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leftfieldgames · 2 years

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Swashbuckler Seas Development Reflection based on a walkthrough of its GDevelop events sheet

Let me begin by saying it’s one thing to be theoretically cognizant of the “defined... architecture for the overall game program” as:

“1. Initialisation (Init or Start)

2. Game Loop (Main or Update)

3. Termination (Cleanup or Quit)”

--and another thing altogether to develop a game large enough (ha!) to experience it and really get your hands dirty (CodeHS, 2022).

I’ve been using the following excellent flowchart from the blog Read Write Code as a general reference for this structure:

(CodeHS, 2022)

However, in truth, this is the structure that has intuitively arisen anyway in the development of Swashbuckler Seas, and I’m inclined to think that, as long as computers continue to work the way they do in terms of processing, this is how any and all games look as programs.

As the sole “programmer” on Swashbuckler Seas (if you can call looking up whatever arbitrary language GDevelop uses for otherwise standard conventions, “programming”) I’ve made it my business throughout this piece of assessment to refine my programming and coding practice. The benefit of using something so accessible and simplified as GDevelop, of course, is that this refining of good coding etiquette hasn’t become sidetracked by simply not being able to speak the programming language-- for the most part.

I’ll admit it-- I didn’t organise all the parts of the game program into appropriate groups until I was absolutely waist-deep in mechanics, both used and discarded, cherry-picked and adapted from all sorts of YouTube videos and GDevelop forum posts.

When I did, however, I think I actually realised satori.*

Moving on, the Start phase of the program runs as follows:

The music begins. Any relevant timers begin. Variables are set to their defaults. The camera is set.

Now, I have no doubt that to the experienced eye (i.e. not mine), literally none of this is new or particularly surprising. I also have no doubt that there is likely a best practice for what order in which these things should be initialised-- off hand, I wonder if it’s more prudent to have the timers begin before the music, for example. In a pragmatic sense, it probably doesn’t matter, but I wonder about these things in terms of keeping code clean and extending consideration toward anyone else who might also be handling the code.

(In this case, obviously, there was only me. Needless to say, what you won’t see in any of the “code” throughout this post is the struck-through remains of unused, omitted or disabled features and mechanics, which I cleaned up for the final version, and which would have definitely presented issues for any fellow programmers on the team).

Now here’s a “learning moment.” I should probably not begin the Game Loop proper with the health/firepower upgrades mechanic.That probably belongs after player controls, player health, scoring, etc. Chalk it up to something to bear in mind in future. Incidentally, this was one of the last things I added to the game, and I think in my search for a fresh start on a feature, I simply created a new event underneath the Start Phase, and the rest was history.

Being one of the last things implemented in the game, I’m proud to say that I actually required very little assistance from online sources in writing this “code.” I already knew how to set a condition for the player clicking on something, changing scene variables, the difference between a global variable and a scene variable, creating objects (and on the correct layer, too!), starting timers, and playing sound effects.

(The Score I had to change from a scene variable to a global variable when I wanted to carry it into the “Game Over” scene. That was an exciting “find and replace,” let me tell you.)

Upgrading the maximum health hearts was a struggle, actually. I was nervous to change the code around the hearts as I had adapted it from a tutorial and there were parts I didn’t fully understand. I experienced what I have no doubt is the classic programmer anxiety around pulling one block out of the proverbial Jenga stack and having the entire thing simply stop working unaccountably, creating an extra three hours’ work for me.

Nevertheless, I persevered and talked myself through the logic of the events (as I like to do while coding) and the entire thing turned out to be much simpler than I had anticipated.

Implementing the 360-degree spray of cannonballs was really fun. Again, I’m glad I didn’t try to implement it earlier, because in particular I needed to be able to manipulate object instance IDs in order to determine the angle of each of the six cannonballs. And I couldn’t do that until I had finalised the health hearts system.

My intuition as to the “cost” of these Upgrades in-game-- i.e. how much of the score the player must spend to earn each upgrade, turned out to be fairly spot-on. The exception was the multi-cannonball upgrade, which had to be nerfed by increasing its cost to 2000 points, as it rendered an already comically easy game positively braindead once you accessed it.

Now this is interesting. Originally, the game retained the original controls we were instructed on our “Asteroids” prototype: mouse only. This, to my thinking, was a boon, considering it made the game very accessible to mobile players, who represent an audience with a terrifying growth rate within the games market, to the point where some researchers have actually identified “a gradually shrinking traditional gaming market” (Cai, 2022).

However, during collaborative team discussions, we decided we wanted the player movement and the player fire to be more separated, and a little more nuanced. We wanted the player to have more control over on-screen elements using the cursor, while enabling them to continue to move around the map. This was especially important when considering the slide-up Upgrades menu.

Other than that, I would note that it was fun to learn how to manage a separate weapon sprite from a player sprite, and I remember thinking that this would be a useful thing to understand for future game development. In this case, it was made simple by the fact that, as reflected in the code, the cannon would “Always” need to be in the center of the ship. (This in itself meant that I had to get to grips with the Points on the sprites, learning that sometimes GDevelop considers certain “position” actions using the “Center” point, and others using the “Origin” point, and there’s no way of knowing in advance what the program will do).

This was frustrating. I found a YouTube tutorial on creating an arcade-style score with leading zeros. (Or at least, a demonstration of such a feature with, well, something to be desired in terms of explanation and detail), but no matter how hard I tried, I kept encountering an issue whereby the number of leading zeros at the beginning of the game changed once the player began earning points. I’m sure it’s actually a very easy fix, and if I set my mind to it, it’ll only take a maximum of half an hour. But it fell to the bottom of the bugfixing priorities.

In deciding that the map of the game world would extend beyond the window, of course the issue arose of enemy spawning location. In its Per My Email days, this part of the events sheet simply had enemies spawning in random spots on the map. Simple!

However, now we needed enemies to spawn anywhere on the map, except in the field of view of the player. For the longest, most irritating while, it somehow slipped my mind to create variables representing the extreme sides of the map, and instead I had coded hard co-ordinates into the enemy spawning mechanic. When I finally saw sense, I was able to respond to team-member requests to alter the size of the map with much greater ease.

To further comment on enemy spawning, likely the most interesting feature to me at this point, yet also the smallest detail and also the most last-minute detail to be added, was the spawn rate.

One of the core pieces of feedback which was consistently raised by playtesters was the difficulty of the game. It was possible to sit in one spot, fire in all directions, and not see a single enemy for minutes on end, earn 1000 points shooting off-screen enemies, purchase the multi-cannonball upgrade, and then you could really grind up the score, rinse and repeat.

I had the rough idea of implementing a simple time-sensitive difficulty scale. The simple addition of a timer for “elapsed time” and tying it to the spawn rate of enemies actually added a rudimentary additional level of challenge to the game. It added, in fact, a sense of rising tension and urgency to gameplay.

Given more time on this game, I would have liked to have playtested this thoroughly and refined the specific values.

Moving on:

Originally, the health restore item was a rum barrel, as I thought it fitted with the pirate theme. However, I created the sprite in a rush, and no playtesters were really sure what to do with it. It also created confusion whereby if playtesters learned it was a health restore item, they also thought they might pick up points by running into debris.

If I’d had the time, I would have added an animation whereby it rotated and behaved more like a barrel, and less like a badly-tweened Flash animation prop circa 2008.

There’s not a whole lot to say regarding the collisions in the game, other than the fact that it’s pretty clear at this point that I took Per My Email and built on it for this game. There was a lot of logic involved in ensuring objects were created and destroyed appropriately, and scene variables updated properly.

There is an unused variable/function in there called “Push,” which again, is from a tutorial I used to implement the hearts system. The idea was that there was some pushback to the player sprite on sustaining damage, however this was another minor “nice-to-have” bugfix that fell to the bottom of the priority list.

My gods, if someone had told me earlier that GDevelop had a “for each” function!

And I think I just spotted the issue with the “Push” function. I forgot to introduce the variable “Damage.” Cue head-smacking.

Need I say more here? The Health variable is equal to or less than zero, you die and we change to the “Game Over” scene. I should have probably removed the “death” sound effect, since: a) it’s me indecorously going “blegh” into a microphone, and b), it’s inaudible considering the louder “Game Over” jingle which plays on the scene change.

*The state of awakening in the Zen Buddhist tradition.

REFERENCES

Cai, X., Cebollada, J., & Cortiñas, M. (2022). From traditional gaming to mobile gaming: Video game players’ switching behaviour. Entertainment Computing, 40, 100445. https://doi.org/10.1016/j.entcom.2021.100445

CodeHS. (2022, March 3). Teaching the Game Loop. readwritecode.blog. https://readwritecode.blog/teaching-the-game-loop-4c264398384

GDEV in 60 Seconds. (2021, April 5). GDevelop 5 Score and Countdown Timer [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qraa4xgvLmY

NT_exe. (2020, August 24). Health points as hearts in Gdevelop [Video]. YouTube. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sKVQsdaH3l8

#swashbuckler seas #development #programming

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theladyofdeath · 3 years

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Heels {Rowaelin}

The prompt: walks in front of their crush in stripper heals and a short skirt because they want their attention

Rowan x Aelin os

Written with @snelbz

There was no way this could be a good idea.

Aelin was sitting on her bed, watching as Lysandra flicked through her closet. She had told her that tonight was the night and had recruited her to help her do what she considered nearly impossible.

She was going to get the attention of Rowan Whitethorn.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know she existed, it was quite the opposite. He was one of her friends, having met during orientation week their freshman year, and as their group grew, so did their friendship. But after three and a half years, she had very solidly gotten her stuck as just that: his friend.

“You’re wasting your time,” Aelin crooned, flipping through the timeline on her phone.

“Bullshit,” Lysandra muttered, flipping through the clothes in her closet. “You need to feel confident, Aelin. Rowan is obsessed with you, and you’re obsessed with him. This whole thing is ridiculous.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, but remained quiet.

“How about this?” Lysandra asked, pulling out a denim mini skirt and black halter cropped top. As Aelin was about to reply, Lysandra said, “Say nothing. Put it on.”

With a roll of her eyes, yet again, Aelin did as much. Once she had the skirt and top on, she looked in the mirror.

And she looked hot as hell.

“Shoes?” Aelin asked, despite herself.

“Oh, I have the perfect heels,” Lysandra said, fleeing from the room. She came back a moment later with a pair of black stilettos that were Aelin’s size.

Scoffing, Aelin held them up. “I’m going to break my neck.”

Lysandra snorted and flounced back into the bathroom where she continued to straighten her hair. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Fine,” Aelin amended. “I’m going to break my ankle.” She set the shoes on her bed and joined Lysandra in the bathroom to finish getting ready.

She let Lysandra curl her hair, but drew the line when she offered to do her makeup. They had very different styles when it came to that and while Lysandra looked drop dead gorgeous with her cat-eye liner and ruby red lips, Aelin would never be able to pull it off.

“Where is this party even at?” Lysandra asked, pulling her hair back into a stylish ponytail.

“Lorcan’s.” Aelin was trying to keep her hand steady as she applied the thin line of liquid eyeliner to her upper lid. “I think Elide convinced him to throw it.”

Lysandra snorted, applying her mascara. “Sounds right. Lorcan isn’t exactly the host-type.”

Aelin grinned, tossing her eyeliner in her makeup bag. “Alright, hurry up. I want to make my entrance.”

With a roll of her eyes, Lysandra took one last look in the mirror and declared herself ready and they were off.

Lorcan’s apartment was just on the edge of campus, so the two girls walked and earned the eager glances of many as they did so.

Aelin took it as a good sign.

“Will Aedion be here tonight?” Lysandra asked, shooting a glance over at Aelin.

She groaned. “Probably.” She still couldn’t believe that her roommate actually had the hots for her cousin. He was practically her brother and the thought of him in any sort of compromising position made her want to gag. “If you hook up with him tonight, please do it at his place. I can’t afford therapy on my barista’s salary.”

“Trust me,” Lysandra said, adjusting her ponytail as they approached the steps to Lorcan’s. “I plan on giving you complete privacy at the apartment tonight. And you better take advantage of it.”

Butterflies grew in the pit of Aelin’s stomach.

She planned to, hoped to, wanted to…but, she had to catch Rowan’s eye first - something that made her nerves go haywire.

Lysandra must have caught it, because they stopped outside of Lorcan’s door and Lysandra made Aelin face her.

“You look gorgeous,” she said, and brushed Aelin’s hair back. “He’d be an idiot not to come after you.”

That was the goal, after all. Aelin was not going to be the one doing the chasing. She wanted Rowan to see her, want her, not be able to take his eyes off of her. She knew he’d be here, the party was at his best friend’s apartment, knew that everyone from their friend group would show up. Yet she was absolutely fucking terrified he’d see her and have zero reaction.

She played it off with a joke though. Scoffing, she tossed her hair over a shoulder. “He’d better. I didn’t book an emergency appointment with my waxer for nothing.”

If Lysandra noticed the fake bravado — which she absolutely did, she and Aelin had become as close as sisters over the past three years — she didn’t call her out on it. Instead, she smirked, smacked Aelin on the ass, and said, “Then let’s go get your man.”

The music could be heard from a block away, and when they opened the front door, the apartment was already packed.

People definitely noticed them come in, though, including Elide who was running towards them, a drink in hand. “It’s about time you two showed up!”

“The host himself isn’t here to greet us?” Aelin mocked, giving Elide a hug.

Elide chuckled as she rolled her eyes. “He’s been out on the balcony for about a half hour, avoiding all human interaction.”

“Sounds about right,” Lysandra replied, rolling her eyes, but then she began looking around the spacious townhouse Lorcan and Elide shared. “You haven’t seen Aedion tonight, have you?”

Elide gave Aelin a knowing glance, but said, “Last I saw, he was playing beer pong with Fenrys. Don’t know who the poor bastards getting their asses handed to them were, but they’re probably still in the kitchen.”

Lysandra gave Aelin a wink. “Good luck.” And then she was gone, lost in the bodies dancing to the music.

Her part in tonight was done, to help Aelin get Rowan’s attention. It was all up to Aelin now, so Lysandra was free to find someone to occupy her own time. Even if the thought of who she’d be with made Aelin want to shudder.

Alone with Aelin, or as close to it as they could be, Elide let out a low whistle as she finally took in Aelin’s outfit. “I have a feeling that outfit isn’t just to impress me.”

“Does that mean you’re not impressed?” Aelin asked, pretending to pout.

Elide looped her arm through Aelin’s and led her to the bar. “I’m always impressed, but I don’t think you care so much about my opinion, do you?”

Aelin snorted as she began to look around, but Elide saved her the struggle.

“He’s on the patio with Lor,” Elide said, simply. “Don’t worry. I’ll drag his ass back in here soon and Rowan will follow.”

Elide poured them both a shot, which Aelin gladly took and even asked for another. But when Manon and Asterin Blackbeak showed up, she waved Elide off to go greet her friends, and leaned against the bar, debating on a third shot.

She wasn’t trying to get shitty tonight, just a little messy, but her nerves were beginning to grow again.

Just as she decided to say fuck it, and get another shot, and heard a whistle from behind her. She turned and found Dorian Havilliard staring at her legs.

Or maybe he was staring at her ass.

They had messed around her freshman year, when his dorm room was just down the hall from hers, but it had never been anything more than that between them, and they agreed that they were better as friends. It didn’t mean they didn’t have fun though.

She smirked as she tossed the glass back and set it down on the bar top, before turning to him. “See anything you like?”

“I see quite a few things I like,” he said, raising his drink in salute. “Then again, only a fourth of your skin is covered, so there’s a lot to look at.”

Aelin laughed, quietly, and clinked her empty shot glass against his full bottle. “Gotta show off what the gods gave me.”

“As you should,” he agreed with a wink. “Haven’t seen you around in a while.”

“Well, it is school, and I actually study,” Aelin said, turning to refill her shot glass.

Dorian had the audacity to look offended. “Hey, I study, too.”

Aelin laughed as she turned back around. “Reading a bunch of books that have nothing to do with any of your classes doesn’t count as studying, Dor.”

“But they’re so much more interesting,” he replied, chuckling as he thought of the boring curriculum he studied for his pre-law degree.

Aelin rolled her eyes as she tossed back the shot and set it behind the bar. Four shots was enough. She’d be fun, she’d be confident, but she wasn’t tipsy enough to make an ass of herself.

Yet.

“I assume all of this skin isn’t for me, so who are you trying to impress?” Dorian asked, and then added, with a wink, “Chaol?”

Huffing a laugh, Aelin shook her head. “Absolutely not. That ended in a disaster and I’m not inclined to repeat it.”

The sliding glass door opened and Aelin’s eyes snapped to the door, before she quickly turned away before Lorcan and Rowan stepped inside.

“Oh,” Dorian chuckled, softly. “Whitethorn then.”

It wasn’t a question.

He had moved imperceptibly closer and she knew how it would look to Rowan. For whatever reason, she decided she wanted him to be jealous she was talking to another guy.

Even if she had no idea whether or not he’d even noticed her.

“Is this who I am now?” Dorian asked, quietly, leaning into her ear, fully aware that it looked like he was coming onto her. “Your super hot wingman?”

Aelin snorted, and didn’t bother moving away. “My overly cocky wingman, maybe.”

Dorian huffed a laugh. “I still take it as a compliment.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be flirting up Manon instead of fake flirting with me?” Aelin whispered, quietly. She glanced at Rowan, who was filling up a red solo cup.

“I like to make Manon wait,” Dorian said, running a finger up Aelin’s forearm. “She gets jealous, too, and it makes things so much more exciting in the bedroom.”

“Thanks for the image, Dor,” Aelin said, pushing away the need to roll her eyes and flick him in the nose.

He and Manon weren’t exclusively in a relationship, but everyone knew they hooked up with each other, and only each other. But, again, totally not exclusive.

“Besides,” Dorian mused, his finger skimming Aelin’s arm. “She’s busy doing body shots with Asterin. I’ll enjoy her later.”

Aelin snorted, reaching behind the bar and pulling an ice cold beer from the open cooler. She handed it to him and he opened it for her, flicking the cap in the air as if it were a coin.

He let it fall to the bar top as he leaned in to whisper in her ear one last time. “Pretty sure that’s my cue.”

She followed his gaze across the room, and found Rowan looking at her. Watching her and Dorian both.

“Have fun,” he added, before sauntering off towards the kitchen.

Rowan watched Dorian walk away to the other side of the room where he sat to watch Aedion and Fenrys continue to dominate in beer pong.

When Rowan’s eyes trailed back to Aelin, she was already watching him, a slightly-forced mischievous smile on her lips.

On the inside, she felt like she was going to puke.

He made his way across the room, pausing in front of her and slipped his free hand into his pocket. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” she said, and she wasn’t sure why it sounded so breathless.

“I didn’t see you get here,” he said, taking a sip of his beer.

She did the same, fighting the urge to toss her hair over a shoulder. “You were outside.” She realized that told him she was keeping tabs on him and she quickly added. “I mean, Elide told me Lorcan was outside, so I assumed you had to be with him.”

He smirked. “Right. Well, I was. It’s a little crowded in here.” She nodded, but he went on. “However, seems like you didn’t mind when Havilliard was over here with you. Not too crowded for you, then, huh?”

Aelin slowly lifted a golden brow. If Rowan wanted to play, she would play. “Not crowded enough for someone to be blocking your view of me with Dorian, apparently.”

A light lit up Rowan’s green eyes as his jaw twitched, suppressing a grin. “I can always count on you to manipulate my words and their meaning, Galathynius.”

Aelin’s grin was wide. “Someone has to keep you in your place, Whitethorn.”

“And is that you?” He asked, voice low as he took a drink from his cup. “The person that’s going to keep me in my place?”

Aelin’s eyes glittered as she took another drink. It was always easy with Rowan. They could talk for hours, that witty banter, back and forth. But, that’s all that had ever happened between them: simple conversation.

From the way she caught him watching her legs as she took a drink, though, she thought tonight may just end up as she planned.

A hell of a lot more than simple conversation.

“Want to dance?” She asked.

His eyes slowly slid up her body to meet her gaze. “You know I don’t dance, Ace.”

She took a long, slow drink from her bottle. “Not even with me?”

“Not with anyone,” he said, crossing his arms and resting a hip against the bar.

It was a miracle no one had interrupted them, but the bulk of the drinks had been set up in the kitchen.

“That’s a shame,” Aelin sighed, finishing off her beer and tossing the empty bottle in the trash can. “I would love to dance, but I don’t have anyone to dance with.”

Rowan said, “I’m sure you can find someone, especially with how you’re dressed tonight.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “And how is that?”

“Don’t get me wrong, you look drop dead fucking sexy,” he replied, without missing a beat. “I just don’t get why.”

“What do you mean?” Aelin asked.

“Why try so hard?” He asked, head cocked to the side. “Who are you trying to impress?”

Cocky bastard. She could see it in his eyes, he knew what he was doing and she hated him for it.

Hated that she loved it, anyway.

“What need would I have to impress anyone?” Aelin asked, chin raised. “I think I’m naturally perfect in every way.”

Rowan chuckled. “Then you should’ve come in your sweatpants and a tank top.”

Aelin rose a brow.

Rowan shrugged. “I think that’s when you’re sexiest.”

With that, with his cup pressed to his lips, he turned and walked away.

Aelin blinked after him, not sure she was sure she heard him right. He made his way through the people and headed back to the door leading out onto the balcony, stopping to say something to Lorcan. He waved him off and then Rowan was slipping back outside, while Aelin just started after him.

She pushed her way through the crowd, which was easier said than done when you weren’t a six-foot-four giant who mildly scared the shit out of everyone by scowling at them, but she eventually made it to the door. Sliding it open, she stepped out into the balmy night air.

“You can’t say shit like that and then just disappear,” Aelin said, finding him exactly how she’d expected to.

Rowan was leaned against the wall, the sole of one booted foot pressed against it as well. A lit cigarette dangled from his fingers. She gave him shit about smoking all the time, but knew he only did it when he drank.

Or when he had something on his mind.

He held the cigarette out to her, but she gave him a look. “You know better than to offer me that.”

Rowan just grinned and put it back between his lips. “You’re missing the party.”

“What did you mean?” Aelin asked, standing opposite of him, leaning against the railing.

“When?” he asked, looking up at the sky.

“Don’t bullshit me, Rowan,” she snapped, and it got his attention.

Blowing a puff of smoke into the cool night air, he met her gaze and slowly shook his head. He gestured to her outfit, to the heels that were making her feet ache. “What is this?”

“They’re clothes,” she said. “For a party.”

“They’re Lysandra’s,” he replied, simply.

“I can’t wear my roommate’s clothes?” Aelin scoffed. “What the hell is wrong with you tonight-.”

“Why can’t you just admit that you’re just trying to impress someone?” he interrupted, watching her, that light in his eye fading. “You’ve never been not-confident a day in your life. Whoever it is that you’re trying to impress, he obviously isn’t worth it if it causes you to be someone you’re not.”

Aelin looked down at the cropped halter top, the skirt that hardly reached her thighs, the heels that she was certain would cause blisters. “This is someone I’m not?”

Rowan slowly shook his head. “Last time we went out, you wore that little golden slip dress….” He shook his head, reminiscing on the memory. “That was you. You wore sneakers and you were still barefoot halfway through the night, dancing on the patio. What you’re wearing now - yeah, you look gorgeous - but I can tell you’re not comfortable in it.”

“If I’m trying to get someone’s attention, maybe my usual isn’t best. Especially if it pushes me out of my comfort zone,” she snapped back, her hands on her hips. “And why is it such a problem if I’m trying to impress someone? Dorian was impressed.”

“Dorian doesn’t drool all over you like a dog in heat,” he replied. “He respects you, regardless of what you’re wearing, how much skin you’re showing off. But if you’re trying to impress some D bag who will only notice you if you’re dressed like that, you might want to reconsider.”

“And what if I was trying to impress you?” She asked, getting in his face, cigarette smoke and whiskey breath be damned. “What if I was trying to get your attention, Rowan?”

His jaw locked and his eyes searched hers, as if he was trying to find the underlying meaning in what she was saying, even if there wasn’t one.

“Then you’d be wasting your time,” he said, at last.

It felt like a knife had been shoved into Aelin’s ribs with every word that had come out of his mouth. Begging herself not to cry in front of him, she went to take a step away, but Rowan grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.

Their chests were nearly touching, and his hand trailed from her wrist, into her hand, interlocking his fingers with hers.

He took the cigarette from his lips and said, “You’d be wasting your time because you impress me every time that I’m around you.”

“You never act like it,” she breathed, shaking her head. “You never do anything, and you’ve never tried to make a move. What the hell else was I supposed to do?”

He flicked the cigarette over the rail and let go of her hand, only to frame her face with both of his. “This.”

And then his lips were on hers, and Aelin didn’t care that she could taste residual smoke or stale beer. She knew she didn’t taste much better. All that mattered was that Rowan was kissing her and his hands were on her face and hers were tangled up in his shirt. His tongue slid against hers and she had to fight to stop the moan that threatened to slip out of her.

He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. “That,” he said, breathlessly. “That is what you should have done to get my attention.”

Aelin swallowed, harshly. “Do it again.”

Rowan didn’t have to be convinced. His hands slid down her back as he brought his mouth to hers, and he pulled her body uptight against his. They stayed out there for a long time, for hours, uninterrupted.

At one point, she saw Dorian come by and lock the balcony door, so everyone else would get the hint to stay the hell away.

Wingman of the year.

They stayed on the balcony, kissing and laughing and kissing some more, until the party wound down. Around two, Lorcan let them inside, and Aelin pulled Rowan out of the apartment and across campus to her own.

True to Lysandra’s word, she was nowhere to be found.

The second Aelin stepped into her apartment, she kicked off her heels and was swept into Rowan’s arms. He carried her into her bedroom, where he stripped her down, out of her roommate’s clothes.

Rowan Whitethorn saw all of her.

She had his full attention.

#rowaelin #rowan #aelin #rowan x aelin #aelin x rowan #sjm #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #prompts #collab #snacmc

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duskholland · 4 years

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The Fame Game (Epilogue) - Tom Holland

Summary ↠ Three years later, you and Tom are back at the Oscars.

Word count ↠ 3.3k

Warnings ↠ Alcohol mention, slightly suggestive but not really, lots and lots of fluff.

A/N ↠ I can’t believe we’re here! The epilogue! Thank you so much to everyone that’s supported me and the fic over the last three months :’) If you know me, you’ll know I really struggle committing to series, so the fact I made it here, without missing any updates, is something I’m very proud of tbh. I hope that you’ve liked the story :) The biggest thank you ever has to go to V, mischiefandi, for helping me so much in the early stages of this story... Thank you again for always listening to me <3 Additionally, a huge huge thank you to everyone that’s read, commented and sent in asks! I hope the epilogue doesn’t disappoint :)

POST-CREDITS SCENE: The Oscars: Take Two (Y)

The atmosphere at Vanity Fair’s Oscars after-party is electric.

The soft boom of the latest pop tunes seeps into the air, mixing with the warm lights and the sounds of clinking champagne flutes. The room holds Hollywood’s best, and it seems no matter which direction you tilt your head, your eyes find themselves settling over a familiar face. You’re walking amongst legends tonight, and with your hands grasped around two glistening trophies, you finally feel at home.

“Congratulations, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.”

You’re drawn away from your thoughts by the unmistakable voice of your friend Joe Keery. As you finally drag your eyes away from the golden Oscars in your hands, a smile splits across your face.

“Thanks, Joe,” you say, flashing him a blinding smile. “I still can’t believe it.”

Joe chuckles, eyeing your awards with pride in his eyes. “Two, eh?” He leans closer to elbow you, chuckling when you glare at him. “Not too shabby for your first year nominated.”

“Not too shabby at all.”

It’d been crazy - every single second of it. From the moment the nominations were announced, and you’d seen your name listed not only in one category but in two, you’ve been a whirlwind of nerves, excitement, and pride. You don’t think you’ve ever been as shocked as you’d felt when your name had been called out as the winner, not once, but twice tonight. Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress, the latter of which was won for a performance in the same film which had brought about the evening’s Best Actor…

“And Tom?” Joe says, grinning. “Oscar-Winning couple, starring in a critically-acclaimed film together. Must feel pretty good, right?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you look down at your golden trophies. “I can’t believe it,” you mutter. “I really just… Can’t believe it.”

You feel a presence behind you, and then there’s the warm touch of a hand curling around your waist. You sink into it, tilting your head to the side, letting your eyes fall on Tom, your boyfriend. With a proud smile on his lips and his own golden award held in his free hand, he’s almost glowing tonight.

“Evening, Joe,” Tom greets. Finally comfortable at your side, he leans up and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. His deep cologne sweeps across you, and you bask in the familiar tones. “Good night?”

Joe nods. “Oh yeah,” he agrees, inclining his head towards Tom’s trophy. “Congrats, man.”

“Thank you.” Tom holds his award nearer his face, a deep frown line forming between his eyes. “I always thought it would be heavier?” He muses, running his thumb over the head of it. “But it’s pretty light. Look.”

What your boyfriend does next makes your blood turn cold. He easily and haphazardly throws his Oscar at Joe, who somehow startles in time to catch it, but not before letting out a stream of expletives.

“Tom!” You exclaim, eyes widening. “Don’t throw your Oscar around!”

He grins wickedly, brown eyes dancing. “Sorry, darling,” he murmurs, kissing your cheek again. “Got a bit giddy.”

Tom’s been walking on air recently, you’ve noticed. You’d put it down to the buzz of nerves that’d characterised your last few days too, but even now, Tom’s vibrating with something. He’s been very affectionate with you, and whilst Tom is by no means a selfish lover, you can’t recall a time where he’s been glued to your hip quite as much as he’s been this last week. Always hanging around with open arms or warm lips or soft words, Tom has made it known, every second of every day, just how much he loves you. Which is a lot, apparently.

And you love him too, of course. You love him like you’ve never loved anyone else.

“You’re always giddy,” you tease. You manage to hold both of your trophies in one hand and use the other to reach up and tidy some of the hair from his face. Tom’s hair is longer now - less wavy and longer, grown a little older as the both of you have over the past three years. Looking at him now, you see a man - a very handsome, very loving man - and you’re proud of who he’s grown into.

“Only around you, love.”

Your lips roll into a soft smile, and you lean in to kiss him quickly. Tom’s mouth is warm against yours.

“Ew.” Joe’s voice interrupts your moment, and you pull away sheepishly. “Take your trophy and get out of here, you two.”

Tom reaches out and takes back his Oscar, giving Joe a fist bump. “Thanks, man. Have a good night.” There’s a moment where Joe and Tom look at one another, and Joe’s gaze flutters over to you, and you feel something there, between them - an unspoken secret. But before you can comment on it, Tom’s reaching out for your open hand and slipping his into it, and you’re moving off through the crowd again.

“I’m so tired,” you admit, stifling a yawn. You quickly smooth a smile over your face, noting with appreciation how the crowd of the afterparty seem to move out of your way. Your Oscars bring you a sort of power, and with three between you, it would seem that you and Tom are trading in top tier currency. “Can’t wait to get home and sleep.”

“Sleep?!” Tom exclaims, voice low. He squeezes your hand, glancing back to smirk at you. “As if.”

You raise your eyebrows as Tom guides you out the entrance of the party.

“What, you don’t think we’ll be sleeping later?” You ask, resting your cheek on Tom’s shoulder as you walk down the steps of the building together.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why’s that?”

Tom looks at you, eyes briefly flicking out over your figure. “You know why, darling.” He squeezes your hand before stepping nearer to kiss you. Your lips stay together a little longer, and you hum against his mouth. “You look bloody stunning in that dress, lovie,” he murmurs. His teeth brush your lower lip, and you feel your face warm. “Been thinking about ravishing you all night.”

You swallow, tilting your head to the side before kissing him again, briefly. “We’ll see,” you reply. You wink as you step back, turning around and looking out at the lines of cars before you make eye contact with your driver. “C’mon, winner. I don’t trust the house to still be standing. I still can’t believe you let Harrison and your brothers housesit tonight.”

Tom’s indignant as he follows you into the car, and for the drive back to your house in the Hills, you carry on your bickering. It’s interrupted by kisses and jokes and touches, though, and it’s all so familiar it makes your heart soar. He’s always kept you on your feet, and out of all the things that have changed since you got together, that fact has remained: no one makes you feel as intensely riled up as Tom.

“I still don’t understand why you wanted them to housesit,” you muse. The gravel of the driveway crunches beneath your feet as you walk up towards your house, wobbling a little in your heels. Tom offers you an arm, and you gratefully loop yours through it, your hands still holding your awards. You’d only brought a bag big enough to hold one Oscar, not two. “It’s not like anyone was going to break in. We have security.”

Tom just clears his throat, the sound deep and guilty. “Harrison’s idea,” he says, quickly. “They wanted to be nearer the action.”

“Yeah, or they wanted to use the wine cellar.”

Before you can continue your conversation, the front door opens and Harrison pokes his head out, eyes widening as he looks down at the trophies in your hands.

“Aye!” He calls out, clapping loudly. “Congratulations, you two.”

As you enter the house and ditch your coat and shoes by the door, there’s an interlude in which you pass around your awards and receiving raucous applause from your friends. Harry and Sam pose dramatically in front of the staircase, fighting over which one of them gets to carry two of the awards, and you hold up a phone, taking photos of it all. In the corner of the room, you see Harrison pulling Tom aside and whispering something into his ear. Before you can pay them much attention, you’re distracted by Harry deciding to try and balance Tom’s Oscar on his head.

It’s very wholesome, and you and Tom end up coerced into another series of photos together. It’s less formal than it was at the show, and Tom sheds his suit-jacket as you enjoy posing without the strain on your feet from your heels. Harrison barges in too, and then there’s a round of shots with all five of you together, laughing, talking, messing around.

On their way out, both Harry and Sam pull you in for hugs, and then Harrison takes your hands and looks at you, hard. There’s a seriousness to him that you’ve never seen before, and tears form in his eyes as he splutters out a quiet,

“I’m proud of you, Y/N.”

“Harrison,” you whine, feeling a lump in your throat. “Don’t make me cry again.”

“Sorry.” Your friend drops one of your hands and rubs at his eyes, laughing softly. “I’m just proud of you - both of you. You deserve this so much and I’m glad to call you my friend.”

You sniff loudly, cursing softly when you feel a stray tear fall down your cheek. “Thanks, Haz,” you mutter, pulling him in for a hug.

You leave Harrison with Tom as your guests leave, and walk into the living room to collapse on the sofa. You groan as you let yourself relax, sinking into the cushions. Something of an adrenaline high crashes over you, and suddenly the thought of crawling into bed and sleeping the night away sounds very tempting.

“Y/N,” Tom says, startling you. You open your eyes and find your boyfriend standing in front of you, smiling softly. He rocks back on his feet, briefly biting at his lower lip. “Come with me.”

You look at his inviting hand sceptically.

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

You hum, reaching up and taking his hand in yours. You glance at your wrist, noticing with fondness in your eyes how nice his watch looks wrapped around your hand. Over the years, you’ve made a habit of always trying to keep something of his to hand - his watch, his hat, his sunglasses. It doesn’t matter the occasion - you always like to carry something with you that reminds you of Tom. It works vice-versa, and you know that beneath Tom’s dress shirt hangs one of your favourite necklaces.

Your friends think it’s sickeningly romantic. You think it’s cute. Tom loves it.

“What do you mean, a surprise?” You ask, following Tom through the house. He’d moved into your LA home two years ago, his mark evident in the fluffy throws and the various stains on the walls.

Tom shrugs, rolling his thumb over the back of your hand. He leads you upstairs. “A surprise,” he repeats. “Stop asking so many questions, darling.”

You rest your head on Tom’s shoulder, sighing happily. “You’re very romantic, you know that?”

Tom chuckles, pausing outside your closed bedroom door. He looks nervous, and he drops your hand to run his hand through his hair.

“Right.” He stops, clearing his throat, hand shifting to the doorknob. “In here.”

You wait a moment for him to do something, but he doesn’t. “Are you going to open the door?” You ask, teasing, but reaching up to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.” Tom shakes his head, a bright smile finally finding his lips. “Crazy night.”

“Definitely.”

Tom turns around and finally opens the door, stepping aside and inviting you inside. A soft gasp falls past your lips as you walk into the bedroom and take in the scenes around you.

Someone’s been in your room since you were flurrying around eight hours earlier, tearing your wardrobe apart before the show. It’s been cleaned, the bed made and spread out with a few rose petals, and the lights are dimmed down low. The doors to the balcony are open, and through them, you can make out a large stand with a bottle of champagne.

“Tom!” You gasp. You turn around, jaw slackening further as your boyfriend procures a large bouquet of roses. The plastic crinkles as you accept them gratefully, taking a long breath and inhaling the deep romantic scent.

“Thought I’d do something nice for you,” he says, closing the door behind him. Tom smooths his hands over your waist, standing behind you and kissing up your neck as you laugh softly. “Come out to the balcony, love,” he murmurs, teeth brushing your ear.

“Was this why you had the others come over?” You ask, smiling.

“Mhmm.”

You pause to put the roses in a vase, and then let Tom wind his hand in yours and pull you out onto the balcony. It’s beautiful out here in the Hollywood Hills, and as he pours out two glasses of champagne and passes you a flute, you lean with your elbows on the railing and stare out across at the city. Shrouded in darkness, the city pulses with bright lights and distance car horns. There’s a warmth to the air that brings a smile to your lips, and a few strands of your hair drift around as the evening breeze caresses your face.

“Funny, isn’t it?” You say, closing your eyes. Tom’s just beside you, one of his hands resting over yours. He plays with your fingers before linking your pinkies together.

“Hm?”

“Do you remember the first time you were out here with me?” Tom releases a short hum, and you take that to mean the negative. “Well, it was back when I hated you. You came and you picked me up from set, and then you stayed the night. We came out here and we took photographs together.”

“Of course.” There’s mirth in his voice, and the sound of his familiar accent brings a smile to your face. You lean your head on his shoulder, looking back out across the city. “That was the first time we ever talked properly, too. I remember realising you weren’t that horrible, after all.”

You gasp. “Oi!”

Tom nudges your side. “Hey, you know you felt the same way about me too.” He turns slightly, and you feel the soft press of his lips against your temple. “We’ve come a long way since then.”

You hum, grinning. “A very long way.”

There’s a moment’s rest, then Tom kisses your forehead again and steps away from you. You whine at the loss, but continue to look out at the city, resting your chin in your palms. You’re aware of him walking over to the table with the champagne, but you’re too distracted by the distant flickering lights to pay much attention to him.

“I love you a lot, you know,” Tom calls out, voice wavering. He clears his throat, and you smile to yourself.

“I know,” you reply. “I love you too.”

“No, I love you, a lot.” Again, Tom clears his throat. You decide to turn around, your eyebrows furrowing as you realise you can’t see him, but then your eyes travel down, down, down, and you spot him.

Tom is down on one knee, brown hair wafting in the gentle evening breeze, holding a black velvet box in his hands.

“Tom?” You whisper, voice hoarse. Tears pool in your eyes and your heart drums in your chest as you realise what’s happening.

“Y/N,” he returns, a soft smile finding his lips when he meets your eyes. “I love you.” Tom glances down at the ring, chuckling. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long, but picking the right time has been so hard. So, I thought, hey, we’ve already won big tonight, why not add onto the excitement.”

You fan at your face, exhaling a deep breath.

“We have been through thick and thin together, and I am so, so glad that we came out the other side stronger for it. Your ambition and your drive make me want to be a better person, and every time I wake up beside you, it makes me want to be a better man, too. You make me better, and I love you for it.” Tom breaks off, eyes sparkling with tears as he looks up at you, meeting your gaze firmly. “I have never been more sure of anything else before. I know there’s nothing else I’d want to do than to spend the rest of my life with you. So… Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

You can barely still see him, through the tears in your eyes, but you nod. You nod, and then you fall down to your knees in front of him, and you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Of course I’ll marry you, Tom,” you get out, voice thick with emotion. “I love you more than anything.”

Tom puts the box aside and pulls you closer, and you share a kiss that rocks your world. Both of you are smiling, and it’s clumsy and salty, but you don’t care as you kiss him again and again, your hands winding into his hair. He is so perfect, absolutely perfect, and you have never felt this whole before.

“I love you so, so, so much, darling,” he says, speaking against your lips. You chuckle, humming your agreeing sentiments before kissing him again.

“I love you too.” You finally pull back, shifting your lips to brush against his nose before you glance down at the box. You grin, holding up your left hand as you wiggle your eyebrows.

“If you don’t like it, we can always get a different one,” Tom prefaces, his hands shaking as it takes him a few attempts to pull the ring from the velvet bed. His fingers are warm against yours, soft and gentle as he slides the band up your finger. Your eyes catch on the beautiful sparkling diamond, and you feel a tear roll down your cheek. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s perfect,” you say, rolling your thumb over the ring. You look up at Tom, wide-eyed and warm-hearted. “I think you’re perfect.”

“Not as perfect as you.”

You roll your eyes, your cheeks aching from the width of your smile. “You’re so cliché, Tom,” you tease, moving back to kiss his cheek. Your hands go to his shoulders, engagement ring glinting. “Are you going to be like this forever?”

Tom smiles, adoration floating in his bright brown eyes. “If you want me to be, yes.”

His lips find yours for one final time, and you bask in the feeling of him so close to you. After so long together, it feels like your souls have finally intertwined. Tom’s buried himself so deeply into your heart, into your life, that you know you’ll never get him out. You know you’d never want to.

“I love you,” you whisper. “Thank you for changing my life.”

His palm travels up to cup your cheek, warm fingertips stroking over your cheekbone. “It’s been my pleasure.”

FINIS.

extended a/n:

thank you for reading the series, dear reader--the full thing is 59k! go you for getting through that much of my writing! I appreciate your time and willingness to enter this ‘verse with me <3

if you’ve got any thoughts on the series, please let me know! doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the series ended, I am always always always here to talk about these two :’)) would love to know what you think of their story!

we had a tfg blurb night! if you want to read any little extra bits, check out the masterpost for that here :)

#Tom Holland Oscar-Winner 2021 I’m calling it #tom holland x reader #tom holland #tom holland x y/n #tom holland fic #im not crying you're crying #tfg #y/n #y/n use #self insert #self-insert #this is the definition of fan service just i am the fan servicing myself #if anyone notices the direct parallel to the prologue lmk lmao im proud of that one

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legends-live-in-memories · 3 years

Text

Talk So Pretty, But Your Heart Got Teeth

AYO another day another oneshot as a part of the MGI Trope Tussle! BUT WAIT THERES MORE thanks to @nightlychaotic for letting me continue her oneshot that can be found HERE!

Fics Masterlist

Dickinette Oneshot 2.8K words

Summary:

“Nightwing was desperate to figure out Kit Noire. For reasons beyond professional.”

without further ado:

Some days, you're the only thing I know

Only thing that's burning when the nights grow cold

Can't look away, can't look away

Beg you to stay, beg you to stay, yeah

It had been two weeks since Nightwing had last seen Kit Noire. While the lack of thefts and reported break-ins was doing wonders for his day job, he found his nightlife severely lacking its usual luster. He had done some research into her powers, cross-referencing with some of his more magically inclined coworkers. Aquaman had an interesting story about some god of destruction but it was Atlantean lore that led nowhere. He was drawing blanks on what his next move was going to be. Conflicted on whether to bring her to justice or to help her get justice.

His team was of no help either. Batman was adamant on chasing her out of Gotham, her destructive powers too dangerous in the city, while his siblings were more engrossed in teasing him about his affections for the cat thief. Jabs about ‘learned behaviour’ and ‘truly being the next Batman’ went ignored for his own piece of mind. He loathed to admit it but his intrigue in her, his adamance to be involved with her case, stemmed from less professional intentions. He was compromised in this investigation but he was unwilling to relent to anyone else.

Kit Noire was his to solve.

Sometimes, you're a stranger in my bed

Don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Push me away, push me away

Then beg me to stay, beg me to stay, yeah

He finally found her one night by the Gotham Harbour. She was in the middle of an altercation with the same guy who had stolen some grimoire from her. ‘Guardian’ he had called her.

Rather than intervene immediately, Nightwing hung back in the shadows, observing the two of them. The man was obviously much older than her and was particularly equipped to combat her style of fighting. He used what appeared to be a wooden staff and was dressed in Buddhist-inspired robes. Another piece to add into his investigation.

Their fight was approaching a stalemate, neither willing to yield to the other. Nightwing decided to make his presence known. A couple smoke bombs were tossed into the fray, halting the fight. Taking the opening, he jumped in between and threw two bolas at the old man. He was wrapped securely in the wires and collapsed gracelessly on the planks. Not giving him anymore attention, he moved to intercept Kit Noire; choosing the evil he knew over the one he didn’t.

“Sorry, songbird.” She spoke with more bite than usual, her frustration with the older man still clinging to her. “But I already have plans tonight. None that involves you sadly.”

“What?” His casual drawl, partnered with his carefully crafted smirk did nothing to placate the hissing cat in his arms. “I can’t let the kitty have all the fun.”

“Please,” she scoffs; she slackens in his hold only fractionally. “As if I need a little birdy like you to give me permission to do anything.”

She slipped under his grasp and shot a leg up directly into his chin. He was taken completely by surprise and before he could react, one of his own smoke bombs was thrown at his feet. He was disoriented and by the time he switched his mask to infrared, she was already gone with the older man. His discarded bolas were the only thing that remained between the clearing haze of smoke.

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

He was pulling into the precinct parking lot for his morning shift with a poorly concealed bruise on his jaw and excuses already on his tongue for how it got there. His ego wasn’t fairing much better but that was concerns for his punching bag back at his home gym. Now, he was Dick Grayson, rookie cop at the GCPD. Now, his nighttime problems can’t reach him.

Or so he thought.

He didn’t make it ten feet into the building before detective Montoya was slamming a file into his chest. He quickly glanced into the file, partially listening to her debriefing of the case, then immediately wished he hadn’t. In the file there were pictures taken from the most recent crime scene and sitting on top of the pile was a picture of a wall from the local aviary. The words ‘Sorry about last night, Songbird -KN’ were spray painted in steel blue.

He felt his irritation flare as heat crept up his neck while a weight settled in the base of his spine. His warring feelings drowned out everything around him as he fixated on her very obvious declaration. Kitty Noire had been gaining infamy for never being caught by both the cops and the bats. Some in the precinct hadn’t believed she was actually real, just some urban legend the streets were stirring up to cause trouble. To let herself be caught like this, and to admit to contact with one of the bats— it didn’t take a genius to guess which side of the law she was calling out with ‘songbird’— was damning to say the least.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

It was another week before he was crashing into her midleap, throwing both of them down onto the nearest roof. They rolled a couple of times before he stopped them by pinning her down. Both of her arms were held above her head; his grips were tight around her wrists, avoiding her palms in fear of what her destructive powers could do. They were on top of the platform that had the doorway to the building’s stairs. Her distracting smirk curled up further as she was about to speak. Probably a suggestive comment but he wasn’t in the mood for their usual back and forth.

“Enough games, Noire.” He shifted his knees to brace on her shins, in case she had any ideas. “You need to tell me what’s going on. You’re bringing suspicious people into the city, dangerous people, and it’s my job to drive them out.”

“I’m not bringing anyone into the city,” she all but spat at him, the fury in her eyes burned bright at the accusation. “He tracked me here.”

“And he is…?” He was getting tired of being out of the loop, meta-abilities and magic are safety hazards if left unchecked in Gotham. He needs to put a lid on this before it spirals any further.

“He is my business and soon to be not a problem for the both of us.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You have no other choice, songbird. Above your paygrade, remember?” She mumbles something he doesn’t hear but from the shape of her lips it looked like Cataclysm. He didn’t have time to react before the roof was caving in under them.

The freefall was disorienting but he could see from his periphery that Kit Noire was prepared. She had extended her staff out to fit between two walls and was hanging on, dangling over what was probably twenty flights of steps. Nightwing wasn’t so lucky and he had to angle his fall to crash into steps a couple flights below her.

“It was nice crashing into you, songbird, but I have things to steal and people to rob.” Retracting her staff, she let herself freefall to the bottom floor of the building. Nightwing dove after her, shooting out his grappling line to one of the higher railings. She had reextended her staff, this time aiming for the height of the building, and was sliding down it like a pole. Banishing the improper thoughts of ‘Noire’ and ‘pole,’ he questioned how the staff was even able to extend that far.

Right, magic.

Once they were more comfortable feet above the bottom floor, she paused in her descent and let him over take her. He wasn’t given a chance to question her actions as she immediately swiped at his grappling line, snapping it with her rather sharp claws. This time he was prepared enough to brace himself for the fall. He landed on his feet and crouched to roll out of the harsh impact.

“I thought it was cats that landed on their feet, not birds,” her jeer echoed against the walls. He looked back up to see her rapidly climbing her staff. She was gaining distance fast and he was running out of options just as quickly. He didn’t trust climbing her staff so he took to climbing the steps from the railings, jumping and swinging himself around to gain altitude.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.” She had made it to the door that led back to the roof and her staff retracted in an instant. He was still a couple flights away but he knew he wasn’t going to catch her. He resigned himself to knowing that tonight was another failed night. He had let her go again.

Some days, you're the best thing in my life

Sometimes when I look at you, I see my wife

Then you turn into somebody I don't know

And you push me away, push me away, yeah

Something Kit Noire had said was bothering him. She said she was a hero once. That she had given it up because of accusations that ruined her reputation. He had half a mind to not believe her. Write it off as one of her tricks to try and get under his skin. But the other half, the louder, more desperate half, implored him to keep searching. To uncover the cat themed enigma he had grown frustratingly fond of.

He expanded his search, looking for anything or anyone cat themed with destructive powers. A deep web search had him discovering an old video. It was labeled ‘Reflectdoll’ and nothing else. It was a part of some long forgotten blog that had an entire catalogue of videos labeled in similarly vague ways. Desperate for answers, he rationalised that if anything else, he would cross this source and narrow the search further.

The video was quite the fanfare, looking something out of a movie with impressive CGI. He was about to label this video as another bust but something paused him in his tracks. Her. Kit Noire, or at least a younger version of her, lept into the action. Her and some ladybug patterned partner dealt with the fiasco and Nightwing watched, enthralled and hopeful, as the two worked to take down the foe. He was both impressed and even more confused because he recognised that infamous tower but had no memories of there ever being attacks of that caliber in the city of love. He had done several missions there over the years, and there was never any call for help or an attack to get his or the League’s attention.

Just what was going on?

Call me in the morning to apologize

Every little lie gives me butterflies

Something in the way you're looking through my eyes

Don't know if I'm gonna make it out alive

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

He had her pinned again, one of his hands holding both of hers above her head, the other was fisting her braid in a tight pin. They were staring at each other, neither wanting to tip the scales in their own favor. The air was charged and each breath felt like one step closer to a dangerous precipice. Nightwing was struggling with what to do. He had a responsibility to this city. This was his home. And he was letting some magical ex-hero trample all over it because he let his infatuation get to his head. He was too involved but he didn’t care. She was his case to solve.

“Something you would like to share, songbird?” Her smirk was enticing and infuriating. He couldn’t look away.

“I have a lot on my mind.”

“What? Is keeping me here not entertaining enough for you?”

“I’m not keeping you here for entertainment.”

“That could be rearranged.” She had surged up to kiss him, her lips soft and inviting. He would be a fool to pass up the opportunity.

Blood on my shirt, rose in my hand

You're looking at me like you don't know who I am

Blood on my shirt, heart in my hand

Still beating

She was hurt. The old man found her again and left her with a painful reminder of who she was up against. Nightwing wished he could track him down and beat him to bloody pulp but right now he was more concerned with patching her up. She was lucky he found her when he did. The gash on her side would be easy to stitch but he first needed to get her to somewhere safe. His options were limited. No clinic would take them in, she was still a notorious criminal after all. Batman would have his head if he brought her to any of their safe houses. The cave was completely out of the question.

But she was still losing blood.

“Why the long face, songbird?” Her voice which was usually jovial was tinted with strain.

“Oh, you know, just getting blood on my suit while a cat bleeds out in my lap.” He tried to lighten the mood and her chuckles were relieving.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just need to find somewhere to put you.”

“Oh, is the birdy worried about his kitty cat?” She was teasing him, he knew, so he decided playing along would do more for his own peace of mind than trying to refute.

“And if he is?” He mirrored her own joking tone but he couldn’t help the taxes of sincerity that slipped in. She caught on if the slight widening of her eyes were an indicator.

“Oh.” The stunned look she had on her face would be adorable if it weren’t for their situation. “I have a place, not far from here you can drop me off there.”

“Lead the way,” he said, picking her up bridal style. If he pulled her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck then no one had to know.

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Fight so dirty, but your love's so sweet

Talk so pretty, but your heart got teeth

Late night devil, put your hands on me

And never, never, never ever let go

Nightwing never noticed this before but Kit Noire was small. Her waist fit in the palms of his hands so well and her legs were slender and lean as they tied themselves around his hips. He looked like he could overwhelm her but he knew better. He knew how strong and dangerous she was but the mental image of just holding her down as she submits beneath him spurred him on further. Her lips were cherry sweet and intoxicating. And her weight on his thighs left him reeling, silently begging for more.

“Someone’s eager,” she had pulled away from his mouth to speak but rather than entertain any conversation he just moved to suck bruises into her jaw. The hand she had in his hair tightened and pulled at the short strands. Her breathing became laboured as she pants into the night sky. He wanted to coax out more reactions from her, wanted to see if she can really mewl like a cat.

A wayward hand had her grinding down harder in his lap. They were in their own bubble on this abandoned rooftop; it sat between two skyscrapers, both casting the roof in an almost impenetrable shadow, one would really have to be looking to see them. The sound of traffic below was nothing more than white noise, a background soundtrack for their current encounter. Using her grip in his hair, Noire dragged him up from her jaw and crashed their lips together again. Her kittenish licks asked for entrance and he eagerly granted it, savouring the taste of her as she mapped out his mouth with her tongue.

He gripped her tighter, not wanting to let go, blind in the pleasure of her lips and tongue and teeth.

Teeth

Never, never, never ever let go

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mandolovian · 4 years

Text

behind the console

pairing: din djarin/the mandalorian x reader

warnings: none! lots of fluff! (sleep what’s sleep)

word count: 1.7k

A month or so after you had joined the Mandalorian on the Razor Crest, the baby had taken a very strong liking to your dangling earring. Just the left one - the one he would chew idly on whenever you carried him in your arms. The Mandalorian had long since stopped trying to get him to stop, and instead watched with a curiously tilted helmet as the baby slowly fell asleep, the earring firmly held between his teeth.

It only took a few days for the baby to slowly slip the earring out of your piercing, and his big plaintive eyes made it extraordinarily difficult to ask for it back (to which the Mandalorian chastised you later - ‘You need to hold your ground! Who knows how many earrings you’ll lose like this.’)

The baby’s little ball was long forgotten, and had slipped down the console to rest against the glass of the cockpit windshield. You leaned over the controls to pick it up, intent on screwing it back onto the gear shift, but the Mandalorian’s gloved hand wrapped around your wrist, holding you back.

(and you try your best to control your breathing, to lower your heart rate, but there was no way he missed the way your pulse rose at the touch.)

‘It’s okay,’ he murmured as he shifted his gaze back at the stars. You held your arm against your chest, rubbing a little absentmindedly at your wrist. Behind you, the baby snuffled a little in his sleep.

‘You don’t want it back on the gear shift?’ you asked, and didn’t receive a response in return.

Taking that as an affirmative, you let the small ball roll against the console, and left the cockpit for the night.

---

You were surprised that it lasted as long as it did.

An unfortunate combination of a Twi’lek with impressive combat skills and Mando’s flamethrower had resulted in his fleece cape being burned beyond repair. With the ship safely in hyperspace and stoically on autopilot, Mando sat on a crate on the hull to sort through the damage of the day.

It was rare to see him without much of his armour. Hunched over, the fabric of his simple shirt stretched over shoulder blades, and his sleeves were dutifully folded up to his elbows. A sigh escaped the reaches of his helmet, quietened by the static, and he turned the scraps of the cape over in his hands.

‘Nothing you can do?’ you asked as you climbed down the ladder, and he just sighed again in response. He inclined his helmet in invitation, and you took the cape from his hands. There truly wasn’t much left - the remaining salvageable fabric was scarcely bigger than the length of your forearm, and the edges had somehow been melted down. You frowned at the fabric, and Mando let out a dry laugh at your pout.

‘A lot of my weapons were damaged,’ he said. He tipped his helmet side to side, stretching the cords of his neck with a soft groan. ‘We might have to stop for supplies sooner than I thought. Could you put in the coordinates for Dantooine?’

You rested your hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently. Mando hummed, and you suppressed the urge to press your fingers harder against the muscles, just to hear him groan again.

‘Of course,’ you whispered.

Later, when Mando joined you in the cockpit, you kept your eyes firmly on your datapad. You definitely didn’t see him running his fingers over the fabric of his cape, nearly folded into a small square, tied with scrap of ribbon, pressed between the edge of the console and the windshield.

---

‘Have you ever been here before?’ Din asked, his boots making soft crunching noises against the sand.

‘Never,’ you said. ‘Well, definitely never here, on this planet. But I’ve also never seen water like this before.’

The beach was lined with activity - little marquees of pop-up markets, and vendors selling the most eclectic of goods. Here, a young girl sat at a wicker table under a blue tarp, painstakingly applying paint to the face of a toddler squealing with glee. In another stall, several hangers displayed scarves in a dizzying array of colours, and a portly woman, wearing several scarves herself, was arguing passionately with a customer.

You shifted the baby against your hip, and he cooed at the sites of the sea. ‘See there, adi’ika?’ you said, pointing towards the glittering reflection of the horizon. ‘Water!’

The baby looked at your hand, and waved his own in an imitation of your pointing. He giggled, tapped your cheek with his waving hand, and babbled against your shoulder.

You laughed a little. ‘That isn’t how you say water,’ you teased gently, pinching his cheek, ‘but we’ll get there eventually.’

It was peaceful. A momentary reprieve from the nomadic lifestyle of planet hopping, and you allowed yourself to idly daydream of a small beachside cottage and quietly furnished it in your mind - a front garden with rows upon rows of vegetables. A sunroom with a loth-cat lounging lazily on a wicker couch. A bed, half-covered in plump pillows and patchwork blankets.

A framed crayon drawing in the front doorway. Maybe a pair of boots outside the front door.

Din lowered himself to sit cross-legged next to you on the sand, leaning back on his hands behind him. He tutted at the baby, who was puttering around happily in the shallows, squealing in delight at every small wave.

‘It’ll be difficult to get him back on the ship,’ Din said quietly. He nudged your shoulder with his, urging you to lean back, and you do just that, resting your bodyweight a little against his.

‘He’ll tire himself out,’ you replied gently.

It was an odd appearance, and you knew that. You, dressed in one of Din’s old tunics, leaning against a fully-armoured Mandalorian on a lively beach, watching a little green baby wrinkle his nose at accidentally swallowing salt water, and you were loathe to think of what the beachgoers thought of the combination.

‘I found some sea glass,’ said Din, and he held out his hand for you. Three small pebbles sat on his palm, light blue and translucent, faded by the wind and the sea. The light of the suns flickered off the surface of the glass, and they knocked against each other with soft clinks.

He found some sea glass. You couldn’t really explain why your eyes became watery.

Din kept his visor trained on the baby, who was now sitting in the water. ‘We can put them behind the console,’ he continued, not noticing your sniffles. ‘I think we still have space there.’

---

Ground protocol had been activated, and good thing too, because the dust storm on Er’Kit was all but tipping the Crest over. The hollow low whistling of the wind was not the most comforting and, given that the power had somehow been knocked out, you only had the dim emergency runner lights to keep you company.

The side ramp of the Crest opened slowly - manually, you gathered, given the creaky clunks of the hydraulics. You sat in the pilot's seat and stared ahead into the sheets of dust battering the windshield, counting the heavy footfalls in the hull. Eight to get from the doorway to the ladder, and four up the ladder.

He sounded tired.

The smooth beskar helmet pressed against the top of your head, and you heard the soft rustles of gloves being removed before Din wrapped his arms around your chest. You leaned down and pressed a kiss against his forearm.

‘Sand is stupid,’ Din mumbled, and you hummed in agreement. ‘Anyone who lives on Er’Kit is stupid. Whatever made the wires on the Crest so friable is stupid.’

You let Din grumble a little more, rubbing his forearm absentmindedly.

‘As soon as we get enough credits, we’re buying a house.’

That brought attention sharply back into focus. You spun yourself in the chair out of Din’s grip, frowning at the visor. ‘A house?’ you said incredulously.

Din took off his helmet with a soft grunt, frowning when a steady stream of sand fell out of it when he tipped it over. He had already removed the rest of his beskar, leaving behind a man in dusty blacks. He was so beautiful, you thought, admiring the lines adorning the corners of his eyes, and the way his hair had flattened against his scalp. You stood to face him, reaching up to brush your fingers through his hair, returning volume to it. Din shut his eyes at the action, and leaned forward to press his forehead to yours.

‘A house,’ he said. ‘One with the garden that you want. And all the loth-cats you want. You don’t have to spend another day on a ship if you don’t want to, and especially not on a desert planet like this.’

He leaned back to look at you, and pressed a sandy kiss to the corner of your lip. ‘If anything, we’re running out of space for our trinkets.’

The walls of the cockpit were covered in paper artworks of shaky crayon handprints - some five-fingered, some three. Small beaded bracelets hung from almost every control on the console, and a little clay pot of dried flowers sat right in the middle of the console.

To the right of the pilots seat, your earring hung off the unscrewed gear shift - the metal hook bent into a loop so it wouldn’t slip off. The baby held the other firmly in his little hand while he slept in his pod.

‘We do need more space, don’t we,’ you said finally, and Din kissed you slowly in response. You could feel his smile against your lips, and you tugged gently at his curls.

‘Nowhere with sand, though.’

‘Of course not.’

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cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Text

champagne problems, ch.12

Chapter Twelve: Godspeed: Moving out and moving on. A/N: chapter is titled after this song if you want to listen while reading. Word Count: 2.0k Warnings: mild swearing, heartbreak, jealousy, talk of breakup/s, serious angst, idiots being idiots, very mild fluff (? idk if you would call it that), this whole series is a real slow burn.

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The solace circulating through your veins as you stared blankly at the packed cardboard boxes of your stuff was strange to say the least. It was undoubtedly odd to be feeling this content about a huge chunk of your life just, ending.

And so drastically for that matter.

You knew you should be feeling sad, mournful even. You were supposed to get married in a matter of months. You were on your way to live the rest of your life with who you believed was the right person. Ethan. Your person. The two of you were about to start looking for a forever home, think about starting a family. You were supposed to start your happily ever after.

Now, you had no fiancé and no place to call home. Yet what you felt as you stood in the half-empty apartment you once shared with Ethan was peace.

Because the heartbreak you were experiencing wasn't for your life with Ethan, it was for Spencer.

“Apart from these here, is there anything else that’s yours?” Luke asked, pointing to the boxes that currently held all of your attention.

You blinked and looked up at him, pausing your thoughts. “I have suitcases in the bedroom, and a few more things to grab from the kitchen.” You advised and he nodded quickly before proceeding to lift one of the cartons.

You watched him leave and couldn't help but think back to the night you ended things with Ethan. How he stormed out before you even got to finish your reasoning and endless apologies; the sound of slamming doors echoing in your ears.

“You okay?” Tara asked, appearing in the doorframe you were currently examining. She shoot you concerned look. “Yeah... I’m just, I don’t know. I guess I’m not feeling what I should be feeling.” You replied averting your eyes to her. “I’m relieved of all things.”

“That’s normal.” She stated.

“Is it though? I’m going through a breakup, and a big one at that. Yet I haven't shed a single tear for Ethan and for what we lost. But with Spencer...” Your voice faded out and you quickly cleared your throat. “I guess I just thought despite everything I would at least feel a little bit sad.” You added, gently shrugging your shoulders.

“Y/N, if anything this proves Ethan wasn't the man for you.” Tara said simply and you nodded, desperately hoping she was right.

Which of course she was.

Tara and Penelope were the only two people on the team who knew the entire truth behind your engagement falling through, and the reasons why. Therefore, only the two ladies knew Ethan wasn't the person for you. Spencer was.

However, that fact remained unspoken.

With one last reassuring smile, Tara turned to the remaining stack of boxes and lifted one carefully. You followed suit, and the two of you made your way outside to the moving truck - where you found Luke and Penelope bickering about how best to fit everything.

“Words cannot express how grateful I am for your help today.” You glanced between the small group after placing the box you were holding at the back of the truck. “Thank you, seriously.”

“It’s our pleasure.” Luke expressed with a wide grin. “Yeah, what kind of friends would we be if we let you do this alone.” Penelope chimed in, her lips twirling upwards.

You couldn't help but smile back at them before turning your attention to Tara. “And thank you for letting me stay in your spare room while I find a place of my own.” She playfully rolled her eyes at your words. “I wouldn't have it any other way girl.”

“Now, we better finish up and get moving if we want to make Rossi’s dinner on time.” She added and all four of you promptly got back to work.

Evenings at Rossi’s were something you always looked forward to greatly. A delicious home cooked meal, an abundance of wine, and quality time spent with your second family. The most perfect mix.

Tonight was no different. The evening was an escape.

See, you had recently fallen victim to crude office gossip. News of your broken engagement spread like wildfire. People had their own theories and speculations as to what really happened. And they weren't shy about adding their own five cents to the story.

Everyone present at the dinner however, knew better than to ask about details of your failed relationship. Tara and Penelope already had the full story, and the others knew you weren't here to share more than you already had. You came to enjoy yourself. So they didn't pry and for that you were eternally grateful.

Especially since one of the reasons why was to make an appearance at the dinner momentarily. And to say you were anxious about seeing him tonight would be an understatement.

The two of you haven't held a conversation that wasn't work related since the night at his apartment door. Every time you got the inclining to talk to him, you were painfully reminded by his words and your heart was in anguish once again. Not that the aching ever went really went away. On most days it hurt to even look at him.

The buzzing office whispers and obvious glances only made matters worse between you and the brunette doctor. It was through such secondary channels Spencer found out about your broken engagement. You had planned to tell him in person, even if things were awkward between you, but you never got the chance. The office chatter beat you to it.

Because of the distance you weren't sure how Spencer felt about the end of your engagement. A part of you thought - rather hoped - he would have changed his mind since you still firmly believed he didn't mean what he said. However, the opposite happened. He seemed more withdrawn than before.

As if that was even possible.

A small smile circled your lips as the brunette doctor entered the dimly lit garden. A smile he noticed immediately from the corner of his eye, while he said hello to everyone else. And although he wasn't looking directly at you, he couldn't help but smile too.

It was a moment you didn't even know you were sharing.

“You should just talk to him.” Penelope nudged your arm, her gaze following yours. “I don't want to make things worse between us.” You replied, your eyes still glued to Spencer's frame.

“Sweetheart, and trust that I say this with love, but it can’t possibly get any worse than it is.” She pointed out.

You chewed down briefly on your bottom lip while she nudged you in the arm again, encouraging you to go to him.

Letting out a deep breath, you downed the rest of your drink. For a brief second Penelope thought she won as she watched you amble in the direction of the handsome doctor. The sly grin on her face quickly disappeared when instead of approaching Spencer, you made a beeline for inside the house.

If you had the courage to talk to him, what would you even say? That you were pathetically in love with him? That despite his pleas, the only man you wanted to be with was him? No, you couldn't admit that. Spencer didn't want you. The pain in your chest was proof enough, he didn't want to be with you.

“Y/N.”

Wiping the lone tear that trailed down your cheek, you did a double take at the sound of your name - the sound of your name coming from his lips.

As soon as your eyes locked with hazel gaze, the air caught in your throat.

“I was hoping we could talk.” Spencer stated calmly, taking a single step towards you.

“We have nothing to talk about, Spencer. You said I should be with Ethan and I broke up with him but that wasn’t because I thought it would change your mind.” You conveyed. A big fat lie.

“That’s not why I want to talk.” Spencer countered, his brows furrowed closely together. “I-I still care about you and I know you’ve been through a lot these last few weeks... I just, I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything because you feel guilty that my engagement fell apart. And I especially don’t need you worrying about me.” You spat, surprising yourself at the harshness of your tone. It wasn't intentional and you cursed yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

Spencer swallowed. His jaw clenching for a brief second. He knew he deserved your anger. He deserved your hostility and the cold shoulder. Honestly, he was surprised it hadn't come sooner. But as he watched you fight back your tears, he knew there was only one way to fix this - apologise.

He crossed the space in your direction, stopping just mere few inches away from you. He lingered in his spot for a moment, wondering whether he should take your hand in his like he did so many times before.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. For everything.” He apologised.

“I know you are.” You whispered back, loud enough for him to hear. “I’m sorry too, Spencer.”

The two of you looked at each other in congenial silence - the first one you shared in a very long time. For a split second. For one blissful pure moment, everything was back to the way it was. He was once again your best friend, your confidant.

The love of your life.

As he stared so deeply into your eyes, into your soul, you were reminded of the many joyful happy memories you shared. Where the good really outweighed the bad. Where it outweighed the heartbreak.

“Friends?” You suggested, the corners of your lips twirled upwards into a tiny kindhearted smile. It wasn't what you wanted but it was the best you could come up with to keep him in your life.

Spencer returned the expression. “Friends.” He replied, although unbeknown to you it was also not what the outcome he hoped for. Not while the voicemail you drunkenly left him continuously replayed in his mind on loop. The message where you admitted you didn't really believe he didn't want to be with you.

“I-I me-an you uh couldn't-t even look me-e in the eye when you sss-said it.... please-e S-Spencer-”

He wanted you to remember the message. Remember the last time you said you loved him. In his eyes, it would make fixing things between you a lot easier.

But he didn't deserve easy. Not after the way he let things unfold.

You stepped forward, breaking the distance between you. Slowly, with your eyes still fixated on his, you reached out your hand and placed it gently on his forearm. At your touch, Spencer’s heart landed in his throat. You gave his arm a squeeze and said ‘I’ll see you back in there.’, and although he saw the sentence escape your lips, he didn't quite register it. He couldn't think straight. His mind was boggled.

The amiable look in your eyes was captivating and Spencer wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around you. Hold you tight.

He wanted nothing more than to kiss you. Kiss you with all his might. Kiss you like he’s never done before. Kiss you like he would for the rest of your lives together.

There was nothing holding him back anymore, nothing standing between the two of you, and yet the brunette doctor couldn't move.

When he didn't say anything, you dropped your hand and walked around him. He turned, simultaneously following you with his lost gaze. Trying to decipher what was going through your head. Did you also want to kiss him? Spencer settled for never finding out.

With one last smile, you disappeared back into the garden leaving him alone.

Frustrated with himself, Spencer ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. The small box he’d been carrying around everywhere these last few weeks in the inside pocket of his jacket weighing him down. The ring he’d never get to give you.

Fuck, he should have kissed you.

Still I'll always be there for you How I do

A/N: as always i’d love to hear your feedback! if you would like to be added to a taglist, please let me know. thank you for your continuous support. with love, mal. x

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story taglist: @girloncorneliastreet, @haylaansmi, @rexorangecouny, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything, @aperrywilliams, @sassy-hades, @rainsong01, @reverdevivre, @dracomikaelson, @softieekayy, @lunaofcrows, @andrewhoezierbyrne, @blameitonthenight21, @lyl-26, @do-yr-research, @nazifa94, @stepsofthefbi, @chatterbug2-0, @calm-and-doctor, @halseysunset, @ellesgreenaway

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid series #spencer reid story #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #champagne problems series

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themadlostgirl · 3 years

Text

When It’s Cold (7)

*I have a vague inclination of where this story is heading. I went into this without an ending in mind so we’re letting go of the wheel and seeing where it takes us.*

~~~

After I showered and got changed I went downstairs. Felix had made an easy lunch of sandwiches and popcorn and set up the living room to play whatever movie I wanted to watch. I chose a nice comedy and sat down next to Felix.

Images of what we had done this morning still danced shamelessly in my head. How could Felix sit there so calmly? All we were doing was watching a movie, something we did quite frequently, and yet I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. Even the slight touch of his thumb mindlessly stroking my arm was sending me into a tizzy.

I was hoping that after our escapades this morning that I would be cooler and more collected around Felix but it was ten times worse. I had gotten a taste and now it was all that I wanted. All I could think about. So again, how was it that Felix was sitting there so calmly? How was he not as infuriatingly turned on and jittery as me?

I kept my focus on the movie and my mind moved away from anything dirty as I started laughing at the group of dinner party guests running about a huge mansion in a paranoid craze on the TV. I made a joke to Felix about how if we ever hosted a dinner party it would most likely end up just like this. Hopefully with better food since that entree looked like a creamy, lumpy mess.

“Naturally,” Felix said, “I mean what kind of dinner was that supposed to be? Barely an hors d'oeuvre, a bland soup, skipped salad and appetizer completely and then served a gross main course, then no one partook in dessert. It’s a complete disaster!”

“You seem very passionate about this.” I chuckled. “Is there a guide to big fancy dinners in those cookbooks of yours?”

“Yes actually,” He shrugged, a tint of pink in his cheeks, “I get bored easily so reading about dinner etiquette is a step up from nothing.”

“Oh, so you know a lot about big fancy dinners?”

“Am I to suspect that you want me to make you a big fancy dinner now?”

“Well why not? I’ll even take a bit off your plate and make dessert so you don’t have to.”

“So all I have to do is make the other five courses, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Does this mean you’ll dress up for me too? Since it is supposed to be such a fancy feast?”

“Want to see me in a dress?”

“That one Yvette was wearing would look very nice on you.”

“You mean the maid uniform with the short skirt and stiletto heels?”

“Or something,” He laughed as I hit him upside the head.

“Would you get dressed up too? I think you’d look rather nice in a suit.”

“I don’t know, those ties look awfully constricting.”

“Yet the bust that pushes my boobs up to my ears is less constricting?”

“Okay, how about this,” Felix pulled me into his lap, “You buy a nice dress that you like, I get to wear something comfortable, and one of these nights I’ll make you that big six course dinner.”

“Candlelight and rose petals too?” I teased.

“Don’t push it,”

“Fine, fine,” I kissed him.

I wouldn’t go on about how excited I was at the thought of having a grand dinner. Sometimes Felix flourished on meals but this was going to be a whole event. It even gave me an excuse to buy a pretty dress. Something I didn’t really need but secretly kinda longed for. I know that per our arrangement that Felix was going to be dressed more comfortably which no doubt meant casually but I still would have liked to see him in a suit. I’ve seen him in his Neverland clothes, I’ve seen him in modern era clothes, and I’ve even seen him naked at this point. Dress clothes were the only thing that was missing. Maybe I can cram him into a suit a different day.

We cleaned up from lunch and I decided that the day was still young, I was going to go into town and look at dresses. I wasn’t gonna buy anything but I was gonna peruse. Try some things on. Figure out what I like. Cause I’ve never had a need to buy a dress before, I certainly didn’t have the funds for it before. But now I had to find out what I liked and what looked good on me.

I rode into town on my bike and entered the clothes store Felix and I had gone to the day after we found the mansion. I headed over to the dresses and started looking at the different styles and colors they had. There were a lot of options and I wasn’t sure where to start. I decided to just grab whatever was my size and headed to the dressing room.

I have no idea how long I spent trying on dress after dress and contemplating how I looked in all of them. I didn’t like anything too tight or short and with any low cuts anywhere. Big bold patterns also weren’t really my style. I like the skirts that swished around me when I spun and hit near my knee. I know I said I didn’t like anything low cut but I was finding that I liked anything that showed off my shoulders and collarbones and if it happened to dip in the front a bit that was fine too.

If I got something off the shoulder though then I’d need a bra that could be worn strapless which were none of the comfy ones I had at home.

I put all the dresses back on the rack and made my way over to the underwear section. As I was looking for a good strapless bra, just in case I decided to get a strapless dress, I accidentally wandered into the lingerie section of the underwear. I had never understood the obsession with these flimsy things of satin and lace. I guess they were more for looks than practicality.

Would Felix like if I wore something like this?

I shook the thought from my head and dropped the panties back with the others. I need to get out of here before I fall into the horny mess I had just crawled out of. I left the store without buying anything and got back home. Felix was sitting in the dining room with three different cookbooks and a notepad spread before him as he scribbled down dinner ideas.

It was cute to see how seriously he was taking this dinner. I came up behind him and looped my arms around his neck. “How is the meal planning going?” I asked.

“Well enough. There are a lot of recipes in here and I’m having a bit of trouble organizing it all. I’ve already bookmarked five recipes just for soup that I have to choose from.”

“Want my help?”

“Thanks darling, here, look at these recipes and tell me which sounds best to you.” He slid the notepad over to me.

“Hungarian Mushroom Soup,” I circled it, “Sounds different and like I might like it. I know you also really like mushrooms so how about that?”

“Mushroom soup it is.” Felix flipped the page over, “And now I have about a dozen ideas for appetizers.”

“Oh dear,” I laughed. I sat down next to him as we filed through recipe after recipe. We had to call a quits as it got late and we needed to get dinner for tonight. We decided to order out and Felix left to pick up some pizza. We didn’t trust anyone to deliver to us since we were still worried that someone would force us out of the mansion if they found out we had commandeered it.

The house felt entirely too big without Felix around. That was expected since it was a huge mansion but still. Without Felix then it was just me in a big house with nothing to do and no one to talk to. I went to the window and looked at the sky. It was quickly growing dark and I could see stars start to peep out as the sun set. I found the star that lead back to Neverland. My time as a Lost Girl seemed so far away now.

I wonder how much Felix misses Neverland. I know we talked and he said that he would stay with me whether I chose to go back to Neverland or not if the choice was given. But that didn’t mean that he still didn’t miss it. Neverland had been his home for years. Then he gave it all up because I asked him to follow me.

I will forever be thankful that Felix came with me. I don’t know if I could have survived this world with my sanity if he hadn’t been along. It was in these moments when I was alone in this house and it was so painfully quiet that I came upon a realization. I like quiet but I do not like silence. I enjoy being left alone but I do not enjoy solitude. This house, this mansion, as grand a blessing it may be, would be just as cold and harsh as the forest if I didn’t know that Felix also resided within.

It is such a strange thing to be so attached to someone. I never feared loss. My whole life had been plagued by it. Lost my family. Lost Pan. Lost Neverland. And yet, not a one of those bothered me as badly as the thought of losing Felix did.

Felix came home and with his return my troubled thoughts ran away. We sat down to eat our pizza and watch another movie. I was starting to nod off but Felix made sure to get me up to my room before I fell asleep this time. Felix bid me goodnight with a quick kiss before returning to his own room. It pained my heart to watch him leave. I guess I thought that after this morning we could have spent tonight together again. Seeing as how embarrassing the wake up call had been though it was probably for the best that we were separated. We were just starting our intimate relationship after all. I didn’t want to push too far by demanding we sleep in the same bed together.

One day though. One day.

~~~

Today had been amazing as far as Felix was concerned. It had started rough but the rest of it had turned out far better than he could have ever imagined. He thought that things between you and him had taken a bad turn that morning when he explained that he desired you. It was one thing to know that you desired him in private but it was another to admit it directly.

Then you showed up in his doorway. You opened your heart up and told him that you wanted him too. You didn’t want to run away from this growing intimacy between the two of you. Then you said you wanted to give him a handjob and he nearly popped a blood vessel. You and your wide eyes full of trust, lust, and curiosity.

It took every ounce of his remaining brainpower to help guide you along his body. The feel of your small soft hand wrapped around him, your lips on his chest, your voice softly pleading for him to cum. He was lost to you.

As nervous as he was having you touch him in such a way it was nothing to the pure excited terror that occurred when it was his turn to please you. You trusted him so easily to make you feel good and he wanted nothing more than to meet, maybe even exceed your expectations. Inch by inch your body had been exposed to him. Something he had envisioned a hundred times before finally laid out before him and he was allowed--nay--encouraged to touch all of it.

Listening to the noises you made as sparks of pleasure lit your body was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. His hands shook slightly as he held you and he prayed that you didn’t notice how nervous he truly was as his hand slid beneath the band of your panties. The feel of your slick arousal as he rubbed your clit was nothing compared to how it felt to have your hot, wet, cunt clench around his fingers.

He was making you feel good. You were moaning his name and begging him to do more. It was far better than any fantasy he had created in his head. He watched your face closely as you came and made sure to burn it into his mind. You were just so beautiful when in the throws of pleasure. He would have kept you there in his bed all day but after your reaction to his comment about devouring your pussy he figured he should slow things down.

It was hard not to show how much he wanted to drag you back to the bedroom while you were watching the movie but he knew that you probably needed the breather. He said he was gonna go at your pace so he wasn’t going to try anything until you told him it was okay.

The dinner planning helped take his mind off of it. He had been thinking about making a fancy dinner like he had seen in his books for you one day. Seemed that day was coming sooner than expected. If he was gonna make you a fancy meal then he was gonna do it right. You had been gone for so long in town that you had missed his initial frenzy as he tore through the cookbooks and combed over every recipe at least three times trying to figure out what you would most like, what would impress you.

It felt like there was a lot riding on this. He was able to whittle down his ideas a tad and that’s when you showed up again with your innocent smile and warm laugh. His anxiety eased and he breathed easier having you next to him again.

When night fell and he said goodnight to you he meandered back to his room. His big, dark, cold, and lonely room. He thought of how it felt to fall asleep next to you and wake up beside you. He didn’t realize how big his bed was until you weren’t next to him and in his arms.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if he asked you to sleep next to him, would it? It wasn’t like he was inviting you to his bed for anything explicit. He just wanted to fall asleep next to you again.

After about an hour of tossing and turning unable to fall asleep Felix had enough. “I am risking looking like a desperate idiot,” Felix muttered to himself as he swung out of bed and went to his door. He pulled it open and was shocked to see you waiting on the other side.

“Oh hi,” You said, the hand you had raised to knock quickly dropped back to your side, “I was um...I was wondering if you were still awake.”

“I am,” Felix said. No shit! She can obviously see you are awake, genius. Felix’s mind chastised him. “Did you need something?”

“I was--well I had been thinking--I was wondering if you--” You were stammering, your gaze lost to the ground as you tried to find the right words to say.

“Do you want to know why I am up?” Felix asked, deciding to take pity on his poor girl.

“Uh...yes?” You said, finally peeking up at him through your long lashes.

“I was coming to see you.” He told you, “I couldn’t fall asleep and I was wondering if I could tempt you to spend the night with me.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened in disbelief and glee.

Felix smiled. “Yes, really,” He laced his hand with yours, “Was that something you’d be open to?”

“Yes!” Came your immediate reply. “I mean um, yes, that sounds very nice.”

“Come here little girl,” Felix pulled you inside and gave you a kiss. He tugged you along over to the bed and let you nestle yourself in. He got under the covers as well and reached out to grab you and pull you next to him. Your head tucked under his chin and your body melted against him.

“Goodnight, darling,” He whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Goodnight, Felix,” You sighed happily. It wasn’t long after your soft snores filled his ears that Felix fell asleep as well. The warmth of your body curled against him banishing the loneliness of his big empty bed once and for all.

---

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#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #roommate au

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flourchildwrites · 3 years

Text

“I want all my alchemists, current and former, to lay low for the time being while we reassess the State Alchemy program. I am here to ask what you want in return for your service and your discretion.”

Behind the reflective surface of his horn-rimmed glasses, Grumman’s eyes shift to the foot of Alphonse’s bed where Izumi’s cookbook sits open. “Your just deserts, as it were,” he adds with a smirk.

Alphonse doesn’t have to ponder what their plans are.

“All we want is to go home, sir, to Resembool,” Alphonse answers. He smiles to lighten the mood; loose skin pulls around the corners of his grin. “And I’d also like to see a few friends. Maybe try some of the foods from my list before we leave Central."

Fandom: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga

Relationships & Characters: Alphonse Elric & Edward Elric, Izumi Curtis/Sig Curtis, Gracia Hughes, Elicia Hughes, Grumman, Winry Rockbell, Pinako Rockbell

Genre: Character Study, Post-Promised Day, Recovery, Just Deserts

Trigger Warnings: Underweight Character

Rating: G

Word Count: 2,967 words (Complete)

A/N: I'm incredibly excited to share the fic I wrote for @fmacookbookzine, Tastes of Amestris! Most of the desserts mentioned in the story have recipes in the cookbook. I owe a special thanks to the zine moderator as well as my betas, Tas and @vino-and-doggos. I appreciate kudos, bookmarks, subscriptions, comments, likes, and reblogs if you feel so inclined.

Kintsugi is the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. The repair becomes part of the object’s history and enhances its beauty.

...

There is a plate in the china cabinet of Pinako’s kitchen that Alphonse likes best. It looks the same as the others with pale pink vines looping along the fluted rim. Yet, this particular piece is set apart from the rest. Once cracked in half, Alphonse’s favorite plate has a vein of gold that binds the fractured parts together.

He was there when it happened on Winry’s sixth birthday. Ms. Sarah assembled an unorthodox birthday dessert in honor of the occasion, an elegant presentation of fresh berries, whipped cream, and puffs of baked meringue. The final touch was a pinch of mint, and once combined, Winry gazed excitedly at her mother’s handiwork stacked atop the fine china. In her wonder, the child’s footing faltered.

All told, it was an everyday accident that had Pinako tutting softly under her breath as she picked up the pieces; however, precious little went to waste in the Rockbell household—a place where broken things (and sometimes people) came to be restored. With the conscience of a healer and the precision of a surgeon, Granny carefully glued the jagged edges together with golden lacquer. Raised lines stuck out along the break and dried, leaving the piece even more beautiful for the story it had to tell.

When Alphonse looks in the mirror now, his face also tells a story. Though, he thinks that it is not a tale the hospital staff wants to hear. They are thankful for the large red letters that read ‘CONFIDENTIAL’ stamped across his medical chart. They look away from the sunken eyes and gaunt cheeks that stare back at Alphonse from the mirror Sig is holding for him. Each time Alphonse sees himself, he half expects to confront a gunmetal helmet with half-moon holes glowing red and horizontal vents instead of gutting cheekbones. The reality is disorienting but not unwelcome.

Like the metallic bond holding together his favorite plate, Alphonse likes the way his golden eyes gleam with the satisfaction of seeing his and Edward’s bodies restored. All except for his brother’s leg, and perhaps Edward does not regret that loss. It was a price paid-in-full for the people the Elric brothers helped and the lesson they learned, albeit the hard way.

Alphonse’s fingers tremble as he grasps the razor. He glances up from the mirror to the burly bear of a man holding it. “Press the razor to your face and gently pull upward,” Sig kindly instructs. “Let it do the work for you.”

The young man nods and does as instructed, ready to savor the task of shaving for the first time with the most patient person as his teacher. Alphonse takes his first pull of the razor, and it glides across his upper lip with little resistance until, at the very end, his hand trembles again.

He feels a sharp sensation, and while examining his visage in the mirror, Alphonse notices a red mark above the corner of his mouth mingled with traces of shaving cream. Sig holds out a handkerchief.

“You should have seen my first attempt. You did well,” Sig says with a pleasant grin.

A warmth fills Alphonse’s hospital room, crammed with four people who function as a family, just as they did back in Dublith. Edward reclines on the bed next to his brother with his arms stretched lazily behind his trademark braid. Izumi watches the exchange between her husband and Alphonse with a small smile, barely keeping up the pretense of reading her recipe book. She keeps her vigil at Alphonse and Ed’s bedside despite her injuries.

There’s a staccato series of knocks on the door. Between the abrupt sound and the sudden appearance of an officer drenched in Amestrian blue, the spell of domesticity is broken. It is replaced by a colder reality: Ed and Alphonse Elric are being kept by the military. They remain unsure who is being protected from whom and to what end.

Their guard straightens up. A sheen of sweat collects on his brows and the collar of his woolen uniform. His voice is strained as he pulls up into a rigid salute to address Ed. The Fullmetal Alchemist cocks his brow incredulously at the formal display.

“Sorry to intrude, Major Elric,” the officer finally announces, “Mr. Alphonse Elric. You have a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Ed parrots; a sharp remark is already on the tip of his pitchy tongue. “If it’s that Colonel Bastard, again, you can tell him-”

“It’s not Colonel Mustang,” the officer interrupts. “It’s Genera- I mean Führer Grumman.”

The collective attention of the room turns as a shorter, older man emerges from behind the guard. He moves slowly and smiles through his thick, white mustache. The deep blue of his immaculate uniform contrasts the faded fabric of the lower-ranking officer ahead of him. Service ribbons in every color weigh down the left side of the gentleman’s long jacket.

“Acting Führer,” he corrects with adroit, disarming syntax. “But then, we’re all friends here. Who cares about a little thing like formalities?”

...

Alphonse scratches at his freshly shaven upper lip as the usual introductions are observed. It seems that Ed will be doing the talking, and with that in mind, Alphonse expects a brief visit. Nevertheless, Grumman paves the way for pleasantries as well as business. Not five minutes into the discussion, Alphonse realizes that the new acting Führer speaks with authority.

It would be wise, Alphonse decides, to listen carefully.

When Führer Grumman asks Izumi and Sig to step out for an afternoon cup of tea, the request is not a suggestion. The strong-willed teacher rises with the help of her husband, and the couple leaves begrudgingly. Alphonse grins sympathetically at them as they exit. It bolsters his confidence when Izumi returns his smile with an assertive nod.

Grumman does not hesitate to fill the seat their teacher vacated. Gravity bears down on Alphonse’s frail shoulders, but he sits as tall as he can.

“The way I hear it, you boys saved the day,” the Führer proclaims, flashing a set of pearly whites. “I’d say my government owes you both a debt of gratitude.”

With all the rough-edged diplomacy he can muster, Ed responds. “Yeah, well, we didn’t do it for the government, old man. And I’m done being a dog of the military. Whatever plans you’ve got in mind, count us out.”

The Führer’s reaction is nearly nonexistent. Instead, he leans against the hardback of the chair and immediately winces.

“Dreadfully uncomfortable,” he announces, shifting forward. Grumman waves a hand to draw the guard in closer. “Be a helpful lad. See that Mrs. Curtis is given more comfortable seating.”

The young officer scurries off, closing the door behind him, and the older gentleman turns his attention toward Alphonse.

“Oh, I understand perfectly. The military will ask nothing further of you if that’s what you want,” he replies. “But the situation we find ourselves in is unusual—a conspiracy in the upper echelons of the government, a nation-wide episode of unconsciousness, the condition of Alphonse’s body, and the inexplicable connection it all has to alchemy. These are the sort of concerns that fuel the rumor mill.”

The older gentleman pauses, idly twisting the ends of his mustache between his fingers as he divulges the political landscape of Amestris.

Behind the reflective surface of his horn-rimmed glasses, Grumman’s eyes shift to the foot of Alphonse’s bed where Izumi’s cookbook sits open.

“Your just deserts, as it were,” he adds with a smirk.

Alphonse doesn’t have to ponder what their plans are.

“Your list?” the Führer asks.

“It was in a book he used to keep,” Ed explains. His tone softens, as it always does when he speaks of his brother. “It listed foods he wanted to try when he was inside... Anyway, I think we lost it.”

“I see.”

Grumman’s response is curt. With a final flourish, the old man straightens his cap and rises from the chair. It seems that he’s heard all he needs to hear.

“I’m going to keep an eye on you boys,” he concludes. “Just the one, mind you, for whatever that’s worth. It’s a fine idea for you both to return to Resembool. Recuperate and rest, and when you figure out what you’d like to do with your time, give me a call.”

The old man produces an ivory card from the pocket of his uniform; a phone number is scribbled on the front. The card itself is an innocuous thing, but the peace offering reeks of political maneuvering. Ed frowns as Führer Grumman places the card on the small table between the brothers’ beds. Alphonse is torn, equal parts intrigued and wary of the strings attached to this phone number.

“The good people here tell me that Alphonse will be ready to travel in four months,” Grumman continues. “In the meantime, I’ll see that you are allowed visitors and suitable food that Alphonse would like to become reacquainted with.”

Alphonse focuses on the task at hand. He thinks of the timeline and of the way Edward approached his recovery from the automail installation. A determined glint ignites in his golden eyes, almost glossy with the lacquer of conviction. Alphonse is weak, but his spirit remains tireless.

“I’ll do it in two,” he says.

Edward, only too happy to put the politics of Central City behind them, nods in agreement.

...

A month’s time sees Alphonse with his hair clipped short; his once sunken cheeks have regained some fullness. Edward, Sig, and Izumi have long since been discharged, but they take turns keeping Alphonse company from the spare couch of his hospital room. Just like Führer Grumman promised, it’s more comfortable than the standard chairs, but that doesn’t mean Alphonse is content to linger.

Now more than ever, he’s determined to go home, walking unassisted down Resembool’s roads. However, for the moment, it’s all Alphonse can do to steady his awkward gait by digging his toes into mats and bracing his arms against the parallel bars. He thinks something as simple as walking should come easily; his legs have other ideas. Another fall brings his physical therapy to an end for the day, and Alphonse returns to his hospital room.

He takes the bumps and bruises in stride. He makes it a point to smile at the staff even when their treatments bring him pain alongside progress. From the confines of a wheelchair, Alphonse greets his guard—a man called Doug who likes comic books and whistles to fill the silence. Doug never pries and is quick to look the other way when Ed overstays his official welcome.

“Ready for more visitors?” Doug asks.

Alphonse’s face lights up with anticipation, and he cranes his neck to peer around the doorframe. Tawny brown hair and emerald eyes fill his field of vision as the small body of a precocious child lunges toward him. She nearly jumps into his lap before her mother pulls her back while balancing a covered plate with one arm.

“Elicia! Ms. Gracia!” Alphonse greets. Recognition washes over both visitors' faces at the sound of Alphonse’s voice.

“So that’s what you look like,” Elicia observes. She giggles madly, rocking back and forth from heel to toe.

Alphonse is quick to change the subject; he also refuses to think about the way Elicia’s gregarious nature reminds him of a certain someone.

The visit is pleasant and predictable. Gracia frets about his weight and serves him a double portion of adorable pudding domes that mother and daughter whipped up for the visit. The vanilla concoctions are cleverly molded into cat-shaped faces, painted with slanting eyes and curving mouths. Soft and creamy with a hint of coffee, they are as sweet as Elicia.

Between the confection and the company, Alphone passes an hour or more catching up on life and letting the child bounce between the walls of his hospital room. When mother and daughter depart (with promises to return with quiche), the silence feels harder to swallow. Alphonse cannot help but think of Winry and Pinako, of apple pie and strong coffee mixed with the smell of automail oil.

He wants, more than anything, to go home.

...

The doctors are surprised when Alphonse meets his deadline; Ed, ever faithful, is not. Alphonse leaves Central City General with his head held high and only stops to rest when the hospital is out of sight. His senses are overwhelmed by the feeling of a starched collar against the back of his neck, the pull of a new vest across his chest, and the weight of Grumman’s card in his pocket.

Alphonse follows Ed’s lead through neat cobblestone roads that feel familiar and yet entirely different, steeped in a tactile reality that he can touch, feel, and taste. Thick exhaust from passing cars sticks to the back of his throat on their way to the train station. Yet, the stench is suddenly replaced by delicious aromas wafting from a nearby café.

His rumbling stomach is drawn to a wide store window where rounds of raspberry mousse cake sit proudly on display. Chilled pink and green tinted layers sit beneath a tempting red glaze that appears sticky, smooth, and oh-so delectable. Alphonse imagines that the confection tastes tart and tangy with notes of brandy and pistachios. He wants to charge into the cafe and order every morsel that’s for sale, but his brother has other ideas.

“Better get going,” Ed says, throwing an arm around Alphonse’s shoulders to steer him away from temptation. “We’ve got a train to catch. You’ve been waiting a long time for what Winry’s whipping up.”

Reluctantly, Alphonse tears himself away from the sight but not before committing the name of the confection and the café to memory. He leaves Central swearing that, when the time is right, he’ll be back.

...

Their return isn’t quite as Alphonse imagined. There’s no hero’s welcome; only a few nods of recognition are offered as they make their way down Resembool’s country roads. But as soon as Alphonse sees the Rockbell residence, a place that marks their journey’s end, accolades don’t matter.

Edward offers to carry him, and Alphonse refuses, bracing himself against his walking stick instead. With gratitude, he thinks of the people that have propelled the brothers along their quest—especially the travelers from Xing. He hopes that they, too, made it home.

And in the blink of an eye, their dream is realized. Den pounces upon Alphonse, recognizing him despite the amount of time that has passed. Winry isn’t far behind. She tackles the brothers to the ground and wraps her arms around them. The trio is a mess of blonde hair and tears of joy.

“Dummies, welcome home!” she exclaims, and for now, Alphonse is inclined to believe this is where he belongs. In this home and amongst these people, he intends to reconcile the pieces of himself while his appetite for the sweet things in life returns.

Winry serves him her famed apple pie on the pink porcelain plate, its halves still bound together by golden lacquer. It’s wonderful and not just because of the flaky crust that crumbles under his fork or the cinnamon sweetness of the soft apples. It’s wonderful because, for the first time in a long time, Alphonse is precisely where he wants to be.

...

Many apple pies are shared around Pinako’s dinner table. There are also birthday cakes for Alphonse (two to be exact) and pans of bread pudding served with blueberries and vanilla sauce. He eats and laughs and grows stronger by the day.

When Alphonse looks in the mirror now, he still likes what he sees, and the girls in town tend to agree. His favorite white-collar shirts hint at the toned torso hiding beneath, and his square jaw exudes newfound confidence. Yet, his ambition to make their world a better place remains the same—too loud for a quiet country backdrop.

Alphonse realizes that the path he is meant to walk extends much farther. His studies, inspired by the prospect of adventure and letters from a feisty alkahestress, resonate with the Dragon’s Pulse. Finally, Alphonse is compelled to dial the number scribbled on the back of the old ivory card and is delighted when he’s connected to the nation’s most powerful man straightaway.

“Had your fill of Resembool yet, son?” Führer Grumman asks. “Are you ready to add to that list of yours?”

“Funny you should bring up my list,” Alphonse retorts, more than willing to play Grumman’s game of allusion. “There’s this Xingese dessert that Princess Mei Chang goes on about in her letters, a red bean soup. It would be a shame if I never tried it, don’t you think?”

Grumman chuckles. “Suppose you could use some diplomatic credentials for the trip. Try not to cause an international incident until Mustang takes over.”

The golden glint in Alphonse’s eyes makes no guarantees. His well-mannered innocence is tempered by past mistakes and fused with a gunmetal resolve.

“I can’t make any promises,” he replies.

#fma #fullmetal alchemist brotherhood #alphonse elric #edward elric #grumman #character study #post-promised day #just deserts #kintsugi #flourchildwrites #and uses Oxford commas

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Text

Official Accounts Part 20- Rescue

Summary: (y/n) was perfectly happy remaining anonymous, even if her best friends were all pro heroes and she worked under THE Hawks. Handling the technical aspects of hero work from the background suited her just fine, thank you very much. That goes out the window when suddenly her twitter blows up thanks Denki and the famed no. 2 hero is asking her to run his own official twitter as a result

If you don’t want to see Official Accounts content blacklist #hopelessoa

Warning for canon-typical violence, major character injury, and manga spoilers

Masterlist

No one had come rushing down the stairs after Dabi had alerted you a guest had arrived. Nor had Dabi felt inclined to go check who it was, much to your chagrin. “Hmm, seems our little guest is shy. Shall we call whoever they are down?” Dabi asks. You don’t dignify his question with a response and choose only to glare at him. He saunters up to you, placing a warm hand on your waist, but soon warm becomes hot and then hot becomes burning. Literally. You grit your teeth for as long as possible, not wanting to give the deranged man in front of you the satisfaction, but eventually the pain grows too intense and you can’t help but cry out.

Hawks flinches at the sound of you crying out. His heart wants him to rush in there but his head knows better. Hawks is a smart, calculating man. He knows that Dabi is intending to get a rise out of him. He knows that in a one-on-one fight between him and Dabi, the other man has the advantage. He knows that back up is on the way. The kind of back up that will make this a quick and easy job. He knows all this. His commission approved, highly tuned instincts know this. A small, unhelpful voice in the back of his head reminded him that the last time he chose his brain over his heart in regards to you it had cost him your affections. Is that why every single cell in his body is telling him to go in anyway? No. Hawks would wait. Because it was the rational and logical option. It was the option that was least likely to get both of you killed. He could wait the 10-15 minutes max it would take for one of the others to get there. But then you cried out again, and without him consciously deciding to, Hawks was speeding to your location as if his body was moving of its own accord.

The minute he had eyes on Dabi, Hawks lunged forward and slashed at the other man, aiming for the seams between his healthy and scarred skin. He manages a couple hits but Dabi had been anticipating the winged hero so he quickly moved away from you and out of the way. “Ohh I was hoping it’d be you that showed up!” Dabi laughs. “You should’ve left her out of this,” Hawks growls back. His instincts were on fire in a way they’d never been before. Not the refined instincts of the HPSC, drilled into his head since childhood. No these were more primal, more feral, than that. “We both know this isn’t a good match up for you Hawks. What could possibly have driven you to come charging in like this, hm?” Dabi taunts as he unleashes his blue flames in Hawks’ direction. Hawks rolled away as quickly as he could but still winces as he feels some of his feathers get caught in the blaze. “You gonna talk or we gonna fight?” Hawks snarks back before once again diving in to try and close the distance between he and his adversary.

Dabi had chosen his location well. The confined room severely restricted Hawks’ mobility, further disadvantaging him in a fight already not tipped in his favor. To compensate he sent several feathers out to increase the amount of areas Dabi would have to defend. If he had to take the villain down with a thousand tiny cuts instead of a dramatic final slash he would. But Dabi is smart too and so he picked and chose which feathers to ward off and which to let land. As much as Hawks was hanging in there he was literally burning through feathers at an alarming rate and no matter how much he tried to dodge, the tightness of the room pretty much guaranteed he’d take at least a little heat. This was bad. It was really bad. But he couldn’t stop now. So he pressed on and hoped back up would arrive soon.

Your heart had constricted painfully in your chest when you saw Hawks come flying down the stairs. You knew this was not a fight he would likely win. Not alone. Which is why you wasted no time taking advantage of Dabi’s focus being entirely on the winged hero instead of you. Your eyes turned to the chain and handcuffs confining you and you took a deep breath to steady your hands before getting to work. You carefully grab hold of the chain and start pressing it past the raw skin of your wrists to get inside one of the cuffs until you can loop it over your hand. Then, slowly but surely, you’re able to pull it through until you free the handcuffs from the ceiling chain. You immediately begin working the chain connecting the cuffs, trying to line up the links just right to get the tension you need to break them apart. “C’mon, c’mon,” you groan in frustration as your eyes dart between the cuffs and the ongoing fight.

It’s going as poorly as you knew it would. Granted, Hawks is certainly giving a valiant effort. Dabi is cut and bleeding in several places. A few of the staples on his arms and face are even detached. But there is no questioning who is leading. Hawks could barely fly in the confines of the room anyway but now even if he had the space he wouldn’t have the feathers to do so. He’s breathing heavy and there’s already large angry patches of red skin from the burns he’s received. He can’t afford to throw away any more feathers by sending them at Dabi from all angles so the most he can do is duck and weave Dabi’s flames as much as possible to try and get in close and get in an incapacitating hit. Then you see the determined look in his eye, despite the fact he’s fighting a losing battle, and your blood turns to ice in your veins. It’s like watching your mother’s last moments all over again. One lone hero against a force they clearly can’t beat and yet so, so determined to press on. At least back then the tv screen had put distance between you and the struggle. Now you were watching a hero fall in real time.

You watch in horror as Dabi finally gets the hit he was waiting for and Hawks goes careening to the side. You continue to fumble with the cuffs, the tension constantly falling away just before it can break the chain keeping you from helping Hawks. Dabi laughs and it’s a cruel sound as Hawks has no choice but to curl up and cover his head and vital organs from the raging blue flames. Tears are flowing down your face and your vision blurs as you watch Dabi slowly approach the fallen hero before kicking him in the stomach once, twice, three times. The links of the handcuffs catch and once again you begin to bend them in hopes this time the tension will finally break them apart. “What will be left of you if I clip your wings?” Dabi cackles as he reaches for what little is left of the appendages in question. But before he can do anything the cuffs finally snap. Your quirk comes roaring back to the surface and no sooner do you feel it swell within you are you directing every ounce of it at Dabi, your eyes glowing with the power of it. Dabi slams into the back wall and you surge forward to put yourself between him and Hawks, who looks on the verge of passing out. “Well, well, well. He wasn’t kidding when he said your quirk was strong. This makes things interesting,” Dabi smirks as he slowly gets back to his feet. “Really? Because I’m already bored of you,” you fire back before surging forward and wielding your quirk with a ferocity you never had before.

You’re not a trained hero. Technically what you’re doing is illegal, considering you don’t have any kind of hero’s license. None of that matters in this moment though. What Dabi had on you in experience, you compensated for with agility. It isn’t enough to get you a win but it can buy you time as you pray more help is on the way. Your ribs are aching, you’ve acquired several severe burns, and you’re starting to slow down but still you push and for the first time you think you understand why your mother made the choice she did. Suddenly a familiar voice echoes through the room. “DIE!” Bakugo screams as he comes crashing in, tackling Dabi in one explosive move. You don’t stop to see the result, your faith fully in your friend as you rush to where Hawks is lying unconscious on the ground. You wrap one of his arms around your shoulders and do your best to stand, half walking half dragging him out of the room. You don’t look back until you’ve managed to get him outside of the building but even still you can hear the sound of Dabi and Bakugo’s fight.

“Hawks? Hawks! C’mon I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up for me,” you plead as you lay him down on the concrete, kneeling beside him. You pat his face repeatedly until finally you get his eyes to flutter open. “Oh thank god! Are you trying to get yourself killed? Jesus Hawks!” you sigh, already cataloging his various injuries to report to emergency services. “Keigo.” “What?” “My real name. It’s Keigo. You... you can’t use it where someone might hear but you can use it.” His voice sounds so weak you could cry again. “Your eyes are glowing. ‘S beautiful,” he chuckles, reaching a hand up to cup your face before passing back out. “It’s gonna be ok Keigo,” you reply in a hushed voice, although you doubt he hears you. It’s not too long after that you hear the familiar rumble of Chargebolt’s motorcycle as he races to the location, Mirko arriving shortly thereafter. “They’re inside! Hawks needs urgent medical attention,” you tell them before they can ask. Mirko gives a curt nod and rushes into the building, following the sounds of the fight. Chargebolt hesitates as his eyes scan over your various injuries, the tear tracks still evident on your face from when you’d been crying earlier. “I’m fine, Denki. I promise. Just toss me your phone so I can call an ambulance and the cops. Dabi stole mine,” you assure him. He nods and does exactly that before racing in to help Mirko and Bakugo. As you dial the emergency services number your gaze returns to the number two hero. Almost all of his feathers have been burned away, leaving just the nubs of his wings and the immobile feathers at their base. Laying on his back the way he is, someone who didn’t know who he was wouldn’t be able to tell he’s supposed to have wings at all. Your heart aches as you can’t help but think how small he looks without them.

Author’s Note: I wanna give a big shout out to @dutchintheusa on tiktok who is the one I got the hack about escaping hand cuffs chained to the ceiling from that (y/n) uses here and how to escape handcuffs without a Bobby pin. He’s got a bunch of emergency/survival escape techniques as well as general advice to stay safe in a scary world. I would highly recommend checking him out. The fight is heavily inspired by the fight between Hawks and Dabi in the manga and the fact I have repeatedly wished I could insert myself into that room and protect Hawks (hence the spoiler tag). Also I listened to Tantrum by Ashnikko on repeat while writing this if you want an idea of the ~vibe~ of the fighting lmao.

Taglist [open]: @cathy8taffy @katzurras @grumpyfroggies @captaincyberqueen @itskindofafairything @420-uwu @someweirdshitman @oliviasslut @the-adzukibean @main-ruthyruth

#wing hero hawks #hawks x reader #hawks #hawks x y/n #hopelessoa

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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

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Hey i just want to know that if you still make headcanon holy quintet in twst series , if you not is okay ,but if you still make , i have several question ,

What if madoka transform to madokami i want to know boys reaction especially diasmonia boys ?

I want to know what if sayaka got corrupt and the boys reaction(especially adeuce) see witch form sayaka for first time and their think sayaka got overblot but they wrong it worst than that!

I want to know that what boys reaction if they see the witchs and Walpurgisnacht for the first time are they gonna fight or not?

What all boys(especially dorm leaders)reaction homura tell the truth of soul gem and she tell how she looping time to time for 12 years and 100 looping

And btw i am boy its weird boy love twisted wonderland(not really but i love the character design and story(i just hate riddle mom treat him to obey all rules, he need freedom:( ))

Sorry for making many question

Hello! I’m happy that you enjoyed the TWST x PMMM series! Most of my writing projects have taken a back seat due to work and since it’s currently the Ramadan season, I just don’t have a lot of energy to write anymore more than for work. I mean, it took me half a day to answer this ask.

I definitely want to get back to writing for this crossover series and maybe even copied what I’ve written so far into my AO3 for easy reading and navigating but we’ll see. For now, I’m indulging whatever plot bunnies that come my way so I won’t stop writing altogether.

So lay them on me, dude! Expanding the series is always fun. (Also, bear with me. This is gonna be a long post).

@lionheartanotheraccount and I had discussed these actually on Discord! Some were pinned, some were not (I’m an idiot. I should have pinned all of our crossover texts!), so lemme explain what I still remember. Feel free to pinch in if I forgot something incorrectly or left something out, Lion!

1. What if Madoka transforms to MadoKAMI, I want to know boys’ reaction, especially Diasmonia’s boys

After the anime ended, Lion and I talked about how not that she’s a Goddess, she has the ability to visit Twisted Wonderland on her own and she approached Malleus and the rest of the Diasomnia gang in her human disguise so as not to freak them out. Well, Lilia and Malleus could feel the divinity within Madoka and you can expect the immense shock that not only could Madoka travel across worlds, but she’s also no longer human too. It’s a teary reunion and Malleus’ and Lilia’s hearts break when MadoKAMI explain everything. They comforted her to their best ability but ultimately, it’s been done. There’s nothing else they could do for her. It’s bittersweet for Lilia. Why, a human child ascended into a Goddess so she could save the fates of her friends and every Magical Girls in the past, present and future - she grew up out of necessity and love. Both Lilia and Malleus is proud to be her friend.

2. I want to know what if Sayaka got corrupt and the boys’ reaction(especially Adeuce) see Witch form Sayaka for the first time and they think Sayaka got Overblot but they wrong it worst than that!

The existence of a Witch’s Labyrinth is enough to make the boys instantly wary and a bit frighten (not that any of them would admit it). Bad times for everyone. The boys so confused, wanting to help Sayaka. The girls are horrified at the truth of Witches and Magical Girls and Homura is rushing in to kill Sayaka. Chaos everywhere with Octavie shrieking and trying to kill them all, Symposium Magarum blaring in the background and the Witch’s familiars flying everywhere to make sure their Witch could enjoy the music.

No one could fight Octavia so they had to retreat. Homura causing enough distraction for them to escape. By the time they went out of the Labyrinth, shouting and screams begin.

Adeuce would the most horrified, Madoka of course, heartbroken. Mami is losing it (to which Homura’s getting trigger happy and refused to look away from her. She’s ready to put Mami out of her misery the moment Mami so much as flinch) and Sayaka is both furious and still in shock. At this point, Homura has no choice but to reveal the fact she knows the truth about Magical Girls in order to explain that no, they don’t Overblot. They... mature into Witches when their Soul Gems turn pitch black. Here’s a little gem(lol) from explorerofsy on Discord: vil internally: mami is a gem

vil later when he finds out about soul gems:

when i said that mami is a gem, i did not expect that to be literal

It’s sad but it made me laugh sick.

3. I want to know that what boys’ reaction if they see the Witches and Walpurgisnacht for the first time. Are they gonna fight or not?

The moment Homura explains that turning to Witches is irreversible and is the ultimate fate of all Magical Girls, some would deny it. Their magic is different from the girls, maybe they have a way to stop the transformation here in Twisted Wonderland. The academically-inclined students (Malleus, Riddle, Jamil, Vil and even Idia) would delve into hours of research, only to find nothing (I mean, Kyubey is akin to an Eldritch being, something beyond their comprehension so how on Twisted Wonderland would they push their magic against his strange abilities?). The other students are keeping a very close eye on the girls’ Soul Gems. I mentioned in a long-ago post that even Lilia would demand Madoka present her Soul Gem to him for inspection once every week since Madoka is still distraught over what happened to Sayaka.

Will the boys fight the Witches? Well, in terms of Octavia, the Heartslabyul boys will struggle to kill her, even after Homura explains that the Witch is no longer Sayaka and it’s better to put her out of her despair and give her Grief Seed to Madoka (though Madoka would let Adeuce keep Octavia’s Grief Seed; it’s the only thing the boys have left of Sayaka after all. Madoka at least have years worth of memories of them together).

In terms of Walpurgisnacht, Homura would debrief the girls and boys the strongest Witch to ever exist (Keeping Kriemhild Gretchen to herself. For now. She really, really doesn’t want to open that horrible can of worms) and showed them just how powerful and destructive she can be using her magic. Malleus would be intrigued in fighting her though.

4. What would the boys’ (especially dorm leaders) reaction be when Homura tell the truth of Soul Gems and she tells how she looping time to time for 12 years and 100 looping

Characters like Leona, Lilia and Malleus would be shocked stupid. Time magic is already an insanely OP power and Homura, a human child, been abusing and looping time just to find a way to kill Walpurgisnacht? Leona will straight up spit out that Homura’s insane and Lilia will silently agree with him, wondering if Homura has gone mad. Malleus couldn’t help but applaud Homura’s will and her careful planning in making sure her Soul Gem remains pure. Kalim will cry for her; he couldn’t imagine what sort of pain Homura purposely gone through just to save her friends (cue Homura’s awkwardly patting him on the back, telling him not to cry because she made her choices)

5. And btw i am boy its weird boy love twisted wonderland(not really but i love the character design and story(i just hate riddle mom treat him to obey all rules, he need freedom:( ))

It’s cool! Twisted Wonderland and its fandom are some of the very few fandoms I really enjoy. But then again, I tend to keep to myself and some close friends so I don’t really see the dramas. And you’re right, the story and characters’ design are what hooked me in. I was introduced to Twisted Wonderland when I saw a fanart of a little Azul holding hands with Floyd and Jade, looking disgruntled at being treated like a kid while the Tweels just smirk. That’s why Azul and the Tweels will always be my favourite in the fandom!

Yeah... when you think about it, most of the characters have unhealthy relationships with their family. Riddle with his Mum, Leona with his status and brother, Azul with his childhood bullying, and while we don’t know what exactly happen with King and Queen Draconia, Malleus probably knew them for only a short time (hell, they could even pass away before he was hatched).

#Monotony's rambling #Holy Quintet in TW series

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whenisitenoughtrees · 4 years

Text

to be honest, capable (of holding you) (part 2/3)

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Thomas didn’t know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he’s glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he’s been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can’t figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.

(Alternatively: Janus doesn’t trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)

Chapter Warnings: blood and injury, Remus being mildly unsettling

Chapter Word Count: 5,074

Pairing: platonic Thomceit

(part 1) (part 3)

(masterpost w/ ao3 links)

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a real snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

Focus, Thomas.

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation.

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change the situation, or change Janus’ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and god, he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of this.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if that is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a babysitter,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… so love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

-----------

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus did concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed white teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s weak.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close. Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

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

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#sanders sides #ts sides #platonic thomceit #character!thomas #janus sanders #ts janus #remus sanders #ts remus #my fic #part two babyyy #long post

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stars-below · 3 years

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finished with time to spare this time! I actually had this mostly done yesterday, but real-life stuff came up and I couldn't clean things up until today

AUgust Day 3: Timestuck

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"I can't do this." Ford grumbles, his attention fixed on keeping his breathing regular. In the mirror, he can see how awful he looks, how the scant hour or so of sleep and the shower he'd been wrangled into taking have done little to fix his flagrant exhaustion and disheveled appearance. Perhaps it's simply an inevitability, at this point. "There's no way this is actually going to work."

From her perch on the tyrannosaurus specimen (he has, at this point, given up on asking her to stop treating it like some manner of novelty furniture), half-engrossed in her knitting, Mabel shoots back a cheery, "of course it will! You have the Power of Mabel on your side!"

The girl, the one who'd shown up on his doorstep barely a week ago with more knowledge about himself and his work than any ignorant person would have and insisted she was 'his beloved great-niece from the future here to help him prevent his greatest mistake'. The notion had been ludicrous, of course, but then she'd proven herself (relatively) unaffiliated with a certain someone, and flashed him her comically small hand-held telephone (the one she has since refused to let him properly examine, claiming 'the 'time police' won't appreciate her altering the flow of time too much' or something similarly ridiculous), and shown him a digital photograph of two old men standing on some sort of boat and flashing the camera matching grins.

She'd claimed was his future self and the estranged brother he's done his best to not give much thought over the past decade, and though he doubts the validity of that quite a bit Stanford had been forced to concede that maybe the girl was telling some form of the truth. She may be family, temporally displaced or not, but that doesn't mean she can be trusted. There's still the distinct possibility that this is some elaborate trick from his former muse, a ruse to get him back under the demon's control.

Given that she's taken to removing all of the effigies of said muse around the house that he hasn't had the energy to dispose of, has been seemingly unconcerned about the whereabouts of his journals after he'd assured her they were safe, and almost nonchalant about (or at least not upset with him over) the reality-ending doomsday machine under their feet, that detail may also be more plausible than he'd initially thought.

"Well," the girl corrects, setting one needle aside as she gets the next skein of yarn out from beside her, "I'm not an 'actual' love-god or anything, but the last couple I set up turned out perfect for each other, after we got passed the whole everyone-freaking-out thing!"

This is less than reassuring, and Stanford feels his anxiety start to spike again.

His jacket, the only one remotely clean until they can get the washer functional, is littered with stains and has a jagged tear in the arm where he'd caught it somewhere that hasn't yet been repaired. His hair refuses to lie flat, and the bags under his eyes. He's also wearing an ill-fitting navy sweater vest from his college days she'd dragged from some remote closet. And the scarf she's currently knitting him- silver, cobalt, and maroon- doesn't quite feel appropriate for the thawed (if still a bit chilly) spring weather. Altogether he looks downright frightening.

"Look at me, Grunkle Ford," she commands, the project set on the skull as she gets to her feet. Grunkle because he is, apparently, her estranged Great-Uncle, and should be responsible for taking care of her, even if their relationship largely feels reversed. Whether she's Sherman's grandchild or Stanl otherwise remains to be seen. "What's the absolute worst thing that could happen?"

"He'll hate me." The answer comes automatically. "He has every reason to be furious, after everything I've done. I wouldn't be surprised if the mere sight of me was enough to set him off. This evening may- no, it's quite likely to turn sour, if not violent, unless I'm wrong."

Mabel makes some sympathetic sound, starting to offer some counterpoint, but Stanford keeps going, unable to help himself.

"O-Or, if your estimate is correct, he may have already erased me from his memories entirely. What if he doesn't remember me, what if-"

"Then you'll just have to remind him who you are again," Mabel is suddenly next to him, her little hands warm on his arm. "I know it's scary, Grunkle Ford, but it's gonna be okay. He agreed to do this, he wants to see you. You just have to stop overthinking things and trust me a teeny little bit."

Stanford opens his mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. His nerve falters, and when she tugs on his sleeve, he bends down to let her wrap her arms around his chest.

After a long moment, he pulls away, turning back to the mirror and going back to trying to get his greasy hair to cooperate. "In any case, I don't think you're right about Fiddleford's intentions. I was his roommate throughout both of our college careers, and if he was, ah, interested, in that way, I feel like it would have come up at some point." He doesn't say a word regarding his own feelings, hoping against all likelihood that Mabel won't needle him further on the subject.

"Oh my god, you were roommates..." She snorts under her breath, trotting back to her seat on the tyrannosaurus skull and resuming her work on the scarf. He's not sure how long she's intending to make it, but the thing is long enough now that it'll have to loop around his shoulders multiple times, and if it grows any further Stanford may have to worry about it getting in his way. After a moment of giggling to herself, Mabel seems to realize she didn't address his actual concern, and shoots him a measuring look. "Well, he did seem pretty excited about the whole 'going out' with you thing, so there's that. And if he doesn't feel that way, you know this doesn't have to be a date-date, right?"

A blink at that, and Stanford says nothing, cheeks growing pink.

The silence that settles over the room is thick, but oddly comfortable.

"Okay, I think this is done!" Mabel eventually chimes, tucking her last stitch in, and holding the finished scarf up for him to see. It looks very well-made- Ford would even be inclined to believe it was professionally crafted if he hadn't been here to watch her knit it. "I was gonna put little tassels on the end for you to fidget with, but I don't think I have enough extra material, and I definitely don't have any time."

"I see," Ford hums, taking the gift with great care. "It's, ah, it's certainly quite lengthy..."

She preens at that, shooting him a bright grin. "I know! I wanted to make sure you had enough room to go to Scarf Town, if you needed." She rocks on her toes, not really giving him the space to ask before showing what she means, pulling the neck of her sweater up and covering her face so she can hide in the thick fabric. "It's not as nice as Sweater Town, but that vest looks really good on you, and adult-sized sweaters take forever."

When Mabel comes back out of 'Sweater Town', Stanford has the scarf around his neck, the fabric wide enough to easily obscure his mouth, if he so wished. The thick material sits comfortingly heavy on his shoulders, and the scent of something that isn't drenched in days-old anxiety-sweat is more reassuring than he'd anticipated. "Thank you, Mabel, this is wonderful. In fact, I think I," he manages, taking a breath and collecting himself, "I think I might be ready now, actually."

"Good!" Mabel huffs, and for a second she's the picture of someone else, rolling her sleeves up seeming to square her jaw. "Now quit stalling. If you need me, I'll be having an argument with a unicorn."

#gravity falls #timestuck #august #stanford pines #mabel pines #what's the fiddleford/ford pairing again?#ford^2

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221bsunsettowers · 3 years

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Chapter 2: Settle Down, It Will All Be Clear (Tarlos Royal AU)

In which both men are handsome and nervous, Paul Strickland is an amazing man-in-waiting and confidant, there is a celebration banquet and a shared dance, and Carlos collapses on the floor.

This is Chapter 2 of my Tarlos Royal AU , The Kingdom Lights Shine Just for Me and You, in which TK is a prince, Carlos is a knight, and Carlos just won TK’s hand in marriage. Chapter 1 can be found here and here . Chapter 2 can also be found here

Thank you so much for all of your excitement and encouragement about this AU, it makes me feel so inspired and I am having so much fun with it!

Note: A man-in-waiting is "a man who comes from a family of high social standing and who is attached to a royal household".

CW: anxiety and small physical manifestations of anxiety, small description of a character suddenly in pain

Chapter 2: Settle Down, It Will All Be Clear

Carlos ran his hands nervously over his green doublet with gold trim (somehow it fit him perfectly), an action he had repeated more times than he could track. "Is everything all right, my lord?" came a voice behind him, and Carlos could barely stop himself from startling.

After the tournament was over, after he'd met eyes with TK, after Carlos thought he had seen the same flash of attraction he was feeling in the Prince's eyes as well, Carlos had been whisked away before even a word could be exchanged between himself and his future husband. Now he found himself in what he could only assume was his new designated chambers, with man-in-waiting Paul Strickland.

"Please, call me Carlos," Carlos found himself practically pleading. "Everything's just so-it changed so fast-" He cuts himself off, shaking his head, catching the silken fabric of his sleeve in his hand and rubbing it between his fingers.

"I imagine this to be overwhelming," Paul spoke softly, smiling kindly at Carlos.

"It truly is," Carlos sighed, perching on the edge of the ornate desk chair before quickly leaping up, frantically looking down at his trousers to make sure he hadn't creased them.

"You can sit, I promise any wrinkles in your outfit can be fixed before the dinner," Paul assured him, and Carlos gratefully sank back down on the chair.

"Thank you," Carlos sighed again, fidgeting with the fabric of his sleeve, returning to rubbing it between his fingers.

"He does that same gesture," Paul chuckled, gesturing to Carlos' hands.

"What is he like?" Carlos asked, seizing on the opportunity. "Prince TK."

"I think it best you discover that yourself," Paul said gently, straightening out the rest of the garments he had been tending to.

"Of course, my apologies," Carlos said instantly, cheeks turning red. He rested his head in his hands. "I must admit that I have no idea what the proper protocol is for this situation I find myself in."

"He is a good man." Paul spoke softly but reassuringly, running a brush over the pair of shoes that had been selected for Carlos to wear that evening. "I can tell you that. He has always been kind to all of us here in the castle, and to our families, and to his subjects."

"I am glad to know that, my gratitude." Carlos looked up at Paul. "Thank you for your conversation. It...it feels very nice to feel like I know someone here."

"I am glad to help," Paul smiled, as Carlos slid his feet into the shoes. "Many of us here know the difficulty of leaving our families, but I hope you will find, like we have, that we make a family here at this castle as well."

After assisting Carlos, Paul entered TK's chambers. The king had requested, as a personal favor, that Paul look after Carlos as well as the prince for the time being. Paul had immediately acquiesced, his role in the castle one of affection as well as responsibility. His mother and the queen had been childhood friends growing up on neighboring estates, and they had remained in touch. It was an honor for Paul to be selected as the prince's man-in-waiting, a role reserved for a man of high status and noble lineage.

At this point in their lives, while Paul of course continued to assist TK in any and all royal matters, he was also a friend and confidant for the prince. And so he found himself in a familar way, sitting in TK's desk chair, watching as the young royal paced back and forth across the floor, fingers twitching around the fabric of his blue silken sleeve.

"I did not ask for this," TK groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

"Your father and mother seemed to think it was a good idea," Paul commented, and TK let out a deep sigh, perching on the very edge of his bed, index and middle finger tapping a disjointed rhythm out on his knee.

"I know they are concerned about me," TK admitted softly, head dropping. "I know the havoc Prince Alex brought about was more than they thought I could bear, and they were almost correct."

"Your sadness was palpable," Paul said gently. "We all wish you to be happy again."

"But marriage with a stranger does not seem like the way to happiness," TK said despondently, his fingers tapping faster, his foot now joining in the nervous movement. Paul crossed over to stand by the bed, and rested a gentle hand on TK's shoulder.

"He is kind," Paul proffered, and TK raised his head, eyes showing a glimmer of hopefulness. "He told me to call him by his first name, showed me respect, apologized for slights he had not even performed. He longs for his family but is resolute in doing right by them. And despite the circumstances, he wishes to know about you." Pointing to TK's sleeve, Paul chuckled. "He even wears the ends of his sleeves bare with anxious rubbing just as you do."

"He is nervous as well?" TK questioned in surprise. "But he seemed so full of confidence during the tournament."

"He is a knight," Paul reminded the prince. "He knows how to fight. But this-" Paul gestured towards the room, to the castle beyond the chamber door. "This is not something he finds easy to understand. It is strange to him, and you are still a stranger." He patted TK on the shoulder before bending down to retrieve TK's discarded pair of shoes. "Perhaps it would be kindness for the both of you if you went through this confusion together."

"Perhaps," TK murmured, not registering that the frantic tapping of his fingers had slowed to a barely perceptible twitch.

"Sir Carlos Reyes, newly-bethrothed of Prince TK Strand," a formal voice called out as Carlos entered the enormous banquet hall, and for a moment Carlos was frozen in absolute panic as what felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes turned to him.

The next moment TK was next to him, the same voice bellowing out "His Highness, Prince TK Strand."

"Just stay beside me," TK murmured under his breath, offering Carlos his arm and a small smile. Nodding, Carlos looped his arm through TK's, echoing back a small smile of his own.

"Thank you," Carlos whispered gratefully as he let TK guide them along their procession to the massive table, taking their places next to the king and queen.

"You fought very well today," Owen spoke, inclining his head in Carlos' direction, and Carlos found himself barely able to force down the sip of wine instead of choking in surprise.

"My thanks, Your Highness," Carlos managed to eke out, and he could hear TK laughing softly beside him. Turning to meet TK's eyes, Carlos couldn't help but smile back as TK's eyes twinkled mischeviously.

"Father, give him a moment to collect himself," TK chided jokingly, and Owen chuckled, nodding his head in acquiescence.

"May I ask where he acquired such skills, or is that also an offense, dear son of mine?" Owen asked, his formal tone from the tournament now changed to one light and teasing, drawing another laugh from TK.

"My father taught me," Carlos responded, unable to keep a smile from gracing his face at just the thought of his family. "He carried dreams of my becoming a knight just as he did." "He must be very proud," Owen said, lifting his goblet in Carlos' direction.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Carlos answered gratefully, raising his goblet in return.

"We shall need to build up to you calling me something more informal, particularly as you are to marry my son," Owen said kindly, and Carlos felt TK stiffen slightly. Taking another sip of wine, Carlos returned his gaze to TK, who had no goblet before him.

"Are you in need of wine?" Carlos asked, and TK shook his head.

"I do not partake any longer," TK mumbled, and while he did not elaborate, Carlos could still see the pain in his eyes. Carlos simply nodded, but did not take another sip, instead discreetly shifting his wine glass out of sight.

As the elaborate meal progressed, toasts were made (Carlos followed TK's example, and nodded graciously instead of raising a goblet in return), and platter after platter of delicious and hearty fare were laid in front of Carlos and TK. Carlos focused on the food in an attempt to forget how many important personages continued to fix their gaze upon him. He responded politely to the repetitive queries made of him, reiterating his lineage and his path to knighthood more times than he could count.

Eventually, Owen and Gwyneth rose from their chairs, and the gathered crowd followed them into the ballroom. As the music struck up, Owen led Gwyneth into the beginning steps of the dance. "Would you feel comfortable joining the dance?" TK asked softly as he resumed his position at Carlos' side. "I do not wish to compel you to do anything you do not wish to."

"That is very considerate of you, your highness," Carlos said softly, performing a low bow.. "A dance would be my honor." Carlos could feel his heart racing as he extended a hand to TK, who took it in his own. Carlos could feel a rapid fluttering where his own fingers brushed against TK's wrist. Entering the dance, he placed his other hand on the curve of TK's waist, and they slid into the steps.

"TK," TK murmured, just loud enough for Carlos. "If we are to be wed...I would wish us to be more informal with each other." Raising his head, he met Carlos' gaze, cheeks tinted pink. "If you are amenable."

"I am amenable," Carlos responded, heart seeming to tremble in his chest. "Carlos, then."

"Carlos." TK smiled softly, nodding his head. "Thank you."

As the dance ended, TK led Carlos to a quieter section of the ballroom, farther from the musicians. "Would you-" TK began, but the words caught in his throat as he saw Carlos suddenly double over, hands clutching at his stomach, a moan of pain slipping past his trembling lips. Carlos' legs began to give out, but TK reached for him, catching him and gently lowering him to the ground.

"Carlos?" TK asked frantically, hands hurriedly running along Carlos' stomach and sides, searching for some sign of an undiscovered injury, but finding none. He met Carlos' terrified gaze, eyes widing in pain, and TK instinctively grabbed Carlos' fingers between his own, rubbing the back of his bethrothed's hands soothingly as his mind raced with fear.

"Tommy!" TK screamed out, ignoring the guests who had roamed over to see the unexpected dramatics. "Tommy, Nancy, we need a healer!"

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satrangee-ray · 3 years

Text

The Snack of a Lifetime

Book: Open Heart 3 and beyond.

Pairing(s): Ethan × NB!MC {Dr Inara Hepburn (she/they)}.

Rating: Teen+

Summary: Inara barges into the DT room with some obnoxious snacks to force Ethan into taking a break. But is that all they have in mind, or will their brilliant plan saved for later take him by pleasant surprise?

Category: Fluff, banter, life decisions and celebrations 🎉😁✌.

Trope: Weddings and Proposals.

Warning(s): one or two swear words, mention of a sex act.

Writer's note: By the time this starts, Ethan and MC have already said their 'I love you's, are in a committed relationship, and more or less everyone knows about it. In my original HC for Inara and Ethan they don't get married this early, so this is kind of an AU cause I really wanted to write a proposal fic. Also the whole lawsuit drama didn't happen, cause I said so, and most sane people would agree.

Ethan wasn't used to receiving.

It was apparent in the way he interacted with the world, immediately getting suspicious of anyone who would remotely extend some sort of courtesy towards him.

He knew if he ever wanted to have something for himself, no one but he would have to take initiative to go get it. And for two-way processes like relationships, he had no belief whatsoever on the legitimacy of such things.

That was until Inara waltzed into his life, and amazed him with the possibility that he could be on the receiving end of good things without having to worry about any strings attached. Be it love, or a blowjob, or "care", as he previously liked to call it– the best things life ever had to offer were simply falling into his lap, and he couldn't find himself complaining.

Inara cared, in the truest sense of the word.

She cared enough to take off his glasses and cover him up in warm blankets, whenever he would fall asleep with an open medical journal in his hands. She cared enough to know just how he liked his coffee, or to school his scotch habits whenever they would get a little out of hand. And presently, she cared enough to let him work overtime, by agreeing to grab lunch with Tobias instead.

Ethan couldn't afford to take breaks. These days, he had to work even in between shifts, to finish editing his second medical book decently before it's approaching release date.

(One month before Inara's board exams)

The diagnostics office sat deserted, except for one doctor. A wooden desk, with papers sprawled all around. Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose, as he kept his glasses aside.

Suddenly the office door swung open, and three figures strolled in. Two practically tumbled, giggling overenthusiastically. The third one was Harper, who calmly walked in holding a tray, and shook her head with an amused expression.

Ethan looked up, and saw Tobias and Inara, each triumphantly holding up all their 10 fingers at him.

"Ring Chips!" Inara squealed, running towards Ethan. "Si baked these last night, and brought them as extra snacks for her fourteen hour shift today, but of course, we managed to hog some. So dig in!"

Ethan cautiously eyed the bright yellow crisps looped through Inara's fingers, and said, "you're not expecting me to eat those atrocities, are you?"

"Did you just call Sienna's baked goods an atrocity? That's wrong on so many levels E, lemme just get her on the phone..."

"NO", Ethan replied on high alert.

"That's what I thought. Cause bold words for someone who struggles even with a pancake."

Tobias and Harper chuckled, struggling in vain to stifle it.

"Fine, give me one here", Ethan said, extending his hand towards Harper's tray which contained the particular baked snacks.

"Nope, that's not the way", Inara stopped him, slapping his hand. "If you're doing this, you gotta do it right."

A loud exhale escaped Ethan. "What now, Rookie?"

"E, you can't just pick one chip and eat it, okay? You gotta slip it through your finger, and try to grab it with your mouth, the childhood nostalgia way. Like this."

Inara brought their hand to their mouth, and swallowed one whole finger, sucking on it until the chip looped through it flew backwards into their mouth. They proceeded to chew on it, staring straight into Ethan's eyes.

He was so screwed.

Turning away from Inara's gaze with tremendous effort, he wordlessly picked up a chip loop from the tray and tried to slip it into his finger.

"Too small", Tobias remarked, and handed him another. "Try a bigger one."

This time the ring effortlessly slipped through his finger, sitting perfectly at it's base. Ethan stared at it, perplexed, for a few moments.

"Yes! Now consume it with your mouth", Inara's excited cheers continued.

Harper couldn't hold in a scoff, while the youngest doctor in the room remained blissfully unaware of the implications of their phrase.

Ethan's mouth opened in protest, but he realized it's futility immediately and decided to close it. Scrunching up his entire face, in disbelief that he was actually doing this, he lowered his head, and slowly raised his hand to his face.

When his finger holding the chip was well within his reach, he opened his mouth once again to grab it. But just when he was about to take the bite, Inara acted quickly and slipped the chip out of his finger, causing Ethan to bite into his own skin instead.

"Aahh, Nars what the hell! Are you nuts?"

The three other doctors in the room unabashedly cracked up now, not bothering to hide their glee in Ethan being tortured like that.

Inara began stroking his beard softly, before leaving a quick kiss on his cheek.

Shades of light pink took over it in response.

"You should have acted faster, honey", Inara said, taking his hands into theirs. Another gentle peck landed on his lips.

"Now I'm already running late, there's this patient I have to check on, gotta yeet. But you better finish the rest of those snacks, along with the real food we brought you for lunch, and for God's sake, please look up from those damn papers for five minutes, and take a freakin' chill pill!"

The last words were shouted as they rushed out the door.

Ethan and Tobias sighed.

"They're the best thing that has ever happened to you"

"Indeed", Ethan said in earnest. "I'll be very inclined to agree."

(Four months after Inara's board exams)

The gorgeous venue sparkled with chandeliers and boujee people in expensive suits. Small round tables, aesthetic chairs, congratulations in order everywhere. No, it wasn't the medical industry's 'it' couple getting married, it was the 'it' doctor, and the chief of medicine's second book getting launched instead.

Ethan had walked into the Edenbrook atrium that morning like it was a war zone. His expression still spelt terror, as he uneasily shifted his glance between some of his guests, shooting small, forced smiles their way.

"Why do we always have to do this?", he had asked Naveen. "Why couldn't we just release the damn book in stores? Why host a useless social gathering with forty thousand rich snobs who are only any good at showing off and draining your energy?"

Naveen had shook his head and hit him with an assertive "it's necessary."

So currently, Ethan stood awkward to his bones, in the middle of this necessary evil. Until, a certain presence near the door cued him to look up.

It was them.

Pantsuit in a sinful vermillion, the colour glowing bright against their skin. Red bottom wedges, that only aided their boss status. Brunette locks framing their face, so impeccably contrasting the emerald eyes looking affectionately back at him. Those, which never failed to take his breath away.

Inara Hepburn.

His giver, his lover, his Rookie.

And Ethan couldn't be more mesmerized, or reassured.

"Need some help picking your jaw off the floor, Ramsey?" Inara quipped, as they strode towards Ethan, torturously slow.

"I– well…", he stammered, before clearing his throat. "Is that look the reason why you chose to arrive 'fashionably late', and drive separately to my book launch from our own apartment?"

"Yeah, definitely the look, but I daresay some other things as well", they said, placing a playful hand on Ethan's chest. "You'll soon find out."

He smiled warmly at them. "Is that a challenge?"

"Have you ever backed down from one?"

A reckless mistake of letting his eyes slip to their lips, and Ethan couldn't wait any longer. He wrapped his arms around their waist, kissing them hard and deep. Drinking in their mouth, their warmth, their sensations. Aching to draw as much energy as he could to power through this event, from his greatest source of confidence, his only constant supporter.

"I love you so much, Rookie", he panted, after the kiss broke off.

"Some brand new information there", teased Inara, bumping their nose into his. "You know I love you too, E. Now tell me what's bothering you."

Ethan pulled back swiftly at that, and stared at them in astonishment.

"What?"

"What 'what'? It was all over your face when I entered, and you still don't look quite alright. What's wrong, love? I don't recall you being afraid of public speaking!"

"I'd address an audience in my dreams! I just don't understand what's up with these people who come up individually to congratulate me, and purposefully try to expand those two lines into a whole one-on-one conversation. Scandalous!"

Inara nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Such a mood, b*tch, such a mood."

Peels of laughter were shared again, at their effortless mutual understanding, and at the usage of Inara's all time favourite nickname.

"All the best", they wished, shaking him by the lapels of his coat. "Get out there, and kill it!"

About an hour later, applause sounded from every corner of the atrium. Ethan beamed, as he finished reading the last line of a snippet about his latest research from his book.

Clapping proudly from the crowds was Inara, a lover on a mission.

"Thank you everyone, for joining me here today", Ethan said, amongst cheers and buzzing words of encouragement from fellow doctors and other esteemed medical personalities. "I hope I will be able to add value to patient-care through my efforts behind this book. There are some people I would like to specifically thank for being of immense help on my journey till here, so let's begin. Dad, thank you so much for coming to support me. Means a lot. Maybe because of my personal outlook, I could never comprehend your brand of unconditional love, which you so freely offer without actively needing me to work for it. I know now how valuable and rare that is, and how it has helped me grow into the man I am today. For that I will always be grateful. Naveen, thank you so much. You know if I start listing 'what for', I won't finish."

A lighthearted chuckle spread among the crowd.

"You always keep saying my success is my own, but I firmly believe there was no way I would have been the doctor I am without your help and guidance. Thank you for being the excellent mentor and leader by example that you are, you still motivate me to become better everyday. And, last but not the least… Inara."

All eyes in the audience shifted towards one young attending, who was clutching her glass out of giddiness.

"I really want to say thank you, but those two words will never be able to express the amount of gratitude I hold towards you. Before you, my life was only ever about blacks and whites. Giving my everything into medicine, working late nights and coming back to an empty apartment with scotch in my hand, I thought I was doing it all right. But when I met you, got to know you, I… you left me in utter awe of who you are, both as a professional and as a person. I couldn't stop myself from falling in love, and in respect, with your brain, your mind, and your soul. I am so glad you were patient with me while I was busy trying to deny it. You continued to show that patience even until recently, when I was all cranky with writer's block. Now I know the great Dr. Inara Hepburn is also a published novel writer, so of course that bit might have come out of empathy, but nonetheless, I'm thankful for it. Today, I'm about to release a book I put my all into, the information in which might hopefully change the face of what I'm most passionate about – public healthcare, for the better. And I'd rather not share this moment with anyone else. So Inara, would you please honour me by coming up on stage to receive the first ever copy of 'Prognosis and Evaluation'?"

Inara couldn't speak, stunned into silence for a bit. They had no idea Ethan would be the one for emotional public speeches, and here they were, utterly moved, in for another surprise. So would he be, soon, they reasoned in their head, and gathered themselves. Keeping their drink aside on a table, they strode towards the stage, eyes shining with pride, love, and determination.

Determination to get this right.

Ethan took their hand as soon as they stepped on the first stair, and led them upstage.

A copy of the book, new and shining, was lying, all theirs to hold.

'Prognosis and Evaluation: A comprehensive study.'

Their heart swelled at the words written on the first page of the book.

Typical Ethan's handwriting, somehow neat and gibberish at the same time.

'My love, my north star, I promise to never let you down' - Dr Ramsey Ethan <3.

Tears. Instantly, a whole lot of them rolled down their cheeks. They clutched the book hard and hugged it to their chest, holding on tight. Ethan held them in turn, locking their shaking frame in his embrace, as the crowd broke into a unanimous applause.

"E, I don't know what to say", Inara began, on being handed over the mic. "Si would have cried so much if she were present here, Naveen's already crying."

Their grandmentor smiled back at them through his tears.

"The thing is, I love success. I love standing in the spotlight, having my own life, and earning my own achievements. Despite that, there is always a deeper warmth in standing next to someone you love, when they accomplish great things, and shouting "my person!" Today, you've given me that opportunity, and I'm so grateful to you for it. I'm proud of you for believing in yourself, and speaking your voice not as a "mechanism of coping with the means of this corrupt world", but as a means to bring genuine change because you believe you can. I've always seen you try so hard to never let your loved ones down, and that effort is what I'm so here for. People like you are rare, and I'm glad I got one to myself, to constantly cheerlead for, now and as long as you'll have me. I'll never leave your side, Ethan. I'd love us to forever be each other's hype person. Not just in practice, but also… officially."

Three distinct gasps were heard in the room.

Alan, Naveen and Tobias let their pinkies lock into each other.

Ethan's eyes widened, as he took in the meaning behind their words, starting to sense what might be coming.

Doubt. Disbelief. Shock. Anticipation.

In the next moment, they were down on one knee.

"Ethan Jonah freaking Ramsey, will you marry me?"

Dead silence in the entire room, everyone taking in what just happened.

Ethan's hands flew to his mouth.

Minutes passed.

One… two… and five...

No one said a word.

Eventually, the entire audience burst into cheers and jubilation. Even in such a formal event as that, quite a few wayward whistles were heard.

And then there was the man of the hour, standing centre stage, shell shocked. Still trying to process everything.

"Inara... Rookie, I–"

He couldn't. Form words or coherent sentences. His entire focus was on the person and the tiny blue box in front of him.

"There's a ring in there for real?"

'Shit', he cursed internally. What a ridiculous question.

Of course this was real. Their love was real, they were real. He was to get married. What? Wow. Really?

Of course there would be a ring for real.

"Depends", Inara said with a wink. "On whether or not you say yes."

"Come on Ethan!"

Encouragements burst from his acquaintances in the crowd, imploring him to say yes. His three musketeers, however, were heard the loudest.

'Yes', Ethan thought to himself. 'Yes.'

He had to say it.

"Yes", he tried whispering under his breath.

A first time, then a second.

"Yes. YES OF COURSE I’LL MARRY YOU!"

He exclaimed those words in ecstacy before dropping down on his knees as well, and pulled his lover in against him. He engulfed her in his arms, holding her so tight, it could knock the breath out of his chest.

"Yes Inara, it would mean the world to me if I could marry you", he whispered again into her ear.

"Good thing I asked then, E", Inara whispered back, before squeezing him one last time and pulling away.

"Ring! Ring! Ring! Ring!", the crowd chanted.

The widest smile ever was shot their way, as Inara once again took hold of the navy box. She waited for both of them to steady themselves, and Ethan found himself holding his breath.

At last, the cover of the ring case slowly lifted, to reveal…

A bright yellow ring chip sitting right into the slit of the fabric in the case.

Confused noises of varying degrees filled the room. Only Naveen, Tobias and Alan watched the whole scene unfold with a twinkle in their eye.

Meanwhile, Ethan's expression progressed from utter cluelessness to gradual realization.

Oh! That ring.

"Wait, how did– how come that snack didn't rot in all these days?"

"Of course it did, love. Our original measuring tape probably decomposed long ago in some trash bin outside a gold shop, after having done its job. This is merely a replica, but you can call it a token."

"Nars… what do you mean?"

"I mean…", Inara said, inserting her hand into her suit pocket, to pull out a sparkling golden band, complete with five little diamonds on top. "May I have your hand?"

"Readily, Rookie… you already have my heart. Always, for as long as you'll have me."

Ethan placed his shivering palm on Inara's steady hand, and she took the opportunity to slip the golden band through his ring finger.

A perfect fit.

With tears in his eyes, Ethan agreed.

"I'm getting married to you."

"I'm getting married to you!"

Inara squealed at the prospect, and Ethan decided on sealing their joyous sentiment by crashing his lips onto hers in a searing kiss.

The audience went wild, but they were all forgotten in the minds of the lovebirds.

"I can't believe I get to call you fiancé", Ethan wondered in amazement.

"Me neither", said Inara, joining their foreheads together.

"Say what, we should ask Sienna to bake our wedding cake. Three tier, with a big old fondant ring chip on top."

"What? Ethan Ramsey wants a huge a** fondant snack on the top of his wedding cake! Are you sure he's okay?"

"Yes, he is, and he would do anything for his fiancé!"

With moist eyes and full hearts, they buried themselves again in each other's holds.

This time, with a mutual promise of a forever.

F I N.

Oukay so this happened. I kinda posted it. Shh, I need to breathe.

Thank you so much for reading, if you've made it this far. I hope I haven't damaged too many of your braincells.

Thank you @gaeipsstuff for naming Ethan's book. I would have never, seriously! Thanks for proofreading and giving a detailed analysis, it came extremely handy during the my edit sessions. Thank you @adiehardfan, @jeetushmannfeelz, you know if it wasn't for the both of you, this wouldn't be up on my Tumblr.

This is my first proper OH fic, with an actual story and shenanigans, so I've been super apprehensive about this. Hence, it would mean a real lot to me if you could tell me how you found it. Stay safe, do what you love, stan pixelated characters, and take hugs. Peace✌.

Tagging: @adiehardfan @irisofpurple @barbean

Others kindly let me know if you wanna be tagged!

#choices open heart #dr ethan ramsey #open heart 3 #open heart fanfiction #mc x ethan #fluff fic #idk what else please spare me

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