#there’s actually a specific reason as to why I gave Denied green clothes in my design for his younger self

[cornedbread]

Childish memories…

《Funfact: Billy’s Girlfriend was originally named “An Old Friend” in older versions of Billy’s Basic Educational Game》

[ladyblogger-margie]

Permit Pending - Part 1

Pairing: Will Miller (Triple Frontier) x F!Reader

Summary: All Will Miller wanted was a park permit for a VA fundraiser, what he got instead was an unscheduled afternoon exploring different parks with F!Reader.

Word Count:  3890

Rating: G (smut to come in chapter 2!)

Warnings: Course language. Eventual smut in future chapters. 

a/n: My first time writing reader insert and for Will Miller AND for Triple Frontier, so any feedback at all is appreciated. No Y/N. 

Series Master List

3-2-1, Will Miller counted down to the ring of his morning alarm clock. Just like every single day his phone blared a monotonous alarm sound at exactly 05:42 and Will shut it off. He spent the next three minutes practicing mindful breathing and preparing for the day ahead. At 05:45 he rose and changed into his gym clothes. 

He shook together a protein shake as he rode the elevator down to the surprisingly decent gym in his building where he did exactly 30 minutes of cardio followed by an hour of weight training. Today was back and chest day – his favorite – so of course he decided to listen to a podcast instead of a playlist of high tempo motivational music. It was easier to be motivated for something you already wanted to do after all. The podcast today was about finding a balance between order and relaxation, something his therapist had recommended he do before his insurance ran out on therapy sessions and he opted out of continuing the process.

After the gym he returned to his apartment and started the coffee maker. After a quick shower and some facial hair maintenance, he dressed in one of his branded polo shirts and drank his coffee with his breakfast. He had two talks scheduled for the day before lunch, then an errand to run after lunch. Later that evening he would meet up with Benny for fight training. Today could not be any more normal for him - exactly the same as the day before, and the day before that. 

Or so he thought. 

You woke up groaning when your alarm went off at 7:15am. You snoozed it. You also snoozed your 7:22am, 7:31am, and 7:40am alarms. You finally rolled yourself out of bed at 7:50am in time for your quick 30 minute yoga routine before you got ready for work. 

You breezed into the parks and recreation office at City Hall at exactly 8:57am. You grabbed a cup of coffee from the office machine knowing that if you got up at 7:15am as planned you would’ve had time to stop at Starbucks on your way into the office. 

You spent your morning as you usually did - catching up on your passion projects which were the youth sport organizations. You ensured all the public teams had access to the necessary fields and confirmed with the greens team that they were all in working order. You loved your mornings at work even though you weren’t necessarily a morning person. 

After lunch was another story. After a series of poorly timed budget cuts, your department was forced to cancel the internship program. That meant you were drafted into working the permit desks in the afternoons. You knew that it wasn’t actually the worst thing in the world, it was just so boring. The applications were longer than they had any right to be and filled with confusing language. This meant nearly every single application required a specific follow up that never fit one of the many form responses you’d been accumulating in the hopes of streamlining the process. 

Of course you wanted your community to take advantage of the awesome parks in your town, but apparently the legal department didn’t. It put you in a difficult spot where sometimes you were forced to give the park permits to corporations instead of individuals and it drove you crazy to do so. It also locked you to a desk unless a specific permit issue arose that required an in-person follow up which never happened. Which is why after lunch you went off campus to get yourself your favourite Starbucks order because the permit desk on a Monday required the heavy artillery to survive. 

Or so you thought. 

After a few hours of pouring over pages and pages of documents, the most handsome man you had ever seen walked into the office. He had blonde hair and soft eyes which you noticed right away but immediately after you were drawn to his strong chest tightly wrapped in a blue polo with some logo you didn’t recognize over one of his firm pecs. 

“My name is William Miller, and I’m hoping you can help me with a park permit,” the man said, holding out his hand to you. 

You composed yourself as quickly as you could and introduced yourself in return, shaking his hand. “I’d be happy to help you with that,” you said as you let go. His hands were firm and from the callouses you could tell he worked out, though his general physique already gave that away. 

He smiled at you and you felt something stir inside you that was not exactly professional, “Did you have a specific location in mind?”

“No, actually I was hoping to get your opinion. I’m helping to put together a community fundraiser, a BBQ actually, to help support the local VA, but I’m not exactly sure where would be the best place to set something like that up,” he replied. 

You knew exactly where to send him. There was a perfect location you often recommended for huge family reunions, outdoor wedding receptions, and concerts. But as you looked down at the desk for the correct application form you saw the huge pile of pages still left unread taunting you and you got an idea, “Why don’t I give you a tour of a few different locations to help you make your decision?” 

“That’s a service you offer here?”

“We aim to please” you said, desperate for an excuse to get out of the office. 

Will hesitated as he fiddled with his keys for a moment. 

“I could drive if you like,” he offered.

You smiled as professionally as you could, trying to contain your glee. 

“Thank you, let me just check out with my boss and I’ll be right back” you darted away before you could blow your composure. 

You stuck your head into your boss’ office. “Hey, I’m stepping away from the desk. Some guy is insisting I help him pick a park location for his permit request. I’m on my cell if there’s an emergency” you said, not stopping to hear their response before darting off. 

You grabbed your coffee off the desk and landed in front of Will. “Ready,” you said as he smiled warmly at you. He held the door open for you as you left the office, and your boring afternoon, behind.

He led you to his truck in the parking lot and held open the passenger door for you which made your heart flutter though you tried to control it and you reminded yourself that this was a professional outing, not a date. 

He climbed into the cab beside you and started the truck before he turned to you and asked, “Where to?”

You gave him directions to a park you know wouldn’t work, but it did have a couple of soccer fields, and you wanted to check the nets there for holes and figured you could push your luck a bit more today. 

He pulled into the park parking lot and looked around with a slight purse of his lips and a furrow in his brow. He cleared his throat before asking, “I did explain it was a BBQ, right? I don’t really see a place for that,”. 

You suddenly felt guilty, thinking he probably had somewhere else to be today and you derailed him for your own selfish reasons. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you. I just had to get out of the office, and I took advantage of you. If you’ve got somewhere to be, leave me here with your information and I’ll get everything arranged for you at the perfect place,” you said, avoiding eye contact.

To your surprise he smiled at you, “You should’ve said, I’ve got nothing going on this afternoon, I can help you play hooky.” 

You smiled back at him, relieved that he was on board with your scheme. 

Will watched as you inspected the soccer nets for tears and he felt a warmth in his chest he hadn’t since his fiancee, who had left him after the incident at the Publix. You were really nice and he could tell you were passionate about your job, at least parts of it, especially hearing you explain exactly what your job was while he drove you both to this destination. Plus there was no denying that he found you incredibly attractive. 

You returned to his side at the edge of the field after completing your inspection. “Thanks for waiting, there’s a middle-school tournament here starting tomorrow and I wanted to make sure everything was set,” you said to him and he knew he was in trouble. 

“Ready for park number two?” you asked. 

He nodded and led you back to the truck. 

When you arrived at park number two, Will realized this had to be the place you intended for the permit and he was a bit disappointed. He had been hoping to stretch out his afternoon with you a little longer. Before he could ask if you needed a ride back to City Hall he heard you let go a soft, sad sigh. He looked at you but you were gazing out the front window at the park. 

“Is something wrong?” He asked. 

“I’m going to kill the guys in City Planning,” you muttered upset. 

Will tried to figure out what it was you were looking at, but he couldn’t see anything wrong with the park. It looked like the perfect place for a fundraising BBQ. 

You turned to Will hopeful, “Do you have tools in this truck, or is it just for show?”

He smiled at your joke, “I’ve got a box in the back. What’s the problem?”

You gestured to a park bench, “City Planning keeps installing anti-homeless architecture in my parks and I’m not going to let them get away with it,” you said with a sly smile. 

Will knows for sure now that he definitely has a crush on you. He gets out of the truck and grabs his modest tool box from the bed and follows you over to the bench. He sees a metal arm rest in the middle of the bench, obviously installed to ensure no one lays across it. He checks the back to see how it’s attached and scoffs at the simple way it’s been bolted in and opens his tool kit. 

“Am I going to get arrested for this?” He jokes as he gets to work. 

You laugh, “You’re with me, I’ll protect you”. 

You smile at this; you could get used to the idea of having his back. He gets the bar free and you take it from him. He gestures to another bench a few steps away and he gets to work on liberating that bench too. You happily follow him as you ask, “So, you work for the VA?”

“Yeah, I mostly just run my mouth though,” he grunted as he loosened the much tighter bolt on the second bench. 

“Were you military?”

“Yeah,” He rolls up his sleeve and shows you a tattoo on his forearm, “Delta Force”. 

“But you’re retired now?”

“Something like that,”.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be retired?”

He paused and handed you the second detached metal arm. 

You felt self conscious, maybe you were being rude? “Sorry, it’s none of my business,” You said nervously. 

He shook his head, “You’re fine. It’s just not something I’m necessarily proud of though”. 

“You don’t have to explain, it’s none of my business,” You said, as you led the way to the third bench. 

“I had some trouble, and I was told my services were no longer needed in the field,” he explained getting to work on the third arm, “But I found a way to be useful, stay involved”. 

You nodded, “That couldn’t have been easy,”.

He shook his head, “There are good days, and bad days,” and he handed you the third arm. 

He looked around and didn’t see any more pieces of hostile architecture so he turned to you, “Do you need a ride back to City Hall?”

You looked at him and felt bold. “This is obviously the best park for your event, but if you’ve got nowhere to be, did you want to make one more stop and see my favorite park?”

He smiled at you and nodded his head. You led the way back to his truck where he put his tools away and took the arms from you and dumped them in the bed. 

“I can’t wait to drop those off at the City Planning office tomorrow,” you giggled triumphantly. 

You and Will loaded up into the truck and you directed him out of the parking lot. 

Park number 3 was your favorite place in the entire world, though to be fair you hadn’t actually travelled much so you couldn’t really compare it to anywhere else, but still. To you the lakeside beach next to the tree covered green grass was a slice of heaven. You’d go there on the weekends with a podcast lined up or an old book and spend the whole afternoon on a bench with a coffee and some fresh air. 

When Will pulled into the parking lot, you suddenly got nervous. You had lost some of your earlier boldness that suggested you open yourself up like this to a man you just met. But there was something about him, a warmth and a vulnerability that made you want him to know you, and you to know him. 

You both got out of the truck and the sun was starting to get low in the sky as you walked him to a bench that bordered the beach and the grass. You took a seat and he sat next to you, your thighs gently brushing. The contact sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cool breeze that brushed through the leaves above your head. 

Will looked out across the lake and around the park. He felt the warmth of your leg against his and the urge to lean over and brush your cheek with his thumb nearly overwhelmed him. You were so close, it would be so easily for him to just kiss you. But he wasn’t sure you’d want that. You wanted to play hooky from work, and share your love of the parks. He couldn’t let himself think that your enthusiasm for the day had anything to do with him. Instead of holding you under his arm and against his chest, he folded in on himself and looked at you.

He was about to ask what you were thinking about when his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket and noticed Benny’s name on the caller ID and cursed under his breath. “I’m so sorry,” he said to you as he answered, “I’ve got to take this.”

He stands and walks a few paces away and you watch him leave, disappointed. You thought maybe he was about to ask you on a date, and tried not to let yourself be too upset that he didn’t. You watch as he rubbed his forehead and shook his head as he talked on the phone to someone you couldn’t hear and didn’t know. 

He hung up the phone and turned to look at you, and you turned away, a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. He walks back to you on the bench but doesn’t sit down again. 

“Thank you for showing me this place, it’s beautiful,” he said softly and his sweet voice drew your gaze to his lips as he spoke. You felt the electricity surge between you all the way through to the tips of your fingers and your toes. “I hadn’t realized how late it’s gotten, I’m supposed to be at the gym, training my brother,” he explained. 

You nodded and stood up next to him, so close you had to look up to meet his eyes. “That’s fine, I can call an Uber or something back to City Hall” and you pulled out your phone. 

He put his hand on your arm, “Don’t be silly, I’ll take you back. Plus gotta make sure those city planning guys get their gift.”

Your breath hitched when he touched you and you couldn’t contain your smile as you nodded. “Are you sure? I’ve already taken so much of your time” you said, unable to tear your eyes from his. 

“I want to”.

He walks you back to the truck and opens your door for you again and you hop in both flustered and excited. 

The drive back to City Hall is more quiet than you’ve been all day. Your previous trips were full of chit chat about sports and books and random small talk. Now all that existed in the truck was the electricity and tension between you. You wondered if he felt it too, or if the surprising infatuation was a one-sided affair. 

Will gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. He had spent most the afternoon with you and he failed to buck up the courage to ask you out. You took him to your favorite place and basically hand wrapped a romantic moment, and he blew it. He didn’t know if you noticed the potential romance of the location, or if you intended to entice him so completely, but you had. And he blew his shot. 

Back at City Hall he handed you the metal arms from your adventure and you stayed by the truck. You were hoping he’d ask you out before he left. 

“Thanks for the ride, and the impromptu bench liberation, and the excuse to get out of the office,” you said with a smile, lingering longer than you needed to. 

He smiled back, maybe he could ask you now and he could still pull off the romantic gesture. “I had a great day, which I hadn’t actually expected when I went in earlier looking to fill out boring paperwork,” he said leaning unconsciously closer to you. 

He took a deep breath, ready to ask - when his cell phone rang again. He silenced it and tried again, “Hey-“ and the phone rang again and he answered it. “I’m on my way, asshole. Start with cardio,” he said, frustrated, “you don’t need me for that”.

He hung up and looked at you embarrassed by his outburst, absolutely believing that he had blown it for sure now. But you just looked at him amused, not annoyed. 

“Friend of yours?” you asked, stifling a laugh. 

“My baby brother. He’s a fighter and I’m his trainer, which I do for free by the way, but he loves to act like he’s my boss”, he explained. 

“Sounds like a character.”

“He is something that’s for sure. He’s also really special, really talented. He deserves a better lot than what he’s got”, Will's voice trailed off as he thought bitterly about how Benny left service when he did and the guilt he carried, unspoken, about that ever since. 

Will leaned back, “Do you need a walk to your car?”

“I’m alright, thank you. I better head back up to the office first anyway. Thanks again for today. Maybe I’ll see you around”, you forced a smile, abandoning all hope of a date and retreating into the building. 

Will kicked himself mentally all the way to the gym. When he got there he was in a bad mood. 

“Finally!” Benny shouted at him when he walked in.

“I have a life outside of you, you know that right?” Will spit towards Benny.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Benny asked.

“I told you I was on my way, what was so important that you had to call me again and nag me?” Will asked.

“You’re never late, I was worried,” Benny admitted. 

Will paused. He hasn’t thought of it like that. He was never late, it was so unlike him. It was actually kinda nice Benny worried, even if he was an ass about it.

“Well I’m here now, let’s get to it”, Will shrugged and he climbed into the ring opposite Benny. 

After training they grabbed some food together. After scarfing down most of his meal without breathing, Benny asked Will, “Why were you late? You didn’t say.”

Will cleared his throat, “I was trying to get a park permit for the VA BBQ”.

“I thought you did that right after lunch?”

“It took longer than expected,” Will said vaguely. 

Benny squinted his eyes at his older brother until the metaphorical lightbulb went off. “Oh shit!” he said, “You were with a girl! Fuck, I never would’ve called you away if I knew, you’ve been alone for so long!” 

Will threw his used napkin at his taunting brother, “Fuck off.”

“Seriously,” Benny said, not laughing anymore, “I hope I didn’t blow it for you, I want you to be happy.”

Will sighed, “I didn’t get her number, and I didn’t ask her out.”

Benny gave him a sympathetic smile, “At least you got the permit for the event.”

Will pinched the bridge of his nose, “Fuck, I completely forgot to actually get the permit.”

Benny smirked at him. “You know what that means, right?”

“No,” Will groaned. 

“You gotta go back and see her tomorrow.”

Will leaned back in his chair, his mood dramatically improved. 

The next morning you dragged yourself out of bed after your third alarm and skipped yoga, just not in the mood. You hoped stopping at Starbucks would get you out of your funk, but even your favorite coffee didn’t have its usual effect. You felt so stupid for feeling like this today. You literally knew Will Miller for all of one afternoon, it shouldn’t ruin your whole week that he didn’t ask you out. 

You walked into the office ready to be grumpy for the rest of the day when you noticed Will stand up from the chair in which he was sitting. 

Will had been waiting for you since the office opened. He was there long enough to wonder if what he was doing was creepy or sweet. The longer he waited, the worse he felt about his plan. Though once he saw you, his resolve formed and he stood to greet you. Any insecurity he had melted away when he saw how you smiled at him when you noticed him there. 

“Hey,” he started, finding his voice. 

“Hey,” you replied, breathless. 

“I never did fill out a permit yesterday, I got distracted by someone way more interesting than paperwork,” he said, unable to contain a grin. 

You felt something deep in your center as you too failed to contain a beaming smile. 

“I can help you with that,” you walked behind the permit desk and he met you on the other side. 

You handed him the paperwork and helped him fill everything out. The entire time neither of you could contain your ear splitting smiles. When he finished you stamped his form and returned his copy. 

“You’re all set, Mr. Miller,” you said, “Will there be anything else?”

He looked you the eye, “Are you free Friday night? I’d love to take you out.”

You nodded eagerly, “I’d like that.”

PART 2 

[owletstarlet]

ffxv- forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue- chapter 1

“The next block over from here there’s this great little—ohmygods, you’re the Prince.”

Well, fuck.

“Says who?” Noctis counters, tiredly.

“Says your face,” the guy sputters.

(or, the Moulin-Rouge-flavored AU that nobody asked for. Ao3 link in the notes.) 

The table’s sticky, Noctis realizes too late as he’s peeling the sleeve of his jacket off of it. Drink’s not bad, though. Sweeter than he was expecting, but with enough of a paint-thinner aftertaste to it that he knows it’s doing its job. And literally nobody’s giving him a second glance at the moment, either, and that’s more than worth the very specific pitch of this music that’s sort of chipping away at his skull, or the vaguely harrowing feeling of so many bodies packed into one room.

“Not your thing, huh?”

Shit.

Noctis doesn’t turn, doesn’t give him more than a sidelong once-over to make sure he shouldn’t be imminently getting the hells out of here. He doesn’t take in much more than a shock of blond hair, a clipboard, a pair of glasses.

It’s probably fine.

Noctis doesn’t confirm or deny it, just sort of waves a hand at the commotion on the stage. “It’s a lot of…” Thrusting, his brain supplies, helpfully. Body glitter.

“It’s definitely ‘a lot of’ a lot of things.” The guy sounds amused.

“Hm.”

“…not much of a talker, are you?”

Noct bites the inside of his cheek, keeps his face neutral, hears a voice from somehwere between his ears that sounds an awful lot like Gladio’s reminding him that just because he’s in a shitty mood doesn’t mean he should be shitty for no reason to people that aren’t. Damn but this guy’s got a chipper voice, though.

“Well,” said guy goes on, “if you came to see Nea, I can go and—”

The rest of his words are cut off by a bang that Noctis feels as much as he hears, that has him halfway out of his seat with his heart suddenly rammed up his throat before he realizes that it was the sound of an elbow coming down hard on the table.

“Ah—shit, sorry ‘bout that!”

When Noctis turns to face him fully then, it’s to find the guy propped up on his elbow on the table, looking startled himself.

Noctis gets a better look at him, frowns. “Are you okay?”

He looks very much not Lucian, Noctis thinks, Niff maybe, if the light hair and eyes are anything to go by, and the freckles that stand out like pinpricks under the colorful lights. But a good chunk of the clientele around them look like foreigners, so do more than half the performers onstage at the moment. Not unusual, considering the district Noctis had wandered into not entirely on purpose.

His face looks open and friendly, but he seems distinctly unwell—there’s something sunken and shadowy in the corners of his face, in the hollows of his eyes and under his cheekbones. Noctis can’t tell if his pallor is just from the lights just washing him out, but it’s definitely not hot enough in here for him to be sweating like that. His hoodie hangs off his shoulders a bit, and it looks like his hair had been carefully gelled up at some point, but had gotten rumpled and half-deflated like he’d slept on it. His fringe is sticking to his forehead, hanging a bit in front of the thick-rimmed glasses.

“Yup,” he’s saying, a smile slotting into place that seems unforced but a little incongruous. “Yeah. Head rush, is all. Sorry.” He’s perched on the stool across from Noctis now, sliding his clipboard onto the table. His arm is trembling, very slightly, where it’s resting on the table.

Noctis feels his mouth twist, and he slides the still-untouched ice water they’d brought him across the table.

The guy blinks, looks at the water and then Noctis’ face, smile slipping into something marginally less comfortable. “Oh. Nah, you’re good, dude. Thanks. Just. Gimme a sec?”

“Sure,” Noctis says. He doesn’t take the water back. He peers down at the clipboard. It’s not anything comprehensible to him, a lot of x’s and arrows, circles and boxes, only a few words scrawled illegibly into the margins here and there. “You working?” he asks.

“Ah, yeah,” the guy says, tilting the clipboard a bit so he can see it better. “It’s choreography. Kind of. Nothing super inspired tonight, though.”

“Oh. So…dancing?”

“Yup.” He jabs a thumb at the stage, expression settling into something much more relaxed, if a bit sheepish. “I’m supposed to be up there right now, actually, but. My stomach’s being kinda weird, and I don’t think people are paying to see me puke all over everyone else, so. Dahlia stepped in for me.” He points to center stage, where a now very much topless woman with dark lipstick and a halo of brown curls is doing something that looks physically impossible involving a folding chair. “It was her night off and all, too.”

Noctis looks from the woman on the stage, to this disheveled guy who looks like he’s going to pitch over in his seat, and back again. He must be pretty obvious about it, because the guy chuckles a bit. “Uh-huh. Hard to believe, right? I promise I clean up nicer than this.”

And Noctis genuinely has no idea what to say to that. He takes a sip of his drink.

“Uh. You know, if this isn’t your scene, and you weren’t here to see Nea, there’s quieter places to go get plastered around here. And cheaper. The next block over from here there’s this great little—ohmygods, you’re the Prince.”

Well, fuck.

“Says who?” Noctis counters, tiredly.

“Says your face,” the guy sputters. After a pause, adds: “And the fact that you keep checking if your drink is spiked.” He taps the tabletop with one finger, where two little plastic tabs are lying used, the pale blue color of one end indicating safety.

Noctis resists the urge to roll his eyes; takes another, much larger gulp of the aforementioned drink. He’d had the tabs in his wallet.

“I can, like…leave now. If you want.” He’s already standing up, and already catching himself on the edge of the table with one hand.

“What? No, you’re—”

“There you are, asshole.” A heavy hand on his shoulder, then Noctis is wheeling around to look up at a very unimpressed-looking Gladio.

“Uh-huh,” Noctis mutters. “Here I am.”

Honestly, Noctis thinks he ought to be impressed with himself that he got as much time as he did, considering the genius move of having used his subway card when he’d taken off out of sheer muscle memory. He’d left his phone—and its state-of-the-art tracking capabilities—charging by his bed, though, and he’d gotten three entire hours out of it. It probably would’ve been less if he hadn’t wandered for 20 minutes after getting off at a completely random subway station, or had tried to go somewhere quieter and more predictable than this, with less flashy neon or people losing their clothes.

“Who’s blondie?” Gladio asks, raising an eyebrow. “You work here?”

The blondie in question’s eyes go very round—a pretty common reaction to Gladio’s entire everything, really. “Uh-huh.” To his credit, his voice cracks only very slightly. “I dance.”

Gladio gives him an appraising look, glances at the stage, then shrugs. “Oh,” is all he says. “Nice.” If doesn’t believe it, he gives no indication.

“Uh. Are you a bodyguard or something?”

Gladio’s eyes narrow at Noctis, who just shrugs—the jig’s up. “Or something,” he parrots. “Speaking of,” he adds, rounding on Noctis, voice dropping into a growl, “I don’t have to tell you what a fucking security nightmare this is.”

“Yup.” He makes no move to stand. “Planning on telling my dad? Or yours?”

He scoffs. “Y’know, getting my own ass kicked over this might just be worth watching you get grounded like a high schooler playing hooky.”

“Do it, then.”

They both know he won’t. Check and mate.

“We’re leaving,” he says, shoving at Noct’s shoulder. “Iggy’s waiting in the car.” A pause, and his face changes. “You know he’s planning on apologizing to you. And if you don’t say it back, I’m gonna kick your teeth in. You were being a dick.”

“Yeah, well.” Noct would contend he wasn’t the only one, but he was the one that went AWOL and probably (absolutely) gave them both an aneurysm over it, and had them crossing half the city to find him. Which constitutes a dick move. That hadn’t been the point, though; the point had been the bone-deep urge to just be away, just for a bit, before he could say anything else he’d regret. But he could stand to apologize to the both of them for the runaround, at least.

Gladio’s giving him a long, hard look, now. “Fine,” Noctis mumbles, fishing out his wallet.

“On the house.” The words are abrupt, a little too loud to be warranted despite the room’s overall noise level, and Gladio and Noct both look over at him.

“Uh, I mean. It’s covered. You can go.”

“Okay.” Gladio raises an eyebrow. “Thanks. Got a name, kid?” Noct knows it’s less out of actual interest and more as a rote point of security; if anybody needed to be questioned later on, they’d have a starting point.

“It’s Prompto.”

***

This time, Noct drove. Gladio had worked out pretty quick where they were headed when Noct suggested they go for drinks after they’d trained late.

Gladio doesn’t have to be thrilled about it. But at the very least, Noct’s got some supervision, this time around.

He should’ve put up more of a fight, probably, but it’s not like he could’ve stopped the damned car.

And here they are. Club Aurentia, the sign cheerily proclaims, complete with a flickering neon clementine in the corner. The building’s old, not exactly dilapidated but definitely not retro-on-purpose. Plenty of people are coming and going through the tarnished brass doors, or milling about outside, even on a weeknight.

“You do know how very obviously a brothel this joint is, right.” No shade, just a statement of fact.

Noct huffs a short sigh through his nose, drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Yeah. Iggy was pretty damn clear on that point. Not like that’s why we’re here.”

“Still don’t get why it’s gotta be we anyways. If you’re really that worried about the tab for one drink, it’s not like it’d take both of us to go settle it.”

Noct just shrugs.

Fucker.

It’s not like it’s a bad idea to make sure the charge is covered, arguably worth the trip across the city, even; if he’d been recognized they didn’t need anyone claiming that the Prince is the type to skip out on a bill. The employee had seemed like a decent enough guy, and herding Noct back to the car had been a more pressing priority at the time than any overpriced cocktail. But yeah, ideally, better to head off the issue.

Which is a one-person job.

“This about that kid from the other night? You worried or something?”  

Or something.

Huh.

Noct makes a noncommittal sound, suddenly seeming quite fascinated by a loose thread on his sleeve. “I mean, if he’s there we might as well thank him.”

“Fine. But you know you’re not here to socialize though, right. We pay, we leave. You already got recognized once, and if word gets out you already know who’s gonna wind up doing the damage control. With time he doesn’t have.”

The Citadel’s entire team of publicists aren’t worth shit by comparison, honestly. And just because Iggy doesn’t exactly know they’re here right now doesn’t mean there’s not an 80-20 chance he’ll figure it out anyways, even if precisely nothing happens.

“I know,” Noct mutters, and for whatever it’s worth it sounds like he does in fact know. And probably still feels like an ass for blowing up at Iggy the other day.

Which, good.

Gladio sighs, yanks open the car door. “We going, or what?”

***

The lobby’s not as packed as it was before—that was Saturday night, and it’s Tuesday now—but there’s still a good line snaking its way up to the ticket counter. Looks like a working-class crowd for the most part; the easy chatter between friends or coworkers washing over the narrow space. And Noct doesn’t exactly look out of place; he’s in a hoodie and jeans that don’t look as expensive as they are, and there’s about as many Lucians here as foreigners. But he looks stiff and ill-at-ease on the old chintzy carpet, staring off into nothing, the yellowed light from both the dusty chandelier overhead as well as the strands of what look like multicolored Solstice lights on the far wall glinting off his hair.

Gladio elbows him. “What, you nervous?”

“About what?” Noct shoots back, under his breath.

“Exactly.”

***

“Actually, we’re here to settle a bill.”

The woman selling the tickets raises one pristinely-shaped eyebrow at them, before wordlessly waving them over towards the other woman behind the desk. She looks foreign, too; ivory skin standing out starkly against her black blouse, slate-gray hair pinned back into a complicated updo.

She glances up from her clipboard, green eyes flat and hard as she takes them in. “Yeah?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment after Gladio repeats himself, but her gaze immediately flicks towards Noct, and narrows.

“You here to see Prompto?”

Gladio shrugs, not sure if it’s hilarious or worrying that the kid had obviously gone and told his supervisor. “Nah, we’ll just—”

“He’s on in ten,” she says, abruptly, cutting him off. “You wanna talk, you’ll have to wait. And he’s booked up tonight, so make it quick. That is if he’s up for it.” She turns, calls over her shoulder. “Biggs.”

The guy who emerges from the door behind her has an easy stance, a relatively friendly expression, but he’s keen-eyed, and the jacket that’s one size too big would suggest he’s packing.

“There’s no loitering in my lobby. Front section’s a hundred crown each. Nobody’ll bother you there, Highness.”

Noct, to his credit, doesn’t visibly react to his title. But it is very clear he wasn’t planning on having to sit through another show. “No, it’s fine, I’ve got the nine crown for the drink.”

“Biggs’ll go with you, make sure you’re left alone,” she says, tone banking no argument, before pointedly turning on her heel and striding through the door behind her.

That’s that, then. If they hang around out here any longer, Noct definitely is gonna get recognized.

There’s worse ways to spend the evening, Gladio thinks as they follow Biggs through the double doors. As long as this guy doesn’t try shoot them in the head point blank in front of a large crowd of spectators, Gladio’s pretty damn sure he could take him down if he needed to.

But Noct looks downright pained as he takes his seat at their table, ten feet from the stage.

“Think she just wanted our money,” Gladio tells him, grabbing the menu and scanning it. Drinks are off the table (for him, at least, though Noct looks like he’s gonna need to knock back at least three to survive the next forty-five minutes), but a plate of wings doesn’t sound half bad.

Noct doesn’t respond. Neither does Biggs, but Gladio hears his soft snort.

***

It’s a good time, really. Dizzying sprays of confetti, bass-heavy radio remix after remix he can feel in his gut, and the loose effortless charm of a dozen guys and girls in various states of undress.

He can see why Prompto’s their headliner. It’s not even that he’s the most eye-catching, really, though he is hardly recognizable compared to the bedraggled, barely-upright kid they’d met the other night--either he’s better now, or he’s buried those dark circles under a shitload of concealer. It’s the precision of his movements, the lightning-quick steps, fluid grace that’s impossible to look away from.

Noct’s certainly looking.

“Flexible little guy, isn’t he,” Gladio says, applauding at the end of a number.

“Hm.”

Noct’s still tensed up, very much so, fingers gripping the table’s edge so hard it might disintegrate, so obviously out-of-sync with the entire situation that Gladio was going to take mercy on him and suggest they take off once they’d eaten, bill be damned.

But he hasn’t taken his eyes off Prompto once.

“You smitten yet?” he asks, snatching another wing off the plate and double checking the exits—nobody’s come or gone—then glancing over at Biggs. Biggs just gives him an even look right back; he doesn’t seem to particularly mind that he’s being surveilled, and Gladio’s sure the guy’s doing the same to him.

Noct flips him off, gulps his drink. The next number starts.

It makes sense this kid’s a choreographer, he thinks. He knows what he’s doing. Gladio might not know shit about dance aside from the obligatory ballroom stuff he’d been made to practice with Iris as a kid to get them both through boring state functions, but he definitely knows a thing or two about controlled, deliberate movement.

Movement which, at the moment, apparently includes jutting out your hips gratuitously and feeling up your own ass.

He does look good, though, dancing aside; hair meticulously gelled into a perfect swoop, hoops in his ears, bits of gold leaf stuck around his eyes. He’s not tall, but he’s got a dancer’s build, lithe and strong, and those heels aren’t hurting any. The outfit’s some drapey orange and gold lamé situation, complete with shorts that look painted on him, strategically placed rhinestones and body glitter scattered across his skin.

It takes a few minutes to notice the scars. The few spots on his back, a handful across his arms and legs. It’s not the color of the skin—it’s obviously concealed, and the light catches the sparkly bits of him just right to draw the eye away—but skin pulls and puckers sometimes, just slightly, not quite moving with the rest of him. Gods know that outfit’s not covering much, but he’s the only one who’s not shedding any layers up here, and Gladio wonders if there’s more beneath that shimmery fabric.

Well. Rough part of town.

It’s not until the very end, at what passes for a curtain call at this place when the lights aren’t quite so bright, that Prompto finally seems to notice them. His expression shifts, just a bit, from the performative but comfortable smile that had stayed firmly pasted on his lips throughout the show. For a split second, his eyes are rounder, the curve of his mouth more uncertain than pleased when his gaze meets Noct’s. But the moment passes, and he’s grinning again, arm-in-arm with the other beaming, panting dancers as cheers ring out around them. Twenty seconds later and the stage is empty.

“Have fun?” Biggs asks, eventually. It’s the first time he’s spoken.

“Uh-huh,” Gladio says, easily, at the same time that Noct says, “It was fine.” God, the kid looks constipated.

“Great. Wait here.” He stands. “Gotta wait for Nea’s say-so if you wanna see Prom, but. He’s gonna be pretty busy after this.”

Noct watches Biggs’ retreating back, an odd look on his face.

“Do you actually wanna see him?” Gladio asks, sliding the still barely-touched plate of gyoza he’d ordered for Noct across the table. “I mean. Your eyes were glued to the kid.” He smirks, waggles an eyebrow, and it earns him a spectacular scowl.

“…dunno,” he says at last, shoulders deflating, jaw working as he stares at the condensation rolling down the side of his glass. “Maybe he wouldn’t want to be bothered if he’s that…busy.”

“Well.” Gladio plucks a gyoza from the plate he’d just handed over. “What he’s not gonna want, probably, is for you to act all weird about his overnight gigs. You knew.”

“I know,” he mutters, just this side of defensive.

“Ain’t like it’s a crime, either, as long as Blondie’s not committing tax fraud.”

“I know.” Noct sighs. “Can’t hurt to see if he’s okay, I guess. Seems like a lot if he was that sick the other night.”

“Yeah.”He pauses, taking in Noct’s stiff shoulders, the full-body tension that’s gonna leave him achey all over in the morning. “Last chance to bail, though. There’s no actual reason we gotta do this part.” He nods at the empty stage. “Looked like he’ll live.”

Another tight shrug, another swig of his drink and a terse “might as well,” and alright, looks like they are doing this part.

***

Ten minutes later they’re shuffled back through now mostly-empty lobby—most of the patrons are either drinking or or migrating to the dance floor now—and led through a side door into a wood-paneled hallway.

Biggs’ hands are full; a steaming cup of instant chickatrice noodle in one hand and a packet of saltines in the other, a sports drink tucked up under his armpit. “He’s already waiting for you,” he tells them, as they come to a halt in front of one of the doors deep into the hallway. “He’s gotta eat something, though. And Nea said you get ten minutes.”

“Guessing you’re here to enforce that,” Gladio says, not caring if it’s blunt.

“And to make sure no one bothers him,” Biggs replies, calmly, meeting his eyes.

He has to remind himself not to bristle at the implications of that on Noct’s behalf—these people don’t know him, and they’re probably not bursting at the seams with fealty toward the Crown, either. The treaty with Niflheim is tenuous, barely older than Noct himself, and the war beforehand had been ugly for both sides. Most Imperial immigrants are refugees, or the children of refugees, having had no choice but to flee to the country that had fared marginally better when their own had become so stripped of resources. And they ain’t exactly living the high life, here.

Noct must’ve realized the same thing, because even though his arms are crossed now, all he says is, “We won’t.”

It’s a cramped sitting room of some kind, both tacky as hell with bright orange walls and décor as loud as the rest of this place, but cozy with its low lighting and squashy armchairs. And no exits but the way they came in. Well. If Gladio needs to pull the plug on this shit a minute in, he’s got no problem with that. Biggs had lost the jacket, at some point, and if he is still armed, it’s not obvious. But Gladio’s been put through the ringer learning how to recognize and disarm assassins of all varieties. And Noct’s not exactly helpless either—quite the opposite—if it comes down to it. Doesn’t mean he can relax any, and if anything happens it is squarely on him, but it’s something, anyways. Damn kid’s gonna be the death of him.

Blondie’s seated with his shins pressed up against a glass coffee table. He’s in a pair of beat-up sweats, but his hair and makeup still look pretty much flawless in the dim light of the room, even the gold leaf framing his lashes doesn’t seem to have budged any.

 He makes no move to stand at the sight of Noct; the smile he slaps on looks taut, maybe wary. He meets Gladio’s eyes a grand total of once before decidedly looking anywhere but.

“Hi again,” he says, with a gung-ho sort of cheer that can’t quite seem to get its legs under it, an awkward little wave to match. “Didn’t think you’d be back around…your highness,” he tacks on, like an afterthought.

Gladio frowns. The kid seems winded, words coming out a little breathy and odd. And yeah, he just had one hell of a workout, but twenty minutes on and his chest definitely shouldn’t be rising and falling that rapidly.

Biggs plops down into the chair beside him and sets the soup and crackers in front of him, repeating the directive to eat before anybody can say anything else. And Gladio thinks Noct’s concern, in its veneer of studious indifference, wasn’t misplaced after all. Guy had looked like roadkill a couple nights ago, anyways. He doesn’t, now—mostly he just looks glittery—but still.

Noct sits. Gladio does not. “Didn’t mean to crash your break time,”  Noct says. Gods, he looks uncomfortable. “Sorry. You should eat.”

“Thanks.” The kid raises the soup cup to his lips, but doesn’t take an actual sip, swallowing reflexively like the smell of it alone is enough to turn his stomach. He takes a careful sip of the sports drink instead. It’s a brand that Gladio knows for a fact tastes like piss, but is damn good for electrolytes. Beside him, Biggs’ brows draw together, but he says nothing.

“So, uh,” Prompto starts, after a moment. “You have a better time tonight?”

When Noct doesn’t answer right away, Gladio feels a twinge of sympathy for the kid.

“Was fun,” Gladio  says, honestly, with a shrug. “You’re pretty good.”

Noct takes his lead, fortunately, and his “yeah” comes out only slightly strained.

“Really?” he says, brows shooting up like maybe something’s not quite adding up here, eyes flicking from Gladio’s face to Noct’s, but he doesn’t look displeased. “Whoa. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Nea said you wanted to see me?” he asks, and before Gladio can clarify that that’s not quite what’s happening here, he goes on. “If you were wanting to book, I’m pretty full up tonight, but. Uh. I don’t mind rearranging some stuff? Seeing as you’re, y’know.” He gestures vaguely at Noct. “But you gotta work that out with Nea, she handles most of the scheduling.”

And Noct, hilariously, says, “Book…what?”

Prompto blinks. “…me? Unless you wanted someone else?”

Another one-point-five seconds and Noct’s brain seems to catch up to his mouth. He flushes, spectacularly. “Wha—no.” It comes out sharp, louder than he probably meant it to, and Prompto actually starts a bit. “That’s. No,” he says, quieter now, staring very hard at his own knees, looking like he might spontaneously combust and also that he’d probably be fine with that. “That’s not why we’re here.”

“…um. Okay.”  A long pause, and Gladio can see the shift in Prompto’s face from puzzlement to something like unease. He might be blushing, too, but the makeup makes it hard to tell. But Biggs is grinning now, clearly at Noct’s expense, and Gladio can’t blame him because he is about two inches away himself from absolutely pissing himself laughing.

He tries to keep it out of his voice when he says, “He came to pay for that drink, is all. And see if you were feeling any better, if you were around.”

“Oh.” He gives them both a smile that’s nervous around the edges, a little wrong-footed but not insincere, drumming his fingers on his knee. “I am. Thanks.”

Biggs raises an eyebrow, gives a pointed look at the soup cup growing cold on the table, but says nothing.

“But,” Prompto says, frowning, “if that was all, then why’d Nea…” He trails off, and Gladio can see the realization hit him. He wonders if they’re the same conclusions he’d come to himself. To see just what they were after, for starters. To keep the sudden appearance of the Prince from causing an ordeal at her establishment. To collect their money, while she was at it. “Sorry,” he mutters, finally, gaze falling as though he’d had any part in this at all.

“It’s fine,” Noct tells him. He looks only marginally less like he wants to die than he did before, but he sounds genuine, at least. “Not like anyone warned you.”

“I’m…” Prompto starts, then lets out a shaky breath. Then, with a kind of dawning horror, “You’re not about to, like. Lock me up for soliciting royalty, or something?” Adds, under his breath, “Shiva, I just solicited royalty…”

Gladio holds back his snort, wants to tell him that repeating the offense out loud isn’t exactly gonna help his case. Instead, he says, “Relax, kid. We know the laws.” Well. Sort of. Brothels are legal is about the extent of his own knowledge; maybe soliciting royalty was actually a crime. Iggy would know, probably. Freakish knowledge of obscure laws is his forte. “Anyways. You thought it was him soliciting you, you were just doing your job.”

Noct gives him a withering look, which is pretty much the best thing ever when he still looks like a beet. And Prompto does look distinctly salmon-ish now, too, despite the foundation piled on thick enough to blot out most of those freckles. He’s picking at the edges of an old striped sweatband he’s wearing, and Gladio thinks of that gigantic jeweled cuff he’d been wearing on the same wrist, earlier.

Nobody says anything, after that. Prince Charmless can’t string two words together to smooth the situation over, because of course he can’t, and Prompto’s moved on to fiddling with the label of his sports drink, not looking at any of them. Biggs raises an eyebrow at Gladio, a silent question—which of us is gonna end this first—when Noct’s phone goes off.

It’s his text tone, a bright handful of eight-bit notes, and Gladio wonders if it’s Iggy. It’s probably Iggy.

But Prompto looks up, at the sound. He’s smiling faintly. “Heh. Level up.”

Noct’s head snaps up so fast that Gladio almost hears it.

“You play King’s Knight?”

***

(to be continued-- many, many thanks to @taizi for listening to me spitball about this one and giving me that sweet sweet validation-- 

[charlieswan-squad]

Twilight Rewrite 1. First Sight (i)

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was warm in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite shirt — sleeveless, white lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture. My carry-on item was a raincoat.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only three months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead.

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself— an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

 I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city. It was the anonymity of Phoenix that i would miss, second only to the heat; now that my mother would no longer be there. I loved that you could be anyone in Phoenix and rarely stand out; participate just as much as you wanted then retreat; never be in the spotlight.

 "Bella," my mom said to me — the last of a thousand times — before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

 My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still…

 "I want to go," I lied. I'd always been an awful liar, but I'd been saying this specific lie so frequently lately that it sounded somewhat convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will.”

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want — I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

But I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise. 

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

 Charlie had really been really nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school and was going to help me get a car.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie. Neither of us was what anyone would call chatty, and I didn't know what there was to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision — like my mother before me, I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for Forks.

 When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of Forks. My primary motivation behind buying a car, despite the scarcity of my funds, was that I refused to be driven around town in a car with red and blue lights on top. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

 Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I stumbled my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling as he automatically caught and steadied me. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face. 

“And you’re really okay about leaving her, Bella?”

We both understood that this particular question wasn’t really about my happiness or any desire to be back in Forks. This question was Charlie’s way of asking if it was a good idea to leave Renee, who I had responsible for throughout the majority of my life. Mom could be summarised by the phrase: good intentions, poor execution. This was the main reason Charlie had never fought Mom for custody; he knew she needed me.

 “Yeah, of course Dad. I wouldn’t have come if I wasn’t sure.”

“Fair enough.”

I had only a few bags. Most of my Arizona clothes were too permeable for Washington. My mom and I had pooled our resources to supplement my winter wardrobe, but it was still scanty. It all fit easily into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Charlie announced when we were strapped into the cruiser and en route to Forks. 

"What kind of car?" I was suspicious of the way he said "good car for you" as opposed to just "good car."

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at El Cheldez?" El Cheldez is the small Native American reservation on the nearby coastline.

"No."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Charlie prompted.

 That would explain why I didn't remember him. I had gotten extremely proficient at blocking out painful, unpleasant and unnecessary things from my memory.

 "He's in a wheelchair now," Charlie continued when I didn't respond, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell me his truck cheap."

"What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was the question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine — it's only a few years old, really."

I hoped he didn't think so little of me as to believe I would give up that easily. 

"When did he buy it?"

"He bought it in 1984, I think."

"Did he buy it new?"

"Well, no. I think it was new in the early sixties — or late fifties at the earliest," he admitted sheepishly.

"Ch — Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. I wouldn't be able to fix it if anything went wrong, and I couldn't afford a mechanic…"

"Really, Bella, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

The thing, I thought to myself… it had possibilities — as a nickname, at the very least.

"How cheap is cheap?" After all, that was the deal breaker.

"Well, honey, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." Charlie peeked sideways at me with a hopeful expression.

Wow. Free.

"You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him. So I was looking straight ahead as I responded.

"That's awesome, Dad. Thanks. I really appreciate it." No need to add that my being happy in Forks is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. And I never looked a free truck in the mouth, or rather, engine.

"Well, now, you're welcome," he mumbled, embarrassed by my thanks.

 We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

 It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees were covered in moss, their branches hanging as a canopy above it, the ground blanketed with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. 

 It was too green here — an alien planet.

 Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Those were the only kind of days their marriage had — the early ones. 

There, parked on the street in front of the house that never changed, was my new — well, new to me — truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my intense surprise, I loved it. I didn't know if it would run, but I could see myself in it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged — the kind you see at the scene of an accident, paint unscratched, surrounded by the pieces of the foreign car it had destroyed. I reckoned I would be able to plough down a marble statue and not even have to worry about any dents.

 "Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful.

I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser; which was of course, the worst-case scenario.

"I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

 It took only one trip to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had been belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window — these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, alongside a crappy landline phone. This was a requirement of my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. An odd arrangement, as she knew (albeit did not actually understand) the overwhelming anxiety I faced any time I had to make a phonecall. The rocking chair from my baby days was still in the corner by the window.

 There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. This was a fact I was trying not to dwell on too much. A small comfort to this, was that it would inevitably be better than sharing a bathroom with Renee, who was a self-confessed sucker for impulse buying any time she saw an add for a skin or hair product; meaning the bathroom cupboards were in a constant state of overflow. Charlie’s skin-care routine is definitely less rigorous than Mom’s. 

 One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not to have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying jag. I would save that for bedtime, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

 Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven — now fifty-eight — students; there were more than seven hundred people in my junior class alone back home. All of the kids here had grown up together — their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak.

 Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I ought to be athletic; tall and skinny yet petite and muscular - a volleyball player, or a cheerleader, perhaps — all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, I was pasty, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair, despite the constant sunshine, which always made me look slightly ill. I had always been slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the necessary hand-eye coordination to play sports without humiliating myself — and harming both myself and anyone else who stood too close. No, physically, I don’t fit in anywhere I go.

 When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the bathroom to clean myself up after the day of travel. I always hated the feel of “aeroplane” on myself after traveling. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin did have the potential to be nice - it was usually smooth and not too oily nor too dry - but it all depended on colour. I had no colour here.

Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Like, when I saw green, everyone else saw red. Where I saw beauty, everyone else saw something terrible that must be avoided. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow would be just the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was done crying. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my head, and later added a pillow too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.

[our-smooty]

Flowerbeds and Fertile Soil: Chapter 7

Fandom: Good Omens

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens, )Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer

Tags:  Kidfic, Mpreg kind of, they can choose to present however so idk, Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has A Vulva (Good Omens), OCs Galor, parenting, using your snake form to avoid confrontation, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Pregnancy, if I missed a tag lemme know

Summary: They could do anything, go anywhere, all without the worry of Above or Bellow making a fuss. Even so, they mostly kept to their little patch of Eden, their cottage and garden and the simple life they’d carved out among the locals. Aziraphale opened a book shop in town, where he only occasionally sold any books (and the ones he did sell, were all modern and stocked specifically for that purpose). Crowley focused his attentions on the garden, and if he occasionally helped their elderly neighbour with her disobedient willow tree, then that was a secret no one needed to know. Lately, however, they had both been feeling rather restless, unbeknownst to each other. Aziraphale tried reorganizing his store, changing the way he tied his bowtie and even ate pizza –something he considered to be far too messy for him personally. Crowley had branched out into birdwatching, and then car maintenance (the human way), and even reading. Nothing scratched the itch for either of them.

Ao3 Link

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They got the call from Newt a few days later. Baby Boy Device-Pulcifier, named Alfred or Alfie for short, was born healthy and screaming his head off. Crowley, being the more tech-savvy of the two of them, managed to facetime the other couple so Charlotte and Annabella could see the new baby and their parents. Anathema looked tired, but happy, while Newt was buzzing around the background with excitement, probably annoying all the nurses to death. Bella and Lottie had lots of questions, most of which were nearly unanswerable because they kept speaking over each other. After half-an-hour little Alfie began to wake up and fuss so they had to end the call, promising to visit as soon as they were ready to take the baby home. 

“M’a big sister?” Bella asked, her excitement obvious. Crowley couldn’t help but smile as Lottie began to pout.

“I’m still the biggest sister,” she declared, stomping her foot. Aziraphale chuckled at her attitude and ruffled her hair. 

“That’s true my dear, but do you know what being the biggest sister means?” She turned to him with wide eyes, more than ready for responsibility in that way only children could be. Bella had lost interest and was playing a game on Crowley’s phone, but the demon made sure to listen in. “It means you have to help out two little siblings and be twice the good example for them.”

Charlotte’s face scrunched up in concentration for a moment before she smiled with a determined look. “I can do that, Uncle Aziraphale!”

“Good girl, I know you can.” Crowley cleared his throat and cast a proud look over at the angel. 

“Nice one, Aziraphale,” he praised genuinely, though the sentence sounded a little sarcastic. Aziraphale beamed all the same. It was good to see his angel feeling a little more confident in his abilities to interact with the kids. Those types of things rarely came naturally to Aziraphale and Crowley knew he was trying hard. It filled him with so much pure affection it was almost disgusting. Almost.

“Thank you, love. Shall we go out and pick something up for the little lad as a welcome-home gift?” Their god-daughters cheered, mostly because they knew their uncles wouldn’t be able to resist buying them something as well, and ran off to get ready. Crowley was already thinking about all the adorable little outfits they could buy for the new baby boy. Maybe he could spend a miracle to make sure a few of them would grow with him, at least for the first few months. It’d been a shame when the girls grew out of all the clothes they had gifted.

“Are you up to some shopping Crowley? You have a much better eye for these things than I do,” Aziraphale asked. He ran a hand up Crowley’s arm and into his hair, cradling the back of his head softly. Crowley leaned into it like he always did, soaking up the touch like the touch-starved, heat-seeking serpent he was. Even 10 years of constantly being touched and being able to touch hadn’t removed that need completely. 

“Of course, do I ever turn down an opportunity to spoil the kids? And someone has to stop you from buying the poor bairn a completely tartan outfit,” he teased. Over the past three days he’d had 4 more episodes of nausea and 3 episodes of dizziness, but none as severe at the first. Now that he knew what they were and how to handle them it wasn’t so terrifying for him and the angel and there hadn’t been any more fainting spells. This morning the sickness had lingered until noon before it tapered off and now he felt fine. A little shopping might actually make him feel better. 

“Fantastic. Do you think we might…?” Aziraphale trailed off nervously, but Crowley had a feeling he knew what the angel wanted to ask. 

“If you see anything you really like for, uh, ours, I wouldn’t say no to picking up a few things. Not a lot mind, but you never know when you’ll see something perfect,” Crowley rambled. He adjusted his glasses to make sure they were still covering his eyes. It was a nervous tick he didn’t think he was ever going to break. His slight unease was offset by the relieved smile and small kiss on the cheek Aziraphale gave him. 

“Thank you, my star. You’ll let me know if you get uncomfortable though, won’t you?” Crowley leaned down to give the angel a kiss of his own, this time on the lips. 

“Sure, angel. Just don’t try and buy the entire baby store yeah?”  A shrill cry from the room down the hall followed by Charlotte’s voice loudly proclaiming that she hadn’t done anything rang through the house. Both beings sighed and stepped back. Godparenthood called once again. Crowley was beginning to look forward to the girls going home. Not that he didn’t love having them around, but they were really putting a damper on his Aziraphale time. He wasn't sure if it was because of the baby or if he just really, really loved the angel but lately he'd had an almost constant need to be close to him.

Neither of them wanted to make the long drive to London, so they made the short drive down the road to the nearest baby shop instead, a little store called Cheeky Rascals (which made Crowley nearly do his own wiggle of delight each time he heard it). They’d gone here many times since the girls had been born, and were sort of known by the employees. Especially since Aziraphale was the type to gush to anyone about their godchildren. 

“So we’ve agreed. Two outfits and only one toy, since they still have things from when Bella was little,” Crowley repeated for the third time since getting in the car. He doubted Aziraphale was listening, too busy imagining adorable little jacket and trouser combinations. In the back of the Bently, strapped into their car seats, Bella and Lottie argued over who would get to see Alfred first. Crowley, of course, drove the exact speed limit with utmost care while they were back there.

“Aziraphale, did you hear me? Only two,” he repeated firmly. He knew once they got there the angel would start to get carried away with the excitement of it all. Crowley didn’t feel like wrangling a flightly angel and two children at the same time, but it looked like that was going to be the case. 

“Of course dear,” Aziraphale answered distractedly, like he hadn’t actually heard what Crowley said. The demon sighed and committed himself to a much less relaxing evening than he’d initially expected. 

“Just, try to keep it within reason,” he begged as they pulled into the store parking lot. They each took charge of getting one of the kids out of their seatbelts and ferrying them safely through the lot and into the store. Inside was an assault of baby blue and pink, a small section of more neutral yellow, and entirely too many plush toys. 

“Ok girls, why don’t we go pick something out for your new brother?” Aziraphale asked leading them down the isles into the clothing section. He waved at the clerk behind the counter, who waved back and cooed at the girls as they passed, remarking on how big they were getting. Crowley was sure she thought they were he and Azirapahle’s kids, and no explaining that they were their godchildren would convince her otherwise. 

Crowley decided to leave them to it for a few minutes while he looked around for gift for the newborn hmself. He knew Anathema came from money, and could probably afford anything she and Newt wanted for their new baby, but he prided himself in finding the perfect gift for each child. Quickly striding through the stroller and car seat section he came to the toys. 

The selection was overwhelming. There were soft toys, talking toys, glowing toys, and toys that did all three. He’d given Lottie a stuffed puppy that she still refused to leave the house without. For Bella he’d picked out a teddy bear that glowed slightly when you squeezed it that had made her frequent night-time worries much less frequent. Crowley needed to find something similar for the new one, which was going to be a little bit of a challenge since he hadn’t actually met the kid yet. Relying almost entirely on his Demonic Luck (which, if asked, he would deny having and instead have called it skill), he scanned the shelves, waiting for something to jump out at him. 

After a few minutes of fruitless browsing, he Felt something as he passed a display filled with a variety of different plush pillows. He began to scan the piles, looking for one that felt right. Carefully, Crowley began to dig deeper into the pile, until his hand touched something. It was a blanket, barely four feet long, knit with a lovely cream base and accented with green felt leaves. Upon closer inspection it wasn’t right for his new godson; something inside his chest told him it was a little bit too dainty. But it still called to him for some reason and he couldn’t seem to get himself to put it down, like static cling had glued it to his hand. So he didn’t try, and instead bundled it up in the crook of his shoulder and kept looking. 

In the end he came across a caterpillar-shaped stuffy with extremely soft fluff around the head that felt right for little Alfred. His mission completed, Crowley decided it was about time to check in with Aziraphale and get to work on cutting down the probably dozens of items he and the girls had amassed. Surprisingly when he found them, still in the clothing section, they had less than ten in their cart, with Charlotte and Annabella holding one shirt each for themselves. The shirts both read “proud big sister” which made him smile.

“Found anything you like angel?” he asked, waltzing up behind Aziraphale and resting his head on his shoulder. Aziraphale had two teeny-tiny bowties in his hands, one a blue checkered pattern and the other solid red. “The blue one would look cute with those corduroy overalls you have picked out, as much as I hate to admit it.”

“Oh, Crowley! You startled me!” Aziraphale said, shaking himself a little then holding both bowties up. “Do you really think so? I would have thought you’d prefer the red and that little jean jacket with the matching trousers.”

Crowley cast an eye over the mentioned articles and made a considering noise. “Not for him, I don’t think. It’s more, our style?” And it was. The jacket was that kind of cool-baby-chic that was very in right now, and the trousers had cute little tan patches sewn over the knees that reminded him of Aziraphale’s favourite coat. 

“I think you’re right,” Aziraphale sighed, setting the red bowtie aside sadly. Crowley snatched it up and set it at the neck of the outfit. It really did go well. 

“We could get it for us,” Crowley murmured, refusing to look away from the little outfit. He could picture a faceless form, a few months old crawling around in those exact garments. Or walking through St. James’ Park pushing a stroller, while the angel walks beside him, leaning down to fuss with the collar of the jean jacket, making sure it’s keeping its owner warm and happy. Embarrassed, he physically shook his head to bring himself back from that daydream. He held out the bowtie like it might burn him. “If you like it so much, I mean.”

“Oh really? I think we should. Something about it just seems very right,” Aziraphale gushed, putting the items in his buggy happily. “Did you find anything for Alfred?”

Crowley offered up the stuffed caterpillar in what he hoped was a casual fashion. It felt right, but Aziraphale’s approval of the toy was inordinately important to him. Luckily the angel smiled and nodded, saying that it was perfect. Bella and Lottie ooh-ed at the toy, each holding their hands out. Crowley didn’t hand it over though; he knew that if he did it’d never make it to its rightful owner. 

“Not this time, niblings. This is for your new brother. And besides, your mum and dad would kill me if you brought home and more toys.” They didn’t kick up too much of a fuss, mostly because they already had their “sister shirts”, as they had begun calling them. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief and took a seat on a nearby bench, content to watch Aziraphale coo over baby shoes. This trip was far less traumatic than he’d been bracing for in the parking lot and it felt good to get to enjoy this in a weird, human way. Never, in all 6000 years of his life (and before that, the blurry memories of far, far Before), had he imagined he would be sitting in a baby store, shopping for his human friend's child (nevermind his own).

“Well what do you think Crowley? I’ve narrowed it down to five, and we can pick two from those?” Crowley was once again snapped out of his daydreaming to address his lover. All five outfits were perfect. Maybe he’d been giving Aziraphale too little credit before. 

“Let's just get all of them. We can save a few for his first birthday or Christmas and miracle them to fit,” Crowley answered, greatly enjoying the way Aziraphale lit up. Of course he knew they’d go home with more than they intended, but how could he deny his angel anything?

“Really? That sounds like a wonderful plan. We won’t have to make another trip out here for the Holidays.” They would though, Crowley knew. They wouldn’t be able to resist giving the kid some of the outfits whenever they visited, no matter how much they tried. 

“Sounds good then. Are you ready to go?” Crowley watched Aziraphale pause and go through his mental checklist. He was just about to assure him that they’d gotten everything they came for when the angel pointed to his side.

“What’s that?” Crowley looked down then felt himself blush. He’d completely forgotten about the blanket nestled in the crook of his elbow. “Is it something else for Alfred?”

“N-no,” Crowley stuttered, feeling more than a little flustered again. He’d kept his cool over the outfit mostly because Aziraphale had picked it out and he was only doing the angel a  favour by saying they should buy it. The blanket was his choice and that made it all the more personal and real. “I liked it, s-so I thought maybe… you know?”

“Yes?” Aziraphale had that look on his face that said ‘I know exactly what you mean, but I want to see if I can make you say it’. It was a look that was almost always followed by Crowley making a fool of himself as he tried to muddle through his feelings.

“Bastard,” he huffed under his breath, quiet enough that the kids wouldn’t hear. “It's for--for our one? Alright?”

Of course that earned a slight laugh and a large smile from his angel. “Of course, dear boy. May I see it?” Crowley handed over the blanket with a scowl, refusing to look up from the floor. He could head Lottie whispering to Bella about how his face was nearly the same colour as his har. “It’s lovely Crowley. The leaves--and this wool is so soft! A very good choice, love.”

Aziraphale ran his fingers across the woven wool with delicate care, almost like it was one of his precious ancient scrolls. Slowly he brought it up to his face, pressing the softness to his lips and humming in pleasure. Crowley’s breath hitched, his soul nearly undone by the simple, rapturous look on his angel’s face. “Glad you like it, angel.”

“I’m sure I’d like anything you pick out.” Did Aziraphale know what saying those kinds of things did to him? He must have, he said them so often it had to be on purpose. But usually, when the angel was teasing him he would get that look, so maybe he didn’t. It seemed impossible but maybe Aziraphale really did just… love Crowley like that. 

“Can we go now?” Lottie whined while tugging on Crowley’s sleeve. “I’m hungry.”

“Nibbles?” Bella asked, wide-eyed and eager as Aziraphale picked her up and placed her in the buggy seat. Crowley had taught her that one, mostly because he knew it would make Aziraphale laugh. 

“Why not? I’m sure we can find somewhere to grab a bite before heading him, right Crowley?” Of course they could. They had the near-limitless power of Heaven and Hell at their disposal, finding a place to eat was extraordinarily simple. Finding somewhere that served something both girls would eat, that would meet up the Aziraphale’s expectations, and had parking enough for the Bently was another matter entirely. But things had been going well so far, and Crowley was feeling quite optimistic for once, so he nodded and led them towards the check-out. Maybe it was possible to have a nice, relaxed afternoon with their little extended family, without any disasters.

Three days later Newt called to say they were ready for the girls to come back home, and if Crowley could drive them over that would be much appreciated. Crowley thought about refusing to make the drive, just to live up to his demonic nature, but in the end couldn’t resist going to give his present to Alfred in person. So he and Aziraphale packed up Bella and Lottie with their gifts and made the few-hours journey to Tadfield. Of course it took much longer than usual, since Crowley had to go the speed limit, but at the very least he was able to miracle to traffic to stay clear. 

“Ok now girls, you must try and stay quiet in case your brother is sleeping,” Aziraphale instructed as Crowley parked. “I know you’ve missed your mummy and daddy, and that you’re very excited, but it is very rude to wake a baby from their nap.”

“Yes Uncle Azi,” they both said, practically vibrating with excitement. They were both wearing their new shirts, and Aziraphale had braided their hair in an effort to make things as easy as possible on the new parents. Crowley expected that at least one of them would forget their instructions the second they all got inside, but he was ready to expend a small miracle to make sure Alfred stayed calm and not screaming through their visit. 

“OK, let's go, angel,” he said. He saw Anathema waiting at the bay window, waving happily with a small bundle in her arms. Newton was already at the front door kneeling down and opening his arms for when his daughters inevitably rushed him. Crowley watched with a small smile, especially when Lottie began to loudly explain their new outfits and Bella shushed her. 

“Isn’t that just lovely,” Aziraphale sighed, setting the seats to rights and offering to take one of the bags Crowley was holding. “I know they love us, but there’s something special about the bond between parent and child, isn’t there?”

“I know lots of people who’d disagree with you there angel,” Crowley remarked, hefting the remaining bag over his shoulder. Aziraphale very nearly began to whine. “Oh hush, I know what you mean.”

Aziraphale harrumphed and gave Crowley a scolding look. That was a common occurrence in their household though, so it barely phased the demon as he walked towards the open door. Newt was braced against the doorframe, making a valiant effort to listen to both girls as they simultaneously chattered at him. He looked ecstatic all the same, and Crowley’s stomach did a mild, swooping dive when realized that in a few years he might be in the same position. The last thing he needed right now was to get all overemotional, so he looked away, instead focusing on sliding through the doorway without getting knocked over himself. 

“Hello Crowley, Aziraphale!” Anathema greeted eagerly. She was wearing one of the long flowy dresses she’d favoured during her pregnancy and looked absolutely radiant despite the fact she had literally pushed a living being out of her body not even a week prior. “Thank you again for looking after the girls for us, you have no idea how much we appreciate it.”

“No worries, my dear. The girls have been a delight. Isn’t that right Crowley?” Aziraphale said from over his left shoulder. Crowley was too busy staring at the bundle of blankets in her arms. He’d reacted the same when Lottie, then Bella were born, so Anathema wasn’t surprised. 

“Why don’t you come inside for some tea, and meet the little man. You’re very lucky, he’s just woken up from a nap.” She gestured for them to drop the bags in the hallway and follow her inside to the living room, where there was already a pot of tea, steaming and ready, sitting on tea-cozy. 

“Witches,” Crowley grumbled quietly, but Anathema just laughed. Behind them, the front door closed and the house was filled with the ruckus of Newt trying to get the kid’s shoes off before they ran into the house and tracked mud all over the carpets. He decided to take up residence in the wingback armchair by the fire that he always sat in when they visited, closest to the couch where Anathema had set down with the baby. The angle made it so he could see the barest wisp of dark hair peeking out of the blankets.

“Alright, here you go,” Anathema said suddenly, shifting over so she could pass him the baby. Crowley’s eyes went with shock, though he still held out his arms and took the boy from his mother with practised ease. "Oh don’t look like that, I know you’re dying to hold him.”

“Thanks,” he breathed, getting a good look at the little blob of pink flesh and linen. Alfred had his dad’s nose and his mom’s eyes, along with a startling shock of thick dark hair. Both Device-Pulcifer girls had been born with little more than peach fuzz, but he knew human babies came in all shapes and sizes. Aziraphale lingered over his shoulder still, making sweet cooing and awing noises.

“He’s perfect, Anathema,” Crowley said in an awed voice. “Shame about him getting Newton’s nose, but I’m sure it won’t do him much harm.”

“Ha-ha,” Newt groaned from the hallway. “Didn’t you say my nose suited Lottie when she was born? I seem to remember something like that at least.”

“I said nothing of the sort.” Aziraphale poked him lightly in the side. “Fine, his nose is… adequate. Lots of hair.”

“Yes, it’s actually quite shocking!” The angel sat on the arm of the chair and petted a hand against the baby’s head. “I’d forgotten how soft newborn hair is.”

“He’s a good sleeper too, only wakes us up every two or so hours,” Anathema said proudly. She procured a bottle from one of the side tables and held it out. “I was going to feed him, would you mind?”

“No problem.” In fact, Crowley was more than happy to spend as much time as possible holding the kid, though if he didn’t give Aziraphale a turn in a few minutes the angel might start complaining. Anathema nodded and passed over the bottle before standing a little stiffly. With a silent snap, Aziraphale took away some of her post-birth pains, though not enough that she would notice and start to put up a fuss. Crowley noticed of course, but he didn’t say anything. 

Anathema left them there to go greet her other children. The entire cottage was filled with so much love that even Crowley could feel the very edges of it against his demonic soul. The first time he’d held Charlotte when she’d been born he’d nearly passed out from how much love he felt for her. It had happened a few other times too, when Aziraphale had confessed his feelings a week after Armageddon, and when they’d bought the cottage. Bella’s birth had come as a surprise--she’d been 2 months early--and unfortunately, that time had been filled more with fear and relief than love. But now, holding this little bundle of happiness and innocence, Crowley felt overwhelmingly at peace as he watched Alfred slowly suck down the milk provided. 

A small gasp made him lookup. Aziraphale was staring at him and the baby with something akin to wonder and Crowley realized a large amount of the love he was feeling was radiating from his angel. He smiled and even though his sunglasses were still on he knew it was too genuine and too soft for his harsh features. “Do you want to hold him?”

Aziraphale shook his head, resting a hand on Crowley’s cheek and caressing his cheekbone as if he were something precious. “Not yet, my starlight. I’m enjoying watching you with him for the moment.”

“Aziraphale!” Crowley whined, feeling that familiar embarrassed heat creeping up his neck. It was bad enough he couldn’t hide how much of a sap he was for children, did his angel had to go and point it out all the time? He ducked his head back down to focus on holding the bottle at the right angle.

“Shh, don’t get yourself all in a tizzy. I only mean that it’s nice to see you so happy,” Aziraphale said as he planted a kiss against the crown of Crowley’s head. “I think it’s rather beautiful.”

Crowley was saved the indignity of floundering through a response because Bella and Lottie were being led into the living room by Anathema and Newt. Each adult held one little girl in their arms, depositing them down by Crowley’s knees with instructions to be very, very careful. He set the finished bottle aside and tilted forward, just enough so they could see their newest sibling.

“He’s small!” Bella squealed, her little fingers curling the blankets. Alfred wiggled and freed a hand, his itty-bitty fingers curling around hers. 

“Why’s he look like that?” Lottie asked. That forced a laugh out of all the adults.

“You looked like that too honey, when you first came out of mommy’s tummy,” Anathema explained. Lottie looked scandalized but quickly recovered when Alfred let out a squawk. 

“Is he trying to talk?”

“No, babies can’t talk until they’re older. Remember when Bella was little?” Newt asked and Charlotte nodded, though she’d barely been three at the time. “Well, babies look a little funny for a while when they’re first born. He’ll look different in a week or two, just like what happened to you.”

“I never looked like that,” she insisted, looking very much like her mother. Newt just laughed and gave her a kiss to the head. Crowley rocked Alfred a few times, since he’d begun whimpering more and more, then decided it was time to hand him back to Anathema.

“Little guys getting fussy, you’d better take him,” he said, handing him off to his mum. “I’m sure there will be time for you to hold him later angel.”

“That’s fine dear, wouldn’t want to set him off. Oh! Why don’t we go get his gifts?” 

Alfred loved his stuffy, just as Crowley knew he would. The little tyke quieted right down when it was placed next to him in his rocker. Anathema and Newt greatly enjoyed the two outfits they’d brought with them, especially when Crowley assured them they would fit for the foreseeable future. The girls excitedly showed off their shirts, and overall it was a very pleasant afternoon. They were invited to stay for dinner, which Anathema insisted they accept as thanks for babysitting. Aziraphale was delighted to find out that she’d cooked her mother’s paella, though he admonished her for going to all that extra effort just for them. 

“Don’t worry about it, I needed something to do when Alfie woke me up this morning and I couldn’t get back to sleep.” They sat around the dinner table and chit-chatted idly. Crowley made a go at some of the rice, eating around the seafood bits, but in the end wasn’t able to manage more than a  few spoonfuls before feeling that now-familiar rolling in his stomach. He pushed his share over the Aziraphale, who took it happily, not stopping his conversation with Newt about the human’s new job at the post office. Crowley glanced over to the witch, worried his refusal to eat might be insulting, but she just smiled and shrugged. 

“I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as fish when I was pregnant with Charlotte, don’t worry about it,” she assured him. It was the first time all day anyone had acknowledged Crowley’s… condition and he wasn’t exactly sure how he felt about it. He didn’t want to think about what it would be like when he started showing, and everyone who saw him would know. 

“Ngh,” he responded, shrugging himself. It was awkward, being seen like that, but if it had to be anyone, the witch was probably the best option. “How long does this go on for again?”

“Usually just the first trimester, unless you’re really unlucky.” Which meant the was probably going to be doomed for the next however long. 

“Great. Bloody, peachy,” he moaned, resting his forehead on the table. Bella giggled and tried to toss a shrimp into his hair, though she was thwarted by Anathema’s stern ‘mom glare’. 

“Do you know how far along you are?” she asked, unphased by her daughter’s pouting. Crowley squirmed a little and wished Aziraphale was paying attention so he could field all these questions. But the angel continued to chatter on, oblivious to Crowley’s discomfort. And besides, Crowley thought, it was pathetic how often he was hiding behind his lover anyway. Time to buck up and not be a coward for once. 

“We think two months? Maybe a little less? It’s not exactly like this sort of thing has been done before so we’re not exactly sure of… anything,” he explained, tipping his head up so his chin was resting on the table. This was nearing dangerous territory. “For all we know this whole process could take years.”

Anathema winced in sympathy. “I hope not. I have a few things leftover from Alfie, some tea and herbs and stuff that really helped me if you want them.” Human kindness always surprised him. He was struck with the urge to thank her profusely. 

“Sure, can’t hurt I suppose,” he said instead, readjusting the arms of his glasses to make sure his eyes were fully covered. He didn’t truly need them here but without at least a few glasses of wine, he felt more comfortable with them on. Hell, he’d worn them for at least the first year when he and Aziraphale moved into their cottage. 

“I guess it is all new territory. I could try and do some scrying, if you want, get the general lay of the next few months. I can’t make any promises though, I’m sure you know this stuff is more of an art than a science.”

Of course that caught Aziraphale’s attention. “You could really do that? I’m afraid looking into the future has never been one of my strong suits. Everything gets so awfully muddled, you think you see one thing but it turns out to be entirely something else.”

Crowley, who had been ready to insist that he did not want even more help, raised an eyebrow. “You’ve tried looking into the future? I’m a demon and even I know that’s more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Worked out well with Agnus though, didn’t it?” Newt chimed in, helping himself to seconds. “Rather well, if I remember.”

Anathema grinned smugly at the two occult beings. “Newts right, you know. Seems humans are just better at doing some things.”

“Newts right, you know,” Crowley mocked under his breath. The two humans just laughed while Aziraphale gave Crowley a swift slap to the arm.

“Crowley! Anathema has so kindly offered to look into our baby’s future and you feel the need to act like a complete child?” he seethed with all the polite rage of a true Englishman. Crowley squirmed under the angle’s unrelenting gaze. Aziraphale quickly turned to Anathema with an apologetic look. “Terribly sorry dear. We would much appreciate any help you could give us.”

Crowley glared at the table, successfully chastised. It wasn’t his fault! All these questions about something so personal were making him uncomfortable, and it wasn’t like he could just leave. Well, he could. Might do even, in a minute. Spend some time curled up in the trunk of the Bently as a snake. He always kept a few soft blankets in there, just in case. 

“It’s fine,” Newt said, amused. “I remember how moody Anathema got when she was preg--” Right! That was it. A pot he hadn’t known was boiling inside him bubbled over. Crowley stood suddenly, his chair making an awful screeching sound against the wood floor.

“Gotta--gonna go outside--for some air. Y-yeah, air!” he garbled, quickly stalking towards the front hall. Aziraphale made to follow him but Crowley threw up a hand. “Don’t worry, won’t be more than a tick.”

For someone who walked like they were going to fall over at any moment, Crowley could move rather fast when he needed to. It came in handy in situations like this, or when he wanted to practise his dine and dash skills. In less than 30 seconds he was outside and popping open the trunk of the Bently. A quick glance over his shoulder confirmed no one had followed him, and then he transformed into a snake. Smaller than his regular form, but it had to be in order to fit in the boot. He slithered into the dark, warm space and flicked his tongue at the door, which promptly shut itself. There, someplace calm and quiet to cool off (metaphorically speaking, it was warm in the trunk). He’d just stay for a few minutes, not long enough cause too much of a stir. Then he’d go back and finish dinner like nothing was wrong. Because nothing was wrong. He was just overthinking and needed to spend some time not doing that. Only a few minutes, fifteen at the most. Then he'd go back.

[naruto-oc-critiques]

Hi, I would like you to do a review of my oc (I have many and all are related), I have not finished yet I must correct many things, and my English has errors, anyway I would like you to see the idea in general. Thank you!

Hello, I’m Mod ATB, and I’ll be reviewing your OC! I’m very sorry that it took so long to post this review, and I really hope it won’t stop you from sending in any more questions.

Pretense: General

Name: Yuuhei (幽閉, Yūhei).  literally means “Confinement” “Imprisonment” “Incarceration” and “Depressed feeling”. I gave this name to Yuuhei to highlight his feelings and the way he felt in Sunagakure.

Gender: Male

Age: 14-15 (Part I)

Time set in:  Pt. I to Epilogue.

Birthplace: Land of Wind

Lives in: Sunagakure.

All of this looks good. I really like that his name reflects his personality, but I do wonder if any of his friends or allies notice the connection.

Appearance: light brown hair, almost blond, and green eyes. He has expanders in his ears and from an accident at the age of 16 years he takes some burn wounds on the right side of the face and parts of his arm, chest and back. This also causes loss of vision in his right eye.

I really like his design from the pictures you have posted on the OC wikia. His clothes are very simple, and the parts and colors work well with each other. I also like that because he has a scar on his face, it isn’t just for show and actually hinders him in some way. Good job.

Family: orphan

Occupation: ninja/informant

This is interesting to me, because I’ve never seen a character with a job as an “informant.” That isn’t a bad thing, either. 

Rank: Chunin

Team: Team Ryuzu (Leader: Ryuzu, Teammates: Himari, Hiroki) in Sunagakure, Kaizoku/Shingetsu (Leader: Hana, Teammate: Hotaru Tsukiji) after leaving. All are my ocs.

Relationships: For a long time he did not have a single friend, but was on good terms with everyone he knew because is very polite and thankful. He started to become more social after graduating from the academy and join some genin teams, however after some time he used to leave those teams because he did not feel comfortable then he were assigned to a new one. Thus he never formed meaningful bonds with their sensei or teammates. He makes friends by leaving Sunagakure, meeting Hotaru Tsukiji, Hana, Shiori (All my OCs) and Karin.

So he just decided to “leave” teams? I don’t think the village would allow that unless there was a really good reason. And if it happened multiple times they would likely start questioning his value and reliability as a shinobi.

I do think having him switch teams constantly is possible. Using his occupation as an informant, it could be that he is specifically picked by the Kazekage to rotate through different teams for a reason. Maybe it could tie into his training, or it could also be because the Kazekage doesn’t want Yuuhei to form meaningful bonds, which could possibly cause Yuuhei to perform his informer duties better.

At any rate, it could work, but it would be better if Yuuhei left teams because he had to and not because he wanted to. I mean, he could still want to leave teams, but he can’t actually leave them unless he has permission from an authority figure (who, in this case, would be the Kazekage).

Personality: is a calm guy, silent, and mysterious. He is not an emotionless person but shows no affection for anything. Neither shows hatred, so he is not a sadistic person or want to hurt any creature without reason. He believed himself incapable of feeling love and appreciation for others or even himself. Not finding much value in life, sometimes he can risk dangerous situations. He does not try to die or suffer, but it is difficult to control the impulse since his way of thinking is different from usual.

His quiet and distant behavior has been very attractive for some girls. He does not care about girls, but he does feel physically attracted to them.

He became someone very bleak after the accident in which he obtained his facial markings, however he recovered gradually thanks to the friendship of Hotaru. Thanks to that became more social. In this way he was relieved to notice that he did have feelings. With time he improve and realized that if he had come to love and appreciate some people and start a relationship with Hotaru.

From what I can gather, Yuuhei seems like he is an apathetic person. At least in the beginning. But I could be wrong because all of my psychology knowledge is from Google. His search for meaning in life and his lack of self-worth are also related to apathy, and I think it was a good idea to add them into his character. 

His impulse to jump into dangerous situations, I think, is a good flaw. And I think it’s an interesting aspect to tie into his assumed apathy. I will suggest that you add how this trait affects those around him, though. Did some of his past teammates dislike him for taking those kinds of risks? Did they not trust Yuuhei perhaps? If people viewed this trait negatively and Yuuhei was aware of that, it could also tie into his insecurities and detachment from others.

I actually like that girls find his “calm and cool” exterior attractive, not only because it reminds me a little of Sasuke, but because it shows how ignorant we as humans can be towards another’s internal struggle.

It’s good that he improved over time with help; I’m glad he doesn’t stay static for all of his life.

Overall, I think his personality is good, and I really like the direction you’ve taken it. 

History: rescued by Sunagakure ninjas from the arms of his dying mother. He became a ninja looking for a meaning in his life, he considered that he owed it to the village.

Yuuhei graduated as genin at 11 years of age because the Kazekage wanted to have as many active shinobis in the village as possible. Yuuhei had no particular interests, he just trained or studied to pass the time, not because it was his hobby, this helped him to improve, he highlighted as a talented ninja.

This sounds good. The only thing I could suggest is expanding on why he wanted to search for meaning in his life. Did hearing about how he was found by Sunagakure or the death of his mother affect him in any way? On that note, maybe expanding his mother’s death a little could help in answering that question.

Genin.

Upon graduation he joined several genin teams with which completed a few missions but after some time he used to leave the team.

At the age of 13, Ryuzu a jonin-level shinobi, asked him to form a new genin team, along with Himari and Hiroki, two kids one year younger than him. Despite not interact much with his teammates, they were very consistent during training and to fulfill the missions even though they were inferior than him in skill. He felt very comfortable.

At the age of 15 years Yuuhei was with his team in the chunnin exams. Yuuhei was the most qualified of his team. His cold and mature attitude was the most noted skill being what was expected of a Sunagakure shinobi also many feudal lords made money betting on his behalf, so that was praised by very powerful people. Ryuzu was aware of the difference in level so he saw Yuuhei as his substitute at times.

All of this seems good, but I will again mention the suggestion I made regarding his constant team changing.

Having a powerful authority figure, such as the Kazekage or one of the council, notice his talent could really strengthen certain parts of his backstory. And, you wouldn’t really have to change much in the process, but of course that is up to you to decide. 

Chunin.

In one of the many missions that completed the Team Ryuzu, they met with several renegade ninjas who had intentions to kidnapping them for information about Sunagakure. Yuuhei as leader took command of the battle and managed to beat 2 of the 4 ninjas they faced, however Himari and Hiroki had problems. When Himari was about to be defeated, and while she was helpless on the floor about to fall victim to a powerful fire release technique, Yuuhei intervened and was hit by it. A powerful fire enveloped him causing great burns especially on his face. Himari ended up murdering the ninja who had attacked her, while the other one fled seeing himself at disadvantage. With Yuuhei immobilized with pain in the ground, his teammateds went to help him. Hiroki had to calm Himari who was in shock for what happened. When she calmed down sheheard Yuuhei’s request, he wanted the girl to faint him with her jutsu (An electric shock).

At the Sunagakure’s hospital, Yuuhei was treated and healed, although the burn marks on his body would be permanent. This depressed him a lot and it was what unleashed his anger against his teammates

Ryuzu went to see him at the hospital, feeling very guilty for not having been there to help them, however Yuuhei did not seem to mind.

His teammates received his fury, he blamed them for being very weak and having caused him to end up in the hospital. Irritated by the insistence of Himari confessed that he had no feelings, that he doesn’t considered her a friend

After leaving the hospital, Yuuhei felt the eyes of the villagers as he walked through the streets of Sunagakure. Rumors about the incident had already spread all over the place. Ryuzu and Hiroki tried to cheer him up without success. Some time later Yuuhei decided to leave the village and abandon his activities as a ninja, which informed Ryuzu and Hiroki. They tried to change his mind but they did not succeed. Himari try to convince him too, but Yuuhei, far from feeling sorry, indirectly threatened her to death. Gaara interceded in this talk, since upon learning of Yuuhei’s declaration of “having no feelings” he began to fear that he would attack the village so he kept him under surveillance. Yuuhei denied having bad intentions against the village and without more detail left the place, leaving an empty space in the Team Ryuzu forever.

So I think taking his frustrations out on his teammates is a good conflict and shows that Yuuhei does have frustrations. I think expanding on how Himari felt would be good, because she took the most of his anger. But doing so wouldn’t be necessary; it would just be decent filler.

The only think I want to point out is Yuuhei leaving the village. Before he can do that, he HAS to have permission from the Kazekage. If he does not and leaves anyway, he would be abandoning the village and thus become a traitor and hunted. I do like that Gaara is suspicious of him, but I also think adding in if he allowed Yuuhei to leave the village would clear up this misunderstanding.

Kaizoku.

Time after, Yuuhei in a forest he heard that three people fighting approached. At first he decided not to intervene but after seeing they were fighting for money and noted that it might be helpful decided to get involved. He helped a girl to beat two man and ask her for the money but she refused. He recognized her from the chunin exams, the girl was Hotaru, a kunoichi from Takigakure who had fought and lost against Himari. She told him that if he wanted her help to get money it could be a good haul in a nearby village. Yuuhei felt some resentment since chuunin exams towards the aristocracy after seeing some feudal lords betting on the life of the ninja who defended their countries for what he thought would be a good way to show  himself against the system, then both decided to go for it. That night they stayed together camping in the woods. Yuuhei revealed that he knew and remembered her from chunnin exams, however Hotaru had not recognized him by the bandages on his face. she inquired about why someone with a promising future as a ninja as it was Yuuhei had decided to leave his village, to which Yuuhei revealed the way that he felt at Sunagakure, as if he doesn’t belonged to that place. Both felt connected by that feeling and began to forge a friendship. Later traveling together decided to form a team: Kaizoku (海賊, Pirate) but generally were engaged in theft and fraud, were sometimes recruited for some missions with dark purposes.

Traveling in a forest in the Land of Fire, Yuuhei and Hotaru met with Hana, she asked them if they would be willing to work for her. Hotaru did not trust Hana, but Yuuhei decided to follow her to know was up to. So, Hana led them to Mori no Uta, an inn hidden by genjutsus and traps under the forest. There, she presented them to the owner of the place, Shiori. Both told them they could stay and live there by paying the stay and food to the fulfillment of some special missions. Kaizoku happened to be in charge of Hana, Shiori’s subordinate. This showed them to fulfill the missions that were usually on kidnapping, extortion and theft of information. Kaizoku became a more dangerous team.

Later during a mission Hotaru was kidnapped by Otogakure ninjas (Shiori had sold information about her clan, but they never knew it) he went to rescue her. When he take her out of her restraints, she woke up a little and expressed surprise that Yuuhei had not abandoned her and that he cared for her. Since fleeing the base, Orochimaru made his appearance, was very interested in Yuuhei and told him that he would win a lot of power and he was sure that he would return sooner or later so let them go. Yuuhei wanted more power. He believed that his strength was the only thing that represented him, the only thing he was and seeing people so superior to him as Gaara, Hana, Shiori or Orochimaru made him feel that his existence had no sense. After Hotaru recovered, he asked her to accompany him to seek Orochimaru again, there Orochimaru put a curse mark on him. There both met Karin who was in charge of some experiments also Suigetsu who was trapped in a capsule. When the curse mark seized the body of Yuuhei, he was out of himself. He had begun to attack everyone and was too powerful to stop easily. Hotaru met Hiroki and Himari, they were on a mission in the area. The three decided to go to face Yuuhei, but could not do it and had to hide again. In the end, Karin was able to stop him.

Time after returning to Mori not Uta, Hana informs Yuuhei that there is a great operative from Sunagakure in search of the position of the inn and sends him to intercede, since the leader of that operative is Hiroki, his old teammate. A fight between her and the old companions of Yuuhei: Hiroki and Himari, start, it extends to the outskirts of the inn and culminates with the death of Shiori. After this end, Hana agrees to a secret alliance with Sunagakure and rename the inn “Massakari”. Yuuhei becomes the main informant of Sunagakure, outside the village. Although he is actually a double agent, since his loyalty is with Hana. So sometimes they omit information to benefit Massakari.

In the war Kaizoku were informants for The Intelligence Division but they were not official members. Halfway, Yuuhei and Hotaru met face to face with Himari and Hiroki. The atmosphere became somewhat tense but no one dared to say anything and when they could react, the light of the Infinite Tsukuyomi had wrapped everything. During the infinite Tsukuyomi, Yuuhei dreams of his life almost as it really was. Living far from Sunagakure and next to Hotaru. During this dream new hidden feelings begin to emerge, he becomes involved in the beginning of a relationship with Hotaru. Upon awakening he finally realizes that he has fallen in love with her.

After the war, his activities continued normally in Massakari, which was slowly becoming a village (governed by the same rules as the main inn). On several occasions his former teammates were sent to Massakari to control the area, eventually their relationship improved and Yuuhei forgave them. In addition he could start a relationship with Hotaru.

In the epilogue his teammate is still Hotaru with whom he has a relationship. His personality is quieter and friendly now. He is still an informer of Sunagakure, so sometimes he travels alone due to this and it is difficult to find him. In general, he feels happy with his life and likes to explore the world but still calls Massakari his home.

The majority of this is fine. I also really like that Yuuhei and his teammates fix their relationship with each other.

BUT

Yuuhei becoming an informant of Sunagakure would not really work. This is why I brought up if Gaara allowed him to leave the village, or if Yuuhei left without permission. I find it hard believe that the Kazekage would let someone who abandoned the village work as an informant, because of the chance the missing-nin could be a double agent working against the village.

If Gaara willingly let him leave, it could work. All it would take was rearranging some events, such as: Gaara let him leave the village as a informant/spy; Yuuhei teams up with Hotaru during his travels, making sure to keep his thefts and frauds secret; he got involved with Hana and Shiori at Mori no Uta; and then became loyal to Hana. Everything else would play out as you already have it from that point on.

If he just left the village without warning, odds are that he would be hunted as a traitor, which would make it unlikely that he would be accepted back to the village.

But, this is just a sugesstion.

Abilities: He has a remarkable ease of handling weapons and melee combat. Yuuhei specializes in Ninjutsu of the element fire and earth. So weapons are more of a complement. He also has the ability to summon scorpions.

Short and to the point. I would note any weaknesses that he might possibly have, such as how his sight affects him in battle or if he has a weakness in genjutsu. I would also describe what is is that his scorpion summons do.

Other than adding some specifics, this looks good.

Other: http://narutooriginals.wikia.com/wiki/Yuuhei

OVERALL: I really enjoyed Yuuhei’s personality the most; he comes off as a lost soul, which are characters I tend to enjoy. Besides the one thing I mentioned about being a double agent, there’s not really any glaring problems with him or his backstory that I can further comment on.

But, if you do have any more questions or want more feedback, feel free to send in any questions! Thanks so much for sending this in, and I hope this review helped you in your OC making endeavors.

[twx-sid3d]

Here’s a chapter that shows you a lot of what we’re dealing with here....

Kira followed Sebastian down the hall. "Next is making lunch, is it not?" she asked. "This shouldn’t be too hard now that I don’t have to worry about hiding my magic..."

Sebastian smirked. "Not quite... And the Young Master requests specifically that everything we do must be done step by painfully slow step. Just like any other human," he instructed her, walking a normally different direction than where he had led her before. 

"....Great." The Hybrid sighed. "That doesn’t matter. I've already gone a day without using any magic to help with my chores. I can keep going." Kira followed right behind Sebastian, staring into his back. One thing that gave away how inhuman he is was how well he took her story and the fact that she isn’t human. Any normal butler would’ve perhaps had a heart attack or something of the sort. And him? He teased her. He obviously isn’t who he said he was...

That and how perfect he was.

He walked down the hall, his inhuman handsomeness practically sparkling. It was not too abnormal to see handsome men in higher class, however, this was a whole different level. His perfect eyes, his tall and strong build, his handsome smirk, his sharp jawline, his ever so perfectly messy hair... His beauty not only catches the eye, but keeps it. 

The butler glanced behind him at her, his perfect raven hair flowing nicely with each step. He then looked forward once more and continued his walk. The strangest part...? Kira was perhaps the first woman who wasn’t wooed by his sweet words and sweeter looks.

The Hybrid's looks were similar. Her gorgeous swirling eyes and perfectly long eyelashes, her lovely petite frame with perfect curves, her breathtakingly beautiful smile, her magnificent fair skin, her luxurious, curly mocha colored hair.... However, she rarely ever used her looks to manipulate. Only when needed....

She followed behind the butler, her hair—which fell perfectly down her back—swaying with every step she took. 

Sebastian smirked a little, amused by her previous words. 'I wonder why you want to know so badly what I am,' he said mentally. 'You have no need to know what I am unless you have the intention to do something with me, and frankly, I'm quite full handed as is. I don’t want your soul. I want my perfect, white soul seasoned with pain, suffering, and darkness... I want it so badly-...Hmf... I must be patient. Things so good as this take time to age and prepare delicately. If prepared too quickly or handled too roughly, it could spoil... I need to take extra care of this. Only a year more and I'll have my meal yet.' 

He was determined to eat and be entertained at the same time. Perhaps this girl can help with the latter~…

He went through one of the dining rooms and went through a non-discrete door which steered off the path of the obvious exit. 

Kira looked around. "Where are we going...?" She didn’t recognize this area of the manor...

“To the basement," the butler responded. "I have a little...gift for you." He led down a long, narrow staircase. Obviously no one would go down this way. It was very dark. 

The maid reluctantly glanced at the butler. She didn’t trust him in the slightest. "Sounds....lovely..."

He smiled, a bit excited to see how the Hybrid Princess will react, to say the least. It interested him so... 

They arrived at the bottom of the stairs and came to another door. "I know it may be quite early," Sebastian told her, "seeing you just got accepted as a maid, but I'd like to see personally-“ He opened the door and presented her with a storage house type of room. Cement walls and shelves left and right of them, filled with all sorts of different thongs. He brought her inside and walked her to a certain corner of the room, the door closing with a small click. "-your commitment to my Young Master... And since you said yourself that you are indeed not human, you shouldn’t have any problem with this task."

Kira’s eyes widened....she smelled blood...

He lit a candle, revealing a man, tied up and laying on the floor in the corner, bloody with battered clothing. The butler heartlessly motioned the horrorstruck maid to the human. 

The man looked just strong enough to look up at the maid, which he did. He gritted his teeth, one eye closed with a bleeding gash over it. Sebastian walked over to the man and smiled down at him. The human's eye widened and began to squirm and struggle against his restraints to yell for help or anything through the dirty cloth in his mouth... It was obvious this man had been tortured, yet kept alive for who knows how long to suffer.

"You see," Sebastian said with a sickly sweet tone, "This man and a group of others tried to assassinate the Young Lord the other day when you just so happened to come along... You’re actually the reason I stumbled upon them that evening~. You may remember his ‘friends’ from the oven last night...you scraped their remains into the garbage... I kept this one alive just for you~.”

The butler grabbed him by the hair roughly and smiled as he got in his face. His eye teared up with pain and fear... He tried to yell at you something, but it was impossible to tell what he was trying to say. Sebastian glanced at the horrified girl and stared at her sideways. "Prove to me that you can be of use and you may do whatever you wish with this man. Use his blood and bone if you wish. Alive or dead. It doesn’t really matter to me except that in the end he pays for attempting to brutally murder our Young Master...” 

The butler dropped the man and he slumped, unable to struggle anymore... he used the last bit of his strength. Sebastian walked over to Kira, his red eyes a bit more vibrant than before and his smile just a bit more sharp. 

Kira covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. "No...no, I can’t...!! I can’t hurt anyone...!! I-I won’t give into darkness!!” She slowly backed away, something about this really getting to her. All her life, she had been against killing...

She hated humans. She hated them with a passion. But would she ever kill one...? 

Not now, she wouldn’t...

When she came to Hyrule, she actually belonged somewhere for once. She was raised by people who loved her and cared for her and taught her to never kill anyone!! Only monsters!! 

Sebastian got on her face. "Oh~? You can’t~?” he purred at her. "I can feel your hatred for humans from deep within... He deserves death, doesn’t he? Who knows how many he has brutally assassinated simply for the money and nothing else. He has no care for others. He worships money, not life. So what seems to be the trouble, hm?” he asked, his eyes locked onto hers. 

He laid his hand on her shoulder and his voice hardened. "This is how it is here at the Phantomhive Manor. Our Master is the Queen's Watchdog and Ruler of England's Underworld, and our job is to protect and serve him with our lives until the very end." 

He turned and walked over to the man... The human's eye widened and he shook his head quickly, making muffled pleas and screams of terror of what he knows to come. "In the end, we can be monsters or heroes. It all depends on how you look at it." He pulled his leg back and slammed his foot into the man's skull against the concrete wall with a swift kick. The head split open with a sickening crack...he's dead...

"Life and death isn’t an option here." Sebastian looked at the horrified girl, blood splattered on his uniform's pant leg. "This is the reality of the world, my dear. Your world." He began to walk towards her. "...and I'm afraid there is nothing you can do to change that now."

Kira's breath and heart rate grew more rapid as she kept backing away from the dead man... Particles of black...something began to form around her as her powers began to grow more unstable. "Hero's don’t kill...!! I... I can’t kill...!!"

Sebastian smiled darkly. 'Yes...that’s it,' he purred mentally. 'Taint for me, little butterfly...paint your heart black...’

“They don’t, do they?" he asked with a smirk. "Well... It seems you do live in a fantasy. Every person has killed, whether they are aware of it or not...whether they mean to or not... You've lived in your safe and innocent world far too long...  I know this applies to you too. Even the Young Master... He's killed more than hands can count, and he is only but twelve of age..! Surely you cannot deny the murder of someone~?” he asked, pushing at her for fun. 

She paled, her already horrorstruck eyes filling with even more terror. A memory... a horrible memory hit her....

“N...No!! I didn’t!!”

He smirked. "My dear..." He suddenly appeared in front of her, blocking the way out. "You’re a smart girl... Don’t you know that there is no escape from us? You've already agreed to this job, no? Why be so reluctant?” he asked, gently grabbing her chin, tilting her head up to face his as he smirked darkly, his face mere inches from hers. ‘Come on~...’ he said in his mind. ‘Break for me...’ He could see that inside her tough exterior how fragile she was, and he wanted so much to see just how much she could hold before her ice breaks and the water floods...it intrigued him so much....

He suddenly lost his smile and looked off to the side, in the direction of the Young Master's study. The Master must have called for him... He looked at Kira. “Clean this up by the time I come back.” He turned. “Oh, and if you try to run, I'll only come and catch you. So feel free to run as far as you'd like. Just expect a good spanking when I drag you back...” He then slipped away.

Kira stood there for a few seconds before her legs gave out. Once she regained feeling in her body, she gritted her teeth as tears began to stream down her pale cheeks. She was so stupid and childish!! Why did she ever leave the safety of Hyrule?? She had a great life there... It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than this hell... 

She could go back. She had to. She had to get out of there. She stood and extended her arm, her swirling eyes glowing as they slowly turned more blue than green. A black portal appeared before her. She had to leave... She could feel herself wanting to just give in and kill as needed when the butler asked.... But she couldn’t lose the light inside of her!! 

She stepped forward, about to go in and back to her old life, but froze as a new horror descended upon her. What if...what if he wasn’t coercing her into staying? What if he was speaking the truth about following her? She wasn’t afraid of what he would do to her...she could take the pain. But if he harmed her friends... The only people who had ever accepted her.... She couldn’t risk them losing their lives due to her trying to fix her mistakes.

Her eyes began to turn more green than blue as she covered her mouth with her hand, squeezing her eyes shut as tears resumed falling. She closed the portal...

She was stuck here, her own personal hell she damned herself to...and she could never leave....

The link’s right there! Read if interested!!

[luucarii]

With a Dash of Gin - Ch12

*Continues to stray from the Bartender AU that probably led a majority of my readers to read Chapter 1*

Ooopsy

Read on Ao3

Sleep didn’t come easy for the rest of the night, just as Kokichi expected. Sudden scares through the night usually kept him on edge to the point where the closest thing he’d get to sleep was a light dozing. Granted, the fact that Rantaro was still on the phone helped a bit. His calm breathing through the phone was enough to keep his thoughts positive. Kokichi pictured Rantaro beside him, the mere thought of him being there with him let Kokichi lay comfortably in bed for the rest of the night until Rantaro stirred slowly in the morning.

It was probably around eight. Kokichi didn’t bother to check the time but with the way that Shuichi was getting ready for class he figured the estimate was accurate. Shuichi had leaned over and it seemed he was ready to wake Kokichi and remind him that he had to get up but when Kokichi drowsily shifted his head and half-glared at him, Shuichi raised his hands in defense and stepped away.

Shuichi disappeared into the bathroom and Kokichi heard the quiet mumbling of Rantaro.

“So you’re awake, hm?” A quiet grumble sound through the speakers and Kokichi sighed. “Did you even fall asleep to begin with?”

“Ehh... Let’s call it a nap or something.” Kokichi tried his best at a laugh but it came out more forced than anything else. He was losing his edge, normally faking a something like that would be so simple nobody would be able to hear the awkwardness in it. 

“Kokichi... You should’ve told me. I would’ve stayed up with you.”

“Noooo, Ranty. It’s fineeee. I’m fineeee. It’s just a stupid, childish nightmare! Nothing that I can’t handle!” 

Rantaro sighed and Kokichi found it best to change the subject. He didn’t want to dwell on the nightmare too much. Once dwelling started, questions followed soon after and those questions were ones Kokichi wanted to avoid if at all possible. And knowing Rantaro specifically, he’d be too overly concerned and wouldn’t leave Kokichi alone about it just because he cared.

“Soo, what’s your plans for today?” Kokichi asked with a yawn as he stretched. Arms reached up to hit the bed frame and he playfully tapped at it.

“Come over.”

“W-what?” Kokichi froze and broke out into a laugh.

“If you can, I mean. Let me treat you to breakfast. And plus, I do owe you a makeover.”

Kokichi raised an eyebrow and let out a curious hum. 

“Come on, you don’t remember the day we met? When you were so insistent on me doing your nails?”

“I was… I mean, sure. Sure, Ranty, whatever.” It’d been a little more than a week and Kokichi had already forgotten. He half meant it when he said it but he wouldn’t pass up another date, no way. He just hoped the sudden asking to hang out wasn’t some way to get him to open up. Not so soon.

Not yet.

As Rantaro hung up the phone, he stepped out onto the patio and looked over at Chizuru who was in the midst of silently reading a small hardcover book. There were folded clothes on the couch in the connecting living room and it seemed Chizuru had woken up earlier to do some chores before the rest of the family woke up. She took a quick glance at Rantaro and smiled to herself before her eyes darted back to the book.

“What’s it about?” He questioned as he pulled up a nearby chair.

“These teenagers have these supernatural powers and they’re trying to solve a string of murders.” A simple synopsis, as expected from her but Rantaro couldn’t deny he was at least somewhat interested. “Midori recommended it.”

“Speaking of Midori, wasn’t it her job to do the laundry this week?” 

“She hasn’t been feeling too good lately. I took over for her.” Chizuru answered without looking up. 

“What do you mean? She seemed okay when I saw her last night before I left for work.” Rantaro remembered her smile. Midori was nothing but her regular self with some slight signs of annoyance in her eyes, granted she was in the midst of doing one of the pages of her summer packet so she probably was a little tired.

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” Chizuru closed her book and let it rest in her lap. Guilt shone in her green eyes and she slid off her chair and ducked into the living room. 

“Chizuru.” Rantaro followed after her. She set her book on the couch and picked up a few piles of clothes. She walked down the other hallway, opposite of the “Work Area” and opened up the door to Saki’s room, silently placing the pile of clothes on her dresser.

“I shouldn’t be saying anything.” She hissed as she closed the door, “I told Midori I wouldn’t.”

“Well it seems she wouldn’t tell me if I asked so you’re the only person who knows what’s wrong.” 

Chizuru sighed, voice quieting as she passed the door to Midori’s room, “is the bartending job really necessary? Our situation isn’t exactly in need of it.”

“You’re right. But it’s good to have something like that on the side, even if at the moment we don’t need it.” Rantaro mumbled. It was natural to think like that. It seemed with each new addition to the already crowded Amami family, they’d each start to grow complacent, too reliant on the fact that their father was the head of his company. Rantaro couldn’t tell much about his other siblings in Tokyo, but he knew they were more stuck up and pompous than he and his sisters — a main reason why family dinners during Christmas weren’t the best despite the big family.

“Father and our older brothers are more than enough.” For a second, Rantaro figured this talk was a bit more than just a bit of an insight on Midori’s feelings.

“Life’s crazy. You never know when something can suddenly just happen.” It was a general statement, something he truly believed. But the recent phone call from their guardian overstaying her time in Tokyo with their father left his stomach feeling strange.

“…Why do you say that like you’re expecting something?” Chizuru must have caught the way Rantaro bit the inside of his cheek. She was known for her good eye with things like that. “Did something happen?”

Rantaro laughed, shaking his head and waving his hands reassuringly, “no, I’m just speaking in general. But I get where you’re coming from. Midori misses me, right? I know I haven’t been spending much time with her, or the rest of you really. And yeah, my job is to blame for most of that. I’m sorry. I’m not going anywhere, alright? I’m your big brother and you guys are stuck with me.”

Chizuru giggled when she felt a light pat at her head and wrapped her arms around her brother, sighing. Rantaro smiled and he wished the rest of his family were awake. No doubt Saki and Kazu would tackle him in unison while Eri would be trying to take a picture of it all for memories. Sasori would probably be looking over them all with a big motherly smile while Midori clung to his arm and gave that weird dorky grin she had.

He wished his father were here, or at least could see how they all grew up. Midori's birthday was the last time he had heard from him directly (though through a phone call, not a video call), everything else had just been messages passed down through their guardian. Rantaro knew the work was demanding, and even if he was stationed at home with him and his sisters, he’d have to take too many trains to get to work at a reasonable hour everyday. It was the main reason he moved to Tokyo in the first place with Rantaro’s older brothers (who were actually interested in the business) and which ever child happened to be born over there. He figured he’d just keep Rantaro and his sisters together under the watch of a guardian so they could continue to go to school and not deal with the stress of moving to a big city. It was unorthodox and surely many of Rantaro’s friends and sisters looked at it strangely, but it was what his father decided. He had the money to manage it anyway.

“Hey, I’ll make it up to you guys with breakfast. I invited Kokichi over, so we’ll all eat together.” Rantaro looked down at Chizuru with a smile and she slipped away from her brother and made an awkward hum.

“Is Sasori going to help you by any chance?”

“Um, if she wants to. Why?”

“Your food sometimes comes out a little bland.”

Rantaro pouted and Chizuru snickered to herself.

[letswriteaboutsakura]

Approval (Itachi/Sakura)

I went through a period of writing AU’s and this was one of them. Also this is not proofread so forgive.

Feel free to send me your Sakura requests!

 Enjoy~

There is a part 2

“Itachi you are twenty six years old and the council are pushing for your marriage and I can no longer deny their request.” The uninterested expression on his eldest sons face only frustrated Fugaku. He slammed his fist onto the table that separated them. “You cannot ignore this son!”

“I see no reason for any kind of union father.” Itachi turned his gaze to the older Uchiha. “I can rule our people without the need of a woman.”

“Be as that may, the title of crowned princess and future queen is not an empty role Itachi. Your claim on the throne is weakened and I will not accept my brothers insane son as the future king of the land.”

Itachi held back a smile at the mention of his ‘insane’ cousin. Shisui hated the idea of being in charge of anything so much, he acted as the fool so no one in their right minds would offer him any position of power.

He said nothing to his father though, but he also knew there was no other choice in the matter. His mother had convinced his father that marriage was not necessary for the past five years, so he could no longer rely on his mother. Oh well, perhaps he could delay the process for as long as possible.

He nodded at Fugaku. “If that is what the council demands then I accept father.”

Fugaku stared at him, wondering for a second if he had heard wrong. Did his son just say yes? He was expecting this to continue for a good hour or so before his eldest gave in.

“I’m sure you and mother have a list of eligible women you wish to introduce me to.” Fugaku nodded, of course they did. Mikoto had started compiling a list about three years ago. “Then tomorrow we can begin.”

One Month Later

“This is ridiculous.” Sasuke growled as he watched Itachi dance with girl after girl, sporting the same sickening smile for the past hour.

“Oh calm down Sasuke,” Sakura rolled her eyes at him as she watched Naruto scarf down the mountain of food he had brought over from the refreshments table. She knew that Lady Tsunade was going to kill her if the stupid blond ruined his clothes before the sun even set. “If you spill any of that on your clothes Naruto I swear to the gods that you will never be able to sit down normal again.” The blond hesitated for a second before slowing down a bit.

“Why are you even here you idiot.” Sasuke glared at Naruto.

“I don’t appreciate you both teaming up on me like this.” Naruto snapped at them, “I’m here because your crazy mother wanted the old lady here.”

Sakura slapped the blonde behind the head, “It’s Lady Tsunade, have some respect.”

“Why aren’t you out there dancing?” Sasuke asked Sakura, “I’m assuming you're not married.”

Sakura glared at him, “Oh you noticed.”

“I’m not surprised, no one has the courage to get tied down to someone with your-”

“Are you trying to start a fight Sasuke?” Sakura interrupted him, “Are you jealous that Itachi is having all the girls pay attention to him or rather,” She crossed her arms over her chest, a knowing grin spreading across her lips, “you’re jealous that you’re gonna have to share your big brothers atten-”

Sasuke stepped forward and covered her mouth with his hand, glaring down at her in a way that would’ve sent weaker men running, but she was not a weaker man. She was Sakura Haruno, the esteemed student of the greatest healer in the world. Instead she met his gaze, amusement shining in her green eyes.

“Sasuke!” The three friends flinched at the scolding tone Queen Mikoto��s voice had. “That is no way to treat a lady.”

Sasuke let go of Sakura refusing to look at his mother as he tried to hide a pout, “Sakura is hardly a lady.”

Sakura jabbed the arrogant prince in the side at the comment. “No wonder you don’t have any female suitors.” Sakura and Naruto failed to hide their snickers. “Sakura why are you not engaging in the activities?”

Schooling her expression Sakura met the queen’s gaze head on. “I do not think the council will approve of one such as myself for the crowned princes bride so I-”

“That’s nonsense.” Mikoto interrupted her, “Give me a moment.” With that the queen disappeared into the crowds leaving behind the three confused friends.

“What does she mean…” Sakura and Sasuke quickly put together what the queen might’ve left to do and both of them went pale. “Oh no.”

Naruto looked at the two of them confused, “What is it?”

Sakura turned panicked green eyes at the taller Uchiha, “Do something.”

“This is your fault!” Sasuke snapped at her, “Why did you come if you knew this was going to happen!”

“I didn’t know this was going to happen Sasuke. I did not come here with the intention of catching your brothers eyes so I could marry him and be your sister in law!”

“Then why did you come!”

“I came to make sure Naruto didn’t make a mess of himself!”

“Naruto why do you have to be such an idiot!” Sasuke snapped at him.

“Why can’t you just act like a normal prince for once in your life!” Sakura grumbled, her eyes looking over the blond’s rumpled form.

“Why is this suddenly my fault!” Naruto asked, though the sauce on his face didn’t help his case.

“He’s going to come over here and ask you to dance Sakura.” Sasuke whispered, leaning closer to his pink haired friend. “My brother likes women who are the opposite of you, so just be yourself and I’m sure he’ll lose interest.”

Sakura felt her eye twitch, Sasuke definitely had a way with words and she would get him back for this later.

“He’s coming…” Naruto warned just a second before the crowned prince arrived before Sasuke and his two friends.

“Sasuke.” Itachi offered his younger brother a small smile before turning his eyes to Sakura. “It has been a while Sakura.”

“Likewise.” She smiled back.

“Would you like to accompany me for a dance.” He asked, gracefully holding out a hand.

Sasuke nudged her a bit as he moved to sit next to Naruto and she knew he wanted her to start now. Gathering her courage she offered him a pleasant, but obviously fake smile. “I would like to say no but since you’ve already done the motion and your mother specifically asked you to dance with me I don’t think I have a choice.”

Itachi watched her with a raised brow before a similar smile spread across his lips, “Then we shouldn’t disappoint.”

“Sakura can’t dance for shit brother, take it from me.” Sasuke spoke up, “Protect yourself.”

Sakura glared back at the younger Uchiha as she placed her hand in Itachi’s.

“I’m sure I can lead her better than you little brother.” Itachi didn’t bother looking at his brother's expression as he brought Sakura to the dance floor.

Sakura was nervous, she knew her palms were sweaty and hoped that Itachi wouldn’t notice, or maybe if he did he would decide he didn’t like girls with sweaty hands. That would be great, right?

“It’s been four years since you and Naruto were last in the Uchiha lands if I recall correctly.” Itachi said, “I have heard of your achievements from my brother.”

“Lady Tsunade is a great teacher when she is motivated.” Sakura smiled, “With Naruto almost ready to take over she wanted to train me so that she could step down as both the healer and ruler at the same time.”

“You have come far in four years and I believe with continuing training you might even surpass your master, if the rumors are to be believed.” He watched with interest as color blossomed on her cheeks.

“Well people might exaggerate.” She laughed nervously, not used to being praised by someone as powerful as the crowned prince.

“What do you enjoy doing during your free time Sakura?” He asked as the tempo of the song mellowed out a bit more.

“Ah, Naruto and I spare often to keep up with our training and we go hunting sometimes. I’m also studying ways to make new medicine and new surgical procedures.” She hoped that sounded boring enough, though he definitely didn’t give anything away thats for sure.

“Interesting.” Again it was difficult for Sakura to figure out if he actually found it interesting or if he was just being polite. She was used to reading between the lines for Sasuke, but his brother was a completely different person.

“Recently we discovered a new kind of herb in the mountains to the south and they seem to add a high regeneration rate to…” She continued describing to him the benefits of a plant they had come across during one of their missions for the remainder of the song while he quietly listened. She had a feeling he didn’t understand or care for a word of what she was saying but he kept a pleasant, tight lipped smile on his face the entire time.

When the song finally ended he escorted her back to where he had got her before drifting back into the crowd. No doubt to dance with his countless other suitors.

“Well how did it go?” Sasuke asked once Sakura had settled down next to him.

“I talked about the restorative properties of the-”

“Good.” The Uchiha slumped in relief, “That kind of talk could bring anyone out of the mood.”

“You’re really trying to start a fight aren’t you Sasuke.” Sakura growled.

“What did you think?” Mikoto asked as her eldest son reached her side.

“You are never wrong mother.” He said, before bowing his head in greeting to the smirking slug princess. “Sakura is definitely worth noting.”

“Damn right.” Tsunade said as she shot back another glass of the Uchiha’s finest Fire Whisky.

Let me know if you guys want a continuation of this!

[cairistona]

Brave Police Fanfic:Time Out

Genre: friendship/general... fluffy oneshot

Summary: Drill Boy, still new on the team, is a bit frustrated with his rookie status, especially since cocky Gunmax has joined their ranks and seems to do doing just fine. A couple flippant words from Gunmax are the last straw for Drill Boy, setting him off, and Gunmax goes about making things better. NOT slash.

(This is set slightly before Episode 23, “My Fairy”)

Drill Boy eyed all the horizontal surfaces in the Deckerd Room reluctantly, and a little sigh gusted through his cooling system as he thought of how long it would take to polish every last one of them. No one had told him that he still had to do the cleaning, but he suspected that he should still do it and show them he had some sense of responsibility. Rookie, new guy, green kid. He had earned a little respect from Deckard and the Build Team, but not much. And even though polishing decks and tables wouldn’t make them think much better of him, it might help a little, and he would use what little he could; he cared more about the team thought of him than he ever let on. Yeah, he was a bit too carefree, but that was part of his personality; he didn’t want to deny his personality. He had to –somehow- find a balance between being himself and pleasing the other Brave Police.

“I guess I’d better get on with this,” he murmured in the lonely room. He got a cloth and the cleaning polish from the utility closet and left the door open as he moved away.

He started on the nearest desk, spraying some of the cleaner on and then rubbing and buffing the surface with a circular motion of the cloth, pressing firmly. It was less fun doing it than thinking about it. Why couldn’t he be out on a case instead, like Power Joe and Dumpson? Or have the day off like Deckerd and McCrane? Or be who-knows-where like Shadowmaru and Gunmax? Those two could do whatever they liked, but he, Drill Boy, would get chewed out if he went off like they did. Well, no, that was exaggerating it a little, he knew. Shadowmaru always checked in and gave updates when he went off alone, so there was no reason for him to get reprimanded. Gunmax, on the other hand, got himself scolded a couple times a day for his solitary exploits.

At that thought, Drill Boy halfway smiled. As bad as it was to admit, it was a bit of a comfort to him that he wasn’t the worst member of the Brave Police. Gunmax went off and got into scrapes, and Drill Boy didn’t. If Drill Boy ever went off alone, he’d…

He paused. What would he do? He smiled. He’d go off and play soccer. It would be amazing have his own soccer team. He could recruit other bots, and they’d have the greatest soccer team ever. They’d have practice every day and drink gasoline together afterwards, and then when they were ready, they’d start attending soccer tournaments…

“Daydreaming, Drill Boy?” a smooth voice interrupted his reverie.

He jumped, startled. “What?! Oh, Gunmax,” he said as he saw the green cop in the doorway.

“Don’t let me disturb you,” Gunmax said, saluting dismissively as he sauntered in. “I just came for some data.”

Drill Boy got back to work with the polishing. “If you need any help…”

“I don’t.”

‘Of course not,’ Drill Boy thought, grumbling silently. ‘Gunmax doesn’t need anything. He just deigns to be around us. I don’t believe that line about him joining us because he’s lonely; I think he just wants to have access to our extra-nice facilities and computers. That’s all! The jerk.’

“You guys don’t have a cleaner-bot to do your dirty work?” Gunmax asked from where he was waiting for a computer to boot up. His idle, bemused tone irked Drill Boy and got his defenses up.

“I’m cleaning these stupid desks because I want to!” he retorted.

“Stupid desks, huh?” Gunmax smiled his small, irritating smile.

Drill Boy growled at himself for betraying his feelings. “Well, they aren’t smart desks,” he said in a laughing tone, trying to divert Gunmax’s attention from his slip. “Hahaha!”

Gunmax’s smile stayed the same, as did the knowing look in his optics. “Why don’t you just get a cleaner-bot? Then you could spend all your free time doing something less boring.”

Drill bot didn’t know what to say. Was Gunmax being nice? Was Gunmax being rude? It was hard to tell with Gunmax.

Gunmax transferred some data into his own computer banks and then shut the other computer back down and headed for the door.

“Love you,” he said flippantly, saluting without a backward glance at Drill Boy.

“No, you don’t,” Drill Boy said hotly. “You don’t even care.”

Gunmax paused and turned and looked back at him with mild surprise at his outburst. “What’s eating you?” he asked, looking like nothing was his concern.

Drill Boy faltered. He couldn’t very well go telling all his troubles and heartache to Gunmax. He’d surely get scoffed at, and that would just add to his pain.

“Maybe you work too much,” Gunmax commented with a shrug. “Why don’t you come outside with me?”

“I’m sure you’d get me in trouble,” Drill Boy said with a bit of resentment. Hadn’t Gunmax gotten Deckerd in trouble the day Deckerd had handcuffed himself to Gunmax? Deckerd had enough standing among the Brave Police that something like that wouldn’t ruin his reputation, but Drill Boy… no way!

“Suit yourself, cleaner-bot,” Gunmax said. “I’m out.” There was that flippant salute again, and Gunmax slipped out the door.

“Arg!” Drill Boy clenched his fists. Something about that bot made him want to punch something, specifically that bot’s face. But, that would get him nowhere. And Gunmax was a rough guy; he’d probably wipe the floor with Drill Boy if they fought. Drill Boy liked to act like he could handle anything, but he knew better, secretly.

He sighed and started cleaning again.

“Hey, baby,” Gunmax said, sticking his head in the room.

“What?!” Drill Boy all but yelled.

“It’s a nice day outside. Maybe coming outdoors will brighten your mood. Ever think of that?”

“I’m not going outdoors with the likes of you!” Drill Boy answered angrily. “You just want to get me in trouble!”

“I want no such thing,” Gunmax answered smoothly. “Look…” He motioned lightly with his hand. “If we get in trouble, I’ll clean all the desks and tables for you. And the windows, too. Deal?”

This caught Drill Boy’s interest. Drill Boy was sure Gunmax would never even consider doing menial work, so if Gunmax was willing to bet for it, then maybe Drill Boy didn’t have anything to lose.

“Okay…” he said slowly. “Deal. But if there’s trouble-”

“Quit being so suspicious already, Drill Boy. Let’s go.”

Drill Boy followed Gunmax out of the room, down the hallway, and out into the mostly empty parking lot.

“Sunshine’s nice, yeah?” Gunmax said, stretching a little as if to catch more of the warm rays.

“Yeah…” Drill Boy said. He looked around. No sign of trouble. He took out one of his non-explosive soccer balls and held it lightly. He’d come outdoors like Gunmax had wanted him to, but that didn’t mean he had to do whatever Gunmax had in mind. He glanced at the green cop bot, but Gunmax was now merely leaning against the building, watching him idly with his arms folded and legs crossed.

Drill Boy gave the ball a toss and then gave it a kick as it came down, sending it toward the solid wall of the building. It hit the wall and came back to him, and he captured it between his chunky feet before herding it down the parking lot a short distance with little kicks.

“Hey,” Gunmax called. “Keep that away from the cars. I don’t want to end up doing your chores because someone got a smashed windshield.”

Drill Boy stopped the ball quickly with his foot, but not out of concern for Gunmax. Gunmax losing his bet would be the least of Drill Boy’s worries if one of his soccer balls broke a windshield. He’d get a more than a couple words of rebuke, not mention the shame of having damaged someone’s property because of carelessness.

Picking up the ball, he carried it back to where Gunmax was still leaning against the building. “So…”

Gunmax straightened and stepped away from the building to take the ball. Drill Boy didn’t object at first, but he was certainly offended when Gunmax started bouncing it like a basketball.

Drill Boy snatched his soccer ball back after several seconds of this indignity. “That’s not what you do with it.”

Gunmax smirked, bemused. “Okay then. Show me.”

“I can’t. Windows and windshields, remember?”

Gunmax chuckled at him. “Okay. Let’s go somewhere without windows and windshields.” He started walking away.

Drill Boy stood still, looking at the other bot with disbelief. Was Gunmax actually being serious with him? Was Gunmax actually going to let him teach about soccer and play with him? Why would Gunmax do that, though?

“What’s the hold up?” Gunmax asked, not stopping or looking back.

Drill Boy stored his soccer ball and then scurried to catch up with Gunmax. “Do you actually want to learn about soccer and play it with me?” he asked with wonder as he fell in step beside the green cop.

“Sure.” Gunmax shrugged. “It might come in handy some time. Meanwhile, it seems like you’re in a better mood.”

Drill Boy didn’t agree out loud, but Gunmax was right. He was feeling happier, just a little. The happiness waned a bit, however, when he saw that Gunmax was taking him to where his bike was parked.

“Oh, no. I am not riding that thing,” he said as Gunmax jumped onto the bike.

“Deckerd did,” Gunmax said, and Drill Boy shut his mouth. “Hop on.”

“Curses,” Drill Boy muttered and then hopped on accordingly.

Gunmax gunned it, taking off quickly. “AH-!” Drill Boy yelled, grabbing the confident bot around the torso, needing something to hold onto. He loved flying in plane mode, and he loved driving in car mode, but riding a bike in bipedal mode was definitely not his thing. Especially around corners. “AH!”

Somehow they didn’t wreck, despite what Drill Boy thought, and five minutes later, Gunmax brought the bike to a halt at the edge of a huge grassy field.

Drill Boy jumped off the bike so fast that he tripped and fell on his face. “Oof-!” Embarrassed, he shot a look at Gunmax, sure that he’d find Gunmax laughing, but Gunmax was simply looking over his bike.

“Ready?” Gunmax asked, not looking over his shoulder at poor Drill Boy.

Drill Boy picked himself up quickly and brushed some dirt off. “You bet!” He took his soccer ball back out. “Now, listen carefully because here are the rules,” he started as Gunmax turned toward him.

“Rules, rules.” Gunmax shook his head. “Can’t you just play?”

“Soccer has rules that make it soccer. It wouldn’t be soccer if you just did whatever you wanted to with the ball! So listen up!”

Gunmax smiled, crossed his arms, and tilted his head. “Go on.”

Drill Boy explained the basic rules and how to play the game. He didn’t bother with the more detailed aspects of the game, figuring that Gunmax probably wouldn’t pay attention that long or even care about the little things.

He finished in a couple minutes.

“That’s pretty much it,” he said.

“It doesn’t sound so bad,” Gunmax said. He took the ball from Drill Boy. “How about a little one-on-one?”

“If you don’t mind losing,” Drill Boy teased.

Gunmax snorted in bemusement at him, and then they decided where the goals would be.

“Ready?” Gunmax asked once that was done.

“Ready,” Drill Boy answered, reflecting that the soccer ball wouldn’t bounce very much on the soft grass, so there wasn’t much danger of Gunmax trying to dribble it like a basket ball.

To his great surprise, however, Gunmax wasn’t terrible at soccer. Even if he hadn’t appeared to be paying attention, he’d definitely been following Drill Boy’s lesson and recording it in his memory banks. He wasn’t great, but he was clearly learning how it went.

“You’re really catching on,” Drill Boy said with delight after a couple minutes.

Gunmax just smirked and kicked the ball away from him.

Drill Boy got it back and sent it down the field toward his goal.

Gunmax was far faster on his feet than Drill Boy had expected, and he got to the ball before Drill Boy. Whump! He sent the ball back toward his own goal. Drill Boy dashed eagerly in to intercept, but Gunmax wasn’t about to let him do that. Another hard kick sent the ball farther and faster, and Gunmax kept after it. Drill Boy managed to get in and kick away at the last second, but Gunmax jumped after it and kicked it back forcefully, scoring.

“Nice one!” Drill Boy cheered as Gunmax went to retrieve the ball from his goal bushes.

“Not bad for a beginner, yeah?” Gunmax commented.

“Really good for a beginner, actually,” Drill Boy said, grinning at Gunmax with camaraderie and catching the ball as Gunmax tossed it to him.

“Well, you could say… I had a good teacher.”

Drill Boy faltered, taken off guard by the compliment.

“Round two?” Gunmax asked.

Happiness well up from Drill Boy’s heart. “Round two,” he said. “I won’t go so easy on you this time. “

Gunmax chuckled. “Give it your best, baby.”

Drill Boy smiled. Despite those words, he held back when they played. He still scored, but he gave Gunmax a bit of a chance here and there, not completely dominating him. Then he scored a second time, and then Gunmax scored a second time.

Drill Boy was all ready to play some more, but Gunmax spun the ball on his finger.

“We should probably be getting back to the station,” Gunmax said.

“Oh…” Drill Boy had forgotten all about work. He’d been having so much fun on the field with Gunmax. “Heh, yeah. I guess we should.”

Gunmax tossed him the ball and motioned for them to head back toward the bike. Drill Boy stored the ball and walked beside Gunmax. To his surprise, Gunmax put an arm on Drill Boy’s shoulder.

“Good game,” he said.

“Y-yeah,” Drill Boy said, happy albeit amazed.

“And there wasn’t even any trouble.”

Drill Boy laughed softly at his earlier fears. “Not in the least,” he agreed.

“So, it looks like I won my bet after all.” And there was the cocky, smug Gunmax that he was used to. But… not exactly. The green bot’s air wasn’t really irritating to Drill Boy now as it had been. Gunmax, by bringing him out here and learning about his favorite game, had shown him that he did care, even if he acted like he didn’t.

Drill Boy chuckled, not annoyed. “Well, we’re not indoors yet. You never know what could happen; you could still lose the bet.”

Gunmax hopped onto his bike. “Don’t count on it, Drill Boy.”

Drill Boy eased onto the bike. “Hey… could we… could we go a little slower this time?”

“What? You don’t like speed?”

“Gunmax. Have you seen me? I love speed! I’m just not used to bikes, okay?”

“Well, okay.” Gunmax revved the engine.

Just in case, Drill Boy put his hands on Gunmax’s sides, but Gunmax didn’t speed off. He took it easy, and Drill Boy got used to the way the bike tilted around corners and the way the wind batted at his entire body.

When they pulled into the station parking lot, they found Power Joe, Dumpson, and Shadowmaru restless in the parking lot.

“Drill Boy! Gunmax! Where were you two?!”

“Taking a break,” Gunmax answered easily as he gave Drill Boy a steadying hand off the bike. “Need us for a case?”

Dumpson pointed at them accusingly. “You were about to be the case,” he said sternly. “You didn’t check in or call or leave a note or give an update or anything. We came back and there was no sign of either of you, so what were we to think? You could have been kidnapped for all we knew!”

Gunmax chuckled at the tirade. “Relax, Dumpson. We can handle ourselves.”

“I am going to report you to the Boss and Deckerd for being negligent,” Dumpson added.

“I think you’re just mad because you were worried about us,” Gunmax replied with his little irritating smirk. “Don’t you think so, Drill Boy?”

“Uh…” Drill Boy didn’t know what to answer.

“Drill Boy!” Power Joe prompted, mildly outraged.

“They’re both right, I guess,” Drill Boy answered hastily, hoping to not offend either party.

“There,” Gunmax said, sauntering toward the door to go inside. “Now, I have some desks and tables to polish, so I’ll see you guys later.”

“What!?” All four bots looked at him with surprise.

“Love you,” he said, giving his flippant salute. Slipping inside, he shut the door.

“He’s so annoying,” Power Joe grumbled, but Drill Boy smiled. Power Joe saw it and wasn’t pleased. “Drill Boy! I hope you aren’t picking up his bad tricks, spending time with him.”

“He’s got some good tricks, too,” Drill Boy said. “You should get to know him and find out.”

“Huh?” “Gunmax?!” Power Joe and Dumpson both looked disbelieving. Shadowmaru looked thoughtful, though.

Drill Boy laughed contentedly. “Anyway, I have some windows to wash, so I’ll see you guys later.”

“Don’t leave any smudges,” Shadowmaru teased gently. He probably understood.

“I won’t,” Drill Boy said, smiling back at him. “At least not on your windows,” he joked. Then he went indoors with a light heart. Chores would be a whole lot better now.  

[winemum-ignis]

Sunday Morning

Notes:  So this was the accumulation of a post I saw that was just like ‘imagine gladio in sweats and reading glasses’ (which is lost somewhere in the maze that is my likes and whatnot) and from writing these headcanons. The mental images oh the mental images just give me an IV of domestic fluff (particularly older Gladnis) and I will live for all eternity and I needed to finish something for Gladio’s birthday (even if it is now the 3rd over here shhhh).  In no way birthday related, just cute future fluff, and maybe one day, I will complete my original birthday smut plan and just un-birthday it, we shall see.

FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF *chants into the sunset*, Gladnis, Future AU where my precious babies are save and happy, 3281 words, (AO3)

Sunday morning was Gladio’s turn to make breakfast.  It was the same every week and he normally ended up doing the same thing; not actually making it and instead picking something up.  He had tried making things in the past but he was hardly as skilled as his partner was in the kitchen and it didn’t always go exactly as planned so he couldn’t be blamed for wanting to play it safe sometimes. Besides, it also gave him the chance to pick the paper up en route which was currently tucked underneath his arm as he juggled the items in his hands.  He finally gave up, putting the cardboard cut-out that held the takeaway coffee cups down on the floor allowing a now free hand to reach into the pocket of his light grey sweats while the other held the bag that contained breakfast.

 Propping the apartment door open with a foot as he reacquired the caffeine, there was a lot of shimmying as he tried to get himself in the door without dropping or spilling anything, but needless to say he succeeded.  Stepping out of his shoes and wandering down the corridor towards the kitchen he was greeted by the white cat that rubbed up against a leg with a soft purr, clearly eager to see if her owner had returned with anything worth her while.  He hadn’t, not specifically at least but Gladio did have a habit of giving her some of what they had.  All she had to do was look at him with those big green eyes and he was lost.  Not dissimilar to the other person who lived in the apartment.

“There’s nothing for cats.”  Removing the coffee cups from their carrier, Gladiolus couldn’t resist booping the little pink nose of his audience that was watching him like a hawk before opening up the bag, the sweet smell hitting him like a brick as he proceeded to empty out the pastries onto a plate.  He could at least make it look like he had made the effort although it wouldn’t take a detective to work out that he didn’t make them himself.  He tested one of them, taking a large bite which drew a grunt of approval at the apple turnover as he settled himself at one of the stools at the kitchen island.  “And I doubt there will be any leftovers, these are too good.”  Ears twitched as she was addressed, the cat tilting her head to the side as if confused by Gladio’s statement, as if she understood what he was saying and was mortally offended at the prospect of not getting leftovers.

 “That is of course if he ever gets up to eat them.”  She didn’t understand the smirk to denote his joking around, she was a cat, but it didn’t stop him doing it none the less as he raked fingers through his hair before taking a band from the pocket of his sweats, tying the long dark strands back so they couldn’t get in his face.  It was the only day of the week his partner was able to sleep in and even then, sometimes that luxury wasn’t even afforded so Gladio was more than happy to let Ignis lie in when given the opportunity. It wasn’t like he didn’t have anything to entertain himself after all as he picked up the newspaper, having to stand up from his seat to get a pen when he couldn’t find one within reaching distance.

 With a relaxed expression adorning his features  the tall man sat down in the stool, noting what sounded like movement coming from the master bedroom as he started to thumb through the newspaper.  Amber eyes skimmed over the print to see if there were any stories of interest before he finally arrived at his actual destination.  Sucking the end of the pen out of concentration as he read through the clues for the crossword puzzle, hand reached out to grab the chai latte he had brought for himself when his gaze was caught by something else entirely. He hesitated; while he knew he could do this without them he couldn’t deny that they did help.  He was just very unsure about them at the moment. That was when the tall man resigned himself, picking up the reading glasses and placing them on the bridge of his nose.  He’d only had them a few days and had worn them all of two times to see how they were. Maybe they would grow on him; only time would tell.  

 With the faint sound of the shower starting to run in the background Gladio didn’t even notice as he began to fill out the puzzle, occasionally stopping to think things over.  A tuck of a stray strand of hair here, a scratch at his temple with the end of his pen there, a sip of the coffee and an eyeing up of the pastry’s and the white cat that was slowly edging closer to them possibly in the hopes that the black-haired gentleman wouldn’t notice.  It took all his self-control but he would wait until Ignis was up to have another one which, judging by the fact that the shower had now gone silent and he could hear a faint mumbling coming from the master bedroom, wouldn’t be long.

 Readjusting his glasses on his nose, brow furrowed as he began a staring competition with a particularly elusive clue.  Scratching behind soft white ears which drew a content purr of the feline, it was when she rose and jumped from the edge of the Island that Gladio was pulled back into the real world.  Considering there was food out only one thing would be able to distract her and he knew exactly what sight would behold him as gaze followed the quick white ball of fluff.  He knew what it was, but it didn’t make him any more ready for Ignis as he walked out of the bedroom who paused so as not to stand on the cat who had to do her gratuitous greeting of wrapping herself around his legs until he scooped her up.

 Gladio was staring and quite frankly, he didn’t give a damn.  It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence and he was going to take the time to appreciate the man before him.  Even after all these years just the sight of him could make his heart flutter even adorned in such casual clothes.  Then again this was the man who could probably make a potato sack look good so it was no surprise he managed to make the lounge pants and v-neck work and so effortlessly at that.  

 Finally, Gladiolus stopped his mesmerised staring at the brunette to actually greet him. “Good morning.”    As soon as he spoke, Ignis started walking over, content little smile now directed to his partner instead of the feline that was balanced in the crook of one arm as long fingers pushed still damp brown hair back from his face before they reached out to where, according to what spacial awareness he had, should have been the counter.  He was correct in his estimations and fingers felt the cold surface which the nimble cat now jumped back on to.  As soon as he was within arm’s reach of his partner he was gently tugged towards him by a hand reaching out to take his own, fingers loosely lacing together as Ignis stood between muscular thighs.

 “Morning.”  Leaning down, taking full advantage of the fact that while the other man was seated he was taller than Gladio a soft kiss was placed against the corner of lips. Not bad for guess work.  It was the little morning challenge he had set up for himself; no hands to guide him he just had to go in for the kill and see how close to lips he could get the kiss.  On multiple occasions, he had managed to get a bullseye, but on just as many occasions had missed spectacularly.  Nothing said romance like greeting your lover in the morning with a kiss to the eye.  “Close.” Now he could use hands, and he didn’t hesitate to reach up and stroke fingers over Gladio’s bearded jawline slowly.

 “Nine out of ten for that one, so close but not quite close enough.”  While he knew that Ignis couldn’t see the grin that adorned his features, he knew the younger man could feel it as digits glided over his skin and that was all that mattered.  “And as for your prize for breaking this week’s high score…” Pushing the newspaper and pen away from the edge of the island counter, Gladio reached for the untouched coffee that he had brought home with him on top of his own one, placing it in Ignis’ hand instead of where his fingers had previously been.  “One hazelnut latte complete with extra double espresso shot.”

 Taking a long sip was like heaven as Ignis ran tongue over his lips enjoying the lingering taste of the coffee.  “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.”  The coy smirk didn’t go unnoticed, drawing a soft laugh from Gladio who draped his arms low around Ignis’ waist leaving him unable to escape his grasp even if he wanted to.  

 “Don’t forget my amazing ab’s.”  The words were slightly muffled as he rested head into the crook of Ignis’ neck that was so beautiful exposed from the loose fit top.  It wasn’t as comfortable as normal though and it took a few moments for him to work out why as the brunette simply stood with the seated older man partially wrapped around him like a boa constrictor as if it was a normal occurrence.  The truth is that it was.  What wasn’t normal were the glasses that Gladio was wearing which was the course of his discomfort, leading him to reluctantly pull back from burying his face and enjoying the smell of the freshly showered man before him.  

 Taking another long sip of the coffee, free hand stroked over Gladio’s hair as he leant back from his neck.  “They are quite exquisite, I will give you that.”  Reaching to the back of his head, it didn’t take long for Ignis to locate the band that loosely held back his lover’s black hair, pulling it just enough to release the mane so he could slowly run fingers through it properly. While he curled a few strands around his index finger idly, he coasted over the arm of the reading glasses causing an eyebrow to raise.  “So you’re finally wearing them.”  Receiving a somewhat disgruntled sigh in response, Ignis placed the coffee on to the table so both hands could cradle Gladio’s face, fingers adjusting the glasses that were perched on his nose with a practised ease, a slightly concerned tone to his voice.  “What’s the matter with them? Are they not fitted properly?”

 Gladiolus was reluctant to voice his complaints; it suddenly seemed irrelevant to be complaining about his requiring of reading glasses as he looked up at the man before him, the man who had given his vision for the cause that they both had fought for.  He knew deep down that Ignis didn’t care about such things; he had accepted what had happened and learnt to carry on with his life but it didn’t stop Gladio thinking about it in such a way.  “There’s nothing wrong with them, I’m just being silly.”

 He was hesitant to, but he accepted the older man’s words.  “Either way, I am sure you look very handsome.” It may have been well over a decade since he was last able to set eyes on that face, but it would be one that Ignis never forgot.  He left the glasses as they were, reassured by Gladio’s words, finger tips trailing down so hands could rest at the base of his neck, leaning in once more and this time managing to hit his mark properly with a tender kiss to the other man’s lips. Somebody in the kitchen however wasn’t keen on the situation as a loud meow ensured the gaze of the two men was back on the cat, lips parting ways.  She was clearly not pleased at two things; the fact that the pastries were still there and hadn’t been given to her, and that all their attention was on each other as opposed to hers truly.  

 It had worked, as Gladiolus pulled the shorter male into his lap properly so he was a combination of leaning and sitting on a sturdy thigh, they delved into breakfast with occasional scratches and strokes for the feline who was making it her business to intercept hands as they reached for the plate.  All the right noises were made, the discussion as to their opinions on the food from the new bakery and whether they would be going again, the standard practise of Ignis helping solve the remaining crossword clues, and it wasn’t long until Gladio was brushing the last stray flake of puff pastry from Ignis’ chin before placing a soft kiss to lips with a smile.  Realising that all the food had gone and there was nothing left for her, small white ball of fluff finally resigned herself to her actual breakfast, jumping from the counter leaving the two men to their own devices now they had so rudely eaten all of their food.  It was almost as if Gladio had gone and bought it with the intention to eat it; the audacity.  

 “So, who were you talking to earlier?”  Remembering that he had heard Ignis’ voice long before he had seen him, the older man finally removed the reading glasses now that the morning crossword was done and dusted, feeling considerably less ‘old’ now that they were removed.

 Before he had even said the word, Ignis knew the reaction that he would get. “Iris.”  Exactly as expected a frowny pout formed on the other man’s face but he was already speaking before he could even think of uttering his usual ‘never has time to call her actual brother’.  “She thought you may have been asleep and didn’t want to wake you.”  The pout lingered, but since it was quite a valid reason Gladio chose not to interject, at least not yet.  “They’re going to be back in Insomnia tonight as opposed to tomorrow and asked if we wanted to go for dinner, I suggested going to the Regalia.”

 “They?”  There it was, the frowny pout as prominent as ever again and Ignis didn’t even have to be able to see him to know it was there, it was clear by Gladio’s voice and as a hand rose and cupped Gladio’s cheek, stroking fingers felt the expression clear as day.  

 “Yes, they.  The two of them.  Don’t be a stubborn older brother about this, not again.”

 “I’m not being a stubborn older brother, I just don’t think that he is—“

“Don’t be preposterous you know he is perfect for Iris, he is a fantastic person, and above all she isn’t a child any more, Gladio.  She is a grown woman who can make her own, sound decisions. You are just being over-protective.”

 There was a moments silence as Gladio realised he didn’t really have a counter argument.  Gods, why was Ignis always right?  Still, despite how correct the brunette may have been it didn’t stop him from wanting to have the last word.  “I just don’t want her to settle for the first guy that comes along.”

 “Oh sweetness, light of my life, it’s a good job you’re pretty.”  Long fingers returned to stroking softly through the long strands of dark hair.  “You don’t genuinely believe this is the first guy that’s come along, do you?” The silence that came from the black-haired male said it all as it drew a soft little smile on Ignis’ face as he could practically hear the penny drop.  “Don’t you think it says a lot that this is the first one you’ve been introduced too seriously?”  And there he was again, being right.  The quiet lasted several seconds as Ignis gave him the chance to realise the truth of his words, taking the opportunity to stand up from his thigh perch.  Doing so allowed him to rest hands on Gladio’s waist, palms slowly stroking over the vest that concealed away the so delightfully statuesque abdomen.  “Try not to think about that at dinner though, you don’t want to go ruining it for yourself.”

 The next subject matter to come up was that of what they would actually spend the day doing between now and going out for dinner that evening.  There were a lot of hours to fill and when you spent most the time in the week working, actually having free reign of how to unwind could be quite intimidating.  Sadly, this week was not one of those weeks; it wasn’t a matter of working out how to best use their time for ideal relaxation.   The next few hours at least for them were going to be set out for them but rather they got it out of the way now and had their evening to enjoy with no stress.  They’d had the lazy morning and now it was time for Gladio to stand from his chair. “They should be in the hall.” Ignis spoke softly as hands were left Gladiolus-less as the 6’6 man walked past him.  

 While the taller of the two went through to the hall to retrieve the paperwork that Ignis needed a hand going over, the other retired to the lounge not without grabbing an item of definite necessity from the counter.  Well, it wasn’t so much a hand he required with the documents, more so a pair of eyes; it just went much quicker with the assistance of somebody else.  With one leg up, one leg down as he semi-laid propped up on the arm of the sofa, Ignis wasn’t sat long until Gladio appeared, several document wallets in his hand before he settled himself on the sofa as well.  Taking up the same semi-reclined position he however was propped up against his partner as he lounged between his thighs.  

 It didn’t take much wiggling to get comfortable and Gladio was soon cracking open the first folder of work.  He was never one for this side of things but it was a necessary evil and if it made it easier for Ignis, well then, he would take one for the team. Pulling out the paperwork they had at least already been split.  The first copy he kept to himself, the second was handed back to the brunette, the pages that to the untrained eye (or finger so to speak) would just look like a page of random dots.

 “Don’t forget these, handsome.”  There was a light tapping of something on his shoulder and as Gladio turned his head he caught a glimpse of the reading glasses that Ignis had brought with him from the kitchen.  Trying to contain a simultaneous soft chuckle and an exasperated sigh they were soon placed back on the bridge of his noise, ready to be fidgeted with every 30 seconds.

 “You sure are putting a lot of faith in me looking good in these.”  The soft chuckle that came from Ignis was slightly bittersweet because while he covered it so well, to be able to see that face again was something he longed for every day.  It was also nothing in comparison to the laugh that fell from Gladio at Ignis’ next words.  

 “More faith in in trusting you to tell me if you ever looked like a Jabberwock’s ass.”

[ipreferbeinganonlychild]

The complexity of the relationship between Ramsay Bolton and Theon Greyjoy (Thramsay)

The relationship between Ramsay and Theon is dysfunctional and honestly pretty horrible in most ways, yet I find it very fascinating because of its complexity, meaning that I believe there is way more to it than just horror, torture and manipulation.

I have never written meta before, but I really enjoyed the process. I hope you like it!

Word count: 2,009

Ramsay and Theon quite clearly have many differences, but I also find that they have many similarities, which define their relationship. By similarities I mean the similarities in terms of what they both wish to achieve in life and how they cope with their issues. It is my opinion that they both to some extend have an identity crisis going on, which creates a very interesting dynamic between them. To get to the root of that, we have to take a look at their childhoods. Since we get much more detailed descriptions of both their childhoods (especially Ramsay’s childhood) in the ASoIaF books than in the show, that’s where I’ll gather my information from. So let’s start with Ramsay.

The start of Ramsay’s life wasn’t exactly merry and joyful as he was born of rape. Roose Bolton was out hunting one day when he discovered a peasant girl washing clothes in a river. He then decided to rape her and since her husband, the miller, wasn’t too content with the idea, Roose hung him and raped his widowed wife beneath the tree where he was swaying. A year later the peasant girl came to the gates of the Dreadfort with a baby in her arms seeking help from Roose, because her dead husband’s brother had stolen the mill from them and now her and her son had nothing to live of. At the time, Roose Bolton was married to Bethany Ryswell and had a trueborn son, Domeric, and he didn’t exactly want to deal with a bastard son and a useless peasant girl, so he let them into the castle with one single intent: to kill them both. But once he looked at the baby boy he couldn’t bring himself to do it because he saw that the baby had his pale eyes.

Roose let both mother and son depart unharmed and made sure they got the stolen mill back. Every year Roose would send a bag of stars to them, which Ramsay’s mother paid for with her silence; she was to never tell Ramsay or anyone else about who his father was. So Ramsay grew up in poverty with the ‘small folk’, he didn’t get an education, didn’t learn about honor, nobility or about courtesy, which explains his blunt and fearless nature.

But Ramsay was a difficult child and after a few years Ramsay’s mother went back to Roose to get help with raising him. Just wanting her gone, Roose gave her a servant, a terrible one, named Heke. Yet because he smelled so bad everyone instead called him Reek. Quickly, Ramsay and Reek became inseparable. Roose says that he isn’t sure if Ramsay corrupted Reek or if Reek corrupted Ramsay, but honestly I think they had pretty bad influences on each other. “No one could stand to be near him, so he slept with the pigs … until the day that Ramsay’s mother appeared at my gates to demand that I provide a servant for my bastard, who was growing up wild and unruly. I gave her Reek. It was meant to be amusing, but he and Ramsay became inseparable. I do wonder, though… was it Ramsay who corrupted Reek, or Reek Ramsay?” Roose Bolton tells Theon in ADWD (chapter 32). “The boy [Ramsay] is a sly creature by all accounts, and he has a servant who is almost as cruel as he is. Reek, they call the man. It’s said he never bathes. They hunt together, the bastard and this Reek, and not for deer. I’ve heard tales, things I can scarce believe, even of a Bolton.” Donella Hornwood says to Rodrik Cassell in ACOK (chapter 17).

Although Ramsay grew up lowborn he secretly always knew about his father and his right to live in a castle. “She disobeyed me, though.” Roose says, talking about Ramsay’s mother. “You see what Ramsay is. She made him, her and Reek, always whispering in his ear about his rights. He should have been content to grind corn”, he further says in ADWD (chapter 32). So Ramsay always knew he was worth more than everyone around him, he always knew that some day he would be granted the power he deserved. And somehow he eventually came to live with his father at the Dreadfort just like he wanted, where he made sure to kill Roose’s only trueborn son in order to become his only heir (at least that is what everyone including Roose believes, and personally I believe it too) 

Contrary to Ramsay’s upbringing in poverty, Theon grew up on Pyke as a prince until he was 9 years old. He was privileged, but his older brothers used to beat him up for being weak and his father Balon Greyjoy never really approved of him. Under those circumstances Theon became insecure already from boyhood. However, he always had to keep the insecurities concealed to not be perceived as weak. In order to contradict the picture of him being weak Theon had to constantly prove himself worthy to his family. After Greyjoy’s Rebellion Theon was taken away from his family to become Eddard Stark’s ward at Winterfell. With the Starks he wasn’t really accepted either; he was an outsider, not a true member of the family.

So both of them had messed up childhoods filled with disapproval and non-acceptance from the people around them, which obviously affected them and caused massive amounts of insecurities. Disapproval has a huge negative impact on a child’s life, causing their similar identity crisis.

The two of them have equal ways of dealing with their issues; the first one being that they simply deny the horrible facts. Ramsay knows that he was born of rape, yet he has convinced himself that his parents’ relationship was very romantic, that they fell in love with each other instantly when they met. In chapter 32 in ADWD Roose asks Theon, “Has my bastard ever told you how I got him?”, where to Theon replies, “Yes, my… m’lord. You met his mother whilst out riding and were smitten by her beauty”. “Smitten?”, Roose then says, laughing. “ Did he use that word? Why, the boy has a singer’s soul… Though if you believe that song, you may as well be dimmer than the first Reek.” Furthermore, Ramsay denies the fact that his father doesn’t love him. “Reek has been with me since I was a boy. My lord father gave him to me as a token of his love”, Ramsay tells some Dreadfort men in ADWD (chapter 11). Obviously that is not true. As it was described earlier, Reek was given to Ramsay and his mother because Roose simply wanted to get rid of them. Also, Ramsay denies the death of his original Reek, which is why he simply replaces him with Theon.

Ramsay also desperately tries to compensate for the fact that he isn’t a trueborn Bolton. Exactly that is why I think he is so enthusiastic about flaying, as it is the Bolton custom. He overdoes it, desperately tries to show his father that he honors and upholds the family traditions in order to gain his accept and approval.

Similarly, Theon has convinced himself during his time at Winterfell that his family back at Pyke missed him utterly. During the years the image of his return to the Iron Islands has become more and more romanticized. When he actually returns to Pyke, he discovers that his father still disapproves of him and barely even sees him as his son. “It is as I feared. The green lands have you soft and the Starks have made you theirs”, Balon says to Theon in ACOK (chapter 11). So similarly to Ramsay, he compensates for the unapproval. Theon has to prove himself worthy to his father, and he attempts to do so by betraying Robb and taking Winterfell.

But Theon’s siege of Winterfell completely backfires on him and Ramsay’s attempt to prove himself a Bolton does not work, at least not for the first many years. They both fail their attempts at gaining their father’s approval. Roose eventually grants Ramsay the Bolton name and makes him his heir after Domeric’s death, but he still constantly reminds him that he is a bastard (meaning that he still disapproves of him) and that he is not entitled to the life he has at the castle. “All you have I gave you. You would do well to remember that, bastard”, Roose says to Ramsay in ADWD (chapter 32).

Another way both of them cope with their issues is through arrogance. It works as a shield, concealing what lies beneath. They both act coldly towards other people and they commit heinous crimes, however there is one BIG difference between the two: Ramsay completely lacks empathy for others and Theon does not. Deep down inside Theon cares for others, Ramsay really doesn’t. Personally I think Ramsay was born with a tendency to psychopathy, DNA has a say in those cases and Roose doesn’t exactly possess much empathy himself. It obviously damaged him even further throughout his life to never be approved of, respected or accepted by his parents. He was always last in line, always just the bastard. In addition to that, Ramsay is also clearly a sadist; he fully enjoys watching people suffer. Theon doesn’t enjoy inflicting pain on others. Those are the biggest differences between the two of them.

As I wrote just before, Ramsay can’t accept, doesn’t want to accept Reek’s death, so he needs a replacement and he specifically chose Theon. I have a theory why: Ramsay is pretty smart after all and he figures out that the reason Theon took Winterfell was to impress his father, so just like Ramsay, Theon does things in desperation to gain his father’s approval. Theon reminds Ramsay of himself and his issues, so Ramsay must change him. It is symbolic. Theon represents the sensitive aspects of Ramsay, the parts of himself that he is in denial about, so he breaks him down, ruins his identity by making him fully believe that he is a worm in human skin and by stealing his name. And he molds Reek into his own twisted version of a ‘friend’ so that Reek can give him the approval that Roose denies him.

I’ve thought about it and I think there is some symbolism in the aspect of flaying as well. Whenever Reek misbehaves Ramsay flays him, he removes parts of him. The skin Ramsay removes is symbolically the masks that Theon has been wearing all his life, he has never been true to himself, he has always pretended to be something he is not. And when he finally escapes from Ramsay he is a broken man, but he is honest. For the first time in his life he is true to himself. This is taking it far, I know, but I think that Ramsay in a twisted way helped Theon truly realize who he is because he brutally broke down his walls and removed his masks.

So Ramsay and Theon have had huge impacts on each other’s lives. Their relationship is based upon horrible deeds and manipulation, I’m not debating that. But it is my opinion that some positive things have come out of it, yet mostly when it comes to Theon. Theon will be able to recover from the terrible things that have happened, but I believe that Ramsay is damaged for good. His lack of empathy and his love for inflicting pain on others as well as his need and love for playing with people characterize who he is and I don’t believe that will ever change.

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 29

Mexico could already tell what America was going to say, so he preemptively said “You call me a whore, Alfred, and I’ll call you a hypocrite.” America responded “I wasn’t going to call you that. I just don’t like the idea of Francis getting that close to you.” Mexico fixed his eyes on the American, who had balled his hands into fists. It was obvious that he had been deeply bothered by the last part of the story. It was not unexpected considering his tendency towards jealousy. Mexico said curtly “Bullshit. I can see it in your eyes. You think I’m a slut. Even now, you’re thinking less of me.”

America let go of the sheets slowly “I don’t get it, why you would tease him? If you wanted him to do your dirty work, why didn’t you just let him have you and get it over with?” Mexico smirked in response “You don’t understand men, you never have. A man will always lust the hardest after what he thinks he cannot have. I let Francis think he had a chance, but he couldn’t have me. That way, I have him thinking about how he can steal me away, no matter the cost. That way, he would do what I wanted without him knowing that he was doing my dirty work.”

America looked to be mulling this over “At least he gave you the letter, granted, he flirted with you shamelessly first. But the point is that he did it and you were able to forgive me, which was all I ever asked.” Mexico nodded again “He did and I read it because I figured that I owed you that much.” _________________________________________________________________________________________

He broke the wax with one swift stroke and spread out the letter on his desk. The handwriting was hardly legible and smeared so badly in places that whole words had disappeared. But all the same, Mexico read it. He figured it would be good entertainment at the very least. The letter started out pretty cordial, as if it was a simple apology. But as the letter progressed, a bleeding heart was revealed. It was messy and romantic, like someone had smeared their heart’s blood on the page in a desperate bid to get understanding. The word “love” was written and crossed out more than once. It was appalling and incredibly touching, all at the same time.

They had met for such a short time; it was hard to believe that America could feel so strongly about him. Perhaps it was just am effect of the revolution; maybe all of America’s emotions were more extreme now because of the extreme position he was in. All the same, the genuine emotion in the letter stirred something deep in Mexico’s heart. It was strange, but he actually cared about America’s wounded emotions. It wasn’t like the superficial emotions he felt when Colombia left. It was more like a deep gnawing feeling in his gut. He was causing America unnecessary anguish in the middle of his time of need, and that might just be putting the American at risk. During a rebellion, the last thing he needed on his mind was his love life. If the letter was true, and America was not clever enough to lie so passionately, he was hardly sleeping because he dreamt of Mexico and agonized over their parting moments. The lack of sleep couldn’t be good for America’s fighting ability, and Mexico refused to be the reason the American boy lost the war. He would lose eventually, that was sure, but Mexico didn’t want it on his heart that he destroyed America’s chance at freedom.

He folded the letter up and placed it in an inside compartment within a drawer in his desk. This was damning evidence above all else, to keep it was to put himself at risk. The most sensible course of action would be to burn the letter, and thus destroy the evidence. But burning this kind of pure sentiment was to deny the feeling that it was based on and that was something he couldn’t do. America had risked a great deal to get this letter to him, if Spain had discovered the letter, then America would now be fighting a war against two European powers. Mexico needed to put America’s mind at ease and the only way to do that effectively was to write a response. But, that would entail being able to get a letter past Spain and to America.

That was even more risky than keeping a letter from America. If Spain were to discover that he had received a letter, all the blame could be placed on America and France. However, actually writing a response was a sign of commitment that could not be easily explained away. If he was going to find a way to send this after actually writing it, he needed a safe and secure way to get it to America. That would require a bit of work, which he was quite willing to do. First, he quickly scrawled out a response on a long piece of paper. He tried to keep the wording as clear and unemotional as possible, despite the distinct feeling of attachment he felt towards the American. He couldn’t encourage America to feel anything towards him, that would undermine the point which was to put America’s mind at ease enough to allow him a fighting chance at winning the war. He was not even going to respond to the declarations of love in the letter, to do so carried too much risk. That would swing America’s emotional fog in the other direction. He would be love-struck and that would also compromise his chances. Once the letter was finished, he tucked it away inside another drawer.

He would not be able to send it until some maneuvering was done to find a way to transport the letter. He walked over to the window and glanced out. From the position of the sun, he judged it to be a couple minutes before the hour. He expected Philippines to return soon. She had a curfew so Mexico could check in on her daily activities and set a time for weapons training. Other than that, he let her have a fair amount of freedom. At the very least, it was more freedom than she had in the Americas. He walked back over to the desk and quickly wrote a series of letters.

Like clockwork, he heard a knock at the door on the hour. Mexico turned to see Philippines opening the door. She was dressed in clothing fit for riding, which meant that she had probably been exercising the horses. It was pretty much tradition that Mexico chided her whenever she showed up, so the first thing he said was “You better not have overworked my horse, girl.” Philippines scoffed in response “You know I didn’t even try riding him. Your horse is one crazy stallion; he doesn’t let me near him.” Mexico nodded. It was true that his horse had a wild heart, which was why Mexico worked so well with him.

But, he had more important things to talk to Philippines about. He turned to face the Asian girl and said “I have something I need you to do, Piri.” He used her real name to convey the seriousness of the task he was about to assign. He picked up the stack of short letters and a list. Philippines took them from him without question and waited patiently for an explanation. Mexico, of course, gave her an explanation “I want you to give these letters to the specific couriers on the list. Make sure to give the right letter to the right person. Tell them that I need these delivered to Texas in Mexico City. Make it clear that other people also have the same letter.”

Philippines looked confused “To what end? What do the letters say?” It was essential that she understood the reasoning, so he explained “Each letter is different, but only slightly. They explain to Texas that I want to open negotiations with different European countries on the topic of trade. I’m courting the countries that have shown interest in me, like Russia, Belgium, Germany, England and France. I don’t really want to negotiate with any of them, but showing interest in trade goes directly against Spain’s orders. If one of these letters finds its way to Spain, I’ll know who I can’t trust. Based on which letter Spain gets, I will know exactly who I need to get rid of.” The girl nodded “I understand. I’ll have it done by the end of the day.” With that, she left the room, letters in hand. Once Mexico knew who he could trust, he would know who would safely deliver the response to America. It would take a couple days before he knew who would sell him out. Until then, he just had to wait. _________________________________________________________________________________________

America interrupted again “It’s scary how smart you are sometimes, you know.” Mexico couldn’t resist making a jab at America “Those who don’t have intelligence are often frightened by those that do.” The blonde cocked his head to the side and, for a second, resembled a confused golden retriever “Are you calling me stupid?” Mexico rolled his eyes dramatically “That you even have to ask me that proves my point.” The American let this remark pass over him without reacting. Instead, he continued “I mean, how many people would think of that method of testing? I certainly wouldn’t have. It also seems that you got results very quickly. If I remember correctly, I got your letter at the beginning of the spring, just as I was leaving Valley Forge.” Mexico leisurely walked over to the bed and sat down next to America before speaking again “As I expected, one letter found its way to Spain. That was actually less than I expected. As you can imagine, Antonio was pissed.” _________________________________________________________________________________________

Mexico had no illusions when Spain showed up at his bedroom door one morning. He opened the door, saw Spain and immediately took a couple steps back. The European’s green eyes were full of fire. They would have been frightening if Mexico hadn’t been expecting it. Considering that Mexico had already prepared himself, he kept his calm as Spain took a few steps into the room. Mexico remained calm and said “Is there a problem, Tony?” He used Spain’s real name to diffuse some of the anger.

Spain pulled a letter out of his pocket and threw it down on the bed “Explain.” Mexico took note of the fact that his colonized was, yet again, giving one word orders. He must be angrier than expected. Mexico responded, keeping his eyes fixed on Spain’s face “I was reaching out to expand my trade network.” Spain looked down at his feet for a second, as if praying for patience, before looking back up and saying “With Belgium?” This detail was important; Mexico made a mental note to get rid of the man who gave the letter to Spain. He also noted how lucky it was that this was the letter that Spain got, considering that Belgium was one of the few European countries that Spain had good relations with. He capitalized on this fact “Better her than anyone else, considering that she isn’t a competing empire. I thought you liked Belgium.”

Spain took a couple step forwards, which Mexico matched, as he spoke “It doesn’t matter who you want to trade with. You don’t trade with anyone but me. Is that clear?” Mexico’s foot hit the edge of the bed. There was still something vaguely frightening about this situation. But, Mexico was prepared to do just about anything to satisfy Spain. He said quietly “Si, I understand. This was a mistaken assumption on my part.” Spain smirked, “I will forgive you if you do one thing for me.” He took another small step forward and connected their lips. At this point, Mexico was used to Spain kissing him and he knew how much kissing back Spain needed to feel he wasn’t being rebuffed.

While he was kissing his colony, Spain used his foot to unbalance Mexico’s stance enough that they both fell backwards onto the bed with Spain on top. Spain pulled away for a second to breath. Mexico took a couple breathes and then attempted to speak. But before he could say anything, Spain said “If you try to deny me again, I swear to God I will rape you. I don’t want to, but if I have to, I will. I can’t stand watching you flaunt your body like you do knowing I haven’t had it yet. The more defiant you are, the more I want you.” He aggressively kissed Mexico’s neck, which was exposed. He pulled away one more time to say, his voice rough with unrestrained lust, “So, what do you say? Are you going to give me your body, or am I going to have to take it as punishment for your deceit?”

Spain didn’t seem to actually want a response. He snaked his hand under Mexico’s shirt and found a nipple, which he aggressively grabbed. The Aztec boy immediately surrendered to the sensation. He had very little choice this time, there was nothing he could do or say to keep Spain from taking him. The best he could do was close his eyes and react. But Spain was not satisfied, he spoke again “Open your eyes, Alejandro. That’s an order. When I finally have you, I want to see those beautiful golden eyes.” Mexico found it exceptionally hard to force himself to open his eyes and look at Spain. Their eyes met and Spain smirked, he crooned “Good, very good.” Then, he used one hand to pin Mexico’s arm to the bed. He then proceeded to kiss the tattooed band. Just having the skin touched was enough to excite Mexico, but having it touched so softly and sensually was even more overwhelming. The younger couldn’t stop himself from groaning in response. The Spaniard chuckled “Did you really think that after all these years; I wouldn’t know exactly what turns you on?”

Quite suddenly, the door banged open. Spain released his colony at once in order to turn and look. Philippines had thrown the door open more drastically than usual without knocking. She said rather pointedly said “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were busy.” She left as suddenly and loudly as she had entered. Spain stared after her for a couple moments before turning back to Mexico. His green eyes had lost their drive. He said, his eyes fixed on Mexico’s chest “Ah well, the moment is gone. I may call on you later tonight to finish this.” Spain stood up and turned to leave. He added “And if you ever try to break my trade monopoly again, I will do worse. I’ll teach you the true meaning of sadism.”

Mexico was still too out of breathe to respond, but he nodded emphatically. Spain left without another word. Mexico got a few minutes alone in which he sat up and attempted to straighten himself out. As he expected, Philippines stuck her head back in the door “Is he gone now?” The Aztec boy responded “He’s gone, Piri, you can come back.” She walked in silently and stood awkwardly by the door. Mexico gestured to her “Come over here and sit.” She followed the order wordlessly.

He addressed her “I could kiss you right now, girl. You saved my ass, quite literally.” She laughed, although she was quite visibly shaken “Considering where your mouth has been, I rather you didn’t. I owe you my loyalty, it was the least I could do to protect you.” He took another few deep breathes, prayed his legs would hold him and stood up. He walked over to the desk, opened the drawer he had hidden Alfred’s letter in, and pulled out his own response. Philippines stood up while Mexico was getting the letter. She walked over to him and took the letter “Shall I give this to one of the couriers that didn’t give a letter to Spain?” Mexico nodded “Tell them to give it to Alfred, and no one but Alfred. Oh and tell Texas to cancel all those negotiations. We don’t need to take that risk.” She nodded one more time and started to walk out. Mexico sighed and said “Girl, take the rest of the week off. You deserve it.”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

Fifth Christmas

the series is as follows so far:

First … Second … Third … Fourth … Fifth … Fifth Christmas, Part 2 … Sixth … Seventh … Eighth … Ninth … Tenth … Eleventh … Twelfth … Thirteenth … Fourteenth … Fifteenth … Sixteenth … Seventeenth … Eighteenth … Nineteenth … Twentieth … Twenty-first … Twenty-second … Twenty-third

———————–

She was quietly submerged in a self-protective bubble of sanity. Outside her bubble, shoppers, children, angry males and even crazier women circled and flowed like liquid around her. Why she did this to herself was beyond comprehension. Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She would have been better off just giving everybody a note saying they’d get stuff mid-January and stick a Hershey’s kiss on it with the last roll of tape she had in the house.

Instead, she was here, wondering if God was laughing at them all while he lounged with a cup of hot chocolate, dishing with Santa about the naughty list and made fun of this year’s clothing trends.

That made her smile a little bit and gave her the boost she needed for three final stores and the fight to leave the hellishly packed parking lot. Congratulating herself for not using her gun, she began her drive home.

And the phone rang.

&&&&&&&&&

After racing away from that ‘haunted house’ as Mulder called it, she drove home, exhausted, annoyed by the prospect of having to wrap gifts, in all manner of shapes and sizes, before getting a mediocre nap and returning to the road for her mother’s.

And thinking about it, she hadn’t really ‘raced’ away from the house … it was more like driving leisurely with the pedal just a bit closer to the floor … there was no reason to ‘race’ away from anything, except maybe the next hair-brained idea that Mulder was probably concocting even as they headed for their cars.

She stopped her thinking right there, given if she dwelled too long, she could probably convince herself that there were actually ghosts.

That is the last present Mulder needed.

Finishing wrapping her gifts nearly an hour later, then stacking everything back by the door, she then noticed the item she’d bought two days earlier and had forgotten to wrap, the item falling into the Christmas detritus strewn across the floor.

She’d found the perfect gift for Mulder.

A fitting, unique, totally him gift.

Pulling it towards her, she studied it again, let the smile creep across her face, then pulled the wrapping paper towards her and proceeded to tape the hell out of every seam and possible pulling point.

After, against every atom in her body screaming to go to bed, she pulled her shoes back on and headed into the 3am darkness.

&&&&&&&&

He was truly delighted by his gift, an ornament, one she’d found on complete accident while shopping with her mother. A large red fox being hugged by a little dark-haired girl, the fox with glittering green eyes and the girl with a smile and a crown of flowers, kneeling beside the animal, arms tight around his neck.

She’d gotten a little nervous when he began shaking the box but knowing she’d packed it well, it survived his wild, paper-ripping opening to stun him into silence. She’d had to nudge him lightly with her elbow to get him to move again, to take the breath he needed to turn to her, crush her and her still unopened gift against him in a tight hug.

When he finally let her go, muttering to himself, “78 seconds, we’re getting better at this”, he took the bauble from the box, dangling it in front of his shining eyes, studying it with intense scrutiny, then shifting to catch her eye, “can we go put this on your tree?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah … well, right after you open your gift, I mean.”

Honest-to-Jesus, she couldn’t deny him while he wore such hopeful excitement on his face, “you don’t want to keep it here?”

“Nope. I want it on your tree.” Such matter-of-fact declarations from him were not surprising anymore but they still made her spine tingle.

“Then I better get to opening this, shouldn’t I?”

It turned out that Mulder’s round, cylindrical gift, was neither round nor cylindrical but a small set of windchimes packed carefully and securely into a thick cardboard tube. Holding them up, they made a deeper sound when she tapped them, lower notes that didn’t pierce her eardrums but soothed with their grandfather clock resonant gong. She realized instantly that they weren’t by any means a cheap gift and looking at him, “you shouldn’t have spent this much, Mulder.”

“It’s Christmas so shut up.” Grinning at her, “I was thinking you could hang them in front of one of your living room windows then in the summer with the windows open, they’d sound but they won’t get ruined in the rain and stuff.”

He looked so eager for her to like them, so happy that she did, so enthusiastic that she set them carefully down and pulled him against her this time, blowing the 78 seconds out of the water. Finally, just as she made up her mind to not let him go, she pulled back, “I think you should go change and we can go to my place to hang up your gift and then we can head over to mom’s and you can have Christmas with us.”

His smile faultered, “I can’t intrude like that. Not on Christmas.”

“You already told me your mom was with your aunt and I’m not letting you stay here by yourself. Besides, I need somebody to keep me from killing my brother. I vote you.”

Reaching desperately for lame-ass excuses he couldn’t really say with any conviction, given he actually would like to spend Christmas with her, “I don’t have any presents for anybody.”

Bless her Irish, ‘you’re full of crap’ internal sensor honed specifically for Mulder bullshit, she gave him a grin, then stood up, “you are a terrible liar sometimes. Go put on some clean pants and a shirt that won’t clash with a Christmas tree because you’re going to end up in photos and …” trailing off, she took his hand, “I better come help you pick something out.”

“Photos?”

“Yes, those celluloid things that mark occasions and cement memories of Great Aunt Matilda getting drunk and wearing a lamp shade for a hat at family Christmas, 1982.”

As he was pulled along to the bedroom, “why would I be in pictures?”

“My mother will say ‘get in the picture’ and you won’t have the will to argue with her because she’s just stuffed you full of two pounds of ham and ambrosia salad. Compliance through food tonnage is her specialty.”

Finally, he gave in, standing patiently as she began pulling shirts from his closet and holding them to his chest, “I love Maggie.”

Once they’d gotten back to her place, he went right to the tree, waiting as she found him a hook, then he hung it up beside the ornament he’d given her when they’d decorated the tree almost a week earlier. This year’s was a filigree snowman, hair-thin white wire, affixed buttons and top hat, smiling coal face, small sign in his hand declaring the year. Standing side-by-side, Mulder slid his hand into hers, fingers warm and solid, perfect fit, perfect match, lit by tree lights and silent in the still dark night.

[ghoultyrant]

Grimderp Pokefic

I used to read a fair amount of Pokemon fanfic, but eventually I stopped trying. My tastes tend to run toward dark, realistic, and morally ambiguous/complicated stories, and while the Pokemon fandom is rife with stories aiming for that combination -much more so than many 'darker’ fandoms actually!- I’m almost always unimpressed with the actual handling.

Note that when I say “canon” I mean primarily the game canon. Fanfics based on the anime are a whole other beast, and I never was as interested in them anyway.

Specifically, the design process for Dark/Realistic/Morally Ambiguous Pokemon fanfic seems to be a haphazard, inconsistently applied willingness to arbitrarily declare that random components of Pokemon canon are "unrealistic" and gut them in favor of (unrelated) real world models/Grimderp models. To wit: -Breeding is implicitly if not explicitly not cross-species excepting where multiple species are the same species in some sense. (eg Nidos) If a fanfic runs contrariwise, it will usually be to produce some ridiculous scenario in which hideous abominations/broken powerful monstrosities results when breeding different species. There will also be no respect whatsoever for Egg Groups. -All diets that are not carnivore, herbivore, or I'm A Plant are erased except sometimes Ghosts are allowed to consume souls/feelings/whatever if the story intends to milk it for Grimderp purposes. -Curious designs will be reinterpreted in a non-coincidental manner. "Gardevoir isn't dresslike in appearance, it wears human skins as dresses!" Never mind the real world contains 99 billion things that look like other things. Spiders with happy faces or red hourglasses or I AM A TREE KNOT PAY NO MIND TO ME on their abdomen. Eyespots resembling owl eyes on moths. Flies that pretend to be bees. Etc. Why is it so absurd to imagine that there's a Pokémon camouflaged as a piece of technology, or that happens to look like kind of like it’s wearing clothing that isn’t? -If color is addressed explicitly, everything is darkened, green is verboten to non-plants, pink is denied period (Usually the assorted Very Pink Pokemon will simply fail to appear in the story because Reasons), and in general the author quite clearly buys into Shades of Brown and Brown is Realistic. -Any Pokemon overtly mechanical is either carefully not addressed or rendered a Totally Normal Animal Really. Mostly they pretend no such thing exists. -Also, an arbitrarily selected set of abnormal evolutions are denied as working that way. Only Level Up is consistently safe: some authors leave Stone evolutions alone, for instance, but Trade and Trade+Item is almost always killed, Happiness isn't simply virtually invisible but is in fact explicitly eliminated, and Level At Location is usually killed. Also pretty much every case of a unique model of evolution is removed. -Related to diet, Berry Benefits is usually quietly killed off. Sure, make a tasty Poffin with a Chesto Berry! No, Snorlax can't wake itself up with it. Pokemon drugging themselves with natural herbs is insufficiently grimderp/”Realistic” for our fanfics. -All capabilities above a certain level of impressiveness are denied as Poke-possible. Except on Legendaries, who instead are made OVER 9000!!! Sure, Mewtwo can destroy the moon as a casual action to save Goku, but Tyranitar ripping a mountain apart? Pshah! Nonsense! -Type interactions? NAH THAT'S TOO GAMEY THROW IT OUT. That this “flattens” the Pokemon League metagame as a consequence apparently doesn’t bother people, inexplicably. It gets particularly irritating when a fanfic combines this with clearly wanting to give more attention to one of the underdog Pokemon that isn’t particularly competitively viable. -Understanding English from birth/at all? Absurd! (To be fair, there’s plenty of Grimderp Realism Pokefics that leave language alone) -Fainting instead of being maimed? Nah, it's not realistic if it isn't GRIMDERP. Let's ignore how 99% of real animals default to "let's not hurt each other, just establish who would win in a real fight and move on" if it's not predator/prey or competition over extremely limited vitally necessary resources. It's just ludicrous to think wild animals would pull their punches! MERCY AND FRIENDSHIP ARE UNREALISTIC NO ONE DOES THAT EXCEPT MAYBE HUMANS AND PROBABLY NOT THEM HERPAGRIMDERP. Conversely, real science problems that are nearly always kept: -Evolution as an abrupt, unprepared, instantaneous transmutation from one creature to another creature that is usually A: much larger and/or B: an entirely different substance. Where the mass and alchemy comes from is assumed to not matter in these fanfics, sometimes directly alongside complaining that generating water from nothing is ‘unrealistic’. -Pokeballs. Everything about Pokeballs. -Ice anything. Erase temperature as a basic capability? Sure! It's not like Conservation of Everything exists or anything like that!  -Understanding Trainer intrinsically? But of course! Don't ask how they can automatically understand commands in English but can't understand English in any other context for any other purpose. There's no contradiction here! (This is my biggest complaint with the cases where they remove the general ability to understand human language innately, as they almost never extend that to effecting commanding battles) -------------------------------------- In short, instead of respecting canon and only addressing tricky problems (how does Hitmonlee feed itself anyway? It doesn’t seem to have a mouth), or even holding themselves consistently to their own standards, they just rip out random things that are not necessarily even crazy while consistently keeping the most problematic things. AND THEN MAKING THEM WORSE BY HAVING RIPPED OUT THE PARTS THAT JUSTIFY THEM.

So yeah. There’s been some Pokemon fanfics I was really glad I read, but I end up wading through so much of this crap I just... gave up.