His beard is growing in, and the mountain man thing really works for him. He looks like he might nod off right there, lying on the floor.

“So… what are you doing, casting a love spell or something?” 

He groans. “Those idiots activated one. I’m trying to…” he lifts a hand and makes a serpentine gesture in the air with his finger, “wiggle open a loophole. So we can leave. And Dean can stop punching holes in the walls looking for hex bags.” He wakes up more fully and sits up suddenly. Running a hand through his hair, he laughs. There’s a tint of panic to it.

You can see that he’s about to dissemble about what he said, so you cut him off with a change of topic. “I knew the lady that used to live here. When I was a kid, we called it the witch’s house. She had, uh, twenty cats.”

“This is a dog door,” he points out.

“I know, right?” You smirk. “Do you like dogs?”

“I do,” he says without elaboration. “Can you tell me anything else about this house? Past owners?”

He’s sobering up. You answer with a shrug. “I mean. It’s a rental now. As you know, obviously.”

“A lot of strangers come through town? Have you noticed anyone that stands out? People you know, acting out of character? Has anyone been sick with an unexplainable illness?”

“We get summer tourists, mostly.”

“Anyone weird?”

“We are the weirdos, mister.” You ease the door flap closed. “I’ll bring the rest of your list when you guys order dinner tomorrow,” you say. It’s late, and you need to go home.

4. “Destiel are lowkey pining in the background”

Mylene adds in a cellophane bag of shortbread with the pie order. The scents in the bakery make you wish you were taking pie home for yourself, but no, this French Apple, ordered by “John Paul Jones,” is heading to the house you’ve been delivering to all week. On the nights when you don’t have an order, they order pizza delivery, it turns out. Pia, who owns Ristorante Raduno, mentioned it when you were fulfilling your craving for her incredible lasagna. Piggybacking on the pie order is a double side of bacon that you pick up from Dee's diner.

You honk when you pull up to the house, knock at the front door, then walk to the back yard per the usual. The Impala has enough dust on it to dull the black finish, and that strikes you as evidence that they really aren’t leaving the house. It was clear when you where conversing with him that burger guy loves his “Baby”. He wouldn’t let that car languish, getting covered in tree leaves and windblown dirt.

“You must be Mr. Jones,” you say to the new face at the kitchen window. “Are there any more of you in there or is three your crowd?”

“You’ve met the other two,” he says. He doesn’t exactly smile, but his eyes are kind, deep blue and full of unspoken thoughts. He has a voice like someone after a night of loud singing and drinking. It doesn’t match his appearance. Not with the suit ensemble including the trench coat he is inexplicably wearing indoors.

“I guess pie and bacon is your thing?” you ask, covering a laugh, and pop the bakery box through the dog door. He takes the box once it has passed the threshold. "Whatever makes you happy." You hear his “thank you” before the dog door swings closed. 

“The pie is for —” he catches himself. “Sandy.” He was about to say a name that started with D, you’re sure of it. Dean, you recall, from Sam’s slip up. “He likes pie. And bacon.” He stares at the pie as if it is about to impart hidden wisdom. "It makes him happy."

Your tip was included when the bakery was paid, so you don’t have a reason to linger, but you do anyway, curious. “This lockdown is hitting him hard, isn’t it? Not being able to take his car out for a drive?”

He gives a helpless little micro-shrug, but concern shows on his face. You think you see some guilt there, too. What had Sam said about it, that “those idiots” had activated the spell? 

“Look, I know it’s none of my business, but…” you hesitate, just for a minute. “Pie is good and all, and that pie is really good, but words are good, too?” His piercing attention actually makes you take a step back. You break eye contact, kicking the brick paving at your feet with the toe of your shoe. “Saying your feelings instead of, um, eating them?” You’ve probably blown it, so you scram without a backward look.

5. “Pray for Sam”

You glare at your phone until you wake up enough to recognize the text as Sam’s. Then you stare at it, trying to make sense of what it says. Meet him? The coffee hut he’s talking about is at the edge of town. It’s the one thing open at this time of day, since Tena is one of those disgusting morning people.

When you get there, you see that Sam is one of those disgusting morning people, too. His hair may have been tied back during his run, but now it’s loose. The sweaty and wild thing works for him even better than the mountain man look. He’s shaved the beard. You hop out of the Jeep and stroll up to where he is doing some stretches. He straightens up and shakes the hair out of his face.

“You’re out of quarantine,” you say. 

He answers your smile with his own. His eyebrows go up when he smiles. “You helped. With those herbs you picked, and everything else. I wanted to say thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you formally reply. “I notice you got out of that house as early as possible this morning.”

When he rolls his eyes, you have your confirmation. “Ha ha, yeah,” he answers. “Gotta, you know, have some space. From the lovebirds,” he adds with a sound that is part relief and part exasperation.

“Are you getting coffee?”

“I’m picking some up to take back,” he says. “No rush on that.”

“Tena makes a mean superfood smoothie.” You gesture at the espresso hut. “Would you like to get smoothies, go sit by the river, and watch the ducks? Until you’re ready to head back to the house?”

6. “If you think this has a happy ending... you're right well done you”

You figure, that’s it, good-bye, they’re gone, the three that were trapped by the spell on the house. Either Sam figured out how to loosen the spell long enough for them to exit, or burger guy and pie guy hooked up and completed the spell’s requirement. You couldn’t exactly talk about it with Sam, while you sat by the water and drank your breakfast smoothies. You’re pretty sure that he knows you were giving them hints, really vague hints but still hints, but it’s not like you could ask if he knows, even now that the spell is broken. 

They’re not gone yet, as you find out when Kitty from the General Store asks you to run a delivery out to the house. You stop by the General Store to pick up the bag. It’s heavy with an assortment of stuff indicating wall repair: sandpaper, drywall patch kits, a paint tray and paint roller. They’ve paid with a credit card again, a tip included.

You text Sam to let him know you’re the one bringing their supplies, and ask if they need anything else, which is how you end picking up another pie and a trio of sandwiches. When you get to the house, you see that all the windows and doors are open. Sam is sitting in the Impala with his long legs sprawling out of the open car door. He puts down a book when he sees you get out of your Jeep. 

“Let me get that. Must be heavy, sorry,” he says.

“Could be worse. Megaburgers, or cans of paint.”

His hair slides over his ears as he shakes his head. “My brother found paint in the attic, at least.”

“I’m glad this is ending with some DIY, instead of you burning the place down or something,” you say without thinking. “It’s usually newlyweds that stay here. We’re a quiet community.”

He gives you an assessing look.

You hand him the bag from the hardware store. You hand him the food, too, before he steps into the house. You hate to see him go, but watching him walk away? That’s worth the price of admission.

He yells up the stairs that food has arrived. In a minute, the other two guys come down, both suspiciously dusty on their backsides and elbows, both looking stupidly happy. Dean puts his arm around his sweetheart’s waist. Pie guy leans in and blesses Dean with a soft kiss. Pie guy must be Castiel, the angel.

The infamous Winchesters. As hunters go, they don’t seem all that bad.

Like every other kid that grew up in your town, you know how the house spell works. The couples that honeymoon here don’t even notice when they get locked in, and they usually break the spell within minutes with their easy “I love you”s. Castiel and Dean were in love but must not have said the words to each other, yet, when they entered the house, and Sam was caught as a bystander.

You slip away before they catch you watching, get in your Renegade, and head out to the main road. At first, it had seemed like everyone’s bad luck, that some travel blogger had written about the weird little house in an idyllic riverside tourist town, and that particular trio had come to check it out. Your town has been a quiet haven for witches since before you were born.

In the end, it turned out OK. Better than OK. Who doesn’t like a happily ever after?

-o-

[monst]

Encounter

Monster/Yokai au.

All characters 18+

Characters: Todoroki, Bakugou and, Midoriya. +You

Warnings: Cursing, slight nudity, Kinda long post.

Encountering the supernatural. (Aka Meeting s/o.)

I wanted to do a monster au but I was tired of the cliché vampire, werewolf and ghost for these three. So, I thought why not make them Yokai. The pictures used were drawn by yours truly and yes there not great I did them all in one day so there kinda sloppy (I’m looking forward to re-drawing them tho.). For now, it’ll just be these three.

Todoroki Shoto- Kami of a shrine son of a Yuki-onna and an Akurojin-no-hi.

“Those fuckers.” You grumbled to yourself as you almost slipped on another frozen puddle. Said ‘fuckers’ were your friends. Why were you cursing them? Well you knew you wouldn’t have been freezing your ass off if they weren’t so superstitious. The lot of them had told you that there was a shrine at the edge of town that was haunted. Ridiculous right?

             They didn’t let up each telling a tale of their encounters. After listening to the so-called ghost stories, you called bull and told them that if you got proof that the place wasn’t haunted then they’d each owe you a meal at any place no matter the cost. “I’ll go right after class.” You had declared.

             So, there you were pushing through snow up to your hip to make it to the shrine. ‘If there is a shrine.’ You frowned at the thought. Your fingers were going numb over the camera you bought with you and your teeth were chattering. You thought of turning around and going home, but your pride would not allow you too. You opened your mouth and, you were going to see it through. A strong gust of wind broke through the barrier of your thick coat and, you looked up with a shiver.

“What the hell!?” Your blood boiled cold forgotten. What had you so worked up was the sight in front of you. Up until that point you had been pushing through hip deep snow but, literally half a mile around the Torii gate was dry ground. As in there was no snow. Meaning.

“Abandoned my left nut. If I had a left nut…… And, even if I did it would have fallen off by now.” You ranted to yourself while stepping on the snow free ground. You brushed yourself off and looked at the stairs behind the gate. “Well I’m already here.” You grumbled.

“Maybe I can get an early new year wish and ask the gods to put toads in my shitty friends’ soup.” You said a smile coming onto your lips. Only for it to drop. Your body felt warm. Not just your body the air as soon as you stepped into the clearing had changed. The word haunted flashed in your mind, but your eyes were captured by something else.

             The soft clacking of geta took your attention but the sight took your breath. The man that walked down the steps was gorgeous. He wore a dark traditional outfit with a white haori jacket decorated with black so flakes. His hair was dual toned half a brilliant red, and the other half a powder white which bounced lightly with every step. Although he had a scar over one of his eyes, it didn’t take anything away from his attractive features. Your favorite being his irises blue and grey. They were turned to a stone in his hand.

             You stood there awkwardly just eyeballing the guy as he made it down the stairs and to the right side of the Torii gate. You really did think he was attractive and, you shamelessly lifted the camera. “Well he’s good enough proof” You smiled snapping a shot of the man. When you went to see the picture, you froze he had noticed.

             You looked up sheepishly and gave the stranger a smile. He was not amused.

“What are you doing here.” He demanded.

“Uh Nature pictures…………………?” You tried.

“Please go away.” He said politely.

             You frowned. “I just got here. And, besides I need pictures to prove that this place isn’t haunted. So, no I will not be going away.” You sassed. His eyes narrowed at you and you could have sworn the temperature dropped. He turned to you and, made to walk in your direction making.

“Very well.”

Bakugou Katsuki- Kitsune self-proclaimed owner of your grandparent’s backyard…….

             “I’m done!” You yelled in vexation. You had been ecstatic when you were told that you could vacation at your grandparents’ home. They lived out in the country near the mountains with acres of land to their names.  And, you were excited to get out of the city for a couple months to enjoy all that fresh air. But, as luck would have it, you had already done everything under the sun in the first week. Your grandparents though they loved you dearly were already annoyed at your huffing and sent you out on an ‘adventure.’

             “Just go down the trail marked up and, you’ll find the sacred fruit tree.” They told you. At first you figured that they were talking about some hidden apple tree and, you decided that it would be fine to pick some apples. But that was three hours ago and, you’ve past that thorn bush well over fifty times by now.

             Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes as you noticed the sun was soon to set. You were hungry and, agitated. Your legs and arms were covered in dirt, bug bites and scratches. All you wanted was to go home and take a bath and have your grandmother make you your favorite food while you played your grandfather at some random game.

“Oi.” Your head jerked up quickly at the sound and, you looked around and spotted nothing. Great. You slid down your back against a tree as you wallow in pity. Before a single tear could run down your face you felt something thunk against your head.

“Ouch.” You muttered picking up the acorn that had been chucked at you.

“Hey, you. shitty brat I’m talking to you.” You looked in front of you and jumped back into the tree. The sat a man that wasn’t there before. The ‘man’ had what looked like ears atop his head and, five blond tails.

“W-what are you?” You said in shock.

             His red eyes narrowed at your cowering form. A sneer painted his face as he regarded you with contempt. “Who am I? How the fuck do you not know who I am? I fucking own this land. Everyone knows that!” He barked his ruby eyes a burning inferno.

“W-what do you mean? Th-this is still part of my grandparents land, right?” You asked timidly.

“Those shitty prunes don’t own shit! This land has been mine for almost five hundred fucking years.” He seethed. “Now be a good mortal and, tell me why the hell were you walking on this path.”

“My granny said that there’s apples down- “

“You’re a shit liar. Why do you think I had you going in circles?! You know this Is the route for the sacred tree you just wanted to steal it’s fruit. Fucking thief.” He accused.

“That’s not what I was doing! I swear I don’t even know what the tree looks like!” You cried defending yourself.

“This is a sacred fruit.” He said holding up a strange round object to the sun. “Now mortal since you tried to steal this shit, I should rip you in two.” He threatened.

“But since this is your first fucking offense, I’ll be lenient.” He said getting up and, stalking towards your quivering form. He bent down so that his face was close to yours allowing you to see the red marking on his face clearer. “Next time I see your ugly mug I’ll make sure to devour your fucking soul human.”

             He pulled back with the same sneer on his face and turned around. “Go before I change my mind and eat you, you dirty ass thief.”

             With his illusion magic gone you could see that you were close to your ‘vacation’ home and, you quickly stood to book it when something smacked into your face. You closed your hand around the bumpy green fruit and ran like hell.

“Stupid ass human.”

Midoriya Izuku- Baku who’s still trying to get used to his job.

             You sighed and looked down at the talisman. In all honesty the thing kinda creeped you out but you were willing to try anything to get some decent sleep. As of late you’ve been plagued by terrible night terrors. You’d find yourself screaming awake or not going to sleep in order to avoid dreaming. You were also given the talisman by some woman your mother knew. She said to trust the Baku to do its job. Whatever that was.

             You rolled your eyes at what you were about to do but, at this point you just wanted some sleep maybe you were getting senile? You snorted and, parted your lips. “Baku-san please come to me at night and feast upon my nightmares. I give you permission to clean my dreams of all despair…” With that you slipped the bugger under your pillow. “Well I hope it works…. Maybe it’s a placebo?”

             Your hands removed your pajama top and shorts. With a sigh you unclipped your bra letting your breast hand free. You stepped out of your panties and pulled on a button up sleep shirt. You had found sleeping slightly nude to be more comfortable due to how many times your clothing would end up soaked in sweat when you had nightmares.

             Placing your phone down you turned off the lights and got under your covers. You laid there waiting for sleep. You laid there for almost an hour until you felt your eyes grow heavy. Just as your top lid kissed your bottom lid you heard a sound.

“Ow *hiss* ow ow ow that hurt.” Your jumped up out of your bed and grabbed at whatever you could find. Which just so happened to be a spoon from when you ate your cereal that morning. “Oh shoot.” You heard the intruder say. You quickly flicked on the light.

             Once the room was bathed in light your eyes narrowed at the man in your bedroom. The creep had horn headband and, a cheap tail. You glared at the freak. “What the hell are you doing in my room!? How’d you get in!?” You interrogated.

“A-ah t-th-that’s umm I’m y-your Baku?” He said awkwardly his eyes on his shoes.

“Baku? What the hell are you talking about?! I’m calling the police!” You yelled more than likely awakening your parents and, sibling.

“Ah P-please don’t I would hate for you to get in trouble for me doing a bad job.” He said looking at you only to flush red to the tips of his ears and, look down. “Y-your shirt.” He mumbled.

             Lo and, behold the top buttons on your shirt had come undone and, you had just flashed the strange green haired man. “You nasty pervert!” You screeched covering your breasts.

“Sweetie are you okay!?” Your father asked quickly unlocking the door with a spare key. You glared at the green-eyed freckled guy as your father and, mother walked in.

“We heard you screaming again are you okay?” Your mother asked.

“Another nightmare Pumpkin.” Your father questioned.

             Your mouth was agape were they just ignoring the guy, or could he really be…. You were shook to say the least and, as soon as your parents realized there was no threat, they sauntered off telling you to keep the door unlocked. After doing the opposite and, locking your door you looked to the horned guy standing in the middle of your room.

“So… Your real.” You asked tentatively. “Oh, shit I’m going insane.”

“N-no I’m real.” He said a blush still on his cheeks.

“But, how? Why?” You said.

“That’s a bit rude. I exist just like you exist.” He said and started to mutter about how humans think that there the only ones who matter in this plane.

“Uh not to be rude Mr. Baku but why are you here?” You asked.

             He gave you a bright blinding smile and, you almost shrieked ‘the light it burns’. “I’m here because you summoned me. It’s kinda my job. People use the talisman and, a Baku is deployed to that person.” He informed. “I’ve never eaten the nightmares of someone your age before… Usually kids call on us. Not that it’s a bad thing! Or something to be ashamed of!” He said.

“How does it work?” You asked. He blushed.

“You need to be sleeping!” He said hiding his face behind a drawing. “It’s easier with younger kids just a tap to the head but- “He cut himself off to and looked off to the side.

             You found this ‘Baku’ very unthreatening the more you spoke to him therefore you decided to ask. “What’s in your hand?”

“Ah th-this is for you it’s my personal Talisman. It means that only I can eat your nightmares. A lot of Baku’s won’t tell you this, but eating dreams is really tempting and dangerous.”

“Right, either I’m so fucked up I’m hallucinating... Or this is real... then let me hit the sack so you can do your ‘job’.” You said crawling back into bed. The Baku stood over you his green eyes glowing. You felt your eyes droop at his stare and, your blood ran cold at what he said next but, you were already drifting.

“I’m very sorry.”

[black-ice-and-flame]

“Somebody loved me?”

Part Two of what I’m now dubbing, ‘The Love of the Forgotten’ series

Summary: S/O has a memory-erasing quirk and they use it on; shinso/shigaraki/dabi to make them forget they ever existed after dying in battle. The memories only being restored with photographs or videos

Shinso’s part

Word count: 5,223

Inspiration: The Night We Met by Lord Huron

WARNINGS: Alcohol abuse, a little gory (not excessive though), character death, mentions of abuse, and self-harm

Under the cut! I hope you enjoy the next installment of pure angst  

They loved him

Their Tomura. 

They knew he was going to be important to them the first day they met. Mainly because he really did change every aspect of their life. 

“You came!” F/N launched themselves off the swing they were on and into their best friend. They wrapped their arms around the little boy who stood there stiffly, not moving his arms to hug back, hands shaking. 

F/N had hoped Tomura would show up today, it’s been exactly three days since they last saw him. They had only met two weeks ago but the shy boy had already become a big part of F/N’s life. 

“You have more bandaids today.”

F/N subconsciously tugged down their sleeves further, grasping their fabric around the chain of the swing so even their hands were hidden. Wanting to ignore her gravelly-voiced friend's comment. 

“I tripped over one of my toys again. It’s fine Tomura-chan.” 

Tomura lips thinned into a line, he gripped tighter onto the chain as he tried his best to keep his pinkies off it. 

All For One had let him stay here while he ran errands nearby the park. Tomura initially never thought he would speak to anyone, but for some reason, he was drawn to F/N. 

He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was the fact that they were by themselves too. Or it was because of the look in their eyes. A vacant but sad look that should be foreign on a child’s face but looked at home on theirs. 

Tomura knew the secret they hid behind their fake smile and cheery demeanor. He may be young, but he’s been through enough to see similar signs he showed himself. 

F/N’s parents abused them.

“What do you think?”

Tomura came out of his thoughts to F/N looking at him. “I wasn’t listening,” he mumbled and was ready to get a reprimand or an eye roll from F/N because of his absent attention. 

They surprise him again, instead of the yelling he used to get from his father. 

“It’s okay! I asked if it would be okay if I came over to your house? So when you can come out to play I can come to you!” 

“No.” Tomura’s answer was quick and short that it F/N stopped their swinging. ‘Mast-” He turned his head away, “You can’t come over.”

F/N didn’t bring it up again the rest of the time they played together.

“When are you gonna come back?” F/N asked kicking their feet, the sun was starting to set behind the two kids, casting their shadows in front of them. 

“Whenever I’m allowed.” Tomura wished he could come back every day. Meeting F/N had been the one small source of light in his current life. 

“F/N!” 

Tomura watched as F/N;s whole face dropped. They stood up immediately and he watched in slight confusion as F/N stood in front of him, almost as if they were protecting him. 

F/N’s dad stalked over to them as F/N’s mother stood a few feet away, arms crossed over her chest and lips turned down. 

“You were supposed to be home an hour ago! Do you understand how much time we wasted driving around to look for you?” F/N’s dad reached down and grasped both of their wrists in his hands, dragging them closer. 

“I’m sorry dad,” F/N whispered. “I just wanted to stay with my friend.”

Tomura had never heard F/N’s voice like that before... 

So afraid. 

As F/N’s dad grabbed their shoulders and started shaking them, insults spewing from his lips, Tomura stood up slowly from the swing. The seat falling to the ground behind him with a thunk from having disintegrated the chain attaching it.

“We should’ve never had you. If you were a boy maybe you’d be at least tolerable-” F/N’s dad cut off with a horrifying scream of pain and F/N felt their dad’s right hand disappear from their shoulder. 

F/N’s eyes widen and backed away as they were nudged by an elbow. They kept their eyes trained on the back of a black-haired head. Tomura?

Tomura stood in front of F/N with one hand held out in front of him. His red eyes were crazed and wide.

“Don’t come near them ever again or next time it won’t just be an arm,” Tomura growled.

F/N’s mom dashed forward already crying for her husband, trying to help him get up. She looked at Tomura with tear-filled eyes, “you monster!” 

“You’re the monsters! Who shakes their kid like that?” Tomura’s whole body was shaking in anger. He took a step towards F/N’s mother who flinched back while keeping a grip on her husband. 

“Tomura.” The voice was small and the hand that grabbed the back of his shirt felt even more so. 

Tomura looked over his shoulder and swallowed back his anger at F/N’s teary eyes. He turned his back on F/N’s parents, hearing their mom cry as she helped her husband back to the car. 

F/N stood beside him now, his sleeve wrinkling between their clenched fingers. 

“Let’s go,” Tomura mumbled to them. 

F/N looked at him as more tears fell from their eyes, “b-but my dad.” 

“I’m not letting you go home.” Tomura huffed watching as F/N’s mom pulled away. “Not if they’re going to be there.” 

F/N sniffled and let go of his shirt and for a second Tomura felt his chest tighten in fear, thinking that F/N would run after their parents. 

But then they linked their pinky through his, just so they could have skin contact with him. 

“L-Let's go.” Even though F/N’s voice trembled they still had a determined look on their face. 

Even after Tomura had gained better control of his quirk F/N still kept the habit of linking their pinky through his. 

F/N stood next to him as All For One talked him over the plan for attacking U.A. in a few months.

 Over the years they’ve watched Tomura grow from a quiet but caring soul into something twisted and warped due to his foster dad’s influence. F/N tried their hardest to keep him from going too far and thought they succeeded. 

Though hearing him so eager to infiltrate U.A. and cause some destruction made F/N realize that maybe...

This isn’t where they should be

“There’s still time to change your mind about this you know?” F/N ran their fingers through Tomura’s light hair.

Tomura looked up from the handheld game into F/N’s eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

F/N bit the inside of their cheek and cleared their throat before continuing. “The plan All For One has, breaking into U.A.? You can change your mind.”

Tomura lifted his head from F/N’s chest, eyes narrowing as he looked at them. “Why would I do that? Master’s finally given me a chance to prove myself, that his training hasn’t been for nothing.” 

F/N could see him getting worked up and grabbed onto his sleeve, squeezing his arm gently to try and calm him down. Another habit F/N still had from childhood, grabbing onto Tomura’s clothes. It was both for a sense of security and for Tomura to just know that things were okay, that he was okay. 

“I know,” F/N said as they twisted the fabric of his shirt between their fingers. “I’m just saying you don’t have to do this just because of him. We can always just, we can leave still Tomura.” 

“Leave?”

F/N nodded their head vigorously leaning in closer to him. “We can just get out of here, we can go do our own thing. We won’t have to follow anyone or do anything we don’t want to do.”

We don’t have to be this way. Was the underlying meaning they were trying to get him to see. 

“How can you think like that?” Tomura rasped out. “Master was there for me when no one else was and he saved you from your-”

“He didn’t save me Tomura,” F/N cut him off, letting their hand cradle his face. “You did.” 

Tomura leaned into F/N’s touch but still looked unsure about what they were saying. 

F/N dropped their hand and let their forehead rest against his. “Just promise me you’ll think about it?”

When he nodded F/N closed their eyes and pecked Tomura’s lips softly. “I love you.” 

They knew Tomura wasn’t really one to be very affectionate but they liked when he showed them small bits of affection. This time being burying his face into F/N’s neck and wrapping his arms around their waist. He was already wearing his special gloves, for holding his handheld earlier, so he didn’t hesitate in pressing his hands flat against F/N’s back. 

As F/N stroked his hair they couldn’t help but think of a life where they were able to run away and live the life they wanted. A life of peace, a life without the possibility of Tomura becoming a villain. 

But F/N knew happy endings like that didn’t exist.

“Do you know why I asked you here?”

F/N laced their fingers together, hands resting in their lap, trying to look anywhere but at the deformed face sitting across from them. 

“No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me anyway.” F/N bit their tongue to keep from saying more. They had never liked Tomura’s foster father, not after it was clear that the man had other motives for taking Tomura in as his own. 

“I’ve heard that you’ve been putting ideas in Tomura’s head. Doubts,” All For One’s voice was calm but F/N could hear the edge behind it. 

“I just wanted him to know there were other paths for him to choose. Choices to make for himself and not for you.” F/N was scared in All For One’s presence, but they weren’t going to let him see that. 

All For One chuckled, “I’ve taken Tomura in when no else would. If I had left him there they would’ve locked him up and treated him as a villain already.”

“As if you aren’t grooming him to be one,” F/N glared as the leaned back in their chair, crossing their arms over their chest.

All For One smiled cooly, “I even let him bring you in, even though I had a suspicion from the beginning about how you would turn out. I could’ve made Tomura send you home to your parents but I didn’t. Wasn’t that gracious of me?” 

F/N was silent just staring as the man rose from his seat slowly walking around the table before stopping right next to F/N. 

“When Tomura came to me last night, talking about how he wasn’t sure he was ready for the attack on U.A. I knew it was your doing.”

“Why did you bring me here All For One?”

“I think you know already,” when he rested his hand on F/N’s shoulder they immediately wanted to shrug it off, but they were too wrapped up in the thought of what they knew was going to happen. 

“You have two options, one I take your quirk for myself and turn you into one of my experiments. I can easily tell Tomura that you ran away, betraying him.”

F/N stared down at their fingers, clenching them together tightly as they whispered, “or?” 

“Or,” he continued. “You can use your quirk to erase yourself from his life, every aspect of you, your influences, aspirations for him. It will be like you never existed.” 

“How long till I leave,” F/N already knew this was going to happen as soon as they were warped here. 

“I want you gone by tomorrow morning before he wakes up. Considering how your quirk works I don’t see that being a problem. Then Tomura can get back on the right path I’ve made for him.”

F/N wanted to protest, wanted to scream their lungs out that they deserved more time with Tomura before they left. In the end, they just hung their head as hair fell in their eyes and hugged their stomach. 

When F/N was warped back to the bar they didn’t look up from the ground, not even when Kurogiri spoke. 

“I will try my best to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.” Kurogiri wanted to at least give F/N that. 

F/N mumbled, “he’ll still be hurting himself by being a villain. I wanted to take him away from this. I wanted-” 

“He would’ve never left in the first place.” 

“You don’t know that.” F/N left for Tomura’s room. They wanted to see him now more than ever. They would burn every moment of tonight in their mind to make sure they would never forget it. 

As soon as F/N stepped in the room they had Tomura’s immediate attention. 

“What did master want with you?” Tomura sat up from his mattress with narrowed eyes. F/N new that their traveling to see All For One wouldn’t be kept from him. 

“He just wanted to talk about the future, involving me.”

F/N gave him a small smile, lowering himself onto the bed and looking toward the screen. “This a new game?”

When they grabbed the control from him Tomura would usually protest but there was something in F/N’s face that made him pause. 

“What did he really talk to you about?” Tomura pressed. 

F/N chewed their lip trying to focus on the game, wanting a distraction. F/N was afraid if they didn’t hyperfocus on something else they would burst into tears. 

“F/N.”

They could feel their hands start to shake, not noticing they had already lost the game minutes ago. F/N just stared blankly at the screen. 

Then they felt tears run down their cheeks. 

“Damn it,” F/N’s voice cracked as they reached up to wipe the tears away but they just kept coming. 

Tomura reacted immediately and captured F/N’s face in his hands. His eyes were wide and his fingers rubbed over their cheeks. 

F/N found comfort in that gesture even if his skin was rough. It was something they were going to miss. 

“What happened? What did he say? I can do something if he hurt you,” Tomura knew he wouldn’t stand a chance against his master but he wouldn’t let him hurt F/N. 

F/N decided there was no point in not telling him when he would have to forget by tomorrow. 

“I have to leave Tomura. I can’t, I can’t stay here anymore,” F/N whispered. “Not when I have to watch you become something like this.” 

“It’s all I was made for, it’s what master’s trained me for. I thought you understood that.” Tomura frowned. 

F/N shook their head, resting their hands over his. “That’s the thing, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to follow the path he made for you. You haven’t even given yourself a chance to forge your own.”

Tomura snatched his hands back and looked away, scratching absentmindedly at his neck. “It’s because I’m not ready to walk my own path. That’s why I have Master to help me. I thought you would eventually help me, but you want to leave?” 

F/N knew Tomura was beginning to panic, which made this all the more painful. They grabbed his hand gently and dragged it away from his neck. F/N wondered what happened while they were gone, usually, they were the one who helped keep Tomura from scratching hard enough to draw blood.

Who would help him when they left?

“I’m sorry. I’m probably just too worked up from talking to All For One. Let’s sleep,” F/N wrapped their fingers around his and squeezed softly. “Please?” 

Tomura wanted to push for more information but figured if he did it would just upset F/N even more. He could always ask what happened in the morning. 

When he moved to lay down F/N felt their shoulders slump in relief. They moved and laid down next to him. 

“I love you Tomura.” 

Tomura rested his head on the same pillow as F/N’s so they were practically nose to nose. His hand reached to grab onto their shirt, dragging them closer. 

F/N knew they should’ve done it there. They could’ve done while they wrapped their arms around his back, grasping onto his shirt themselves. They could’ve done it when they buried their neck in his shoulder. But F/N still wanted to be able to help him one last time. 

It was a familiar routine for both of them. Almost like clockwork. F/N even started waking up beforehand. 

Tomura curled up in a  ball against F/N, rocking back and forth as he held his hands over his ears. The sounds from his nightmare still lingering in his ears. He wanted, no needed, to block it out. 

“Erase it, please.” 

It was the only time F/N ever hears Tomura say please. The only time they ever see his tears. 

Tomura looked up, his red eyes were watery. “Make it go away...” 

F/N murmured soothing words to him, letting their fingers run through his hair, “it’s okay, I’ll make them go away. I’ll make the memories go away.” 

It was that moment that F/N knew it was time. So with tears of their own, with their fingers still tangled in their lover's hair, they erased themselves. It was like they were physically seeing the memories of them being shattered like a glass window.  

With a heavy and shaky exhale F/N leaned down and pecked his forehead. “It’s okay,” they whispered. “You can sleep now.” 

Tomura tugged F/N back down to lay with him, clinging more than before. F/N clung back just as tight, holding back more tears.

When it was early in the morning they packed up what little belongings they had. Making sure nothing that could disrupt what they’d done was left behind. F/N stared at the picture they had in their hands, one of the only ones they could manage to get of Tomura and them together. 

They were going to miss him... 

F/N looked down at the one person in their lives that they knew they could count on to be there. Where else were they going to go now? They kissed the crown of Tomura’s hair and walked out of the bedroom, hugging the picture to their chest. They didn’t spare Kurogiri a glance as they walked out and left the bar. 

Leaving the only source of love they’ve ever known behind. 

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“F/N!” 

F/N looked up instantly at the panicked voice of their coworker. Shota Aizawa. They didn’t know how they managed to be able to get the job they had. Maybe it was just due to the pity the pro hero had felt when they found F/N, either way, they would be forever grateful. Being his teacher assistant made F/N feel a bit more fulfilled in their life. Even if the hole would never fully heal. 

“Someone broke onto campus, we need to patrol the grounds let’s go.” 

F/N didn’t hesitate in following, the worst thoughts flooding their mind. The main one being, was Tomura finally here? Did he manage to get in? 

F/N didn’t want to have to face their former love but knew that when things came down to it, they had too. They had chosen their alliance and knew it was the right one. 

They were more than relieved when they found out it was just the media, but a glance at the front gate made their heart drop into their stomach. They recognized the ash left behind from the usage of the owner's quirk. F/N swallowed back the bile in their mouth. 

Should they tell them? They had to warn them right? Thought a part of F/N’s heart still wanted to be in denial, wanted to deny the thought that Tomura was going through with All For One’s plan. 

Those thoughts stayed with them on the bus ride to the USJ. The chatter of the students falling deaf on their ears. 

F/N was only dragged out of those thoughts by a voice. 

“Miss L/N, can you tell me more about your quirk?” 

F/N looked into the sparkling curious eyes of Izuku Midoriya. They had admired the boy for his dedication to knowing information about multiple quirks. 

“Of course Midoriya, what do you wanna know?” F/N smiled softly. 

The boy immediately opened his notebook and start scribbling before asking his questions. “So you can erase people’s memories?” 

F/N nodded, “yes, I’m able to erase memories and ideas from people’s minds.” 

“Do you have to know what the memory or thought is to be able to erase it?” Izuku asked glancing back up. 

“Yes, I can’t really erase what I don’t know,” F/N said with a chuckle. They waved off Izuku’s embarrassed murmuring. 

“That’d be cool to be able to erase stuff from people’s mind,” another student with a wide grin said, Kirishima. 

“Yeah, you’d basically be able to rehabilitate villains right?” Uraraka asked. 

F/N shrugged their shoulders, “I’ve never had the opportunity, but I’m not sure I could do something like that. There’s still the drawback aspect of my quirk.” 

“I’ve been meaning to ask what that was,” Tsuyu asked raising a finger. “What is the drawback of your quirk? We’ve never seen you use it so we haven’t really had a chance to guess.” 

F/N was glad the students were curious about them, they were so hesitant about taking the job because they were sure kids wouldn’t like them. 

“The drawback is that if an image or video of the memory is seen by the person I erased it from, the memory will be restored. So let’s say I, uhm,” they stumbled for a second, “erased the memory of a person from someone’s life. Even if they were to see that person face to face they still wouldn’t recognize them.” 

Izuku furiously scribbled down every word as F/N continued. 

“It specifically has to be a photo or a video of them shown for the memory to be restored.” 

“Huh, I wonder why it is that way,” Tsuyu wondered as a ribbit fell from her lips. 

“Enough questioning,” Aizawa said from the front as the bus stopped. He stood up, “we’re here.”

What came to follow was like a horrible nightmare come true for F/N. 

One glance of the swirl of purple and black made F/N freeze in place. The sight of a pale hand and a blue head of hair popping through the warp hole almost made F/N faint. 

F/N knew they couldn’t hesitate, so when Aizawa lept into action they were far behind him. Their quirk was great for a physical fight, but they had been taught how to fight properly by some of the best teachers that U.A. had to offer.

F/N punched a villain to knock them out and looked up just in time to see Tomura run toward Aizawa. Their eyes widened and they ran towards their boss and former boyfriend. 

“Aizawa!” F/N shouted leaping through the air and pushing their boss out of the way. F/N felt a hand grip theirs and they barely had time to look up into a pair of red eyes before they felt the pain. 

Maybe it was Karma for all those years ago? F/N wasn’t sure but as their right arm disingrated they fell to the ground at the feet of Tomura. A shower of blood and viscera exploding around them.

“You got in my way,” Tomura’s voice growled. 

The voice F/N registered for many years with love and happiness was now foreign to them. F/N couldn’t hear anything else but a ringing, their vision slowly fuzzing like t.v. going out. 

The last sight F/N saw was of Tomura leaning over them and a hand outstretched. 

WEEKS LATER 

As Tomura walked away quickly from Izuku Midoriya, hands stuffed in his pockets he got a slow manic smile on his face. His face twisted crudely. He finally was able to understand, his vision of a distorted future forming in his mind. 

He never paid attention to anyone around him, but as he walked out of the mall his eyes caught sight of an old and faded posted of a child. Tomura stumbled a bit and growled softly as a pain shot through his skull. 

Tomura knew he had to get out of here quickly, so he walked faster until he got outside. But then he saw the large television screen, the news reporting on the death of a hero from a few weeks ago.

Usually, he enjoyed the sight of another hero falling, but when their picture flashed on the screen he immediately clutched his head with eight of his fingers. His head was burning like his mind was on fire. 

As he tripped over his own feet walking back into the bar all of it came flooding back. The memory of soft hands cupping his face. The feeling of lips against his. Hands that grasped at his clothes, a warm smile and soft words. And shockingly, there was love. 

“Ah, you have returned, I suggest you’ve made a decision?” Kurogiri.

“What happened to them?” Tomura spat out looking at the man behind the bar.

“What happened to who Tomura?” Kurogiri’s eyes narrowed. 

“F/N, what happened, what did you all do to them?” Tomura couldn’t control himself anymore and slammed his hands down on the counter. The material of it starting to decay. 

“Calm yourself,” Kurogiri said lifting his hands. He didn’t want to become Tomura’s next target. 

“Calm down? What happened? What did you and the master do?” Tomura asked his hands starting to dig at his neck, nails scraping against his skin. “Did you get rid of them because you thought they were going to keep me from doing what you wanted?” The words F/N spoke to him were echoing in his head. 

You don’t have to follow the path he made for you. 

“It was for the best,” a voice spoke through the screen. 

Tomura snapped his head toward the sound of his master's voice. “For the best? They could’ve stayed, they could’ve helped, then I wouldn’t have-” Tomura started scratching harder at his neck. I wouldn’t have killed them.

"They were trying to deter you from our plans together Tomura, ones that we’ve been training for your whole life.” All For One felt no remorse in his decision, even if it ended up with F/N dying at Tomura’s hands. 

Tomura just stood there, not saying anything, still scratching at his neck and ignoring the blood flowing over his fingers at the scratches. He didn’t say anything else and when he lunged toward Kurogiri the warp villain thought he was going for him, but Tomura moved past him and grabbed a random bottle of alcohol. 

“I’m leaving, don’t follow me.” Tomura snapped as he uncapped the bottle and threw the cap aside taking a swig from the bottle. “I don’t want to hear from anyone.”

He didn’t wait for a reaction as he walked out taking another drink, his other hand still scraping the skin of his neck. Tomura pulled up his hood and ignored stares he got as he drunk straight from the whiskey bottle. 

Tomura didn’t want the memories back but they wouldn’t go away, no matter how much his balance deteriorated, or how slurred his mumbled words got. He had stopped scratching his neck for a while because he was to preoccupied with trying to drink enough for the memories of F/N’s smile and loving eyes to erase from their mind again. He wanted to get rid of the last moment they saw them, underneath his own hand, it crumbling away. It just wouldn’t go away. 

As his unsteady feet moved without his knowledge he felt sticks crunch under his feet and he glanced up, squinting to clear his vision. When he realized where he was he wanted to throw up the contents of his stomach. 

Tomura kept his eyes trained on the old and rusted structure, the long-forgotten chains swaying in the breeze. The seats were cracked from years of use, but for Tomura it still brought up the same feelings. 

He stumbled over to it slowly, swaying, he finally managed to get to it and plopped down on the seat. Tomura finished the last swig of the bottle, his head was whirling and the world around him spun. 

“Would it be okay if I came over to your house to play?”

Tomura glanced at the swing next to him and the ghost of a child F/N sat next to him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Tomura never cried in public, he only ever cried with them.

“You came!” 

Tomura remembered how it felt when they jumped off that swing, their arms wrapping him up in a hug. F/N was the only person who seemed happy to see him at that point. They were never afraid to touch him. 

“I love you Tomura.”

Now it was an adult F/N, their eyes holding nothing but love. The hallucination reached out their hand and Tomura immediately thrust out his own toward it. When his hand passed through the obvious facade is when the tears finally fell. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped out. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he sobbed. 

Somebody had loved him, actually truly and genuinely loved him. And he killed them. 

“I love you,” Tomura said out loud. The words were strange rolling off his tongue, but he didn’t care. “I love you F/N L/N!” He shouted as more tears poured from his eyes. 

Tomura sat there for a few more hours before slowly standing up. Knowing he had to leave before anyone around the area woke up to see him. He turned and stared at the swing set behind him. He let one hand rest on the arc and wrapped his fingers around it. 

The swing fell apart under his deadly hands and Tomura watched it crumble. Everything from here on out was going to be done for F/N. 

It all started with a swing. 

Tomura didn’t know why All For One had left him here. Surrounded by all these other kids. He glanced at hands, his fingers curling inward. With one touch he could’ve ended any one of their lives. 

“Hi!” 

He looked up to a pair of bright eyes and blinding teeth. 

“I’m F/N L/N! Come swing with me!” He didn’t even have an answer formed before they grabbed his wrist and dragged him over toward the swings. 

Tomura watched as the rest of the structure broke apart and fell to the ground. 

It would end with a swing. 

[siribear]

deacon remembers the name of every railroad agent they lost at the switchboard. honestly, he remembers the name of every agent they’ve lost, since his first burned headquarters. he wishes he didn’t. so he distracts himself with teaching the new girl - not that she needs it. she takes to the railsigns with an impressive ease. even figures out the one for cache without him even telling her.

it’s pretty great.

and not to mention - but totally to mention, because she’s gonna give tinker tom a run for his money when they get back - she broke into the security terminal to let them into the tunnel in the first place. and he didn’t even get to punch in all their funny old passwords. bummer.

‘way to make me feel useful over here, partner.’

‘oh, i’m sure you have your uses.’ she taps at a new set of keys to reactivate tom’s old turrets. ‘or maybe the railroad just keeps you around to look pretty.’

he laughs, and realizes he’s gonna like her. and then: glory’s gonna hate her. but then she takes out a pair of synths with two quick shots and he knows glory’ll love her.

‘one more computer for you, pal.’

it gets him an eyeroll, but she moves up to open it anyway. between the two of them, as well as a few stimpaks when the new girl gets a pretty nasty looking burn on her leg, the swarm of synths that make up their welcoming party to the switchboard goes down.

she stops on top of the DIA logo in the middle of the room and inspects it.

‘take it all in,’ he says. ‘not every slocum’s joe has a basement like this one.’

she mutters something to herself, an odd look on her face. something else to keep in mind, right after he learns why she wants to go after kellogg of all people. not that he minds; in his, and plenty of other people’s opinions, kellogg needs to die. but what’d he do to her?

‘anyway, up this way. we’re close to the carrington’s prototype now.’

‘what is this prototype anyway?’ she whispers, carefully opening the upstairs door.

he stops her with an outstretched hand, and has her listen. she makes a face, but eventually she hears it. the hiss of pistons and the soft click of hard plastic against the floor. more synths.

‘i hear you.’

the robotic voice sends a chill up his spine. he tightens his grip on his rifle and pushes forward, new girl at his side. with a look and a nod, he swings open the door. again, the two synths go down easily. they’re about to go down another hallway when she yanks him to the side, a pretty laser burn on the wall where his head used to be. the synth’s neck sparks as it falls to its knees, head blown apart and dead.

she’s still got her other hand balled up in his sleeve. ‘nice shot.’

‘wouldn’t be a good look if i came back alone from this job,’ she says, and lets go.

‘i don’t know,’ he says, leading her down the hallway. ‘maybe it’s time i stepped down as the railroad’s mascot. let someone else be the pretty one.’

‘i appreciate the proper training, then.’

‘well, then, my mascot apprentice. carrington’s prototype is right through here.’

he doesn’t even need to warn her about the synths in the next room. she stops and waits, one hand on the door. when she opens it, he starts firing.

the other synths they encountered in the switchboard had their leathery-plastic skin exposed. the group between them and carrington’s prototype wears a heavy set of plastic armor. one even wears a helmet, throwing a quick head shot out of the equation.

but, see, he might have snatched a couple of tom’s pulse grenades before he left HQ. he pulls it out of his coat pocket, holds it up for her to see. again, he doesn’t need to speak, just gets a grin from his new favorite partner before she leans out and begins firing.

he doesn’t hear the pin drop, just lobs it through the open door and pulls back around the corner. there’s no big explosion, just a loud pop and crackle of energy. the hair on the back of his neck rises, but the firing stops.

‘all clear.’

carrington’s voice echoes through the room from the tape player in deacon’s hand.

‘salus aegroti suprema lex,’ the new girl repeats over the thunk, thunk, thunk of the secure door opening. ‘so carrington’s a doctor?’

‘good guess.’ he sighs upon seeing tommy whispers’ body on the floor. ‘so, tommy died protecting our secrets.’ deacon kneels next to tommy’s body. ‘carrington’s prototype is over there,’ he gestures to the shelf on the other side of the room. while she retrieves the prototype, he picks up tommy’s gun: a slim .10mm pistol, fit with a silencer. one of tom’s best.

‘so, what is this?’

‘he’s building on stealthboy technology,’ he says vaguely. when he stands to face her, her eyebrow is raised, prototype held in front of her. ‘no, really, i don’t know much else. he doesn’t like talking to anyone else about his work. except maybe des.’ he shrugs. ‘here, take this.’

‘is this - ?’ she looks from the gun to tommy’s body behind him. ‘you should have it. i’m not even - ’

‘all our best agents have ordinance made specially by tinker tom. he’s - well, you’ll know when you meet him. tommy would want you to have it. he called it deliverer.’

she sighs when she takes it. ‘thank you. here’s the prototype, then.’

he shakes his head. ‘you give it to des. she can’t possibly deny letting you become an agent after this. come on. let’s get out of here.’

deacon starts figuring out how to spin this when he gets back. des probably won’t be happy he took the new girl out here. but if he - hmm. saying she took out a courser would be a little too hard to sell.

compared to her old gun, tommy’s gun barely makes a sound as she clears out the last of the synth’s underground. ‘quiet as a whisper, huh?’

he helps her push the bookcase out of the way at the top of the elevator and with the last of his pilfered pulse grenades, they clear out the final synths and turrets. he teaches her how to disarm the frag grenades that litter the ground outside the slocum’s joe, after.

‘well,’ she begins, as they recuperate outside lexington, ‘i think we made a pretty good team back there.’

he removes a stimpak from his leg. ‘the best.’ couldn’t have gone better, really. ‘we’ll go our separate ways from here. staggered entry back at the church, you know?’

she shrugs, nods. ‘i have a stop i want to make before i head back, anyway. don’t worry, i’m not taking off with carrington’s... thing.’

‘hey, i believe you.’ and it’s true, oddly enough. she doesn’t seem like the type. or maybe she’s a better liar than he gave her credit for.

nah. not yet, anyway.

-

sanctuary has street lights. street lights.

her way is lit all the way to her house and beyond, circling around the cul-de-sac and the large tree in the center. there are new faces, too, tending small gardens behind the houses. codsworth floats up to her, arms spinning excitedly.

‘good to see you again, mum!’

‘likewise, codsworth.’ she raps her knuckles against a light post. ‘these are new.’

‘mister sturges has been quite busy.’

‘thought it’d be nice to see at night.’ sturges peeks out from the house across from her old home. ‘glad to see you’re alright, general.’

even preston picks up on the small reunion, appearing behind codsworth. ‘general! how are you?’

‘i’m good. glad to see things are going well here.’ preston nods, and tells her about the new people that have arrived, thanks to her transmission. when he asks her if she’s staying the night, she shakes her head. ‘no, i have to head back into the city. i just thought i’d see if someone came by here.’

‘there was a ghoul in a trench coat that said you sent him here. last i saw him, he was down by the river.’

she thanks him, but sturges stops her before she can head toward the river. ‘it’s some blueprints for a radio tower. sounds crazy - hell, probably looks crazy - but preston said these could go up in any new settlement. just gotta tweak the message a little for each area.’ he helps her tuck the rolled up blueprints into her bag. ‘anyway, back to work. good seein’ ya.’

preston marks a few areas for her to look into establishing more settlements: an area to the southwest, sunshine tidings co-op, and a familiar drive-in theater. she tells him about hangman’s alley near diamond city. it’s a small area, as far as he knows, currently occupied by raiders. but he agrees the centralized location and an outpost in the city isn’t a bad idea.

‘sounds like you’ve got a lot to do,’ he says, walking with her to the riverside. ‘are you really okay? i know i put a lot on you - ’

she holds up a hand. ‘it’s fine, preston. i accepted the title. it’ll take some time, but knowing people have more safe places in the commonwealth - it’s a goal worth working toward. don’t worry about me.’

‘alright. i’ve just heard some... interesting things on the radio, lately.’

‘wow, yeah. is that guy always like that?’ preston shrugs. ‘interesting. but, yeah, seriously, i’m fine.’

he looks her over, and she tries not to fidget. in the distance, she can see that faded trench coat. preston puts a hand on her shoulder, startling her. ‘i’m here for you, every step of the way, general.’

alice smiles, squeezes his hand. he lets her go, returning to his patrols around sanctuary.

the man abandoned by vault tec doesn’t startle when she walks up beside him on that curb by the river. black eyes watch the gentle waves, curling around rocks and large pieces of debris.

‘it’s weird being back,’ he rasps. at her questioning glance, he continues. ‘i was here for a year after the bombs dropped. it was... the closest place i knew.’

‘what made you leave?’

‘your robot.’

‘codsworth?’

‘he just kept - he kept on trimming the bushes around your house like nothing had happened. he’d go inside and set the table, wait around for hours, then wash up the dishes.’ he lowers his head. ‘i tried to tell him that everyone was dead. but he did it, day after day. he even talked about your neighbors like they were still there. a couple months in, i realized he was just doing it to feel... normal. but nothing about it was normal. i couldn’t take it anymore.

‘after us ghouls were kicked out of diamond city by the mayor, i followed along to goodneighbor when they founded it. once the hotel was set up, i couldn’t... bring myself to leave. didn’t want to face all of that, all over again.’

‘i’m sorry,’ she says, hoping her voice sounds as even to him as it does in her head. ‘i didn’t know it was so rough for you.’

his laugh is bitter. ‘no one needs an old ghoul with years of vault-tec experience.’

‘well.’ she sticks her hands in her pockets to keep them from shaking. ‘i’m sure we could use someone with salesman experience here. and two hundred years of it? you’d blow all the other resumes out of the water.’

he turns to her, eyes wide. ‘really?’

‘really. i’m sure sturges could build you a.. stall, or something. once we get trade moving through here, you’d be essential.’

‘i... appreciate it. truly.’ his voice his watery. ‘you seem to be handling things better than i did.’

she barks a laugh. ‘that’s a way of putting it.’

‘oh. you.. had a husband and child, didn’t you? i haven’t seen them since i was... dropped off. how are they doing?’

alice freezes. breathe. in, out. ‘they - didn’t make it.’

‘i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to...’

‘it’s okay. i’d... appreciate if you didn’t mention them to the others, though.’

in, out.

‘of course, yeah. i understand. i think i’ll go talk to sturges about that stall. thank you, for keeping your promise.’

he leaves her by the river as the sky begins to glow orange over sanctuary hills. with a heavy exhale, she returns to the neighborhood to say goodbye to everyone, and leaves sanctuary once more.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Flood my Mornings: Found

I know, right??? Thank you for bearing with me while I’ve taken a wee ten month sabbatical! And thank you, too, for dropping in every now and again to remind me of how much you love this story. It means the world! - With love, Mod Bonnie 

This story takes place in an AU where Jamie travels through the stones two years after Culloden and finds Claire and his child in 1950 Boston.

FMM Master List 

Previously: Hectic

Found

Early December, 1952

.

“Hey, Mummy?”

“Yes, pumpkin?”

“Um! Why come—”

“How....”

“—How come my hairs is all gray in all tha’ pictures?”

One grammar victory at a time.

“Cameras only can show things in black and white. Ours, anyway.”

Taking pictures was always great fun; poring over them once they’d come back from the developer, a joy, particularly coupled with Jamie’s still-sharp wonder in their implicit magic. Actually following through with organizing them into albums, though? A bloody-hateful chore I’d managed to put off for nearly a year, this time. The red album already held Ian’s first six months or so, but most of his subsequent life had accumulated in lazy shoeboxes and (better late than never) now lay scattered around Bree and me in a shiny arc on the living room floor. 

“Wouldn’t them—those pictures be better if it was all the right ones?” She popped up from hands and knees to shove a fistful of ginger curls toward me. “The good colors?” 

“Absolutely! Maybe someday.”

She nodded once, satisfied. “You should go tell them to.”

“Tell who?”

Shrug. “Camera people.”

“I’ll write Mr. Kodak right away.”

“Good. Which picture’re we doin’ next?”

“Hmmm....” It came out more like a ‘heeeeeee’, since I was grinning with complete, albeit exhausted joy at my unstoppable eldest. 

“How ‘bout THIS one?” She came up with a snapshot from the Fernacre Halloween party this year: Jamie beaming as he held Ian securely atop Kugel, one of the newer horses. 

“Oh,” I moaned, heart squeezing as I held the photo next to the page showing Ian at four months, fuzzy-headed and drooling happily with his hands clapped together. “Bree, when did my tiny baby become a grown-up boy?” 

“He izzzz a baby, Mummy.”

“Well, yes, but....”  

But oh lord, to see his infant photos again, compared with the walking, sometimes-talking little man across the house! Where had all the baby fat gone? When had the generic softness of his features been replaced with cheekbones and Jamie’s dimpled chin?! Jesus H. Christ, it made me want to curl up and sob for days and then get down to business making another one. (Except, no, absolutely not). 

“He IS a real baby,” Brianna was saying, with a sass that spilled over into guilty-glee: “He still poopies in his pants!”

“Touché, lovey,” I giggled along with her, rifling through our pile to make sure I hadn’t missed any from Ian’s birthday. “OH! This is pure Ian, right here, don’t you think??”

This was from just last week, from the packet Jamie had picked up on his way home yesterday. No special occasion: just our sweet, sweet boy standing in the doorway to the back garden, beaming with a magnetic smile even as he shyly resisted any coaxing to come out, blanket over his shoulder and pressed comfortingly against his cheek.

Somehow, he alone had managed to miss the gene for curly hair. His was still thick, though, brown and unruly as mine, with a tendency to poke up in little cowlicks every time you turned your back (and good bloody luck to anyone that tried to come at him with a comb and triggered a caterwauling to wake the dead). His eyes—dark honey—were slanted, seeming even more so as he grinned at the camera. So like Bree and yet so much his own. 

Resemblance wasn’t the only difference between my little ones, for Ian was less tempestuous than Brianna, to say the very least. Whereas she had seemed to exit the very womb inclined to speak (or howl) her mind with a fierce, vocal confidence in herself, Ian Fraser was a more subtle charmer. He got what he wanted by lavishing snuggles and carefully-placed puppy-dog eyes on his target, speaking his few words when necessary, but usually content to wheedle in his own way, or else let Bree do the talking for him.  

His own unique spirit, I marveled, running my thumbs against the glossed edges. Bree was, in a word, intense; her brother..... what? More shy by contrast, absolutely, but I’d always hated the milquetoast connotations of that word. He wasn’t at all skittish or morose; when in his element, he could be as boisterous as she, and if he sometimes preferred to play by himself in a group of friends, it always seemed to be by choice, not exclusion. In fact, I’d observed that he even spoke more when on his own, when he was absorbed in organizing a Gathering of the cuddly toys, or making tiny stick-villages in the garden, narrating his playtime in a mixture of English, Gaelic, and (the vast majority) Toddler. It was only when someone was watching that he would flash them a sheepish grin and start keeping his thoughts to himself. 

No, see, Ian’s quieter nature bespoke something beneath it, something that always struck me as remarkably developed and complex for a child of his age. Cunning, I’d call it, or some deep, satisfied knowing—slyness, in the best way! His twinkling eyes often seemed to so, so sweetly say, ‘You can’t make me do what you want, Mummy, but I sure do enjoy watching you try!’ A strain of the MacKenzies, I thought, not for the first time. 

“Hey-Mummy?” My little Fraser had her brows scrunched up as though contemplating murder, poring over the blue album from the shelf under the coffee table. “I dinna remember this pictures.”

“Those are of you as a baby,” I grinned, “so you were too small to remember.”

“Well....then...Da! He must—!” She nodded, full of budding conviction. “He remembers a whole, whole-lot, then, cause he’s really big!”

"Ah—” My lips hurt as little fizzles escaped from between them. “You’re not wrong, smudge.” 

“Uh-huh, I know.” 

She had flipped open to the middle of the album, to a series of snowy shots taken when she was...what...sixteen months old? We had gone sledding for the first time, and Ms. Byrd had captured the fleeting joy of it so perfectly. Little Bree’s jack-o-lantern teeth bared in glee above her muffler, the point of her elf-bonnet tickling my chin. My own hat had flown off into the wind, curls a blurry cloud above us.

She turned the pages to the left, going back in time. Cackles erupted at the images from her first birthday, elbows and eyebrows deep in chocolate cake, then she straightened gravely at the evidence of some of her exuberant early steps. “Was I walkin’ as good as Ian?” she dared me. 

“Very well! Though he did start sooner.”

“Hey-Mummy?”

I inhaled through a secret, tired smile. Eighteen hundred times a day.  At least. “Yes, Bree?”

“Hey-Mummy, where’s Da?”

“Putting Ian to bed.” I glanced at my watch. “Which means you, sweet pea, need to get your pajamas on, and—”

“NO, where is he in heee-rrrrre?” She lifted the album, glaring. “Where I was the baby?”

My jaw was open as though I’d started to say something. If only I knew what it might have been. Maybe then I’d know what came next. 

“See-look,” she insisted, turning the thick pages of the other album and pointing emphatically.

Jamie, showing Ian around the house on the first day he’d come home with us . 

Ian, in my arms in the hospital bed with Jamie at my shoulder, smiling down at us with Bree on his lap.

She thunked the album down, half on top of the other, contrasting the very first family photos I possessed: just the two of us, meeting one another in the morning light of that lonely, heavenly hospital room. “Where’s the Da-ones for me, Mummy?”  

“Da…he...” 

Damn it. 

“....He wasn’t there when you were a baby.”

Brianna blinked twice, and her eyes went fierce as she cocked her head. “Wasn’t?”

“No. He wasn’t.”

“Why wasn’t he?”

“He was away at—at the war when you were born.” 

Seeing the questions stacking up behind her eyes, I tried to explain, though my blood was thudding in my ears. “You know how Miss Della’s beau Peter is a soldier? And how he has to be away in Korea? That's like where Daddy was, too. He…” My voice cracked a little. “He was away, and didn’t get to meet you until you were Ian’s age.”

“Da was-not away!” Bree insisted, though her eyes were wide, unaccustomed doubt creeping in.

“He was, though, darling,” I whispered. “You don’t remember because you were still very little when he came back.” 

I turned the pages slowly, past those scattered glimpses of our early days, when we were the Randalls, then the Beauchamps. “Da was—” Goddamn it, what was the bloody story? “—captured, and we were told he died.”

I thought she hadn’t heard me. I cleared my throat and started to repeat myself, more audibly this time, but I glanced down and my heart clenched so hard the tears broke through. For, my little warrior’s face had completely fallen to despair. “....Daddy died?”

“No! No, no, no, sweetheart, he didn’t, but he was….lost....for a long time.”

She sucked in a breath, almost a gasp, all trace of fierceness gone as she searched my face. “Was he scared?”

I could only nod, the tears stinging, squeezing the walls of my throat. “But, one day, he did come back. He found us and he got to meet you. His wee lassie. See?”

Jamie, on our second wedding day, so very thin in his suit, but glowing as he held little Bree in his arms, looking down at her with unrestrained, awestruck  tenderness.

“You made him — make him  — so happy, lovey,” I whispered, pulling her close onto my lap and against my heart as I turned the page. 

The two of them, stretched out on this very couch, both their mouths open as they slept, her cheek smushed cozily against his chest.

I pressed my own cheek against her head. “He’d loved you the whole time he was lost. Getting to finally meet you was....” I flipped over to Ian’s first photos, pointing to Jamie. “Just like how happy he was here, when he met baby Ian for the first time.”  

“Mummy....I dinna—” Her voice was choked, tears streaming as she whispered: “I dinna w-want Da to be lost when I w-was Ian.”

“Ohh, love, sweetheart, I—”

The door from the kitchen opened. “Alright, Bree, your turn for—”

“DA!”

By long instinct, he dropped to a crouch to let her run, sobbing, into his arms. “Christ, what's this, then, cub?” He rubbed her back, coaxing brightly to ease her worries, his expert skill. “Heyyy, lass, there, now.....Dinna be troubled so, wee love—tell me what’s amiss.”

She couldn’t say anything coherent at first, but at last, she choked it out. “I dinna want—y-you to b-be—lost again!”

“I’m no’ lost, Brianna,” he nearly laughed. “I’m here, see? Safe and—”

“Mu—Mummy said you were dead and l-lost when I was littlest and–I don't—dinna—w-want—you—to—ever— ”

“Och, no, lass,” he moaned at once as he pulled her tight against his chest and rose to his feet, his eyes meeting mine with an understanding that ached in us both as he saw the tracks of my own tears. “Never. Not ever.”

He swayed with her for a very long time as she sobbed into his shoulder. His eyes were closed and I could barely hear what he murmured into her hair: 

“That was the saddest time of my whole life, mo chridhe....” In Gaelic: ‘I'll never be parted from ye again...nor your mother... nor Ian…...I swear it.’

“She’s truly growing up, then,” Jamie whispered, softly rubbing Brianna’s back where she lay curled up asleep on the sofa behind us. “That she can feel things so in her heart…..” He turned from her to lean fully against the bottom cushions, resting his arms on his knees. “It makes me want to weep, Sassenach. All the sadness that awaits them in the world....That I could keep all of it at bay.”

“Will we ever tell them differently?”

His head swiveled around, surprised. “Tell them what, mo ghraidh?”

“The truth.” The word was a ball of ice in my stomach. “About....everything. The stones... How we met. Who you really are.”

“I confess....I had assumed we never would tell them.” 

“When it was only me and Bree, I had thought...well, it was a vague thought, only....but I assumed someday she would know. Now, though....it doesn’t seem as simple, somehow.” 

“Aye.” His chest rose and fell heavily as he ran a hand backward through his hair. “In truth, ‘tis indeed a weight on my heart to think that they might never know all the dear memories—only the wee fragments, disguised as they must be.”

About Lallybroch. Jenny and Ian. All their little cousins. Murtagh. Brian and Ellen. Names the children knew, but only a surface-version; a bedtime story about people in a faraway land who were now lost; no more real than any other; far less so, with no photographs or brightly-colored illustrations to prove those people had existed. 

Still more....might they never know what their father did for them at Culloden? Of the sacrifice and pain we both chose on that day? 

“But we must bear it, no?” he was saying sadly, even as a half-hope grew in his eyes. 

“How can they ever truly know us, Jamie,” I said, “understand us without knowing where we’ve been? What we’ve been through?” I thought of my own parents, shrouded in so much mystery, so much not known; unknowable, now. 

“Perhaps...when they’re older? When they might be trusted to keep such a big secret, we might tell them. Though....” he considered. “They might both be fully grown before t’would be the right time for such a—"

“And yet, that’s the other side of the coin.” I hated this; scolded myself for being the devil’s advocate of cloying gloom. “It’s like adopted children that aren’t told until adulthood. If we wait so long, won’t they resent us for keeping such a monumental thing from them? The truth of who they are and how they came to exist?” My eyes must have looked as hopeless as Bree’s. “What do you think we should we do?”

A pause, then his mouth twitched in a weak attempt at a smile. “I wish I kent the certain path, Claire. I do.” Any light in his eyes ebbed. “In truth, we rob them — and ourselves, forbye — of something dear no matter the choice, aye?”

It might have lingered, the worry. It might have been a cloud over us throughout the fallen night. Instead, our eyes met and we softened in unison. He leaned his forehead against mine, pulling me closer to kiss my cheek. Many years stood between us and that day, should it ever even come. 

I was about to rest my head on his shoulder, but a photo caught my eye, right there by my ankle. 

It was barely in focus, fully half the image a diagonal, black nothingness, a childish finger covering the lens. Still, it had been captured at precisely the right moment, before Jamie or I had had time to react. 

Both of us were in pajamas in front of the stove, my hair an absolute wreck (though, when was it not?), the cup of tea in my hand in serious danger of slopping over the side, since Jamie had me by the waist and was working to pull me close. His head was bent to my neck, his grin sweet and roguish, though his eyes were hidden. Mine were closed and my head was thrown back, as though no other damn thing in the world mattered but the moment’s silly joy. 

I cradled it between us and spoke the simplest version of the ache within me.

 “I’m so happy you’re not lost anymore.”

[triforceangel13]

The Promise Ch. 7 (A SidLink Story)

Chapter 7: Unsure Feelings

That declaration had not been expected. For Sidon to just come forward and announce to her right away that he was engaged...

“O-oh,” Zelda said to Sidon at the introduction, her body language changing quickly. It was as if she was sad that this news was given to her. “Well congratulations. I am happy for you both. I hope that it is a joyous union.”

Link's cheeks were flushed, his eyes looking to Sidon with a small bit of anger. He couldn't believe he had done that.

Link was still unsure of what he wanted and yet Sidon was telling her that it was as if they were honestly going to go through with it. This was not what he was expecting and it hurt a little bit that he had gone and spoken as if he had made the decision for him. All his life someone had told him what to do, he wanted to at least have this be his own choice.

He had trusted Sidon to never push him too far and not do things he was too nervous to do. He had thought they had a connection together, one that he was sure would have blossomed into something more.

But now it felt like it was all a lie.

Link had been willing to give it a chance, but with this....he wasn't sure now. He hadn't wanted to think that way.

“Well it's not quite like that,” Link said, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. Sidon's cheeks flushed and looked down at the ground as a chair was pulled out for Zelda to take a seat in. She sat down gracefully, though the look of sadness still covered her face.

Sidon tensed a little next to him then. “Forgive me. It is a little...complicated I guess you could say when it comes to that.”

“Complicated? I don't believe I follow,” Zelda said.

Sidon looked to Link, regret written all over his face at his words. His inner frustrations had gotten the best of him and jealousy had lashed out with those words.

He didn't want to lose him but he should not think that Link actually belonged to him. Link hadn't said yes to his proposal.

Link had to glance away as he slowly took the seat back in his throne, keeping his hands in his lap. Despite this he still felt hurt.

Sidon relaxed back into his seat, taking a short moment to decide what he wanted to say. He had it all planned out before hand and with what he had done he now was at a loss for words. That wasn't normal for him.

“First I would like to thank you for coming all this way to speak with me. Aside from your little mishap earlier, I take the traveling had gone well?” Sidon asked. Zelda seemed to relax at that, leaning back into her chair and the look about her sliding away.

“Yes actually. It was enjoyable to travel Hyrule once again. It had been ages since I've been out of Central Hyrule,” she replied. “Though I hadn't come out here to sight see. I think you know why I am here.”

Sidon gave a small chuckle. “You don't miss a beat do you?”

“My father used to say that,” she said, though didn't praise it too much, knowing her own father was mostly to blame for the feud. “As you know the treaty needs to be discussed and reworked in places I'm sure that way both sides are happy.”

“Yes,” Sidon agreed. “Though I don't believe it is enough. I've been hearing it here for quite some time and I am rather tired of it. I want there to be a way for both sides to see a clear union. One that proves that we don't need to fight any longer, but instead care for one another.”

“What did you have in mind?” she asked.

“Marriage,” Sidon responded simply. “I find that it would settle things far more if I were to marry a Hylian.”

Zelda frowned at that. “I agree yes that it would be one of the simplest of ways to settle the tension, but Sidon...I don't feel like just marrying someone you don't love for the sake of a feud is the right way to go.”

Her eyes quickly glanced at Link who's body language said it all.

“It's as if you are just using him to settle this treaty rather than marry the person that you love,” Zelda finally finished.

Link flinched at that and rose from his seat.

“Link?” Sidon asked, but Link  refused to answer, choosing to leave the room instead. He didn't want to hear this.

“Link!” Sidon's voice called out to him in the hall but the blonde continued to walk. Yet the Zora king followed after him. It wasn't safe yet for him to go out on his own. Who knew what other Zoras would try to hurt him.

“Link, please Sidon,” said, grabbing his shoulder where Link finally stopped letting out a heavy sigh as he turned to him.

“It isn't like that,” Sidon said, taking his hand to want to bring it to his lips but Link pulled it away. “Link...please. That was never my intention.”

“Then what is it Sidon,” Link responded as he looked up at him. “If marrying me for the treaty wasn't your intention, then what was it? Just that promise? A child hood promise is not something to make such a large life decision on.”

“Link-”

“And how you just declared in front of Zelda that I had said yes when I still hadn't made my decision yet. You said you would give me time and yet you forced my hand. Doing that certainly has not put you in my favor.” Sidon shook his head, letting out a sigh. “I don't know why I did that, I swear. It was never my intention to make you feel this way.”

“Well you had. I...I just want to be alone right now. Feel free to finish the meeting with her. I just want to be left alone right now.” Link said.

“But-”

“I can take care of myself. I won't let anyone hurt me again,” Link said as he turned away. Sidon flinched at that, watching as Link head down the hallway.

*

Hot water cradled Link's body in warmth, his hair floating about him as it lay out of the ponytail he usually wore it in. Underwear was the only thing clinging to him but he didn't care. All he cared about now was that he was alone, trying to figure out his troubled thoughts that had only rolled around in his head for the past couple of days.

It had been a few days since he had left Sidon standing in the hallway, having avoided him with any chance he could.

He wasn't ready yet to face him. He had no idea what to say to him after what had been said between them.

“Mind if I join you?” came a soft voice. Link nearly jumped out of his skin. He had been alone for a couple of hours now so he hadn't been expecting any company.

Dressed in a swimming dress stood Zelda, a small flush on her cheeks as her green eyes gazed at him through the water.

“By all means,” Link said to her, shifting a bit to give her some room on the ledge in the water of the hot spring. This was the most shallow part of the pool, the rest of it being far too deep for a hylian as it was made for the Zora.

Zelda climbed in next to him, leaning her head back against the wall as she let out a sigh of content as the water relaxed her.

“This feels nice,” she sighed happily, her hair floating up around her and lightly brushing against his shoulder.

Out of instinct Link shifted away, looking up at the ceiling. Link normally was not one to be comfortable in a woman's presence. Paya had acted similarly to Zelda towards him back in the orphanage.

“What brings you here?” Link asked curiously.

“Just wanted a moment to relax. I have...been going over the treaty nonstop and there was a bit that we had to change for the better. All of this politics just makes me want to relax after a long day,” Zelda sighed. “You?”

“Need to relax,” Link admitted. “Clear my head.”

“Has it helped?”

“Not really...”

“Perhaps is best to try to talk it out?”

Link hesitated a moment before answering. He didn't know her that well but then again he really didn't know anyone there that well at all. He felt a little alone being away from his home.“I don't think you can help right now...”

“Alright...how about you  just talking to me about some stuff to distract how. Tell me about yourself. Where did you grow up?”

“Kakariko Village orphanage,” he replied.

Zelda sat up a bit. “I'm so sorry to hear that.”

Link shrugged his shoulders. “I didn't know my parents. I think they might have passed away and someone found me and brought me there. I had a good life growing up. Though...no one ever came and adopted me. The other orphans and the two women who ran the place became my family. I do miss them a bit...”

“Well that's natural,” she said to him and then poked his cheek. “They were your family after all. Were you always the shy and quiet one?”

“Did you spy on me in the orphanage?” Link laughed a bit, playfully batting her hand away and flicking some water at her. She let out a small yelp at that but grinned, splashing him back with the water.

The two indulged in a splash fight, resulting in plenty of laughter and relief of much needed stress that laid on both of their shoulders.

“Quiet one that turned into a bit of a goofball,” she added as they calmed down, leaning back. “Sidon will be very happy for that.”

Link's smile fell from his face and he sighed, his previous thoughts coming back to him about the red Zora king. “I don't know if I'm going to take his offer...I feel as if this is just for the treaty, not for me at all.”

“Well I can't speak for him Link,” Zelda said. “Though if you don't marry him don't feel as if you are the one that is killing the treaty and killing the chance for peace.”

Link gazed at her questioningly, confused. Wasn't that Sidon's plan all along?

“The more I work with him on this treaty the more likely I can get the peace without any weddings. Don't let that hang over your head,” she answered.

Link nodded his head, contemplating. “That does make it a little easier I suppose. I won't feel as bad if I do choose to say no.”

“Right,” Zelda said. “And if he is not the one for you, who knows, you could meet someone else and have a well deserved happily ever after with no promises or treaties hovering over your head. Just absolute love.”

“That does sound nice honestly,” Link sighed, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes, not catching on to what Zelda was implying.

A soft thunk was heard and Link opened his eyes with a jolt, catching the sight of a bouquet of flowers falling to the ground, a flash of red disappearing quickly down the hall in the matter of what seemed to be mere seconds.

Link's heart sunk deep into his chest, clambering out of the water quickly and nearly slipped on the slippery marble floor.

How much of that had Sidon heard? He hadn't intended on him hearing those things. He was still unsure and yet Sidon might have just taken what they had talked about and believed him to just be saying no.

He let out a sigh, resting his hand on the wall. He couldn't believe he had done that. Sidon...had come to apologize and all he had done was blabber on about him not staying for the prince. He had basically threw his apology in his face.

“I really messed up,” Link sighed.

Zelda bit her lip as she sat in the water. Yes, she was starting to really like Link but it was clear where his heart laid. It laid with the Zora king.

He just didn't realize it quite yet.

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[toothpastecanyon]

Beauty and the Beast, Chapter 4

Read on Archive of Our Own

________________________________________________________________

               Poke. “Dad.” Poke. “Dad.”

               Basden groans at the feeling of something squashing his cheek. He cracks an eye open and stares at the fuzzy green figure of Pauline’s school uniform. A bowl of cereal in one hand, she’s nudging him with the TV remote in her other one.

               “You fell asleep on the couch, Dad.”

               “Hmm...?” He rubs his eyes, drags his hands down his face. “Oh, I, uh, I guess I did…”

               “You’re a weirdo. Can I sit here?”

               “Huh?”

               She waves the remote at him. “I wanted to watch my show… um, are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were super asleep-”

               “No, no, it’s fine.” He heaves himself up and pats the seat. “Watch your show, kid. I was gonna get up anyway.”

               Pauline nervously perches next to him. She turns on the TV, and noise washes into his brain; Basden blinks, slowly, trying to shake off the grogginess that’s muddling up his mind like fog.

               His back’s got a hell of a crick in it… ow, hurts to stretch. He’s getting a little too old to be sleeping on the couch.

               “...Dad? Dad?”

               “Wha… what is it, Pauline?”

               “Do you, um, do you know math?”

               He frowns. “Math? What do you- oh, you need some help with school?”

               “No, I-I don’t need help, I can do it on my own!” She tenses up. “Um, nevermind, nevermind, it’s fine…”

               Basden watches her stare ahead at the TV, pointedly ignoring eye contact. He raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble to me, kid. I’ve taught math classes before. If you need me to go over something with you, there’s nothing in middle school that’s gonna stump me.”

               “Are you sure?”

               He shuffles closer. “Sure I’m sure! What are you having trouble with?”

               “I’m not having trouble with anything!” Pauline shrinks back at that; words spill out of her mouth faster and faster and faster. “I-I just, there’s a test on Friday a-about algebra and I don’t know if I fully get it, I-I don’t know if I’m gonna get an A and Mom’s gonna be really mad at me if I don’t get an A so I need to-”

               “Whoa, whoa. It’s okay! We’ll go over it tonight, alright?” He gives her a smile. “You’ll do fine.”

               She doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she nods. Basden opens his mouth to say more-

               But at that moment there’s a bloodcurdling scream from the kitchen.

               “Marla?!” He’s on his feet in a second. “What happened? Are you-”

               “It’s gone!”

               “What’s gone? Marla?”

               Rounding the corner, he spots her - unharmed,  thank the stars - gaping open mouthed at the freezer. She turns to him with that same shocked expression.

               “Somebody ate all my chocolate!”

               Basden’s heart is still hammering in his chest. He lets out a breath, and lets his shoulders relax. “Please don’t scream like that again.”

               “Where’d my chocolate go, though?” She looks over at Pauline, staring wide-eyed from the couch. “Did you eat it?”

               She shakes her head.

               “Are you sure? ‘Cause I don’t even think I’d be mad - I’d be honestly impressed. This is a lot of chocolate gone missing right now.” She chuckles. “But seriously, where’s it at? Dad?”

               Pauline backs up to the stairs. “I-I’m going to my room…”

               “You shouldn’t be having chocolate for breakfast, Marlie.” Basden watches her dart out of sight, then leans in close. “It is gone, though. Your, uh, pet ate it last night.”

               “What? All of it?”

               “Yes. All of the chocolate is gone.”

               “Wow… aww, dammit, Toother!” She turns around, and suddenly the demon is on the counter looking very sorry for itself. “I was really looking forward to that! How’d you even fit them all in? Those were three huge bars!”

               “Four. It ate Pauline’s, too.”

               “Oh. Whoops. Sorry Dad; or should I say sorry to her, or…?”

               “It’s fine.” Basden shuffles away from the demon. “Just get it off the counter, please.”

               Marla nods, then stabs a finger upstairs. “Alright, Toother, you are not super selling yourself to my Dad! Go back to my room! No, don’t give me the puppy dog eyes - off you go!”

               It turns around and seems to twist out of existence. Basden lets out a sigh.

               “It listens to you much more than it does to me.”

               “Yeah, we’re buds!” She picks out a box of cereal. “Sorry, Dad, didn’t realise he gave you trouble last night.”

               “It’s fine.”

               “So what were you doing downstairs anyway?”

               He looks up, and she’s grinning at him all of a sudden. “What?”

               “I saw your little set up on the couch.” Marla walks back into the living room, eating cereal straight out of the box. “Looked real comfy - not!”

               “Oh, heh,” he trails behind her. “Don’t worry about it, Marlie. It wasn’t too bad.”

               “What were you doing down there? J’s all mad at you again?”

               “Um, yes-”

               “Oh my stars, she’s ridiculous.”

               Basden frowns. “No, uh, don’t say that, Marla. Try… try to be understanding-”

               She scoffs at that.

               “Marla-”

               “Oop, speak of the devil.”

               She leans back on the couch, and Basden turns at the sound of footsteps coming down the staircase. It’s Janet; he sees the icy expression she’s wearing, and tries for a smile.

               “O-oh, good, um, good morning!” His voice jumps an octave; he ignores the giggle-snort Marla breaks into from beside him. “How did you, how did you sleep?”

               Janet reaches the bottom and gives him a withering look… then turns and walks into the kitchen without saying a word. He sighs.

               “Ooooooh...” Marla shoves some cereal in her mouth. “She maaaad .”

               “Marla, please.”

               She keeps snickering away, and a second later Janet comes storming out of the kitchen and snatches the cereal box out of her hand.

               “Wha- hey! Ever heard of please?”

               “No eating in the living room.”

               “Since when was that a rule?” Marla watches her stalk back into the kitchen and get out a bowl. “Helloo? Janet? Since when was that a-”

               “Stop arguing with me, Marla, I really can’t take it today.”

               “But I’m not-”

               “I don’t care, just shut up or go to your room!”

               Janet she brings the bowl down with a thunk at that - Marla clamps her mouth shut. Basden can feel her shoot him a look, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. He clears his throat and shuffles forwards.

               “Uh, Jannie?” He leans on the doorway, watching her wrench the fridge open and stick her head in, out of his sight. “Um, I-I’m heading into work for a few hours, Jannie… I can swing by the, um, the grocery store on the way back? If… If you’d like that...”

               Without picking anything out, Janet slams the fridge door shut. Then she grabs both the bowl and the box of cereal and walks past him like he’s not even there, heading back upstairs without another word.

               “Uh… o-okay. I’ll look at the, um… shopping list... Have a nice day, dear! I love you... I’m sorry.”

               No reply. Basden’s strained smile finally falls off his face, and his shoulders sink. It’s going to be like this for a while, it seems.

               “Smooth, Dad.” Marla crosses her arms. “Real smooth. So since when was ‘no eating in the living room’ a thing?”

               He blinks. “Huh?”

               “Since two seconds ago when Pauline left, or is this another one of those rules that only applies to me?”

               "Oh, uh, no, you can eat in the living room. Janet’s a little upset right now, she probably just-”

               “Ah, so you do admit her rules are just reactionary bullshit!”

               His head shoots up. “What? No, Marla, I was just saying-”

               “That she makes up random rules whenever she’s mad at something? Sounds like bullshit to me.”

               “Marlie, she’s…” He sighs, and rubs his eyes. “Can we, can we please not discuss Janet right now? I’m sorry, she’s just… having a rough day today.”

               Marla lets out a huff of air, but she does drop the subject. A few moments later, in a more even tone, she says, “So you’re going into work today? I thought you took the week off.”

               “I did, but I have some enchantments I want to transcribe. I’ll be a couple hours… do you want anything from the store?”

               “Can I come with?”

               Basden looks over at her. “You want to... come with me? Oh, you don’t have to do that anymore.”

               “Don’t have to, but I want to! You’re not teaching a class today, right?” She grins. “C’mon, let me hang out at your office! Just like old times - it’ll be fun!”

               “Well, it probably won’t be fun. I’ll be busy-”

               “Then I promise I won’t disturb you, Dad! I’ll bring my laptop; you’ll work on work stuff, I’ll work on school stuff! It’ll be super serious study time!”

               He raises an eyebrow. “That sounds dreadfully boring for you, Marlie. Are you sure?”

               “Heck yeah, I’m sure!” She nudges him. “C’mon, off-fice trip! Off-fice trip! Off-fice trip!”

               “Well… If you really do promise, I suppose I could take you-”

               “Yes!”

               Basden chuckles as she punches the air. “Not sure why you’re so excited, but okay, then. We’re leaving in ten minutes - why don’t you get dressed?”

               She races up the stairs, and he watches her go. He almost swears he sees something follow, right by her ankles.

________________________________________________________________

               “Ah. So this is why you’re so excited.”

               “Can I get a soda?” Marla leans into his arm as he pulls into a gas station. “Pleaaaase, Dad?”

               “Hmm… soda for breakfast doesn’t sound so healthy.”

               “I had breakfast! I had cereal! C’mon, Dad, pleaaaaase, I didn’t get to eat any of my English chocolate!”

               “No, you didn’t. Because the pet you brought in ate it.”

               “Wha- you’re really not gonna let me have one?”

               “I didn’t say that.” A smile tugs at his lips as Marla pauses. “I didn’t not say that, though. We’ll see.”

               She flops dramatically against the window. “Oh, the suspense! It’s... killing me…”

               “Is it now.”

               “I’m dying… from the sugar deprivation…”

               “Sugar deprivation?”

               “It’s a real thing…” Slumping in her seat, she sticks her tongue out. “Bleh. I’m dead.”

               You’re dead?”

               “I’m dead. Here lies - err, sits - Marla, dead of no sugar.”

               “Oh, dear.” Basden parks by a pump. “I hope soda has regenerative properties.”

               She perks up. “I’ve heard it does!”

               “That’s lucky. This ride might have started to smell, otherwise.”

               “Wha- hey! My dead body would smell lovely, thank you very much!”

               He blinks at that, then lets out a shocked snort. “Morbid. That’s, ah… well, I started it, I suppose.”

               “C’mon, Dad, I am gonna start smelling at the rate we’re getting out of the car!”

               “Heh, uh…” She opens the door, and he catches her shoulder. “Hey, wait, um, why don’t you stay in the car? I-I’ll go and pay. ”

               Basden watches her pause. Her smile stays on her face, but she deflates, a little. Almost unconsciously, one hand comes up the side of her neck to brush against her yellow-and-red striped ear tag.

               “Can’t I just go outside? I’ll stay by the car.” She does a small laugh. “Heh, my legs, they’re getting cramped! Yeah…”

               He thinks on it, and then nods. “Alright, but, uh, do stay by the car, please.”

               “I will, I promise! Thanks, Dad.”

               “No problem, Marlie.” He puts an arm around her and hugs, a little tightly. “I love you. I’ll get your soda.”

               “Love you too.”

               They both get out, and Basden glances back a couple times as he heads into the store. Watches Marla stretch, then lean back on the car as she looks around the environment. Even from a distance, the fluorescent eartag flashes him every time she turns her head.

               At that, he grimaces. He’s not technically supposed to leave her unsupervised... he'll be quick.

               Basden darts into the gas station, grabs a soda, and waits in line. It’s a little longer than he’d’ve liked; he taps his foot, and keeps looking back, out of the glass door.

               A car pulls upright alongside his - some kind of old, off-white beater missing its bumper. He gets a little pit in his stomach.

               Four people pile out and… they walk past Marla. As expected - he knew, most likely, that nothing was going to happen - but it still gives him a little rush of relief.

               Basden steps forward in line, and glances back at the people again. They’re about Marla’s age, he notes - probably a year or so older, if they’re driving. By the way they’re laughing and shoving each other, they’re clearly a group of friends just having a good time.

               Back by the car, he spots Marla staring at them as well. She’s leaning on the hood, leaning very far forwards, as close as she can get to them.

               He can’t make out her expression, but she’s still. Just staring at them. Listening to them laugh.

               They walk up to the door, and Basden turns back to the front before he looks creepy. He can certainly hear them once they’re through, though.

               “Yooo! That sounds crazy!”

               “Yeah, I had one helluva weekend. How was yours, Sandy?”

               “Eugh, work. Always work.”

               “True, true. Hey, I’m gonna get a soda - you guys wanna snack or something?”

               “Nah, I’m good.”

               “No, thanks.”

               “Hmm… I’ll get a soda too.”

               “I’ll get it for you, Sandy.” One girl steps away. “Pitt, right?”

               “Yeah, Cherry Pitt.”

               There’s a couple chuckles.

               “Ugh, gross.”

               “You heathen.”

               “Oh, screw all of you. Cherry Pitt’s the best!”

               “Haha, I’ll get it for you, Sandy. Even if you’re objectively wrong.”

               Basden reaches the counter and pays. He shuffles past the group, then jogs outside, soda cold against his fingers. Marla waves at the sight of him.

               “Hey, Dad!”

               “Hi, Marlie!” He hands her the drink. “Here you are.”

               “Thanks! I was looking forward to this.” She fans herself with the neck of her hoodie. “Man, it’s hot out today, isn’t it? Like an oven - I dunno how people used to live without AC.”

               “You want me to turn on the car?”

               “Huh? Oh, nah.” There’s a psshhh as the soda opens. “I’m good out here.”

               Basden starts the gas pump, and as it’s filling up, he notices the four teenagers walking out of the building. They’re coming back to the car, and he watches Marla stiffen at the sight of them.

               For a split second, she shoots a look at the front door. Then she flips herself around rather abruptly, leaning on the boot of the car, ear-tagged side facing away, in such a forced-casual pose Basden almost lets out a snort. He swallows the sound and tries not to look like he’s watching as the teenagers approach.

               “How’s that gasoline tasting, Sandy?”

               “Hah! Yeah, how’s it tasting?”

               “I’m about to leave all y’all here.”

               They pass by Marla, and the girl in front - Sandy, probably - catches her eyes for a second. Marla tips her drink, and in a lower voice she goes: “Yo.”

               “Oh, uh, hey.” Sandy flashes her a polite smile before looking back at her group. “Can somebody turn on the AC while I’m filling up? It is hot as hell out here.”

               They’ve gone behind the gas pumps, out of sight of Marla. They don’t notice how her tiny, trying-not-to-blush smile breaks into a great big beaming grin. She takes a swig of soda, shoots a glance at Basden - he’s still pretending not to watch - and then slowly backs away, back into the safety of the car.

               Basden sees all that, and he can’t help but give a smile of his own. Her happiness is infectious, and when he finishes filling up and gets back in the car, he sees her messing with some DVD’s in the glove department; she puts one on, and giggles at him when it starts to play loud drums.

               “What even is this music, Dad? I love it!”

               One of Lizzie’s favourites - ‘Heard This All Before’ by Chipped Ceramic. That makes him chuckle. “I haven’t listened to this in a while.”

               “Mmm... duh - your boyfriend! “ She tries to sing along to lyrics she doesn’t know. “Uh, uh… -take you on a ride! Something something baby!”

               Basden pulls out of the station as the chorus ramps up. He starts to sing along, quietly at first. Marla joins in with volume when the verses repeat, and she lifts his voice.

               The two of them cruise along the road, belting their hearts out.

________________________________________________________________

               Enchanting is one thing. Transcribing enchantments into a usable runic format? That’s an entirely different beast. Basden’s sitting at the desk in his office, rubbing his temple as he tries to decide whether ‘squiggly diagonal happy line’ should be expressed with the symbol for ‘joy’ or the one for ‘triumph.’ It’s a slow, frustrating, headache-inducing process, and he knows there’s still another fifty lines left to be wrestled in a similar manner.

               This is why he thought Marla would’ve been bored to tears, but, sneaking a look at her, she seems perfectly content sitting in his swivel chair by the corner. Her laptop’s set to the side - clearly she did get tired of working on her classes - but she’s spinning around gently, reading one of the many books he has on shelves lining his office walls.

               He raises an eyebrow. She never used to like these trips to work.

               From when she was around ten until she was twelve, Basden used to bring her along whenever he didn’t have to teach a class. She’d just gotten kicked out of school for the first time, and Lizzie was… gone, so he couldn’t leave her home alone.  He could call a babysitter - and he did when he had to teach - but the only one in the county who didn’t run away screaming the second he handed them keys to the basement safe room charged quite a high rate for her service.

               So to the office Marla went. He tried to make it fun for her, but he knew it was boring. She’s like Lizzie was - she loves to be loud, to sing, to shout, to dance and laugh and run around without a care in the world.

               But here, she has to sit. She has to be still. She has to be silent. No amount of sodas or candy or video games was ever able to keep her happy, and it was a relief for the both of them when she could go back to school again.

               Funny… that was a couple years ago now, but Basden can remember it like it was yesterday. Maybe that’s why it’s so jarring to see her now.

               Sitting quietly, with a little smile on her face.

               Just reading away.

               Marla looks up at that moment, and catches him staring. She grins, and he grins back before returning to his work. All without a sound… huh.

               He supposes she’s older now. She can appreciate a little quiet time in a way she couldn’t when she was ten.

               It’s nice, Basden thinks, just to sit with her like this. Maybe he should start inviting her again.

               That’s when there’s a knock on the door. Looking up, he sees the blurry figure of a face peering through the frosted glass.

               “Who’s that?” Marla asks. He shrugs.

               “I don’t know… who is that?”

               “Professor?” comes a voice; Basden suppresses a groan at the sound. That sounds like one of his students, and… well, it’s not that he hates teaching, it’s just that he’s much more interested in the portion of his job spent researching enchantments as opposed to the one explaining them to others.

               (Plus, he had to pick up a Magic 101 class this year, and now he has a bunch of freshman banging down his door all through his office hours to ask him questions they could’ve googled. He suspects this is what is happening now.)

               The voice continues. “Professor, um, can I ask you something? Your door says you’re out of office until Friday, but I could see you in here, so…”

               He sighs. “Come in.”

               The door swings open, and a gangly young man with a fat blue backpack comes shuffling inside. He hits a bookshelf with it while he’s turning, and a neat row of hardbacks topple sideways.

               “Hi, Professor!” He walks up to the desk. “I just had some questions about the homework?”

               “Alright. Why don’t you sit down, and we’ll go over them?”

               The student looks around, and that’s when Basden remembers Marla has the chair. Marla seems to realise it too; she jumps up and wheels it over.

               “Oop, sorry dude. I stole this from you.”

               The student takes the chair. “Oh, thanks! I didn’t know where I was supposed to-”

               He looks up at Marla, and then he freezes, staring at her with rapidly widening eyes. But he’s not really staring at her - he’s staring at the tag on her ear. The fluorescent, impossible to miss, red-and-yellow striped tag sticking out of her hair.

               Basden watches how her smile goes crooked.

               How she tries to hide it with a hand.

               How she tries to laugh it off.

               “Haha, you trying to catch flies with that mouth?” She edges away, giving Basden a look . “I thought you came to ask questions, right?”

               Basden clears his throat. “Um, th-this is my daughter, Marlene. She’s just helping me out for, for today… So, homework!”

               The student glances back at him. His jaw opens and shuts; finally he seems to find his voice. “W-werewolf!”

               “Yes. Just like the fifty or so werewolves that attend or work at the university here-”

               “But!” He stabs a finger at his ear. “It’s the, the dangerous type! Unstable transformer!”

               Marla snorts. “Autobots, roll out.”

               “Can she even be here? Like, you know, legally?”

               Basden grits his teeth. “Yes, Marlene is legally allowed to be here with me, and as you can see, she is completely fine. Please sit down.”

               “But…”

               “You had some questions about your homework?”

               With great hesitation and a lot of glances back at Marla, the student sits down in the chair and brings his work out. As Basden’s going over it, he’s jumpy, distracted, on edge; every time Marla so much as twitches, he’s ready to run for the door. As for Marla, she sulks in the corner at first, but the confusion and the hurt and the frustration in her face slowly gets pushed down and replaced by a wide, dangerous grin.

               Basden recognises that look. She steps forward, and he knows that things are not about to turn out well for this student.

               “So…” She says, and comes up right behind the guy. He almost jumps out of his chair. “What’s your name, bud?”

               “Uh… J-Jason? Jason.”

               “Jason Jason? Huh, that’s a weird name. Your parents must’ve hated you.”

               Basden lets out a sigh. “Marla, please leave him alone. We’re nearly finished.”

               “Wow, you’re nearly finished?” She scoots closer as he edges away. “That must be record time for you, getting all your questions answered this fast!”

               “Um-”

               “You know, ‘cause I bet you just generally have a lot of questions about stuff in your life.” Marla’s smile sharpens. “You don’t strike me as very bright.”

               “Marla...”

               “Heck, I think I belong here more than you! At least I know how to turn my homework in on time, you know what I’m saying?”

               “Marla, that’s, that’s enough.” Basden cringes at the glare she shoots him. “Just let us finish, please.”

               Jason rises to his feet, trembling. “A-actually, I-I think I’m good. I can figure it out from here.”

               “Are you sure? You can stay-”

               “No! No, uh, I have somewhere to be.” He backs away from the desk. “I need to go.”

               “Aww, alright.” Marla waves at him. “Bye, Jason Jason! It was so nice to be a normal human with you, I- ack!”

               She drops to her hands and knees, and Basden’s heart catches in his chest. Jason’s eyes bulge like saucers.

               “Oh, no!” She cries out. “It’s happening!”

               Jason backs away clutching his bag. “Wh-what’s going on? What are you-”

               “The chaaaaange!” Rolling onto her back with a melodramatic wail, Marla extends one hand out to him. “It’s… upon me… Get out while you still have time! Ahhhhh!”

               He lets out a high pitched scream and bolts out of the door. Once he’s gone, her wailing starts to sound suspiciously giggly.

               “Rahhhh… I’m dying… dying…” She flops her arms down. “And I’m dead. Bleh.”

               Basden looks down at her, his heart still hammering in his chest. He swallows a couple times, and then speaks.

               “Marla…”

               “No Marla here. Dead people can’t talk-”

               “ Marla !” His raised voice makes them both jump. “Sorry! Sorry, but you can’t just… you really shouldn’t joke about that.”

               “Aww, c’mon, it was funny! Did’ja see his face?”

               “N-no, you’re not getting it. Jokes like that, they could get you in a-a lot of trouble, Marla. And I’m liable for you.” He makes a face. “So, please , don’t.”

               Marla stands up. Her cheeks are burning with embarrassment; she scowls to hide that, hunches up her shoulders and crosses her arms and stares him down defiantly.

               “Well-! Fine! Next time someone decides to treat me like a freak, I guess I’ll just sit there and take it! Wouldn’t want to get in trouble, would we!”

               “That’s not what I’m saying-”

               “I didn’t even start it! I was just sitting there - he’s the one who came in here and started acting like I was gonna tear his fucking face off!” She lets out a huff. “He was acting ridiculous , so of course I was gonna mess with him! Screw me for trying to have a sense of humour about it!”

               “Marla, you should take a deep-”

               “Oh, I’m getting all mad again, huh? Run for the hills, the big scary monster raised her voice.” She turns away, and takes a deep, shuddering breath. Basden expects her to talk again, but she just keeps breathing, in, and out, in, and out.

               She keeps her head firmly turned away, but he can see her hand reach up and wipe her eyes.

               Basden sighs. “Marla...”

               “What? What else did I do wrong?”

               “Marla-”

               “I just wanted to have a nice day with you.” Her voice is tight, thick. “I just wanted you to have a nice day with me. I wanted to be good, I didn’t want to be your... your liability.”

               She stops, there, and Basden moves out from behind his desk. “Marla,” He says, and puts a hand on her shoulder. “You’re not a liability.”

               “Yeah, right.”

               “You’re not.” He wraps her up in a hug; she stiffens at that, then relaxes against him. “I had a wonderful day with you, Marlie; you were so good, staying quiet for me while I was working.”

               She doesn’t say anything, and he squeezes tighter.

               “You really were. In fact, I-I was thinking about letting you come in with me again, but…” He falters. “I-if you were just doing this to please me… I thought you might’ve been enjoying the quiet, but I wouldn’t want you to-”

               “No, no, that’s not what I meant.” She shakes her head. “I did have fun. I blew through my homework, I read some books - it was great! It was nice to be out of the house for a while, you know?”

               “Yes. I’m… I’m sure it was.”

               They fall into silence, for a moment. Then, in a small, nervous voice, Marla speaks again.

               “You’d really like me to come back after the stunt I pulled?”

               Basden smiles.

               “I would love you to, Marla.”

________________________________________________________________

               “It’s weird.”

               Sunset. Cruising down the road, the same DVD playing, but neither of them are singing. Marla’s fingering the grocery in her lap, talking slowly.

               “It is, you know?” She laughs a little. “That Jason guy was stupid, but sometimes... I feel like people like him, they’re right.”

               Basden turns the music down low. He drives, and listens.

               “They make a huge deal out of the werewolf thing, and I don’t want it to be a big deal so I don’t like it, but, I mean, it is a big deal, isn’t it? It’s dangerous, and it’s always right there - it’s like when you stub your toe, you know? And you want to swear ‘cause it hurts?” She pokes a hole in the bag. “That’s what it feels like when I get mad. I want to swear, I want to let it out , but I can’t. If I do I’ll hurt somebody… or worse.”

               Basden reaches an arm over. She lets him touch her shoulder for a moment, then shrugs him off.

               “I don’t want it to be some big deal, you know?” With a sigh, she sinks back against the seat. “We get into arguments, and I don’t want you feel like you’ve gotta tiptoe around me, tell me to breathe all the time…”

               “It’s okay, Marla.”

               “It’s not okay, though! You’re my Dad , you should get to yell at me for doing dumb stuff, okay! The werewolf joke thing - that was pretty dumb!” She gives a harsh chuckle. “I’m looking back on it and that was a real dud. Bad idea - I have those sometimes; shocking, I know. Solid zero out of ten, let’s be happy the police weren’t called.”

               He laughs a little. “Yes, let’s be happy about that.”

               “But you see? I know I do stupid stuff sometimes! I know you’ve gotta call me out on my crap sometimes, and I don’t want you to be scared of doing that!” Marla looks down, down at her hands. She sighs. Then, softly…

               “I don’t want you to be scared of me.”

               The song that’s playing is fading out now, fading out into silence. Basden puts a hand on her arm, and squeezes.

               “I’m not scared of you, Marla. I promise.”

               She laughs at that; not a happy laugh. “You’re the only one left who isn’t.”

               “That’s not true-”

               “You know it is.” Marla reaches over, and turns off the music as it starts again. “You ever see how fast Pauline leaves a room when I walk in? It’s not just all the Jasons out there; she’s just waiting for me to snap all the time. Her and Janet, but Janet’s worse. She tries to make me snap.”

               He hesitates, then shakes his head. “No, that’s not… she’s not doing it on purpose, Marla, you two-”

               ‘Just have very different personalities, yeah.” She rolls her eyes. “Sure. I’m a disaster, and she’s an asshole.”

               “She’s not a- ugh.” Basden’s not going to convince her right now; he picks a different battle. “You’re not a disaster, Marla.”

               “Oh, yeah? Janet says I am.”

               “She doesn’t say-”

               “She does. She says that exact word, Dad. Along with a lot of other words.” Marla’s still trying to smile, but she shoots him a hard look. “You don’t know what she’s like when you’re not here.”

               Basden struggles to reply. “Well, I’m sure she didn’t mean… I’m sure she wasn’t being serious-”

               “Oh, so she’s joking with me when she says I'm a disaster child and that I belong in the pound? Don’t you think she’s got a bit of a mean sense of humor, Dad?”

               “Well…”

               “Whatever.” Marla huffs a sigh. “You’re gonna defend her no matter what - forget I said anything. Let’s talk about something else.”

               “No, no, you should say something if that’s bothering you! I’m glad you told me - that’s not okay for her to make you feel like that.”

               She just rolls her eyes again. “Cool, so what are you gonna do, give her a ‘talk���? That worked the last hundred times - I’m sure it’ll change things for realsies now.”

               “...Communication is important. I’m sure she doesn’t realise how much she’s-”

               “Yeah. Alright, thanks for trying, Dad.”

               Marla crosses her arms, and looks away, out of the window. It’s dark outside now. The sun has gone down, he can’t think of anything to say, and they’re nearly home. The rest of the way is spent in silence.

               When Basden pulls in, Marla almost immediately takes off her seatbelt. She grabs the bag and opens the door… then pauses, just before she gets out.

               “Today was fun,” she says.

               “Yeah.” He says back. “Yeah. It, uh, was...”

               His sentence ends like it’s unfinished, but he can’t think of anything more to say. Marla gets out of the car after a moment.

               “I love you, Dad.”

               “I love you too… Marla. Marla?”

               She’s already walked away. Basden sighs, and looks down. He notices the car’s still on; he turns the key, turns it off, off the lights go, into darkness. And for a second he sits there in the darkness, hands on a steering wheel he can’t turn anymore.

               The lights are on inside. He should go there. With another sigh, he turns, and grabs-

               Not the handle . Something furry and warm, then there’s a growl that makes him yelp and tangle up in his seatbelt as he tries to get away...

               Yellow eyes are peering at him from just below the window. Yellow eyes - Basden doesn’t know whether that makes him relieved or not. He frowns.

               “You again? Why do you have to keep scaring me like this? Why do you…?” He watches the demon step over his legs, walk up his stomach and sit itself down right on his chest. “Um. H-hi.”

               It’s lighter than he expected. He holds his breath, waiting for it to say something, to do anything other than stare at him with that… that strangely intense look it’s got on right now. What is it doing? What is it thinking?

               He has no idea until it starts to speak.

               “I̧ k͝new̕ i͞t.” It rumbles. “I͝ ̴kn͡ew ͠y̧o͡u ̷w͘e͘r͢e f͈͎͉̝̦a͔m͢i̡̖̣͇l̯i̭a̵̬̻͎͍r̻.”

               Basden blinks. It’s grinning at him now, grinning very, very wide.

               “Fa-familiar?” He shrinks away from those teeth. “No, uh, I-I don’t think that’s right. I’ve never met you before I went to-”

               “ Lionel .”

               That word. That name. Basden doesn’t hear a hint of reverb in the demon’s voice; it’s said so softly, so gently, so lovingly… it’s hard to believe it came from a mouth that bares three rows of deadly teeth.

               The demon smiles at him with that mouth, smiles at him with eyes that are glowing and inhuman yet, somehow, soft and nostalgic. He doesn’t know what to say, and the demon continues.

               “ Lionel ,” The demon says again, savouring that word. “That’s who you are. Lionel.”

               Basden grimaces. After a moment, he finally finds his voice again.

               “Um… I-I don’t…” He clears his throat. “I-I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong person.”

               It blinks, yet it keeps smiling.

               “My name isn’t Lionel, it’s, um, Basden. Basden Mauriciano.” Basden watches its expression flatten to a blankness. “Sorry. I’m sure whoever this Lionel is, you can find them!”

               “Yo̷u͏'re di̕ffe͠ren͟t͟.” Says the demon. Not a question, but he nods.

               “Um, yes.”

               “No͏t̨ L͘io̕ne͡l. ̧Di͡ff̴erent.” Its expression seems to crumple. “D͕͉͟i̛f̧̖̼f͚̠e̻̦͇ṛ̲e̩n̫̬̰t͎͕͚͈ ̷ḁ̸͍̫̞g̮̕a̢͎̠̞̻i͎̺͎̤n̝͞ͅ.̻ A̻l͚̲͉w̤a͍̟̥y̮̦̮͟s̫ ̥̗̘̻͖ͅd҉͍̻i͉̦̞̥̬͖f̶f̠̺͘ḙ̰̖͘r̹̰̫͖ͅe͉̬̰͕n͕t̵, A̖͔̠L̖̹̜̪̮͚W̩͕̙̱͙̟̼Ą͎̤̩Y̡͈͇̬̙̮̝̻S͓͕ ̯̪̠͇͚͜D͚͍̼͓͇̺͞I̴̜F̞̖̬̼̪͡F̩̰̣̘̺E̞R͉̼̯ͅE̪N҉͉̠̟͚T̶!̼̮̳”

               Basden presses himself against the seat, but the demon isn’t interested in him - not anymore. It makes a noise that’s a terrible mix between a roar and a wail and whirls back into the shadows it came from.

               He sits up, breathing hard. With a trembling hand, he reaches for the car door again… and feels nothing.

               The demon is gone - physically, at least. There’s still a sort of presence in the air, a heaviness like how it feels when it’s just rained. A sadness, he feels… almost a sulkiness.

               Basden gives a wry smile at that. An aura of mopey demon - not something he ever expected to encounter in his life. This whole demon thing was a rollercoaster of these unexpected events... Unexpected names. Mizar, and now Lionel.

               What did it all mean?

               “Dad?”

               Marla’s voice makes him look up. She’s standing by the front door, peering into the darkness.

               “Dad? Are you still out here?”

               “Um,” Basden untangles himself from the seatbelt and opens the door. “Coming! Coming, sorry!”

               “What were you doing?” She gives him a concerned smile as he jogs up to her. “Listening to music, or something?”

               “Uh… yeah, um, sure. Just had to let a song play out, I guess.”

               “Alright, you do you. Oh, also Janet wants to give you something.”

               He blinks. “Wha- oh, hi Janet!”

               She standing off to the side of the stairs, scowling as she holds a phone up to her ear. One glance in his direction… then her eyes settle on Marla, and the scowl deepens.

               “Okay, now go to your room.”

               Marla crosses her arms. “What if I don’t wanna?”

               “Stop being difficult, Marla!” She snaps. Basden frowns. “Go to your room, your father has to take a business call.”

               “Is it, uh, Gaston?” He clears his throat. “I… I don’t mind if she, um-”

               Janet cuts him off like he’s not even talking. “Go to your room right now , Marla. This is not a discussion!”

               “I dunno, Dad sounded like he didn’t mind if I stayed down here.” She nudged him. “Eh? Whaddaya say? I’ll be quiet, promise!”

               Basden blinks. For the first time since the argument last night, Janet actually, properly turns to look at him… and she looks furious ; he quails under the sheer level of malice that’s now being directed at him.

               “Uh-um…” He starts. She shakes her head, once, and he cringes. “No, um, why don’t you… why don’t you go to your room, Marla?”

               “But Dad-”

               “No, no, I-I don’t think… I think you should go. That sounds like a good, um, a good idea.”

               Marla stares up at him, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. Her fists clench. After a moment, she turns and stomps upstairs without another word. Janet rolls her eyes.

               “Drama queen,” she says, and he grimaces.

               “Um… Jannie, a-about Marla, could I maybe, maybe talk to you about-”

               “Whatever it is, Basden, it’ll have to wait! My brother’s been on the line for ages waiting to talk to you!” She talks into the phone. “Yes, he’s finally ready. Here he is.”

               Then she shoves it into his hands, and walks away. Basden starts after her, but there’s a voice from the phone - he puts it up to his ear.

               “-you been, Basden?” Gaston’s saying in his booming voice. “Any more kidnappings happen to ya? Hah!”

               “Hi, uh, Gaston. Haha, nice to-”

               “I’m hilarious, I know! Now listen: me and LeFuté, we struck one hell of a deal this morning! Just you wait, old man - you’re gonna love this!”

[basketcase1880]

Well, who’da thunk it. I’ve only gone and managed to get chapter 13 typed up in 24 hours, so I thought I would treat everyone to chapter 12.

CHAPTER 12

Previous

The silence in the sitting room was deafening when Jamie made his announcement.

 “Pull the other one,” Willie said after a few minutes of awkward silence. “When would the golden child even have the chance tae take a lass out, let alone father a bairn.”

 “Wheesht,” Murtagh scolded as he slapped Willie around the head. “Let the lad explain ‘imsel’.”

 “Are ye really my papa?” Fergus asked as he looked up at Jamie with a look of hope in his eyes. “And that means you won’ send me away?”

 “Aye lad,” Jamie reassured as he kissed Fergus’ curls. “This wee bit o’ paper tells us that I’m really yer da’ and that will help us if yer mam ever came knockin’ on the door.”

 “Nuh uh,” Fergus said adamantly as he curled into Jamie even more. “I stay with my papa.”

 That one sentence, as innocent as it was, brought a huge smile to Jamie’s face. Claire’s smile was tender as she gazed at Jamie and Fergus, as was Ellen and Jenny’s.

“Want tae tell us how ye came tae be a father?” Jenny asked from her perch on the sofa next to Ian. “Save us from jumpin tae any conclusions.”

 “It was when I was workin wi’ Jared in Paris,” Jamie began. “I met a lass called Annalise…”

 “My mama,” Fergus muttered from Jamie’s lap.

 “Aye, turns out I left her pregnant,” Jamie said with an element of shame in his voice. “Tae be fair, I didnae ken she was pregnant until mam telt me she had had a phone call fae Jared.”

 “Jared called me to tell me that he had a young ward in his care whose mother claimed belonged tae Jamie,” Ellen continued. “So, Brian and I went over to Paris to discuss Fergus wi’ the French authorities. They said because Fergus had been left in Jared’s care, it was up tae Jared tae decide how tae raise the lad.”

 “After some discussions wi’ Jared, it was decided that we would bring Fergus over here,” Brian supplied. “I decided tae seek legal council on the issue and following Ned’s advice sent off a DNA test tae prove Fergus was a Fraser.”

 “How long have ye had the results?” Jamie questioned.

 “Just over a week,” Brian replied. “I was tryin’ tae figure out the best way tae tell ye, an I though’ Christmas Day would be the best. Though’ it would be the best present fer ye an’ Fergus.”

 “Ye called me Fergus, sean,” Fergus said from Jamie’s lap. “Ye’ve never called me Fergus before. It was always Claudel.”

 “Weel, lad, yer a Fraser an’ tae be honest, I dinnae think Claudel would really fit in wi’ yer classmates next year.”

 With that, Fergus jumped up from Jamie’s lap and wrapped his tiny arms around Brian’s neck now he had sat back down. “Love you, sean,” Fergus whispered into Brian’s ear, which brought tears to Brian’s eyes.

 “Love you, too, lad,” Brian said.

 “Weel, mo bhràthair,” Willie said with a smirk. “Ye start the day off as a heilan coo, an’ then ye become a da’. Anymore surprises ye want tae spring oan us?”

 “Shut it, Willie,” Jenny snapped. “Jamie has been a da’ for the past three year, we’re jus’ findin’ oot the no’. But Fergus is a breath o’ fresh air tae the family. An’ now we ken, if Annalise comes lookin’ fer the lad, she’ll see he’s weel kept.”

 “Da?” Fergus suddenly piped up. “Does that mean I’ll live with you now?”

 “Ye cannae live there a chuilien,” Ellen said, directing her comment to both father and son. “The flat is tiny an’ who’ll watch Fergus while yer at work?”

 “Mam, I’ve bought that flat,” Jamie said petulantly. “If I move back here what’ll I do wi’ it?”

 “I’ll take it,” Ian supplied. “I’ll pay rent an’ all. It means when I’m at home I’m no sponging aff Ellen an’ Brian. An’ I’ll no need tae stay in barracks. An’ ye’ll still get rent when I’m overseas.”

 “Guys, let the lad breath, will ye,” Murtagh said. “The lad’s just had his day made wi’ findin’ out he’s a da’. Why don’ we just have the day an’ think logistics after the holidays?”

 “Oui,” Louise said as she ran her new scarf through her fingers. “I for one would like to go back to bed for a few hours. This is such an ungodly hour.”

 Everyone laughed at that and began to disperse from the room as Ellen and Jenny began clearing up the torn wrapping paper and Claire and Fergus began to put everyone’s presents in specific bundles under the tree. Jamie and Willie cornered Ian and dragged him into Brian’s study.

 “Whit was that, ye eejit?” Willie said. “Ye were meant tae be proposing tae Jenny.”

 “I spoke wi yer mam an’ da before I left this mornin’,” Ian explained. “Tae ask fer their blessin, but I was advised tae hold off on it til the big Hogmanay party. Said they had a bigger surprise that needed tae be given this morn.”

 “So ye decided tae hold off on proposin’ on the say so o’ mam an’ da’?” Jamie questioned. “But then start askin’ tae rent my flat. Which ye obviously want tae set up as yers and Janet’s first home together. Ye need tae think right, Ian…”

 “I want tae rent yer flat fer the reason I already gave ye, Jamie,” Ian interrupted. “I’m a grown man in my twenties. I need tae ha’e my own space. An’ IF Jenny says aye, then we’ll make it our own.”

 There’s nae ifs about it,” Willie said as he cuffed Ian around the head. “Jenny’s crazy about ye, the only question she’ll have is ‘how soon can ye marry?’”

 “Weel, I’m goin’ tae ask her at the Hogmanay party,” Ian said. “So ye need tae keep yer gobs shut until then.”

 Jamie and Willie just gave Ian a cheeky salute and all three exited the study, with Jamie and Ian heading back to the sitting room and Willie heading to the kitchen to check on the food for dinner.

 “An’ mind,” Willie said with a warning. “Ye don’t tell mam what I’m daein’. She believes that I should hae Christmas off since I seem tae cook the rest o’ the year.”

 This time it was Ian leading the salute towards Willie with Jamie joining in.

Meanwhile, in the sitting room, Ellen, Jenny and Claire were sitting enjoying a nice cup of tea while watching Rabbie helping Fergus with his new train set.

 “So, it doesnae put ye off then?” Jenny asked Claire and Claire raised her eyebrow in question. “Jamie bein’ the lad’s da?”

 “No,” Claire said with a smile. “To be honest, I kind of guessed it and asked him about it last night.”

 “So, ye weren’t surprised by Brian’s present to Jamie then?” Ellen asked.

 “No,” Claire smiled. “If anything, I was pleased for Jamie. He told me last night that he felt ashamed to have bedded Annalise out of wedlock and leave her with child. Especially since she was seeing others on the side.”

 “He was worried about Fergus’ parentage?” Ellen asked and Claire nodded. “He had nothin’ tae fear, jus’ look at the lad. He’s got the Fraser hair, an’ if ye compare some of the family baby photos ye’d see Fergus in them. An’ no’ just Jamie’s photos.”

 “Where is everyone?” Jenny suddenly asked. “I know Louise has gone back to bed, but I can only count five o’ us.”

 “Yer da’ an’ Murtagh are out in the stables,” Ellen said. “An’ kennin’ Willie he’s prolly nosin’ about in the kitchen. I tell ‘im every year that the Christmas dinner is my work, but he always sneaks some wee ‘improvements’ as ‘e calls them. As for Jamie an’ Ian, it’s a’body’s guess.”

 “They might be talking about the flat,” Claire supplied. “Ian seems very eager to have his own place nearby.”

 “That must be it,” Ellen said in a way that made Claire think she knew that Ian was probably being grilled about the non-proposal. “But enough of the boys, I have tae thank ye, Claire, for the lovely necklace and the matching cufflinks fer Brian. They’ll be put tae use on Hogmanay, at the party. But ye needn’t have gone to any trouble gettin’ us all presents.”

 “It wasn’t any trouble, Ellen,” Claire smiled as she pulled her new shawl around herself. “I’ve never really had a big family celebration at Christmas. Uncle Lamb would try his best, but he would often loose track of the days at the dig sites. I wanted to give everyone a present. As for Murtagh and Louise, I got their presents when Jamie and I took Fergus to see Santa. Jamie’s present was the hardest to find though, I didn’t really know what to get him.”

 “But ye an’ Jenny seemed tae ha’e the same idea,” Ellen laughed. “Getting’ each other a set of the song books ye need fer the choir.”

 “Weel, Claire cannae guarantee she’ll be able tae attend choir fer the last six weeks,” Jenny explained. “I thought if I get her the books, I can help her practice.”

 “Aye, yer nursin’ placements,” Ellen said. “How many do ye have?”

 “I’ve nine in total,” Claire smiled. “Three in first year, four in second year and two in third year. Since I’m specialising in learning disabilities, and there are only two universities in Scotland that offer LD nursing, I could request placements all over Scotland. The three-week placement I have just after new year is in the epilepsy centre at Govan, but I don’t know where else I’ll be.”

 “Weel, if ye ever want tae ask fer any placements up this way, yer always welcome tae stay here,” Ellen offered. “As I said before, Janet has chosen ye as her sister, so ye’ll always be a part of this family. That plaid around yer shoulders testifies tae that.”

 Before Claire could say anything in reply, Jamie and Ian made their way into the room smiling like the troublesome boys they used to be.

 “I take it, yer brother is nosin’ in on my cookin’,” Ellen said matter of factly.

 “No mam,” Jamie said slightly louder than necessary as he nodded his head in agreement with Ellen’s statement. It was the same routine they went through every Christmas since Willie got his first job as a chef.

 “Scoundrel,” Ellen whispered as she shook her head with a bright smile gracing her face.

Next

[cas-backwards-tie]

Pinball & Motels

Clyde Logan x Reader

Prompts: 154: “There’s only one bed...” + 132: “I haven’t slept for four days...”

Warnings: None.

Words: 1,904

A/N: I love cheesy/cliche romantic tropes! Haha, thank you! I love this. You might think the place they visit sounds unrealistic and weird but actually, I visited a place exactly like that this summer! It was super fun. @joeybelle I know you don’t prefer reader inserts, but I hope you enjoy this! 

“It’s already three in the morning, Clyde. We’ve still got a long ways to go. I think we should just stop at a motel or something.” Taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glance over at you, he looks drained. Eyelids drooping and the rims of his eyes bloodshot, it would be clear to anyone that the both of you are tired. “I can see what’s up ahead at the next exit and call to make a reservation? Better than showing up and hoping they have rooms.”

“Sure,” Clyde yawned, an obvious sign that this is a needed decision. Driving any further tonight, even with taking turns, is just a reckless idea. Running a hand through his hair, Clyde’s eyes bulge as he tries to wake himself up. His actions make you quietly chuckle, turning down the radio to call a motel you found on Google that’s a few exits down the highway.

Leaning against the counter with a big smile spread across your lips, you wait for Clyde to put the money a customer just gave him into the cash register before he turns back to you, wiping down the counter with a rag. “So...” drawing out the word, your voice laced with a tone of mischievousness. He looks at you, the corners of his lips drawing up into a tiny smile.

“So?” he draws out his words, obviously playing along.

“I know this is kind of random, but I was thinking... road trip: this weekend. What do you say?” Clasping your hands together and standing tall with confidence in your plan, you knew you’d need Clyde’s help regardless of if he wanted to participate.

“A road trip? Like... just, you an’ me?” Smiling, you nod in response. Clyde lets out a short hum before going silent, focusing on the counter as he wipes down the part you’d previously been leaning against. “Where to?”

Slamming the truck’s passenger side door shut as you hop down onto the ground, you glance at the piece of equipment you guys are hauling back to West Virginia. Standing still, Clyde stares at you from the sidewalk. “Are you sure it’s safe to leave this here all night?” Looking from the secured item hidden underneath a tarp you were now grateful he’d suggested bringing, your worried face meets Clydes.

Sighing, Clyde shrugs. “No? But we could at least get a few hours of rest before heading back down the road. Plus, ya already called the front desk. I don’t think they’d be too thrilled to know they’re losin’ a customer when it seems like we’re the only folk here.” Looking around the parking lot, it’s true. The place sure seems deserted, and with the darkness enveloping everything it only furthered the appearance of a ghost town. A brisk breeze sweeps through your dress, a shiver running down your spine. “Come on, it’ll be fine.” Waving for you to follow him, Clyde carries the duffle bag you guys had brought in case of this.

Standing in front of the multipurpose building, you smile in excitement from knowing what’s inside. A gas station, slash restaurant, slash arcade. Who would’ve thunk this to even exist? Whoever it was, you’d claim them a genius.

The left corner of Clyde’s lips curl inward in a frustrated manner. Great. He’s still mad. “You ready?” You ask excitedly, shaking a little to try and get him excited too. After all, he is the reason you’re here. Swiftly turning around and walking toward the door, you look over your shoulder at Clyde in a teasing manner. No way he’ll stay outside the whole time. Plus, you’ll need Clyde’s help to move the item you came for.

The bell hanging by the door chimes as you enter, an older man a few yards away perks up behind the counter, raising his hands with a smile on his face. “You must be the lil’ lady who called about buying one of my ol’ beauties.” Rounding the counter, he approaches with a gentle smile and a welcoming air about him. “An’ you said this is a gift, right? Come on, follow me.” The man puts a gentle hand on your shoulder and the bell chimes again, drawing your attention to it. You were right, of course, Clyde finally decided to join you. Waving him over, he reluctantly makes his way over to you and the old man who’s looking curiously at Clyde.

“This is Clyde, I’m actually buying it for him as a late birthday present!” The man’s mouth forms an ‘O’ as he nods, his smile getting brighter as he motions for Clyde to follow.

“What a sweet surprise! That’s just splendid. I can already tell ya that she’s a keeper,” the man winks at Clyde as you follow him toward the back, passing by arcade machines you’d seen in Dave and Busters awhile back. Walking into the very back room, one of the machines has a sign taped on it claiming it’s off limits. Turning around, he rests his hand on the machine as he rubs the side gently. “I had to put the sign up cause you know how kids are, always fiddlin’ around with stuff that ain’t theirs and causin’ mischief. Gosh, I remember those days. Cheryl and I used to go to the arcade over in Marion and we’d play all afternoon, sometimes we’d go to the drive-in theatre to watch a film. You know how it goes.”

Listening to the man’s thoughts, you smile at the stories he rambles on about. “I’ve got this one here up for sale, and I got three other of em’ in that side room over there. Whichever one ya want, I’ll give it to ya’, same price.”

“Is it okay if we take a look at them?” Wanting Clyde to pick out his present, you were simply happy to partake in this journey and do something nice for your boss and closest friend in Boone County.

“Oh, sure. Go on an’ take a look at em’ all. I’ll even give you some quarters on the house since yer buyin’ one of the machines.” Patting the machine his hand had been resting on, you look over at Clyde with a smile.

The lady at the front desk didn’t seem unfriendly, but most certainly in an unpleasant mood. Maybe she’s tired too. Handing over your credit card, the lady takes it and places a keycard in your hand while returning your card with it. “The room is to your left and at the end of the hallway on the second floor. Breakfast is at five.” Nodding, you both thank the lady and head over to the stairs, making your way to the room.

“Thank you for yer business, Doll. I’ll be right back with the cart so don’t you worry. I hope this does yer bar well, Clyde!” Turning to face the man in question, you lean against the counter waiting for the old man to grab the cart, smiling teasingly at Clyde.

“So? Are you still mad at me?”

Clyde makes a face as he shakes his head, baffled. “What? No. No. I was never mad at you, Y/N.”

“You’re a bad liar, Clyde.” A hearty chuckle escapes you with his failed attempt.

Clyde glares at you, finally relinquishing as a smile spreads across his lips. “Well, I certainly owe ya for goin’ through all this trouble for me. Gettin’ me a pinball machine for the bar… that’s, real sweet of ya’. Thank you.”

Face breaking into a toothed grin, you can’t help but feel the desire to hug him. “You’re welcome. I know we were talking about ways to liven the bar awhiles back, and I knew your birthday was coming up so I thought ‘why not?’ Plus, it wasn’t too too expensive. You can always repay me later, though I don’t expect you too.”

“You don’t expect me too? How come?” Clyde’s brows furrow slightly at the words, hand snaking into his pocket as his body tenses up.

“Clyde- I’m not- I don’t mean it like ‘oh, I don’t think Clyde will pay me back,’” you mimic in a low voice with hands on your hips. “I meant that I don’t really want you to pay me back? I don’t expect that from you. Firstly, it’s a gift, for your birthday. And secondly, you already do enough for me Clyde. You gave me an ally in an unfamiliar place when I needed one. You gave me a job, and now, you, at least- I hope this isn’t too forward- give me friendship.” Hand coming up to rub up and down his arm comfortingly, Clyde relaxes at the touch.

“Mmm… I don’t think that’s too forward. I would’ve considered us friends for awhile now, actually.”

As the old man returns with the cart to help move the pinball machine outside and into the back of the pickup, you mumble quietly to yourself. “That’s good to know.”

Sliding the keycard through the scanner, the door pops open. Pushing into the room, your panic begins to rise. Clyde moves around you to set the duffle bag on the bed before noticing your frozen stance. Glancing back at you, his brows furrow in confusion. “There’s only one bed…”

“Uh…” Clyde’s lips part as his hand comes up to scratch his beard for a moment, taking a glance over at you.

“I-it’s okay. I mean, I thought they told me there was a pull-out couch too, but… this is fine.” Your voice comes out sounding less confident than you’d intended, but then again, could you really be confident in trying to justify sleeping with your boss?

“I-I can go ask for another room if ya’ want? They seem to have plenty open judgin’ by the cars in the lot.”

Shaking your head, you quickly retort, “No… it’s fine, Clyde. I mean, it’s already enough money, and well, it’s just one night, right?”

Nodding his head, Clyde stays silent as he unzips the duffle bag lying in front of him atop the bed. “I suppose… though I promise, I won’t do nothin’, I’m a gentleman.”

“I know, that’s why I don’t mind.” Shrugging, you give him a small, hesitant smile. “Plus, we’re friends, so it’s not too, too weird?” Clyde chuckles at this.

Both of you quickly getting ready for bed, slipping into your respective side of the bed. Facing him, you give him a small smile grateful for the way today went. “This was a good idea. Thanks for doing this, Y/N. I feel like I haven’t slept in four days!” Laughing, you know he’s just being dramatic. Clyde, for as long as you’ve known him, has always been one for dramatics.

“Then it most certainly was a good idea if you’re really that tired!” Both giggling like fools, the pull of sleep starts to draw you in. Settled in bed and content with how the day has gone, you turn off the lamp on the nightstand. “Goodnight Clyde.”

[maevefiction]

Your Light in the Mist - Chapter 29

Visions of myself eviscerating the bitch with a gleaming, razor-edged katana momentarily clouded my thinking as Tom dropped his phone back onto the table with a thunk, then shifted his body about in order to face me, my hand slipping from his lower back to his thigh. I was not a woman prone to fits of rage, but if there ever was an appropriate point in time to flip tables, this was is. That, I knew, would make me feel better, but would likely have the opposite effect on Tom as he’d be so inclined as to think he was the reason for my fury. The table stayed where it belonged, but despite my best efforts, I squeezed his hand a bit too hard and was unable to keep my trap shut.

“Jesus mother fucking christ in a fucking sidecar, what a fucking CUNT that woman is.” He met my gaze, expression unreadable, and it occurred to me that he might think I meant his mother as opposed to Jane, which wasn’t a leap I yet felt qualified to make. “Jane. Not your mother. Jury’s still out for her. Conviction on a lesser charge remains a viable possibility.”

The corners of his mouth curled upward just the tiniest bit, hand that had held his phone reaching up to cup my jaw, thumb brushing my lips before he leaned forward to kiss me, softly at first, then rougher, his tongue thrusting inside to meet mine. He pulled away suddenly, taking my other hand in his, an overwhelming earnestness in his eyes that was so powerful it took my breath away.

I wasn’t the only one, apparently. His words came forth in a single exhale, a deep sigh winding through the darkness of the woods, stirring the fireflies into action and setting the forest alight. “I love you.”

Smiling gingerly, I briefly pressed my lips to his cheek. “I love you too. Now tell me what’s going through your mind. Don’t feel like you have to edit anything to spare my feelings. Just let it fly.”

His head tilted to the side. “You’re not angry with me.” A statement of fact, though he was obviously questioning why.

I shook my head. “No. Why would I be angry with you? I don’t see how any of this is your fault, Tom. Beyond your sphere of influence and control, all of it. Now that fuckwad douchecanoe…HER I’m angry with. After everything she put you through, how she made you feel, what she TOOK from you…I’ve got balls aplenty, this you know, but getting your number from your mother and not just CALLING but saying what she SAID…her balls must be so big she needs a cart to carry them around in. Either that or she’s certifiable. Anyway. I’m shutting up now. Your turn.”

Swallowing, he closed his eyes for a brief few seconds, the opened them. “Okay. What’s going through my mind. Well, first, the way I presented this to you, fucking hell…I played that with no warning whatsoever and didn’t consider how the content would affect you or what you might think or how you’d feel. I’m very sorry, Maude.”

“Don’t be. If I believed even in the slightest that you still have feelings for her I would have completely lost my shit, but I don’t so it’s fine. Please correct me if I’m wrong, though.” A tiny bubble of doubt threatened to burst and contaminate my entire cranial biosphere.

His head moved back and forth rapidly. “You’re not wrong. The only feelings I harbor for her are…I probably shouldn’t voice them, truthfully. And I have absolutely NO intention of calling her. Or seeing her. Ever. I know full well what she is, and exactly what she’s trying to do. Hearing her voice threw me, I’ll readily admit that. For about a half an hour everything she said…that day…repeated in my head and I had a bit of breakdown…” The look on my face must have clued him in to what I was thinking. “I knew you’d be home soon. That’s why I didn’t call or text. And I didn’t want to upset you at work, on your first day no less. Anyway. After I sorted that bit out, it was on to Mum.” His voice broke, and I squeezed his hands as he inhaled sharply, exhaled deeply, then continued. “I’m crushed, Maude. Absolutely crushed. And I’m so sorry she did what she did and said what she said…the part about you being beneath my station…god how I want to SCREAM at her…but, since Jane is essentially a pathological liar, I can’t be certain she DID say it, so…and here’s where the ‘my fault’ part comes into play, Maude. All I ever told her about the breakup was that Jane said no to my proposal and that I couldn’t in good conscience remain in a relationship after such a rejection, with no clear path forward. That’s all. She hasn’t a clue as to what really happened. If she had, would she have given out my number? Would she have gone to LUNCH with Jane? I’d hope not, but there’s only one way to find out. I have to talk to her. And I have to TELL her. All of it. Including the fact that I know my father was unfaithful. And about my drinking. And about…Claudia. If there’s one concept I’ve firmly grasped over the past few weeks, it’s that without honesty, no relationship is ever…real. Perhaps she’ll learn from my example…inexcusably long delayed as it is…that you don’t have to keep secrets from the people you love. You don’t have to hide your pain, that it’s possible to be free from shame. If she disowns me instead, so be it.”

I let go of his hands and leaned back on the couch. “Good fucking thing I’m sitting down, because that made me kinda feel like I’m going to pass out.”

He slid off the couch and knelt before me, between my legs, hands on my thighs, eyes deeply concerned and slightly confused. “Why?”

My head flopped back against the cushion for a moment, then lifted as I met his gaze. “Because, Thomas. My god. You are this…this…brave, gorgeous, glorious soul. And because…” I pointed at his phone. “That was totally not what I was expecting when I saw your face, and, as absurd as it may sound, I’m…relieved.”

Brow furrowed, he leaned in closer. “What was it you were expecting?”

I bit my lip and looked up at the ceiling, then down and back at him. “I had my own little freak out after you left this morning. Not to make this all about me or anything. But, yeah. Panic attack main course, self-doubt served up on the side. The causal agent, in part…how I was going to deal with it when you told me your therapist thought you’d gotten involved in a serious relationship entirely too soon, and proceeded within it at WAY too quick a pace, so much so that it has the potential to be detrimental to your mental health and that if you wanted to keep moving forward, to actually HEAL, you needed to slow things down. With me. Back away, that sort of thing. Maybe not be in a relationship. At all.”

He reached for my hands, which I’d unconsciously tucked under my arms. “We did discuss that, actually. It was an argument he lost in short order, mainly after I inquired as to how he’d ended up with the mother of the four incredibly lovely children in the photograph on  his desk. It was June 12th, 1987, at a U2 concert in Wembley Stadium. He’d just come out of a relationship with his childhood sweetheart who’d cheated on him the entire time she was away at college but thought he should still marry her anyway. While entering the venue, he saw a beautiful young woman in distress, who upon closer inspection turned out to be his ex-fiancé’s former roommate. Her friends were supposed to meet her in the parking lot but she couldn’t find them, and as they were the ones holding her ticket, she couldn’t get inside. As fate would have it, he’d purchased his own tickets prior to his breakup, and was planning on selling the extra one if the opportunity arose. Instead, he invited her to join him.”

“Dude, come on.”

Tom smiled. “All true. At some point while relaying the details he began to tear up, and when he regained his composure he informed me that perhaps he should pay me today, then took a break to order her flowers and make a dinner reservation at the Dorchester.”  

Removing my hands from his, I patted both sides of his face. “No one can resist the Hiddescharm.”

“Oh, THAT one I like. Though I have grown quite fond of Hiddlesconda.”

I snickered. “Heh. That makes two of us.”

We sat for a moment, in the stillness, until he broke the silence. “He was very surprised that I’d told you about the pregnancy prior to revealing it to him. I believe it spoke volumes regarding the level of trust that’s between us.” His chin dropped to his chest for a few moments, then lifted. “I hated telling him about the night in San Diego…what I did, what I said. It felt like I was betraying your confidence the entire time, even though I knew I needed to be truthful and most of it was a rehashing of what I’d told him previously over the phone.”

It wasn’t pleasant, knowing that someone other than us knew the particulars of our exchange. But that’s how therapy works. Which is why I’d never been into it, most likely. I’d tried it. Twice. Both times it ended with the practitioner advising me that if I wasn’t going to vebalize anything, there wasn’t any way to help me work through whatever it was I wasn’t verbalizing. “It’s weird, not gonna lie. But that’s the point of having a therapist, right? Tell all, no judgement? If it’s helpful to you in even the smallest way, say whatever you need to, you know?”

He pushed up off the floor and sat next to me on the couch again, eyes staring into mine. “Thanks. I’ll see him again when I feel it’s necessary, but for now…I think I’d rather just talk with you.”

I laughed. “Oh honey, I don’t think you can afford me.”

He chuckled as well, and we slowly retreated into another reticent state.

Placing my hand on his knee, I dove back in. “So. What’s the plan, Stan? Are you going to hold off on confronting your mother until you have some time to…”

Shaking his head, he stood, and I followed, lest I wound up with a sore neck from craning up at him. “I’m thinking of going over there right now, actually. Even though it’s a bit of a hike.”

I placed a hand on his chest. “Well, I’m sorely disappointed that you won’t be cooking me dinner, but it won’t kill me to just order in or something. Or maybe I’ll just go beg the neighbors until they feed me. So, if you want to get it over with, I say go for it.”

The timorous way he placed his hand over mine, along with the pleading glance that accompanied it, clued me in as to what question would tumble out of his mouth next. I beat him to the punch. “Holy fuckamoley, you want me to come with you.”

He nodded, slowly, emphatically.

Plopping back down on the couch, I reached behind my head and tugged nervously on my ponytail. “Tom…I don’t know…I mean, are you sure you want me there? I’ll totally go if you do…that’s not the issue. What IS the issue is that I’m…me. And it’s been clearly established that she does not approve, man. Let’s not forget that I’m a blunt, tell it like it is loose cannon even in the best of times. She’s, like, your family. I do NOT want to fuck that up for you.”

He leaned over, grasped me by the elbows, my forearms resting upon his, and pulled me to my feet. “Maude, you’re my family, too. We’re a matched set. Two halves of a whole. If she can’t accept either of us for who we are…” Tears had begun to stream down his cheeks. “And it’s already fucked up. Aside from all the unknowns, it’s an indisputable fact that she gave Jane my phone number. Which means she wanted her to get in touch with me, though she was aware that our relationship was at a level wherein I’d decided to ask you to live with me. Her blatant disregard for that, my feelings, your feelings…I simply cannot condone it. I hope I can manage to forgive it. If that’s what family means to her, manipulation and judgement…is that something I need in my life? I love her, Maude. So much. I’ve always respected her, her opinions, her strength…this just…it’s…”

I wrapped my arms around him and pulled his head to my chest, rocking him as he wept, his voice hoarse and muffled as he spoke between sobs.

“They were close, her and Jane. She loved Jane, thought she was the end all be all of possible mates for me. When I told her things were over between us, she was actually worried about how Jane was taking it. And she thought I was behaving impulsively and being incredibly foolish, letting such a good woman go just because she wasn’t ready to marry me…I believe her words were along the lines of ‘Thomas, you’re rushing into this and she’s not ready. Have some patience. Give her the time she needs. You couldn’t ask for a better partner. She’s worth the wait.’ And I couldn’t be angry with her, because she didn’t know. I just kept on pretending. She didn’t know I was dying inside.”  

Smoothing his hair, I kissed the top of his head as his sobbing escalated, rendering him unable to speak. “I’m sorry, baby. I know. I know. It’s okay. You’ll tell her, and she’ll understand. It’s okay.” I didn’t know if that was true, but it was what I hoped would happen, and what he needed to hear in order to walk out the flat door and face it all.

****************************************

He’d calmed down enough over the course of the next fifteen minutes to call Diana in order to make sure she was home. I could hear the delight in her voice when he said he’d be on his way over shortly, as soon as he got the car from the parking garage on Marylebone Road, located just a brief walk from York Street. There was no mention of me, which was an unexpected bright spot, as we’d decided if she asked he’d confirm I was coming along. This shifted it to a matter of don’t ask, don’t tell, which I was vastly more comfortable with. The dread I’d felt at the prospect of meeting her was still lurking under the surface, but my desire to support Tom as he’d supported me in New Orleans overrode the circuitry of fear. And, her bullshit had really pissed me off, which always gave me an extra boost of kickass bitchery.

Opting to take the Jaguar instead of public transportation seemed a better fit, since Oxford was nearly sixty miles away and the amount of time we’d be spending there was impossible to ascertain. Tom’s parking spot was on the second level, and when I saw the black F-Type Coupe I grabbed the sleeve of his Henley and shook it wildly.

“Can I drive? Please? Can I? Is it a STICK? It’s so PRETTY and I bet it’s so fucking FAST…shit.” I looked down at my walking boot. “I can’t drive anything. God. Damn. It.”

He chuckled. “I’d no idea you liked fast cars, Maude. Such a pity you’re incapacitated.”

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck you. I’m not, like, INTO fast cars, per se, but I like going fast IN cars. And that one there screams GAS PEDAL FLOOR GO MAUDE GO.”

His chuckled transitioned into a loud burst of laughter. “Well, now you’re NEVER driving it.” He opened the driver side door for me, and then I remembered that this was England and thus it was actually the passenger side door. “Hmm, you thought for a moment I was going to let you try it out, didn’t you?”

I held my hand up to his face, palm towards him. “Shush up and let me sink into the butter-soft white leather interior, jerky.” And oh, it WAS. Everything was modern, tons of gadgetry, a large display…I would have sworn the seat reached out and embraced me as I pushed back into it. “Look at THAT, it IS a stick shift. Real rough life you have, Tom.”

He folded himself into the driver seat, all legs and arms and an inordinate amount of grace. My eyes roamed around the car, calculating if there was room to fuck. Possibly, but a feat for when I wasn’t wearing pants for sure. When I met his gaze he was smirking. “I’ll have you know I had to essentially hang out of a helicopter while appearing to calmly sip a cup of lukewarm tea in order to earn this particular reward. And we are definitely going to give it a whirl at some point.”

Shaking my head, I shrugged, pretending to be confused. “Give what a whirl?”

“Don’t play coy with me. I saw that look.”

“What look?”

“THE look. You were trying to figure out if there was room for us to go at it in here.”

I feigned innocence. “I was not.”

He reached over and cupped my right breast, thumbing the rock hard nipple he’d discovered through the fabric of my shirt and bra. “Liar.”

Rolling my eyes, I pushed his hand away and down onto the gearshift. “Fine. I’m a big fat liar who desperately wants to fuck you in the Jag. Happy? Now drive, Thomas. Christ.”

Our route was a nearly a straight shot, the A40 to the M40 which turned back into the A40, neither of which I’d had the pleasure of being on previously. I spent most of the ride staring out the window, trying to not be too much of a gawking tourist. The countryside as we passed through Buckinghamshire was a postcard come to life, as was Oxfordshire. Tom served as my guide, advising which town was which and pointing out landmarks of note. With another forty five minutes or so to go, my attention shifted to Jane, teeth grinding as I replayed her message in my head, dissecting it bit by bit.

“Tom?”

He reached over and rested his hand on my thigh, eyes moving from the road to my face for a few seconds. “Something on your mind, love?”

“That message. Cool if we talk about Jane?”

Nodding, he began sliding his hand up and down. “Definitely.”

I rotated my body sideways a smidge, the closest I could get to facing him. “You said you know exactly what she’s trying to do. And I think I do as well…it’s kind of obvious. Get you back. That’s the ‘what’. The thing I’m curious about is the WHY. Solely for her own gain, I’m sure. But what happened to Idris and all the mature fan base beneficial for her career bullshit? You’ve achieved a higher echelon of fame over the past year, and you have so many projects that’ll be released over the next, so those will boost you up even further, which she must find enticing, but in my opinion wider appeal means a more diverse fan base and, most likely, more of what she didn’t like about it in the first place. Is it I Saw the Light? Does she want to steer you in the direction of pursuing a musical career? I…you know I’m all about logic, and this is just so NOT….”

“Idris. I don’t think that panned out quite the way she expected. I saw him, after, when we shot some scenes for Age of Ultron.”

My mouth gaped open, left hand reaching out to slap the dash. “Fuck, seriously? God, I’m so sorry…how did you…what did…”

Shrugging, he removed his hand from my thigh in order to downshift. “I focused on being Loki and not being…Tom…for the better part of our time together. We did all go out for drinks the night before he left to go back to his stint in Ibiza, and after our tenth round of shots I asked him how she was, intent on instigating an altercation, chiefly because I hoped he’d kill me and put an end my misery. He didn’t remember her at first, until I described her as a record executive and referenced the event we’d attended. His reply, and I’m paraphrasing here, was ‘Oh, her. That’s one crazy bitch, Tommy. She said you’d broken up but were still going on your vacation together because it was non-refundable or some shit, where was it? Bora Bora? She came over to my place that night…a decent enough one-nighter that it turned into a fortnighter after she got back. Just a good time, you know? She thought it was more, though. Started calling me her boyfriend, making plans, acting all controlling…I ran in the opposite direction as fast as my size twelves could carry me, let me tell you. Woman stalked me for WEEKS afterward, Tommy. Constant texts, calls…finally had to block her. She even turned up at a few of my gigs. Totally mental. I’d thought about using her for my album, but after that, no fucking way. I’ve got enough lady problems, if you know what I’m saying. Heard she’s losing artists left and right lately, too. So that’s two bullets I dodged, mate.’ The rest of that night’s one big blur, though I do recall puking in the parking lot.”

I rested my head in my hands for a good minute, processing what their exchange must have done to him, then extended my hand and grasped his shoulder. “I am SO sorry for bringing her up. Like you aren’t upset enough as it is…oy.”

“Please don’t be sorry. If nothing else, relaying it makes me lean towards thinking that she duped my mother just like she has everyone else. Which makes me feel a tad less murderous.”

I snorted. “Well, I feel vastly MORE murderous. And I’m still sorry. What I said about her being a cunt? She’s an affront to cunts. I’m searching the database of my extensive vocabulary and I can’t find a word that…”

His shoulder began to shake in my grip and at first, I thought he’d begun to cry, but when I leaned forward to obtain a better view of his face I realized he was trying very, very hard not to laugh. Which made me start to giggle, which caused HIM to let the eheheheheh he’d been biting back spring free.

“Affront to cunts. Tremendous. Shakespearean, nearly.” He kissed me, fleetingly, eyes back on the road instantly. “Whether it’s your objective or not, you always manage to lighten the mood, my love. Thank you.”

Taking my hand off his shoulder, I relaxed back into my seat. “It’s my pleasure to entertain you, Thomas. Any chance there’s a McDonald’s around here or something?”

“Not here, but there is one up the line not far from my mother’s place. Want to stop there first?”

“Do they have hamburgers?”

“Are you joking?”

“I’m not from here, remember? And I’ve never been anywhere other than London. I have no idea how the rest of the country lives.”

“Did you notice the cows we’ve passed along the way?”

“I did.”

“Then it should be no surprise that McDonalds does indeed have hamburgers.”

“Okay, one, I don’t think they buy local. Two, they were all black and white.”

“So?”

“TOM, those are DAIRY cows.”

“I knew that.”

I patted his thigh. “Of course you did. Mmm, now I want a milkshake.”

“Knew that too.”

“That I actually believe.”

****************************************

I was still slurping said milkshake when we entered North Hinskey Village, turned right and traversed down a road of what I could only think to call country estates. Large pieces of property, elegant older homes, beautiful gardens. Tom turned left and onto a long driveway, up a slight hill, then parked in front a two-car garage, next to a white Range Rover. He frowned momentarily, then turned to me, smiling.

“Here we are. Where I grew up.”

The house was huge, the garage on the far right, that and the rest of the structure all light tan painted brick with black roofing tiles. I set my milkshake carefully in the cup holder as he came around to open my door, and we walked along the front of the house, past a small section that jutted out fifteen feet or so, then onto the covered porch with white double doors, windows to either side of them, eight rectangles framed in white. Most of the other windows were framed with wood, a medium toned oak. Tom rang the bell, his other hand entwined with mine, and we waited for the games to begin.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, and there she was, dressed in a light pink, long-sleeved button down shirt, khaki slacks, light pink Crocs on her feet. There was so much of Tom in her face it made me do a double take, and I wondered if his hair would turn that same shade of white as he aged. Hers was straight, though, styled in a modified bob that stopped just short of her chin. The expression she wore transitioned from overjoyed when she saw Tom to stunned when she noticed me next to him, then to annoyed, finally settling upon professionally detached. None of us spoke, and Tom had just let go of my hand and stepped forward to embrace his mother when a door slamming gave him pause. Footsteps sounded across the white tile foyer behind Diana, and a voice rang out, one that I recognized instantaneously as Tom grabbed hold of my hand once more, squeezing it tightly.

“Diana? Did I hear the doorbell? Is he here?” She appeared from the right and stopped next to Diana, taller than me and slender as a reed, straight, dark blonde hair hanging loose on her shoulders, clad in a light coral wrap around shirt, the tops of her ridiculously perky breasts bulging out of the V, tight white shorts that barely reached the middle of her darkly tanned, impossibly toned thighs, wedged espadrilles on her feet. A vision of those thighs wrapping around Tom’s waist wormed its way into my brain, partially erased by the feel of his breath in my ear as he whispered an apology. She came to an abrupt halt in front of us, smiling widely with her perfectly white teeth. “Hello, Thomas. I’m so happy you’re here. Wonderful to see you again…you grow more attractive with every passing moment, I’m beginning to think.” She turned her head, crossing her arms as she looked me up and down derisively. “And you must be…Maude.”

Channeling all of the righteous anger I felt into making her understand from the very start that I knew the truth of all she’d done to the man at my side, I replied without missing a beat, eyes narrowed, a devious smirk upon my lips. “And you must be Jane.” I leaned forward several inches, smirk all but gone, glaring. “Tom’s told me SO MUCH about you.” I’d over-emphasized the words ‘so much’ in such a way that they sounded capitalized, pausing between them for effect, smirk returning, widened, as I finished the sentence.

Diana stepped backward a foot, waving us in, but Tom remained in place as if rooted to the spot, only his head moving as he rotated it to face Jane. His voice was several octaves lower than normal, clipped, and tainted by an underlying fury.

“Why are you here?” Not leaving her an opportunity to answer, Tom turned his attention back to Diana, a finger pointing in Jane’s direction as he spoke. “Why is she here?”

Diana sighed. “Come inside and we’ll talk, Thomas. Please. Let’s not do this on the patio.”

Tom uprooted himself and took a single step forward towards her. “I asked you a question, Mum. Why the fuck is she here?”

“She’s here because I phoned her after we spoke to let her know you were coming up. I hadn’t the slightest idea you’d be bringing…her.” The tiniest of sneers curled her upper lip as she cast her gaze upon me. “Now will you please come inside? I don’t particularly want the neighbors knowing all my business.”

“Well I don’t particularly want to step foot in your house as long as she’s…” He gestured in Jane’s direction with his thumb. “…still in it, but I’m the sort of person who respects the wishes of others…unlike SOME people…so, fine. Inside it is.” He pulled me gently forward and to the left, leaving room for Diana to quickly close the doors.

She reached out and touched his arm, then pulled it away as if burned when she looked up at his face. “Tom, please, don’t be angry with me. She just wants to talk. You were together for a year. You were going to marry her. Give her a chance to tell you how she feels. Don’t you think you owe her at least that much?”

Tom let go of my hand, then moved to stand in front of me, left hand lifting my chin high. His lips met mine, tongue running over them, and I opened my mouth when he sought entrance. He pulled away as we grew breathless, speaking softly. “Maude, I’d like to apologize in advance for the behavior I’m about to display. And if the urge should strike you, do feel free to chime in, my love, my life.”

He turned around, leaving me with a view of his very tense back muscles as they rippled beneath his Henley until I shifted sideways so I could see past him. “I. Owe. Jane. Nothing. NOTHING. Not one fucking thing.” Gesturing in my direction with this thumb this time, he leaned in until his face was less than a foot from Diana’s. “Now. First off, ‘her’ has a name. It’s Maude. Please have the common courtesy to use it going forward. Second, whether you like it, approve of it, or whatEVER, I love her more than anything in this world, we’re together, and we’re going to remain as such no matter what schemes you concoct to make it otherwise. Love her, like her, dislike her or hate her…that’s your choice. I love you, Mum, but you CANNOT disrespect her again after this day if you want me to continue to be a part of your life. Is that clear?”

Diana stood motionless, still as a statue.

“I’m so upset, Mum. Downright devastated. I can’t believe that you’d stoop so low as give my number out to Jane, aiding and abetting someone like her, hoping you could get us back together because, due to reasons I, for the life of me, cannot fucking understand, you don’t approve of a woman you’ve never even MET.”

Her finger wagged in his face. “I may not have met her, but I’ve seen enough things online for me to safely say I know her TYPE, Thomas. She’ll ruin your reputation, your career…all of it. Everything you’ve worked so hard for. Nothing good will come of it, mark my words. She only wants you for what you can do for her, not because she cares for you. Now Jane, she LOVES you, Tom. She always has. The only reason she rejected your proposal was because she wasn’t quite ready. You rushed her, and even though she still wanted to be with you, you threw her away.”

The irony of her statements, how the very opposite was true, was not lost on me. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Jane smiling like the Cheshire cat, and I wanted to fuck her up in the worst way. Tom’s half bark, half sob laugh drew my attention away from her.

“Is that what she told you, then, Mum? How long has she been feeding you this line of shit, anyway? The entire time? She’s a fucking LIAR.” He spun and took three steps, putting himself right in front of Jane. “Would you care to tell her the real reason I proposed in such a hurry, or shall I do the honors?”

Jane’s face twisted into a mask of sorrow. “Oh Tom, please don’t. That’s our personal, private business. It’s too painful. I wanted to talk about it with you, about everything, but…not like this. I still love you, so much, but…I can’t bear it. I promise, I’ll leave you and her alone, just please…don’t.”  She reached for his hand, and he exploded.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING TOUCH ME. DON’T YOU EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME!”

Tom’s eyes were wild, and it was as if Loki had apparated into our midst. As he spun round to spill all to Diana, Jane slipped in under the wire, bleating out three words dripping with despair.

“I was pregnant.”

Diana’s face fell, jaw dropping open, her hand flying up to cover her mouth after she gasped loudly.

Tears had begun to slide slowly down Jane’s cheeks. “We found out a few weeks before we went to Bora Bora, and I was so happy, even though I was sick nearly the entire time. When we got back I felt even worse and rested at my place for almost two days straight. When I went to see Tom again, he surprised me with dinner, candles, and a ring. Dealing with the prospect of becoming a mum had already been weighing on me, and I wanted to wait a bit before making another huge decision. He said if I didn’t answer then, we were done. Then he kicked me out. I miscarried the very next day, and the doctor at the clinic…” She’d begun sobbing. “He said it was directly related to all the emotional stress.”

Diana moved to comfort her, mumbling ‘oh you poor, poor dear’ but Tom blocked her path, turning his back to her in order to face Jane again, his rage escalating, like a pot of water boiling over and sizzling as it washed over the stove burner.

“YOU FUCKING LYING, CHEATING, BITCH!” He was inches from her face, screaming. “TELL. HER. THE. TRUTH!”

She cowered, stepping backward, and Diana pushed herself in between them. “Thomas William Hiddleston, what is WRONG with you? Stop this, at once! How dare you treat her this way, after all she’s been through?”

His words came out in a growl. “After all SHE’S been through? Fuck that. Lies. All of it. Want to know how it really went, Mum? She was unfaithful to me. Twice. First with Ben, right after I left on the Dark World press tour, for which I stupidly forgave her, and then with Idris, right before we left for Bora Bora. While she was pregnant with my child. She laughed when I proposed and told me she’d never really loved me, not enough, anyway, to stay with me, because my fans were damaging her reputation. That our entire relationship was nothing more than a well calculated plan right from the start, because she thought dating me would be BENEFICIAL to her career. She let me think that we were starting a family together, that I was going to become a father, all because she didn’t want to miss out on a free trip to Bora Bora. She didn’t have a miscarriage, she had an ABORTION. One she’d arranged for the very day after we learned she was pregnant. I begged her not to do it, told her I’d raise the baby on my own, but she insisted on terminating because she didn’t think Idris would have her otherwise. And would you like to know how long their ‘relationship’ lasted? Two fucking weeks! TWO WEEKS! A life extinguished, for a fuckfest that lasted TWO WEEKS.” His voice cracked on the last word, and I knew he was fighting back a bevy of raw emotions, rage, sorrow, pain…too many, and too much. He flinched when I stepped forward and placed my hand on his lower back, then relaxed and pushed back against it.

Jane shook her head rapidly. “He’s the one who’s lying. He just doesn’t want Maude to know what kind of person he REALLY is.”

A little voice in my head whispered to me that she’d used a word that seemed out of place, and I hoped with some fancy footwork on my part I could trip her up. The time to chime in had come.

“I’m sorry, did you say ‘clinic’? Things must work differently here, I guess…when I miscarried, I had to go to the hospital emergency department. Not a clinic. Those are for STD screening, annual gynecological exams, birth control and…elective procedures. Never emergency care.”

Tom’s head pivoted towards me, eyes narrowed at first, widening as he cycled back through the conversation and realized what I was up to. “No, things are the same here. Exactly the same.”

Jane’s hands were balled into fists at her side. “I meant A&E. I misspoke. And it was my personal doctor that I saw a week later for a re-check who mentioned that stress was the cause.”

He turned back to her. “Is that so? Funny, that’s not where you directed me to go in order to leave a blood sample for our paternity test…you sent me to the BPAS Willesden.” Diana let out a small squeak. Jane’s sobbing had ceased, face now pale, a mask of calm that was betrayed by the furious fire in her eyes as he continued. “They said they’d have to send it out, but I do have a copy of the permission form I completed there. Which bears your signature as well, written with blue ink on the original. Their name and logo appears in the header, and it clearly indicates that three samples were being included for testing.”

I raised my hand, as If I were an overly curious school student. “What does BPAS stand for?

Surprisingly, it was Diana who answered me. “British Pregnancy Advisory Service. They’re a charity organization that provides affordable services to prevent or end unwanted pregnancies with contraception or by abortion.”

Jane pointed at Tom. “I did NOT have an abortion. I went to the BPAS the next day to have my sample done. They didn’t do it at A&E. That’s why I was there and when I signed. The baby’s was sent from the hospital.”

I whistled, low and long. “You are TENACIOUS, Jane, I’ll give you that. All the plotting and planning…christ in a sidecar…”

Diana, surprising me yet again, interrupted. “Which A&E, Jane? What was the date? The day?”

Jane’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water as she desperately tried to fabricate the answers, but she hesitated just a moment too long for Diana’s taste. “I’ve had a miscarriage of my own, and those are questions that require no thought when answering. You remember, that and all of it. Always.” She glanced my way, and I gave her a single nod before speaking.

“Tulane Medical Center. September 21st, 1996. Saturday. Doctor confirmed it for me at 7:42 PM.”

Diana met my gaze, very briefly, then looked down at the floor. “John Radcliffe Hospital. 14th of May, 1984. I’d been carrying twins.” Tom’s back muscles clenched under my hand, and I knew he’d had no prior knowledge of her experience. Raising her eyes, chin set resolutely in a way I recognized all too well, she placed one hand on her hip and pointed the index finger of the other at Jane. “You. Out of my house, right this very second.”

Jane was fake-crying once more, delicate little hiccupping sobs. “It’s still so fresh for me, and I’m so upset I couldn’t think…”

Tom’s left hand reached out to me, and I let my right hand slip across his back, then entirely off, in order to grasp it. His voice was calm now, wistful, yet dripping with disdain as he stared down the woman who had tossed aside a miracle as if it were of no more consequence than the wrapping on a two-year-old’s birthday gift.

“19th of June, 2014. It was a Thursday. 11:37 AM.” He inhaled sharply. “That’s when you texted me those words…’it’s done’. Still have the whole message, by the way. On my old phone.”

As if someone had flipped a switch, Jane’s carefully constructed façade disappeared and what I saw in its place made me glad she hadn’t continued with the pregnancy, as awful as that may seem. She reminded me of my mother, and the thought of her parenting Tom’s child caused a bitter chill to work its way up and down my spine.

She turned on her heel, walked through the wood-framed opening into what I assumed was the kitchen, located directly opposite the front entrance, then grabbed a white Coach bag off the table and returned, striding past us toward the double doors. Stopping as she laid a hand on one of the pulls, she turned back, smirking.

“Oh well. Worth a try, you know? Who doesn’t want to be on the arm of a hot as fuck rising star, even if he’s an insecure, needy mama’s boy underneath it all? And, I must admit I’ve missed the incredible sex.” She shrugged. “But, I’m sure I can do better.” She pointed at me. “And Tom, if that’s what you’d rather have on your arm…” Another shrug. “All your loss, darling.”

A malicious grin spread across Tom’s face. “Oh, no, believe me, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s entirely my GAIN. I should thank you profusely for being such a vile, callous, lying scumbag. If you hadn’t done what you did, I would have never met Maude. She is unquestionably who I’d rather have on my arm. And in my bed. Lord, what she does to me…you were nothing more than an inflatable doll in comparison, darling. Artificial, cold, dry, silent…” He shuddered violently. “Looking back on our, erm, experiences…it leaves me, dare I say, feeling quite…deflated.”

I roared with laughter, raising my left hand to high-five him. “Someone better call the fire department because…THAT BURN!” Stepping forward, I leaned in as menacingly as I could muster, my eyes zeroing in on hers. “What you did to him…I don’t know how you live with yourself. Or how you sleep at night. Probably lots of expensive wine, I’d assume. Or maybe it doesn’t bother you at all. Not now, anyway. But when you’re an old woman, dying all alone because you’ve fucked over everyone you’ve ever met, hurt the people who actually cared about you…it is my fondest wish that in those moments, which go on for what I hope will seem like CENTURIES, that then, THEN it bothers you. That you regret everything. That you wish you could change it. That you’re terrified, the entire time right up until the very end, and just as you think you’ve found peace, at that point, you begin to see all their faces, one by one, over and over, even as the light dims and you take your last breath.” I stood up straight, left hand on my hip. “And be aware that in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I’ll be coming for your skinny ass. When I find you, and have no doubt that I will, I’m going to tear out your fucking heart with my bare hands and stomp it flat while you look on.”

She flung open the door and walk-jogged down the driveway, and Tom rested his chin on my shoulder, speaking quietly.

“But what about the Carnegie Deli cheesecake, Maude?”

I sighed heavily, touching my temple to his. “I guess now it’ll have to be my second stop.”

[demicorpse]

From a Senpai to a Kouhai (OC/Canon - Student/Mentor BNHA One Shot)

Pairing: OC/Ochako Uraraka (NON-ROMANTIC)

Summary: Yuu Ayakur, a fresh first year enrolled in the Hero Course of U.A., has set his eyes on being a Hero trained under the eye of his idol: Ochako Uraraka. Ever since seeing her performance at the Sports Festival, he had admired her determination and a will to fight despite the odds being against her. Today he’s ready to ask her if she can train him, but is Ochako herself up to the task of becoming a teacher?

Word count: 6,085

—

"Oh. This is it."

The wide door of classroom 3-A slid open with a loud thunk, silencing any kind of talk that may have been going on previously. Everyone scrambled to take their seats as fast as they could, expecting the appearance of their homeroom teacher, Mr. Aizawa. Much to their surprise, however, they weren't met with that similar dark, tired aura of Eraserhead. It was someone different altogether, for the person who had just interrupted the class's excited talks of catching up after summer break...

...was a white-haired underclassman.

The boy floated into the classroom, literally, since his legs weren't touching the floor, and yet he kept moving. Bored eyes scanned the room as he went up to the teacher's podium and gently touched down. He could hear their whispers and small giggles, jokes about how U.A. is hiring kids now. They didn't bother him in the slightest. He came here for one thing and one thing only.

"I guess this is 3-A, huh..." Yuu scratched the side of his face lazily. "So...My name is Yuu Ayakur, and I'm one of the new first years in the Hero course here at U.A...I'm really only here to ask one of you something, so don't get too excited..."

The tone in the room shifted ever so slightly. Was this kid supposed to be important?, they thought. He certainly caught everybody's attention, except for Bakugou, who was just trying his hardest to stay calm and not explode on some random child who just strolled into their classroom like he owns it.

"I'm here to ask Ochako Uraraka to train me...I want to work under her and improve myself as a Hero...or something like that..."

And in an instant, all eyes seemed to shift onto her. In the left corner of the classroom, sitting right behind Iida, Ochako looked like a deer in the headlights. Wide eyed, she blinked, unable to really produce any kind of noise other than 'Eh? Huh?'. Someone wants to be trained...by her? Why so suddenly? What's with this kid?! Why--

"Oi."

All heads whipped around to the direction of the door, whose doorframe Mr. Aizawa was now standing in. Like a demon straight out of Hell, his eyes lit up with a red glow and his hair started flowing up in the air, hands pulling at his capture aparatus.

"If you don't have classes here, then leave." He said in a deep, assertive voice. Goosebumps ran all over the bodies of 3-A's Heroes, despite not being the targets of his wrath.

Yuu, though, looked as calm as he did when he first entered. He started to float right past Aizawa and out of the classroom with so much as a glance in the class's direction, except for when he was almost out of the doorway. With a single look to the right, he saw that Ochako Uraraka was looking in his direction, and she looked...confused.

—

"I'm telling ya', you should take him up on it!"

Lunch. The school cafeteria was bustling with energetic and hungry kids. Bits and pieces of ludicrous conversation floated in and out from one ear to the other, and the smell of delicious cooking prepared by the one and only Cooking Hero, Lunch Rush, permeated throughout the tables.

Ochako sat with the girls of 3-A this time, rather than with Izuku and Iida. It wasn't that she started to dislike their company, but with her feelings getting more and more flustered by each day...it was a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, so from time to time, she had to take a breather.

"Oh, oh, look, she's thinking about it! She's not even listening to us!" Hagakure chimed in. This partially brought Ochako down from her mind palace as she put on a small smile.

"C--come on you guys, he had to have been joking! O--or maybe it was some sort of rite of passage for first years, you know?! I mean, there's so many other people he could have asked for..."

"I don't think he's playing a prank, Ochako. He looked pretty serious about it to me, kero." Tsu added her piece before devoting her attention to the small bowl of strawberry jelly.

Jiro twirled her finger around her elongated earlobe, a small quirk she's seen doing every now and then. Without so much as looking up from her phone, she pretty much agreed with everyone else. "I mean, he looked and acted pretty weird, all straight-forward like that, but it takes balls to just come into Mr. Aizawa's class without at least notifying him, don't you think?"

"I guess..." Ochako slumped in her seat, puffing up her cheeks. Momo gently pat the top of her head as she chewed on some rice.

"He admires you for one reason or another. That's a good thing, is it not? I think you should give him the time of day. In his eyes, you're someone worthy of looking up to and deriving inspiration from. It could be soul crushing for him if you decline his offer."

Ochako slid down her seat even further, her knees practically touching the floor.

"Heeeey, you can't just slip out like that!" Mina hustled her by he shoulders and brought her back up, a nervous look on her face. "This kid really wants to be trained by you, y'know?! And like Momo said, it might really hurt him if you say no..." She tilted her head to carefully gauge Ochako's reaction.

"I...well, I..." Running a hand through her hair, Ochako groaned as she seemed to deflate. "Fiiiine...I'll talk to him about it..."

The table erupted into small cheers.

"That's my Chako-Chako!" Hagakure drilled a finger into Ochako's ear, earning her a giggle.

"You guys are taking this way too seriously! I don't even know why he picked me in the first place!"

Tsu put a finger up to her mouth. "Maybe he has a crush on you. Kero. It's kind of cute."

A crimson red blush overcame Ochako's face, with Mina, Hagakure and Jiro giggling all together at how serious Asui seemed to sound about that. Even Momo had to turn away to properly swallow her food first and not let it all spill onto their table.

"D--don't say stuff like that, Tsu! I'm like a grandma to him!"

"We're just teasing our sis' so she doesn't let her sudden fame get into her head!" Mina gently punched Ochako's shoulder, and before she knew it, the topic changed to something else. She herself didn't participate much in the conversation after that, as only one thing weighed in her mind.

Why her?

—

The doors of U.A. High swung open, and out poured hundreds of young Heroes and students alike, tired and ready to take a long nap after a hard day of bettering themselves under the wings of their teachers. Ochako, Iida and Izuku were locked in an idle chitchat pertaining to one of the classes they had today with Ectoplasm.

"It's really easy as long as you keep in mind the formulas!" Iida fiercely posed his hands this way and that, Ochako and Izuku on both of his sides having to dodge not getting hit. It felt natural to them by now.

"You're probably right, Iida. It just seems like there's so much more to write for such a simple answer..." Mused Izuku as he held onto the yellow backpack strapped onto his back.

Ochako was about to give her piece on the difficulty of their lesson when she happened to glance forward, and she saw a familiar head of white hair floating a few inches above one of the benches near the entrance.

"U--um, guys! You can go head over to the dorm now, I--I'll catch up! I think I left something behind in the classroom!" She made up an excuse for seemingly no reason...it was possible she didn't want neither of them to tease her about this whole thing, just like the girls did.

Iida and Izuku threw one another some looks, but they chose not to question her nervous behavior. "You can go up to Mr. Aizawa and ask for the homeroom key, I'm sure he'll help you out!" Iida advised.

"Y--yep! Definitely!"

They waved each other goodbye and separated. Ochako, however, only took shelter inside the school and waited for them both to disappear. It was only then that she peeked out from the entrance doors to the school and looked down the main path to confirm whether or not Yuu was still there.

Sure enough, he was. Floating gently above the ground and throwing a red, plastic ball in the air and catching it perfectly with his hand before releasing it again. Passing the time in his own way.

Ochako sighed. 'You can't run away from this!' She thought. 'Why are you being so nervous! It's just a little kid! He's...kind of weird, but you're his senpai, right?! Act like it!'

For good measure, Ochako slapped her cheeks for a confidence boost. All that did though is make her cheeks burn.

"Um..."

Yuu's head turned to look at Ochako as the ball returned to his hand. "Ah, you've arrived." Despite not even looking at her, Yuu continues to throw the ball up and down, grasping it between his fingers without any effort. It was kind of hard to focus on him that way, but Ochako shook her head as her gaze returned to the young boy.

"Y--you're the first year that introduced himself this morning, right?" Of course he was, but she was just making sure. She'd hate to embarrass herself.

"Yeah, that's me...I guess I wanted to skip the awkward intro..." His half-lidded eyes looked her up and down, as if examining her in a way. Ochako Uraraka, the peron he had admired the most ever since seeing her fight so hard at the Sports Festival, standing right in front of him, nervous.

His face and his voice...they both looked and sounded so bored! Ochako was feeling less and less confident about this whole thing with each passing second. Maybe this was a mistake? Maybe Yuu had wanted to train under somebody else. It had to have been that, right? There's no way...

"Um, l--listen, I'm really flattered that you want to train under me, but this has to be a misunderstanding. There's so many other people here at U.A. that are more experienced than me, and I'm not very--"

"No." He cut her off with a final catch of his ball, pocketing it afterwards. Ochako gulped. Was she really this anxious about a first year?

"I kind of admired you ever since I saw you as a first year at the Sports Festival..."

Ochako quickly flashes back to all of that. That insane, insane year, and most importantly, the Sports Festival. The challlenges, teaming up with Izuku, fighting Bakugo and losing despite her best efforts, her call with dad...

"...Your determination...the way you tried so much to beat that brutish guy that was against you...I honestly don't really care that you lost to him. I saw...I saw the kind of fire that can burn inside of someone if they just try. And then, way later at the internship that you had. I mean, what you did with everybody else was just so amazing..."

Yuu's eyes looked to the floor now, a little shy to look directly in Ochako's eyes. She herself, however, found herself to be unable to speak right now. A gentle wind passed through them both, carrying bright green leaves with it and a lukewarm breeze reminding them that summer is ending.

She stood still, listening to him talk.

"...To someone who's not very good at recognizing it, your Quirk might not be very useful in combat, but you...you made it useful. You did everything you could to utilize it in the situations that you faced, and you came out victorious...kind of. I mean, you lost that fight against the rude guy, but...but you get what I mean."

Ochako thinks he didn't have to rub it in.

"But you get my point, right? No one ever really brought those kinds of emotions in me, not even the Number One...but when I saw you, I was kind of...lifted. It's why I chose U.A. as my school. Because I knew you'd still be here."

Just them now. Alone. Nobody else in the vicinity. Yuu looked up from the ground and right into Ochako's big, brown eyes.

"Please, Ochako Uraraka. I want to be as good of a Hero as you are. Will you..will you take me under your wing?"

There it was again. His request. He was that serious about it, then...to him, she was an inspiration that brought him here in the first place. Did he think about her when he was passing his exams? About how she would've done it? She never thought she'd be in this kind of position, really, and now here it was, right on front of her.

"I..." She sees something in his eyes then. A desire...a will to be better, to learn, to grow and to inspire others after him. Through the mask of a tired, lazy looking boy is something Ochako was possibly the first one to catch. In all of her years at U.A. nobody had ever approached her so directly about personal training of all things. Sure, there's times when she passes the halls and she can hear the whispers of first, seconds years talk about how 'that's Uravity! the one who was involved with the Yakuza mission, right?!'. And she would smile to herself and keep on walking, enjoying the tiny bit of reputation she had built for herself.

Seeing his desire...In a way, he felt similar to...

"If you need some time to process, I can--"

"I'll do it!"

Ochako clenched both of her fists forward, putting on a grin. Just like *he* does. Just like *him*, she smiles through her anxiousness, and focuses on the prospect of wanting to help out a fresh underclassman when he's asked her to.

"I'm sorry! I just...I got a little overwhelmed when you just showed up all of a sudden, and at first I thought it might've been some kind of prank, maybe your friends dared you to do it, but looking at you now...I--I can definitely see that you're serious about this! And, even though I think I might not be the right fit for this, I wouldn't want to disappoint my...my fan." Fan. It feels so silly to say, but she feels warm when she does.

Yuu stares at her, face only slightly changing. The emotional impact leaves him unable to focus on keeping up his Quirk, and so he gently touches down to the ground, looking up at Ochako with big, bright eyes, now shining with a newfound determination, a want to improve himself and become better under the bubbly eye of his mentor.

"T--Thank you." He makes an attempt to sound less noncommittal than he usually does, which Ochako can already appreciate. He's already trying to change himself for the better.

"Ah, but, you know, I don't have a strict training routine or anything, so you're gonna have to give me some times to come up with ideas! And, uhm, I'm gonna need to know about your Quirk, and if you ever really had any experience with combat--"

"I see..." Yuu looked up at the sky thoughtfully when Ochako started shuffling through her bright, pink backpack, pulling out a small notebook and a pen, clicking it open.

"Right, just so I don't forget, I'm gonna go ahead and write down everything I can about your Quirk! Go on!" She lowered her pen near the page, ready to write whenever he spoke. Yuu blinked several times as he realized he was being spoken to.

"Ah. It's...it's called Piezo..."

—

"Alright, I'm full of openings! Come at me!"

It had been a few months ever since that faithful encounter between Ochako and Yuu. Ochako herself felt guilty that she hasn't been able to train with Yuu as much as she actually wanted to, as her studies and homework simply kept piling up on top of one another, despite it being barely the beginning of the year. She reassured him constantly about how she's not wasting her free time on him, rather it's better to do this than sit around and watch some dumb melodrama on TV. At the very least, no one could tell her that she's wasting her free time anymore.

Time passed, and as the underclassman grew to see Ochako more as a friend rather than his 'teacher', he started to feel more...relaxed whenever he was alone in her presence. He didn't seem so unsure or bored when he was with her, it was quite the opposite. Yuu always looked like he was ready to give it his all when both of them trained, and she was all for that! There was one glaring issues, however, that Ochako learned pretty quickly...

Yuu can't really fight to save his own life.

"This seems suspicious..." Yuu squinted his eyes. The pair had set up their schedule so that they can meet every three days in front of class 3-A's dorms, slightly away from the view of her classmates.

Ochako, hands confidently set upon her hips, stood some feet away from Yuu with her legs wide apart, a stance that showed she wasn't nervous in the bit. The underclassman was set up in a fighting stance he'd learned from watching other Heroes, but of course, that wasn't enough. He needed practice.

"You gotta learn somehow, right?! Come on, just run straight at me and try to throw a punch!" She insisted.

"What the hell...Here I come." With that declaration, Yuu set off at his running speed. When he was withing range, he swung his arm back and tried with all of his might and strength to bring it down upon Ochako. Next thing he knew, though, he was flying through the air only to have a rough meeting with the dirt and grass below him.

With a grunt through gritted teeth, Yuu had to take a second to collect himself and realize what exactly just happened. It was when Ochako calmly walked up to him, hands behind her back and a smile on her face, that he realized he was laying upside-down on the grass.

"Did ya' really think I'd let you get a free hit in?" She tilted her head, long, brown hair swinging as she did so. "Come on, you're gonna get worms up in that uniform if just keep laying there!"

With Ochako's help, Yuu gets up, brushing himself off from all the grass that was now in his pockets.

"What did--what did you even do? I know that wasn't your Quirk...I didn't see a pink glow..." She seemed impressed that he'd notice such a small detail. He really was that devoted to her...

"I call that the 'Gunhead Martial Arts'! During my time at the Hero Office Internship, I was under the care of the Pro Hero Gunhead...He taught me and his other students several ways to defend ourselves without the use of our Quirks. His technique relies on using the strength of your opponent against themselves, so that you can easily dispatch them if they're threatening your life!"

"Gunhead...Isn't that guy really scary..."

"H--hey, he's actually really cute!"

Yuu smirked. He wouldn't admit it, but seeing Ochako getting flustered like that about certain things was kind of funny. "You're supposed to do those Internships right after the Sports Festival, right...even if you don't get any recommendations?..."

Ochako nodded. "That's right! Deku didn't get any, but he was still required to look for one himself...Ooooh! Oh, oh!" She slapped her hands, suddenly excited about something. "Aaah, you know, if you wanted to, I could call up Gunhead after the Festival and maybe drop in a good word about you! I bet he'd teach you a lot better than I do, and maybe you could learn a new thing or two that he hasn't taught even me!"

His eyes shined at the prospect of interning at the same Hero Office that Ochako did two years prior. A good word about him...learning how to master the skills of Gunhead Martial Arts to improve his combat experience...it all really sounded so unreal to him right then and there, and his head actually hurt a little as he thought about it all.

"S--sorry, I wouldn't want to force you to go to the same place where I went! Y--you're totally free to go wherever you want, it's just a thought--"

"No, I'll go to Gunhead. If he trained you to be this good, then he's definitely reliable enough..."

Ochako learned it's best not to discourage Yuu from something once he sets his eyes on it. He knows him. If it's a 'probably', there's a chance of changing his mind. 'Definitely'? You'd have more luck trying to sew something with oiled boxing gloves on.

"Ah, but..."

Ochako perks up. "Yes? You wanna keep going?"

"Yeah, but, the thing is...I want to learn how to fight with my Quirk, too...Throwing people around could be fun when I learn how to do it, but if I don't apply my Quirk to it, then it's basically if I was just a Quirkless kid..."

He was right. Up until this point, she had seen Yuu use Piezo for moving himself and making things float, crumple, etc. Not once did she ever see him use it for offensive means.

"Hmm...well, let's start with something simple, then! Do you know how you wanna make your Quirk all flashy, flashy?" She waved her hands around enthusiastically. Yuu looked at her for a moment before looking up, thinking hard. He tilted his head this way and that before speaking up again.

"Well, I can kind of put pressure on my body using Piezo, so I was thinking of a way to use it when I'm punching or kicking...But so far I don't really know how to do that..."

Ochako looked at him, putting a finger up to her chin. It felt like every day she spent with Yuu she was turning more and more into a mini version of Deku...But that wasn't important right now. Or maybe...it could help?

'What would Deku do?' She thought to herself. If Izuku had Yuu's Quirk, something that might not appear to be that offensively effective or useful for the user at first glance, how do you turn that around and make it into a weapon that could be used against the likes of really flashy and simple Quirks?

"So, just to recap, when you touch something, the more you clench your first the more pressure you put on something?"

"Yeah..."

"Hmm...maybe you could...maybe you can try..." Ochako straightened her arms out, looking between her two hands. And then, like a train going at 500 miles per hour, the idea hit her.

"Have you tried pinpointing a single area of your body?!" She blurted it out without really thinking about it.

Yuu stared at her and tilted his head. "Eh?"

"U--uhm, like, see, just--" Deku keeps mentioning how he focuses his power in his legs, which causes them to be more effective, while his arms suffer less damage. That's the answer! Maybe if Yuu can do the same...

"Try using your Quirk on your right hand only, and...keep that pressure in there. It might be difficult since it's your first time, b--but just try for now, okay? Slow and steady! And--and make sure you don't overdo it. Clench your first slowly, alright?" The last thing Ochako wants is to watch the start of another kid who's willing to break his body over and over again to be the best.

Yuu slowly brought up both of his arms, unsure but curious about her idea. He had tried to use his Quirk on himself before, and of course, he succeeded in the way that he's able to float himself a few inches above the ground, but that was more of a passive move than something like this. Focusing his power on his fist and keeping it that way for long enough without getting serious vertigo. This had potential. He knew that.

Without another, Yuu brought three fingers onto his right hand and activated his Quirk, a purple glow emitting for a few seconds before it disappeared. His left hand was an open palm, letting his right stay in a sort of 'neutral' state as he gets used to the strange feeling centered in his right. He could faintly feel a tingling sensation all over his body, sure, but it was all centered in his right fist.

"Okay, good! You're feeling something, right?"

"Y--yeah...What should I do now?"

Ochako looked unsure. She saw the way soda cans could crumple into practically nothing when Yuu used his Quirk to it's fullest extent. It's alright, though. They just needed to be careful, right?

"Uhm...try closing your left fist, but veeeery slowly, okay? Stop immediately if--if you feel pain of any kind."

Yuu looked at her, then nodded, and began to do as told. His left started to close as slowly as he could manage, and something began to pulse in his right fist. Not pain, not yet at the very least, but Yuu started to sweat a little bit as the pressure kept advancing. Ochako started to look less and less confident about her idea. She couldn't bare to keep teaching him if she'd gotten the answer wrong. If he gets seriously hurt and she has to say that it was her fault. If she fails him as someone he looks up to...

"M--Maybe you should release now?"

Yuu ignored her. His left, now almost forcefully, kept closing in, and Ochako could see that his right was beginning to redden and look somewhat smaller, like all air was being sucked out of it, like it was being pushed inside, because technically, it was.

"Yuu, come on, I told you that overexerting yourself isn't good! J--just--"

"It's fine!" He yelled. Jolts of pain kept coming up and down his body now, all pulsating from his right hand, matching his heartbeat which was now picking up in speed. Just a little more, he told himself. If I can push it this far, I can go even farther. To use my Quirk like Ochako did, using it to fight and to protect, to become a Hero like she will!

It hurt. He felt like his hand bones were simply like twigs for a fire, ready to be snapped and burned down into ash any second now. He was balancing on the edge of an endless pit, and he could always quit, and he could release at any time, but he had to know how far he could push it. How much could he handle before--

"Yuu!"

He whipped around and a tree came into his field of vision. Disregarding whatever safety protocols Yuuei had in place, Yuu released his pressured fist right into the middle of the tree's thick bark, and a resounding sound came into place, like a whip snapping something in half, more than likely alerting any teachers that might be out on night watch for those who might want to sneak away into town.

And as soon as he did that, Yuu opened his left and released his Quirk. All the pressure on his right was gone in an instant, leaving him breathing and sweating for air as he clutched the fist that was on the brink of being broken into God knows how many pieces.

Ochako, concerned, ran up to him and put her hands on his back, careful of her pinkies so as not to float the boy away. "A--are you okay?! Aaaah, I told you to stop, I swear, you're just like him!..." That last part came out on its own, but she wasn't wrong. Except, unlike Deku, Yuu managed to keep his hand intact.

"I...did I..." His tired eyes looked up into hers. He wasn't concerned in the least about his health, about how Ochako was now scolding him for stepping out of line when she told him to stop and take it easy. In Yuu's eyes was a burning, raging fire of discovering a new use for his Quirk.

"Did I do it?"

Ochako's concerns were still there, but again, she knew him. Yuu wanted results. He can worry about consequences later, if he even thinks that such things exist. In any case, her eyes traveled from him to the tree, and what she saw made her heart skip a beat.

In the thick bark of the tree, imprinted clearly as day, was the shape of a fist, set in about halfway.

Yuu looked up for himself, and from the look on his face, it was clear even he himself had no idea he was capable of doing something like this.

Finally, after a minute or so, Ochako broke the silence between them.

"L--Let's end it here for now. We can practice using...that...when we meet up next, o--okay?" Yuu simply nodded. He was feeling tired all of a sudden, perhaps the exhaustion of the day at school caught up to him, or perhaps the sudden birth of a new technique, or maybe it was a mix of both. Whatever the case, Yuu had finally found a potential way to offensively utilize his Quirk.

And the Sports Festival was merely a month away now.

—

"Honestly, I think you did amazing overall! 4th place is something to be proud of!"

It was the day right after the Sports Festival. Ochako, being the person that she is, decided to spend some time with Yuu after celebrating their own victories with 3-A. Right afterwards she met up with him and took him to a nice café down in the restaurant district, not too far away from U.A. High. She had an odd feeling that Yuu might not be too satisfied with how things went, however, placing just one place below 3rd, not even good enough to be given a medal. And, of course, that odd feeling turned out to be correct. Yuu looked like he was about ready to pressurize himself into a black hole and stop existing.

"And really, I--I'm proud of you for coming in that close! 4th place is just behind 3rd, so when all the others are looking at the list of winners, everybody else will think 'wow, he must've worked so hard, he came in so close'!" Ochako pumped a fist into the air, throwing in her best efforts at cheering the young boy up. Despite her optimistic nature, her efforts seemed to be going right through Yuu as if he had become a sunken, gloomy ghost. He was starting to look like one, too.

"Hey, Yuu..."

"I'm sorry I let you waste your time on me." His first words finally come out, and they were hurting Ochako like daggers. How could he say that? After everything that's happened, after all their training, their hardships through figuring out how to put Yuu's Quirk to use, he feels like all that time was wasted?

"Don't say that. I really did enjoy the time we spent together..." She said, brows furrowed.

"Not even 3rd...that's what hurts the most...I wasn't even third..." His slow manner of speaking was dropped, like the mask Yuu had put on for Ochako was crumbling away, showing off a side he was almost ashamed to attribute being his. His eyes, once full of a roaring flame of determination, were now filled with sorrow, a deep regret for not being just a little bit better, not being good enough. He could feel that damn lump in his throat, his eyes watering slightly as he tried to fight that God awful feeling back. Not in front of her. You can't cry in front of her, you're not that weak, weak people don't...

"...Do you remember my fight with Bakugo?" She spoke in an uncharacteristically serious tone. Yuu looked at her with glassy eyes, ready to burst.

"I mean, hah, that's a stupid question, of course you do..." A sad smile. "That fight, I didn't let everything about Bakugo intimidate me. I just saw him as another opponent that I had to beat before moving forward, so when I saw him as just that, I wasn't feeling that scared...I had a plan. I knew how to use my Quirk against him. All I had to do was make sure everything went right, and it did! Up until the moment when he blew it all away, I...I was fighting with everything I had."

What was she getting at?

"What I'm trying to say is...sometimes, both in life and as a Hero, you can do your best, you can do everything perfectly up to a 100%, and you can still fail...It sucks! It sucks so much when you put your blood and sweat and tears into something only to see it burn away like you didn't just put so much effort into it!" She laughs a little, but it's mostly out of pity for herself.

She didn't even notice when Yuu's tears started splashing down onto the bright pink tablecloth. When she did look at him, noticing how he started to tremble, how snot was coming out of his nose and how small he looked...God, he was just a kid, wasn't he?

"H--hey, don't--don't start crying now or I'll cry too!" As she said that, tears ran down her cheeks as well, but they were smaller, more...happy. Why was she so happy? Certainly not about his loss, nor was she happy to see Yuu so vulnerable. She was happy that, after all this time, he was finally showing her a side he hasn't shown to anybody else in his life.

"S-s--so it's..." He sniffed, trying his best to dry off his nose and his tears on the sleeve of his uniform. "I--It's okay that I--that you--I mean, y--you spent so much time with me, even though--even though you were so busy! And that I couldn't--I couldn't even get into top--top three?" Yuu put his palms up to his eyes, rubbing furiously as the tears just kept coming. Why won't it stop? Why is he crying so much? Ochako said it's okay, she's not angry, she's proud, so why can't he stop crying?

   From across the table Ochako reached out to Yuu and held their heads together in a messy, but otherwise comforting hug. The boy kept whispering apologies between ragged breaths, and Ochako retaliated with louder confirmations that it's okay.

"I'm proud of you for coming that far, you know! So don't you dare go on saying that what we did was wasted, okay?! You had the courage to come up to me of all people when you had so many different options, and you kept up your training even when it seemed so difficult and impossible, and you still came so close! Don't you say all of that was wasted on nothing, got it?!" She smiled, crying still. With his head so close she didn't need to see that Yuu simply nodded to her request.

"I--I'm going to be training even harder now! I promise, Ochako! I'm going to become someone who--who tries his hardest and places more than a little behind the top! I'm not going to disappoint you anymore, I--I promise! I promise..."

"What'd I just say about saying you disappointed me you dummy?! You gotta stop that first if you wanna keep being my little fan!" Ochako laughed, and Yuu laughed, and they broke the hug as the tears started to dry out now. They kept giggling to themselves as they wiped the messes on their faces with the provided napkins.

Ochako snorted into one of the last napkins. "Ahh, I should call up Mr. Gunhead soon. I gotta make sure you get in with him!" She smiled, looking back at Yuu.

"Ah, actually, there's something I wanted to tell you..." He scratched his cheek sheepishly. Ochako perked up, leaning forward. "W-what is it? Did you get an offer already?! How many?!"

Yuu straightened out. And as the morning sun poured it's little rays of light through the window of the café, he grinned as wide as he could, an effect of hanging around Ochako for months now. She really was rubbing off on him in a good way.

"Just one. From Gunhead's Hero Office."